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Proh hominum fidem!

It falls to my lot, at this stage of my history, to be constrained
to record an event the most astounding, the most
awful, the most unexpected, the most treacherous, the most
ungrateful, the most flagitious—yea, the most supereminently
flagitious, that the history of mankind affords. Notwithstanding
that laudatory and political ejaculation which
The Hero and Sage breathed out in the evening of his brilliant
career, like the last notes of the swan, “I leave this
great people prosperous and happy”—notwithstanding that
flattering canzonet, with which he who pledges himself to
walk in the Hero and Sage's footsteps, began his illustrious
course, singing as it were the morning carol of the lark—
“we present an aggregate of human prosperity surely not
elsewhere to be found”—the echo of these sweet sounds had
not died away upon the tympana of our ravished ears, before
these banks—these gentle pet banks—these fostered,

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favored, sugar-plum and candy-fed pet banks, with all their
troop of curtailed, combed and pampered paragon sister
banks, one and all, without one pang of remorse, without
one word of warning, without even as far as we could see,
one tingle of a suppressed and struggling blush, incontinently
suspended specie payments!! O curas hominum! Quantum
est in rebus inane!

Shall I tell it? Even the Patriotic Copperplate Bank of
Quodlibet was compelled to follow in this faithless path.
Not at once, I confess—not off-hand, and with such malice
prepense as the others—for Nicodemus Handy had a soul
above such black ingratitude—but after a pause, and let the
truth be told in extenuation, because he could not help it.

The Hon. Middleton Flam was sent for upon the first
tidings of this extraordinary kicking in the traces by these
high mettled institutions—tidings which reached Quodlibet,
via the canal, about eleven o'clock one morning in
May. The directors were summoned into council. What
was to be done? was the general question. Anthony
Hardbottle, of the firm of Barndollar & Hardbottle—a
grave man and a thoughtful; a man without flash, who
seldom smiles—a lean man, hard favored and simple in
his outgoings and incomings; a man who has never sported
as long as I have known him, any other coat than that
snuff brown with covered buttons, and who does not
wear out above one pair of shoes in a year; a man who
could never be persuaded to give so far into the times as to
put on a black cravat, but has always stuck to the white:—
such a man, it may be easily imagined, was not to be carried
away by new-fangled notions:—he was there at the
Board, in place of Theodore Fog who was compelled two
years before to withdraw his name as a candidate for re-election.
This same Anthony Hardbottle, speaking under the
dictates of that cautious wisdom natural to him as a

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merchant, answered this question of What was to be done—by
another equally laconic and pregnant with meaning—

“How much cash have we on hand?”

“One hundred and seven dollars and thirty seven and a
half cents in silver,” replied Nicodemus, “and five half
eagles in gold, which were brought here by our honorable
President and placed on deposite, after he had used them in
the last election for the purpose of showing the people
what an admirable currency we were to have, as soon as
Mr. Benton should succeed in making it float up the stream
of the Mississippi.”

Again asked Anthony Hardbottle, “What circulation
have you abroad?”

“Six hundred thousand dollars”—replied Nicodemus—
“and a trifle over.”

“Then,” said Anthony, “I think we had better suspend
with the rest.”

“Never,” said the Hon. Middleton Flam, rising from his
seat and thumping the table violently with his hand. “Never,
sir, whilst I am President of this bank, and there is a shot
in the locker.”

“Bravo—well said, admirably said, spoke as a Quodlibetarian
ought to speak!”—shouted Dr. Thomas G. Winkleman
the keeper of the soda water Pavilion; “I have
fifteen dollars in five penny bits; they are at the service of
the Board, and while I hold a piece of coin, the Patriotic
Copperplate Bank shall never be subjected to the reproach
of being unable to meet its obligations. Anthony Hardbottle,
as a democrat I am surprised at you.”

“I can't help it,” replied Anthony; “in my opinion,
our issues are larger than our means.”

“How, larger, sir?” demanded Mr. Snuffers, the President
of the New Light, with some asperity of tone.—
“Haven't we a batch of bran new notes, just signed and

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ready for delivery? Redeem the old ones with new.—Why
should we suspend?”

“Gentlemen, I will put the question to the Board,” interposed
Mr. Flam, fearful lest a quarrel might arise, if the
debate continued. “Shall this Bank suspend specie payments?
Those in favor of this iniquitous proposition will
say Aye.”

No one answered. Anthony Hardbottle was intimidated
by the President's stern manner.

“Those opposed to it will say No.”

“No!” was the universal acclamation of the Board,
with the exception of Anthony Hardbottle who did not open
his lips.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Flam, “for this generous
support. I should have been compelled by the adoption
of this proposition, much as I esteem this Board, much
as I value your good opinion, to have returned the commission
with which you have honored me as your President.
Our country first and then ourselves. The Democracy of
Quodlibet never will suspend!”

At this moment confused noises were heard in the banking
room, which adjoined that in which the directors were
convened. Mr. Handy immediately sprang from his chair
and went into this apartment.

There stood about thirty persons, principally boatmen
from the canal. At their head, some paces advanced into
the bank, was Flanigan Sucker. One sleeve of Flan's coat
was torn open from the shoulder to the wrist; his shirt, of
a very indefinite complexion, was open at the breast disclosing
the shaggy mat of hair that adorned this part of his
person; his corduroy trowsers had but one suspender to
keep them up, thus giving them rather a lop-sided set. His
face was fiery red; and his hat, which was considerably
frayed at the brim, was drawn over one ear, and left

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uncovered a large portion of his forehead and crown which were
embellished by wild elf locks of carroty hue.

“Nicodemus”—said Flan. as soon as the Cashier made
his appearance, “we have come to make a run upon the
bank:—they say you've bursted your biler.” Then turning
to the crowd behind him, he shouted. “Growl, Tigers!—
Yip! No?—You dont!”

As Flan yelled out these words, a strange muttering
sound broke forth from the multitude.

“What put it into your drunken noddle that we have
broke?” inquired Mr. Handy, with great composure, as soon
as silence was restored.

“Nim Porter ses, Nicodemus, that you're a gone horse,
and that if you ai'nt busted up, you will be before night.—
So we have determined on a run.”

Nim Porter who was standing in the rear of the crowd,
where he had come to see how matters were going on, now
stepped forward. Nim is the fattest man in Quodlibet, and
wears more gold chains across his waistcoat, than I ever
saw at a jeweller's window. He is the most dressy and
good natured man we have; and on this occasion there he
stood with a stiff starched linen roundabout jacket on, as
white as the driven snow, with white drilling pantaloons
just from the washerwoman, and the most strutting ruffle
to his shirt that could have been manufactured out of cambric.
In all points he was unlike the crowd of persons
who occupied the room. “I said nothing of the sort—”
was Nim's reply—“and I am willing now to bet ten to one
that he can't produce a man here to say I said so.”

“D—n the odds!” cried Flan; “Nicodemus, we are resolved
upon a run—so shell out!”

“Begin when it suits you,” said Mr. Handy. “Let me
have your note, and I will give you either silver or gold as
you choose.”

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“Yip! No?—You dont!” cried Flan with a screeching
and varied intonation which he was in the habit of
giving to these cant words, and accompanying them with
abundance of grimace, “d—n the odds about notes!—shell
out any how. We have determined on a run—a genuine,
dimmycratic sortie.”

“Have you none of our paper?” again inquired Mr.
Handy.

“Devil a shaving, Nicodemus,” replied Flan.—“What's
the odds?”

“But I have,” said a big, squinting boatman, as he
walked up to our cashier, and untied his leather wallet.
“There's sixty dollars, and I'll thank you for the cash.”

“And I have twenty-five more,” cried out another.

“And I twice twenty-five,” said a gruff voice from the
midst of the crowd.

All this time the number of persons outside was increasing,
and very profane swearing was heard about the door. Mr.
Handy stepped to the window to get a view of the assemblage,
and seeing that nearly all the moveable part of Quodlibet
was gathering in front of the building, he retired with
some trepidation into the directors' room, and informed Mr.
Flam and the Board of what was going on. They had a
pretty good suspicion of this before Mr. Handy returned,
for they had distinctly heard the uproar. Mr. Handy no
sooner communicated the fact to them, than Mr. Flam, with
considerable perturbation in his looks, rose and declared
that Quodlibet was in a state of insurrection; and, as every
one must be aware, that in the midst of a revolution no
bank could be expected to pay specie, he moved, in consideration
of this menacing state of affairs, that the Patriotic
Copperplate Bank of Quodlibet, suspend specie payments
forthwith, and continue the same until such time as the
re-establishment of the public peace should authorise a

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resumption. This motion was gratefully received by the
board, and carried without a division. During this interval,
the conspirators having learned, through their leader Flan
Sucker, that the Hon. Middleton Flam was in the house,
forthwith set up a violent shouting for that distinguished
gentleman to appear at the door. It was some moments
before our representative was willing to obey this summons:
the board of directors were thrown into a panic, and, with
great expedition, got out of the back window into the yard,
and made their escape—thus leaving the indomitable and
unflinching president of the bank, a man of lion heart,
alone in the apartment; whilst the yells and shouts of the
multitude were ringing in his ears with awful reduplication.
He was not at a loss to perform his duty, but, with a dignified
and stately movement, stalked into the banking room, approached
the window that looked upon the street, threw it
open, and gave himself in full view to the multitude.

There was a dreadful pause; a scowl sat upon every brow;
a muttering silence prevailed. As Tacitus says: “Non tumultus,
non quies, sed quale magni metus, et magnæ iræ
silentium est.” Mr. Flam raised his arm, and spoke in this
strain:

“Men of Quodlibet. What madness has seized upon
you? Do you assemble in front of this edifice to make the
day hideous with howling? Is it to insult Nicodemus
Handy, a worthy New Light, or is it to affright the universe
by pulling down these walls? Shame on you, men of Quodlibet!
If you have a vengeance to wreak, do not inflict it
upon us. Go to the Whigs, the authors of our misfortune.
They have brought these things upon us. Year after year
have we been struggling to give you a constitutional currency—
the real Jackson gold—”

“Three cheers for Middleton Flam!” cried out twenty
voices, and straightway the cheers ascended on the air; and

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in the midst was heard a well known voice, “Yip!—No?—
You don't!—Go it, Middleton!”

“Yes, my friends,” proceeded the orator, “whilst we
have been laboring to give you the solid metals; whilst we
have been fighting against this PAPER MONEY PARTY, and
have devoted all our energies to the endeavor to prostrate
the influence of these RAG BARONS, these MONOPOLISTS, these
CHAMPIONS OF VESTED RIGHTS AND CHARTERED PRIVILEGES,
the Whigs—we have been foiled at every turn by the power
of their unholy combinations of associated wealth. They
have filled your land with banks, and have brought upon us
all the curses of over-trading and over-speculating, until
the people are literally on their faces at the footstool of the
Money Power. (Tremendous cheering.) Our course has
been resolute and unwaveringly patriotic. We have stood
in the breach and met the storm; but all without avail.
Between the rich and the poor lies a mighty gulf. The
rich man has, the poor man wants. Of that which the rich
hath, does he give to the poor? Answer me, men of Quodlibet.”

“No!” arose, deeptoned, from every throat.

“Then our course is plain. Poor men, one and all, rally
round our Democratic banner. Let the aristocrats know
and feel that you will not bear this tyranny.”

“We will, we will!” shouted Flan. Sucker. “Go it,
Middleton!—Yip! No? You don't!”

“Gentlemen,” continued Mr. Flam, “this bank of ours
is purely Democratic. It is an exception to all other banks;
it is emphatically the poor man's friend: nothing can exceed
the skill and caution with which it has been conducted.
Would that all other banks were like it! We have, comparatively,
but a small issue of paper afloat: we have a large
supply of specie. You perceive, therefore, that we fear no
run. You all saw with what alacrity our cashier proffered

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to redeem whatever amount our respectable fellow-citizen,
that excellent Democrat, Mr. Flanigan Sucker, might demand.
(Cheers, and a cry of `Yip! No? You don't!') Mr.
Sucker was satisfied, and did not desire to burden himself
with specie. Gentlemen, depend upon me. When there
is danger, if such a thing could be to this New Light Democratic
Bank, I will be the first to give you warning.
(Cheers, and `Hurrah for Flam.') Born with an instinctive
love of the people, I should be the vilest of men, if I could
ever forget my duty to them. (Immense cheering, and cries
of `Flam forever!') Take my advice, retire to your homes,
keep an eye on the Whigs and their wicked schemes to
bolster up the State Banks, make no run upon this institution—
it is an ill bird that defiles its own nest—and, before
you depart, gentlemen, let me inform you that, having the
greatest regard to your interest, we have determined upon
a temporary suspension, as a mere matter of caution against
the intrigues of the Whigs, who, we have every reason to
believe, actuated by their implacable hatred of the New Light
Democracy, will assail this, your favorite bank, with a malevolence
unexampled in all their past career. (Loud cheers,
and cries of `Stand by the Bank.') But, Quodlibetarians,
rally, and present a phalanx more terrible than the Macedonian
to the invader. You can—I am sure you will—and,
therefore, I tell you your bank is safe.”

“We can, we will!” rose from the whole multitude,
accompanied with cheers that might vie with the bursting
of the ocean surge.

“Gentlemen,” added Mr. Flam, “I thank you for the
manifestation of this patriotic sentiment. It is no more
than I expected of Quodlibet. In conclusion, I am requested,
my good friends, by Mr. Handy, to say that
having just prepared some notes on a superior paper, he
will redeem at the counter any old ones you may chance to

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hold, in that new emission; and I can with pride assure you,
that this late supply is equal, perhaps, to any thing that
has ever been issued in the United States. With my best
wishes, gentlemen, for your permanent prosperity, under
the new and glorious dynasty of that distinguished New
Light Democrat, whom the unbought suffrages of millions
of freemen have called to the supreme executive chair,
(cheers,) and under whose lead we fondly indulge the hope
of speedily sweeping from existence this pestilential brood
of Whig banks, I respectfully take my leave.”

Having concluded this masterly appeal to the reason and
good sense of the people, Mr. Flam withdrew under nine
distinct rounds of applause.

The effect of this powerful speech, which has often since
been compared to that of Cicero against Catiline, was completely
to still the public mind of Quodlibet, and also to
remove all apprehensions of the solidity of our bank. But
its happiest feature was the vindication of the bank against
that charge of treachery and ingratitude which so justly
lies at the door of all the other banks of the country. The
Patriotic Copperplate Bank of Quodlibet was, as Mr. Flam
observed, purely democratic—democratic in its origin, in
its principles, in its organisation, in its management, in its
officers, its stockholders and its customers. Such a bank,
of course, could not be unfaithful to the democratic administration
that fostered it—infidelity or ingratitude to party
is no inhabitant of a democratic bosom. If there be men
upon earth, who go all lengths, through thick and thin for
party, it is (I say it with pride) the genuine, New Light,
Quodlibetarian Democracy. Our bank, therefore, stands
uncontaminated by that revolting perfidy which, at the
instigation of Biddle and the Barings, brought all the other
banks, in which there are Whig directors or officers, into
the most wicked conspiracy recorded in history.

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