ar I wuz. He says he wuz
a-fightin' fer yore sweet liberty. Ef he didn't have no more sense than
to stand before them-thar drotted bung-shells an' cannon, that's his
bizness, an' hit's my bizness whar I wuz. I think I have answered him
on that pint.

"Now, feller citerzuns, I'll tell you what I'm fur. I am in favor uv
payin' off this-here drotted tariff an' stoppin' of it; an' I'm in favor
of collectin' jist enuf of rivenue fur to run the Government ekernomical
administered, accordin' to Andy Jackson an' the Dimocrat flatform. My
competitor never told you that he got wounded endurin' the war. Whar did
he git hit at? That's the pint in this canvass. He got it in the back,
a-leadin' of the revance guard on the retreat--that's whar he got it."

This charge precipitated a personal encounter between the candidates,
and the meeting broke up in a general battle, with brickbats and tan
bark flying in the air.

It would be difficult, for those reared amid the elegancies and
refinements of life in city and town, to appreciate the enjoyments of
the gatherings and merry-makings of the great masses of the people who
live in the rural districts of our country. The historian records the
deeds of the great; he consigns to fame the favored few; but leaves
unwritten the short and simple annals of the poor--the lives and actions
of the millions.

The modern millionaire, as he sweeps through our valleys and around our
hills in his palace car, ought not to look with derision on the cabins
of America, for from their thresholds have come more brains and courage
and true greatness than ever eminated from all the palaces of this
world.

The fiddle, the rifle, the axe, and the Bible, symbolizing music,
prowess, labor, and free religion, the four grand forces of our
civilization, were the trusty friends and faithful allies of our
pioneer ancestry in subduing the wilderness and erecting the great
Commonwealths of the Republic. Wherever a son of freedom pushed his
perilous way into the savage wilds and erected his log cabin, these were
the cherished penates of his humble domicile--the rifle in the rack
above the door, the axe in the corner, the Bible on the table, and the
fiddle with its streamers of ribbon, hanging on the wall. Did he need
the charm of music, to cheer his heart, to scatter sunshine, and drive
away melancholy thoughts, he touched the responsive strings of his
fiddle and it burst into laughter. Was he beset by skulking savages