THE HUSTINGS—COVENT GARDEN. 1796. BY JAMES GILLRAY.
Vox Populi.—“We’ll have a mug.”—Mayor of Garratt.
Charles James Fox.—Loq. “Ever guardian of your most sacred rights, I have opposed the ‘Pewter Pot Bill!’”
The general election of 1796 was less fruitful in incidents than its predecessor in 1790. The celebrated philologist, John Horne Tooke, endeavoured to gain the second seat, as the colleague of the great Whig chief. On this occasion “the Brentford parson” secured, though unsuccessful, a larger number of votes; Fox was returned at the head of the poll, and Sir A. Gardner was second. Gillray has left a characteristic likeness of the Whig chief, very “spick and span,” deferentially bowing from “The Hustings,” in acknowledgment of the ribald, if popular, reception his admirers are according their old “true blue” member for Westminster. Fox is pressing to his heart, in parody of another measure, the “Pewter Pot Bill.” “Ever guardian of your most sacred rights, I have opposed the Pewter Pot Bill.” His audience is filled with enthusiasm. As an allusion to Fox’s supposed sympathies with events then proceeding in France—the pot-boy of “The Tree of Liberty,” Petty France, is offering a foaming measure to the well-tried patriot and popular representative.
THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.
The well-known “Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder,” one of the most spirited poetical squibs, which first appeared in the Anti-Jacobin, was reprinted as a broadside for electioneering purposes, with a no less spirited plate, by Gillray, as a heading; and dedicated “To the Independent Electors of the Borough of Southwark,” of which constituency Tierney—whose person was figured as “the Friend of Humanity”—was the representative in parliament. Canning’s admirable parody was founded upon Southey’s poem, “The Widow,” and written in English sapphics, in imitation of the original.
“FRIEND OF HUMANITY.
“Needy knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order—
Bleak blows the blast—your hat has got a hole in’t,
So have your breeches!
“Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike
Road, what hard work ’tis crying all day, ‘Knives
And scissors to grind, O!’