Thus, he had been put into his seat by the recommendation and influence of Fox, whom he now deserted. Of course, therefore, he was Judas, Judas Iscariot, Traitor, Monster of Ingratitude. That was the first charge: in default of anything else it was a good solid charge, to which his enemies could always return. Plain ingratitude, however, has always failed to command popular indignation. What can one expect? What does everybody’s experience teach? “Gratitude, sir,” says the disappointed man of Virtue, “no one expects; but----” I do not suppose that the charge of ingratitude lost Sir Cecil Wray one single vote, any more than unexpected inconsistency or a sudden change of front or a sudden change of principle in these days affects the seat of a modern politician. The electors, therefore, heard with unmoved faces that Sir Cecil was worse than Judas Iscariot as regards treachery and ingratitude. What had the Election to do with private gratitude? They therefore proceeded to vote for him. There was, however, another weapon--and one far more effective. He had once called the attention of the House to the lavish expenditure of Chelsea Hospital, which maintained the old soldiers of the country at an annual cost of fifty-one pounds apiece. And on that occasion he declared that, rather than continue this prodigality, he would like to see the abolition of the Hospital! The abolition of Chelsea Hospital! And Chelsea Hospital was in Westminster Borough! And that a Westminster member should say this monstrous thing! And, after he had said it, should dare to become a candidate again! Here indeed seemed a chance for the other side! Would the electors--the patriotic, enlightened electors of Westminster--return one who would actually abolish, because it cost a little money, the old soldier’s hospital? And there was a third weapon. Sir Cecil Wray had even proposed a tax on housemaids! Horrible! Wicked! This Monster would actually drive out of their places all the housemaids in the country! What would become of these poor girls? What would they do? Must they be thrown, weeping and reluctant, into the arms of Vice? Eloquence was exhausted, tears were shed, wrath was aroused by the mere description of what would have happened to these [Illustration: “THE WESTMINSTER MENDICANT” (SIR CECIL WRAY).]