The last time I saw Judge Fuller he was particularly agreeable. I called to invite him to deliver an address at a great banquet to be held in Springfield on Lincoln's birthday in February, 1909. I have had a great deal of experience in trying to prevail upon prominent men to deliver addresses in Illinois, and I know how they always hesitate, and hem and haw, then, if they do accept, destroy all feelings of gratitude and appreciation by the ungracious manner in which they do so. It was certainly a pleasant surprise and a contrast to custom to hear Judge Fuller's reply when I extended the invitation to him. "Why, certainly," he responded promptly; "I will be delighted to accept. I have been wanting to visit Springfield for twenty years, and I am glad to receive the invitation."
This reply was quite characteristic of Chief Justice Fuller. I could not imagine him saying an unkind word to any one. His disposition was to treat his colleagues on the Bench, the members of the Bar who appeared before him, and every one with whom he came in contact, with the greatest kindness and consideration. He passed away, quietly and peacefully, as he would have wished, honored and respected by the Bench and Bar of the Nation, and by the people of his home State, who took pride in the fact that Illinois had furnished to the United States a Chief Justice for so long a period.
Chief Justice Fuller was succeeded by Hon. Edward D. White, of Louisiana, with whom I served for three years in the Senate of the United States. Justice White was an able Senator, and in the disposition of some of the most important cases which have come before the Supreme Court in recent years affecting corporations he has shown great ability and is a worthy successor of his predecessors in that high office.
Aside from the act to regulate commerce, an act providing for the Presidential succession, and an act in reference to polygamy, there was very little, if any, important legislation during the first Cleveland Administration.
It was a very quiet administration. The country clearly comprehended that the Senate stood in the way of any Democratic doctrine being enacted into law, and generally, as I remember it now, the country was fairly prosperous. This condition continued until President Cleveland's famous Free Trade message of December 5, 1887, came as a startling blow to the business and manufacturing interests of the United States.
Why he should have sent such a message to Congress when his administration was about to come to a close, and when he knew perfectly well that no tariff legislation could be enacted with a Democratic House and a Republican Senate, I do not know. He for the first time stepped out boldly and asserted his Free Trade doctrine, and made the issue squarely on tariff for protection as against Free Trade, or tariff for revenue. This message naturally precipitated a tariff discussion in both House and Senate, and the Democratic majority of the House considered it incumbent on them to make some attempt to carry out the President's policy. As a result the so-called Mills Bill was reported, upon which debates continued for many months. One member in closing this discussion very aptly said:
"This debate will perhaps be known as the most remarkable that has ever occurred in our parliamentary history. It has awakened an interest not only throughout the length and breadth of our own country, but throughout the civilized world, and henceforth, as long as our government shall endure, it will be known as 'the great tariff debate of 1888.'"
It was in this debate in the House that both Mr. Reed and Mr. McKinley so distinguished themselves as the great advocates of Protection. Mr. Reed was then the floor leader of the minority. He made a magnificent speech against Free Trade in which he used many familiar allegories, one of which I have often used myself in campaign speeches. It is substantially as follows:
"Once there was a dog. He was a nice little dog—nothing the matter with him, except a few foolish Free Trade ideas in his head. He was trotting along, happy as the day, for he had in his mouth a nice shoulder of succulent mutton. By and by he came to a stream bridged by a plank. He trotted along, and looking over the side of the plank, he saw the markets of the world, and dived for them. A minute afterwards he was crawling up the bank the wettest, the sickest, the nastiest, the most muttonless dog that ever swam ashore."
Thomas B. Reed was one whom I unquestionably would term a great man. He was conspicuous among the most brilliant presiding officers that ever occupied the chair of the Speaker. He ruled the House with a rod of iron, thus earning for himself the nickname of "Czar."