"I offer myself a Candidate to represent the County [or Borough] of ----, with a determined resolution neither to solicit, nor influence, the votes of the free electors. Superior to such influence myself, I cannot condescend to bribe or intimidate my countrymen. I stand forth, therefore, on no other ground than public virtue. If there is so much left in this place as to direct your choice to me, I shall be happy in calling it forth, whether I succeed in my election or not. I shall neither make nor authorize any other application than this. As I have no ends of my own to serve, I profess myself of no party; and resolved to follow the dictates of my own conscience, with respect to my duty, to my Country, my Sovereign, and my Constituents." When Mr. Gough himself came to die, his learned friend Dr. Sherwin said of him in _The Gentleman's Magazine_ that "his cellar was as open to the necessities of afflicted industry as his noble library to the wants and wishes of literary men." A noble epitaph. Those great days have passed away. Gentlemen no longer have a Magazine, and many of them cut a fine enough figure without either library or cellar. Indeed, I am not sure that the tendency of the cellar to dwindle into a Tantalus is not the most lamentable sign of the times. CHAPTER XII THESPIS SENDS ME TWO REPRESENTATIVES ON THE SAME DAY AND MONOPOLISES OUR ATTENTION I was sitting in my room at half-past ten wondering whether I should go to the Oval or to Lord's when a brisk rap sounded at the door, it was flung open, and in burst a dazzling, rustling creature. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said. "I have come to the wrong room. I thought this was Miss Lestrange's room." I saw who it was in a flash--it was Azure Verity. I told her that Miss Lestrange dwelt in some remote region of this wonderful expanding house to which I had never penetrated, and that if she would wait a moment I would ring for Mrs. Duckie. "Mrs. who?" she asked, with an air of such perfect ingenuousness that I was caught at once. "Duckie," I said, and then she laughed, and I no doubt blushed. "Not really?" she inquired, laughing again. "It is absurd, isn't it?" I said. It his long been my theory that some of the best friendships are based upon a good initial _faux pas_ or ridiculous misunderstanding. The freemasonry of laughter gets to work at once and does in an instant what it otherwise might take days or weeks to achieve. "May I tell you," I asked, "who you are, and then we can introduce each other?" "Certainly," she said. "You are Miss Azure Verity, now acting with unparalleled success at the Princess's Theatre in Mr. Operin's new play, and you have come to see your dresser, who calls herself Miss Lestrange but is really Miss Duckie." "Wonderful!" she cried. "You are a Zanzig. But," she added, "so am I. You know there are always two of them. Let me now do my turn." I had long since decided that I would not ring the bell before it was really necessary.