Fawcett the elder came to support his son. Though the local papers assailed him, the most condemning assertions they could make were that Fawcett was an advanced Radical, who would abolish Church rates, though he professed to be a member of the Church of England; and worst of all, that he was capable of the crime of admitting Dissenters to Fellowships. How funny that latter accusation seems now, when the only question in obtaining a fellowship is, Has the man the brains to win it? [Sidenote: The Defeat at Cambridge.] Fawcett was defeated by eighty-one votes. The cost of the campaign had amounted to £600, but it had shown that Fawcett ‘could go to the poll as well as make speeches.’ The election took place the same year that Fawcett was given the Chair of Political Economy, and made this latter honour all the greater, as it came despite his fearless Radical protestations. The following January we find him coming forward as a Liberal candidate at a bye-election in Brighton. Three other Liberals presented themselves, and it was decided to have a meeting at which a committee, appointed by the electors, was to report on the merits of the candidates. The candidates should then address the meeting, and the decision was to be made by show of hands. But the committee managed ill, exceeding its instructions, and the meeting became a tumult. In the midst of the uproar Fawcett came forward and won probably the greatest oratorical triumph of his life. He began amidst great interruption, and after a few sentences the vast body of electors listened with breathless attention. [Sidenote: Routing a Chimæra.] Fawcett told them his story. ‘You do not know me now,’ he said, ‘but you shall know me in the course of a few minutes.’ He proceeded with the account of his accident, during which, says the reporter, ‘a deep feeling of pity and sympathy seemed to pervade the meeting.’ He told them how he had been blinded by two stray shots ‘from a companion’s gun’; how the lovely landscape had been instantly blotted out; and how he knew that every lovely scene would be henceforth ’shrouded in impenetrable gloom.’ ‘It was a blow to a man,’ he said simply; but in ten minutes he had made up his mind to face the difficulty bravely. He would never ask for sympathy, but he demanded to be treated as an equal. He went on with the story of his previous attempts to enter Parliament, and ended with a profession of his political principles. This account of the meeting is given by Stephen, who adds the comment: ‘I do not think Fawcett ever again referred to his accident in public, except in speaking to fellow-sufferers. His blindness was apparently being made an insuperable obstacle; his best and most natural answer was to tell the plain story of his struggle, and he told it with a straightforward manliness which carried away his audience.’