The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1899-11-17
The Original Expansion Speech.

named Riley is said to have delivered
the original expansion speech in the
early sixties. Mr.. Riley said:
Mr.. Speaker: Everybody is pitching
into this matter like toadfrogs into Il
willow swamp on lovely evening in the
balmy month OF June, when the mellow
light OF the full moon fills with de-
licious food the thin, ETHEREAL, atmos-
pheric air. (Appause.) Sir, want to
put in word, or perhaps, q word and a
half ! say, if there is any fighting to
be done, come on with your corncobs
and lightning bugs. In the language OF
the ancient Roman,
" Come one, come all; this rock shall fly
From It's firm base, in pigs eye.
Now, there has been great deal of
bombast here today / call it bombast
from "alpha" to "omega." Idon't un-
derstand the meaning Of the words,
though.) Sir, the question to refer is a
great and magnificent question. 1t is
an all-absorbing questionable sponge,
sir--a large, unmeasurable sponge, OF
globe shape, in small tumbler OF water ;
il sucks in everything. Sir, the debate
has assumed latitudinosity. We have
| had little black jack buncombe, bung-
hole buncombe, and the devil and his
grandmother knows what other kinds OF
buncombe. Why, sir, just give some OF
'em little Southern soap and a little
Northern water, and, quicker than a
| hound pup can lick skillet, they will
make enough buncombe lather to wash
the golden flock that roams abroad the
,..,,.s. .,ooIe g hao,ao I ollnIa IN tho
starry armament (Applause.)
The Speaker-The gentleman is out
Of order He must confine himself to
| the question
Mr. Riley--Just retain your linen, If
you please. I'll stick to the text as close
as a pitch-plaster to. alpine plank, or a
lean pig to a hot jam-rock. (Cries of
$50 on" ") want to say to these car
boniferous gentlemen, these ingenious
individuals, these detonating demon
stratcrs, these pernicious volcanoes
come on with your combustibles If
don't-well, III drink the gulf Of Mex
leo through q goose quill. Perhaps you
think am diminutive tubers and sparse
in the mundane element. You may dis
cover, gentlemen, you are laboring un-
der as greata misapprehension as though
you had incinerated your inner vest
ment. Sir, we have lost our proper po-
sition. Our proper position is to the
zenith and nadir-our heads to the one,
our heels to the other at right angle
with the horizon, spanned by that azure
arc of the lustrous armament, bright
with the coruscations OF innumerable
consultations, and proud as a speckled
horse on county court day. Cheers J
"But how have the mighty fallen" in
the language of the poet Silversmith.
We have lost our proper position. We
have assumed sloshindicular and dag
anological position And what is the
cause? Echo answers, "Buncombe,
buncombe, sir, buncombe." The peo-
pie have been fed on buncombe, while a
lot of spawned, ring-boned, hamstrung,
wind-galled, swyneyed, split-hoofed, dis
tempered, poll-eviled politicians have
had their noses in the public crib until
there amt enough fodder left to make a
Cruel for q sick grasshopper. Mr..
Speaker, you must excuse me for my
latitudinosty and circumlutoriness. My
old blunderbuss scatters amazingly but
if anybody gets peppered, it amt my
fault if they are in the way. Sir, these
dandaical, supersquirtical gentry-what
do they know about the blessings OF
freedom? About as much, sir as toad
frog does of high glory I'll follow them
through pandemonium and high water.
These are the ones that have got our lib
erty pole off its perpendicularity. 'Tis
they who would rend the Stars and
Stripes, that noble flag, the blood of our
revolutionary fathers emhalmed in its
red. The purity Of the cause in which
they died denoted by the white; the
blue, the freedom they attained, like the
azure air that wraps their native hills
and fingers on their lovely plains.
| (Cheers) The high bird of liberty sits
perched on the topmost branch, but
there is salt on his glorious tail. / fear
he will no more spread his noble pin
ions to soar beyond the azure regions Of
the boreal pole. But let not Missouri
pull the last feather from his sheltering
wing to plume a shaft to pierce his noble
breast. (Applause.l Alas, poor bird,
| if they drive you from the branches of
the hemlock Of the North and the pal
metto OF the South, come over to the
gum tree OF the West, and we will pro-
tect your noble birdship while water
grows and grass runs. Mr.. Speaker,
subside for the present.