For another thing the Chelmsford of the past was distinguished, and that was by a mock election, a very proper thing, when election was a farce, and not as now, the opportunity of the free and independent democracy to utter their political opinions, and to send the wisest of the wise and the purest of patriots to Westminster as Members of Parliament. An election is no farce now when the eyes of all England are on the electors, and orators from every corner of the land come to call on the electors to do their duty. In old times men were merry, and made fun even of an election; at any rate they did this in Chelmsford, where at every county election, a mock contest was held on a small island between the two rivers known as Mesopotamia, (that blessed word, as the old woman said when she heard it in the course of her favourite parson’s sermon). At this mock election, we are told, after the successful candidate was chaired with every mark of honour, he was ducked in the stream. Sometimes one wishes that old customs were revived, I know at any rate more than one candidate, who if he were ducked in the stream, and left there, would be little missed by an enlightened public such as we have in this present age. II. IN AN ANCIENT CITY. ABOUT fifty miles away from London—you can run down in an hour by the Great Eastern—stands an ancient, if not the most ancient, city in England, where the mother of Constantine is said to have lived, where, at any rate, she founded a chapel, which still remains, and where Constantine the Great is said to have been born, and where old King Cole, that merry old soul, is reported to have reigned in all his glory. It was built by the Roman Claudius, A.D., 44. It boasts an old castle, which was terribly damaged by Cromwell’s soldiers when they took it after a severe siege, in which the inhabitants suffered terrible privations. It has an ancient priory in ruins, but which is deeply interesting to antiquarians; and it contains old houses and winding streets, which are ever a delight and wonder to the intelligent of the rising generation. Colchester, of which I write, is a busy place, and moves with the times. As you look at it from the Great Eastern Railway, which sweeps around its base, it seems a city set upon a hill; and in the old coaching days, when we drove along its High street, now handsomer than ever, it was a great relief in the summer time, when we stopped there to change horses, after a long and dusty ride, to buy some of the fruits and flowers offered for sale, and for the production of which the country round is famous. The Colchester people have a fine appreciation of their ancient and prosperous town, the streets of which are alive with military. There is a large camp here, the gallant men of which seem to have a due appreciation of the fine complexion and healthy figures of the Essex servant girls. It has its park and its promenades, a river which is rich