I544 
lbt RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Old-time Politics 
“What is the matter with this political 
campaign?” 
An old man who can remember public 
events far back to the Civil War and 
beyond asked that question the other day. 
lie said this campaign reminded him more 
of a Sunday .school convention. Nobody 
was lighting, and very few such epithets 
as “liar” or “thief’ or “rascal” were be¬ 
ing used. In these days no one seems to 
care who is to be elected. We are all too 
- busy trying to pay our bills. The old 
man bewailed the loss of power and in¬ 
terest in this generation. He thought 
this quiet indifference meant that as a 
nation we have lost our political vigor. 
Having been through some of those old- 
time battles, I cannot fully agree with 
him. It is true that few people seem 
interested, yet they will all vote this 
year, and I think the quiet and thought¬ 
ful study most of them are making will 
prove as effective as the big noise and 
excitement we used to have. We are 
merely doing things differently now. 
Whether the great excitement of those old 
political days made us better citizens is 
a question which has long puzzled me. 
I know that, in those nervous and high- 
strung days we did many foolish things 
as a part of “polities.” On the other 
hand. I wish sometimes that our people 
could get as thoroughly worked up over 
the tribute we are paying to the profiteers 
as we did in those old days over the 
tariff and the slavery issue. 
sjs sfc $ £ sfc 
I can well remember taking part in 
the campaign between Garfield and Han¬ 
cock. The Democrats felt that they had 
been robbed of the Presidency in ’76. but 
as they failed to renominate Tilden the 
Republicans called them quitters. I had 
. dropped out of college for awhile to work 
as hired man for a farmer in a Western 
State, and we certainly had a great time. 
This farmer was an old soldier: he was 
a good talker and thought well of his 
own exploits. When you found that com¬ 
bination 40 years ago you struck a red- 
hot partisan. The man’s wife was a 
Democrat, because her father had been. 
She was one of those small black-eyed 
women who acquire the habit of dominat¬ 
ing things in the schoolroom and then 
concentrate the habit when they take a 
school of one pupil in the home. Her 
brother lived on the next farm. He had 
turned Republican, because he wanted to 
be elected county clerk. It. was fully 
worth the price of admission to sit by the 
fire some stormy night and hear this 
woman put. those two Republicans on the 
broiler of her tongue. They were big 
men, fully capable of holding their own 
in any ordinary argument, but this small 
woman cowed them as she formerly did 
her ABC pupils. It was enough to 
make any young man very thoughtful 
about marrying a successful teacher to 
see this small woman point a finger at 
her big husband and say: 
“Now, John Crandall, don’t you dare 
to say if isn’t the truth!” 
And John didn’t dare, though from his 
political religion it might be a base fab¬ 
rication. One day, after a particularly 
bard thrust. John and I were digging 
potatoes, and he unburdened his mind a 
little : 
“I’ll tell you one thing: any man who 
marries a good school marm takes his life 
in liis hands—his political.life, anyway!” 
•—and he pushed his fork into the ground 
as though he was spearing a Democrat! 
“And yet,” he added, as he threw out a 
fine hill of potatoes, “sometimes I kinder 
think it’s worth the risk!” 
My great regret is that this lady did 
not live to celebrate the Nineteenth 
Amendment! With the ballot in her 
hand she would have stirred excitement 
even into this dull campaign ! 
* * * * * 
We worked all day, and went around 
arguing most of the night during that hot 
campaign. The names we had for the 
Democrats would not bear repeating here. 
The other side -went around with pieces 
of chalk, making the figures “321” on 
every fence and building or on stones. 
That represented the sum of money which 
General Garfield was said to have stolen. 
The Republicans marched around in pro¬ 
cessions carrying a pair of overalls tied 
to a pole, representing one of the Demo¬ 
cratic condidates. Oh. it was a “cam¬ 
paign of education” without doubt! And 
then Maine voted! John and his brother- 
in-law had been playing Maine as their 
trump card. 
“Wait till you bear from the old Pine 
Tree State. As Maine goes, so goes the 
Union !” 
John felt so sure of it that even his 
wife was a little fearful. The day after 
the Maine election John and I were seed¬ 
ing wheat on a hill back from the road. 
There were no telephones in those days, 
and news traveled elowly—we were eight 
miles from town. In the late afternoon 
we heard a noise from the distant road. 
There was old Peleg Leonard driving his 
old white horse up the road at. full speed 
and roaring out an old campaign song: 
“Wait for the wagon. Wait for the wagon, 
We’ll all take a ride!” 
The demand for prohibition in those 
days was confined to a few “wild-eyed 
fanatics.” and Peleg was not one of them, 
especially on those rare occasions when 
the D nmocrnts got n chnnce to yell. We 
saw Lim stop in front <f the horse ai, ’ 1 
wave his arms as he told the news to 
Sarah. 
“Looks sorter bad. Can it be that 
Maine has gone back on us?” said John 
as he saw the celebrator go on his way 
We usually had a cold supper on such 
days, but now we saw the smoke pouring 
from The kitchen chimney, and the horn 
blew half an hour earlier than usual 
John and I put, up the horses, washed our 
faces at the pump and walked into the 
kitchen as only two dejected Republicans 
can travel. You see. it wasn’t so bac 
for the Democrats. They were used to 
being defeated, and had made no great 
claims. I was young then, and youth is 
intensely partisan. Since that day I have 
voted on four different party tickets, and 
glory in the fact that I am not “hide¬ 
bound.” 
Sarah had on her best black silk with 
the white apron with lace edges. She 
had cooked some hot biscuit and dished 
up some of her famous plum preserve and 
actually skimmed a pan of milk to serve 
thick cream. 
"Maine is gone Democratic!'' she cried 
“Hurrah for Hancock! Bread and 
water’s good enough for Republicans in 
this hour of triumph, but I know the fat 
of the land will taste like gall to both of 
you. Sit right down and feast, because 
the country’s safe!” 
Physically that supper was perfect. 
There never were finer hot. buseuits or 
better plum preserve or finer cold chicken ! 
Spiritually it was the saddest and most 
depressing meal on record. We made a 
full meal. I can go back into the years 
and see that big farmer gnawing half a 
chicken under command of his wife. You 
remember “King Robert of Sicily” in 
Longfellow’s poem : 
“The world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes 
touch.” 
at his 
And so with poor John. That fine 
hicken tasted exactly like crow as Sarah 
sat by and “rubbed it in.” Oh, politics, 
where are the charms we formerly saw in 
tliv face? 
***** 
John and I surely dawdled over our 
chores that night. We had no great de¬ 
sire to go in and hear the news. Finally 
Sarah came to the door and called us. 
“Say.” said John to me as we started 
for the house, “you go to college. Dave 
you ever studied logic or what they call 
psychology ?” 
“While I am no expert at either sub¬ 
ject. T know what they mean.” 
“Well, now, suppose your wife got af¬ 
ter you like that, how would you use 
those studies to keep her quiet? What’s 
the use of an education if it don’t help 
you keep peace in the family?” 
So I unwisely told John that he ought 
to tell his wife that a woman by law 
obtained her citizenship from her hus¬ 
band. That citizenship was the essence 
of politics; therefore the wife should by 
law belong to her husband’s party. I am 
older now in years, and I know better than 
to give any man arguments in a debate 
with his wife. The Maine election, how¬ 
ever. had made us desperate. So John 
marched in with a very confident step 
and elaborated my arguments. He was 
quite impressive when he assured her 
that the law declared that a woman ac¬ 
quired her political principles from her 
husband. It did not work, however. 
“Don’t you tell me! I didn’t marry 
any principles at all when I married you. 
ITow is a man going to give any prin¬ 
ciples to his wife when he never had any 
to give? My father was a Democrat, 
and I take my politics from him. He 
was the best man that ever lived, and 
you know it. I inherit my polities, I 
do—I didn’t marry them !” 
The truth is that Sarah’s father was 
an old war Democrat who came near 
being tarred and feathered by his neigh¬ 
bors, but one of the saving graces of 
modern civilization is the fact that a 
woman’s father is always an immortal— 
never needing any defense—his virtues 
being self-evident, while her husband is 
a de-mortal who can hardly hope to be¬ 
come a good citizen except through long 
years of patient service! His only hope 
lies in the future when he has a daughter 
of his own. 
* * * * * 
And Henry Wilkins. Sarah’s brother, 
was running for county clerk. We held 
a caucus at the blacksmith shop, where 
John and 1 and two farmers were elected 
delegates to the county convention We 
all went to the county seat one Satur¬ 
day afternoon to nominate a ticket. The 
last we heard from Sarah was: 
"Now, Henry, if you get nominated on 
that renegade ticket. I know' one man 
that won’t vote for you and that’s John 
Grandall. I won’t let him vote if he has 
to stay in bed all day !” 
Contrary to what some of the “antis” 
say woman has always exercised political 
power. 
When we got to town we found the 
“drug-store ring” in control. This was_a 
little group of politicians, let by Jacob 
Rpauldine It was the “Tammany Hall” 
of Oak County. This ring had decided 
to nominate an undertaker from the west 
side of the county for clerk. Most, of the 
farmers were all ready to quit when Jake 
Spaulding said the word, for he usuallv 
handed out the little political jobs. I 
was young and inexperienced in politics 
and ready for a fight. It hurt me to see 
that great crowd of farmers ready to give 
up the fight when a big. fat brute like 
.Take Snaaiding and a few of his creatures 
shook their heads. So I called our dele- 
gat* s together and proposed that we go 
October 2, 1920 
Buy Extra Miles 
Racine Country Road Fabric Tires are 
built for severe country road service. 
That’s why 
“Country Roads” 
for Country Miles 
mean greater mileage and real tire 
economy. 
Racine Tires—Country Road Fabric and Multi- 
Mile Cord—are Extra Tested so that all Racine 
Tires are perfect tires. Racine Absorbing Shock 
Strip is an added insurance of extra miles because 
it welds perfectly the tread and carcass of Racine 
Tires. Be sure the name RACINE RUBBER 
COMPANY is on every tire you buy. 
RACINE RUBBER COMPANY * 
Racine, Wis. 
TRADE MARK 
i>Sr 
1855 
ITT IN.6 
PROTFCTION against chilling of the 
rnuiLLiltMl body; often a fore . 
runner of cofds, pneumonia and rheumatism. 
EVERY GARMENT SfSU 
and guaranteed not to shrink. 
Fine Gray Winter Weight, \ Price* 
four lluaUties - . I $2.50 
Fine Gray Super Weight, 
three qualities. 
to $7.00 
Per Garment 
Regular Sizes 
Fine Worsted Merino, 
Medium weight. 
TWO 
PIECE 
For Sale by Leading Dealers 
Write for booklet — sample cuttings. 
Yours for the Asking. Dept. 33 
The GLASTONBURY KNITTING CO. 
GLASTONBURY, CONN,. 
UNION 
SUITS 
