“About the middle of a sunny day,” says Mr. Haydon, “when all was quiet, save the occasional cracking of a racket ball, while some were reading, some smoking, some lounging, some talking, some occupied with their own sorrows, and some with the sorrows of their friends, in rushed six fine grenadiers with a noble fellow of a sergeant at their head, with bayonets fixed, and several rounds of ball in their cartouches, expecting to meet (by their looks) with the most desperate resistance.”

“The materials thus afforded me by the entrance of the guards, I have combined in one moment;” or “I have combined in one moment what happened at different moments; the characters and soldiers are all portraits.  I have only used the poets and painters’ license, to make out the second part of the story, a part that happens in all elections, viz. the chairing of the successful candidates.”

“In the corner of the picture, on the left of the spectator, are three of the guards, drawn up across the door, standing at ease, with all the self-command of soldiers in such situations, hardly suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous attempts made to oppose them; in front of the guards, is the commander of the enemy’s forces; viz.—­a little boy with a tin sword, on regular guard position, ready to receive and oppose them, with a banner of ‘Freedom of Election,’ hanging on his sabre; behind him stands the Lord High Sheriff, affecting to charge the soldiers with his mopstick and pottle.  He is dressed in a magnificent suit of decayed splendour, with an old court sword, loose silk stockings, white shoes, and unbuckled knee-bands; his shoulders are adorned with white bows, and curtain rings for a chain, hung by a blue ribbon from his neck.  Next to him, adorned with a blanket, is a character of voluptuous gaiety, helmeted by a saucepan, holding up the cover for a shield, and a bottle for a weapon.  Then comes the Fool, making grimaces with his painted cheeks, and bending his fists at the military; while the Lord Mayor with his white wand, is placing his hand on his heart with mock gravity and wounded indignation at this violation of Magna Charta and civil rights.  Behind him are different characters, with a porter pot for a standard, and a watchman’s rattle; while in the extreme distance, behind the rattle, and under the wall, is a ragged Orator addressing the burgesses on this violation of the privileges of Election.

“Right over the figure with a saucepan, is a Turnkey, holding up a key and pulling down the celebrated Meredith; who, quite serious, and believing he will really sit in the House, is endeavouring to strike the turnkey with a champagne glass.  The gallant member is on the shoulders of two men, who are peeping out and quizzing.

“Close to Meredith is his fellow Member, dressed in a Spanish hat and feather, addressing the Sergeant opposite him, with an arch look, on the illegality of his entrance at elections, while a turnkey has taken hold of the member’s robe, and is pulling him off the water butt with violence.