“Were the whole realm of nature mine,
    That were an offering far too small,”

was rubbing his finger along the rim of a threepenny bit to make sure it was not a fourpenny!

On election days all mankind goes mad.  Their excitement is so great that they would scarcely know it did they forego their dinner.  And this, with men, proves an absorbing interest in the matter.  Anything placed above dinner, in their opinion, must be important indeed.

There is such a polite element abroad on polling day.  Men are so respectful and hurl such affectionate terms at one another.  Even the dogs are upset, and strut about in quite a different manner than on ordinary days, so puffed out with vanity are they, on account of their decorations.  The members’ wives and their friends are all taking part in the scene too, bringing voters along in their carriages, and shaking hands with everybody indiscriminately.  I heard an old navvy protesting once that “Lady ——­ never troubled to shake ’ands with him any other time, but was generally that ’orty she’d step over you as soon as look at you.”

Poor old men are dragged out nolens volens to add their mite to the public voice, and are sometimes so aged that they scarcely know what their opinions are.  I hope I shall not live to be very old.  It is a terrible thing when you make such a prolonged stay on this earth that you have to be helped off it.

It is very curious too, how exceedingly disobliging old people are.  I know a family who have never worn anything brighter than grey for years.  “In case we have to go into mourning soon—­our poor old aunt, you know.  It’s so very sad!” and they squeeze a tear out from somewhere, but whether on account of their relative’s illness, or her prolonged life, is open to opinion.  The old lady is flourishing still, and the family is as soberly clothed as ever.  When she has been dead a few months what rainbows they will become, to make up for lost time!

“A disappointing man,” I have heard a dutiful nephew term his uncle.  True, he (the uncle, I mean) is ninety-four, and therefore old enough to know better than to rally so many times.  But after all, he does nothing, runs into no danger, is tended as carefully as a new-born baby; I should not at all wonder if he still continued “disappointing” and took a new lease of life for seven years.  But I am digressing, and must return to politics.

I went to a Primrose meeting once and the experience was not so happy as to make me wish to try it again.

It amused me, certainly.  The conclusion I eventually arrived at, when I left, was that the chief element in the Primrose League was gratitude!  This virtue seemed to be the point round which all the speakers rallied.