Voters
were brought down, or up, as the case might be, from all quarters of the
land. Coaches-full came tearing along, gorgeous with election flags, and
placarded all over with names of rival candidates. Gentlemen of ancient
lineage called to request of the meanest elector the favour of his vote
and influence. It was with pain the Liberals of our little village
resolved to vote against our Benacre neighbour, Sir Thomas Gooch, who had
long represented the county, but of whom the Radicals spoke derisively as
Gaffer Gooch, or the Benacre Bull, and chose in his stead a country
squire known as Robert Newton Shaw, utterly unknown in our quarter of the
county.

It was rather a trying time for the Wrentham Liberals and Dissenters to
do their duty, for Sir Thomas was a neighbour, and always was a pleasant
gentleman in the parish, and had power to do anyone mischief who went
against him. Our medical man did not vote at all. Our squire actually,
I believe, supported Sir Thomas, and altogether respectable people found
themselves in an extremely awkward position. At Southwold the people
were a little more independent, for Gaffer Gooch rarely illuminated that
little town with his presence; and as my father, with the economy which
is part and parcel of the Scotchman as he leaves his native land, but
which rarely extends to his children, had, by teaching gentlemen's sons
and other ways, been able to save a little, which little had been devoted
to the purchase of cottage property in Southwold (well do I remember the
difficulty there was in collecting the rents; never, assuredly, were
people so much afflicted or so unfortunate when the time of payment
came), it was for Southwold that he claimed his vote. I, as the son, was
permitted to share in the glories of that eventful day. The election
took place at school-time, and my companion was Henry Thompson. We had
to walk betimes to Frostenden, where Farmer Downing lived, who was that
_rara avis_ a Liberal tenant farmer; but of course he did not vote tenant
farmer, but as a freeholder. It was with alarm that Mrs. Downing saw her
lord and master drive off with us two lads in the gig. There had been
riots at London, riots as near as Ipswich, and why not at Halesworth? A
mile or two after we had started we met, per arrangement, the Southwold
contingent, who joined us with flags flying and a band playing, and all
the pride and pomp and circumstance of war. We rode in a gig, and our