When an approach to order had been accomplished, the formalities of the time were duly performed, and the candidates were proposed and seconded. The action of the gentleman who proposed Mr. Bonsall was eloquent in the extreme, assisted as it was by hoarse cries of "Chair," " Order," "Hear," and "Turn 'em out," "Put 'em under their own founting," "Who killed his mother?" "Dog's meat," "Red for ever," "Yellow for ever." Mr. Bonsall said a great deal, to judge from his manner; and the reporters appeared to be getting most of what he said upon their notes; but the papers only succeeded in giving a very meagre report of his oration.

Long before Mr. Bonsall sat down there was a cry of “Martyn,” "Mr. Martyn," "Jacob Martyn." The popular author had been recognised, and nothing would satisfy the crowd but a speech from Mr. Martyn. He was the only speaker who secured the respect and attention of the meeting. Squire Northcotes himself could not obtain anything like attention; but he was much more successful than Mr. Bonsall; and the severest thing demanded of him was, “Is it true you starve your servants ?" "Ask the servants themselves, my man; yonder is one of them ;" and amidst cheers and laughter the Squire pointed to his fat coachman, who was blushing and frowning at the Yellows from a secure corner near the platform. "Does he look starved ?" shouted the Squire in triumph. "No; nor don't feel like it," said the coachman, conquering his bashfulness, and looking defiantly at his master's detractors. This was regarded as one of the best sallies of the day. It restored the crowd to something like good humour, and brought down a ringing cheer. "Does he look starved ?" said the Squire's gold and silver, amidst cries of "No, no," "Bravo, coachy," and "Three cheers for the fat 'un."

At length the moment came for electors and non-electors to hold up their hands for the man of their choice. The town crier rang his bell; the fat coachman wiped his burning face; the sun blazed hotter and hotter upon the open windows of the hall; the Squire rattled his gold and silver; Mr. Bonsall fidgeted with his hat; and the Mayor, rising solemnly and lifting his hand authoritatively, demanded a show of hands for Mr. Bonsall.

A sudden and startling array of dirty palms was exhibited, amids cheers and yells and hissing; and for a moment Mr. Windgate Williams confessed that he believed Bonsall had won the show o hands; but when the friends of Squire Northcotes came to hold up their hands, the majority was unmistakable, and the Mayor's declara tion was received with rounds of cheering, led by Mr. Williams, and

acknowledged by the Squire, who nodded at Mrs. Paul Ferris and agitated his gold and silver to an alarming extent.

A poll was demanded for Mr. Bonsall, whereupon the contending parties separated to complete their arrangements for the morrow. There were fights innumerable during the afternoon; rival bands of music met and broke their instruments over each other's heads; the Yellow drummer was thrust head foremost into his own drum; and Mr. Bonsall was daringly hustled in the streets by half a dozen rollicking operatives from the factory that still looked out of its many windows on the ruin of Jacob Martyn's garden.

Jacob and his friends were heartily glad when night came, and quiet began to put in a claim for consideration; though it was not until morning dawned that Middleton-in-the-Water could be said to be in repose. Long after midnight mysterious groups of men were scattered hither and thither about the streets, whispering in the shadows of old gabled houses, or keeping watch over the publichouse haunts of either party, while solitary horsemen patrolled the suburbs of the town, and occasionally interrogated pedestrians, who crept away by back streets on political journeys into the adjacent villages; for the Bonsall faction had unloosed their purse strings, and voters who had promised the Reds began to disappear even before nightfall.

A stranger visiting Middleton on this eventful night might have imagined the country to be on the eve of a great revolution, which must burst out fierce and bloody on the next day; so stealthily, so thievishly did men, singly and in groups, move about-peering into dark corners, peeping through keyholes, trying doors, and disappearing in dark alleys.

The same stranger would have been highly amused could he have drawn up the blinds or peeped into Dr. Smythe's dining-room at Grosvenor House, close by the Cartown river, and near the scene of the opening chapter of this eventful history. The Doctor was an enthusiastic Red. With the assistance of Mr. Windgate Williams, he had induced a dozen "doubtful" voters to sup with him. These were "needy" men who had accepted bribes from Bonsall-poor fellows who had been unable to withstand temptation. They had in other days voted Yellow; but had this time promised Squire Northcotes, and had been "got at " by the other side, in consequence.

After supper they sang and were merry. Mr. Williams proposed the Doctor's health. The Doctor replied, and proposed the editor's health, and in doing so alluded in touching terms to the once famous Middleton Star. Then he asked the electors to look back to the old

days when Mr. Alfred Martyn was among them. They responded heartily to the Doctor's eloquent appeals to their sympathy, and thus a good understanding was brought about. Mr. Williams supplemented the Doctor's speech by a carefully prepared narrative of Bonsall's conduct in connection with the defunct paper and the deceased proprietor; and while Williams was talking the Doctor was paying marked attention to the creature comforts of his guests; the combined influences of oratory and wine worked wonders upon the sympathies of the doubtfuls. Some of them suddenly broke into unmistakable applause at the editor's best points; one cried "Shame," another shook his head, while a third said he wished he had known all this before.

At length, when the time seemed ripe for definite action, Williams, leaping upon a chair, exclaimed, "And so let us give three cheers for Squire Northcotes!" It was cleverly done. The responsive hurrahs brought an angry message from Mrs. Smythe, which the Doctor treated with proud indifference, proposing renewed cheers for Northcotes and "Red for ever!"

As morning dawned sleep stole over the Doctor's dining-room: the eminent practitioner was snugly reposing on a sofa; Mr. Williams was reclining upon two chairs placed across the door-way, and the twelve doubtfuls were lying about in various directions-some under the table, and some upon the hearth. A rubicund greengrocer sat transfixed in the Doctor's arm-chair at the bottom of the table, gasping and snoring in happy unison with his fellows beneath it.

At daylight the Doctor's man brought in coffee, and the doubtfuls, under the superintendence of Williams, washed themselves in detachments of twos and threes. Several complained of headache, but the Doctor soon made these all right; and after breakfast they adjourned to the drawing-room, where the youngest Miss Smythe, who had been awakened purposely by the Doctor's orders, treated the assembled doubtfuls to vocal music, which in due time revived some of their previous enthusiasm. The victory was completed by Williams singing a song with a rattling chorus, in which the free and independent doubtfuls joined, to the great alarm and indignation of the Doctor's wife, who vowed she would never forgive this insult to herself and daughters. Then Williams, rubbing his eyes and looking round as it in a little doubt as to the position, but quite satisfied in his own mind, said, "Now, my friends, one cheer more-who is it for? "Northcotes!" they replied, as one man, "Northcotes for ever Northcotes, and down with the clique!"

As soon as the poll opened that morning, the doubtfuls, with th

Doctor at their head, polled plumpers for Northcotes; and when the polling was at an end, Mr. Bonsall was defeated, and Squire Northcotes duly elected by a majority of twelve.

It was a great fall for the would-be Minister. With the sweets of office and the summit of his ambitious hopes within his reach, he came to deserved grief for his insincerity and ingratitude. Jacob could not help feeling a certain satisfaction in being enabled to tell Mr. Bonsall that he, the son of Alfred Martyn, had been the chief means of his punishment.

Mr. Cavendish Thornton, who was present with the Hon. Max Walton at the declaration of the poll, was greatly disappointed with the part which Jacob had played, though it was some consolation to the old gentleman that the leading London papers published articles upon Jacob Martyn's speech, which was pronounced to be full of original thought and indicative of considerable legislative power. Mr. Martyn was strongly advised to seek a career in Parliament, and Mr. Thornton felt that after this he would be able to induce his dear Lucy's husband to honour his wishes in this respect. But Jacob never meddled with politics again, and, in due time, when several little Martyns began to climb the old man's knees, he came down from his high estate and confessed that perhaps Jacob was right in cultivating domestic comfort rather than seeking for the questionable honours of Parliamentary life. Lucy had no doubt about the wisdom of Jacob's decision in the matter; and she was all the more convinced of it when she learnt that the crowd of ladies whom she met in society without their husbands were the wives of members of Parliament, Ministers, and others who were occupied in governing their country.

CHAPTER LI.

WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE, EVENTFUL HISTORY.

As time wore on Jacob found it necessary to employ a secretary. When he told his wife the history of his relationship with Mr. Windgate Williams, she agreed with Jacob that no time should be lost in offering the appointment to his early friend.

"Well," said Windgate Williams to his shadow, which was reposing in gigantic proportions on the fire-lighted hearth of Mrs. Smick's first floor, "I don't think I can refuse it; my experience will be valuable to him, and the work will be light. Ah, it's the way with these smart young fellows,- they go ahead at first at a dashing rate, but

they pull up after awhile: deuced clever is Jacob Martyn-there's no mistake about that--and he knows the value of Windgate Williams -that is not the smallest evidence of his wisdom."

For Jacob Martyn's sake, therefore, Mr. Williams returned to London; but he was not permitted to leave the scene of his distinguished labours at Dinsley until he had been entertained at a complimentary dinner by a select party of his admirers, at whose hands he received a testimonial of "their esteem and regard, and of the high respect in which they held his eminent abilities, and as some small acknowledgment of the gratitude they felt in respect of his services in the cause of liberty and truth." Mr. — made the presentation on behalf of the numerous subscribers in a speech of studied eloquence. The popular editor never made a more telling speech than that in which his thanks for this magnificent present were expressed. After telling the company that the tongue upon such an occasion failed to interpret the feelings of the heart, he delivered himself of an oration lasting more than half an hour, commenced with an audible sob, and closed with a palpable tear.

Thus Mrs. Smick, deprived of her famous lodger, found herself called upon to advertise for a successor, "Which it were," as she remarked to a young greengrocer, who had received permission to pay his addresses to Jumbo, " satisfactory to know as you are not beholding to one gentleman no more than another, seeing, as poor Smick often said, that there was as good fish out of the sea as ever went into it, and it was not as if she was a reglar lodging-house keeper, having seen better times, whereby persons might be suspicious that she did not buy her own tea and sugar, or give all the cold meat from the tables to the poor; but being above such ways, gentlemen knew as her house was a home to them, and, therefore, her rooms was always jumped at by one or another as soon as she put her paper in the window, just as fast as the haddicks used to jump at the mussil baits, when poor dear Smick used to amuse himself with fishing; but as I was a-saying, which it were not for me to "

At this part of Mrs. Smick's edifying harangue on the respectability and homely character of her establishment, Miss Jumbo, who had been swallowing her mother's words with open mouth, and beating time with a hot smoothing-iron, to the delight of her ambitious lover, dropped the iron upon her mother's toes, which brought Mrs. Smick's remarks to such a sudden and demonstrative full stop that the wretched greengrocer fell upon his knees and begged for mercy. Jumbo feared he had suddenly gone mad; but the terrified dealer in