candidates in the field for the representation of
that borough. That old and tried member of Parliament, Mr. Bunce, was
considered to be secure; and the Baronet's seat was thought to be pretty
safe on account of his influence in the place. Nevertheless, Thomas
Newcome's supporters were confident for their champion, and that when
the parties came to the poll, the extreme Liberals of the borough
would divide their votes between him and the fourth candidate, the
uncompromising Radical, Mr. Barker.

In due time the Colonel and his staff arrived at Newcome, and resumed
the active canvass which they had commenced some months previously.
Clive was not in his father's suite this time, nor Mr. Warrington,
whose engagements took him elsewhere. The lawyer, the editor of the
Independent, and F. B., were the Colonel's chief men. His headquarters
(which F. B. liked very well) were at the hotel where we last saw him,
and whence issuing with his aide-de-camp at his heels, the Colonel went
round to canvass personally, according to his promise, every free and
independent elector of the borough. Barnes too was canvassing eagerly on
his side, and was most affable and active; the two parties would often
meet nose to nose in the same street, and their retainers exchange looks
of defiance. With Mr. Potts of the Independent, a big man, on his left;
with Mr. Frederick, a still bigger man, on his right; his own trusty
bamboo cane in his hand, before which poor Barnes had shrunk abashed ere
now, Colonel Newcome had commonly the best of these street encounters,
and frowned his nephew Barnes, and Barnes's staff, off the pavement.
With the non-electors the Colonel was a decided favourite; the boys
invariably hurrayed him; whereas they jeered and uttered ironical cries
after poor Barnes, asking, "Who beat his wife? Who drove his children to
the workhouse?" and other unkind personal questions. The man upon whom
the libertine Barnes had inflicted so cruel an injury in his early days,
was now the Baronet's bitterest enemy. He assailed him with curses and
threats when they met, and leagued his brother-workmen against him. The
wretched Sir Barnes owned with contrition that the sins of his youth
pursued him; his enemy scoffed at the idea of Barnes's repentance;
he was not moved at the grief, the punishment in his own family, the
humiliation and remorse which the repentant prodigal piteously pleaded.
No man was louder in his cries of mea culpa than Barnes: n