SCENES AT THE SYCAMORE SPRING—NICODEMUS HANDY'S SPEECH AS PRESIDENT—SKETCH OF ANDREW GRANT'S SPEECH—AGAMEMNON FLAG'S—ATTEMPTS AT INTERRUPTION—THEODORE FOG'S CELEBRATED SPEECH ON THIS OCCASION—ELOQUENT EXPOSITION OF PRINCIPLES—HIS TRIUMPH—HIS MISFORTUNE—QUIPES'S DISAPPOINTMENT OF HIS FRIENDS.

When the crowd had gathered around the stand appropriated to the President, the nine Vice-Presidents, and the six Secretaries, besides the speakers who were to address the meeting, and when every officer was in his place, Nicodemus Handy came forward with his pocket-handkerchief in his hand, wiping from his brow the perspiration, which naturally breaks out on a man of sensibility and wealth when called to discharge the honorable and responsible function of presiding over a vast concourse of freemen. By way of digression, I would take this occasion to remark upon the extreme appropriateness of the phrase which is now universally used in describing meetings of the people, and which always refers to them as freemen. Ever since the people have been drilled to walk in the way appointed for them by the leaders of their respective parties, and are so liberally told how they must think, speak, and vote; and when no man is allowed to walk out of that path without being threatened with condign punishment, it is extremely proper, in order to avoid odious imputations which malevolent observers might cast upon them, on all occasions to employ the phrase I have alluded to; since, if this were neglected, these malevolent observers might take it into their heads to call the people of our free Republic Tools, Instruments, Rank-and-File, and other names significant of a state of subserviency, which in the eyes of strangers might cast discredit on our free institutions: even the officers of our government might be branded with the name of hirelings and servants, and an opinion might thus be fostered that, instead of being the freest nation upon earth, we were a set of slaves governed by a set of hired servants—a most unwarrantable, unjust, and derogatory conclusion. For this reason, I am particular in the language above employed, and I think that every genuine Quod will see the value and the force of my vindication and use of this phrase.

Mr. Handy rose to his feet, wiped his brow, and made a graceful obedience to the assembled body of freemen.

"Gentlemen," said he, with a most laudable diffidence, in a voice which not more than fifteen persons, exclusive of the nine Vices and six Secretaries, could hear; "sensible of the great honor—endeavor to discharge with fidelity—obvious incapacity—but exceedingly flattered by the testimony of your confidence;" then wiping his brow, still more vehemently, with his cambric handkerchief rolled up like a snow-ball, he continued: "It falls to my lot to introduce to you our distinguished friends, Agamemnon Flag, Andrew Grant, and Theodore Fog, Esquires, men of whom any land may be proud—they will speak for themselves. With such men to choose from, our country cannot fail to rise up to the very midnight of prosperity, honor, and renown. Thanks for your attention—rely upon your indulgence—Mr. Grant will lead off."

"Three cheers for Nicodemus Handy!" cried out several Quods, as soon as our distinguished townsman took his seat; and, thereupon, about twenty heads were uncovered, and the twenty throats appurtenant to the same gave the three rounds called for.

Andrew Grant now came forward, and made a discourse of about an hour's length. It was in the usual style of the Whigs, and began with an attempt to raise an impression that the country, notwithstanding General Jackson's express declaration to the contrary, given to the nation under the solemn sanction of a presidential message, and notwithstanding his successor's certificate to the same effect, was in a state of difficulty and distress. This young man, not more than twenty-five years of age, living in comparative obscurity, had the hardihood, in the face of a large and respectable body of freemen, to contradict the word of two Presidents of the United States! Then, after coloring this picture of adversity with all imaginable hues of shade, he did not scruple to affirm that the whole of these fancied embarrassments were brought on by the folly, as he termed it, of our rulers—charged the great Democratic majority of the nation with having carried bad measures through Congress—said the Whigs had warned us of the results of these measures—and even went to the point of asserting that the suspension of the banks was the consequence of the acts of the party in power. To make out this absurd proposition, he read extracts from the speeches of Whig members, against the removal of the deposits, to show what he called their prophecies of disaster to the people; then actually affirmed that the experiment of General Jackson upon the Currency had failed, and that all the Whig predictions had come true; and after sundry excursions into the Hard Money and State-Bank systems of the administration, finally wound up his remarks by a very fatiguing enumeration of the General's pledges to the people before his election, and his changes of opinion upon these subjects afterward;—in regard to which he produced and read certain long-winded documents from the President and Secretaries, to the great annoyance of our Quods, who, in fact, became so tired of this impertinent matter, that not more than half a dozen of them remained within hearing of the speaker, the great bulk of them having gone over to the spring to refresh themselves in a more agreeable manner. Eliphalet Fox very aptly remarked, immediately after this long prosing was brought to an end, that the speech was a perfect failure: he had heard Andy Grant spoken of as a young man of talents, but he turns out to be a miserable take-in. "Nothing in him, sir!" said Eliphalet, in his terse way; "nothing in him, sir!"

The Whigs, as is usual with them, affected to be hugely delighted. Augustus Postlethwaite Tompkinson took pencil-notes and announced his purpose to publish the speech entire. "A great speech that," said he to Mr. Snuffers—"extraordinary young man!—great speech."

Mr. Handy now lost no time in presenting Agamemnon Flag, who came forward with a confident, self-possessed air, smiling through his gold spectacles, and apparently very much delighted at the opportunity of presenting himself before his fellow-citizens.

"I see before me," said he, in a clear, fine-toned voice, and with an affable manner, "a vast concourse of——"

"Put on your hat," cried out three or four from the crowd, upon observing that a sunbeam had straggled through the foliage and lit up Agamemnon's yellow, curly locks, likening them to golden wire.

"Thank you, my friends," said the orator, stepping one pace to the right and thus bringing himself into the shade, "in the presence of the sovereign people, I always stand uncovered, regardless of the exposure of my person."

This happy sally brought forth a long and loud clapping of hands from the great multitude of Quods, who, the moment Andy Grant had finished speaking, had crowded back to the stand.

"Take off your goold specs, Ag; let's see your Dimmycratic phiz out and out!" said Flan Sucker at the top of his voice, from the outskirts of the assemblage.

A loud laugh that shook full one hundred diaphragms, followed this demand, and Agamemnon good-naturedly took off his glasses.

"Anything to oblige you, gentlemen," said he; "but as I am very short-sighted, I deprive myself of the pleasure of a better view of my worthy fellow-citizens."

"Put on your specs, Ag," said Nim Porter—"never mind Flan Sucker!"

"Put on your specs!" cried out the whole of the convention who had nominated the ticket, backed by a number of their friends."

"Blast his eyes!" said Cale Goodfellow, turning to his Tumbledownians, who were all friends of Fog, and of course opposed to the nomination. "Let's have a representative who can see what he is about—none of your goold daylights!"

"Specs or no specs, go it!—Yip!" shouted Flan. Sucker, with a voice that rang like a trumpet.

"Or-der!—Or-der!" said Mr. Handy, rising from his seat and coming forward beside the speaker, and waving his hand to the crowd, greatly concerned to see these manifestations of dissension in the ranks of the party. "Gentlemen, it is but fair that every man should be heard, and the chair takes occasion to say, that it is mortified at these interruptions. If the gentlemen opposed to the nomination—the chair alludes to those who have unfortunately allowed themselves to be influenced by the iron railing, a subject which has nothing upon earth to do with the pending election—if these gentlemen are not disposed to give Mr. Agamemnon Flag an opportunity of delivering himself, the chair would invite such persons to reflect upon the obvious impropriety of such a course. The chair is persuaded that this disturbance results from mere want of reflection, and hopes it shall not be required again to remind gentlemen of the courtesy due to Mr. Flag."

As Virgil describes in that notable passage, the subduing of the rage of popular commotion by Æneas, and likens it to the mandate of Neptune quelling the waves of old ocean, so fell Mr. Handy's timely reproof upon the Anti-iron Railings, and, in a moment, all was still. Agamemnon then began again in his original track.

"I see before me a vast concourse of free citizens—the solid, substantial, durable, permanent, everlasting pillars of free government. The honest, upright, pure, hard-handed, horny-fisted, Democratic yeomanry of the country are here—not the flesh and blood of the country, for that is the pampered aristocracy—but the bone and sinew surround me. It rejoices my eyes to behold these honest, sturdy, independent, intelligent, invincible tillers of the soil—these brawny, unconquerable, liberty-loving working-men—I say, sir, I delight to look upon them; my feeble vision, sir——"

"Put on your specs, Ag!" shouted Ben Inky and Flan Sucker again, at the same instant;—and the cry was echoed from various quarters.

Some moments of disorder again prevailed, which required the second interposition of Mr. Handy, who, in the most spirited manner, proclaimed his positive determination to resign, unless the order of the meeting could be preserved. "I will never consent," said he, with a most laudable energy, "to hold any post, executive or representative, for one moment after I shall have discovered that I do not possess the confidence of the people; the chair must feel itself compelled, by every sentiment which, as a friend of the New-Light Democracy, it holds dear, to resign the moment it finds that it has fallen into a minority." Then followed these remarkable words:—"Sustain me, Quodlibetarians, or let me go!"

For full five minutes after this, the uproar was tremendous. The Iron Railings and Anti-iron Railings almost came to blows. The Tumbledownians and Bickerbrayians took their appropriate sides in the contest, and, for a space, nothing was heard but shouts of Fog!—Flag!—Fog!—Flag! over the whole field. When both parties had bawled themselves perfectly hoarse, and for mere want of wind ceased the clamor, Theodore Fog mounted the hustings, and made a special request of his friends to keep the peace and hear Mr. Flag to an end. He put this request upon the ground of a personal favor to himself, and promised them that, at the proper time, they should hear his sentiments very fully upon all the agitating questions of the day.

This appeal was conclusive, and Mr. Flag once more presented himself. But the interruptions he had suffered seemed most unhappily to have thrown him entirely out of gear; and becoming very much embarrassed, he struggled for some moments to regain his self-possession, as I thought, without success—although Fox thought otherwise,—and, after less than half an hour's speaking, sat down, rather crest-fallen and mortified.

I may unwittingly do Mr. Flag injustice in this remark; for, in truth, my mind was greatly occupied with the tumult, and I confess I was, therefore, not a very attentive listener. Fox, on the contrary, was minutely observant of the speech, and did not scruple to pronounce it a masterly effort of eloquence, calculated to place Mr. Flag beside the first statesmen of our country. This was his opinion at the time, and it was even more warmly and eulogistically expressed subsequently, in The Whole Hog, where the speech appeared in nine closely-printed columns on the following Saturday.

Theodore Fog was always a great favorite at our public meetings, and the moment now approached when the field was to be surrendered to him. The New Lights, including the members of the nominating convention and the friends of the Iron Railing Compromise, backed by Virgil Philpot of The Scrutinizer, and a large force of Bickerbrayians, were determined that Agamemnon Flag should not want a very decisive token of applause; and they accordingly called out for "nine cheers for the regular candidate!" Responsive to this call, their whole party lustily set about the work; and, for some minutes after the conclusion of Agamemnon's speech, the air resounded with huzzas for "Flag and the Constitution!" "New Light and Regular Nomination!" This was answered by a round for "Fog and Reform!" "Retrenchment and no Iron Railing!" and Fog, in the midst of this acclamation, appearing on the speaker's stand, all cries were lost in the most violent clapping of hands.

Theodore Fog's figure is about six feet, lean and bony, and with a stoop which inclines a little to the right, so as to bring his left shoulder somewhat higher than its opposite. His arms are unusually long, his head small, his face strongly furrowed with deep lines, his eyes of a greenish luster, his nose decidedly of the pug species, his mouth large, his complexion of that sallow, drum-head, parchment hue that equally defies the war of the elements, and the ravages of alcohol. Although short of fifty years of age, his hair is iron gray, and spreads in a thick mat over his whole cranium. At no time of life has he been careful of dress, but now has declined into an extreme of negligence in this particular. On the present occasion, he wore a striped gingham coat, rather short in the sleeves, and cross-barred pantaloons; his shirt collar was turned down over a narrow, horsehair stock; and a broad black ribbon guard crossed his breast and terminated in the right pocket of a black bombazet waistcoat, where it was plainly to be seen from the external impression, lodged a large watch. He presented himself to the multitude, holding in his hand a rather shabby straw hat, which he, nevertheless, flourished with the air and grace of one who had known better days than his habiliments seemed to denote.

He stood for some time bowing and waving his hat in return for the clamorous approbation with which he was greeted; and when, at length, silence was restored, he began his speech.

"Countrymen and friends: you of Quodlibet, Bickerbray, Tumbledown and the adjacent parts, hear me! I am an old, tried and trusty, unflinching and unterrified Quodlibetarian New-Light Democrat—Flan Sucker, bring us a tumbler of water—tangle it, Flan: no hypocrisy in me, gentlemen,—I go for the ardent. You all know I am, and was from the first, opposed to the iron railing—(here arose a cheer from the Anties)—but I don't come to talk to you about that. You know, moreover, that I am an anti-nomination man—I'm out on independent grounds—every man for himself, as the jackass said to the chickens—(a loud laugh.) I want to say a word about Agamemnon Flag—commonly called Ag Flag. Who's he? Look at them gold spectacles, and you will see what he is at once. When the plastic hand of Dame Nature set about the fabrication of that masterpiece of human mechanism, a genuine, out-and-out thorough-stiched New-Light Democrat, she never thought of sticking upon him a nose to be ridden by two gold rings hung over it like a pair of saddlebags—(loud laughter.) We have other uses for our gold; we want it for mint-drops—old Tom Benton's mint-drops—to be run up into them, to give the honest, poor man something better, when his week's work is done, than Copperplate Bank rags, signed Nicodemus Handy—(loud shouts and cheers from Flan Sucker's squad and the Tumbledowns; and groans and hisses from the Convention men and Bickerbrays.) Friends, I tell you, our party is split; emphatically split. I have seen this coming for some time. We have three sets of New Lights among us, and it is time we should know it. There are the Mandarins, our big bugs, and I could name them to you. You will find them on Copperplate Ridge—('Bah! bah!' from the New-Light Club—'Go it The! go it, old fellow!' from the Anties.) You will find them at Popular Flats—('That won't do!' cried fifty voices; 'three cheers for the Hon. Middleton Flam!'—loud cheering for Flam: 'Walk into them, Fog!' from the Anties—great laughter and rubbing of hands among the Whigs.) You will find them in the Forwarding and Commission Line—(great uproar on all sides.) After the Mandarins, come the Middlings; and after the Middlings, the True Grits—the hearty, whole-souled, no-mistake Quods. I'm a True Grit!—(great applause.) We are nature's noblemen—give me that water, Flan. I call myself one of the Royal Family of the Sovereign People—(renewed laughter and applause.) I am no kid-glove-Mandarin-Democrat: I am no milk-and-water, flesh-and-fowl, half-hawk-half-buzzard-Middling-Democrat: I am, to all intents and purposes, toties quoties, in puris naturalibus, a True Grit, a whole True Grit, and nothing but a True Grit.—(Here Theodore was obliged to pause a full minute on account of the cheering.)

"Now this brings me," he continued after drinking off the potation which Flan Sucker had assiduously placed upon the stand for his use, "to Andy Grant. Andy Grant has told you a great deal about General Jackson's pledges, and his changes and whatnot. Well, sirs, he did change—what of it? Is Democracy like the laws of the Medes and Persians? Is that great sublime truth which vivifies the patriot's heart, resuscitates his ambition and sparkles in the human breast, like a stone in the bottom of a well, for toads to sit on? or is it the divine rainbow spanning the earth with its arch, and changing with the sun, now in the east, now in the west? Is it a post set up in a stream for the liquid element of human policy forever to roll by and leave behind? or is it the mighty mass of steam power that not only floats upon that element, but flies onward across the great ocean of mortal things forever changing in its career? Is not Democracy itself the march of intellect? and does not marching consist in change of place? I hear you all answer, with one accord, Ay, ay, ay!—(Taking the word from the orator, there was a loud affirmative response to these questions.)

"Well, then, Jackson did change. He was for the single term—he was against it: I confess the fact. He was for the Protective System—he was against it: I agree to it. He was for a National Bank—he was against it: what of that? He was for the distribution of the surplus, and again he was against it; I know it. He was for Internal Improvements;—he changed his mind—he was against them. Then again, sirs, he was against the interference of officers in the elections;—he was sorry for it, and took the other tack. He was against the appointment of members of Congress—in theory;—in practice he was for it. He was against this Sub-Treasury—and perhaps he is now for it. It is all true, as Andy Grant has told you:—it is in the documents, I don't deny it. Sirs, it is the glory of his character that he has been for and against everything;—and as Mr. Van Buren promises to follow in his footsteps, he, of course, will be for and against everything—I know him. He would not be a genuine New Light, if he were not. We are all (and here Fog raised his voice to the highest key, and struck the board sharply with his hand) FOR and AGAINST everything! How else can we be with the majority? What is the New-Light Quodlibetarian Democracy, but a strict conformity to the will of the majority? Against that and that only we never go!—(tremendous applause.) As Levi Beardsly said, Perish Commerce, Perish Credit!—and I say, Perish Currency, Banks, Sub-Treasury, Constitution, Law, Benton, Amos, Van—I had almost said perish Old Hickory—but always go with the MAJORITY!"

After this burst, which may be said to be truly eloquent, Theodore made a very happy hit in touching upon the natural hostility between the rich and the poor, showing, with great point of remark, how impossible it was for these two classes to have any Christian feelings toward each other; and arguing from that the great New-Light Democratic principle, that in every department of the government any man who holds property ought to be deprived of all influence, and that it was the poor man's right to legislate away the rich man's possessions. "Do we not know," said he, "that in every community the majority are poor? that there are two men without property for every one man with it? Of course then, it follows logically, that, as two heads are better than one, the sole right, as well as the sole power of legislation is in the poor, and that they may make laws for the government of the rich; but the rich cannot make laws for the government of the poor. Besides, who would be the most impartial in such a matter, the man legislating for his own property, or the man legislating for his neighbor's? This requires no reply."

Upon the subject of the Sub-Treasury, Fog avowed boldly his non-commitalism. "I am not sure, at this moment," said he, "how the land lies. I wait to ascertain the sentiment of the majority, which, without taking sides, I rather incline to think is against the measure. I judge from the vote of the New Lights two years ago—although, I confess, that two years are a long period for a New Light to look back, and that it is rather over the usual time in which custom requires we should change. I shall wait for events."

There were other subjects embraced in this speech, upon which my memoranda are imperfect; but there was one part of it, toward the conclusion, which was very pathetic.

The orator turned to those strangers among us who had come over from the Bickerbray and Meltpenny Railroad. "Gentlemen," said he, "you stand in a peculiarly interesting relation to the New Lights. You are strangers, and, as the poet says,

'Stranger is a sacred name.'

Therefore, it is our wish to take you in. You have not been over sixty days in our State: you are separated, many of you, from your sweethearts—some of you from your wives—all of you from your homes:—wife—sweetheart—home! Affecting words!

'Where is the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land?' and so forth."

Here Theodore took up his red pocket-handkerchief, which was already well saturated with the sweat of his brow, and feelingly wiped his eyes for some moments, manifestly overcome by his emotions. At length he proceeded.

"Do not despond, gentlemen—do not despair. The New Lights are your friends, and not only shall you find wife, sweetheart, home—ay, and children, in Quodlibet, but if you are here next month, we will see if some of you are not entitled to a vote—that's all.—I have no doubt a large portion of your respectable body are better voters than you think you are. And at all events, if you are not, it becomes us as a Christian people to extend to you that privilege. I go for the repeal of all laws which tyrannically require a year's residence in the State, before a stranger is allowed to vote."

"Hurra for Fog—hurra for Fog!" burst forth in loud chorus from the new-comers.

"But," said Theodore in continuation, "as I scorn concealment, I must be frank with you. The stranger should be grateful to his friends; and I, therefore, for one, never can consent to extend the invaluable privilege of suffrage to an unworthy man. He must be a New Light, an ardent, unblenching Quodlibetarian Democrat, ready to go in whatever way we who take the trouble to do his thinking for him, require;—it is but reasonable. We think, study, burn the midnight lamp, and toil, when he sleeps, and all for the good of the man who has no time to do these things for himself—what is his duty in return? Why, to stand by us who make these sacrifices for his welfare—clearly—undoubtedly—incontestably."

"Hurra for Fog!" again rose in hoarse reduplications on the air.

"And now, fellow-countrymen, one and all—men of Quodlibet, men of Bickerbray—and especially men of Old Tumbledown, long my home, and never absent from my heart—I have exposed to you frankly, freely, unhesitatingly my principles and professions.—You see me as I am—naked, guileless, and robed in the simplicity of my nature.—Flan, another glass of that stuff, my boy. I do not imitate my friend Andy Grant—for he is my friend—we can differ in politics and break no scores!—I do not, like him and the Whigs, entertain you with frothy declamation, appealing to your passions or your prejudices—I scorn such stratagems.—No, I address myself solely and severely, sternly, without a flower, prosaically, without a figure, soberly, without a flight, to your cool, temperate, and unseduced capacity of logical deduction. Yes, gentlemen, I, a poor man, do battle against the hosts of the rich. I, the friend of honest labor, struggle against the huge monopoly of hoarded wealth, hoarded by grinding the faces of our sterling but destitute laboring men—alone, I strive against these banded powers—will you desert me in the strife?"

"Never!" cried Flan Sucker, Ben Inky, and six more of Fog's principal men—-"Never, never!"

"Then I am content. Come weal, come woe, here is a heart that will never—or rather, gentlemen, let me say in the words of the poet—(it now became quite obvious that Theodore was beginning to be very seriously affected by the frequent refreshment which Flan Sucker had administered during his speech,)

'Come one, come all, this rock shall fly
From his firm base as soon as I.'

"In conclusion, all I have to say is this—We are about to part.—When you go to your homes, and with hearts enraptured by all a father's and a husband's failings—feelings—you take your seats beside the old family firesides, and with the partners of your bosoms getting supper, and your interesting progeny clustering on your knees,—in the midst of all these blessings pause to ask yourselves, what are they? Your hearts will answer, they are our Country! How then, you will inquire, is that country to be preserved, as a rich inheritance to these cherubs?—who by this time have climbed as high as your waistcoat pockets, into which they have, with the natural instinct of young New Lights, thrust their little fingers—the response will be ready—Go to the polls in October—go, determined to sustain the everlasting principles of the New-Light Quodlibetarian Democracy—go, with a firm resolve to support no Mandarin, no Middling, but to sustain an unadulterated True Grit:—go, to vote for Theodore Fog, and your country shall be forever great, prosperous and happy."

A wave of the hand and a bow showed that Theodore had uttered his last words—upon which several rounds of applause, resembling the simultaneous clapping of wings and crowing of an acre of cocks, more than anything else I can imagine, shook the firmament, and, as the old song has it, "made the welkin roar." A party of Tumbledownians, instigated by Cale Goodfellow—(a wag who follows sporting, and keeps a bank—I mean a faro bank—at Tumbledown, a most special friend of Theodore's)—rushed up to the platform, and, seizing the orator in their arms, bore him off in triumph to the spring, where they fell to celebrating their victory, in advance of the election, over a fresh supply of spirits produced by Cale Goodfellow for the occasion. The result was that Theodore was obliged to be taken home to Quodlibet in a condition which Mr. Handy, who is President of the Temperance Society, pronounced to be perfectly shocking.

Some speaking took place after this by several volunteers: but from the agitated condition of the assemblage, and the prevalence of uproar, nothing worthy of notice transpired, and by sundown nearly all who could get away had retired.

Quipes had been an attentive observer of the earlier scenes of the day, and as he had his drawing-book with him, we had reason to expect some spirited sketches of the crowd; but the poor fellow, being fatigued and thirsty, and of a singularly weak head, was overtaken by his drought, and was laid away in the afternoon in Abel Brawn's wagon, in which he was brought to Quodlibet, Neal Hopper undertaking to ride his horse back to the Borough.

The result of this day's proceedings was unfavorable to the regular nomination, and highly auspicious to Theodore Fog. It was very evident that The Split was going to do us a great deal of harm, and this gave much uneasiness to the club. The Whigs seemed to consider it a good omen, and old Mr. Grant and his party left the field in high spirits.