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PEOPLE’S PARTY PAPER, ATLANTA, GEORGIA. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1893.
DOODLING.
What this world needs more than
anything else to-day is old-fashioned
truth and honesty. The greed for
gain has brought many an evil in its
train, but none so bad as the perver
sion of truth and the increase of the
forms of dishonesty.
Take the Panama canal scandal as
an illustration. In that case we have
a gigantic enterprise headed by De
Lesseps, one of the most eminent men
in the world. Enlisted in the com
pany were lawyers, editors, legisla
tors, bankers, and a motley crew of
fortune hunters. The object in view
is a grand one—but perhaps an im
practicable one. At any rate, people
do not seem disposed to put their
money in it. The fish are slow to
bite. The lambs hesitate to come up
for the shearing. Everybody .in
France knows that immense sums
must be risked, and that the scene
of operations is distant. Confidence
lags.
Something must be done to “boom”
the project and draw cash.
So they go to work to create pub
lic opinion.
They hire the newspapers. They
bribe legislators. They corrupt offi
cials. Enormous sums are spent to
debauch the public in order that it
may be robbed. The greatest news
paper in France sold out, just as the
smallest one did. The main differ
ence was in price. The highest offi
cials sold out just like the lowest.
It was only a question of how much.
The work was successful. The
“boom” started, grew flourished—
went on to a magnificent success.
Cash flowed in by the bushel. The
fish bit faster than the hook could be
thrown in. The lambs rushed tu
multuously to the shearing. Mer
chants emptied their accumulated
treasures into speculation. Farmers
hastily ran to town to buy precious
shares. Even the poor old peasant
woman got her woolen stocking from
the chimney-corner and put her every
cent of painful saving into the won
derful company which all the news
papers said was going to pan out so
well.
Are these facts denied? By no
means. Neither is it denied that the
gang of scoundrels who engineered
this colossal game of confidence all
got rich, while the canal work was a
farce, a pretense, a swindle from the
very jump. Millions of the money
of honest paople—many of them
humble, hard-working men and wo
men—disappeared forever, and there
is nothing to show for it except a few
pieces of rusty machinery and a use
less hole in the ground along the
Isthmus of Panama. The men who
manipulated the “boom” live in
splendor. The thousands of victims
live in homeless misery. ✓
Usually such cases excite a little
casual talk and then pass away; but
this one was so stupendous, was so
very barefaced, insolent and persist
ent in its violation of common hon
esty, its victims were so very numer
ous, that public opinion, from very
shame, cried out for exposure and
punishment.
The exposure has been had. The
punishment will never be had.
We punish poor devils who steal a
pig, pick a pocket or break in a
smoke-house.
We take off our hats in admiration
to the men who steal railroads, plun
der a community by illegal freight
rates, or rake in a million on a fraud
ulent “boom.”
That’s the sort of folks we are.
These things are not confined to
France. We’ve had them in Georgia,
When Joe Brown wanted to plun
der the people of $2,400,000 on the
State road lease, the first thing he
did was to bribe the Atlanta Consti
tution, the Augusta Chronicle, the
Macon Telegraph and the Savannah
News.
Nobody will deny it. The sworn
proof is on record. Yet these news
paper men, instead of being in the
penitentiary, are the most shining
supports of triumphant Democracy.
And Joe Brown, instead of being in
a coal mine, is the lessee of those
poor devils who stand in water all
through the long day, down in the
bowels of the earth, 300 feet below
God’s sunshine, their crime being
that they didn’t steal enough to com
mand the respect of the world.
T. E. W.
SUNDAY.
Yes, they’ve about knocked it out.
A few more years and the charging
columns of traffic will have stormed
the ancient battlement of the sacred
day, and the steady stream of gam*-
seekers will flow on unimpeded by
its barrier.
Already the beer gardens, the
dance halls, the baseball teams, the
railroads and the newspapers drive
right through its hallowed precincts.
Already the busy contractor in. the
great city makes the hammers ring
while the church bells chime. Al
ready Congress is besieged to have
the Chicago fair open upon all days
alike; open on Sunday as upon Mon
day for gin shop, gambling hell and
every money-making device known
to the human mind.
Well,lam an old-fashioned man—
simple in some things, I reckon.
God knows I am little fitted to ser
monize, but I am not ashamed to say
that I feel a profound, reverence for
that old land-mark—the Sabbath 1
To see it go down under the hurry
ing feet of mere selfish money
hunters would in my eyes be a far
reaching calamity.
This is said in no spirit of narrow
sectarianism. Far from it. But I
believe a periodical rest-day is so
very needful to the world; so true
an economy of time, of energy, of
strength ; so moral and elevating in
all its tendencies, that were religion
entirely removed from the debate, I
would as a law-giver vote to compel
a weekly halting of the human
hordes. »
I have read somewhere that in
crossing the plains, in the emigrant
days, the teams which halted for
Sunday always caught up with and
then passed those which had trav
elled on without the halt. I do not
doubt that such would be the case in
any similar test.
The French republic, in their gen
eral reforms, undertook to eliminate
the seventh day Sabbath and to
make every tenth day the Sunday
instead. Historians tell us the at
tempt was a failure ; that men and
beasts wore away under the length
ened strain and that they had to re
turn to the old seventh day rest.
They had to admit that God knew
something about it after all.
In the country we are threatened
with a heartless, tireless, pitiless race
for wealth such as the world never
saw before. The great lines of duty
are becoming dim. The grand ideas
of moral responsibility are in danger
of fading away. The sublime con
ception of life as a trusteeship of
noble powers, aspirations and oppor
tunities, is battling for its very ex
istence.
Every year this maddening rush
for money; this insane “get there”
push for success, regardless of meth
ods; sees us drawing nearer to the
fatal limits over which so ' many
nations have gone down to ruin.
Whenever we lose entirely the belief
in human accountability to Eternal
powers; whenever we are possessed
utterly by the creed that life enfls at
the grave, and therefore we must
“eat, drink and be merry;” then, in
deed, are we doomed.
Money will be the God we worship.
The basest passions of our animal
nature will assert supreme authority
over thought and speech and act.
From January to January there will
be the rush, the roar, the march, the
deadly combat, the shout of onset,
the cry of the wounded, the cheers
of these relentless civilized savages
whose only care, purpose, effort, re
ligion, is to get monpy. In this mad
saturnalia, so very ruinous of the
better attributes of manhood, the
catchwords of the procession will be
precisely the same as those under
which all the old Pagan nations went
headlong to perdition, “money, wine
and women.”
Strike Sunday out of the habits
and thoughts and reverences of men,
and we will have lost a priceless
heirloom of the past whose value we
did not know till it was gone.
I confess to an instinctive respect
for the time-honored halting day of
our people—not necessarily the day
of starchy dressing, idle gossip,
sermonizing, formalities or gloom.
That’s as may be—every man being
his own judge of his duty. Least of
all do I mean the day of “come-to
stay” visiting. The only men I ever
maim and murder, with malice afore
thought (both express and implied),
are these “all-day” Sabbath visitors.
Meaning none of these, I yet have
the day of quiet rest and reflection.
With folded hands, one can stop and
think. There’s no thought that
rivals are passing while we pause.
They are halting too.
There is time to look back upon
the road already traveled, and num
ber the mile posts. On this day we
are not afraid that somebody will
drive by us and get ahead.
There is time to think of the deeds
done and the deeds undone ; of what
we hoped, and of what we have ac
complished ; of what we thought the
world was, and what we found it to
be.
There is time to take the wife by
the hand and to say those gracious
words, which she so much merits,
and which so surely and so quickly
bring the warm color to her cheeks
and the glad light to her eyes.
There is time to take the children
on the knee and talk to them of
things they would not heed on any
other day.
And there is time to deal honestly
with one’s self and to inquire with
what cargo we are sailing on to the
unknown seas. A most serious in
quiry.
There is time to look over the
leaves of our “Brief of Testimony,”
and to see what kind of case we are
carrying to the great High Court.
There is time for all these and for
many things yet better than these;
and when Monday comes, no man
goes fresher or stronger to the un
finished tasks of life than he who can
say, “I remembered the Sabbath day
and kept it holy.”
Blessed forever be the old Sabbath
of our fathers!
No grander conception ever enter
ed into the economy of the universe
than that of a periodical rest. A
rest which $ as it came among the
children of men ever} week, should
find the march halted, the work laid
aside, the voice of strife hushed, the
tired muscles of labor waxing strong
again in repose; and the greedy
rush of capital challenged and ar
rested at the gates of the Seventh
day.
Blessed forever be the old Sab
bath of our fathers! Let every man
frame his own creed and be true to
it —but to me it is a sublime thought
that when the sun comes up on the
Seventh day, he glances over a world
of rest; that the allotted tasks have
been done; that strife is hushed;
rivalry appeased; the arm of labor
still; the rush of capital arrested ?
greed at bay; conscience alive;
duty at her post, and the white tents
of peace dotting every plain and val
ley on all this great globe. T. E. W.
THE NICARAGUA. CANAL.
Two weeks ago the promoters of
the Nicaragua Canal scheme held a
convention in New Orleans. The
intention was to influence public sen
timent in behalf of the proposition,
so as to secure the guarantee of the
bonds to the extent of $100,000,000,
as is proposed in the law pending
before the Senate. By an oppor
tune concurrence, the French gov
ernment is just now engaged in ex
amining into the Panama swindle,
the greatest bunco scheme of mod
ern times, surpassing in rottenness
even our own Pacific Railroad and
Credit Mobilier steals.
The methods of Nicaragua and the
Panama schemes are strikingly
alike. Both call to their aid the
newspapers in advocacy. Just how
the leading French papers were en
listed is clearly shown in the recent
investigation by that government. It
is proved that the Petit Journal re
ceived $50,000 ; Telegraphe, $48,000 ’
Matin, $10,000; Gaulois, $9,000 5
Leßadical, $20,000; L’Evenement,
SIO,OOO ; Journal desDebats, SB,OOO.
Tremendous sums were paid fo r
deputies and officials. In the Nica
ragua scheme, there is an evident
imitation of method, and while it
does not appear that the intended
depletion is as great as in the French
steal, it is impossible to foretell how
many repetitions of the maneuver
may result from its initial success.
Behind the proposition to aid the
Nicaragua scheme is an indirect
interest which by this means will be
fostered. The national banks pro
pose to exert every influence pos
sible to perpetuate their system. The
bonded debt of the country will be
come finally due in 1907, and with
its extinguishment will necessarily
go the national banks, unless new
bonds be issued. The Nicaragua
scheme is promoted by those who
want the fifty-year bonds it pro
vides for, and who care not whether
the government sink money or not.
This class of promoters, really the
most influential backers of the
scheme, will be found behind any
plan which promises to perpetuate
what they call “the best financial
system the world ever saw.”
The American people want no
more bonds. They want no vast
expenditure of money under a for
eign jurisdiction. And when again
it becomes necessary to undertake a
great public work, the people should
see to it that the enterprise is theirs,
fully under charge of their govern
ment, and conducted for their profit
and convenience.
J. T. S.j, writing from Jewell’s,
Hancock county, says:
We are as earnestly at work in our
county as at any time. We are de
termined to elect our county officers.
We are going to keep organized and
meet regularly, so as to keep all we
have got, and we think we are gain
ing ground now.
NOTES FROM THE CAPITAL.
Washington, Dec. 8, 1892.
Congress has pulled its able limbs
together again and is ready for gush,
garrulity and grabs.
The bar-room down stairs is also
ready for business. Christian law
making can’t navigate without the
adjunct of the convenient saloon.
There’s one congressman who will
not idle away any time over “beef
tea” this session. It is Cobb, of
Alabama. I’ve made a painfully
sober man out of him, sure as you
live. You don’t catch him eating
any more cheese.
* * *
The first day of the session we did
nothing more than to hear each indi
vidual Democrat tell exactly how it
was that he elected Cleveland. Each
man of them made it perfectly clear.
I could only regret that Mr. ’Rastus
Smith, of the Atlanta Journal, and
Mr. B. M. Blackburn, of (I for-
get the name of the place), were not
here also. Each of these men (as is
well known) is the identical man
who “carried the State of Georgia.”
It pains me to note that Mr. Smith
still evinces characteristic obstinacy
upon the subject of Mr. Blackburn’s
claims.
* * *
Every time I look over to the seat
occupied by the member from the
Atlanta district, I can’t help but
picture to my mind how happy Mr.
’Rastus Smith (of the Journal) must
have been on the day he helped elect
the late chief of Gideon’s Band. It
isn’t every Democrntic city like At
lanta which has the good luck to be
represented by a man who took a
solemn oath against the Democratic
party. That’s the reason Mr. Smith
is so happy. Atlanta Democracy is
a right curious thing when you once
unravel it.
* * *
The following clipping is from the
New York Morning Advertiser, John
Cockerell’s paper. It’s refreshing to
find a bit of truth here and there in
the organs of the old parties :
If Tom Watson is expelled from the
House it will not be because he has slan
dered anybody so much as because it is
inconvenient to have a man around who
can see so much, and who cannot refrain
from talking about it. A lack of dis
cretion is the only charge that can prob
ably be sustained against him.
* * *
Senator Colquitt, Mr. O’Ferrall
and scores of other Democratic lead
ers are clamoring for an extra ses
sion. They take the honest position
that rode into power
upon a distinct pledge to give the
country immediate relief from vicious
Republican laws.
This is true. But, all the same,
there will be no extra session. There
will be no relief. The country will
be paid off, as usual, with promises.
During the campaign the Democrats
said “Give us a chance.” Now they
say “Give us more time.”
* * *
Each Democratic leader, from
Cleveland down, is trying to dodge
this question, “What will he do with
it ?” The country voted them in
power. They hold every branch of
the government in their hands after
March 4. The country has given
them a “chance.” It will give them
reasonable “time.” But they must
act. The responsibility is on them.
The country is alive to the situation
and is expectant. Thousands of
honest Democrats voted with them
“just once more,” and these honest
men are holding the bosses to their
pledges. They will leave the party
the very day it becomes apparent
that these pledges are to be violated.
Yes, the Democrats have got the
victory, the power, and the opportu
nity. Now “What will they do with
it ?” A most alarming question to
any party without principles. No
wonder Mr. Cleveland ran away to
Hog Island. No wonder the aver
age boss who on one hand promised
“relief ” to the farmer and laborer,
and upon the other “no disturbance”
to the national banker, monopolist
and protectionist—no wonder such a
boss breaks into a cold sweat and
begs for “a little more time.”
* * *
I was greatly interested the other
night (in reading the new history of
the United States by McMaster) to
see the accounts given of the Hon.
James Jackson, one of the first Sena
tors from Georgia. It was rich.
We have in our good old State a
very talented, distinguished, wealthy
and somewhat exclusive family, by
the name of Jackson.
There was Gen. Henry R. Jack
son, of Savannah, a poet, lawyer and
diplomatist. He was Minister to
Mexico under Cleveland and had a
rippit with Bayard and old brother
Thurman which, for a while, painted
red spots on the moon.
Then there was Davenport Jack-
son, of Augusta, a most intelligent
and promising lawyer.
Then there is Capt. Harry Jackson,
of Atlanta, and his son, Mr. Tom
Cobb Jackcon.
Then there was the late Chief Jus
tice of our Supreme Court, Horn
James Jackson.
Now, these prominent citizens are
all descended from the Hon. James
Jackson mentioned in McMaster’s
history. They are proud of the fact.
Georgia books all represent this an
cestor of theirs as a very able, elo
quent and sensible statesman. Spark’s
“Memories of Fifty Years” is full of
praise of his character and achieve
ments. One of these achievements
was the burning of the Yazoo fraud
records at Louisville, Ga., by means
of a sun glass.
Just think, then, how I had to hold
my breath the other night when I
discovered that the historian of the
United States had put Senator James
Jackson down as a regular old crank.
It seems that he would bounce up to
make a speech in the Senate when
the clerk was reading a bill. The
president of that august body would
thereupon order the distinguished
Jackson to sit down. Thereupon
the honored ancestor of so many
high and mighty folks had to sit
right down and wait, just like he
would have had to do if he had been
the great-grandfather of any com
mon Smith, or Jones, or Browm, or
Tompkins. This is hard to believe,
but history says its so.
Then again, it seemed that this
man Jackson believed in talking just
as loud as he pleased when he made
a speech. At that time the two
Houses of Congress occupied rooms
not far apart. When the distin
guished Jackson balanced himself on
his hind legs and began to marshal
his troops of rhetoric to action, his
voice was so loud that it got into the
other House of Congress and stop
ped business. This was awful. So
the other House had to put down thq
windows to keep out the “bellowing’ 1
of this Georgia crank. Just to
think of the mode of speech of the
ancestor of so many of our bluest
blooded people being described in
sober history as “bellowing.”
No “spell-binding” about it; no
“matchless eloquence;” no “thrillmg
bursts of passion.” Nothing of the
kind. Simply a loud, obstinate, self
righteous, unvarnished, old-fashioned,
homespun “bellowing” which blocks
business in both Houses of Congress
and imperatively demands the put
ting down of windows.
This is awful; but history says
it’s so.
* * *
It seems from McMaster’s history
that this distinguished Jackson had
made himself very unpopular in
Congress. They called him a “ran
ter,” a “bellower,” a crank. The pre
siding officer was rough to him, and
would order him to take his seat.
Why was he distasteful to his fel
low-members ?
Because he dared to speak his
honest thoughts like a man. Be
cause he stood in his place and de
nounced national banks with all the
burning vehemence of honesty and
truth. He warned Congress then
that the national banks would bring
the very evils we now know they
have brought. This was one hun
dred years ago. I honor this brave,
clear-sighted man who dared to
stand up against Hamilton and his
greedy gang of capitalists and fight
for the rights of his people.
What else did they hate him for?
Because he denounced Washing
ton’s administration for allowing the
State of Georgia to be robbed in the
Creek treaty of 3,000,000 acres of
land which was hers under the con
stitution.
Bully for Jackson ! Why should
he be afraid, even of Washington
himself, if Georgia was being
wronged ? No wonder he couldn’t
sit still while the clerk was reading!
Three million acres of land is a right
considerable slice of dirt, and even if
we did steal it from the Indians, that
was no reason in Jackson’s eyes why
it snould be given back to them
without some previous conversation
on the subject.
What else did they hate him for ?
Because he denounced Hamilton’s
funding system ; the first of a long
series of national plunderings under
the form of law.
Bully for Jackson! Brave man!
Clear-sighted student!
What else?
He had denounced the internal
revenue system.
Bully for Jackson !
He saw that under Hamilton’s
wily leadership, this country was
being bound by all the bond sys
tems, bank systems, funding systems,
unequal taxing systems of England (