When William IV. Was King :: CHAPTER XI. 1832

CHAPTER XI. 1832

Reform Bill passes the Commons — Scotch boys and the Reform Bill — Proposed increase of the peerage — Passed in the Lords — "The Marylebone or Tory Hunt" — The Duke of Wellington mobbed — The King stoned — The Queen hissed — Archbishop of Canterbury stoned.

Of course, the great topic of interest and conversation for the early part of the year was the Reform Bill, the third reading of which was passed on March 23rd by a majority of 116. What the Lords would do was then all the talk. There were to be new peers created, whose numbers would carry the Bill, or the Lords were to be abolished. We are used to this cry, and we know what little sympathy it met with among the people of Great Britain, but I doubt whether we can show such a humorous anecdote of party feeling as that given by the Scotsman, quoted by the Times of March 2nd—

"The House of Lords routed.

"On Saturday last, the Town-green pond at Dunfermline teemed with toads, and, apparently, under extraordinary excitation. A number of boys stood looking on intensely for some time, when one of them exclaimed, 'It's the House of Lords debatin' the Reform Bill.' In an instant, 'Demolish,' was the universal and simultaneous cry. Caps and bonnets were filled with stones. 'Now for Wellington!' 'Here's at you, Londonderry!' 'Take that, Buckingham!' 'The bishops, the bishops!' shouted a little urchin. The 'hurra' became universal, and terrible was the work of death. The above incident 'points a moral,' if it does not 'adorn a tale.'"

Anent the creation of new peers, there is an amusing skit in verse.

"From the Hon. Henry —— to Lady Emma ——.

"Paris, March 30.

"You bid me explain, my dear angry Ma'amselle,
How I came thus to bolt, without saying farewell;
And the truth is,—as truth you will have, my sweet railer,—
There are two worthy persons I always feel loth
To take leave of at starting, my mistress and tailor,—
As, somehow, one always has scenes with them both:
The Snip in ill-humour, the Syren in tears,
She calling on Heaven, and he on th' attorney,—
Till, sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his dears,
A young gentleman risks being stopp'd on his journey.

"But to come to the point:—though you think, I dare say
That 'tis debtor or Cholera drives me away,
'Pon honour you're wrong; such a mere bagatelle
As a pestilence, nobody, nowadays, fears;
The fact is, my love, I'm thus bolting, pell-mell,
To get out of the way of these horrid new Peers;
This deluge of coronets, frightful to think of,
Which England is now, for her sins, on the brink of;—
This coinage of nobles, coined, all of them, badly,
And sure to bring counts to a discount most sadly.

"Only think, to have Lords overrunning the nation,
As plenty as frogs in a Dutch inundation;
No shelter from Barons, from Earls no protection,
And tadpole young Lords, too, in every direction,—
Things created in haste, just to make a Court list of,
Two legs and a coronet, all they consist of!
The prospect's quite frightful, and what Sir George R—e
(My particular friend) says, is perfectly true,
That so dire the alternative, nobody knows,
'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's to do;
And Sir George even doubts,—could he choose his disorder,—
'Twixt coffin and coronet, which he would order."

In the House of Lords, on May 7th, Lord Lyndhurst moved the postponement of the disenfranchising clause, which was carried, against the Government by a majority of thirty-five. Next day, Earl Grey and the Ministry resigned. The mob were enraged, and spoke evilly of the King and Queen. The former applied in vain to the Tory party to make a Government, but finding that useless, he was reduced to the humiliating necessity of renewing his intercourse with his former ministers (who returned to power), and had to swallow the leek as to the creation of new peers. He had no objection to raising to the peerage eldest sons of peers, or of rehabilitating dormant peerages, but he had a wholesome horror of creating an enormous quantity of peers simply to coerce the House of Lords and pass a measure to which they were opposed. Good sense, however, prevailed: the peers did what they always have done, bowed to overwhelming popular opinion—amended the Bill somewhat—and on the 4th of June the Bill was read a third time in the House of Lords, and passed, one hundred and six peers voting for it, and twenty-two against it. The amendments introduced by the peers were agreed to on the following day by the House of Commons, without any discussion regarding their merits, though not without much angry remark in attack and defence of the conduct of ministers in the late events. On the 7th of June, the Royal Assent was given by commission, and the great bugbear of King William's reign was laid at rest.

Such a consummation was undoubtedly due to the conduct of the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel at this crisis; and, indeed, that this was the general feeling, is shown by the accompanying satirical print by H. B., in which we see these two statesmen using their best endeavours to keep Sir George Grey firm in his very insecure position. (See next page.)

The party passions of the mob ran very high both before and after the passing of the Bill, and led to some excesses, two or three examples of which are worth recording. The Times, May 16th—

"The Marylebone, or Tory Hunt.

"During the proceedings of the great Reform meeting of the parishes of St. Marylebone, St. Pancras, and Paddington, rather a ludicrous incident (as it turned out) occurred, which may, properly enough, be denominated as above. In the immediate vicinity of the spot on which the immense assemblage congregated, some Tory lordlings had the temerity to make their appearance on horseback, and, among the number, was recognized the heir-apparent of that pink of Toryism, the Earl of Mansfield; no sooner was this made known, than a thousand voices besieged the affrighted lordlings' ears; they put spurs to beast, and endeavoured to escape, but in vain; the Marylebonians gave chase, but, instead of the cry "So, ho!" yells, groans, and even missiles were let fly. It was, really, a fine hunt—over hedge, over ditch and bog; and, after a fine run of two miles, the lordlings were surrounded, and, fortunately for them, their cries for mercy were granted, and they were allowed to scamper off, after such a chastisement as they will never forget."

But, can any sane person imagine the mob, after the Bill had passed, thanks to the efforts of the Duke of Wellington, attacking the hero of Waterloo, on the anniversary of that victory? Yet so it was. On the 18th of June he had occasion to visit the Mint, and a crowd of people collected on Tower Hill to see him return. On making his appearance at the gate, he was loudly hissed and hooted by the crowd, which increased every moment, until it amounted to several hundred persons. Riding along the Minories surrounded by his persecutors, he was met by Mr. Ballantine, one of the Thames police magistrates, who asked him if he could render him any assistance. His Grace replied in the negative, saying that he did not mind what was going on.

Nothing particular occurred, until the Duke reached the middle of Fenchurch Street, when a man rushed forward from the crowd and, catching hold of the reins of the horse's bridle with one hand, endeavoured to dismount its rider with the other, and would have succeeded, had it not been for the spirited conduct of the Duke's groom, who came up at the time. The mob now was very great; but by the exertions of the police his Grace was escorted through it and along Cheapside without any personal injury. In Holborn, however, the mob, not satisfied with words, began to throw stones and filth. The Duke then rode to the chambers of Sir Charles Wetherell, in Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, the mob still following.

What occurred afterwards, let Sir Edw. Sugden, afterwards Lord St. Leonard's, tell in his own words[11]—

"On the 18th of June our Equity Courts were not sitting. I was, therefore, in chambers; and, as I sat working near the window on the ground floor, I was startled by three horsemen passing towards Stone Buildings, with a mob at their heels, shouting, hooting, and hissing. I sent my clerk to see what was the matter, and, upon his return, finding that the Duke of Wellington was the object of displeasure, I sent the clerk, with some others, round to the men's chambers, to beg them to come at once to protect the Duke. I found the Duke, with Lord Granville Somerset, and Lord Eliot, had been to the Tower on official business, and were then at the Chambers, in Stone Buildings, of Mr. Maule, the Solicitor to the Treasury, with whom the Duke had an appointment. In making my way to Mr. Maule's, I found a considerable mob in Stone Buildings and its approaches, and their conduct was most violent.

"When I joined the Duke, we considered what was the best mode of protecting him and his companions. He would not listen to any mode of retreat by which he might avoid the mob. I assured him that the Lincoln's Inn men would effectually prevent any violence, and he determined to get on horseback again, and to ride through the streets. I then went downstairs, and ordered the small gate leading to Portugal Street to be shut and guarded, so as to prevent the people getting round that way to interrupt us when we went through the great gates into Carey Street; and I ordered those gates to be shut as soon as the Duke had passed. I addressed a few words to the gentlemen, who had assembled in considerable numbers, and requested them to occupy the stone steps which the Duke would have to descend, in order to reach his horse. This they did, with great heartiness, and they exhibited, I may say, a fierce determination to defend the Duke against all comers. A butcher was bawling lustily against the Duke, when a young gentleman, a solicitor, seized him by the collar with one hand, and knocked him down with the other, and the mob seemed rather amused at it. The Duke, upon my return upstairs, asked how he was to find his way out of the Inn. I told him that I would walk before him. He would allow no one to hold or touch his horse whilst he mounted. He was pale, with a severe countenance, and immovable in his saddle, and looked straight before him, and so continued whilst I was with him. Lords Granville Somerset and Eliot rode on each side of him, and, of course, his groom behind. I walked in front, and, shortly, a brother barrister came up, and asked me if he might walk with me. I gladly accepted his arm, and we moved on, the mob, all the time, being in a state of fury. When we reached Lincoln's Inn Fields, a policeman made his appearance, and, drawing his staff, prepared for an onslaught. I called to him, and told him that the Duke's progress was under my directions, and that I desired he would put up his truncheon and keep himself quiet until I called upon him to act, and that he would communicate this order to the other policemen, as they came up. This kept them perfectly quiet. As we proceeded, the noise of the mob attracted the workmen in the shops and manufactories, particularly in Long Acre, where the upper windows were quickly opened by workmen, who, with their paper caps on, rushed to join the people; but nowhere was there any personal violence offered to the Duke, and the respectable portions of the crowd would promptly have crushed any attempt at violence.

"I had walked from the West End to my chambers that morning, and I recollected that there was an excavation at the west end of Long Acre, and a large mass of paving, and other stones collected there. I ordered several of the police to go there, in advance, quietly, and occupy the ground, so as to prevent any one from making use of the stones. This they did; but, scandalous as the conduct of the mob was, I must do them the justice to say that they showed no disposition to get at the stones. When we reached the West End streets, the people tailed off a good deal.

"As the Duke passed the United Service Club, he maintained his rigid posture, and cast no glance that way, whilst a few men who had rushed out of the club upon hearing the noise, looked on with wonder. Nothing more occurred; and, when we got opposite to the clock of St. James's palace, I, for the first time, turned round, and, there being only a few stragglers left, the Duke and his companions shook hands with me, and thanked me; and, putting their horses into a trot, reached Apsley House without further annoyance."

More stone-throwing—this time at the King! This happened next day, June 19th, when the King was at Ascot races. He was looking out of a window in the royal stand, when two stones were thrown from the midst of the crowd below, one of which struck his Majesty severely on the forehead, but his hat saved him from any injury. The king immediately stood up, and was received with the loudest cheers. The culprit turned out to be a discharged Greenwich pensioner, who took this way of making his grievances known. It is not worth while to trace what became of him, but I know that his punishment was light.

But the King was not then popular, and as to the Queen, she was very much disliked. It was currently said that she exercised too much influence over the weak monarch, and that her influence was not for people's good. Very many skits are in existence on the subject, as well as satirical prints representing her wearing the regal breeches, etc. The following extract from the Times of June 27th, relative to a review held in Hyde Park on the previous day, will show the popular feeling at the time:—

"When the King and Queen entered the Park, the people, who had lined both sides of the road, received them in profound silence. As they proceeded on their route, a few bystanders, here and there, took off their hats and cheered, but they never amounted to more than a dozen at any one time. The applause of these persons was sometimes opposed by a hiss from others, but the great mass of the people remained entirely passive.... Shortly before two o'clock, their Majesties quitted the ground. The people had, by this time, assembled in great numbers along the road. His Majesty was received with mingled applause and disapprobation; but the Queen, who was exposed to the public gaze, her carriage having been thrown open since her arrival, was assailed with loud yells. In this way, the Royal party proceeded through Hyde Park, and down Constitution Hill, where the disapprobation of the mob was more unequivocally expressed, and continued, without a single attempt, as far as we could perceive, to turn the current of feeling, until their Majesties entered the gardens of St. James's Palace, amidst a shout of the most discordant sounds."

Rien n'est sacrÉ pour un sapeur. Not even the Archbishop of Canterbury in his own cathedral town! On August 7th, his Grace drove into Canterbury to hold a primary visitation of the diocese, and, as usual, the Corporation received him at the Guildhall; but, no sooner had his carriage appeared in sight, than the most deafening noises rent the air; and, when he arrived at the Guildhall, the groans and hisses were tremendous. After dessert, his carriage was ready and his Grace stepped in, evidently much alarmed. The hisses and groans were now renewed, and missiles of every description hurled at the carriage—hats, caps, pieces of brickbat, cabbage-stalks, indeed, everything the ruffians could collect. To make matters worse, the postillion missed his way, and had to return, thus running the gauntlet a second time. When his Grace entered the precincts of the cathedral, the large gates were instantly closed; but several hundred persons had previously gained admission, and ranged themselves within the walls of the deanery, where hisses and groans prevailed. His Grace received no injury, although one of the carriage windows was broken.

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