_Electioneering._--In 1749, during the great contested election
for Westminster, when Lord Trentham and Sir George Vandeput were
candidates, Dr. Barrowby greatly interested himself in favour of the
latter, who was put up to oppose the Court party. The doctor had for
some weeks attended the noted Joe Weatherby, landlord of the Ben
Jonson's Head, in Russell-street, who had become emaciated by a nervous
fever. During Dr. Barrowby's visits, the patient's wife, not knowing the
doctor's political attachment, had frequently expressed her uneasiness
that her dear Joey could not get up, and vote for _her_ good friend
Lord Trentham. Towards the end of the election, when very uncommon means
were used on both sides to obtain the suffrages of the people, the
doctor, calling one morning on his patient, to his great astonishment,
found him up and almost dressed.--"Hey-dey! what's the cause of this?"
exclaimed Barrowby. "Dear Doctor," said poor Joe, in broken accents, "I
am going to poll."--"To poll!" replied the doctor, with much warmth,
supposing him of the same opinion with his wife, "going to the d--l, you
mean!--why, do you know the cold air may kill you. Get to bed, get to
bed, man, as fast as you can, or immediate death may ensue!"--"Oh! if
that is the case, sir," returned the patient in a feeble voice, "to be
sure I must act as you advise me; but I love my country, sir, and
thought, while my wife was out, to seize this opportunity to go to
Covent-garden church, and vote for Sir G. Vandeput."--"How, Joe! for Sir
George?"--"Yes, sir, I wish him heartily well."--"Do you?" said the
medical politician. "Hold, nurse! don't pull off his stockings again;
let me feel his pulse. Hey! very well--a good, firm stroke--Egad! this
will do. You took the pills I ordered last night?"--"Yes, doctor, but
they made me very sick."--"Ay, so much the better. How did your master
sleep, nurse?"--"O charmingly, sir."--"Did he! Well, if his mind is
really uneasy about this election, he must be indulged; diseases of the
mind greatly affect those of the body. Come, come, throw a great coat or
blanket about him. It is a fine day; but the sooner he goes the
better--the sun will be down early. Here, here, lift him up; a ride will
do him good; he shall go with me to the hustings in my chariot." The
doctor was directly obeyed; and poor Joe Weatherby was conveyed in the
carriage to the hustings, where he gave his vote according to his
conscience, amidst the acclamations of the people; and two hours after
his politico-medical adviser had left him at his own house, Joe departed
this life, loaded with the reproaches of his beloved wife, and her
friends of the Court party.