London in the Jacobite times, Volume II

by Dr. Doran

THE QUEEN AND THE ARTIST.

There was one Jacobite who died this year, whose prejudices were never in the least degree softened, namely, Hearne, the antiquary. Richardson the painter, when party spirit between Whig and Tory, Hanoverian and Jacobite raged bitterly, was as severe in a remark to Queen Caroline, as Hearne was in what he wrote upon her. The queen once visited Richardson’s studio to view his series of portraits of the kings of England. Her Majesty pointed to the portrait of a stern-looking individual between those of Charles I. and II. She very well knew the likeness was that of a man who had helped to dethrone the Stuarts on whose throne her husband was seated, and she therefore might have entertained a certain respect for him; but she asked the artist if he called that personage a king? ‘No, madam,’ answered the undaunted Richardson, ‘he is no King, but it is good for Kings to have him among them as a memento!’

The queen’s favourite painter, Anniconi, was more of a courtier than blunt Richardson. To that artist who, for a season, drew the ‘Quality’ to Great Marlborough Street, she gave an order to paint a picture, which was designed as a gift to the young Duke of Cumberland’s tutor, Mr. Poyntz. It was an allegorical composition, in which the queen herself was to be seen delivering her royal son to the Goddess of Wisdom,—who bore the features of Mrs. Poyntz.

CHESTERFIELD’S WIT.

The year 1736 may be said to have opened merrily, with Chesterfield’s paper in ‘Fog’s Journal,’ on ‘An Army in Wax Work.’ In the course of this lively essay, the writer argues that since the English army had not been of the slightest active use during many years, in time of war,—a waxen army (to be ordered of Mrs. Salmon, the wax-work woman) would be cheap and sufficient in time of peace. He then alludes to the Government cry against all who opposed it. ‘Let nobody put the “Jacobite” upon me, and say that I am paving the way for the Pretender, by disbanding the army. That argument is worn threadbare; besides, let those take the “Jacobite” to themselves who would exchange the affections of the people for the fallacious security of an unpopular standing army.’

SCENE IN WESTMINSTER HALL.

While there were, at this time, Nonjurors worthy of the esteem of honourable men of all parties, there were others who were contemptible for their spitefulness, and for the silliness with which they displayed it. Here is an example. Parliament had passed the Gin Act, the Mortmain Act, the Westminster Bridge Act, the Smugglers’ Act, and the Act for borrowing 600,000l. on the Sinking Fund. A difference of opinion might exist as to the merits of one or two of these Acts, but there was no justification for the method taken by one person to show his hostility. On July 14th, in Westminster Hall, while the Courts were sitting therein, a bundle, dropped in front of the Court of Chancery, suddenly exploded, and blew into the air a number of handbills, which announced that, on this, the last day of term, copies of the above-named Acts would be publicly burned in the hall during the afternoon! One of the bills was handed in to the judges in the Court of King’s Bench, where it was presented as a false and scandalous libel. Three days later a proclamation was issued for the discovery of the persons concerned in this outrage, and a reward of 200l. offered for the respective arrests of either the author, printer, or disperser of the handbills. This led to the arrest, trial, and conviction of the Rev. Mr. Nixon, a brainless Nonjuring clergyman, who was proved to be the author of the bills, and the blower-up of the bundle of crackers. On the 7th of December he was condemned to pay 200 marks, to be imprisoned for five years, and to be paraded before the different Courts, in the Hall, with a parchment round his head—a sort of foolscap—bearing a summary of his audacious offence. A portion of this sentence was fulfilled soon after, and, finally, this foolish Nonjuror was required to find security for his good behaviour during the remainder of his life.

This daring, yet stupid, act was supposed to be part of an organised Jacobite plot. In the month of April, when Frederick, Prince of Wales, was married to the Princess of Saxe-Gotha, Sir Robert Walpole had information which set him on his guard. After the explosion in Westminster Hall, he wrote a letter to his brother Horace, in which the following passage is to be found:—‘Since my coming to town I have been endeavouring to trace out the authors and managers of that vile transaction, and there is no reason to doubt that the whole was projected and executed by a set of low Jacobites, who talked of setting fire to the gallery built for the marriage of the Princess Royal, by a preparation which they call phosphorus, which takes fire from the air. Of this I have had an account from the same fellow that brought me these, and many such sorts of intelligencies.’

JACOBITES AND GIN-DRINKERS.

And again, in September, when it was decreed that unlicensed dealing in gin should cease, riots occurred, and more than mere rioting was intended, in the metropolis, about Michaelmas. On this occasion Sir Robert wrote to his brother:—‘I began to receive accounts from all quarters of the town that the Jacobites were busy and industrious, in endeavouring to stir up the common people and make an advantage of the universal clamour that prevailed among the populace at the expiration of their darling vice.’ The Jacobite idea was, according to the information received by Walpole, to make the populace drunk gratis by unlimited supplies of gin from the distilleries, and then turning them loose in London to do such work as such inspiration was likely to suggest to them; but an efficient display of the constitutional forces was sufficient to preserve the peace of the metropolis.