rounded by numerous and well-chosen staff; one party of friends, acting as commissariat, attending to the victualling of the voters, that they obtained a due, or rather undue, allowance of liquor, and came properly drunk to the poll; others again broke into skirmishing parties, and, scattered over the country, cut off the enemy’s supplies, breaking down their post-chaises, upsetting their jaunting cars, stealing their poll-books, and kidnapping their agents. Then there were secret service people, bribing the enemy and enticing them to desert; and lastly, there was a species of sapper-and-miner force, who invented false documents, denied the identity of the apposite party’s people, and, when hard pushed, provided persons who took bribes from the enemy, and gave evidence afterwards on a position. Amid all these encounters of wit and ingenuity, the personal friends of the candidate formed a species of rifle brigade, picking out the enemy’s officers, and doing sore damage to their tactics, by shooting a proposer, or wounding a seconder—a considerable portion of every leading agent’s fee being intended as compensation for the duels he might, could, would, should, or ought to fight during the election. Such, in brief, was a contest in the olden time; and, when it is taken into consideration, that it usually lasted a fortnight or three weeks, that a considerable military force was always engaged (for our Irish law permits this), and which, when nothing pressing was doing, was regularly assailed by both parties—that far more dependence was placed in a bludgeon than a pistol—and that the man who registered a vote without a cracked pate, was regarded as a kind of natural phenomenon, same faint idea may be formed how much such a scene must have contributed to the peace of the country, and the happiness and welfare of all concerned in it,
As we rode along, a loud cheer from a road that ran parallel to the one we were pursuing attracted our attention, and we perceived that the cortége of the opposite party was hastening on to the hustings. I could distinguish the Blakes’ girls on horseback among a crowd of officers in undress, and saw something like a bonnet in the carriage and four which headed the procession, and which I judged to be that of Sir George Dashwood. My heart beat strongly as I strained my eyes to see if Miss Dashwood were there, but I could not discern her, and it was with a sense of relief that I reflected on the possibility of our not meeting under circumstances wherein our feelings and interests were so completely opposed. While I was engaged in making this survey, I had accidentally dropped behind my companions; my eyes were firmly fixed upon that carriage, and, in the faint hope that it contained the object of all my wishes, I forgot everything else. At length the cortége entered the town, and, passing beneath a heavy stone gateway, was lost to my view. I was still lost in reverie, when an under agent of my uncle’s rode up. “Oh! Master Charles,” said he, “what’s to be done? they’ve forgotten Mr. Holmes at Woodford, and we haven’t a carriage, chaise, or even a car left, to send for him.”
“Have you told Mr. Considine?” inquired I.
And sure you know yourself how little Mr, Considine thinks of a lawyer. It’s small comfort he’d give me if I went to tell him: if it was a ease of pistols or a bullet mould, he’d ride back the whole way himself for them.”
