He grabs the pipe he laid away
There in the attic high,
An' jumps aroun' jes' lively! Say,
My Pa is orful spry!
He dumps the soot upon the stairs,
An' gits blacked like a cove,
An' what he talks ain't sayin' prayers
When Pa puts up the stove!
He cuts his fingers some, an' grows
All black an' white in turn,
An' that bald place his old head knows
Gits red ernough to burn;
An' when we laugh, he snaps his eyes
No matter where we rove,—
An' say! Ma gits so mad she cries
When Pa puts up the stove!
An' Ma she jaws erround an says
He hain't no sense, an' we
Hide out behind the barn a-ways
To miss the jamboree.
I tell ye, fellers, they're a sight!
No picnic ever throve
Such as we have of love an' light
When Pa puts up the stove!
His Platform.
"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.