“Great Britain-feller citizens, I say-was first to commence the warfare against nigger slavery; and now she is joining the north to seek its permanent overthrow.  She is a monster tyrant wherever she sets her foot-I say! (Three cheers for that.) She contributed to fasten the curse upon us; and now she wants to destroy us by taking it away according to the measures of the northern abolitionists-fanaticism!  Whatever the old school southerner neglects to do for the preservation of the peculiar institution, we must do for him!  And we, who have lived at the north, can, with your independent support, put the whole thing through a course of political crooks.”  Again Mr. Scranton pauses; surveys his assembly of free and independent citizens.

“That we can:  I knows what fanatics down east be!” rejoins Mr. M’Fadden, shaking his head very knowingly.  He laughs with an air of great satisfaction, as much as to say that, with such northern philosophers to do the championism of slavery in the south, all the commercial relations for which northern merchants are under so many obligations to slave-labour, will be perfectly safe.  But Mr. Scranton has drawn out his speech to such an uncommon length, that the loquacious M’Fadden is becoming decidedly wearied.  His eyes begin to glow languid, and the lids to close,—­and now he nods assent to all Mr. Scranton’s sayings, which singularly attracts the attention of that orator’s hearers.  The orator becomes very much annoyed at this, suddenly stops-begs Mr. M’Fadden will postpone his repose.  This, from so great a man as Mr. Scranton, is accepted as provokingly witty.  Mr. M’Fadden laughs; and they all laugh.  The gentleman will continue his speech.

“The South must come out; must establish free trade, direct trade,—­trade that will free her from her disreputable association with the North.  She can do it!” Mr. Scranton wipes his forehead with his white pocket-handkerchief.

“Ain’t we deeply indebted to the North?” a voice in the crowd cries out.

“Well! what if we are?  Can’t we offset the debts on the principles of war?  Let it go against the injury of abolition excitements!” Mr. Scranton makes a theatrical flourish with his right hand, and runs the fingers of his left through his crispy hair, setting it on end like quills on a porcupine’s back.  Three long and loud cheers follow, and the gentleman is involuntarily compelled to laugh at his own singular sayings.  “The South must hold conventions; she must enforce constitutional guarantees; she must plant herself in the federal capital, and plead her cause at the bar of the world.  She will get a hearing there!  And she must supplant that dangerous engine of abolition, now waging war against our property, our rights, our social system.”  Thus concluding, Mr. Scranton sits down, very much fatigued from his mental effervescence, yet much lighter from having relieved himself of his speech, amidst a storm of applause.  Such a throwing up of hats and slouches, such jostling, abetting, and haranguing upon the merits of the candidates, their speeches and their sentiments, never was heard or seen before.