e
knew, that neighbour might be a member of the terrible tribunal, by means
of which all the affairs of the community were regulated, and a single
ill-timed word might absolutely prove his ruin. Such, indeed, in one
instance was the case. In an evil hour for himself, an independent
town-councillor thought fit to denounce the Clique, as an unconstitutional
and tyrannical body, and to table a motion for an inquiry as to its
nature, members, and proceedings. So strong was the general alarm that he
could not even find a seconder. But the matter did not stop there. The
rash meddler had drawn upon himself the vengeance of a remorseless foe.
His business began to fall off; rumours of the most malignant description
were circulated regarding his character; two of his relatives who held
situations were dismissed without warning and without apology; his credit
was assailed in every quarter; and in less than six months after he had
made that most unfortunate, harangue, the name of Thomas Gritt, baker in
Dreepdaily, was seen to figure in the Gazette. So fell Gritt a martyr, and
if any one mourned for him, it was in secret, and the profoundest awe.

Such was the political state of matters, at the time when I rode down the
principal street of Dreepdaily. I need hardly say that I did not know a
single soul in the burgh; in that respect, indeed, there was entire
reciprocity on both sides, for the requisition referred to in my address
was a felicitous fiction by M'Corkindale. I stopped before a substantial
bluff-looking house, the lower part of which was occupied as a shop, and a
scroll above informed me that the proprietor was Walter Binkie, grocer.

A short squat man, with an oleaginous face and remarkably bushy eyebrows,
was in the act of weighing out a pennyworth of "sweeties" to a little girl
as I entered.

"Is the Provost of Dreepdaily within?" asked I.

"I'se warrant he's that," was the reply; "Hae, my dear, there's a sugar
almond t'ye into the bargain. Gae your waus hame noo, and tell your mither
that I've some grand new tea. Weel, sir, what was you wanting?"

"I wish particularly to speak to the Provost."

"Weel then, speak awa'," and he straightway squatted himself before his
ledger.

"I beg your pardon, sir! Have I really the honour of addressing--;"

"Walter Binkie, the Provost of this burgh. But if ye come on Council
matters, ye're lang ahint the hour. I'm just steppin' up to denner, and I
never do business after tha