g
establishments and a network of railroads reaching out to Cleveland,
Chicago, Pittsburg, Columbus, Cincinnati and Indianapolis. There
was no sign of this development when I first visited the place.

On my return to Lancaster I applied myself closely to study and
reading, mainly of history. I read Hume, Smollett and Miller's
histories of England, Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire," and such histories of the United States as I could procure.
It was at this time that the memorable "Log Cabin and Hard Cider
Campaign" of 1840 commenced. General Harrison had been nominated
in December, 1839, at Harrisburg, by the Whig party. He was a
distinguished general in the War of 1812, but had lived mainly a
quiet, modest life on his farm at South Bend, near Cincinnati.
The Democratic papers ridiculed him as a feeble old man, living in
a cabin and drinking hard cider. The Whigs turned these sarcasms
with great effect upon their adversaries. They compared the old
soldier and his excellent war record, living in a cabin with the
latch string out and eating corn bread, with "Matty Van, the used
up man," living in a palace, with roast beef every day, eating from
silver plate, with gold spoons, and drawing a salary of $25,000 a
year. This was no doubt demagoguism, but there was back of it the
great questions of protection to American industries, sound and
stable currency, and the necessity of economy in public expenditures.
A great meeting was held in Columbus in February, 1840. In the
procession were log cabins, filled with farmers and hauled by a
number of horses and oxen, and hard cider was on tap for all who
chose to drink. Songs were improvised, especially by Greiner, the
poet of the canvass. One of these songs, with the refrain, "The
Log Cabin Candidate will March to Washington," became famous and
prophetic.

Some time in March, 1840, taking the stage for Mansfield, I saw
signs of political excitement all along the way, even at that early
period of the canvass. My sister Susan, two years younger than I,
was with me. We met with no adventure worthy of notice until we
arrived at our destination, when, in ascending the hill to the
public square, the coach slipped and fell over on its side. This
we considered a bad omen. It was not, however, an unusual accident,
as the roads were always bad in March, and the coaches of the day
not worthy of the name. We were heartily welcomed into the family
of Robert McCom