"Dear Nelly,--_Poor dear kind_ Peebles's man has never left here; he's my right hand, and he is a very decent body indeed. It is now six _good_ months since that _poor_ funeral took place. I find I am not fit to live alone: I was married this morning to _poor_ Peebles's man. Your sincere friend, dear Nelly, MARY MERRIMATE. "P.S. Excuse my change of name." * * * * * THE GATHERER. _Electioneering._--In 1749, during the great contested election for Westminster, when Lord Trentham and Sir George Vandeput were candidates, Dr. Barrowby greatly interested himself in favour of the latter, who was put up to oppose the Court party. The doctor had for some weeks attended the noted Joe Weatherby, landlord of the Ben Jonson's Head, in Russell-street, who had become emaciated by a nervous fever. During Dr. Barrowby's visits, the patient's wife, not knowing the doctor's political attachment, had frequently expressed her uneasiness that her dear Joey could not get up, and vote for _her_ good friend Lord Trentham. Towards the end of the election, when very uncommon means were used on both sides to obtain the suffrages of the people, the doctor, calling one morning on his patient, to his great astonishment, found him up and almost dressed.--"Hey-dey! what's the cause of this?" exclaimed Barrowby. "Dear Doctor," said poor Joe, in broken accents, "I am going to poll."--"To poll!" replied the doctor, with much warmth, supposing him of the same opinion with his wife, "going to the d--l, you mean!--why, do you know the cold air may kill you. Get to bed, get to bed, man, as fast as you can, or immediate death may ensue!"--"Oh! if that is the case, sir," returned the patient in a feeble voice, "to be sure I must act as you advise me; but I love my country, sir, and thought, while my wife was out, to seize this opportunity to go to Covent-garden church, and vote for Sir G. Vandeput."--"How, Joe! for Sir George?"--"Yes, sir, I wish him heartily well."--"Do you?" said the medical politician. "Hold, nurse! don't pull off his stockings again; let me feel his pulse. Hey! very well--a good, firm stroke--Egad! this will do. You took the pills I ordered last night?"--"Yes, doctor, but they made me very sick."--"Ay, so much the better. How did your master sleep, nurse?"--"O charmingly, sir."--"Did he! Well, if his mind is really uneasy about this election, he must be indulged; diseases of the mind greatly affect those of the body. Come, come, throw a great coat or blanket about him. It is a fine day; but the sooner he goes the better--the sun will be down early. Here, here, lift him up; a ride will do him good; he shall go with me to the hustings in my chariot." The doctor was directly obeyed; and poor Joe Weatherby was conveyed in the carriage to the hustings, where he gave his vote according to his conscience, amidst the acclamations of the people; and two hours after