By the way, in this connection He’s now visiting this section,— He finds the matter clear— And without aid or suggestion He has come to view the question As one of atmosphere. [Illustration] [Illustration] EDITORIAL FRENZIED POLITICS. There are thousands of men in politics who are the very salt of the earth. Indeed, the majority are honest and true. But it is rapidly becoming fashionable for clans of bold, political schemers to put their heads together and capture the floating vote and thus defeat the will of the people; and to such these lines are dedicated. Modern machine politics is the most subtle and exquisite art that ever crushed a hope or shattered a dream. It is the beautiful art of chloroforming public confidence and stealing the reins of power from the hands of the sleeping sovereigns. It is the mysterious art of political hoodoo, which works shady miracles in every theater of government, from the county courthouse to the national capitol. The jugglers of this art slip into conventions, caucuses and legislative halls, and whisper a magic word, and lo! in the twinkling of an eye, majorities are changed to minorities, and minorities to majorities; oft expressed opinions and deep rooted convictions upon vital principles and policies of government are reversed in an hour, and the enchanted floating solons, forgetting old hickory shirt and copperas breeches at home, forgetting the men with cheeks of tan who walk in the furrow, forgetting the sturdy toilers at the anvil, the workbench and the drill, losing sight of the confiding multitudes who but yesterday twined the laurel wreath of honor about their brows,—fall down upon their faces before the golden Combine, in that sacred temple of free government which is dedicated to righteousness and the liberty of the people, crying with a loud voice both night and day, “Great is Diana of the Ephesians!” That whispered word, so full of the music and the dream, is “Pie.” O, wondrous word of marvelous power! O, sweet and juicy symbol of perfect happiness. O, ravishing synonym of golden eagles and the goddess of liberty! In it are reflected the bewildering glories of a thousand heavens of pure delight; golden slippers and laurel wreaths to burn; heaving seas of “sour mash” whose amber surfs forever break on fragrant shores of mint; sweet journeys on Pullman palaces of rosewood and mahogany to the land of the orange and the palm. In it are the stolen fires of the stars, flashing in diamond shirt studs, and the crimson glow of sunset skies imprisoned in rubies set in gold on lily white hands that will toil again never more. In it are visions of mansions in spreading groves where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. Is it any wonder,