Upon the subject of the Sub-Treasury, Fog avowed boldly his non-commitalism. "I am not sure, at this moment," said he, "how the land lies. I wait to ascertain the sentiment of the majority, which, without taking sides, I rather incline to think is against the measure. I judge from the vote of the New Lights two years ago—although, I confess, that two years are a long period for a New Light to look back, and that it is rather over the usual time in which custom requires we should change. I shall wait for events."
There were other subjects embraced in this speech, upon which my memoranda are imperfect; but there was one part of it, toward the conclusion, which was very pathetic.
The orator turned to those strangers among us who had come over from the Bickerbray and Meltpenny Railroad. "Gentlemen," said he, "you stand in a peculiarly interesting relation to the New Lights. You are strangers, and, as the poet says,
'Stranger is a sacred name.'
Therefore, it is our wish to take you in. You have not been over sixty days in our State: you are separated, many of you, from your sweethearts—some of you from your wives—all of you from your homes:—wife—sweetheart—home! Affecting words!
'Where is the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land?' and so forth."
Here Theodore took up his red pocket-handkerchief, which was already well saturated with the sweat of his brow, and feelingly wiped his eyes for some moments, manifestly overcome by his emotions. At length he proceeded.
"Do not despond, gentlemen—do not despair. The New Lights are your friends, and not only shall you find wife, sweetheart, home—ay, and children, in Quodlibet, but if you are here next month, we will see if some of you are not entitled to a vote—that's all.—I have no doubt a large portion of your respectable body are better voters than you think you are. And at all events, if you are not, it becomes us as a Christian people to extend to you that privilege. I go for the repeal of all laws which tyrannically require a year's residence in the State, before a stranger is allowed to vote."
"Hurra for Fog—hurra for Fog!" burst forth in loud chorus from the new-comers.
"But," said Theodore in continuation, "as I scorn concealment, I must be frank with you. The stranger should be grateful to his friends; and I, therefore, for one, never can consent to extend the invaluable privilege of suffrage to an unworthy man. He must be a New Light, an ardent, unblenching Quodlibetarian Democrat, ready to go in whatever way we who take the trouble to do his thinking for him, require;—it is but reasonable. We think, study, burn the midnight lamp, and toil, when he sleeps, and all for the good of the man who has no time to do these things for himself—what is his duty in return? Why, to stand by us who make these sacrifices for his welfare—clearly—undoubtedly—incontestably."