The express companies once had a monopoly of transmitting money and charged exorbitant rates for the service. Then the government went into the business and reduced the rates. The express companies were compelled to come to the government rates or not get any business. Thus money is saved to the people, and the business is established on a firm basis. Of course the express companies set up the usual cry of paternalism, but it did no good, and the people would not think now of surrendering this prerogative to private companies. Now, why can’t the government add to its postal system the carrying of parcels, say up to ten or twelve pounds’ weight, and a telegraph and telephone system? The latter are just as legitimate and necessary as the former. Is it because the express companies, that have grown immensely rich, have a lobby in Congress to prevent the passage of such a bill? In England they have the parcels post and the government telegraph, and they save the people millions of dollars. In the past few years nineteen congressional committees have been appointed to investigate the use of the telegraph in connection with the postal department and seventeen of them have reported favorably toward establishing it. A majority of Postmaster Generals have recommended it, and the people demand it, yet the telegraph companies, or rather one company which is controlled by one family, has been successful in thwarting all legislation toward the establishment of a government telegraph system.
The readiness of the Democrats to vote for any old thing they see coming down the pike with the Democratic label on—Parker or Bryan, the gold standard or free silver—reminds me of an incident that happened down in Texas. A wealthy farmer who employed a great many negroes was going into town one day, and one of the negroes on the farm asked him to bring him back a marriage license.
“All right, Pete,” said the farmer, “but what’s the girl’s name?”
When the farmer returned that evening he gave the negro his marriage license.
“Look heah, Marse Henry, you’se done gone an’ got dis license fer Mary Clarke. I’se gwine t’ marry Ann Brown.”
“I’m sorry, Pete,” the farmer replied, “but never mind; when I go into town again next week I’ll get you another license.”