ntleman in person to enforce his order, which was then reluctantly
complied with to the great disappointment of the inhabitants, and
mortification of the ringers, several of whom had come from a
considerable distance to assist in the festivities of the day.' The
Independent chapel was an old-fashioned meeting-house, full of heavy
pillars, which, as they intercepted the view of the preacher, were
favourable to that gentle sleep so peculiarly refreshing on a Sunday
afternoon--especially in hot weather--in the square and commodious family
pew. The minister was an old and venerable-looking divine of the name of
Dennant, who was always writing little poems--I remember the opening
lines of one,

'A while ago when I was nought,
And neither body, soul, nor thought'--

and whose 'Soul Prosperity,' a volume of sober prose, reached a second
edition. His grandson, Mr. J. R. Robinson, now the energetic manager of
the _Daily News_, may be said to have achieved a position in the world of
London of which his simple-hearted and deeply-devotional grandfather
could never have dreamed. As I was the son of a brother minister, Mr.
Dennant's house was open to myself and Thompson, though we did not go
there on the particular day of which I write. The leading tradesman of
the town was a Liberal, and had at least one pretty daughter, and there
we went. Most of the day, however, we mixed with the mob which crowded
round, while the voters--you may be sure, not all of them sober--were
brought up to vote. The excitement was immense; there was the hourly
publication of the state of the poll--more or less unreliable, but,
nevertheless, exciting; and what a tumult there was as one or other of
the rival candidates drove up to his temporary quarters in a carriage and
pair, or carriage and four, made a short speech, which was cheered by his
friends and howled at derisively by his foes, while the horses were being
changed, and then drove off at a gallop to make the same display and to
undergo the same ordeal elsewhere! To be sure, there was a little rough
play; now and then a rush was made by nobody in particular, and for no
particular reason; or, again, an indiscreet voter--rendered additionally
so by indulgence in beer--gave occasion for offence; but really, beyond a
scrimmage, a hat broken, a coat or two torn or bespattered with mud, a
cockade rudely snatched from the wearer, little harm was done. The
voters knew each other, and had co