"These
are citizens who in a manner float about like atoms in the bright
atmosphere of the times without being incorporated in any brilliant
body of progress. The main object of the leaders this evening is to
secure these so-called 'wild men' in favor of their ticket for the city
council. Glib-tongued agents will be employed to spread their nets to
catch the floating atoms--to tame these savages by means of smart
witticisms. When, at length, a prize is captured and the tide of
favorable votes runs high, it is towed into the safe haven of agreement
with the majority. Resistance would turn out a serious matter for a
mechanic, trader, shopkeeper, or any man whose position condemns him to
obtain his livelihood from others. Opposition to progress dooms every
man that is in a dependent condition to certain ruin. For these reasons
I have no misgivings about being able to convince you that elections
are a folly wherever the banner of progress waves triumphant."

"The conviction with which you threaten me would be anything but
gratifying, for I abhor every form of terrorism," rejoined Seraphin.

"Very well, my good fellow! But we must accustom ourselves to take
things as they are and not as they ought to be. Therefore, my youthful
Telemachus, you are under everlasting obligations to me, your
experienced Mentor, for procuring you an opportunity of becoming
acquainted with the world, and constraining you to think less well of
men than your generous heart would incline you to do."

They had reached the outskirts of the city. A distant roaring,
resembling the sound of shallow waters falling, struck upon the ears of
the maskers. The noise grew more distinct as they advanced, and finally
swelled into the brawling and hum of many voices. Passing through a
wide gate-way, the millionaires entered a square ornamented with
maple-trees. Under the trees, stretching away into the distance, were
long rows of tables lit up by gaslights, and densely crowded with men
drinking beer and talking noisily. The middle of the square was
occupied by a rotunda elevated on columns, with a zinc roof, and
bestuck in the barbarous taste of the age with a profusion of tin
figures and plaster-of-paris ornaments. Beneath the rotunda, around a
circular table, sat the leaders and chieftains of progress, conspicuous
to all, and with a flood of light from numerous large gas-burners
streaming upon them. Between Sand and Schwefel was throned Hans Shund,
extravagan