



Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by
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Transcriber's Notes:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://books.google.com/books?id=DxcrAAAAMAAJ

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].






                          Chippinge Borough


                                  BY

                          STANLEY J. WEYMAN

                   Author of "The Long Night," Etc.





                               NEW YORK
                       McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
                                MCMVI






                       _Copyright_, 1906, _by_
                       McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.





             Copyright, 1905, 1905, by Stanley J. Weyman.






                               CONTENTS

   CHAPTER

         I. The Dissolution.

        II. The Spirit of the Storm.

       III. Two Letters.

        IV. Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy!

         V. Rosy-fingered Dawn.

        VI. The Patron of Chippinge.

       VII. The Winds of Autumn.

      VIII. A Sad Misadventure.

        IX. The Bill for Giving Everybody Everything.

         X. The Queen's Square Academy for Young Ladies.

        XI. Don Giovanni Flixton.

       XII. A Rotten Borough.

      XIII. The Vermuyden Dinner.

       XIV. Miss Sibson's Mistake.

        XV. Mr. Pybus's Offer.

       XVI. Less than a Hero.

      XVII. The Chippinge Election.

     XVIII. The Chippinge Election (_Continued_).

       XIX. The Fruits of Victory.

        XX. A Plot Unmasked.

       XXI. A Meeting of Old Friends.

      XXII. Women's Hearts.

     XXIII. In the House.

      XXIV. A Right and Left.

       XXV. At Stapylton.

      XXVI. The Scene in the Hall.

     XXVII. Wicked Shifts.

    XXVIII. Once More, Tantivy!

      XXIX. Autumn Leaves.

       XXX. The Mayor's Reception in Queen's Square.

      XXXI. Sunday in Bristol.

     XXXII. The Affray at the Palace.

    XXXIII. Fire.

     XXXIV. Hours of Darkness.

      XXXV. The Morning of Monday.

     XXXVI. Forgiveness.

    XXXVII. In the Mourning Coach.

   XXXVIII. Threads and Patches.






   CHIPPINGE BOROUGH






                                  I

                           THE DISSOLUTION


Boom!

It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in
the direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd's plaid trousers
and the swallow-tail coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat
wound about his wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy
Gardens, and, with his face turned skywards, listened until the sound
of the Tower guns smote again on the ear and dispelled his doubts. To
the experienced, his outward man, neat and modestly prosperous,
denoted a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. His figure
was good, he was above the middle height, and he carried himself with
an easy independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion
of himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet
was not incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was
neither ugly nor handsome, neither slovenly nor a _petit-maitre_;
indeed, it was doubtful if he had ever seen the inside of Almack's.
But his features were strong and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes
which looked so boldly on the world could express both humour and good
humour. In a word, this young man was one upon whom women, even great
ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one woman--but he had
not yet met her--with tenderness.

Boom!

He was only one among a dozen, who within the space of a few yards had
been brought to a stand by the sound; who knew what the salute meant,
and in their various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown
through the town in the morning that the King was about to dissolve
his six-months-old Parliament was true, then! so true that already in
the clubs, from Boodle's to Brooks's, men were sending off despatches,
while the long arms of the semaphore were carrying the news to the
Continent. Persons began to run by Vaughan--the young man's name was
Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the street was filling with a multitude
hastening to see the sight, or so much of it as the vulgar might see.
Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. Some, of a higher
station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped trousers
permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their
neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings
which led into St. James's Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of
the procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it.

Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked--nay, it might be said more
truly, ninety-nine out of a hundred--evinced a joy quite out of the
common, and such as no political event of these days produces. One
cried, "Hip! Hip! Hip!"; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily.
Strangers told one another that it was a good thing, bravely done! And
while the whole of that part of the town seemed to be moving towards
the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to all the world that the
unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had passed the
People's Bill by one--a miserable one in the largest House which had
ever voted--and having done that, had shelved it by some shift, some
subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved.

No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything
but the Bill, or, affectionately, the People's Bill. But they called
it that repeatedly, and in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of
