Stol'n from a duel, follow'd by a nun,
And if a Borough choose him,—not undone," etc.
At this time of general equality and universal levelling, when knight and vassal, esquire and mechanic, are of equal rank, our paragon of politeness is lending an attentive ear to a disgusting old beldam, who from her rotundity may be a descendant of Sir John Falstaff's. In her hand, which is behind him, she holds a letter directed to Sir Commodity Taxem; this we may naturally suppose contains either a request of a favour or an offer of a service, in the sure and certain hope of a return to it. Be that as it may, the gallant knight shows her every attention, and has stretched his long arm half round her ample waist:
"Thus the bold eagle leaves his azure way,
And takes the carrion carcase for his prey;
There dips his beak—but when the banquet's done,
Replumes his wings, and rises to the sun."
While a little girl dazzled with the splendour of his brilliant ring attempts to make it a prize, a fellow who stands upon a chair behind him, with all that easy familiarity which the time warrants, strikes the Baronet's head against that of the old woman, and shakes the ashes out of his tobacco-pipe upon his powdered hair. This is election wit.
The next group form a trio, and are made up by a grinning cobbler, a dirty-faced barber, and a mawkish gentleman, whose hand the son of St. Crispin grasps with an energy that almost cracks the bones. The barber, equally friendly, pinches his arm, and resting one hand upon his shoulder blows the hot fumes from a short tobacco-pipe into his eye. This also is election wit.
A pyramidical group behind is composed of an officer, a drunken counsellor, and a pleasing young woman, over whose head the maudlin advocate, flourishing a bumper of wine, roars out an obscene toast. This is the third and most finished specimen of election wit. At a table a little beneath, stewing "the last lov'd remnant of the forest haunch," sits an oily divine,[60] holding his canonical periwig in his right hand, and wiping his forehead with the left. Behind him is a Scotch bagpiper, who, at the same time that he is pressing out his harsh and unmusical tones, enjoys the royal luxury of scratching.[61] A female player on the violin,[62] and a most consequential performer on the bass viol, when aided by the Caledonian pipe, must form a most melodious concert.