e "Old Flag" to victory' times out of number in
the past and who for his share of the spoils of those victories was now
in a condition of abject, miserable poverty, with the portals of the
workhouse yawning open to receive him; 'I've waited all my life, hoping
and trusting for better conditions so a few more years won't make much
difference to me.'

'Don't you trouble to 'urry yourself, Sir,' shouted another Solomon in
the crowd. 'We don't mind waiting. Take your own time, Sir. You know
better than the likes of us 'ow long it ought to take.'

In conclusion, the great man warned them against being led away by the
Socialists, those foolish, unreasonable, impractical people who wanted
to see an immediate improvement in their condition; and he reminded
them that Rome was not built in a day.

The Wise Men applauded lustily. It did not appear to occur to any of
them that the rate at which the ancient Roman conducted their building
operations had nothing whatever to do with the case.

Sir Featherstone Blood sat down amid a wild storm of cheering, and then
the procession reformed, and, reinforced by the audience from the hall,
they proceeded to march about the dreary streets, singing, to the tune
of the 'Men of Harlech':

'Vote for Sweater, Vote for Sweater!
Vote for Sweater, VOTE FOR SWEATER!
'He's the Man, who has a plan,
To liberate and reinstate the workers!
'Men of Mugs'bro', show your mettle,
Let them see that you're in fettle!
Once for all this question settle
Sweater shall Prevail!'

The carriage containing Sir Featherstone, Adam Sweater, and Rushton and
Didlum was in the middle of the procession. The banner and the torches
were at the head, and the grandeur of the scene was heightened by four
men who walked--two on each side of the carriage, burning green fire in
frying pans. As they passed by the Slave Market, a poor, shabbily
dressed wretch whose boots were so worn and rotten that they were
almost falling off his feet, climbed up a lamp-post, and taking off his
cap waved it in the air and shrieked out: 'Three Cheers for Sir
Featherstone Blood, our future Prime Minister!'

The Philanthropists cheered themselves hoarse and finally took the
horses out of the traces and harnessed themselves to the carriage
instead.

''Ow much wages will Sir Featherstone get if 'e is made Prime
Minister?' asked Harlow of another Philanthropist who was also p