The Treasury gates are securely closed; the spectators are declaring that the Premier, Pitt, 'never meddled with a petticoat before;' and Warren Hastings is observing with delight that his apprehensions concerning the action of his enemies are at an end, and that the influence he had made with the Queen, in the form of gifts of jewels, is now likely to become of service: 'My diamonds will now befriend me. Huzza!'
December 1788. The English Address.—To this further satire upon the Regency Restrictions Rowlandson has attached the name of H. Wigstead. Pitt is standing on a platform receiving the congratulations of a drove of donkeys. The Prince of Wales, wearing his coronet, plume, and broad riband, is held in fetters, a powerless victim in the hands of 'the Pitt party.' The Duke of Richmond has secured one end of the chain; on the reputation of his abortive fortification propositions he declares, while alluding to the lean figure of his leader, 'Billy's virtue is bomb-proof, gentlemen; he is well fortified in his own good works.' Both the personal peculiarities of the Prime Minister and his attitude are well hit off; he is giving his followers this assurance: 'Gentlemen, I have chained up your Prince; your enemies may insult him as they please; he cannot resent it. I expect to receive all your thanks for this service I have done your Constitution. Should a war break out you have how nobody to defend you—look upon me, gentlemen, as your saviour; I will only tax you a little more, and quarter a few more of my needy relations on you, and will then retire to my new office of Treasurer and Secretary, at Buckingham House.' For these patriotic services the members of the asinine assembly are duly acknowledging their gratitude.
December 26, 1788. The Political Hydra.—Fox, in this case, enjoys the distinction of having his career pictorially illustrated in six phases: Out of place, and in character; black-bearded and swarthy, his rugged locks unkempt. In place; out of character; his beard shaven, his locks powdered. As he might have been; crowned with the cap of Liberty. As he would have been; wearing a coronet. As he should have been; his head severed by the executioner's axe, the punishment awarded traitors. As he will be; enjoying the supreme power under the Prince of Wales's diadem. This last prophecy was premature, as was soon seen.
December 29, 1788. A Touch on the Times.—Rowlandson has taken his own print of the Times, 1784, and has produced a parody upon the same theme. In this case the Prince is again represented as being led to the steps of the throne; one foot is placed on a solid base, the Voice of the People; the second step, however, Public Safety, is sadly injured; Virtue, as indicated on the throne, is a money-bag; the coming ruler is making patriotic professions: 'I would do the best to please my people.'
Fox is leaning on the throne; his figure is intended to personify that of Justice; a brace of dice-boxes form the new scales of Justice, a bludgeon, topped with an eye, is the Sword of Justice. Fox is declaring: 'I have the voice of the people in my eye.' Sheridan is playing the part of Liberty out at elbows; while leading the Prince to the throne he is picking his pockets. Britannia is showing a cloven foot; Pitt, provided with a huge extinguisher, is stumbling over the British Lion; he is boasting, in reference to the incendiary torches of Envy, Rebellion, &c., which sundry Furies are flourishing around, 'I could soon extinguish these puppet-show vapours, if properly supported.' The City Corporation has sent its deputies, as in the former print; their complaint is, 'We have not been taxed this twelvemonth!' Commerce in this instance is depicted as a dissolute harridan, deep sunk in gin.
December 30, 1788. Sir Jeffery Dunstan Presenting an Address from the Corporation of Garratt.—Pitt is crowned; his throne is not, however, exactly a seat of dignity; his secretary, Dr. Prettyman, Bishop of Lincoln, is holding an Address from Manchester.
Sir Jeffery Dunstan, a poor deformed, half-witted, and 'eccentric character' of the time, has shouldered the civic mace, and is presenting an address from the very ancient and respectable Corporation of Garratt, beginning: 'High and mighty Sir.' Pitt is replying: 'Thanks, thanks, my respectable friend; this is the most delicious cordial I have tasted yet.' Brook Watson, Alderman Wilkes, and others are supporting the address. A tomfool, who, as trainbearer, has hold of Sir Jeffery's cloak, is enquiring, 'Did you ever see such grace and dignity in your life, Mr. Alderman?' To which Wilkes is responding, 'Grace—he shall be made Master of the Ceremonies at St. James's!'
December 30, 1788. The Word-Eater. Published by S. W. Fores, 3 Piccadilly.
Advertisement Extraordinary.—This is to inform the public that this extraordinary phenomenon is just arrived from the Continent, and exhibits every day during the sittings of the House of Commons before a select company. To give a complete detail of his wonderful talents would far exceed the bounds of an advertisement, as indeed they surpass the powers of description. He eats single words and evacuates them so as to have a contrary meaning. For example, the word Treason he can make Reason, and of Reason he can make Treason; he can also eat whole sentences, and will again produce them either with a double, different, or contrary meaning, and is equally capable of performing the same operation on the largest volumes and libraries. He purposes, in the course of a few months, to exhibit in public for the benefit and amusement of the Electors of Westminster, when he will convince his friends of his great abilities in this new art, and will provide himself with weighty arguments for his enemies.[31]
The hero of this specious advertisement is Fox; he is standing near the Speaker's table, in the House of Commons, where the members are struck with amazement at his dexterity in this novel accomplishment. In one hand the Whig performer is holding out his speech on the Rights of the Prince, and the Explanation of that Speech in the other. 'All these,' he declares, 'I will devour next.' Two important and bulky works are at his feet, waiting their turn to be devoured—Jus Divinum of Kings and Principles of Toryism. On the table, placed before the 'Word-Eater,' is a provision of considerable substance which will test his further powers of digestion—Statutes at Large, Magna Charta, Principles of the Constitution, and Rights of the People.