Vermont Phœnix

CONFESSION OF A CONVERT.

The following is capital. We copy it from the Louisville Journal. Let all seceders come out with their manifestos.

Louisville, May 19th, 1840.

Gentlemen:—I went on Saturday to the log cabin raising as true a Van Burenite as ever fobbed a custom house check, to see what fools intelligent Whigs were going to make of themselves to humbug ignorance. But when, from Mr Field's speech, I came to understand that the log cabin and hard cider cry was not got up by the Whigs, but had originated from scoffs and jeers in democratic newspapers, chucked off in derision of an old and estimable defender of his country, for being too poor to live in a palace and drink wine, I felt a little stumped. Thinks I to myself, does honest poverty merit contempt? He who handled millions of public money, had been less honest, might he not have been more rich than some of his scoffers? But again thinks I, I am poorer than the General; wonder if I am an object of contempt to my rich brother democrats? And sirs, I set to and saddled down a log. But now, thinks I again, I came here to hunt fools, and may be I'm making one of myself, and I'll quit and go home.

When I got home, I took a look at the likeness of Van Buren, it didn't seem to look as well as it used to. I took it down, washed its face, wiped its nose, and hung it up again, but all wouldn't do—he still smirked through his whiskers at me, just as a shallow fop always does at a shoemaker. So I turned him face about and told him to cool.— And now, sirs, I am going with the log cabin dwelling cider drinkers, to battle against those palace-dwelling champaign-drinking democrats, with full confidence that, under the humble banner of the log cabin, the nation is to be rescued from the dominion of the spoilers.

Samuel L. Bolcourt,

Shoemaker and Cobbler, Jefferson street,

Between Third and Fourth streets