“Chappie” in his exalted position sees in every unprotected woman (and he’ll make sure she’s unprotected) a victim upon whom to exercise his wiles, and if, God help her! through weakness, love of dress, finery, or pleasure, she allows herself to be led to lean upon his honor, she’ll fall! For “Chappie’s” honor exists only as aristocracy in America, that being a sham and a fraud, as is Chappie’s honor. This outgrowth of accumulated wealth, this polluting toad in the pure water of public life, never has and never will, nor can he, give one atom of return to the Republic for the honor of living in it. He whose life is spent in idleness, debauchery, and sensuality regards his valet, coachman, cook, clerk, tailor, hatter, merchant, banker, as his social inferior. And he is always attached, like a barnacle, to the good Republican Ship built by Abraham Lincoln. Is it a wonder that the people said, in November last: “We’ll burn the ship rather than endure such barnacles?” This thing, so amusingly written of by that most excellent comic paper, _Life_, so ridiculed by _Puck_ and _Judge_, held up for derision by the whole newspaper fraternity, is responsible for the loss of thousands of votes to the Republican party. Indignant wives, sisters, and daughters have returned with flaming cheeks to humble yet honest homes, and told the story of the insults offered them on the streets of this and other good cities in the Union by “Chappie” and those creatures of his kind; and in their telling of the story have made more votes, more Common People’s votes, than have been made by all the newspapers ever printed in the interests of the Democratic party. Each tear that was shed upon the bosom of the poor man by an honest working daughter became a nail in the coffin of the Republican party. Justly or unjustly, such is the case. The Grand Old Party had descended, in the People’s opinion, to the level of enduring representation of it by such as “Chappie.” “How have the mighty fallen!” “Chappie,” with his vacant semblance of a head, with his trousers carefully rolled up, with his insidious smile, insinuating manner, his suggestive gestures, and ogling glances, has proven himself a valuable assistant to Mr. Harrity, Chairman of the Democratic National Committee. Steadily he has increased the waters of wrath in the reservoir of the poor man’s heart, until, bursting all barriers, it swept away “Chappie,” his “smart set,” and all, November 8, 1892.