[The following account of the celebration of Fox’s Birth-day, printed in the Anti-Jacobin, has not hitherto appeared in the editions of the Poetry. The Song by Mr. Fox refers to the Subscription raised, after a meeting at the Crown and Anchor, in the summer of 1793, for relieving him in his then present need, and purchasing an Annuity for him. A Caricature by Gillray on this meeting was published on the 12th June, 1793.

MR. FOX’S BIRTH-DAY.

The public, distracted with the various accounts of the celebration of Mr. Fox’s Birth-day, naturally turn to us for an authentic detail of that important event—from a recollection of the correct and impartial statement we gave in a former Number, of what passed at a Meeting of the Friends of Freedom [page 32].

To justify their confidence, we have had recourse to the Morning Post and Morning Chronicle (the Courier being too stupid for our purpose), whose statements we have carefully read, and corrected from the information of several gentlemen who were present. We are thus enabled to lay before our readers a genuine narrative of the whole proceeding, which we defy the tongue of Slander to controvert in any material point.

As Mr. Fox’s reputation had been for some time on the decline, it was thought necessary by the party (who are in great want of a Head) to make as respectable an appearance as possible on the present occasion. It was therefore suggested (at a previous meeting of confidential friends) that if the unfortunate shyness which subsisted between the Whig Club and the Corresponding Society could be opportunely removed by a few unimportant concessions on the part of the former, such a number of citizens might be readily procured from that respectable body as would serve to give the day an Éclat it had not experienced since the fatal schism of 1792.

This hint, so reasonable in itself, was immediately adopted, and Sir Francis Burdett, who was well acquainted with their haunts, was ordered into the neighbourhood of Smithfield with a competent number of tickets. He was on the point of setting out, when the Editor of the Morning Post observed, that forgery^[106] was so common at present, that he hardly thought it prudent to admit all who might come with a bit of scribbled paper: on this it was determined to distribute the price of admission amongst a certain number of people to be selected by the Envoy:—these, it was rightly concluded, would not fail to appear, from motives of vanity, as they could have no other possible chance of dining with the Premier Dupe, we would say Duke, in England. It now remained to determine the sum: this, after a short discussion, was fixed at Eight Shillings and Sixpence per head, “which,” said the Editor of the Morning Post, “will shew we cannot he persons of mean rank, since we can afford, in hard times, to give so much for a dinner”;^[107] and Citizen Bosville was desired to advance the money upon the credit of the Whig Fund.

Previous to the meeting, the chairman dispatched a note to Sir William Addington, requesting that the Crown and Anchor might be exempted from the visitation of his runners during the morning of the 24th [Jan., 1798]. To this Sir William assented, on condition that it should be recommended to the gentlemen, to leave their pocket-books and watches at home, that there might be as little temptation as possible to break the peace. Thus everything was arranged with a precaution that seemed to set accident at defiance.

Before four o’clock the passage to the LARGE ROOM was crammed, when, on a hint that dinner was on the point of being served, one of the head waiters advanced to the great door, and opened a wicket for the admission of the company, as fast as they paid down their money. Two or three had already passed in good order, when Mr. John Nicholls advanced, and instead of 8s. 6d., produced to the astonished receiver, seventeen of his PRINTED SPEECHES, which, valuing them at sixpence a-piece, he contended would make up the sum required. These “assets” however, were absolutely rejected; and a violent dispute was on the point of commencing, when Sir Christopher Hawkins stept forward, and whispering a few words, which we did not hear, obtained leave for his friend to pass. The Speeches were therefore deposited, and Mr. Nicholls was already got within the wicket, when the man suddenly pulled him back by the coat, and the dispute recommenced with more violence than ever. Upon inquiry into the cause of this new tumult, we found that a wag (whom we afterwards discovered to be Mr. Jekyll) had played the member for Tregony a trick; having taken an opportunity, in the crowd, of extracting the genuine speeches from the pocket of the Honourable Member, and replacing them by the same number of the spurious ones, printed for Mr. Wright, the publisher of this Paper. These the waiter very properly refused to receive, alleging, and indeed truly, that instead of six pence a-piece, the whole seventeen were not worth six farthings.

This altercation continued so long, that the company grew impatient; and Mr. Bryan Edwards, a little ashamed of his friend, who still continued obstinate, offered to furnish his quota. Harmony now seemed to be restored, when all at once a cry of astonishment broke forth that beggars all description. On putting his hand into his pocket for the price of admission, Mr. E. suddenly turned pale, and exclaimed, “by G—, gentlemen, some of you have picked my pockets!” A hundred voices instantly repeated the same cry, and a dreadful scene of confusion and uproar took place.

What the consequence would have been, it is impossible to say, had not the waiter, with an air of authority, commanded the doors to be shut at each end of the passage, and every man to exhibit the contents of his pocket. A faint cry of No! No! was over-ruled; and Sir Francis Burdett produced an old Red Cap from the bosom of his shirt, which he put into the hands of the Duke of Bedford, who was appointed collector-general by acclamation. With this his Grace went, from man to man, executing his duty with the utmost fairness and impartiality; and when he had finished, poured out the contents of the cap before them all. These, it must be confessed, were a little heterogeneous, consisting, besides a large sum of money, of a brass knocker (this was immediately claimed by the landlord), a pewter pot squeezed together, a pair of pattens, a pint decanter, a duck ready trussed for dressing, a great quantity of potatoes, and a vinegar cruet. What was most extraordinary was, that though, as his Grace afterwards declared, the money was found in very unequal portions, yet the total sum, which was £222, 5s. 6d., being divided among the company, amounting to 523 persons, produced 8s. 6d. for each individual, with the exception of the Member for Tregony, who brought nothing but his speech, and Capt. Morris, who pays for everything with a Song.

Nothing material occurred during the Dinner, which was allowed to be excellent of its kind, and where no such dish as Cow-heel (as maliciously reported in The True Briton) made its appearance.

As soon as the cloth was removed, the Duke of Norfolk took the Chair amidst repeated plaudits,^[108] and addressed the Company in these words:

“Three virtuous Men, Citizens, have stood up in defence of Liberty—Maximilian Robespierre, Collot D’Herbois, and Charles James Fox:—The first is guillotined; the second transported to Cayenne; and the third”——Here all eyes were immediately upon Mr. Fox, who now entered the room, supported by Citizens John Gale Jones and John Horne Tooke—“As the Right Hon. Gentleman (resumed the Duke, a little peevishly) has mistaken his cue, and appeared sooner than he ought, I shall spare his modesty the panegyric I was preparing, and shortly conclude with proposing the health of Charles James Fox.”—This was drank with three times three.

As soon as the clamour had subsided, Mr. Fox arose and said, “That language, at least any which he could boast, was inadequate to the exquisite feelings of gratitude which at once delighted and oppressed him, at the sight of so numerous and so respectable a body of free and independent Citizens, met for a purpose which would make this the proudest and the happiest day of his life”. Having dwelt a little on this idea, Mr. Fox observed, “that he would not interrupt the conviviality of the day by a long Speech: he knew there were several present who came to hear him make a long Speech, but he would not make a long Speech—to what purpose should he do it?—what could he add to the Speech lately delivered by him, and so faithfully recorded in the Anti-Jacobin, a contemptible Publication, but one to which the praise of Accuracy could not be denied. The new and extraordinary circumstances of the times called for new and extraordinary measures: he would, therefore, if they pleased, compress what he had to say into a Song—(loud applauses)—One word only.—He owed both the burden and the idea of this Song to the Morning Chronicle. He had yesterday, the 23rd, found there A begging Address to the Nation, with Date Obolum Belisario prefixed to it as a Motto. This had pleased him much, and this morning at breakfast he had endeavoured to adapt it, mutatis mutandis, to his own circumstances: he should now have the honour of giving it.”

We know not how far Mr. Fox might have proceeded, had he not been interrupted by a jangling of bells from the Side-table which immediately drew all eyes that way. This proceeded from Capt. Morris, who had fallen asleep during Mr. Fox’s Song, and was now nodding on his chair, with a large paper Cap on his head, ornamented with gilt tassels and bells, which one of the company had dexterously whipped on unperceived. The first motion was that of indignation; but the stupid stare of the unconscious Captain, who half opened his eyes at every sound of the bells as his head rose or fell, and immediately closed them again, somno vinoque gravatus, had such a powerful effect on the risible faculties of the Company, that they broke, as if by consent, into the most violent and convulsive fits of laughter; Mr. Fox himself not being exempt from the general contagion.

As soon as the Captain was made sensible of the cause of this uproar, he attempted to pull off the Cap, but was prevented by a Citizen from the Corresponding Society, who maintained that the Company had a right to be amused by the Captain in what manner they pleased; and that, as he seemed to amuse them more effectually in that state than in any other, he insisted, for one, on his continuing to wear the Cap. This was universally agreed to, with the exception of the Duke of Norfolk. The Captain was therefore led to the upper table, with all his “jangling honours loud upon him!” Here, as soon as he was seated, his Noble Friend called upon him for a Song.

The Captain sang the “Plenipo” in his best manner.

This was received with great applause; and then the Duke gave “The Defenders—of Ireland”—(three times three).

Captain Morris then began

but was interrupted, before he had finished the first line, by Mr. Tierney, who declared he would not sit there and hear anything like ridicule on the Bible.^[110]—(Much coughing and scraping.)—Mr. Erskine took God to witness, that he thought the Captain meant no harm;—and a gentleman from Cambridge, whose name we could not learn, said, with great naÏvetÉ, that it was no more than was done every day by his acquaintance. Mr. Tierney, however, persisted in his opposition to the Song, and Captain Morris was obliged to substitute “Jenny Sutton” in the place of it.

But the good humour of the company was already broken in upon, and Mr. Tierney soon after left the room (to which he did not return) with greater marks of displeasure in his face than we ever remember to have seen there.

The Duke now gave Radical Reform (three times three, followed by continued shouts of applause).

A Counsellor Jackson attempted to sing “Paddy Whack,” but was soon silenced, on account of his stupid perversion of the words, and his bad voice.

Citizen Gale Jones then rose and said—that he was no Orator, though he got his living by oratory, being Chairman of a Debating Society. He had also written a book—which he was told had some merit. He did not rise to recommend it, but he thought it right to hint, that those who wished for Constitutional information might be supplied with it at the Bar; the price was trifling—Eighteen-pence was nothing to the majority of the Company;—to himself, indeed—(here Mr. Horne Tooke called out Order! Order! with some marks of impatience)—He begged pardon, he would say no more—there was no one whom he valued like Mr. Tooke, there was no one indeed to whom he was under such obligations; the very shoes he had on were charged by Citizen Hardy to Mr. Tooke’s account—Mr. Tooke was also a great friend to a Radical Reform—he loved a Radical Reform himself; the Poor must always love Radical Reforms—he should therefore beg leave to propose the health of Mr. John Horne Tooke.—(Three times three.)

Mr. Tooke rose, and spoke nearly as follows: “You all know, Citizens, in what detestation I once held the Man whose Birth-day we are now met to commemorate. You cannot yet have forgot the ‘Two Pair of Portraits’ I formerly published, nor the glaring light in which I hung up him and his father to the execration of an indignant posterity. You must also be apprized of the charges of Corruption, Insurrection, and Murder (much hissing and applause, the latter predominant) which I brought against him, justly, as I must still think, at a former Election for Westminster. How happens it then, you will say, that I now come forward to do him honour? I will tell you. At the last Election for Westminster, I had still my suspicions of his sincerity; he appeared too anxious to preserve measures with the spruce and powdered Aristocrats who usually attended him to the Hustings; nor was it till the fourth or fifth day before the close of the Poll, that those suspicions were removed. Aware that he was losing ground among the People, he determined to make one great effort to re-establish his popularity. He therefore came forward, and addressed the free and independent Electors in front of the Hustings, in a Speech, of which the remembrance yet warms my heart. From that moment, I marked him as my own! Retractation was impossible; and the panegyric he lately delivered on a Radical Reform, in a House which I despise too much to name, was the natural and inevitable consequence of that day’s declaration. You may remember, that when I addressed my Friends, I only said, ‘Gentlemen, Mr. Fox has spoken my sentiments; he has even gone beyond them—but I thank him’.—What I then said I now repeat, with regard to his Speech on a late occasion—‘I am most perfectly satisfied with his conduct; nor do I wish to advance one step in the cause of reform, beyond what Mr. Fox has pledged himself to go!!!’”^[111]

Mr. Tooke then begged leave to propose Mr. Fox’s health for the second time, and sat down amidst a thunder of applause.^[112]

The Duke of Norfolk observed to the Company, that as they had drunk the health of a Man dear to the People, he would now call upon them to drink the health of their Sovereign^[113]—here a hiccup interrupted his Grace, and a most violent cry of “No Sovereign! no Sovereign!” resounded through the room, and continued for several minutes, notwithstanding the earnest entreaties of the Duke to be heard. Order was, however, restored at length, when his Grace gently chid the Company for taking advantage of a slight infirmity of nature, to impute a design to him which was wholly foreign from his heart—(loud applause). He augured well, however, of their patriotism, and would now afford them an opportunity of repairing the injury they had done him, by giving the Toast as he intended—“The Health of our Sovereign—the Majesty of the People”.^[114]—(Loud and incessant shouts of applause.)

A disgusting scene of uproar and confusion followed, which we shall not attempt to detail. The Chairman sank under the table in a state of stupefaction, and the rest of the Company, maddened alike with noise and wine, committed a thousand outrages, till they were literally turned into the streets by the Waiters. As many of them as could speak were conducted home by the watchmen; others were conveyed “in silent majesty” to the Round-house; and not a few of them slept out the remainder of the night upon the steps of the neighbouring houses. The Reporters of the Jacobin Papers were sought out, and conveyed home by the pressmen, devils, &c., and one poor youth, whom we afterwards found to be a Writer in the Morning Chronicle (hired for the day by The True Briton)^[115] had his pockets picked of a clean white Handkerchief and a Notebook, after being severely beaten for deserting his former Employers.