Archive for July 16th, 2009

Congressional Poetry

July 16, 2009
U.S. Capitol 1906 (Image from

U.S. Capitol 1906 (Image from


How dear to our hearts is our Democratic Congress,
As hopeless inaction presents it to view;
The bill of poor Wilson, the deep tangled tariff,
And every mad pledge that their lunacy knew!
The widespread depression, the mills that closed by it,
The rock of free silver where great Grover fell;
They’ve busted our country, no use to deny it,
And damn the old party, it’s busted as well!

This G. Cleveland Congress,
This Queen Lily Congress,
This wild free trade Congress
We all love so well.

Their moss-covered pledges we no longer treasure,
For often at noon, when our hunting a job,
We find that instead of the corn they had promised,
They’ve given us nothing — not even a cob!
How ardent we cussed ’em with lips overflowing
With sulphurous blessings as great swear words fell.
The emblems of hunger, free trade and free silver,
Are sounding in sorrow the workingman’s knell!

This bank breaking Congress
This mill closing Congress,
This starvation Congress
We all love so well.

How sweet from their eloquent lips to receive it,
Cursed tariff protection no longer uphold.
We listened — and voted our dinner pails empty,
The factories silent, the furnaces cold.
And now far removed from our lost situations,
The tear of regret doth intrusively swell.
We yearn for Republican administration
And sigh for the Congress that served us so well

This Fifty-third Congress
This Democrat Congress
This sugar-cured Congress
We wish was in h—


Sandusky Register (Sandusky, Ohio) Aug 7, 1894


Below, a poem about the 52nd U.S. Congress:

This Glorious Congress.

Now we stand upon the border
Of the doing of a Congress,
Such as we have never heard of;
Such as we had never thought of;
Such a Congress as some Congress
Might have made by legislating,
Or a Poet in his frenzy
Might have captured from his fancy!
Come the member from the forests,
Come the members from the prairies,
From the hills and from the valley,
From the towns and from the cities;
Hayseed here and hayseed yonder;
Sockless statesmen in their glory;
Whiskers, for the wind’s wild whistling;
Sawlogs, waiting for a buzz-saw;
Slouch hats, plug hats, skull caps, derbies,
Silver for the gray cloud’s lining;
Liquor straight, or mixed with water;
Water straight, or mixed with liquor;
Money turned out by the cart-load,
Erstwhile filled with white potatoes;
Money made of straw and fodder;
Yellow money good for something;
These be there and with them standing
Men who work for home protection;
Men who work for foreign products;
Buncombe boomers from the cornfields,
Yearning for appropriations,
Hungry for a public building,
Thirsting for some lock-dammed river;
Anything to get a dollar
For their well-beloved people!
Amateurs as yet in Congress,
Dazzled by its distant splendor,
Every individual member,
Fresh amidst its “arduous labors,”
Zealous to discharge his duty,
Wild to burst in oratory,
Stuck on Fame for future ages.
Greener than a summer pumpkin,
Waiting till on some tomorrow
Some high-toned and august Speaker,
With the rattle of his gavel,
Call this most peculiar Congress,
And likewise other things, to order.


The News (Frederick, Maryland) Dec 10, 1891

Ellen Stewart: A Brave Yankee Girl

July 16, 2009

brave ellen stewart 1893


She Drives a Stage, and No Footpad Can Hold Her Up.

Ellen Stewart of Yarrow valley, Conn., has been a stage driver for three years or more, and her route is over 20 miles of very rough and lonesome country. She has had adventures, of course, since she has been at work, and more or less serious accidents from washed out roads and snow drifts, but she has kept right on, driving every day in the year buy Sundays, and the business in the route has increased considerably since she has had charge of it. She came very near being frozen to death on night last winter, when she was stalled in a snow drift and found it impossible to dig her way out, but some farmers rescued her, and in a few days she was on the box again.

Miss Stewart has also had some trouble from tramps. One night in the spring one of them attempted to “hold up” the stage. It was a bright moonlight night, and Ellen was late. In a lonely part of the road where heavy forests flanked it on either side a man suddenly stepped from behind a tree, and, catching the horses by the bits stopped them.

“Throw out that mail bag!” commanded the fellow gruffly.

Miss Stewart always carries a revolver in a convenient pocket, and in the wink of a cat’s eye she had the muzzle of it squarely on the tramp’s head.

“Get up on the rear horse!” was the reply that the highwayman got to his order.

The man didn’t move. “Get up there, or I’ll shoot you,” coolly said the girl. The tramp came to the conclusion that he had better obey orders and scrambled on to the back of the horse.

“Now, sit still till we get to the post office, or you’ll be sorry,” said the girl, who kept the man under cover of the revolver. In three-quarters of an hour Miss Stewart drove up to the post office with her prisoner and called for some one to come out and take the fellow in charge. There was a crowd of husky young farmers in the office, and in 10 minutes the would be highwayman was beyond the possibility of escape.

He was tried for attempting to rob mail and is now within the walls of the penitentiary.

For this piece of work Miss Stewart received a purse of $100 contributed by the farmers along the route.

The News (Frederick, Maryland) Jun 3, 1895