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Newspaper Page Text
LICK THE PARTY BOSSES!
Any workingman who voted for Harrison because he was a
Democrat can figure it out for himself now just how well it paid
him to have a party ring hVhis nose.
Through Harrisbn, Andy Lawrence has controlled the police
force, and through Hoffman he has controlled the sheriff's office;
and all the power of both offices has been used to crush unionism and
make Labor-crushing Lawrence the real boss of Chicago.
Now Boss Lawrence wants the people to elect Maclay Hoyne
so that he can run the state's attorney's office, too.
If Rinaker is elected, it" merely transfers the shoe to the other
foot, for then Boss Lawson can run the state's attorney's office; and
;the publishers' trust will be in control no matter which of the old
party candidates wins.
Every Democrat who has bowed his neck. while Boss Lawrence
put the Hearst collai on, ought to get a good licking next Tuesday.
When it comes to political leaders we'd rather follow Jane
Addams into the Bull Moose column than trail along with Boss
Lawrencejox.Boss Lawson. . - ,
f ' THE MAGIC MELODY '
' , ' ' By Berton Braley. ; .'; ',
The-song'of the housefly is not to be heard,
Tne.song of the skeeter is still, -
And there's scarcely a cheep from the throat of a bird
As the nights grow more gloomy and chill;
But still there is melody pleasant to hear
"When the air of the fall has. a frostier tang,
A sound full of comfort and warmth and of cheer
The song of the steampipes that rattle and bang.
It means that the janitor's started his fire;
No longer we shiver with cold, .
No longer we burn with our rage and our ire, V
No longer we clamor and scold.
The bone-piercing chill of an unheated place
Has changed to a generous comfort and bliss, -And
this is what stimulates joy in each face -
The song of the steampipes that sputter and hiss.
In a recent local election a cer
tain tradesman,- enthusiastic on
behalf of one of the candidates,
got his notesmixed.
"I amjl am, lam' he kept on
repeating, to fill up a painful mo
ment of personal embarrassment.
"Never mind the 'am, guv'nor,"
fchouted somebody from the back;
"we're waiting for the tongue."