To the philosophical mind of a Roundabout Reader the General Election ought to offer many points of interest, not because he is a politician, but because, in the interest of his reading, he has to occupy a position of detachment, and therefore perhaps sees more of the humours and absurdities which crowd the animated scene. Yet here, for instance, am I, a diligent turner over of every possible kind of newspaper, metropolitan and provincial, and all that I have carried away from my careful investigations is a confused sense that if electors on either side only "stand shoulder to shoulder," "leave no stone unturned," and "work as one man from now till the polling-day," why each tide is positively certain that "another nail will be driven into the coffin" of the other side, that "a resounding blow will be struck for the good cause," and that "the banner under which we have secured many a brilliant victory will once more float triumphantly in the breeze." As for the "moral victories" gained, they are almost overwhelming both in number and in result. * * * * * Indeed, there is nothing so dangerously attractive to speaker and to audience as a fine old crusted political tag. Policies and programmes are as dust in the balance. As you listen to a speaker and watch his hearers, you may see a smile of perfect confidence and satisfaction spreading over the faces of the latter while the former winds himself up to the well-known, fondly-loved, and long-expected tag, which is the inevitable conclusion of the fiery oratorical period. "That," they say to themselves, "is the man for us. He says exactly what we should have said in the only appropriate words." Result--_Loud and enthusiastic cheers, amidst which_ Mr. PLATTIT-EWD _resumed his seat, having spoken for three-quarters of an hour._ * * * * * And the old familiar funny stories, the humorous allusions, the sparkling gibes, have they not been trotted out from Land's End to John o' Groat's House? Welcome have you been, oh ye kittens, born blind as Liberal (or Conservative) kittens, and converted, through the opening of your eyes, into Conservative (or Liberal) kittens; welcome also, ye hounds, who have devoured all your labels, and know not your destination. Many a time have I hunted with your sporting pack, and seen my friends ride gallantly at your tails. Also there is a wolf, and there is a lamb; and there was once a Sibyl who dealt in books, and there is an Italian who, having performed the most coruscating solos on the barrel-organ, failed miserably when asked to oblige upon the piano. All these have played their parts nobly. Not for long do I bid them farewell. They will return, I know they will, with the first mutterings of the next election. * * * * *