On the next day, after breakfast, it was found to be raining heavily.  Canvassing was of course the business of the hour, and canvassing is a business which cannot be done indoors.  It was soon decided that the rain should go for nothing.  Could an agreement have been come to with the Carbottles it might have been decided that both parties should abstain, but as that was impossible the Tregear party could not afford to lose the day.  As Mr Carbottle, by reason of his fatness and natural slowness, would perhaps be specially averse to walking about in the slush and mud, it might be that they would gain something; so after breakfast they started with umbrellas,—­Tregear, Silverbridge, Mr Newcomb the curate, Mr Pinebott the conservative attorney, with four or five followers who were armed with books and pencils, and who ticked off on the list of the voters the names of the friendly, the doubtful, and the inimical.

Parliamentary canvassing is not a pleasant occupation.  Perhaps nothing more disagreeable, more squalid, more revolting to the senses, more opposed to personal dignity, can be conceived.  The same words have to be repeated over and over again in the cottages, hovels, and lodgings of poor men and women who only understand that the time has come round in which they are to be flattered instead of being the flatterers.  ’I think I am right in supposing that your husband’s principles are conservative, Mrs Bubbs.’  ’I don’t know nothing about it.  You’d better call again and see Bubbs hissel.’  ’Certainly I will do so.  I shouldn’t at all like to leave the borough without seeing Mr Bubbs.  I hope we shall have your influence, Mrs Bubbs.’  ’I don’t known nothing about it.  My folk at home allays vote buff; and I think Bubbs ought to go buff too.  Only mind this, Bubbs don’t never come home to his dinner.  You must come arter six, and I hope he’s to have some’at for his trouble.  He won’t have my word to vote unless he have some’at.’  Such is the conversation in which the candidate takes a part, while his cortege at the door is criticising his very imperfect mode of securing Mrs Bubb’s good wishes.  Then he goes on to the next house, and the same thing with some variation is endured again.  Some guide, some philosopher, and friend, who accompanies him, and who is the chief of the cortege, has calculated on his behalf that he ought to make twenty such visitations an hour, and to call on two hundred constituents in the course of the day.  As he is always falling behind in his number, he is always being driven on by his philosopher, till he comes to hate the poor creatures to whom he is forced to address himself, with a most cordial hatred.