"Gentlemen, listen to the words of the Old Hero," continued Mr. Flam, with a gratulatory smile playing on his face, presenting at the same time a printed document which he carefully unfolded—"listen to that 'old man eloquent' whose mouth is never opened but to breathe the precepts of wisdom and patriotism:—I read you from his last message. In remarking upon this absurd project, the President, in this able paper, holds the following language: 'To retain the Public Revenue in the Treasury unemployed in any way, is impracticable. It is considered against the genius of our free institutions to lock up in vaults the treasure of the nation. Such a treasure would doubtless be employed at some time, as it has in other countries, when opportunity tempted ambition.' Now are you willing, men of Quodlibet," again ejaculated our eloquent representative, as he slapped the document upon the table, "are you willing, or can you consent to tolerate a proposition which is against the genius——"
"No!" thundered forth sixty-four New Lights again, before our orator had finished the sentence.
"Order, order, freemen of Quodlibet," I called out, as it was my duty to do, at this interruption. "Hear our distinguished representative to an end, before you respond."
There was a decorous silence.
"A proposition," continued Mr. Flam, "which is against the genius of our free institutions, and which would be a lure to tempt ambition to its most unholy purposes?"
The club looked at me for a sign, and I, quickly giving a nod of my head, a loud "No" ran over the whole room, like a feu de joie fired off at a militia training.
"Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Flam, "one word as to the safety of these deposits. Whigs—oh that some of you were present, to mark how a plain tale shall put you down! I have here the Secretary's own report," he added, as he selected one from the bundle of documents which lay before him. "There is no need for many words here—here is Mr. Secretary himself, than whom a more pellucid, diaphanous, transparent Secretary of the Treasury—a mind of rock-crystal, a head of sunbeams, a soul, sir, of pure fountain water, that gurgles and gurgles, perpetually welling forth its unadulterated intelligence in a purling stream, of which it may be said, in the beautiful language of the poet of antiquity
'Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis, at ille
Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis ævum'"——
Here I gave a nod, by way of signal to the club, to applaud this splendid outbreak of Ciceronian eloquence; whereat the New Lights vociferated "Bravo—three times three!" and made the house ring with their approbation—"I say, sir, I have the Secretary himself here present."