THE COURIER
MR. HARWOOD, MR. SAWYER, MR. WATKINS.
m
A Reunion of the Survivors of the Democratic Party.
"R. Andrew Jackson Sawyer has been invited by Mr. X. S.
Harwood to meet Mr. Albert Watkins at Mr. Harwood's
residence, next Monday evening, the occasion being the
first formal reunion of the survivors of the democratic party in this
state; Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Watkins and Mr. Harwood constituting,
so far as this part of the state is concerned, the remains of the Ne
braska democracy. To be sure, thero is Mr. Tobias Castor; but that
gentleman, since certain recent developments in Omiha,bas allowed
his thoughts to revert back to his youth's hoy day, when he all but
studied for the ministry, and he is occupying himself with religious
study. He is no mood to iudulge even in' the sombre revelry which
Mr. Watkins and Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Harwood propose enjoying
Monday night. Mr. Harwood, for this gathering of the veterans
has removed all the flowers from the carpet and the wall paper in
his house, and the gilded chandeliers have been painted black.
Everything will bo draped in black, and tan bark will bo placed in
the street, so that passing vehicles and pedestrians will not annoy
the company, thus harmonizing the surroundings with the feelings
of the survivors who are to meet together. Upon assembling Mr.
Watkins, after blacking his faco with burnt cork and performing a
like service for Mr. Harwood and Mr. Sawyer, will produce a tom
tom from his pocket and sound it three times. Then he will chant
an anthem, written by J. G. P. Hilderbrand, of the happy days when
there was a democratic party in this state, when J. Sterling Mor
ton and Euclid Martin and Dr. Miller and Mr. Harwood and Mr.
Andrew Jackson Sawyer and himself were arrayed in the panoply of
power in a party that had an independent existence, before the
sounding brass aud the tinkling cymbal of the Bryan hegira began,
before the two Toms rose in their might, and smashed demo
cracy in the face, and took the old shoes of the party over into the
camp of the populists. Having finished, Mr. Watkins will drink
three fingers of Spofford's jet black ink, warranted, and offer the
same refreshment to Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Harwood.
The latter will thereupon array himself in a long black robe, like
a shroud, and count one hundred, slowly and distinctly, in order
to allow his passion to cool. Then he will moralize on the vanity
and general unsatisfactoryness of things. He will take up fate and
biff it once or twice, and land an upper cut or two on providence
and perform a similar service for destiny. Relapsing into a low
voiced monologue ho will say: "Woe, woe is me, my brethren! My
days are days of Badness and my nights are nigh's of ditto. Wherev
er I turn the. stalking spectre of the paBt flies up at me, and snaps
its flinty teeth in my face. Remember you the days when the
weight of my counsel was given to the party called republican, when
I stood up in the temples of the republicans, and was first in the
ranks of that party? Remember you, also, when six years ago,
something got the matter with me, and I flopped, body, soul and pin
feathers, to the democratic party, which in those days was a party,
and not an embalmed tradition, represented by three veterans, each
with a tired feeling? Then there was a beating of drums and a
singing of songs over anew convert to the true faith, and I was
glad. The days and months and years have passed quickly since
that memorable day, and I have seen the ebb of democratic enthus
iam. Yea, but lately I stood in Omaha a witness of the drying up
of the once rushing stream of democracy, saw the flood gates of
populism open and rise to the banks, Ailing with tho driftwood of
rant and nonsense and the spars of treason and calumny tho
place where but lately coursed the clear waters of democracy. To
day we three are like Napoleon on the Isle of Elba, alone, with only
the recollection of the past for company. My brethren" it is here,
probably, that pent-up feeling will rise and assert itself, and the
tears will flow, plowing furrows through the burnt cork- paste"the
party that I Joined has been too Bwif t for me. It has gone me one
better, and now I inquire, where am I at?'' After a silence of fifteen
minutes, befitting the solemnity of the occasion Mr. Andrew Jack
son Sawyer will slowly proceed to the center of the room, and re
main standing one hour. Then he will say in a whisper," "Aye,
where are we at? Where was Moses when the light went out?
Look you well, the answer to the one question is the key to the
other." Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Watkins and Mr. Sawyer will each
turn his face to tho wall and remain in this position for three hours
after which at a signal from tho host, the reunion will be at an enJ
and tho remains will drift out into the night air.
A FRAGMENT.
By O. H. ROTHAGKER.
How in the evening our lives do lengthen
The shadows of our half-forgotten sins.
We feel ourselves so near the judgment bar
That we forget our consciousness of life.
And yet with half a sob and half a laugh
We write the foolish story of our lives
Its trouble and its triumphs all the scraps
Of follies we deemea wisdom and give these
To Him who is the bar. If He be God
He knows us, and it may be, will forgive!
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A GLEVER CRITIC.
The Courier most respectfully salutes the clever critic in last
Sunday's Journal, who made this paper the subject of remark.
Tho c-iticism, made with,perhaps, not the most friendly feeling, was
timely and just; and came as corroborative of a consciousness, on
tho part of the editor, that antedated the criticism some weeks.
Actor William J. Scanlon, who has been confined at Blooming
dale Asylum since Jan. 7, 1892, was last week declared insane by a
sheriff's jury. The proceedings were brought by his partner and
friend, Augustus J. Fitou, with the approval of Mrs. Maggie Scan
lon,the actor's wife. Superintendent Samuel B. Lyon, of the asylum
testified that the actor was incurably insane. He could call his wife
by name, but could not converse with anybody. He has been viol
ent at times, and has been removed to White Plains.
"The wedding bells were ringintr on a frosty winter's night"' is the
first line of the chorus of the popular song entitled "The Fatal Wed
ding," aud it is getting to be as popular as "After the Ball." The
song does not go into te minor details of the wedding, it does not
even go so far as to tell you where the bridegroom bought the en
gagement and wedding rings. But naturally the people who sing
this song take it for granted that everybody knows that he bought
them of E. Hallett, Lincoln's most enterprising jeweler. Mr. Hallett
has more pure diamonds and precious stones than any other jeweler
in the city and they are cheaper now than ever. Mr. Hallett also
carries a complete line of watches, clocks, canes, rings, chains, silver
ware, and all the latest novelties in tie pins. Most of the elderly
people will read a great deal this winter and if they do not have
glasses adjusted to their eyes they are very apt to injure them. Tell
your friends to come in and have their eyes examined free of charge,
the number is 1143 O street.
OUR SEPTEMBER COST SALE ON FURNITURE
Is the greatest sale ever offered in Lincoln.
Hard Furniture mpan.
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VHJ- R -,l -r--.
211 SO. ELEViWTTT ST.
LINCOLN. NEBRASKA
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