The hour has struck at last—­and the man is not wanting.  The French Revolution found Napoleon ready, and our own Civil War General Ulysses Grant.  Of that ever memorable session but three days remained, and those who had been prepared to rise in the good cause had long since despaired.  The Pingsquit bill, and all other bills that spelled liberty, were still prisoners in the hands of grim jailers, and Thomas Gaylord, the elder, had worn several holes in the carpet of his private room in the Pelican, and could often be descried from Main Street running up and down between the windows like a caged lion, while young Tom had been spied standing, with his hands in his pockets, smiling on the world.

Young Tom had his own way of doing things, though he little dreamed of the help Heaven was to send him in this matter.  There was, in the lower House, a young man by the name of Harper, a lawyer from Brighton, who was sufficiently eccentric not to carry a pass.  The light of fame, as the sunset gilds a weathercock on a steeple, sometimes touches such men for an instant and makes them immortal.  The name of Mr. Harper is remembered, because it is linked with a greater one.  But Mr. Harper was the first man over the wall.

History chooses odd moments for her entrances.  It was at the end of one of those busy afternoon sessions, with a full house, when Messrs. Bascom, Botcher, and Ridout had done enough of blocking and hacking and hewing to satisfy those doughty defenders of the bridge, that a slight, unprepossessing-looking young man with spectacles arose to make a motion.  The Honourable Jacob Botcher, with his books and papers under his arm, was already picking his way up the aisle, nodding genially to such of the faithful as he saw; Mr. Bascom was at the Speaker’s desk, and Mr. Ridout receiving a messenger from the Honourable Hilary at the door.  The Speaker, not without some difficulty, recognized Mr. Harper amidst what seemed the beginning of an exodus—­and Mr. Harper read his motion.

Men halted in the aisles, and nudged other men to make them stop talking.  Mr. Harper’s voice was not loud, and it shook a trifle with excitement, but those who heard passed on the news so swiftly to those who had not that the House was sitting (or standing) in amazed silence by the time the motion reached the Speaker, who had actually risen to receive it.  Mr. Doby regarded it for a few seconds and raised his eyes mournfully to Mr. Harper himself, as much as to say that he would give the young man a chance to take it back if he could—­if the words had not been spoken which would bring the offender to the block in the bloom and enthusiasm of youth.  Misguided Mr. Harper had committed unutterable treason to the Empire!

“The gentleman from Brighton, Mr. Harper,” said the Speaker, sadly, “offers the following resolution, and moves its adoption:  ’Resolved, that the Committee on Incorporations be instructed to report House bill number 302, entitled “An act to incorporate the Pingsquit Railroad,” by eleven-thirty o’clock to-morrow morning’—­the gentleman from Putnam, Mr. Bascom.”