tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43619424016075898542024-03-04T23:59:26.366-08:00Poetic Justice: that'll work!"Queer opinions queerly written"Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.comBlogger370125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-77363912618487596172020-11-05T08:13:00.000-08:002020-11-05T08:13:11.210-08:00"The Thanksgiving Turkey" (1896)<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FZuMQe2qJ_yfVlGhhmyA548K7pl1AUO40mmyqiu9BNzxvWfmepJJPtXsdERjhYEL5MULWv4hjuUPrKU78OA5VCK8bgI_PWBA6vC4c6kfpsDqlAne4MwxoI34hPHV10spfffyYGcjyHI/s2048/HCD+thanksgiving+turkey+Star_Tribune_Thu__Nov_26__1896+5+cols+3-4_.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FZuMQe2qJ_yfVlGhhmyA548K7pl1AUO40mmyqiu9BNzxvWfmepJJPtXsdERjhYEL5MULWv4hjuUPrKU78OA5VCK8bgI_PWBA6vC4c6kfpsDqlAne4MwxoI34hPHV10spfffyYGcjyHI/s600/HCD+thanksgiving+turkey+Star_Tribune_Thu__Nov_26__1896+5+cols+3-4_.jpg"/></a></div>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-42645914567871177902017-12-06T06:56:00.003-08:002017-12-06T06:59:18.803-08:00Two Corinthians Walk Into a Bar: The War on Christmas HolidaysHappy mem'ries, Christmases past
<p>Warm wishes they'll in future last</p>
<p>Holy days once celebrated;</p>
<p>Down to one they have been grated.</p>
<p>"Department stores, you must shop now!"</p>
<p>says orange priest of golden cow.</p>
</br>
<blockquote>this Servant being in an Airy Gale in the Christmas Holidays</p>
<p><i>American Weekly Mercury</i> [Philadelphia, PA]. March 13, 1733: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>The said Magistrate, for preventing the Mischiefs and Outrages usually committed in the Christmas Holidays, thought fit to publish an Order for all Vintners, Victuallers, Cooks, Keepers of Ordinaries, Limonade Houses, &c. not to keep their Shops open, or sell any thing after Eight a Clock at Night, on Penalty of a Fine.</p>
<p><i>Pennsylvania Gazette</i> [Philadelphia]. June 2, 1737: 1.</p>
</br>
<p>PORTSMOUTH, December 6.</p>
<p>Extract of a Letter from a Gentleman in London, to his Friend in this Town, dated Sept. 29, 1765.
<p>"We just begin to hear of the Disturbances occasioned by the STAMP-ACT in America, and I assure you it will occasion as much here, more especially among the Woolen Manufacturers, great Numbers of whom are out of Employment, and are destitute of Support for their Families. The Parliament I believe will not meet till after Christmas Holidays are over, when I hope to have the Pleasure of informing you of a removal of the Grievances in Trade, which are so justly complained of by the Americans.”</p>
<p><i>Boston New-Letter.</i> December 12, 1765: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>Tuesday next is the day fixed for both Houses of Parliament adjourning for the Christmas holidays.</p>
<p><i>Pennsylvania Gazette</i> [Philadelphia]. February 24, 1773: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>It was a paltry and illiberal spirit who first broached the intention of robbing the negroes of their rude pastimes in the Christmas holidays. Is not slavery dreadful enough without adding to its horrors, by debarring the miserable creatures, whose hard fate it is to be thus degraded, of what each of them fondly thinks an inherent right? Away then with the unworthy idea! and let these unhappy wretches enjoy their little annual measure of happiness without molestation.</p>
<p><i>Pennsylvania Packet.</i> January 29, 1785: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>the christmas holidays was the time fixed on for the rising</p>
<p><i>Alexandria Advertiser</i> [VA]. January 29, 1801: 3.</p>
</br>
<p>A review of these contents brings at once before us, our happy holidays [...] The publishers have sent forth this volume in a delicate holiday dress; and we hope many good boys will receive it from their parents and teachers, as an acceptable Christmas and New Year's Present.</p>
<p><i>Boston Traveler</i>. December 18, 1829: 3.</p>
</br>
<p>What bustle, what preparation, what feasting, what dancing gave the country folk enough to talk about during the happy Christmas holidays</p>
<i>Boston Traveler</i>. May 11, 1830: 1.</p>
</br>
<p>The editor of the Bedford (Pa.) Inquirer has recently been married to a Miss Holliday. We wish him a great many happy holidays of happiness, besides a number of little Hollidays.</p>
<p><i>Dedham Patriot</i> [MA]. November 22, 1838: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>the cheered mother would sit by the bedside, and talk to her girl of the merry holidays that were soon coming, and promising the poor child what she had never known before—a handsome Christmas box.</p>
<p>"Little Jane's Christmas Box." <i>Times-Picayune</i> [New Orleans, LA]. December 30, 1841: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>MR. EDITOR,—The merry Christmas holidays have come at last</p>
<p><i>National Aegis</i> [Worcester, MA]. January 5, 1843: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>The holidays are upon us […] let the holidays be to them holidays indeed.</p>
<p><i>Times-Picayune.</i> December 22, 1843: 2.</p>
</br>
<p>THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.</p>
<p>The merry, happy holidays,</p>
<p>Are with us here once more.</p>
<p><i>New-York Tribune</i>. December 25, 1843. 3.</p>
</br>
<p><b>Christmas</b>.</p>
<p>Of course we must have something to say upon this subject, as we are, at the very moment of writing, in the midst of the joyous holidays.</p>
<p><i>Edgefield Advertiser </i>[SC]. December 27, 1854: 2.</p></blockquote>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-47340203235513110602017-01-23T19:59:00.000-08:002017-01-23T20:28:48.594-08:00Three Twenty-Nine (1865)<p> <i>Only one line,</p>
<p> Three twenty-nine.</i></p>
</br>
<p> <b>Three Twenty-nine.</b></p>
<p>What was it that from Ames I took,</p>
<p>Stowed snugly in my pocketbook,</p>
<p>And then resumed my saintly look?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
<p>What was it, when the act was known,</p>
<p>That made my pious spirit groan</p>
<p>'Till I would have it called a loan?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
<p>What, when my case seemed very bad,</p>
<p>Did I in solemn tones and sad</p>
<p>Swear that I never, never had?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
<p>What did Ames have in black and white</p>
<p>That showed me up in my true light,</p>
<p>And left me in a sorry plight?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
<p>What were thus proved beyond a doubt</p>
<p>The figures for which I sold out,</p>
<p>And which I since have lied about?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
<p>What, more than any other thing—</p>
<p>Than salary grab or paving Ring—</p>
<p>My downfall at the polls shall bring?</p>
<p> <b>329.</b></p>
</br>
<p> <b>"329."</b></p>
<p>When old Garfield is elected,</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>We'll have spoils that we expected,</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>Good fat jobs and contracts sure,</p>
<p>Like De Golyer and Mobilier,</p>
<p>We can county on them, that's clear.</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>For we'll count him in this year.</p>
<p> In your mind.</p>
<br/>
<p>Down in Maine we'll fix the figures,</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>We are first class thimble-riggers,</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>We need only give our sign,</p>
<p>Which we call "329,"</p>
<p>But of fraud we've no design,</p>
<p> In your mind, in your mind;</p>
<p>Old Zach, didn't think it crime,</p>
<p> In his mind.</p>
<p><i>Lansinburgh Courier. </i>October 1, 1880: 2 cols 3-4.</p>
</br>
<p> The Democrats might have been able to defeat Garfield if they had concentrated on his involvement in the Crèdit Mobilier scandal (see SCHUYLER COLFAX). During the Grant administration Garfield had received a $329 dividend check for stock in Crèdit Mobilier of America. Although he had never purchased any stock in the company, he had accepted the dividend check. The Democrats were effectively ridiculing his excuse that he thought it was a campaign contribution and identifying Garfield with corruption through use of the derisive slogan "three twenty-nine" ($329). However, the publication of a letter ostensibly signed by Garfield and advocating support of unrestricted immigration of Chinese backfired. The letter was exposed as a forgery, and Garfield won the election by a close popular but comfortable electoral vote, 214 to 155.</p>
<p>O'Brien, Steven G. <i>American Political Leaders from Colonial Times to the Present.</i> Santa Barbara, CA: ABC- CLIO, 1991. 152.</p>
<p>Gyory, Andrew. "The Phony Document that Almost Cost a President His Election (No, Not the CBS Bush Guard Memo)."<i> History News Network.</i> October 24, 2004. <a href="http://historynewsnetwork.org/article/8061">http://historynewsnetwork.org/article/8061</a></p>
<p>"An 1880 'October Surprise.'" <i>The Blog of James A. Garfield National Historic Site.</i> October 19, 2012. <a href="https://garfieldnps.wordpress.com/tag/morey-letter/">https://garfieldnps.wordpress.com/tag/morey-letter/</a></p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-7621163175234176512016-11-30T12:46:00.001-08:002023-12-19T23:59:49.051-08:00"Sleigh Riding" by J.B. (1848)<blockquote> A GENTLEMAN who has been requested by a lady to write something sentimental on the subject of sleigh-riding, respectfully submits the following effort of his frost-bitten muse. If his verse lacks a proper <i>warmth</i> of sentiment, it must be attributed to the fact that the music in his soul was all congealed the other night—like the tunes in the horn of Baron Munchausen's post boy—during a remarkably cold ride. When it thaws out, in the Spring, he will be able to sing the delights of sleighing in a more <i>genial</i> strain.
<p><center>FOR THE WHIG.</center></p>
<p><center><b>Sleigh-Riding.</b></center></p>
<p> Sleigh-riding! isn't it very good fun,</p>
<p> With the mercury almost too thick to run,</p>
<p> Down below zero twenty-one?</p>
<p> When, if you sneeze,</p>
<p> The spray will freeze,</p>
<p> And your legs are as high as your knees.</p>
<p> And if you should spit,</p>
<p> (A quid, to wit,)</p>
<p> 'T would rattle like ice on whatever it hit.</p>
</br>
<p> Glorious pastime is this, I ween:</p>
<p> How you admire the silvery scene,</p>
<p> As your lungs collapse in the blast so keen.</p>
<p> Of nose and ears, as the steeds progress,</p>
<p> You pleasantly lose all consciousness;</p>
<p> And the buffalo hide,</p>
<p> And the cap well tied,</p>
<p> And the woolen et ceteras too, beside,</p>
<p> Are powerless all to shield off the blast</p>
<p> That <i>knifes</i> your vitals in hurrying past.</p>
<p> Oh, 't is fine, on a moonlit night,</p>
<p> Thus with the icy winds to fight!</p>
<p> And frost-bitten ears, when the race is done,</p>
<p> Aptly close the "capital fun." J. B.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Whig</i>. February 14, 1848: 2 col 1.</p></blockquote>
</br>
</br>
<blockquote>Cut away sleighs, prance away horses, jingle away bells, and laugh away, boys and girls, say we!
<p>“The Great Snow Storm—Its Extent—Sleighing Parties—Appearance of Broadway, &c.” <i>New York Herald.</i> January 23, 1846: 2 col 6.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><b>COPARTNERSHIP NOTICE</b> — The undersigned have this day formed a copartnership under the name and firm of Smith & Pierpont, for the purpose of conducting the Grocery business in all its various branches, at No. 12 Congress street, a few doors from River st. JASON SMITH,
<p> mh25 JAMES PIERPONT.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> August 4, 1846: 1 col 1.</p>
</br>
<p><b>CAMPHINE and Camphine Lamps</b>—a nice assortment, for sale No. 12 Congress st., by</p>
<p>je22 SMITH & PIERPONT.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> August 4, 1846: 3 col 5.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><b>MARRIED,</b>
<p>Sept. 14th, by Rev. John Pierpont, Mr. James Pierpont to Miss Millicent Cowee, all of this city.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Whig</i>. September 15, 1846: 2 col 6.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><p><b>DISSOLUTION.</b>—The copartnership heretofore existing under the firm of Smith & Pierpont, was this day dissolved by mutual consent. Troy, Sept. 18, 1846. JASON SMITH,</p>
<p> o10 JAMES PIERPONT.</p>
<p><b>COPARTNERSHIP.</b>—The undersigned have formed a copartnership for the purpose of carrying on the Lamp business, at No. 12 Congress street, and respectfully solicit the patronage of the public. Troy, </p>
<p>Oct. 1st, 1846. JAMES PIERPONT,</p>
<p> o10 EDWARD K. COOLEY. […]</p>
<p><b>PORTER’S PATENT BURNING FLUID</b> and Lamps of every description; Camphine, Derrick Lamps, Side Lamps for Camphine; Camphine Astrals, for sale at No. 12 Congress street, by</p>
<p> o10 JAMES PIERPONT & CO.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Whig.</i> October 27, 1846: 3 col 3.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote> Our friends are improving the fine sleighing, and riding parties are all the go. The merry bells may be constantly heard jingling in the streets — "Go it while you're young, boys!"
<p><i>Northern Budget</i> [Troy, NY]. December 21, 1846: 2 col 3.</p>
</br>
<p>There is considerable snow upon the ground in this vicinity, and it will take some time to dissolve it under a warm sun. Sleighs are running and bells jingling merily.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> April 1, 1847: 2 col 5.</p>
</br>
<p>CHRISTMAS passed off quite merrily. The Dutch Saint was very liberal in the bestowment of his gifts upon his juvenile friends, and toys were scattered about in profusion. The sleighing was well improved—sleighs were running all day and the bells jingling merrily. The day was pleasant and all appeared happy.</p>
<p>"Local Summary." <i>Northern Budget</i>. December 27, 1847: 2 col 2.</p>
</br>
<p>Now is the time for sleigh-rides. The merry jingling bells are heard on all sides. Pleasure parties are out every night, and all are happy! Our advice to all is, make good use of the sleighing while it lasts.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> February 9, 1848: 2 col 3.</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>☞ During the present winter our streets have presented about as many different appearances as the chameleon, although not the beautiful colors of that animal. They have alternated from a snowey whiteness to a speckled brown so often that it would have bothered one to keep pace with their various changes. We believe a dun-brown may be set down as the prevailing color, although during the past week, we have had speckled gray, and snowey white, and its accompanyment the jingling of bells, &c.
<p><i>Lansingburgh Democrat.</i> February 11, 1848: 2 col 1.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><center><b>Daguerrotypes.</b></center>
<p>J. PIERPONT would inform the inhabitants of Troy and vicinity, that he has taken rooms at No. 218 River street, a few doors below the Troy House, and is prepared to execute Miniatures in every style in vogue. Having all the recent improvements at his command, he feels perfectly safe in saying that his pictures shall be superior to say in the country, and in support of which statement, the public is respectfully invited to call and examine specimens.</p>
<p> N. B. Perfect satisfaction guaranteed in all cases, or no charge. oc31 3m</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> November 21, 1848: 3 col 3.</p>
</br>
<p><center><b>Daguerrotypes.</b></center></p>
<p> Who wants a likeness, either of himself or his friend? There can be no more acceptable present than a likeness for some dear one. All who wish to perpetuate the remembrance of the “face divine,” can gratify their desire by calling at the Daguerrean Galleries of—</p>
<p> J. PIERPONT, 218 River street; or HOWES & Co., 7 1/2 State street.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> December 23 1848: 2 cols 2-3.</p>
</br>
<p><b>OFFICE TO LET.</b>—Over “Buell’s Low Price Store,” at present occupied by James Pierpont, as Daguerreotype Rooms. Apply to</p>
<p> mh2 JAMES BUELL, 218 River street.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> April 21, 1849: 3 col 4.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote>Soak thy feet in ice water and rub them dry with a crash towel. Do they not glow? do they not send the blood circulating to the ends of the fingers? So does a sleigh ride—when the moon shines, and the white snow lies on the frosty ground, when all is light as day, and the heart as merry as mirth. Driver! touch the leaders ! laugh girls ! jingle bells! Give us snow in winter and let it fall on level.
<p>[Boston Transcript.</p>
<p>"Winter." <i>The Clinton Signal.</i> December 20, 1850: 4 col 3.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote>☞ We noticed several large parties who were out enjoying the fine sleighing on Christmas—among others, a sleigh drawn by six spirited horses, containing the Tivoli Hose Co., of Albany.—The Hungarian flag was suspended from the sleigh, and was greeted with loud huzzahs. The party was indeed a merry one, and to all appearances intended to "go it while they were young."
<p><i>Lansingburgh Democrat.</i> January 1, 1852: 2 col 2.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote>Y.M.A.—It will be seen by notice in another column, that the Lecture Season of the Young Men's Association, commences on Thursday evening, Nov. 18. The Introductory poem will be read by Rev. John Pierpont. The gentlemen announced to speak during the season, rank high among the <i>literati</i> of the land, and their addresses will, no doubt, gratify and instruct their hearers.
<p><i>Troy Daily Times.</i> November 8, 1852: 2 col 3.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><center>UNIVERSITY OF THE CITY OF NEW-YORK.
—
<b>Anniverary of the Philomatheian and Eucleian Societies.</b></center>
<p> The anniversary meeting of the above societies was held on Monday evening, in the Reformed Dutch Church, Lafayette Place, before quite a numerous audience, considering the unfavorable state of the weather. Dodworth’s band was in attendance, and enlivened the occasion with its spirit-stirring strains of music. Rev. Dr. FERRIS, Chancellor of the institution, opened the exercises with prayer, after which, the Poet of the evening, Rev. JOHN PIERPONT, of Boston, was introduced to the audience. The poem was a production of remarkable brilliancy and point, and delivered with the graceful and expressive elocution which the poet adds to his other rare gifts. Its subject was “The Scholar’s Hope.” Mr. PIERPONT traced the course of the scholar through the different professions of Schoolmaster, Lawyer, Preacher and Writer for the Press, showing that although the different professions of Schoolmaster, Lawyer, Preacher and Writer for the Press, showing that although the aspirations of youthful enthusiasm were not realized in the experience of life, the true scholar, who was also a true man, would find an ample reward in his devotion to truth and justice, and the harmony of his spirit with the Infinite Mind. The Poem throughout was enlivened with flashes of wit, and often sent a barbed arrow into the heart of prevailing abuses. Its allusions to several current topics of excitement were received by a large portion of the audience with marked approval, and the whole performance called forth demonstrations of enthusiastic applause, in spite of the request that no such expressions should be given. A few lines from the poem will show the style of the versification. A New-England Sleigh-Ride is the opening theme:</p>
<p> The bright full moon looks down on crispy snow;</p>
<p> Ice-loaded trees their crystal glories show:</p>
<p> The well-filled sleigh, by its ear-piercing shriek.</p>
<p> Says, “It is cold,” as plain as tongue could speak;</p>
<p> Its merry bells jingle along the road,</p>
<p> And belles as merry jingle in the load.</p>
<p> The driver’s whip with laugh and joke is cracked,</p>
<p> And like a jury is the party “packed.”</p>
<p> Song, laughter, story, and a stolen kiss,</p>
<p> With slap-responses tell the rustic bliss.</p>
<p><i>New York Daily Tribune</i>. June 28, 1853: 5 col 3.</p>
<p><i>New York Semi-Weekly Tribune</i>. July 1, 1853: 6 col 4.</p></blockquote>
Rev. John Pierpont had read the poem on an earlier occasion, part of it being transcribed in the <i>Poughkeepsie Journal.</i> December 25, 1852: 2.
<blockquote>☞ The sleighing is first-rate in this vicinity and within the limits of three or four miles around. But a few more inches of snow is wanted. What we have, however, has increased merry-making at least 100 per cent, and has afforded 2.40 nags plenty of exercise.
<p><i>Lansingburgh Democrat.</i> February 9, 1854: 2 col 5.</p></blockquote>
<b>Two-forty Pace.</b> With great speed. A 2.40 gait for a trotting-horse was, not long ago, thought to be very fast. Now a 2.15 gait would be the one demanded.
<p>Barlett, John Russell. <i>Dictionary of Americanisms: A Glossary of Words and Phrases Usually Regarded as Peculiar to the United States.</i> 4th Ed. Boston, MA: Little, Brown, & Co., 1877. 725. </p>
<blockquote>☞ Sleigh ride parties are all the go. Almost every evening a joyous load leaves town for Mechanicville, Read's Hollow, Jonesville, or some of the neighboring villages. All right. Go it while you're young! This sleighing will not alwayslast. We like winter. Show us the man who dislikes it, and we will show you a person who hates his mother, damns his father, and is crossways with all the world. What is more delightful than to engage a two-forty nag, a fancy cutter plentifully supplied with robes, and then ask Lucy Maria, the girl of your heart to accompany you. Again, we say, all right—we've been thar [sic]. What matters if the small hours of morning come creeping on, before you think of returning—you are comfortably housed, in a warm room, while the joyous notes of the piano keep time to the joyous footfalls of your companions. Sleighing is a great institution and no mistake. The girls all think so, and we vote with the girls.
<p><i>Lansingburgh Democrat</i>. January 17, 1856: 2 col 6.</p></blockquote>
<blockquote><b>The One Horse open Sleigh</b>
<p>Dashing through the snow,</p>
<p> In a one horse open sleigh</p>
<p>O'er the hills we go,</p>
<p> Laughing all the way.</p>
<p>Bells on bobtail ring,</p>
<p> Making spirits bright,</p>
<p>Oh what sport to ride and sing</p>
<p> A sleighing song tonight.</p>
<p>CHORUS.—Jingle bells, jingle bells,</p>
<p> Jingle all the way;</p>
<p> Oh! what joy it is to ride</p>
<p> In a one horse open sleigh.</p>
</br>
<p>A day or two ago</p>
<p> I thought I’d take a ride,</p>
<p>And soon Miss Fannie Bright</p>
<p> Was seated by my side.</p>
<p>The horse was lean and lank,</p>
<p> Misfortune seem’d his lot,</p>
<p>He got into a drifted bank,</p>
<p> And we ! we got up-sot.</p>
</br>
<p>A day or two ago,</p>
<p> The story I must tell,</p>
<p>I went out on the snow,</p>
<p> And on my back I fell.</p>
<p>A gent was riding by,</p>
<p> In a one horse open sleigh,</p>
<p>He laughed as there I sprawling lie,</p>
<p> But quickly drove away.</p>
</br>
<p>Now the ground is white,</p>
<p> Go it while you’re young;</p>
<p>Take the girls to-night,</p>
<p> And sing this sleighing song.</p>
<p>Just get a bob-tailed bay,</p>
<p> Two forty as his speed,</p>
<p>Hitch to an open sleigh,</p>
<p> And, crack, you’ll take the lead.</p>
<p><i>Lansingburgh Democrat</i> [NY]. December 2, 1858: 2 col 4.</p></blockquote>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-89089513770194358112016-07-27T16:26:00.002-07:002016-07-27T16:26:40.294-07:00"There was an old man of the 'burgh" (1879) Popular poetry:
<blockquote>There was an old man of the 'burgh,
<p>Who carried a nice little jurg;</p>
<p>And he sipped from it frequent,</p>
<p>Wrote things most indecent</p>
<p>'Bout the people who lived in the 'burgh.</p></blockquote>
"Village Notes." <i>Lansingburgh Courier.</i> January 24, 1879: 3 col 1.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-6266275258004587392016-07-25T07:12:00.000-07:002016-07-25T07:13:38.211-07:00"Columbia's Century" by Arthur James Weise (1876)<b> Columbia's Century.</b>
<p> BY A. J. WEISE.</p>
<p>Come countrymen congregate!</p>
<p> Contemplate, confederate,</p>
<p>Columbia's century celebrate!</p>
<p>Christian's chant, carillons chime!</p>
<p> Canticles, cannon combine,</p>
<p>Commingle, circle Columbia's clime!</p>
<br/>
<p>Come, chronicles circumspect!</p>
<p> Consider, compile, collect,</p>
<p>Columbia's civil career connect!</p>
<p>Creeds, castes, colors coälesce!</p>
<p> Compact colonies crownless,</p>
<p>Crowd Columbia's colossal congress.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Times</i>. July 3, 1876: 3 col 1.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-21662063296549628802016-07-09T12:27:00.001-07:002016-07-09T12:27:34.125-07:00Moore & Nims Cartes de Viste Albums (1862)<center><b>PHOTOGRAPH ALBUMS.</b></center>
<p> We have been, almost daily, adding to our stock of Cartes de Viste Albums, until we are now able to show the most complete assortment, selected from the best Stock of the best Manufacturers and Importers of New York and Philadelphia. Our stock comprises over sixty kinds varying in price from 40 cents to 12 dollars, holding from 8 to 100 pictures. The Binders are vieing with each other in the beauty of the designs, and sumptuousness of the binding, and are now furnishing the most beautiful Albums at much reduced prices.
<p> When the father's head is hoary,</p>
<p> And the mother's heart is cold,</p>
<p>  And their lives' benignant story</p>
<p> Is a Tale too surely told.</p>
</br>
<p> Then the aid of Art we borrow;</p>
<p> Here each honored face appears.</p>
<p> Blessing every dim to-morrow</p>
<p> As it blest our early years.</p>
<p> Gentlemen and Ladies desirous of preserving their collection of Cartes de Viste Pictures, are invited to examine our assortment of Albums.</p>
<p> my27 <b>MOORE & NIMS.</b></p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Whig</i>. July 1, 1862: 3 col 5.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-7569796403273082352016-07-09T11:39:00.003-07:002016-07-09T11:47:32.947-07:00Hall's Rensselaer Dye Works (1866)<blockquote> LADIES, ATTENTION.—
<p> Ladies attend, and up to Hall's</p>
<p> Now quickly send your Brocha Shawls,</p>
<p> For he will pledge to clean them right,</p>
<p> And will restore their colors bright.</p>
<p> Your Crepe Shawls he will also do,</p>
<p> And make them look as good as new;</p>
<p> Carpets and spreads will clean for you,</p>
<p> And warrant satisfaction, too.</p>
<p> Hall's Rensselaer Dye Works, 403 River st.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Times</i>. July 25, 1866: 3 col 2.</p></blockquote>
</br>
The oldest of the three dye-houses in the city, that of Mrs. S. W. Hall, at No. 403 River Street, was founded by Aaron Hall, in 1827.
<p>Weise, Arthur James. <i>Troy's One Hundred Years, 1789-1889.</i> Troy, NY: William H Young, 1891. 416.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-55545680007566812582015-07-24T18:07:00.002-07:002015-07-24T19:19:30.991-07:00Authors Hip"There was an old man with a beard":
<p>Not Ogden Nash'd but Edward Lear'd.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-19254713915148235372015-02-28T16:33:00.000-08:002015-07-24T19:30:06.951-07:00"T-R-R-B-D-A" (1892)<blockquote>She hunts his little primer up,
<p>And helps him every day,</p>
<p>But all the letters he has learned</p>
<p>Are T-R-R-B-D-A.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Times</i>. October 17, 1892: 2 col 4.</p></blockquote>
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<p><i>Buffalo Courier-Record</i>. November 14, 1897: 2.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-86091140972721717942015-02-21T21:09:00.002-08:002015-02-21T21:10:14.752-08:00"A Fragment" (1793)<blockquote> A FRAGMENT.
<p>BEFORE Coquettes the Fop may strut;</p>
<p>But I--not I--I'll never do't:</p>
<p>'Tis but to stand before a glass,</p>
<p>To show <i>one's self the silliest ASS!</i></p>
<p><i>American Spy</i> [Lansingburgh, NY]. October 29, 1793</p></blockquote>
More colorful language in print for the 1790s than one might have expected?Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-20511338588414209202015-02-18T20:35:00.001-08:002015-02-18T20:36:12.866-08:00"On Liberty" (1793)<blockquote>From the AMERICAN MUSEUM.
<p><i>On Liberty.</i></p>
<p>CURST be the wretch that's bought and sold,</p>
<p>And barters liberty for gold!</p>
<p>For when elections are not free,</p>
<p>In vain we boast our liberty.</p>
<p>And he who sells his single right,</p>
<p>Would sell his country, if he might.</p>
<p>When liberty is put to sale,</p>
<p>For wine, for money, or for ale,</p>
<p>The sellers must be abject slaves,</p>
<p>The buyers vile, designing knaves.</p>
<p>This maxim, in the statesman's school,</p>
<p>Is always taught, "divide and rule"--</p>
<p>All parties are to him a joke;</p>
<p>While zealots foam, he fits the yoke:</p>
<p>When men their reason once resume,</p>
<p>He in his turn begins to fume,</p>
<p>Hence, learn, Columbians, to unite:</p>
<p>Leave off the old, exploded bite.</p>
<p>Henceforth let feuds and discords cease,</p>
<p>And turn all party rage to peace.</p>
<p><i>American Spy</i> [Lansingburgh, NY]. March 22, 1793</p></blockquote>
Though about the buying of individual votes en masse, it might as well be about today's billionaires, left and right, buying elections left and right.Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-5374420136781891472015-01-29T16:36:00.002-08:002015-01-29T16:36:22.242-08:00"A Sermon on Cranks" from The Fool-Killer (1921)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKxjPNkVbst9X-Ff_eHOwRq-BjfOkBJhcLg1pGj00AeReNk5I0hfewDBC2oKFz510Eq6dBOBHCtrxfktWewqs0l5oUn8w_EX2Rx66ZKQ8oQqrr3a6iLJtfZxgfs7t2mcDhpuVgmG-Ndo/s1600/fool-killer+masthead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKxjPNkVbst9X-Ff_eHOwRq-BjfOkBJhcLg1pGj00AeReNk5I0hfewDBC2oKFz510Eq6dBOBHCtrxfktWewqs0l5oUn8w_EX2Rx66ZKQ8oQqrr3a6iLJtfZxgfs7t2mcDhpuVgmG-Ndo/s640/fool-killer+masthead.jpg" /></a></div>
<blockquote><center>A SERMON ON CRANKS.</center>
<center>—</center>
<p> Well, honey, it seems to be about time for a “Sermon on Cranks.” So I will crank up my mouth and utter a few timely remarks.</p>
<p> The world is full of cranks.</p>
<p> You are one.</p>
<p> I am another.</p>
<p> You can hardly find a man or woman living who isn’t a crank about something. If it ain’t one thing it’s sure to be something else.</p>
<p> Maybe I have some particular hobby that I ride to such an extent that others call me “cranky” about it.</p>
<p> And the people that call me cranky about one thing seem to me just as cranky about something else.</p>
<p> And so it goes.</p>
<p> But what is a crank, after all?</p>
<p> There ought to be some way of describing the critter so he could be identified.</p>
<p> Here is how I describe him:</p>
<p> A crank is anybody that rides a different hobby from the one I ride. Also anybody that opposes my hobby or talks slighty about it.</p>
<p> For instance, if I am a medical doctor, my hobby is pouring various kinds of dope into peoples bellies to cure what don’t ail them. Or it may be squirting maggot-juice under their skins to make them “immune” from maggot-bites. And anybody that comes along preaching against drug-doping and vaccination is a “crank.” See?</p>
<p> Again, if I happen to be an army officer, with a life-time’s training in the art of killing people, anybody who opposes war and militarism is a crank.</p>
<p> Or if I happen to be a reactionary politician, getting a fat salary from a reactionary government, of course any man who dares to criticise me and my kind is a crank. No matter how bad we need criticising, it mustn’t be done. Simply because the majority of people are reactionaries, and we happen to be in the majority, we take refuge behind the collective will of that majority and think ourselves immune from criticism. Hence all people who see things different from us are cranks.</p>
<p> But it never occurs to us other people have rights, and that our conduct looks just as cranky and foolish to them as theirs looks to us.</p>
<p> Jesus Christ was a crank.</p>
<p> All his followers were cranks.</p>
<p> Every man who has blazed a new trail for civilization has been a crank, and has been cussed and abused by fifty-seven varieties of other cranks.</p>
<p> A crank is only a crank so long as he is in the minority—so long as his cause is weak and unpopular. Just let his cause accumulate adherents enough to give it some show of strength and popularity, and then watch how quick he ceases to be a crank in the eyes of the world.</p>
<p> Yes, honey, I am a crank.</p>
<p> And you are, too.</p>
<p> So what’s the use to fuss about it?</p>
<p> Huh?</p>
<p><i>The Fool-Killer </i>[Boomer, NC]. December 1, 1921: 4 cols 1-2.</p></blockquote>
<p>The masthead is a version from 1910, cropped from newspapers.com.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-2376915134430509122014-12-25T18:01:00.001-08:002014-12-25T18:01:48.610-08:00"A Winter Piece" from the Woodstock Northern Memento (1805)<blockquote>[<i>The following production is copied from the </i>"Northern Memento,"<i>published at Woodstock, (Vermont) in which it is published as original. It is no ordinary specimen of blank versification; and happily combines the sublime morality of </i>Cowper<i>with the life-giving fancy of</i>Thomson.]
<p><center>A WINTER PIECE.</center></p>
<p>—</p>
<p><i>"Dread WINTER comes at last to close the scene."</i></p>
<p>—YES, Winter comes!</p>
<p>'Tis but a moment since the smiling Spring</p>
<p>On Zephyr's downy wing rejoicing came,</p>
<p>And op'd, and kiss'd the coyly-blushing rose.</p>
<p>Then Nature from her sleep awoke serene,</p>
<p>And dress'd herself anew.—At his approach,</p>
<p>Tall hills of snow ran down with gratitude;</p>
<p>The lofty mountains rais'd their melting heads,</p>
<p>And, in the face of heaven, wept for joy;</p>
<p>The little riv'lets ran to find the sea,</p>
<p>And join to swell the thankful song of praise.</p>
<p>But, ah! their joy was short! their songs have ceas'd,</p>
<p>All nature sleeps again:—dread Winter's here.</p>
<p>The Lapland Giant comes with pendant ice,</p>
<p>Chill horror shooting from his gelid chin;</p>
<p>Nor lakes, nor seas, can stop his rough career:—</p>
<p>He builds his bridge across old ocean's breast.</p>
<p>Affrighted, Sol retires with hasty strides,</p>
<p>And dares not but obliquely downward look,</p>
<p>On his once conquer'd, now his conquering foe.</p>
<p>The earth is all in weeds of mourning clad,</p>
<p>To wail the loss of her departed friend;</p>
<p>Th' unconquer'd evergreen is left alone,</p>
<p>And nods defiance to the northern blasts.</p>
<p> This mirror paints the fate of changing man.</p>
<p>This moment youth, with all its op'ning charms,</p>
<p>In playful mood, sits laughing in his face:</p>
<p>His swelling heart now beats with sanguine hope</p>
<p>Of satisfying bliss, and full blown joy:</p>
<p>He hugs himself in this fantastic dream,</p>
<p>And thinks that nought can blast the vernal flow'r,</p>
<p>But, while anticipation gilds the wing of hope,</p>
<p>The frigid hand of Time with furrows deep,</p>
<p>His forehead ploughs; and blights the pleasing view.</p>
<p>"Then let fair virtue's seed in youth be sown;</p>
<p>"'Twill prove an evergreen in hoary age</p>
<p>"And flourish in the Winter of our years:—</p>
<p>"'Twill waft us to the realms of peace and love,</p>
<p>"To taste th' ecstatic bliss of saints on high;</p>
<p>"There happiness will spring without alloy,</p>
<p>"And seraphs chaunt their neverending strains."</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget.</i> December 31, 1805: 4 col 1.</p></blockquote>
I'd helped deliver Revolutionary War veteran <a href="http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=100936002">Abial Bugbee</a>'s new granite veteran's marker from Lansingburgh to Pomfret, Vermont earlier this year, which took us through Woodstock, a nice-looking place.
<p>The poem was reprinted a couple times without attribution to the short-lived <i>Northern Memento</i> (it lasted from May 1805 to February 1806 <a href="http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84023397/">http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84023397/</a> ).
<p><i>The Spirit of the Public Journals; Or, Beauties of the American Newspapers For 1805.</i> Baltimore, MD: Geo. Dobbin & Murphy, 1806. 298-299. <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=1foqAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298">https://books.google.com/books?id=1foqAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298</a></p>
<p><i>The Churchman's Magazine</i> 4(1). January 1807. 35-36. <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=TFMQAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA35">https://books.google.com/books?id=TFMQAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA35</a></p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-80105839202096661262014-12-25T17:34:00.000-08:002014-12-25T17:34:37.246-08:00"On the Nativity of Christ" (1815) [1734]<blockquote>ON THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST.
<p>What sounds harmonious strike the ears!</p>
<p>See! darkness flies, the light appears,</p>
<p>The sun a purer beam displays,</p>
<p>And shines with more distinguish'd rays.</p>
<br/>
<p>Ev'n nature's self with cheerful grace,</p>
<p>In triumph shews her radiant face. </p>
<p>Odours diffuse, ye spicy beds;</p>
<p>Cedars, bow down your awful heads.</p>
<br/>
<p>Soft streams, your joys in murmurs tell;</p>
<p>And boisterous waves, exulting swell.</p>
<p>Messiah comes ——in homage now,</p>
<p>Let universal nature bow.</p>
<br/>
<p><i>Glory to God</i>, who reigns above,</p>
<p>Fountain of universal love.</p>
<p><i>Good-will to men</i> that dwell below, ⎫</p>
<p>Let peace on earth eternal flow; ⎬</p>
<p>Thus heavenly breasta in friendship glow. ⎭</p>
<br/>
<p>Let men redeem'd their joys resound,</p>
<p>And angels pleas'd return the sound</p>
<p>Since wildly through th' abandon'd skies,</p>
<p>Th' arch rebel in confusion flies,</p>
<p>And a new heaven and earth take place,</p>
<p>Which <i>Adam's</i> sons restor'd shall grace.</p>
<p><i>Northern Budget</i> December 26, 1815: 4 col 1.</p></blockquote>
The poem isn't original to Troy, and is much older than 1815 - apparently tastes had remained fairly stable?
<br/>
<p><i>The London Magazine</i> December 1734. 660-661.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-38461703286274198022014-12-25T16:54:00.001-08:002014-12-25T17:03:24.284-08:00"Snow" (1824)<blockquote> In looking over our old files, we accidentally came across the following <i>Impromptu</i>; & having nothing in particular, to fill our poet's corner we thought it would not come a miss to republish it. We apprehend the Farmer<, Merchant, Tavern-keeper, and "folks in every rank and station," are ready to exclaim with the poet—"why the d—l don't it SNOW."
<p><center><i>SNOW.</i></center></p>
<p><center>AN IMPROMPTU.</center></p>
<p>This is <i>January twenty,</i></p>
<p>When we should have sleighing plenty;</p>
<p>I am tired, altogether,</p>
<p>Of such sour, unpleasant weather;</p>
<p>Easy 'tis to <i>rein</i> and <i>blow—</i></p>
<p>Why is it so hard to <i>snow?</i></p>
<br/>
<p>See the <i>Farmer</i>, wet and weary,</p>
<p>Stalking o'er the plains so dreary;</p>
<p>Oft he upwards turns his <i>peepers</i>,</p>
<p>Blinking like a chimney sweeper's;</p>
<p>Oft he cries, enrag'd with woe,</p>
<p>"Why d—l don't it <i>snow?</i>"</p>
<br/>
<p>See the <i>Merchant</i>, sorry fellow,</p>
<p>With a face as pale as tallow—</p>
<p>Sick with grief, and quite bed ridden—</p>
<p>All because there is no <i>sleddin!</i></p>
<p>Hear him cry, in accents slow,</p>
<p>O! ye gods! why don't it <i>snow?"</i></p>
<br/>
<p>See the chop fall'd <i>Tavern keeper</i>,</p>
<p>Voluntarily a <i>sweeper?</i></p>
<p>See his bar room, once so cheery,</p>
<p>Now forsake, cold and dreary?</p>
<p>Hear him cry, with spirits low,</p>
<p>"Curse the luck! why don't it <i>snow?</i></p>
<br/>
<p>Hear the sage <i>Prognosticator,</i></p>
<p>Blame these slipp'ry tricks of nature;</p>
<p>She so oft his judgment <i>bothers</i>,</p>
<p>That he knows no more than <i>others;</i></p>
<p>Hear him road, with wrinkled brow,</p>
<p>"Curse my stars! why don't it <i>snow?</i></p>
<br/>
<p>Folks in every rank and station,</p>
<p>Join in fretful exclamation—</p>
<p>Tailors, tinkers, parsons, pedlars,</p>
<p>Sawyers, teamsters, smiths and fiddlers,</p>
<p>Rich and poor, or high and low,</p>
<p>Hope and swear—for want of <i>snow</i></p>
<br/>
<p>For myself—though press'd with sorrow,</p>
<p>Still in hopes 'twill snow to morrow,</p>
<p>To be patient I endeavor;</p>
<p>Faith! such times can't last forever;</p>
<p>Hear the stormy south east blow—</p>
<p>May it waft us hills of <i>snow</i>.</p>
<br/>
<p>O! ye gods, who rule the weather!</p>
<p>Neptune—Jove—or both together—</p>
<p>Lend, for once, an ear propitious,</p>
<p>Hear our prayers and grand our wishes:</p>
<p>Down your <i>frosty blessings</i> throw—</p>
<p>Cover—smother us—in <i>snow.</i></p>
<p><i>Northern Budget</i>. February 17 1824: 4 col 1.</p></blockquote>
December 25, 2014 in the Capital District area was a snowless one, and the first few hours of sun after what's seemed like a few weeks of overcast days.
<p>There's an earlier appearance of "Snow" in <i>The Port Folio</i> but it credits the <i>Northern Budget</i> so it's possible that paper's reference to its "old files" is a reference to a prior publication by them, not of poems they may have clipped and kept from others or that they may have been sent by readers.</p>
<br/>
<p><i>The Port Folio</i> 3(12). March 21, 1807. 185-186. <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=UIo4AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA185">https://books.google.com/books?id=UIo4AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA185</a></p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-81896346628544828462014-12-13T18:43:00.000-08:002014-12-13T20:08:46.070-08:00"A Christmas Ride" by Mrs. Le Grand Benedict (1870)<blockquote><b>A Christmas Ride.</b>
<p>BY MRS. LE GRAND BENEDICT.</p>
<p>Oh, children, I've something to tell you</p>
<p> About what has happened to me,</p>
<p>And I wish it had only been managed</p>
<p> That you had been with me to see.</p>
<br/>
<p>It was just on the night before Christmas,</p>
<p> The streets were all carpeted white,</p>
<p>The man in the moon sat there laughing,</p>
<p> And hurridly shaking down light.</p>
<br/>
<p>Our stockings were hung in the chimney,</p>
<p> So white and so pretty and neat,</p>
<p>One big one, one smaller, one wee one,</p>
<p> All lank from the tops to the feet.</p>
<br/>
<p>And mamma had pleasantly told us</p>
<p> To hurry ourselves into bed,</p>
<p>But that she must sit up until midnight</p>
<p> To hear what old Santa Claus said.</p>
<br/>
<p>'Twas a very long while after this time,</p>
<p> While Johnny and Lou were asleep,</p>
<p>I was sure that I heard a strange talking,</p>
<p> And I went to the doorway to peep.</p>
<br/>
<p>And whom should I see but St. Santa,</p>
<p> A-laughing and muttering low,</p>
<p>And I knew by the lumps in the stockings,</p>
<p> That he was just ready to go.</p>
<br/>
<p>So I crept soft and still close beside him,</p>
<p> "Well, well, well, little one," so he said,</p>
<p>"Come, I think that you'll have to go with me,</p>
<p> Or you'll tell all my secrets in bed."</p>
<br/>
<p>Oh, wasn't I terribly frightened</p>
<p> When he put his strong arm round my waist,</p>
<p>And bounded up the dark, sooty chimney</p>
<p> With me folded close to his breast!</p>
<br/>
<p>And there on the roof were the reindeer</p>
<p> And the sleigh about which I'd been told;</p>
<p>Down he sat me in that, in my night gown,</p>
<p> And I never once thought of the cold.</p>
<br/>
<p>The cushions were snow and the lap-robes,</p>
<p> Though as warm as an eider-down quilt,</p>
<p>And the sleigh and the reins and the trappings,</p>
<p> Were a-blaze with bright scarlet and gilt.</p>
<br/>
<p>The little sleigh-bells commenced tinkling</p>
<p> When merry old Santa sat down;</p>
<p>He laughed at and petted and cheered me</p>
<p> While we drove on our trip about town.</p>
<br/>
<p>And when to the edge of the house-top</p>
<p> We came along frightfully near,</p>
<p>Old Santa chirped up to the reindeer,</p>
<p> And said I had nothing to fear;</p>
<br/>
<p>The fleet-footed, dear little creatures</p>
<p> Gave a toss to their heads and a jump,</p>
<p>And down we came safely and soundly</p>
<p> On the opposite side, with a bump.</p>
<br/>
<p>Old Santa had oceans of business</p>
<p> To tend to between this and light,</p>
<p>And mountains of toys to distribute</p>
<p> To many good children that night.</p>
<br/>
<p>And when he went down in the chimneys,</p>
<p> He carried me with him to see,</p>
<p>And once he went in a church window</p>
<p> And trimmed up a green Christmas tree.</p>
<br/>
<p>And all of the while on our journey</p>
<p> The angels sang time and again,</p>
<p>"Give glory to God up in Heaven,</p>
<p> On earth peace and good will unto men."</p>
<br/>
<p>And once in a while poor old Santa</p>
<p> Would wipe a great tear from his eye;</p>
<p>And I said, "Why, I think it is funny</p>
<p> That Santa Claus ever should cry!"</p>
<br/>
<p>He answered, "My dear little daughter,</p>
<p> There are many good children who live</p>
<p>To whom,—why, you'll understand later,—</p>
<p> I am never permitted to give.</p>
<br/>
<p>Do you think you can spare, on to-morrow,</p>
<p> A book, or a sweetmeat, or toy,</p>
<p>From out of your large stock of treasures,</p>
<p> To give some poor little one joy?"</p>
<br/>
<p>Sometimes we would come to a house-roof</p>
<p> Where a wind from the fireplace would cry,</p>
<p>"Bad boys, naughty girls; do not come here!"</p>
<p> And Santa would heave a deep sigh.</p>
<br/>
<p>And when all the cows, and the horses,</p>
<p> And trumpets, and dollies, and skates,</p>
<p>Were safe in the stockings of Jimmies,</p>
<p> And Lizzies, and Tommis, and Kates,</p>
<br/>
<p>The man in the moon looked quite sleepy,</p>
<p> And so did the stars in the sky,</p>
<p>And so did the reindeer and Santa,</p>
<p> And really, I think, so did I.</p>
<br/>
<p>The next thing I knew it was daylight,</p>
<p> And Johnny and baby were round;</p>
<p>They yelled in my ears "Merry Christmas</p>
<p> See what in our stockings we've found!"</p>
<br/>
<p>Every word I have said is true gospel,</p>
<p> Though papa and mamma <i>do</i> smile,</p>
<p>They say that they think I've been dreaming,</p>
<p> But I know more than that all the while.</p>
<p><i>Troy Times</i>. January 1, 1870: 4.</p></blockquote>
<p>The author of the poem might have been Emma Frances Gardner, born in Troy, who married Le Grand Benedict in 1863. They lived in Lansingburgh and later moved to Brooklyn.</p>
<p>One of several different origin stories for the dish Eggs Benedict involves Mr. and Mrs. Le Grand Benedict:</p>
<blockquote>"To the Editor: I am writing to correct the statement by Edward P. Montgomery concerning the origin of Eggs Benedict, as reported recently by Craig Claiborne. The true story, well known to the relations of Mrs. LeGrand Benedict, of whom I am one, is as follows. Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, when they lived in New York around the turn of the century, lunched every Saturday at Delmonico's. One day Mrs. Benedict said to the maitre d'hotel, 'Haven't you anything new or different to suggest?' On his reply that he would like to hear something new from her, she suggested poached eggs on toasted English muffins with a thin slice of ham, hollandaise sauce and a truffle on top. This recipe has gone around the world. Commodore E. C. Benedict, who was given the credit, was a cousin and undoubtedly enjoyed these eggs, but it would have been unlike him to have called them his inventions. The name is occasionally given, erroneously, as 'Eggs Benedictine.'--Mabel C. Butler, Vineyard Haven, Mass."
<p>---Letters to the Editor, New York Times, November 26, 1967 (p. SM 40)</p>
<p><a href="http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodeggs.html">http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodeggs.html</a></p></blockquote>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-13195853963101401042014-12-06T20:51:00.000-08:002014-12-06T20:53:24.325-08:00authorship of "A Visit from St. Nicholas"<p> The contention was raised this Yuletide that a Major <a href="http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=6075669">Henry Livingston</a>, not <a href="http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=6102755">Clement Clarke Moore</a>, wrote "A Visit from St. Nicholas." And on what evidence? On the fact that the late Mr. Livingston once used the very same meter in these lines left by him:</p>
<p> <i>To my dear Brother Beekman I sit down to write,</p>
<p> Ten minutes past eight, and a very cold night.</i></p>
<p><center>* * *</center></p>
<p> Nonsense! The real author of the verse was a man named Elmer Twitchell 1st, a famous fighter in the Indian wars. This is proved conclusively by these lines found in an old powder horn:</p>
<p><i>To my darling Aunt Minnie who keeps a stuffed parrot;</p>
<p>It's quarter of seven, with rats in my garret.</i></p>
<p>Phillips, H. I. "The Sun Dial." <i>The Sun</i> [NY]. December 28, 1944: 13 col 2.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-44391824690997174022014-12-06T18:54:00.000-08:002014-12-06T18:54:00.150-08:00"While Bethlehem Slept" by Frances V. Hubbard (1918)<b>While Bethlehem Slept.</b>
<p>BY FRANCES V. HUBBARD.</p>
<p>The city slept, some saw the star</p>
<p> That led the Wise Men on their way,</p>
<p>Nor yet the wondrous light that shone</p>
<p> On Bethlehem's plain, more bright than day.</p>
<br/>
<p>None heard the angel's voice that spoke—</p>
<p> Not one in Bethlehem's ancient town—</p>
<p>Nor saw the white-robed shining host</p>
<p> From heaven to earth come floating down.</p>
<p>Yet, none the less, the star, the voice,</p>
<p> Were there, upon that Christmas morn,</p>
<p>And clear rang thro' the chilly air</p>
<p> The song, "The Prince of Peace is born."</p>
<br/>
<p>To-day we hear no voice, no star</p>
<p> Shines thro' the gloom, we hear no song,</p>
<p>The tumult and the strife of war</p>
<p> Call me to arms in deadly throng.</p>
<br/>
<p>Yet, as of old, beyond our sight,</p>
<p> Perchance more near than we can dream,</p>
<p>The Star, that star, is shining bright</p>
<p> And o'er the earth in peace may beam.</p>
<br/>
<p>Again, thrilling the world with joy,</p>
<p> The angel song may ring some morn,</p>
<p>With meaning glad for all mankind,</p>
<p> "Rejoice forever! Peace is born!"</p>
<p><i>Troy Times</i>. January 9, 1918: 15 col 1.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-42425470704518796082014-12-06T18:44:00.000-08:002014-12-06T18:44:12.019-08:00"The God-Led Magi" by Rev. Joseph C. Booth (1925)<b>The God-Led Magi.</b>
<p>BY (REV.) JOSEPH C. BOOTH.</p>
<p>The God-led Magi came from far,</p>
<p>Attracted by the signal star,</p>
<p> That woke the slumbering earth;</p>
<p>When Christ, the Son of God, was born,</p>
<p>On that auspicious Christmas morn,</p>
<p> When Angels sang His birth!</p>
<br/>
<p>Now, when they reached Jerusalem</p>
<p>King Herod was alarmed by them</p>
<p> And troubled in his mind;</p>
<p>Directing them to march with vim,</p>
<p>To bring the tiding back to him,</p>
<p> If they the Child should find.</p>
<br/>
<p>Behold! the star is shining still</p>
<p>And hovering over Bethlehem's hill,</p>
<p> Whose light their spirits stir;</p>
<p>There, there they find the Promised King.</p>
<p>To Him their grateful offerings bring:</p>
<p> Gold, frankincense and myrrh!</p>
<br/>
<p>Being warned of God, the Scriptures say:</p>
<p>The Wise Men went another way,</p>
<p> Back to their native clime;</p>
<p>Ignoring Herod's vain command,</p>
<p>Because they found, as God had planned,</p>
<p> The King of Kings sublime!</p>
<p> Branden, Vt.</p>
<p><i>Troy Times.</i> December 26, 1925: 16 col 6.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-53058907233660193492014-12-06T18:37:00.001-08:002014-12-06T18:37:48.745-08:00"Christmas Comfort" by Annie S. Wallis (1925)<b>Christmas Comfort.</b>
<p>Luke II, 11.</p>
<p>BY ANNIE S. WALLIS.</p>
<p>Unto us a Savior born,</p>
<p> Unto us the Friend Divine;</p>
<p>He that loved us, He that bore</p>
<p> All the grief of yours and mine;</p>
<p>Holy Love to dry each tear,</p>
<p> Keep us safe, 'mid shadows dim;</p>
<p>Merry Christmas! Glad New Year!</p>
<p> "More than conquerors through Him!"</p>
<p><i>Troy Times</i>. December 26, 1925: 16 col 6.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-6716231315875583502014-12-06T18:02:00.001-08:002014-12-06T18:02:33.787-08:00"An Old Newspaper" by William Lyle (1886)<b>AN OLD NEWSPAPER.</b>
<p>BY WILLIAM LYLE.</p>
<p>Yes, there it lies, faded, crisp and yellow,</p>
<p> And what a world of wondrous things it tells.</p>
<p>It is well the editor, poor fellow,</p>
<p> Is far beyond the reach of chestnut bells,</p>
<p>The jokes were fewer then, and not so bold,</p>
<p>But, to my thinking, they were quite as old.</p>
<br/>
<p>Births, deaths and marriages, half a column—</p>
<p> Some neatly terse, and some elaborate,</p>
<p>Ah! the shortest might have filled a volume,</p>
<p> Had it set forth the freaks men have with fate.</p>
<p>Poor, frail humanity, so far away,</p>
<p>Is just like poor humanity to-day.</p>
<br/>
<p>Let's see the other page—is it better?</p>
<p> Alas! why should it—'tis the same old world.</p>
<p>Here's the very crank who writes a letter</p>
<p> To prove that time is just about unfurled.</p>
<p>And here's the idiot who thinks he knows</p>
<p>Much better than the paper "how things goes."</p>
<br/>
<p>There are many ads., all quaintly written,</p>
<p> But then they tell their plain, unvarnished tales,</p>
<p>And here were some ventures, where some were bitten,</p>
<p> And some to riches sailed with spreading sails.</p>
<p>While here and there an item pokes its head,</p>
<p>With the rank fumes of politics o'erspread.</p>
<br/>
<p>Now turn once more, that's the poets' corner—</p>
<p> What, there were no poets in those old days—</p>
<p>Men were wiser then—go to, thou scorner!</p>
<p> Time never saw a year without their lays,</p>
<p>And never will, while this old earth's afloat,</p>
<p>Despite what saucy Stedman ever wrote.</p>
<br/>
<p>Just here we may do some moralizing:</p>
<p> Poor old sheet, where are all the moving heads</p>
<p>That framed your squibs and blest your advertising,</p>
<p> And spaced you out so nice with double leads?</p>
<p>They ache no more—they've passed across the tide,</p>
<p>Peace be their portion on the other side.</p>
<br/>
<p>My saffron friend, I own to your failings,</p>
<p> But you had virtues I would not ignore—</p>
<p>You printed no portraits, all your ailings</p>
<p> May be condoned upon that worthy score.</p>
<p>Of course, you can't expect to vie in dress</p>
<p>With this here dandy of the modern press.</p>
<br/>
<p>You had no phones, and you had no cable,</p>
<p> To tell you things that never come to pass;</p>
<p>You had no telegraph near your table,</p>
<p> Yet after all you were not quite an ass.</p>
<p>You worked great wonders with the tools you had,</p>
<p>And need not blush, my lemon-visaged lad.</p>
<br/>
<p>Now I shall bid farewell, just like others,</p>
<p> I must make up with new things as they come.</p>
<p>Still I shall regard you all as brothers,</p>
<p> Although, of course, you have been long from home.</p>
<p>Among such company you may seem rude,</p>
<p>But, never mind, they shall not call you dude.</p>
<br/>
<p>Well, yes, they're beauties, sure ink and paper</p>
<p> Well, yes, they're beauties, sure ink and paper</p>
<p> Can never go beyond this perfect line.</p>
<p>With due allowance for pride and caper,</p>
<p> You'll own yourself that they are very fine.</p>
<p>I lay you part, just now, my friend, but when</p>
<p>I would compare, I'll bring you out again.</p>
<p><i>Weekly Detroit Free Press</i>. October 2, 1886: 1 col 6.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-33073431660684362522014-12-06T17:30:00.002-08:002014-12-06T17:30:42.501-08:00"A Christmas Poem" by Dr. B. F. Leggett (1890)<b>A Christmas Poem</b>
<p>BY DR. B. F. LEGGETT.</p>
<p>Many and many a year ago,</p>
<p> In the land beyond the sea,</p>
<p>The shepherds hailed the wondrous star</p>
<p> That arose for you and me.</p>
<br/>
<p>Endless the light of its kindled flame</p>
<p> As it shone in beauty there.</p>
<p>And fair was the light that drifted down</p>
<p> To earth from the startled air.</p>
<br/>
<p>Rising, they wondered, and lo! a song</p>
<p> Came down from the skies afar,</p>
<p>And sages came from the morning land,</p>
<p> Led on by the gleaming star.</p>
<br/>
<p>Ringing to-day is the chorus still—</p>
<p> The beautiful song we know,</p>
<p>The "Peace on earth and good will to men,"</p>
<p> That came from the long ago.</p>
<br/>
<p>Yearning and weary, they waited long</p>
<p> Till banners of strife were furled—</p>
<p>Till the darkness waned and morning came</p>
<p> With sunrise-hope for the world.</p>
<br/>
<p>Cheering the earth with a strain sublime,</p>
<p> On hovering wings they came,</p>
<p>And the waiting world was glad to hear</p>
<p> The sound of the wondrous name!</p>
<br/>
<p>Heavy and sad had the nations bowed</p>
<p> While waiting the years to bring</p>
<p>The Hope of the world foretold so long—</p>
<p> Messiah, the royal King!</p>
<br/>
<p>Rising, they went where the bright star led,</p>
<p> With a glory as of morn,</p>
<p>Till it stood above the far white walls</p>
<p> Where the infant Christ was born.</p>
<br/>
<p>Into the streets of the dreaming town</p>
<p> The kings and the sages filed,</p>
<p>With treasures of frankincense and gold</p>
<p> For the manger-cradled child.</p>
<br/>
<p>Slowly they tuned from the lowly stall</p>
<p> Where the babe in beauty lay,</p>
<p>But the angel strain rings on and on</p>
<p> In the Christmas song to-day,</p>
<br/>
<p>Telling of peace by the couch of pain—</p>
<p> Or of a love that lingers here,</p>
<p>Eternal hope of a breaking dawn</p>
<p> That filleth the world with cheer.</p>
<br/>
<p>Mellow and sweet as the angels' song</p>
<p> On the star-lit hills of old.</p>
<p>The hope that sings in the loyal heart</p>
<p> By faith in the long foretold.</p>
<br/>
<p>Alas for us, if our love shall fail,</p>
<p> Or the wondrous star grow dim,</p>
<p>If one can grow dull and hear no more</p>
<p> The strains of the angels' hymn!</p>
<br/>
<p>Sweetly, O song of the eastern hills,</p>
<p> Ring on through the world for aye,</p>
<p>Till peace on earth and good will shall reign</p>
<p> For an endless Christmas day!</p>
<p> WARD, Penn.</p>
<p><i>Troy Weekly Times</i>. December 25, 1890: 6 col 1.</p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-2382206078121126312014-12-06T17:16:00.001-08:002014-12-06T17:16:33.289-08:00"The Star of Bethlehem" by Myra Maude Hayden (1889)<b>The Star of Bethlehem</b>
<p>BY MYRA MAUDE HAYDEN</p>
<p>Across the Arabian desert the wind blew keen and strong.</p>
<p>Smiting the lonely palm trees into a strange, sweet song;</p>
<p>Scooping sand from the level, rolling billows of sand,</p>
<p>Thundering down the distance a volley of music grand.</p>
<br/>
<p>The wind blew keen in the faces of three camels, strong and white,</p>
<p>Moving like vapor shadows through the opalescent light—</p>
<p>And the wise men had grown weary with watching for the star—</p>
<p>Three kings—Melchoir and Gaspar and the Egyptian Balthasar.</p>
<br/>
<p>Into the West they journeyed: the palm trees sang no more:</p>
<p>The space grew long between them and the sand sea's barren shore.</p>
<p>The eyes of the watchers, moving soft as shadows fly,</p>
<p>Were fixed in steadfast longing on the dark'ning, desert sky.</p>
<br/>
<p>A desolate, wind-swept silence came down on the frosty plain,</p>
<p>By earthly sounds unbroken, save the shake of a bridle chain.</p>
<p>As the sacred Syrian camels with quick trot forward swung,</p>
<p>Over the river Jordan the moon like a gold globe hung.</p>
<br/>
<p>From the farthest reach of vision, from the outer edge of space,</p>
<p>Stars jeweled the heaven, tinting the night's glad face.</p>
<p>The weary wise men watching, marked with no surprise</p>
<p>A lambent flame like glory afar in the east arise.</p>
<br/>
<p>With thrilling souls and breathless, they saw the shimmering flood</p>
<p>Narrow, contract and lessen—with awe it stirred their blood,</p>
<p>And with trumped voice they shouted and the cry rang clear and far.</p>
<p>"We thank the God of our fathers! the Star of our faith, the Star!"</p>
<br/>
<p>Thro' the streets of the Holy City gladly the wise men came,</p>
<p>The starlight's frosty glitter grew warm by the brazier's flame,</p>
<p>Where, at the gate of the palace, spikenard and aloes burned.</p>
<p>Cleaving the smoke of the incense, into the court of Herod they turned.</p>
<br/>
<p>There the wise men halted at the mouth of frescoed room</p>
<p>Where jeweled disk and column shot into the deep rich gloom</p>
<p>Of the outer court or chamber a shower of colors rare.</p>
<p>A guard to the radiance pointing, said: "Enter, The king is there."</p>
<br/>
<p>A censer of gold exhaling rare perfumes of sandalwood</p>
<p>Swung from a chain of crystal, a mellow moon-like flood;</p>
<p>Of wondrous light down streaming in an eddying, golden ring</p>
<p>Fell on the face of Herod, on the face of Herod the King.</p>
<br/>
<p>Into this ruin and riot of color which warmed the king's slow blood</p>
<p>Entered the wise men slowly, each in a thoughtful mood.</p>
<p>"Who are you, sirs? Whence came you?" haughtily Herod asked.</p>
<p>And with many questions he straightway the wise men tasked.</p>
<br/>
<p>"We give thee peace, O Herod. We are couriers of glad news.</p>
<p>In the land of Judea is born the Christ, King of the Jews.</p>
<p>And king of the world, O Ruler—" Ashen the face of Herod the Great.</p>
<p>While deep in their hoary sockets glowed his eyes with a terrible hate.</p>
<br/>
<p>Then, as a cloud's deep shadow rolls over a rugged plain,</p>
<p>Letting the sun of summer in splendor fall again,</p>
<p>So the cloud of his anger rolled from Herod the King,</p>
<p>On his face the light down streaming fell in a golden ring.</p>
<br/>
<p>Forth at his eager summons attendants quickly sped,</p>
<p>From a splendid inner chamber rich stuffs o gold and red,</p>
<p>And royal, pulsing purple, jewels and perfumes sweet</p>
<p>With lowly, glad obeisance they laid at the wise men's feet.</p>
<br/>
<p>"Take these gifts of purple, and these robes lined warm and deep,</p>
<p>Go, follow the morning star—loiter not, nor sleep;</p>
<p>Search for the child and find him, then tidings quickly bring,</p>
<p>That I may go and worship this Christ, Judea's King."</p>
<br/>
<p>Forth from the royal chamber gladly the wise men came,</p>
<p>Joy in their hearts upspringing at sight of the moving flame,</p>
<p>Straight thro' the gate of Joppa they followed, paused and turned—</p>
<p>Over the manger lowly the Star of Redemption burned.</p>
<br/>
<p>With prayer and glad ovations they worshipped the new-born child,</p>
<p>While God from his heavenly distance looked down on them and smiled.</p>
<p>And being warned in a vision, the tidings they should not bring,</p>
<p>They came no more to the city in the days of Herod the King.</p>
<p><i>Troy Weekly Times</i>. December 25, 1889: 3 col 6.Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4361942401607589854.post-4960757783883436992014-12-06T15:49:00.003-08:002014-12-06T15:49:41.989-08:00"December 26, 1862" by Castella Esperanza Eddy Sherwin (1891)<blockquote><b>December 26, 1862.</b>
<p>BY MRS. W. F. SHERWIN.</p>
<p>"Her sun went down while yet 't was day,"</p>
<p>And shadows fell across her way.</p>
<p>Her timid heart beat wild with fears,</p>
<p>Her dark blue eyes were filled with tears,</p>
<p>Her long brown hair was damp with dew,</p>
<p>Her feet were bruised with many a stone,</p>
<p>For she had wandered far from home.</p>
<p>It was so dark for her to roam</p>
<p>"The valley of death"—my child alone.</p>
<p>Then a "still small voice" to her did say:</p>
<p>"O weary child thou canst not see,</p>
<p>But 'my rod and staff shall comfort thee.'"</p>
<p>Her path grows light—from miles afar</p>
<p>Shines forth the blessed Christmas star;</p>
<p>While distant bells their sweet chimes ring,</p>
<p>She hears the herald angels sing,</p>
<p>"Peace on earth, good will toward men."</p>
<p>And then her path grows strangely bright—</p>
<p>For her the day has dawned; no night</p>
<p>Of pain, nor sorrow evermore;</p>
<p>Her feet have reached the blessed shore.</p>
<p>A boatman pale with muffled oars</p>
<p>Stands ready with his boat to sail afar</p>
<p>And guide her safely to "the gates ajar."</p>
<p>The ministering angels meet her there,</p>
<p>And for His courts her soul prepare.</p>
<p>Her feet they dress in pink and white,</p>
<p>To match her robes of heavenly light.</p>
<p>Flowers they give her—roses rare,</p>
<p>And on her head of dark brown hair</p>
<p>They place the Christmas star;</p>
<p>For all who enter in at Christmas-tide</p>
<p>Must wear the emblems of the King,</p>
<p>Whose birth to-might the herald angels sing.</p>
<p>Upon her breast the angels place,</p>
<p>In gems of fadeless lilies, the child-Christ's face.</p>
<p>Her form they veil in airy white,</p>
<p>And then, amid translucent light,</p>
<p>The pearly gates are opened wide.</p>
<p>My child, whom I called dead, did rise</p>
<p>A soul redeemed from Paradise.</p>
<p>Beyond the gates the palace stands,</p>
<p>Built strong and stately, without hands.</p>
<p>The regal splendor of this mansion fair</p>
<p>Is only known to those who dwell within—</p>
<p>"The Prince of Peace" and those redeemed from sin.</p>
<p>Archangels led my child up to the throne,</p>
<p>And Christ, her Saviour, said in mildest tone:</p>
<p>"No more art thou a child of earth.</p>
<p>Thy soul redeemed hath found its birth</p>
<p>In the eternal sunshine of my smile.</p>
<p>Thou art a princess child to those who wait below awhile;</p>
<p>Thou hast my star upon thy forehead fair,</p>
<p>And on thy breast, in lilies, rests my child-face there.</p>
<p>Upon thy finger now I place my signet ring;</p>
<p>Forever more thou art a daughter of the King."
<p> ELMIRA, N. Y., Dec. 26, 1890.</p>
<p><i>Troy Daily Times</i>. January 3, 1891: 5 col 4.</blockquote>
<p>Florence Eddy Sherwin died December 26, 1862 in Elmira, NY at the age of one year and two months. She's buried in Waterford Rural Cemetery, though her twin sister who also died in infancy might be buried elsewhere. Information per the listing for Eddy, Florence [sic] at the Saratoga NYGenWeb at <a href="http://www.saratoganygenweb.com/WATE.htm">http://www.saratoganygenweb.com/WATE.htm</a> . The poem, as it appeared in the newspaper, seems to have the title "December 26, 1882," but is somewhat unclear .</p>
<p>Castella Esperanza Eddy Sherwin was a daughter of Isaac Eddy (1777-1847), a prominent citizen of Waterford and father of a number of notable inventors including George Washington Eddy, the founder of the Eddy Valve Company. His home has a RiverSpark historical marker in front of it: <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oe4yQKNMIDT3wIAK64doG5wtPrbMYQBu7J6GBeB0rUlXetApL8zo6PcbnV3-xGo3S1ttitJwvAz8PNgAoqSMmQwSs7itVufAv0vzoj1-L7-LJDONZk40HUzH9P1ohwfde87fpj2OyUTj/s640/blogger-image--1401715076.jpg">https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oe4yQKNMIDT3wIAK64doG5wtPrbMYQBu7J6GBeB0rUlXetApL8zo6PcbnV3-xGo3S1ttitJwvAz8PNgAoqSMmQwSs7itVufAv0vzoj1-L7-LJDONZk40HUzH9P1ohwfde87fpj2OyUTj/s640/blogger-image--1401715076.jpg</a></p>Toffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08364412551838971575noreply@blogger.com0