Fruit

FRUIT

The wide hills are leaning
With their arms full of fruit;
The valleys lift up their trees —
Scarlet cherries,
Purple plums,
Little green pears.
Touched with russet
There are bushes
Where the berries hang
Rich and ripe,
Bursting with the sweetness
Of their juice .  .  .  .  .
It is a good time of year —
This space between the golden harvest
Of the autumn
And the first of summer —
I shall gather cherries and plums
And stain my fingers
With berries.
And my tongue shall know
The wild, sweet taste
Of many fruits  .   .   .
I shall go under a wide blue sky,
Under a golden sun,
Tasting here and there,
An epicure,
At an endless banquet.

— Abigail Cresson.

The Bee (Danville, Virginia) Aug 7, 1922

Old Sol

A Little Game of Strip Poker!
Now, then — I’ll raise the ante a few more degrees — and I’ll thank you if you’ll hand over your socks!

Daily InterLake (Kalispell, Montana) Jul 17, 1930

The Last Rose

THE last rose — and the loveliest. All alone waiting for the time to come when she, too, will wither and fade as have all her other sisters. Sad, to watch this and sadder to wonder how the poor little rose feels. But she’s not going away forever and ever. Just to take a nice long Winter nap so that she may waken in the Spring loveliest and more enticing than ever.

And poor l’il Dan watches and tried all his mischievous tricks to see if he cannot keep her here. He should know better, for he as watched the roses bloom and fade for centuries. But it’s ever the same story. He wants his very own Summer to last always. And who knows but that it does? For Love knows no season, and even though the roses do fade, Love always stays to bring happiness into an otherwise drear, drab world.

Amarillo Globe (Amarillo, Texas) Sep 24, 1928

Siriusly – Hot “Dog Days” Weather

DOG DAYS.

I’ll sing a curious little song,
Perhaps you’ll find it dull and dreary;
In truth, I drive the Muse along,
And often notice she is weary.
To sing of dog days I’ll confess
Requires a lot of nerve and notion,
Still, if you’ll bear with me, I guess,
You’ll save lost motion.

When Sirius upon the scene
Climbs upward with his constellation,
The other stars feel real mean,
And drive the world to consternation;
Poor mortals must, perforce, throw fits,
Or seek the heart-destroying places;
Freak baths allure, the mud and sitz
Preserve our graces.

The angry stars get jealous now
Of Sirius, who roars and blusters —
He stirs all heaven to a row
With hypochondriac-like flusters.
Throughout this time when flies abaft
Our beam refuse to let us swat them,
This heavenly bully drives us daft —
We know we’ve “got them.”

Our cows — they give us buttermilk;
Our pigs break through our beds of tulips;
Our silk worms all refuse to silk,
We keep alive by mock mint juleps;
Just how we strive through heat and wet
Proves that our life’s no bed of clover —
Well — let us sweat and swear and get
These dog days over!

Fort Wayne Weekly Sentinel (Fort Wayne, Indiana) Jul 23, 1917

Never Go.

Misfortune ne’er leaves us,
A fact which is plain —
The dog days have left us,
But cat nights remain.

— Detroit Tribune.

Decatur Herald (Decatur, Illinois) Aug 29, 1905

FOR HOT WEATHER.

Dog Days and Cat Nights.

“Making any progress toward getting acquainted with those fashionable people next door?”

“Just a little. Their cat invited our cat over to a musicale last night.”

Fitchburg Daily Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Aug 31, 1918

Ladies in Shorts

Images from Motor Life Blog

FAIRLY SPOKEN:

Ladies in Shorts

By MARGARET LATROBE

Don’t know about your town, but in our town the shorts-measuring brigade has begun its pleasant duties. (This is as much a part of summer as sunstroke and poison oak.)

For those of you with weightier preoccupations than the length of ladies’ shorts, let me recap summer’s folly: Come the heat and stupidity of the dog days, certain members of the pretty sex climb into garments calculated to expose their lower extremities to a high degree. That is, girls wear shorts.

Shorts shock that portion of the populace that doesn’t look good in same. And they pelt the police department with shrill cries of pique.

So the constabulary looks forward to the annual heat waves as more fun and less work than a bank robbery.

*          *          *

WOMEN ARE SAID to be vain. That’s not so. One look at a few shorts-garbed dumplings trotting about the supermarket on varicosed, knobby and quite unleg-like legs is sufficient to convince us otherwise. Vanity, my eye!

These dames are bereft of all pride, caution — even hope. They have looked in that triple mirror, shuddered, and decided the weather is too hot to contemplate such a formidable problem. With a skill born of years at wriggling into a 10-way stretch girdles, they make size 14 shorts do the work of size 20.

Then they buy some more groceries. (Studying up for size 44.)

*          *          *

ON THE SHORTS QUESTION, doubtless the etiquette authorities bemuse themselves with such refinements as appropriateness, taste, and condition of servitude. But the cops and I are more direct in our approach to the basic issues involved. They measure garment; I maintain they should measure the wearer.

If milady toddles abroad exhibiting legs more suitable to the circus than to Main street, I say clap her in irons. Let the judge sentence her to  30 days on a 600-calorie diet. And when she measures up to less than 120 pounds, permit the wearing of the shorts.

What about the varicose department? Black lace hosiery as on chorus girls. Leg make-up as in bottles. Or maybe a dress — as a last resort.

Hammond Times (Hammond, Indiana) Jul 17, 1956

Hurrah for Glad Vacation Days!

Vacation Days.

The bell is dumb, the lessons learned,
The key upon the schoolroom turned
And joyful shouts the children raise;
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

The star-eyed daisies in the grass
Are blooming now for all who pass
Along the pleasant country ways;
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

Where woodland paths are cool and green
And shaded by a leafy screen,
The golden sunshine peeps and plays;
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

The sparkling waves along the shore
Dance up and down the sandy floor,
The boat upon the billow sways;
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

We cannot count the lovely things,
The sounds and sights that summer brings;
Let’s sing a song in summer’s praise;
Hurrah for glad vacation days!

— Youth’s Companion.

Davenport Daily Leader (Davenport, Iowa) Aug 22, 1895