Mrs. Haughton nodded flutteringly, for, as the gentleman closed his request, and tapped a large gold snuff-box, Darrell stood before her-- Lionel close at his side, looking positively sheepish. The great man said a few civil words, and was gliding into the room to make way for the press behind him, when he of the white waistcoat, touching Mrs. Haughton's arm, and staring Darrell full in the face, said, very loud: "In these anxious times, public men dispense with ceremony. I crave an introduction to Mr. Darrell." Thus pressed, poor Mrs. Haughton, without looking up, muttered out: "Mr. Adolphus Poole--Mr. Darrell," and turned to welcome fresh comers. "Mr. Darrell," said Mr. Poole, bowing to the ground, "this is an honour." Darrell gave the speaker one glance of his keen eye, and thought to himself: "If I were still at the bar I should be sorry to hold a brief for that fellow." However, he returned the bow formally, and, bowing again at the close of a highly complimentary address with which Mr. Poole followed up his opening sentence, expressed himself "much flattered," and thought he had escaped; but wherever he went through the crowd, Mr. Poole contrived to follow him, and claim his notice by remarks on the affairs of the day--the weather--the funds--the crops. At length Darrell perceived, sitting aloof in a corner, an excellent man whom indeed it surprised him to see in a London drawing-room, but who, many years ago, when Darrell was canvassing the enlightened constituency of Ouzelford, had been on a visit to the chairman of his committee--an influential trader--and having connections in the town--and, being a very high character, had done him good service in the canvass. Darrell rarely forgot a face, and never a service. At any time he would have been glad to see the worthy man once more, but at that time he was grateful indeed. "Excuse me," he said bluntly to Mr. Poole, "but I see an old friend." He moved on, and thick as the crowd had become, it made way, with respect as to royalty for the distinguished orator. The buzz of admiration as he passed--louder than in drawing-rooms more refined--would have had sweeter music than Grisi's most artful quaver to a vainer man--nay, once on a time to him. But--sugar plums come too late! He gained the corner, and roused the solitary sitter. "My dear Mr. Hartopp, do you not remember me--Guy Darrell?" "Mr. Darrell!" cried the ex-mayor of Gatesboro', rising, "who could think that you would remember me?" "What! not remember those ten stubborn voters, on whom, all and singly, I had lavished my powers of argu ment in vain? You came, and with the brief words, 'John--Ned--Dick--oblige me-vote for Darrell!' the men were convinced--the votes won. That's what I call eloquence"--(sotto voce- "Confound that fellow! still after me! "Aside to Hartopp)--"Oh! may I ask who is that Mr. What's-his-name--there--in the white waistcoat?"