The two political opponents picked up their hats, and left the room
together.

The Chairman rose as the door closed behind them. "I think," he
said, "this should be a lesson to us to accept the Act in the spirit
in which it was given. If nobody else wishes to ask a question, I
will now take a show of hands: but I warn you all it'll be a dreary
business."

At this, the first hint of tedium, the company rose, drained their
glasses, and made for the door, leaving the sixty-six remaining
candidates to vote for themselves.


"Well," Mr. Rabling said to me, as we stood in the street; "so far,
this here Parish Meeting might be like any other Parish Meeting in
the Kingdom!"

I doubted, but did not contradict him.

"There's one thing," he added; "Ironmonger Loveday has laid in a
whole stock of sixpenny fire-balloons for to-night: and there isn't a
breath of wind. His boy's very clever with the scissors and paste:
and he've a-stuck a tissue-paper text on each--'Success to the
Charter of our Liberties,' and 'Rule Britannia' and 'God Speed the
Plough'; and nothing more than the sixpence charged."


Simple, egregious, delectable town! As I leaned out last night,