CHAPTER V.
SATIRES ON THE PARLIAMENTARY ELECTIONS OF 1754.
A favourite figure with the satirists was to portray wily party manœuvrers as vermin-catchers, and those apostate representatives who were ready to sell themselves and their parliamentary trust were displayed as the spoils of their craft. A cartoon appeared at the time of these elections reflecting upon the tricks of administration. It will be seen that nearly all these early caricaturists seem disinterested, as their subjects oppose the dispensers of patronage. The engraving shows the Duke of Newcastle seated beside St. Stephen’s Chapel, and fishing for partisans among the late members, and, in anticipation, bidding for the adherence of the possible representatives in the coming parliament; this subject is entitled, “The Complete Vermin-Catcher of Great Britain; or, the Old Trap new baited.” The minister’s line is dropped through the chimney of St. Stephen’s, and is baited with _Titles_, _Bribes_, _Places_, _Pensions_, _Secret Commissions_, and patronage in _Army_, _Navy_, and _Excise_. The intriguing duke, who was a proficient in corrupting others, and spent a large fortune in electioneering wiles, is observing, “All Vermin may be caught, tho’ differently, suit but the Bait to their various appetites. But there’s a species will take no Bait; would I could scare them away; as they’re not Vermin, they will not answer my purpose.” The greedy place-hunters are swarming plentifully, and are offering to do any amount of dirty work, to “push for posts,” “Jews and no Jews,” being indifferent to everything but profit. The Pelhams, unscrupulous themselves, were past-masters of the art of finding venal tools. It is disclosed in the diary of Bubb Dodington (Lord Melcombe-Regis), the manager of the Leicester House intrigues, and himself an accomplished adept in dissimulation, how disreputably the Duke of Newcastle contrived to secure Bubb’s parliamentary influence (six seats) “for nothing!”
The corrupt character of a large average of those sent to the Commons as representatives of the people was in perfect keeping with the no less greedy boroughmongers who found them seats and the mercenary voters, their constituents by presumption; what a man bought--and in those days almost everything political had its price and was purchasable--he held himself justified in selling when the chance occurred. A satirical rendering of the imperfections then supposed to affect the body of the senate appeared at the time of these elections of 1754, when, by wholesale bribery, the Administration was, at an enormous cost, doing its utmost to degrade the entire system of representation:--“Dissection of a Dead Member (of Parliament).” The subject is extended upon a table for autopsy, five surgeons have severally examined the different functions, and the results of their post-mortem inspection is thus stated:--
_1st Doctor._ The Brain is very foul and muddy, it has a Contusion, or, as it may be called, a soft place in it, locked in the stone kitchen by way of qualification.
_2nd Doctor._ Ay, ay, he knocked his head too hard against politics and bruisified his pericranium. He was bred a Foxhunter.
_3rd Doctor._ The _Vena Cava_ of the _Thorax_ makes a noise, and sounds as if one should say, “My country be damn’d,” and his intestines have got, I think, ’tis “Bribery,” wrote on them--not a drop of good blood in his heart.
_4th Doctor._ Bribery, the _Auri Sacra fames_ of the ancients--ay ’twas a diet he was fond of, ’twas his Breakfast, Dinner, and Supper, and affected all the corpuscles of his corporeal system, it was his _Insanible Membrum_.
_5th Doctor._ There’s a most potent Fœtor exhales as if the whole body was corrupted--if the bones are touched it won’t make an Anatomy.
The elections of 1754 are rendered more interesting to later generations from the circumstance that the famous series of paintings by Hogarth, better known by the engravings as the “Four Plates of an Election,” owe their origin to the electoral contests which ensued on the parliamentary dissolution, April 8, 1754. Before that date the tendency of events was shadowed forth. For instance, Henry Pelham, a pupil of Walpole’s, who combined the offices of first lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer, passed the Jews’ Naturalization Bill in June, 1753, chiefly by his own exertions; but reaping thereby an enlarged measure of unpopularity--sufficient to jeopardize his party and his future career, if not to extinguish the political prospects of the Pelhams beyond rehabilitation--this detrimental concession was recalled, and, in the face of a general election and its possible eventualities, the Bill was repealed. The hostile feeling provoked by the measure in question still remained, and although the principal agent on its introduction had himself departed, it exercised, as will be seen in the political satires, much influence over the elections of 1754, in the way of helping the return of fresh opposition candidates, and defeating ministerial nominees. Henry Pelham, the prominent figure of the administration, expired in the full tide of his unpopularity. That enmity--consequent upon his acts--followed him to the tomb is illustrated by a spirited caricature, published on his death, and disclosing the probable reception which awaited the late premier on the other side of the Styx. “His Arrival at his Country Retirement and Reception,” March 6, 1754 (the anniversary of Pelham’s decease). In this etching Henry Pelham is entering on his future state, introduced to the infernal regions by a demon chamberlain. The “salle des pas perdus,” is not so easy as anticipated; Pelham is observing to his conductor:--“It was much easier walking in the Treasury. I hope my successor finds it so.” The ghosts of departed statesmen are variously greeting the arrival of the latest addition to their class. His predecessor, Sir Robert Walpole, is welcoming a worthy pupil: “O, this is a child of my own bringing up. I found him a promising Genius for dirty work, I therefore did all I could to gain him the succession at my retirement hither, knowing that some of his black strokes would make me appear as fair as alabaster. He has done it in several respects, but chiefly in getting the Naturalization of the Jews passed,--have any of you great Genius’s done anything equal?” The spirit of Judge Jeffreys is declaring, “All my transactions in the West were but a joke to that great achievement.” The disembodied Cardinal Wolsey is observing, “Is that the choice spirit you have so often described? I made pretty large strides towards making the people swallow down what I thought proper--but this beats all my ‘_Ego et Rex Meus’s_’ out of doors!” A shade affirms, “We are all puny statesmen to him;” and the most astute politicians of history are voted beginners beside Pelham--“If you, old Machiavel, had known him in your days, he’d a’ lent you a lift.”
In the elections which were held in April, 1754, the Court seems to have experienced less opposition than might have been expected; for although the spirit of the antagonistic “Leicester House party” had been damped by the death of the Prince of Wales, which occurred unexpectedly in March, 1751, it now showed signs of reviving.
The contest for the City of London gave rise to several interesting caricatures. The humours of canvassing are displayed in “The Liveryman’s Levée” (April, 1754), which represents an elector, a self-sufficient tailor, with his vulgar wife. The pair are receiving the obsequious bows of five of the candidates, who, in 1754, put up for the City of London. The absence of Sir John Barnard, the celebrated city patriot, is professionally marked by a suit hanging on the wall,--“A Plain Suit of Broadcloth for Sir John Steady.” The liveryman is insolently resenting the independence of the favourite candidate: “Where’s Sir John? I think he is greatly wanting in his duty. Does he imagine that a man of my figure is to be trifled with? Don’t he know that we expect to be waited on?” There are other allusions to the recommendations for and objections against the respective candidates.
As the dissolution of parliament approached, satirical views of the situation became numerous, and there appeared various well-executed caricatures upon the subject of the city election. In “The City Up and Down; or, the Candidates Pois’d,” the candidates were represented perched upon suspended boxes, part of a huge revolving machine. Sir John Barnard, Slingsby Bethel, and William Beckford are occupying the upper seats; they had represented the city in the last parliament, and, as there were no objections against their names, their re-election was considered secure. In a side box is Sir Richard Glyn, who was defeated; in another, somewhat lower, is Sir Robert Ladbrooke, a new candidate, who was successful; below these is a fourth box, in which are Sir Crisp Gascoyne and Sir William Calvert; the latter, though one of the former representatives, secured the fewest votes in 1754. The reason for this falling-off in favour is explained by the caricature; Calvert is surrounded by Jews, who are assuring him:--“You have all our interest, for your zealous support of our Bill!”--“Confound your Bill; now I have no hope left,” replies Sir William, whose exertions on behalf of this measure lost him his seat. Barnard is declaring, “I am, strictly speaking, neither a friend to the Jews nor their enemy; excepting when they aim at having equal Rights and Privileges with my fellow-citizens and countrymen.” While the inflexible Beckford, who later was Lord Chatham’s “mouth-piece in the Commons,” asserts, “It becomes a Man of Character to keep good Company.” Ladbrooke, who was a distiller, is declaring he “should like to be in good company too,” but “fears it will be with the two kings”--“The King of the Jews” being Calvert the brewer, and Gascoyne, “King of the Gipsies.” There are allusions to the occupations of the candidates; the voters are declaring, “If the gin-merchant [Ladbrooke] gets in, gin will be cheaper.” Other electors refer to Gascoyne and Calvert as “two very good beer-makers.” On the opposite side of the river is shown Sampson Gideon, a prominent financier of his day, and afterwards knighted,--he is conducted by Satan, and his hat is filled with gold for purposes of bribery; he is eager to tamper with the balance of the boxes in the “great Up and Down machine;”--“If I was over I would turn the poise, though it cost me the profits of the last Lottery.” Gideon was a strenuous supporter of those who voted for the Jews’ Naturalization Bill, and, before the repeal of that measure, held hopes of getting into parliament. He is frequently alluded to in the electioneering squibs of the time. That he had substantial reasons for interesting himself in behalf of those in power appears from the “Report of the Committee appointed to investigate the Lottery of 1753,” where it is stated that “Sampson Gideon became proprietor of more than six thousand tickets, which he sold at a premium.” Preference allotments, being highly profitable, were useful as administrative patronage.
The city election is further illustrated by an engraving called, “A Stir in the City; or, some Folks at Guildhall,” which represents various groups of citizens and persons prominent at the time, assembled before the Guildhall, while the six candidates are borne along on a long frame with six seats, and supported on men’s shoulders, the procession being headed by a bishop; the party is received in state by the sheriffs, who are assuring the prelate, “as my Lord Rabbi,” that “the Guildhall is not the Synagogue,” and “no sons of Levi have place here;”--in general, the bishops supported the Naturalization Bill. Dr. Ward, then before the public as an advertizing pill-vendor, is from his coach distributing quack nostrums; he is acknowledging that “not one will cure an Election Fever.” Gascoyne and Mary Squires, the gipsy, crooked and leaning on her staff, are represented, with Hogarth beside them; this refers to the charges against Squires brought by Elizabeth Canning, and proved false on further investigation by Sir C. Gascoyne, who retired from the city canvass, and successfully contested Southwark. Candidates for Hertford, Winchester, and other places are also introduced. A group of Jews stand by the Guildhall; one cries, “What a shame it is we have no votes!” Sampson Gideon is present, and another is confidentially remarking to him, “Tho’ you can’t vote, Sampson, you may still do business there;” to which the contractor replies, in reference to his expectation of sitting in parliament had the Act to remove the disabilities of the Jews continued in force, “I thought to have voted in another Building;” while a lean Hebrew neighbour whispers, “You have an excellent hand at a Lottery, all the world knows.” Orator Henley, standing in his tub, is recommending his butcher friends from Newport Market to convert the voters into Jews; and a hawker is crying, “Sir Andrew Freeport’s Address [to the Livery of London] for nothing.” The state of the polls for London and Oxfordshire are also given.
Of the six candidates carried in chairs, two and two, Sir John Barnard (at the head of the poll, 3553), is saying, “These are my fellow-citizens; I must not forsake them in my old age, for I always loved them.” Slingsby Bethel (3547), as president of the Free British Fishery Society, promises “the Herring Fishery shall thrive.” Beckford (2941) is made to declare, “I’ll vote for a new Bridge [Blackfriars]; but not for a new Jew Bill.” Sir R. Ladbrooke (3390) is present, and so are the defeated candidates, Sir Richard Glyn, and, at the bottom of the poll, Sir W. Calvert, with the Jew Bill in his pocket--for which he asserts he “only voted!”
A further explanation of the allusions conveyed in this satire is afforded by the verses which accompanied the design:--
“O! see my Raree Show, good Folks, All you who love Election Jokes, You, John a Stiles! and John a Nokes, Doodle, Doodle, Do.
“See Mr. Sheriff with his wand Has put the Bishop at a stand, Who takes Guildhall for Holy Land.
“There’s Sampson, full of discontent, Because he’s not in Parliament; Which was his very heart’s Intent.
“See Henley, with his surgeons there, For Jew conversion all prepare, Butchers cure cases, I declare.
“Sir Andrew Freeport has his eye Upon the List and the Livery, Fox, Barnard, Bethel, Beckford cry.
“A Beauty, Mistress Squires, see, For Mr. Hogarth and I agree, Beauty’s a Lane as crooked as she.
“There Doctor Ward, with looks demure, Is giving his pills, but he is sure Election fevers have no cure.”
The struggle for election was also epitomized under the popular paraphrase of a race-course: “The Parliamentary Race; or, the City Jockies” (April, 1754). Sir John Barnard is first on “Steady,” Mr. Slingsby Bethel is second on “Buzzard;” Sir R. Ladbrooke on “Trimmer,” and William Beckford on “Will o’ the Wisp,” are making great exertions to cut out Sir Richard Glyn on “Little Driver,” who is flogging his horse to keep the third place, which he ultimately lost, his name standing fifth at the close of the poll; Sir Crisp Gascoyne is left behind with “Miss Canning;” Sir William Calvert has come to grief, his horse, “Loose Legs,” having stumbled over a Jew pedlar, and, with the rider, been thrown out of the race. The contest is witnessed by horsemen, gentlemen on foot occupying the stand which the horses must pass, and the usual crowd of spectators present on a race-course, including an itinerant gin-seller dispensing spirits to workmen, in allusion to the distiller, Sir R. Ladbrooke. Various observations are made on the chances of the race: “Old Steady [Barnard] is in first!” “Buzzard [Bethel] will blunder in second!” “Will o’ the Wisp [Beckford] has blood in him!” and other comments, as indicated above. The state of the “Parliamentary Stakes” is expounded in a copy of verses, possibly a parody after one of Tom D’Urfey’s odd ditties:--
“THE PARLIAMENTARY RACE; OR, THE CITY JOCKIES.
“O! Shade of D’Urfey, grant me Vit-a To sing those Jockies of the city, Who want in Parliament to get-a Doodle, Doodle, Do.
“First comes Sir John, who wins the day; His horse is ready to run away, Nor will at all for ‘Loose Legs’ stay.
“But who is he on that scrambling Brute? What, don’t you know, Sir, ’tis past dispute? O! that is Alderman Orator Mute.
“Who flogs so hard, the third to be in? O, that is a Knight, Sir Richard Glyn, And ‘Little Driver,’ too, will win.
“O! see how he spins there, ‘Will of the Wisp’-a, He’ll distance ‘Miss Canning,’ and Sir Crisp-a, And all the Broomstaffs of the Gipsy.
“‘O! Damn the Jew,’ Sir William cries, As o’er his horse he headlong flies. Ay, that damn’d Jew threw dust in his Eyes.
“Sir Robert upon his ‘Trimming Nag’ Has too much spirit too long to lag, He soon will pass the distance-flag.
“O! where’s ‘Miss Canning’? Out of sight, Ay, her best strokes are in the night, Now bring her up--or never, Knight.”
The summary of both the London and the Oxfordshire contests, which were regarded by ministers as of the utmost consequence, are given pictorially in a carefully engraved print, entitled “All the World in a Hurry; or, the Road from London to Oxford,” April, 1754. At the extremities of the plate are views of the respective cities; to these the candidates and their supporters are proceeding on horse and foot, by two opposite lines of road. To the right, where the London cavalcade may be taken to commence, the largest mounted figure, and that nearest the spectator, is intended for Sir John Barnard, the head of the poll, who is trotting along at a steady pace, contented with his progress: “My steed is slow, but sure, Sir Robert.” Sir Robert Ladbrooke, who is urging on his own career, replies, “What! without a spur, Sir John?”--Barnard having resorted to no election manœuvres, and not even canvassed the voters. Alderman Slingsby Bethel, jogging along comfortably in his gig, is observing; “I’ll leave my Election to the Arbitration of the Livery.” Sir Richard Glyn’s pace, in a post-chaise and pair, is checked by a group of pedestrians in the pathway; “What the Devil can’t you get before the Jews, Tom?” he is inquiring of his postillion, who replies, “They are in possession of the Road, Sir Richard:” Glyn, although for some time third in the voting, finally failed in his election. Also behind the group of foot-passengers are two prosperous-looking personages on horseback, Sir William Calvert and William Beckford, both late members for the city; the former is bantering his companion, “You won’t be first at Guildhall, Brother Beckford;” the famous patriot was returned third on the poll at the election of 1754: his rival retorts, alluding to Calvert’s position at the previous contest, “Nor you second, Sir William;” the support Calvert had lent the Jews’ Naturalization Bill was the cause of his being rejected in 1754. In the centre of the group of Hebrew obstructives is a stout man, mopping his forehead and complaining, as he drags along wearily, “Verily, England is too hot at this time of the year!”--this figure represents Sir Sampson Gideon, the loan contractor, who is surrounded by his co-religionists. One long-bearded Israelite is crying that “Sampson refuses to sweat a little for our friend Sir William!” (Calvert); another Jew declares, “Sir William has been sweated often on our account;” and a third is saying, “We must give him a little Grease for once” (_i.e._ spend money to further his election),--this refers to the encouragement the Jews offered Sir William Calvert, support rendered in return for his assistance in passing the Jews’ Naturalization Bill, which nearly cost the ministry their working majority, while one of the city members, Calvert, the great brewer of the day, lost both his popularity and his place in parliament. This measure had been passed by the Pelhams in the last session, and, until its repeal, Sampson Gideon looked forward to a seat as a representative of the City of London. On the eve of the dissolution the ministers had repealed their unpopular Bill, and this concession to public opinion was regarded as an electioneering stratagem on their part. At the other end of the London group is Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who gave up his candidature for the city, and put up for Southwark, where he was rejected. At this time Sir Crisp was labouring under undeserved disfavour owing to his exertions to procure the conviction of Elizabeth Canning, the perjuress, for a false accusation against the gipsy, Mary Squires, who was, through Canning’s devices, condemned to death, but was subsequently pardoned, after Gascoyne’s investigation had established her innocence, and the true facts were made public. The case in question, which was not cleared up at the time of the elections, was the cause of that unpopularity which cost Sir Crisp his seat; in the engraving, he is made to exclaim, “Why, where are you, Mother Squires, with your infernal troop?”--Squires was alleged to be a witch! A friend riding beside him is pointing upwards, “Infernal! Sir Crisp? why, they are up in the air yonder!”--indicating a witch and three weird sisters riding on broomsticks over the heads of the parliamentary cavalcade. The leader, intended for the gipsy, is exclaiming, “I am afraid we are too late, sisters.” The spectators are standing aside to let the procession pass; one is shouting bravely for the “tried members, Barnard and England for ever, huzza!” and two others are abusing Gideon’s friends, who have hindered Calvert’s election. “Damn the Jews! they are always in the way,” “Turn ’em out of the Road.” A copy of verses further elucidates the subject:--
“LONDON.
“‘O! what! without a spur, Sir John, And yet your steed is getting on?’ ‘The steed is a good one I’m upon.’
“Says Madame Squires, in the air, ‘Our friend Sir Crisp need never fear-- Tho’ we are late, we will be there.’
“Sir William is not first, ’tis true, Nor Barnard second, tho’ True Blue, Glyn will be third--Jack! what say you?
“If there is an honest man in the nation ’Tis Bethel, I’ll say it without hesitation, Nor leave it even to his own arbitration.”
The half of the engraving of “All the World in a Hurry,” having reference to the Oxfordshire elections, may be taken as an introduction to Hogarth’s famous series of “The Election;” the actual candidates, besides the contest, being set forth in this earlier version.
The two horsemen galloping in advance of their competitors represent Lord Wenman and Sir James Dashwood, the “True Blue” candidates, who gained the head of the poll, and were returned as “sitting members,” but were afterwards, “on a controverted election petition,” displaced to make room for Lord Parker and Sir Edward Turner, the representatives of the ruling party, who had been supported from the first with the entire government interest, and by a decision of the House of Commons were ultimately seated.
In the engraved version of this spirited competition, Lord Wenman is made to remark, “They are not far behind us, Sir James;” to which Dashwood responds, “Too far, my lord, to get up with us.” That every exertion was made is illustrated by the driver of the post-chaise which contains the ministerial nominees; the Duke of Marlborough, as postillion, is declaring “his jades, _i.e._ the voters, begin to kick”--the elections for Oxfordshire having been in the control of the Marlborough family at former elections; and, in fact, the same influence was so preponderating, that no opposition after the election of 1754, now in question, was offered in the county until 1826,--another Sir G. Dashwood was unsuccessful in the Whig interest in 1830. Sir Edward Turner and Lord Parker are in the ministerial post-chaise; the duke is proposing to throw over one of his nominees--“Sir Edward, you had better get out;” his colleague, however, is resisting this desertion--“You won’t leave me single, Sir Edward?” The latter is trying to spur their postillion forwards: “Push hard, my Lord Duke, or we shan’t get in.” Two Whig notabilities are riding at a distance; one is observing, “Sir James [Dashwood] and my Lord [Wenman] have got ground on ’em;” his neighbour is confidently replying, “Ay, and they’ll keep it, my boys.”
Last comes the great man of the administration, driving his phaeton and six. He bids a mounted messenger to “ride forward, and tell my Lord Duke I would have been with him, but my horses took fright at a funeral, and won’t pull together;” the Duke of Newcastle is the person represented, and the circumstance to which he attributes the restiveness of his six-in-hand was the death, just before the dissolution of parliament, of his brother Henry Pelham, a man of superior abilities to the duke, who had filled the same offices with a better hold on his team.
“OXFORD.
“From London into Oxford Town, See all the world is hurrying down, Dashwood and Wenman for a crown. Doodle, Doodle, Do.
“The Duke of Newcastle in his Fly Cannot get up to his grace; for why? The Funeral! Ah! men will die.
“Sir Edward in the chaise you see; ‘Get out, Sir Edward!’ ‘O, no!’ says he; ‘What,’ cries my Lord, ‘must I single be?’
“‘My jades begin to kick,’ says his Grace; ‘Sir, you had better leave the place, And never look them in the face.’”
The elections in Oxfordshire were marked by a more animated conflict than elsewhere; the Jacobite faction was still strong there, although the comparatively recent fate of those who had declared for the Pretender served to keep these sympathies within discreet limits. The contest was strongly marked by incidents which have survived in the four famous election pictures painted by William Hogarth, the unequalled originals of which, still in fine condition, are now somewhat lost to the public in Sir John Soane’s Museum,[44] but of which the engravings are most familiar. Hogarth sold the series to his friend David Garrick for the modest price of 200 guineas; at the sale of Mrs. Garrick’s effects, in 1823, they were secured by Sir John Soane for the corresponding moderate sum of £1732 10_s._ The “Election Entertainment” was exhibited at Spring Gardens in 1761. These characteristic satires seem to apply to electioneering episodes in general, not only of the eighteenth century, but until within the present; a recapitulation of the principal allusions, however, will show that these pictures are composed of studies for the most part drawn from life, and founded on the actualities of the 1754 contest in Oxfordshire. The “Election Entertainment,” the first of these plates, is so well known that it was felt unnecessary to reproduce any of its incidents. This scene might he taken as a generalistic view of the electioneering hospitality and “open house,” one of the first steps towards conciliating support, but that the three “party-cries” distinctive of this particular struggle are all pictorially perpetuated. The scene embodies gluttony, turbulence, and false patriotism, but bribery and violent intimidation prevail above all. The mayor, who occupies the seat of honour, has succumbed to a surfeit of oysters, and a phlebotomist of the barber tribe is endeavouring to blood his arm and cool his head at one time. A ministerial-looking personage is treated with coarse familiarity, while a youthful aspirant for popular favour is submitting to tipsified indignities at the hands of his temporary associates. Nichols, who mentions certain assurances he received from Hogarth as to the fact that, with one exception, none of the figures were intended for portraits, affects to recognize the handsome candidate.[45] This modish gentleman has been treating the fair sex to gloves, buff or orange favours, and other gear, from the pack of a pedlar of the Hebrew persuasion, who is also dealing in notes of hand; he holds one for £20 from the candidate, signed “R. Pention” (Pension being the word). While the Court party is regaling the Buffs, or Old Interest, at the leading tavern, their opponents, the Blues, are making an out-of-door demonstration; so that a view of the humours of both sides is simultaneously afforded. The New Interest procession is composed of “bludgeon-men,” bearing an effigy of the Duke of Newcastle, with the colours of the Old Interest, and a placard round his neck, “No Jews,” in allusion to the unpopular Act introduced by the Pelhams (1752) to permit the naturalization of foreign Jews. Another cry, inscribed on a blue standard, is “Liberty and Prosperity,” while a huge blue flag bears the inscription, “Increase and multiply in spite of old ----,”[46] in reference to the recent Act for the regulation of marriages, which had encountered much opposition and given offence to the multitude. An animated exchange of missiles between the political antagonists is proceeding through the window; those within are standing a siege from showers of bricks, to which they are replying with a volley of fluids and furniture showered on the heads of the passing patriots; while a rival detachment of Old Interest hirelings, displaying their orange cockades, being armed with oak cudgels, and headed by a partisan with a drawn sword, is sallying forth to make a diversion on the besiegers. A champion Orange bludgeon-man, seated on the floor in the foreground, has evidently returned from a raid on the foe, in which he has had his head broken, but he has succeeded in carrying off one of the obnoxious blue standards. A butcher, with a “Pro Patria” favour twisted round his head, is pouring gin upon the bruiser’s cracked cranium, which he has first plastered with a “Your vote and interest” card; the doughty champion is reviving his spirits with the same stimulant; his foot is trampling upon the spoils of victory, the broken staff and the flag inscribed, “Give us our eleven days,”--another whimsical popular party cry, explained by the alteration in the style, introduced in the session 1751, to correct the calendar according to the Georgian computation, then adopted by most European nations. To equalize the number of days, so that the new year should in future begin on the 1st of January, eleven intermediate days were for that occasion passed over between the 2nd and 14th of September, 1752, so that the day succeeding the 2nd of that month would be reckoned as the 14th--an alteration which provoked discontent, and, in spite of its obvious convenience, was denounced as a Popish innovation.
“In seventeen hundred and fifty-three, The style was changed to P--p--ry [_Popery_], But that it is lik’d, we don’t all agree; Which nobody can deny.
“When the country folk first heard of this act, That old father Style was condemned to be rack’d, And robb’d of his time, which appears to be fact, Which nobody can deny;
“It puzzl’d their brains, their senses perplex’d, And all the old ladies were very much vex’d, Not dreaming that Levites would alter our text; Which nobody can deny.”
(_The Jew’s Triumph._)
The business of the meeting, regarding the gluttony and drunkenness among the diversions, is centred in bribery. The Buff parliamentary agent has a seat next the unconscious municipal in the chair; before him is a ledger ruled with columns for “sure votes” and “doubtful.” The occupations of this important factotum are deranged by a flying brick from the opposition, which has struck home on his temple, bringing him down headlong, with destruction to objects around. Amid much horse-play and practical joking--to the strains of an extraordinary orchestra--promises of payment, bank-notes, and broad-pieces are being put into circulation. A lean Methodist tailor, with Blue sympathies, and who is suffering from qualms of conscience, is placed between two fires, the personal violence of his wife, with a half-shod offspring appealing for new shoes, while a clerkly agent is pressing on his acceptance a handful of silver coins to remove his pious scruples. Although bribery was so generally admitted, and stalked barefaced throughout the country, it was even then contrary to statute. With his usual irony, the painter has shown the “Act against Bribery and Corruption” turned into pipe-lights, and thrown aside in the tray of “long clays,” together with a packet of tobacco, for the use of smokers. This latter bears the name of “Kirton’s best,” and has its peculiar significance: Nichols records that Kirton “was a tobacconist by St. Dunstan’s Church, Fleet Street, who ruined his health and constitution, as well as impaired his circumstances, by being busy in the Oxfordshire election of 1754.” The pictures on the walls, according to Hogarth’s practice, greatly assist the story: there is a view, presumably of Oxford from the river--the city is represented in flames; an undertaker’s escutcheon--the field sable bears three gold pieces, with a chevron, the motto “Speak and Have,” surmounted by an open mouth by way of crest proper. A portrait of William, Prince of Orange, as the Protestant prince of the Revolution, has been slashed across by rabid and indignant Jacobites, in allusion to the faction then supposed to have had much influence in Oxford; branches of laurel are entwined round a buff flag, marked “Liberty and Loyalty,” the standard of the party.
Further allusions to the respective Houses of Stuart and Hanover may be detected in the plate, “Canvassing for Votes,” in the signs of the “Royal Oak,” _versus_ “The Crown.” All the taverns are pressed into the service of the candidates as a matter of course, the enterprising competitors striving to secure the preponderance of publicans, their interest, friends, and followers. “Tim Partitool, Esq.,” possibly a hit at Bubb Dodington, whose person, as sketched by Hogarth, may be identified in at least one picture of this series, is located at the “Royal Oak.” This enterprising gentleman, as depicted on his canvass, is nicknamed “Punch,” also indicative of Bubb’s unmistakable figure. A porter has brought two packages, evidently polling cards, inscribed, “Sir, your vote and interest;” one of these parcels is directed “at Punch’s, at the ‘Royal Oak’ Yard,” and to the candidate in question the bearer is presenting a note with the superscription, “Tim Partitool, Esq.” Above this gentleman’s head, and partly concealing the painted signboard of Charles II. in the oak, with the three crowns of the United Kingdom among the branches, is a pictorial poster in two compartments. In the upper one are shown the Treasury and Horse Guards, both burlesqued; while from the tall story of the former flows a stream of gold, which is being packed into sacks for conveyance by waggon into the country--there to be distributed for the purposes of bribery--to strengthen the party already in power, known as the Old Interest (their own). The way this is to come about is shown in the lower compartment of the painted cloth: “Punch, candidate for Guzzledown,” the _farceur_, with his protuberant rotundity of back and corporation, has a wheel-barrow before him, filled with bags of money, marked £7000 and £9000, and in all amounting to a considerable sum; he is casting about the broad-pieces in a shower from a ladle, and they are caught in the hats of expectant electors.
“See from the Treasury flows the gold, To show that those who’re _bought_ are _sold_! Come, Perjury, meet it on the road-- ’Tis all your own--a waggon-load. Ye party fools, ye courtier tribe, Who gain no vote without a bribe, Lavishly kind, yet insincere, Behold in Punch yourselves appear. And you, ye fools, who poll for pay, Ye little great men of a day, For whom your favourite will not care, Observe how much bewitch’d you are.”
The candidate is treating all around, within the inn, as seen in the bar-parlour, his followers are feeding gluttonously; in the balcony above are two fair nymphs, whose favour he is conciliating by purchasing trinkets from a Jew pedlar. A farmer voter of some influence, probably a squire of the Tony Lumpkin order, who has ridden into Guzzledown, is making the most of his opportunities: the landlords of the rival inns are ostensibly pressing him to accept invitations to dinner at the respective head-quarters; the host of the Royal Oak is pouring a shower of silver into the receptive palm held out by the wary elector, while the other hand receives the broad golden retainer of “The Crown.” The landlady has a lapful of money, while one of George’s grenadiers (like those seen in “The March to Finchley”) is slyly watching the reckoning of the plunder, probably with an eye to spoliation on his own account. The Crown, which is also the Excise Office, is the scene of an animated contest, rival bludgeon-men are in fierce conflict at the doorway, furniture and stones are being thrown about, and a man from the window is discharging a gun into the thick of the fray below--an allusion to a murderous episode which really occurred. The sign of the Crown, suspended to a huge beam, is in process of removal; a man above, on the wrong side of the support, is sawing it through, while confederates below are dragging it down by force: this is also figurative--the man above, who is assisting to demolish the Crown, will come down simultaneously, while those beneath it will be crushed by its fall. At a third house is the sign of the Porto Bello, at the side door of which is seen a barber demonstrating with pieces of tobacco-pipe the manner in which Porto Bello was itself taken with six ships only; his companion, a cobbler, has given up work, having received sufficient money from the elections to afford to forego toil for the present.
The view of the Polling Booth is full of intention. Within, seated at the back, on a raised platform, are the sheriffs or bailiffs with whom the election rests, and their attendant, the beadle; in the front are the poll clerks, with their register-books, and the lawyers to see the testaments duly offered for attesting the oath; in the left corner, a veteran (the Militia Bill peeps out of his pocket), who has lost both arms and one leg, is touching the testament with the iron hook which does duty for his missing hand; the clerk is trying to stifle his laughter, while the opposition lawyer is energetically protesting against this proceeding as informal. Hogarth has literally brought “the blind and the halt” to the hustings; in fact, as was too frequently witnessed on these occasions, he has introduced the extremes to which recourse was had,--a pitiable idiot, in a hopeless stage of imbecility, is brought up to the poll in a chair; this poor creature’s mind is too far gone to distinguish between his right and left hands; the clerk is vainly endeavouring to get the proper attestation, while the keeper, or mad doctor, Dr. Shebbeare,[47] whose legs are adorned with fetters as a felon, is prompting his charge; a political letter of the doctor’s is shown in his pocket. Another victim, evidently on the verge of dissolution, is smuggled up to the booth in an unconscious state, wrapped in a blanket and carried by two repulsive ruffians; one of them is puffing a blast of tobacco smoke full in the face of the dying man, to whose night-cap is pinned a “True Blue” favour.
“Swift, reverend wag, Iërne’s pride, Who lov’d the comic rein to guide, Has told us, ‘Jailors, when they please, Let out their flock to rob for fees.’ From this sage hint, in needful cases, The wights, who govern other places, Let out their crew for private ends-- _Ergo_, to serve themselves and friends. Behold, here gloriously inclin’d The Sick, the Lame, the Halt, and Blind! From Workhouse, Jail, and Hospital, Submissive come, true Patriots all!
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And ’scaped from wars and foreign clutches, An Invalid’s behind on crutches.”
Drinking is still proceeding, and “dying speeches” are hawked about, with the usual heading of a rude woodcut of the gallows, in allusion most probably to a local occurrence which produced considerable agitation amongst the public at large--the passions of the multitude having been set into a flame, in the absence of political excitement, by the trial and execution at Oxford, in 1753, of a young woman, Mary Blandy, for poisoning her father under rather romantic circumstances; she persisted in asserting her innocence, even on the scaffold; a number of pamphlets were published upon her case, which became the subject of warm dispute.
All these “Election” plates are rich in suggestive allusions, the meaning of many of which are now lost. Hogarth in his third plate has indulged in simple allegory. Britannia’s state coach is in difficulties, to which, by the aid of the check-string fastened to her coachman’s arm, she is vainly endeavouring to draw the attention of her driver, who has laid down his reins, being otherwise engaged; the two servants on the box are absorbed in a game of cards, while one is cheating,--an allusion to the extravagant gambling propensities which, to so large and notorious an extent, disfigured society in general, and particularly (at this time) those charged with the interests of the kingdom.
The fourth plate, “Chairing the Members,” exhibits the last and apparently most trying episode as regards the successful candidate; the hero of the hour--the newly returned member, elected in the True Blue, or New Interest--occupies a position which may have its honours, but obviously has its perils. In place of the actually returned members, Hogarth seems to have selected the figure of the intriguing manager of the Leicester House party, Bubb Dodington (afterwards Lord Melcombe), for the hero of the chairing scene. He is elevated only to find himself surrounded with embarrassments: the dangers of his chairing are lost sight of momentarily, for his pale face is horror-stricken by being confronted with a fair lady of fashion; she is equally affected by the rencontre, for she is swooning away--it is presumed with apprehension--in the arms of her maids. Over Bubb’s head flies a goose--a happy conception, understood to be introduced as a parody of the “Triumph of Alexander,” by Le Brun, where that grandiose artist has suggestively made an eagle hover over the head of his hero. In the Blue procession following the chairmen are all the elements of an election triumph--rough music of marrow-bones and cleavers, True Blue flags,[48] plenty of bludgeon-men, while a “block head,” wearing the buff favour of their opponents, is carried to ridicule the opposition. Another humorous episode is shown in a vixenish dame sporting a buff cockade; she has boldly broken through the ranks of the Blues, and is driving from their midst her husband, a tailor, detected in his duplicity by the virago, who is soundly cuffing her crestfallen “inferior moiety,” lately deserted to the enemy. A barrel of beer has been placed in the street for public use; a pewter measure stands beside it; the mob seems to have used the opportunity, as a would-be drinker is discovering that the cask is already emptied. In the distance, a second chaired member is skilfully indicated, of whom the shadow only is seen, projected on a wall, while he is carried along to the evident risk of limb and life, as his gesticulations imply. Among other accessories may be noted a tar-barrel, in preparation for a bonfire later on. The sun-dial bears the date 1755 (when the picture was completed), and marks three o’clock, the quality dinner-hour. The bigwigs of the Court party are assembled at an adjacent mansion, at which a plentiful banquet is about to be served: a French _chef_, his long clubbed tail bound with an orange favour, a female cook, noblemen’s servants, and other retainers, all wearing the colours of the Old Interest, are carrying the silver-covered dishes in procession. The ministerial adherents are assembled on the first floor; a large handsome window--all the panes of which have been broken by the stones of the patriots, affords a good view of the guests; from the side window they are catching the prospect of the Blue demonstration, surveying with malicious delight the perilous situation of the alarmed chaired member, whose triumph seems, for the time being, the reverse of enviable.
It is said the figure of the chief personage is intended for that of the Duke of Newcastle; the Duke of Marlborough was also actively engaged on the Tory side: while the back of another, wearing a broad ribbon, is possibly meant for Lord Winchilsea. Among the artist’s fugitive sketches, as published at his widow’s, Leicester Fields, in 1781, are the two caricatures--engraved by Bartolozzi, from the Earl of Exeter’s collection of Hogarth’s originals--representing Bubb Dodington (very like “Punch”), and the back view of Lord Winchilsea; both these studies might have been made for the plate of “Chairing the Members.” These figures are also included in a caricature entitled “The Recruiting Sergeant” 1757 (the design of which was ascribed to the Hon. George Townshend), while that of Lord Winchilsea, who was at the head of the admiralty, is reproduced with scarcely any alteration, excepting the position of the paddle shown over his shoulder, in the “Triumph of Neptune.”
Other multifarious incidents are given in the fourth plate of the “Election.” A soldier with the Buff colours is washing the wound received on behalf of his employers; his sword is snapped across the blade. A pig-driver, flourishing a formidable flail, is doing battle with a bear-leader, who is armed with a bludgeon. The backward swing of the flail is imperilling the security of the new member’s seat, while wounding the chair-bearers. Bruin is helping himself from the offal pail of a passing ass--the patient animal stopping to munch a thistle by the wayside; the driver is belabouring the bear over the head, to the alarm of a monkey equipped _à la militaire_ and riding on the brute’s shoulder. In the monkey’s fright, a musket at his side is discharged in the face of a little chimney-sweep, who, raised aloft on the wall, is stooping forward to ornament a sculptured skull or effigy of death, placed above the church gate, with a pair of huge round spectacles, in imitation of those worn by Lord Winchilsea. This burning of powder, like the other episodes, has its significance; for, according to the account of Nichols, who claims to have discussed the hidden meanings of these pictures with Hogarth himself, it was “during the contested Oxfordshire Election in 1754 an outrageous mob in the ‘Old Interest’ had surrounded a post-chaise, and were about to throw it into the river (occupant and all), when Captain T----, withinside, shot a chimney-sweeper who was most active in the assault. The captain was tried and acquitted.” Among the items in these election bills it will be observed that more or less mortality has generally to be reckoned, “death by misadventure” having been sufficiently prominent in most contests of the kind during the turbulent times of the past. Private property was held in small respect while rioting was rife; for instance, Hogarth has, in the scene of the chairing, shown a mansion partially demolished, intending to imply that the house had been wrecked by the riotous mob in the course of their eccentric diversions: it will be noted that the wilful destruction of houses and furniture was another recognized feature of election times.
The diary of George Bubb Dodington, Baron of Melcombe-Regis, does not, it is true, contain any enlightenment upon the subject of the Oxfordshire election as depicted by Hogarth, yet the writer is circumstantial in his account of the elections of April, 1754. The records, however, deal with other contests in which the diarist was active, and notably one which brought Dodington much perplexity of mind and loss of cash. The accounts are nearly all set down as recitals of long interviews with the Duke of Newcastle, who was then trying to strengthen his hands by giving away places to those whose allegiance was doubtful; while Dodington, upon whose influence and assistance he could reckon, reaped nothing but mortification, being in fact an intriguer who was for once played upon for ends other than his own by a more astute and less scrupulous diplomatist than himself. The heads of the alliance are set down as under discussion. Bubb was to furnish his interest towards the electing the new parliament (the dissolution was then an affair of hours), claiming to return six members on his own account. “I did it,” he writes, “in the county of Dorset, as far as they pleased to push it. I engaged also specifically to choose two members for Weymouth, which he desired might be the son of the Duke of Devonshire and Mr. Ellis of the admiralty.” The candidates nominated by the Duke of Newcastle, Lord J. Cavendish and Mr. Ellis, were successfully returned by Dodington’s influence in the sequel. Further, there was opposition in Bridgwater, where Bubb was expected to return two members. Lord Egmont was putting up for that place against the Court, and it was the royal pleasure that Dodington should sacrifice himself to keep the Tory candidate out, as signified through Pelham; to which Bubb replied, “that I desired him, when next these matters came to be discussed, to lay me at the King’s feet, and tell him that, as I found it would be agreeable to his Majesty, I would spare neither pains nor expense to exclude him; and thus it became my engagement to do it if I can.” “Lord Egmont’s successful return,” he writes, “need not affect my election, though it might destroy the Whig interest in Bridgwater for ever.” Poor Bubb, oblivious of the royal antipathies to the friends of the Prince of Wales, was hoping to secure his old post of treasurer of the navy, but the leadership of the House of Commons had fallen upon the Pelhams, and, as the party must be strengthened there, it was hinted that the Duke of Newcastle would have to buy supporters by giving away to waverers the offices which rightly were due to his friends; to which Dodington replied without sophistication, “that he considered himself as useful there as his neighbours, and, considering his age, rank, the offices he had held,” and, “adding to that, choosing six members for them at my own expense, without the expense of one shilling from their side, I thought the world in general, and even the gentlemen themselves, could not expect that their pretensions should give me the exclusion.” The duke remarked that “the ease and cheapness of the election of Weymouth had surprised him, that they had nothing like it;” and Bubb considered again “that there were few who could give his Majesty six members for nothing.” Newcastle then took the stout future Baron Melcombe in his arms and kissed him twice (!) “with strong assurance of affection and service;” moreover, notes of all Bubb had said were written out for the king’s pleasure. A week later, Dodington sets down, “Dined at Lord Barrington’s, and found that, notwithstanding the fine conversation of last Thursday, all the employments are given away.”
Nevertheless, he valorously went to work to try and return two members for Bridgwater, though rather against his inclinations; unfortunately, although the doings of each day are set down, the details of the election have been abbreviated by the editor of the diary, Henry Wyndham.
“1754. April 8th. Arrived at Eastbury.
“11. Dr. Sharpe and I set out from Eastbury at four o’clock in the morning for Bridgwater, where, as I expected, I found things very disagreeably framed.
“12. Lord Egmont came, with trumpets, noise, etc.
“13. He and we walked the town: we found nothing unexpected as far as we went.
“14, 15, 16. Spent in the infamous and disagreeable compliance with the low habits of venal wretches.
“17. Came on the election, which I lost by the injustice of the Returning Officer. The numbers were--for Lord Egmont 119, for Mr. Balch 114, for me 105. Of my good votes 15 were rejected: 8 bad votes for Lord Egmont were received.
“18. Left Bridgwater for ever. Arrived at Eastbury in the evening.”
Altogether Dodington places his expenses at £2500, later on at £3400, and finally, when the king had thrown him over, at nearly £4000 spent in this affair. According to an accepted political axiom, what a man buys he may sell; Pelham admitted to Dodington that he possessed “a good deal of marketable ware (parliamentary interest), and that if I would empower him to offer it all to the king, without conditions, he would he answerable to bring the affair to a good account.” In this instance the vendor sold himself for “just nothing at all,” as is shown in the diary. The king disliked Bubb as the adviser of his son, whom he hated.
“April 26. I went to the Duke of Newcastle’s. Received with much seeming affection: thanks for Weymouth, where I had succeeded; sorrow for Bridgwater, where I had not.
* * * * *
“I began by telling him that I had done all that was in the power of money and labour, and showed him two bills for money remitted thither, before I went down, one of £1000, one of £500, besides all the money then in my steward’s hands, so that the election would cost me about £2500. In the next place, if this election stood, the borough was for ever in Tory hands; that all this was occasioned by want of proper support from the Court, and from the behaviour of the servants of the Crown.”
The truth was that the Court had really defeated Dodington. Lord Poulett, a lord of the bedchamber, “had acted openly against him with all his might;” and this action on the part of the higher powers had carried the Government employees, so that “five out of the Custom-house officers gave single votes for Lord Egmont.”
“The next head was--that, in spite of all, I had a fair majority of legal votes, for that the Mayor had admitted eight bad votes for Lord Egmont, and refused fifteen good ones for me; so that it was entirely in their own hands to retrieve the borough, and get rid of a troublesome opponent, if they pleased; that if the king required this piece of service, it was to be done, and the borough put into Whig hands, and under his influence, without any stretch of power.”
The intricacies of electioneering are supplanted by those of statecraft from this point; Bubb’s diary rehearses--spread over four months--the reasons for and against petitioning for a just return; but it peeps out, and therein lies the rub--that Dodington has inflamed the Tories by his assistance in Dorset. Now, just at this time, the Duke of Newcastle sought to make friends with the opposition; and it occurred to this slippery tactician that, as Dodington had had the sole onus of trying to keep out the Tories and failed, if he allowed Lord Egmont to retain his seat for Bridgwater, it would purchase his allegiance without the cost and inconvenience of putting some post or piece of state preferment at his disposal. Thus did Dodington sacrifice both his money and pains without conciliating the favour of the king, with whom the ambitious courtier was the reverse of popular.
One important feature of electioneering, missing in the later days, was the edifying practice of “Burning a Prime Minister,” making effigies of unpopular candidates and obnoxious ministers for burnt-offerings.
A caricature appeared in 1756 representing a street, in the precincts of Westminster it is presumed, filled with a crowd of enthusiastic patriots on their way to make a bonfire of the offending minister in effigy. The figure wears a cocked hat, and has a wig and mask, evidently copied from those of the living prototype, mounted on a stick; the coat and gloves are stuffed; the legs are sticks, bound up into a rude resemblance to stockings and shoes. The effigy is strapped on horseback. At the rear is a gibbet, on which the dummy premier is to be finally suspended. One of the mob bears a supply of faggots. Beneath this pictorial satire, which is executed something in the style of Sayer, the caricaturist of a later date, appear the verses:--
“Were you in effigy to burn Each treacherous statesman in his turn, What better would Britannia be, Whilst the proud knaves themselves are free? Knaves have brought disgrace upon her! Have bought her votes and sold her Honour!”
The following manifesto explains the object of this publication, an appeal “Against Corruption,” and directed to securing the purity of elections against Ministerial bribery. The subject of the squib was evidently suggested by the Guy Fawkes processions of November. It appeared at the time when the Newcastle and Fox administration was near its fall and after those expensive elections in which the duke had spent enormous sums in bribery.
“Who can call to remembrance without abhorrence the behaviour of a Whiggish Ministry, who, neglecting everything else but the business of Bribery and Corruption, reduced the credit of the Nation and themselves to so low an ebb, that at length they were obliged to import Hessian and Hanoverian Troops to support an immense unconstitutional standing army, in defending them and their measures at home; whilst our perfidious enemies ravaged and distressed our wretched Colonies in every other part of the globe. Now it would be well for England if the several Tory or motley administrations since that time could demonstrate that they have spent less time and treasure in the same destructive employment. As a tree is known by its fruit, so is a bad minister by his attempting to influence Electors, or even to gain a Majority of the Elected by any other means than the justice of his measures; otherwise the use of a national Council is superseded; and when a King is thus deprived of the disinterested deliberations of his people in Parliament, the authors of the undue influence are certainly guilty of Treason in the strictest sense of the word.”