On the 26th October George III was proclaimed king in the city in the presence of the mayor and aldermen.[168] The usual addresses were presented by the Courts of Aldermen and Common Council, special reference being made by the latter body to the "bloody and expensive war" in which the country was then engaged. They expressed a hope that the new king would continue to carry on the war as prudently and successfully as it had been carried on hitherto, until an end should be put to it by a firm and honourable peace. The king in reply echoed this wish of the citizens, and promised to look after their "liberties, commerce and happiness."[169]

George had not long been seated on the throne before he began to display unmistakable signs of a determination to follow the precepts instilled into his young mind by his mother, the Princess of Wales, and to "be a king" in fact as well as in name. The six months that elapsed before Parliament was dissolved[170] were marked with no great changes, although indications were not wanting of what was likely to take place. With the dissolution (20 March, 1761), however, important changes were made in the ministry, and it became clear that the king was resolved to rule by ministers of his own choosing. Bute, the particular friend and adviser of the Princess of Wales, was appointed one of the secretaries of state. His admission into the ministry could not mean otherwise than sooner or later the dismissal of Pitt, for on the great question of the day—the war with France—they were in direct antagonism; and so it turned out. Pitt would gladly have made peace[171] had not the honour of the country demanded a declaration of war with Spain as well as with France owing to a secret clause in the Family Compact which had come to his knowledge. The ministry refused to declare war, and in the following October Pitt and his brother-in-law, Earl Temple, resigned. In consideration of his great services a peerage in her own right was conferred on Pitt's wife, whilst a pension of £3,000 a year, for three lives, was bestowed on himself.

Pitt's resignation, and more especially his acceptance of a pension, gave rise to so many slanderous rumours and brought upon him so much obloquy that he found it necessary to write to his friend, alderman Beckford, explaining the exact position of affairs:[172] "A difference of opinion with regard to measures to be taken against Spain, of the highest importance to the honour of the crown, and to the most essential national interests, and this founded on what Spain had already done, not on what that court may further intend to do, was the cause of my resigning the seals. Lord Temple and I submitted in writing, and signed by us, our most humble sentiments to his majesty; which being over-ruled by the united opinion of all the rest of the king's servants I resigned the seals on Monday, the 5th of the month (October), in order not to remain responsible for measures which I was no longer allowed to guide." In the same dignified strain he tells his friend of the honours bestowed on him by his sovereign, the acceptance of which had set malicious tongues wagging. "Most gracious marks of his majesty's approbation of my services followed my resignation. They are unmerited and unsolicited; and I shall ever be proud to have received them from the best of sovereigns."

The letter was written on the 15th October (1761), and a few days later (22 Oct.) the Common Council passed a vote of thanks to Pitt by a large majority—109 votes to 15—acknowledging his many great and eminent services, and testifying the City's gratitude not only for having roused "the ancient spirit" of the nation from the pusillanimous state into which it had fallen, but also for his having greatly extended the sphere of trade and commerce. In conclusion the Court expressed its sorrow at "the national loss of so able, so faithful a minister at this critical conjuncture."[173] Pitt was highly gratified at this recognition of his services, and in his acknowledgment of the vote paid the following tribute to the City's loyalty and zeal:—"It will ever be remembered to the glory of the city of London that through the whole course of this arduous war that great seat of commerce has generously set the illustrious example of steady zeal for the dignity of the crown and of unshaken firmness and magnanimity."[174] This was no mean praise coming from such a man.

On lord mayor's day the king (following the usual custom of the sovereign attending the first lord mayor's banquet after his accession) came into the city and was entertained at the Guildhall, together with the queen. Pitt also was a guest. He and Temple drove down together in a carriage and pair, and were received with even greater acclamation than the king himself. The entertainment was given in the most costly style, the tables being loaded with "all the delicacies which the season could furnish or expense procure."[175] It was, however, unfortunately marred by a violent display of party feeling. Whilst Pitt was received everywhere with cheers and clapping of hands, his rival, Bute, was hooted and pelted, and would, it was thought, have come off still worse had he not taken the precaution of surrounding his carriage with a strong body of "butchers and bruisers." Beckford was believed to have been at the bottom of the mischief. It was by his directions that the Guildhall was packed with Pitt's supporters, and he led the claque on the arrival of the ex-minister.[176]

Pitt, on the other hand, was blamed for lending himself to such an ostentatious display, which could not appear otherwise than disrespectful to the king. Indeed he afterwards owned that he had done wrong.

Ten days later (18 Nov.) the Common Council resolved to erect a statue of the king in the Royal Exchange, and to have pictures painted of the king and queen for the Guildhall.[177] Their pictures, by Ramsay, now adorn the walls of the Guildhall Art Gallery.

The events which immediately followed Pitt's resignation enhanced his reputation for political foresight, and Bute, who became prime minister, found himself compelled, as indeed Pitt had predicted, to declare war against Spain (Jan., 1762). Until this was done the City was determined to leave him no peace. The Common Council, as was its wont, drew up instructions for the city members as to the policy they were to pursue in the coming parliament.[178] They were in the first place to use their best endeavours to obtain the repeal of a recent Act for the relief of insolvent debtors, and in the next to keep a sharp eye on "the distribution of the national treasure," but above all they were to oppose any attempt made by government to give up recently acquired possessions, more especially in North America, and they were to vote any supplies that might be necessary for carrying on the war with vigour. The "present happy extinction of parties," the nation's zeal and affection for their "native king," and the increase of commerce were proofs (the Council declared) of the ability of the country to carry on the war. Finally the city members were to vote such supplies as were necessary to place the king above the menaces of foreign interference, whilst supporting such measures as would conduce to a safe and honourable peace.[179]

The new ministry soon found themselves in direct opposition not only to the city members but to one who was destined ere long to prove a veritable thorn in their side. John Wilkes, a man of shamelessly immoral character, but of undeniable talent, had for the second time been returned for Aylesbury. His expensive debaucheries had reduced him to the direst possible straits, and he had taken to a political career as a possible means of getting himself out of his pecuniary difficulties. He had at the outset declared himself a staunch supporter of Pitt, and to Pitt he had more than once looked for some crumb of patronage to alleviate his distress. As soon as Parliament met Wilkes seized the opportunity of the debate on the address to pass some censures on the king's speech, or rather the speech of the king's minister, although he affected to be ignorant as to which minister he ought to attribute it. He declared that although the country was nominally at peace with Spain it was in reality in a state of war, and that the nation was being kept in the dark by the ministers, who refused all information. Beckford joined in the debate, urging the right of the country to "demand peace, sword in hand," and offering to second Wilkes in moving for the Spanish papers.[180]

In January (1762) war was declared, and all the papers relative to the rupture with Spain were laid before Parliament. No sooner was this done than Wilkes wrote a pamphlet entitled "Observations on the Papers relative to the Rupture with Spain," in which he vindicated the policy of Pitt and exposed the folly of the existing ministry in having let slip the best opportunity that ever offered of crushing Spain beyond recovery. This was his first political essay, and at once stamped Wilkes as a political as well as literary writer of no mean order.[181]

The success of the war exceeded expectation. One expedition reduced Cuba, another Manila, whilst Spanish commerce was swept from the sea. The surrender of the island of St. Lucia and the capture of Martinico drew forth a congratulatory address to the king from the City, and once more the citizens were assured of his majesty's desire to promote their commercial interests.[182] The credit of the war was due to Pitt for having foreseen the struggle, and for the preparations he had made accordingly.

All this time the thoughts of Bute were fixedly directed towards peace, and on the 10th February, 1763, the Peace of Paris was signed and an end put to the Seven Years' War.[183] The peace was distasteful to the City as well as to the nation at large. The Court of Aldermen, it is true, congratulated the king on having "happily concluded a very just and expensive war by a necessary and advantageous peace,"[184] but the Common Council said nothing. When the peace came to be debated in the House of Commons it met with strong opposition from Pitt, who spoke against it for more than three hours, although he was at the time so ill that he had to be carried down to the House. By practising a wholesale system of bribery the government managed, nevertheless, to obtain so large a majority that the Princess of Wales exclaimed in great exultation "Now my son is really king."

The triumph of the king and his favourite were destined to be short-lived. An important feature of the budget for the year was a proposal to impose a tax upon cider. The proposal at once met with the most determined opposition, not only from the cider counties but also from the city of London, where anything in the nature of excise was looked upon with horror. The Common Council raised a strong protest against any such extension of excise duties at a time when there was every prospect of a continuation of peace.[185] The Bill eventually passed, but the unpopularity of Bute increased to such an extent that he got sick of office and retired (8 April).

A few days later (23 April) Parliament was prorogued, the king in his speech alluding to the late peace as alike honourable to the crown and beneficial to the people.[186] This gave occasion to Wilkes to make a violent attack in the next number of his paper, called, in allusion to Bute, the North Briton. Fourty-four numbers had appeared at the time of Bute's resignation, and although each number had contained matter more or less libellous no notice had been taken of them. No. 45 was destined to become famous, for although it was not a whit worse than any of its predecessors its prosecution was immediately ordered by Grenville, who had succeeded to the head of affairs. On the last day of April Wilkes was arrested on a general warrant (i.e., a warrant in which no individual is specified by name) and lodged in the Tower, whilst his house was ransacked and papers seized. These harsh and illegal proceedings excited popular feeling and raised Wilkes to the rank of a political martyr. Crowds flocked daily to visit him in his confinement, among them being the leaders of the opposition, Temple and Grafton. Early in May his arrest was pronounced illegal by Pratt, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, and he was discharged.

As soon as Parliament met, which was not until November (1763), Wilkes complained of the breach of privilege in the seizure of himself and his papers. He got no sympathy, however, in that quarter, although he shortly afterwards succeeded in obtaining damages to the extent of £1,000 against the under-secretary of state in a court of law.[187] So far from sympathising with Wilkes the House ordered No. 45 of the North Briton to be burnt by the common hangman at the Royal Exchange as a false, scandalous, and malicious libel.[188] Saturday, the 3rd December, was the day appointed for carrying out the order, but when the sheriffs attended for the purpose and the executioner began to perform his duty a riot ensued, the magistrates were mobbed, and the paper rescued from the flames. The Lords thereupon summoned the sheriffs to give an account of their conduct. One of the sheriffs, Thomas Harley, a brother of the Earl of Oxford, being a member of the House of Commons, the permission of that House had to be asked before his attendance could be enforced. It was left to Harley to do as he liked; he might attend the Lords "if he thought fit."[189] Harley did think fit, and on the Tuesday following (6 Dec.) attended with his brother sheriff and Osmond Cooke, the city marshal. Being called upon to give an account of what had taken place the previous Saturday, Harley informed the House to the following effect, viz.: that the sheriffs had met at the Guildhall at half-past twelve o'clock, and thence proceeded to Cornhill to carry out the order of Parliament; they there met the city marshal, who expressed a fear that the order could not be carried out without military assistance; that, nevertheless, he was determined, in spite of all opposition, to carry out the order if possible; that he tried to get to the place in his chariot, but could not, and so went on foot; that on arrival at the place where the fuel was prepared he found the wood so wet that it could not take fire, "but he read the order, and gave the paper with his own hands into the hands of the executioner, who held it on the lighted torch, which he held in his hand, till it was burnt, and that he saw it burnt pursuant to the order." On his return—he went on to say—the window of his carriage was broken, and he had to take refuge in the Mansion House,[190] where he found the mayor (William Bridgen, who had recently succeeded Beckford) doing business as usual.

That the mayor should have shown such sympathy with the mob as not to lend assistance to the sheriffs in putting down the disturbance roused the anger of the Duke of Bedford, who broke forth against Bridgen and the City. "Such behaviour," he said, "in any smaller town would have forfeited their franchises. The Common Council had long been setting themselves up against the Parliament, and last year had taken on them to advise the king to refuse his assent to a law that had passed through both Houses. He hoped their lordships would resent this insult and disrespect to their orders."[191]

Harley's statement having been corroborated by the evidence of other witnesses the Lords were content to ignore the mayor's conduct rather than enter upon a serious quarrel with the City, and both Houses concurred in passing votes of thanks to the sheriffs.[192] It was otherwise with the Common Council. They upheld the conduct of the mayor and condemned that of the sheriffs; a motion to pass a vote of thanks to the latter being lost by the casting vote of the mayor, who gave as his reason for so doing that he looked upon the motion as prejudging Wilkes's case.[193]

In the meantime Lord Sandwich, a former friend of Wilkes and his associate in the debauchery carried on by the so-called monks of Medmenham, had produced before the House of Lords a copy of an obscene parody on Pope's Essay on Man, which Wilkes had written for the delectation of his intimate friends, but never intended to publish. With much difficulty, and not without some treachery, Sandwich had managed to obtain a copy of this infamous production, and he was now base enough to produce it in evidence against his recent boon companion, and to demand his punishment. The House condemned the poem as a blasphemous libel, but the treachery and hypocrisy displayed by Sandwich, whose own vices were notorious, raised a storm of public indignation, and when the Beggar's Opera was shortly afterwards being performed at Covent Garden, and Macheath exclaimed, in the words put into his mouth by Gay, "That Jemmy Twitcher should peach me, I own surprises me," the audience were quick to apply the words to the treacherous earl, who was ever afterwards known as Jemmy Twitcher.[194]

In January of the next year (1764) Wilkes ought to have appeared before the House of Commons to answer for his conduct in relation to publishing No. 45 of the North Briton. He had, however, fled to France after receiving a wound in a duel, and was unable to travel, so at least the medical certificates which he forwarded to the Speaker alleged, and so we feel bound to believe, although the House of Commons evidently entertained some doubts as to the serious nature of his wound. The matter was debated in his absence, and in the end a resolution was passed expelling him the House (19 Jan.).[195]

A month later (21 Feb.) Wilkes was found guilty in the King's Bench of being the author of the offensive North Briton and of the Essay on Woman, and as he failed to appear sentence of outlawry was pronounced against him in the following November.[196] The same day that judgment was pronounced in the King's Bench the Common Council passed a vote of thanks to the city members for their endeavours to obtain a Parliamentary declaration as to the illegality of general warrants, whilst it voted Pratt the Freedom of the City, and invited him to sit for his portrait. The chief justice acknowledged the compliment paid him by the City—"the most respectable body in the kingdom after the two Houses of Parliament"[197] as he termed it,—and his portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and formerly bearing a Latin inscription ascribed to Dr. Johnson, now hangs in the Guildhall Art Gallery. The vote of thanks to the city members well nigh cost the City dear; for when application was shortly afterwards made to Parliament for pecuniary assistance to help the City to discharge the debt on Blackfriars Bridge—a debt which had been augmented by the destruction by fire of a temporary bridge that had been erected—a member rose and abused the Common Council for its late behaviour, declaring that the City was entitled to no favour.[198]

Having quarrelled in turn with Grenville and Rockingham, the king found himself compelled in July, 1766, to resort again to the "Great Commoner" whom he created Earl of Chatham and made Prime Minister with the office of Lord Privy Seal. His acceptance of a peerage produced a general burst of indignation. According to Horace Walpole—who never misses an opportunity of girding at the City in return for its treatment of his father—"the city and the mob" (convertible terms in his estimation), were angry, because in his new position, Pitt would have less opportunity of "doing jobs" for them than when he was in the House of Commons.[199] But however this may be, the state of the Prime Minister's health had before the end of the year rendered him incapable of "doing jobs" for the City or anybody else, and he left the control of affairs in the hands of the Duke of Grafton and Charles Townshend. Before withdrawing, however, he intimated his intention to the House of bringing in a bill for regulating the East India Company's affairs. Strange to say, the City failed to grasp the full portent of such a bill, or to see any danger to themselves in this meditated attack upon the chartered rights of others. Later on, when Fox introduced his East India Bill, the City was wider awake. The motion for carrying out Chatham's plan was not only made by a city alderman, viz., Beckford,[200] but the Common Council offered (June, 1767) Townshend, a supporter of the motion, the Freedom of the City, in recognition of "his well-tempered zeal in support of the undoubted legislative authority of the king and parliament of Great Britain over all parts of his majesty's dominions."[201]

In November of this year (1766), Wilkes, who had slipt over to England in the hope of obtaining the king's pardon, wrote a very submissive letter to Grafton asking for his mediation. The minister coldly referred him to Chatham, a proceeding which so galled Wilkes that he hurried back to the continent for fear of being laid by the heels, and a year later published what purported to be a second letter to the Duke of Grafton expressing the greatest disappointment at his Grace's answer, and inveighing in the strongest possible terms against Chatham as being an apostate to the cause of liberty.[202]

When the general election came on in March, 1768, Wilkes again appeared on the scene, and had the boldness, notwithstanding his outlawry, to offer himself a candidate for the City. Every day he appeared on the hustings, and displayed great activity in canvassing for votes, but it was of no avail.

Not in the least dismayed, this irrepressible demagogue rallied his forces and declared himself a candidate for the county of Middlesex. There he was more successful. The election was very riotous; the streets and highways leading to Brentford were in the hands of the mob, who would allow no one to pass without a blue cockade in his hat inscribed with the name of Wilkes, and the number 45. "It was not safe to pass through Piccadilly; and every family was forced to put out lights; the windows of unilluminated houses were demolished. The coach glasses of such as did not huzza for Wilkes and liberty were broken, and many chariots and coaches were spoiled by the mob scratching them with the favourite 45." This was the description of the scene by an eye-witness. In the city matters were no better. The windows of the Mansion House were smashed, Harley, the mayor, being known to be no favourite of Wilkes. The trained bands were called out, but proved insufficient to cope with the multitude, but at length peace was restored with the aid of a military force from the Tower.[203] The result of the poll was that Sir William Beauchamp Porter, who had represented the county for over 20 years was turned out, and Wilkes elected in his place.

Determined to take the bull by the horns Wilkes now voluntarily surrendered himself to the King's Bench and demanded to have the former judgments against him reversed on technical grounds. It was decided, however, that nothing could be done in this direction until he was in legal custody by process of outlawry. A writ of capias utlegatum was accordingly taken out, but for some time the sheriffs' officers hesitated to execute it, so popular had he become, and the mayor had to discharge some of them for neglect of duty. At length he was taken into custody and committed to the King's Bench prison (27 April). When he left the Court the mob stopt his coach on Westminster Bridge, took out the horses, and themselves drew him as far as Cornhill. They insisted that he should not go to prison, but were at last, persuaded to disperse, and Wilkes quietly made his way to the King's Bench Prison and there surrendered himself.[204]

Throughout the whole business the prosecution had shown a great want of resolution and decision, everyone trying to throw the onus upon the shoulders of someone else. The same indecision manifested itself in the Cabinet as to whether or not Wilkes should be allowed to take his seat. It was otherwise with the king, however. He had fully made up his mind that Wilkes ought to be expelled the House. Two days before Wilkes's committal he wrote to Lord North: "I think it highly proper to apprise you that the expulsion of Mr. Wilkes appears to be very essential, and must be effected; and that I make no doubt, when you lay this affair with your usual precision before the meeting of the gentlemen of the House of Commons this evening, it will meet with the required unanimity and vigour.... If there is any man capable of forgetting his criminal writings I think his speech in the Court of King's Bench on Wednesday last reason enough for to go as far as possible to expel him; for he declared 'Number 45' a paper that the author ought to glory in, and the blasphemous poem a mere ludicrous production."[205]

So long as Wilkes remained in the King's Bench, the neighbourhood was a constant scene of rioting, and on Tuesday, the 10th May, when the new Parliament met, the mob threatened to release him by force and carry him triumphantly to Westminster. His outlawry had been argued by his friend Glynn on the previous Saturday, but Lord Mansfield had postponed giving judgment until the next term, and Wilkes had thus been prevented taking his seat. Hence the display of feeling on the part of the mob, which at length became so violent that the Riot Act was read, the military fired, and a young man was shot. This roused their indignation the more, and there was more bloodshed; but at last peace was restored.[206]

The conduct of Harley—the aristocratic lord mayor—during the disturbance was so much approved that a motion was made in the House of Lords two days after Parliament had assembled to petition the king to confer some mark of royal favour upon him, but the motion was lost. The House, however, instructed the chancellor to convey to Harley a vote of thanks on their behalf for his efforts to preserve the peace of the city.[207]

On the 8th June Wilkes again appeared in Westminster Hall, when he succeeded in getting his outlawry reversed. Ten days later, however, he was condemned to pay a fine of £500 and to suffer imprisonment for ten months for having written the offensive number of the North Briton, and to pay another fine of similar amount and to suffer a further term of twelve months imprisonment for his Essay on Woman. As if this were not punishment enough he was ordered to find security for his good behaviour for seven years, himself being bound in £1,000 and two sureties in £500 each. Still Wilkes had something to thank his judges for. They had spared him the pillory.[208]

Notwithstanding his imprisonment Wilkes was as irrepressible as ever, and he nearly succeeded in setting both Houses by the ears over the hard usage he had received. His colleague in the representation of Middlesex having died, he nominated his friend and counsel, Glynn, for the vacant seat, and got him in. Early in the following year (1769) he contrived to get himself returned alderman of the Ward of Farringdon Without, the rival candidate being forced to retire from the poll for fear of raising disturbances in the ward—"even the constables in the city were almost to a man devoted to Wilkes."[209] The Court of Aldermen, however, refused to admit him, and ordered another election.[210] This time he was returned unopposed. Still the Court hesitated to admit him until they had been furnished with copies of the proceedings against him in the King's Bench, and at length resolved to take the opinion of counsel upon the following questions, viz.: (1) whether the election of Wilkes was a valid election; (2) whether he was entitled by law to be admitted by the court by virtue or in pursuance of that election.[211]

The case as settled by the Court of Aldermen and submitted to counsel is set out in extenso in the minutes of the court held on the 25th April,[212] when the opinions of the several counsel were read. The attorney and solicitor general as well as Yorke, Glynn, and Leigh gave it as their opinion, that the judgments pronounced against Wilkes did not render him by law incapable of being elected an alderman of the city, and that he might be admitted into office, but they expressed a doubt whether the Court of Aldermen could be forced to admit him. On the other hand, the Recorder and the Common Sergeant as well as Fletcher Norton (who gave a separate opinion) declared Wilkes's election, in their opinion, to be invalid. Had it been valid, the Recorder and Common Sergeant believed there was no other objection to his being admitted except the impossibility of his attending the Court of Aldermen for the purpose; but Norton was of opinion that the crimes of which Wilkes had been convicted were a sufficient justification for the court to refuse to admit him, over and above his incapacity at the present time to attend to the duties of the office.[213] Under the circumstances it was deemed best to keep the aldermanry open until Wilkes regained his liberty.

In the meanwhile Wilkes had appealed to both Houses against the sentence passed on him. He demanded to be heard at the Bar of the House of Lords in defence of his writings, but this was denied him, and the writs of error which he had brought were argued by his counsel, Glynn and Davenport. This was on the 16th January (1769). On the 27th, the day that he was returned unopposed as Alderman of the ward of Farringdon Without, he was brought before the Commons, but nothing urged either by himself or his counsel could move them in his favour and on the 3rd February, they for the second time voted his expulsion.[214]

No sooner had the House passed this resolution than Wilkes announced his intention of again standing for Middlesex, and on the 16th February, he was again returned without any opposition. On this occasion he was proposed by two members of parliament who were shortly to become his brother aldermen, viz., Townshend and Sawbridge. Again the House declared his election void, and himself to be incapable of sitting in the existing parliament.[215]

Not a whit abashed Wilkes again offered himself as a candidate, his only opponent being Charles Dingley. Upon the day of the election (16 March), Dingley, who had on a previous occasion come to blows with Reynolds, Wilkes's election agent, and had come off second best, received such rough handling that he was obliged to retire and leave the field to Wilkes, who was returned unopposed. The election was for the third time declared void, and a fresh writ issued.[216]

The struggle began to be very serious. Whilst loyal addresses poured in from various parts of the country, the City held aloof, and the conduct of Samuel Turner, the lord mayor, who was a zealous Wilkite received a distinct mark of approval from the Common Council.[217] In the meantime a number of rich and influential men—among whom were Horne the vicar of Brentford, who loved to mix himself up in political and municipal matters, Townshend, Sawbridge, Oliver and others—had formed themselves into a society for the purpose of helping Wilkes to pay his fines and other liabilities and of supporting him and his cause. The society came to be known as the Supporters of the Bill of Rights.[218] The freeholders of Middlesex met at Mile End, and unanimously resolved in spite of all opposition to stand by the representative of their choice; whilst a procession of merchants and tradesmen on their way to St. James's with a loyal address was roughly treated by the mob and broken up.[219] It required a man of some courage to oppose Wilkes at the forthcoming election, and he was found in Colonel Luttrell, an Irishman, whose father was a devoted adherent of Lord Bute. So desperate, however, did Luttrell's case appear that his life was specially insured for the occasion.[220] Two other candidates stood, but the election really lay between Wilkes and Luttrell, the first being nominated by Townshend, and the latter by Stephen Fox, Lord Holland's son. The polling took place on the 12th April, when Wilkes was for the fourth time returned by an overwhelming majority. A huge crowd immediately made its way to the King's Bench Prison with colours flying and bands playing, to congratulate him upon his success. When the result of the election was reported to the House, they not only rejected Wilkes, but declared Luttrell to be elected, and ordered the return to be amended accordingly.[221]

Such a proceeding on the part of parliament raised a grave constitutional question, and caused great commotion in the city. If it lay with parliament of its own mere motion, and without the authority of an Act, to deprive electors of their right of choosing their own representatives, the livery of London would suffer with the rest of the kingdom. The matter was warmly taken up by Junius, who strenuously condemned this usurpation by parliament.[222] The mayor was asked to summon a Common Hall "for the purpose of taking the sense of the livery of London on the measures proper to be pursued by them in the present alarming situation of public affairs." Turner declined to act in the matter on his own responsibility, and referred the petition to the Common Council who told him not to accede to the request (5 May).[223] Thus thrown on their own resources the livery resolved at their ordinary meeting on the following Midsummer Day when Townshend and Sawbridge were chosen sheriffs, to petition the king himself against the arbitrary action of the government. A petition to this effect had been drawn up by some of the livery previous to the meeting of the Common Hall. It purported to come from "the lord mayor, commonalty and livery of the city of London," but upon the lord mayor objecting to this, the title was changed to "the humble petition of the livery of the city of London in Common Hall assembled." The petitioners did not mince words. The king's ministers were charged with peculation, and with illegally issuing general warrants. They had violently seized persons and papers, and after defeating and insulting the law on various occasions, had wrested from the people, the last sacred right they had left, viz., "the right of election, by the unprecedented seating a candidate notoriously set up and chosen by themselves." Deprived of all hope of parliamentary redress, the petitioners turned to the king, reminding him that it was for the purpose of redress alone, and for such occasions as the present, that so great and extensive powers had been entrusted to the crown.[224]

Among the ministers whom the livery charged with peculation was Lord Holland, to whom they had made special reference (although not actually mentioning his name) as "a public defaulter of unaccounted millions." Stung to the quick at this imputation, Lord Holland wrote a letter to the lord mayor (9 July), complaining of the aspersion and referring him for the falsehood of the accusation to Beckford, whom he had satisfied (he said) as to the injustice of it.[225] Turner contented himself with a curt reply that he was not answerable for the contents of the petition. There was no love lost between Lord Holland and the citizens. According to the words put into his mouth by Gray, the poet, he would gladly have seen it reduced by fire and sword:—

The address had been ordered to be presented by the lord mayor, the sheriffs, and three of the city's members, but months passed by and no reply was vouchsafed. The livery got impatient. Their attack on the ministry was strengthened by the re-appearance of Chatham,[226] after a prolonged illness, whilst their own position received material support by Beckford consenting for the second time to occupy the mayoralty chair. "I cannot resist the importunate request of my fellow citizens"—he wrote from his house in Soho Square, the 12th October,[227]—"their desires have overcome resolutions that I once thought were fixed and determined. The feeble efforts of a worn out man to serve them can never answer their sanguine expectations. I will do my best, and will sacrifice ease and retirement, the chief comfort of old age, to their wishes. I do accept the office of lord mayor. I shall hope for the assistance of your Lordship and my brethren the Court of Aldermen. The advantage and good effects of their advice were experienced on many occasions in my late mayoralty." Their position would have been still more strengthened, had similar petitions been sent in from other parts of the country, but London's example was not in this case followed.[228]

On the day that the result of the poll was declared (10 Oct.) in favour of Beckford as mayor for the ensuing year the livery passed several resolutions. The first was that the outgoing lord mayor (Turner) should be asked if he had received any answer to the recent petition. Secondly that he should be called upon to produce Lord Holland's letter. They in the next place publicly named Lord Holland as the paymaster to whom they had referred in their petition as "a public defaulter of unaccounted millions," and insisted upon a parliamentary enquiry into his accounts. Should he be found such a defaulter as they alleged, it was the duty of the city's representatives in Parliament to move for his impeachment. These resolutions they ordered to be placed on record, as part of the proceedings in relation to the election of a mayor, and a copy of them was to be sent to each of the city's members.[229]

Here matters were allowed to rest until the following March (1770), when the livery sought the assistance of the Common Council to get Beckford to summon a Common Hall for the purpose of taking further measures to secure their rights and privileges.[230] Why they did not make a direct application to the mayor himself, as was the usual practice, is not clear. The Court, after some hesitation, acceded to their request, and a Common Hall was summoned accordingly. Another address, remonstrance and petition was thereupon drawn up (6 March).[231] "A bolder declaration, both against king and Parliament"—Walpole writes to his friend[232]—was never seen. The majority of the Court of Aldermen would have formally disavowed it, but Beckford, who presided, refused to allow a motion to that effect to be moved until the City's Records had been searched with the view of determining the several powers of the Courts of Aldermen and Common Council, and of the livery in Common Hall assembled.[233] After referring to their former petition remaining still unanswered, the petitioners proceeded to inveigh against Parliament and the ministry for having deprived the people of their just rights. The majority in the House (they said) had "done a deed more ruinous in its consequences than the levying of ship-money by Charles the First or the dispensing power assumed by James the Second." They told the king to his face that the House of Commons as then constituted did not only fail to represent the people, but it was "corruptly subservient" to his own ministers, and they called upon his majesty on that account to dissolve the Parliament and dismiss those ministers who had advised him badly.

This language was bold, but it conveyed no more than the truth. Its truthfulness, no less than its boldness, attracted Junius, who thus wrote approvingly of the attitude taken up by London: "The city of London hath given an example which, I doubt not, will be followed by the whole kingdom. The noble spirit of the metropolis is the life-blood of the state, collected at the heart; from that point it circulates, with health and vigour, through every artery of the constitution.... The city of London have expressed their sentiments with freedom and firmness; they have spoken truth boldly; and in whatever light their remonstrance may be represented by courtiers, I defy the most subtle lawyer in this country to point out a single instance in which they have exceeded the truth. Even that assertion, which we are told is most offensive to Parliament, in the theory of the English constitution is strictly true. If any part of the representative body be not chosen by the people that part vitiates the whole."[234] Adopting the words of the remonstrance, he declared that the principle on which the Middlesex election had been determined was more pernicious in its effects than either the levying of ship-money by Charles I or the suspending power claimed by his son.

On the other hand several of the livery companies themselves, viz.: the Goldsmiths, the Weavers, and the Grocers, had declared the remonstrance to be indecent and disrespectful, and forbade the members of their respective liveries to attend any Common Hall in future (except for purposes of election) without express leave of their Courts of Assistants. The authority of the mayor and aldermen over the livery companies was thus openly defied. On learning of these resolutions Beckford summoned a Common Hall to meet on the 12th April to consider what course to take, but his precept was ignored by the recalcitrant companies. Such disobedience was hitherto unheard of, and the matter was reported to the livery committee, appointed the 28th September, 1769.[235] This committee was afterwards united with a committee of the Common Council, and after due consideration the question of the rights of the livery was submitted to counsel.[236] The result will be seen in the next chapter.

Unlike the former address, this was invested with a corporate character by being ordered to be presented by the lord mayor, the city members, the Court of Aldermen, the sheriffs and the Common Council. In due course the sheriffs attended (6 March), to learn when the king would be pleased to receive the address. They were told they had come at an improper time, and must deliver their message on a court day. By treating them in this manner the king hoped to hear no more of the matter; it was—he told Lord Weymouth—the most likely means of putting an end to "this stuff." He desired, however, that the opinion of Lord Mansfield should be taken as to whether the sheriffs could claim to be received "as on occasions that they addressed the crown."[237] On the following day the sheriffs again presented themselves. After the levÉe was over they were admitted to the closet, but not before some questions had been asked as to the nature of the address to be presented. Sheriff Townshend having made his formal request the king replied that as the case was "entirely new" he would take time to consider it, and would send an answer by one of his principal secretaries of state. The question to be decided was whether the address ought to be treated as coming from the citizens of London in their corporate capacity or as only proceeding from a comparatively small body of them, viz., the livery. If the former, it would, in accordance with custom, be received by the king on the throne; if the latter, the king would receive it at a levÉe or in any other manner he might think fit. In order, therefore, to discover the precise nature of the address the king directed Lord Weymouth to make the necessary enquiries. Lord Weymouth accordingly wrote (8 March) to the sheriffs asking in what manner the address was authenticated and what was the nature of the assembly by which it had been adopted as it appeared to be "entirely new."[238] Instead of answering the letter the sheriffs the next day (9 March) again put in an appearance at St. James's, accompanied by the Remembrancer. Being asked whether they came "with a fresh message or with a message?" they answered "with a message." The secretaries of state then appeared, and Lord Weymouth asked the sheriffs if they had received his letter, and whether they came in consequence of it or on any fresh business? They replied that they had received his letter and had come in consequence of it. The following dialogue is recorded as having then taken place:—

Lord Weymouth: "Would it not be more proper to send an answer in writing through me?"

The Sheriffs: "We act ministerially. As sheriffs of London we have a right to an audience, and cannot communicate to any other person than the king the subject of our message."

Lord Weymouth: "I do not dispute your right to an audience, but would it not be better and more accurate to give your message to me in writing?"

The Sheriffs: "We know the value and consequence of the citizen's right to apply immediately to the king, and not to a third person, and we do not mean that any of their rights and privileges should be betrayed by our means."

At last the king consented to see them, and Sheriff Townshend then addressed his majesty in the following terms:—

"When we had last the honour to appear before your majesty, your majesty was graciously pleased to promise an answer by one of your majesty's principal secretaries of state; but we had yesterday questions proposed to us by Lord Weymouth. In answer to which we beg leave humbly to inform your majesty that the application we make to your majesty we make as sheriffs of the city of London by the direction of the livery in Common Hall legally assembled. The address, remonstrance and petition to be presented to your majesty, by their chief magistrate, is the act of the citizens of London in their greatest court, and is ordered by them to be properly authenticated as their act."[239]

To this the king vouchsafed no further reply than that he would take time to consider the matter. The next day (10 March) he wrote to Lord North: "The more I reflect on the present remonstrance from the livery the more I am desirous it should receive an answer, otherwise this bone of contention will never end; I therefore am thoroughly of opinion that, as the sheriffs (though falsely) have insinuated that it is properly authenticated, that the least inconvenience will be receiving them on the throne."[240] All that the minister could do to help the king out of his difficulty was to instance cases where only "a certain number" were allowed to attend, but the king was not satisfied, and expressed himself as being still of opinion that under the circumstances he had better receive the address on the throne.[241]

Accordingly it was decided to receive it in that manner on Wednesday, the 14th.[242] Having listened with composure, distasteful as the address was, the king read an answer in which, after declaring his readiness ever to listen to the complaints of his subjects, he expressed concern at finding that any of them had been so misled as to offer an address at once disrespectful to himself, injurious to Parliament and irreconcilable with the principles of the constitution.[243]

The next day (15 March) the House of Commons resolved to pray the king that he would be pleased to lay the remonstrance and his answer before the House. The king at once gave his consent, but the ministry betrayed the greatest timidity. "The fright at court continues"—wrote Calcraft to Chatham (17 March)—"and they are not only puzzled, but undetermined what to do with the remonstrance, now it is got to parliament. The only resolution taken is to be most temperate and avoid either expulsion or commitment seeing the lord mayor and sheriffs court it." Again "the ministers dread a resolution of the Common Hall against the advisers of the strong words in his majesty's answer."[244] After long debate the House contented themselves (19 March) with passing a resolution to the effect that the document was an "unwarrantable and dangerous petition" as well as a gross abuse of the right of petitioning the king.[245]

In the meantime Beckford, who with the two sheriffs, Townshend and Sawbridge, and with Alderman Trecothick avowed their share in the remonstrance, had issued invitations to a banquet at the Mansion House to "a very numerous though a select number of persons" of both houses of parliament. He had previously taken the precaution of sounding Lord Rockingham, and in doing so had used the good offices of his friend Lord Chatham. The entertainment would afford a good opportunity (thought the mayor), for obtaining some guarantee of the future policy of the Opposition whenever they should come into power, and he and Horne had devised a plan for getting the guests to sign a formal document committing them definitely to certain reforms. Such a document Horne afterwards declared himself to have actually drawn up "in terms so cautious and precise as to leave no room for future quibble and evasion."[246] This device becoming known, Chatham wrote to say that in the opinion of himself, Lord Rockingham and Lord Temple, "no new matters should be opened or agitated at or after the convivium"[247] which was fixed for Thursday, the 22nd March,—the eve of the day on which both Houses were to present an address to the king touching the remonstrance. The entertainment was one of the most magnificent ever given by a private individual. The members were escorted to the city by the livery of London on horseback through the crowded streets. Those who failed to illuminate their houses ran the risk of having their windows broken.[248] Chatham was prevented from attending by an attack of his old enemy the gout.[249] Magnificent as was the entertainment from a social point of view, from a political it was money thrown away.

Wilkes's term of imprisonment was now fast drawing to a close. His release was looked forward to by his friends with great joy, by his enemies with no little fear and concern. In November last (1769), his spirits and the spirits of his party had been raised by a jury awarding him no less a sum than £4,000 by way of damages in his long protracted action against Lord Halifax,[250] by whose orders his papers had been seized. Nevertheless his second fine of £500 remained yet unpaid.[251] On the 17th April (1770) Wilkes regained his liberty, and in order to prevent disturbance slipped away into the country, to the house of his friend Reynolds, for a few days. On his return he was immediately sworn in as alderman of the ward of Farringdon Without (24 April).[252] At the outset of his new career Wilkes behaved with the greatest propriety. "I don't know whether Wilkes is subdued by his imprisonment"—wrote Walpole to his friend—"or waits for the rising of parliament, to take the field; or whether his dignity of alderman has dulled him into prudence and the love of feasting; but hitherto he has done nothing but go to city-banquets and sermons, and sit at Guildhall as a sober magistrate."[253]

On the 14th May, he was nominated a member of the committee appointed by the Common Council to draw up another humble address, remonstrance and petition to the king, "touching the violated right of election, and the applications of the livery of London, and his majesty's answer thereupon." An address was accordingly drawn up—"much less hot than the former"—calling upon the king to dissolve parliament and dismiss his ministers.[254] It was adopted by the Common Council by a large majority (viz. 98 votes to 46). At first the king was disposed not to receive it at all. "I suppose this is another remonstrance" he wrote to North, after telling the sheriffs to call again "if so I think it ought not to have any answer."[255] After seeing a draft of it, however, he changed his mind. He acknowledged that it was less offensive than he had been given to understand, but he thought "the whole performance" required no more than "a short dry answer."[256]

In the ordinary course the presentation would have been made by the Recorder on behalf of the citizens. Eyre, however, refused to attend on this occasion,[257] so that the address may possibly have been read by the lord mayor himself. The king's reply was even briefer than usual. He would (he said) have been wanting to the public and to himself had he not expressed dissatisfaction at the former address. He declared his sentiments to be unchanged, and he declined to use his prerogative in a manner which might be dangerous to the constitution of the kingdom.[258]

It was now that Beckford made that memorable speech with which his name will ever be associated (although claimed by Horne Tooke as his composition), and which was afterwards inscribed, by order of the Common Council, upon the pediment of his statue erected in the Guildhall.[259] Deeming the king's answer unsatisfactory the mayor, to the surprise of all present, and contrary to all form and precedent, again stept forward, and, addressing the king, besought his majesty to allow him—the mayor of the king's loyal city of London—to express on behalf of his fellow citizens their sorrow at having incurred his majesty's displeasure. He assured the king that there were no subjects "more faithful, more dutiful, or more affectionate" than the citizens, and he denounced the man who should attempt to alienate the king's affection from his subjects in general, and from the city of London in particular, as an enemy to the king and constitution. Even Walpole allowed that the speech was "wondrous loyal and respectful," if a trifle disconcerting. The king was so much taken by surprise that he hesitated whether to stay or withdraw. He decided on the former, and remained until Beckford had finished, when he immediately got up and retired without a word. Chatham was immensely pleased at the spirit displayed by Beckford on this occasion, and wrote to tell him so: "The spirit of Old England spoke that never-to-be-forgotten day." His letter concludes with the following enthusiastic passage: "Adieu, then for the present (to call you by the most honourable of titles) true Lord Mayor of London; that is, first magistrate of the first city of the world! I mean to tell you only a plain truth when I say your lordship's mayoralty will be revered till the constitution is destroyed and forgotten."[260] Beckford, in his reply, justified his conduct. "What I spoke in the king's presence was uttered in the language of truth, and with that humility and submission which become a subject speaking to his lawful king: at least I endeavoured to behave properly and decently; but I am inclined to believe that I was mistaken, for the language of the court is that my deportment was impudent, insolent and unprecedented. God forgive them all!"[261]

When the matter came to be reported to the Common Council (25 May) two aldermen, viz., Rossiter and Harley, objected to Beckford having made a speech to the king without instructions from the Common Council, whilst Wilkes and the two sheriffs, Townshend and Sawbridge, upheld his conduct. The Court then desired Beckford to state what he had said to his majesty. Thereupon the speech was produced and read, and this being done a formal vote of thanks was passed to the mayor for having presented the remonstrance, and "for his vindicating at the foot of the throne the loyalty and affection of the citizens of London."[262]

The same motive which prompted Beckford's action in March last on the occasion of his magnificent entertainment to the Opposition had in the meanwhile incited the Common Council to a similar indiscretion. On the 14th May—the day that the last remonstrance was prepared—the Court passed a vote of thanks to Chatham for the zeal he had shown in support of the rights of election and petition, as well as for his "declaration that his endeavours shall hereafter be used that Parliaments may be restored to their original purity by shortening their duration and introducing a more full and equal representation."[263] Here the wish was distinctly father to the thought. Chatham had made no such declaration. The vote was nothing more or less than an attempt to "fix" Chatham to a definite policy of reform just as Beckford had previously tried to fix Rockingham and his party. Chatham was not to be thus caught, and in his acknowledgment of the vote he declared that as to any assurance he was supposed to have given that he was in favour of shorter Parliaments there had been some misapprehension. With all deference to the sentiments of the City he felt bound to say that he could not recommend triennial Parliaments as a remedy for venality in elections. He would not, however, oppose any measure for their introduction if the country showed itself unmistakably in favour of them.[264]

On the 30th May, Beckford again appeared at court at the head of a deputation from the city to present a formal address of congratulation from the Common Council on the birth of another princess. The address had been passed unanimously by the Council, although Wilkes declared it was no time for such compliments. The deputation met with some little opposition on its way to St. James's, the gates at Temple Bar being suddenly closed by the mob before the whole of the civic party had passed through, and they were not admitted into the presence chamber, until the lord mayor had promised not to repeat his former offence of making a speech.[265] The next day Beckford laid the first stone of the new gaol of Newgate.[266] This was his last appearance in public. He had recently caught a chill whilst at Fonthill, and this had been aggravated by his hasty return to town in order to attend to his mayoralty duties, and the excitement consequent thereto. For some years past he had not enjoyed good health, and age began to tell upon him. Even his first mayoralty in 1762-3, he entered upon with reluctance, and the day before his election had gone so far as to petition the Court of Aldermen to be discharged from his aldermanry on the score of ill-health.[267] He was, as we have seen, still more reluctant to undertake a second year of office, and only consented to do so after pressing solicitation. On the 12th June, he was so ill from rheumatic fever that he was unable to attend a Court of Aldermen, and on the 21st he died.[268]