99. A Nation of Rascals Samuel J. Tilden says we are a nation of thieves and rascals. If that is so he ought to be President. But I denounce him as a calumniator of my country; a maligner of this nation. It is not so. This country is covered with asylums for the aged, the helpless, the insane, the orphan, the wounded soldiers. Thieves and rascals don't build such things. In the cities of the Atlantic coast this summer, they built floating hospitals, great ships, and took the little children from the sub-cellars and narrow, dirty streets of New York city, where the Democratic party is the strongest--took these poor waifs and put them in these great hospitals out at sea, and let the breezes of ocean kiss the rose of health back to their pallid cheeks. Rascals and thieves do not do so. When Chicago burned, railroads were blocked with the charity of the American people. Thieves and rascals did not do so. 100. We are a Great People We are a great people. Three millions have increased to fifty--thirteen states to thirty-eight. We have better homes, and more of the conveniences of life than any other people upon the face of the globe. The farmers of our country live better than did the kings and princes two hundred years ago--and they have twice as much sense and heart. Liberty and labor have given us all. Remember that all men have equal rights. Remember that the man who acts best his part--who loves his friends the best--is most willing to help others--truest to the obligation--who has the best heart--the most feeling--the deepest sympathies--and who freely gives to others the rights that he claims for himself, is the best man. We have disfranchised the aristocrats of the air, and have given one country to mankind. 101. Mule Equality Suppose there was a great horse-race here to-day, free to every horse in the world, and to all the mules, and all the scrubs, and all the donkeys. At the tap of the drum they come to the line, and the judges say "it is a go." Let me ask you, what does the blooded horse, rushing ahead, with nostrils distended, drinking in the breath of his own swiftness, with his mane flying like a banner of victory, with his veins standing out all over him, as if a net of life had been cast around him--with his thin neck, his high withers, his tremulous flanks--what does he care how many mules and donkeys run on the track? But the Democratic scrub, with his chuckle-head and lop-ears, with his tail full of cockle-burs, jumping high and short, and digging in the ground when he feels the breath of the coming mule on his cockle-bur tail, he is the chap that jumps the track and says, "I am down on mule equality." My friends, the Republican party is the blooded horse in this race. 102. Room for Every Wing.