"Purity! Purity!" said the old man. "It makes me that sick that I wish there weren't such a thing as a member of Parliament. Purity and pickpockets is about the same. When I'm among 'em I buttons up my breeches-pockets."

"But what can we do?" asked Mr. Trigger again, in a voice of woe. Mr. Trigger quite sympathised with his elder friend; but, being a younger man, he knew that these innovations must be endured.

Then Mr. Pile made a speech, of such length that he had never been known to make the like before;—so that Mr. Trigger felt that things had become very serious, and that, not impossibly, Mr. Pile might be so affected by this election as never again to hold up his head in Percycross. "Purity! Purity!" he repeated. "They're a going on that way, Trigger, that the country soon won't be fit for a man to live in. And what's the meaning of it all? It's just this,—that folks wants what they wants without paying for it. I hate Purity, I do. I hate the very smell of it. It stinks. When I see the chaps as come here and talk of Purity, I know they mean that nothing ain't to be as it used to be. Nobody is to trust no one. There ain't to be nothing warm, nor friendly, nor comfortable any more. This Sir Thomas you've brought down is just as bad as that shoemaking chap;—worse if anything. I know what's a going on inside him. I can see it. If a man takes a glass of wine out of his bottle, he's a asking hisself if that ain't bribery and corruption! He's got a handle to his name, and money, I suppose, and comes down here without knowing a chick or a child. Why isn't a poor man, as can't hardly live, to have his three half-crowns or fifteen shillings, as things may go, for voting for a stranger such as him? I'll tell you what it is, Trigger, I've done with it. Things have come to that in the borough, that I'll meddle and make no more." Mr. Trigger, as he listened to this eloquence, could only sigh and shake his head. "I did think it would last my time," added Mr. Pile, almost weeping.

Moggs would steal out of the house in the early morning, look up at the big bright red letters, and rejoice in his very heart of hearts. He had not lived in vain, when his name had been joined, in the public view of men, with words so glorious. Purity and the Rights of Labour! "It contains just everything," said Moggs to himself as he sat down to his modest, lonely breakfast. After that, sitting with his hands clasped upon his brow, disdaining the use of pen and paper for such work, he composed his speech for the evening,—a speech framed with the purpose of proving to his hearers that Purity and the Rights of Labour combined would make them as angels upon the earth. As for himself, Moggs, he explained in his speech,—analysing the big board which adorned the house,—it mattered little whether they did or did not return him. But let them be always persistent in returning on every possible occasion Purity and the Rights of Labour, and then all other good things would follow to them. He enjoyed at any rate that supreme delight which a man feels when he thoroughly believes his own doctrine.

But the days were very long with him. When the evening came, when his friends were relieved from their toil, and could assemble here and there through the borough to hear him preach to them, he was happy enough. He had certainly achieved so much that they preferred him now to their own presidents and chairmen. There was an enthusiasm for Moggs among the labouring men of Percycross, and he was always happy while he was addressing them. But the hours in the morning were long, and sometimes melancholy. Though all the town was busy with these electioneering doings, there was nothing for him to do. His rivals canvassed, consulted, roamed through the town,—as he could see,—filching votes from him. But he, too noble for such work as that, sat there alone in the little upstairs parlour of the Cordwainers' Arms, thinking of his speech for the evening,—thinking, too, of Polly Neefit. And then, of a sudden, it occurred to him that it would be good to write a letter to Polly from Percycross. Surely the fact that he was waging this grand battle would have some effect upon her heart. So he wrote the following letter, which reached Polly about a week after her return home from Margate.

Cordwainers' Arms Inn, Percycross,
14 October, 186—.

My dear Polly,—

I hope you won't be angry with me for writing to you. I am here in the midst of the turmoil of a contested election, and I cannot refrain from writing to tell you about it. Out of a full heart they say the mouth speaks, and out of a very full heart I am speaking to you with my pen. The honourable prospect of having a seat in the British House of Parliament, which I regard as the highest dignity that a Briton can enjoy, is very much to me, and fills my mind, and my heart, and my soul; but it all is not so much to me as your love, if only I could win that seat. If I could sit there, in your heart, and be chosen by you, not for a short seven years, but for life, I should be prouder and happier of that honour than of any other. It ought not, perhaps, to be so, but it is. I have to speak here to the people very often; but I never open my mouth without thinking that if I had you to hear me I could speak with more energy and spirit. If I could gain your love and the seat for this borough together, I should have done more then than emperor, or conqueror, or high priest ever accomplished.

I don't know whether you understand much about elections. When I first came here I was joined with a gentleman who was one of the old members;—but now I stand alone, because he does not comprehend or sympathise with the advanced doctrines which it is my mission to preach to the people. Purity and the Rights of Labour;—those are my watchwords. But there are many here who hate the very name of Purity, and who know nothing of the Rights of Labour. Labour, dear Polly, is the salt of the earth; and I hope that some day I may have the privilege of teaching you that it is so. For myself I do not see why ladies should not understand politics as well as men; and I think that they ought to vote. I hope you think that women ought to have the franchise.

We are to be nominated on Monday, and the election will take place on Tuesday. I shall be nominated and seconded by two electors who are working men. I would sooner have their support than that of the greatest magnate in the land. But your support would be better for me than anything else in the world. People here, as a rule, are very lukewarm about the ballot, and they seemed to know very little about strikes till I came among them. Without combination and mutual support the working people must be ground to powder. If I am sent to Parliament I shall feel it to be my duty to insist upon this doctrine in season and out of season,—whenever I can make my voice heard. But, oh Polly, if I could do it with you for my wife, my voice would be so much louder.

Pray give my best respects to your father and mother. I am afraid I have not your father's good wishes, but perhaps if he saw me filling the honourable position of member of Parliament for Percycross he might relent. If you would condescend to write me one word in reply I should be prouder of that than of anything. I suppose I shall be here till Wednesday morning. If you would say but one kind word to me, I think that it would help me on the great day.

I am, and ever shall be,
Your most affectionate admirer,

Ontario Moggs.

Out of a full heart they say the mouth
speaks,and out of a very full heart I
am speaking to you with my pen.
Click to [ENLARGE]

Polly received this on the Monday, the day of the nomination, and though she did answer it at once, Ontario did not get her reply till the contest was over, and that great day had done its best and its worst for him. But Polly's letter shall be given here. To a well-bred young lady, living in good society, the mixture of politics and love which had filled Ontario's epistle might perhaps have been unacceptable. But Polly thought that the letter was a good letter; and was proud of being so noticed by a young man who was standing for Parliament. She sympathised with his enthusiasm; and thought that she should like to be taught by him that Labour was the Salt of the Earth,—if only he were not so awkward and long, and if his hands were habitually a little cleaner. She could not, however, take upon herself to give him any hope in that direction, and therefore confined her answer to the Parliamentary prospects of the hour.

Dear Mr. Moggs,—[she wrote]—I was very much pleased when I heard that you were going to stand for a member of Parliament, and I wish with all my heart that you may be successful. I shall think it a very great honour indeed to know a member of Parliament, as I have known you for nearly all my life. I am sure you will do a great deal of good, and prevent the people from being wicked. As for ladies voting, I don't think I should like that myself, though if I had twenty votes I would give them to you,—because I have known you so long.

Father and mother send their respects, and hope you will be successful.

Yours truly,

Maryanne Neefit.

Alexandra Cottage, Monday.

When Moggs received this letter he was, not unnaturally, in a state of great agitation in reference to the contest through which he had just passed; but still he thought very much of it, and put it in his breast, where it would lie near his heart. Ah, if only one word of warmth had been allowed to escape from the writer, how happy could he have been. "Yes," he said scornfully,—"because she has known me all her life!" Nevertheless, the paper which her hand had pressed, and the letters which her fingers had formed, were placed close to his heart.