The gentlemen
look anxiously good-natured; they walk together to the rostrum,
followed by a crowd, measuring their way to the assembly through the
darling affections of our free and independent voters. Gossamer
citizenship, this!
As they reach the rostrum, a carriage is seen in the distance,
approaching in great haste. All attention being directed to it, the
first candidate, Colonel Mohpany, mounts the stump, places his right
hand in his bosom, and pauses as if to learn who it brings. To the
happy consolation of Mr. M'Fadden and his friends, it bears Mr.
Scranton the philosopher. Poor Mr. Scranton looks quite worn out
with anxiety; he has come all the way from the city, prepared with
the very best kind of a southern-rights speech, to relieve his
friend, General Vardant, who is not accustomed to public
declamation. The General is a cunning fellow, fears the stump
accomplishments of his antagonist, and has secured the valuable
services of philosopher Scranton. Mr. S. will tell the constituency,
in very logical phraseology,--making the language suit the sentiments
of his friends,--what principles must be maintained; how the General
depends upon the soundness of their judgment to sustain him; how
they are the bone and sinews of the great political power of the
South; how their hard, uncontrastable appearance, and their garments
of similar primitiveness, are emblematic of the iron firmness of
their democracy. Mr. Scranton will further assure them that their
democracy is founded on that very accommodating sort of freedom
which will be sure to keep all persons of doubtful colour in
slavery.
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