ke figure of Senator Whitredge (a cheer); that of
Senator Green (not so statesmanlike, but a cheer); Congressman
Fairplay (cheers); and--Hilary Vane! His a figure that does not inspire
cheers,--least of all to-day,--the man upon whose shoulders rests the
political future of the Northeastern. The conservative Mr. Tredways and
other Lincoln radicals of long ago who rely on his strength and judgment
are not the sort to cheer. And yet--and yet Hilary inspires some feeling
when, with stooping gait, he traverses the hall, and there is a hush
in many quarters as delegates and spectators watch his progress to the
little room off the platform: the general's room, as the initiated know.

Ah, but few know what a hateful place it is to Hilary Vane to-day,
this keyboard at which he has sat so complacently in years gone by, the
envied of conventions. He sits down wearily at the basswood table, and
scarcely hears the familiar sounds without, which indicate that the
convention of conventions has begun. Extraordinary phenomenon at such
a time, scenes of long ago and little cherished then, are stealing into
his mind.

The Reverend Mr. Crane (so often chaplain of the Legislature, and known
to the irreverent as the chaplain of the Northeastern) is praying now
for guidance in the counsels of this great gathering of the people's
representatives. God will hear Mr. Botcher better if he closes his eyes;
which he does. Now the platform is being read by State Senator Billings;
closed eyes would best suit this proceeding, too. As a parallel to that
platform, one can think only of the Ten Commandments. The Republican
Party (chosen children of Israel) must be kept free from the domination
of corporations. (Cheers and banner waving for a full minute.) Some
better method of choosing delegates which will more truly reflect
the will of the people. (Plank of the Honourable Jacob Botcher, whose
conscience is awakening.) Never mind the rest. It is a triumph for Mr.
Crewe, and is all printed in that orthodox (reform) newspaper, the
State Tribune, with urgent editorials that it must be carried out to the
letter.

And what now? Delegates, credential holders, audience, and the Reverend
Mr. Crane draw long breaths of heated carbon dioxide. Postmaster
Burrows of Edmundton, in rounded periods, is putting in nomination his
distinguished neighbour and fellow-citizen, the Honourable Adam B.
Hunt, who can subscribe and say amen to every plank in that platform.
He