Chapter 5

Mr. Knott entered Congress just at the close of the great Civil War. It was a period of excitement throughout the entire country, and of intense foreboding to the section he represented. In the debates of that stormy period he bore no mean part. He was counted a foeman worthy the steel of the ablest who entered the lists. A thorough student from the beginning, of all that pertained to Magna Charta, the Bill of Rights, and the Federal Constitution, he was equipped as few men have been, for forensic contests that have left their deep impress upon history. The evidence of his ability as a lawyer is to be found in the satisfactory manner in which for three Congresses he discharged the duties of the trying position of Chairman of the Judiciary Committee of the House of Representatives. The ablest lawyers of both political parties constituted this great committee, and its chairman, if possessing only mediocre talents or attainments, would have been sadly out of place.

But with his heavy armor laid aside, the genius of Knott was made manifest along more pleasing lines. Few speeches ever delivered in Congress have been so generally read, or so thoroughly imbedded into current literature, as one he delivered soon after his first admission to the House. Duluth awoke the morning after its delivery to find itself famous. As, "the zenith city of the unsalted seas," it has been known and read of all men. As such, it will probably continue to be known for ages to come. The speech hopelessly defeated a bill making a land grant to a proposed railroad, of which Duluth was to be the terminus. His mirthful prediction, however, as to its marvellous future has been fulfilled. How true it is that "jesters do oft prove prophets!" Bearing in mind that the great city of to-day then had no place even upon the map, the words quoted from the speech will be appreciated:

"Duluth, Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a brook stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft sweet accent of an angel's whisper in the bright joyous dream of sleeping innocence. Duluth! 'T was the name for which my soul had panted for years, as the hart panteth for the water brooks. I was convinced that the greatest calamity that ever befell the benighted nations of the ancient world was their having passed away without a knowledge of the actual existence of Duluth; that their fabled Atlantis, never seen save by the hallowed vision of inspired poesy, was in fact but another name for Duluth; that the golden orchard of the Hesperides was but a poetical synonym for the beer-gardens in the vicinity of Duluth. As that name first fell upon my ear, a resplendent scene of ineffable glory opened before me, such as I imagine burst upon the enraptured visions of the wandering Peri through the opening gates of Paradise."

Mr. Knott was often the sad and silent man. His real intimacies were few, and to strangers he was reserved. But to those who came within the circle of his personal friendship he was one of the most delightful of companions. No man was ever given less to a parade either of his friendships or of his animosities. His enemies --and it would have been strange if, passing through the eventful scenes he did, he had had none--knew just where to find him. He was, in very truth,

"Lofty and sour to them that loved him not; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer."

The cause often of mirth in others, he was at times far from being joyous himself. Few men have been the possessors in so rare degree of the gift of humor, the sure indication of the humane and sympathetic in our nature; that "which blends the pathetic with the ludicrous, and by the same stroke moves to laughter and to tears." As Emerson says, "Both an ornament and a safeguard--genius itself." The line of separation between wit and humor is shadowy, not easily defined. There may be in the same individual, in some measure, a blending of the two. As has been said: "While wit is a purely intellectual thing, into every act of the humorous mind there is an influx of the moral nature. Humor springs up exuberantly, as from a fountain, and runs on, its perpetual game to look with considerate good-nature at every object in existence, and dismiss it with a benison." While wit, the purely intellectual quality, sparkles and stings, humor, "touched with a feeling of our infirmity," would "gently scan thy brother man," remembering ever that

"What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted."

It is not strange, then, that he who in large degree possesses or is possessed by this subtle quality should be subject to moods, it may be melancholy--"the effect of that humor that sometime hath his hour with every man." That Governor Knott was deeply endowed with humor in its best sense, no one who knew him could doubt. In relating incidents that convulsed his listeners, he gave no sign; his own features remained as solemn as if he were attending the obsequies of his dearest friend. There is something that is suggestive in the lines of Thomas Hood,

"There's not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy."

While Governor of Kentucky, he sent to the Hon. Stoddart Johnson a certificate, officially signed and bearing the impress of the great seal of State, duly commissioning him as "Mister," a distinctive and honorable title that no Kentuckian had previously borne. This recalls the witty remark of Max O'Rell: "The only thing that Mr. Ingersoll appears to hold in common with his countrymen _is the title of Colonel."_

Many years ago McCullough, the tragedian, was giving his splendid impersonations of the two masterpieces of Shakespeare at the national Capital. The morning following one of these, Mr. Knott and I, passing along the avenue on our way to the House, were stopped by an exceedingly solemn-visaged individual who, addressing the former, said: "Mr. Knott, I would like to have your judgment as to which is the best play, _Hamlet_ or _Macbeth."_

Gazing earnestly at his inquisitor, and in a tone at once deprecatory and inimitable, Knott replied: "My friend, don't ask me that question. I am a politician, and a candidate for re-election to Congress; my district is about equally divided; Hamlet has his friends down there, and Macbeth his, and I am unwilling _to take any part between them!"_

When in joint canvass with his competitor for the Governorship of the State, Mr. Knott, having, by appointment, at one of the county seats in "the Purchase," made the opening speech, was seated near by to listen to that of the opposing candidate. The latter, a gentleman having a high sense of propriety, and a dignity of bearing that would have done no discredit to an assembly of divines, had been exceedingly annoyed by Knott's speech, which had in very truth kept the audience in an uproar during its entire delivery. Beginning his reply, he said:

"Fellow-citizens, I will endeavor to indicate to you the kind of a man who, in my judgment, should be elected to the position of Governor of this grand old commonwealth. In the first place, that exalted position would never be filled by one who, for lack of serious argument, constantly appeals to the risibilities of his audience; never by a wit, a mere joker, a story-teller; in other words--if you will pardon me, my fellow-citizens--by a mere buffoon. On the contrary, the incumbent of the exalted position of chief executive of this grand old commonwealth should be a gentleman of character, of ability, the worthy successor of Shelby, of Morehead, of Crittenden; he should be a gentleman of scholastic attainments and of dignified bearing, well versed in classic lore and a thorough student of the higher order of state-craft. In a word, fellow-citizens, you should elect as your Governor a gentleman of lofty character, of ripe scholarship, of commanding dignity, of exalted statesmanship, of ----"

At this point, Knott, interrupting, said, in manner and tone the exact counterpart of that of the speaker, "Pardon me, Colonel Smith, but I am too modest a man to listen longer to the beautiful and truthful description _you have just given of me!"_

Whereupon, amidst the wildest applause, he retired from the hall, as did the audience, and the speaking for the day, and the joint discussion for the campaign, were closed.

III AGAIN IN CONGRESS

CHANGES IN THE PERSONNEL OF THE HOUSE CONTRASTED WITH THOSE IN THE BRITISH HOUSE OF COMMONS--LEVI P. MORTON--MR. COVERT AND MR. SHELLEY --GEN. JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON--TWO NOTABLE SPEECHES BY JAMES A. McKENZIE --JOHN E. KENNA--BENJAMIN BUTTERWORTH--MR. KEIFER OF OHIO--MR. CARLISLE OF KENTUCKY--SPEAKER REED--PRESIDENT McKINLEY--THE WRITER'S SPEECH AT THE PEACE JUBILEE BANQUET, 1898.

After an absence of two years I was returned to the forty-sixth Congress. Circumstances over which I had no control had prevented my taking a seat in the intervening Congress, my successful competitor being the Hon. Thomas F. Tipton. In politics, however, as in other things, "the whirligig of time brings in his revenges," and I was in turn the successful competitor of my late opponent in his candidacy for re-election.

Meanwhile, many changes had occurred in the personnel of the House. Many familiar names had been dropped from its roll. Of these, nine had been transferred to that of the Senate, a former member was now in the Cabinet, and Mr. Wheeler of New York was Vice-President. A significant fact in this connection, and one illustrating the uncertainty of the tenure by which place is held in that body, was that more than one-third of those with whom I had so recently served were now in private life. Possibly no feature of our governmental system causes more astonishment to intelligent foreigners than the many changes biennially occurring in the membership of the House of Representatives. There is marked difference between the British House of Commons, and the popular branch of the American Congress. A seat lost in the latter--it may be by a single unfortunate utterance, or unpopular vote--is usually a seat lost forever; while in the former, membership may continue for an almost indefinite period, and until an "appeal to the country" by the Ministry upon a new and vital issue. If defeated by one constituency, the member of Parliament may soon be returned by another, the question of residence having no significance. In fact if possessing superior talents, the member is liable to be chosen by two or more constituencies at the same election, the choice then resting with himself as to which he will represent. Such has been the experience of the most eminent of British statesmen. The names of Burke, Peel, Gladstone, and Balfour, quite recently, will readily be recalled in this connection. In the little island the aspirant to legislative honors has several hundred constituencies from which to choose, or be chosen, while in the larger America his political fortunes are usually bound up in his own residence district.

Upon the roll of the House in the new Congress, called in special session in March, 1879, in addition to some heretofore mentioned, were names well known to the country. Of these none is more worthy of honorable mention than that of the Hon. Levi P. Morton of New York. In the business world his name was a synonym for integrity. The head of a great banking house, he was almost as well known in the principal cities of Europe as in the great city of his residence. At the time of his first election to Congress Mr. Morton was, by appointment of the President, an honorary commissioner to the Paris Exposition. At the close of his legislative career he held successively the honored positions of Ambassador to France, Vice-President of the United States, and Governor of New York. In Congress, Mr. Morton was the able representative of a great constituency; as chief executive of his State his name is worthy of mention with the most eminent of those who have been called to that exalted station; as ambassador to a foreign court the honor of his country was ever in safe keeping; as Vice-President, he was the model presiding officer over the greatest deliberative body known to men.

One of the brightest members of the New York delegation was the Hon. James W. Covert of Flushing. Altogether he served ten years in the House, and became in time one of its leading members. He was an excellent lawyer, a delightful associate, and an able and ready debater. That he was gifted with a touch of the humorous will appear from the following. The House was passing through the agony of an all-night session. Confusion reigned supreme. During it all, Mr. Shelley, from one of the Gulf States, stood at his desk and repeatedly made the point of order upon Covert, Springer, Kenna, McKenzie, and others, as they successively addressed the Chair, that "The gentleman is not speaking from his desk." The point of order was as repeatedly sustained by the Speaker, the rules requiring members to address the Chair only from their respective desks. The confusion at length became so great that many members, in their eagerness to be heard, pressed to the front. The voice of Mr. Shelley, however, was heard above the din still calling for the enforcement of the rule; to which the Speaker, his patience exhausted, now turned a deaf ear. Desperate beyond measure, Mr. Shelley at length _left his own desk,_ and taking his position immediately in front of the clerk's desk fiercely demanded, "Mr. Speaker, I call for the enforcement of the rule." At which Covert immediately exclaimed, "Mr. Speaker, I call for the enforcement of _the rule in Shelley's case!"_

Almost directly in front of the Speaker's desk sat a gentleman, small in stature, and of quiet dignified bearing, "The silent man," "whose voice was in his sword," General Joseph E. Johnston of Virginia. Until this, his first election to Congress from the Capital District of the Old Dominion, he had known none other than military public service. He was a born soldier. No one who saw him could mistake his calling. Napoleon did not more truly look the soldier than did General Johnston. A graduate of West Point, his first service was in the Black Hawk War, and later in Mexico. For gallant conduct at the battle of Cerro Gordo, he was brevetted colonel in the regular army. His last service was when, as Lieutenant-General of the Confederate Army, he surrendered to Sherman, thus ending the great Civil War. He had already reached the allotted threescore years and ten when he entered Congress, and its ordinary details apparently interested him but little. He earnestly desired the return of the era of good feeling between the North and South, and upon his motion the House duly adjourned in honor of the day set apart for the decoration of the graves of Union soldiers.

No member of this House attracted more attention than did the Hon. James A. McKenzie of Kentucky, the representative from what in local parlance was known as "the pennyryle district." He was the youngest member of the body, tall, erect, and handsome. Mr. McKenzie rendered a valuable service to his constituents and the country during this Congress, by securing the passage of a bill placing quinine upon the free list. His district was seriously afflicted with the old-time fever and ague, and the reduction by his bill to a nominal cost of the sure and only specific placed his name high upon the list of benefactors.

Two of his kinsmen, one from Illinois, the other from Florida, occupied seats immediately in his front. Addressing them one day, he said: "It seems strange, indeed, that we three cousins--one from Illinois, one from Florida, and one from Kentucky--are all here together in Congress"; and then added, with apparent gravity, "and _ours not an office-seeking family either!"_

As the session drew near its close, he made repeated efforts to obtain unanimous consent for the consideration of a bill for the erection of a Government building in the principal city of his district. The interposition of the stereotyped "I object" had, however, in each instance, proved fatal. During a night session, near the close of the Congress, requests for recognition came to the Speaker from all parts of the chamber. In the midst of the tumult Mr. McKenzie arose and, addressing the Chair, stated with great solemnity of manner that he arose to a question of personal privilege. This at once arrested the attention of the Speaker, and he requested the gentleman from Kentucky to state his question of privilege. "I rise, Mr. Speaker," said McKenzie, "to a question of the _highest_ privilege, one pertaining to the right of a member to a seat upon this floor--_in the next Congress._ If I don't get that post-office bill through now, my seat will be imperilled. I beg the House for unanimous consent for its immediate consideration." The House was convulsed; no objection was interposed, the bill was considered and passed, and McKenzie's seat was safe for many years to come.

Has there ever been a more feeling two-minutes' speech, than that of McKenzie in the National Convention of 1892, when he arose to second the nomination of Cleveland? After a night of intense excitement, the convention was still in session at three o'clock in the morning. A storm was raging without, while within, thousands in the great hall were impatiently and loudly demanding an immediate vote. More than one of the chief orators of the party,--men well known to the country--had in vain attempted to be heard. Chaos seemed to have come again at the crucial moment that McKenzie, standing upon his chair in the centre of the vast enclosure, began: "If I speak longer than two minutes, I hope that some honest half-drowned Democrat will suspend my carcass from one of the cross-beams of this highly artistic, but terribly leaky auditorium. Cleveland needs no nomination from this convention. He has already been nominated by the people all along the line--all the way from Hell Gate to Yuba Dam!"

The bedlam that now broke loose exceeded all that had gone before. The uproar drowned the voice of the orator within, and even, for the time, called a halt upon the raging elements without. The speech was never concluded. What might have been the closing words of McKenzie's speech, with such a beginning, can never be known. The effect of his opening, however, was instantaneous. It was the immediate prelude to the overwhelming nomination of his candidate.

The Hon. John E. Kenna, of West Virginia, was just at the beginning of a remarkably brilliant career. He was under thirty years of age when he first entered Congress. At the close of his third term in the House, he was elected to the United States Senate, and held his seat in that body by successive elections until his death at the early age of forty-four. He possessed rare gifts as a speaker, and was an active participant in many of the important debates during that eventful period. Senator Kenna was the beloved of his State, and his early death brought sorrow to many hearts.

His manners were pleasing, and he was companionable to the last degree. He often related an amusing incident that occurred in the convention that first nominated him for Congress. His name was presented by a delegate from the Crossroads in one of the mountain counties, in substantially the following speech: "Mr. President, I rise to present to this convention, as a candidate for Congress, the name of John E. Kenna--the peer, sir, _of no man_ in the State of West Virginia."

Among the new members elected to this Congress was the Hon. Benjamin Butterworth of Ohio. His ability as a lawyer and his readiness in debate soon gave him prominence, while his abundant good-nature and inexhaustible fund of anecdotes made him a general favorite in the House. One of his stories was of a Western member whose daily walk and conversation at the national Capital was by no means up to the orthodox home standard. The better element of his constituents at length became disgusted, as reports derogatory to their member from time to time reached them. A bolt in the approaching Congressional convention was even threatened, and altogether serious trouble was brewing. The demand was imperative upon the part of his closest friends that he at once come home and face his accusers. Homeward he at length turned his footsteps, and was met at the depot by a large concourse of his friends and constituents. Hurriedly alighting from the train and stepping upon the platform, with beaming countenance and heart made glad by such an enthusiastic reception, he thus began:

"Fellow-citizens, my heart is deeply touched as my eyes behold this splendid assemblage of my constituents and friends gathered here before and around me. During my absence in Congress my friends have spoken in my vindication. I am here now to speak for myself. Vile slanders have been put in circulation against me. I have been accused of being a defaulter; I have been accused of being a drunkard; I have been accused of being a gambler; but, thank God, fellow-citizens, _no man has ever dared to assail my good moral character!"_

One incident is related by Butterworth of a judge in his State who, becoming thoroughly disgusted with the ease with which naturalization papers were obtained, determined upon a radical reform. That the pathway of the reformer--along this as other lines--was by no means one of flowers will appear from the sequel. Immediately upon taking his seat, the judge, with great earnestness of manner, announced from the bench that thereafter no applicant could receive from that court his final papers, entitling him to the exercise of the high privilege of citizenship, unless he was able to read the Constitution of the United States. A few mornings later, Michael O'Connor, a well-known partisan of the Seventh Ward, appeared in court accompanied by a diminutive-looking countryman, Dennis Flynn by name. Mr. O'Connor stated to the judge that his friend Dennis Flynn had already taken out his first papers, and the legal time had passed, and he now wanted His Honor to grant him his final papers. With much solemnity of manner the judge inquired whether Mr. Flynn had ever read the Constitution of the United States. Somewhat abashed by the unusual interrogatory, Mr. O'Connor looked inquiringly at Mr. Flynn, at which the latter, wholly unconscious of the purport of the inquiry, looked appealingly to Mr. O'Connor. The latter then replied that he presumed he had not, at which the judge, handing the applicant a copy of the revised statutes containing the Constitution, admonished him to read it carefully. Mr. Flynn, carrying the volume in his arms, and followed by his patron, sadly left the court-room. Just eight minutes elapsed, the door suddenly opened and both reappeared, Mr. O'Connor in front, bearing the book aloft, and exclaiming, "Dinnie couldn't rade it, Your Honor, but I rid it over to him, _and he is parefictly deloighted wid it!"_

Three gentlemen, each of whom at a later day reached the Speakership, had served but a single term in the House at the opening of the forty-sixth Congress: Mr. Keifer of Ohio, Mr. Carlisle of Kentucky, and Mr. Reed of Maine. Mr. Keifer was a gentleman of ability and of exceedingly courteous manners. He took a prominent part in debate, and was the immediate successor of Mr. Randall in the chair. After an absence of twenty years he has again been returned to his seat in the House.