Life — July 28, 1904 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ODE TO OUR COUNTRY. (Written intermittently on July 4.) My country! In the solemn hush (Pop! Pop! Poppety-ba Of dawn, when from the East there rush (Bing! Bang! BANC The wide fung heralds of the morn (Wish! Bippety! Bop!) Proclaiming that (BANG! LOOM When all the world is gray and still (Clankety-clank-clank! Bow And silence broods upon the bill, (Crash! Mang-bang-bang!) ‘Tis then in solemn grandeur roll (Ss-s:5-5-5:5:8-8-8-5:8- BOOM!) Deep thoughts of thee across my soul! ‘ow-wow My country! Ah, that lips could frame (Whack! Bang! Boom!) ‘The song that rises with thy na (Reeerrrrrrerack-whizz- BL When in the lulling, restful noon (Pop! “Look out!” “Ouch!") My feeble lyre 1 would attune (Wow! WOW! Whoop!) To some impressive melody (Swish-sh-sht Ka-zim-m-m-m!) To symbolize my love for thee! (Oom-pah, oom-pah, OOM!) ‘Oh, land of mine, where all are blest (Blimmety! Rang! Boom!) With all security and rest! My country! When at crooning eve (Yi-yit Rang! Pop-pop pop!) The slowly cree (Clang! Clang! Clang-ang-ang!) The swathing fabric of the night (S--5--5-6-5.6:9-5--s-blip! “Ahhh!” Mlumined with pearly gems of light, (Crete ROOM!) ‘Tis then my heart is moved to pay (Fler! Fler! Fl ng shadows weave ‘This homage to thy natal day. (Baloom! Baling! Ba-l Oh, land of honey and of w (BANG! BOOM! CRASH! WHOOP!) What wondrous, soothing peace is thine! IW. D.N., in Chicago Tribune. “WHAT LOVELY FIREWORKS | SEE!" OUR NEW HISTORICAL NOVEL. Fok THE HONOR OF THE CZAR. CHAPTER 1 The city of Kinchow nestles snugly in a secluded valz between two tall, towering hills, one on either side. ~ This lengthy explanation is necessary in order that the reader may clearly comprehend the thrilling events that are to follow. On a sultry June morning two horsemen left the age and cantered northward. Their steeds, loth in behind, also ran. One of the riders, a of majestic stature, would have attracted atten: tion anywhere, even in Chicago. His high brow and massive features lent an air of dignity to his bronzed face, and he would surely have passed for a of rank had he not paused at frequent intervals wipe his nose on his saddle horn. His comrade, ier youth of perhaps seventeen, rode like a cer taur, his clear-cut features and the haughty curt of his lip revealing plainly his high social status. Ivan,” said the elder, “we have many a leagse before us.”” “Aye,” was the thoughtful reply, “and I am to that in America are also rzany leagues—the Natioeal the American, the Epworth and sundry bush orgs: zations. The old scout, dreamily trimming his nails wit his sabre, made no further comment, and they rode oo in silence. It was intensely hot. The arid Korean plains lay gasping before them, and the distant hills were a most hidden from sight by the wavering waves of torrid ozone that waved before their tired eyes Nat a breath of air came to them, and the tall palms thx loomed on the horizon like spectral sentrics were a jonless as the tongue of Parker. Ivan," finally remarked the veteran, “thou hast: fine steed.” “She is that,” was the young lieutenant’s answer “Two years ago I backed her in the Derby at Moy cow. She was in the winter books at 100 to 1. Tht night—the night after the Derby—I walked home!” The pair passed a camp of Cossacks, who ver chanting one of the war songs that had resounded some years before, through the dreary stretches of the Balkans: “Merrily we hike along, hike along, hike alorg, Merrily we hike along, On the dread retreat! Good-by, foemen, Good-by, foemen, Good-by, foemen, You'll never catch us now!” “How inspiring!” muttered Vladimir, the old trooper. “Who was it that said, ‘I care not makes a nation’s laws if I can make’ its songs: “I don’t know for sure,” replied Ivan; “I thi it was a fellow at Kisheney named Harri Again the veteran glanced at the noble mare bs companion was riding. “A splendid steed,’” he declared. Yes," said Ivan, “I think the world of Ann.” “How old is she?” queried Viadimir.—Milwestee Sentinel, Live. is for sale by all Newsdealers in Great Britain, The International Company, Bream’s Building, Chancery anc, London, E. C., England, Ac Make as many comparisons as} Bring along any, rejudices you may have had in| favor of foreign brews and see if| Evans’ Ale will not convince you that in brewing, as in other arts, America leads the world. It’s easy to apply the test. Any Dealer, Anywhere, Any Place, Established 1860 Esterbrook’s Stee! Pens WHISKEY That’s All! Sold Everywhere The Best Pens Mads comicbooks.com