Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 May 1884 — O[?]d Times in Washington. [ARTICLE]

O[?]d Times in Washington.

James Buchanan, whop minister to England in theanttunn of 1853, 'was pulling every wire to secure the nomination in 1857, yet coyly denying all the time that he wanted to he president. In an unpublished letter of his, dated September 5. 1853, which is in my collection of autographs, he says: .“You propounded ft question to me before I left the United States which I have not answered: ’ I shall now give it answer in perfect sincerity, without the slightest mental reservation. I have neither the desire norths intention again to become a candidate for the presidency. On the contrary, this mission is toierable to me alone be. cause it will enable me gracefully to re tire from an active participation in party politics. Should it please Providence to prolong my days and restore me to my native land, I hope to pass the remnant of my life at Wheatlands, in comparative peace and tranquility. This will be most suitable to my age (now past 62) and my inclinations. But whilst these are the genuine sentiments of my heart Ido not think 1 ought to say that at no imaginable state of circumstances would I consent to be nominated as a candidate.”

Henry A. Wise told the following story while he was in Washington during the know nothing excitement: A negro fisherman in Norfolk, Va., came one day to Ins master and said: “Massa, I want to buy myself free. I got S3OO, sir; I will pay you dat down, and gib you de rest when I mekum.” “Very*well, Tom,” sanFhis master, “you have been a faithful fellow, and I will comply with your wish.” The money was accordingly paid, and the inchoate freedom of Tom commenced. A few days afterward Tom went out to fish, in company with a fel-low-servant, and there came up a blow which capsized the fishing-smack and drowned Tom’s companion. The next day Tom came to his master and said: “Massa, I change my mind, sir; I don’t want to buy myself any more, sir.” “Why, Tom,” said his master, “you have already paid p large portion of your price, and by industry in your profitable calling you will soon earn and pay the residue, and you had better carry out your original intention.” “No, massa,” was Tom’s economical rejoinder, “I radder hab my money back; nigger property too unsartin, sir.” Matters were, accordingly, put in statu quo, and Tom abandoned all chance of being a freedman, and quietly and voluntarily returned to the condition of a slave, being unwilling to fish, on his ow r n hook, in the troubled ancl perilous waters of freedom.

When General Harrison was inaugurated he was so full of the progress of the old Roman emperors along the Appian way that he refused to ricle down Pennsylvania avenue in a carriage, but rode on horseback, hpt in hand, boning acknowledgements for the cheers which greeted him. The weather was very cold, with a sharp northeast wind, yet he wore neither overcoat nor glows. Arriving at the capitol, he delivered his inaugural address, which occupied an hour and a half, from the platform built over the eastern steps, standing bareheaded, while those around him, though covered and well wrapped up, were nearly frozen. When he had conclnded he remounted his horse and rode to the white house, escorted by the military. It was evident that he wished to show that he was not feeble, if he was old; but all the physicians expected to hear that he was seized that night by pneumonia. He did not apparently suffer any ill effects, but a month’s overtaxing of his physical powers was too much, and his listless remains were escorted along Pennsylvania avenue with great pomp. “The path of glory leads but to the grave. ” His death completely revolutionized the whig party, which hail elected him, and John Tvler; who had been placed on the ticket as vice president to give it strength south, acted in defiance to the wishes of those who had nominated and elected him, but failed to receive the election as president which had inspired his political treachery.

Tom Corwin told a story during the Fillmore campaign about an old darkey who had caught a fat rabbit, and whose mouth watered at the anticipation of the savory dish it would make. He broke forth with his praises of the rabbit in the following rich strain, “Ah, Gora mity; rabbit good for eberyting.” And then he admired its broad back and musular loins. “Noble rabbit, dat it is. Good for broil, good for eat anyway ? Gora mity!” Just as he got this far in his honest soliloquy the rabbit sprang from his aims and away he sprang into the woods. “Ah,” said the chopfallen nigger “rabbit dry meat, anyhow.” “Noble old line wliigs!” the democracy said, when they were patting them familiarly on their backs. “Oh, they will come to the rescue of Buchanan. They are a large and respectable party in every state. They scorned to coalesce with the native Americans. They will now rally to the support of the democracy. They are good and true men, every man of them.” Just at this moment the Bal,,timore convention came off, and lo! the noble whigs declared for Fillmore. Like the old darkey, the democrats exclaimed: “Dry meat, anyhow! Knownothings and nothin’ shorter.