The Sunday Oregonian., July 19, 1908, Magazine Section, Page 2, Image 46

THE SUXDAY OREGOJiTAJT, PORTLAND, JULY 19, 1908.
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BT ALBERT EDWARD ULLMAS.
THE campaign of William How
ard Taft for the Presidency will
be made from the Bltting-room
and the front porch of a house on
old-fashioned Pike-street, in Cincin
nati. And no matter who is National
chairman, no matter who is Eastern
or Western manager, the real man
ager of the campaign will be the
same man who has engineered things
from the very beginning, the owner
of this house and brother of the can
didate Charles P. Taft.
It was Charles P. Taft who first
announced the candidacy of William
Howard Taft, even, it is said, before
the latter had fully made up Mis
mind. It was Charles P. Taft who
started an open fight for the nomina
natinn first in Ohio, which at that
trtiie was anything but a Taft state,
and then all over the country. Tt
was Charles P. Taft who discovered
Arthur I. Vorya and made him man
ager of the Taft fight. It was Charles
P. Taft who personally directed each
and every movement of the great
political campaign which culminated
in the nomination of his half-brother,
and it was Charles P. .Taft who furn
ished every single dollar expended In
the campaign.
,.It .was very natural, then, that the
Taft campaign should be directed
from the house of Charles P. Taft,
where at all times he can be con
sulted and where all the many politi
cal wires can be ready for his willing
hand. And this hand, as heretofore,
will guide even to the slightest de
tail', and it may be said in passing,
that It has never met with defeat.
Charles P.'s hand is never used for
political hand-shaking he has far
better use or it, as results have dem
onstrated. And bo, when Candidate Taft re
turns from his brief vacation, he will
take up quarters in the Pike-street
house.
The house reminds one of the old
Biblical adage, "A pearl before
wine," inasmuch as this magnificent
Colonial residence, one of the finest
architecturally in the city, now is
completely surrounded and hidden
from view by factories and work
shops of every description.
Nestling in a beautiful lawn that
takes up half of a city block, it is
fairly smothered by a combination of
soot, dust, blowing whistles and
whirring machinery. Eight floors of
a power building to the west are oc
cupied by various clothing manufac
turing concerns; on the east a great
publishing house has its plant, and
directly opposite a row of vacant pal
aces, intermingled with an occasional
boarding-house, offers the eye glad
relief. And were these houses re
moved there would be one grand and
continuous panoramic performance
of factories, as the entire Btreet to
the rear is intersected with manu
factories of every shade and de
scription. .
Should Candidate Taft desire to
whisper & political secret to an inti
mate, while in this atmosphere, he
must have need of a megaphone, and
if he should desire to address the
populace, it will require an Edison to
devise some vocal contrivance to
overcome the surrounding noises.
One is at first surprised to find a
man of Charles P. Taft's wealth and
love of quiet dwelling in this settle
ment of factories, and the conclusion
generally drawn is that some senti
mental association keeps him to his
old home. Especially is this view
confirmed when one views the inter
ior of this palace and discovers a
$1,000,000 collection of paintings,
slowly but surely hiding their orig
inal colors under a coating of grime
and soot. 1
But such is not the case. Charles
P. Taft never permits sentiment to
interfere with anything. The reason
that the Taft residence remains is
that Charles P. Taft is a fighter when
he knows he is right, and he will
probably continue to live there until
his last day.
When Charles P. Taft first settled
In his beautiful Pike-street home, the
thoroughfare was one of a quiet and
fashionable tone. With his aristo
cratic neighbors, he remained there
under the impression that there were
proper building restrictions to safe
guard the residential character of
the neighborhood. This impression
was destroyed a few years ago when
a piece of property, which was first
offered to him at rather a nigh figure,
was sold as a factory site. With the
laying of the foundation all of his
fashionable neighbors gave one
frightened stare and prepared to mi
grate. When the building had
reached eight stories in the air, the
only resident who remained was
Charles P. Taft.
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Within a few months, various en
terprising firms had taken up quar
ters In the structure, machinery was
installed, and the entire side of the
building facing the Taft lawn was
painted a solemn black, with huge
white letters bespeaking the names
and business of the various firms. A
hundred or more windows dotted the
wall, and from these windows the
peering eyes of the workers disturbed
the privacy of the Taft home.
Then Charles P. Taft got his dan
der up. He did not move he did
not even hesitate. He merely sent
for a contractor and gave orders for
a huge "spite" fence, sufficiently high'
as to cut off part of the view of his
home from the factory windows.
Following the first came other
buildings for manufacturing pur
posesi as residential sites were de
serted by former owners. Today but
one original resident remains
Charles P. Taft-. and It Is from his
home in its Btrange surroundings
that the campaign will be conducted.
Inconsequential Verse
LATEST PHOTOGRAPH OF THE REPUBLICAN NOMINEE FOR PRESIDEuT AND HIS DAUGHTER TAKEN IN WASHINGTON, JUNE 10.
Negative by D. N. Davidson. Copyright, 1908, by Photo News Bureau. Washington, D. C.)
The Girls.
St. Ixuis Times.
Hear th laughter of the girli
Pretty rirl!
What a und ot merriment each ruby lip
unfurls!
How they chatter, chatter, chatter.
In the balmy air of night!
"While the stars that over-spatter
All the heavens hear their elatter
In the eoft and mild delight;
In a sorter-kinder rhyme.
Keeping time, time, time.
To the tintlnabulation that, unceasing, ever
purls
From the girls, girls, girls,
G-lrlR. girls, gtrls.
From the wild, capricious, saucy. Jaunty
girls.
Eee the flirting of the girls.
Radiant girls!
How the softened brain of lover wildly
whirls!
Through the mazes of the ball,
T"p and down the stately hall!
How he sktppeth to and fro.
And perspires!
Would that we could tell the idiot all we
know
Of the fires
Into whlnh the false one hurls
Each new victim see the flame, how it
swirls! '
How it curls!
How It curls!
Better far that they were churls,
Than fall victims to the girls, v
To the prattle and the rattle
Of the girls, girls, girls.
Girls, girls, girls
To the sacking and heart-racking of the
girls!
An Ode to His Washerwoman.
Bohemian.
Even in the face of financial embarrsss
ment the Yale student refuses to be down
cast. For when the florist threatens suit
If his bill Is not paid or, when, in walking
through the city streets, the student sees
his newest shirt adorning the grinning face
of his washerwoman's young- hopeful, it Is
not his nature to spill a bottle of Ink on
a dissertation on the Subconscious Rela
tionship of Poverty to Vice. More likely he
w!U o whistling back to the campus and
put to the tune some such verses as ap
peared In the Tale Record of 10 years ago
under the title, "Owed to My Washer
woman: I promise thee that some day I will come
In answer to thy soft repeated dun.
And in thy eager hands I ten will lay
The dollars ten I've owed for many a day.
I will not censure thee for rips and tears
For e'en the socks that now thy husband
wears.
Tes, some day in the dim futurity,
I'll pay It all, I promise thee.
And o set the wtiole campus laughing, If
not to pay their hills.
" i
Awakenings.
What do we know. In truth, about our
sleep? ,
Only that dreams, sometimes, pursuing.
Over the unseen bound we call awakenings
Know that we gained refreshment or un
rest. Whether the dream or waking more was
blest,
And that there came a changs when day
breaking.
What do we know about our little life -Its
toll and pleasure, misery and strife?
What shall we know when we have passed
Us portal?
Perhaps we shall remember that we
dreamed. . . .
That time with sweet or troubled visions
teemed.
When we are wide awake, alive, im
mortal. . i
Ethel M. Coleman, in the Century.
Cncle Abner to the Grumbler.
Chicago Rseord-Heratd.
What's the good of beln' grouchy?
When you're wearln' your worst frown
Don it start the sun a-shfran
Or stop rain from comin' down?
Bcowlln- only makes you ugly;
Tou'd be handsome If you'd smile;
Why not start out lookin' pleasant.
At least once la a while?
D you find complalnln helps you
ro the work you have to do?
Do you ever git much profit
Out of merely feelln blue?
GrumbUn, If It brought men dollars.
Would at once be all the style;
But the man that wins Is cheerful
At least, once In a while.
The Navy rer Dire.
We belong to the Navy that forced Algiers
To set her white slaves frpe;
And has won undying honors
On all quarters of the sea.
They braved the forts with Farragut
And the Hartford in Mobil" Ba ;
The Navy that crushed the Spanish fleet
At Cavite at break of day.
And many who fought these battles
Sleep under foreign skies.
But men may come snd men may go
The Navy neve dies.
Paul Jones on the little Ranger
First mounted the heights of fame;
And porter in the South Pacific
Won an undying name.
Of WInslow and the Karsarge
The story is often told.
McDougal on the Wyoming.
Wrote his name in letters of gold
Brothers to them who won their stars
TTnder the Cuban skies.
For Captains come and Captains go -
But the Navy never dies!
The Kearsarge lies a shattered wrerk.
And a new ship bears the name.
Of the President. Essex and Congress
Nothing remains but their fame.
Th Monitor won her battle -
To sink neath Hatteras' foam;
And the plucky llttlo Hornet
Was never welcomed home;
And many a craft uncared for
Rot tine at anchor lies.
But ships may come, and ships may
The Navy never dies!
We belonr to the Navy that Perry
Anchored on Nippon's shore:
The Navy that took Fort Fisher
To the tune of its cannons' roar.
Brave men, great Captains and noble ships
Writ large on the scroll of fame.
Brothers are we to the full degree
In wmch we follow the game.
We are linked to the past and future
wniie a snip tne oia nag nies.
And while men serve from love of country
The Navy never dies!
Army and Navy I-ife.
The Zoological Orchestra.
H- W. Loom is, in Success Magazine.
The turkeys plied the drumsticks, while
The puppy took the bones;
The bullfrog played an instrument
That cave the lowest tones.
The elephant could trumpet, and
The fiddler was a crab;
The Katy-dtd a snng and dance
Upon a graveyard slab.
The inch-worm counted measures, while
The woodwind turned the leaves;
The quail, he had to whistle, for
Those mocking-birds are thieves. '
The yellow-Jacket's organ point
Was rather sharp and thin;
The kitten brought an article
To string the violin.
The cow tossed off a sole, for
No one could low eo well ;
Her horn was blew and tipped with brasa;
She also rang the bell.
The bee could play upon the comb;
They wished he hadn't eome.
For all the musio that he knew
Was "Hum, Sweet Hum-"
An Ivy-Covered Wall.
The rugged wall that faced the Wintef
blast.
Grim and defiant, heeds a soft caress.
And velvet tendrils, clinging tight and fast.
Its stanch protection and assistance bless.
Young is the vine that struggles to the light
From out the mold about the stern wairs
base.
Rearing its hands for swift, aerial flight.
It thrills with joy the rampart to em
brace. Now, mantling green, its flinty sides ob
scured, Each welded boulder shows a beauty rare;
The storm-chilled heart, to howling winds
inured.
Hides sweet content beneath its garment
fair.
Laura W. Sheldon In New York Times.
Machine Made,
Boston Transcript.
I live that tuneful "William Tell,"
That "Staftat Mater" grand.
When these are played, what Joy to me!
I Hat almost entrancedly
The music of the band.
But when played for the phonograph
- These pictures have been canned,
To hear them thus is martyrdom
That band of musio doth become
The music of the banned.