Mr. C.-J. (to himself, as he regards his surroundings with dismay, and tries to arrange his canvassing-cards). I suppose this is Little Anna Maria Street? I didn't understand at the Committee Rooms that it was quite such a—however, I must do my best for dear old TILNEY. Who's the first man I must see and "use my best endeavours to persuade him into promising his vote?" Ah, Mr. J. SPLURGE, No. 1. (He picks his way delicately along, attempting to make out the numbers on the doors, which are all thrown back; female residents watch him from doorsteps and windows with amused interest.) No. 5; No. 3; the next is No. 1. (It is; but the entrance is blocked by a small infant with a very dirty face, who is slung in a baby-chair between the door-posts.) Very embarrassing, really! Can't ask such a child as this if Mr. SPLURGE is at home! I'll knock. (Stretches for the knocker across the child, who, misinterpreting his intentions, sets up a howl.) My good child, I assure you ... for Heaven's sake, don't!... I—I wonder whether I ought to kiss it—some fellows would!

"I wonder whether I ought to kiss it—some fellows would!"

Female Voice (from side-window). You leave that pore child alone, will yer—or I'll come out and tork to you, d'y'ear?

Mr. C.-J. (to himself). That's Mrs. SPLURGE! I think, perhaps, I'd better not wait. (With an inspiration.) I'll leave a card. (Drops one of his visiting-cards in the child's lap—to its exceeding terror—and retreats.) I'm afraid I haven't produced a very favourable impression, so far, I'll try No. 2, across the street. (He approaches a doorstep upon which two stout and dishevelled Women are seated.) Er—I beg your pardon, but could you kindly inform me if Mr.—er—(consulting card)—GUFFIN is at home?

First Woman (with sarcasm). Now do yer think he's nothink else to do but set indoors in a arm-cheer all day?

Mr. C.-J. I—I thought—I hoped—that, it being Saturday, I might be—er—fortunate enough—have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. GUFFIN?

Second Woman (on recovering—calling down the passage). 'Ere, Mrs. GUFFIN, yer wanted. 'Ere's a gentleman come to see yer!

Mrs. Guffin (appearing from the basement, and standing at the further end of the passage). Well, what does he want?

Mr. C.-J. (raising his hat, and sending his voice down the passage to her). I ventured to call, Mrs. GUFFIN, in the hope of finding your husband at home, and ascertaining his—er—political sympathies, in view of the Election.

Mrs. Guffin. Oh, it's about the voting, is it? Are you for a Conservatory?

Mr. C.-J. For a—? Oh, to be sure, yes. I came to ask Mr. GUFFIN to support Sir TILNEY BRUTON, the Conservative Candidate. Perhaps if I called again, I might—?

Mrs. Guffin (in a matter-of-fact tone). I don't expect my 'usband 'ome till late, and then he'll be drunk.

Mr. C.-J. Just so. But I trust, Mrs. GUFFIN, your husband feels the importance of maintaining the Union—?

Mrs. Guffin. He did belong, I know, but I think his branch broke up, or somethink.

Mr. C.-J. (puzzled). Ah, but I mean in—er—politics—I hope he is opposed to granting Home Rule to Ireland?

Mrs. G. He don't tell me nothing about his politics, but I've 'eard him say he was Radikil.

Mr. C.-J. (diplomatically, as Mrs. G. slowly edges towards the door). Might I suggest, Mrs. GUFFIN, that you should use the—er—influence which every woman possesses, to—er—induce your husband—(here he suddenly becomes aware that Mrs. GUFFIN has a very pronounced black eye); but perhaps I ought not to ask you.

Mrs. G. Well, my opinion is—if you want someone to tork over my 'usband to your side, you'd better come and do it yourself; because I ain't goin' to. So there! [She retires to the basement again.

First Dish. W. If you toffs can't do nothink better than come 'ere makin' mischief between a man and his wife, you'd better stop at 'ome, that you 'ad!

Mr. C.-J. (to himself). Upon my word, I believe she's right! But I never noticed the poor woman's eye before. I wish I could find one of the men in, and have a talk with him—much more satisfactory! (Knocks at No. 4) Is Mr. BULCHER at home?

Mr. B. (lurching out of a room on the ground-floor). Qui' c'rect, Guv'nor—thash me!

Mr. C.-J. I wanted to see you, Mr. BULCHER, to ask if we may count upon your support for the Conservative Candidate at the Election. I need hardly point out to you the—er—vital importance of—

Mr. B. (slouching against the passage-wall, opposite Mr. C.-J.). 'Old on, Guv'nor, lemme ashk you thish question, 'fore we go any furrer. Wharriwanter 'ear from you is—'Ow 'm I goin' git little bit o' good outer thesh 'lections for myshelf. You unnershtand me? What good Conshervative gov'men' ever done er workin' man—d' yer shee? Why, never—not in all their born daysh! You take that shtraight from me.

Mr. C.-J. But surely—er—it was a Conservative Government that gave you Free Education?

Mr. B. (knowingly). No, it washn't, Guv'nor. There yer wrong, d'yer see? It wash er Radicals give us Free Education. And whatsh Free Education er me? Wouldn' say Thank yer f'rall Free Education in er wide world!

Mr. C.-J. (recognising that he must strike a stronger chord). Well, at all events you will admit that, during the last six years, you have been—er—peaceful and prosperous?

Mr. B. (beerily). I've been peashful and proshperous ever sinsh I was born. No, look 'ere, Guv'nr, I'm torken to you 'bout wharri unnershtan', d'yer see? Jes' you lishen er wharri'm goin tell you. (Here he punctuates his remarks by poking Mr. C.-J.'s ribs with a clay pipe.) Workin' man's gettin' more and more 'telligent every day—he'sh qui' capable lookin' after his own interests. What he wantch is, One Man One Vote, Redooced Hours o' Labour, 'Ome Rule for London, an' the Control of the Liquor Traffic! What did Misher GLADSHTONE say? Educated and 'telligent clashes alwaysh wrong—mashes always ri'! An' hain't I 'telligent an' educated? Very well, then. There you 'ave it.

Mr. C.-J. But—er—don't you see, my friend, that, according to Mr. GLADSTONE, the more intelligent and