THE CITY.
The Houses of Parliament--their history, their buildings, their
constitution--belong to the history of the Empire. They happen to stand
in the City of Westminster; but their history does not form part of the
City history. The House of Commons has been called to Westminster almost
without interruption for six hundred years. It sat for three hundred
years in the Chapter House of the Abbey; then for three hundred years
more in the Chapel of St. Stephen; when that was burned down the site
was preserved and set apart for the New House, which arose when the
ashes of the old had been cleared away. That site must not be considered
a part of Westminster; it is part of the Island--part of the Empire.
[Illustration]
In a certain special sense, however, the House of Commons did belong to
the City of Westminster for a long time. A great many of the country
members lodged in the narrow streets round the Abbey. The reason is
plain: there were no streets or houses in the meadows lying north and
west of the Houses of Parliament; either the members must lodge in the
City of London and take boat for St. Stephen’s, or they must lodge in
Westminster itself. It is stated by a writer of the last century that
the principal means of support for the people of Westminster were the
lodging and entertainment of the members. The monks were gone; Sanctuary
was gone; the Court was gone; but the members remained, and so the
taverns remained, too, and the ancient reputation of Westminster as a
thirsty city was happily uninjured.
In another way Westminster created for itself a new distinction. As a
borough it became notorious for the turbulence and the violence of the
elections. Its central position, the King’s House always lying within
its boundaries, the City of London its near neighbor, naturally caused
an election at Westminster to attract more attention than an election at
Oxford, say, or Winchester. Again, the electors of Westminster were not,
probably, fiercer partisans than those of any other place, nor were
their candidates always of greater importance; yet it is certain that
for downright bludgeon rowdiness and riot, the rabble at Westminster,
when it turned out at election time, was equaled by few towns, and
surpassed by none.
Let us observe one point, which is instructive: the rabble had no votes;
the butchers, those patriotic thinkers, who paraded the streets with
clubs to the music of marrow-bones and cleavers; the chairmen, equal
patriots of opposite convictions, who marched to the Way of War and the
breaking of heads with their poles--formidable as pike or spear; the
jolly sailors, convinced as to the foundations of order, who came along
with bludgeons, thirsting for the display of their political
principles--none of these brave fellows had any vote. Yet the share they
took, the part they played, the influence they exercised in every
election, cannot be disputed. The vote, you see, about which nowadays we
make such a fuss, is by no means everything; in those days one stout
fellow with a cudgel at the bottom of the steps of the hustings might be
worth to his party fifty votes a day; he might represent as many voters
sent home discouraged, or even persuaded, by a broken head, to a radical
change of political principles.
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS AND WESTMINSTER HALL FROM THE RIVER
IN 1798 (FROM A CONTEMPORARY DRAWING).]
In the year 1710, Swift says that the rabble surrounded his coach, and
he was afraid of having dead cats thrown in at the window, or getting
his glass broken. The part played by the dead cat in all
eighteenth-century functions, elections, pillories, and outdoor
speeches, was quite remarkable. In times of peace and quiet we hear of
no dead cats. The streets did not then, and do not now, provide a supply
of dead cats to meet all demands. It would seem as if all the cats of
all the slums were slaughtered for the occasion. Throughout the last
century the elections of Westminster became more and more riotous; there
were riots and ructions in 1711 and in 1721; in 1741 these were quite
surpassed by the contested election in which Lord Sundon and Sir Charles
Wager were candidates on the one side,--the Court side,--and Admiral
Vernon and Mr. Charles Edwin on the other. Lord Sundon, a newly created
Irish peer, took upon himself to close the poll by the help of a
detachment of Guards before it was finished. One vote an hour was
supposed to keep the poll open. The returning officer, however,
disregarding this convention, and, by Lord Sundon’s order, declared the
poll closed and Lord Sundon with Sir Charles Wager duly elected. There
was indignation; there was a question, which led to a debate in the
House; and finally the election was declared illegal. The victory thus
obtained by the populace against the Court party was celebrated long
afterward by an annual dinner of the “Independent Electors.” It marks
the change in our management of these things that there should have been
a Court party, and that the Court should think it consistent with its
dignity to take an active part in any election. That the king should
openly side with this or that candidate shows that the sovereign, a
hundred and fifty years ago, stood on a much lower level than the
sovereign of to-day.
The longest and fiercest contest, the one with the most doubtful issues,
the most violent of all the Westminster elections, was that of the year
1784. Of this election there was published a most careful record from
day to day. I suppose there is no other election on record of which such
a daily diary has been preserved. It appeared toward the end of the
same
[Illustration: OAK DOORWAY DISCOVERED IN THE SPEAKER’S DINING-ROOM AFTER
THE FIRE.]
year, and was published by Debrett, a Piccadilly bookseller. The
anonymous authors, who modestly call themselves “Lovers of Truth and
Justice,” begin the work with a narrative of the events which led to the
Dissolution of March 25, 1784; they then proceed to set down the story
of the Westminster election from day to day; they have reproduced many
of the caricatures, rough, coarse, and vigorous, with which Rowlandson
illustrated the contest; they have published all the speeches; they have
collected the whole of the Election literature, with the poems, squibs,
epigrams, attacks, and eulogies, which appeared on either side. Not only
is there no other record, so far as I know, of any election so complete
as this, but there has never been any other election, so far as I know,
where the fight was fiercer, more determined, more unscrupulous, and of
longer duration. The volume is, I believe, somewhat scarce and difficult
to procure. Its full title is “The History of the Westminster Election,
containing every Material Occurrence, from its Commencement, on the
First of April, to the Final Close of the Poll, on 17th of May, to which
is Prefixed a Summary Account of the Proceedings of the Late Parliament,
so far as they appear Connected with the East India Business and the
Dismission of the Portland Administration, with other Select and
Interesting Occurrences at the Westminster Meetings, Previous to its
Dissolution on the 25th Day of March 1784.”
This long title-page promises no more than the volume performs. It is
proposed, therefore, to reproduce in these pages, with the assistance of
the “Lovers of Truth and Justice,” the history of an election as it was
conducted a hundred years ago.
The Dissolution of March, 1784, and the causes which led to it, belong
to the history of the country and to the life of Charles James Fox. Let
us accept the fact that the General Election was held in April; that the
candidates for Westminster were Admiral Lord Hood and Sir Cecil Wray on
the Ministerial side, and Fox for the Opposition. The former was also
the Court side; the candidates on that side were called the King’s
friends; the King himself took the keenest interest in the daily
progress of the poll; he peremptorily ordered all the Court servants,
the Court tradesmen, and the Court dependents to vote for Hood and Wray;
and he actually sent a body of two hundred and eighty Guards to vote on
that side. No king, in fact, ever interfered with an election more
openly, more actively, or with less dignity. The
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF LORDS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CENTURY.]
struggle, remember, of King _v._ Commons was not completed when William
of Orange succeeded James. The lesson taught by the struggle of the
seventeenth century was most imperfectly grasped by King George the
Third. On the other hand, the Prince of Wales, with the filial loyalty
which characterized him as well as his grandfather, used all his
influence on the side of Fox.
The temper of the City of Westminster, and the certain prospect of a
stormy time, was shown two months before the Dissolution, when a
document purporting to be a humble address to the King from the Dean,
the High Steward, and the Burgesses assembled at the Guildhall,
Westminster, was passed about for signature. It was accepted for what it
pretended to be, and was signed by twenty-eight hundred people, among
whom were a great many electors. Lastly, it was presented by Sir Cecil
Wray, one of the members, as from the Dean and High Steward.
A few days later, a meeting of the electors was called at the
Shakespeare Tavern, Covent Garden, at which this document was very
severely handled. It was affirmed that the Dean and the High Steward
actually knew nothing of the address, and that their names had been most
improperly affixed without their sanction. This was the beginning of a
great cataract of lies. Whether the names had been used with or without
sanction, mattered little; the allegation presented an excuse for a
resolution of confidence in Fox, which was passed with acclamation.
On February 10, another meeting, with Sir Cecil Wray in the chair,
adopted an address to his Majesty expressing confidence in the Ministry.
This meeting was, of course, described by one side as “very numerous and
most respectable,” and by the other as exactly the reverse: “Never was
there, perhaps, in the annals of all the meetings ever held in England,
so motley a group, so noisy an assembly, or one less respectable for its
company.”
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CENTURY.]
Then followed handbills for distribution. The struggle, it must be
remembered, was one which could hardly occur in these days: it was, in
fact nothing short of a declaration of confidence in the King or the
opposite; for or against secret influence; for or against Court
direction, and the extension of prerogative. Here is a specimen of what
was written at the outset:
“Of all the features which mark the political character of the English
nation the most striking and remarkable is a perpetual jealousy of
prerogative.... Ask an Englishman what sort of Judge, Crown Lawyer, or
Minister, he most dreads: his uniform answer is a _prerogative_ Judge, a
_prerogative_ Lawyer, a _prerogative_ Minister. Is then a _prerogative_
King of so little danger to us that we are all at once to forget these
jealousies, which seem to have been twisted with our existence, and to
fall into a miraculous fondness for that prerogative which our ancestors
have shed their dearest blood to check and limit? Let the people of
England once confederate with the Crown and the Lords in _such_ a
conflict, and who is the man that will answer for one hour of legal
liberty afterwards?
“Can the people confide in His Majesty’s secret advisers? I say NO. And
I demand one instance, in the twenty-three years of this wretched reign,
when a regard to the liberty of the people can be traced in any measure
to the _secret system_.”
This document, which went on in a similar strain to a great length, was
handed about from house to house; no doubt a copy was given to the King.
A general meeting of all the electors was called on March 14, in
Westminster Hall. This assemblage proved everything that could be
desired; the hall was completely packed with an uproarious mob, chiefly
on the King’s side; the hustings were made a battlefield for the
possession of the chair, which was pulled to pieces in the struggle;
then the hustings broke down, and a good many on either side were
trampled upon and injured. Nobody could be heard; when it was understood
that the meeting was asked to express an opinion on the Address to the
King, nearly all the
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO SPEAKER’S YARD AS IT APPEARED BEFORE THE
FIRE.]
hands went up. Fox tried to speak; a bag of asafetida was thrown in his
face; his friends carried him out on their shoulders; finally he
addressed the crowd from the bow-window of the King’s Head Tavern, in
Palace Yard. After the speech they took the horses from his carriage and
dragged him all the way to Devonshire House, in Piccadilly, with shouts
and cheers.
A so-called report of the meeting was then drawn up by Fox’s friends,
stating that the chair had been taken by Fox and that a new Address to
the King had been unanimously adopted. At the outset, therefore, neither
side was in the least degree desirous to present the bald, bare, cold,
unsatisfying truth.
On March 19 the Friends of Liberty held a great banquet at Willis’s
Rooms. They numbered five hundred; the dinner was fixed for half-past
five, but such was the ardor of the company, so great their
determination to do justice to the feast, that they began to assemble at
half-past three.
It is pleasant to read of civic and electioneering banquets--to see
pictures of the patriots enjoying some of the rewards of virtue. The
dinner was spread on six tables; and in order to prevent confusion,
everything was put on the table at once, so that when the covers--if
there were any covers--were removed, the company “saw their dinner.”
Then friends and neighbors helped each other with loving zeal from the
dishes before them; the waiters looked to the bottles, while the guests
handed the plates to each other. Only to think of this dinner makes one
hear the clatter of knives and forks, the buzz of talk--serious talk,
because the average elector of Westminster in 1784 was not a person who
laughed much; indeed, one
[Illustration: “THEMISTOCLES” (LORD HOOD), FROM “THE RIVAL CANDIDATES.”]
imagines that, after the humiliations and disgraces of the American war,
there could be very little laughter left in the country at all, even
among the young and the light-hearted. Music there was, however,--music
to uplift the hearts of the despondent,--violins and a ’cello, with
perhaps flutes and horns. Singing there was, also, after dinner. During
the banquet there was not much drinking; it would be sinful, with the
whole night before one, to destroy a generous thirst at the outset. Men
of that age were very powerful performers at the table; we neither eat
nor drink with the noble, copious, and indiscriminate voracity of our
ancestors; without any scientific observance of order these Friends of
Liberty tackled all that stood before them: beef and mutton, fish and
apple pie, turkey, tongue, ham, chicken, soup, and jelly--“plentifully
dispersed and fashionably set out.” Faces grew shiny with long-continued
exercise; those who wore wigs pushed them back; those who wore powder
found it slipping from their hair on their shoulders; bones--the
succulent bones of duck and chicken--were freely gnawed and sucked, as
was still the custom even in circles much higher than that which these
Friends of Liberty adorned.
[Illustration: “DEMOSTHENES” (CHARLES JAMES FOX), FROM “THE RIVAL
CANDIDATES.”]
At last the dishes were removed, and the business of the evening, with
the drinking, began. It is not stated, unfortunately, whether the
Friends of Liberty drank port or punch. Contemporary pictures incline
one to favor the theory of punch.
We of too degenerate age are wont to complain of the after-dinner
speech. Which of us could now sit out the speeches and the toasts at
this banquet, and survive? Even the Speaker would recoil in terror at
the prospect of such a night.
They did not drink the health of the King. His name was purposely
omitted--a thing astonishing to us, who cannot remember personal
hostility to the sovereign. Fox, who was in the chair, began with the
“Independent Electors of the City of Westminster”; he followed with “The
Majesty of the People of England,” “The Cause of Freedom all over the
World,” “The Glorious and Immortal Memory of King William the Third.”
Twenty-seven toasts are enumerated at length, with the ominous words at
the end, “Several other toasts were given.” Songs were sung by Captain
Morris of Anacreontic fame, Mr. Bannister, and others of the tuneful
choir.
In the midst of this growing excitement it was learned that the Great
Seal of England, which was in the custody of the Lord Chancellor, had
been stolen. Men looked at each other in amazement and dismay. What did
this thing portend? Who had caused it to be done? What did it mean? Was
it ordered by the King, or by Pitt, or by Fox? What deep-laid plot did
the burglary conceal? Nobody could tell. The King, rising to the
occasion, ordered a new seal to be made without delay. The robbery,
which had no political significance, was forgotten, and the mind of the
public returned to the General Election.
On March 25 the House of Commons was dissolved, and the candidates made
haste to issue their addresses to the “Worthy and Independent Electors
of the City of Westminster.” The Committee of Hood and Wray met at
Wood’s Hotel, and that of Fox at the Shakespeare Tavern, both in Covent
Garden. The Westminster hustings were at that time put up in front of
St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. If I remember aright, the hustings of the
election of 1868 were erected in Trafalgar Square; and I think they were
the last. Then, pending the opening of the poll, the merry game of abuse
and misrepresentation began, and was carried on with the greatest vigor
on both sides. Against Hood nothing at all could be alleged by the most
rancorous opponent; he was an Irish peer, newly created, and a
victorious admiral. Against Sir Cecil Wray, however, there were two or
three unfortunate circumstances.
[Illustration: “JUDAS ISCARIOT” (SIR CECIL WRAY), FROM “THE RIVAL CANDIDATES.”]
Thus, he had been put into his seat by the recommendation and influence
of Fox, whom he now deserted. Of course, therefore, he was Judas, Judas
Iscariot, Traitor, Monster of Ingratitude. That was the first charge: in
default of anything else it was a good solid charge, to which his
enemies could always return. Plain ingratitude, however, has always
failed to command popular indignation. What can one expect? What does
everybody’s experience teach? “Gratitude, sir,” says the disappointed
man of Virtue, “no one expects; but----” I do not suppose that the
charge of ingratitude lost Sir Cecil Wray one single vote, any more than
unexpected inconsistency or a sudden change of front or a sudden change
of principle in these days affects the seat of a modern politician. The
electors, therefore, heard with unmoved faces that Sir Cecil was worse
than Judas Iscariot as regards treachery and ingratitude. What had the
Election to do with private gratitude? They therefore proceeded to vote
for him.
There was, however, another weapon--and one far more effective. He had
once called the attention of the House to the lavish expenditure of
Chelsea Hospital, which maintained the old soldiers of the country at an
annual cost of fifty-one pounds apiece. And on that occasion he declared
that, rather than continue this prodigality, he would like to see the
abolition of the Hospital! The abolition of Chelsea Hospital! And
Chelsea Hospital was in Westminster Borough! And that a Westminster
member should say this monstrous thing! And, after he had said it,
should dare to become a candidate again! Here indeed seemed a chance for
the other side! Would the electors--the patriotic, enlightened electors
of Westminster--return one who would actually abolish, because it cost a
little money, the old soldier’s hospital?
And there was a third weapon. Sir Cecil Wray had even proposed a tax on
housemaids! Horrible! Wicked! This Monster would actually drive out of
their places all the housemaids in the country! What would become of
these poor girls? What would they do? Must they be thrown, weeping and
reluctant, into the arms of Vice? Eloquence was exhausted, tears were
shed, wrath was aroused by the mere description of what would have
happened to these
[Illustration: “THE WESTMINSTER MENDICANT” (SIR CECIL WRAY).]
poor girls had this tax been passed. In vain did Sir Cecil explain away
his words. There they were! In vain did he say that it would be cheaper
and better to give every man a pension of twenty pounds a year, with
permission to live where he wished. He had wounded the popular
sentiment--he said he would willingly abolish Chelsea Hospital. As
regards the housemaids, it was quite useless to explain that the master
would pay the tax, not the maid. The average elector did not want to
pay any more taxes; rather than pay this tax he would go without his
maid-servant--then what was the poor girl to do? With such excellent
weapons as these, the caricaturist, the lampooner, the writer of squibs
and the poet were amply provided.
First, by way of catechism:
Who, in his advertisement, professes to be the protector of the
fair sex?
Sir Cecil Wray.
Who proposed a tax on the poorest of the fair sex?
Sir Cecil Wray.
Who calls himself a soldier and a man of humanity?
Sir Cecil Wray.
Who proposed to pull down Chelsea Hospital?
Sir Cecil Wray.
Who has forfeited the good opinion of every man of honour,
humanity, and consistency?
Sir Cecil Wray.
Next, which is always a sure method of creating a laugh, and is moreover
very easy to manage, a leaflet in the Biblical style:
And it came to pass that there were dissensions amongst the rulers
of the nation.
And the Counsellors of the Back Stairs said, “Let us take
advantage, and yoke the people, even as oxen, and rule them with a
rod of iron.
“And let us break up the Assembly of Privileges, and get a new one
of Prerogatives, and let us hire false prophets to deceive the
people.” And they did so.
Then Judas Iscariot went among the citizens, saying, “Choose me one
of your elders, and I will tax your innocent damsels, and I will
take their bread from the helpless, lame, and blind,” etc., etc.,
etc.
Or by way of posters, as the following:
/*
To be sold by Auction
By
JUDAS ISCARIOT,
At the Prerogative Arms, Westminster,
CHELSEA HOSPITAL,
With all the live and dead Stock,
In which is included the Cloaks, Crutches, Fire Arms, etc., of the
poor worn-out Veterans, who have bled in their Country’s
Cause, their existence being declared
a Public Nuisance.
Likewise the Virtue, Innocence, and Modesty of the harmless,
inoffensive Servant Maids.
The Sale of this last lot was intended by Judas for
the purpose of raising the supplies for
the Tax on Maid Servants.
JUDAS ISCARIOT
is extremely sorry he cannot put up for Sale
PUBLIC INGRATITUDE,
Having Reserved that Article for Himself.
N. B.--To be disposed of, A large Quantity of Patent Dark
Lanterns, and the best Price will be given for a set of Fellows
who will go through thick and thin for a rotten back staircase.
Huzza for Prerogative! A Fig for the Constitution!
It was then discovered--or alleged, which came to the same thing--that
Sir Cecil had married his own housemaid. The following not very
brilliant epigram is written “on Sir Cecil proposing a tax on Maid
Servants after having married his own”:
When Cecil first the plan laid down,
Poor servant girls to curse.
He looked at home, and took his own
For better and for worse.
The Chelsea business provoked a more worthy effusion:
And will you turn us out of doors,
In age, to want a prey--
When cold winds blow and tempest roars?
Oh! Hard Sir Cecil Wray!
This house our haven is, and port
After a stormy sea:
Then shall it be cast down in sport,
By hard Sir Cecil Wray?
’Twill break our heart these scenes to leave,
But soldiers must obey;
Yet in my conscience I believe
You’re mad, Sir Cecil Wray.
For who will see us poor and lame,
Exposed on the highway,
And not with curses load the name
Of thee, Sir Cecil Wray?
These walls can talk of Minden’s plain,
Of England’s proudest day:
I think I hear these walls complain
Of thee, Sir Cecil Wray.
If thou art bent the poor to harm,
Attack the young and gay:
Girls both in health and beauty warm,--
But we are old, Sir Wray.
But Sir Cecil Wray had once published a volume of poems. Perhaps the
crudest stroke of all--if the poor man had the sensitive nature of most
poets--must have been certain parodies of these verses. Here are some.
The notes are, of course, part of the parody.
ON CELIA KILLING A FLEA.
Thou great epitome of little death, all hail!
How blest thy fate beneath my Celia’s lovely nail!
No more thou’lt skip from sheet to sheet alive and well,
The furious nail and finger toll’d thy passing bell.
N. B.--The allusion to the noise made by the animal’s sudden death
is beautifully descriptive of a passing bell.
ON A BLACK SOW WITH A LITTER OF THIRTEEN PIGS.
To the head of that sow, what a back, chine,[7] and tail![8]
Here, John, bring to Porkey[9] some milk and some meal.
Desire your mistress and Patty[10] my cousin
Come look at the mother and her baker’s dozen.[11]
How sweet is the smell of the straw in her stye![12]
It’s a mixture of oaten, and wheaten, and rye.
What an eye has this fat little creature, indeed!
But no wonder at that, ’tis the true Chinese Breed.[13]
* * * * *
The thirteenth my dear wife has told me she means
To dress here at home, with sage[14] chopped in the brains:
And the belly,[15] she says, shall be stuffed with sweet things,
With prunes and with currants--a Dish fit for Kings:
And egg sauce[16] we will have, and potatoes,[17] and butter,
And will eat till neither one word more can we utter.
The election took place during the time of dismal depression following
the humiliation of the American War. There was one branch of the
service, and only one, which the country could regard with pride or even
satisfaction. This was the Navy; and of all the brave men who, in that
disastrous war, endeavored to uphold the honor of the British flag, Lord
Hood was the popular favorite. He was at this time in his fiftieth year,
and in the middle of his career. It is evident, from the silence with
which the writers on the other side treated him, that it was not
considered safe to attack him. Even the malignity of electioneering
warfare was compelled to spare the name of Hood. He was returned, of
course, and he continued to represent Westminster until the long war
begun in 1793.
As regards Sir Cecil Wray, the attacks made upon him, of which we have
seen some, were villainous enough to meet the case of the greatest
monster or the most brazen turn-coat: they were also powerless, for the
simple reason that the real foundation for attack was so extremely weak.
One can already perceive, behind this onslaught of combined bludgeon and
rapier, a harmless man of blameless private character; cultivated;
probably rather weak; who was ill-advised when he opposed his old friend
Fox, and when he brought forward Hood, a man enormously superior to
himself. That he obtained so many votes and nearly defeated his opponent
was due to the influence of the Court.
As for Fox, he was at this time forty-five years of age, and in the
midst of his unbounded activity. At the age of nineteen he was returned
for Midhurst. Before the age of twenty-five he had become a power in the
House of Commons; he had run race horses; he was a notorious gambler;
and had incurred debts to the total of £240,000; he was regarded as an
enemy of the King and a friend of the people. We shall see what the
other side could rake up against him.
[Illustration: “PROCESSION TO THE HUSTINGS AFTER A SUCCESSFUL CANVASS”
(AFTER A PRINT A. D. 1784).]
First there were questions suggested: “Did you not” say, or do, this or
that; abuse Lord North and then join him; promise great things and
perform nothing; buy up all the usual scribblers in the City; cringe to
the electors? Then there were sarcastic reasons why Fox should be
supported: the admirable economy with which he conducted his own
affairs; his general consistency; his great landed estates; his hatred
of gambling.
Another set of questions insinuated that he was a private friend of one
Tyrle, executed for high treason in sending information to France.
Virtuous indignation, of course, and not political expediency, compelled
the plain and honest “Father” to ask whether the electors would vote for
the “high priest of drunkenness, gaming, and every species of debauchery
that can contaminate the principles we should wish to inculcate in our
offspring.”
They called him Carlo Khan, and Cogdie Shufflecard Reynardine, and they
made the most infamous attacks on the Duchess of Devonshire and the
other ladies who canvassed for him. Most of them are not to be quoted.
The following extracts are the most decent:
Hail, Duchess, first of womankind!
Far, far you leave your sex behind;
With you none can compare:
For who but you, from street to street,
Would run about, a vote to get,
Thrice, thrice bewitching fair!
Each day you visit every shop,
Into the house your head you pop,
Nor do you act the prude:
For every man salutes your Grace;
Some kiss your hand and some your face,
And some are rather rude.
The girl condemned to walk the streets
And pick each blackguard up she meets,
And get him in her clutches,
Has lost her trade; for they despise
Her wanton airs, her leering eyes.
Now they can kiss a Duchess!
The following lyrics are the commencement of a short satiric poem,
compelled, like the remonstrance of the “Father,” by the indignant heart
of the poet:
See modest Duchesses, no longer nice,
In Virtue’s honour haunt the sinks of Vice:
In Freedom’s cause the guilty bribe convey,
And perjured wretches piously betray.
In a lighter strain the following:
Her mien like Cytherea’s dove,
Her lips like Hybla’s honey:
Who would not give a vote for love,
Unless he wanted money?
Alas! To reputation blind!
I wonder some folks bore it:
You’ve lost your fame, and those that find
Can ne’er again restore it.
On the other side there was one capable of putting the Duchess in a more
amiable light:
Arrayed in matchless beauty, Devon’s fair,
In Fox’s favour takes a zealous part:
But, oh! where’er the pilferer comes, beware--
She supplicates a vote and steals a heart.
All the ladies were not on the side of Fox. Lady Buckinghamshire came
into the field for Hood and Wray. Unfortunately she was inferior to the
Duchess in personal charms, and the friends of Fox, one regrets to say,
had the bad taste to call her Madame Blubber. They made at least one
song about her, of which one can quote the first two stanzas:
A certain lady I won’t name
Must take an active part, sir,
To show that Devon’s beauteous dame
Should not engage each heart, sir.
She canvassed all--both great and small,
And thundered at each door, sir;
She rummaged every shop and stall,
The Duchess was still before, sir.
Sam Marrowbones had shut his shop,
And just had lit his pipe, sir,
When in the lady needs must pop,
Exceeding plump and ripe, sir.
“Gad zounds!” said he, “how late you be!
For votes you come to bore me,--
But let us feel, are you beef or veal?
The Duchess has been before ye.”
On Thursday, April 1, the polling began. The hustings were put up in
Covent Garden, and at 11 A.M. the candidates appeared before an enormous
mob. Fox’s address was drowned in clamors and shouts and curses, and by
the delectable music of marrowbones and cleavers. The show of hands was
declared in favor of Hood and Wray: a poll was demanded, and was opened
immediately.
The polling went on, day after day, for more than six weeks. It was not
until Monday, May 17, that it was finally closed. During the whole of
that time Westminster was the scene of continual fighting, feasting, and
drinking. Lord Hood, about whose return there seems to have been no
doubt from the beginning, thought it necessary to protect his voters by
a body of sailors brought from Wapping. These gallant fellows were
stationed in front of the hustings, displaying the King’s colors, and
actually commanded by naval officers. It seems incredible that such a
thing should have been tolerated. But it was a hundred years ago. The
sailors assaulted and knocked down the voters on the other side. When
complaints were made, Hood’s Committee refused to send them away.
On Saturday, April 3, a body of Guards, nearly three hundred strong,
were marched to Covent Garden under orders to vote for Hood and Wray.
On April 5 the sailors met their match, for the chairmen, all stout and
sturdy Irishmen, came down to Covent Garden in a body, and after a
battle with cudgels and chair-poles in the fine old eighteenth-century
fashion,--a form of fight which gave every possible advantage to the
valiant, and every opportunity for personal distinction,--they drove the
sailors
[Illustration: THE SPEAKER’S COURT AS IT APPEARED BEFORE THE FIRE.]
from the field and remained in possession. The routed sailors made for
St. James’s Street, proposing to destroy the chairs; but they were
followed by the chairmen, resolute to preserve their property. Again the
sailors were driven from the field. The rioting continued, more or less,
during the whole of the Election. For the most part it was carried on in
Covent Garden, outside Wood’s Hotel, which was the headquarters of Hood
and Wray; and outside the Shakespeare Tavern, where sat Fox’s Committee.
For instance, one day a certain party of amiable and honest butchers
marched into Covent Garden wearing Fox’s colors. Of course it was quite
accidental that this procession, with its band of marrowbones and
cleavers, should strike up an inspiriting strain, accompanied by
derisive cheers, in front of Wood’s Hotel, and of course they did not
expect what followed--the appearance on the scene of the sailors armed
with bludgeons and cutlasses. A fight followed, in which the sailors
were driven back; someone from the hotel windows fired into the mob,
upon which the windows were broken. The arrival of the Guards prevented
fresh hostilities. A good many were wounded in this affair; happily, no
one was killed.
A more serious riot took place on May 11. It was supposed that the
polling would conclude on that day; the Westminster magistrates,
apprehending a riot, called together a large number of special
constables, and sent them to Covent Garden to keep the peace. The
polling went on quietly until three o’clock, when it closed for the day.
Then the fighting began between the butchers and the constables. Who
provoked it? The constables were sent, it was said, in order to get up a
riot. The butchers, it was said, began. Fox himself was knocked down.
The constables were defeated, one man being killed; and the soldiers
were called in.
Mr. John Hunter, surgeon, gave evidence in the inquest that followed.
The man was killed by injuries inflicted by some blunt weapon,
presumably a bludgeon. The jury returned a verdict of willful murder
against some person or persons unknown. The funeral of the unfortunate
man was carefully conducted so as to throw the odium of his death on
Fox’s side. He was buried, though a Whitechapel man, in the churchyard
of St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. The other people declared that he was
really buried at Whitechapel, and that the coffin placed in St. Paul’s
was empty. The funeral was conducted, of course, very slowly past the
Shakespeare Tavern and before the hustings. The widow followed in a
mourning coach, crying out of the window: “Blood for Blood!” The
procession was admirably arranged in order to provoke another riot,
which would certainly have happened had not Fox’s Committee caused the
polling to be stopped at two, instead of three, o’clock, so that when
the funeral arrived Covent Garden was comparatively quiet. The last day
of the struggle was on May 17, after forty-seven days of polling. The
result was:
Lord Hood, 6694
Charles James Fox, 6234
Sir Cecil Wray, 5998
Sir Cecil Wray demanded a scrutiny, to which Fox objected. The reason of
his objection appeared later on, when the subject was discussed in the
House, and it appeared that a scrutiny would probably last five years
and would cost thirty thousand pounds, which would have to be paid by
the candidates. It was therefore abandoned.
But the fun was not yet finished. A Triumphal Procession was formed, and
the successful candidate was escorted on his way to Devonshire House.
The following was the order of the Procession:
Heralds on Horseback.
Twenty-four marrowbones and cleavers.
The Arms of Westminster.
Thirty Firemen of Westminster.
Martial Music.
Committees of the seven Parishes, with white Wands, following
their respective banners and attended by numberless
gentlemen of the several Districts.
Squadron of Gentlemen on Horseback in Buff and Blue.
Trumpets.
Flag--The Rights of the Commons.
Grand Band of Music.
Flag--The Men of the People.
Marshals on Foot.
Triumphal Chair
Decorated with Laurels, in which was seated
The Right Hon. Charles James Fox.
Trumpets.
Flag--The Whig Cause.
Second Squadron of Horse.
Liberty Boys of Newport Market.
Mr. Fox’s Carriage crowned with Laurels.
Banner Sacred to Female Patriotism.
Blue Standard, Inscribed
Independence!
State carriages of the Duchess of Portland and the Duchess of
Devonshire, drawn by six horses superbly caparisoned,
with six running footmen attending on each.
Gentlemen’s Servants closing the Procession--two and two.
The Procession over, they all adjourned--Marrowbones, Cleavers, Liberty
Boys and all, to Willis’s Rooms, where they made a glorious night of it.
The Prince of Wales gave a _déjeuner_ in honor of the occasion to six
hundred “of the first persons of fashion.” They danced all night and
till six in the morning, and they all met again in the evening at Mrs.
Crewe’s Ball. Captain Morris took the chair after supper, and sang the
“Baby and Nurse.” He then proposed a toast, “Buff and Blue and Mrs.
Crewe!” to which the fair hostess responded, wittily and gracefully,
with “Buff and Blue and all for you!” Then Captain Morris gave them a
succession of songs “with a spirit that made every fair eye in the room
dance with delight.” At four o’clock they went back to the dancing and
kept it up till six or seven.
So ended the fiercest contest and the longest of which any history
remains. It is also, to repeat what has been already advanced, the only
election of which there has been preserved so complete a record. Page
after page, in the volume from which I have quoted, is filled with
paragraphs cut from the papers of the day, in which the most astonishing
ingenuity is devoted to the invention of new libels, the distortion of
old speeches, and the perversion of facts. We have seen that against Sir
Cecil Wray absolutely nothing of the least importance could be alleged,
because it was absurd to suppose that he was to be Fox’s henchman for
life. Fox had certainly introduced Wray to the Westminster electors, and
that was the only service he had rendered him. Against Fox himself very
little of importance could be alleged, because, even if he was a
prodigal, a gambler, and of doubtful virtue, the average Briton has
always loved a sportsman, and has never--at least, not until quite
recently--thought that a man’s gifts and powers as a statesman depended
upon his private morals. All the abuse, all the libels, all the
monstrous lies hurled about on either side were absolutely useless. I do
not believe that they influenced a single elector. Were the gentlemen
who played so beautifully with the marrowbones and cleavers influenced?
Were the Liberty Boys of Newport Market influenced? Were the residents
of Peter Street, Orchard Street, the Almonry influenced? They were not
voters. The voting qualification of 1784 was the burgage holding, the
tenant who paid scot and lot, and the potwaller. Did the presence of the
sailors assist the Court party? Did the valiant chairmen prove of any
real help to Fox? I think not. All these things amused the mob; none of
these things moved the elector. The one thing that damaged Fox was his
late coalition with Lord North, the man most heartily and thoroughly
detested in all the length and breadth of the country--the man
universally regarded as the chief cause of the national disasters and
humiliations. And I think that what hurt Sir Cecil Wray most was the
marching of the three hundred guards in a body to vote as they were
ordered, and the interference of the Court in commanding every person
connected with the household to vote against Fox. And for my own part,
had I been able to vote at that election, Fox should have had a plumper
from me if only to win one of the Duchess’s smiles; and if any other
reason were wanting, I should have voted for Fox because of all the men
of that most disagreeable period, Fox, to my mind, with all his faults,
stands out as the bravest, the most genial, and the most patriotic.