utterance was stayed until the last rites were over.  Then it transpired that there were four candidates in the field; a Congressman, an ex-Governor, a silver-tongued orator named Stringer, who was a member of the upper branch of the State Legislature and who claimed to be a true defender of popular rights, and Hon. James O. Lyons.  Newspaper comment concerning the candidacy of these aspirants early promulgated the doctrine that Governor Lyons was entitled to the place if he desired it.  More than one party organ claimed that his brilliant services had given him a reputation beyond the limit of mere political prestige, and that he had become a veritable favorite son of the State.  By the end of a fortnight the ex-Governor had withdrawn in favor of Lyons; while the following of the Congressman was recognized to be inconsiderable, and that he was holding out in order to obtain terms.  Only the silver-tongued orator, Stringer, remained.  On him the opposition within the party had decided to unite their forces.  To all appearances they were in a decided minority.  There was no hope that the Republican members of the Legislature would join them, for it seemed scarcely good politics to rally to the support of a citizen whose statesmanship had not been tested in preference to the Governor of the State.  It was conceded by all but the immediate followers of Stringer that Lyons would receive the majority vote of either house, and be triumphantly elected on the first joint ballot.

And yet the opposition to the Governor, though numerically small, was genuine.  Stringer was, as he described himself, a man of the plain people.  That is he was a lawyer with a denunciating voice, a keen mind, and a comprehensive grasp on language, who was still an attorney for plaintiffs, and whose ability had not yet been recognized by corporations or conservative souls.  He was where Lyons had been ten years before, but he had neither the urbanity, conciliatory tendencies, nor dignified, solid physical properties of the Governor.  He was pleased to refer to himself as a tribune of the people, and his thin, nervous figure, clad in a long frock-coat, with a yawning collar and black whisp tie, his fiery utterance and relentless zeal, bore out the character.  He looked hungry, and his words suggested that he was in earnest, carrying conviction to some of his colleagues in the Legislature.  The election at which Lyons had been chosen chief magistrate had brought into this State government a sprinkling of socialistic spirits, as they were called, who applauded vigorously the thinly veiled allusions which Stringer made in debate to the lukewarm democracy of some of the party leaders.  When he spoke with stern contempt of those who played fast and loose with sacred principles—­who were staunch friends of the humblest citizens on the public platform, and behind their backs grew slyly rich on the revenues of wealthy corporations, everyone knew that he was baiting the Governor.  These diatribes were stigmatized