AS A PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATE DEAR BAILIE,— The result o’ an influentially - signed requisition, asking me to staun for M.P., was a meeting I held last Friday tae address the electors an’ non-electors (only they’re a’ electors nae). I needna gie ye my speech, but I finished up a thrilling address wi’ a glowing peroration, which ran in this wise— “Yes, gentlemen, if ye want to mak’ the Saltcoats district o’ burghs staun oot boldly before the nation at large as a burning and shining licht o’ enterprise, clear-heidedness, and influence, dinna vote for any o’ thae carpet-baggers frae London, that come doon here wi’ a toothpick an’ a clean collar, an’ ken as little aboot the wants o’ the district as my wee manager kens about Julius Ceasar. No, no, never min’ them; support your fellow-citizen, that can lay his haun on his hert an’ say his wants are the same as the district’s, an’ the district’s are the same as his. Rally roon the star - spangled banner that floats proodly, for this occasion only, frae the tap o’ the coal ree, an’ come boldly tae the polling booth, wi’ a clean face an’ an upright hert, an’ record your vote in fear an’ trembling, remembering that into your hands is committed the well-being of this great empire. Gentlemen, I’m noo ready to answer ony questions.” (Great cheers.) At this up gets Mr Balderstone, an’ says— Wid the honourable gentleman support a bill for legalising marriage wi’ a wife’s deceased sister? (Cries of “Aha, where are ye noo? “) Mr Kaye — But what d’ye want tae marry a deid woman for? Mr Caleb Balderstone — The right honourable gentleman didna understaun me. It’s the wife that’s deid, and no’ the sister. Mr Kaye — Oh, it’s the wife that’s deid. Weel, why didna ye marry the sister at first? (Cries of “The auld boy’s ‘cute.”) Mr Balderstone — Ah, mony a time I wished I had. Mr Kaye — That’s aye the way — ye go an’ mak’ a mistake and marry the wrang woman, and then ye want me tae alter the laws tae suit you; hooever, the next time ye’re thinking o’ matrimony, marry the sister first; but sae faur as I’m concerned, ye can marry your wife’s deceased auntie, or her grannie if ye like - if ye’re pleased it’s nane o’ my business. (Great cheers.) Mr Dandie Dinmont — Would the gallant colonel vote for Henry George’s plan o’ dividing the land? Mr Kaye — Weel, I wid like tae see a calculation made first. If I was tae get mair than I have I wid support a bill for dividing the land, the siller, an’ a’thegither. Isn’t that fair? (Cries of “Quite fair.”) Mr Dirk Hatterick — Wid the candidate vote for payment of members? Mr Kaye — If I get in I will — if I don’t I’ll no’. An Elector — Does Sir Jeems think it consistent wi’ his position as an elder tae staun at the kirk door Sunday after Sunday, haunin’ oot his address to every one that gangs in, instead o’ attending tae his duty o’ watchin’ the plate? (Cries o’ “That’s intae him.”) Mr Kaye — Gentlemen, alloo me to explain. I had gi’en the minister some valuable assistance on the Disestablishment question, an’ he agreed to let me be the elder at the plate for a wheen Sundays. an’ I will acknowledge I gied every one that gaed in one o’ my addresses, wi’ a wheen lozengers rouwed up in’t. They read it in the pews tae wile awa’ the time till the minister began; but it served twa guid purposes — it brocht my views before them, an’ prevented them meditating on their ain worldly concerns. (Cheers an’ cries of “Quite richt.”) An Elector — What is your opinion of the Aurora Borealis? Mr Kaye — I wid vote for the total abolition o’t a’thegither. Why should the working man hae to pay taxes for the support of the Rory Borealus? (Cries of “Bravo,” and “You’re the man for us.”) Mr Saunders Wylie — Hoo many acres is’t we’ve tae get, Mr Kaye? Mr Kaye — Three an’ a coo — but, min’ ye, that’s only if ye vote for me. If ye vote for the ither man ye’ll no’ get as much as wid feed a rabbit. (Cries of “We’ll a’ vote for you.”) Mr Wylie -Hoo often is the land tae be divided did ye say? Mr Kaye — Every Saturday; but there’s a proviso that if ony man’s land gets dune in the middle o’ the week be may sign a requisition tae the Provost saying he’s dissatisfied, an’ then the Provost is bound tae divide it ower again withoot waiting tae next Saturday. Could onvihing be fairer than that? (Cries of “No! no !”) Mr Steenie Mucklebackit — Will the candidate see that a royal residence is built in Saltcoats, an’ that some o’ the royal family reside in it permanently? (Cries of “Mak’ it hot for him, Steenie.”) Mr Kaye — Certainly, gentlemen; that’s a matter I’ve aye intended speaking to the Prince o’ Wales aboot, for I hiv his Royal Highness’s own assurance that he wid never ask tae leeve in a more enchanting spot, an’ where he wid aye be able tae hae a gemm at the dominoes wi’ Mr Pinkerton an’ me. (Deafening cheers.) Mr Fairservice — Is Mr Kaye in favour o’ local option? Mr Kaye — No, gentlemen, I’m in favour o’ individual option—tak’ it or want it—but I’m certainly no prepared tae want my gless o’ toddy because anither man likes lemonade best. If we gie in tae thae notions, the next thing’ll be the vegetarians wanting tae hae local option tae shut up the butchers. (Cries o’ “Bully for you.”) Mr Dominic Sampson — Is Mr Kaye in favour o’ free education? Mr Kaye — Free education, gentlemen! Put me in, an’ it’s no’ only free education your bairns’ll get, but free books, an’ slates, an’ free pinafores, an’ free bonnets — aye, an’ free peevers an’ free books — in fac’, everything ‘ll be free. Mr Sampson — An’ whaur’s a’ the money tae come frae? Mr Kaye — Oh! we’ll just fin’ that oot as we go alang, an’ if it works weel we’ll then gie ye free butter, free ham an’ eggs, an’ free sausages; in short, the law’ll be that ye’ll jist help yersel’ tae everything at a shop door as ye walk alang. Every hoose’ll be thatched wi’ pancakes, an’ milk an’ honey ‘ll flow doon the streets o’ Saltcoats. But really, gentlemen, the discussion o’ politics is dry wark. I propose that the chairman gies us a sang, an’ then Mr Pettigrew’s uncle, that’s jist hame frae the Baltic, ‘ll dance a nigger breakdown. He says the black folk on the plantations oot there dances it when they’re squeezin’ oot the sugar. Order! order! for the chairman’s sang. Here the chairman cleared his throat, turned up his eyes tae the gasalier, an’ began tae sing— The standard on the coal ree Is up an’ streaming early. Man, BAILE, at this point mine’s promised tae be the happiest political meeting ever held in Saltcoats. Everything went on fine. The audience lichtit their pipes, an’ we up on the platform a’ had ceegaurs — we had sent oot for a shillingsworth. Then we lay back and dreamily listened to the sangs. In fac’, a’ went merry as a marriage bell. After a wee we sent ower for the minister’s fiddle, an’ he played “Tullochgorum” on’t, an’ Mr Pinkerton an’ the lamplichter, wha wis an energetic member o’ my committee, waltzed roon the chairs, an’ up an’ doon, and back an’ forrit, an’ I beat time wi’ my silver-heided walking-stick. But there’s some evil-disposed minds in this worl’, BAILIE. As we were a’ enjoying oorsel’s innocently, somebody screwed oot the gas, an’ then there wis a hubbub. The minister’s fiddle got such a dunshing that he’s mending awa’ at it yet. The leading Radical was lowered ower the gallery by the legs, the crood below tearing him by the hair a’ the time. Mr Pinkerton’s leg got fankled in among the chairs, an’ he fell on the tap o’ the minister, wha, pitting oot his haun tae save himsel’, drew me doon, but I didna fa’ alane. I grippit twa o’ the opposition frae Glasgow, an’ if I didna mak’ them look twa ways for Sunday when I scrambled up it’s queer. I cam’ doon wi’ my stick on the shoothers first o’ the ane an’ then the ither — till I wis maist oot o’ breath. BAILIE, my thoom’s sprained yet. Hooever, I need hardly say that I’ve altered my mind. I’ve resigned.