ne deck, let the shores echo with your
national airs! Let the gay bunting wave in the river breeze! Uniforms
flash upon the guards, for no campaign is complete without the military.
Here are brave companies of the Douglas Guards, the Hickory Sprouts, and
the Little Giants to do honor to the person of their hero. Cannon are
booming as he steps into his open carriage that evening on the levee,
where the piles of river freight are covered with people. Transparencies
are dodging in the darkness. A fresh band strikes up "Hail Columbia," and
the four horses prance away, followed closely by the "Independent Broom
Rangers." "The shouts for Douglas," remarked a keen observer who was
present, "must have penetrated Abraham's bosom at Springfield."

Mr. Jacob Cluyme, who had been a Bell and Everett man until that day, was
not the only person of prominence converted. After the speech he assured
the Judge that he was now undergoing the greatest pleasure of his life in
meeting the popular orator, the true representative man of the Great
West, the matured statesman, and the able advocate of national
principles. And although Mr. Douglas looked as if he had heard something
of the kind before, he pressed Mr. Cluyme's hand warmly.

So was the author of Popular Sovereignty, "the great Bulwark of American
Independence," escorted to the Court House steps, past houses of his
stanch supporters; which were illuminated in his honor. Stephen, wedged.
among the people, remarked that the Judge had lost none of his
self-confidence since that day at Freeport. Who, seeing the Democratic
candidate smiling and bowing to the audience that blocked the wide
square, would guess that the Question troubled him at all, or that he
missed the votes of the solid South? How gravely the Judge listened to
the eulogy of the prominent citizen, who reminded him that his work was
not yet finished, and that he still was harnessed to the cause of the
people! And how happy was the choice of that word harnessed!

The Judge had heard (so he said) with deep emotion the remarks of the
chairman. Then followed one of those masterful speeches which wove a
spell about those who listened,--which, like the most popular of novels,
moved to laughter and to tears, to anger and to pity. Mr. Brice and Mr
Richter were not the only Black Republicans who were depressed that
night. And they trudged homeward with the wild enthusiasm still ringing
in their ears, heavy with the thought that the