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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, November 23, 1914, LAST EDITION, Image 25',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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many children as I have money to
purchase things for."
"But your friends," I cried. "Don't
you realize you will be in the same
position you were last year when you
gave trifling gifts to some and re
ceived expensive ones in return?
Don't you realize that your pride will
feel hurt and you will wish a thous
and times that you hadn't done
"Do I?" she laughed again. "No,
my dear, I will not wish anything of
the kind. I intend to tell all of my
friends of my plan so they will know
what it is and so perhaps they may do
"But won't I be happy on Christ
mas night? I don't care what I re
ceive in the barter of gifts from
friend to friend because I will be
thinking of a lot of little kiddies that
just gave me the joy of their happy
faces and to whom I gave back their
tottering faith in Santa Claus. And
that is going to be the best exchange
I ever made on Christmas!"
GIRLS PUNISH MASHER
A masher was mashed last night.
One alleged flirt appeared in court
today minus a few teeth, but with
a highly colored eye and a "tin" ear.
Joseph Shukis was out for a good
time and in seeking a girl to ac
company him ran into a bunch of
phone girls near the main office of
the company. -
They "had been bothered with a
masher for weeks. He would wait
for them at a point within a block
of the telephone oflices, and, they
claim, would spring out from his hid
ing place and try to kiss them.
When Joe struck the bunch of op
erators last nignt tney were prepared
for him. Jennie Dworsky, 1500 S.
Turner av., led three girls in the at
tack, assisted by firemen from en
gine company No. 40.
When a cop helped Joe to the sta
tion he was given medical attention
pud locked up.
By Charles Clarke
Come, ye men of royal blood,
The banquet now is spread;
Come, feed your vicious eyes upon
Thy victims lying dead.
There flows a crimson river
Through yonder little wood;
I dipped my finger into it,
Oh, king! 'Twas human blood.
On the plains lie thousands dead,
And thousands underneath,
And thousands lie beyond the hill
Within the vulture's reach.
King! The harvest fields are wet,
Deluged with human gore.
Democracy, all bruised and spent,
Shall threaten thee no more.
King! No more shall plebian scorn
The royal attitude;
Or frighten thy majestic ear
With agitations rude.
King! Oh, why that frighted look?
Thy face with pallor set?
What see'st thou, denied to me?
Why is thy brow so wet?
Above the battle's clamor,
Above the roar of guns,
I can hear the voice of Freedom
Now calling to her sons.
With bloodstained banners waving
With spirits never furled,
Against entrenched traditions,
Plebian ranks are hurled.
Though murdered by the thousands,
They charge upon the run,
And give their lives to live their lives,
No sacrifice they shun.
Behind the hot-mouthed cannon,
A vision I can see,
A mighty nation springs to life
Whose king is Liberty.
o o .
Petrio Donapo, 819 S. State, found
dead in hasement, Consumption.