“What is that you say, Mr. Welstone?” demanded the member of Doodleshire with considerable earnestness. “Oh! it’s not worth repeating.” “I think I heard you mention something about reporters?” “Oh! yes; the Dublin newspapers are sending down special reporters, and the London _Times’_ correspondent is a reporter on the _Daily Express_.” “Ahem!” And Mr. Hawthorne gravely produced a memorandum-book, which he proceeded to scan with apparent interest. Harry gave me the full wink now. “Oh dear me—ahem!” exclaimed the M.P. “I find that I need not be in London quite so soon, and if it obliges you, my dear Ormonde, I shall be glad to strike a blow in your aid. Did you say the _Times’_ correspondent will be there? Not that it makes the _slightest_ difference to _me_; yet, belonging as I do to the great liberal party, and belonging as this election does to the great liberal party, I deem it a sacred duty to aid the great liberal party in so far as it lies in my power. Mr. Ormonde, rely upon _me_, sir.” When later on I spoke with Harry on the question of deceiving my guest, especially as no reporters would be within fifty miles of us, “Don’t bother your head about it, Fred. Leave it all to me. I’ll get Tom Rafferty and the two O’Briens to come with big pencils and lots of paper, and tell them to write for their lives the whole time old Hawthorne is speaking. Everything is fair in love, war, and an election.” * * * * * The excitement in the county was intense as soon as the fact of my being in the field became known across its length and breadth. The De Ruthvens were furious, the head of the family, Mr. Beresford de Ruthven, honoring me with a personal visit, in order to ascertain whether I was in my senses or out of them. “Am I to understand, Mr. Ormonde, that you are a candidate for the representation of this county?” he asked, after the usual ceremonial questions had been pushed aside. “You are, Mr. De Ruthven.” “That you have consented to be nominated by a rabble—to be—” “I have been nominated by no rabble, Mr. De Ruthven.” “You are the nominee of the priests.” “I am, sir; but have a care how you speak of a Catholic clergyman in this house. You are not now at Ruthventown.” I was hot with anger. “Do you want to break up the harmony that has existed for centuries in the county, Mr. Ormonde?” “I want to see a liberal represent the county, and I am willing to give way to a better man.” “Liberal! What liberality do you require? Do not the liberals have their share in everything?” I had him now. “How many liberals are there on the grand panel, Mr. De Ruthven?” “Oh! I grant you that there has been mismanagement,” he hastily replied, “but we’ll see to that.” “What liberality is it that leaves the roads approaching every Catholic church in a condition that would shame a backwoods clearing, while those near the meanest Protestant place of worship are cared for like the avenues in your own domain?”