'Blessed if she didn't send 'em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over.

They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by way of experiment, but it was no go--they wouldn't poll him; so they brought him back, and put him to bed again.' 'Strange practices, these,' said Mr.Pickwick; half speaking to himself and half addressing Sam.
'Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as happened to my own father, at an election time, in this wery place, Sir,' replied Sam.
'What was that ?' inquired Mr.Pickwick.
'Why, he drove a coach down here once,' said Sam; ''lection time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down woters from London.
Night afore he was going to drive up, committee on t' other side sends for him quietly, and away he goes vith the messenger, who shows him in;--large room--lots of gen'l'm'n--heaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that 'ere.

"Ah, Mr.Weller," says the gen'l'm'n in the chair, "glad to see you, sir; how are you ?"--"Wery well, thank 'ee, Sir," says my father; "I hope you're pretty middlin," says he.--"Pretty well, thank'ee, Sir," says the gen'l'm'n; "sit down, Mr.Weller--pray sit down, sir." So my father sits down, and he and the gen'l'm'n looks wery hard at each other.

"You don't remember me ?" said the gen'l'm'n.--"Can't say I do," says my father.--"Oh, I know you," says the gen'l'm'n: "know'd you when you was a boy," says he.--"Well, I don't remember you," says my father.--"That's wery odd," says the gen'l'm'n."-- "Wery," says my father.--"You must have a bad mem'ry, Mr.Weller," says the gen'l'm'n.--"Well, it is a wery bad 'un," says my father.--"I thought so," says the gen'l'm'n.

So then they pours him out a glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg'lar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty-pound note into his hand.