Oh, how delightful to hear that the long-talked-of rival has declined the contest, and that the course is clear! or to find by a short canvass that one's majority is safe, and the pleasures of crowing over an unlucky, friendless foe quite secured! No such gratification as this filled the bosom of Mr Moffat on the morning of the Barchester election.

To him had been brought no positive assurance of success by his indefatigable agent, Mr Nearthewinde.

It was admitted on all sides that the contest would be a very close one; and Mr Nearthewinde would not do more than assert that they ought to win unless things went very wrong with them.
Mr Nearthewinde had other elections to attend to, and had not been remaining at Courcy Castle ever since the coming of Miss Dunstable: but he had been there, and at Barchester, as often as possible, and Mr Moffat was made greatly uneasy by reflecting how very high the bill would be.
The two parties had outdone each other in the loudness of their assertions, that each would on his side conduct the election in strict conformity to law.

There was to be no bribery.

Bribery! who, indeed, in these days would dare to bribe; to give absolute money for an absolute vote, and pay for such an article in downright palpable sovereigns?
No.