BRITANNIA DISTURBED BY FRENCH VAGRANTS. LORD TRENTHAM FOR WESTMINSTER. 1749.
The caricaturists endorsed this view. In “Britannia Disturbed, or an Invasion by French Vagrants, addressed to the worthy Electors of the City of Westminster,” 1749, Lord Trentham is trying to force these importations on Britannia, who is nursing “Lunn” (Rich), and “Fribble;” these she declares “are my only Theatrical children, I will cherish no Foreign vagrants.” “Peg” Trentham, with drawn sword, is asserting that he will perforce cram these “entertaining dear creatures” down the throat of the nation; the strollers are like marionettes, and wear wooden shoes, as a hint of French neediness. Earl Gower is anxious for his rash scion’s future prospects: “My long-headed son will smart for this scheme.” “Push on, my Lord,” is the encouragement of “a subscriber.” “Bludgeon-men, at two shillings a day,” engaged for the election, are making a demonstration of force, and shouting for their employer’s glorification.
This Westminster election is said to have been one of the most expensive contests that the Government had as yet experienced. The following epigram describes a supposed conversation between Lord Trentham and his father:—
At the conclusion of the polling there appeared a majority for Lord Trentham, but his opponents demanded a scrutiny; and this scrutiny proved so laborious and difficult, or the parties interested in opposing the Court threw so many obstacles in the way, that it led to a quarrel with the House of Commons, which lasted some months, and gave a double celebrity to the Westminster Election of 1749.
The most was made of Lord Trentham’s Gallic proclivities, which were held up to ridicule in ingenious satires. The following handbill is an example of the squibs circulated by his opponents during the election:—
“AUX ELECTEURS TRÈS DIGNES DE WESTMINSTER.
“Messieurs—
“Vos suffrages et Interêts sont desirés pour le Très Hon. mi Lord Trentham,
“Un Veritable Anglois.
“N.B.—L’on prie ses Amis de ses rendre à l’Hôtel François dans le Marché au Foin.
“To my Lord Trentham.
“The King of France (my most glorious Monarch) being touched with a lively sense of the obligations he owes your Lordship, for the powerful protection you have given to his subjects in England, honours you with his thanks, and commands me to assure you, that your Lordship shall be the Chief Manager of his Playhouse in England, as soon as your Lordship and your Friends have brought those insolent rascals, the English, under his dominion, being satisfied the measures your Lordship and Friends now pursue cannot fail of your desired success.
“I have the honour to be
“Your Lordship’s most obliged humble Servant,
“N.B.—Translated from the Original French.”
Great favour was shown to docile voters, while the refractory were subject to crying injustices. The following handbill, circulated at the time, exposes the meannesses to which a Duke of Bedford could descend in the interests of his candidate:—
“A true Copy of a Letter sent to an inhabitant of Covent Garden, who thought himself at liberty (though a Tenant to the Duke of Bedford) to vote according to his own conscience; which having done, he received the following:—‘I hereby give you Notice, that you are to quit the house you rent of his Grace the Duke of Bedford, situate in Bedford Street, in the parish of St. Paul, Covent Garden, at Lady-Day next, or to pay his Grace Seventy-two pounds a year for the same from that time.
“‘Nov. 29, 1749.
“‘To Mr. Matthew Creyghton.’“NOTE.—I acknowledge to have received the above letter by the hands of Mr. Becuda, one of his Grace’s stewards, and accept the notice therein. The rent I at present pay is thirty-six pounds per annum. I voted for and to my utmost have served Sir George Vandeput. Who would not?
“⁂ No rent due to his Grace.
“N.B.—The House to Let.”
The general election of 1747 furnished Hogarth with a suggestion which employed his attention anterior to his more ambitious election series. The House of Commons dissolved on the 18th of June, and the artist, taking time by the forelock, had his engraving “A Country Inn-yard at the Time of Election” ready for publication while the contests were occupying the public. As the print in question informs us, the cry of a “Babe of grace,” heard at the City election of 1701, was repeated in 1747. The subject of the stage-coach and inn-yard is generally familiar. It contains the figures of the fat woman of abnormal proportions being assisted into the coach by the efforts of her meagre husband; while the equally obese landlady, seen at the bar window, which she fills, is vigorously pulling the bell to summons the coach passengers. It is the background of the picture which illustrates the present subject. The sleek landlord, wearing an apron, and with a pair of snuffers pendent at his girdle, is presenting to an election agent a bill for the expenses incurred for the entertainment of his party; that the amount is excessive is conveyed by the expression of suspicion which pervades the features of the agent, who is preparing to settle the account; the landlord is evidently protesting as to his immaculate reputation, while a part of the Act against bribery on elections is projecting from his pocket. The galleries of the inn-yard are filled with spectators, who are favoured with a sight of the humours of an election procession—a posse of men carrying sticks and bearing an effigy of a more than life-size baby, with a child’s rattle and hornbook, or A.B.C. Behind the chair, in which this figure is seated, is carried a flag with the inscription, “No Old Baby.” Nichols and Stevens, in their “Notes to Hogarth” (1810) have explained that the “Old Baby” effigy and cry were resorted to by the antagonists of the Hon. John Child, whose family, by Act of Parliament, took the name of Tylney in 1735. This candidate stood member for the county of Essex in opposition to Sir Robert Abdy and Mr. Bramstone. At the election, a man was placed on a bulk, with a mock infant in his arms, who, as he whipped the babe in effigy, exclaimed, “What, you little Child, must you be a member?” The member in question was then Viscount Castlemaine, and afterwards Earl Tylney. At this disputed election, it appeared, from the register book of the parish where this candidate was born, that he was a “Child” in more than one respect, being but twenty years of age when returned for parliament.
A favourite figure with the satirists was to portray wily party manœuvrers as vermin-catchers, and those apostate representatives who were ready to sell themselves and their parliamentary trust were displayed as the spoils of their craft. A cartoon appeared at the time of these elections reflecting upon the tricks of administration. It will be seen that nearly all these early caricaturists seem disinterested, as their subjects oppose the dispensers of patronage. The engraving shows the Duke of Newcastle seated beside St. Stephen’s Chapel, and fishing for partisans among the late members, and, in anticipation, bidding for the adherence of the possible representatives in the coming parliament; this subject is entitled, “The Complete Vermin-Catcher of Great Britain; or, the Old Trap new baited.” The minister’s line is dropped through the chimney of St. Stephen’s, and is baited with Titles, Bribes, Places, Pensions, Secret Commissions, and patronage in Army, Navy, and Excise. The intriguing duke, who was a proficient in corrupting others, and spent a large fortune in electioneering wiles, is observing, “All Vermin may be caught, tho’ differently, suit but the Bait to their various appetites. But there’s a species will take no Bait; would I could scare them away; as they’re not Vermin, they will not answer my purpose.” The greedy place-hunters are swarming plentifully, and are offering to do any amount of dirty work, to “push for posts,” “Jews and no Jews,” being indifferent to everything but profit. The Pelhams, unscrupulous themselves, were past-masters of the art of finding venal tools. It is disclosed in the diary of Bubb Dodington (Lord Melcombe-Regis), the manager of the Leicester House intrigues, and himself an accomplished adept in dissimulation, how disreputably the Duke of Newcastle contrived to secure Bubb’s parliamentary influence (six seats) “for nothing!”
The corrupt character of a large average of those sent to the Commons as representatives of the people was in perfect keeping with the no less greedy boroughmongers who found them seats and the mercenary voters, their constituents by presumption; what a man bought—and in those days almost everything political had its price and was purchasable—he held himself justified in selling when the chance occurred. A satirical rendering of the imperfections then supposed to affect the body of the senate appeared at the time of these elections of 1754, when, by wholesale bribery, the Administration was, at an enormous cost, doing its utmost to degrade the entire system of representation:—“Dissection of a Dead Member (of Parliament).” The subject is extended upon a table for autopsy, five surgeons have severally examined the different functions, and the results of their post-mortem inspection is thus stated:—
1st Doctor. The Brain is very foul and muddy, it has a Contusion, or, as it may be called, a soft place in it, locked in the stone kitchen by way of qualification.
2nd Doctor. Ay, ay, he knocked his head too hard against politics and bruisified his pericranium. He was bred a Foxhunter.
3rd Doctor. The Vena Cava of the Thorax makes a noise, and sounds as if one should say, “My country be damn’d,” and his intestines have got, I think, ’tis “Bribery,” wrote on them—not a drop of good blood in his heart.
4th Doctor. Bribery, the Auri Sacra fames of the ancients—ay ’twas a diet he was fond of, ’twas his Breakfast, Dinner, and Supper, and affected all the corpuscles of his corporeal system, it was his Insanible Membrum.
5th Doctor. There’s a most potent Fœtor exhales as if the whole body was corrupted—if the bones are touched it won’t make an Anatomy.
The elections of 1754 are rendered more interesting to later generations from the circumstance that the famous series of paintings by Hogarth, better known by the engravings as the “Four Plates of an Election,” owe their origin to the electoral contests which ensued on the parliamentary dissolution, April 8, 1754. Before that date the tendency of events was shadowed forth. For instance, Henry Pelham, a pupil of Walpole’s, who combined the offices of first lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer, passed the Jews’ Naturalization Bill in June, 1753, chiefly by his own exertions; but reaping thereby an enlarged measure of unpopularity—sufficient to jeopardize his party and his future career, if not to extinguish the political prospects of the Pelhams beyond rehabilitation—this detrimental concession was recalled, and, in the face of a general election and its possible eventualities, the Bill was repealed. The hostile feeling provoked by the measure in question still remained, and although the principal agent on its introduction had himself departed, it exercised, as will be seen in the political satires, much influence over the elections of 1754, in the way of helping the return of fresh opposition candidates, and defeating ministerial nominees. Henry Pelham, the prominent figure of the administration, expired in the full tide of his unpopularity. That enmity—consequent upon his acts—followed him to the tomb is illustrated by a spirited caricature, published on his death, and disclosing the probable reception which awaited the late premier on the other side of the Styx. “His Arrival at his Country Retirement and Reception,” March 6, 1754 (the anniversary of Pelham’s decease). In this etching Henry Pelham is entering on his future state, introduced to the infernal regions by a demon chamberlain. The “salle des pas perdus,” is not so easy as anticipated; Pelham is observing to his conductor:—“It was much easier walking in the Treasury. I hope my successor finds it so.” The ghosts of departed statesmen are variously greeting the arrival of the latest addition to their class. His predecessor, Sir Robert Walpole, is welcoming a worthy pupil: “O, this is a child of my own bringing up. I found him a promising Genius for dirty work, I therefore did all I could to gain him the succession at my retirement hither, knowing that some of his black strokes would make me appear as fair as alabaster. He has done it in several respects, but chiefly in getting the Naturalization of the Jews passed,—have any of you great Genius’s done anything equal?” The spirit of Judge Jeffreys is declaring, “All my transactions in the West were but a joke to that great achievement.” The disembodied Cardinal Wolsey is observing, “Is that the choice spirit you have so often described? I made pretty large strides towards making the people swallow down what I thought proper—but this beats all my ‘Ego et Rex Meus’s’ out of doors!” A shade affirms, “We are all puny statesmen to him;” and the most astute politicians of history are voted beginners beside Pelham—“If you, old Machiavel, had known him in your days, he’d a’ lent you a lift.”
In the elections which were held in April, 1754, the Court seems to have experienced less opposition than might have been expected; for although the spirit of the antagonistic “Leicester House party” had been damped by the death of the Prince of Wales, which occurred unexpectedly in March, 1751, it now showed signs of reviving.
The contest for the City of London gave rise to several interesting caricatures. The humours of canvassing are displayed in “The Liveryman’s Levée” (April, 1754), which represents an elector, a self-sufficient tailor, with his vulgar wife. The pair are receiving the obsequious bows of five of the candidates, who, in 1754, put up for the City of London. The absence of Sir John Barnard, the celebrated city patriot, is professionally marked by a suit hanging on the wall,—“A Plain Suit of Broadcloth for Sir John Steady.” The liveryman is insolently resenting the independence of the favourite candidate: “Where’s Sir John? I think he is greatly wanting in his duty. Does he imagine that a man of my figure is to be trifled with? Don’t he know that we expect to be waited on?” There are other allusions to the recommendations for and objections against the respective candidates.
As the dissolution of parliament approached, satirical views of the situation became numerous, and there appeared various well-executed caricatures upon the subject of the city election. In “The City Up and Down; or, the Candidates Pois’d,” the candidates were represented perched upon suspended boxes, part of a huge revolving machine. Sir John Barnard, Slingsby Bethel, and William Beckford are occupying the upper seats; they had represented the city in the last parliament, and, as there were no objections against their names, their re-election was considered secure. In a side box is Sir Richard Glyn, who was defeated; in another, somewhat lower, is Sir Robert Ladbrooke, a new candidate, who was successful; below these is a fourth box, in which are Sir Crisp Gascoyne and Sir William Calvert; the latter, though one of the former representatives, secured the fewest votes in 1754. The reason for this falling-off in favour is explained by the caricature; Calvert is surrounded by Jews, who are assuring him:—“You have all our interest, for your zealous support of our Bill!”—“Confound your Bill; now I have no hope left,” replies Sir William, whose exertions on behalf of this measure lost him his seat. Barnard is declaring, “I am, strictly speaking, neither a friend to the Jews nor their enemy; excepting when they aim at having equal Rights and Privileges with my fellow-citizens and countrymen.” While the inflexible Beckford, who later was Lord Chatham’s “mouth-piece in the Commons,” asserts, “It becomes a Man of Character to keep good Company.” Ladbrooke, who was a distiller, is declaring he “should like to be in good company too,” but “fears it will be with the two kings”—“The King of the Jews” being Calvert the brewer, and Gascoyne, “King of the Gipsies.” There are allusions to the occupations of the candidates; the voters are declaring, “If the gin-merchant [Ladbrooke] gets in, gin will be cheaper.” Other electors refer to Gascoyne and Calvert as “two very good beer-makers.” On the opposite side of the river is shown Sampson Gideon, a prominent financier of his day, and afterwards knighted,—he is conducted by Satan, and his hat is filled with gold for purposes of bribery; he is eager to tamper with the balance of the boxes in the “great Up and Down machine;”—“If I was over I would turn the poise, though it cost me the profits of the last Lottery.” Gideon was a strenuous supporter of those who voted for the Jews’ Naturalization Bill, and, before the repeal of that measure, held hopes of getting into parliament. He is frequently alluded to in the electioneering squibs of the time. That he had substantial reasons for interesting himself in behalf of those in power appears from the “Report of the Committee appointed to investigate the Lottery of 1753,” where it is stated that “Sampson Gideon became proprietor of more than six thousand tickets, which he sold at a premium.” Preference allotments, being highly profitable, were useful as administrative patronage.
The city election is further illustrated by an engraving called, “A Stir in the City; or, some Folks at Guildhall,” which represents various groups of citizens and persons prominent at the time, assembled before the Guildhall, while the six candidates are borne along on a long frame with six seats, and supported on men’s shoulders, the procession being headed by a bishop; the party is received in state by the sheriffs, who are assuring the prelate, “as my Lord Rabbi,” that “the Guildhall is not the Synagogue,” and “no sons of Levi have place here;”—in general, the bishops supported the Naturalization Bill. Dr. Ward, then before the public as an advertizing pill-vendor, is from his coach distributing quack nostrums; he is acknowledging that “not one will cure an Election Fever.” Gascoyne and Mary Squires, the gipsy, crooked and leaning on her staff, are represented, with Hogarth beside them; this refers to the charges against Squires brought by Elizabeth Canning, and proved false on further investigation by Sir C. Gascoyne, who retired from the city canvass, and successfully contested Southwark. Candidates for Hertford, Winchester, and other places are also introduced. A group of Jews stand by the Guildhall; one cries, “What a shame it is we have no votes!” Sampson Gideon is present, and another is confidentially remarking to him, “Tho’ you can’t vote, Sampson, you may still do business there;” to which the contractor replies, in reference to his expectation of sitting in parliament had the Act to remove the disabilities of the Jews continued in force, “I thought to have voted in another Building;” while a lean Hebrew neighbour whispers, “You have an excellent hand at a Lottery, all the world knows.” Orator Henley, standing in his tub, is recommending his butcher friends from Newport Market to convert the voters into Jews; and a hawker is crying, “Sir Andrew Freeport’s Address [to the Livery of London] for nothing.” The state of the polls for London and Oxfordshire are also given.
Of the six candidates carried in chairs, two and two, Sir John Barnard (at the head of the poll, 3553), is saying, “These are my fellow-citizens; I must not forsake them in my old age, for I always loved them.” Slingsby Bethel (3547), as president of the Free British Fishery Society, promises “the Herring Fishery shall thrive.” Beckford (2941) is made to declare, “I’ll vote for a new Bridge [Blackfriars]; but not for a new Jew Bill.” Sir R. Ladbrooke (3390) is present, and so are the defeated candidates, Sir Richard Glyn, and, at the bottom of the poll, Sir W. Calvert, with the Jew Bill in his pocket—for which he asserts he “only voted!”
A further explanation of the allusions conveyed in this satire is afforded by the verses which accompanied the design:—
The struggle for election was also epitomized under the popular paraphrase of a race-course: “The Parliamentary Race; or, the City Jockies” (April, 1754). Sir John Barnard is first on “Steady,” Mr. Slingsby Bethel is second on “Buzzard;” Sir R. Ladbrooke on “Trimmer,” and William Beckford on “Will o’ the Wisp,” are making great exertions to cut out Sir Richard Glyn on “Little Driver,” who is flogging his horse to keep the third place, which he ultimately lost, his name standing fifth at the close of the poll; Sir Crisp Gascoyne is left behind with “Miss Canning;” Sir William Calvert has come to grief, his horse, “Loose Legs,” having stumbled over a Jew pedlar, and, with the rider, been thrown out of the race. The contest is witnessed by horsemen, gentlemen on foot occupying the stand which the horses must pass, and the usual crowd of spectators present on a race-course, including an itinerant gin-seller dispensing spirits to workmen, in allusion to the distiller, Sir R. Ladbrooke. Various observations are made on the chances of the race: “Old Steady [Barnard] is in first!” “Buzzard [Bethel] will blunder in second!” “Will o’ the Wisp [Beckford] has blood in him!” and other comments, as indicated above. The state of the “Parliamentary Stakes” is expounded in a copy of verses, possibly a parody after one of Tom D’Urfey’s odd ditties:—
The summary of both the London and the Oxfordshire contests, which were regarded by ministers as of the utmost consequence, are given pictorially in a carefully engraved print, entitled “All the World in a Hurry; or, the Road from London to Oxford,” April, 1754. At the extremities of the plate are views of the respective cities; to these the candidates and their supporters are proceeding on horse and foot, by two opposite lines of road. To the right, where the London cavalcade may be taken to commence, the largest mounted figure, and that nearest the spectator, is intended for Sir John Barnard, the head of the poll, who is trotting along at a steady pace, contented with his progress: “My steed is slow, but sure, Sir Robert.” Sir Robert Ladbrooke, who is urging on his own career, replies, “What! without a spur, Sir John?”—Barnard having resorted to no election manœuvres, and not even canvassed the voters. Alderman Slingsby Bethel, jogging along comfortably in his gig, is observing; “I’ll leave my Election to the Arbitration of the Livery.” Sir Richard Glyn’s pace, in a post-chaise and pair, is checked by a group of pedestrians in the pathway; “What the Devil can’t you get before the Jews, Tom?” he is inquiring of his postillion, who replies, “They are in possession of the Road, Sir Richard:” Glyn, although for some time third in the voting, finally failed in his election. Also behind the group of foot-passengers are two prosperous-looking personages on horseback, Sir William Calvert and William Beckford, both late members for the city; the former is bantering his companion, “You won’t be first at Guildhall, Brother Beckford;” the famous patriot was returned third on the poll at the election of 1754: his rival retorts, alluding to Calvert’s position at the previous contest, “Nor you second, Sir William;” the support Calvert had lent the Jews’ Naturalization Bill was the cause of his being rejected in 1754. In the centre of the group of Hebrew obstructives is a stout man, mopping his forehead and complaining, as he drags along wearily, “Verily, England is too hot at this time of the year!”—this figure represents Sir Sampson Gideon, the loan contractor, who is surrounded by his co-religionists. One long-bearded Israelite is crying that “Sampson refuses to sweat a little for our friend Sir William!” (Calvert); another Jew declares, “Sir William has been sweated often on our account;” and a third is saying, “We must give him a little Grease for once” (i.e. spend money to further his election),—this refers to the encouragement the Jews offered Sir William Calvert, support rendered in return for his assistance in passing the Jews’ Naturalization Bill, which nearly cost the ministry their working majority, while one of the city members, Calvert, the great brewer of the day, lost both his popularity and his place in parliament. This measure had been passed by the Pelhams in the last session, and, until its repeal, Sampson Gideon looked forward to a seat as a representative of the City of London. On the eve of the dissolution the ministers had repealed their unpopular Bill, and this concession to public opinion was regarded as an electioneering stratagem on their part. At the other end of the London group is Sir Crisp Gascoyne, who gave up his candidature for the city, and put up for Southwark, where he was rejected. At this time Sir Crisp was labouring under undeserved disfavour owing to his exertions to procure the conviction of Elizabeth Canning, the perjuress, for a false accusation against the gipsy, Mary Squires, who was, through Canning’s devices, condemned to death, but was subsequently pardoned, after Gascoyne’s investigation had established her innocence, and the true facts were made public. The case in question, which was not cleared up at the time of the elections, was the cause of that unpopularity which cost Sir Crisp his seat; in the engraving, he is made to exclaim, “Why, where are you, Mother Squires, with your infernal troop?”—Squires was alleged to be a witch! A friend riding beside him is pointing upwards, “Infernal! Sir Crisp? why, they are up in the air yonder!”—indicating a witch and three weird sisters riding on broomsticks over the heads of the parliamentary cavalcade. The leader, intended for the gipsy, is exclaiming, “I am afraid we are too late, sisters.” The spectators are standing aside to let the procession pass; one is shouting bravely for the “tried members, Barnard and England for ever, huzza!” and two others are abusing Gideon’s friends, who have hindered Calvert’s election. “Damn the Jews! they are always in the way,” “Turn ’em out of the Road.” A copy of verses further elucidates the subject:—
ALL THE WORLD IN A HURRY; OR, THE ROAD FROM LONDON TO OXFORD. 1754.
The half of the engraving of “All the World in a Hurry,” having reference to the Oxfordshire elections, may be taken as an introduction to Hogarth’s famous series of “The Election;” the actual candidates, besides the contest, being set forth in this earlier version.
The two horsemen galloping in advance of their competitors represent Lord Wenman and Sir James Dashwood, the “True Blue” candidates, who gained the head of the poll, and were returned as “sitting members,” but were afterwards, “on a controverted election petition,” displaced to make room for Lord Parker and Sir Edward Turner, the representatives of the ruling party, who had been supported from the first with the entire government interest, and by a decision of the House of Commons were ultimately seated.
In the engraved version of this spirited competition, Lord Wenman is made to remark, “They are not far behind us, Sir James;” to which Dashwood responds, “Too far, my lord, to get up with us.” That every exertion was made is illustrated by the driver of the post-chaise which contains the ministerial nominees; the Duke of Marlborough, as postillion, is declaring “his jades, i.e. the voters, begin to kick”—the elections for Oxfordshire having been in the control of the Marlborough family at former elections; and, in fact, the same influence was so preponderating, that no opposition after the election of 1754, now in question, was offered in the county until 1826,—another Sir G. Dashwood was unsuccessful in the Whig interest in 1830. Sir Edward Turner and Lord Parker are in the ministerial post-chaise; the duke is proposing to throw over one of his nominees—“Sir Edward, you had better get out;” his colleague, however, is resisting this desertion—“You won’t leave me single, Sir Edward?” The latter is trying to spur their postillion forwards: “Push hard, my Lord Duke, or we shan’t get in.” Two Whig notabilities are riding at a distance; one is observing, “Sir James [Dashwood] and my Lord [Wenman] have got ground on ’em;” his neighbour is confidently replying, “Ay, and they’ll keep it, my boys.”
Last comes the great man of the administration, driving his phaeton and six. He bids a mounted messenger to “ride forward, and tell my Lord Duke I would have been with him, but my horses took fright at a funeral, and won’t pull together;” the Duke of Newcastle is the person represented, and the circumstance to which he attributes the restiveness of his six-in-hand was the death, just before the dissolution of parliament, of his brother Henry Pelham, a man of superior abilities to the duke, who had filled the same offices with a better hold on his team.
The elections in Oxfordshire were marked by a more animated conflict than elsewhere; the Jacobite faction was still strong there, although the comparatively recent fate of those who had declared for the Pretender served to keep these sympathies within discreet limits. The contest was strongly marked by incidents which have survived in the four famous election pictures painted by William Hogarth, the unequalled originals of which, still in fine condition, are now somewhat lost to the public in Sir John Soane’s Museum,44 but of which the engravings are most familiar. Hogarth sold the series to his friend David Garrick for the modest price of 200 guineas; at the sale of Mrs. Garrick’s effects, in 1823, they were secured by Sir John Soane for the corresponding moderate sum of £1732 10s. The “Election Entertainment” was exhibited at Spring Gardens in 1761. These characteristic satires seem to apply to electioneering episodes in general, not only of the eighteenth century, but until within the present; a recapitulation of the principal allusions, however, will show that these pictures are composed of studies for the most part drawn from life, and founded on the actualities of the 1754 contest in Oxfordshire. The “Election Entertainment,” the first of these plates, is so well known that it was felt unnecessary to reproduce any of its incidents. This scene might he taken as a generalistic view of the electioneering hospitality and “open house,” one of the first steps towards conciliating support, but that the three “party-cries” distinctive of this particular struggle are all pictorially perpetuated. The scene embodies gluttony, turbulence, and false patriotism, but bribery and violent intimidation prevail above all. The mayor, who occupies the seat of honour, has succumbed to a surfeit of oysters, and a phlebotomist of the barber tribe is endeavouring to blood his arm and cool his head at one time. A ministerial-looking personage is treated with coarse familiarity, while a youthful aspirant for popular favour is submitting to tipsified indignities at the hands of his temporary associates. Nichols, who mentions certain assurances he received from Hogarth as to the fact that, with one exception, none of the figures were intended for portraits, affects to recognize the handsome candidate.45 This modish gentleman has been treating the fair sex to gloves, buff or orange favours, and other gear, from the pack of a pedlar of the Hebrew persuasion, who is also dealing in notes of hand; he holds one for £20 from the candidate, signed “R. Pention” (Pension being the word). While the Court party is regaling the Buffs, or Old Interest, at the leading tavern, their opponents, the Blues, are making an out-of-door demonstration; so that a view of the humours of both sides is simultaneously afforded. The New Interest procession is composed of “bludgeon-men,” bearing an effigy of the Duke of Newcastle, with the colours of the Old Interest, and a placard round his neck, “No Jews,” in allusion to the unpopular Act introduced by the Pelhams (1752) to permit the naturalization of foreign Jews. Another cry, inscribed on a blue standard, is “Liberty and Prosperity,” while a huge blue flag bears the inscription, “Increase and multiply in spite of old ——,”46 in reference to the recent Act for the regulation of marriages, which had encountered much opposition and given offence to the multitude. An animated exchange of missiles between the political antagonists is proceeding through the window; those within are standing a siege from showers of bricks, to which they are replying with a volley of fluids and furniture showered on the heads of the passing patriots; while a rival detachment of Old Interest hirelings, displaying their orange cockades, being armed with oak cudgels, and headed by a partisan with a drawn sword, is sallying forth to make a diversion on the besiegers. A champion Orange bludgeon-man, seated on the floor in the foreground, has evidently returned from a raid on the foe, in which he has had his head broken, but he has succeeded in carrying off one of the obnoxious blue standards. A butcher, with a “Pro Patria” favour twisted round his head, is pouring gin upon the bruiser’s cracked cranium, which he has first plastered with a “Your vote and interest” card; the doughty champion is reviving his spirits with the same stimulant; his foot is trampling upon the spoils of victory, the broken staff and the flag inscribed, “Give us our eleven days,”—another whimsical popular party cry, explained by the alteration in the style, introduced in the session 1751, to correct the calendar according to the Georgian computation, then adopted by most European nations. To equalize the number of days, so that the new year should in future begin on the 1st of January, eleven intermediate days were for that occasion passed over between the 2nd and 14th of September, 1752, so that the day succeeding the 2nd of that month would be reckoned as the 14th—an alteration which provoked discontent, and, in spite of its obvious convenience, was denounced as a Popish innovation.
The business of the meeting, regarding the gluttony and drunkenness among the diversions, is centred in bribery. The Buff parliamentary agent has a seat next the unconscious municipal in the chair; before him is a ledger ruled with columns for “sure votes” and “doubtful.” The occupations of this important factotum are deranged by a flying brick from the opposition, which has struck home on his temple, bringing him down headlong, with destruction to objects around. Amid much horse-play and practical joking—to the strains of an extraordinary orchestra—promises of payment, bank-notes, and broad-pieces are being put into circulation. A lean Methodist tailor, with Blue sympathies, and who is suffering from qualms of conscience, is placed between two fires, the personal violence of his wife, with a half-shod offspring appealing for new shoes, while a clerkly agent is pressing on his acceptance a handful of silver coins to remove his pious scruples. Although bribery was so generally admitted, and stalked barefaced throughout the country, it was even then contrary to statute. With his usual irony, the painter has shown the “Act against Bribery and Corruption” turned into pipe-lights, and thrown aside in the tray of “long clays,” together with a packet of tobacco, for the use of smokers. This latter bears the name of “Kirton’s best,” and has its peculiar significance: Nichols records that Kirton “was a tobacconist by St. Dunstan’s Church, Fleet Street, who ruined his health and constitution, as well as impaired his circumstances, by being busy in the Oxfordshire election of 1754.” The pictures on the walls, according to Hogarth’s practice, greatly assist the story: there is a view, presumably of Oxford from the river—the city is represented in flames; an undertaker’s escutcheon—the field sable bears three gold pieces, with a chevron, the motto “Speak and Have,” surmounted by an open mouth by way of crest proper. A portrait of William, Prince of Orange, as the Protestant prince of the Revolution, has been slashed across by rabid and indignant Jacobites, in allusion to the faction then supposed to have had much influence in Oxford; branches of laurel are entwined round a buff flag, marked “Liberty and Loyalty,” the standard of the party.
Further allusions to the respective Houses of Stuart and Hanover may be detected in the plate, “Canvassing for Votes,” in the signs of the “Royal Oak,” versus “The Crown.” All the taverns are pressed into the service of the candidates as a matter of course, the enterprising competitors striving to secure the preponderance of publicans, their interest, friends, and followers. “Tim Partitool, Esq.,” possibly a hit at Bubb Dodington, whose person, as sketched by Hogarth, may be identified in at least one picture of this series, is located at the “Royal Oak.” This enterprising gentleman, as depicted on his canvass, is nicknamed “Punch,” also indicative of Bubb’s unmistakable figure. A porter has brought two packages, evidently polling cards, inscribed, “Sir, your vote and interest;” one of these parcels is directed “at Punch’s, at the ‘Royal Oak’ Yard,” and to the candidate in question the bearer is presenting a note with the superscription, “Tim Partitool, Esq.” Above this gentleman’s head, and partly concealing the painted signboard of Charles II. in the oak, with the three crowns of the United Kingdom among the branches, is a pictorial poster in two compartments. In the upper one are shown the Treasury and Horse Guards, both burlesqued; while from the tall story of the former flows a stream of gold, which is being packed into sacks for conveyance by waggon into the country—there to be distributed for the purposes of bribery—to strengthen the party already in power, known as the Old Interest (their own). The way this is to come about is shown in the lower compartment of the painted cloth: “Punch, candidate for Guzzledown,” the farceur, with his protuberant rotundity of back and corporation, has a wheel-barrow before him, filled with bags of money, marked £7000 and £9000, and in all amounting to a considerable sum; he is casting about the broad-pieces in a shower from a ladle, and they are caught in the hats of expectant electors.