YOU are a fool, Letty; you don't know what it is to be married to a parliment-man: he can do such things, child! lord, he can do any thing.

I confess, father, some parliment-men of late have proved they can do any thing. But surely, you can never think my booby cousin will cut any figure in the House of Commons.

Why not, why not, you satyrical baggage?

He can't say boo! to a goose.

If he can nick the time to say aye, or no, he'll do more than a better orator.

And to compleat the ridicule, his mother canvasses for him. Sure the spirit of absurdity has de­scended upon our family, and determined we should be a public laughing-stock. She would have me with her yesterday; and such a tramp as we had! She took me through all the filthy alleys in town; then we were obliged to kiss the children in every house we went into, be they never so dirty, and keep a pocket full of halfpence to slip into her hands; a proof, dear father, of what a bribe can do, when we can purchase nothing but a rattle with it.

Why this was mere pastime to what I have gone through on my canvass. I went yesterday to so­licit the vote and interest of old Smoke Jack, the chimney-sweeper, and found his whole family seated at a banquet of ox-cheek and bacon. I was pressed to eat you may be sure; so down I sat between his two eldest boys, as he called them, so black! that they looked more like two organized bags of soot than hu­man beings. I sat clear for some time, 'till one of the lads reaching his brother the bread across me, black'd all the side of my coat, which, as ill-luck would have it, happened to be cream-coloured. His father, mad at his ill manners, got up to strike him; when the boy, in striving to escape, threw me and his brother down, and before I got up I was black enough to pass for one of the family.

And wasn't this sufficient to give you a sur­feit of canvassing?

What, getting a dirty coat? no, no, I never mind dirt in serving my country.

Ah, sir, how happy were we before you took this notion in your head! I then had hopes my dear Belfield would be mine.

Why he takes pains to provoke me; he has set up in opposition to George; has open'd a house, writes ballads, gets drunk, and is rising every day into consequence.

O, heavens! if he should be return'd, per­haps then, sir, you would relent.

Zounds, don't make me mad! he shan't be returned: George shall carry you and his election together.

He may be returned for the borough of Bribewell, but Belfield has an interest in my heart, which no venal candidate can rob him of.

Grumble as much as you please, ma'am, but I am determined your marriage articles, and the writs for the new parliment, shall be returnable toge­ther. I fancy there are sew who can say as much for themselves as Joe Parmazan. I was bred a cheese­monger, 'tis true, but what of that? when I have a son in the house, his cloquence will pare off the rind of my obscurity. I hope, like his father, be'll have all the blue mold of patriotism about him. Let me see, how stand my morning expences, (Pulls the dif­ferent articles out of his pocket as be names them) I have above three hundred pounds worth of goods in my pockets, that at a just appraisement would not be va­lued at twenty shillings; but election wares are ticklish articles, and whilst the fair lasts, keen chapmen will [Page 4]have their prices. Here's a piece of gingerbread that cost me five guineas, that I could have bought for a penny at any baker's in London, but no price is thought too high for real parliment cakes. A child's trumpet too! a pretty play-thing this for a man of my age! It cost me two guineas, and I must wait 'till my grandson is born to blow me a tune upon it. Here's fifty pounds slap in a case of razors. These razors may shave keen, but I think they never will cut so close as the fellow who sold them. Here's a toothpick-case, cost me twenty pounds. If a man was to pay every day in the same proportion for his dinner, he might soon shut up his mouth, and give his teeth a holiday! But oh, monstrous! in this paper I have a hundred hob-nails, for which I paid a hun­dred pounds down upon the nail; I was nail'd hard in that bargain. Here is some Scotch snuff, and some court sticking-plaister, which cost me very dear; but I don't mind that, as they are articles which will be of great use to the Member when he gets into the house.

Mr. Canvass, fir.

Shew him in.

My deat Canvass, how do you go on?

Swimmingly, swimmingly, sir. I have secured all Corruption-row, Bribewell-alley, and Guz­zledown-street, to a single elector.

Was my sister with you?

Ay, but she did me more harm than good: she's too old to have any interest with the men, and the elector's wives like to be kissed by the canvasser.

Ecod, so they do, and if possible I should have undertaken the whole canvass myself; but as I am rather too old now for so much business, my dear boy, don't spare yourself.

There's Full Bottom, the barber, what have you done with him? I understand that he can com­mand two votes besides his own.

Lord! he's one of us. 'Twas I set him up; he's only a housekeeper three days. He lived in a dark hole he called a shop, at the sign of Gentlemen shaved for a penny, upon a paper lanthorn. The other two votes are his journeymen, fellows who have been all their lives garret-housekeepers; but I have given security for a quarter's rent to qualify them.

Mr. Goose, the taylor, sir, has just rode up to the door, and desires to speak with you.

Bid him come in.

This is one of our sheet-anchors; he lives about seven miles off, and has great interest among the farmers and alehouses. Go you instantly to the Committee, and see that nothing is neglected.

I have bespoke five suits of clothes of this Goose, and yet the fellow has the impudence to talk of his con­science, and refusing a bribe.

Dear Mr. Goose, I have been just wish­ing for you. Come, sit down, sit down, and tell us the news.

I have rode hard, Mr. Parmazan, to serve you, and as I take no bribes, I hope my horse hire will be paid for.

You shall have the best gelding in my stable.

I can't take it; my conscience is buckram to a bribe.

But, my dear friend, consider that you gave me your vote and interest, before I made this offer. Why, if one friend cannot make another friend a pre­sent now and then, without incurring the censure of corruption, there's no friendship lest in the world.

Not a shred. Friendship's like broad-cloth, it wears well in all weathers. But I have had a sad journey of it.

I am sorry for that.

The fright, I believe, was the worst of it; for you must know, that this was the first time I ever mounted any thing but a shop-board.

You must want some refreshment—Here, get some wine.—Which do you choose, red or white?

I have no choice. Good cloth's never of a bad colour.

Then put that pint bottle of the choice Madeira on the table. That bottle, I assure you, is twelve years old.

Mercy on us! it's the littlest thing of its age I ever saw.

Come, George's health to the bottom of your glass.

I'll not leave a remnant behind me.

I made his first suit; who wou'd have thought I was taking measure of a Parliament Man?

Now let us proceed to business.—You must know, my worthy friend, I intend you for a leading man in my committee.

You don't say so?

There's something so consequential in your countenance, so manly in your manner, spite of your profession, that you must command great respect in a croud.

Odzookers, what must I say to them?

Huzza! as often as possible. Cry no bribery, no corruption, no hired mob; and if our party meetmuch opposition, cry, no Scotchmen, and it will do wonders.

Aye, damn the Scotch with all my heart; they are no friends to our trade; I hear as how one half of them wear no breeches.

Off to the committee then immediately, and be sure to cry loudly for liberty and property, and the constitution.

Friend Parmazan, the skirts of the consti­tution are grown too long. The lappells and buttons are increasing, and they ought to be cut short after a new fashion.

Now I shall instruct you in the duty you owe your constituents.

Why I thought I owed no duty but to father and mother.

There is a confusion, George, in your ideas, that makes me tremble for your success as a speaker in the House of Commons.

Sure they won't make me speaker of the House the first time I go in? I can speak to be sure, but I must be a little us'd to my company.

Has your oratorical preceptor been here yet?

My roar-otorical preceptor, you should call him, for he makes me bawl 'till I am hoarse again. What do you think, mother, he would hav me clap two pebbles in my mouth to make me talk clear. He told me De—De—De, something, a great Gre­cian parliament man, didn't speak a jot better than me, till he used these pebbles.

I have tried the pebbles myself, child, and I find they wonderfully assist me.

Mr. Mac Rhetorick.

I hope I have the honor to find your Lady­ship in parfect health. I staid beyond my oor, but I have so many young members from my ain country to instruct for the new Parliment, that I have scarce a minute on my hands.

Mr. Mac Rhetorick, I have one question to ask you, I never ask'd before. I hope no offence?

I attend your commands, Sir.

How the dickens can you come to teach me English, when you can't speak it yourself? It is for all the world as if a blind man should go to teach a young horse his paces.

George, George, I do not like this spirit of opposition.

He will ken better, Madam, when he is in the hoose. He will then find the value of a Caledo­nian preceptor.

Come, bustle, bustle, is our young Can­didate almost ready? Yonder go the mob, shouting most delightfully. Banners flying, girls giggling; every thing alive expecting the candidates on the hust­ings.

I am very glad, Mr. Parmazan, you are come to be a watness of our young orator's progress in the most noble and perswasive art of eloquence, but do not expect all the flower of a Ceecero from him.

Flower! damme, do you think I'd have him a mealy-mouthed speaker?

Brother, your ignorance shocks me.

They are falling out about me; but I'll be shot if I know why; for between my mother's high larning, and my master's broad Scotch, I may as well be amongst the wild Irish, for what knowledge I get.

My brother, Sir, does not expect from your tyro—

His what?

His tyro.

Where the devil did you get that word? it's not English.

It's originally Latin, and signifies a young student.

A young student! it's a better name for a young pointer.

But when am I to speak my speech? I shall forget it. I never can keep one above two hours in my head.

Pegin as soon as you please, Sir, —"Con­sidêre duces", Sir.

Yes, yes, I do consider the use of it.

He shall stand in my great chair, with the back facing us, and he shall have a pillow for a cushion to thump, if he's afraid of his knuckles.

What shall I do? I don't remember a word of what he wrote down for me.

Ecod, I have a mind to make a speech of my own; I am sure I can do it as well as my master.

Before, child, you ascend this humble rostrum—

Lord, mother, what signifies preaching Parson Palmer so often? I have hard words enough in my speech.

Let grace be your grand object.

How often, mother, have you called me graceless!

Do not forget your action, —action is the life and soul of oratory, for as Demosthenes—

That's the man that swallowed the peb­bles.

Zounds! let the boy speak, we don't want to hear you make speeches.

No more we don't, uncle, so here goes; but before I begin, I have carried my election, for I am chaired already.

Begin, Sir.—Gentlemen—

I think I had better say, neighbours, I'm sure it's more friendly. But if it must be so, —Gen­tlemen, tho' my mother's one of the company, I say, gentlemen, I am your own town's boy, born and bred amongst you.

What the deel is this? Why, man, this is not my language?

No, I'll be sworn, for it's English, bad as it is.

No delicate ear can bear this.

You're devilish squeamish all of a sudden, but hear me out—If you have a mind to make me a good parliament man, let me speak as I think, not as other people would have me.

That's spoken like a true-born English­man, George, and should be written in letters of gold, over the poll at every election.

You are sent for, Sir, by the committee.

Odso! I had like to have forgot myself; Mr. Mac Rhetorick, do you and my sister watch him, and drive it into his head, if possible, with hammer and mallet. I must go the committee im­mediately.

If he be not parfect in proper time, I'll staund beheend him, on the hustings, and prompt.

Zounds! that will never do. No Scotch prompter for the people of England.

How many votes, Mr. Goose, can you bring?

I can bring nine to-day, nine to-morrow, nine next day, and nine more, if wanted, before the poll closes.

What are they?

Taylors.

You know I am, by prosession, a wine merchant, but, by trade, a justice of peace; therefore, I think I may venture to promise you all my bad debts, and every poor housekeeper in my district.

Since I was a tallow-chandler, and my name Bonfire, I never knew such times; my interest is burnt out.

You, no doubt, have great interest, Doctor Mac Fracture?

Nothing like what I had, I scarce sell a dose of physic in a weck; never called up a-nights, except by the mob breaking my windows; no chance customers dropping in for a dose of salts, or to [Page 14]get rid of a tooth; and, as I am a Christian, I have not drawn a drop of blood this fortnight.

Mr. Bustle, how do you stand for votes?

Why, let me see—there's Will Cogdie, the keeper of the EO table in Black-ball Alley, and his interest; then there's the landlord of the Blue Bear, the Black Horse, the Green Man, and, my bosom friend, Love Frolic, that was put in possession of the round-house last night; all these I can pro­mise, to a certainty, as good reputable votes, besides two Irish cousins of my wife, that at any time are ready to be qualified.

There are several electors come to offer their interest.

Shew them in one by one.

Ay, shew them in, and I'll examine them.

Pray, friend, what's your name?

Bristle.

A very good name, truly—what trade are you?

A cobler.

A very good trade too, and suits Bristle to a hair Are you a housekeeper?

Yes.

Where do you live?

At the corner of Heeltap Alley.

A very genteel quarter of the town, near the market-place, I know it; do you let any part of your house to lodgers?

Yes, the roof, to chance customers.

Zounds! this fellow lives in a stall.

A stall! I say, sir, it's a very good dwel­ling-house. Do you eat and drink in it, friend Bristle?

Yes.

Do you sleep in it?

Yes.

And pay rent for it?

Yes.

Then you are a housekeeper, though you lived in a thimble. But, friend Bristle, your appear­ance wants mending very much.

No wonder, sir, for I carry my awl upon my back; and my credit's at an end every where.

Can we depend upon you; are you sound?

As a new pump.

Then, here, take this paper.

Mind, I give you nothing but paper; and let me see you at the hustings in about an hour.

Mind, that must be your own—we gave you only paper.

Yes, yes, it is my own; and my fingers are wax, it will stick to them.

Here comes a vote that seems to have no great interest with the taylor's company.

I'm come to give my vote and interest to master Highflight.

Why, are you a housekeeper?

Yes; but I was burnt out.

He was burnt out of Bridewell, gentle­men; but his vote's good; for there's a new house building for him.

Get about your business, friend, we can never venture such a shabby rascal on the hustings.

Softly, softly, Mr. Canvass, a coat may be soil'd, and still worth turning; this fellow will pass amongst the journeymen, if you'd disguise him in a clean shirt, and a new suit of clothes—what's your name, friend?

Jail Bird.

Well, Mr. Jail Bird, if you'll go wash your beak and your claws, I'll give you a new suit of feathers to your back.

Here comes a large pattern; half a dozen modern-sized housekeepers may be cut off him.

Is the candidate here, gentlemen?

I act for him, sir.

Then, sir, I have a vote for him.

May I beg to know your name and business, sir?

I am a coal-merchant, my name's Shrimp. I live at number sixteen, opposite the sign of the Black Boy in Collier's Buildings.

Why that house is pulled down, and the owner of it has been dead these ten years.

But it's a dead lift to our cause, if this gen­tleman will vote for him.

Ay, that I will.

Besides, see what a substantial appearance he has!

I have given my vote at six different pla­ces, and this is the first time it was disputed yet.

I beg your pardon, Mr. Shrimp, I don't en­tertain a doubt of the matter; but you know we can't be too circumspect.

I'd have got any thing if I'd have taken the other side, but you must know I don't like some folks principles.

Sir, I am much obliged to you for the pre­ference you have given us, and hope to see you at the hustings. In the mean time, here is a paper, which I beg you would read at your leisure.

Tho' I can neither read nor write,

I'll make a shift to understand it. So no bribery, no corruption for me.

Mr. Proteus, gentlemen, desires to be ad­mitted.

Shew him in.

I suppose, sir, you are an elector?

I have six votes at your service.

When can you bring them?

I can bring one every two hours.

I wish you could bring them in a body, as we want to cut some figure the first day upon the hustings.

That's impossible, sir, for I can't change my dress in less than an hour. I am first a house-painter, and the same coat, with the addition of a blue apron and a greasy night-cap, serves me for a butcher. I then give my vote as a plumber and glazier; next as a barber, next as a baker, and last of all in the character of Ned Proteus, an humble retainer to the law, igno­miniously distinguished by the name of a pettifogger.

Very well, Mr. Proteus; I wish you'd write down your six names for me, and the six different pla­ces of your abode, in the order you mean to give your votes, to preven any mistakes at the polling.

This way, this way, mother; here is the Committee.

Gentlemen, I am come to attend you in procession to the hustings; my son and I have been on our canvass, and I have the pleasure to inform you that our progress has been wonderful.

Uncle, suppose I make a motion to put my mother in the chair? I think she'd fill it better than any of the company.

What, you dog, would you expose your mo­ther?

Gentlemen of the Committee, I humbly move that my mother takes the chair.

Oh heavens! what has the rash boy proposed!

Her ladyship to the chair!

Zounds! sure she won't take it?

Well, Gentlemen, since you will have it so, I will be your temporary president.

Now, Mrs. President, you must give us a round of bumper toasts, and I'll forfeit you a glass of salt and water, if you leave a heeltap behind you.

I must decline, dear George, all man­ner of concern in regard to the etiquette of your liba­tions, but in a judicial capacity I will freely examine into the validity of your votes.

For the President of the Committee.

And don't you see the President, you great booby?

What, Madam Highflight!

Come, mother, read it out, for it's Committee business.

Zounds, this is Titledeed, my attorney! this is some great man he has prevailed upon to assist me with his interest, for he says that no man can do so much.

With your leave, brother, I take the gentleman recommended to be a brother attorney.

But, mother, you know he says he's worth his weight in gold; then who knows but it's some rich Jew that's come to lend us money?

Tell the gentleman to come in.

Now behave, George, to the gentleman, with the greatest politeness.

Ecod I know who it is! Did you take no­tice of the words, "certain persons upon certain oc­casions?" He docs not care to speak out; it's Lord Pollall: Titledeed promised to speak to him about his interest.

Lord Pollall! oh heavens! I must be [Page 21]ready to receive him.

Why, bro­ther, did not you advertise me of this?

Well now, for my part, I don't like Lords; I'm a cunning fox, and perceive they are not so lucky at elections.

Here comes his Lordship.

Who the devil is this?

A butcher!

Ay, this is the Marquis of Leadenhall­market.

What do ye all stare at, like so many stuck pigs? which of you is the President?

Now for it: here, sir, here she is.

What, that gentlewoman?

Yes, friend, I am the President, and beg you would remove our suspense by letting me know by what means you came by Lord Pollall's letter?

Lord Pollall who the devil is he? I ne­ver heard of his name before.

Perhaps you got it from his footman?

His footman! I got it from old Titledeed. I was just going to see some fine calves, when he hoisted me and seven more into a waggon at Temple-bar, and made me come here to visit you.

Very much obliged to you, for paying us a compliment in preference to the calves: may I crave your name?

My name is Marrowbone; so crack your jokes upon that, if you please.

What, my old friend, Marrowbone, of Clever-alley? I had almost forgot you; I have not seen you since you and I raised the last mob at Brentford.

Your interest must be very great, for Ti­tledeed says that you can raise any number.

So I can, at a whistle; I'll have a mob round the hustings, in five minutes, that will let no­body vote but whom they please; and burn the poll­books, if you think proper.

Upon my word, Mr. Marrowbone, though you may not be worth your weight in gold, you are worth your weight in brass, at any election.

I can darken any man's day-lights, at a blow, have every mob in the kingdom at my com­mand— but all in the way of trade, and for the good of old England; for I hate bribery, d'ye see me, and undue influence.

Now, Mr. Marrowbone, we are all come to a perfect understanding, sir; and if you will step to the kitchen, all my interest, boil'd, bak'd, and roasted, is at your service for your kindness.

Good bye, Goose.

Good bye, Marrowbone.

Upon the issue of this day depends the whole happiness of my life. I have spared neither expence nor attention to strengthen my interest, and have ev'ry reason to hope and expect success.

Suppose you should succeed, how do you propose conducting yourself?

If your cousin loses his election, I'm positive your father will never give you to him: therefore, in that case, he may listen to my suit again.

Oh, fortune and love, shine propitious to us! But, dear Belfield, be assured that, though you lose the object of your pursuit in one respect, no power of my father's shall ever force me to become another's.

My heart, my soul, my life are your's.

My father has sitted a little place for me and my acquaintance to see the election; there I'll watch my dear Belfield with an anxious heart, that shall send up prayers from Love's own altar, in silent sighs for success to you, Adieu! Fortune attend you!

Belfield for ever, huzza!

Ar'n't you a piece of our cloth?

No; I'll make affidavit you bribed me.

Pray, sir, may I crave the pleasure of knowing who you vote for?

Belfield.

All journeymen for the same master, I sind.

Make way, make way there for the Candi­date —make way.

I am not going to make my speech yet; I'm only come to speak to my friend Goose.

Huzza! no bribery, no corruption.

Pray, sir, may I crave the pleasure of know­ing your name?

Oven.

May I solicit, Mr. Oven, the upper-crust of your interest?

I'm engaged; Belfield for ever!

Belfield garters, Belfield garters!

O, I wish he was hung up in them.

Highflight pippins! Highflight pippins! choice pippins!

Ecod I have found a friend at last.

Do not croud so much about the hustings; there will be no room for the electors to come and give their votes.

This popular assembly is a glorious sight to a patriotic soul! Here we may behold old Rome again.

Damn old Rome, say I! what's old Rome to Old England?

Brother, brother, remember and vene­rate the race of heroes that sprung from that antique stock.

You are a very antique stock yourself, and you have not produced a justice of peace yet.

Remember Regulus, who nobly sacri­ficed himself for the people, and returned to Carthage; call to mind the Brutus who slew Tarquin, and freed his country; reflect on the conduct of Curtius, who voluntarily jumped into the fiery gulph to close it.

I wish to the Lord somebody would jump into your fiery gulph and close it. 'Sdeath, you'd make a man mad! Instead of jabbering so much about old Rome, and old fellows nobody cares twopence about but yourself, why don't you exert your interest among the electors, and try how many of these honest fellows you can get to give you plumpers.

Make way, make way, the Candidates are coming on the hustings.

Oh hone! this tune is my own country­man, and is wishing me joy of my election, before I am returned.

I have not a word of my speech yet by heart.

Silence. O yes, O yes, O yes, there are three candidates have offered themselves to represent this borough, of whom two only can be returned. I am, by order of the sheriff, to call over their names, and you are to signify your approbation or disapproba­tion as each candidate is named, by the holding up of your hands. God save the King.

Huzza!

Gentlemen electors, permit me for once to forget the little delicacies of my sex, and with the boldness of a Roman matron to address the plebeians, the tribunes, and the patricians of this assembly.

Zounds! she speaks as if she was addressing deputies from the Four Nations; the Squaws, the Catabaws, the Mohawks, and the Cherokees.

I am not come the herald of my son's panegyric; his deeds must speak for him; but if he's blessed with the parts of his father, his mother need not blush to own him.

Hear her! hear her!

Indulge me one word, generous ple­beians.

Ay, ay, go on, go on.

When Titus Vespasian sat down be­fore the walls of Jerusalem—

I wish to the Lord you were sat down before the walls of Jericho!

For shame, brother!

Well, go on, it will be the sooner over.

When Titus Vespasian sat down before the walls of Jerusalem, a Roman matron brought her son to him, a fine youth, as my George may be; I, like the venerable matron, married for the good of the state; so take the offspring of a patriotic Hymen into your service. The widow, like me, had but one branch to bestow; and would, for your sake, we had both been more fructiferous!

Huzza!

Dam'me, if ever I thought it was in her! she speaks as bold as if she had been put 'prentice to the town-cryer.

If this speech was two yards longer, I could have heard it.

Gentlemen, before I go any farther, I beg leave to take up the lady, but all in the way of good manners, for I know she can take me down again if she pleases. 'Tis true, I am by birth an Irishman, but I was bred and born in England, and I believe I am the first of my countrymen who ever met opposi­tion from a lady. I could say a great deal to her upon liberty, and the enjoyment of a free trade; but when­ever an Irishman talks upon the subject, he's struck dumb.

I am very glad to hear you are struck damb, for now I'll speak my speech.—Gentlemen—

Why I've not done yet.

I thought you said you was struck dumb.

Och! my dear, that was only with gra­titude, for what my country owes to the generosity of England.

Huzza! O'Shannon! O'Shannon!

By the honour of a man, I believe I have spoke my speech before I have ended it; or else my friends have forgot to listen to what I had further to say to them.

I am afraid this fellow will make a bull, and carry his election.

I shall say no more, gentlemen; but if I lose my election I shall decline the poll; and so great a respect have I for you all, that I'll act the part of a faithful representative, though I never am returned to a seat in parliament.

Now my boy, George, must come forward; how I tremble for him!

Now George, my boy, speak out boldly. Goose, stand behind him; I hope we shall bring him through with honour.

I am all of a twitter; O, uncle, O, mother, dear Mr. Goose, if I want a word help me out.

On boldly, my boy, and we'll support you.

Gentlemen, the very great honour of your representing me in parliament—

You are speaking contradictions.

I am speaking contradictions, gentlemen, but I hope my family will assist me.

What the devil has your family to do with the matter?

What the devil has my family to do with the matter?

George, George, have you forgot your speech?

Let me alone, my uncle's prompting me. I first imbib'd these patriotic sentiments from my fa­ther; and hope, like my uncle, to carry them to the grave with me.

Why, you dog, you're all abroad, you are in Nova Scotia, from the point.

I am now, gentlemen, going abroad, to Nova Scotia.

You had best travel, next, to Newfound­land.

I shall next, gentlemen, travel to New­foundland.

This looks as if our young candidate was determined to take possession of the cod and whale fisheries.

For I am determined to take possession of the cod and whale fisheries.

Promise to beat the Congress rebels.

And I'll take the whole Congress prisoners in the Tower—now, uncle—now—what is next?

O, dam'me, I have done with you.

And then, O, dam'me, I have done with you.

No Highflight, no Highflight!

Sit down, sit down, for shame!

I'll disinherit you, you dog, if you open your lips farther.

Go on, go on.

Go on! go on, indeed! you have made a fine kettle of fish of it amongst you; you have knock'd every word of that damn'd Scotchman's speech out of my head; and so, gentlemen, as I have no more to say, at present, I beg you would consider of it, and turn me out a member of par­liament.

Ay, ay; turn him out, turn him out; no Highflight, no Highflight! Belfield for ever!

We have lost the day—but I'll stay and hear what this Belfield has to say for himself.

What shall I do! I am asham'd to stay upon the hustings; and I am afraid of my mother if I leave them.

Silence, hear Mr. Belfield, hear Mr. Bel­field speak!

Gentlemen, I solicit your support, this day, to be returned one of your representatives; because I consider the confidence of the people to be the highest poslible honour an Englishman can boast. It is reposing the most sacred trust in him; from the moment he receives it, he becomes guarantee to the people for the safety of their dearest rights; and can­not neglect or betray them without criminality. If he acts the faithful servant, his wages will be pre­cious; for he will be paid with the love of his coun­try. [Page 33]Whatever my ability be, it shall be exerted in your service; no private views, of interest or ambi­tion, should influence the servant of the people; he should drop self, and all the meanness of its depen­dant passions; and feel, think, and act only for the good and prosperity of the commonweal. If chosen, by your free voices, I pledge myself to act upon this broad scale of honour and truth; and though my ta­lents may want splendor to dazzle in my country's cause, the integrity of my heart shall remain its in­corruptible champion.

Huzza! Belfield for ever! Belfield for ever!

Oh! if I could speak like that fellow!

It's all over, I see—he spoke like an angel.

Uncle, what shall I do now?

Decline the poll; for I'm sure you have no chance of being returned this bout.

Oh, disgraceful! he shall stand his ground, and if it's only to run them to expences, we'll have a scrutiny.

Mr. Cryer, my uncle says I must decline the poll, and so you may bawl out, if you please.

Silence! One Candidate having declined the poll, the sheriff has declared Richard Belfield, Esq and Roderic O'Shannon, Esq duly elected.

Huzza! huzza! huzza!

Oh, uncle, won't you forgive me, and I'll speak better next time.

Out of my sight; you dog, never come into my house.

Then I'm turned out of both houses, the parliment house and my uncle's house.

Mr. Belfield, I wish you joy of your election. Nay, believe me, I am sincere; your excellent talents have made a convert of me.

Sir, you overwhelm me with surprize and pleasure.

I'll dine with you to-day.

You'll be the chief guest, dear sir.

And you shall dine with me to-morrow, and by the union of your and Letitia's interest, have a son that deserves to sit in parliament.

What, then, is my son insulted, slighted, and cast off?

What, then, am I to be forsaken?

Come, my young Roman.

I am no young Roman—I am an old En­glishman —so come along, mother, for my friend Goose has got another borough cut out for me.

I wonder what the devil bewitched me as to suppose that great calf, my nephew, could ever cut a sigure as a public speaker. But, Belfield, give me your hand, which here I join with Letitia's, and [Page 35]thus make atonement for my folly—my crime I should rather say, for to attempt imposing on the peo­ple an incapable representative, is high treason against the constitution.