The petition was presented and duly backed; the recognisances were signed, and all the proper formalities formally executed; and Sir Roger found that his seat was in jeopardy.  His return had been a great triumph to him; and, unfortunately, he had celebrated that triumph as he had been in the habit of celebrating most of the very triumphant occasions of his life.  Though he was than hardly yet recovered from the effects of his last attack, he indulged in another violent drinking bout; and, strange to say, did so without any immediate visible bad effects.

In February he took his seat amidst the warm congratulations of all men of his own class, and early in the month of April his case came on for trial.  Every kind of electioneering sin known to the electioneering world was brought to his charge; he was accused of falseness, dishonesty, and bribery of every sort:  he had, it was said in the paper of indictment, bought votes, obtained them by treating, carried them off by violence, conquered them by strong drink, polled them twice over, counted those of dead men, stolen them, forged them, and created them by every possible, fictitious contrivance:  there was no description of wickedness appertaining to the task of procuring votes of which Sir Roger had not been guilty, either by himself or by his agents.  He was quite horror-struck at the list of his own enormities.  But he was somewhat comforted when Mr Closerstil told him that the meaning of it all was that Mr Romer, the barrister, had paid a former bill due to Mr Reddypalm, the publican.

’I fear he was indiscreet, Sir Roger; I really fear he was.  Those young mean always are.  Being energetic, they work like horses; but what’s the use of energy without discretion, Sir Roger?’

‘But, Mr Closerstil, I knew nothing of it from first to last.’

‘The agency can be proved, Sir Roger,’ said Mr Closerstil, shaking his head.  And then there was nothing further to be said on the matter.

In these days of snow-white purity all political delinquency is abominable in the eyes of British politicians; but no delinquency is so abominable than the venality at elections.  The sin of bribery is damnable.  It is the one sin for which, in the House of Commons, there can be no forgiveness.  When discovered, it should render the culprit liable to political death, without hope of pardon.  It is treason against a higher throne than that on which the Queen sits.  It is a heresy which requires an auto-da-fe.  It is a pollution to the whole House, which can only be cleansed by a great sacrifice.  Anathema maranatha! out with it from amongst us, even though half of our heart’s blood be poured from the conflict!  Out with it, and for ever!

Such is the language of patriotic members with regard to bribery; and doubtless, if sincere, they are in the right.  It is a bad thing, certainly, that a rich man should buy votes; bad also that a poor man should sell them.  By all means let us repudiate such a system with heartfelt disgust.