and died in: and Lebow
himself, though born in the town and a fisherman by calling, never able to
get his tongue round good plain English until the day he was drowned on
the whiting-grounds and left Kitty a widow-woman.

All this, as you'll see by-and-by, has to do in one way or another with
the Great Election, which took place in the year '68. (The way I'm so
glib with the date is that Kit Lebow was so proud of her doings on that
day, she had a silver cup made for a _momentum_ and used to measure out
her guineas in it: and her great-great-gran'daughter, Mary Ann Cocking,
has the cup to this day in her house in Nanjivvey Street, where I've seen
it a score of times and spelled out the writing, "C. L."--for Christian
Lebow--"1768"). And concerning this Election you must know that "the
Duke's interest," as they called it--that's to say, the Whigs--had ruled
the roost in Ardevora for more than fifty years; mainly through the Duke's
agent, old Squire Martin of Tregoose, that collected the rents, held
pretty well all the public offices inside his ten fingers, and would save
up a grudge for time-out-of-mind against any man that crossed him.
Two members we returned in those days, and in grown men's memories scarce
a Tory among them.

There was grumbling, you may be sure: but the old gang held their way, and
thought to carry this Election as easy as the others, until word came down
that one of the Tory candidates would be Dr. Macann, the famous Bath
physician; and this was a facer.

What made this Dr. Macann such a tearing hot candidate was his having been
born at Trudgian, a mile out of town here to the west'ard. The Macanns
had farmed Trudgian, for maybe a hundred years, having come over from
Ireland to start with: a poor, hand-to-mouth lot, respected for nothing
but their haveage,[2] which was understood to be something out of the
common. But this Samuel, as he was called, turned out a bright boy with
his books, and won his way somehow to Cambridge College; and from College,
after doing famously, he took his foot in his hand and went up to walk the
London hospitals; and so bloomed out into a great doctor, with a
gold-headed cane and a wonderful gift with the women--a personable man,
too, with a neat leg, a high colour, and a voice like a church-organ.
The best of the fellow was he helped his parents and never seemed ashamed
of 'em. And for this, and because he'd done credit to the town, the folks
couldn't make too mu