That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. Martin’s and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of victories in France or Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say that even Waterloo had not flung abroad more general joy, nor sown the dingy streets with brighter faces, than this civil gain. For now—now, surely—the People’s Bill would pass, and the people be truly represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the Bill’s ill-wishers would get a fall! And if every man—about which some doubts were whispered even in the public-houses—did not get a vote which he could sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes time out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew precisely what they wished and what they were going to gain, but _Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!_ _Hurrah for Gaffer Grey!_ _Hurrah for Lord John!_ Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And above all, three cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and dissolved this niggling, hypocritical Parliament of landowners. Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course; but slowly, and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the general feeling. Still, he walked with his head a little higher than before; he seemed to sniff the battle; and there was a light in his eyes as if he saw a wider arena before him. “It is true, then,” he muttered. “And for to-day I shall have my errand for my pains. He will have other fish to fry, and will not see me. But what of that! Another day will do as well.” At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to him, and, running beside him, urged him to hasten. “Run, your honour,” he croaked in gin-laden accents, “and you’ll ’ave a good place! And I’ll drink your honour’s health, and Billy the King’s! Sure he’s the father of his country, and seven besides. Come on, your honour, or they’ll be jostling you!” Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the man away. But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. “He’s there, I tell you,” he persisted. “And for threepence I’ll get you to see him. Come on, your honour! It’s many a Westminster election I’ve seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox, that was the gentleman had always a word for the poor man, till now, when maybe it’s your honour’s going to stand! Anyway, it’s, Down with the mongers!” A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing Street waved his broken hat round his head. “Ay, down with the borough-mongers!” he cried. “Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down with ’em all! Down with everybody!” “And long live the Bill!” cried a man of more respectable appearance as he hurried by. “And long live the King, God bless him!” “They’ll know what it is to balk the people now,” chimed in a fourth. “Let ’em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let ’em!”