Morning Herald

The Whig Meetings.—For two or three evenings past, the whig politicians have been holding meetings in many of the wards, and at the National Hall—endeavoring to raise the steam as high as possible in favor of General Harrison. As yet, however they seem to be short of wood and water—to say nothing of whiskey.

Mark the gratitude of party! These dirty politicians, with their dirty Wall street press, who were so vociferous for Henry Clay only a week ago, are now pouring over him their crocodile tears, at the same moment that they bedaub General Harrison with the most disgusting flattery. For years not a feature was seen in General Harrison worth a paragraph, but now they have made a discovery, equal to that of the rogue who discovered the virtues of the Morus Multicaulis.

Probably the whig party—meaning by that dirty name, the mere politicians—not the general masses—are the most ungrateful set of scoundrels that ever disgraced any country. Satan himself would turn up his nose at them. For twenty years Henry Clay has fought their battles—been foremost in the fight and last in retreat—and yet at the very moment they clutch at the spoils, they unceremoniously set him aside—sell him like an old horse for his hide and old shoes, and take up an old woman whom they found by the way side selling pork sausages from Ohio at a penny a dozen.

Shame! shame! shame! shame! shame! Henry Clay—the eloquent, the daring, the dashing Henry Clay—this is the gratitude of party—the gratitude of the Whig party! O upon such miscreants!