Sir James, anxious to tread carefully. "Dagley complained to me the other day that he hadn't got a decent gate on his farm. Garth has invented a new pattern of gate—I wish you would try it. One ought to use some of one's timber in that way."
"You go in for fancy farming, you know, Chettam," said Mr Brooke, appearing to glance over the columns of the 'Trumpet.' "That's your hobby, and you don't mind the expense."
"I thought the most expensive hobby in the world was standing for Parliament," said Mrs Cadwallader. "They said the last unsuccessful candidate at Middlemarch—Giles, wasn't his name?—spent ten thousand pounds and failed because he did not bribe enough. What a bitter reflection for a man!"
"Somebody was saying," said the Rector, laughingly, "that East Retford was nothing to Middlemarch, for bribery."
"Nothing of the kind," said Mr Brooke. "The Tories bribe, you know: Hawley and his set bribe with treating, hot codlings, and that sort of thing; and they bring the voters drunk to the poll. But they are not going to have it their own way in future—not in future, you know. Middlemarch is a little backward, I admit—the freemen are a