"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, or prowling beasts of prey, he rushed to his deadly rifle for protection and relief. Had he the forest to fell, and the fields to clear, his trusty axe was in his stalwart grasp. Did he need the consolation, the promises and precepts of religion to strengthen his faith, to brighten his hope, and to anchor his soul to God and heaven, he held sweet communion with the dear old Bible. The glory and strength of the Republic today are its plain working people. "Princes and Lords may flourish and may fade, A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But an honest yeomanry--a Country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied;" Long live the common people of America! Long live the fiddle and the bow, the symbols of their mirth and merriment!