"Look at them," says the man: "they are almost in rags, they have to
put up with scanty and hard food; contrast them with his other children,
whom you see lording in gilt carriages, robed in purple and fine linen,
and scattering mud from their wheels over us humble people as we walk
the streets; ignorance and starvation is good enough for these,
for those others nothing can be too fine or too dear. What can
a factory-girl expect from such a fine, high-bred, white-handed,
aristocratic gentleman as Sir Barnes Newcome, Baronet, but to be
cajoled, and seduced, and deserted, and left to starve! When she has
served my lord's pleasure, her natural fate is to be turned into the
street; let her go and rot there and her children beg in the gutter.

"This is the most shameful imposture," gasps out Sir Barnes, "these
children are not--are not----"

The man interrupted him with a bitter laugh. "No," he says; "they are
not his; that's true enough, friends. Its Tom Martin's girl and boy, a
precious pair of lazy little scamps. But, at least he thought they
were his children. See how much he knows about them! He hasn't seen his
children for years; he would have left them and their mother to starve,
and did, but for shame and fear. The old man, his father, pensioned
them, and he hasn't the heart to stop their wages now. Men of Newcome,
will you have this man to represent you in Parliament?" And the crowd
roared "No;" and Barnes and his shamefaced committee slunk out of the
place, and no wonder the dissenting clerical gentlemen were shy of
voting for him.

A brilliant and picturesque diversion in Colonel Newcome's favour was
due to the inventive genius of his faithful aide-de-camp, F. B. On
the polling-day, as the carriages full of voters came up to the
market-place, there appeared nigh to the booths an open barouche,
covered all over with ribbon, and containing Frederick Bayham, Esq.,
profusely decorated with the Colonel's colours, and a very old woman
and her female attendant, who were similarly ornamented. It was good old
Mrs. Mason, who was pleased with the drive and the sunshine, though she
scarcely understood the meaning of the turmoil, with her maid by her
side, delighted to wear such ribbons, and sit in such a post of honour.
Rising up in the carriage, F. B. took off his hat, bade his men of brass
be silent, who were accustomed to bray "See the Conquering Hero come,"
whenever the Colonel, or Mr. Bayham, his brilliant aide-de-ca