IN February of this year, 1852, Lord Palmerston, aided by anincongruous force of Peelites and Protectionists, turned LordJohn Russell out of office on his Militia Bill. Lord Derby,with Disraeli as Chancellor of the Exchequer and leader ofthe House of Commons, came into power on a cry forProtection.

　　Not long after my return to England, I was packed off tocanvas the borough of Cricklade. It was then a veryextensive borough, including a large agricultural district,as well as Swindon, the headquarters of the Great WesternRailway. For many years it had returned two Conservativemembers, Messrs. Nield and Goddard. It was looked upon as animpregnable Tory stronghold, and the fight was little betterthan a forlorn hope.

　　My headquarters were at Coleshill, Lord Radnor's. The oldlord had, in his Parliamentary days, been a Radical; hence,my advanced opinions found great favour in his eyes. Myprogramme was - Free Trade, Vote by Ballot, andDisestablishment. Two of these have become common-places(one perhaps effete), and the third is nearer toaccomplishment than it was then.

　　My first acquaintance with a constituency, amongst whom Iworked enthusiastically for six weeks, was comic enough. Myinstructions were to go to Swindon; there an agent, whom Ihad never seen, would join me. A meeting of my supportershad been arranged by him, and I was to make my maiden speechin the market-place.

　　My address, it should be stated - ultra-Radical, of course -was mainly concocted for me by Mr. Cayley, an almost rabidTory, and then member for the North Riding of Yorkshire, butan old Parliamentary hand; and, in consequence of myattachment to his son, at that time and until his death, likea father to me.

　　When the train stopped at Swindon, there was a crowd ofpassengers, but not a face that I knew; and it was not tillall but one or two had left, that a business-looking man cameup and asked if I were the candidate for Cricklade. He toldme that a carriage was in attendance to take us up to thetown; and that a procession, headed by a band, was ready toaccompany us thither. The procession was formed mainly ofthe Great Western boiler-makers and artisans. Theirenthusiasm seemed slightly disproportioned to the occasion;and the vigour of the brass, and especially of the big drum,so filled my head with visions of Mr. Pickwick and his friendthe Honourable Samuel Slumkey, that by the time I reached themarket-place, I had forgotten every syllable of the speechwhich I had carefully learnt by heart. Nor was it the bandalone that upset me; going up the hill the carriage was allbut capsized by the frightened horses and the breaking of thepole. The gallant boiler-makers, however, at once removedthe horses, and dragged the carriage with cheers of defianceinto the crowd awaiting us.

　　My agent had settled that I was to speak from a window of thehotel. The only available one was an upper window, the lowersash of which could not be persuaded to keep up without beingheld. The consequence was, just as I was getting over theembarrassment of extemporary oration, down came the sash andguillotined me. This put the crowd in the best of humours;they roared with laughter, and after that we got on capitallytogether.

　　A still more inopportune accident happened to me later in theday, when speaking at Shrivenham. A large yard enclosed bybuildings was chosen for the meeting. The difficulty was toelevate the speaker above the heads of the assembly. In onecorner of the yard was a water-butt. An ingenious electorgot a board, placed it on the top of the butt - which wasfull of water - and persuaded me to make this my rostrum.

　　Here, again, in the midst of my harangue - perhaps I stampedto emphasize my horror of small loaves and other Toryabominations - the board gave way; and I narrowly escaped aducking by leaping into the arms of a 'supporter.'

　　The end of it all was that my agent at the last moment threwup the sponge. The farmers formed a serried phalanx againstFree Trade; it was useless to incur the expense of a poll.

　　Then came the bill. It was a heavy one; for in addition tomy London agent - a professional electioneering functionary -were the local agents at towns like Malmesbury, WoottonBassett, Shrivenham, &c., &c. My eldest brother, who was asoberer-minded politician than I, although very liberal to mein other ways, declined to support my political opinions. Imyself was quite unable to pay the costs. Knowing this, LordRadnor called me into his study as I was leaving Coleshill,and expressed himself warmly with respect to my labours;regretting the victory of the other side, he declared that,as the question of Protection would be disposed of, one ofthe two seats would be safe upon a future contest.

　　'And who,' asked the old gentleman, with a benevolent grin onhis face, 'who is going to pay your expenses?'

　　'Goodness knows, sir,' said I; 'I hope they won't come downupon me. I haven't a thousand pounds in the world, unless Itap my fortune.'

　　'Well,' said his Lordship, with a chuckle, 'I haven't paid mysubscription to Brooks's yet, so I'll hand it over to you,'

　　and he gave me a cheque for 500 pounds.

　　The balance was obtained through Mr. Ellice from thepatronage Secretary to the Treasury. At the next election,as Lord Radnor predicted, Lord Ashley, Lord Shaftesbury'seldest son, won one of the two seats for the Liberals withthe greatest ease.

　　As Coleshill was an open house to me from that time as longas Lord Radnor lived, I cannot take leave of the dear old manwithout an affectionate word at parting. Creevey has an ill-natured fling at him, as he has at everybody else, but akinder-hearted and more perfect gentleman would be difficultto meet with. His personality was a marked one. He was alittle man, with very plain features, a punch-like nose, anextensive mouth, and hardly a hair on his head. But in spiteof these peculiarities, his face was pleasant to look at, forit was invariably animated by a sweet smile, a touch ofhumour, and a decided air of dignity. Born in 1779, hedressed after the orthodox Whig fashion of his youth, in buffand blue, his long-tailed coat reaching almost to his heels.

　　His manner was a model of courtesy and simplicity. He usedantiquated expressions: called London 'Lunnun,' Rome 'Room,'

　　a balcony a 'balcony'; he always spoke of the clergyman asthe 'pearson,' and called his daughter Lady Mary, 'Meary.'

　　Instead of saying 'this day week' he would say this daysen'nit' (for sen'night).

　　The independence of his character was very noticeable. As aninstance: A party of twenty people, say, would be invitedfor a given day. Abundance of carriages would be sent tomeet the trains, so that all the guests would arrive in ampletime for dinner. It generally happened that some of them,not knowing the habits of the house, or some duchess or greatlady who might assume that clocks were made for her and notshe for clocks, would not appear in the drawing-room till aquarter of an hour after the dinner gong had sounded. Ifanyone did so, he or she would find that everybody else hadgot through soup and fish. If no one but Lady Mary had beendown when dinner was announced, his Lordship would haveoffered his arm to his daughter, and have taken his seat atthe table alone. After the first night, no one was everlate. In the morning he read prayers to the household beforebreakfast with the same precise punctuality.

　　Lady Mary Bouverie, his unmarried daughter, was the very bestof hostesses. The house under her management was theperfection of comfort. She married an old and dear frien............