was on the inside of the bar and the Judge was on the outside: I busy selling, he busy buying"-which is about as neat a retort as the annals of the stump afford-rich but not malicious. It perhaps had a greater effect on the audience than if Lincoln had spent an hour talking about temperance in general and his own temperance in particular.

On the stump, in a hot campaign, it is not the elegance of an anecdote that tells so much as its pointedness, snappiness, above all, its applicability. Probably no better story-teller than former Lieutenant-Governor David A. Ball of Missouri ever stood before an American audience. In 1896 he was trying to persuade the Gold Democrats that notwithstanding the fact that they differed with the regulars on the financial issue, they agreed with them on so many others that they ought to vote for Bryan anyway. He wound up that part of his speech as follows: "How would a mossback Missouri Democrat look voting with the Republicans? I will tell you. Up in Pike county an old chap undertook to commit suicide by hanging himself with a blind bridle. Just as he was about dead his son cut him down. The old man rubbed his eyes and said: 'John, if you had let me alone a minute longer, I would have been in Heaven!' 'Yes,' replied the boy, 'you would have cut a devil of a figure in Heaven looking through a blind bridle, wouldn't you?' And that," concluded Governor Ball, "is the way a Missouri Democrat would look voting for a Republican under any circumstances whatsoever!" I have heard that anecdote told all the way from the Atlantic to the Rockies, and it invariably brought down the house.

One of my predecessors in Congress, now a leader of the St. Louis bar, Colonel David Patterson Dyer, owes his advancement in life fully as much to his wit and humor as to his professional attainments. He is an intense Republican and was sent to Congress during the reconstruction period, though his Democratic opponent received a large majority of the votes cast. He understands thoroughly the philosophy which teaches that a soft answer turneth away wrath. He is persona grata to his old Democratic constituents and though he tongue-lashes them dreadfully, they turn out in large numbers to hear him when he comes back to his old home to speak. Once in a while,

however, he presumes too much upon their personal affection and nothing except his readiness at repartee saves him from serious trouble. For example, when he was a candidate for reelection to Congress he was making a speech in which he was imputing to the Democrats all the sins denounced in the decalogue and a great many which are not mentioned in that comprehensive document, when an irascible Democratic veteran exclaimed: "Shut up! You were never elected to Congress in the first place!" Dyer looked at him a moment in a quizzical sort of way and replied: "Well, my old friend, any blamed fool can serve in Congress who is elected, but it takes an unusually smart one to serve there who has never been elected!"—a happy shot which restored the entente cordiale between the Colonel and his Democratic auditors.

Allen V. Cockrell, a brilliant Washington littérateur, gives this felicitous account of how ex-Senator Edward O. Wolcott of Colorado once rescued himself from a ticklish position by a happy use of wit: "During his twelve years of senatorial service the Coloradoan has won for himself the honor of being about the most eloquent Republican in the Senate. In addition to his oratorical talent, he is wonderfully clever at campaign repartee. This gift was well demonstrated before he became nationally known, when he was sent to a Southern State to advocate Republicanism. At a certain place he was politely informed that the 'rally' would begin and end about the same time, and that not since 1883 had any Republican been permitted to finish a speech there. Wolcott was determined, however, and upon learning that the citizens, as a rule, were kind enough to permit the speakers to get out of town and fill their next appointment, he concluded to make his speech as billed. The chairman was instructed to dispense with the music and introduce him to the audience in as few words as possible. The advice was followed a little too literally. He simply pointed at the audience and then at the speaker, and disappeared behind the scenes.

"Wolcott began his speech at once, with one of his best stories. The audience was separated, the colored folk all being in the gallery and only white people below. In about five minutes Wolcott's discretion was overcome by his Republican

ism, and he made a pointed thrust at the opponent party, whereupon a body of young men in the center of the theater shouted in concert, 'Rats!' Wolcott paused for a moment, and then, waving his hand at the gallery, said, 'Waiter, come down and take the Chinamen's orders!' The effect was electrical and effectual. In laughingly referring to the incident afterward, the Senator said: 'You should have seen that dusky hillside of faces in the gallery break into ledges of pearl!""

Occasionally the humor at a public speaking comes from the audience instead of the speaker. Sometimes the humorous auditor makes a hit unconsciously. Notwithstanding the fact that in the summer of 1900 I indulged in the luxury of some twenty-five joint political lectures-really "knock-down-anddrag-out" political discussions, but denominated "lectures" because they were delivered at Chautauqua assemblies-with Senator Jonathan P. Dolliver of Iowa and Representatives Charles H. Grosvenor of Ohio and Charles B. Landis of Indiana, and in addition thereto heard several other Republican orators of great repute, my candid and well-considered opinion is that the best Republican stump speech that I heard during that campaign was delivered by one of my stanchest friends, personal and political, a well-to-do farmer in the district which I have the honor to represent. He voted the Democratic ticket straight, from Bryan down to constable-never voted or thought of voting anything else in his life. His speech, which consisted of only one short sentence, was injected into mine, which consumed about one hour and a half in delivery. It came about in this wise: One very hot day in August I was making a Democratic speech in a magnificent grove up in Ralls county, at a Modern Woodmen's picnic. My friend Enoch G. Matson, popularly known as "Nuck," was standing directly in front of me, about five feet distant, listening intently to what I had to say. I was mauling the Republicans, with all the power I possessed, about their policy and conduct in the Philippines, declaring that they were ignoring the Declaration of Independence, overthrowing the Constitution, and otherwise deporting themselves in unseeming and un-American fashion. After I had been going on for about forty-five minutes Matson remarked sotto voce: "Well, I guess we can stand it as long as beef-cattle

are five cents a pound on the hoof." That was the gist of the whole argument which carried the Middle and Western States for the Republicans. I have always thought it lucky for me that no quick-witted newspapermen were within ear-shot of "Nuck" when he uttered his ejaculation. If that dangerous epigram had ever got into print, I should not have heard the last of it till the polls closed.

While a man may be both humorist and anecdote teller, it does not necessarily follow that because he is one he is also the other. The best anecdote teller, pure and simple, who has been in Congress in the last ten years is Hon. W. Jasper Talbert of South Carolina, who will probably be the next Governor of the Palmetto State. He is a free trader of the Henry George sort. In order to illustrate his theory of the operation of the high protective tariff as it affects the different sections of the country, he told this story in a speech in the House: "Down in my district a boy went to mill for the first time, and did not understand the modus operandi. So when the miller took out the toll, the boy thought he had stolen it; but as it was a small matter he said nothing about it. When the miller took up the sack, poured the rest of the corn into the hopper, and threw the sack on the floor, the little chap thought he had stolen that too, and he thought furthermore that it was high time for him to take his departure. Consequently he grabbed the empty sack and started home as fast as his legs could carry him. The miller, deeming the boy crazy, pursued him. The boy beat him in the race home, and fell down in the yard out of breath. His father ran out and said: 'My son, what is the matter?' Whereupon the boy replied: "That old fat rascal up at the mill stole all my corn and gave me an awful race for the sack!' Now," said Mr. Talbert, "that illustrates the working of the high protective tariff precisely. The tariff barons have been skinning the farmer for lo! these many years. They've gotten all our corn and now they are after the sack!"

Governor Charles T. O'Ferrall of Virginia, after several years' service in the House of Representatives, retired with a great reputation for capacity and none for wit and humor; nevertheless he told one of the finest and most effective anecdotes ever heard in Congress. It was at the expense of William Bourke

Cockran, whose fame as an orator extends all over the Englishspeaking world. Among his many qualifications for successful public speaking Cockran has a voice that would have aroused the envy of the Bull of Bashan, if that historic animal had ever heard the Tammany Demosthenes. It so happened that O'Ferrall and Cockran locked horns on a contested election case. Cockran's big voice was in prime condition and made the glass roof of the hall of the House rattle. O'Ferrall, though chairman of the Democratic Committee on Elections, advocated the seating of the Republican, for which Cockran assailed him bitterly and bombarded him with his heaviest artillery until everybody within half a mile was deaf from the noise. O'Ferrall began his reply as follows: "The remarks of the gentleman from New York remind me of a story of an old colored man down in Virginia who was riding a mule, and who was caught in a violent thunderstorm while passing through a dense forest. Being unable to make any headway except through the agency of the fitful flashes of lightning which occasionally revealed his surroundings, and becoming greatly alarmed at the loud and terrible peals of thunder which shook the earth and reverberated over his head, he at last appealed to the Throne of Grace in this fashion: 'O Lawd, if it's jes' the same to you, I'd rather hev a little less noise an' a little mo' light!' Now," concluded O'Ferrall, "we have had a hogshead of noise and would be thankful for a thimbleful of light on this important subject!"

The dry-as-dusts solemnly asseverate that humor never did any good. They are cock-sure of that. Now, let's see. How did Private John Allen of Mississippi get to Congress? He joked himself in. One "fetching" bit of humor sent him to Washington as a national lawmaker. The first time John ran for the congressional nomination his opponent was the Confederate General Tucker, who had fought gallantly during the Civil War and served with distinction two or three terms in Congress. They met on the stump. General Tucker closed one of his speeches as follows: "Seventeen years ago last night, my fellow citizens, after a hard-fought battle on yonder hill, I bivouacked under yonder clump of trees. Those of you who remember as I do the times that tried men's souls will not, I