’LECTION DAY , '92. 
229 
Inside the room the wearisome clicking of a 
telegraph operator’s machine charmed a circle 
of eager men and women* As sheet after sheet 
was written by the operator, they passed from 
hand to hand. Some of those present read 
them nervously, others, really intensely con¬ 
cerned, seemed almost indifferent. Now and 
then hearty applause greeted a dispatch, or 
deep regret was expressed at some friend’s de¬ 
feat; but as a rule the fragmentary news was 
received silently. Midnight passed, and then, 
as the morning hours wore on, we knew that 
the people had achieved one of the most remark¬ 
able transfers of political power ever accom¬ 
plished in the Union. Still, the result in Mas¬ 
sachusetts was in doubt, and even those who 
watched until dawn finally sought sleep without 
knowing how the smaller cities had settled the 
great governorship contest. 
Before sleep came to me, a panorama of the 
day swept in feverish review across my closed 
eyelids. I saw the surging mob in Washington 
Street, the group around the telegraph machine, 
the motley crowd in the Tamworth town-hall, 
the baby beauty of the Ossipee plains, and then, 
like a benediction, came a vision of Chocorua, 
snow-capped and immutable in a pale blue sky, 
with the rosy light of the clear November morn* 
ing flooding its wondrous peak. 
