Southern standard. (McMinnville, Tenn.) 1879-current, 1889-01-19

that the corpse of the third party now
lying in state before me ready for
burial is the serpent that has trailed
Its Shiny length across the Eden of
thousands of pulpits, checking the
progress and zeal of christianity.
But my brethren, why mourn over
our condition? We are still safe, for
we can repent. There's no use, bfeth.
rem, in trying to put a sentimental
face on the matter, for in the political
world we have lived unnoticed and
died unmissed. The last throw of
prohibition dice has been made and
the cause stranded. AS Sampson de-
stroyed the temple GAIA, so has the
ballot box pulled down the fair edi-
fees of our third party erection, de-
stroying rs all in its ruins. We are
sneered at, scoffed, scorned and set
aside, and robed in the deepest, lead
lest, habiliments of woe and defeat.
On, my brethren, how uncertain is
llte-how certain is death!
Three weeks ago when l was pre-
siding over the third party like a high
and mighty popinjoy dude from for
eign parts, | felt as a tar flat police
man out on picnic holiday. Today
| am sitting in the corner, like little
Jack Horner, my head all bowed
down mourning as Jacob mourned
when they showed him the coat all
dabbled with blood. Three weeks
ago the very sight of the Democrat
party to me was like the red flag to
the Spanish bull in the ARENA
wanted to gore it to death; while to-
day | will do anything for Democra-
cy if it won't record my faults and
mistakes against me. / am bowed
down in sack-cloth and ashes, feeling
like a little gimlet whirling round
in a two inch auger hole.
As Il party, my brethren, we have
no plans. We are leaf, buckeye
chip, piece Of red-oak. tan bark
adrift on the waves of fate. As
party, we didn't come here to stay,
for we rose up suddenly from behind
a republican drift pile, like McBeth's
witches, to vanish into the thin air at
the first rattle of the ballot box. We
came and went as mysteriously as
the black horseman in the old Ger
man tale. My brethren, am going
to leave you now and go back to the
pulpit. a voice cries out from the
people OF Gallatin: Come to US my
brother; since you left us and went
to the mud singing business Of poll
tics, all has gone wrong with you,
everybody is blaming and ridiculing
you for your childish folly; you were
made to preach" a voice from a
Gallatin deacon cries: "Come on,
Bro. Kelley, for some genious up here
has invented a contribution box that
rings bell every time bad nickle
or suspender button falls into it,
the knowledge of which, to me, dear
brother, was like shaking a bundle
of fodder before a stubborn mule" |
rise and go. In bidding you farewell,
my brethren, | leave your party in
harmless state, for it is sleeping under
Opiate administered by the just hand
of the ballot box. Its paroXysms
have all passed off, and it is now ~
ing in comatoSe state where it will
never comprehend what Bob Taylor
meant by coming down like a wolf
in the fold upon silly lot of sheep
like us.
Now, brethren, take this corpse
and bury it, far away in France, Scot
land or Italy, for the democratic
winds of Tennessee are too keen for
its thin blood.
Brother Daughty, my republican
friend, please lead in prayer.