At the election of a certain borough in Cornwall, where the opposite interests were almost equally poised, a single vote was of the highest importance.  This object the Duke, by well applied argument and personal application, at length attained; and the gentleman he recommended, gained the election.  In the warmth of gratitude, his grace poured forth acknowledgments and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate possessor of the casting vote; called him his best and dearest friend; protested, that he should consider himself as forever indebted to him; and that he would serve him by night or by day.

The Cornish voter, who was an honest fellow, and would not have thought himself entitled to any reward, but for such a torrent of acknowledgments, thanked the Duke for his kindness, and told him the supervisor of excise was old and infirm, and, if he would have the goodness to recommend his son-in-law to the commissioners, in case of the old man’s death, he should think himself and his family bound to render his grace every assistance in their power, on any future occasion.

“My dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling employment?” exclaimed his grace; “your relative shall have it the moment the place is vacant, if you will but call my attention to it.”

“But how shall I get admitted to you, my lord?  For in London, I understand, it is a very difficult business to get a sight of you great folks, though you are so kind and complaisant to us in the country.”

“The instant the man dies,” replied the Duke, “set out posthaste for London; drive directly to my house, and, be it by night or by day, thunder at the door; I will leave word with my porter to show you upstairs directly; and the employment shall be disposed of according to your wishes.”

The parties separated; the Duke drove to a friend’s house in the neighborhood, without a wish or desire to see his new acquaintance till that day seven years; but the memory of the Cornish elector, not being burdened with such a variety of objects, was more retentive.  The supervisor died a few months after, and the Duke’s humble friend, relying on the word of a peer, was conveyed to London posthaste, and ascended with alacrity the steps of that nobleman’s palace.

The reader should be informed, that just at this time, no less a person than the King of Spain was expected hourly to depart this life, an event in which the minister of Great Britain was particularly concerned; and the Duke of Newcastle, on the very night that the proprietor of the decisive vote arrived at his door, had sat up anxiously expecting dispatches from Madrid.  Wearied by official business and agitated spirits, he retired to rest, having previously given particular instructions to his porter not to go to bed, as he expected every minute a messenger with advices of the greatest importance, and desired that he might be shown upstairs, the moment of his arrival.

His grace was sound asleep; and the porter, settled for the night in his armchair, had already commenced a sonorous nap, when the vigorous arm of the Cornish voter roused him from his slumbers.  To his first question, “Is the Duke at home?” the porter replied, “Yes, and in bed; but has left particular orders that, come when you will, you are to go up to him directly.”