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Salmagundi [bishop Wilyum Doane]
by [?]

. . .

J. Sterling Morton of Nebraska, one of those “village Hampdens” whom G. Cleveland discovered when raking the country with a fine-tooth comb in a frantic search for intellectual insects even smaller than himself, says the Bryan Democracy is composed of fanatics, bigots and idiots. He must have seen that brilliant bon mot in the Chicago Inter-Ocean. Poor J. Sterling Morton. Not being born great, nor having the ability to achieve greatness, it was his misfortune to have it driven into him with a maul. And he’s never gotten over it. Had Cleveland done naught else evil he would have damned himself everlastingly by pulling this intumescent jay out of a Nebraska turnip- patch to make him a cabinet clerk. I say cabinet-clerk, for the so-called secretaries of the Cleveland regime were merely stool-pigeons for the Stuffed-Prophet. And now this erstwhile seneschal of the Buffalo Beast, this pitiful stool-hopper for the d–est fool that ever disgraced the presidency, turns up his beefy proboscis at the intellectuality of the Bryanites. If J. Sterling Morton would only shave his head he could get four dollars a day for playing What-Is-It in a dime museum. As an anthropological curio Oofty-Gofty or the Wild Man of Borneo wouldn’t be “in it.”

. . .

The committee sent to Europe by McKinley to talk a little twaddle about international bi-metallism has completed its alleged labors, and the net product is nothing–just as the people knew it would be when saddled with the expense of this high-fly junketing trip to enable the administration to make a pretense of redeeming the kangaroo promise of the Republican platform. The silver problem is not at present the burthen of my song–I simply rise to remark that the American people have been buncoed by this commission business. It was sent abroad at great outlay of boodle to ascertain what is perfectly well-known to every man outside the insane asylum, viz.: that England, being a creditor nation, would not consent to the remonetization of silver. Now let us send a commission to Europe to see if the water over there is wet. O Lord! how long will Uncle Sam consent to enact the role of a long-eared, pie-bald ass?

. . .

I wonder, O I wonder who that “prominent lawyer and sound money Democrat” was who got drunk at Charlie Cortizio’s in Austin the other day and toasted Chollie Boy Culberson as “Texas’ most distinguished son, the man who has done most to distinguish his state abroad”–just a bummy little boost for Chollie Boy’s anaemic senatorial boom? I cannot imagine who he may be, but I was pleased to see his toast followed in my pet daily by an “ad” for a tansy compound warranted to “give relief from painful and irregular periods regardless of cause.” I hope that the “sound money Democrat” aforesaid did not overlook the “ad,” as he was evidently having a painful period and much in need of relief. I sincerely hope that he doesn’t get that way often. It is a trifle difficult to determine whether he was pregnant with a great idea or full o’ prunes–whether he needed a tansy compound or a cathartic. Poor Chollie Boy! His senatorial boom must indeed be in a bad way when he must fill old boozers with beer to induce them to boost it. But it is quite true he has been heard of outside the state–the ICONOCLAST has mentioned him several times.

. . .

I noticed in one of the local papers that “Dallas wants Baylor,” $50,000 to $75,000 worth. Doubtless I’m a hopeless heretic, but I don’t believe a d–n word of it. If anybody thinks that Dallas will put up $25,000 cash to secure the removal thither of Baylor, he can find a man about these premises who will make him a 2 to 1 game that his believer is ‘way of his base. Dallas doesn’t want Baylor even a little bit. There isn’t a town in this world that wants it except Waco. It is simply another Frankenstein monster that has destroyed its architect. Baylor spends no money here worth mentioning. Its students are chiefly forks-of-the-creek yaps who curry horses or run errands for their board and wear the same undershirt the year round. They take but two baths during their lifetime–one when they are born, the other when they are baptized. The institution is worth less than nothing to any town. It is what Ingersoll would call a storm-center of misinformation. It is the Alma Mater of mob violence. It is a chronic breeder of bigotry and bile. As a small Waco property owner, I will give it $1,000 any time to move to Dallas, and double that amount if it will go to Honolulu or hell. There is no bitterness in this, no desire to offend; it is simply a business proposition by a business man who realizes that Baylor is a disgrace to the community, is playing Old Man of the Sea to Waco’s Sinbad. The town could well afford to give it $100,000 to “pull its freight.”