world know that you are both virtuous and
honest, but it is best of all to be notorious
and celebrated.

Messrs. Alabaster and Ermine were
expensive; but they stood alone. The fiercest,
keenest political opponent might walk round
any case that came out of the skilful hands
of Messrs. Alabaster and Ermine, until his
brain was dizzy; for not a flaw would he
find; not a weak point; not so much as a
pin-hole, which he could use to his advantage.

Everybody in the political world knew
Messrs. Alabaster and Ermine; and Messrs.
Alabaster and Ermine knew everybody in
the political world. Yet, if you saw the
political world, by which I mean the members
of parliament, past, present, and future,
and the great electioneering agents walking
in the streets, you would naturally come to
the conclusion that Messrs. Alabaster and
Ermine knew nothing of the political world,
and that the political world knew nothing of
Messrs. Alabaster and Ermine. They passed
each other without a nod, without a wink,
without a glance. Their countenances were
a vacancy—a blank.

Messrs. Alabaster and Ermine had also
an extensive acquaintance in any county of
England, with the possessors of political
birthrights, whether east or west, or north, or
south. At the private dinner-table of the
partners they quoted the ten-pound
householder like consols, or any other government
stock. Sometimes he was at par, that is
exactly ten pounds; sometimes he went down
to eight; seven; six; five-eighths; sometimes
he recovered to ten; eleven; twelve;
twelve and a-half; thirteen and a quarter.

Mr. Alabaster was a man of nearly seventy,
still keen and active, but rather inclined to
be fussy, and to dwell upon the political
triumphs that he had contributed to in
the past, rather than to devote his attention
to the political necessities of the present.
He had been in this business on his own
account from a very early age, and had made
a reputation before the passing of that great
measure—the first reform bill—which was to
have purified the land from electoral
corruption for evermore. This was a great
measure for Mr. Alabaster. It increased the
area of corruption, without making it so
extensive as to be wholly and hopelessly
unmanageable. It created more electors to be
bribed. It brought forward capitalists as
candidates for selection: and the great
electioneering agent's business increased to such
an extent, that he was compelled to take in a
partner. He fixed upon Mr. Ermine.

Mr. Ermine was a man rather over fifty
years of age. He was the managing and
acting partner of the firm; sharp, decisive,
pliable, versatile, and unrivalled for his
judgment and powers of organisation. No
matter what came before him, he knew in a
moment exactly what ought to be done, and
he knew exactly how best to do it. Mr.
Alabaster had few scruples: Mr. Ermine had
no scruples whatever.

This was the firm, then, in whose offices
Mr. Snarlington now stood; and he was
soon ushered into the presence of the two
partners. He explained his errand in an
instant.

"I must be returned for Fogmoor," he said,
very abruptly. Mr. Alabaster was rather
shocked. Mr. Ermine was not shocked in the
least.

"Fogmoor, Fogmoor," said Mr. Alabaster,
reflectively, turning over the pages of a volume,
partly printed and partly in manuscript.
"Yes. Fogmoor, Hants. Population, sixteen
thousand ; electors, seven hundred and
twenty. Exactly so, sir; exactly so."

"Price?" inquired Mr. Snarlington, in
a voice, sharp as the snap of a percussion cap.

Mr. Alabaster started, Mr. Ermine looked
on unmoved. Mr. Alabaster mumbled
something about a letter of introduction—who
were they dealing with?

"Price?" Mr. Snarlington again almost
shouted, taking a cheque-book from his pocket.
"Two-thirds down in cash; balance on election."

The production of the cheque-book pacified
the partners. Mr. Alabaster, went on to say:

"We've not had anything to do with
Fogmoor, I think, since eighteen hundred and
thirty-nine, when Lord Bilkington——"

"Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Snarlington,
"but my time's precious. You are men of
business, and have got the purchase-money of
Fogmoor marked in your books like the
price of a landed estate. Tell me that price,
and don't beat about the bush."

Mr. Alabaster being staggered, Mr. Ermine
took up the conversation.

"Who's in the field?" he asked.

"Sir Tomahawk Sternhold," returned Mr.
Snarlington.

"For himself?"

"No ; for a friend."

"That's favourable."

Mr. Ermine turned to Mr. Alabaster
and said, contemptuously, "Sir Tomahawk
Sternhold." He then turned to Mr. Snarlington,
and said, "an amateur in our profession."

"Price?" again asked Mr. Snarlington.

"Fogmoor," began Mr. Alabaster, "was
always a difficult place to deal with. I
remember——"

"Price?" struck in the impatient Snarlington.

"Well," replied Mr. Ermine, who had
been gaining time for reflection, "we can't
do it securely for less than nine thousand
pounds."

"Rather above the average for such places,"
said Mr. Snarlington, as he drew a cheque
for six thousand pounds; "but, no matter.
Go to work at once."

To work they went at once. Although
they had an inferior and over-confident
opponent to deal with, they anticipated every