turbances were registered; but the movement of
the needle (to the Honourable Hilary's eye) was almost imperceptible.
What observer, however experienced, would have believed that such
delicate tracings could herald a volcanic eruption?

Throughout the month of April the needle kept up its persistent
registering, and the Honourable Hilary continued to smile. The Honourable
Jacob Botcher, who had made a trip to Ripton and had cited that very
decided earthquake shock of the Pingsquit bill, had been ridiculed for
his pains, and had gone away again comforted by communion with a strong
man. The Honourable Jacob had felt little shocks in his fief: Mr. Tooting
had visited it, sitting with his feet on the tables of hotel
waiting-rooms, holding private intercourse with gentlemen who had been
disappointed in office. Mr. Tooting had likewise been a sojourner in the
domain of the Duke of Putnam. But the Honourable Brush was not troubled,
and had presented Mr. Tooting with a cigar.

In spite of the strange omission of the State Tribune to print his speech
and to give his victory in the matter of the Pingsquit bill proper
recognition, Mr. Crewe was too big a man to stop his subscription to the
paper. Conscious that he had done his duty in that matter, neither
praise nor blame could affect him; and although he had not been mentioned
since, he read it assiduously every afternoon upon its arrival at Leith,
feeling confident that Mr. Peter Pardriff (who had always in private
conversation proclaimed himself emphatically for reform) would not
eventually refuse--to a prophet--public recognition. One afternoon
towards the end of that month of April, when the sun had made the last
snow-drift into a pool, Mr. Crewe settled himself on his south porch and
opened the State Tribune, and his heart gave a bound as his eye fell upon
the following heading to the leading editorial:--

A WORTHY PUBLIC SERVANT FOR GOVERNOR

Had his reward come at last? Had Mr. Peter Pardriff seen the error of his
way? Mr. Crewe leisurely folded back the sheet, and called to his
secretary, who was never far distant.

"Look here," he said, "I guess Pardriff's recovered his senses. Look
here!"

The tired secretary, ready with his pencil and notebook to order fifty
copies, responded, staring over his employer's shoulder. It has been said
of men in battle that they have been shot and have run forward some
hundred feet without knowing what has happened to them. And so