By this time people have got sick of electioneering. It is a great privilege to be an English elector—to feel that the eyes of the world are on you, and that, at any rate, your country expects you to do your duty. But to the candidate an election contest is, at any rate, fraught with instruction. Human nature is undoubtedly a curious combination, and a man who goes in for an election undoubtedly sees a good deal of human nature. I was put up for a Parliamentary borough—I who shudder at the sound of my own voice, and who have come to regard speechmakers with as much aversion as I should the gentleman in black. A borough was for the first time to send a member to Parliament. It had been hawked all over London in vain, and as a _dernier ressort_ the Liberal Association of the borough—a self-elected clique of well-meaning nobodies—had determined to run a highly respectable and well-connected gentleman whose name and merits were alike unknown. Under such circumstances I consented to fight the battle for freedom and independence, as I hold that our best men should be sent to Parliament irrespective of property—that candidates should not be forced on electors, and that unless our Liberal Associations are really representative they may be worked in a way injurious to the country and destructive of its freedom. At my first meeting, like another Cæsar, I came, I saw, I conquered. The chiefs of the Liberal Association had assembled to put me down. I was not put down, and, amidst resounding cheers, I was declared the adopted candidate. The room was crowded with friends. I never shook so many dirty hands in my life. A second meeting, equally successful, confirmed the first, and I at once plunged into the strife. I am not here to write the history of an election, but to tell of my personal experiences, which were certainly amusing. The first result of my candidature led to a visit from an impecunious Scot at my suburban residence, who had read my programme with infinite delight. He came to assure me of his best wishes for my success. He was, unfortunately, not an elector, but he was a Scotchman, as he was sure I was, and sadly in want of a loan, which he was certain, from my Liberal sentiments, I would be the last to refuse to a brother Scot. I had hardly got rid of him before I was called upon by an agent of one of our great Radical societies—a society with which I had something to do in its younger days before it had become great and powerful, but which, like most people when they got up in the world, forgot its humble friends. Ah, thought I, the society is going to give me a little aid to show its appreciation of my ancient service, and I felt pleased accordingly. Not a bit of it. Mr. P. was the collector of the society, and he came to see what he could get out of me, assuring me that almost all the Liberal candidates had responded to his appeal. “Do you think I am going to buy the sanction of your society by a paltry fiver?” was my reply; and the agent went away faster than he came. My next visitor was a pleasant, plausible representative of some workmen’s league, to assure me of his support, and then, with abundance of promise, he went his way, leaving me to look for a performance of which I saw no sign. Then came the ladies. Would I give them an interview? Some of them wanted to set me right on Temperance questions; others on topics on which no right-minded woman should care to speak, and on which few would speak were it not for the morbid, sensational, hysterical feeling which often overcomes women who have no families of their own to look after, no household duties to discharge, no home to adorn and purify. As I had no town house, and did not care to invite the ladies to the smoking-room of my club, I in every such case felt bound to deny myself the pleasure of an interview. But my correspondents came from every quarter of the land. Some offered me their services; others favoured me with their views on things in general. It was seldom I took the trouble to reply to them. One gentleman, I fear, will never forgive me. He was an orator; he sent me testimonials on the subject from such leading organs of public opinion as _The Eatanswill Gazette_ or _The Little Pedlington Observer_, of the most wonderful character. Evidently as an orator he was above all Greek, above all Roman fame, and he was quite willing to come and speak at my meetings, which was very kind, as he assured me that no candidate for whom he had spoken was ever defeated at the poll. I ought to have retained his services, I ought to have sent him a cheque, or my thanks. Doubtless he would have esteemed them, especially the latter. Alas! I did nothing of the kind.