CHAPTER XI.

REMARKABLE ELECTIONS AND POLITICAL MEETINGS, 1788 TO 1807.

We have seen Admiral Lord Hood’s energetic canvass at the great Westminster election, when, with the powerful assistance of the Court, he fought the Whigs, but failed to hinder Fox’s election. In spite of the victory gained in 1784 by their opponents, four years later the ministerialists and the “king’s friends” were again forced into a fresh contest on the same field, and more ignominiously defeated; the popular Lord Hood, their chosen champion, having in July, 1788, been appointed to a seat at the Admiralty Board, as a recognition of his services to Government, a fresh election was necessary for the city of Westminster. The Whigs were still to the front, and Lord John Townshend came forward and canvassed in that interest, with such strong support from the Opposition that the ministers now experienced a more inglorious reverse, their candidate being unseated, although recourse was had to every expedient, lawful or otherwise, that could promote the return of Hood, the Government nominee. After the close of the poll, which showed Lord John Townshend with 6392 votes, to Lord Hood’s 5569, thus giving two Whig members for Westminster, Gillray exposed the corrupt practices of the Court agents in the caricature, published on August 14, 1788, entitled, “Election Troops Bringing in their Accounts to the Pay-Table.” The premier is seen behind the bars of the Treasury gates; the undisguised and direct applications of his quondam allies are so compromising that it is inexpedient to admit the claimants, or acknowledge an acquaintance with such disreputable connections; but a saving compromise is suggested. Pitt is made to plausibly protest, “I know nothing of you, my friends. Lord Hood pays all the expenses himself;” then, in a whisper, “Hush! go to the back-door in Great George Street, under the Rose.” Sir George Rose was Pitt’s secretary and _factotum_; he is chiefly seen in the contemporary satires as associated with what was called “back-stairs influence,” of which he may be accepted as chamberlain; his scene of operations was generally represented as the “back-door of the Treasury,” where he diplomatically carried out the stratagems of the premier--especially, as in the present instance--in the indirect recognition of secret services.

Foremost in the rank of election troops is the modish Major Topham, a conspicuous personage in his day, who frequently appears in the caricatures of the time; his notoriety was due to the _World_, a society newspaper of the last century, of which the major was proprietor, editor, and fashionable gossip-monger. Topham has brought a copy of his organ to prove the active support he had lent the Government during the Westminster contest, and is the first to present his bill “for puffs and squibs, and for abusing the Opposition.”

A ragged newsboy from the _Star_ has also brought his journal and a claim for payment “for changing sides, for hiring ballad-singers, and Grub Street writers.” As usual, some scenes of a desperate character had marked the election, and three downright bullies, giant troopers of the Guards, with ensanguined bayonets as evidence of their late employment, demand pay “for the attack in Bow Street;” a publican brings in a reckoning “for eating and drinking for jackass boys;” ballad-singers have come to claim “five shillings a day” for their professional services; a cobbler, with Hood’s cockade, presents a modest bill “for voting three times” as “an independent elector;” a clothesman of the Hebrew persuasion is clamouring for money “for perjury, and procuring Jew voters;” and a body of Hood’s sailors, armed with formidable cudgels, are come for payment “for kicking up a row,”--as in the election of 1784, Hood’s boisterous sailors were brought up to the hustings to support their admiral, and were particularly violent and reckless in their zeal for the cause, intimidating those voters who were recognized as favouring the opposite party, and forcibly keeping them away from the polling booth. These jolly Jack Tars, with perfect singleness of mind, and oblivious of nice distinctions which they did not understand, were filled to overflowing with explosive loyalty for the king, and fealty for their admiral; but on this occasion the sailors were beaten by the Irish chairmen with hearty goodwill, and, with their patron, Lord Hood, experienced a defeat.

In 1790, it is consolatory to find that the gallant Lord Hood was again returned for Westminster; Fox heading the poll with 3516 votes; Hood, as a good second, with 3217: on this occasion the Whigs lost a seat, for John Horne Tooke, although so prominent a figure, failed to repeat the success of Lord John Townshend, 1679 votes were polled for the “Parson of Brentford,” otherwise John Horne Tooke, the celebrated philologist.

Curious anomalies were witnessed under the old boroughmongering system, anterior to the sweeping measure of reform. Helston, in Cornwall, was a typical case. The elective franchise was formerly invested in the corporation, which consisted of the mayor, who was the returning officer, eleven aldermen, and twenty-five common council-men, thirty-six in all. The old charter of Elizabeth was confirmed by Charles I., and, according to common report, there survived but one elector under this charter in 1790, to whose lot accordingly fell the unusual distinction of nominating two representatives on his own account.

The family interest of the Osbornes (Duke of Leeds) proved so paramount as to here prevent any hope of successfully contesting against their power.

It is interesting to find that a certain grace was lent to the generally discordant elements of electioneering by the zealous participation of Beauty in the canvassing department, where the seductive wiles of female charms and persuasions were relied upon, it is understood, with reason.

“----a faithful few Worth more than all a Sultan’s retinue. They point the path, the missing phrase supply, Oft prompt a name, and hint with hand or eye, Back each bold pledge, the fervid speech admire, And still add fuel to their leader’s fire.”

(J. STIRLING, _The Election_.)

The assistance of the fair sex was much relied upon for soliciting and securing votes; but at such turbulent times, when licence predominated, the electioneering Circes must have been prepared for brusque exchanges of pleasantry, though hardly for such encounters as the one preserved in Gillray’s “Proof of the Refined Feelings of an Amiable Character, lately a Candidate for a Certain Ancient City.”

Some obscurity surrounds the incident represented; obviously the caricature was destined for electioneering purposes, but the positive history cannot he traced. It is assumed that the three circumstances of the candidate being “an eccentric,” a sportsman, and a representative of a cathedral city point to Sir Charles Turner (created a baronet by the Marquis of Rockingham in 1782), who represented York from 1768 to 1783. This gentleman always dressed as a sportsman, wearing a green coat, “tally-ho” buttons, with top-boots, etc., upon all occasions; he was described by Coombe (_Royal Register_) as the “Marplot” of his own party, “and in his parliamentary capacity demands the pity of his friends, the contempt of the wise, and makes himself a laughing stock for the crowd.” On the discussion of Pitt’s motion for parliamentary reform, May 7, 1782, Sir Charles Turner by his blunt originality attracted more attention than either the mover or seconder; he declared--

“that in his opinion the House of Commons might be justly considered as a parcel of thieves, who, having stolen an estate, were apprehensive of allowing any person to see their title deeds, from the fear of again losing it by such an inspection.”

The personage depicted by Gillray is flourishing his whip “Pro bono Patriæ,” and forcibly demonstrating his aversion to rival canvassers of the gentle sex, much to the consternation of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and gownsmen, while the rough townsmen are cheering their eccentric candidate, and promising to support him.

It is to Gillray that we owe the version embodying the glorification of autocratic boroughmongering as “The Pacific Entrance of Earl Wolf into Blackhaven,” January, 1792. Before Lord Grey’s Reform Bill altered the constituencies, in the sordid old days of corrupt influence, when the representative system of electing parliaments was purely theoretical, a certain number of territorial magnates apportioned about half the constituencies between them; of this, the “upper order,” or aristocratic patrons, trafficked in the seats in exchange for “honours” for themselves, or lent their boroughs to support ministerial influence in return for places and pensions, or offices--sinecures for choice--in which to provide for their less opulent relations; thus in the old lists of place-holders, pensioners, and “ministerial patronage” may be traced the younger sons and cousins in several degrees, besides the names of those who have by marriage entered the families of the prime holders of “marketable ware,” otherwise parliamentary interest. When boroughmongering was a profession--a very highly paid one--and boroughs were farmed for sale, it might be expected that a less elevated class of adventurers would treat the question of buying and selling “seats” in parliament like any ordinary item of commerce, as was the fact; the markets fluctuated, thus we find Lord Chesterfield, whose authority is unquestionable, looking round for some venal borough to bring in that young hopeful to whom he addressed the famous “Letters,” thinking it a finishing part of a gentleman’s training to be in the House; the ex-ambassador communicated with an agent, proposing to pay “twenty-four hundred pounds for a seat,” presumably the price in Chesterfield’s younger days; but he found seats had risen to inordinate rates--up to five thousand pounds--owing to imported competition, chiefly rich factors returned home with fortunes from the East and West Indies. Bubb Dodington has set down in his “Diary” how he, the lordly proprietor of this said “marketable ware,” went about bargaining to bring in ministerial nominees for his five or six seats in exchange for places at the disposal of the administration; and instances might be multiplied to a tedious extent from the journals of the House containing the evidence of trafficking in boroughs and buying up voters, _en gros et en détail_, as disclosed on controverted elections.

This condition of affairs produced a mechanical majority as long as the prime minister in power could command wealth and influence sufficient to secure a larger number of seats than the opposition. It was in this direction that the famous electioneering genius, the Marquis of Wharton, spent a hundred thousand pounds in William III. and Queen Anne’s days; while Walpole manipulated such huge sums, thinly disguised as “Secret Service Money,” that, never wealthy enough to purchase all, and meeting occasional honest members, he was, at intervals, impeached for corruption in a House two-thirds venal, as it is alleged.

Walpole’s successors, who finally drove him from office, bought elections on even a more extended scale; the Pelhams were clever dissemblers and apt negotiators for this commodity; it was written of the Duke of Newcastle, by his antagonist, Lord Hervey, it is believed:--

“And since his estate at Elections he’ll spend, And beggar himself without making a friend; So while the extravagant fool has a sous, As his brains I can’t fear, so his fortune I’ll use.”

Major Cartwright, the advocate of universal suffrage, who had the misfortune to live a trifle before the times were ripe enough for reform to be carried, addressed a petition to parliament in 1820, showing “that 97 Lords usurped 200 seats in the Commons House in violation of our Laws and Liberties;” while 90 wealthy commoners “for 102 vile sinks of corruption (pocket boroughs) brought in the House 137 members;” Ministerial patronage returning another twenty, thus giving, according to the petitioner’s statistics, “a total of 353 members corruptly or tyrannically imposed on the Commons in gross violation of the law, and to the palpable subversion of the constitution.” At that time the Earl of Lonsdale commanded eight seats, as did the Earl of Darlington. William Pitt, as already described, was seated in Parliament, 1781, by Lonsdale, then Sir James Lowther, who had been stigmatized by “Junius” as “The contemptuous tyrant of the North,” and who himself declared that he was in possession of the land, the fire, and the water of Whitehaven. When the youthful Pitt became premier, one of his first acts was to acknowledge his obligations to “the Wolf,” and Lowther was raised to the peerage as Earl Lonsdale. The “pacific entrance” of this plutocrat shows the docile “free and independent voters” of Whitehaven, driven by Lonsdale’s law agent, and lashed with thongs of “sham suits at law,” dragging the earl through the tumble-down streets of his town, every window being illuminated with candles in his honour. He exclaims, “Dear gentlemen, this is too much; now you really distress me!” Mobs of his miners are cheering vociferously, he having brought the townsmen to submission by suspending the working of his coal-mines. Fair canvassers, with complimentary inscriptions on their banners, head the triumphal procession:--

“The Blues are bound in adamantine chains But freedom round each ‘Yellow’ mansion reigns!”

Before the parliamentary dissolution of 1796, the country was in an agitated state, for distress was prevalent among the poorer classes, the expenses of the continental wars were impoverishing the country, and there was a general outcry for peace; bread riots were common at the time, and the price of provisions in general was exceptionally high; political agitators were taking advantage of these circumstances to fulminate against the king and his ministers; while the various societies, called “seditious” by the Tories in office, received encouragement from the Whig party, whose prospects of succeeding to power were not encouraging. A meeting of an enthusiastic nature, largely attended, had been held in St. George’s Fields, the scene of the former riots, to petition for annual parliaments, and for universal suffrage, theories which at that time were regarded hopefully, and which would, it was anticipated, redress existing grievances. In the autumn of 1795, meetings were held at Copenhagen Fields, where an immense multitude assembled to sign addresses and remonstrances on the state of the nation. The immediate consequences of the inflammatory orations pronounced to the people on this occasion was that, on the opening of the final session of the parliament which had assembled in 1790, the king, on his way to the Peers to open the House in state, was assailed by vociferous cries of “Give us peace and bread!” “No war!” “No king!” “Down with him! down with George!” Before the House of Peers was reached, an attack was made on the royal carriage, stones were thrown, and one passed through the window. The riot on this occasion was made the pretext for the ministry to bring forward new bills for the defence of the king’s person, and to attempt further infringements on the liberty of the subject by interfering with the right of public meetings.

The political clubs renewed their clamours for a more extended system of representation freed from corruption, and protested against Pitt’s new enactments; the London Corresponding Society called another public meeting, at which the premier is said to have shown symptoms of alarm. Gillray’s engraving of a meeting of “Patriotic Citizens at Copenhagen House,” November 16, 1795, satirizes the order of agitators and their disciples as the dregs of the people, which he represents them to be. This demonstration, which was largely attended, was held to protest against the “Seditions Bill” for the protection of the king’s person, for which, it was argued, ample provisions were already legalized. Petitions to both Houses were prepared, and remonstrances numerously signed.

This situation is embodied in the picture of the assembly. The orator, Thelwall, is holding forth to an audience which is more picturesque than distinguished. Platforms are arranged at intervals as rostrums for the speakers, at one of which a butcher is enlarging on “The Rights of Citizens.” The proprietress of a halfpenny gaming-table has labelled it, “Equality and no Sedition Bill.” An emissary of Thelwall’s is offering the remonstrance to sweep-boys for signature; and the autographs attached thereto, though notorious, are hardly such as to command the respect of parliament--“Jack Cade, Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, etc.”

After the elections of 1784 parliament was entirely in the control of Pitt. It met, wrote Horace Walpole, “as quietly as a Quarter Session,” the opposition seemed quelled, or driven to despair.

The meeting at Copenhagen House failed to accomplish its purpose, and further protests were entered against the Seditions Bill “for the better protection of the king’s person,” which was carried in the House by large majorities; this repressive measure provided that no gathering exceeding fifty persons should take place, even in a private house, without previous information had been laid before a magistrate, who might attend, and, if he saw cause, order the meeting to disperse, while those who resisted would be guilty of felony. In the face of such unconstitutional interference, fresh hostility sprang up throughout the land; and there being anticipations of an appeal to the country, the opposition endeavoured to present a bold front before the constituencies in view of that event; one of these meetings was summoned by the Sheriff of Middlesex, inviting the freeholders to assemble at the Mermaid, Hackney; this gathering has been commemorated by Gillray. The object of the meeting was to obtain a repeal of the obnoxious Seditions Bill, which, as the artist shows, the Whig member, George Byng, is vigorously denouncing from the platform; it was at the same time proposed to prepare an “Address to the King,” and Mr. Mainwaring, the ministerial representative, is, with Jesuitical expression, deprecating hostility both to the Government and to their oppressive legislation, Fox is holding the hat of his oratorical disciple, Byng. It was on this occasion that the sturdy Duke of Norfolk, who raised the royal ire by proposing as a toast in a public assembly, “The Majesty of the People,” took occasion to warn those who valued the liberty of the subject that they must not be misled by the specious titles of the bill.

“I daresay,” he observed, “if the High Priest of the Spanish Inquisition was to come among us to introduce his system of inquisition here, he would call it an act for the better support and protection of religion; but we have understandings, and are not to be deceived in this way.”

Mainwaring stated in the House that the meeting had been most respectably attended, and that the requisition had been signed by three dukes, one marquis, two earls, and several freeholders.

As we have seen, in describing the elections of 1784, the results of which ended for a while all the prospects of the Whigs, William Pitt was called to office in the face of an unmanageable opposition, and almost in contravention of the voice of parliament; the youthful premier’s bold resort to dissolution, with his energetic election tactics, disembarrassed him of the troublesome majority, and placed at his disposal a perfectly docile House. The progress of our relations with France, and many unpopular and stringent measures, like the Seditions Bill, had revived antagonism, and every fresh legislation which encroached on the rights of the people weakened the Government influence. Pitt, anticipating the struggle, boldly resorted to his old policy, and the intention of dissolving parliament was announced in the speech from the throne. Gillray, whose admirable caricatures illustrate the leading political events from 1782 to 1810, has epitomized the situation as “The Dissolution, or the Alchymist Procuring an Ætherial Representation,” May 21, 1796. Pitt is seated on the model of his new barracks; the transmutation is carried out from the premier’s recipe, “Antidotus Republica;” Treasury coals, _i.e._ golden pieces, feed the furnace; the breeze is raised by the Crown as a bellows; the old House of Commons, seen in the alembic, shows a few tenants, such as Fox and Sheridan, left on the opposition benches, but all is rapidly dissolving into a new chamber, where the alchemist is enthroned as “Perpetual Dictator,” “Magna Charta” and “Parliamentary Rights” become his foot-stools, and adulation of the most slavish order is offered up by the members of the newly constituted and subservient Commons.

Maidstone, for which Benjamin D’Israeli took his seat in 1837, has been the scene of many severe and exceptionally costly contests. At the general election, 1796, the defeated candidate, Christopher Hull, is reported to have polled the greatest number of single votes ever tendered for that constituency, he having expended three thousand pounds in about seven hours. This heavy outlay proved fruitless, as Mr. Hull stood last on the list; but attempting to make a merit of this liberal use of money, the reputation of which he hoped might serve for a future occasion, the incipient “electioneerer” was assured by his friends “he must start on fresh grounds, as the present would be considered as nothing more than electioneering experience.”

The general election of 1796 was less fruitful in incidents than its predecessor in 1790. The celebrated philologist, John Horne Tooke, endeavoured to gain the second seat, as the colleague of the great Whig chief. On this occasion “the Brentford parson” secured, though unsuccessful, a larger number of votes; Fox was returned at the head of the poll, and Sir A. Gardner was second. Gillray has left a characteristic likeness of the Whig chief, very “spick and span,” deferentially bowing from “The Hustings,” in acknowledgment of the ribald, if popular, reception his admirers are according their old “true blue” member for Westminster. Fox is pressing to his heart, in parody of another measure, the “Pewter Pot Bill.” “Ever guardian of your most sacred rights, I have opposed the Pewter Pot Bill.” His audience is filled with enthusiasm. As an allusion to Fox’s supposed sympathies with events then proceeding in France--the pot-boy of “The Tree of Liberty,” Petty France, is offering a foaming measure to the well-tried patriot and popular representative.

The well-known “Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder,” one of the most spirited poetical squibs, which first appeared in the _Anti-Jacobin_, was reprinted as a broadside for electioneering purposes, with a no less spirited plate, by Gillray, as a heading; and dedicated “To the Independent Electors of the Borough of Southwark,” of which constituency Tierney--whose person was figured as “the Friend of Humanity”--was the representative in parliament. Canning’s admirable parody was founded upon Southey’s poem, “The Widow,” and written in English sapphics, in imitation of the original.

“FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

“Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order-- Bleak blows the blast--your hat has got a hole in’t, So have your breeches!

“Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike Road, what hard work ’tis crying all day, ‘Knives And scissors to grind, O!’

“Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you? Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? Or the Attorney?

“Was it the squire for killing his game? or Covetous parson for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little All in a lawsuit.

“(Have you not read the ‘Rights of Man,’ by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eye-lids, Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your Pitiful story.

“KNIFE-GRINDER.

“Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.

“Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish Stocks for a vagrant.

“I should be glad to drink your honour’s health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; But, for my part, I never love to meddle With politics, sir.

“FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

“_I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn’d first!-- Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance!-- Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, Spiritless outcast!”

[_Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy._

It was in the session of 1797 that Mr. Grey first moved “for leave to bring in a bill to reform the representation of the country.” The motion, seconded by Erskine, was debated until three o’clock in the morning--an exceptional sitting in those days--when it was rejected by a Government majority of fifty-eight votes. Although the system of representation was notoriously corrupt, at least half the seats being in the patronage of interested persons, it was thirty-four years before Earl Grey’s measure for reform could be carried, and then only under extraordinary circumstances. After Grey’s earlier defeat, it was felt that in a House of Commons completely submissive to the ministerial dictates, and which resisted amendment, the opposition leaders could make no impression, and they accordingly announced their intention for the present of taking no further part in its proceedings; the voice of Fox was scarcely heard in the House till the century closed.

Meanwhile, after the secession of the Whig party from the debates, the agitation throughout the country increased, political societies became more active, and frequent meetings were held to discuss the necessity for parliamentary reform. One of the most remarkable of these was held under the auspices of Bertie Greathead, the owner of “Guy’s Cliff,” near Warwick; a medal commemorative of this gathering and its object, reform, was struck for the occasion. These medals were a popular method of spreading political opinions. The patriotic reform medal was parodied by another of a loyal nature, representing the devil suspending three halters over the heads of the demagogues, who are mounted in “a condemned cart;” on the one side are shown the applauding “wrong-heads,” while a large assembly of “right-heads” express their contempt for the proceedings.

The Tories exulted over the secession of “the party,” and numerous caricatures appeared, imputing all sorts of offences to the Whigs; and one version represented Fox as “Phaeton” involving the Whig Club in his destruction. We have noticed the candidature of Horne Tooke for Westminster; ever since his prominence upon the occasion of Wilkes’s return for Middlesex in 1768, the “Brentford Parson” had striven to obtain a seat in parliament. He was in 1798 one of the most conspicuous members of the reform associations. Few were his match in ready eloquence, his pen was ever active, and his writings to the purpose. At an earlier stage of his career, a pamphlet appeared, written, it was alleged, by his hand, contrasting the two Pitts with the two Foxes as a pair of portraits; the comparison being in favour of the former. Advantage was taken of this circumstance to bring into discredit the confederation of Horne Tooke (who held more democratic views) with Fox for the advancement of the reform cause. James Gillray designed for the _Anti-Jacobin Review_ his own satirical version of “Two Pair of Portraits, presented to all the unbiased Electors of Great Britain, by John Horne Tooke,” December 1, 1798. The eminent philologer is represented as a portrait-painter, seated before his easel, on which appear the two original likenesses of the Whig and Tory chiefs, Pitt resting on the pedestal of “Truth,” and Fox on that of “Deceit.” The presentment of Lord Holland with the plunder of “unaccounted millions” so frequently quoted, is placed beside the portrait of the patriotic Earl of Chatham, dowered with the “Rewards of a Grateful Nation.” Horne Tooke, who has in his pocket, “Sketches of Patriotic Views, a pension, a mouth-stopper, a place,” is presumed to be retouching his unflattering and sinister portrait of the Whig chief, while demanding of the electors of Great Britain, which two of them will you choose to hang in your Cabinets, the PITTS or the FOXES? “Where, on your conscience, should the other two be hanged?” Allusions to various periods of the limner’s life and principles appear round the studio--the windmill at Wimbledon (where Tooke resided), the parsonage at Brentford, the bust of Machiavel, the shadow or “silhouette” of the Abbé Siéyès; the picture of his old friend Wilkes, in his aldermanic gown as the prosperous and handsomely remunerated city chamberlain, _ci-devant_ Wilkes and Liberty; “The effect in this picture to be copied as exact as possible;” “A London Corresponding Society, _i.e._ a Sketch for an English Directory;” with a folio of “Studies from French masters, Robespierre, Tallien, Marat,” together with the prospectus for a new work, “The Art of Political Painting, extracted from the works of the most celebrated Jacobin professors.”

The Shakespeare Tavern, celebrated as the head-quarters of the Whig party during Fox’s candidature for Westminster, was the scene of a popular ovation on the twentieth anniversary of the Whig chief’s election for that important constituency; the event was celebrated by a public dinner, October 10, 1800. Fox had so long absented himself from Parliament, feeling, as he declared, “his time of action was over when those principles were extinguished on which he acted,” that his reappearance excited the greatest enthusiasm amongst his partisans, who were anxious both to hear his sentiments on the political outlook, and to demonstrate their unabated attachment to the “Man of the People,” who preferred to seclude himself from public business and from the platform of his most brilliant oratorical triumphs, that he “might steadily adhere to those principles which had guided his past conduct.” Every room in the house was filled with company. In replying to the cordial reception of his health, Fox reminded his auditors that “During the twenty years I have represented you in Parliament I have adhered to the principles on which the Revolution of 1688 was founded, and what have been known as the old Whig principles of England;” and recalled that his first connection with his constituents occurred “during the calamitous war with America;” he then alluded to his absence from Parliament, extended to three years, and thus eloquently concluded: “I shall ever maintain that the basis of all parties is justice--that the basis of all constitutions is the sovereignty of the people--that from the people alone kings, parliaments, judges, and magistrates derive their authority.” Gillray has embodied this situation in his pictorial version of this most enthusiastic reception, ungenerously representing Fox as “The Worn-out Patriot; or, the Last Dying Speech of the Westminster Representative,” October 10, 1800. The great statesman is depicted as both mentally and physically in a state of decadence; Erskine is sustaining him with a bottle of brandy to stimulate his strength artificially, while Harvey Combe, in his robes as Lord Mayor, is lending his substantial support; a measure of Whitbread’s “entire” is also ready for the emergency. Among the guests are figured Sir J. Sinclair, and the gifted member for Southwark, Tierney. The speech the satirist has sarcastically introduced is a parody on that delivered by the Whig chief to the electors on the occasion:--

“Gentlemen, you see I am grown quite an old man in your service. Twenty years I’ve served you, and always upon the same principles. I rejoiced at the success of our enemies in the American War, and the war against the virtuous French has always met with my most determined opposition; but the infamous Ministry will not make peace with our enemies, and are determined to keep me out of their councils and out of place. Therefore, gentlemen, as their principles are quite different from mine, and as I am now too old to form myself according to their systems, my attendance in Parliament is useless, and, to say the truth, I feel that my season of action is past, and I must leave to younger men to act, for, alas! my failings and weaknesses will not let me now recognize what is for the best.”

Pointed and pungent as is this version, it is on record that Fox’s mental activity was still most brilliant; indeed, to the extent of converting his consistent enemy, George III. The supposed “Worn-out Patriot” lived to form an administration in 1806 in conjunction with Lord Grenville, who made Fox’s accession to power a _sine quâ non_. He filled the office of Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs at perhaps the most delicate and critical period of our history, when Napoleon entertained designs against England; and on the death of the patriotic statesman, the king declared “he had never known the duties of that office so efficiently discharged for the honour of the country.”

“Who,” remarked a contemporary, “in reviewing Fox’s noble adherence to the cause of Liberty, as it affected the American nation, and weighing the wisdom of his forewarnings of the fatal consequences of the American War, but must admire the prophetic spirit with which he foretold all the direful events which resulted both to the Mother Country and her colonies from that unnatural fratricidal war.”

The first Parliament after the Union with Ireland met January 22, 1801, and was marked by the reappearance of Fox and the election of Horne Tooke for the borough of Old Sarum through the influence of Lord Camelford. The return of one who had been in holy orders involved a great constitutional question; his admission was opposed on the ground of his clerical profession, and it led to a bill making clergymen incapable of sitting in parliament. Tooke occupied his seat until the next dissolution, which occurred the year following, when he was no longer eligible. The circumstances are commemorated in a caricature by Gillray, entitled, “Political Amusements for Young Gentlemen, or the Brentford Shuttlecock between Old Sarum and the Temple of St. Stephen’s,” March, 1801. Lord Temple led the opposition to Tooke’s admission, and he is represented as resisting his entrance to the House, within which Fox is pictured crying, “The Church for Ever!” Lord Camelford, who was in the navy, is batting the shuttlecock from Old Sarum (the electors depicted as swine at a trough) to the Commons; he cries, “There’s a stroke for you, messmate; and if you kick him back, I’ll return him again, if I should be sent on a cruise to Moorfields for it! Go it, Coz.” Lord Temple is replying, “Send him back? Yes, I’ll send him back twenty thousand times, before such a high-flying Jacobin shuttlecock shall perch it here in his Clerical band.” Lord Camelford’s “List of Candidates” includes, besides Tooke, the names of Black Dick (his negro servant), and orator Thelwall, in case his ex-clerical nominee’s election was annulled; but his lordship disclaimed ever having entertained the intention of offering so gross an insult to the House. The inscriptions on the feathers stuck in the head of the noble lord’s plaything, “The Old Brentford Shuttlecock,” are intended to indicate his character.

Though the cause of Sir Francis Delaval suffered at Andover from a _contretemps_ in which the commanding officer of the district was concerned, by an opposite course of events the return of Mr. N. Jefferys for Coventry was assured through military intervention. When writs were issued for a new parliament in 1802, a meeting was convened at Coventry, when it was resolved to invite Mr. Jefferys again to become a candidate to represent them, and to support his re-election. Upon Mr. Jefferys accepting this invitation, and proceeding down to Coventry to meet his constituents, his entrance into the city was unhandsomely opposed, a riot ensued, and things began to look dangerous, when Captain Barlow of the First Dragoon Guards, who happened to be there, his regiment being stationed in the neighbourhood, exerted himself with much spirit to quell the riot and protect the candidate and his friends from insult. Rarely has a casual and unexpected service been more singularly acknowledged; Captain Barlow was at once invited to join Mr. Jefferys as second Conservative candidate, which he readily accepted; the show of hands at the hustings was in his favour, and both were triumphantly returned. The contest was a close one; Captain Barlow stood at the head of the poll with 1197 votes, N. Jefferys was elected with 1190; and the two Whig candidates were defeated--Wilberforce Bird with 1182, and Peter Moore with 1152 votes.

The Middlesex election of 1804 vividly recalled the previous excitement manifested at the Brentford hustings on the return of John Wilkes; the new party of “root-and-branch reformers,” more extreme in their political views than the Foxites, were now becoming most conspicuous by their agitations for the revision of the Constitution, and began to be known under the designation of Radicals. At the head of these “patriots” in the House of Commons were several of the younger politicians and “new luminaries,” such as Whitbread, Lord Folkestone, and others; but the most prominent leader of the movement was Sir Francis Burdett, then occupying the position previously held by “Wilkes and Liberty” at the commencement of the reign, and by Fox before his secession from Parliament. Horne Tooke, who passed out-of-doors as the baronet’s political sponsor, “guide, philosopher, and friend,” was actively supporting his pupil, and William Cobbett was, by his energetic writings, proselytizing in the same cause, and was generally regarded as the apostle of the latest sect. In the same ranks were included the wealthy Bosville and other zealous partisans. At the Middlesex election of 1802, Sir Francis Burdett, in the Radical interest, had unseated the Tory candidate, W. Mainwaring, polling nearly double the votes obtained by the ministerial candidate, who had represented the county from 1784.

In 1804, the election for Middlesex was equally trying for the administration as the memorable struggle at Westminster in 1784, and recalled the scenes witnessed on the same spot in 1786. Gillray has commemorated this occurrence in one of his most elaborate caricatures, published August 7, 1804:--“Middlesex Election, 1804--a Long Pull, a Strong Pull, and a Pull All Together;” the hustings at Brentford appear in the distance, whereon the ministerial candidate is holding forth to an exuberant crowd, amidst which derisive symbols are displayed--a huge begging-box, a gallows with an effigy suspended, and a banner inscribed, “No Begging Candidate.” The head-quarters of the Court party, at the sign of the Constitution (a crown and mitre) placarded with posters, “Mainwaring, King, and Country,” and advertising “good entertainment,” is treated to a perfect shower of missiles and dirt; a free fight is proceeding at a distance. Beneath the standard claiming “Independence and Free Elections,” now a reasonable aspiration, but, in those days, regarded as little short of sedition, a rat is hung to a lantern, expressive of contempt for “ministerial rats.” Sir Francis Burdett is carried triumphantly to the hustings; his barouche, drawn by the most illustrious members of the opposition, is emblazoned on the panels with suggestive devices: “Peace” is figured as a French eagle, with the legend, “_Égalité_;” the Torch of Liberty is a flaming and incendiary brand; and “Plenty” is symbolized by a pot of porter with the head of Bonaparte on the measure. Beneath the wheels of Burdett’s chariot is figured a dog with “A Cur-tis” on his collar, a blow at Sir William Curtis, enriched by “fat” Government contracts; by him is Tooke’s tract, “A Squeeze for Contractors.” On the box is the baronet’s reputed preceptor, the Brentford Parson himself, “in his habit as he lived,” smoking his pipe like his confederate “Bellenden,” that “revolution sinner” Dr. Parr; from the prime agitator’s pockets fall the speeches, “hints,” and addresses it is implied he had prepared for his hopeful pupil.

“The Party” is doing its utmost to forward Burdett’s career, and to mortify the Ministry. Tyrwhitt Jones and General Fitzpatrick, eccentric and independent politicians, are leading the “marrow-bone and cleaver” music; two lines of influential Whig statesmen are propelling the car; Bosville, Grey, the Duke of Northumberland, the Marquis of Lansdowne, and the Duke of Norfolk in one file, and Lord Carlisle, the Duke of Bedford, Lord Derby, and Fox in the other, all travestied felicitously under disguises which the caricaturist has suggested as appropriate to their characters or situations. Lord Moira (Marquis of Hastings), with the prince’s plume on his instrument, is acting as drummer. Behind the carriage rides Erskine in his bar robes, with the cap of liberty on a pike, marked “The Good Old Cause.” Tierney has “The Key of the Bastille,” in allusion to Burdett’s exertions on behalf of the political prisoners with which the prisons, such as Coldbath Fields, were at that time filled; while Sheridan is raising aloft the pictorial version of the “Governor in All His Glory,” _i.e._ Pitt flogging Britannia, who is fixed in the pillory, of which an enlarged version appears.

The election contests in 1806 and 1807, which ensued on the death of Fox, fully occupied the pencil of Gillray: his elaborate cartoons, of which reduced _fac-similes_ are given, prove that election squibs must in his day have enjoyed a large circulation; the artist seems to have developed them into elaborate conceptions. Westminster was again the constituency, where the struggle was regarded as of most absorbing interest. Sheridan, who had sat for Stafford from 1780, now flattered himself that his popularity and his intimacy with Fox would, on the decease of the Whig chief, point him out as the natural successor of the illustrious statesman. He found an embarrassing opponent in James Paull (the son of a prosperous tailor), who had returned from India, where he filled an appointment, and brought home with him a moderate fortune and liberal ideas as regarded administrative reform. His candidature for Westminster was supported by the influence of all the advanced politicians, the ultra-Liberals, and the Radical Reformers.

In the first of Gillray’s satires on this topic, the “Triumphal Procession of Little Paull, the Tailor, upon his new Goose,” November 8, 1806, Sir Francis Burdett, who was for some time travestied as “The Famous Green Goose,” is lending Little Paull a helping mount; Tooke is leading his pupil; Colonel Bosville is distributing money to make the candidate popular; Cobbett, with “Political Register” in hand, is canvassing for Paull and “Independence and Public Justice”--referring to the new patriot’s articles of impeachment against the Marquis of Wellesley on his return from India. In view of the energetic tactics of the new candidate and his allies, Sir Samuel Hood and Sheridan thought it advisable to combine their interests, and make a coalition for the occasion. The situation is pictorially summed up as “The High-flying Candidate, Little Paull Goose, mounting from a Blanket--_Vide_ Humours of Westminster Election” (November 11, 1806). Paull, according to the ungenerous practice of all concerned, was taunted with being the son of a tailor. Sir Samuel Hood, with one arm lost in his country’s service, and Sheridan in sables for his late friend, and with the farce of “The Devil Among the Tailors” in his pocket, are together raising their high-flying antagonist in the “Coalition Blanket.” The Admiral’s sailors and patriotic volunteers for Sheridan are alike pronouncing emphatically for the combined names of the two senior candidates. At the feet of the Coalition members is the memorial slab to departed greatness, “Sacred to the Memory of Poor Charley, late member for the City of Westminster,” “We ne’er shall look upon his like again;” the monument is thrust aside by the outraged spirit of the deceased patriot, who is in anguish exclaiming, “_O tempora! O mores!_”

Gillray’s third caricature on the general election of 1806 exhibits a spirited panorama of the procession to the hustings as “Posting to the Election: a Scene on the Road to Brentford,” in which each of the candidates is hastening in the way supposed to best characterize his prospects and party: William Mellish, who enjoyed the interest of the Coalition Ministry then in office, is driven in style, in a dashing “Rule Britannia and the Bank” four-in-hand, under the “Flag of Loyalty and Independence,” by Lord Granville as coachman; Lords Temple and Castlereagh, and the Marquis of Buckingham are perched behind; the latter is giving a sly helping pull to the post-chaise and pair in which is seated George Byng--“in the good old Whig interest;” the head of Fox is displayed on the box as “the good old Whig Block.” Prominent in the foreground is the grand _melée_ of the Coalition candidates for Westminster--Sheridan and Sir Samuel Hood, mounted on a prancing brewer’s horse, just escaped from the dray, with panniers overflowing with gold pieces, and labelled, “Subscription Malt and Hops from the Whitbread Brewery.”

Burdett’s ballad-singers and marrow-bone-and-cleaver men are scattered by the plunging dray-horse from Whitbread’s, and the startled donkey, which bears little Paull, is giving the rider an upset, in which Paull’s famous “Impeachment of the Marquis of Wellesley” is falling to the ground. Last comes Sir Francis Burdett, who, on this occasion, experienced a mortifying defeat in the face of his former triumphs at Brentford; the gay barouche of 1800 and 1804 has given place to an “untaxed cart” with four miserable jackasses; the efforts of a posse of sweeper-boy followers with difficulty extricate this shabby conveyance from the slough. Acting as postillion is the little Corsican, Bonaparte, then but recently elected Emperor of the French. It was at this time one of the theories of Napoleon I., that, after the visionary conquest of England, he would inaugurate a republic, for the presidency of which he declared Sir Francis Burdett to be, in his estimation, the fittest person in England; this opinion, it is believed, was shared by the baronet--an entertaining aspect of the “might-have-beens”! “Liberty and Equality, No Placemen in Parliament, and No Bastilles,” are the watchwords of the party in the condemned cart; all the members wear “Liberty” favours in their hats. Burdett has “The Life of Oliver Cromwell” for consultation ready at hand; behind him is his political preceptor, Horne Tooke, shown in parsonic guise, and Bosville with the “Rights of Man” next his heart. Cobbett appears as the “Radical Drummer,” beating up recruits for Burdett and Paull, with his “Political Register” and “Inflammatory Letters.” “Orator Broad-face, of Swallow Street,” whose mob pleasantries overpowered the veteran Sheridan at Covent Garden, is among the baronet’s enthusiastic supporters.

It was at the Westminster election of 1806 that the excitement culminated. This long and expensive contest was fruitful in incidents. Gillray has produced the most characteristic “View of the Hustings in Covent Garden.” At the time this version appeared, Paull was at the head of the poll; he is shown vigorously denouncing his discomfited antagonist--“Harlequin Sherry” as “the sunk, the lost, the degraded treasurer.” Immediately behind Paull is the Duke of Northumberland, whose son, Lord Percy, had relinquished Westminster after representing it in parliament for one session, that immediately following Fox’s decease; the Duke has “No Coalition” inscribed on his hat, and a “Letter to the Vestry of St. Margaret’s” in his hand. Cobbett, Burdett, and Bosville, wearing favours for Paull, are in the front ranks of his supporters. Sheridan, exhorted to “Pay your Debts, Mr. Treasurer,” is represented as filled with consternation; Whitbread is vainly trying to rally his spirits with his “New Loyal Porter;” Sir Samuel Hood is seemingly ashamed of his colleague, and is chuckling over his confusion. The exchange of personalities between Paull and Sheridan, who was assisted by the notorious “Pickle,” his son Tom, exceeded all that had gone before, and degenerated into “Billingsgate” abuse. Sheridan, with questionable propriety, dwelt more particularly on the descent of his opponent from “tailordom,” and was waggish in allusions to the “ninth part of a man.” Paull complimented Sheridan on “his good taste,” and justified it by referring to the manager of Drury Lane as the “son of a vagabond,” actors being by Act of Parliament classed in that category. Paull was the readier at mob oratory, and Sheridan, “erst the wit of the Commons,” found the hustings a terrible penance; his appearance was the signal for violent uproar, and requests for “renters’ shares” and sums of money owing, and for which it was alleged he was liable. Painfully conscious of his familiar embarrassments, this raillery, in the presence of persons of credit and influence whose support was growing lukewarm, broke down the spirit of the veteran champion of this order of encounter. He had trusted to his well-seasoned experience in mob demonstrations, to his playful wit, apt jocularities, and sarcasms to convert the mob to good humour, and to cajole them with his popular persuasions into a friendly disposition; but he reckoned without allowing for rivalry. Besides the fluent Paull, there was one man in the crowd who fairly compelled “Sherry” to retire abashed; in vain he tried by turns ridicule and denunciation of “hireling ruffians,” the broad-faced orator in the green coat seemed stimulated by these counter-attacks. A comedy was then popular in which a dandy was repeatedly quizzed by inquiries, directed to the various portions of his apparel, of “Who suffers?” This artillery was constantly played upon Sheridan: “Sherry, I see you’ve got a new coat--who suffers?” “Sherry, who suffers for that new hat?” After this the disconcerted treasurer avoided the hustings, and his son Tom, whose cool audacity was proverbial, managed to take his place. Sheridan only gained the election through his coalition with Hood; but the shafts of Cobbett’s “porcupine quills” and the conflict of the hustings rankled in his breast. A dissolution shortly followed, and he lost his seat, which, by precipitating his financial difficulties, ingloriously finished Sheridan’s career.

The defeat of the famous Coalition Ministry of “All the Talents” upon the vexed question of Catholic Emancipation was the cause of a fresh appeal to the country early in 1807, when the followers of the late Granville Administration contested the constituencies at a disadvantage, confronted with the popular cries of “Church and King” and “No Popery.” Paull now flattered himself that his chances of being returned for Westminster were reviving, but candidates were more numerous, and Sir Francis Burdett, who was discouraged by his last experience from contesting Middlesex, was appealing to Westminster himself. Paull advertised a dinner to be held at the Crown and Anchor, and as Burdett had promised his support, and had actually gone to the length of nominating Paull, he was announced, without authority it appeared, to take the chair; this was the cause of a rupture between the prominent Radical candidates. Two days before the meeting, Burdett wrote to Paull:--

“I must say, to have my name advertised for such meetings is like ‘Such a day is to be seen the great Katterfelto,’ and this without any previous consent or application. From any one else I should regard it as an insult!”

At the dinner, it was explained by Sir Francis’s brother that Burdett had given no promise to preside; after the meeting broke up, Paull waited on his proposer, and a warm altercation ensued, when a hostile meeting was arranged to take place the next morning near Wimbledon. This duel is made the subject of a fresh satire by Gillray--“Patriots Deciding a Point of Honour! or, the Exact Representation of the Celebrated Rencontre which took place at Combe Wood on May 2nd, 1807, between Little Paull the Tailor and Sir Francis Goose.” On the field of honour, Burdett continued to be travestied as the famous “great green goose:” his letter to the electors at the Crown and Anchor is, with other political and personal publications, scattered around as the cause of the encounter; one pair of pistols is already discharged. At the second exchange of shots, which Paull demanded, as Burdett declined to apologize, both combatants were wounded, as shown in the picture. Sir Francis was highly indignant, according to the satirist’s version: “What, must I be out! and a Tailor get into Parliament?--You’re a liar! I never said that I would sit as Chairman on your Shopboard!” Paull, who is girt with a huge pair of shears sword-wise, responds, “A liar!--Sir, I’m a Tailor and a Gentleman, and I must have satisfaction.” Bellenden Kerr and Cooper, the seconds of the respective combatants, are provided with two armfuls of pistols for the emergency, which Sam Rogers described as “ending in a lame affair.”

The further results of the contest are shown as the “Poll of the Westminster Election.” According to Gillray’s figurative version, Burdett, still as the goose with wounded limb, is pitchforked to the top, whence he is hissing at the Crown as the “Sun of the Constitution;” his political tutor, travestied as the Evil One, is helping his rise; Lord Cochrane, flourishing a club, marked, “Reform,” is second; Elliot, the brewer, as “Quassia,” is overset; Sheridan, in his old Harlequin suit, is slipping down, never to rise again; and Paull, with his leg damaged, has come down with a run, he having cut an insignificant figure in the polling; the members of the dismissed ministry are commemorating Burdett’s triumph with “rough music.” This version, which contains a number of portraits, is entitled--

“Election Candidates; or, the Republican Goose at the Top of the Pol(l)e--the Devil Helping Behind! _vide_ Mr. Paull’s Letter, _article_ Horne Tooke. Also an exact representation of Sawney M’Cockran (Lord Cochrane) flourishing the Cudgel of Naval Reform, lent him by Cobbett, and mounting triumphantly over a small Beer Barrel, together with an old Drury Lane Harlequin trying in vain to make a spring to the top of the pole, and slipping down again; and lastly, poor Little Paull, the Tailor done over! wounded by a Goose, and not a leg to stand on.” (May 20, 1807.)

The support and assistance afforded by the author of the “Diversions of Purley” to his pupil are further indicated in a caricature which represented the “Brentford Parson” carrying the candidate at the end of his _pole_, and, as in the former example, exhibiting Burdett to the crowd assembled in Covent Garden, under the title of “The Head of the Poll; or, the Wimbledon Showman and his Puppet.” Horne Tooke is advertising “The finest puppet in the world, gentlemen; entirely of my own formation. I have only to say the word, and he’ll do anything.”

Another view of a hustings is afforded by the caricaturist. From the platform a select few of superannuated statesmen are addressing the constituents, in this instance pictured as calves. This version, which is by Gillray, represents a phase of the “Patriotic Petitions on the Convention” (of Cintra); “The Chelmsford Petition,” with Patriots addressing the Essex Calves--who, it is notified, are “To be sold to the highest bidder.” Lord Temple is unfolding the _Essex Petition_--“Horrid Convention! Ministers firing the Park guns; Armistice in French lingoes!” Earl St. Vincent is appealing to the electors, and declaring that all the misfortunes are due to the want of him; the gouty veteran is supported by the Marquis of Buckingham, who is asserting “It’s all for want of us, Gentlemen Calves!” sentiments which the other occupants of the platform, Windham and Lord Henry Petty, are applauding.