Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 April 1895 — THE LIMEKILN CLUB. [ARTICLE]

THE LIMEKILN CLUB.

Brother Gardner on the Cull’d Man's Progressive Political Society. “Dear fren’s,” said Brother Gardner as he arose and stepped to the front of the platform and crossed his hands under his coattails, “I am in receipt of a letter from de Cull’d Man’s Progressive Political Club of Ohio axin me fur authority to present my name at de proper time as a candidate fur de Presidency. (Great applause, particularly by Samuel Shin, who instantly figured out that he would be made Secretary of the ' Navy.) To say dat lam proud of de letter am sayin’ wery little. To be thus singled out an honored mus’ nacherally ’peal to a man’s vanity and make him believe dat he has not lived in vain. (Enthusiastic yelling, particularly by Shindig Watkins.) “Yes; I have not only been axed to stand as a candidate, but de offishuls of dat club hev kindly added de opinyun dat I will make a strong run and may possibly be ’lected to fill de honored posishun. (Whoops from all over the hall, during which Elder Toots swallowed a button he was holding in his mouth to cure a sore throat.) Sich frer.’s of mine as hev cum to a knowledge of de contents of dis letter hev urged me to accept and make de run, and hev promised me deir hearty support and co-operashun. (Vociferous applause, but mostly from Waydown Bebee, who is looking for a postoffice.) “But, gem’len, arter looking de matter in de right eye, de left eye, an’ squat’ in de face, an’ arter seberal talks wid my ole woman, I has concluded to decline. (Many sighs.) It would sartinly be a proud epoch in my humble life fur me to enter dat White House at Washington, pull off my butes and sot down before a blazin’ fire an’ eat apples an’ popcorn an’ know dat I was boss, but it am not to be. I know my strong pints an’ my weak ones. “I kin do a job o’ whitewashin’ on a ceilin’ fur six shillins that will stand out like a twenty-fibe dollar I‘ob of fresco work, but I can’t run a :entry de size of the United States. I kin help the old woman wid de clothes-wringer, hang a screen door or putty a pane o’ glass in de winder, but when it cums down to tariff an’ sich I hain’t in it. .(Groans and sighs, during which some one hit Sir I Isaac Walpole in the eye with an apple core.) “I have figgered it down purty clus,” continued Brother Gardner, “an’ I couldn’t stand de expense, eben if I wanted to run. De least cost of a campaign to a presidenshual candydate would be S2OO, an whar’s dat money to cum from? Den I would be spected to go around an’ speechify,an what would I speechify about? If dey kept me out arter 9 o’clock at night, I’d be no good de next day, an’ I’d git home to find de Ole woman hid under de bed half skeered to death ’bout burglars. De man who runs for President haint got no time left to hoe taters or weed out his onions, an’ what would becum of my truck patch? “As a humble citizen when night cums I kin git off my coat, west, shoes an’ stockints an’ light my ole co’ncob pipe an’ sot down on de doorstep wid de ole woman an’ slap skeeters an’ talk. As President de people would spec t me to be swellin’ around all de time. (Cries of “ You are all right!”) “Of co’se it would be werry nice to be de boss of sixty milyon people, but when I was axed to sign my name or read ober a paper or giv’ my opinyun on dis or dat, whar would de old man be? How would I know who was fitten or onfitten fur offis? De minit de noospapers begun to abuse me I’d walk into de kitchen an’ sot dotfn an’ begin to rip an’ t’ar, an’ dey doan’ Tow no President to do dat. I’d be out two or three times in de night to see if anybody had dun stole my chickens, an’ I’d be wipin’ my mouf on de tablecloth at dinner an’ axin’ de ole woman to pull off my butes an’ cut my toe nails, an’ befo’ I had bin dar three months I’d want to run away an’ cum home. (Cries of “We want yo’ in de White House!”) “No, my frens, it kin nebber be, Ebery man knows hisself de best. I kin put up a clothesline ekal to any pusson in America, but dis tariff queshun frows me right down. If a pig gits stuck in de fence, I knows which way to pull him to scrape off de least hide, but dis talk ’bout revenue gives me de headache. Besides all dis, it hain’t time yit. We has got jest de same rights an’ privileges yere as de white folks, but dey is too many fur us. Dey hain’t gwine to ’low nobody but a white man to walk around in dat White House, an’ call hisself President. De time may cum, but we won’t lib to see it. “De black man’s gainin’on it all de time, an’ nobody can’t say how high his co’nstalks am gwine to grow befo’ dey git frew, but he must be patient an’ wait. If de time had arove for me to step to de front, I should cheerfully sacrifice my onions an’ cabbage an’ cowcumbtr an’ de cumforts of my cabin home to lead de cohorts to victory, but as it am I shall ask de secretary to answer dis letter an’ say dat de cohorts had better keep light on ’tendin’ to bizness an’ let de honors of politics alone. We will now lay de next Presidenshul campaign softly on de table an’ go home.”—[M. Quad, in New York Recorder.