hat he saw. It is,
for lack of space, reluctantly omitted.)

And now we are to take up where the biography left off; to relate, in a
chapter if possible, one of the most remarkable campaigns in the history
of this country. A certain reformer of whose acquaintance the honest
chronicler boasts (a reformer who got elected!) found, on his first visit
to the headquarters he had hired--two citizens under the influence of
liquor and a little girl with a skip rope. Such are the beginnings that
try men's souls.

The window of every independent shopkeeper in Ripton contained a
large-sized picture of the Leith statesman, his determined chin slightly
thrust down into the Gladstone collar. Underneath were the words, "I will
put an end to graft and railroad rule. I am a Candidate of the People.
Opening rally of the People's Campaign at the Opera House, at 8 P.M.,
July 10th. The Hon. Humphrey Crewe, of Leith, will tell the citizens of
Ripton how their State is governed."

"Father," said Victoria, as she read this announcement (three columns
wide, in the Ripton Record) as they sat at breakfast together, "do you
mind my going? I can get Hastings Weare to take me."

"Not at all," said Mr. Flint, who had returned from New York in a better
frame of mind. "I should like a trustworthy account of that meeting.
Only," he added, "I should advise you to go early, Victoria, in order to
get a seat."

"You don't object to my listening to criticism of you?"

"Not by Humphrey Crewe," laughed Mr. Flint.

Early suppers instead of dinners were the rule at Leith on the evening of
the historic day, and the candidate himself, in his red Leviathan, was
not inconsiderably annoyed, on the way to Ripton, by innumerable
carryalls and traps filled with brightly gowned recruits of that
organization of Mrs. Pomfret's which Beatrice Chillingham had nicknamed
"The Ladies' Auxiliary.". In vain Mr. Crewe tooted his horn: the sound of
it was drowned by the gay talk and laughter in the carryalls, and shrieks
ensued when the Leviathan cut by with only six inches to spare, and the
candidate turned and addressed the drivers in language more forceful than
polite, and told the ladies they acted as if they were going to a
Punch-and-Judy show.

"Poor dear Humphrey!" said, Mrs. Pomfret, "is so much in earnest. I
wouldn't give a snap for a man without a temper."

"Poor dear Humphrey" said Beatrice Chillingham, in an undertone to her
neighbour, "is exceedingly rude and