Tom, Dick and Harry may, if they wish, declare themselves candidates for the Presidency of France. Last week, on the eve of election day, a perennial named Lop popped up with an infallible secret formula for peace, which he refused to reveal unless elected. A druggist from the small fishing port of Honfleur arrived at Versailles covered with medals, brandishing a pistol, demanding admittance to the Palace to make a speech on his qualifications. A third was an old-timer with sweeping grey mustaches, fiery eyes and the extraordinary name of Monsieur Cochon....
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