My competitor, Swan, is a bird of golden plumage, who has been swimming for the last four years in the auditor’s pond at 5000 dollars a year.  I am for rotation.  I want to rotate him out, and to rotate myself in.  There’s a plenty of room for him to swim outside of that pond; therefore pop in your votes for me—­I’ll pop him out, and pop myself in.

I am for a division of labour.  Swan says he has to work all the time, with his nose down upon the public grindstone.  Four years must have ground it to a pint.  Poor fellow! the public ought not to insist on having the handle of his mug ground clean off.  I have a large, full-grown, and well-blown nose, red as a beet, and tough as sole-leather.  I rush to the post of duty; I offer it up as a sacrifice; I clap it on the grindstone.  Fellow-citizens, grind till I holler enuff—­that’ll be sometime first, for I’ll hang like grim death to a dead African.

Time’s most out.  Well, I like to forgot to tell you my name.  It’s Daniel; for short, Dan.  Not a handsome name, for my parents were poor people, who lived where the quality appropriated all the nice names; therefore they had to take what was left and divide around among us—­but it’s as handsome as I am—­D.  Russell.  Remember, all and every one of you, that it’s not Swan.

I am sure to be elected; so, one and all, great and small, short and tall, when you come down to Jackson after the election, stop at the auditor’s office—­the latch-string always hangs out; enter without knocking, take off your things, and make yourself at home.

A NEGRO’S ACCOUNT OF LIBERIA.

All of you that feel like it, my friends, come on home—­the bush is cleared away—­you can hear no one say there is nothing to eat here.  Why, one man, Gabriel Moore, brought better than 200 cattle from the interior this year—­another 100—­some 60, some 50, &c.  There are no hogs there, they say—­no turkeys—­why, I saw 50 or 60 in the street at Millsburg the other day.  No horses:  I have got four in my stable now; I have a mare and two colts, and I have a horse that I have been offered 100 dollars for here; if you had him he would bring 500.  If you don’t believe it, let some gentleman send me a buggy or a single gig—­you shall see how myself and wife will take pleasure, going from town to town—­throw the harness in too—­any gentleman that feels like it—­white or coloured—­and I will try to send him a boa constrictor to take his comfort; I know how to take the gentleman without any danger.  My oxen I was working them yesterday; and as for goats and sheep, we have a plenty.  We have a plenty to eat, every man that will half work.  I give you this; you are all writing to me to tell you about Liberia, what we eat, and all the news—­I mean my coloured friends.  Yours truly, ZION HARRIS.

LARD-CANDLES.