A FRENCH DEPUTY AT HOME.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXX, Issue 4488, 7 August 1875, Page 2 (Supplement)

A FRENCH DEPUTY AT HOME.

(From the Manchester Guardian.) M. Brisemiche was elected during the last recess, so that the session which has just closed has been his first parliamentary campaign, and a hard one he has found it. No schoolboy over longed more ardently for the holidays. It is night when he reaches Taillepain, and the cold air has made his influenza worse. “ But,” says he, “ a good night’s rest will make me all right again.” At the station ho is received by his family with open arms. A few of his most intimate friends have also congregated to congratulate him on his statesmanlike bearing during the session, and also to jog his memory anent certain little matters which interest them particularly. The unfortunate M. Brisemiche needs all the diplomacy recently acquired at Vei-sailles to get rid of his importunate friends. At last he is snugly seated by a good fire warming his influenza and forming plans of quiet enjoyment for the future. He is started out of his reverie by a loud ringing of the hell : Monsieur le Prefect has the honor to send in his card. Another peal : Monsieur le Maire has the honor to send in his card. A third peal : Monsieur the deputy mayor has also the honor already mentioned. Yet another violent ringing of the bell: Monsieur le Oonscillor Municipal Tartenpion has the honor to salute Monsieur le DdputA A fifth peal is heard. “ Silence that dreadful hell,” the Deputy is about to exclaim, taking it for the President’s bell at the Assembly during a stormy sitting ; but he checks himself on hearing Monsieur le Couseiller General Piguouf’s name announced. At length he has the consolation of bowing out the last of his visitors, retires to his bedroom, and while undressing mutters words to the same effect as those of Hamlet : “Now I am alone O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I;” but his soliloquy is interrupted by another violent ringing of the bell, followed by the entrance of his valet:—“Monsieur .” “Well, what next 2" “It is the members of the Central Committee .” “AVhat Committee?” “ That which was formed for the election of Monsieur." “ Tell them to go to—to go home, in fact.” But after reflecting that it is always prudent to be civil with one’s electors, be hurries on his clothes again, gives a counter order, and goes down to the drawing-room to receive the members of the Central Committee. He stretches out bis bauds to meet theirs, and opens his ear to receive their praises. Another vain delusion ! He hears nothing but reproachful words. He has not voted straight ; he is too much Right Centre for these, too much Left Centre for those ; on one great occasion he did not vote at all. To all his excuses and explanations he always gets the same reply : “ AVhat would you be without us 2” “ But, gentlemen, I’m quite of your opinion.” “ Oh, indeed. AVhy, you haven’t spoken twice since we sent you to the Assembly.” One hot word brings on another, and finally one half of the committee retire protesting never to vote for M. Brisemiche again. The others remain and promise to continue their confidence to him on condition of his stumping the department in the interest of his own cause. At length extenuated, wearied almost to Heath, M. Brisemiche retires to the most secluded portion of the department, far from the busy haunts of men and committee-rooms. But Hodge and Giles no sooner become aware of his presence than they hasten to tho chateau to present their respects, and tell him that the harvest will be a bad one, that the vine will certainlybe frost-bitten, that the cattlewill have the typhus, and that they won’t be able to pay him a farthing of rent. Even in that secluded spot he cannot enjoy the so-muoh-desired refreshment of undisturbed sleep. At midnight he is awoke by cries of “ Eire ! fire !” It is a haystack that is burning half a mile off, and the peasants have come to fetch M. Brisemiche, thinking that the presence of their deputy on the spot will be much more effective than that of any number of pompiers. The unlucky M. Briseraicbe follows his rural electors to the scone of the conflagration, longing to he back again in Versailles, and murmuring, “ In the Assembly, at least, one could sleep.”