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DECEMBEIf 18, 1908
The Commoner.
3
racter in the Speaker
iair
How Jenny Lind and an Illinois Farmer Boy "Went Through the Rye Togothot'..
Quaint
Cha
Oa
jh
With the advent of every new political
party, quaint characters have commanded public
attention.
In a popular uprising an untried party had
captured the legislature of one of the western
states. The members of the lower house in that
legislature chose a3 their presiding ofllcer an odd
character whom we shall designate as Mull
largely for the reason that that was not his
name. Speaker Mull was an unlettered man,
but he possessed a native shrewdness and he had
such a unique way of expressing himself that
during that session of the legislature he made
generous contribution to newspaper literature.
For instance, it was the wont of Speaker Mull
to suggest at the- moment he felt the pangs
of noon day hunger "Let's unhitch and go to
dinner." Some of the quaint sayings of the
speaker we're grouped under the title of "Mul
berries" and given publicity in the newspapers
of that day.
Here are some sample "Mulberries:"
"I found out several years ago that I
couldn't know much, so I concluded I'd make
it a point to know things well. Gentleman,
what I do know I know awful hard."
"I heard a -fellow say yesterday, 'There's
only one Mull.' I tell- you what, boys, if we
were all made alike there wouldn't be any
excuse for mutual admiration societies in this
here land."
"I may not catch on quite as quick as some
others, but I hang on hard enough to make up
for it."
"I'll tell you, gentlemen, the trouble with
this crowd is, every fellow is trying to make
another legislator better and forgetting about
himself."
"This is the most intelligent legislature I
ever saw. It's the only one I ever saw."
"It's pretty tough when a man wants to
know something and can't know it; but half
the battle is won by wanting to know some
thing." "Gentlemen, there are a" good many ways
to do wrong; there is only one way to do
right."
"Most of us would rather be right than
president; but some of us would rather have
the president's salary than even the satisfaction
of knowing that we were holier than they."
"Boys, -I never enjoyed life before; this
legislative business is the best fun I ever had,
and when we all go home, the man who leaves
here as my enemy, will have to be a smaller
man than I am."
"If a man wants to know if I came here
for my health, I tell him no nor for boodle
neither. It's the only safe plan."
"I never so highly prized my good old
mother's teachings as I have in the last two
months when I needed them most."
"I pity the man who daresn't go outside of
his own political party to win a friend. When
we get up to the pearly gates,-1 don't doubt but
what we will all be independents, democrats
or republicans; and I expect the man who is
first to be rejected will be the political leader
who has no need for friendship himself and who
tries to imprison human friendships in the nar
row cells of political association."
"Since I have been speaker, there are a
good many chaps down on the floor who think
they have seen things to smile at. I dften find
consolation in the belief that if any one of those
chaps were in my place the laugh might be on
the other side, and I want it understood that
there are a great many things happening on
'the floor which make me smile in my sleeve,
of course."
On one occasion, the entire legislature at
tended a play, where everyone was captivated
by a beautiful song. On the following morning
Speaker Mull waB asked, "How did you like
that song last night?"
The speaker was resting in his private office,
'Preparing for his day's battle as presiding officer.
He replied: "That was pretty good, but let
me tell you, she ain't no JTenny Lind."
"Did you ever hear Jenny Lind?"
I'Did 1 e.ver hear Jenny Lind?" exclaimed
the speaker in a' somewhat injured tone. "Did
I ever hear Jenny Lind?, I should say I did.
Me and her went through the rye together. It
was in spirit rather than in the flesh that Jenny
and I went through the rye togother."
"Whore did you hear her sing?"
"It was in St. Louis. Oh, I was only a
kid, but big enough to just float away with ovary
word Jenny Lind sang."
"AVhat did she sing?"
"What didn't she sing? Dut there is one
song I will never forget. It's the only song I
ever learned or tried to learn. It's the sweetest
music to my ears today. Jenny was not a very
big woman, but great Jupiter! What a voire
she had. It wns at B.en Do Bar's old theater in
St. Louis. With my father I lived in Montgom
ery county, Illinois, and the old gentleman had
taken me to hear the woman who had stopped
churns in their duty. She sang Great Caesar,
how she sang! She came out and sang some
nice songs, and I remember that soon I was
moving all over my seat without regard to my
old homo instruction that boys must be seen
instead of heard. But then everybody else was
going wild over the singing. Finally Jonnv was
called out and then was the time that she broke
me all up. She stood there with three thousand
pairs of eyes upon her and three thousand pairs
of ears listening for overy note. One moment
she gazed like a little frightened bird might
at the great crowd before her. Then she. raised
her hand and everybody shut up yelling and
you might have heard a pin drop. Then when
everything was as quiet as a session of tho
house when the house ain't in session Jenny
began to sing. Great Jupiter, what a song it
was! "
"Yes, sir," he continued, "she began to sing,
and I'll never forget that song. It was some
thing like this:
"If a body meet a body
Coming through tho rye, .
Should a body kiss a body, ' .,"
' Need that body cry? 0 -v'n:; -
"If a lassie has her laddie,
Never one have I,
If that lassie kiss that laddie,
Is it anybody's business?"
"Of course," continued the speaker, "I don't
remember the exact words and may not have
the Words exactly right, but tho tune I'll never
forget that tune" and the speaker whistled the
old familiar -air, "Coming Through the Rye."
"That was a glorious time," ho added, "I
remember I stood up and held onto the seat in
front of me. I was only a farmer boy, but I
was an American, with all the love for such
songs as Jenny Lind sang. I forgot all about
my father sitting beside me; I forgot all my
surroundings; forgot that I was in a crowd of
three thousand fashionably dressed people; all
I thought of was Jenny Lind and that 'tune.
Soon I seemed to go away from there, I seemed
to seize the hand of the singer; I clutched it
tightly and the crowd before us seemed to melt
away and in the place of the stylish theater
there seemed to spring up a great field of rye.
'If a lassie has her laddie,' sang Jenny, and I
seemed to clutch her hand tighter and when
she repeated that verse, 'If a body meet a body,'
I seemed to make a desperate effort and to
gether Jenny and I started off through the field
tramping down tho rye straw. On and on we
pranced; it didn't seem like we were walking;
we were just floating but I clung tight to
Jenny and Jenny sho clung tight to mo and
when we reached the other side of the field
we turned and cut a new swath to the tother
side. On and on we .floated going through
the rye. It was the happiest moment of my
life, but just as I seemed to become unconscious
I heard shouts and' clapping of hands, and saw
the waving of handkerchiefs. Three thousand -people
were on their feet yelling like mad men.
My old father had jumped up beside me and
he was waving his old felt hat. The people
all seemed mad and I opened my eyes and then
I realized that I had been standing there all the
time and that Jenny had simply hypnotized me.
I hadn't been tramping through the rye field at
all, and I remember, poor little country boy
that I was, I sat down on the cushioned seat,
and taking out my little red bandana, wiped
, N
several big drops of water from my oyos. Jenny
came before the curtain and ild 'good-bye.'
I hen the great crowd filed out. I took hold
of my good old father's hand and wo loft tho
theater. Not a word wax Mpokon by either of
us until wo reached tho sidewalk and then my
father said: 'Samuel, that was tho greatest
song I ever heard.'
"Fc.r weeks arter that tho cornfields and
tho barnyards on our old Illinois farm re-echoed
with bits of that old song. And now I never
hear that song but what it brings back to mo
the drtys of my boyhood. I never hoar it but
what I see the faces of my father and mother.
M never hear It but what I scorn to be feeding
the cows in the barnyard or driving tho hogs
from the cornfield .and tho noxt time I go to
hear a woman who can sing and will sing I'm
going to ask her to open the pearly gates for
a moment with the keynotes of 'Coming Thro'
It was 10 o'clock and tho speaker hurried
down tho aislo of tho house of representatives
and mounted the speaker's stand, calling tho
house to order. When tho chaplain offered
prayer tho speaker bowed his head lower than
usual; when tho clerk read tho long and tro
somo record tho speaker fixed lifs oyoH oti
the too of his boot and whistled notLly
and tho tuno which floated to'tlio press stand
wns an old familiar air.
RICHARD L. METCALFE.
AXOTIIKH JOYFUJj SONG
When the Washington Herald pitched the
tuno and chortled in joyous song tho praises '
of the pumpkin plo, The Commoner took a long
breath and with nil the cheerfulness and tune
fulness at Its command joined In the gladsomo
chorus. The subject was an Inspiring one, call- '
Ing out the best efforts of tho vocalists, and
there are ample evidences In tho scrap hook to
prove that the song and the singers made a
hit with those who are yet able to enjoy tho
rich though simple gustatory Joys of other days.
Now the esteemed Herald leads us on to
respond to the encore and has chosen another
themo calculatod to arouse us to even better
vocal effort. The Herald now sings of "hog-
killln' time," with all its Joys, edible and social. '
Sorry, Indeed, are we for those benighted Indi
viduals to whom tho joys of "hog killln' time"
are as a sealed book. The pleasant interchange
of labor between noighbors, the joys of accept
ing a jowl or a chunk of backbone from.a friend
down tho road, the olfactory delights arising
from the trying out of tho lard, the musical
scrunch of the sausage grinder and the nutty
aroma arising from tho smokehouse where the
fresh hams are being cured all these arc Joyo
no longer participated In by men and women,
save In somewhat remote localities where tho
devastating hand of the packing trust has not
been laid. And then, too, our esteemed con
temporary asks us to joij. in s'tnging one verso
dedicated especially to a concommltant of "hog
killln' time," and although the "very mention
of it starts the salivary glands to working over
time and the Juice to trickling down our chin,
we joyfully lift our voice to sing the praises
of "cracklln' bread." Let the French chef hide
his head in shame, and the Italian master of tho
kitchen weep for very humiliation. Not In all
thp long list of theii culinary achievements can
they find one single thing to match the glory
of "cracklln' bread." Nor, for that matter, can "
the French and Italian chefs do cuisine if
that's the foreign lingo compaTO with tho
cooks of the "hog killln' " districts in the prep
aration of real, soul-satisfying and stomach
pleasing meals. Spare-ribs and kraut, with
dumplings, ham hock and cabbage, pickled pigs
feet and dill pickles, cracklln' bread and rich,
old-fashioned dasher church buttermilk, pump
kin bread and 'simraon sauce, fried sausage and
gravy with a stack o' wheats oa the side O,
me! O, my!
Now all together, with the gustatory mentor
of the Washington Herald beating the time and
leading the song, let us join in singing tho joys
of "hog killln' time," and strive with all our
might to bring about the revival of an Institu
tion almost throttled by the prosaic, money
grubbing and dyspeptic-breeding meat trust.
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