"My opponents are running on various platforms," said the ambitious candidate, "but none of them promise you full relief from the evils that beset you. None of them reach down into your hearts and search out your wants and comprehend the good measures that will bring relief." And he paused for a moment, in order that the full import of his language might sink deep into the hearts of the mighty throng before him. "I favor," he continued, extending his right arm toward heaven in an impressive gesture: "I favor pensions for all the republicans, offices for all the democrats, free passes on the railroads for all the niggers, the whole earth for the socialists and the five oceans of water for the prohibitionists!" And then the delighted crowd went wild with applause. The Meal Ticket Man. (Suggested by John Golobie's recent article, "The Apotheosis of the Meal Ticket Man") Away with the heroes that litter the past! Tear the crown from the brow of each unworthy pate! We have come to the truth and its virtues at last, And our heroes are modern and quite up to date! Neither warrior nor prelate is praiseworthy now; Neither saint nor philosopher cumbers our plan; Let us gather the laurels and twine o'er the brow In a crown of delight for the Meal-Ticket Man! Just search through the musty old mists of the years, For the men who have lifted the world to the stars! You will find it was never the sages or seers Who have healed human hearts from their terrible scars; They were those who from one vagrant week to the next In the garret or cellar lived life's little span, And whatever their thought or where ever their text, All the glory belongs to the Meal-Ticket Man. What matter though seedy his hat and his coat. That his pantaloons bagged and were ragged and frayed? Still the world by its modern, unanimous vote Says it danced to the tune that his chin-music played! At the touch of his hand, at the thrill of his thought, It leaped on the paths where the greater truths ran, And though in the ways that were humble he wrought Yet it crowns him at last--the great Meal-Ticket Man! Then hail to this hero of shadow and shine! Never doubt he's as great as the greatest in worth, And his greatness surpasses the greatness divine Of the sword and the miter that saddened the earth! From the poverty-ways where his fellows hard toil All the blessings arise that our sorrows shall ban; He's a hero, indeed! He's the king of the soil! Then a song and a crown for the Meal-Ticket Man! Our Joe's at Home Agin. Yaas, our Joe he run fer office: Said he'd try his hand a bit; Thet the kentry needed savin' An' he'd tinker some at it; But the 'lection now is over, An' our Joe he didn't win; But we're glad,--me an' his mother,-- 'Cause our Joe is home agin!