CHAPTER IX.
REMARKABLE ELECTIONS AND CONTROVERTED ELECTION PETITIONS, 1768 TO 1784.
The feats of the Whartons, Walpoles, Marlboroughs, Pelhams, and Graftons, in the direction of lavishing large sums for the corruption of the electorate, were dwarfed into insignificance by the fortunes staked upon a single contest later on: thus the disbursements over a contested election at Lincoln would be twelve thousand per candidate; and, we are told, “occasionally, after a hard fight at such places as Colchester, all the defeated men appeared in the Gazette.” It is stated that the two great county contests for Hampshire, in 1790 and 1806, cost the ministerial candidates twenty-five thousand apiece on each occasion, while their opponent’s expenses were proportionately large. The contest, still remembered by Northampton worthies as the “Spendthrift Election,” in which three earls fought for the borough election in favour of their respective nominees in 1768, is a startling instance of the lengths to which electioneering Peers were tempted to proceed in “scot and lot times.” The opponents were the Earls of Halifax, Northampton, and Spencer, and the respective nominees they pitted against each other in this all but ruinous “tourney” were Sir George Osborne, Sir George Bridges Rodney, and the Hon. Thomas Howe. The candidates were of small account in the conflict; their patrons bore the brunt of the battle. The canvassing commenced long before the polling; this was extended over fourteen days—a phenomenal circumstance in the days when elections were often settled and returns made before ten o’clock on the morning of the polling day. According to the poll-book, the legitimate number of electors, some 930, was exceeded by 288, but confusion of persons is accounted for by the promiscuous hospitalities of three noble mansions being at the mercies of the crowd for weeks: at the famous historical seats of Horton, Castle Ashby, and Althorp, the orgies pictured in Hogarth’s “Election Dinner”—“filled with the tipsified humours” of what Bubb Dodington fitly called, “venal wretches”—were indefinitely prolonged. “The Scot and Lot,”—woolcombers, weavers, shoemakers, labourers, pedlars, militia-men, and victuallers held “high revel,” prolonged without intercession from night till morning, and vice versâ, in the ancestral halls, of which, including the well-stocked wine-cellars, they were in a body “made free.” Therein lodged the perdition of Horton; for, after they had drained dry the goodly stock of matured port, Lord Halifax had to place before them his choicest claret, whereon, with one accord, filled with vinous fastidiousness, the “rabble rout” deserted to a man, declaring, “they would never vote for a man who gave them sour port,” and went over in a body to Castle Ashby. Each of the candidates claimed more votes than could be legally registered in his favour. Howe, the unsuccessful candidate, whose “potwallers” and “occasional voters” were likewise challenged, petitioned; and the “controverted election” came before the House of Commons. During the six weeks the scrutiny lasted, sixty covers were daily spread at Spencer House, St. James’s, for those concerned in the case. The results were no less eccentric: the number of votes being finally found equal, the election was referred to chance, and decided by a toss, which Lord Spencer won, and nominated a man out in India. The cost of this escapade then had to be counted. It is said Lord Spencer expended one hundred thousand pounds; his antagonists are credited with having wasted one hundred and fifty thousand pounds each—an incredible sum, considering this represents at least double the equivalent amounts at the present day. Earl Spencer came off lightest, and appears to have been in no way involved; Lord Halifax was ruined; Lord Northampton cut down his trees, sold his furniture at Compton Winyates, went abroad for the rest of his days, and died in Switzerland. Canon James, who has related the story of the famous “Spendthrift Election” in his “History of Northamptonshire,” mentions that at Castle Ashby is still preserved a sealed box, labelled “Election Papers,” the evidence of this insane contest—one of no political moment; but none of the present generation has had the courage to open the dread receptacle of bygone folly.
A whimsical anecdote is related by Edgeworth, in his “Memoirs,” respecting the contest for Andover at the general election in 1768, when Sir J. B. Griffin was returned at the head of the poll with seventeen votes; the second member was B. Lethieulier, with fifteen votes; and the defeated candidate was Sir F. B. Delaval, who only polled seven. The latter was a celebrity, both in fashion and in the politics of his day, and the story which is connected with his electioneering experience properly belongs to the traditions of the subject. Sir Francis found himself at loggerheads with his attorney, an acute practitioner, whose bill had been running for years, and, though considerable sums of money had been paid “on account,” a prodigious balance was still claimed as unsettled; this Sir Francis disputed at law. When the case came before the Court of King’s Bench, amongst an exorbitant list of charges the following item excited general attention:—
“To being thrown out of the George Inn, Andover; to my legs
being thereby broken; to surgeon’s bill, and loss of time
and business; all in the service of Sir F. B. Delaval £500.”
It was found that this charge required explanation. It appeared that the attorney, by way of promoting the interests of his principal in the borough, had sought to propitiate the favour of those important potentates at electioneering times, the mayor and corporation, in whose hands, as seen in the foregoing, was vested so much of the local influence. A pretext was necessary to decoy these worthies to a banquet, where they might be conciliated, so the attorney sent cards of invitation to the mayor and corporation in the name of the colonel and officers of a regiment in the town; he at the same time invited the colonel and staff, in the name of the mayor and corporation, to dine and drink the king’s health on his birthday;—an ingenious ruse, but the arch-diplomatist had literally “reckoned without his host.” The two parties met, were cordially courteous, ate a good dinner, toasted his majesty’s health, and proceeded to other oratorical compliments before breaking up. Then came the acknowledgments: the commanding officer of the regiment made a handsome speech to Mr. Mayor, thanking him for his hospitable invitation and entertainment; “No, Colonel,” replied the mayor, “it is to you that thanks are due, by me and my brother-aldermen for your generous treat to us.” The colonel replied with as much warmth as good breeding would allow; the mayor retorted in downright anger, vowing that he would not be choused by the bravest colonel in His Majesty’s service. “Mr. Mayor,” said the colonel, “there is no necessity for displaying any vulgar passion on this occasion; permit me to show you that I have here your obliging card of invitation.” “Nay, Mr. Colonel, here is no opportunity for bantering, there is your card.” The cards were produced simultaneously. Upon examining the invitations, it was observed that, notwithstanding an attempt to disguise the hand, both cards were written by some person who had designed to hoax them all. Every eye of the discomfited guests, corporation and officers alike, turned spontaneously upon the attorney, who had, of course, found it necessary to be present to flatter the aldermen; his impudence suddenly gave way, he faltered and betrayed himself so fully by his confusion, that, in a fit of summary justice, the colonel threw him out of window; for this, Sir F. B. Delaval was charged £500.
Among the parodies of election addresses issued at the time of the rival Shelburne and Rockingham parties, is a broadside “embellished” with a copperplate engraving of a whimsical assembly of citizens, met in solemn conclave to examine the political views of a deformed sweeper-lad, “a public character,” who, it appears, was nicknamed by his contemporaries “Sir Jeffery Dunstan.” The pointed satire is thus headed:—
“‘What can we reason but from what we know?’—Pope.