THE RAVEN.

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PUCK, August 13th, 1890. President Garfield had the opportunity of choosing for his Secretary of State the man who, in the national convention, had worked hard and almost successfully to secure the nomination of another candidate. But Mr. Garfield declined Mr. Conkling’s assistance, and lived to see his course receive the emphatic approval of his party. He chose for his “next friend” Mr. James G. Blaine, with whom he was entirely in accord, although Mr. Blaine had for many years been a candidate for the nomination. Four years later Mr. Blaine got the nomination and was defeated at the polls. Four years after that, again Mr. Blaine yielded the nomination to Mr. Harrison; and, when Mr. Harrison was elected, became Secretary of State. Mr. Blaine made no pretence of personal regard for Mr. Harrison or of devotion to his interests; in fact, during the last two years of Mr. Harrison’s term of office the probability of Mr. Blaine’s opposition in the next national convention was a constant menace to Mr. Harrison, who earnestly desired a re-nomination. Mr. Blaine’s health, however, was far from good; and he delayed putting himself forward as a candidate until it was entirely too late to obtain the support which he might normally have counted upon. The cartoon shows Mr. Blaine in the gloomy and depressing character of Poe’s “Raven,” croaking unfriendly discouragement to Mr. Harrison’s fond dreams of future success. In a rough parody of the famous poem, Puck, on August 13th, 1890, represented President Harrison as saying of the Blaine raven “perched above his chamber door:”

“Then this ebony bird beguiling
My sad fancy into smiling,
By its manner strange suggesting
Little Rock and Arkansor,
‘Though thy plumes are not Elysian,’
Said I, ‘tell me with precision,
Art a jimblaine or a vision?
Art thou here for peace or war?
Tell me, is it peace between us?
Shall an end be made of war?’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore!’
“Much I marveled this confounded
Fowl the question thus propounded
With veracity to answer—
Which was not his wont of yore.
‘But,’ I thought, ‘he is but thinking
Of his own hopes, shipwrecked, sinking,
As he sits there, blankly blinking,
Dreaming still of ’84,
Dreaming of his matchless tumble,
In the year of ’84—’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore!’
“‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil!
Prophet, if you are a deevil—
Whether Reed gets left, or whether
Poor McKinley goes ashore—
Tell me, am I Fate’s selection
For a glorious re-election—
Shall I join a freak collection—
Shall I serve my first term o’er—
Must I go to Injinap’lis?
Can’t I tide two termlets o’er?’
Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore!’”


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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