In December, 1889, Mr. Breckenridge lectured in Clearfield, Pennsylvania, to the Teachers' Institute. His subject was "Kentucky's Place in History."
He began by saying: "I was a rebel. I am glad of it. If I had it to do again, I would do the same thing!" Now, think of that before a Northern audience, especially in a mountain county which is always noted for patriotism. If his audience had been petrified they could not more quickly have frozen in their places.
He told the thrilling story of Kentucky in words of matchless humor and pathos. He tried fun; no one smiled. I was sitting on the platform, and the stories were so amusing I was obliged to retire to the wings, as to laugh in the face of that angry audience would have been an indignity. He tried pathos. No one melted. As he came from the stage, I said: "Colonel, you gave a most eloquent address."
"What in thunder is the matter with that audience?" he said. I replied: "When you said you did not regret being a rebel, and you would do the same again, you killed that audience so far as you were concerned."
Just at that moment Mr. Matthew Savage, the County Superintendent, came up. He flung down on the table his check for one hundred dollars, and said: "Take that, but I hope never to see your face again. I am a Democrat, and the people of this county will think I hired you to come here and talk treason. You have spoiled my chances for the Legislature." The people, however, understood the case, and it did not hurt Mr. Savage politically.
IT is not all "skittles and beer" to be a Senator or a Representative at Washington. The continued pressure from a man's constituents that he shall accomplish certain legislation for his district, and the iron-clad rules which prohibit his every movement, if in the House of Representatives, are enough to break an ordinary man's health.
A new member goes to the House full of enthusiasm, hoping to accomplish great things for those who have trusted him; he finds that he is scarcely permitted to open his mouth the first term. But he does his best in committee, which is little enough; he runs his feet off to get places for some hundreds of people from his district who must be taken care of. Then he keeps trying to be a good party man, and to do some favor for the leaders, who, he hopes, will reward him by giving him an opportunity to accomplish much-needed legislation for his district, till in his second or third term he becomes desperate, breaks out in meeting, and knocks things about generally. If he proves to be really an orator and succeeds in catching the ear of the House, he may then begin to be more than a mere party voter. On the other hand, he may be so squelched that he subsides into "innocuous desuetude."