Baltimore Evening Sun (13 September 1912): 6.

Portrait of a Baltimorean who held, until 4.29 P. M. of July 2, 1912, that the Hon. Woodrow Wilson, of New Jersey, was a marplot, a fraud and a rascal, and has since held that he is a patriot, an archangel and the greatest living genius save One:

{illustration}

From the immoral Sunpaper of yesterday morning:

Councilman Tolson, who has been classed among the insurgents in the First Branch, is expected to be regular from now on.

O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! * * * O Absalom, my son, my son!

Protest from the Hon. Fred Wright, chief opponent of the sewer rental plan:

Why should I be taxed $15 a year for one toilet in my little home, occupied only by my family of five, while Big Business pays only $8 a year for one toilet in his downtown sweatshop, occupied by 50 or more employees?

An impressive point, but, like others made by Mr. Wright, it quickly goes to pieces on inspection. Unless I err vastly and incredibly, the sewer rental enabling act provides that the maximum rental for one toilet in a two-story house shall be $6 a year, and for one toilet in a three-story house $10 a year. To reach a rental of $15 a year one must have a house of “four stories or more,” and it must be “21 feet wide or more.” If Mr. Wright lives in such a palace, how can he have the courage to call it a “little home?” Certainly, he must be spoofing. Such grand castles are not for Little Fellows. And the barons of Big Business who occupy them are surely able to pay $15 a year.

As for the apparent lowness of the tax on sweatshops, let Mr. Wright be at peace: the Health Department will see to it that sufficient toilets are provided. If anyone lives in the sweatshop, as is usually the case, it falls under Article III, Section 127, of the City Code of 1906, which provides that toilets “shall not be less in number than 1 to every 20 occupants.” And if not, then the Health Department, under its general powers, has sufficient authority to enforce a reasonable decency. If it orders two toilets, the tax rises to $12, and if it orders three the tax goes to $16, and so on.

The activities of handbooks taking bets on the Havre de Grace horse-breeding experiments threw The Evening Sun computing room into such a fever yesterday that I was made to say:

During the last year of Warden Horn’s administration, in 1887-8, it was as 12=5 to 100. But during the first year of 1888-9 it dropped to 4 in 100, etc., etc.

What I really wrote was the following:

During the last year of Warden Horn’s administration, in 1887-8, it was as 12.5 is to 100. But during the first year of Warden Weyler’s administration, in I888-9, it dropped to 4 in 100, etc., etc.

I accuse no one. I revile no one. The breed of horses must be improved. The deacons of Havre de Grace need the learned equiologtists’ board.

Standing of the clubs in the National Typhoid League for the week ended August 17:

Philadelphia and Pittsburgh do not report. Both clubs, perhaps, have given up the race.

Beware of county cops who offer to show you where to get a drink on Sunday! Burns is not above it!

Steer clear of fortune-tellers, astrologers, theosophists and psycho-therapists! Burns has all of that New Thought bunk at his fingers’ ends!

The Hon. William H. Anderson in the current issue of American Issue, Maryland Edition:

A man who recently subscribed $50 to the [Anti-Saloon] League stated that * * * he was waited on by a committee of retail liquor dealers and told that if his attitude was not changed (he was in a business patronized by liquor dealers) he need not expect any more patronage. * * * Another man who contributed $25 stated that he had lost nearly $l,000 in clear profit last year because somebody prominently connected with his concern was prominently identified with the Anti-Saloon League.

Interesting stuff, but its publication, I fear, will not help to raise money. That virtue which can resist the dollar is adamantine, indeed, not to say miraculous. Consider, for example, the present attitude of the pious deacons of Havre de Grace. Gambling is a red, red sin--but whisper it softly! Don’t drive the gamblers away! Their money is good money! Wait until they have paid their board bills and departed. Then it will be time enough to bawl them out and weep over their crimes.

The Hon. Mr. Anderson, I venture to opine, will do well to keep off the subject. Once his followers begin to believe that the pursuit of the campaign is costing them a lot of money, they will lose nine-tenths of their frenzy. Piety is often a thrifty jade. Havre de Grace, I daresay, is as virtuous a town as any other in Christendom. Its moralists are famous far and near. And yet--and yet--the money of gamblers and blacklegs is good money! * * * So is that of saloon-keepers.

Where, oh, where, oh, where are they at, to wit:

The Greater Baltimore Committee
The Maryland Ant-vivisection Society
The League for Medical Freedom, Maryland branch?

Boil your drinking water! Cover your garbage can! Beware of Burns!

Archaolatry, or, the worship of the Constitution.

Say what you will against the super-Mahon, he ain’t no Single Taxer. Oh, by no means!

The Health Department has changed statisticians, but the old statistics remain.