ARTHUR, CLEVELAND, AND BLAINE--1881-1884
The successor of Garfield, President Arthur, I had met
frequently in my old days at Albany. He was able,
and there never was the slightest spot upon his integrity;
but in those early days nobody dreamed that he was to
attain any high distinction. He was at that time charged
with the main military duties under the governor; later he
became collector of the port of New York, and in both
positions showed himself honest and capable. He was lively,
jocose, easy-going, with little appearance of devotion to
work, dashing off whatever he had to do with ease and
accuracy. At various dinner-parties and social gatherings,
and indeed at sundry State conventions, where I met
him, he seemed, more than anything else, a bon vivant,
facile and good-natured.
His nomination to the Vice-Presidency, which on the
death of Garfield led him to the Presidency, was very curious,
and an account of it given me by an old friend who
had previously been a member of the Garfield cabinet and
later an ambassador in Europe, was as follows:
After the defeat of the ``Stalwarts,'' who had fought
so desperately for the renomination of General Grant at
the Chicago Convention of 1880, the victorious side of the
convention determined to concede to them, as an olive-
branch, the Vice-Presidency, and with this intent my
informant and a number of other delegates who had been
especially active in preventing Grant's renomination went
to the room of the New York delegation, which had
taken the leading part in his support, knocked at the door,
and called for Mr. Levi P. Morton, previously a member
of Congress, and, several years later, Vice-President of
the United States and Governor of New York. Mr. Morton
came out into the corridor, and thereupon the visitors said
to him, ``We wish to give the Vice-Presidency to New York
as a token of good will, and you are the man who should
take it; don't fail to accept it.'' Mr. Morton answered
that he had but a moment before, in this conference
of his delegation, declined the nomination. At this the
visitors said, ``Go back instantly and tell them that you
have reconsidered and will accept; we will see that the
convention nominates you.'' Mr. Morton started to follow
this advice, but was just too late: while he was outside the
door he had been taken at his word, the place which he
had declined had been offered to General Arthur, he had
accepted it, and so the latter and not Mr. Morton became
President of the United States.
Up to the time when the Presidency devolved upon him,
General Arthur had shown no qualities which would have
suggested him for that high office, and I remember vividly
that when the news of Garfield's assassination arrived
in Berlin, where I was then living as minister, my
first overwhelming feeling was not, as I should have
expected, horror at the death of Garfield, but stupefaction
at the elevation of Arthur. It was a common saying of
that time among those who knew him best, `` `Chet' Arthur
President of the United States! Good God!'' But the
change in him on taking the Presidency was amazing. Up
to that time he had been known as one of Mr. Conkling's
henchmen, though of the better sort. As such he had held
the collectorship of the port of New York, and as such,
during his occupancy of the Vice-Presidency, he had
visited Albany and done his best, though in vain, to secure
Mr. Conkling's renomination; but immediately on his elevation
to the Presidency all this was changed, and there is
excellent authority for the statement that when Mr. Conkling
wished him to continue, as President, in the subservient
position which he had taken as Vice-President, Mr.
Arthur had refused, and when taxed with ingratitude he
said: ``No. For the Vice-Presidency I was indebted to
Mr. Conkling, but for the Presidency of the United States
my debt is to the Almighty.''
The new President certainly showed this spirit in his
actions. Rarely has there been a better or more dignified
administration; the new Secretary of State, Mr. Frelinghuysen,
was in every respect fitted for his office, and the other men
whom Mr. Arthur summoned about him were satisfactory.
Although I had met him frequently, and indeed was on
cordial terms with him before his elevation to the
Presidency, I never met him afterward. During his whole
administration my duties in connection with Cornell
University completely absorbed me. I was one of the last
university presidents who endeavored to unite professorial
with executive duties, and the burden was heavy.
The university had made at that period its first great
sale of lands, and this involved a large extension of
its activity; the famous Fiske lawsuit, involving nearly
two millions of dollars, had come on; there was every
sort of detail requiring attention at the university
itself, and addresses must be given in various parts of
the country, more especially before alumni associations,
to keep them in proper relations with the institution;
so that I was kept completely out of politics, was hardly
ever in Washington during this period, and never at the
White House.
The only matter which connected me with politics at all
was my conviction, which deepened more and more, as
to the necessity of reform in the civil service; and on this
subject I conferred with Mr. Dorman B. Eaton, Mr. John
Jay, and others at various times, and prepared an article
for the ``North American Review'' in which I presented
not only the general advantages of civil service reform,
but its claims upon men holding public office. My main
effort was to show, what I believed then and believe still
more strongly now, that, evil as the whole spoils system
was in its effects on the country, it was quite as vexatious
and fertile in miseries and disappointments to political
leaders. In the natural order of things, where there is no
spoils system, and where the bestowal of offices is not in the
hands of senators, representatives, and the like, these
senators and representatives, when once elected, have time to
discharge their duties, and with very little pains can
maintain their hold upon their constituents as long as they
please. The average man, when he has cast his vote for a
candidate and sees that candidate elected, takes an interest
in him; the voter, feeling that he has, in a certain sense,
made an investment in the man thus elected, is naturally
inclined to regard him favorably and to continue him in
office. But with the spoils system, no sooner is a candidate
elected than, as has been well observed, for every office
which he bestows he makes ``ninety-nine enemies and one
ingrate.'' The result is that the unsuccessful candidates
for appointment return home bent on taking revenge by
electing another person at the end of the present incumbent's
term, and hence comes mainly the wretched system
of rapid rotation in office, which has been in so many
ways injurious to our country.
This and other points I urged, but the evil was too
deeply seated. Time was required to remove all doubts
which were raised. I found with regret that my article
had especially incurred the bitter dislike of my old adviser,
Thurlow Weed, the great friend of Mr. Seward and former
autocrat of Whig and Republican parties in the State of
New York. Being entirely of the old school, he could not
imagine the government carried on without the spoils system.
On one of my visits to New York in the interest of this
reform, I met at dinner Mr. William M. Evarts, then at the
head of the American bar, who had been Secretary of
State under Mr. Hayes, and who was afterward senator
from the State of New York. I had met him frequently
before and heard much of his brilliant talk, and especially
his admirable stories of all sorts.
But on this occasion Mr. Evarts surpassed himself. I
recall a series of witty repartees and charming illustrations,
but will give merely one of the latter. Something
was said of people's hobbies, whereupon Mr. Evarts said
that a gentleman visiting a lunatic asylum went into a
room where several patients were assembled, and saw one
of them astride a great dressing-trunk, holding fast to a
rope drawn through the handle, seesawing and urging it
forward as if it were a horse at full speed. The visitor,
to humor the patient, said, ``That 's a fine horse you
are riding.'' ``Why, no,'' said the patient, ``this is not
a horse.'' ``What is it, then?'' asked the visitor. The
patient answered, ``It 's a hobby.'' ``But,'' said the
visitor, ``what 's the difference between a horse and a
hobby?'' ``Why,'' said the patient, ``there 's an enormous
difference; a horse you can get off from, a hobby
you can't.''
As to civil-service reform, my efforts to convert leading
Republicans by personal appeals were continued, and in
some cases with good results; but I found it very difficult
to induce party leaders to give up the immediate and direct
exercise of power which the spoils system gave them.
Especially was it difficult with sundry editors of leading
papers and party managers; but time has wrought upon
them, and some of those who were most obdurate in those
days are doing admirable work in these. The most serious
effort I ever made was to convert my old friend and classmate,
Thomas C. Platt, the main manager and, as he
was called, the ``boss'' of the Republican party in the
State of New York, a man of great influence throughout
the Union. He treated me civilly, but evidently considered
me a ``crank.'' He, like Mr. Thurlow Weed, was
unable to understand how a party could be conducted
without the promise of spoils for the victors; but I have
lived to see him take a better view. As I write these lines
word comes that his influence is thrown in favor of the bill
for reforming the civil service of the State of New York,
championed by my nephew, Mr. Horace White, a member
of the present State Senate, and favored by Colonel Roosevelt,
the governor.
It was upon a civil-service errand in Philadelphia that
I met, after a long separation, my old friend and classmate
Wayne MacVeagh. He had been minister to Constantinople,
Attorney-General in the Garfield cabinet, and, at a
later period, ambassador at Rome. At this period he had
returned to practise his profession in Philadelphia, and at
his hospitable table I met a number of interesting men,
and on one occasion sat next an eminent member of
the Philadelphia bar, Judge Biddle. A subject happened
to come up in which I had taken great interest, namely,
American laxity in the punishment of crime, and especially
the crime of murder, whereupon Judge Biddle dryly remarked:
``The taking of life, after due process of law, as
a penalty for murder, seems to be the only form of taking
life to which the average American has any objection.''
In the autumn of 1882 came a tremendous reverse for
the Republican party. There was very wide-spread disgust
at the apparent carelessness of those in power regarding
the redemption of pledges for reforms. Judge Folger,
who had been nominated to the governorship of New
York, had every qualification for the place, but an opinion
had widely gained ground that President Arthur, who had
called Judge Folger into his cabinet as Secretary of the
Treasury, was endeavoring to interfere with the politics
of the State, and to put Judge Folger into the governor's
chair. There was a suspicion that ``the machine'' was
working too easily and that some of its wheels were of a
very bad sort. All this, coupled with slowness in redeeming
platform pledges, brought on the greatest disaster the
Republican party had ever experienced. In November,
1882, Mr. Cleveland was elected governor by the most
enormous majority ever known, and the defeat extended
not only through the State of New York, but through a
number of other States. It was bitter medicine, but, as it
afterward turned out, very salutary.
Just after this election, being in New York to deliver an
address before the Geographical Society on the subject of
``The New Germany'' (December 27, 1882), I met a number
of distinguished men in politics at the table of General
Cullom, formerly the head of the West Point Academy.
There was much interesting talk, and some significant
political facts were brought out; but the man who interested
me most was my next neighbor at table, General McDowell.
He was an old West Pointer, and had planned the
first battle of Bull Run, when our troops were overwhelmingly
defeated, the capital put in peril, and the
nation humiliated at home and abroad. There is no
doubt now that McDowell's plans were excellent, but
the troops were raw volunteers, with little knowledge of
their officers and less confidence in them; and, as a
result, when, like the men in the ``Biglow Papers,'' they
found ``why bagonets is peaked,'' there was a panic, just
as there was in the first battles of the French Revolution.
Every man distrusted every other man; there was a general
outcry, and all took flight. I remember doing what
I could in those days to encourage those who looked with
despair on the flight from the battle-field of Bull Run, by
pointing out to them exactly similar panics and flights
in the first battles of the soldiers who afterward became
the Grande Arm<e'>e and marched triumphantly over Europe.
But of one thing the American people felt certain in
those days, and that was that at Bull Run ``General
McDowell was drunk.'' This assertion was loudly made,
widely spread, never contradicted, and generally believed.
I must confess now with shame that I was one of those who
were so simple-minded as to take this newspaper story as
true. On this occasion, sitting next General McDowell, I
noticed that he drank only water, taking no wine of any
sort; and on my calling his attention to the wines of our
host as famous, he answered, ``No doubt; but I never take
anything but water.'' I answered, ``General, how long has
that been your rule?'' He replied, ``Always since my boy-
hood. At that time I was sent to a military school at
Troyes in France, and they gave us so much sour wine
that I vowed that if I ever reached America again no
drink but water should ever pass my lips, and I have kept
to that resolution.''
Of course this was an enormous surprise to me, but
shortly afterward I asked various army officers regarding
the matter, and their general answer was: ``Why, of
course; all of us know that McDowell is the only officer
in the army who never takes anything but water.''
And this was the man who was widely believed by
the American people to have lost the battle of Bull Run
because he was drunk!
Another remembrance of this period is a dinner with
Mr. George Jones, of the ``New York Times,'' who gave
me a full account of the way in which his paper came into
possession of the documents revealing the Tammany
frauds, and how, despite enormous bribes and bitter
threats, the ``Times'' persisted in publishing the papers,
and so brought the Tweed r<e'>gime to destruction.
Of political men, the most noted whom I met in those
days was Governor Cleveland. He was little known, but
those of us who had been observant of public affairs knew
that he had shown sturdy honesty and courage, first as
sheriff of the county of Erie, and next as mayor of Buffalo,
and that, most wonderful of all, he had risen above party
ties and had appointed to office the best men he could find,
even when some of them were earnest Republicans.
In June of 1883 he visited the university as an ex-officio
trustee, laid the corner-stone of the chapel above the
remains of Ezra Cornell, and gave a brief address. It was
short, but surprised me by its lucidity and force. This
being done, I conducted him to the opening of the new
chemical laboratory. He was greatly interested in it, and
it was almost pathetic to note his evident regret that he
had never had the advantage of such instruction. I
learned afterward that he was classically prepared to enter
college, but that his father, a poor country clergyman,
being unable to defray his expenses, the young man
determined to strike out for himself, and so began one of
the best careers known in the history of American politics.
At this same commencement of Cornell University
appeared another statesman, Justin S. Morrill of Vermont,
author of the Morrill Bill of 1862, which, by a grant of
public lands, established a college for scientific, technical,
military, and general education in every State and Territory
in the Union. It was one of the most beneficent
measures ever proposed in any country. Mr. Morrill had
made a desperate struggle for his bill, first as representative
and afterward as senator. It was twice vetoed by
President Buchanan, who had at his back all the pro-slavery
doctrinaires of his time. They distrusted, on various
accounts, any system for promoting advanced education,
and especially for its promotion by the government; but
he won the day, and on this occasion our trustees, at my
suggestion, invited him to be present at the unveiling of
his portrait by Huntington, which had been painted by
order of the trustees for the library.
He was evidently gratified at the tribute, and all who
met him were pleased with him. The time will come, I
trust, when his statue will stand in the capital of the Union
as a memorial of one of the most useful and far-seeing
statesmen our country has known.
A week later I addressed my class at Yale on ``The
Message of the Nineteenth Century to the Twentieth.'' In
this address my endeavor was to indicate the lines on which
reforms of various sorts must be instituted, and along
which a better future for the country could be developed,
and it proved a far greater success than I had expected.
It was widely circulated in various forms, first in the
newspapers, then as a pamphlet, and finally as a kind of
campaign document.
From July to September of that year (1883) I was
obliged to be in Europe looking after matters pertaining
to the university lawsuit, and, on returning, was called
upon to address a large meeting of Germans at the funeral
of a member of the German parliament who had
died suddenly while on a visit to our country--Edward
Lasker. I had known him well in Berlin as a man of
great ability and high character, and felt it a duty to
accept the invitation to give one of the addresses at
his funeral. The other address was given by my friend
of many years, Carl Schurz; and these addresses, with
some others made at the time, did, I suppose, something
to bring to me the favor of my German fellow-citizens in
New York.
Still, my main thoughts were given to Cornell University.
This was so evident that on one occasion a newspaper
of my own party, in an article hostile to those who spoke
of nominating me for the governorship, declared: ``Mr.
White's politics and religion are Cornell University.''
But suddenly, in 1884, I was plunged into politics most
unexpectedly.
As has been usual with every party in the State of New
York from the beginning of the government, the Republicans
were divided between two factions, one supporting
Mr. Arthur for the Presidency, the other hoping to nominate
Mr. Blaine. These two factions thus standing opposed
to each other, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, with a few
others in various parts of the State, started an independent
movement, with the result that the two main divisions of
the party, detesting each other more than they detested the
independents, supported the latter and elected independent
candidates as delegates at large to the approaching
Republican Convention at Chicago. Without any previous
notice, I was made one of these delegates. My position was
therefore perfectly independent; I was at liberty to vote
for whom I pleased. Although my acquaintance with Mr.
Blaine was but slight, I had always felt strong admiration
and deep attachment for him. As Secretary of State, during
a part of my residence in Berlin, he had stood by
me in a contest regarding the double standard of value
in which I had feared that he might waver; and, far more
than all this, his general political course had caused me,
as it had caused myriads of others, to feel grateful to
him.
But I had learned some things regarding his vulnerability
in a presidential campaign which made me sure
that it would be impossible to elect him. An impartial
but kindly judge had, some months before, while
expressing great admiration for Mr. Blaine, informed me of
some transactions which, while they showed no turpitude,
revealed a carelessness in doing business which would
certainly be brought to bear upon him with great effect in a
heated political campaign. It was clear to me that, if
nominated, he would be dragged through the mire, the
Republican party defeated, and the country at large
besmirched in the eyes of the whole world.
Arrived at Chicago June 2, 1884, I found the political
caldron seething and bubbling. Various candidates
were earnestly supported, and foremost of all, President
Arthur and Mr. Blaine. The independent delegates,
led by Theodore Roosevelt and George William Curtis,
and the Massachusetts delegation, headed by Governor
Long, Senator Hoar, and Henry Cabot Lodge, decided to
support Senator Edmunds of Vermont. No man stood
higher than he for integrity as well as for statesmanlike
qualities and legal abilities; no one had more thoroughly
the respect of thinking men from one end of the country
to the other.
The delegates having arrived in the great hall where
the convention was sitting, a number of skirmishes took
place, and a momentary victory was gained by the
Independents in electing, as temporary chairman, a colored
delegate of great ability from one of the Southern States,
over Mr. Powell Clayton of Arkansas, who, though he
had suffered bitterly and struggled bravely to maintain
the Union during the Civil War, was supposed to be identified
with doubtful methods in Southern politics.
But as it soon became evident that the main tide was for
Mr. Blaine, various efforts were made to concentrate the
forces opposed to him upon some candidate who could
command more popular support than Mr. Edmunds. An
earnest effort was made in favor of John Sherman
of Ohio, and his claims were presented most sympathetically
to me by my old Cornell student, Governor Foraker.
Of all the candidates before the convention I would have
preferred to vote for Mr. Sherman. He had borne the
stress of the whole anti-slavery combat, and splendidly;
he had rendered great services to the nation as a statesman
and financier, and was in every respect capable and worthy.
Unfortunately there were too many old enmities against
him, and it was clear that the anti-Blaine vote could not
be concentrated on him. My college classmate, Mr.
Knevals of New York, then urged me to vote for President
Arthur. This, too, would have been a fairly satisfactory
solution of the question, for President Arthur had surprised
every one by the excellence of his administration.
Still there was a difficulty in his case: the Massachusetts
delegates could not be brought to support him; it was said
that he had given some of their leaders mortal offense
by his hostility to the River and Harbor Bill. A final
effort was then made by the Independents to induce General
Sherman to serve, but he utterly refused, and so the only
thing left was to let matters take their course. All chance
of finding any one to maintain the desired standard of
American political life against the supporters of Mr.
Blaine had failed.
As we came into the convention on the morning of the
day fixed for making the nominations, I noticed that the
painted portraits of Washington and Lincoln, previously
on either side of the president's chair, had been removed.
Owing to the tumultuous conduct of the crowd in the
galleries, it had been found best to remove things of an
ornamental nature from the walls, for some of these
ornaments had been thrown down, to the injury of those
sitting below.
On my calling Curtis's attention to this removal of the
two portraits, he said: ``Yes, I have noticed it, and I am
glad of it. Those weary eyes of Lincoln have been upon
us here during our whole stay, and I am glad that they are
not to see the work that is to be done here to-day.'' It was
a curious exhibition of sentiment, a revelation of the deep
poetic feeling which was so essential an element in Curtis's
noble character.
The various candidates were presented by prominent
speakers, and most of the speeches were thoroughly good;
but unquestionably the best, from an oratorical point of
view, was made on the nomination of Mr. Edmunds by
Governor Long of Massachusetts. Both as to matter and
manner it was perfection; was felt to be so by the convention;
and was sincerely applauded even by the majority
of those who intended to vote for Mr. Blaine.
There was one revelation here, as there had been at
many conventions previously, which could not fail to
produce a discouraging impression upon every thoughtful
American. The number of delegates and substitutes sent
to the convention amounted in all to a few hundreds, but
these were almost entirely lost in the immense crowd of
spectators, numbering, it was said, from twelve to fifteen
thousand. In the only conventions which I had ever before
seen, including those at Baltimore and Philadelphia and
various State conventions of New York, the delegates had
formed the majority of those in the hall; but in this great
``wigwam'' there were times in which the most important
part was played by the spectators. At some moments this
overwhelming mob, which encircled the seats of the delegates
on the floor and rose above them on all sides in the
galleries, endeavored to sweep the convention in the direction
of its own whims and fancies. From time to time
the convention ceased entirely to be a deliberative body.
As the names of certain favorite candidates were called, or
as certain popular allusions were made in speeches, this
mob really took possession of the convention and became
almost frantic. I saw many women jumping up and down,
dishevelled and hysterical, and some men acting in much
the same way. It was absolutely unworthy of a convention
of any party, a disgrace to decency, and a blot upon
the reputation of our country. I am not alone in this
opinion. More than once during my official life in Europe I
have heard the whole thing lamented by leading liberal
statesmen as bringing discredit on all democratic government.
There were times indeed when the galleries sought to
howl down those who were taking part in the convention,
and this was notably the case during a very courageous
speech by Mr. Roosevelt.
I may mention, in passing, that the country then
received the first revelation of that immense pluck and vigor
which have since carried Mr. Roosevelt through so many
political conflicts, borne him through all the dangers of
the Santiago campaign, placed him in the governor's chair
of the State of New York and in the Vice-Presidency of
the United States, leading to the Presidency, which he
holds as I revise these lines. At the Chicago Convention,
though he was in a small minority, nothing daunted him.
As he stood upon a bench and addressed the president,
there came from the galleries on all sides a howl and
yell, ``Sit down! sit down!'' with whistling and cat-calls.
All to no purpose; the mob might as well have tried to
whistle down a bronze statue. Roosevelt, slight in build
as he then was, was greater than all that crowd combined.
He stood quietly through it all, defied the mob, and finally
obliged them to listen to him.
Toward the end of the convention this mob showed itself
even worse than before. It became evident that large
parts of the galleries were packed in the interest of the
local candidate for the Vice-Presidency, General Logan,
and this mass of onlookers did their best to put down all
delegates supporting any other.
No more undemocratic system was ever devised. The
tendency of this ``wigwam'' plan of holding great meetings
or conventions is to station a vast mob of sensation-
seeking men and women in the galleries between the delegates
and the country at large. The inevitable consequence
is that the ``fog-horns'' of a convention play the most ef-
fective part, and that they seek mainly the applause of the
galleries. The country at large is for the moment
forgotten. The controlling influence is the mob, mainly from
the city where the convention is held. The whole thing is
a monstrous abuse. Attention has been called to it by
thinking Democrats as well as by Republicans, who have
seen in it a sign of deterioration which has produced many
unfortunate consequences and will produce more. It is
the old story of the French Convention overawed by a gallery
mob and mistaking the mob whimsies of a city for the
sober judgment of the country. One result of it the whole
nation saw when, in more recent years, a youthful member
of Congress, with no training to fit him for executive
duties, was suddenly, by the applause of such a mob,
imposed upon the Democratic National Convention as a
candidate for the Presidency. Those who recall the way in
which ``the boy orator of the Platte'' became the Democratic
candidate for the Chief Magistracy over seventy
millions of people, on account of a few half-mawkish, half-
blasphemous phrases in a convention speech, can bear
witness to the necessity of a reform in this particular--a
reform which will forbid a sensation-seeking city mob to
usurp the function of the whole people of our Republic.
In spite of these mob hysterics, the Independents
persisted to the last in supporting Mr. Edmunds for the first
place, but in voting for the second place they separated.
For the Vice-Presidency I cast the only vote which was
thrown for my old Cornell student, Mr. Foraker, previously
governor of Ohio, and since that time senator
from that State.
In spite of sundry ``defects of his qualities,'' which
I freely recognized, I regarded him as a fearless, upright,
downright, straightforward man of the sort who must
always play a great part in American politics.
It was at this convention that I saw for the first time
Mr. McKinley of Ohio, and his quiet self-possession in
the midst of the various whirls and eddies and storms
caused me to admire him greatly. Calm, substantial, quick
to see a good point, strong to maintain it, he was evidently
a born leader of men. His speeches were simple, clear,
forcible, and aided at times in rescuing the self-respect
of the body.
This Republican convention having adjourned, the
National Democratic Convention met soon afterward in the
same place and nominated Grover Cleveland of New York.
He was a man whom I greatly respected. As already
stated, his career as sheriff of Erie County, as mayor of
Buffalo, and as governor of the State of New York had
led me to admire him. He had seemed utterly incapable
of making any bid for mob support; there had
appeared not the slightest germ of demagogism in him;
he had refused to be a mere partizan tool and had steadily
stood for the best ideals of government. As governor
he showed the same qualities which had won admiration
during his previous career as sheriff and mayor. He
made as many appointments as he could without regard
to political considerations, and it was remarked with
wonder that when a number of leading Democratic ``workers''
and ``wheel-horses'' came to the executive chamber in
Albany in order to dictate purely partizan appointments,
he virtually turned them out of the room. Most amazing
thing of all, he had vetoed a bill reducing the fare on the
elevated railroads of New York, in the face of the earnest
advice of partizans who assured him that by doing so he
would surely array against him the working-classes of
that city and virtually annihilate his political future.
To this his answer was that whatever his sympathies for
the working-people might be, he could not, as an honest
man, allow such a bill to pass, and, come what might, he
would not. He had also dared, quietly but firmly, to resist
the chief ``boss'' of his party in New York City, and he
had consequently to brave the vials of Celtic wrath. The
scenes at the convention which nominated him were stirring,
and an eminent Western delegate struck a chord in
the hearts of thousands of Republicans as well as
Democrats when he said, ``We love him for the enemies he has
made.'' Had it been a question simply between men, great
numbers of us who voted for Mr. Blaine would have voted
for Mr. Cleveland; but whatever temptation I might be
subjected to in the matter was overcome by one fact: Mr.
Cleveland was too much like the Trojan horse, for he bore
with him a number of men who, when once brought into
power, were sure to labor hard to undo everything that
he would endeavor to accomplish, and his predestined
successor in the governorship of the State of New York was
one of those whom I looked upon as especially dangerous.
Therefore it was, that, after looking over the ground, I
wrote an open letter to Mr. Theodore Roosevelt and other
Independents, giving the reasons why those of us who had
supported Mr. Edmunds should now support Mr. Blaine,
and in this view Mr. Roosevelt, with a large number of our
Independent friends, agreed.
I had, however, small hopes. It was clear to me that Mr.
Blaine had little chance of being elected; that, in fact, he
was too heavily weighted with the transactions which Mr.
Pullman had revealed to me some months before the
beginning of the convention.
But I made an effort to commit him to the only policy
which could save him. For, having returned to the university,
I wrote William Walter Phelps, an old friend, who
had been his chief representative at Chicago, an earnest
letter stating that there seemed to me but one chance of
rallying to Mr. Blaine's support the very considerable
body of disaffected Republicans in the State of New York;
that, almost without exception, they were ardent believers
in a reform of the civil service; and that an out-and-out
earnest declaration in favor of it by our presidential
candidate might do much to propitiate them. I reminded
Mr. Phelps of the unquestioned evils of the ``spoils
system,'' and said that Mr. Blaine must surely have often
observed them, suffered under pressure from them, and
felt that something should be done to remedy them; and
that if he would now express his conviction to this effect,
taking strong ground in favor of the reform and basing
his utterances on his experiences as a statesman, it would,
in my mind, do much to save the State of New York for
the Republicans.
After writing this letter, feeling that it might seem to
Mr. Phelps and to Mr. Blaine himself very presuming for
a man who had steadily opposed them at Chicago thus to
volunteer advice, I laid it aside. But it happened that I
had been chosen one of the committee of delegates to go
to Maine to apprise Mr. Blaine formally of his nomination,
and it also happened that my old student and friend,
Judge Foraker, was another member of the committee. It
was impossible for me to go to Maine, since the commencement
of the university, at which I was bound to preside,
came on the day appointed for Mr. Blaine's reception of
the committee at Bangor; but Judge Foraker having
stopped over at the university to attend a meeting of the
trustees as an alumni member of that body, I mentioned
this letter to him. He asked to see it, and, having read it,
asked to be allowed to take it with him. I consented, and
heard nothing more from him on the subject; but the
following week, at the Yale commencement, while sitting with
Mr. Evarts and Judge Shipman to award prizes in the
law department, I saw, looking toward me over the
heads of the audience in the old Centre Church, my
friend Frederick William Holls of New York, and it
was evident from his steady gaze that he had something
to say. The award of prizes having been made and the
audience dismissed, Mr. Holls met me and said: ``Mr.
Blaine will adopt your suggestion in his letter of
acceptance.'' Both of us were overjoyed. It looked like a
point scored not only for the Republican party, but for the
cause which we both had so deeply at heart.
But as the campaign went on it was more and more
evident that this concession, which I believe he would have
adhered to had he been elected, was to be in vain.
It was perhaps, on the whole, and on both sides, the vilest
political campaign ever waged. Accusations were made
against both candidates which should have forever brought
contempt on the men who made them. Nothing could have
been further from the wish of either candidate than that
such accusations should be made against his opponent, but
each was powerless: the vile flood of slander raged on.
But I am glad here to recall the fact that when, at a later
period, one of the worst inventors of slander against Mr.
Blaine sought reward in the shape of office from President
Cleveland, he was indignantly spurned.
In politics I took very little part. During the summer
my main thoughts were directed toward a controversy before
the Board of Regents, in regard to the system of
higher education in the State of New York, with my
old friend President Anderson of Rochester, who had
vigorously attacked some ideas which seemed to me essential
to any proper development of university education
in America; and this was hardly finished when I was asked
to take part in organizing the American Historical Association
at Saratoga, and to give the opening address. This,
with other pursuits of an academic nature, left me little
time for the political campaign.
But there occurred one little incident to which I still
look back with amusement. My old friends and constituents
in Syracuse had sent me a general invitation to
come over from the university and preside at some one
of their Republican mass-meetings. My answer was that
as to the ``hack speakers'' of the campaign, with their
venerable gags, stale jokes, and nauseating slanders, I had no
desire to hear them, and did not care to sit on the platform
with them; but that when they had a speaker to whom I
cared to listen I would gladly come. The result was that
one day I received a letter inviting me to preside over a
mass-meeting at Syracuse, at which Mr. McKinley was to
make the speech. I accepted gladly and on the appointed
evening arrived at the Syracuse railway station. There
I found the mayor of the city ready to take me in his
carriage to the hall where the meeting was to be held; but we
had hardly left the station when he said to me: ``Mr.
White, I am very sorry, but Mr. McKinley has been de-
layed and we have had to get another speaker.'' I was
greatly disappointed, and expressed my feelings somewhat
energetically, when the mayor said: ``But this speaker is
really splendid; he carries all before him; he is a thorough
Kentucky orator.'' My answer was that I knew the breed
but too well, and that if I had known that Mr. McKinley
was not to come I certainly would not have left my work
at the university. By this time we had arrived at the door
of the Globe Hotel, whence the speaker entered the carriage.
He was a tall, sturdy Kentuckian, and his appearance
and manner showed that he had passed a very convivial
day with the younger members of the committee
appointed to receive him.
His first words on entering the carriage were not very
reassuring. No sooner had I been introduced to him than
he asked where he could get a glass of brandy. ``For,''
said he, ``without a good drink just before I go on the
platform I can't make a speech.'' I attempted to quiet
him and to show him the difficulties in the case. I said:
``Colonel ----, you have been with our young men here
all day, and no doubt have had a fairly good time; but in
our meetings here there is just now need of especial care.
You will have in your audience to-night a large number of
the more sedate and conservative citizens of Syracuse,
church members, men active in the various temperance
societies, and the like. There never was a campaign when
men were in greater doubt; great numbers of these people
have not yet made up their minds how they will vote, and
the slightest exhilaration on your part may cost us
hundreds of votes.'' He answered: ``That's all very well, but
the simple fact is that I am here to make a speech, and I
can't make it unless I have a good drink beforehand.'' I
said nothing more, but, as he still pressed the subject on the
mayor and the other member of the committee, I quietly
said to them as I left the carriage: ``If that man drinks
anything more before speaking, I will not go on the stage
with him, and the reason why I don't will speedily be
made known.'' The mayor reassured me, and we all went
together into the large room adjoining the stage, I keeping
close watch over the orator, taking pains to hold him
steadily in conversation, introducing as many leading
men of the town to him as possible, thus preventing any
opportunity to carry out his purpose of taking more
strong drink, and to my great satisfaction he had no
opportunity to do so before we were summoned into the hall.
Arrived there, I made my speech, and then the orator of
the evening arose. But just before he began to speak
he filled from a water-pitcher a large glass, and drank
it off. My thought at the moment was that this would
dilute some of the stronger fluids he had absorbed during
the day and cool him down somewhat. He then
went on in a perfectly self-possessed way, betrayed not the
slightest effect of drinking, and made a most convincing
and effective speech, replete with wit and humor; yet,
embedded in his wit and humor and rollicking fun, were
arguments appealing to the best sentiments of his hearers. The
speech was in every way a success; at its close I congratulated
him upon it, and was about to remind him that he
had done very well on his glass of cold water, when he
suddenly said to me: ``Mr. White, you see that it was just
as I told you: if I had n't taken that big glass of gin from
the pitcher just before I started, I could not have made
any speech.''
``All 's well that ends well,'' and, though the laugh was
at my expense, the result was not such as to make me
especially unhappy.
But this campaign of 1884 ended as I had expected. Mr.
Cleveland was elected to the Presidency.