r him! and what heaps
of annoyance were piled on his spirit during that county election!--a
rather tedious business in those unreformed days. His peace was killed
with cabbage-stocks on the hustings; his days were devastated by
groans; and his soul harrowed by hisses. Nevertheless, both his
friends and enemies were amazed to see how well Cloudesly acquitted
himself; his speeches, when they could be heard, were models of neat
eloquence; and his colours--pea-green and white--were sported with
genteel triumph. By and by, however, it became evident to his most
sanguine supporter that Sommerset had no chance; Sir Jonas and Lord
Lumberdale themselves advised him to give up the contest; but the man
had been persuaded that the safety of Great Tattleton, if not that of
the British nation, depended on him, and a persuasion once in
Sommerset's head was not easily got out. He believed on, in spite of
them and fortune. I never found out precisely what the business cost
him; nobody dared inquire, and he burned all the accounts; but at
length the last day's poll was taken, and amid cheers, yells, and a
newly-begun row, Levison Stopford, Esq., was declared duly elected.

Men cannot have Waterloos of their own every day. No wonder, then,
that the honourable member's glory was too great for his prudence:
scarcely had the poll closed, when it became generally known in front
of the Stopford Arms, that there were two barrels of strong beer,
which his liberality had devoted to the populace. On the publication
of this intelligence, the ancient ceremony of chairing went on with
more than usual vigour. It was a quiet autumn evening, but there was
no peace for Tattleton. The shops and houses of Stopford's friends
were lighting up in every quarter for a grand illumination, while the
opposition and the stingy were closing as quickly as possible. Half
the rabble of the county were gathered in the streets; all our own
respectability occupied doors and windows; and forth from the
town-hall, in a substantial armchair, decorated with bunches of
ribbons, blue and red--the Stopford colours--borne in high triumph by
his most zealous and noisy adherents, came the newly-chosen senator (a
rather stout gentleman, and father of a hopeful family), scattering
coppers and silver with no sparing hand, from a large canvas bag,
among the crowd, who roared and scrambled in all the might of beer.
Old politicians said it was a great victory for Whig principles, and
ma