e bow of promise spanned it. Hope was
enthroned there and smiled like an angel of light. Under that shining
arch lay the goal of my fondest aspirations. Visions of wealth, and of
laurels, and of applauding thousands, crowded the horizon of my dream.
I saw the capitol of the Republic, that white-columned pantheon of
liberty, lifting its magnificent pile from the midst of the palaces,
and parks, the statues, and monuments, of the most beautiful city in
the world. Infatuated with this vision of earthly glory, I bade adieu
to home and its dreams, seized the standard of a great political party,
and rushed into the turmoil and tumult of the heated campaign. Unable to
bear the armor of a Saul, I went forth to do battle armed with a fiddle,
a pair of saddlebags, a plug horse, and the eternal truth. There was the
din of conflict by day on the hustings; there was the sound of revelry
by night in the cabins. The mid-night stars twinkled to the music of the
merry fiddle, and the hills resounded with the clatter of dwindling shoe
soles, as the mountain lads and lassies danced the hours away in the
good old time Virginia reel. I rode among the mountain fastnesses like
the "Knight of the woeful figure," mounted on my prancing "Rozenante,"
everywhere charging the windmill of the opposing party, and wherever
I drew rein the mountaineers swarmed from far and near to witness the
bloodless battle of the contending candidates in the arena of joint
discussion. My learned competitor, bearing the shield of "protection to
American labor," and armed to the teeth with mighty argument, hurled
himself upon me with the fury of a lion. His blows descended like
thunderbolts, and the welkin rang with cheers when his lance went
shivering to the center. His logic was appalling, his imagery was
sublime. His tropes and similes flashed like the drawn blades of
charging cavalry, and with a flourish of trumpets, his grand effort
culminated in a splendid tribute to the Republic, crowned with
Goldsmith's beautiful metaphor:

"As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm;
Though 'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

I received the charge of the enemy "with poised lance, and visor down."
I deluged the tall cliff under a flood of "mountain eloquence" which
poured from my patriotic lips like molasses pouring from the bung-hole
of the universe. I mount