Lord Sandwich’s unpopularity.--He offers himself for the High
Stewardship of Cambridge.--Animosity between him and Lord Royston,
the other candidate.--Lord Sandwich’s “Flying Pension.”--
Disgraceful Grant to Count Virri.--Dismissal of General A’Court.--
Grenville, Walpole, and General Conway.
The effects of Lord Sandwich’s conduct began already to be felt. He
having, to thwart the Duke of Cumberland, who espoused Mr. Luther,
taken the opposite side on the election for the county of Essex,[406]
the Court lost the election by dint of Sandwich’s unpopularity. He
himself, foreseeing the approaching death of Lord Hardwicke, presented
himself as candidate for the High Stewardship of Cambridge. Nothing
could occasion greater ridicule than a character so flagitious offered
to a religious and learned society. It counter-worked even his own
indefatigable industry. Lord Royston,[407] son of Lord Hardwicke, was
the other candidate; and the animosities ran so high, that the two
parties preached against each other. The sequel will appear hereafter.
In the meantime Sandwich obtained what was called a _flying pension_,
that is, it was to commence if he lost his place. The grant was of
3000_l._ a year on Ireland; but when the order went to Dublin, Lord
Northumberland, having promised that no addition should be made to
the pension-list during his administration, was forced to represent
so strongly against what was granted to Lord Sandwich, that the Court
was obliged to recall it. The Irish House of Commons had just then set
itself to examine the state of pensions charged on that country, and
it had been found, as they published to the world in their votes, that
since the commencement of this reign, a period only of three years,
17,000_l._ a year had been added to that list. There likewise appeared
the disgraceful grant to Count Virri, the purchase of the peace. It
stood in the name of one Charles.
The year concluded with the dismission of General A’Court, whose
regiment was taken from him for having voted for the Privilege of
Parliament. The man was obscure and of no importance, had a large
family and no fortune;[408] the tyranny therefore was the more
flagrant, but from those very circumstances made the less noise. Lord
Sandwich had carried into the King a list of sixteen officers who
had dared to act with spirit and independence against the arbitrary
measures of the Court. The poor man in question was selected for an
example of terror; but, except in his ruin, the ministers found no
cause to exult. A much more considerable man had taken the same part,
of which it is necessary here to give some account.
I have said that General Conway,[409] under pretence of bringing
home the troops, had been kept abroad till the peace was voted, the
ministers apprehending that they should not be able to influence him
to approve an event so ruinous and shameful to his country. At his
return, no man being less factious, he had entered into no cabals,
had attached himself to no party. His chief friendships were with the
Duke of Devonshire, with his own brother the Earl of Hertford, and
with me. The Duke, though grievously insulted and provoked, was of so
decent and cautious a nature, that he was the last man on earth to
think of exciting his friends to violent measures; and, indeed, after
the first sally of passion, bore his affront with too much patience.
Lord Hertford was a perfect courtier, and more likely to dissuade his
brother from, than incite him to, Opposition. I, much more inclined
to party-heat, had been very seriously alarmed at the strides I had
seen made towards arbitrary power; but having beheld the cowardice of
Lord Bute, and knowing that of Lord Mansfield, and finding the nation
delivered from the influence of Fox, I had flattered myself the danger
was over. I had been pleased, too, that Grenville was become the acting
minister; having (I confess my blindness) entertained a most favourable
opinion of his integrity. He talked nothing but reformation--which,
indeed, alone, would not have duped me--I had seen too much of patriot
hypocrisy! but he went beyond myself in his principles of liberty--I
mean, in his discourse. I thought him a grounded Republican; had
heard him harangue by the hour against the despotic doctrines of Lord
Mansfield. Nor had his venal prostitution of himself to Lord Bute as
yet opened my eyes. But I was again roused by the arbitrary treatment
of Wilkes, committed close prisoner to the Tower by an indefinite
warrant. Lord Bute, I saw, had left his cloak to his successors; yet
I could not believe that my friend, Algernon Sydney, (for Grenville
appeared to me as scarce a less Whig saint,) was capable of concurring
in such measures. In truth, when I saw Saint Sandwich added to his
rubric, I began to be startled. I saw him lean, too, on the Bedfords:
them I did not love: and nothing is a more sovereign cure for
blindness in friendship, than a connection between one’s friends and
one’s enemies. I laboured by those most in Grenville’s confidence
to detach him from so disreputable an union; but Grenville knew his
interest better than I knew him. Still I had not the most distant
suspicion of what his heart was capable of, nor any view of opposing
his administration. Thinking him as frank and candid as myself, and
thoroughly shocked at the use made of General Warrants, I desired Mr.
Thomas Pitt,[410] attached to Mr. Grenville, and my own friend, to
tell him fairly in the summer, that I believed I should differ with him
when the point of General Warrants should be agitated in Parliament.
But not content with opposing them myself, I earnestly desired that
Mr. Conway should take the same step: and in bringing that about, I
by no means piqued myself on the same frankness. Should Lord Hertford
conceive the least suspicion of my intentions, I knew how sedulously
he would labour to prevent his brother from involving himself against
the Court. He might procure Mr. Conway to be again sent aside on some
honourable commission, or contrive to have his gratitude dipped in
favours from the King, before he should be aware with what view they
were bestowed. I waited therefore in silence and patience till Lord
Hertford was set out on his embassy to Paris, before I ever named the
term _General Warrants_ in the presence of Mr. Conway. Then, indeed,
I asked him, as by accident, how he intended to vote on that business,
telling him I should wish to act as he did. I found he was disgusted
at the Warrants; and thence I easily entered into agreement with him
to oppose them, as we did, no other person living having any previous
intimation of his intention. The Court was alarmed; and Grenville sent
Mr. Thomas Pitt to me to sound me on that head; both of them believing
that I had rather been influenced by Conway, than he by me.
Pitt began with Mr. Grenville’s concern at Mr. Conway’s behaviour,
wished to know what had disgusted him, and was ready to obtain for
him whatever his warmest wishes could aim at. I assured him he was
thoroughly mistaken; that no disgust had taken possession of Mr.
Conway; that no man was less ambitious; and that I advised Mr.
Grenville, as a friend, not to think of treating Mr. Conway as a man to
be bought. _That_ really would disgust him, and might throw him into
Opposition, of which I was sure at present he had no thoughts,--and
thus far I really spoke with good wishes to Mr. Grenville,--but the
scene soon changed. Finding bribes rejected, Pitt altered his tone:
said it could not be suffered to have men in the King’s service acting
against him,--and then dropped this unguarded expression, _the King
could not trust his army in such hands_. I started. “Good God!” said
I, “Mr. Pitt, what are they going to do with the army? to what use is
it to be put, if a man of Mr. Conway’s virtue, and tried loyalty and
bravery, cannot be trusted with a regiment? You alarm me!” He beat
about backwards and forwards: sometimes it was offers and promises,
sometimes threats; but I had taken my part, and had got hold of words
I was determined not to part with or forget. I would say no more, but
that I advised Mr. Grenville to have patience; that I knew Mr. Conway
neither was in, nor was going into, Opposition (for they were jealous
of his connection with the Duke of Devonshire), and that I was sure
he would never be influenced, would never act but from principle;
and if they would leave him to himself they would have no reason to
be dissatisfied,--and I told them the truth, if they had had sense
enough to believe me. Mr. Pitt then pressed me to talk it over with
Mr. Grenville, which I declined. I said, I would certainly never give
Mr. Conway any dishonourable advice; would never try to persuade him
to be bribed or terrified; nor would he forgive me if I should. Pitt
persisted. I said, “Mr. Pitt, I am persuaded Mr. Grenville will never
report my conversation differently from the truth: but though he may
not intend it, he may mistake me; I may mistake him. I will wait on
him, upon condition a third person is present. I do not desire it may
be a friend of mine, and not his: you are a friend to both; and though
justly much more attached to him than to me, I am persuaded, if any
difference should arise between us in the relation of the interview,
you have too much honour not to do strict justice to either. If you may
be present, I will meet him,--but remember, I tell you it will be to
no purpose.” In truth, after such a Star-Chamber sentence as _the King
cannot trust his army in the hands of a man who votes in Parliament
against him_, I was not disposed to labour in cementing an union
between my friend and a man of such apostate degeneracy. From that
hour all my prejudices in Grenville’s favour were dispelled. I saw how
dangerous he was: it was Fox with a fairer character.
Though I had given too little encouragement to expect any alteration
either in Mr. Conway’s or my own sentiments, Grenville persisted in the
interview. I went accordingly to Mr. Thomas Pitt’s. It happened to be
the evening of the riot on burning the North Briton. Grenville arrived
in the most ridiculous and extraordinary disorder I ever saw. He could
scarce articulate for passion. One would have thought the City had been
taken by storm and the guards cut to pieces. Yet this was not a panic.
It was rage to see authority set at nought while _he_ was minister. His
subsequent conduct gave evidence that this was his sensation: no man
ever bore power with more pride. For some time I could scarce learn
what had provoked him: the confusion of his ideas made him talk as if
Mr. Conway had raised a rebellion. Commanding my laughter, and waiting
with patience till the torrent should have spent itself, but to no
purpose, I was forced at last to ask what the riot had to do with Mr.
Conway’s case? This unfortunate question, like snatching a pebble from
amidst a cascade, did but make it dash at random on all sides. From
seven in the evening till ten at night, I sat to hear his inundation of
words, scarce uttering ten myself; and we parted with as little fruit
as might be expected from a conversation so intemperate and disjointed;
the result of all I said being to repeat my request that he would have
patience, and assuring him that he would not find Mr. Conway engaged in
any regular opposition.
Whether it proceeded from his impatience of contradiction, whether
from eagerness to carry his point, or whether privately instigated
by the Bedfords to push on an explanation which they hoped might
drive Mr. Conway into settled hostilities, or whether, which I think
most likely, they flattered themselves they should regain him from
my influence, Grenville desired an interview with Conway himself.
He consulted me, and we agreed that he should act as I had done,
and insist on a third person being present, proposing the Duke of
Richmond,[411] his son-in-law, who however could not be exceptionable,
as he acted uniformly with the Court. This demand produced a new
scene of ridiculous distress. Though the meeting had been proposed,
and Mr. Conway’s answer sent by noon, it was not till ten at night
that Mr. Grenville could bring himself to any resolution; being, as
his servant owned, shut up for the greatest part of the time with his
wife,[412] a proud, ambitious, and sensible woman, and the only person
to whom he would listen. She, indeed, had full dominion over him. The
precautions taken both by Mr. Conway and me had put Grenville on his
guard: not a word dropped from him intimating bribery. The meeting
ended fruitlessly, as we had foreseen. Conway was naturally cold, and
Grenville far from being master of ingratiating persuasion. Conway
adhered to the declaration that he was engaged in no opposition. His
subsequent behaviour amply confirmed that assurance; but a new measure
of obedience was set up, and my late republican friend was become as
strict a disciplinarian as the most arbitrary of his predecessors.