Baltimore Evening Sun (7 September 1912): 6.

Beware of country firemen pretending to be drunk! Burns can simulate a souse to perfection!

Don’t give your name to alleged street car conductors! Burns and the United Railways work hand in hand!

The City Council next! Come, thump the drum!
The clowns make ready for the grand ong-tray!
Into the ring they’ll prance and bounce eftsoon,
To entertain the vulgar with their tricks:
To drench each other with their seltzer squirts,
And bang the bladder on the onyx conch
And bruise the slapstick on the pantaloon.
What waggish ginks! What blithesome sganarelles!
What merry andrews, humorous damphools!
Go to the Empire and you see not such,
Nor at the Gayety, that fane of joy;
Barnum and Bailey were but amachoors;
Old Adam Forepaugh never gave no show
With half the laughs in it that this one has.
The time to see them is when jobs are loose
And each great statesman tries his best to hog
As many as he can, and then some more;
When for each job ten heelers stand and wait,
And all set up a piteous yammering
And grit their teeth and beat their breasts and bawl,
And point to what they done on primary day:
How this one brought the palsied to the polls,
And that one chased the niggeroes away,
And tother one drank forty shells of beer,
Thus to promote a sweet gemuethlichkeit.
’Tis then, dear heart, that every jobhound sweats,
And jumps through hoops and wishes he were dead,
And does a psychic hoochie-coochie dance;
’Tis then he plots his fellow jobhounds’ fall,
Wielding the knife, the razor and the file,
Greasing the runways, strewing broken glass,
Making dark plans for fatal ambuscades,
Howling the while like forty thousand cats,
Or twenty thousand bilious catamounts,
Or thirty leopards seized with serious cramps,
Or ten rhinoceroses with shattered shins,
Or the blood-sweating behemoth of Holy Writ!
These, dearie, are the wops who run our town,
These are the gents who spend our hard-earned cash,
These are the ones we hire to think for us!

Dan Loden ain’t hardly knowed at all in Munich, so they say, but here in Baltimore most everybody has heard of him.--Adv.

The Hon. Charles J. Ogle, secretary of the Maryland Tax Reform Association, still seems infatuated with his fallacious argument that the rising popularity of the Single Tax is a proof of its merit. Thus he clinched it in yesterday’s Letter Column:

The general use of coal may be said to be an argument for its desirability as a fuel.

Well, let’s admit it. But doesn’t this same argument prove the merit of the present system of taxation, which is certainly in far more general use than the Single Tax?

As a matter of fact, such proofs are not worth a hoot. The general opinion of mankind is of no value whatever. Sometimes it is right and sometimes it is wrong. It is right, for example, when it holds that the blood circulates, but it’s wrong when it holds that Friday is an unlucky day. But in every such case its rightness or wrongness is largely a matter of accident. Humanity, as a whole, is not logical. Its so-called thinking is almost entirely a matter of emotion.

The actual reasoning of the world is done by a small number of men, perhaps less than 1 per cent. I do not mean here only the stupendous reasoning, the extraordinary and revolutionary reasoning, but merely the workaday reasoning. These men are fitted for the work, first by nature, and then by training. The rest of humanity approaches nearest to sagacity when it follows them docilely.

First canto of an ode to the Hon. Frank Kelly, agent-general for jobs in the Tenderloin, by the Hon. Alexander Geddes, poet laureate:

Who is Johnny Kelly, or Frank, as many say,
When he is seen amongst the boys down town most any day?
It isn’t only Democrats, for Republicans like him, too,
And Frank’s made his reputation in always acting true.

Frank is a politician, yes, but that don’t question why
A fellow can’t be human when he hears his brother’s cry:
A many a fellow’s missed the bars, some had their homes for sale,
And Frank has held the mortgage and ofttimes gone their bail.

Frank is a politician, yes, but that don’t question why A fellow can’t be human when he hears his brother’s cry: A many a fellow’s missed the bars, some had their homes for sale, And Frank has held the mortgage and ofttimes gone their bail.

Taking alarm at the eleventh hour, Young Anderson has rushed off to Canada to train hard for his coming bout with Kid Price. He will remain in the woods until a week before the meeting, when he will proceed to Salisbury and put on the finishing touches within a few miles of the ringside. Meanwhile, the Kid is making excellent progress at Young Bellais’. Local sports who have gone down to Marley crick to look at him say that he has a fine color and is as strong as a locomotive.. Already the managers of the bout are having trouble with ticket speculators, who are offering ringside seats in the downtown kaifs at $5, or two for $9. Strong efforts are being made to break up this graft.

Boil your drinking water! But don’t talk about it if you want a city job!

Dan Loden has got so many uncles that four of them we Republicans and one of them once voted for Debs.--Adv.

Standing of the clubs in the National Typhoid League for week ended August 10:

Going down! And may there be no moaning of the bar! And may there be no sadness of farewell!