The speech throughout shows Webster to have been the perfect master of the human heart,—of its manifold and mysterious workings. What picture could be more vivid than this?

"Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which pierces through all disguises and beholds everything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that murder will out. True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Meantime the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant."

The closing sentences of the speech—which resulted in the conviction and execution of the prisoner—will endure in our literature unsurpassed as an inspiration to duty:

"There is no evil that we cannot either face or fly from but the consciousness of duty disregarded. A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent like the Deity. If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, duty performed, or duty violated, is still with us, for our happiness or our misery. If we say, 'the darkness shall cover us,' in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with us. We cannot escape their power, nor fly from their presence. They are with us in this life, will be with us at its close; and in that scene of inconceivable solemnity which lies yet farther onward, we shall still find ourselves surrounded by the consciousness of duty, to pain us wherever it has been violated, and to console us so far as God may have given us grace to perform it."

Upon one occasion, when in Boston, Mr. Hubbard and I visited together Faneuil Hall. He pointed out the exact place upon the platform where he saw Mr. Webster stand when he delivered his speech in vindication of his course in remaining in the Cabinet of President Tyler after all his Whig colleagues had resigned. The schism in the Whig ranks, occasioned by the veto of party measures, paramount in the Presidential contest of 1840, and the bitter antagonism thereby engendered between Henry Clay and President Tyler, will readily be recalled. The rupture mentioned occasioned the retirement of the entire Cabinet appointed by the late President Harrison, except Mr. Webster, the Secretary of State. His reasons for remaining were in the highest degree patriotic, and his speech in Faneuil Hall a triumphant vindication. The enduring public service he rendered while in a Cabinet with which he had not partisan affiliation was formulating, in conjunction with the British Minister, the Ashburton treaty. If Mr. Webster had rendered no other public service, this alone would have entitled him to the gratitude of the country. This treaty, advantageous from so many points of view to the United States, adjusted amicably the protracted and perilous controversy—unsettled by the convention at Ghent—of our northeastern boundary, and possibly prevented a third war between the two great English-speaking nations. The words once uttered of Burke could never with truth be spoken of Webster: "He gave to party that which was intended for his country."

Mr. Hubbard insisted that the speech mentioned stood unrivalled in the realm of sublime oratory. He declared that the intervening years had not dimmed his recollection of the appearance of "the God-like Webster" when he exclaimed "The Whig party die! The Whig party die! Then, Mr. President, where shall I go?"

Some years before, I heard Wendell Phillips allude to the above speech in his celebrated lecture upon Daniel O'Connell. He said, when the startling words, "Then, Mr. President, where shall I go?" fell from the lips of the mighty orator, a feeling of awe pervaded the vast assemblage; something akin to an awful foreboding that the world would surely come to an end when there was no place in it for Daniel Webster.

This seems a fitting place to allude to possibly the highest tribute ever paid by one great orator to another—in the loftiest sense, a tribute of genius to genius. Mr. Hubbard told me he was one of the immense audience gathered in Faneuil Hall to ratify the nomination of Harrison and Tyler soon after the adjournment of the Whig National Convention in 1840. Edward Everett presided; and among the speakers were Winthrop, Choate, Webster, and the gifted Sargent S. Prentiss of Mississippi. The eloquence of the last named was a proverb in his day. He had but recently delivered a speech in the House, vindicating his right to his seat as a Representative from Mississippi, which cast a spell over all who heard it, and which has come down to the present generation as one of the masterpieces of oratory. The closing sentence of this wondrous speech—a thousand times quoted—was: "Deny her representation upon this floor; then, Mr. Speaker, strike from yonder escutcheon the star that glitters to the name of Mississippi—and leave only the stripe, fit emblem of her degradation!"

Upon the conclusion of Prentiss's Faneuil Hall speech, just mentioned, amidst a tumult of applause such as even Faneuil Hall had rarely witnessed, Mr. Everett, turning to Mr. Webster, inquired: "Did you ever hear the equal of that speech?" "Never but once," was the deep-toned reply, "and then from Prentiss himself."

Judge Baldwin, his long-time associate at the bar of Mississippi, has given a vivid description of the effect of the power of Mr. Prentiss before the jury in the prosecution of a noted highwayman and murderer in that State:

"Phelps was one of the most daring and desperate of ruffians. He fronted his prosecutor and the court not only with composure, but with scornful and malignant defiance. When Prentiss arose to speak, and for some time afterwards, the criminal scowled upon him a look of hate and insolence. But when the orator, kindling with his subject, turned upon him and poured down a stream of burning invective like lava upon his head; when he depicted the villainy and barbarity of his bold atrocities; when he pictured, in dark and dismal colors, the fate which awaited him, and the awful judgment to be pronounced at another Bar upon his crimes when his soul be confronted with his innocent victims; when he fixed his gaze of concentrated power upon him, the strong man's face relaxed; his eyes faltered and fell; until, at length, unable to bear up under self-conviction, he hid his head beneath the bar, and exhibited a picture of ruffianly audacity cowed beneath the spell of true courage and triumphant genius."

In his early practice in Mississippi, in closing a touching and eloquent appeal to the jury on behalf of a client whose life was trembling in the balance, Prentiss said:

"I have somewhere read that when God in His eternal councils conceived the thought of man's creation, he called to him the three ministers who wait constantly upon the throne, Justice, Truth, and Mercy, and thus addressed them:

"'Shall we make man?'

"Then said Justice, 'O God, make him not, for he will trample upon Thy laws.'

"Truth made answer also, 'O God, make him not, for he will pollute Thy sanctuaries.'

"Then Mercy, dropping upon her knees and looking up through her tears, exclaimed, 'O God, make him. I will watch over him through all the dark paths he may have to tread.'

"Then God made man and said to him: 'Thou art the child of Mercy; go and deal in mercy with thy brother.'"

In speaking of Mr. Webster's marvellous power over a jury, Mr. Hubbard told me that he was present during the trial of a once celebrated divorce case in one of the courts of Boston. The husband was the complainant, and the alleged ground the one of recognized sufficiency in all countries. Mr. Webster was the counsel for the husband; Rufus Choate for the wife. As an advocate, the latter has had few equals, no superiors, at the American bar. In the case mentioned, with a distressed woman for a client, what was dearer than life, her reputation, in the balance, it may well be believed that the wondrous powers of the advocate were in requisition to the utmost.

At the conclusion of Choate's speech, as Mr. Hubbard assured me, the case of the injured husband appeared hopeless. It seemed impossible that such a speech could be successfully answered.

The opening sentence, in deep and measured tones, of Webster in reply, the prelude to an unrivalled argument and to victory, was:

"Saint Paul in the twenty-fourth verse of the seventh chapter of his wondrous Epistle to the Romans says: 'O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' You alone, gentlemen, can deliver this wretched man from the body of this dead woman!"

What in word-painting can exceed the following from an address by Robert G. Ingersoll?

"A little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon—a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, almost fit for a dead deity— and gazed upon the sarcophagus of black Egyptian marble where rest the ashes of that restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world.

"I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine contemplating suicide. I saw him at Toulon; I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris; I saw him at the head of the army in Italy; I saw him crossing the bridge at Lodi with the tricolor in his hand; I saw him in Egypt in the shadow of the Pyramids; I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags; I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm, and at Austerlitz; I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves; I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster—driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris—clutched like a wild beast—banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fortune combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king, and I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea.

"I thought of the orphans and widows he had made, of the tears that had been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition; and I said I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes; I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the rays of the autumn sun; I would rather have been that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky, with my children about my knee and their arms about me; I would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust, than have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder."

In his eloquent eulogy upon Abraham Lincoln, my neighbor and friend, Hon. Isaac N. Phillips, said:

"He lived with Nature and learned of her. He toiled, but his toil was never hopeless and degrading. His feet were upon the earth but the stars shining in perennial beauty were ever above him to inspire contemplation. He heard the song of the thrush, and the carol of the lark. He watched the sun in its course. He knew the dim paths of the forest, and his soul was awed by the power of the storm."

The closing sentences of Senator Ingalls's tribute to a departed colleague were sombre indeed:

"In the democracy of Death all men are equal. There is neither rank, nor station, nor prerogative, in the republic of the grave. At that fatal threshold the philosopher ceases to be wise, and the song of the poet is silent. There Dives relinquished his riches and Lazarus his rags; the creditor loses his usury, and the debtor is acquitted of his obligation; the proud man surrenders his dignity, the politician his honors, the worldling his pleasures. Here the invalid needs no physician, and the laborer rests from unrequited toil. Here at last is Nature's final decree of equity. The wrongs of time are redressed, and injustice is expiated. The unequal distribution of wealth and honor, capacity, pleasure, and opportunity, which makes life so cruel and inexplicable a tragedy, ceases in the realms of Death. The strongest has there no supremacy, and the weakest needs no defence. The mightiest captain succumbs to the invincible adversary who disarms alike the victor and the vanquished."

In his day Edward Everett was the most gifted of American orators. His style, however, to readers in "these piping times of peace," seems a trifle stilted. What orator of the twentieth century would attempt such a sentence as the following from Everett's celebrated eulogy upon Washington:

"Let us make a national festival and holiday of his birthday; and ever, as the twenty-second of February returns, let us remember that, while with these solemn and joyous rites of observance we celebrate the great anniversary, our fellow-citizens on the Hudson, on the Potomac, from the Southern plains to the Western lakes, are engaged in the same offices of gratitude and love. Nor we, nor they alone; beyond the Ohio, beyond the Mississippi, along that stupendous trail of immigration from the East to the West, which, bursting into States as it moves westward, is already threading the Western prairies, swarming through the portals of the Rocky Mountains and winding down their slopes, the name and the memory of Washington on that gracious night will travel with the silver queen of heaven through sixty degrees of longitude, nor part company with her till she walks in her brightness through the Golden Gate of California, and passes serenely to hold midnight court with her Australian stars. There and there only in barbarous archipelagos, as yet untrodden by civilized man, the name of Washington is unknown; and there, too, when they swarm with enlightened millions, new honors shall be paid with ours to his memory."

In my judgment the greatest living orator is William J. Bryan. I have never known a more gifted man. A thorough scholar—having like Lord Bacon taken all knowledge for his province—a fearless champion of what he deems the right, he is in the loftiest sense "without fear and without reproach."

In introducing him to an immense audience in Bloomington when he was first a candidate for the Presidency, I said:

"The National Democracy in the Chicago convention selected for the Presidency a distinguished statesman of the great Northwest. For the first time in more than one hundred years of our history, a candidate for the great office has been taken from a State lying west of the Mississippi.

"In the nomination of our standard-bearer, the convention builded better than it knew. Each passing hour has but emphasized the wisdom of its choice. Truly it has been said: 'When the times demand the man, the man appears.' The times demanded a great leader—the great leader has appeared! His campaign is the marvel of the age. From the Atlantic seaboard, two thousand miles to the westward, his eloquent words have cheered the despondent, given new hopes and aspirations to the people, touched the hearts of millions of his countrymen. In advocating his election we have kept the faith. We have not departed from the teachings of our fathers. We sacredly preserve the ancient landmarks—the landmarks of all previous Democratic conventions."

Rarely has a speech been uttered so effective in its immediate results as that of Mr. Bryan in the Democratic National Convention of 1896. The occasion was one never to be forgotten. When Mr. Bryan began his speech he had not been mentioned as a candidate for the Presidency; at its close there was no other candidate. The closing sentences of the memorable speech were:

"Our ancestors, when but three millions in number, had the courage to declare their political independence of every other nation; shall we, their descendants, when we have grown to seventy millions, declare that we are less independent than our forefathers? No, my friends, that will never be the verdict of our people. Therefore, we care not upon what lines the battle is fought. If they say bimetallism is good, but that we cannot have it until other nations help us, we reply that, instead of having a gold standard because England has, we will restore bimetallism, and then let England have bimetallism because the United States has it. If they dare to come out in the open field and defend the gold standard as a good thing, we will fight them to the uttermost. Having behind us the productive masses of this nation and the world, supported by the commercial interests, the laboring interests, and the toilers everywhere, we will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them: 'You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.'"

The closing sentences of his "Prince of Peace" have been read in all languages:

"But this Prince of Peace promises not only peace but strength. Some have thought His teachings fit only for the weak and the timid and unsuited to men of vigor, energy, and ambition. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Only the man of faith can be courageous. Confident that he fights on the side of Jehovah, he doubts not the success of his cause. What matters it whether he shares in the shouts of triumph? If every word spoken in behalf of truth has its influence and every deed done for the right weighs in the final account, it is immaterial to the Christian whether his eyes behold victory or whether he dies in the midst of the conflict.

'Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.'

"Only those who believe attempt the seemingly impossible and, by attempting, prove that one with God can chase a thousand and two can put ten thousand to flight. I can imagine that the early Christians who were carried into the arena to make a spectacle for those more savage than the beasts, were entreated by their doubting companions not to endanger their lives. But, kneeling in the centre of the arena, they prayed and sang until they were devoured. How helpless they seemed and, measured by every human rule, how hopeless was their cause! And yet within a few decades the power which they invoked proved mightier than the legions of the emperor, and the faith in which they died was triumphant o'er all that land. It is said that those who went to mock at their sufferings returned asking themselves, 'What is it that can enter into the heart of man and make him die as these die?' They were greater conquerors in their death than they could have been had they purchased life by a surrender of their faith.

"What would have been the fate of the Church if the early Christians had had as little faith as many of our Christians now have? And, on the other hand, if the Christians of to-day had the faith of the martyrs, how long would it be before the fulfilment of the prophecy that every knee shall bow and every tongue confess?

"Our faith should be even stronger than the faith of those who lived two thousand years ago, for we see our religion spreading and supplanting the philosophies and creeds of the Orient.

"As the Christian grows older he appreciates more and more the completeness with which Christ fills the requirements of the heart and, grateful for the peace which he enjoys and for the strength which he has received, he repeats the words of the great scholar, Sir William Jones:

'Before thy mystic altar, heavenly truth, I kneel in manhood, as I knelt in youth. Thus let me kneel, till this dull form decay, And life's last shade be brightened by thy ray.'"



XXX THE COLONELS

A CONVIVIAL MEETING OF LAWYERS—HILARITY SMOTHERED BY THE MAINE LAW—A FAINTING WAYFARER IS REFUSED A DRINK IN A MAINE VILLAGE— THE APOTHECARY DEMANDS A PHYSICIAN'S PRESCRIPTION—SNAKE-BITES IN GREAT DEMAND.

Some years ago, I spent a few weeks of inclement weather in a beautiful village in southern Georgia. Upon calling at his office to renew my acquaintance with a well-known lawyer, he soon invited in the remaining members of the local bar. Everything was propitious, and the conversation never for a moment flagged, many experiences of the legal practitioners of the South and of the North being related with happy effect.

I at length remarked that since my arrival, I had, somewhat to my surprise, learned that "local option" had been adopted in their county. An aged brother, in a tone by no means exultant, assured me that such was the fact. I then observed that I was not a hard drinker, but being a total stranger and liable to sudden sickness, I asked what I would do under such circumstances.

An equally venerable brother, who bore the unique title of "Colonel," slowly responded, "Have to do without, sir, have to do without; not a drop to be had in the county, absolutely not a drop, sir."

The brief silence which followed this announcement was broken by the corroborative testimony of a more youthful associate of similar official distinction, and a genial and hospitable expression of countenance, somehow suggesting memories of old cognac.

"Yes, sir, the use of spirituous liquors is now only a tradition with us; but I have heard my father say, that before the war, the indulgence in such hospitality was not uncommon among gentlemen."

At the conclusion of still further cumulative testimony of the same tenor, I remarked that something about the general situation reminded me of an incident that occurred in a State far to the north while the "Maine Law" was in operation.

A dilapidated-looking pedestrian, with a pack on his back, early one afternoon of a hot July day pulled up in front of the post-office in a small village in the interior of Maine. Humbly addressing a citizen who was just coming out with his copy of the Weekly Tribune in hand, he inquired,

"Where can I get a drink?"

"The Maine Law is in force," was the reply, "and it is impossible for you to get a drink in the State."

The heart of the wayfarer sank within him.

"Would you let a man die right here on your streets, for lack of a drink?"

The "better angel" of the citizen being touched thereat, he replied,

"My friend, I am very sorry for you, but no liquor is ever sold here, except by the apothecary, and then only as a medicine."

Upon further inquiry, the important fact was disclosed that the shop of the apothecary was three-quarters of a mile away, on the left-hand side of the road. With an alacrity indicating something of hope, the pedestrian immediately gathered up his pack, and through the dust and heat at length reached the designated place. Sinking apparently exhausted upon the door-step, he feebly requested the man behind the counter to let him have something to drink. The immediate reply of the apothecary was that the Maine Law was in force, and no spirituous liquors could be sold except upon the prescription of a physician. After earnest inquiry, it was ascertained that the nearest doctor's office was one mile away, and the man with the pack again betook himself to the weary highway. Returning an hour later, in tone more pitiful than before, he begged the apothecary, as he hoped for mercy himself, to let him have a drink. Upon inquiry as to whether he had procured the required certificate, he said, "No, the doctor wouldn't give me any."

The assurance of the apothecary that the case appeared hopeless only added to the distress of the poor man, whose sands seemed now indeed to be running low.

Stirred to the depths by the agony of his visitor, the apothecary at length said,

"My friend, I would be glad to help you, but it is impossible for me to let you have a drink of spirituous liquor unless you have a doctor's certificate or have been snake-bit."

At the last-mentioned suggestion, the face of the man of repeated disappointments measurably brightened, and he eagerly inquired where he could find a snake. The now sympathetic man of bottles told him to follow the main road three miles to the forks, and then a few hundred yards to the west, and he would find a small grove of decayed tress, where there still lingered a few snakes, and by the exercise of a reasonable degree of diligence he might manage to get bit, and thereby lay the foundation for the desired relief. With bundle again in place, and evincing a buoyancy of manner to which he had been a stranger for many hours, the traveller resumed the quest.

Hours later, when the shadows had lengthened, and the fire-flies were glistening in the distance,

"With a look so piteous in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors,"

he re-entered the apothecary's shop, threw down his bundle, and in tones suggestive of the agony of lost souls, again begged for a drink.

"Did you get snake-bit?" was the feeling inquiry of the man at the helm.

"No," was the heart-rending reply, "every snake I met had engagements six months ahead, for all the bites he could furnish!"



XXXI REMINISCENCES

A BARBECUE AT THE BLUE SPRING, KY.—NOTABLE NATIVES OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD —THE SCHOOLHOUSE CHURCH—SOME OF THE PREACHERS—THE TEACHER OF SINGING—HOW THE SCHOOLMASTER WAS PAID—MANNERS AND DISCIPLINE—THE DEBATING SOCIETY—THE WRITER'S SPEECH TO HIS OLD NEIGHBORS—SOME BOYHOOD FRIENDS.

Soon after my nomination for the Vice-Presidency, in 1892, I attended a barbecue at the Blue Spring, a stone's throw from my father's old home in Kentucky. This was in the county of Christian, in the southwestern part of the State. It is a large and wealthy county, its tobacco product probably exceeding that of any other county in the United States.

Christian County was the early home of men distinguished in the field, at the bar, and in the State and National councils. Hopkinsville, the county-seat, had been the home of Stites, the learned Chief Justice of the Court of Appeals; of Jackson, who fell while gallantly leading his command at the battle of Perryville; of Morehead, an early and distinguished Governor of the Commonwealth; of Sharp, whose legal acumen would have secured him distinction at any bar; of McKenzie, whose wit and eloquence made him the long-time idol and the Representative in Congress, of the famed "Pennyrile" district; of Bristow, the accomplished Secretary of the Treasury during the administration of President Grant; of the Henry brothers, three of whom, from different States, were at a later day Representatives in Congress, and one the Whig candidate against Andrew Johnson for Governor of Tennessee.

Hon. Gustavus A. Henry, well known as the "Eagle Orator of Tennessee," was the Whig candidate for Governor of the State in opposition to Andrew Johnson, at a later day President of the United States. The latter was at the time an old-fashioned, steady-going mountain orator with none of the brilliancy of his gifted antagonist. At the close of a series of joint debates Johnson said: "This speech terminates our joint debates. I have now encountered the 'Eagle Orator' upon every stump in the State, and come out of the contest with no flesh of mine in his claws—no blood of mine upon his beak." To which Henry instantly replied: "The eagle—the proud bird of freedom—never wars upon a corpse!"

A few miles from the Blue Spring, in the same county, were the early homes of Senator Roger Q. Mills of Texas, Governor John M. Palmer of Illinois, and Jefferson Davis of the Southern Confederacy. Less than a score of miles to the southward, upon the banks of the Cumberland in Tennessee, stood historic Fort Donelson; while a few hours' journey to the northward stands the monument which marks the birthplace of Abraham Lincoln.

Following the earliest westward trail from Iredell County, North Carolina, across the Blue Ridge Mountains, for a great distance along the banks of the romantic French Broad my grandfathers, "Scotch-Irish Presbyterians," James Stevenson and Adlai Ewing, with their immediate families and others of their kindred, had in the early days of the century, after a long and perilous journey, finally reached the famous Spring already mentioned. Near by, their tents were pitched, and in time permanent homes established in the then wilderness of southwestern Kentucky.

The first public building constructed was of logs, with puncheon floor, and set apart to the double purpose of school-house and church for the use of all denominations. Its site was near the spot where the speaker's stand was now erected for the barbecue which I have mentioned.

From the pulpit of this rude building, the early settlers had more than once listened spell-bound to the eloquence of Peter Cartwright, Henry B. Bascom, Nathan L. Rice, Finis Ewing, and Alexander Campbell.

In this old church the time-honored custom was for some one of its officers to line out the hymn, two lines at a time, and then lead the singing, in which the congregation joined. Among my earliest recollections is that of my uncle, Squire McKenzie, one of the best of men, standing immediately in front of the pulpit, and faithfully discharging this important duty after the hymn had been read in full by the minister. I distinctly recall the solemn tones in which, upon communion occasions, he lined out, in measured and mellow cadence, the good old hymn beginning:

"'T was on that dark, that doleful night, When powers of earth and hell arose."

Mr. Sawyer, too, the old-time singing-school teacher, has honored place in my memory. Once a month, in the old church, the singing-school class of which we were all members regularly assembled. The school was in four divisions, Bass, Tenor, Counter, and Treble; each member was provided with a copy of the "Missouri Harmony," with "fa," "sol," "la," "mi," appearing in mysterious characters upon every page; the master, magnifying his office, as with tuning-fork in hand he stood proudly in the midst, raised the tune, and as it progressed smiled or deeply frowned upon each of the divisions as occasion seemed to require. His voice has long been hushed, but I seem again to hear his cheery command, "Attention, class! Utopia, page one hundred!"

Looking back through the long vista of years, it is my honest belief that such singing as his, at home or abroad, I have never heard. Upon his tablet might appropriately have been inscribed:

"Sleep undisturbed within this sacred shrine, Till angels wake thee with notes like thine."

To this old field school came in the early time the "scholars" for many miles around. It was in very truth the only Alma Mater, for that generation, of almost the entire southern portion of the county. My father in his boyhood attended this school, as did his kinsmen, John W. and Fielding N. Ewing; the last named of whom was, at a much later period, the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Bloomington, Illinois, and his elder brother was the Mayor of that city.

At that early day, and later when I attended the same school, there were no salaries provided for the teachers, The schoolmaster visited the families within reasonable distance of the schoolhouse with his subscription paper, and the school was duly opened when a sufficient number of pupils had subscribed.

The ways of the old field school and the methods of the old-time teachers belong now to the past. Once experienced, however, they have an abiding place in the memory. The master, upon his accustomed perch near the spacious fire-place, with his ever-present symbol of authority, the rod—which even Solomon would have considered fully up to the orthodox standard—in alarming proximity; the boys "making their manners" by scraping the right foot upon the floor and bowing low as they entered the school-room; the girls upon like occasions equally faithful in the practice of a bewitching little "curtsey" which only added to their charms; the "studying aloud," the hum of the school-room being thereby easily heard a mile or two away; the timid approach to the dreaded master with the humble request that he would "mend a pen," "parse a verb," or "do a sum."

An hour, called recess, was given for the dinner from the baskets brought from home, and then the glorious old games, marbles, town-ball, and "bull pen," to the heart's content! At the sound of the ominous command, "Books!" each scholar promptly resumed his seat, the merry shout of the playground at once giving way to the serious business of "saying lessons." In those good old days, the slightest act of omission or commission upon the part of the pupil was confronted with a terrible condition instead of a harmless theory. In very truth the uncomfortable effect of the punishment unfailingly administered—"doing his duty to your parents," as the petty school-room tyrant was wont to observe—was in small degree lessened by the comforting assurance that the victim "would thank him for it the longest day he lived!"

Then, to crown all, came the debating society, with the schoolmaster presiding, and the entire neighborhood, sweethearts and all, in attendance, and the boys for the first time testing their oratorical powers. Vigilant preparations having been made for the discussion of such momentous questions as: "Which deserves the most credit, Columbus for discovering America, or Washington for defending it?" or "Which brings the greatest happiness to mankind, pursuit or possession?"

In "Georgia Scenes" is an amusing account of a debate in a backwoods "Academy" nearly a century ago. The two brightest boys, after anxious preparation, succeeded in formulating for debate a question utterly meaningless, but which appeared upon hurried reading to touch the very bed-rock of human government. The "conspirators" mentioned were the respective leaders in the debate which closed the public exercises of the annual "Exhibition" of the Academy. The leaders had made careful preparation for the contest, and appeared fully to understand the question, and each in turn highly complimented the able argument of his rival. Much amusement was caused by the remaining speakers, when called in order, who candidly admitted that they didn't understand the question, and patiently submitted to the fine imposed by the rules of the Society. That a boy of but mediocre talents should have failed to participate in the debate, will not be considered remarkable when the question is stated: "Whether, in public elections, the vote of faction should prevail by internal suggestions, or the bias of jurisprudence?"

The late General Gordon related to me the above incident, and added that the leaders mentioned were at a later day well known to the country, one the learned Bishop Longstreet of Georgia, the other the eloquent Senator McDuffie of South Carolina.

Events almost forgotten, forms long since vanished, were vividly recalled as, after long absence, I revisited the spot inseparably blended with the joyous associations of childhood. The platform from which I was to speak had been erected near the ruins of the old church above mentioned, of which my grandfather had been a ruling elder, my father, mother, and other kindred the earliest members.

Upon my introduction to the vast assemblage—the good things suggested by "barbecue" having meanwhile given to all an abundant feeling of contentment—I began by brief reference to the pleasure I experienced in again visiting, after the passing of the years which separated childhood from middle age, scenes once so familiar, and meeting face to face so many of my early associates and friends, and remarked, that in the early days in Illinois the not unusual reply of the Kentucky emigrant, when asked what part of the Old Commonwealth he came from was, "From the Blue Grass," or "From near Lexington," but that my invariable answer to that inquiry had even been, "From the Pennyrile!"

Some mention I made of Mr. Caskie, the dreaded school-master of the long ago, caused a momentary commotion in the audience, and immediately a man of white hairs and bowed by the weight of more than fourscore years, was lifted to the front of the platform. With arm about my neck, he earnestly inquired: "Adlai, I came twenty miles to hear you speak; don't you remember me?" The audience apparently appreciated the instant reply: "Yes, Mr. Caskie, I still have a few marks left to remember you by!"

The venerable and long ago forgiven schoolmaster was fearfully deaf, and to prevent the possibility of a single word escaping him, he stood close beside me, and with his hand behind his ear and the other resting tenderly on my shoulder, faithfully followed me in my journeyings to and fro across the stage during the two-hours' speech which followed.

My speech at length concluded, I was warmly greeted by scores of old neighbors and friends. Just forty years had passed since my father had removed his family to Illinois, and it may well be believed that it was difficult to recall promptly all the names and faces of those I had known in childhood. Even a candidate has, at such times, "some rights under the Constitution"; one of which, I honestly believe, is total exemption from the tormenting inquiries: "Do you know me? Well, what is my name?" The laurels, even of Job, had he ever been a candidate, would probably have turned to willows.

I am here reminded of an experience of one of my early competitors for Congress. It was his happy forte to remember instantly all his old acquaintances; not only that, but to know their full names. To call out in friendly and familiar tone, in and out of season, "Bill," "Dick," "Sam," "Bob," a hundred times a day, was as natural to him as to breathe.

Upon one occasion, however, the fates seemed slightly untoward. At the close of one of our joint debates, in the southern part of the district, he was greeted by a demure-looking individual with the salutation, "How are you, Judge?"

"My dear sir," exclaimed the regular candidate, grasping the interrogator warmly by the hand, "how are you, and how is the old lady?"

"I am not married, Judge," was the deliberate response, as of one assuming the entire responsibility.

"Certainly not, certainly not, my dear sir; I meant you mother. How is that excellent old lady?"

"My mother has been dead twenty years, Judge," was the mournful reply.

A trifle embarrassed, but not entirely off his base, the judge looked earnestly into the face of the bereaved, and said:

"My friend, excuse me, your countenance is perfectly familiar to me, but I do not at this moment remember exactly who you are."

The response was, "Judge, I am an evangelist."

To which the candidate for Congress, now upon a firm footing, tapped the man of the sacred office familiarly upon the shoulder and cheerfully exclaimed, "Why, damn it, Van, I thought I ought to know you!"

Returning now for brief sojourn to the afore-mentioned barbecue, with a faithful kinsman as monitor, aided by a slight moiety of tact to be credited to personal account, I managed passably well to get through the trying ordeal. "The old gentleman with the long white beard, coming toward us," observed my monitor, "is Uncle Jake Anderson. He has a hat bet that you will know him." Thus advised, I was ready for trial, and warmly grasping the hand extended me, I earnestly inquired, "Uncle Jake, how are you?" "Do you know me, boy?" was the immediate response. "Know you?" I replied. "You and my father were near neighbors for years; how could I help knowing you?" "Yes, of course," he said, "but you being gone so long, and now running for President, I didn't know but what you had forgotten all about the old neighbors down on the Lick." Assuring him that I had forgotten none of them, and congratulating him upon the hat he had won, I passed on to the next.

The interview described was repeated with slight variations, many times, when my attendant remarked:

"That man leaning against the tree is John Dunloe; do you remember him?"

"Certainly," I replied, "I went to school with him."

Immediately approaching my early classmate I took him by the hand and said, "How are you, John?"

"Why, Adlai, do you know me?" was the prompt response.

"Know you," said I, "didn't we go to school together to Mr. Caskie right here at Blue Water, when we were boys?"

"Yas, of course we did," slowly answered by sometime school-fellow, "but you been 'sociatin' with them big fellows down about Washington so long, that I didn't know but what you had forgot us poor fellows down in the Pennyrile."

Assuring him that I never forgot my old friends, I inquired, "John, where is your brother Bill?"

"He's here," was the instant reply. "Me and Bill started before daylight to get to this barbecue in time. Bill 'lowed he'd ruther go forty miles on foot to hear you make a speech, than go to a hangin'."



XXXII A TRIBUTE TO IRELAND*

[*Footnote: Speech delivered by Mr. Stevenson at a banquet of the United Irish Societies of Chicago, September, 1900.]

THE WRITER'S VISIT TO NOTABLE PLACES IN IRELAND—HIS TRIBUTE OF PRAISE TO HER GREAT MEN—AMERICA'S OBLIGATION TO IRISH SOLDIERS AND STATESMEN.

I accepted with pleasure the invitation to meet with you. For the courtesy so generously extended me I am profoundly grateful.

Within late years it has been my privilege to visit Ireland; and I can truly say that no country in Europe possessed for me a deeper interest than the little island about whose name clusters so much of romance and of enchantment. I saw Ireland in its beauty and its gloom; in its glory and in its desolation. I stood upon the Giant's Causeway, one of the grand masterpieces of the Almighty; I visited the historic parks and deserted legislative halls of venerated Dublin; threaded the streets and byways of the quaint old city of Cork; listened the bells of Shandon; sailed over the beautiful lakes of Killarney, and gazed upon the old castles of Muckross and of Blarney, whose ivy-covered ruins tell of the far-away centuries. What a wonderful island! The birthplace of wits, of warriors, of statesmen, of poets, and of orators. Of its people it has been truly said: "They have fought successfully the battles of every country but their own."

Upon occasion such as this, the Irishman—to whatever spot in this wide world he may have wandered—lives in the shadow of the past. In imagination he is once more under the ancestral roof; the vine-clad cottage is again a thing of reality. Again he wears the shamrock; again he hears the songs of his native land, while his heart is stirred by memories of her wrongs and of her glory.

What a splendid contribution Ireland has made to the world's galaxy of great men! In the realm of poetry, Goldsmith and Tom Moore; of oratory, Sheridan, Emmett, Grattan, O'Connell, Burke, and in later years Charles Stewart Parnell, whose thrilling words I heard a third of a century ago, pleading the cause of his oppressed countrymen.

The obligation of America to Ireland for men who have aided in fighting her battles and framing her laws cannot be measured by words. In the British possessions to the northward, in the old city of Quebec, there is one spot dear to the American heart—that where fell the brave Montgomery, fighting the battles of his adopted country. What schoolboy is not familiar with the story of gallant Phil Sheridan and "Winchester twenty miles away?" Illinoisans will never forget Shields, the hero of two wars, the senator from three States. It was an Irish-American poet of a neighboring State who wrote of our fallen soldiers words that will live while we have a country and a language:

"The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more of life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few."

The achievements of representatives of this race along every pathway of useful and honorable endeavor are a part of our own history. We honor to-day the far-away island, the deeds and sacrifices of whose sons have added so brilliant a chapter to American history. From the assembling of the First Continental Congress to the present hour, in every legislative hall the Irishman has been a factor. His bones have whitened every American battlefield from the first conflict with British regulars to the closing hour of our struggle with Spain.

The love of liberty is deeply ingrained into the very life of the Irishman. The history of his country is that of a gallant people struggling for a larger measure of freedom. His most precious heritage is the record of his countrymen, who upon the battlefield and upon the scaffold have sealed their devotion to liberty with their blood. With such men it was a living faith that—

"Whether on the scaffold high Or in the battle's van The fittest place for man to die Is where he dies for man."

With a history reaching into the far past, every page of which tells of the struggle for liberty, it is not strange that the sympathies of the Irishman are with the oppressed everywhere on God's footstool. Irishmen, in common with liberty-loving men everywhere, looked with abhorrence upon the attempt of a great European power to establish monarchy upon the ruins of republics.

May we not confidently abide in the hope that brighter days are in waiting for the beautiful island and her gallant people? I close with the words: "God bless old Ireland!"



XXXIII THE BLIND CHAPLAIN

DR. MILBURN'S SOLEMNITY IN PRAYER—HIS VENERABLE APPEARANCE—HIS CONVERSATIONAL POWERS—HIS CUSTOM OF PRAYING FOR SICK MEMBERS.

No Senator who ever sat under the ministrations of Dr. Milburn, the blind chaplain, can ever forget his earnest and solemn invocation. When rolling from his tongue, each word of the Lord's Prayer seemed to weigh a pound. His venerable appearance and sightless eyes gave a tinge of pathetic emphasis to his every utterance. He was a man of rare gifts; in early life, before the entire failure of his sight, he had known much of active service in his sacred calling upon the Western circuits. He had been the fellow-laborer of Cartwright, Bascom, and other eminent Methodist ministers of the early times.

Dr. Milburn was the Chaplain of the House during the Mexican War, and often a guest at the Executive Mansion when Mr. Polk was President. He knew well many of the leading statesmen of that period. He possessed rare conversational powers; and notwithstanding his blindness, poverty, and utter loneliness, he remained the pleasing, entertaining gentleman to the last.

It was the custom of the good Chaplain, with the aid of a faithful monitor, to keep thoroughly advised as to the health of the senators and their families. The bare mention, in the morning paper, of any ill having befallen any statesman of whom he was, for the time, the official spiritual shepherd, was the unfailing precursor of special and affectionate mention at the next convening of the Senate. Moreover, in the discharge of this sacred duty, his invariable habit was to designate the object of his special invocation as "the Senior Senator" or "Junior Senator," carefully giving the name of his State. It is within the realm of probability that since the first humble petition was breathed, there has never been an apparently more prompt answer to prayer than that now to be related.

The Morning Post contained an item to the effect that Senator Voorhees was ill. During the accustomed invocation which preceded the opening of the session, an earnest petition ascended for "the Senior Senator from Indiana," that he might "soon be restored to his wonted health, and permitted to return to the seat so long and so honorably occupied."

A moment later, the touching invocation being ended, and the Senate duly in session, the stately form of "the Senior Senator from Indiana" promptly emerged from the cloak-room, and quietly resumed the seat he had "so long and so honorably occupied."



XXXIV A MEMORABLE CENTENNIAL

GEORGE WASHINGTON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE CAPITOL—PROGRESS OF THE REPUBLIC DURING THE NINETEENTH CENTURY—NOTABLE MEN WHO WERE CONSPICUOUS AT THE NATION'S BIRTH—CONGRESS HELD AT VARIOUS PLACES BEFORE 1800—THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA FORMED—NECESSITY FOR ENLARGING THE CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON—A DOCUMENT BY WEBSTER DEPOSITED BENEATH THE CORNER-STONE OF THE ADDITIONS—HIGH DEBATES HELD IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE—PRESENT LOCATION OF THE SENATE CHAMBER—GREAT INCREASE OF POPULATION, TERRITORY, AND COMMERCE—THE TWO DIVISIONS OF CONGRESS.

On the eighteenth day of September, 1893, the first centennial of the laying of the corner-stone of the national Capitol was celebrated by appropriate ceremonies in Washington City.

President Cleveland presided, and seated upon the platform were the members of his Cabinet, the Senate, the House of Representatives, the Supreme Court of the United States, and the Foreign Ambassadors.

The oration was delivered by the Hon. William Wirt Henry, of Richmond, Virginia, grandson of Patrick Henry. The addresses which followed were by myself, representing the Senate; Speaker Crisp, representing the House; and Justice Brown, the Supreme Court. I spoke as follows:

"This day and this hour mark the close of a century of our national history. No ordinary event has called us together. Standing in the presence of this august assemblage of the people, upon the spot where Washington stood, we solemnly commemorate the one-hundredth anniversary of the laying of the corner-stone of the nation's Capitol.

"It is well that this day has been set apart as a national holiday, that all public business has been suspended, and that the President and his Cabinet, the members of the great Court, and of the Congress, unite with their countrymen in doing honor to the memory of the men who, one hundred years ago, at this hour, and upon this spot, put in place the corner-stone of the Capitol of the American Republic. The century rolls back, and we stand in the presence of the grandest and most imposing figure known to any age or country. Washington, as Grand Master of Free and Accepted Masons, clothed in the symbolic garments of that venerable Order, wearing the apron and the sash wrought by the hands of the wife of the beloved Lafayette, impressively and in accordance with the time-honored usages of that Order, is laying his hands upon the corner-stone of the future and permanent Capitol of his country. The solemn ceremonies of the hour were conducted by Washington, not only in his office of Grand Master of Free Masons, but in his yet more august office of President of the United States. Assisting him in the fitting observance of these impressive rites, were representatives of the Masonic Lodges of Virginia and Maryland, while around him stood men whose honored names live with his in history—the men who, on field and in council, had aided first in achieving independence, and then in the yet more difficult task of garnering, by wise legislation, the fruits of victory. Truly, the centennial of an event so fraught with interest should not pass unnoticed.

"History furnishes no parallel to the century whose close we now commemorate. Among all the centuries it stands alone. With hearts filled with gratitude to the God of our fathers, it is well that we recall something of the progress of the young Republic, since the masterful hour when Washington laid his hands upon the foundation-stone of yonder Capitol.

"The seven years of colonial struggle for liberty had terminated in glorious victory. Independence had been achieved. The Articles of Confederation, binding the Colonies together in a mere league of friendship, had given place to the Constitution of the United States—that wonderful instrument, so aptly declared by Mr. Gladstone to be 'the most wonderful work ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man.'

"Without a dissenting voice in the Electoral Colleges, Washington had been chosen President. At his council-table sat Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of Independence; Hamilton, of whom it has been said, 'He smote the rock of the national resources, and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth. He touched the dead corpse of the public credit, and it sprung upon its feet'; Knox, the brave and trusted friend of his chief during the colonial struggle; and Edmund Randolph, the impress of whose genius has been indelibly left upon the Federal Constitution. Vermont and Kentucky, as sovereign States—coequal with the original thirteen—had been admitted into the Union. The Supreme Court, consisting of six members, had been constituted, with the learned jurist John Jay as its Chief Justice. The popular branch of the Congress consisted of but one hundred and five members. Thirty members constituted the Senate, over whose deliberations presided the patriot statesman, John Adams. The population of the entire country was less than four millions. The village of Washington, the capital—and I trust for all coming ages the capital—contained but a few hundred inhabitants.

"After peace had been concluded with Great Britain, and while we were yet under the Articles of Confederation, the sessions of the Congress were held successively at Princeton, Annapolis, Trenton, and New York. In the presence of both houses of Congress, on the thirtieth day of April, 1789, in the city of New York, Washington had been inaugurated President. From that hour—the beginning of our Government under the Constitution—the Congress was held in New York, until 1790, then in Philadelphia until 1800, when, on November 17, it first convened in Washington. The necessity of selecting a suitable and central place for the permanent location of the seat of Government early engaged the thoughtful consideration of our fathers. It cannot be supposed that the question reached a final determination without great embarrassment, earnest discussion, and the manifestation of sectional jealousies. But, as has been well said, the good genius of our system finally prevailed, 'and a district of territory on the River Potomac, at some place between the mouths of the Eastern branch and the Conococheague,' was, by Act of Congress of June 28, 1790, 'accepted for the permanent seat of the Government of the United States.' From the seventeenth day of November, 1800, this city has been the capital. When that day came, Washington had gone to his grave, John Adams was President, and Jefferson the presiding officer of the Senate. It may be well to recall that upon the occasion of the assembling for the first time of the Congress in the Capitol, President Adams appeared before the Senate and the House, in joint session, and said:

"'It would be unbecoming the representatives of this nation to assemble for the first time in this solemn temple, without looking up to the Supreme Ruler of the Universe and imploring His blessing. You will consider it as the capital of a great nation, advancing with unexampled rapidity in arts, in commerce, in wealth, and population, and possessing within itself those resources which, if not thrown away or lamentably misdirected, will secure it a long course of prosperity and self-government.'

"To this address of President Adams the Senate made reply:

"'We meet you, sir, and the other branch of the national Legislature, in the city which is honored by the name of our late hero and sage, the illustrious Washington, with sensations and emotions which exceed our power of description.'

"From the date last given until the burning of the Capitol by the British, in 1814, in the room now occupied by the Supreme Court Library, in the north wing, were held the sessions of the Senate. That now almost forgotten apartment witnessed the assembling of Senators who, at an earlier period of our history, had been the associates of Washington and Franklin, and had themselves played no mean part in crystallizing into the great organic law, the deathless principles of the Declaration of Independence. From this chamber went forth the second Declaration of War against Great Britain; and here, before the Senate as a court of impeachment, was arraigned a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, to answer the charge of alleged high crimes and misdemeanors.

"With the rolling years and the rapid growth of the Republic, came the imperative necessity for enlarging its Capitol. The debates upon this subject culminated in the Act of Congress of September 30, 1850, providing for the erection of the north and south wings of the Capitol. Thomas U. Walter was the architect to whose hand was committed the great work. Yonder noble structure will stand for ages the silent witness of the fidelity with which the important trust was discharged.

"The corner-stone of the additions was laid by President Fillmore, on the fourth day of July, 1851. In honor of that event, and by request of the President, Mr. Webster pronounced an oration, and while we have a country and a language his words will touch a responsive chord in patriotic hearts. Beneath the corner-stone was then deposited a paper, in the handwriting of Mr. Webster, containing the following words:

"'If it shall be, hereafter, the will of God, that this structure shall fall from its base, that its foundation be upturned and this deposit brought to the eyes of men, be it then known that on this day the Union of the United States of America stands firm, that their Constitution still exists unimpaired, with all its original usefulness and glory, growing every day stronger and stronger in the affections of the great body of the American people, and attracting more and more the attention of the world. And all here assembled, whether belonging to public life or to private life, with hearts devoutly thankful to Almighty God for the preservation of the liberty and happiness of the country, unite in sincere and fervent prayers that this deposit, and the walls and arches, the domes and towers, the columns and entablatures now to be erected over it, may endure forever.'

"From the sixth day of December, 1819, until January 4, 1859, a period of thirty-nine years, the sessions of the Senate were held in the present Supreme Court room. This was, indeed, the arena of high debate. When, in any age, or in any country, has there been gathered, within so small compass, so much of human greatness? Even to suggest the great questions here discussed and determined, would be to write a history of that eventful period. It was, indeed, the coming together of the master spirits of the second generation of American statesmen. Here were Macon and Crawford, Benton, Randolph, Cass, Bell, Houston, Preston, Buchanan, Seward, Chase, Crittenden, Sumner, Choate, Everett, Breese, Trumbull, Fessenden, Douglas, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, and others scarcely less illustrious. Within the walls of that little chamber was heard the wondrous debate between Hayne and Webster. There began the fierce conflict of antagonistic ideas touching the respective powers of the State and of the Nation—a conflict which, transferred to a different theatre, found final solution only in the bloody arbitrament of arms.

"For more than a third of a century the sessions of the Senate have been held in the magnificent chamber of the north wing of the Capitol. Of the procession of sixty-two Senators that, preceded by the Vice-President, Mr. Breckenridge, entered the Chamber for the first time, on the fourth day of January, 1859, but four survive; not one remains in public life. It is, indeed, now a procession of shadows.

"When the foundation-stone of this Capitol was laid, our Republic was in its infancy, and self-government yet an untried experiment. It is a proud reflection to-day that time has proved the true arbiter, and that the capacity of a free and intelligent people to govern themselves by written constitution and laws, of their own making, is no longer an experiment. The crucial test of a century of unparalleled material prosperity has been safely endured.

"In 1793 there was no city west of the Alleghanies. To-day a single city on Lake Michigan contains a population of a little less than one-half of the Republic at the time of the first inauguration of Washington. States have been carved out of the wilderness, and our great rivers, whose silence met no break on their pathway to the sea, are now the arteries of our interior trade, and bear upon their bosoms a commerce which surpasses a hundred-fold that of the entire country a century ago.

"From fifteen States and four millions of people, we have grown to fifty States and Territories, and sixty-seven millions of people; from an area of eight hundred and five thousand, to an area of three million, six hundred thousand square miles; from a narrow strip along the Atlantic seaboard, to an unbroken possession from ocean to ocean. How marvellous the increase in our national wealth! In 1793, our imports amounted to thirty-one million, and our exports to twenty-six million dollars. Now our imports are eight hundred and forty-seven million, and our exports one billion and thirty million dollars. Thirty-three million tons of freight are carried on our Great Lakes, whose only burden then was the Indian's canoe. Then our national wealth was inconsiderable; now our assessed valuation amounts to the enormous sum of twenty-four billion, six hundred and fifty million dollars. Then trade and travel were dependent upon beasts of burden and on sailing vessels; now steam and electricity do our bidding, railroads cover the land, boats burden the waters, the telegraph reaches every city and hamlet; distance is annihilated, and

"'Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, Phoenix-like, to Jove.'

"In the presence of this wondrous fulfillment of predicted greatness, prophecy looks out upon the future and stands dumb.

"When this corner-stone was laid, France, then in the throes of a revolution, had just declared war against Great Britain—a war in which all Europe eventually became involved. Within a century of that hour, in the capital of France, there convened an international court, its presiding officer an eminent citizen of the French Republic, its members representatives of sovereign European States, its object the peaceable adjustment of controversies between Great Britain and the United States.

"Was it Richelieu who said, 'Take away the sword; States can be saved without it'?

"In no part of our mechanism of government was the wisdom of our fathers more strikingly displayed than in the division of power into the three great departments—legislative, executive, and judicial. In an equal degree was that wisdom manifested by the division of Congress into a Senate and a House of Representatives. Upon the Senate the Constitution has devolved important functions other than those of a merely legislative character. Coequal with the House in matters of legislation, it is, in addition, the advisory body of the President in appointments to office, and in treating with foreign nations. The mode of election, together with the long term of service, unquestionably fosters a spirit of conservatism in the Senate. Always organized, it is the continuing body of our national legislature. Its members change, but the Senate continues —the same now as at the first hour of the Republic. Before no human tribunal come for determination issues of weightier moment. It were idle to doubt that problems yet lie in our pathway as a nation, as difficult of solution as any that in times past have tried the courage or tested the wisdom of our fathers. Yet, may we not confidently abide in the faith that in the keeping of those who succeed the illustrious sages I have named, the dearest interest of our country will be faithfully conserved, and in the words of an eminent predecessor, 'though these marble walls moulder into ruin, the Senate, in another age, may bear into a new and large chamber the Constitution, vigorous and inviolate, and that the last generation of posterity shall witness the deliberations of the representatives of American States, still united, prosperous, and free'?

"And may our fathers' God, 'from out of whose hand the centuries fall like grains of sand,' continue to the American people, throughout all the ages, the prosperity and blessings which He has given to us in the past."



XXXV COLUMBUS MONUMENT IN CENTRAL PARK

FITNESS OF NEW YORK AS THE SITE FOR THE STATUE—VAST IMPORTANCE OF THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA—COLUMBUS'S HUMILITY AND HIS TRUST IN GOD —THE STATUE UNVEILED—CONCLUDING WORDS OF MR. DEPEW'S ORATION.

Facing the statue of Shakespeare in Central Park, New York, is that of Christopher Columbus. It was unveiled with appropriate ceremonies. General James Grant Wilson presided; Mrs. Julia Ward Howe read her beautiful poem, "The Mariner's Dream," and the oration was delivered by the Hon. Chauncey Depew. Upon this occasion I spoke as follows:

"This hour will live in history. Central Park, beautiful and magnificent, is the fitting place for the statue of Columbus. It is well that to the City of New York, the metropolis of the continent, should have fallen the grateful task of portraying to the millions of all the coming ages the features of the man who, despite obstacles and dangers, marked out the pathway to the New World.

"The name and fame of Columbus belong exclusively to no age or country. They are the enduring heritage of all people. Your President has truly said: 'In all the transactions of history, there is no act which, for vastness and performance, can be compared to the discovery of the continent of America.' In the modest words of the great navigator, he 'only opened the gates'; and lo! there came in the builders of a new and mighty nation.

"It is said that in Venice there is sacredly preserved a letter written by Columbus a few hours before he sailed from Palos. With reverent expression of trust in God, humbly, but with unfaltering faith, he spoke of his proposed voyage to that famous land. He builded better than he knew. His dream, while a suppliant in the outer chambers of kings, and while keeping lonely vigil on the deep, was the discovery of a new pathway to the Indies. Yet who can doubt that to his prophetic soul was then foreshadowed something of that famous land with the warp and woof of whose history, tradition, and song, his name and fame are linked for all time? Was it Mr. Winthrop who said of Columbus and his compeers: 'They were the pioneers in the march to independence; the precursors in the only progress of freedom which was to have no backward steps.'

"Is it too much to say of this man that among the world's benefactors a greater than he hath not appeared? What page in our history tells of deeds so fraught with blessings to the generations of men as the discovery of America? Columbus added a continent to the map of the world.

"I will detain you no longer. Your eyes will now behold this splendid work of art. It is well that its approaches are firm and broad, for along this pathway, with the rolling centuries, will come, as pilgrims to a shrine, the myriads of all lands to behold this statue of Columbus, this enduring monument of the gratitude of a great city, of a great nation."

As the last words were spoken, I leaned over and grasped the rope fastened to the flag that enveloped the statue. The flag parted on either side and was removed by the attendants. The statue stood revealed in all its beauty under the shade of the great elms of the Mall.

Mr. Depew concluded his eloquent oration with the following words:

"We are here to erect this statue to his memory because of the unnumbered blessings to America and to the people of every race and clime which have followed his discovery. His genius and faith gave succeeding generations the opportunity for life and liberty. We, the heirs of all the ages, in the plenitude of our enjoyments, and the prodigality of the favors showered upon us, hail Columbus our benefactor."



XXXVI A PLATFORM NOT DANGEROUS TO STAND UPON

A CITIZEN WHO LONGED TO BE A MEMBER OF THE MISSOURI LEGISLATURE—A COMMITTEE APPOINTED BY A MEETING OF HIS FRIENDS—DIFFICULTY IN ARRANGING THE PLATFORM—THE RESOLUTIONS ADOPTED UNANIMOUSLY.

The builders of political platforms, which uniformly "point with pride" and "view with alarm," may possibly glean a valuable suggestion from the following incident related by Governor Knott. In the county in the good State of Missouri in which his fortune was cast for a while, there lived and flourished, in the ante-bellum days, one Solomon P. Rodes, whose earnest and long-continued yearning was to be a member of the State Legislature. So intense, indeed, had this feeling become in the mind of Solomon, that he at length openly declared that he "would rather go to the Missouri Legislater, than to be the Czar of Roosky." And in passing, it may here be safely admitted that even a wiser man than Solomon might make this declaration in these early years of the twentieth century.

Following the example of greater men than himself when aspiring to public office, Mr. Rodes called a meeting of his party friends in his precinct, to the end that his modest "boom" might be successfully launched. After the accustomed organization had been effected, a committee of five, of which our aspirant was chairman, was duly appointed to prepare and present appropriate resolutions. The committee at once retired for consultation, to a log in the rear of the schoolhouse, leaving the convention in session. No rattling orator being present to arouse the enthusiasm so essential to patient waiting, the little assemblage, wearied by the delay, at length despatched a messenger to expedite, if possible, the labors of the committee. The messenger found the committee in a condition far otherwise than encouraging. The resolutions had failed to materialize, and the chairman, seated upon the log, with pencil in hand, and gazing pensively upon a blank leaf before him, seemed the very picture of despair. Upon a second admonition from the unreasonably impatient meeting, that adjournment would immediately take place unless the resolutions were reported, the committee hastily concluded its labors and, preceded by the chairman with document in hand, solemnly returned to the place of assembly.

The resolutions, two in number, and unanimously and with great enthusiasm promptly adopted, were in words and figures as follows, to-wit:

"(1) Resolv that in the declaration of independence and likewise also in the constitution of the united states, we recognize a able and well ritten document, and that we are tetotually oppose to the repeal of airy one of the aforesaid instruments of riting. Resolv:

"(2) that in our fellow-townsman, Solomon P. Rodes, we view a onest man and hereby annominate him for the legislater."



XXXVII ANECDOTES OF GOVERNOR OGLESBY

OGLESBY'S GREATNESS IN DISCUSSING QUESTIONS CONNECTED WITH THE REBELLION—HIS WORK IN THE MEXICAN AND CIVIL WARS—HE VISITS THE ORIENT—FAILS TO FIND OUT WHO BUILT THE PYRAMIDS.

Few men have enjoyed a greater degree of popularity than did the late Governor Oglesby of Illinois. He was whole-souled, genial, and at all times the most delightful of companions. He stood in the front rank of campaign orators when slavery, rebellion, war, and reconstruction were the stirring questions of the hour. In the discussion of these once vital issues, with the entire State for an audience, he was without a peer. But when they were relegated to the domain of history and succeeded by tariff, finance, and other commonplace, everyday questions, the Governor felt greatly hampered. In a large degree Othello's occupation was gone. Cold facts, statistics, figures running up into the millions, gave little opportunity for the play of his wonderful imagination.

In his second race for Governor, in a speech at Bloomington, he said, in a deprecatory tone: "These Democrats undertake to discuss the financial question. They oughtn't to do that. They can't possibly understand it. The Lord's truth is, fellow-citizens, it is about all we Republicans can do to understand that question!"

He was a gallant soldier in the Mexican and in the great Civil War, and in the latter achieved distinction as a commanding officer. With Weldon, Ewing, McNulta, Fifer, Rowell, and others as listeners, he once graphically described the first battle in which he was engaged. Turning to his old-time comrade, McNulta, he said: "There is one supreme moment in the experience of a soldier that is absolutely ecstatic!" "That," quickly replied McNulta, "is the very moment when he gets into battle."

"No, damn it," said Oglesby, "it is the very moment he gets out!"

In his early manhood, Oglesby spent some years abroad. His pilgrimage extended even to Egypt, up the Nile, and to the Holy Land.

Few persons at the time having visited the Orient, Oglesby's descriptions of the wonders of the far-off countries were listened to with the deepest interest. With both memory and imagination in their prime, it can easily be believed that those wonders of the Orient lost nothing by his description. Soon after his return he lectured in Bloomington. The audience were delighted, especially with his description of the Pyramids.

None of us had ever before seen or heard a man who had actually, with his own eyes, beheld these wonders of the ages. Near the close of his lecture, and just after he had suggested the probability of Abraham and Sarah having taken in the Pyramids on their wedding trip, some one in the audience inquired;

"Who built the Pyramids?"

"Oh, damn it," quickly replied the orator, "I don't know who built them; I asked everybody I saw in Egypt and none of them knew!"

For much that is of interest in the career of Governor Oglesby I am indebted to his honored successor in office, my neighbor and friend, Hon. Joseph W. Fifer—than whom the country has had no braver soldier and the State no abler Chief Executive.



XXXVIII THE ONE ENEMY

CALEB CUSHING'S POLITICAL CAREER—HIS GREAT AMBITION A SEAT UPON THE SUPREME BENCH—HIS APPOINTMENT THERETO—HIS ONE ENEMY DEFEATS HIS CONFIRMATION.

"He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere."

The truth of the above couplet has rarely had more forcible illustration than in the case of the late Caleb Cushing of Massachusetts. In politics he was successively Whig, Democrat, and Republican. During his first political affiliation, he was a Representative in Congress; in the second a member of Pierce's Cabinet; and in the third a Minister abroad. He was an eminent lawyer, and for a term ably discharged the duties of Attorney-General of the United States. His one ambition was a seat upon the Supreme Bench.

This was at length gratified by his appointment as Chief Justice of the Great Court. Unfortunately he had, years before, given mortal offence to Aaron A. Sargent, then recently admitted to the bar. The latter soon after moved to California, and became in time a Senator from that State.

When the appointment of Cushing came before the Senate for confirmation, his one enemy was there. The appointee had long since forgotten the young lawyer he had once treated so rudely, but he had not been forgotten. The hour of revenge had now come. After a protracted and bitter struggle, Sargent, of the same political affiliation as Cushing, succeeded in defeating the confirmation by a single vote. The political sensation of the hour was the Senator's prompt message to his defeated enemy:

"Time at last sets all things even; And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long, Of him who treasures up a wrong."



XXXIX CONTRASTS OF TIMES

TRAVELLING IN 1845 COMPARED WITH THAT OF THE PRESENT DAY.

While I was Assistant Postmaster-General, Senator Whittihorne, of Tennessee, called at the Department to see me on official business. Seated at a window overlooking the Capitol, he remarked that the chords of memory were touched as he entered the room; that when barely of age, he occupied for a time a desk as a clerk just where he was seated.

He then told me that at the time of the Presidential election in 1844 he was a law student in the office of Mr. Polk, and by his invitation came on with him to Washington. The journey of the President-elect, from Nashville to Washington, was in February, 1845, just prior to his inauguration. He was accompanied by the members of his immediate family, his law student Mr. Whittihorne, and the Hon. Cave Johnson, who was soon to hold a position in his Cabinet. The journey to Washington, as Senator Whittihorne told me, was of two weeks' duration: first, by steamboat on the Cumberland and the Ohio to Pittsburg; thence by stage coach to the national Capitol.

At the time mentioned, railroads scarcely had an existence south of the Ohio and west of the Alleghanies; and save the single wire from Washington to Baltimore, no telegraph line had been constructed.

How striking the commentary, alike upon human accomplishment, and upon opportunity under our free institutions, is here presented! The wearisome and hazardous journey of half a month by steamboat and stage coach had been succeeded by one in palace car of a day and a night of comparative ease and safety, and the clerk had risen from a humble place in the Department to that of Senator from one of the great States in the Union.

XL ENDORSING THE ADMINISTRATION

DIFFICULTY EXPERIENCED BY DEMOCRATIC MEMBERS IN PROCURING APPOINTMENTS FOR THEIR CONSTITUENTS—A NEW MEMBER THREATENS TO FRAME RESOLUTIONS OF CONDEMNATION—HE DOES THE VERY OPPOSITE—AN EXPLANATORY ANECDOTE.

The Democratic members of the forty-ninth Congress who yet survive will probably recall something of the difficulty they experienced in procuring for aspiring constituents prompt appointments to positions of honor, trust, and profit, under the then lately inaugurated administration. An earnest desire was felt, and vehemently expressed at times, by those who had been long excluded from everything that savored of Federal recognition, for sweeping changes all along the line.

A new member of the House, from one of the border States, believing that his grievances were far too heavy to be meekly borne, made open declaration of war, and asserted with great confidence and with the free use of words nowhere to be found in "Little Helps to Youthful Beginners," that at the approaching Democratic convention of his State, resolutions of condemnation of no uncertain sound would be adopted. Some conciliatory observations, which I ventured to offer, were treated with scorn, and the irate member, still breathing out threatenings, hastily turned his footsteps homeward.

A few mornings later, I was agreeably surprised to find in The Post a telegram to the effect that upon the assembling of the convention aforementioned, the honorable gentleman above designated, securing prompt recognition from the chair, had, under a suspension of the rules, secured the unanimous adoption of a resolution enthusiastically and unconditionally endorsing every act, past, present, and to come, of the national Democratic administration.

Upon the return of the member to Washington, I expressed to him my surprise at a conversion which, in suddenness and power, had possibly but one parallel in either sacred or profane history. Closing his near eye, he said:

"Look here! I can illustrate my position about this matter by relating a little incident I witnessed near the close of the war. Just as I was leaving an old ferry-boat in which I had crossed the Tennessee River, my attention was attracted to a canoe near by in which were seated two fishermen, both negroes, one a very old man and the other a small boy. Suddenly the canoe capsized and they were both dumped in the deep water. The boy was an expert swimmer and was in no danger. Not so with the old man; he sank immediately, and it certainly seemed that his fishing days were over. The boy, however, with a pluck and skill that did him great credit, instantly dived to the bottom of the river, and with great difficulty and much personal peril finally succeeded in landing the old man upon the shore.

"Approaching the heroic youth, as he was wringing the water from his own garments, I inquired,

"'Your father, is he?'

"'No, sir,' was the quick reply, 'he ain't my father.'

"'Your grandfather, then?'

"'No, sir, he ain't my grandfather nuther, he ain't no kin to me, I tell you.'

"'Earnestly expressing my surprise at his having imperilled his own life to save a man who was no kin to him, the boy replied,'

"'You see, dis was de way of it boss; de ole man, he had de bait!"

XLI ANECDOTES ABOUT LINCOLN

LINCOLN'S TROUBLE WITH THREE EMANCIPATION ENTHUSIASTS—A SCHOOLBOY'S TROUBLE WITH SHADRACH, MESHACH, AND ABEDNEGO—PRETTY WELL OFF WITH A FORTUNE OF FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS—LINCOLN REBUKES SOME RICH MEN WHO DEMAND A GUNBOAT FOR THE PROTECTION OF NEW YORK.

The Hon. John B. Henderson, now of Washington City, but during the war and the early reconstruction period a distinguished Union Senator from Missouri, relates the following incident of Mr. Lincoln. During the gloomy period of 1862, late one Sunday afternoon he called upon the President and found his alone in his library. After some moments Mr. Lincoln, apparently much depressed, stated in substance: "They are making every effort, Henderson, to induce me to issue a Proclamation of Emancipation. Sumner and Wilson and Stevens are constantly urging me, but I don't think it best now; do you think so, Henderson?" To which the latter promptly replied that he did not think so; that such a measure, under existing conditions, would, in his judgment, be ill-advised and possibly disastrous. "Just what I think," said the President, "but they are constantly coming and urging me, sometimes alone, sometimes in couples, and sometimes all three together, but constantly pressing me." With that he walked across the room to a window and looked out upon the Avenue. Sure enough, Wilson, Stevens, and Sumner were seen approaching the Executive Mansion. Calling his visitor to the window and pointing to the approaching figures, in a tone expressing something of that wondrous sense of humor that no burden or disaster could wholly dispel, he said, "Henderson, did you ever attend an old field school?" Henderson replied that he did.

"So did I," said the President; "what little education I ever got in early life was in that way. I attended an old field school in Indiana, where our only reading-book was the Bible. One day we were standing up reading the account of the three Hebrew children in the fiery furnace. A little tow-headed fellow who stood beside me had the verse with the unpronounceable names; he mangled up Shadrach and Meshach woefully, and finally went all to pieces on Abednego. Smarting under the blows which, in accordance with the old-time custom, promptly followed his delinquency, the little fellow sobbed aloud. The reading, however, went round, each boy in the class reading his verse in turn. The sobbing at length ceased, and the tow-headed boy gazed intently upon the verses ahead.

"Suddenly he gave a pitiful yell, at which the school-master demanded:

"'What is the matter with you now?'

"'Look there,' said the boy, pointing to the next verse, 'there comes them same damn three fellows again!'"

As indicating the slight concern Mr. Lincoln had about money-making, as well as the significance of the expression "well-off" half a century or so ago, the following conversation, related by Judge Weldon, is in point.

At the opening of the De Witt Circuit Court in May, 1859, just a year before his first nomination for the Presidency, Mr. Lincoln was present, unattended for possibly the first time by his life-long friend, Major John T. Stuart. Upon inquiry from Weldon as to whether Stuart was coming, Lincoln replied, "No, Stuart told me that he would not be here this term."

Weldon then remarked, "I suppose the Major has gotten to be pretty well off and doesn't have to attend all the courts in the Circuit."

"Yes," replied Lincoln, "Stuart is pretty well to do, pretty well to do."

"How much is the Major probably worth, Mr. Lincoln?" asked Mr. Weldon.

"Well," replied the latter, after a moment's thought, "I don't know exactly; Stuart is pretty well off; I suppose he must be worth about fifteen thousand dollars."

Another incident characteristic of Mr. Lincoln, was related by his friend Judge Weldon.

During the gloomiest period of the war, and while our seaboard cities were in constant apprehension of attack, a delegation of business men from New York visited Washington for the purpose of having a gunboat secured for the defence of their city. At their request, Judge Weldon accompanied them to the Executive Mansion and introduced them to the President. The spokesman of the delegation, after depicting at length and in somewhat pompous manner, the dangers that threatened the great metropolis, took occasion, in manner at once conclusive, to state that he spoke with authority, that the gentlemen represented property aggregating in value many hundreds of millions of dollars. At this, Mr. Lincoln interposing impatiently, and in a manner never to be forgotten, said:

"It seems to me, gentlemen, that if I were as rich as you say you are, and as badly scared as you appear to be, I would, in this hour of my country's distress, just buy that gunboat myself!"

XLII THE FIRST LEGISLATIVE ASSEMBLY IN AMERICA

FAR-REACHING EFFECTS OF THE FOUNDING OF THE VIRGINIA HOUSE OF BURGESSES—VIRGINIA'S GIFT OF TERRITORY TO THE GOVERNMENT—KASKASKIA CAPTURED FROM THE BRITISH—JAMESTOWN THE SCENE OF THE FIRST BRITISH COLONY—THE BEGINNINGS OF COLONIAL SELF-GOVERNMENT—SALUTARY LAWS MADE—POCAHONTAS—GOVERNMENT BY CHARTER—DESPOTISM OF JAMES I—MACAULAY ON THE STUART DYNASTY—THE THIRTEEN ORIGINAL COLONIES— UNJUST TAXATION—PROGRESS OF REPUBLICAN PRINCIPLES—VIRGINIA NOTABLE FOR HER STATESMEN.

On the thirtieth of July, 1907, at the Jamestown Exposition, was celebrated the anniversary of the assembling of the House of Burgesses of Virginia, the first legislative body to assemble upon the Western continent. The meeting was presided over by the present Speaker of the Virginia House of Burgesses, and by invitation of the President of the Exposition addresses were made by ex-speakers Carlisle, Keifer, and myself.

My address was as follows:

"We have assembled upon historic ground. We celebrate to-day a masterful historic event. Other anniversaries, sacredly observed, have their deep meaning; no one, however, is fraught with profounder significance than this.

"The management of the great Exposition did well to set apart this thirtieth of July to commemorate the coming together at Jamestown of the first legislative assembly in the New World. The assembling of the representatives of the people upon the eventful day two hundred and eighty-six years ago—of which this is the anniversary —marked an epoch which, in far-reaching consequences, scarcely finds a parallel in history. It was the initial step in the series of stupendous events which found their culmination in the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, and the formulation of the Federal Constitution.