ty with a large majority appeals to the
country, its appeal falls, necessarily, on deaf ears. Some years ago
there happened an exception to this rule. But then the circumstances
were exceptional. A small nation was fighting a big nation, and, as the
big nation happened to be yourselves, your sympathy was transferred to
the big nation. As the little party was suspected of favouring the
little nation, your sympathy was transferred likewise to the big party.
Barring 'khaki,' sympathy takes its usual course in General Elections.
The bigger the initial majority, the bigger the collapse. It is not
enough that Goliath shall fall: he must bite the dust, and bite plenty
of it. It is not enough that David shall have done what he set out to
do: a throne must be found for this young man. Away with the giant's
body! Hail, King David!

I should like to think that chivalry was the sole motive of our zeal. I
am afraid that the mere craving for excitement has something to do with
it. Pelion has never been piled on Ossa; and no really useful purpose
could be served by the superimposition. But we should like to see the
thing done. It would appeal to our sense of the grandiose--our
hankering after the unlimited. When the man of science shows us a drop
of water in a test-tube, and tells us that this tiny drop contains more
than fifteen billions of infusoria, we are subtly gratified, and
cherish a secret hope that the number of infusoria is very much more
than fifteen billions. In the same way, we hope that the number of
seats gained by the winning party will be even greater to-morrow than
it is to-day. 'We are sweeping the country,' exclaims (say) the
professed Liberal; and at the word 'sweeping' there is in his eyes a
gleam that no mere party feeling could have lit there. It is a gleam
that comes from the very depths of his soul--a reflection of the innate
human passion for breaking records, or seeing them broken, no matter
how or why. 'Yes,' says the professed Tory, 'you certainly are sweeping
the country.' He tries to put a note of despondency into his voice; but
hark how he rolls the word 'sweeping' over his tongue! He, too, though
he may not admit it, is longing to creep into the smoking-room of the
National Liberal Club and feast his eyes on the blazing galaxy of red
seals affixed to the announcements of the polling. He turns to his
evening paper, and reads again the list of ex-Cabinet ministers who
have been unseated. He feels, in hi