‘He won’t give any of us a chance,’ said the Honourable George.  ’If he goes on in that way she’ll be Mrs Gresham before a month is over.  But, Frank, what will she say of your manner of looking for Barchester votes?’

‘Mr Gresham is certainly an excellent hand at canvassing,’ said Mr Nearthewinde; ‘only a little too open in his manner of proceeding.’

‘I got that chorister for you at any rate,’ said Frank.  ’And you would never have had him without me.’

’I don’t think half so much of the chorister’s vote as that of Miss Dunstable,’ said the Honourable George:  ’that’s the interest that is really worth looking after.’

‘But, surely,’ said Mr Moffat, ’Miss Dunstable has not property in Barchester?’ Poor man! his heart was so intent on his election that he had no a moment to devote to the claims of love.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ELECTION

And now the important day of the election had arrived, and some men’s hearts beat quickly enough.  To be or not to a member of the British Parliament is a question of very considerable moment in a man’s mind.  Much is often said of the great penalties which the ambitious pay for enjoying this honour; of the tremendous expenses of election; of the long, tedious hours of unpaid labour:  of the weary days passed in the House; but, nevertheless, the prize is one very well worth the price paid for it—­well worth any price that can be paid for it short of wading through dirt and dishonour.

No other great European nation has anything like it to offer to the ambition of its citizens; for in no other great country of Europe, not even in those which are free, has the popular constitution obtained, as with us, true sovereignty and power of rule.  Here it is so; and when a man lays himself out to be a member of Parliament, he plays the highest game and for the highest stakes which the country affords.

To some men, born silver-spooned, a seat in Parliament comes as a matter of course.  From the time of their early manhood they hardly know what it is not to sit there; and the honour is hardly appreciated, being too much a matter of course.  As a rule, they never know how great a thing it is to be in Parliament; though, when reverse comes, as reverses occasionally will come, they fully feel how dreadful it is to be left out.

But to men aspiring to be members, or to those who having been once fortunate have again to fight the battle without assurance of success, the coming election must be matter of dread concern.  Of, how delightful to hear that the long-talked of rival has declined the contest, and that the course is clear! or to find by a short canvass that one’s majority is safe, and the pleasures of crowing over an unlucky, friendless foe quite secured!

No such gratification as this filled the bosom of Mr Moffat on the morning of the Barchester election.  To him had been brought no positive assurance of success by his indefatigable agent, Mr Nearthewinde.  It was admitted on all sides that the contest would be a very close one; and Mr Nearthewinde would not do more than assert that they ought to win unless things went wrong with them.