[3] This picture is believed to be no longer in existence. I have found its description in the work of the historian Decamps.
[4] Abridged from the French of J. de Chatillon.
[ ELECTIONEERING CURIOSITY. ]
[In giving the following address of an American candidate, we must beg our readers to understand that it is not intended as a joke. Electioneering in the States, generally speaking, is carried on with good-humour; and when there is no real cause of squabbling, the object of the aspirant is to get the laugh in his favour. The orator we introduce to the English public is Mr Daniel R. Russell, a candidate for the Auditorship in Mississippi.]
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—I rise—but there is no use telling you that; you know I am up as well as I do. I am a modest man—very—but I never lost a picayune by it in my life. Being a scarce commodity among candidates, I thought I would mention it, for fear if I did not, you never would hear it. Candidates are generally considered as nuisances, but they are not; they are the politest men in the world, shake you by the hand, ask how's your family, what's the prospect for crops, &c.—and I am the politest man in the state. Davy Crockett says the politest man he ever saw, when he asked a man to drink, turned his back so that he might drink as much as he pleased. I beat that all hollow: I give a man a chance to drink twice if he wishes, for I not only turn my back, but shut my eyes! I am not only the politest man, but the best electioneerer: you ought to see me shaking hands with the vibrations, the pump-handle and pendulum, the cross-cut and wiggle-waggle. I understand the science perfectly, and if any of the country candidates wish instructions, they must call upon me. Fellow-citizens, I was born—if I hadn't been I wouldn't have been a candidate; but I am going to tell you where: 'twas in Mississippi, but 'twas on the right side of the negro line; yet that is no compliment, as the negroes are mostly born on the same side. I started in the world as poor as a church-mouse, yet I came honestly by my poverty, for I inherited it; and if I did start poor, no man can say but that I have held my own remarkably well. Candidates generally tell you—if you think they are qualified, &c. Now, I don't ask your thoughts, I ask your votes. Why, there is nothing to think of except to watch and see that Swan's name is not on the ticket; if so, think to scratch it off and put mine on. I am certain that I am competent, for who ought to know better than I do? Nobody. I will allow that Swan is the best auditor in the state; that is, till I am elected: then perhaps it's not proper for me to say anything more. Yet, as an honest man, I am bound to say that I believe it's a grievous sin to hide anything from my fellow-citizens; therefore say that it's my private opinion, publicly expressed, that I'll make the best auditor ever in the United States. 'Tis not for honour I wish to be auditor; for in my own county I was offered an office that was all honour—coroner, which I respectfully declined. The auditor's office is worth some 5000 dollars a year, and I am in for it like a thousand of brick. To shew my goodness of heart, I'll make this offer to my competitor. I'm sure of being elected, and he will lose something by the canvass, therefore I am willing to divide equally with him, and make these offers: I'll take the salary, and he may have the honour, or he may have the honour, and I'll take the salary.
In the way of honours, I have received enough to satisfy me for life. I went out to Mexico, ate pork and beans, slept in the rain and mud, and swallowed everything but live Mexicans. When I was ordered to go, I went; 'charge,' I charged; and 'break for the chaperel'—you had better believe I beat a quarter nag in doing my duty.
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.