'"'I"J"IPIPJW vj'yj'jt'jL'Jm,"1"'" t . DECEMBE& 17, 1909 ' The Commoner. 13 mmmmammmam'mmimmmmmm. r u Y ) -J ommoaorif "wV l A H, THE LOOKOUT MAN Just six years ago the "Lookout Man" appeared originally in The Commoner. Regularly every year thereafter, at about this season letters begin arriving, asking that it be re-printed. Therefore hi response to numerous requests received during tho past two or three weeks, it is again published, with tho very best wishes of tho author for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all tho boys and girls, everywhere. Now listen, little children, and I'll tell a story true And better you remember, for It means a lot to you And all who act up naughty, and don't mind their ma's and pa's You'll get a lot of presents, and a lot of Christmas cheer. ' Tho Lookout Man is walking when the stars begin to peep To see if little children are in bed and fast asleep; And all who act up naughty, and don't mind their ma's and pa's, The Lookout Man is watching and he'll tell old Santa Claus. I knew a' little fellow once who got real bad, and said He didn't care for Santa Clans, and wouldn't go to bed; And said lie didn't have to mind O, he was awful bad And didn't care tho leastest mite in making folks feel sad. But when it came to Christmas, he didn't get a thing, For Santa Claus had heard of him, and not a thing he'd bring, He knew that bad boy's record better mind your ma's and pa's; The Lookout Man is watching, and ho'll tell old Santa Claus. I also knew a little girl who was just awful bad. She wouldn't learn her lessons, and she always got so mad If anybody told her to be still and hush her noise Well, she was always wishing for a lot of Christmas toys, But when 'twas Christmas morning, to her wonder and surprise An empty stocking hanging in the corner met her eyes. You see, she acted naughty better mind your ma's and pa's; Tha Lookout Man is watching, and he'll tell old Santa Claus. The Lookout Man is peeping through the windows every night, And counting up the children who are always acting right And going off to bed at once when told it's time to go, And never pouting, not a bit, or taking clothes off slow. "He puts them in the good book, but the bad ones in the bad And when he writes a bad one, 0, he looks just awful sad. For he knows they will get nothing better mind your pa's and ma's; The Lookout .Man Is watching, and he'll tell old Santa Claus. - your lips began to chap and burn, and In futile efforts to cool thorn you used to run your tongue out and around, moistening your llpa ns beat you could. Then tho chilly wind that would blow that moisturo through the skin, and In a day or two your face would bo sore just as far around as your tongue could reach. Geo, hOW it USed tO hurt! nnmnmhnr you'd just mako up your mind that yuu just wouldn't lick your llpa again, and then you'd walk around until your faco ached and your tongue got unrulyand biff! Tho first thing you know you'd bo licking your soro lips and making them sorer than over. Wo cheerfully admit that tho fur nace and tho hard coal baso humor add a whole lot to modern comfort, but after all thev hav thnir ,ii.n, backs. For Instance, von nirnr. vnrv well pop corn in either a furnaco or a oaso burner. It took thoso old fashioned stoves in which wo used to burn a two-foot length of hickory wood for that sort of thing. When tho wood had burned down to glow ing coals we'd open tho front door, rake the coals down In front and proceed to pop corn. When wo got rich we are going to have one of thoso old-fashioned stoves put up in our very own room, with a lot of two foot seasoned hickory in tho base ment, and every now and then wo are going to start a flro in that stove, get a good bed of coals, and then pop a dishpan full of corn, just as a reminder of the old days. Of course we'll eat the popcorn, not as a re minder of old days, but because wo are awfully fond of popcorn. then? And that was ono of tho times for tho Architect. If I had J. P. Morgan's wealth I d chaao out with a whoop; Round up all hungry I could find And nil 'em full of soup. And roast hoof, and ronnf tnriu and cranberry auco, and innMhod po tatoes Hincarcd with gravy, arid broad and butter and coffoo. But tho hour grows late, tho fur nace needs attention, and thoro l a days work to bo dono tomorrow. So tho Architect ia going to dlsmluB thoughts of other days, and If ho don't get to thinking too hard about tho days to como ho'll hlko Into bed and go to sleep. .J A WINTER NIGHT'S THOUGHTS Coming home from work this even ing I saw a big automobile, carrying six or seven passengers, skidding around on the snow. I never owned an automobile, and I never had tho pleasure of scooting around in one when the roads were covered with snow. It may be lots of fun, but I'm here to assert that auto'mobiling in the snow, no matter what com pany you are In, isn't in it for a min ute with the old-fashioned bob-sled rides we used to take, years before the automobile was invented. There was fun for you! Just as soon as there was a' good snowfall the word would be passed around that the "gang" would meet at Frank's, or May's, or Fred's, promptly at 7:30 p. m., Friday even ing. We selected Friday evening be cause there would be no school next day. And then two or three of us would skirmish around and get the old bob-sled. Remember how we used to put a wagonbox on the bobs, fill the box full of fragrant hay and warm robes, and then attach tho best team of horses we could scare up? "When all was ready we'd draw cuts to see who would have to make a sacrifice and drive one way, with some other victim to drive back. Then we'd drive up to the meeting place and the whole bunch would Pile in, nestling down into the hay and covering over with tho warm tobea. Then away we'd go, the huge strings of sleighbells making the air ring with their music, while we added to the music of our fresh young voices. Gee, how we used to sing! Lot's see there, was "Steambot Coming Around the Bend; Goodby, my Lover, Goodby;" and "Gwine ter git a Home in Georgie;" and "Hear Dem Bells;" and "Jingle Bells;" and "Gwine Back tsr Dixie;" and and , 0, we can't recall them all now, but we used to sing them. And the merry jests, and the quips and jokes! Me, 0 my! Remember how She snuggled up close? And how fearful we were lest Her hands grew cold! And how solicitious we were that Her nubia, or muffler, or whatever you may call it, was prop erly found around Her neck! Huh! We'll bet a cookie that the people who jimmy around In automo biles this kind of sleighing weather don't begin to have thd fun we used to have in the old bob-sled. And we didn't leave a trail of foul-smelling gasoline behind us, either. The only trail we left was a trail of music, and good cheer, and youthful exuberance. If I just oodles had of gold, Like Andy or John D., . In ev'ry homo where there's a child I'd plant a Christmas tree. 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Along .about tho first cold snap Twenty-four years ago, como Christmas eve, the Architect de barked from a passenger train at Council Grove, Kansas. Thero waB no heat around that portion of tho train 'on which tho Architect rode; neither did tho conductor appear there for which the Architect was truly thankful. I've wondered many a time during the last few years how tho boys manage it in these days when tho railroad companies no long er build platforms on their baggage- onra AnvVinw wo rlnhnrlrnrl nf. f!miri- rIl ("JrnvG. atennlncr off Into snow that I seemed waist-deep, and finding a raw frontier town that was as unhome like as a town could be. Incident ally it might be remarked that tho Architect debarked at that particular town for the simple reason he either had to or freeze; besides ho was awfully hungry. It was long after the supper hour, and the Architect's assets consisted wholly of liabilities. As he chased up the street ho won dered If it were possible that tho print shop would be open at that late hour on that particular night. It was a mighty gloomy Christmas eve, If anybody should ask you. Finally tho Architect arrived at a hotel, and while he was hesitating a man came out, and spying the shivering printer man exclaimed: "Hello, Billy! When did you hit town?" Thank goodness, it was an old printer pal who had worked with the Architect back in Missouri two or threo years before. He was foreman of the newspaper shop in Council Grove. And instantly tho Christmas lights grew brighter to tho Architect; the Christmas stars twinkled more merrily, and there was more of the spirit of goodwill rampaging round that locality than tho Architect had seen or felt for a long time. Say, isn't it a bully good thing to run across a real friend now and JIGENT8 UAltN 176 to S2M a month Millar Hovety Knives. 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