footman, had he given them the order: or of Wilton, in Wiltshire, which would have done the same for another noble lord: or of Lymington, in Hampshire, the absolute property of one Sir H. B. Neale at the time of the passing of the Reform Bill: or of the old boroughs of Liskeard, Lyme Regis, Droitwich, Thirsk, New Ross, Calne, Portarlington, and others, which did as they were told by their owners, and asked no questions? When I was a boy, sir, if a person wanted to get into Parliament himself, or to send his son or brother-in-law there, he did not go chaffering and pettyfogging amongst a set of butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers for their votes; no! he bought them and their borough up bodily, and was returned respectably, like a gentleman.”
“What was a ‘burgage tenure,’ Mr. Minkinshaw?” I asked.
“A ‘burgage tenure’ was—ahem! a ‘burgage tenure’ means a tenure that is—well! I don’t exactly know what it means; and if I did, it would take too much time to tell you,” replied Mr. Minkinshaw, rubbing his red double chin thoughtfully. “A barrister friend of mine once tried to tell me, but, confound him! he was so prosy, I could not make him out. All I know is, that they were certain plots of land, on which there was, or had been, some building, and whoever was the tenant of one of them, had a vote. So you see, when a nobleman had a ‘burgage tenure’ borough—like Old Sarum, for example, where the right of voting was in respect of the foundations of a ruined wall—he kept these tenures in his own hands, and just before the election conveyed them to his friends, or servants, who of course returned him to Parliament as their representative, and when the election was over gave back the deeds into his hands. It never would have done for him to have parted with them out and out, running the risk of the tenants being bought up by some one else and turning upon him. No! no!”
“In many of the boroughs,” I observed, “the franchise was held by the freehholders.”
“Lor’ bless you,” replied Mr. Minkinshaw, “that made no difference. Now I’ll tell you what happened in the village where I was born—Haselmere, in Surrey, I mean. This was, down to the year 1832, a pocket-borough of the Earls of Lonsdale. There were about sixty-seven freeholds in it altogether; forty of them belonging to the Earl, twenty to Lord Gwydir, and the remainder to independent persons. Did the Earl trust his freeholds to the Haselmere people? Not he. He knew a trick worth two of that. Seats in Parliament were worth something in those days, I can tell you. A nobleman who could command the votes of half-a-dozen members, had not to ask the minister twice for a rich sinecure for his younger son, or a bishoprick for his daughter’s husband. No! Seats in Parliament were worth having, and worth keeping: so he sent for forty labourers from his collieries in the north, built cottages for them, and allowed each man half-a-guinea a week, besides what he could earn, for being ready to vote for him, and they did vote for him, returning his nominee in the general elections of 1780, 1784, 1790, 1796. Well, the old Earl died in 1802, and his successor, thinking that the seat was quite safe, and not caring to be at the expense of keeping the forty freeholders any longer, sent them about their business; the consequence of which was, that at the general election in 1812, which came somewhat suddenly upon the country, he found himself without a single qualified elector in the borough! Lord Gwydir was no better off, and there were two opposition candidates in the field! Here was a pretty fix to be in!”
“Well,” said I, “The seven independent freemen, I suppose, returned the popular candidates?”
Minkinshaw contemplated me with an air of lofty compassion. He looked me down my fore- head, nose, and chin—down the line of my shirt-studs, and waistcoat buttons—down the seams of my trowsers, till he came to my boots—and then he looked me back again, over the same route, up to my hair, when, throwing up his red double chin in silent scorn of my ignorance and presumption, he proceeded with his narration to Charlie, ignoring my existence and observations altogether.
“Well, sir, the day of election came. The returning officer was the bailiff appointed by the Earl of Lonsdale. He was told to adjourn the poll to the following morning, and he did so. In the meantime we got together all the attorneys’ clerks that were to be had within fifty miles, and set them at work to draw up conveyances of my lord’s freeholds. By polling-time the next day, fourteen deeds were engrossed, signed, sealed, and delivered, and an equal number of bran-new electors voted for Charles Young and Robert Ward, Esquires, his lordship’s nominees, and, having so done, returned the deeds, like free and independent electors and good tenants. The gentlemen I have named were elected, and Admiral Greaves and his son were sent about their business!”
Now, methought, I have you on the hip, Mr. Minkinshaw. “I think you said this took place in the year 1812?” I inquired.
“Yes, sir; I am always exact as to dates.”
“No doubt, then,” I replied, “you will remember that the Act forbidding splitting of votes, and requiring six months’ residence in a borough before a vote could be gained, was in force at that time?”
“Of course it was. What then?” demanded the Minkinshaw, fiercely.
“According to your own showing, all the freeholds belonged to Lord Lonsdale, immediately before the election, and also immediately afterwards. Admiral Greaves should have petitioned against the return.”
“He did petition, and was beaten.”
“Then,” I urged, somewhat nettled, “you have not acquainted us with all the circumstances of the case. If he proved what you have stated, he must have succeeded!”
"If he proved it—ay! It was all as notorious as noon-day; but he couldn’t prove it with legal evidence. First of all, he called Lord Lonsdale’s steward as a witness that all the freeholds belonged to his master; but the steward was objected to, being a confidential agent, and was not allowed to