CHAPTER XXXVI.
More voices!
Sic. How now, my masters, have you chosen him? Cit. He has our voices,Sir!--Coriolanus.
From Mr. Combermere St. Quintin's, we went to a bluff, hearty, radicalwine-merchant, whom I had very little probability of gaining; but mysuccess with the clerical Armado had inspirited me, and I did not suffermyself to fear, though I could scarcely persuade myself to hope. Howexceedingly impossible it is, in governing men, to lay down positiverules, even where we know the temper of the individual to be gained."You must be very stiff and formal with the St. Quintins," said mymother. She was right in the general admonition, and had I found themall seated in the best drawing-room, Mrs. St. Quintin in her bestattire, and the children on their best behaviour, I should have been asstately as Don Quixote in a brocade dressing-gown; but finding them insuch dishabille, I could not affect too great a plainness and almostcoarseness of bearing, as if I had never been accustomed to any thingmore refined than I found there; nor might I, by any appearance of pridein myself, put them in mind of the wound their own pride had received.The difficulty was to blend with this familiarity a certain respect,just the same as a French ambassador might have testified towards theaugust person of George the Third, had he found his Majesty at dinner atone o'clock, over mutton and turnips.
In overcoming this difficulty, I congratulated myself with as muchzeal and fervour as if I had performed the most important victory; for,whether it be innocent or sanguinary, in war or at an election, thereis no triumph so gratifying to the viciousness of human nature, as theconquest of our fellow beings.
But I must return to my wine-merchant, Mr. Briggs. His house was at theentrance of the town of Buyemall; it stood inclosed in a small garden,flaming with crocuses and sunflowers, and exhibiting an arbour to theright, where, in the summer evenings, the respectable owner might beseen, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, in order to give that just andrational liberty to the subordinate parts of the human commonwealthwhich the increase of their consequence after the hour of dinner,naturally demands. Nor, in those moments of dignified ease, wasthe worthy burgher without the divine inspirations of complacentcontemplation which the weed of Virginia bestoweth. There as he smokedand puffed, and looked out upon the bright crocuses, and meditated overthe dim recollections of the hesternal journal, did Mr. Briggs revolvein his mind the vast importance of the borough of Buyemall to theBritish empire, and the vast importance of John Briggs to the borough ofBuyemall.
When I knocked at the door a prettyish maidservant opened it with asmile, and a glance which the vender of wine might probably havetaught her himself after too large potations of his own spirituousmanufactories. I was ushered into a small parlour--where sat, sippingbrandy and water, a short, stout, monosyllabic sort of figure,corresponding in outward shape to the name of Briggs--even unto a verynicety.
"Mr. Pelham," said this gentleman, who was dressed in a brown coat,white waistcoat, buff-coloured inexpressibles, with long strings, andgaiters of the same hue and substance as the breeches--"Mr. Pelham,pray be seated--excuse my rising, I'm like the bishop in the story, Mr.Pelham, too old to rise;" and Mr. Briggs grunted out a short, quick,querulous, "he--he--he," to which, of course, I replied to the best ofmy cachinnatory powers.
No sooner, however, did I begin to laugh, than Mr. Briggs stoppedshort--eyed me with a sharp, suspicious glance--shook his head, andpushed back his chair at least four feet from the spot it had hithertooccupied. Ominous signs, thought I--I must sound this gentleman a littlefurther, before I venture to treat him as the rest of his species.
"You have a nice situation here, Mr. Briggs," said I.
"Ah, Mr. Pelham, and a nice vote too, which is somewhat more to yourpurpose, I believe."
'Oh!' thought I, 'I see through you now, Mr. Briggs!'--you must not betoo civil to one who suspects you are going to be civil, in order totake him in.
"Why," said I, "Mr. Briggs, to be frank with you, I do call upon youfor the purpose of requesting your vote; give it me, or not, just asyou please. You may be sure I shall not make use of the vulgarelectioneering arts to coax gentlemen out of their votes. I ask youfor your's as one freeman solicits another: if you think my opponenta fitter person to represent your borough, give your support to him inGod's name: if not, and you place confidence in me, I will, at least,endeavour not to betray it."
"Well done, Mr. Pelham," exclaimed Mr. Briggs: "I love candour--youspeak just after my own heart; but you must be aware that one doesnot like to be bamboozled out of one's right of election, by asmooth-tongued fellow, who sends one to the devil the moment theelection is over--or still worse, to be frightened out of it by somestiff-necked proud coxcomb, with his pedigree in his hand, and his acresin his face, thinking he does you a marvellous honour to ask you atall. Sad times these for this free country, Mr. Pelham, when a parcel ofconceited paupers, like Parson Quinny (as I call that reverend fool, Mr.Combermere St. Quintin), imagine they have a right to dictate to warm,honest men, who can buy their whole family out and out. I tell you what,Mr. Pelham, we shall never do anything for this country till we getrid of those landed aristocrats, with their ancestry and humbug. I hopeyou're of my mind, Mr. Pelham."
"Why," answered I, "there is certainly nothing so respectable in GreatBritain as our commercial interest. A man who makes himself is worth athousand men made by their forefathers."
"Very true, Mr. Pelham," said the wine-merchant, advancing his chair tome, and then laying a short, thickset finger upon my arm--he lookedup in my face with an investigating air, and said:--"ParliamentaryReform--what do you say to that? you're not an advocate for ancientabuses, and modern corruption, I hope, Mr. Pelham?"
"By no means," cried I, with an honest air of indignation--"I have aconscience, Mr. Briggs, I have a conscience as a public man, no lessthan as a private one!"
"Admirable!" cried my host.
"No," I continued, glowing as I proceeded, "no, Mr. Briggs; I disdain totalk too much about my principles before they are tried; the proper timeto proclaim them is when they have effected some good by being put intoaction. I won't supplicate your vote, Mr. Briggs, as my opponent may do;there must be a mutual confidence between my supporters and myself. WhenI appear before you a second time, you will have a right to see howfar I have wronged that trust reposed in me as your representative. Mr.Briggs, I dare say it may seem rude and impolitic to address you in thismanner; but I am a plain, blunt man, and I disdain the vulgar arts ofelectioneering, Mr. Briggs."
"Give us your fist, old boy," cried the wine merchant, in a transport;"give us your fist; I promise you my support, and I am delighted to votefor a young gentleman of such excellent principles."
So much, dear reader, for Mr. Briggs, who became from that interviewmy staunchest supporter. I will not linger longer upon this part of mycareer; the above conversations may serve as a sufficient sample of myelectioneering qualifications: and so I shall merely add, that after thedue quantum of dining, drinking, spouting, lying, equivocating, bribing,rioting, head-breaking, promise-breaking, and--thank the god Mercury,who presides over elections--chairing of successful candidateship, Ifound myself fairly chosen member for the borough of Buyemall.
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