John, Fourth Earl of Sandwich
By JOHN LIOTARD.
Full-Length.
(In a Turkish Costume, of Crimson, and Ermine. Green and White Turban, Yellow Slippers. Right Hand extended. Left on Hip.)
Born, 1718. Died, 1792.—he was the son of Edward, Viscount Hinchingbrook, by Elizabeth Popham. Educated at Eton, and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he distinguished himself. In 1738, he set out on his travels through Italy, Egypt, Turkey, etc., accompanied by some friends, during which time he made a collection of coins, and antiquities, of all kinds, some of which, he presented to the University of Cambridge. He wrote a book of his travels, and on his return to England, took his seat in the House of Lords, and entered on a political life. He spoke remarkably well in Parliament, and in 1744 became a Lord of the Admiralty under the Duke of Bedford, “into whose favour” says a contemporary with much acrimony, “Lord Sandwich had ingratiated himself, by cricket matches, acting of plays, and intrigues.” But Horace Walpole, although he did not appear very friendly to Lord Sandwich, is constantly compelled to do him justice, in his public capacity. “He is a lively, sensible man, and very attentive to business;” and on the famous occasion of Wilkes’ libel, he again says: “I do not admire politicians, but when they are excellent in their way, give them their due; no one but Lord Sandwich could have struck a stroke like this.”
In 1746, he was appointed Plenipotentiary to the States General, and again at the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, where he distinguished himself, in such a manner as to recommend him for high offices of trust, on his return to England. It was on this occasion, that at a large international dinner, toasts were passing, and the different Envoys became poetical, as well as loyal in their phraseology. The Frenchman gave “his Royal Master the Sun, who illuminates the whole world;” the Spaniard “his Master the Moon, scarcely inferior in brilliancy or influence;” when Lord Sandwich rose, doubtless with the twinkle in his eye, and the laughing curl round the corners of his mouth, we see in most of his portraits, and toasted with all the honours “his Master Joshua, who made both the sun and moon to stand still.”
During the King’s absence from England, Sandwich was chosen one of the Commissioners of Government. He was also Vice-treasurer, Receiver-general, &c., for Ireland, and under the new King George III, was nominated Ambassador to Spain; but in the same year he succeeded George Grenville as First Lord of the Admiralty. Few men ever filled that office with more ability, and under his direction the maritime force of Great Britain, was kept on such a footing as enabled us to meet our numerous foes in every quarter of the globe with honour, and ensured to us the victories we gained over the Trench, Spaniards, and Dutch. Lord Sandwich was world-famed for his regularity, dispatch, and industry in business; it is said that he invented sandwiches in order to take some nourishment without interrupting his work.
The following lines were written on him and Lord Spencer:—
“Two noble Earls, whom if I quote,
Some folks might call me sinner;
The one invented half a coat,
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.