sbands' prizes; the band
of the militia playing outside; Brandon's delightful voice--how she
wished that Joseph's was like it!--all affected her imagination;
together with the strong scent of flowers and strawberries and trodden
grass, and the mellow light let down over them through the tent, and the
moving flutter of dresses and ribbons as the various ladies passed and
repassed, almost all being adorned with little pink and blue flowers,
if only so much as a rose-bud or a forget-me-not--for a general election
was near, and they were "showing their colours" (a custom once almost
universal, and which was still kept up in that old-fashioned place).

Wigfield was a droll little town, and in all its ways was intensely
English. There was hardly a woman in it or round it who really and
intelligently concerned herself about politics; but they were all
"blues" or "pinks," and you might hear them talk for a week together
without finding out which was the Liberal and which was the Conservative
colour; but the "pinks" all went to the pink shops, and the "blues"
would have thought it WRONG not to give their custom to those tradesmen
who voted "blue."

You might send to London for anything you thought you wanted; but the
Marchioness herself, the only great lady in the neighbourhood, knew
better than to order anything in Wigfield from a shop of the wrong
colour.

The "pinks" that day were happy. "Markiss," in the person of his
gardener, had three prizes; "Old Money-Bags" (Mr. Augustus Mortimer's
name at election time) had two prizes, in the person of his son's
gardener; in fact, the "pinks" triumphed almost at the rate of two to
one, and yet, to their immortal honour, let it be recorded that the
"blues" said it was all fair.

John Mortimer shortly went to fetch his father, and returned with him
and all his own younger children. Mr. Mortimer had long been allowed to
give three supplementary prizes, on his own account, to some of the
exhibitors who were cottagers, and on this occasion his eyes, having
been duly directed by his son, were observed to rest with great
admiration on the big lettuces. Raby's wife could hardly believe it when
she saw the bright sovereign laid on the broad top of one of them; while
Mr. Swan, as one of the heroes of the day, and with Mrs. Swan leaning on
his arm, looked on approvingly, the latter wearing a black silk gown
and a shawl covered with fir-cones. She was a stout woman, and had been
very pretty--