aper--in my hand. Let all kings,
queens, and other potentates approach!

And besides, though I am really much afraid that the Honourable Arthur
Caldwell will not stop at my gate but will pass on towards Horace's, I
am nursing a somewhat light opinion of Mr. Caldwell. When he spoke at
the School House on Tuesday, I did not go to hear him, nor was my
opinion greatly changed by what I learned afterward of the meeting. I
take both of our weekly county papers. This is necessary. I add the news
of both together, divide by two to strike a fair average, and then ask
Horace, or Charles Baxter, or the Scotch Preacher what really happened.
The Republican county paper said of the meeting:

"The Honourable Arthur Caldwell, member of Congress, who is seeking a
reelection, was accorded a most enthusiastic reception by a large and
sympathetic audience of the citizens of Blandford township on Tuesday
evening."

Strangely enough the Democratic paper, observing exactly the same
historic events, took this jaundiced view of the matter:

"Arty Caldwell, Republican boss of the Sixth District, who is out
mending his political fences, spellbound a handful of his henchmen at
the School House near Blandford Crossing on Tuesday evening."

And here was Mr. Caldwell himself, Member of Congress, Leader of the
Sixth District, Favourably Mentioned for Governor, drawing up at my
gate, deliberately descending from his buggy, with dignity stopping to
take the tie-rein from under the seat, carefully tying his horse to my
hitching-post.

I confess I could not help feeling a thrill of excitement. Here was a
veritable Celebrity come to my house to explain himself! I would not
have it known, of course, outside of our select circle of friends, but I
confess that although I am a pretty independent person (when I talk) in
reality there are few things in this world I would rather see than a new
person coming up the walk to my door. We cannot, of course, let the
celebrities know it, lest they grow intolerable in their top-loftiness,
but if they must have us, we cannot well get along without them--without
the colour and variety which they lend to a gray world. I have spent
many a precious moment alone in my fields looking up the road (with what
wistful casualness!) for some new Socrates or Mark Twain, and I have not
been wholly disappointed when I have had to content myself with the
Travelling Evangelist or the Syrian Woman who comes this way monthly
bearing