The intrepidity of this paragraph will strike every one who reflects that the canvass, at the time this appeared, was far from being brought to a close; and that the result, whatever Eliphalet might have thought of it, was deemed exceedingly doubtful. Indeed, we had subsequently a proof given to us, in The Whole Hog itself, that very serious opinions began to prevail against the possibility of Mr. Fog's carrying the day, in opposition to Flag.
The New-Light Club, with some few and unimportant exceptions, had determined, as they thought themselves in duty bound, to sustain the regular ticket, and for this purpose, when matters were running very strong for Fog, and when, indeed, they began to entertain a well-grounded fear that Andy Grant might slip in by the aid of these divisions, resolved upon having a night procession in the Borough. This expedient we have always resorted to with the happiest effects whenever we have found the hopes of the New Lights beginning to ebb; it serves to animate our friends, by throwing, as it were, a glare over their minds, and to render them more docile to the word of command from those who take upon themselves the labor of judging for the multitude. We now had recourse to this device with a very flattering, though as it turned out in the end, a deceptive manifestation of its influence upon the election. The procession was made; paper lanterns in abundance, bearing a variety of inscriptions of the most encouraging exhortation to the friends of Flag and the Ticket, were procured for the occasion. Every lantern and every banner had written upon it Flam, in the hope thus to identify the ticket with our distinguished representative in Congress, and bring in the aid of his great name to our cause. Mottoes, having reference to "the Old Hero of the Hermitage," were also profusely used, and even the Hickory Tree was reared aloft in the procession, covered with small cup lamps in imitation of its fruit. Every one in Quodlibet supposed that this stroke of the procession settled the matter. It undoubtedly converted the Borough and brought it into the utmost harmony on our side. But the Tumbledownians, among whom Fog's great strength was found, were not there; and from Bickerbray the delegation was not as large as it ought to have been. Still, the evidence of popular support to the ticket was deemed conclusive; so much so, that Eliphalet Fox's next editorial referred to it as "indicative of the stern resolve of the New Lights, once and forever, to crush the insubordinate and rebellious temper with which certain factious and discontented pretenders to the name of Democrats had endeavored to sow discord in the ranks of the faithful, by setting up the absurd doctrine of independent opinion—a doctrine so fatal to the New-Light Democracy wherever it has been allowed. Agamemnon Flag," the editor proceeded to remark, "was not a man to be put down by the frothy, ginger-pop eloquence engendered in the hot atmosphere of cock-tail and julep manufactories. Mr. Fog may now perceive that his secret perambulations to spread dissension in the New-Light ranks, and his hypocritical boast of Independence will be scowled upon by every honest eye and spurned by every honest tongue which are to be found among the high-minded New-Light yeomanry of Quodlibet, Bickerbray, Tumbledown, and the adjacent parts."
The election soon after this took place, when, greatly to the astonishment of our club, and in fact of the whole party, the result was announced to be as set forth in this table:—
| Quods. | Whig. | |||
| Theodore Fog, | 1191. | Andrew Grant, | 1039. | |
| Abram Schoolcraft, | 1084. | |||
| Curtius Short, | 1063. | |||
| Agamemnon Flag, | 758. | |||
Thus it appeared that Theodore Fog far outran the rest of the ticket, and that Agamemnon Flag fell considerably below the Whig vote.
Eliphalet Fox, greatly delighted at the triumph of this election, lost no time in publishing a handbill announcing the issue. It was headed
"Glorious Victory! Quodlibet Erect!"
and proceeded to descant on the event in this wise:—
"We have never for a moment permitted ourselves to doubt that our estimable fellow-townsman Theodore Fog, one of the purest, most disinterested and ablest Democrats of the glorious New-Light Quodlibetarian School, would lead the polls; and, indeed, we took occasion to insinuate as much after his celebrated speech at the Sycamore Spring, which it was our good fortune to hear, and which, as an exposition of sound New-Light principles, gave us such unmixed delight. We cannot but feel regret that Mr. Flag's friends should have so inconsiderately consented to place his name on the ticket, before they had ascertained Mr. Fog's views in regard to the election. An understanding upon this subject would have saved them the mortification of presenting a name which, from the first, we felt a presentiment was destined to incur defeat; and it would have spared Mr. Flag the pain he must suffer in the present event. The youth of this gentleman, his want of acquaintance with the people, arising, doubtless, from the imperfection of his vision, and his unfortunate espousal of the Iron Railing Compromise, very obviously stood in the way of his success. A day will, however, come around when, in our judgment, the people will do justice to his pretension, which we undertake to say is considerable."
From these extracts, the reader is already prepared to exclaim with me, Oh, excellent Eliphalet Fox—mirror of editors—pillar of the New-Light faith! What exquisite address, what consummate skill hast thou not evinced in these editorial effusions! Methinks I see Eliphalet, a tide-waiter on events, watching the ebb and flow of popular opinion; ever ready, at a moment's warning, to launch his little boat of editorship on the biggest wave, and upon that wave to ride secure beyond the breakers, out upon the glassy ocean of politics and then, after taking an observation of the wind, to trim his sail with such nautical forecast as shall make him sure to be borne along with the breeze toward whatever haven it shall please the higher powers to direct him; sagaciously counting in such haven to find the richest return on his little stock of ventures. I see his meager, attenuated, diminutive person, elevated on a footstool six inches above the floor, behind a high but somewhat rickety desk, in the northwest corner of his lumber-filled office, where scissor-clipped gazettes are strewed, elbow deep, over an old walnut table, and where three dingy caricatures of Harry Clay, Nic Biddle, and John C. Calhoun, are tacked against his smoky walls; there I see him quiet, but at work, with pen in hand, ever and anon darting his cat-like eye at the door, upon each new-comer who comes to tell the news of the canvass. I hear his husky, dry, and querulous voice, tisicky and quick, asking, how goes it in Bickerbray? What from Tumbledown? and as he receives his answer pro or con., Fog or Flag, he turns to his half-scribbled sheet to remould his paragraph, with the dexterity of an old and practiced Quod, in such phrase as shall assuredly earn him the good-will of the winner. Rare Eliphalet! Admirable Fox! Incomparable servant of an incomparable master!