the seven hundred and twenty of their
number, who formed the elective body, had
been already prepared, in several ways, for
the announcement. Small printed notes had
been sent round, exhorting them to abstain
from pledges. This they were sure to do;
for a Fogmoor man never sold himself
until the last moment, and when there
was no chance of a higher bidder. They
were told to look out for a coming man
—a thoroughly popular candidate—and a
stout man in a dark wig (the thin, grey
Mr. Ermine, in disguise), was the gentleman
who called and told them this. Mr. Weasel
observed him; but, as he did not recognise
his opponent, confidence was not broken up
in the camp of Sir Tomahawk Sternhold.

When Sir Tomahawk saw the bills that
placarded the town, he recognised the name,
and at once formed the supposition—he was
fond of suppositions—that Mr. Snarlington
had regretted having resigned his seat, when
it had become too late, and was now spending
a few pounds in order to distract and annoy.
"A stupid squib!" he exclaimed. Therefore,
the only additional step he took in
the interest of his candidate, was to issue
sarcastic placards: such as "Vote for the
Ticket-of-Leave Candidate!" "Vote for Bill
Manacles, and Highway Robbery!" "Vote
for the Convict, and Universal Burglary!"

In the meantime the day of election
approached. William Manacles did not seem
to understand one-fourth of what he heard
was going on in his name; but he was
quite ready to go out and fight his own
battles, if they had allowed him to do so.
He was, however, kept quiet, for the present,
in the Snarlington Villa—well fed, well
housed, and well clothed.

It was now Saturday, and the nomination
day was the following Monday. Mr. Ermine
had been making very satisfactory progress
in disguise; but there was still much left for
him to do. Fogmoor, like every other town,
had got its cliques and leaders; although
every man looked pretty sharply after his own
interest. But electors found they could get
the best price for their political birthright by
combining in small numbers. Instead of a
reduction being made upon taking a quantity,
the rule was reversed, and twenty people in
the bulk commanded a higher figure than
twenty people in detail. Union is strength.

First in importance was the respectable
people; people who had their scruples;
people who were not really better than their
neighbours, but who liked to keep up
appearances; people who were dogs, but who
did not want the ill name that led to the
halter. The leader of this small, compact,
and exorbitant party was Mr. Simon Elderbury,
a serious grocer. Mr. Ermine paid
him a visit on the Saturday.

"William Manacles," said Mr. Elderbury,
with a sigh of pity, "was always a sad
reprobate in Fogmoor."

"He is reformed," returned Mr. Ermine.

"Ah!" exclaimed the serious grocer, sighing
more heavily than before, "if I could
only think so—if we could only think so!"

"Is there any test," asked Mr. Ermine,
"that you would like to apply?"

"It is not our place, Mr. Ermine, to judge
our fellow creatures; but, if we could only
see him amongst us at chapel to-morrow,
we should feel more confident."

Mr. Ermine promised that this very
reasonable and proper desire should be gratified;
and, the next day (Sunday) William Manacles,
the reformed ticket-of-leave man, was one of
the morning and evening congregation at
Ichabod Chapel, Fogmoor.

Another class, who had no pretensions to
be compared with the last, were content to
leave the management of their interest in the
election in the experienced hands of a stout
innkeeper named Hodges. Mr. Hodges had
framed himself, as closely as possible, upon
the traditional character of John Bull. His
voice was loud. He was inclined to be
argumentative and dogmatical, and he wished
everybody to take notice, that he never did
anything he was ashamed of.

"You never find any nonsense, Mr. Ermine,"
said Mr. Hodges, "in dealing with me. I
ask a fair price, and I stick to it."

"So you do, Mr. Hodges," returned Mr.
Ermine, " so you do; I will say that."

"My price is higher now than it was last
election, and why? Because my family,
and the families of those who've put the
thing into my hands, have increased, Mr.
Ermine."

"No doubt, Mr. Hodges, no doubt of it."

"Live and let live, that's my maxim,"
continued Mr. Hodges. "A man's got his
children to keep. Very well. A man's got
a vote. Very well: so he ought to have. A
gent offers him forty pound for that vote.
Very well: it's his duty to take it."

"So it is, Mr. Hodges, so it is," answered
Mr. Ermine.

"Suppose he doesn't take it ?" went on
Mr. Hodges. "Very well. Taxes come in:
he can't pay 'em. His children want schooling:
he can't give it 'em. That man's done
a hinjury to his country, and a hinjury to his
family. That's the way to put it."

"Quite true, Mr. Hodges, quite true."

"I'm never ashamed of what I do. There's
forty-one votes at a price. You know me.
I can do a'most anything with my friends.
If I say it's right, it's right."

When the conversation reached this point
(for which Mr. Ermine had been patiently
waiting), he closed the bargain without
further delay, and went on securing other
electors.

Saturday passed in ceaseless activity; Sunday
came and went in apparent calm and
peace, but really in ceaseless activity also.
This was Mr. Ermine's great day for dinner-table
and tea-table negotiations, and he made