Chapter III: Conclusion (2)

I am a Republican because I am in favor of protecting American industries and American labor. The population of the United States is increasing at the rate of a million a year; the wealth of our country is augmenting at the rate of two hundred millions annually; its coal area is more than six times as great as that of all Europe; its iron mines are capable of supporting a prodigious manufacturing population; its railways aggregate nearly a hundred thousand miles; its agricultural and mineral resources are incalculable; and it can produce, within its own territorial limits, almost everything produced in any other country of the habitable globe. Such a country as this, with such vast and varied productions and resources, must legislate, not for the world, but for itself. During the twenty-four years of Republican rule it has had an unexampled growth. Its population has increased over sixty per cent.; its agricultural exports over six hundred per cent.; and its foreign trade from seven hundred millions to nearly twelve hundred millions of dollars annually. Under Republican administration opportunities for employment have enormously multiplied, and consumers and producers have constantly been brought nearer to one another, through the vast increase of manufacturing industries. At the same time nearly every manufactured article is cheaper, to-day, in the United States than it was thirty years ago, when ninety per cent. of our manufactured goods were made abroad, instead of only ten per cent., as now. The Republican policy of protection to home industries is making this a self-sustaining, self-relying country. It is giving muscle an equal chance with money. It is developing and enlarging all the sources of National prosperity. It has made all the people happier, healthier, and more contented than they ever were before, or could be under any other policy. Millions of men, who win their bread by the labor of their hands or brain, know this, and they are swelling the ranks of the great party that has always been the advocate and protector of American labor. The black banners of industry that float in the morning air from countless factories all over the land; the clangor of a hundred thousand trailing trains; the whirling clatter of a million wheels and spindles—these are the sign-manuals which the Republican policy of protection has written, in indelible letters, on the face of the busy land.

And now, having given you the reasons for “the faith that is in me”—having told you why I am a Republican, and why, in my judgment, every good citizen ought to be a Republican—I want to add a few words of personal import. I am the candidate of this great party for the highest executive office in the gift of the people of Kansas. I was nominated by the unanimous vote of the largest delegate convention ever held in the State; by a Convention representing every county, city and township in the State; by a Convention whose proceedings were distinguished for fairness, decorum, intelligence, and sobriety; by a Convention whose delegates were chosen with almost unprecedented unanimity, and who fairly, I think I have good reason for saying, voiced the preference of a vast majority of the Republicans of Kansas. I was nominated by this great Convention, not only with entire unanimity, but without pledges or promises from me, and without trades, combinations, or any manner of political trickery. I was nominated on a platform which any honest, self-respecting, law-respecting, law-obeying Republican can indorse, and ought to indorse. Yet I am told that there are men, claiming to be Republicans, who say they are going to vote against me, and vote for my opponent, because they don’t like the platform.

To this class of men, and to all others, I want to say a few words. All State officers are required to make solemn oath that they will support the Constitution of the State, and the Constitution specifically sets forth that the Governor “shall see that the laws are faithfully executed.” The Republican party, in its platform, simply affirms this plain Constitutional duty. The people of the State, in their sovereign capacity, and without distinction of party, have adopted a Constitutional provision known as the prohibitory amendment. It was voted for by nearly one hundred thousand citizens; it received a majority of nearly eight thousand of the votes cast on the question; and it received the support of nearly nine thousand more voters than cast their ballots for the present Governor, whose election has never been challenged. The Supreme Court of the State has affirmed the validity of this amendment, and of all the forms by which it was adopted. Yet it is asserted that because the Republican party recognizes, in its platform, these unchallenged, unquestionable facts, and demands that State officers shall faithfully and honestly discharge the duties imposed upon them by the Constitution and by their oath of office, I am to be opposed by men calling themselves Republicans.

If this be true, I shall make no complaint. I want to be fairly, explicitly understood. If I am elected Governor, when, in the presence of Almighty God and the sovereign people of Kansas, I raise my hand to take the oath of office, I shall not do so with falsehood on my lips and perjury in my heart. I will not equivocate. I will do my duty, under the Constitution and laws I have sworn to see faithfully executed. I make no apology to any person under the shining stars for holding this faith. I am grateful—sincerely grateful—to the Republicans of Kansas for the distinguished honor they have conferred upon me. I appreciate their confidence, their esteem, their friendship, and I shall try, earnestly try, to deserve it. But I should feel that I had dishonored the great party to secure whose triumph I have devoted all the years of my manhood; that I had brought deserved reproach upon myself, and the wife and little children who bear my name, if, having been honored by an election as the Chief Executive of this splendid, prosperous, intelligent Commonwealth, I should, by any act, or word, or deed, prove false to my oath of office, or to the duties I voluntarily assumed.

I did not vote for the prohibitory amendment. But I accept, as a law-respecting citizen, the decision of the majority on this question. Ours is a people’s government, a Republican government, in which the majority rule and ought to rule. And he is neither a good Republican nor a true American who refuses to subordinate his own opinions, his own preferences or prejudices, to the decision of the majority. This is the very foundation-stone on which the whole fabric of our government rests. Destroy it, remove it, and lawlessness, anarchy, civil war, are the natural and inevitable consequences. I believe in the right of the people to rule. I am for peace, for order, for liberty regulated by law, and for the conservators of all of them—popular education, intelligence, sobriety, and a Constitutional government which the chosen officers of the people administer in accordance with the expressed will of the people, for the people, and to promote the people’s interests.

If there is a Republican, here or anywhere in the State—a Republican who glories in his party’s glorious record, as I do; who is proud of the splendid achievements with which it has illuminated the brightest pages of the world’s progress, as I am; who believes it is the party of intelligence, of social order, of law, as I do—if there is a man here who is, or ever has been, a Republican of this order, and who is going to vote against this great, intelligent, beneficent, law-respecting party, in the present contest in Kansas, because it sustains the Constitution of the State, and demands that sworn officers shall faithfully and honestly execute the laws of the State, I should like to see him. If there is such a man here, I should like to see him stand up and be counted.

Such a man—if there is one—is not, and never was, a true Republican. He may have voted the Republican ticket now and then, and called himself a Republican; but he has never had, he has not now, the real grace of true Republicanism in his heart. More than this, he is not even a true American. The genuine American respects the decisions of majorities, and bows in humble submission to the majesty of law. He loves the flag of his country, not because it is red, white, and blue, but because it is the symbol of the people’s government, of social order, of the Constitution and laws of the land. When the soldier saw it, among the tangled underbrush at Chicamauga, or moving up the embattled heights of Mission Ridge, or half enshrouded in the sulphurous smoke at Gettysburg, or planted amid the dead and dying on the ramparts of Vicksburg, it was not a piece of striped cloth he saw, but his country’s body and blood—her education, her progress, her moral, social, commercial, and political systems, her Constitution and her laws—and this was why he was ready to follow the flag, and fight for it, and die for it if need be, that all it symbolized might be preserved, a priceless heritage for all the generations of men.

Alike as a citizen or as a public officer I shall at all times maintain and uphold these ideas of private and public duty, because the whole fabric of our American system of government rests upon them.

Now, my friends, I shall not detain you longer. In telling you why I am a Republican, I have stated the reasons why, in my judgment, every man who loves his country, every citizen who values good government, every citizen who appreciates the blessings of liberty regulated by law, should be a Republican. And a Republican, my friends, is a man who votes the Republican ticket. This little fact ought to be understood. The man who says he is a Republican, and in the same breath declares that he is going to vote the Democratic ticket, or for Democratic candidates, is—well, he need not be surprised if everybody mistakes him for a Democrat. As the old colored woman said: “It’s ’stonishin’ how dem pickanninies look like one anoder—’speshully Pomp!” If you are a Republican, stand by your party and its candidates. “Kicking” is the characteristic of a mule, but I never heard that it added either to the value of the animal or to the esteem in which he is held. The horse that has a habit of “bolting” when the race is on, may be a good-enough horse, but he never wins either confidence, cheers, or purses. The brood of “kickers” and “bolters” is not one that should be emulated. Stand up for your party, wholly, completely, or not at all. Keep in its ranks, or go over to the enemy. A beautiful spectacle—a spectacle for gods and men—is the Republican who says he is going to march through this campaign that is just opening, shouting for Blaine and Logan, but will march with a crowd that regards no slander too vile, no abuse too low, no denunciation too vulgar or too bitter to apply to Blaine and Logan! Just think of a Democratic procession with these “kickers” in its ranks—before them an old-fashioned Democratic banner, inscribed: “Do you want your daughter to marry a nigger?” And behind them other banners, bearing such inscriptions as: “Jim Blaine, the Tattooed Man—Read the Mulligan Letters;” or, “Jack Logan Enlisting Men for the Rebel Army;” or, “The Republican Party Must Go that Free Whisky May Come!” Don’t you think it would stir the heart and warm the blood of a true Republican to march with such a crowd? Could any genuine Republican do it?

With such a record as it can point to, the Republican party has a right to expect the continued devotion of the best minds and hearts of the country. It has a right to more than this. It has a right to expect of its members and friends that unity, concord and tolerance so essential to its success. It has a right to demand of its members that they shall not indulge in useless quarrels over differences which only the lapse of time can finally adjust and reconcile. Every soldier who followed the old flag will, I think, call to mind occasions when he firmly believed that the war was not conducted as it should be, and when the gravest differences of opinion concerning the methods and policy of his commanders were widely prevalent. But if he was a true soldier, he remembers also, and with justifiable pride, that while he occasionally indulged a soldier’s privilege, and did a little wholesome private growling, he never for an instant forgot his duty to his country, and abated no jot of his enthusiastic devotion to her cause. During the war there was only one Fitz John Porter. The Republican who thinks Porter was justly punished, should not, in politics, emulate his example. The true soldier was for his country, no matter how his commanders conducted the war; the true Republican, animated by the same spirit, aims his guns at the common enemy, and never at the soldiers of the Republican ranks.

THE CAMPAIGN OF 1884.

Speech delivered at Manhattan, Kansas, November 21st, 1884.

MY FRIENDS AND FELLOW-CITIZENS OF MANHATTAN: I came to your jubilee, as some of you know, with grave reluctance. This was not because I failed to appreciate your generous kindness in desiring to celebrate my election. It was not because I was not sincerely thankful to you for your earnest support in the canvass just closed. It was not because I was not deeply and profoundly sensible of the great honor done me by the people of this intelligent and prosperous State. Nor was it because I would not willingly and gladly meet with the people of this enterprising, beautiful and growing city—the seat of one of the most important of our great institutions of learning—on the occasion of any social or political celebration to which their partiality and kindness might summon me.

But when I first received your invitation, the result of the great quadrennial struggle between the opposing and enduring forces of Loyalty, Liberty and Progress was not yet determined. And it seemed to me that no gratulation personal to myself, no celebration of a victory that embraced only the narrow confines of a State, was allowable while the tremendous issues of the National contest were involved in doubt.

I come now, in response to your summons, with a heavy heart. The Republican victory in Kansas was, I know, complete. The largest vote ever polled in the State shows the largest Republican majority, and the vote cast for me exceeds the wildest anticipations of my most sanguine friends. To receive nearly double the votes cast for the Republican nominee two years ago; to turn a minority of nearly ten thousand into a majority of nearly forty thousand; to be indorsed by a majority of the votes cast in all but about half a dozen counties of the State; to receive over twenty-five thousand more votes than were cast for the Republican candidate for President four years ago; and notwithstanding the fact that the whole force of the enemy’s attack was massed against me, to fall only a little more than six thousand votes behind the poll for James G. Blaine, who for ten years past has been the idol of the people of Kansas—this is indeed a victory, a triumph, of which any man would have a just right to feel proud.

And I certainly am proud of it, and as grateful as I am proud. I am grateful to the generous Republicans of the State, who, after nominating me with unprecedented unanimity, supported me with unparalleled earnestness and enthusiasm. I am grateful to the eloquent and vigorous speakers, who, in city, town, village and school-house, pleaded my cause with the people, defended me against unjust assault, and did far more than justice to my services or my deserving. I am grateful, especially, to the thousands of earnest, enthusiastic young men whose torches, for weeks, turned night into day from Doniphan to Barber, and from Cherokee to Cheyenne, and who, with flashing flambeaux, blazing rockets and loud hurrahs, often did what neither the logic, the eloquence nor the wit of orators could do, to arouse the sluggish and convert the doubtful. I am grateful to the bright, enterprising, enthusiastic journalists of Kansas—and no State in the Union can boast of brighter or better newspapers than can Kansas—who so ardently and intelligently supported me. I am grateful to hundreds of Democrats and Greenbackers in the State, who, believing that I stood for obedience to law, voted for me. I am grateful even to the opposition, who, as a general rule, treated me courteously and fairly. The exceptions to this rule only emphasized it.

There is in me, therefore, no lack of gratitude for the signal honor conferred upon me by the people of Kansas. Indeed, the measure of my gratitude is so full and overflowing that it weighs upon me. I feel under obligations to so many people, I am profoundly grateful to so many, that when I think of it all, and of how I am to testify my gratitude or requite the obligations I am under, I am overwhelmed with a sense of the poverty of my vocabulary of thankfulness, and of the vain aspiration of my desire to return even a tithe of my multitudinous obligations.

But, grateful as I am to the Republicans of Kansas for the signal honor they have conferred upon me—an honor which fills the full measure of my ambition—and proud as I am of the magnificent victory won in Kansas, I cannot forget that the Republican banner of the Nation is, for the first time in twenty-five years, trailing in defeat. If I loved the party merely for its gifts of honor and of office; if I cared nothing for its principles, and had no faith in their power to benefit and bless the people of America; if I regarded the contest between the Democratic and the Republican parties as a mere scramble for the spoils of office, I would be content with my own personal victory, and accept it as all that I was interested in. But I am a Republican, not only in name, but in fact. I am a Republican because I sincerely believe that the Republican party is the purest, the most intelligent, the most progressive, the most beneficent organization the world has ever known. I am a Republican because the Republican party saved the Union; because it abolished slavery; because it enfranchised the slaves; because it has made this Nation great, free, prosperous, and self-sustaining.

I am a Republican because the Republican party advocates the protection of American industries and labor; because it is the party of school-houses, of education, of social order, of liberty regulated by law; and because it is a party that has never feared to attack vice, however strongly entrenched it might be.

I am a Republican because the Republican party would be ashamed to prefer a Northern Copperhead to a Union soldier.

I am a Republican because the Republican party does not, for expediency’s sake, ignore its greatest and bravest advocates and statesmen, while it sits upon a pedestal, like a Gessler’s hat in the market-place, a preposterous political accident, who had lived throughout the tremendous events of the past quarter of a century, utterly unknown outside of the small place wherein he resided.

The Republican party has enriched the history of the age with a long list of imperishable names, and among them all no one shines with a more brilliant luster than that of its brave and glorious leader in the late campaign, James G. Blaine.

Is it strange, then, that even in the midst of our rejoicing over our victory in Kansas my heart turns to the man who should have been the central thought and figure of this jubilee—to the defeated leader—but still the leader of the Republican hosts, as much to-day as a month ago; to the Greatheart of the party, who never sulked in his tent when others were preferred; and who never treacherously stabbed his party in order to defeat a political rival.

There are to-day, all over the land, men who proudly boast that they voted for Henry Clay, who, in his day and generation, was the greatest, bravest and noblest of American statesmen, and who will be remembered and revered a thousand years after the eleventh President of the United States is forgotten. And so, a quarter of a century hence, the young Americans who this year cast their first votes for James G. Blaine and John A. Logan, the greatest statesman and the greatest volunteer soldier of this age, will boast of it as the proudest act of their lives.

The great West presented, in the contest just closed, a stainless record of unfaltering devotion to Republican principles. Here in the West, the land of freedom and loyalty, the home of school-houses and of soldiers, the Republican candidates received a support that was as enthusiastic as it was overwhelming. The best blood and brain and energy of America abide in the West. It is the bright boy of the family who leaves the old homestead to make a name and a fortune for himself. It is the mother of bright and energetic children who, when her husband talks of removing to a new and broader country, gives a brave and willing consent. These are the men and women who have peopled this goodly Western land and transformed it by the magic touch of industry, energy and intelligence into the granary of the world. And this is the land, the broad, rich, prosperous land, where a big-hearted, big-brained people gave the greatest and most brilliant of living Americans his largest and heartiest support. We can at least rejoice over this result of the campaign, and point with pride to the fact that Kansas, in her Republican majority, leads all the other States.

The Republican party has lost a battle. It lost some during the civil war. It is neither disheartened, dismayed, nor panic-stricken. It will rally its forces, form its lines, and prepare for the contest of 1888. It embraces within its ranks the best heart and brain of the American people. It is the party of proud memories and glorious aspirations. It has never done anything it has to apologize for or feel ashamed of. It has governed the country wisely, honestly, bravely. It is as great a party to-day as it was when Abraham Lincoln led it to victory, or when Ulysses S. Grant was its commander, or when James A. Garfield was its chosen candidate. Alike in fields of war, or finance, or administration, it has justified the highest expectations of the loyalty, the honesty and the intelligence of the Nation. Pharisees revile, demagogues denounce, cranks rail at, and traitors hate it. But it is the party of the honest, sensible, practical, logical people of the country, and to them it can safely trust for vindication and final victory. Four years of Democratic stupidity, dishonesty, arrogance and disloyalty, will nauseate the Republic, and the people will turn to the Republican party as the needle does to the pole, and gladly and proudly restore it to the public confidence it has done nothing to forfeit, and to the power it has never abused.

FIRST INAUGURAL ADDRESS.

Inaugural Address, delivered in the Hall of the House of
Representatives, January 12, 1885.

MR. PRESIDENT, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Many thousands of years ago it was said, “Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself, as he that putteth it off.” And upon an occasion of this character, such an admonition is peculiarly pertinent.

My predecessors can tell of duties performed, of purposes accomplished, of deeds and words that are now a part of the history of Kansas. I stand on the threshold of two years of official labor and responsibility, and look into the unknown future with grave anxiety and apprehension. A great State has signally honored me. A brave, intelligent and generous people have given me their confidence. How can I deserve this kindness and partiality? How may I acceptably fill a place so worthily occupied by a long line of able and eminent men? These are the questions to which I must make answer, not here and now, in the presence of this vast audience, but in the days that are to come, each bringing its new cares, duties, and responsibilities.

I have known all the Governors of this State, many of them intimately, and I take this occasion to say that I believe Kansas has, in the past, been fortunate in the choice of her chief Executive officers. First on the list, in eminence and usefulness as well as date of service, is the name of Charles Robinson. Long before Kansas was admitted into the Union, his splendid courage and comprehensive ability had made him the leader of the Free-State men. He enjoys the distinction of having been elected Governor under two Constitutions, and of having guided the State through the darkest and stormiest years of its history. The old War Governor is still hale and hearty, and as honored in private life as he was in public station.

Following him came Thomas Carney, a trained man of business, who, in a critical period of our history, performed the part that Robert Morris did in the infancy of the Republic—pledged his private fortune to save the financial credit of the State.

Samuel J. Crawford, a gallant and enterprising soldier, succeeded Carney. He served the State creditably, and is still in its service, employed as its Agent at Washington.

Then came James M. Harvey, a steadfast and sturdy soldier, plain and unpretentious, but of sterling honesty. Assuming high station without pride, he resigned it without murmuring. Yet he alone of our Governors reached the goal at which so many of them have aimed—the United States Senate.

Thomas J. Osborn, the most adroit and skillful politician of them all, followed Harvey. He stepped out of the Executive office into the diplomatic service of the country, in which he has grown gray and handsome.

George T. Anthony, a man of imposing presence, an eloquent and forcible speaker, and a thorough man of affairs, succeeded Osborn. He has, since retiring from office, borne a conspicuous part in the construction of a great National thoroughfare connecting the Republics of the United States and Mexico. Now, returned home, he is again in the service of the State, representing his district in the Legislature.

Then came John P. St. John. A ready and impressive speaker, he has since achieved a National reputation as an advocate of the temperance cause.

Last on the list is the name of my townsman and neighbor, George W. Glick, the first member of his party to be elected Governor of Kansas. A capable lawyer and an experienced legislator, always energetic and industrious, I think I may say, here in his presence, that even his political opponents will credit him with a sincere desire to promote the welfare of the State, however much they may disagree with him concerning the methods or policy by which such a result is best attained.

With the example, the experience, the precedents established by these, my predecessors, I enter upon the duties of the office to which I have been elected. And if, at the close of my term, I can surrender to my successor the trusts I now assume, and know that my administration has been marred by as few faults and failures, and distinguished by such a record of duties honestly, faithfully and intelligently discharged, as are the records of my predecessors generally, I shall certainly feel that I “have kept the faith.”

THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC.

Speech at the opening of the “Soldiers’ Fair and Festival,” Topeka,
January 28, 1885.

“_Now abideth Faith, Hope and Charity, these three; but the greatest
of these is Charity._”

In no age, and among no other people, have these virtues been so signally illustrated as they have been in our own age and by the people of the United States.

Faith in the Republic, in the grandeur of its power, in the beneficence of its institutions, and in the freedom, humanity and justice of its rule—this sentiment animated and inspired the soldiers of the Union during the long and dreadful years of the late civil war.

The glad picture of a country saved, disenthralled and enfranchised—this was the hope, imprinted on their hearts, that made their long marches less wearisome, that shortened the lonely hours of the night watch, and that nerved their arms amid the smoke of battle.

And the greatest of these virtues has been illustrated, during the two decades since the war, by the quick, unfailing and generous response of the people to every appeal made in behalf of those who thus risked health and life that the Republic might be preserved.

The inspiration that prompts and organizes such a charity as this, in which you, ladies and gentlemen of Topeka, have engaged, is in every sense honorable to the Capital City. Kindly consideration of the needs and sufferings of the poor or unfortunate is always a gracious sentiment. But it is doubly so when it has for its object the relief of men who once periled their lives for their country, and I am honored by the part you have allotted me, to formally open this fair and festival.

In the bustle, rush and interest of personal and public activities, the people sometimes forget how immeasurable is the debt of gratitude the Republic owes to the soldiers. I have, now and then, heard good citizens bewailing the burden of our pension list, and thoughtlessly declaring that Congress was extravagantly generous in the pensions given those who were disabled in the service. It is probably true that in some instances the generosity of the Government has been imposed upon. But would any young man in this assemblage consent to lose an arm for thirteen dollars a month, or a leg for thirty-two dollars a month, or to go through life blind and helpless for seventy-two dollars a month? Measure the sacrifice with the pension, and no true-hearted, right-thinking man or woman will say that the Government has done more than justice to its disabled soldiers.

Nor should it be forgotten, in considering the obligation of the people and the Government to the soldiers, that there was a time, not many years ago, when everything in this country—its Government, its lands, its money—was absolutely at the mercy of the army. When, at the close of the late civil war, the men who had followed Grant, and Sherman, and Thomas, and Meade, marched in review down Pennsylvania avenue, in Washington, on their bayonets rested all control, all law, all public authority. They had only to say to Congress, “These States we have conquered are ours; divide their territory and give us patents for it,” and it would have been done. They had only to say to the President, Congress, and people: “We have each earned pensions of one hundred dollars a month—enact such a law,” and it would have been enacted. Or if they had declared, “Give every soldier’s widow or orphan one thousand dollars a year,” where was the power to say nay? The Government? It was their strong and steady columns. The Congress? They could have sent a Corporal with his guard and brushed it away as you would a fly from your hand. The Constitution? It was a mere faded parchment, as dry and useless as a last year’s bird’s nest, if these men in faded blue uniforms, marching with their tattered flags—these men who had looked death in the face on dozens of battle-fields—had so decreed. But they used their great power with the chivalry of heroes and the unselfishness of patriots. They demanded nothing of the country they had saved. Quietly and modestly they returned to the peaceful homes and walks they had left, and took up again the broken threads of their old life.

Thousands of these soldiers contracted, during their service, the seeds of diseases that were only developed years afterward. The surgeon of my own Regiment, an old and capable physician, once told me that every man in the army marching to Atlanta under Sherman, would sooner or later suffer from the effects of the exposures and hardships of that trying campaign.

And for unfortunates of this character, whose disabilities were developed long after the war, the Government provides no pensions. Death may result, but the widows and orphans of such soldiers can claim no bounty from the country. For the relief of these soldiers, their widows and orphans, private benevolence must be appealed to. And this is the purpose of your organization. It is an object that should enlist the sympathies of all, and I sincerely trust that the largest measure of success may reward your efforts, and that a fund, ample for the purposes indicated, may be provided.

A WAR-TIME PICTURE.

Speech, at a Grand Army Camp-Fire, held in Topeka, February 13,
1885.

COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY: The Chairman of your committee called on me, on Wednesday evening last, and asked me to occupy five or six minutes, this evening, in a talk to you. I could not well refuse, though it seemed to me I had nothing of interest to say. But after he had gone, and the task I had assumed began to press itself upon my attention, my mind drifted back to the war period, with its fierce strifes and passionate excitement, and vivid pictures of many scenes presented themselves, some in keeping with the time, others more akin to the present era of peaceful prosperity and development. Then I thought that others who were to address you to-night would talk of war, and I might entertain you, for a few moments at least, with a picture of peace and good-will in the midst of war.

As vividly as if it was an event of yesterday, there is photographed on my memory a scene presented in the early autumn of 1862. Buell’s army was moving from Louisville to the battle-field of Perryville, and early one evening our corps went into camp on a beautiful farm in one of the loveliest regions of Kentucky. A clear, sparkling brook wound through a charming valley, from the hills to the west, and blue-grass pastures climbed gentle slopes on either side of the stream. As a background, south, north and west, were heavy forests of noble trees, while eastward an extended landscape, embracing a range of finely cultivated farms, stretched far away.

The evening shadows fell slowly upon the camp; so slowly you could scarce tell when day ended and the night began. Supper was over, and the soldiers, lying at full length on the luxuriant grass, or sitting around in groups, were lazily resting or chatting, after the day’s long and dusty march. Thousands of smouldering camp-fires dotted the hillsides and valleys in every direction; the wide firmament, cloudless and peaceful, glittered with stars; and the air, mild and balmy, had in it that indefinable and delicate perfume which belongs alone to trodden pastures or to meadows freshly mown. All the noise and bustle of the day and evening gradually died away. The camp-guards paced their posts slowly and noiselessly; the hum of conversation was faint and low; the rude mirth of the soldiers was hushed; the jokes, and gibes, and laughter of the camp had faded into silence; and a peaceful calm, resembling that of a quiet Sabbath, had fallen like a benediction over all the scene. Save the stacks of burnished guns, from which the light of the camp-fires fitfully glinted, and the parked cannon, and the groups of uniformed men, the picture presented was as peaceful and calm as it had been before war swept into this pastoral paradise.

But suddenly, from the edge of the woods across the intervening valley, half a mile away, a band began playing “Home, Sweet Home,” and as the touching chords of that familiar melody flooded all the camp, the hush grew deeper, and I know, though the darkness concealed their emotion, that moisture welled up in all eyes, and tender thoughts of far-away scenes filled all hearts in that great host of bronzed and stalwart men. For when the music at last ceased a silence so deep that it was almost oppressive succeeded; and then a mighty cheer, echoing and resounding for miles away, went up from 20,000 throats. Those who have heard the Union army hurrah know what it could do in that line, when it put its heart into its lungs and throat.

When the cheer ended, another band, far down the valley, made the hillsides echo with the patriotic strains of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and again followed the great shout of applause, like the mingling roar of many winds. Then from the hill-tops, far off to the west, was wafted the music, low and sweet, of “Annie Laurie,” and again the hush of an almost oppressive silence fell upon the camp. But no cheer followed its rendering. Into the hearts of the listening soldiers had stolen thoughts of Annies who were christened with all sorts of names. This Scottish lassie represented all womankind, and the notes of the song which celebrated her beauty and her virtues had touched hidden founts of emotion in thousands of men.

The deep silence that followed was broken by the majestic music of “John Brown.” Then how the camp did cheer, and shout, and howl.

So, for hours, one after another, the bands filled the air with music, and the soldiers sat, rapt and thrilled, listening and cheering alternately. The camp-fires faded out, but the concert went on, and it seems to me I never heard such music, before or since. At least, I have never so appreciated music; never known it to exercise such a spell over listeners; never so appreciated its power to thrill and melt and sway men, as on that far-away autumn night, when the army rested in the blue-grass meadows of Kentucky, under the silent stars.

Others who speak to-night will, I have no doubt, tell you of marches and battles, of hardships patiently endured, and of dangers fearlessly faced. The life of a soldier had many phases. It was not devoid of pleasure. And this little picture of a delightful camp scene will, I know, recall memories of hundreds of others, equally entrancing, in the minds of my auditors.

RESPONSE.

At a banquet to the Press and Modoc Clubs, Topeka, February 28,
1885, in response to the toast, “Behold how Judicious Advertising
has created a great and prosperous Commonwealth.”

MR. CHAIRMAN: I do not know that the sentiment I am called upon to respond to, does full justice to Kansas. Judicious advertising is a wise thing, as the most sagacious and successful business men know. It draws public attention, and thus multiplies customers. It may even attract patronage to a humbug, for a brief while. But even advertising is not able to make a humbug a permanent success.

Kansas has been in the advertising business for thirty years. With Kansas, everything in the advertising line goes. Kansas, for three decades past, has been the best advertised spot on the continent. The border troubles, the civil war, the Price and Quantrill Raids, the drouths of 1860 and 1874, the grasshopper invasions of the same years, John Brown, Jim Lane, Indian raids, the Benders, the Centennial Exposition, prize exhibits at horticultural shows, the railroads, our flambeaux clubs, the Modocs, Tom Anderson, our newspapers, cyclones, political and otherwise; the St. John-Legate-Clarkson controversy; Charley Jones’s banner at Chicago, the Oklahoma boomers, prohibition, the new judicial districts, the New Orleans exhibit—all these, and a hundred other things, have contributed their share toward advertising Kansas.

But behind and above all these inspiring and ephemeral incidents, wonders, troubles, excitements and personages, there is Kansas, growing always, not because of these things, but often in spite of them; prospering, not by their influence entirely, but because Kansas has nothing that is unsubstantial in her makeup. A fertile soil, a healthful climate, an intelligent, enterprising and brave people—these are the enduring foundations on which has been built our great and prosperous Commonwealth. Kansas is, so to speak, “all wool and a yard wide.” Kansas is sound in wind and limb. Kansas is the electric light of the Union. Kansas is the State of great crops, great herds, great flocks, great railroads, great school-houses, great development and great prosperity. There is nothing small about Kansas except her rivers, and these were probably made small because Providence, in fashioning the State, created a land so rich and goodly that it was deemed extravagant to waste much of it in big water-courses.

There was a time, years ago, when it was necessary to do a great deal of advertising for Kansas. But the reputation of the State is now fixed. First in corn, first in wheat, first in school-houses, and central, not only in the heart of the continent, but in the hearts of its citizens, the Kansas man, wheresoever he may wander, is proud of his State, and advertises, judiciously or in any other way, its attractions and advantages.

BIRTHDAY OF GENERAL GRANT.

Address, at Topeka, April 27, 1885, at a celebration held in honor
of the birthday of General Grant.

MR. CHAIRMAN, AND FELLOW-CITIZENS: The felicitous concurrence of the birthday of a great American soldier and a great American civic society at the same date, has, perhaps for the first time, been generally noted within the past week or so. But hereafter, and especially in the distant future, it will afford a happy opportunity for a blending of military and civil celebrations.

The very general and spontaneous celebration of the birthday of a living man—of a man, too, who occupies no high office, but is simply one of fifty-five million American citizens—is something unique and remarkable in this country, if, indeed, it is not in the history of the civilized world.

But everything in the career of Ulysses S. Grant has been phenomenal. For years, during the war, thousands doubted whether he had any military genius. Yet in every position in which he was placed, he succeeded where others had failed. From Donelson to Vicksburg, from Vicksburg to Chattanooga, from Chattanooga to the Potomac, and from the Potomac to Appomattox—everywhere that this grave, silent, self-controlled man went, he inspired confidence and organized victory.

He is the only man of our day and generation—perhaps the only man of any age—who has lived to read the judgment of impartial history concerning his career and achievements. The receptions given him, the great honors paid him by princes, potentates and people in every civilized country during his voyage around the world, voiced the verdict, not alone of the present, but of the future, concerning Ulysses S. Grant. What the historian of a hundred years hence may say of Thomas, or Sherman, or Sheridan, or Meade, we cannot predict; but what he will say of Grant is determined already by the universal assent of the civilized world.

I have now and then heard the cynical sneer, “There is nothing so successful as success,” applied to the achievements of General Grant. It was fashionable in some quarters, a few years ago, to refer to him as “an accident of the war.” But I believe that to act with common sense at all times and under all circumstances, is the very highest and grandest development of human genius. And this was what Grant, as a soldier, always did. Read his dispatches, his orders, his directions to his subordinates, and through them all, in a strong and steady current, runs the force of an inflexible, well-balanced purpose, of lofty devotion to duty, of unconquerable courage, of unselfish patriotism, of dignity without arrogance, of patience, confidence, and conviction. If this is not greatness, where has there been a clearer development of the results of greatness?

It is fitting and appropriate, therefore, that this great American citizen should receive, during his life, such honors and such kindly remembrance as the celebrations that are taking place to-day throughout the length and breadth of the land, give expression to. He has outlived detraction and survived partisan malice and sectional hate. For weeks the whole country has watched, with moistening eyes, the bulletins from his sick-room. And now, when a gleam of hope survives, and there seems to be a chance that the great soldier may live for years, his countrymen gather by thousands in every hamlet, town and city throughout the land, and the universal hope and prayer that goes up from their hearts is: “Long live Ulysses S. Grant.”

THE STATE UNIVERSITY.

Response to the sentiment, “The University—The Child of the State;”
delivered at the banquet of the Alumni of the State University,
Lawrence, June 9th, 1885.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: It probably did not occur to your Committee, when it selected the sentiment just announced, that the “Child” has just come of age. But this is the fact. On the 20th of February, 1863, the Legislature passed an act to establish a State University, to be located at Lawrence, provided the city gave a site of forty acres of land and $15,000. In November following, the Governor issued a proclamation announcing that these conditions had been complied with. But it was not until the first of March, 1864, that an act was passed organizing the State University. Hence, as I have said, this “Child of the State” has just come of age.

In the long, exciting and momentous contest waged by two civilizations for the fair Territory of Kansas, four Constitutions were framed—three by the champions of Free Soil; one by the advocates of Slavery. If the students of the University will examine that admirable compendium of Kansas history, “Wilder’s Annals,” they can read these old organic laws, on each of which, for a brief season,

“Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,”

was hanging. And I think a reading of just one article of each—that on education—will largely explain why the one civilization triumphed over the other, first in Kansas and then throughout the Union. In each of the three Constitutions which represent the aspirations, ideas and purposes of the Free-State men, the Legislature is required to make the most ample provisions for public education. The old Topeka Constitution, framed in 1855, declared that “the Legislature shall secure a thorough and efficient system of common schools, and establish a University.” The Leavenworth Constitution, framed in 1858, makes it the duty of the State to establish “a system of free schools, in which every child of the State shall receive a good common-school education,” and also educational institutions of higher grade, including a University. And the Wyandotte Constitution, framed in 1859, makes it the duty of the Legislature to establish “a uniform system of common schools, and schools of higher grade, embracing normal, preparatory, collegiate and university departments;” and, in another section, requires the establishment of a State University “for the promotion of literature and the arts and sciences.”

It is noticeable, too, that these three Constitutions indicate a growing sentiment in favor of public education, that of 1858 embodying far more definite and mandatory requirements than the one framed in 1855, and that of 1859 being even more specific, exacting and peremptory than the Constitution of 1858. The educational article of the Topeka Constitution includes four sections, and occupies only fifteen lines in the “Annals;” the same article in the Leavenworth Constitution embraces nine sections, occupying thirty-three lines; and in the Wyandotte Constitution the educational article includes nine sections, occupying forty-seven lines.

On the other hand, the article on education in the Lecompton Constitution—the only organic law framed by the advocates of Slavery—is ambiguous in language and feeble in direction. It is permissive rather than mandatory. Its five sections occupy but seventeen lines, and require only that “schools and the means of education” shall be “encouraged by the State,” and that the Legislature shall establish “one common school in each township”—that is, one for every 23,240 acres of land! This would give the county of Douglas fourteen schools! It now has nearly one hundred. No requirement for schools of higher grade, nor for a University, is embodied in the article.

It is not strange that the contest between these two civilizations resulted as it did. Although the one was sustained by all the power and authority of the National Government, the other had Education as its ally, and made Intelligence the most important stone in the foundation of the State. The men who brought Freedom to Kansas brought in her train the school and the printing press. Fighting Slavery, they fought Ignorance also; upholding Liberty, they upheld her true friend and ally, Learning.

The crowning glory of Kansas, from that day to this, has been her schools, embracing those of every grade, from the rude dug-out on the lonely frontier to the stately buildings on Mount Oread. These bright children of the State are her jewels, and she can point to them with a pride equaling that of the Roman mother. For they are worthy of her, as she is of them—worthy of her love and fostering care, as well as of her pride.

There is, occasionally, complaint that the State is not liberal in the appropriations made for the University. But the figures, I think, will not justify this assertion. In 1866 they amounted to $7,000; in 1876 they aggregated $22,519; while for the year 1886 they reach a total of $63,000. Kansas is young, and has not yet accumulated vast wealth. But surely such allowances as these do not indicate indifference to the welfare of her Child. It is not yet nineteen years since the first building for the University was completed, and the Institution, at that time, had only four students enrolled. Less than thirteen years ago the present main building was occupied, and 239 students were in attendance. During the year just closed, 521 students were enrolled. The growth of the University, it will thus be seen, has kept pace with that of the State. So it will continue in the future. And as Kansas is destined to be the greatest of American States, the University, her Child, will in time rank first among American institutions of learning.

I can fairly and truly say, too, that this Child of the State has a pretty large family of bright, intelligent children-young men and women who proudly hail it as their Alma Mater. One meets them, now, in nearly every section of the State, engaged in almost every honorable calling—the law, journalism, medicine, commerce, education. One of the graduates of the University is, for the first time, a member of its Board of Regents. During a rather extended tour I made through the State, last year, I found them scattered far and wide, and I am glad to say that wherever I met them I heard good reports of their conduct. The air on Mount Oread is pure; the winds here are strong and free; and the young Kansans who have marched down from these heights to engage in the battle of life are active, stirring citizens, not only doing honor to their Alma Mater, but contributing their full share to the good work of making Kansas a strong, pure, liberty-loving, law-respecting, and preeminently intelligent American commonwealth.

If this good record is maintained as the years go by, no friend of the University need fear that it will not continue to grow in the helpful esteem and confidence of a generous people. For after all, the rank and value of this Institution will be measured, not by the size of its buildings, nor by its collection of books and apparatus, nor even by the eminence of its Faculty, but by the conduct and careers of those whose intellects and characters have been trained and formed under its direction and discipline. And if each year adds to the number of young men and women who, going from these halls into the every-day walks and ways of human endeavor and duty, win for themselves honorable and respected names, the reflected lustre of their usefulness and exaltation will shine upon this building as does the sun in his daily journey—the glad morning of their triumphs bathing it with brightness, the full noontide of their worth and renown flooding it with warmth and splendor, and the majesty of their declining years shedding upon it the gratitude of a reverent benediction.

THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL.

Address to the graduating class of the State Normal School,
delivered at Emporia, June 11, 1885.