leging that
they did not intend to vote at all: others declined to promise, until they
should know how Toddy Tam and other magnates were likely to go. My only
pledges were from the sworn retainers of the Provost.

"Well, Mr Dunshunner, what success?" cried Miss Margaret Binkie, as I
returned rather jaded from my circuit. "I hope you have found all the
Dreepdaily people quite favourable?"

"Why no, Miss Binkie, not quite so much so as I could desire. Your
townsmen here seem uncommonly slow in making up their minds to any thing."

"Oh, that is always their way. I have heard Papa say that the same thing
took place at last election, and that nobody declared for Mr Whistlerigg
until the very evening before the nomination. So you see you must not lose
heart."

"If my visit to Dreepdaily should have no other result, Miss Binkie, I
shall always esteem it one of the most fortunate passages of my life,
since it has given me the privilege of your acquaintance."

"Oh, Mr Dunshunner! How can you speak so? I am afraid you are a great
flatterer!" replied Miss Binkie, pulling at the same time a sprig of
geranium to pieces. "But you look tired--pray take a glass of wine."

"By no means, Miss Binkie. A word from you is a sufficient cordial. Happy
geranium!" said I picking up the petals.

Now I know very well that all this sort of thing is wrong, and that a man
has no business to begin flirtations if he cannot see his way to the end
of them. At the same time I hold the individual who dislikes flirtations
to be a fool, and sometimes they are utterly irresistible.

"Now, Mr Dunshunner, I do beg you won't! Pray sit down on the sofa, for I
am sure you are tired, and if you like to listen I shall sing you a
little ballad I have composed to-day."

"I would rather hear you sing than an angel," said I; "but pray do not
debar me the privilege of standing by your side."

"Just as you please;" and Margaret began to rattle away on the
harpsichord.

"O whaur hae ye been, Augustus, my son?
O whaur hae ye been, my winsome young man?
I hae been to the voters--mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' canvassing, and fain wad lay me doun.

"O whaur are your plumpers, Augustus, my son?
O whaur are your split votes, my winsome young man?
They are sold to the Clique--Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' canvassing, and fain wad lay me doun.

"O I fear ye are cheated, Augustus, my son,
O I fear ye are done for, my w