Baltimore Evening Sun (28 November 1911): 6.

Only 1,267 days more! But time enough to lay on all of those special assessments!

From a short story in the current issue of Everybody’s Magazine (page 711):

Mandy’s folks come by in the wagon,” apologized the old woman lamely, “an’ I calc’lated the sight of the crowd wouldn’t do me no harm, an’—”

Can it be that a certain eminent amateur pedagogue of our city has taken to literachoor?

In the Letter Column today you will find a suave and well-written letter from the Hon. M. P. MacDonagh, in which he denounces me politely for attempting, in this place last Thursday, an American translation of the Hon. James H. Preston’s excellent state paper upon the subject of School No. 100. The argument of the Hon. Mr. McDonagh, briefly put, is that I insulted certain of the people of West Baltimore—of whom, by the way, I have the honor to be one—by assuming that they could not understand the original English text. My answer to this is twofold, viz:

1. To those West Baltimoreans who could, in point of fact, understand the original text, no insult was offered, for the simple reason that my translation was not addressed to them.
2. To those West Baltimoreans who could not, in point of fact, understand the original text, no insult was offered, for the assumption I made concerning them was only the assumption of an admitted fact.

As for the Hon. Mr. McDonagh’s casuistic effort to prove that I called the West Baltimoreans “sycophants and asses,” I protest against it most violently and offer the text of my discourse in evidence. Those lovely words, as Mr. McDonagh will discover, were not applied to the West Baltimoreans at all, but to certain—observe: not all—members of the Hon. Mr. Preston’s immediate entourage. If Mr. McDonagh doubts that this was fair criticism, I shall I be glad to argue the point with him, but I cannot face without yelling that distortion of my plain meaning visible in the last sentence of his letter.

Finally, I deny absolutely that the article in question was an attack, veiled or unveiled, upon the Hon. James H. Preston. On the contrary, it was a defense of the Hon. Mr. Preston, as Mr. MacDonagh will quickly observe on reading it again. It was, indeed, one of the most eloquent defenses of the Hon. Mr. Preston ever penned by mortal man, and if the City Council does not pass resolutions thanking me for it I shall be painfully surprised. If it erred at all, it was on the side of over-praise. And for that possible error I apologize.

Let the Hon. Mr. McDonagh abate his rage. He is entirely in the wrong. If, perchance, he still thinks that he is not, then I offer him arbitration and nominate the Hon. Daniel J. Loden, J., as arbitrator.

From the Factory Site Commission’s formal proposal that new factories be brought here by bribery:

Our people may smile at the thought of such methods.

And not only smile! Some, indeed, may go to the length of emitting audible guffaws.

A paragraph of praise for whoever designed the new building at 314 North Charles street. In a street filled with houses of abominable ugliness the facade of this one immediately arrests the eye. It has color, it has character, it has distinction—and buildings of distinction are almost as rare in Baltimore as Prominent Baltimoreans of sense.

The American language, so loose, so liquid, so lovely:

Take the next car, lady; there ain’t hardly nobody on it.

The betting odds in the downtown kaifs, as my dipsomaniac spies report them:

4 to 1 that nothing more won’t never be heerd about them presentments. 10 to 1 that the new charter of them bughouse boomers won’t never be introduced in no legislature.

From anemocracy, and the puerile piffle of political fliskmahaigos, and transcendentalism in morals—kind fates deliver us!

Boil your drinking water! Watch the Orioles grab the pennant in the National Typhoid League! Look out for the tax collector!

More tips for the Maryland Anti-Vivisection Society:

Prof. Dr. Paul Ehrlich has just admitted under oath that sulphuric acid is an extremely dangerous remedy for dandruff. At 3.35 o’clock yesterday afternoon the howling of the paupers being forcibly bathed at Bayview could be heard at Seven Foot Knoll. In every fatal case the cause of death is falsely given, in the death certificate, as delirium tremens.

From a letter of protest from the Hon. Henry A. McMains, corresponding secretary of the Maryland branch of the estimable League for Medical Freedom:

Some of our most valuable members are also members of the Allopathy school.

If the Hon. Mr. McMains thinks that this fact is important and desires to give it wide publicity, I shall be glad to print a complete list of such members of the Maryland branch. I shall also be glad, if properly informed, to print after each name the name of the college from which its bearer holds his M. D. degree and a list of his contributions to medical science. I shall also be glad to print any complimentary remarks that the Hon. Mr. McMains chooses to add, without editing or comment. Certainly, amiability could no further go.

A million dollars cash for the name and address of any psychotherapist who can excise a corn without the use of a razor.

From a circular lately issued by the Merchants and Manufacturers’ Association:

The M. and M. Association is doing more for the upbuilding of Baltimore than any other organization.

Particularly in the pleasant field of burying Prominent Baltimoreans.

The one unpardonable fault of the Hon. the super-Mahon, as a Democrat, is that he is really a democrat.

$45,000 for Dukeland, but not a darn cent for typhoid!

The Hon. W. W. Davis is once more telling us how awful it would be if the present Baltimore, or mortuary Sabbath, were abandoned for something more humane. Perhaps the Hon. Mr. Davis will descend to specifications. Perhaps he will tell us by just what process, mental or moral, the performance of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony at the Lyric, on a Sunday afternoon, would disgrace and degrade the folks who paid a quarter apiece to hear it.

The new dictionary of follies and delusions:

Boggsesis—The delusion that one figure is as good as another. Boomerania—The fear of facts.