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jokes, when they garnish such tidings as he was telling.
Was ever so pleasant a doctor! Laughter through tears
greeted these pleasantries; and, oh, such transports of
gratitude broke forth when he was gone!
It was well for Driver, the postmaster, and his daughters,
that all the circulars made up that day in Brandon Hall
were not despatched through the Gylingden post-office. It
was amazing how so many voters could find room in one
county. Next day, it was resolved, the Captain's personal
canvass was to commence. The invaluable Wealdon had
run through the list of his to-morrow's visits, and given
him an inkling of the idiosyncrasies, the feuds and the
likings of each elector in the catalogue. "Busy times,
sir!" Tom Wealdon used to remark, with a chuckle,
from time to time, in the thick of the fuss and conspiration
which was the breath of his nostrils; and, doubtless, so
they are, and were, and ever will be, until the time-honor-
ed machinery of our election system has been overhauled,
and adapted to the civilisation of these days.
Captain Brandon Lake was as much as possible at head
quarters in these critical times; and. suddenly, Mr. Crump,
the baker, and John Thomas, of the delft, ironmongery,
sponge, and umbrella shop, at the corner of Church
Street, in Gylingden, were announced by the fatigued
servant. They bowed, and stood, grining, near the door;
and the urbane and cordial Captain, with all a candidate's
good fellowship, shook them both by the hands, and heard
their story; and an exciting one it was.
Sir Harry Bracton had actually invaded the town of
Gylingden. There was a rabble of the raff of Queen's
Bracton along with him. He, with two or three young
swells by him, had made a speech, from his barouche,
outside the " Silver Lion," near the Green; and he was
now haranguing from the steps of the Court House. They