Peter Parley's Own Story / From the Personal Narrative of the Late Samuel G. Goodrich, ("Peter Parley")

by Samuel G. Goodrich

I had been among Mr. Everett's personal friends, but he now made me the object of special attack. In a paper, which then circulated a good deal in the district, I was severely lashed under the name of Peter Parley, not because I was a candidate for office, but because I was chairman of the Whig District Committee. I recollect that one day some rather scandalous thing came out against me in the editorial columns of this journal, and feeling very indignant, I went to see the editor. I did not know him personally, but from occasionally reading his paper I had got the idea that he was a very monster of violence. He was not at the office, but such was my irritation and impatience that I went to his house. I rang, and a beautiful black-eyed girl, some eight years old, came to the door. I asked if Mr. H—— was in? "Mother," said the child, in a voice of silver, "is father at home?" At this moment another child, and still younger, its bullet-pate head all over curls, came to the door. Then a mild and handsome woman came, and to my inquiry she said that her husband was out, but would return in a few moments.

My rage was quelled in an instant. "So," said I to myself, "these children call that man father, and this woman calls him husband. After all, he cannot be such a monster as I have fancied him, with such a home." I turned on my heel and went away, my ill-humor having totally subsided. Some two years after I told him this anecdote, and we had a good-humored laugh over it. Both of us had learned to discriminate between political controversy and personal animosity.

The attacks made upon me during this canvass had an effect different from what was intended. I was compelled to take an active part in the election, and deeming the success of my party essential to my own defence, I naturally made more vigorous efforts for that object. Mr. Everett was defeated by a large majority, and the Whig candidate triumphed. At the same time I was chosen a member of the legislature for Roxbury-Jamaica Plain, where I resided, being a parish of that town. The next year I was a candidate for the Senate, in competition with Mr. Everett, and was elected. In this manner I was forced into politics, and was indebted mainly to opposition for my success.

During the ensuing session of the legislature, the winter of 1837-8, the famous "Fifteen-Gallon Law" was passed—that is, a law prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors in less quantities than fifteen gallons. The county I represented was largely in favor of the measure, and I voted for it, though I was by no means insensible to the agitation it was certain to produce. I had determined not to be a candidate for re-election, and therefore considered myself free to engage in the discussion which preceded the next election, and which, of course, mainly turned upon this law. Among other things, I wrote a little pamphlet, entitled Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith, touching the Fifteen-Gallon Jug, the main design of which was to persuade the people of Massachusetts to make the experiment, and see whether such a restraint upon the sale of intoxicating drinks would not be beneficial. This was published anonymously, and my intention was to have the authorship remain unknown. It, however, had an enormous sale—a hundred thousand copies—in the course of a few months, and curiosity soon found me out.

Now in the village of Jamaica Plain I had a neighbor, though not by the name of Smith—a rich liquor-dealer, who did his business in Boston—a very respectable man, but a vehement opposer of the "Fifteen-Gallon Law." As the election approached, the citizens of the state were drawn out in two parties—those in favor of prohibition on the one side, and the men in favor of free liquor on the other. My neighbor was the wealthiest, the most respectable, and the most influential of the latter. He insisted, that by "My Neighbor Smith" I meant him; and though I had said nothing disagreeable of that personage, but on the contrary, had drawn his portrait in very amiable colors, he held that it was a malicious personal attack. In vain did I deny the charge, and point to the fact that the residence, character, and qualities of my fictitious hero were inapplicable to him. Anxious to be persecuted, he insisted upon it that he was persecuted.

At the county convention, which took place some two months prior to this election, I declined being a candidate. The members present, however, clearly discerning the gathering storm, refused to release me, and I was forced to accept the nomination. The election was to take place on Monday, in November. On the Saturday previous there was issued in Boston a pamphlet, entitled the Cracked Jug, a personal and political attack upon me, written with great malice and some ability. It was scattered, like snow-flakes, all over the country; and was, I suspect, the Sunday reading of all the tipplers and taverners of the country. The bar-room critics esteemed it superior to anything which had appeared since the Letters of Junius, and, of course, considered me annihilated.

On Monday, election-day, my family were insulted in the streets of Jamaica Plain, and as I went into the Town Hall to cast my vote I heard abundance of gibes cast at me from beneath lowering beavers. The result was, that there was no choice of senators in the county. The election, when the people had thus failed to fill their places, fell upon the legislature, and I was chosen. The storm gradually passed away. The "Fifteen-Gallon Law" was repealed, but it nearly overturned the Whig party in the state, which, being in the majority, was made responsible for it. I deemed it necessary to reply to my Neighbor Smith's Cracked Jug, and he rejoined. What seemed at the time a deadly personal struggle, was, ere long, forgotten; neither party, I believe, carrying, in his character or his feelings, any of the scars inflicted during the battle. Both had, in some sort, triumphed; both, in some sort, been beaten; both could, therefore, afford to return to the amicable relations of village neighborhood.

In the autumn of 1840 the Whigs nominated William Henry Harrison as the candidate for the presidency, in opposition to Mr. Van Buren. He had held various civil and military trusts, in which he had displayed courage, wisdom, and patriotism. His personal character was eminently winning to the people, being marked with benevolence and simplicity. He had long retired from public life, and for several years had lived as a farmer on the "North Bend" of the Ohio, near Cincinnati. The Democrats ridiculed him as drinking hard cider and living in a log cabin. The masses, resenting this as coming from those who, having the Government spoils, were rioting in the White House on champagne, took these gibes, and displayed them as their mottoes and symbols upon their banners. They gathered in barns, as was meet for the friends of the farmer of North Bend, using songs and speeches as flails, threshing his enemies with a will. The spirit spread over mountain and valley, and in every part of the country men were seen leaving their customary employments to assemble in multitudinous conventions. Many of these gatherings numbered twenty thousand persons.

During this animated canvass I was not a candidate for office, yet I took part in the great movement, and made about a hundred speeches in Massachusetts and Connecticut. Everybody, then, could make a speech, and everybody could sing a song. Orators sprang up like mushrooms, and the gift of tongues was not more universal than the gift of music.