“But Dyas, I hear, the d——d rogue, will vote against you?” White winked. “Bad,” he said cryptically, “but not as bad as that, sir.” “Oh! oh!” quoth the other, nodding, “I see.” And then, glancing at the gang before the cloth works, whose taunts of “Flunkies!” and “Sell your birthright, will you?” were constant and vicious, “You’ve no fear there’ll be violence, White?” he asked. “Lord, no, sir,” White answered; “you know what election rows are, all bark and no bite!” “Still I hear that at Bath, where I’m told Lord Brecknock stands a poor chance, they are afraid of a riot.” “Ay, ay, sir,” White answered indifferently, “this isn’t Bath.” “Precisely,” the Rector struck in, in pompous tones. “I should like to see anything of that kind here! They would soon,” he continued with an air, “find that I am not on the commission of the peace for nothing! I shall make, and I am sure you will make,” he went on, turning to his brother justice, “very short work of them! I should like to see anything of that kind tried here!” White nodded, but in his heart he thought that his reverence was likely to have his wish gratified. However, no more was said, for the approach of the Stapylton carriages, with their postillions, outriders and favours, was signalled by persons who had been placed to watch for them, and the party on the bridge, falling into violent commotion, raised their flags and banners and hastened to form an escort on either side of the roadway. As the gaily-decked carriages halted on the crest of the bridge, loud greetings were exchanged. The five voters took up a position of honour, seats in the carriages were found for three or four of the more important gentry, and seven or eight others got to horse. Meanwhile those of the smaller folk, who thought that they had a claim to the recognition of the candidates, were gratified, and stood back blushing, or being disappointed stood back glowering; all this amid confusion and cheering on the bridge and shrill jeers on the part of the cloth hands. Then the flags were waved aloft, the band of five, of which the drummer could truly say “_Pars magna fui_,” struck up “See, the Conquering Hero Comes!” and White stood back for a last look. Then, “Shout, lads, shout!” he cried, waving his hat. “Don’t let ’em have it all their own way!” And with a roar of defiance, not quite so loud or full as the gentlemanly interest had raised of old, the procession got under way, and, led by a banner bearing “Our Ancient Constitution!” in blue letters on a red ground, swayed spasmodically up the street. The candidates for the suffrages of the electors of Chippinge had passed the threshold of the borough. “Hurrah! Yah! Hurrah! Yah! Yah! Yah! Down with the Borough-mongers. Our Ancient Constitution! Hurrah! Boo! Boo!”