To the progress of science and the rapid march of moral improvement the most effectual spur that has ever been applied was the Reform Bill.  Before the introduction of that measure, electioneering was a simple process, hardly deserving the name of an art; it has now arrived at the rank of a science, the great beauty of which is, that, although complicated in practice, it is most easy of acquirement.  Under the old system boroughs were bought by wholesale, scot and lot; now the traffic is done by retail.  Formerly there was but one seller; at present there must be some thousands at least—­all to be bargained with, all to be bought.  Thus the “agency” business of electioneering has wonderfully increased, and so have the expenses.

In fact, an agent is to an election what the main-spring is to a watch; he is, in point of fact, the real returning-officer.  His importance is not less than the talents and tact he is obliged to exert.  He must take a variety of shapes, must tell a variety of lies, and perform the part of an animated contradiction.  He must benevolently pay the taxes of one man who can’t vote while in arrear; and cruelly serve notices of ejectment upon another, though he can show his last quarter’s receipt—­he must attend temperance meetings, and make opposition electors too drunk to vote.  He must shake hands with his greatest enemy, and palm off upon him lasting proofs of friendship, and silver-paper hints which way to vote.  He must make flaming speeches about principle, puns about “interest,” and promises concerning everything, to everybody.  He must never give less than five pounds for being shorn by an honest and independent voter, who never shaves for less than two-pence—­nor under ten, for a four-and-ninepenny goss to an uncompromising hatter.  He must present ear-rings to wives, bracelets to daughters, and be continually broaching a hogshead for fathers, husbands, and brothers.  He must get up fancy balls, and give away fancy dresses to ladies whom he fancies—­especially if they fancy his candidate, and their husbands fancy them.  He must plan charities, organise mobs, causing free-schools to be knocked up, and opponents to be knocked down.  Finally, he must do all these acts, and spend all these sums purely for the good of his country; for, although a select committee of the house tries the validity of the election—­though they prove bribery, intimidation, and treating to everybody’s satisfaction, yet they always find out that the candidate has had nothing to do with it—­that the agent is not his agent, but has acted solely on patriotic grounds; by which he is often so completely a martyr, that he is, after all, actually prosecuted for bribery, by order of the very house which he has helped to fill, and by the very man (as a part of the parliament) he has himself returned.

That this great character might not be lost to posterity, we furnish our readers with the portrait of

[Illustration:  AN ELECTION AGENT.]