The other half a dinner.”
He gained the name of “Jemmy Twitcher,” through a curious circumstance. Wilkes and Sandwich had once been friends, but the former having composed a scurrilous and disloyal poem, the latter was so incensed as to procure a copy and read it aloud, in the House of Lords. Just at this juncture the “Beggar’s Opera” was being acted, and when Macheath exclaimed: “But that Jemmy Twitcher should peach, I own surprises me,” the chief part of the audience, who were partisans of “Wilkes, and Liberty,” burst into a round of applause, applying the passage to Lord Sandwich, who never afterwards lost the soubriquet.
There are many passages in his life which compel us to agree with his constant censor Horace Walpole, when he says: “Bishop Warburton is at this moment reinstating Mr. Pitt’s name in the dedication of a Book of Sermons, which he had expunged for Sandwich’s. This nobleman is an agreeable companion, but one whose moral character, does not exactly fit him to be the patron of sermons.” But Mr. Cradock (and none knew him better) in his most amusing reminiscences, tells us, whatever his errors may have been, Lord Sandwich was most severe in the observance of decorous language, and behaviour, under his roof. No oath, or profligate word, was ever uttered at his table. The same authority states, that in political life he underwent many persecutions, and bore daily insults, and misrepresentations with the courage of a stoic, without stooping to retaliation. “Others,” says Mr. Cradock, “received emoluments, but Lord Sandwich retired without any remuneration, for his services.” His public career lasted for more than half a century, when he made Hinchingbrook his chief abode. He spoke French and Italian fluently, was acquainted with the German, and Spanish languages, and had a smattering of the oriental tongues.
In the midst of all his hospitality, he was very frugal in his own living, and was much beloved by his dependants, not forgetting Omai the Otaheitan, and the faithful black servant, Jemmy, who lies buried in Brompton Churchyard, and a characteristic little sketch of whom still exists. An amusing incident occurred respecting the latter, which is worth recording. It seems that on one occasion, the day after some dramatic representation had taken place at Hinchingbrook, Lord Sandwich enquired at breakfast of a gentleman who was proverbial for cavilling, and finding fault, whether he had been satisfied with the performance. The visitor answered in the affirmative, but in so hesitating a manner, that Lord Sandwich insisted on knowing the fault. “So slight, my Lord, scarcely worth alluding to.” “The easier remedied next time.” “Well, it only struck me, that the coloured servant in the piece was not sufficiently blackened.” The noble host rose silently and rang the bell: enter Jemmy. “Jemmy,” says his master, “this gentleman says you are not black enough.” “I bery sorry, my Lord, I be as God Almighty made me.”
Miss Burney, in her youth, saw Lord Sandwich, and thus describes him: “He is a tall stout man, and looks as furrowed and weatherbeaten as any sailor in the Navy; and, like most of the old set of that brave tribe, he has the marks of good nature, and joviality in every feature.” Another contemporary gives him this character: “Slow, not wearisome, a man of sense, rather than of talent; good-natured, and reliable as to promises. His house was filled with rank, beauty and talent, and every one felt at ease there. The patron of musicians, the soul of the Catch Club [he might have added a proficient on the kettledrum], although deficient in ear, and knowledge of harmony.” He had an engaging manner in private life, which put every one at their ease, although he occasionally tried his friends’ patience by a playful bantering, or what Mr. Cradock calls badgering, such as; “Ladies, here is Cradock says, a man cannot be punctual unless he wears a wig.” “No, my Lord, I said a man may be punctual, but his hair dresser may be late, and make him so.”
He dressed well, and looked “noble,” but he had a shambling unequal gait. When in Paris he took dancing lessons, and, bidding his master good-bye, told him if he came to London, he would willingly recommend or serve him. “Ah, milor,” said the man, “pray do not say I taught you to dance.”
Lord Sandwich retained his faculties almost to the end, and spoke with great clearness and precision, of all the remarkable public events, of which he had been a witness, in his stirring life. He was an F.R.S., a Governor of the Charterhouse, the eldest of the elder Brothers of the Trinity House, and the oldest General in the army.
In 1740, he married Judith, third daughter of Charles, Viscount Fane, of Basildon, Berks. The marriage was unhappy, and they were separated for several years before her death. Their children were: John, who succeeded him, Edward, William Augustus, and one daughter, Mary. Lord Sandwich died at his house in Hertford Street, Mayfair, in 1792.