Posts Tagged ‘1936’

Which Was Served?

August 9, 2012

Image from theguardianSecret lives: The Artist’s Studio at Compton Verney
Interesting exhibit charts, “how the artist’s studio has changed in function and depiction over the last three centuries.”

WHICH WAS SERVED?

What gave this picture such divine
Perfection or each curve and ling?
Why does this song about a rose
Bring back forgotten long agoes?
Why is it that the spoken word
Stirs depths that seldom have been stirred?
A heart-throb in a ‘cello’s string —
What is the secret of the thing?

Why do we sing or play at all,
Or paint a mural on a wall?
Why do we speak upon the stage,
With words like these despoil a page?
What is the secret of success,
And something good, yet something less?
What mark denotes, so hard to see,
Genius and mediocrity?

What is it that all art divides,
The great, the commonplace, decides?
Is not the answer this, that they
Who failed were thinking of the pay?
That those who greatly play or sing
Or paint, are thinking of the thing?
I ask you this, whate’er your part,
Did art serve you, or you serve art?

Copyright, 1936, by Douglas Malloch

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Feb 4, 1936

Other People’s Money

August 6, 2012

OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY

A little boy climbed up a tree, an apple tree, a neighbor’s tree,
A place no little boy should be
Without an invitation,
And then the boy came falling down, came rolling down, came tumbling down,
Creating in that certain town
Considerable sensation.
Of course, it was a sudden fall, a mighty fall, a nasty fall,
But what he hurt the most of all
Was just his reputation.

The moral of this foolish tale, this simple tale, this silly tale,
Is that the best of us may fail
On any expedition,
And this I wish to postulate to those of late who speculate,
It’s quiet all right if yours the fate
Befalling your ambition.
But if it is an apple tree, a neighbor’s tree, another’s tree,
Then most embarrassing will be
Your subsequent position.

(Copyright, 1936, by Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Aug 21, 1936

Remembering Caraway Cookies

July 27, 2012

Image from Attic Paper

AUNT LUCINDA’S COOKIES.

Oh, baker, you haven’t in all your shop,
A cookie fit to be tried,
For the art of making them came to a stop
When my Aunt Lucinda died.
I can see her yet with her sleeves uprolled,
As I watched her mix and knead
The flour and eggs with their yolks of gold,
The butter and sugar, just all athey’ll hold,
And spice them with caraway seed.

Oh, that caraway seed! I see the nook
Where it grew by the garden wall;
And just below is the little brook
With the laughing waterfall.
Beyond are the meadows, sweet and fair
And flecked with the sun and shade;
And all the beauties of earth and air
Were in those cookies so rich and rare,
My Aunt Lucinda made.

So, add one more to the world’s lost arts,
For the cookies you made are sad,
And they haven’t the power to stir our hearts
That Aunt Lucinda’s had;
For I see her yet, with sleeves uprolled;
And I watch her mix and knead
The flour and eggs, with their yolks of gold,
The butter and sugar, just all they’ll hold
And spice them with caraway seed.

— Nixon Waterman.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Dec 29, 1900

Image from Homemade Dessert Recipes

Longing.

O, for the meadow-lands, warm and sweet,
Where the tall grass whispers the whole day long,
And the meadow lark on the old rail fence
Floods all the silence with exquisite song;
To lie on the south hill slope and dream —
O, wonderful dreams that never come true;
Then home to the kitchen, cool and wide,
Where grandma’s caraway cookies grew.

O, heart of mine, ’tis a weary way
From the city’s streets to the meadows wide,
From the clearer vision of manhood’s years
To youth’s sweet dreams on the south hillside;
So far from the ways that bruise the feet
To the grassy paths that my childhood knew,
From crowding walls to the kitchen wide
Where grandma’s caraway cookies grew.

— Florence A. Jones, in Good Housekeeping.

Daily Republican (Decatur, Illinois) Jul 27, 1899

Here are several Caraway Cookie recipes from various newspapers – published from 1891 – 1981:

The Mountain Democrat (Placerville, California) Jul 4, 1891

* * * * *

For the Nutmeg lovers:

The Fitchburg Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) May 12, 1898

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The Wellsboro Agitator (Wellsboro, Pennsylvania) Aug 24, 1910

* * * * *

This one gives the option of using the newfangled “butterine”:

Lincoln Daily News (Lincoln Nebraska) Jan 17, 1919

* * * * *

This holiday recipe uses rose water and rose-flavored icing:

Hamilton Daily News (Hamilton, Ohio) Dec 2, 1926

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For leaf-shaped cookies:

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) May 17, 1936

* * * * *

This special family recipe includes honey and English walnuts:

The Maryville Daily Forum (Maryville, Missouri) Sep 8, 1941

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And finally, this “modern” recipe (1981) from the American Rose Society includes rose syrup:

The Mountain Democrat (Placerville, California) Nov 11, 1981

You Can’t Forget a Garden, But Can You Forget a Poet?

July 1, 2012

Image from Alfredo Rodriguez

YOU CAN’T FORGET A GARDEN

You can’t forget a garden
When you have planted a seed —
When you have watched the weather
And know a rose’s need.
When you go away from it,
However long or far,
You leave your heart behind you
Where roots and tendrils are.

Louise Driscoll, in “Garden Grace.”

Fitchburg Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Jun 11, 1932

Louise Driscoll To Speak at Normandie

Garden lovers will have an opportunity to indulge themselves, in imagination, in the delights of their hobby, despite Winter’s barricade against outdoor participation, when Louise Driscoll speaks on Thursday, February 20, in the ballroom of the Normandie, No. 253 Alexander Street.

Miss Driscoll will have as her theme that evening “A Garden Thru the Year.” Author of “Garden Grace” and “Garden of the West,” she will bring the spirit of all gardens to her listeners, as in her poem, “Lost Garden,” from “Garden Grace.”

Guest of Mrs. Forbes

Miss Driscoll will be the guest of Mrs. George M. Forbes of Alexander Street, president of the Rochester Poetry Society, under whose auspices she will speak.

Rochester Journal (Rochester, New York) Feb 13, 1936

ON BEING A NEWSMAN IN PASADENA

I have long said one of the delightful aspects of being a newsman in Pasadena is that — no matter on what subject you write — you may rest assured that among the thousands of persons reading your stuff will be at least one of the world’s greatest authorities on that subject.

It never fails.

Some of the most valued acquaintances I have picked up over the years have developed this way. You do a “masterpiece.” Next day the phone rings, or there’s a letter on your desk. You were right, and you know it. Or you were wrong, and you’ve picked up a world of understanding.

*          *          *

On my desk this morning was a letter of a different type — illustrating the point I am making in another way.

It was in response to a column I wrote way last spring, forgot, and then published late because I still thought it was a good column. I called it, IN WHICH I GROW SENTIMENTAL. It was built around re-discovery of this poem, which, half forgotten from my boyhood days, nonetheless had carried me through many tight places.

Here’s the letter I found on my desk.

L.M. — I was very much interested and pleased to see, in your column, a quotation from a poem by Louise Driscoll.

Louise — who died some years ago — way my cousin.

She was for many years, head of the library of Catskill, New York, and was a poet of quite considerable reputation. In the days when poetry, to be publishable, did not have to be (a) an imitation of the New Yorker, or (b) something just long enough to fill that annoying gap at the end of a magazine page.

Her poems were published in many magazines in the 1920s and thereabouts, and appear in several anthologies. She published one book of collected verse, so far as I know; a small book of very charming and rather haunting poems, under the title “Garden Grace.”

I am sure it would have made her very happy to know that one of her poems was remembered.

Very sincerely,

Marjorie C. Driscoll,

Altadena.

See what I mean about the delightful aspects of being a newsman in Pasadena?

*          *          *

SENTIMENT HAS A PLACE IN OUR BEING

Star-News (Pasadena, California) Jun 9, 1959

 

Distinction for Local Women

New York, Sept. 26 (Special). —

Three Kingston women, seven residents of Woodstock, one Palenville and one Catskill woman are members of a group of outstanding women of the nation selected for inclusion in “American Women,” a who’s who of the feminine world just completed and published.

The honor was attained locally by Mary E.S. Fischer, illustrator, Melvina E. Moore-Parsons, and the late Mary Gage-Day, physicians of Kingston, Mrs. J. Courtenay Anderson, Agnes M. Daulton, Harriet Gaylord and Louise S. Hasbrouck, writers, Nancy Schoonmaker, lecturer, Lily Strickland, composer, and Mrs. Bruno L. Zimm of Woodstock, Jennie Brownscombe, artist, of Palenville, and Louise Driscoll, librarian, of Catskill.

New York state has contributed 1,096 of the 6,214 women chosen for the distinction of places on the list. Eighty-two per cent attended college and the majority are active in clubs and organizations. The possibility of success for a career and marriage combination receives strong endorsement from the fact that 41 per cent of the roster are married.

Approximately a third of the list, in true feminine fashion, declined to state their age. Writers formed the largest class, numbering 800, and professors the second with 355. Four each are engaged in aviation and astronomy, five in engineering and thirteen in the ministry. Gardening is the most popular hobby. Only sixty-four like to play bridge and one goes in for hunting mushrooms.

Kingston Daily Freeman (Kingston, New York) Sep 27, 1935

Louise won an award for this one:

Title: Poems of the Great War
Editor: John William Cunliffe
Publisher: The Macmillan Company, 1917
“The Metal Checks”
Pages 78-83

Her Father:

Kingston Daily Freeman (Kingston, New York) Jan 3, 1941

Services Tonight For Mr. Driscoll, Dean of Masons
—–
Native of Rockland County, 103, Died Yesterday in Catskill
—–

CATSKILL — Masonic services will be held tonight for John Leonard Driscoll, a native of Piermont, Rockland County, and oldest Mason in the state, who died yesterday at his home. Mr. Driscoll, who had been in remarkable good health until two weeks ago, was 103 years old last October eleventh.

Mr. Driscoll was a descendant of Johannes ver Vailen, one of the holders of the Harlem Patent who had an inn and a ferry at Spuyten Duyvil in the early days of the state. His father was Isaac Driscoll and his mother Eliza Burgess Shaw. His great-grandfather came to the United States from Ireland about the middle of the Eighteenth Century.

Surviving Mr. Driscoll, who had lived under twenty-five of the nation’s thirty-two presidents, are the Misses Lizbeth, Caroline and Louise Driscoll, all at home.

As a boy Mr. Driscoll witnessed the digging of holes and the planting of rails for the Hudson River Railroad. Until the age of sixty he had never smoked. He first tried a cigar, without becoming sick, and then changed to a pipe which was his favorite and constant companion during the last few years of his life.

Syracuse Herald (Syracuse, New York) Sep 30, 1937

At the age of 100, referring to his job in the 1830’s when pine logs were used for fuel and he was chief engineer for the Catskill Mountain Railroad, he said, “A good fireman in those days would handle the wood only once. He pitched each chunk at such an angle that when it landed on the floor of the engine it would bounce through the fire door into the box.”

He explained his philosophy of life, take it as it comes, by saying:

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, and seen many things, you realize there are few things in the world worth worrying about. It’s a good world, too, as long as people keep their sense of humor.”

Middletown Times Herald (Middletown, New York) Jan 3, 1941

* Another obituary states his wife died in 1903. (See end of post for image.)

* I couldn’t find obituaries for Louise or her sisters. It is possible there were some in the Greene County Examiner-Recorder, but I don’t have access to the years they would have appeared. A shame, really; Louise was a very talented lady and I would like to know more about her.

Quilt square sewn by Louise Driscoll’s grandmother:

From Dutch Door Genealogy:

18. E.B. Driscoll, age 47
She was Eliza Burgess Shaw, mother of Carrie, above, and in 1862 was the widow of Isaac Blauvelt Driscoll (#6010) in 1836. Isaac died in 1851. Their children who lived were John Leonard Driscoll, born 1837, lived to be 103; Charles Francis, born 1841; and Caroline, born 1844. Eliza was a seamstress, per the 1860 census.

Read more about the quilt at the link.

This is the closest I could come to finding a biography, other than the short bit I linked at the top of the post:

Louise Driscoll, who had a story, “The Tug of War,” in Smith’s Magazine for May, and a novelette, “The Point of View,” in the June number of the same magazine, lives in Catskill, N.Y. She has written verse since she was a very little girl, and while still a schoolgirl used occasionally to send poems to the New York newspapers and different magazines, many of them being accepted. It is only within the last few months that she has tried to do much prose, and she says that she has found the editors of the American magazines so ready to receive and educate a new writer that she has no faith in the tales so often heard concerning the necessity of influence to gain attention. Her verses have appeared in Lippincott’s, the Critic — now Putnam’s Monthly — the Independent, the Metropolitan, and a number of other periodicals, and some of them have been widely copied. One poem, “The Highway,” which appeared in Lippincott’s about three years ago, brought her a good many letters from readers, including some editors of other magazines. Miss Driscoll in now at work on a longer and more serious book than “The Point of View,” which is her first long story. She is very ambitious and believes fully in hard work, but she says she writes because she must, and is sure she would write if she had never heard of type. Incidentally, she has a large regard for the English language, and a sincere desire to use it correctly.

The Writer, Volume 19
By William Henry Hills, Robert Luce, 1907

Another garden themed poem by Louise Driscoll:

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Nov 17, 1924

One of Louise Driscoll’s books can be accessed for free at Google Books:

Title: The Garden of the West
Author: Louise Driscoll
Publisher: The Macmillan company, 1922

From Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine – 1907

THE POOR HOUSE

by Louise Driscoll

There’s a white road lined with poplars
And the blue hills rise behind,
The fields lie green on either side
And the overseer’s kind.

This is a play/skit:

Title: The Drama Magazine – Volume 7
Author: Drama League of America
Editors: Charles Hubbard Sergel, William Norman Guthrie, Theodore Ballou Hinckley
Publisher: Drama League of America, 1917
Pages 448-460

This description from The Quarterly Journal of Speech Education – 1918:

One act tragedy for two men and two women. Realistic play of American rural life and the tragedy of weakness and lack of determination.

She also wrote and/or translated music lyrics. I ran across a Christmas carol she did as well:

Polska
Metsän puita tuuli tuudittaa,
ja joka lehti liikkuu,
oksat keinuu, kiikkuu,
karjan kellot kilvan kalkuttaa
ja linnut livertävät
la la la la la la.
Niinpä neidon mieli nuor eli’ ijällä
lentää kuin lehti ilman tiellä
Näin iloiten vain ma laulelen
la la la la la la la la la la la la.
Karjan kellot kilvan kaikottaa
ja linnut livertävät
la la la la la la.

Sunnuntaina taasen kiikuttaa
pojat iloissansa
kukin neitojansa.
Korkealle keinu heilahtaa
ja tytöt laulelevat
la la la la la la.
Niinpä neidon mieli nuorell’ ijällä
lentää kuin lehti ilman tiellä.
Näin iloiten vaan ma laulelen
la la la la la la la la la la la la.
Korkealle keinu heilahtaa
ja tytöt laulelevat
la la la la la la.

*****

Polka

In the woods the trees, the trees are gay.
See how the branches lightly swing and sway, swing and sway.
Sheep bells tinkle and sweet birds sing,
So sing the maidens, tra la, la,la, la,la.
Shaken like a leaf when winds are blowing,
Is a girl’s heart when the rose is showing.
Tra la, la tra la,la, when high flies the swing,
Tra la, la,la,la.la,la,la,la,la,la,la,la.
Her heart goes there like the swing in air,
And falls while she is singing_Tra la, la,la,la,la.

English version by
Louise Driscoll.

Title: Folk Songs of Many Peoples, Volume 1
Editor: Florence Hudson Botsford
Publisher: Womans Press, 1921
Page 26

*     *     *     *     *

Greene County Examiner-Recorder (Catskill, New York) Jan 9, 1941

From Karl Marx to General Sherman

April 22, 2012

The photos here record an interesting chapter in the history of the Sequoia National Park, when Charles F. Kellar, 90, of Santa Cruz, was an organizer of the Kaweah Colony in 1886. The group built the first road connecting the valley with the grove of big trees. Kellar was the original owner of what is now known as the General Sherman tree and first named it the Carl Marx Tree. He is visiting the park this week. The pictures show: No. 1 — Camp Advance in 1889, at that time the colony town site north of Ash Mountain on the North Fork of the Kaweah River. No. 2 — Miss Kate Redstone in 1890 standing on a suspension bridge over the Kaweah just below the junction of the North Fork and the main stream. The bridge was built by Ralph Hopping, grandfather of Guy Hopping, superintendent of the General Grant National Park. Miss Redstone later became Mrs. Ralph Hopping. No. 3 — Type of paper money used in the Kaweah Colony. No. 4 — Kaweah colonist building road to Giant Forest in 1886. No. 5 — Charles F. Kellar. No. 6 — shows what happened when the donkey engine fell through the bridge.

SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK (Tulare Co.), Oct. 17. — A 90-year-old soldier stands reverently beneath the great arms of the General Sherman Tree, oldest and largest of living things, and exclaims, “I once tried to protect you.”

The soldier is Charles F. Kellar of Santa Cruz. He once owned the Sherman Tree in every sense that so ageless a living thing can be owned by a mortal being.

Organizer of the Kaweah Colony in 1886, he built the first road connecting the san Joaquin Valley with the grove of Sequoia Gigantes now included in the Sequois National Park.

And, as leader of the colony of Socialists, he named the largest of the trees the Karl Marx Tree. The government later changed the name to General Sherman.

Is Visitor At Park

Kellar is visiting in the park now, just fifty years after he and fifty-six other colonists started work on the road from a point seven miles above Three Rivers to the wilderness that now is a network of wide highways and graded trails. He is the guest of his granddaughter, Mrs. Daniel J. Tobin, wife of the assistant park superintendent.

Back in 1885, Kellar, a newly arrived San Franciscan who had just finished four years of service in the civil war, was the head of a Socialist organization, the Land Purchase and Improvement Company. On a business trip to Visalia — a trip made mostly on foot — he overheard two United States surveyors talking about a recent survey of a vast timber region dotted with giant trees. He soon had a copy of the survey and had obtained a guide, Newton Tharp, to take him to the timber country.

Tharp was a son of Hale Tharp, the discoverer of Giant Forest, and knew the wilderness even though there were no trails.

With packs on their backs, the two men traveled almost the same route now followed by the Generals Highway. They went up the middle fork of the Kaweah River to the base of Moro Rock, then wound around until they reached what is now known as Crescent Meadow.

Camp Was Inside Tree

Headquarters was made at Hale Tharp’s “cabin,” a fallen Sequoia hollowed out by fire and commodious enough for a Summer home.

Shortly, Kellar saw the really big trees. He saw the largest of all. And decided to own it and protect it.

Returning to San Francisco, he organized the Kaweah Colony. Each man put up a $10 fee on the quarter section of land that was to be his, and $400 was paid for the land. There were forty of the colonists.

Kellar recalls the trek to the promised land. The bay district Socialists came in a body and on foot, toting their worldly goods. Each had the hope of developing the land of the majestic trees and sharing in profits equally with his fellows.

As the weary party came upon the Sequoias they were awe inspired. All resolved the primary purpose of the colony would be to protect the largest of the trees for posterity.

Kellar’s land was towered over by the “Karl Marx Tree,” and around it spread the holdings of the other colonists.

Having invested $4,000, the colony leader included in his properties a ???-acre ranch, the old McIntosh place, on which the Kaweah Park office now stands.

The ranch became the starting point for the wilderness road which ended at C?????y Mill, ___  ____ d___.[back copy, illegible]

“It took us three years of the hardest labor to build the road,” Kellar says. “We had few tools and we were unskilled.”

Upon completion of the job, the federal government brought suit against the Kaweah Colony charging fraudulent entry. When the case came up for trial in Los Angeles, Kellar says, the colonists presented their receipts for fees and payments and the matter, Kellar says, was thrown out of court.

Nevertheless, there was difficulty due to the government’s opposition. The Sequoia National Park was formed by the federal authorities. The colonists became discouraged, disbanded and scattered. The road they had toiled so hard to build they used only as a way out of the wilderness.

Kellar likes to reminisce about his youth. Born in Germany in 1846, he came to America with his parents at the age of 9 years, the family settling on a farm in Pennsylvania, near Lake Erie.

Served Throughout War

When the war clouds began to gather between the North and South, Kellar, although not of age to become a soldier, enlisted three times, having run away from home to join the army. His father balled him out of the service twice. His third and last enlistment was one year prior to General Lee’s entrance into Gettysburg and he served throughout the war.

Among the highlights of Kellar’s career as a soldier was his march with General Sherman to the sea. He cast his first vote for president Abraham Lincoln when a ballot box was brought to the field of battle. Congress had given special permission for all soldiers to vote regardless of their ages.

Crossed Isthmus Of Panama

After the war Kellar came to California via Panama by rail and water in the year 1886. Leaving Panama the ship stopped at San Pedro, the only other coast city having a wharf, besides San Francisco. Here as far as the eye could see were fields of wild geese which looked somewhat like a mirage. Los Angeles then had a population of 5,000, and land was selling for $10 an acre. Seventh and Hill Streets was considered an outpost.

San Francisco was a series of sand dunes, a wharf, board walks, a few boarding houses and saloons. Beer was 25 cents per glass. No grass was growing in the city, but some one had imported Bermuda grass and dried one crop as hay in the region now known as Golden Gate Park. The wind soon sifted the dry grass around in the sand dunes and with the aid of moisture from the sea, there was a luxurious growth.

Kellar asserts an ounce of gold worth $15 constituted a day’s wage in the late sixties. There was a great scarcity of labor. “We carried our gold in buckskin bags in our pockets, he recalls.

Fresno Bee Republican (Fresno, California) Oct 18, 1936

From the SmithsonianAmerican Exploration and Settlement:

Between 1884 and 1891, the area along the North Fork of the Kaweah River just upstream from the Terminus Reservoir site was the scene of an interesting experiment in utopian socialism that is still the subject of serious study by students of economics and political science. This was the Kaweah Cooperative Commonwealth, generally referred to as the Kaweah Colony. It was based upon the theories of Laurence Gronlund, an American socialist originally from Denmark, whose book “The Cooperative Commonwealth,” was the first adequate exposition of German socialism. In general, Gronlund envisioned an ideal cooperative colony in which working members would own and control production and profit accordingly. Burnette G. Haskell, John Hooper Redstone, and James John Martin, all of whom had been active in labor organizations in San Francisco, were impressed with Gronlund’s theories and decided to form such a colony with timberlands as a source of raw materials for a manufacturing business. After a search of the entire Pacific Coast and parts of Mexico, the leaders of the proposed colony selected the Government timberlands between the Middle, Marble, and North Forks of Kaweah River. Fifty-three timber claims totaling about 12,000 acres were filed. Because several of the applicants gave the same San Francisco address and some were aliens, and because of the large number of claims, the Federal Land Commissioner in Visalia withdrew the lands filed upon from entry on suspicion of fraud. The colonists, however, were convinced their claims would be validated by the courts and proceeded with the venture.

*More at the link, although I didn’t see any mention of Charles Kellar.

And more at The History of Kaweah Colony. No mention of Kellar here either. Maybe he embellished his role a bit  in starting the colony.

I found a few references to C.F. Keller with a little more searching (The History of Tulare and Kings County):

*****

Spring’s Offering

April 3, 2012

The Dawn of Spring

By OLIVER RUTTER

There’s a swish, there’s a whirr —
A bright flashing of wings!
There’s a sweet woodland myrrh,
That caressingly clings,
and the oriole signals love’s tenderest call,
Delightfully increasing Spring’s charm over all.

Now down where rushes grow,
Thrilling blackbirds are heard;
And soft, while the winds blow,
An overture is allured,
Till our troubles vanish, when the song sparrow sings,
As we gather violets like the blue-bird’s wings.

In the morning or noon,
Where the bushes swing low,
Pretty pictures are strewn
On the brook’s mirrored flow,
If, dreamily, we wander in love’s tender plight,
Through the thorn-bushes blossoming, of pink and white.

Over here, over there,
The rivalry is keen,
Though the bidding seems fair,
There is beauty unseen.
Low ‘neath the brambles, near the sweet smelling sod,
Are beauties we may liken to the smile of God.

Far away, far away,
Through a dim, purpled haze,
Taunting clouds are at play,
With the sun’s warming rays,
Ah! what seems as pleasant as the years that are gone,
When the charms of Springtime we are gazing upon?

Life is dear, life is queer,
Life is stubbornly wrong;
Life is sere, life is drear,
When it might be a song!
Ah! who paints the flowers, and the beautiful skies?
Who causes the dead, in new glory to rise?

Morning Herald (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Feb 28, 1936


Old Sol the Magician.

When April’s tears turn into snow
And nip spring in the bud,
Old Sol is anything but slow,
And soon its name is mud.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 3, 1912


Springs’s Offering.

We sweetly sing
The new laid egg.
Your fond attention
We would beg
As in a lay
Of praise we greet
The finest thing
On earth to eat.

Behold the modest
Little hen
That’s getting in
Its work again,
And making up
For what we lost
In days of laziness
And frost.

The days when all
There was on hand
Was the suspicious
Storage brand,
That, in responding
To our call,
Came scrambled if they came at all.

Now, wholesome, fresh
And at our taste,
We have them on
The table placed.
The number that
We eat unnamed,
So many, though
We are ashamed.

— Duncan M. Smith.

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Apr 6, 1909

It’s Curious!

It’s curious kind o’ weather when you come to make it out;
One minute winds is blowin’ all the blossoms roundabout,
An’ sunshine’s jes’ a-streamin’ from the blue and bendin’ skies,
An’ dreamin’ — jes’ a-dreamin’, like the light in woman’s eyes!

But jes’ when all is lovely, an’ the wind with music floats;
When the birds is makin’ merry an’ a-strainin’ of their throats;
An’ the sunshine’s like a picnic in the blossmes, pink an’ white,
A cyclone strikes the country an’ jes’ swallers all in sight!

It’s curious kind o’ weather — jes’ the worst you ever felt;
You don’t half git through freezin’ ‘fore the orler comes to melt!
An’ you can’t quite say it’s winter, an’ you ain’t half sure it’s spring;
So’ keep on with the whistlin’ an’ thank God for everything!

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 13, 1893

Spring Fever.

The time of year
Again is here
When wifey aims to make home neater,
And hubby knows,
When home he goes,
He’ll have to wield the carpet-beater.
With leaden feet

Along the street
He plods his way, sad-hearted, weary.
Well he doth know
That tale of woe
With wife’s n. g. — of such she’s leary.
Useless for him

A yarn to spin,
Pretending illness — can’t deceive her.
To him she’ll say,
In heartless way,
“Come off — it’s nothing but spring fever.”

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Mar 13, 1908

No Doubt About It Now.

Sunshine on the river —
Bird songs in the air!
Green leaves all a-quiver —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Reckless roses springing —
Brown bees here and there;
Lazy plowboy singing —
(Spring is mighty near!)

Easy to detect her —
Stormy skies or clear;
Easter bill collector —
(Certain spring is near!)

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 9, 1895

The Spring Affliction.

Oh, that blessed tired feeling
Which about the first of May
O’er the soul of man comes stealing
Like a burglar in a play,
Making him so fine and laze,
Kin almost to pure delight,
Calling up a vision hazy
Of a lake where fishes bite.

Winter with its weather bracing
Gave him energy and vim,
But spring has no trouble chasing
All those notions out of him.
When the birds begin to twitter,
Then in chaste and classic slang
He desires to be a quitter
And to let the work go hang.

He has tugged away like fury,
Buckled to it every day.
Now he things the judge and jury
Would prescribe a spell of play,
Would encourage him in slipping
From the busy haunts of men
And across the fields go tripping
Feeling almost young again.

Trading off the tired feeling
For the springy step of youth,
Finding nature’s gentle healing
More than advertised in truth,
Giving him an added vigor,
Keyed just right, not overdone,
Like the delicate hair trigger
On a forty dollar gun.

— Duncan M. Smith

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) May 15, 1914

SPORT

The merry waves dance up and down and play,
Sport is granted to the sea;
Birds are the quiristers of the empty air,
Sport is never wanting there;
The ground doth smile at the spring’s flowery birth.
Sport is granted to the earth;
The fire its cheering flame on high doth rear,
Sport is never wanting there.
If all the elements, the earth, the sea,
Air, and firs, so merry be,
Why is man’s mirth so seldom and so small,
Who is compounded of them all?

— Abraham Cowley

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 27, 1936

SPRINGTIME

One cloud a hue of lazylite
Flanked by spray of misty white
Gave way to sublimate of gray
A storm cloud hovered on the way.

Springtime, blythe and very gay,
Her banner throws athwart the sky
That she will not her claim deny
Cold winter must vacate and fly.

— M.W. Beebe, Black Wolf Point.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Across the Path of Popular Impatience

March 19, 2012

Image from Mission to Learn

VANDENBERG ON CONSTITUTION
(Lansing State Journal)

If one will take a fairly complete history of the United States and therein trace the history of the United States supreme court, from the beginning to the present time, one will find that the decisions of the court, from first to last, have stirred a good deal of political impatience.

Numerous times there has arisen expression of impatience and vexation because the public might not all at once, on impulse, do what it thought it wanted to do. On these occasions, uniformly, there arose a hue and cry against the high court because it applied the agreed rules.

As one glimpses back over the occasions of impatience one will look in vain to find an instance in our history where the results of impatience would have been better than the results of less hurried and more thoughtful procedure. Wherein would we change our past, if we could?

Watch a documentary about Arthur H. Vandenberg at the GVSU website

The other night in Chicago, Senator Vandenberg of this state, was the chief speaker at the observances held the evening of Constitution Day. His chief thesis was that we should venerate the constitution not because it is old, not because it was made by the founding fathers, not because it has been much lauded, but because it is useful, highly useful to us now.

We think that exceedingly well put. It is little wonder that Senator Vandenberg looms large as a guiding figure in the affairs of the nation, these days. He puts leading contention so clearly, so forcefully. The constitution is not a relic of horse and buggy days, it is the guiding and saving principle among us now, was his way of expressing his thought.

The new dealers are of course saying many a time and often these days that they too are for the constitution. Yes, perhaps in the main, though Professor Tugwell does not appear to be for retention of any of it. But how about the vast impatience that arose a year or two back when the constitution prevented the public from rushing pell mell to a larger extension of federal powers over the nation? In those days the new dealers in congress uniformly always spoke of the supreme court as “those nine old men.” Measures were introduced to nullify their power. Even the president advised that a certain measure be passed even if it were not constitutional.

In those instances, the issue was not the whole constitution. Few wanted to discard it altogether. The issue, the point of impatience, was because the constitution prevented us from rushing all at once to a vast enlargement of federal power. We think the time will come, as it has always come in the past, when pretty much every sound American will be deeply glad that the constitution prevented us from rushing headlong to greater extension of federal power at this time.

The American people can have greater extension of power if they so desire. But if they follow the constitution and respect it the American people will achieve larger application of federal power through calm deliberation and understanding.

The constitution of the United States stands across the path of popular impatience, not of considered popular decision.

This is no long the horse and buggy age but the principle of the wheel on each four corners of a conveyance is still sound.

Ironwood Daily Globe (Ironwood, Michigan) Sep 23, 1936

O, March!

March 1, 2012

MARCH WINDS

O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine.
Today my mood in love is fearless, bold.
O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!

What tender passions may tomorrow hold,
If winds blow warm and thus my thoughts incline?
Or, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine!

— Susan Doudican

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 14, 1936


MARCH

Slayer of winter, are thou here again?
O welcome, thou that bring’st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle’s song,
Thou first redresser of the winter’s wrong!

Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing, “O joy! a new year is begun!
What happiness to look upon the sun!”

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss,
But Death himself, who, crying solemnly,
Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us, “Rejoice! lest pleasure less ye die
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live,
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.”

— William Morris

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 26, 1936


WRITTEN IN MARCH

The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and the youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping-anon-anon,
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains,
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!

— William Wordsworth

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 12, 1937

SONG IN MARCH

Now are the winds about us in their glee,
Tossing the slender tree;
Whirling the sands about his furious car,
March cometh from afar;
Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter’s dreams,
And rends his glassy streams;
Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes
Their fetters from the lakes,
And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,
Wakens the slumbering tide.

With a wild love he seeks young Summer’s charms
And clasps her to his arms;
Lifting his shield between, he drives away
Old Winter from his prey —
The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves,
Goes howling to his caves;
And, to his northern realm compelled to fly,
Yields up the victory;
Melted are all his banks, o’er-thrown his towers,
And March comes bringing flowers.

— William Gilmore Simms.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 25, 1938

THE PASSING OF MARCH

The braggart March stood in the season’s door
With his broad shoulders blocking up the way,
Shaking the snow-flakes from the cloak he wore,
And from the fringes of his kirtle gray;
Near by him April stood with tearful face,
With violets in her hands, and in her hair
Pale, wild anemones; the fragrant lace
Half-parted from her breast which seemed like fair,
Dawn-tinted mountain snow, smooth-drifted there.

She on the blusterer’s arm laid one white hand,
But he would none of her soft blandishment,
Yet did she plead with tears none might withstand,
For even the fiercest hearts at last relent.
And he, at last, in ruffian tenderness,
With one swift, crushing kiss her lips did greet.
Ah, poor starved heart! — for that one rude caress,
She cast her violets underneath his feet.

— Robert Burns Wilson

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

Peace by a Rippling Stream

February 24, 2012

Image from It’s Always Tea Time

Peace. — By a Rippling Stream

I’ve read in stories all about
The cool inviting streams;
Where one leaves all her cares and woes,
And revels in sweet dreams.

I’ve reached one, after braving thorns
And briers in paths of dust,
The perspiration drips the while
I register disgust.

I’m battling huge mosquitoes, as
They bit my legs and arms.
Who said that one could find delight,
And peace, in nature’s charm?

I think the greatest joy that’s found,
Near clear enticing brooks,
Comes when we follow those which run
Through lovely story books.

— Lyla Myers, Little Rock, Ark.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jan 11, 1936

Building — An Education

February 23, 2012

Image from Days Gone By

BUILDING

There’s joy in building anything,
Though it may be very small.
A baby whiles away long hours
With building blocks, which fall.

The older boys build sleds and kites,
Of wood and wire and strings;
And tiny girls build home for dolls,
With furniture and things.

Smart engineers build bridges, which
Extend across large streams;
And architects, in buildings, find
The answers to their dreams.

But here’s construction’s greatest boon,
(Though it keeps wise heads swimmin’)
It’s teaching little boys and girls,
Yes, building men and women!

Lyla Myers, Little Rock, Ark.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 10, 1936

Image of Cicero from Wikipedia

Author of the quote not cited in the newspaper, but it is attributed to Joseph Addison.

EDUCATION is like a companion which no misfortune can repress, no enemy destroy, no despotism enslave. At home, a friend; abroad an introduction — in solitude, a solace — in society, an ornament. It chastens vice, it guards virtue; and gives at once, grace and government to genius. Without it, what is man? A splendid slave — a reasoning savage!

American Freeman (Prairieville, Wisconsin) Apr 5, 1848