, he knew from old electioneerings, what a
humbling thing is triumph.

But when he saw from the windows of the Swan, those crowds of new-made
friends trooping up in holiday suits with flags, and wands, and
corporation badges--when the band for a commencement struck up the
heart-stirring hymn 'God save the Queen,'--when the horsemen, and
carriages, and gigs, and carts assembled--when the baronet's own
barouche and four, dashing up to the door, had come from Hurstley Hall
for _him_--when Sir John, the happiest of the happy, alighting with his
two friends, had displaced them for Roger and Grace, while the kind
gentlemen took horse, and headed the procession--when Ben Burke (as
clean as soap could get him, and bedecked in new attire) was ordered to
sit beside Jonathan in the rumble-tumble--when the cheering, and the
merry-going bells, and the quick-march 'British Grenadiers,' rapidly
succeeding the national anthem--when all these tokens of a generous
sympathy smote upon his ears, his eyes, his heart, Roger Acton wept
aloud--he wept for very pride and joy: proud and glad was he that day of
his country, of his countrymen, of his generous landlord, of his gentle
Grace, of his vindicated innocence, and of God, "who had done so great
things for him."

So, the happy cavalcade moved on, horse and foot, and carts and
carriages, through the noisy town, along the thronged high road, down
the quiet lanes that lead to Hurstley; welcomed at every cottage-door
with boisterous huzzas, and adding to its ranks at every corner. And so
they reached the village, where the band struck up,

"See the conquering hero comes,
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!"

Is not this returning like a nabob, Roger? Hath not God blest thee
through the crock of gold at last, in spite of sin?

There, at the entrance by the mile-stone, stood Mary and the babes, with
a knot of friends around her, bright with happiness; on the top of it
was perched son Tom, waving the blue and silver flag of Hurstley, and
acting as fugleman to a crowd of uproarious cheerers; and beside it, on
the bank, sat Sarah Stack, overcome with joy, and sobbing like a
gladsome Niobe.

And the village bells went merrily; every cottage was gay with spring
garlands, and each familiar face lit up with looks of kindness; Hark!
hark!--"Welcome, honest Roger, welcome home again!" they shout: and the
patereroes on the lawn thunder a salute; "welcome, honest
neighbour;"--and up went, at bri