I
I approve of you, for I am an optimist myself in regard to human
affairs, and can conscientiously agree with many of the patriotic
statements concerning the greatness of the American people contained in
your letter. Your letter interested me because it differed so signally
in its point of view from the others which I received at the same
time—the time when I ran for Congress as a Democrat in a hopelessly
Republican district and was defeated. The other letters were gloomy in
tone. They deplored the degeneracy of our political institutions, and
argued from the circumstance that the voters of my district preferred
"a hack politician" and "blatant demagogue" to "an educated philosopher"
(the epithets are not mine); that we were going to the dogs as a nation.
The prophecy was flattering to me in my individual capacity, but it
has not served to soil the limpid, sunny flow of my philosophy. I was
gratified, but not convinced. I behold the flag of my country still with
moistened eyes—the eyes of pride, and I continue to bow affably to my
successful rival.
Your suggestion was much nearer the truth. You indicated with pardonable
levity that I was not elected because the other man received more votes.
I smiled at that as an apt statement. You went on to take me to task for
having given the impression in my published account of the political
canvass not merely that I ought to have been elected, but that the
failure to elect me was the sign of a lack of moral and intellectual
fibre in the American people. If I mistake not, you referred to me
farther on in the style of airy persiflage as a "holier than thou,"
a journalistic, scriptural phrase in current use among so-called
patriotic Americans. And then you began to argue: You requested me to
give us time, and called attention to the fact that the English system
of rotten boroughs in vogue fifty years ago was worse than anything
we have to-day. "We are a young and impetuous people," you wrote, "but
there is noble blood in our veins—the blood which inspired the greatness
of Washington and Hamilton and Franklin and Jefferson and Webster and
Abraham Lincoln. Water does not run up hill. Neither do the American
people move backward. Its destiny is to progress and to grow mightier
and mightier. And those who seek to retard our national march by cynical
insinuations and sneers, by scholastic sophistries and philosophical
wimwams, will find themselves inevitably under the wheels of Juggernaut,
the car of republican institutions."
Philosophical wimwams! You sought to wound me in a tender spot. I
forgive you for that, and I like your fervor. Those rotten boroughs have
done yeoman service. They are on the tongue of every American citizen
seeking for excuses for our national shortcomings. But for my dread of
a mixed metaphor I would add that they are moth-eaten and threadbare.
Your letter becomes then a miscellaneous catalogue of our national
prowess. You instance the cotton-gin, the telegraph, the sewing-machine,
and the telephone, and ask me to bear witness that they are the
inventions of free-born Americans. You refer to the heroism and vigor
of the nation during the Civil War, and its mighty growth in prosperity
and population since; to the colleges and academies of learning, to the
hospitals and other monuments of intelligent philanthropy, to the huge
railroad systems, public works, and private plants which have come into
being with mushroom-like growth over the country. You recall the energy,
independence, and conscientious desire for Christian progress among
our citizens, young and old, and, as a new proof of their disinterested
readiness to sacrifice comfort for the sake of principle, you cite the
recent emancipation of Cuba. Your letter closes with a Fourth of July
panegyric on the heroes on land and sea of the war with Spain, followed
by an exclamation point which seems to say, "Mr. Philosopher, put that
in your pipe and smoke it."
I have done so, and admit that there is a great deal to be proud of in
the Olla Podrida of exploits and virtues which you have set before me.
Far be it from me to question the greatness and capacity of your and
my countrymen. But while my heart throbs agreeably from the thrill of
sincere patriotism, I venture to remind you that cotton-gins, academies
of learning, and first-class battle-ships have little to do with the
matter in question. Your mode of procedure reminds me of the plea I have
heard used to obtain partners for a homely girl—that she is good to
her mother. I notice that you include our political sanctity by a few
sonorous phrases in the dazzling compendium of national success, but I
also notice that you do not condescend to details. That is what I intend
to do, philosophically yet firmly.
To begin with, I am not willing to admit that I was piqued by my failure
to be elected to Congress. I did not expect to succeed, and my tone was,
it seems to me, blandly resigned and even rather grateful than otherwise
that such a serious honor had been thrust upon me. Success would have
postponed indefinitely the trip to Japan on which my wife, Josephine,
had set her heart. In short, I supposed that I had concealed alike grief
and jubilation, and taken the result in a purely philosophic spirit. It
seems though that you were able to read between the lines—that is what
you state—and to discern my condescending tone and lack of faith in
the desire and intention of the plain people of these United States to
select competent political representatives. I can assure you that I have
arrived at no such dire state of mind, and I should be sorry to come
to that conclusion; but, though a philosopher, and hence, politically
speaking, a worm, I have a proper spirit of my own and beg to inform you
that the desire and intention of our fellow-countrymen, whether plain
or otherwise, so to do is, judging by their behavior, open to grave
question. So you see I stand at bay almost where you supposed, and there
is a definite issue between us. Judging by their behavior, remember.
Judging by their words, butter would not melt in their mouths. I merely
wish to call your attention to a few notorious facts in defence of my
attitude of suspicion.
(_Note._—"Josephine," said I to my wife at this point, "please
enumerate the prominent elective offices in the gift of the
American people."
My wife rose and after a courtesy, which was mock deferential,
proceeded to recite, with the glib fluency of a school-girl,
the following list: "Please, sir,
President.
Senators of the United States (elected by the State
legislatures).
Representatives of the United States.
State Senators.
State Assemblymen or Representatives.
Aldermen.
Members of the City Council.
Members of the School Committee."
"Correct, Josephine. I pride myself that, thanks to my
prodding, you are beginning to acquire some rudimentary
knowledge concerning the institutions of your country. Thanks
to me and Professor Bryce. Before Professor Bryce wrote 'The
American Commonwealth,' American women seemed to care little
to know anything about our political system. They studied more
or less about the systems of other countries, but displayed a
profound ignorance concerning our own form of government. But
after an Englishman had published a book on the subject, and
made manifest to them that our institutions were reasonably
worthy of attention, considerable improvement has been
noticeable. But I will say that few women are as well posted
as you, Josephine."
She made another mock deferential courtesy. "Thank you, my
lord and master; and lest you have not made it sufficiently
clear that my superiority in this respect is due to your—your
nagging, I mention again that you are chiefly responsible for
it. It bores me, but I submit to it."
"Continue then your docility so far as to write the names
which you have just recited on separate slips of paper and
put them in a proper receptacle. Then I will draw one as a
preliminary step in the political drama which I intend to
present for the edification of our correspondent."
Josephine did as she was bid, and in the process, by way of
showing that she was not such a martyr as she would have the
world believe, remarked, "If you had really been elected,
Fred, I think I might have made a valuable political ally.
What I find tedious about politics is that they're not
practical—that is for me. If you were in Congress now, I
should make a point of having everything political at the tip
of my tongue."
"Curiously enough, my dear, I am just going to give an
object-lesson in practical politics, and you as well as our
young friend may be able to learn wisdom from it. Now for
a blind choice!" I added, putting my hand into the work-bag
which she held out.
"Aldermen!" I announced after scrutinizing the slip, which I
had drawn. Josephine's nose went up a trifle.
"A very fortunate and comprehensive selection," I asserted.
"The Alderman and the influences which operate upon and around
him lie at the root of American practical politics. And from
a careful study of the root you will be able to decide how
genuinely healthy and free from taint must be the tree—the
tree which bears such ornamental flowers as Presidents and
United States Senators, gorgeous blooms of apparent dignity
and perfume.")
This being a drama, my young patriot, I wish to introduce you to
the stage and the principal characters. The stage is any city in the
United States of three hundred thousand or more inhabitants. It would
be invidious for me to mention names where anyone would answer to the
requirements. Some may be worse than others, but all are bad enough. A
bold and pessimistic beginning, is it not, my optimistic friend?
And now for the company. This drama differs from most dramatic
productions in that it makes demands upon a large number of actors. To
produce it properly on the theatrical stage would bankrupt any manager
unless he were subsidized heavily from the revenues of the twenty
leading villains. The cast includes besides twenty leading villains,
twelve low comedians, no hero, no heroine (except, incidentally,
Josephine); eight newspaper editors; ten thousand easy-going
second-class villains; ten thousand patriotic, conscientious, and
enlightened citizens, including a sprinkling of ardent reformers;
twenty-five thousand zealous, hide-bound partisans; fifty thousand
respectable, well-intentioned, tolerably ignorant citizens who vote, but
are too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to politics, and
as a consequence generally vote the party ticket, or vote to please a
"friend;" ten thousand superior, self-centred souls who neglect to vote
and despise politics anyway, among them poets, artists, scientists, some
men of leisure, and travellers; ten thousand enemies of social order
such as gamblers, thieves, keepers of dives, drunkards, and toughs; and
your philosopher.
A very large stock company. I will leave the precise arithmetic to you.
I wish merely to indicate the variegated composition of the average
political constituency, and to let you perceive that the piece which is
being performed is no parlor comedy. It is written in dead earnest, and
it seems to me that the twenty leading villains, though smooth and in
some instances aristocratic appearing individuals, are among the most
dangerous characters in the history of this or any other stage. But
before I refer to them more particularly I will make you acquainted with
our twelve low comedians—the Board of Aldermen.
It is probably a surprise to you and to Josephine that the Aldermen
are not the villains. Everything is comparative in this world, and,
though I might have made them villains without injustice to such virtues
as they possess, I should have been at a loss how to stigmatize the
real promoters of the villainy. And after all there is an element of
grotesque comedy about the character of Aldermen in a large American
city. The indecency of the situation is so unblushing, and the public
is so helpless, that the performers remind one in their good-natured
antics of the thieves in "Fra Diavolo;" they get bolder and bolder and
now barely take the trouble to wear the mask of respectability.
Have I written "thieves?" Patriotic Americans look askance at such
full-blooded expressions. They prefer ambiguity, and a less harsh
phraseology—"slight irregularities," "business misfortunes," "commercial
usages," "professional services," "campaign expenses," "lack of fine
sensibilities," "unauthenticated rumors." There are fifty ways of
letting one's fellow-citizens down easily in the public prints and in
private conversation. This is a charitable age, and the word thief has
become unfamiliar, except as applied to rogues who enter houses as a
trade. The community and the newspapers are chary of applying it to
folk who steal covertly but steadily and largely as an increment of
municipal office. It is inconvenient to hurt the feelings of public
servants, especially when one may have voted for them from carelessness
or ignorance.
Here is a list of the twelve low comedians for your inspection:
Peter Lynch, no occupation,
James Griffin, stevedore,
William H. Bird, real estate,
John S. Maloney, saloon-keeper,
David H. Barker, carpenter,
Jeremiah Dolan, no occupation,
Patrick K. Higgins, junk dealer,
Joseph Heffernan, liquors,
William T. Moore, apothecary,
James O. Frost, paints and oils,
Michael O'Rourke, tailor,
John P. Driscoll, lawyer.
You will be surprised by my first statement regarding them, I dare
say. Four of them, Peter Lynch, James Griffin, Jeremiah Dolan, and
Michael O'Rourke neither drink nor smoke. Jeremiah Dolan chews, but
the three others do not use tobacco in any form. They are patterns
of Sunday-school virtue in these respects. This was a very surprising
discovery to one of the minor characters in our drama—to two of them
in fact—Mr. Arthur Langdon Waterhouse and his father, James Langdon
Waterhouse, Esq. The young man, who had just returned from Europe
with the idea of becoming United States Senator and who expressed a
willingness to serve as a Reform Alderman while waiting, announced the
discovery to his parent shortly before election with a mystified air.
"Do you know," said he to the old gentleman, who, by the way, though
he has denounced every person and every measure in connection with our
politics for forty years, was secretly pleased at his son's senatorial
aspirations, "do you know that someone told me to-day that four of
the very worst of those fellows have never drunk a drop of liquor,
nor smoked a pipe of tobacco in their lives. Isn't it a curious
circumstance? I supposed they were intoxicated most of the time."
You will notice also that Peter Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan have no
occupation. Each of them has been connected in some capacity with the
City Government for nearly twenty years, and they are persons of great
experience. They have more than once near election time been amiably
referred to in the press as "valuable public servants," and it must
be admitted that they are efficient in their way. Certainly, they know
the red tape of City Hall from A to Z, and understand how to block or
forward any measure. The salary of Alderman is not large—certainly
not large enough to satisfy indefinitely such capable men as they,
and yet they continue to appear year after year at the same old stand.
Moreover, they resist vigorously every effort to dislodge them, whether
proceeding from political opponents or envious rivals of their own
party. A philosopher like myself, who is, politically speaking, a worm,
is expected to believe that valuable public servants retain office for
the honor of the thing; but even a philosopher becomes suspicious of a
patriot who has no occupation.
Next in importance are Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll.
It is a well-known axiom of popular government that citizens are called
from the plough or counting-room to public office by the urgent request
of their friends and neighbors. As a fact, this takes place two or
three times in a century. Most aspirants for office go through the form
of having a letter from their friends and neighbors published in the
newspapers, but only the very guileless portion of the public do not
understand that the candidates in these cases suggest themselves. It
is sometimes done, delicately, as, for instance, in the case of young
Arthur Langdon Waterhouse, of whom I was writing just now. He let a
close friend intimate to the ward committee that he would like to run
for Alderman, and that in consideration thereof his father would be
willing to subscribe $2,000 to the party campaign fund. It seems to a
philosopher that a patriotic people should either re-edit its political
axioms or live up to them.
Now Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll never go through
the ceremony of being called from the plough—in their case the ward
bar-room. They announce six months in advance that they wish something,
and they state clearly what. They are perpetual candidates for, or
incumbents of, office, and to be elected or defeated annually costs each
of them from two to four thousand dollars, according to circumstances.
One of them has been in the Assembly, the Governor's Council, and
in both branches of the City Government; the other a member of the
Assembly, a State Senator, and an Alderman, and both of them are now
glad to be Aldermen once more after a desperate Kilkenny contest for the
nomination. They are called Honorable by the reporters; and philosophers
and other students of newspapers are constantly informed that Hon.
William H. Bird has done this, and Hon. John P. Driscoll said that.
These four are the big men of the Board. The others are smaller fry;
ambitious and imitative, but less experienced and smooth and audacious.
Yet the four have their virtues, too. It is safe to state that no one of
them would take anything beyond his reach. Moreover, if you, a patriot,
or I, a philosopher, were to find himself alone in a room with one of
them and had five thousand dollars in bills in his pocket and the fact
were known to him, he would make no effort to possess himself of the
money. We should be absolutely safe from assault or sleight of hand.
Whoever would maintain the opposite does not appreciate the honesty of
the American people. If, on the other hand, under similar circumstances,
the right man were to place an envelope containing one thousand dollars
in bills on the table and saunter to the window to admire the view,
the packet would disappear before he returned to his seat and neither
party would be able to remember that it ever was there. I do not intend
to intimate that this is the precise method of procedure; I am merely
explaining that our comedians have not the harsh habits of old-fashioned
highwaymen.
Then again, there are people so fatuous as to believe that Aldermen
are accustomed to help themselves out of the city treasury. That is a
foolish fiction, for no Alderman could. The City Hall is too bulky to
remove, and all appropriations of the public money are made by draft
and have to be accounted for. If any member of the Board were to make
a descent on the funds in the safe, he would be arrested as a lunatic
and sent to an insane asylum.
As for the other eight low comedians, it happens in this particular
drama that I would be unwilling to make an affidavit as to the absolute
integrity of any one of them. But there are apt to be two or even three
completely honest members of these august bodies, and two or three more
who are pretty honest. A pretty honest Alderman is like a pretty good
egg. A pretty honest Alderman would be incapable of touching an envelope
containing $1,000, or charging one hundred in return for his support
to a petition for a bay-window; but if he were in the paint and oil
business or the lumber trade, or interested in hay and oats, it would be
safe to assume that any department of the City Government which did not
give his firm directly or indirectly a part of its trade would receive
no aldermanic favors at his hands. Then again, a pretty honest Alderman
would allow a friend to sell a spavined horse to the city.