st unfit to mate with Jemima. Mr
Hickson, who had appeared as a model of gentlemanly ease before Mr
Donne's arrival, now became vulgar and coarse in Mr Bradshaw's eyes.
And yet, such was the charm of that languid, high-bred manner, that
Mr Bradshaw "cottoned" (as he expressed it to Mr Farquhar) to his
new candidate at once. He was only afraid lest Mr Donne was too
indifferent to all things under the sun to care whether he gained or
lost the election; but he was reassured after the first conversation
they had together on the subject. Mr Donne's eye lightened with an
eagerness that was almost fierce, though his tones were as musical,
and nearly as slow, as ever; and when Mr Bradshaw alluded distantly
to "probable expenses" and "packets," Mr Donne replied,

"Oh, of course! disagreeable necessity! Better speak as little about
such things as possible; other people can be found to arrange all the
dirty work. Neither you nor I would like to soil our fingers by it, I
am sure. Four thousand pounds are in Mr Pilson's hands, and I shall
never inquire what becomes of them; they may, very probably, be
absorbed in the law expenses, you know. I shall let it be clearly
understood from the hustings, that I most decidedly disapprove of
bribery, and leave the rest to Hickson's management. He is accustomed
to these sort of things. I am not."

Mr Bradshaw was rather perplexed by this want of bustling energy on
the part of the new candidate; and if it had not been for the four
thousand pounds aforesaid, would have doubted whether Mr Donne
cared sufficiently for the result of the election. Jemima thought
differently. She watched her father's visitor attentively, with
something like the curious observation which a naturalist bestows on
a new species of animal.

"Do you know what Mr Donne reminds me of, mamma?" said she, one day,
as the two sat at work, while the gentlemen were absent canvassing.

"No! he is not like anybody I ever saw. He quite frightens me, by
being so ready to open the door for me if I am going out of the room,
and by giving me a chair when I come in. I never saw any one like
him. Who is it, Jemima?"

"Not any person--not any human being, mamma," said Jemima, half
smiling. "Do you remember our stopping at Wakefield once, on our way
to Scarborough, and there were horse-races going on somewhere, and
some of the racers were in the stables at the inn where we dined?"

"Yes! I remember it; but what about that?"

"Why, Ri