Part 15

HERE WAS BURIED THOMAS JEFFERSON AUTHOR OF The Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom and Father of the University of Virginia.

These three deeds he doubtless regarded as the greatest of his life. But the real greatness of Thomas Jefferson, and his value to his country, cannot be comprehended in any recital of specific deeds. His influence is of a broader scope and flows in a deeper current. He stood for a principle which to-day constitutes the very bulwark of this nation, and is not only her strength but her pride. That principle is the right of every citizen to have a part in the government of the nation—to direct its policy—to be responsible for its errors—to share in its triumphs.

Thomas Jefferson recognized the value and stood for the rights of the average man, in a time when those rights were in great jeopardy. In this he displayed his characteristic political foresight, for the average man is the backbone of the nation. He has achieved the triumphs of her past and holds the key to her future destiny.

In my mind’s eye I scan the history of our nation as one might view a panorama.

I see a company of stern-faced men land on the bleak New England shore and kneel in prayer upon a rocky beach. They have crossed a stormy ocean to engage in the hard task of establishing a colony in the New World, where they may worship God as they desire—the earnest, stalwart, heroic Pilgrim Fathers. But who are they? Average men.

Yonder is a company of men standing at Concord Bridge awaiting the advance of British regulars. They fight and some fall in the battle and by that sacrifice become immortal—the first martyrs to American liberty. Who are they? Volunteer soldiers—farmers and tradesmen—average men of the community.

I see a caravan of crude and picturesque conveyances wending their way across the Western plains—each wagon containing a family of pioneers—the advance-guard of civilization—enduring hardships and performing mighty labors of which we reap the benefits. Who are they? Average men and women.

Here are two armies drawn up in battle order—hundreds of thousands of young and valiant men; fighting for what they regard their rights and duties; suffering unspeakable privations and performing deeds of matchless valor—the army of the North and the army of the South—whose conflict demonstrated to the world the extraordinary resources of this nation, the exceptional qualities of the American soldier and the absolutely unconquerable strength of a united country. Who are these soldiers? Fathers and sons from farm and store and factory. Average men.

I see a half-dozen regiments charging a Cuban hillside to dislodge a fortified enemy—strong, alert, confident soldiers—their courage born of the consciousness that they are fighting for right and justice against wrong and oppression. Who are they? A strange conglomeration of militia men, regular army soldiers, nabobs from New York, rough riders from the plains—but all of them average men.

So through all the years of our nation’s history, in the hours of her peril and of her achievements, she has been saved from shame and has been crowned with glory by the deeds of her average men.

Great men have arisen from time to time to lead her armies into battle or to defend her principles of liberty and justice, but, after all, these leaders had been powerless and, indeed, impossible except for the rank and file—the host of average men, who followed them and put into effect their teaching; not as slaves, but as free men doing their duty as intellect and conscience had directed.

Who is it that will determine the future policy of this nation and write success or failure above her gates? Not her millionaires, nor her statesmen, nor her scholars, nor her soldiers, but the average men whose votes count millions in the aggregate and whose will is law.

Thomas Jefferson understood this and read the future with unerring mind. Therefore he made it his chief concern and his great political work to protect the rights and enlarge the privileges of the average man—the bone and sinew of the state.

The Lyceum Platform.

By Dr. James Hedley.

The Lyceum Platform is one of the world’s evangels. It has its teachers, heroes, apostles and prophets. It has had a wonderful history, and is still making history. It is a marvellous power for intellectual, social and moral good, and never more so than to-day. Its lecturers are strong not only in their ability to entertain, but in all those attributes which make for the best in human character. It goes without saying that such men come to the people with a message. Whether it be Watterson or Graves, or De Motte, or Conwell or Wendling, or Willitts; whether Dolliver, Gunsaulus, Hillis, Miller, Bain, McIntyre, McClary, or delightful Bob Taylor, the minds, hearts and consciences of men are turned in the direction of right things, and there is an impetus and an uplift which blesses all who hear.

How wide the influence, and how great the responsibility of the lyceum lecturer! In a general way, at least, all men concede the power of oratory. The close student of the sources of human influence fully recognizes that power, in all its good and evil possibilities. Eloquently spoken words produce more immediate and fully as permanent results as eloquently written ones. When Demosthenes delivered a patriotic oration, the people who heard him said at once, “Let us go and fight Philip!” A little child after listening to George Whitefield’s beautiful and impassioned pictures of Heaven and the Deity, sobbed, “Let me go to Mr. Whitefield’s God!” There are hundreds in our country to-day who are what they are, not only in the success and happiness of their own lives, but as factors toward the wise solution of the profoundest problems of being because of the spoken words, the messages of the present-day lyceum.

The Lyceum Platform thirty and forty years ago could boast of a score of thinkers, some of whom were orators; they served well their day and generation; products of the “form and pressure of the time,” they met its requirements, and left behind them evidences of work nobly done, and no man can say the memory of them shall perish. In far greater measure, because of the infinitely greater number of superior lecturers, the common people to-day are being educated in every phase of thought and purpose worthy earnest consideration. When one considers all this, the faint cry occasionally heard from those who do not take wide views of existing conditions, as to the “decay of the lyceum” is not warranted. Wherever and whenever the true lyceum idea is conserved in the work of the platform, the evidences of strength, wisdom and beauty are at once evident and undeniable.

Since the earlier days, the Lyceum has taken on an entertainment phase, which, while not wholly related to the lyceum idea, serves admirably in meeting and filling the desire there is and ever will be in the human heart for the joyous pleasures of life. The entertainment side of the Lyceum belongs to the realm of the heart paramountly, if not wholly, while the work of the lecturer appeals to the intellect and the conscience, and so the “three thirds” which make men up—the Mind, the Heart and the Conscience—are accorded that which strengthens and enriches. Herein have we all of life’s philosophy, brought to us with mental conviction, with emotional delighting, and spiritual moving. We get glimpses of what may be called the Trinity of Man. There is no side of us which does not respond. Let all this triune service of the Lyceum be clean and high; let not the desire for financial gain hush one worthy voice, or turn aside from the straight path a single lofty purpose, and the Lyceum shall be maintained so long as time endures, because it shall be of the blessed things which are not born to die. Lecturers and entertainers may come and go as individual factors of lyceum work, but the Lyceum as an idea, a force, an inspiration, shall go on forever.

The traveler looking upon Niagara sees the onward rush and surge of countless drops of water. They sweep by and pass on, and return not again. Still other countless millions of drops follow them, and forever follow, and so in spite of separateness, there is perpetuity and permanence. Niagara is immortal. The teachers, heroes, apostles, prophets, singers and entertainers, come and go, and pass out to the great sea beyond, but others come with word and song and smile, and forever shall they come, and so as with Niagara, there is perpetuity and permanence. The Lyceum Platform is immortal.

Echoes from the Field.

Frederick Warde opens his Southern tour May first.

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Alton Pachard, the popular chalk talker, is entertaining Southern audiences with his unique and excellent program.

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“Standard attractions,” is the decree the committees are pronouncing, and “the survival of the fittest” will be the result.

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Ida Benfey is adding to her laurels in the South. She recently gave George Eliot’s beautiful story of “The Mill on the Floss” before an audience of nearly four thousand people, in Nashville, as one of the numbers of the Lyceum Course.

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W. G. Escott, the popular secretary of the Hillsboro, Texas, Y. M. C. A., writes the following report of the recent state convention held at Hillsboro:

The Twenty-second Annual State Convention of the Texas Young Men’s Christian Association was held in Hillsboro, Texas, March 18-21. The Hillsboro Association made preparation for three hundred delegates but only about two hundred were in attendance. It was said by all to be one of the best conventions in every respect that has been held in years in Texas. The prominent speakers of the convention were Dr. Ira Landrith, of Nashville; Rev. Dr. Carroll, of Dallas, Texas; Dr. T. S. Clyce, president Austin College, Sherman, Texas; Judge John C. Townes, of Texas State University, and Dr. S. P. Brooks, president Baylor University, Waco, Texas. The program was very strong in every particular. The delegates all expressed themselves as being royally entertained by the citizens of Hillsboro. The only thing that could have added to the pleasure of the gathering would have been better weather.

The Texas Lyceum Association met during the convention and met the different Bureaus represented and considered their talent. The following were represented: New Dixie Bureau, Midland Bureau, Slayton Bureau, and The Rice Bureau. After considering all the talent offered, the decision was in favor of the Rice Bureau. The Associations of the state have dealt with the Rice Bureau for several years and their attractions have been first-class and according to representation and the service so satisfactory that the members felt that there could be nothing gained by making a change, so the Association business will be with The Rice Bureau again the coming season. The new officers of the T. L. A. are Samuel Warr, Cleburne, President; J. L. Hunter, Waco, Secretary and Treasurer.

A Great Lecturer.

By Opie Read.

I wonder whether many of the people of Nashville remember a newspaper printed in that city in 1876? To the few it was known as the _Evening Mail_. To the many it was not known at all. We had not advocated municipal ownership, we who conducted the enterprise, but the sheriff somehow took it into his head that we did; and as he could not turn the property over to the city, he kept it for the county. I don’t know what was finally done with it. I suppose it became but an echo of dust.

The paper was “established” by a number of printers and newspaper men who had nothing else to do. As we were to share alike in the profits we went alike to the free lunch counter. It was a pure democracy and the man who owned fifteen shares of stock received no more than the man who owned one. The paper was edited with longing and printed with hope. We were all of us optimists. If a cloud arose in our sky we looked upon it as a balloon ascension. I remember but one day of reproof and censure. The foreman came into the “sanctum” and said to the editor-in-chief: “There is trouble in the composing room, sir.”

The editor, an old gentleman who loved to write and who vaguely believed that eventually one of his editorials might be read from beginning to end, looked up and sighed.

“Trouble?”

“Ah, and serious trouble, sir.”

“What is it?”

“Why, Ewing says that he’s got to eat.”

“Eat!” echoed the editor. “What can he mean by such impudence? Did you reason with him?”

“I did, sir; I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself.”

“And was he?”

“No, sir; he forthwith gave me an example of insubordination. He accused me of hiding a sandwich in my desk.”

The editor thought a long time. He had written on the situation in Europe and had given advice to England, France and Germany—he had told the Powers what to do with Turkey, but this sandwich required deeper meditation. “How many shares of stock does Ewing hold?” he inquired.

“Ten, I believe, sir.”

“Well, it seems to me that a man holding so many shares ought to be possessed of more dignity. Let him transfer his stock to some one who stands not high in his regard, and resign. You may go. But, wait a moment, foreman. If you should happen to have a sandwich hidden in your desk, don’t forget me. We have always been good friends, you know.”

It was about this time that Major DeMaine made his appearance in Nashville. He came with a heavily-worded recommendation from the Boston School of Oratory. It was declared that he was the greatest orator of the day or night. He had talked in Faneuil Hall. It appeared in the paper Flanel Hall, but that made no difference. He would have been the greatest of all actors but that he was religiously inclined and deplored the thought of giving up his earnest life to the trivial mimickry of the stage. He was not well dressed but we ascribed this lack of duds to his individuality. But some of us questioned his greatness until he came around to the office and put into the _Mail_ a full page advertisement. Then we knew that he was great. This full page was an announcement together with the press notices of his great lecture on Humanity. Beecher said that it was profound and in an autograph letter Mark Twain swore that it was funnier than Artemus Ward among the Mormons. We were possessed of a small job press, and on this machine the tickets were printed. We were to receive so much a hundred and we looked forward to a time when we might eat, sitting down. One man, a pampered youth named Billings, said that he must have a pair of shoes. At first we took this for _badinage_, for one of this fellow’s whimsical jokes, but soon we discovered that he meant it. We called a meeting of the faculty. The editor sighed. For a man who possessed all wisdom he was the most sighing man I ever knew. With him a sigh answered for declaration and for epigram. He was never at a loss for sigh. So he sighed and asked Billings if he had well considered the situation. Billings answered that he thought he had.

“And you must have shoes, you Beau Brummel! Just at this time of dawning prosperity you must come forward to swamp our hope with needless extravagance. Transfer your stock, Billings, and resign.”

The lecture was to be given in a building which stood somewhere in Summer Street. We were to sell the tickets to our friends and were to share in the profits. And with what will we went forth! A stranger might have thought that the city had been invaded by a gang of hold-up men. Well, the night came. We were present, eighteen of us. The editor and the business manager were absent, having been invited to attend a luncheon given by a politician. But eighteen of us were there to hear that great out-rush of the human mind. It may have been that the learning was too deep for us, that the humor was too skilfully hidden. There was a large audience and at first there was much applause, but it dropped off along about the second round. At the close, however, there came something to arouse our interest. Upon the table the lecturer emptied about a bushel of cubes wrapped in paper. “Each one of these cubes contains a piece of soap,” said he. “It is the finest that has ever been made. And this is the offer that I shall make to you: I shall sell these cubes at twenty-five cents each, and in at least half of the papers is contained a yearly subscription to the _Evening Mail_, a paper which Mr. Watterson declares is the freest and best-written journal in America. He himself is thinking of taking the editorship of it on the first day of next July. Let us open a few of these papers. Ah, we here have a subscription, here is another—another—why, there are no end of them. I will now pass out among you.”

They bought his soap. He was giving our paper a boost and none save a great man could do that. Surely, the day of our prosperity was about to dawn. “I will be around early in the morning to settle for the advertisement, the tickets and the many subscriptions,” he said to one of us. “And now don’t think me presumptuous in what I said. Watterson has his eye on this paper.”

He did not come around the next day. We called on the business manager and he said that no arrangements for subscriptions had been made with him. We spoke to the editor and he sighed. Then, and for days afterward, there came broken streams of people with orders for yearly subscriptions. It was difficult to explain. The most of our stockholders had been present and had heard the promises made by Major DeMaine. So we dozed off into the bed prepared by the sheriff.

The last time I saw the editor he took my hand with a sigh and said: “It was a great pity that I went to that political luncheon. Ah, politics, ruination of mighty empires!”

Years afterward, in company with Col. Zeb. Ward, I was going through the Arkansas penitentiary. Near the wall I observed an oldish man washing a buggy. He had a familiar look, in spite of his stripes, and I spoke to Colonel Ward concerning him. “He is known as Commodore Sassafrac,” said the Colonel. “He got up a great land scheme down in the bottoms—told the negroes that he had the management of the great Mexican war land claim. Seventy million acres were set aside for the colored citizens, and all they had to do was to show an order from the Commodore, which he gave for five dollars apiece.”

I went up to him and spoke. He looked at me. I reminded him of the _Nashville Evening Mail_. “Ah,” said he, “I am pleased to meet anyone from the glowing past. Back upon that time I look with fondness. Your great journal made life worth living.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.