|COLONEL THOMAS JUNIUS DAYTON entered the democratic headquarters
on Second street, a few nights ago, having been largely engaged,
previously, in talking over the political situation, with sugar in it.
The first person he saw on entering, was an individual in the back part
of the room, writing.
Colonel Dayton ordered him out.
The man would not go, maintaining that he had a right to meet together
in democratic headquarters as often as he desired. The Colonel still
insisted that he was an outsider and could have nothing in common
with the patriotic band of bourbons whose stamping ground he had thus
entered.
Finally the excitement became so great that a man was called in to
umpire the game and sponge off the hostiles, but before blood was shed a
peacemaker asked Colonel Dayton what the matter was with him.
"This man is a Democrat. I've known him for years. What's the reason you
don't want him in here?"
"That's all right," said the Colonel, with his eyes starting from their
sockets with indignation, "you people can be easily fooled. I cannot. I
know him to be a spy in our camp. I have smelled his breath and find he
is not up in the Ohio degree. I have also discovered him to be able to
read and write. He cannot answer a single democratic test. He is a
bogus bourbon, and my sentiments are that he should be gently but firmly
fired. If the band will play something in D that is kind of tremulous, I
will take off my coat and throw the gentleman over into a vacant lot.
I think I know a Democrat when I see him. Perhaps you do not. He cannot
respond to a single grand hailing sign. He hasn't the cancelled internal
revenue stamp on his nose, and his breath lacks that spicy election odor
which we know so well. Away with him! Fling his palpitating remains over
the drawbridge and walk on him. Spread him out on the ramparts and jam
him into the culverin. Those are my sentiments. We want no electroplate
Democrats here. This is the stronghold of the highly aesthetic and
excessively _bon-ton_, Andrew Jackson peeler, and if justice cannot be
done to this usurper by the party, I shall have to go out and get an
infirm hoe handle and administer about $9 worth of rebuke myself."
He went out after the hoe handle, and while absent, the stranger said he
didn't want to be the cause of any ill feeling, or to stand in the way
of the prosperity of his party, so he would not remain. He put on his
hat and stole out into the night, a quiet martyr to the blind rage of
Colonel Dayton, and has not since been seen.