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The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. 5 by Thomas Babington Macaulay

Part 5 out of 5

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Albemarle. An admirer of William cannot relate without pain that
he divided between these two foreigners an extent of country
larger than Hertfordshire.

This fact, simply reported, would have sufficed to excite a
strong feeling of indignation in a House of Commons less
irritable and querulous than that which then sate at Westminster.
But Trenchard and his confederates were not content with simply
reporting the fact. They employed all their skill to inflame the
passions of the majority. They at once applied goads to its anger
and held out baits to its cupidity.

They censured that part of William's conduct which deserved high
praise even more severely than that part of his conduct for which
it is impossible to set up any defence. They told the Parliament
that the old proprietors of the soil had been treated with
pernicious indulgence; that the capitulation of Limerick had been
construed in a manner far too favourable to the conquered race;
and that the King had suffered his compassion to lead him into
the error of showing indulgence to many who could not pretend
that they were within the terms of the capitulation. Even now,
after the lapse of eight years, it might be possible, by
instituting a severe inquisition, and by giving proper
encouragement to informers, to prove that many Papists, who were
still permitted to enjoy their estates, had taken the side of
James during the civil war. There would thus be a new and
plentiful harvest of confiscations. The four bitterly complained
that their task had been made more difficult by the hostility of
persons who held office in Ireland, and by the secret influence
of great men who were interested in concealing the truth. These
grave charges were made in general terms. No name was mentioned;
no fact was specified; no evidence was tendered.

Had the report stopped here, those who drew it up might justly
have been blamed for the unfair and ill natured manner in which
they had discharged their functions; but they could not have been
accused of usurping functions which did not belong to them for
the purpose of insulting the Sovereign and exasperating the
nation. But these men well knew in what way and for what purpose
they might safely venture to exceed their commission. The Act of
Parliament from which they derived their powers authorised them
to report on estates forfeited during the late troubles. It
contained not a word which could be construed into an authority
to report on the old hereditary domain of the Crown. With that
domain they had as little to do as with the seignorage levied on
tin in the Duchy of Cornwall, or with the church patronage of the
Duchy of Lancaster. But they had discovered that a part of that
domain had been alienated by a grant which they could not deny
themselves the pleasure of publishing to the world. It was indeed
an unfortunate grant, a grant which could not be brought to light
without much mischief and much scandal. It was long since William
had ceased to be the lover of Elisabeth Villiers, long since he
had asked her counsel or listened to her fascinating conversation
except in the presence of other persons. She had been some years
married to George Hamilton, a soldier who had distinguished
himself by his courage in Ireland and Flanders, and who probably
held the courtier like doctrine that a lady is not dishonoured by
having been the paramour of a king. William was well pleased with
the marriage, bestowed on the wife a portion of the old Crown
property in Ireland, and created the husband a peer of Scotland
by the title of Earl of Orkney. Assuredly William would not have
raised his character by abandoning to poverty a woman whom he had
loved, though with a criminal love. He was undoubtedly bound, as
a man of humanity and honour, to provide liberally for her; but
he should have provided for her rather by saving from his civil
list than by alienating his hereditary revenue. The four
malecontent commissioners rejoiced with spiteful joy over this
discovery. It was in vain that the other three represented that
the grant to Lady Orkney was one with which they had nothing to
do, and that, if they went out of their way to hold it up to
obloquy, they might be justly said to fly in the King's face. "To
fly in the King's face!" said one of the majority; "our business
is to fly in the King's face. We were sent here to fly in the
King's face." With this patriotic object a paragraph about Lady
Orkney's grant was added to the report, a paragraph too in which
the value of that grant was so monstrously exaggerated that
William appeared to have surpassed the profligate extravagance of
his uncle Charles. The estate bestowed on the countess was valued
at twenty-four thousand pounds a year. The truth seems to be that
the income which she derived from the royal bounty, after making
allowance for incumbrances and for the rate of exchange, was
about four thousand pounds.

The success of the report was complete. The nation and its
representatives hated taxes, hated foreign favourites, and hated
Irish Papists; and here was a document which held out the hope
that England might, at the expense of foreign courtiers and of
popish Celts, be relieved from a great load of taxes. Many, both
within and without the walls of Parliament, gave entire faith to
the estimate which the commissioners had formed by a wild guess,
in the absence of trustworthy information. They gave entire faith
also to the prediction that a strict inquiry would detect many
traitors who had hitherto been permitted to escape with impunity,
and that a large addition would thus be made to the extensive
territory which had already been confiscated. It was popularly
said that, if vigorous measures were taken, the gain to the
kingdom would be not less than three hundred thousand pounds a
year; and almost the whole of this sum, a sum more than
sufficient to defray the whole charge of such an army as the
Commons were disposed to keep up in time of peace, would be
raised by simply taking away what had been unjustifiably given to
Dutchmen, who would still retain immense wealth taken out of
English pockets, or unjustifiably left to Irishmen, who thought
it at once the most pleasant and the most pious of all
employments to cut English throats. The Lower House went to work
with the double eagerness of rapacity and of animosity. As soon
as the report of the four and the protest of the three had been
laid on the table and read by the clerk, it was resolved that a
Resumption Bill should be brought in. It was then resolved, in
opposition to the plainest principles of justice, that no
petition from any person who might think himself aggrieved by
this bill should ever be received. It was necessary to consider
how the commissioners should be remunerated for their services;
and this question was decided with impudent injustice. It was
determined that the commissioners who had signed the report
should receive a thousand pounds each. But a large party thought
that the dissentient three deserved no recompense; and two of
them were merely allowed what was thought sufficient to cover the
expense of their journey to Ireland. This was nothing less than
to give notice to every man who should ever be employed in any
similar inquiry that, if he wished to be paid, he must report
what would please the assembly which held the purse of the state.
In truth the House was despotic, and was fast contracting the
vices of a despot. It was proud of its antipathy to courtiers;
and it was calling into existence a new set of courtiers who
would study all its humours, who would flatter all its
weaknesses, who would prophesy to it smooth things, and who would
assuredly be, in no respect, less greedy, less faithless, or less
abject than the sycophants who bow in the antechambers of kings.

Indeed the dissentient commissioners had worse evils to apprehend
than that of being left unremunerated. One of them, Sir Richard
Levinz, had mentioned in private to his friends some
disrespectful expressions which had been used by one of his
colleagues about the King. What he had mentioned in private was,
not perhaps very discreetly, repeated by Montague in the House.
The predominant party eagerly seized the opportunity of worrying
both Montague and Levinz. A resolution implying a severe censure
on Montague was carried. Levinz was brought to the bar and
examined. The four were also in attendance. They protested that
he had misrepresented them. Trenchard declared that he had always
spoken of His Majesty as a subject ought to speak of an excellent
sovereign, who had been deceived by evil counsellors, and who
would be grateful to those who should bring the truth to his
knowledge. He vehemently denied that he had called the grant to
Lady Orkney villainous. It was a word that he never used, a word
that never came out of the mouth of a gentleman. These assertions
will be estimated at the proper value by those who are acquainted
with Trenchard's pamphlets, pamphlets in which the shocking word
villainous will without difficulty be found, and which are full
of malignant reflections on William.20 But the House was
determined not to believe Levinz. He was voted a calumniator, and
sent to the Tower, as an example to all who should be tempted to
speak truth which the Commons might not like to hear.

Meanwhile the bill had been brought in, and was proceeding
easily. It provided that all the property which had belonged to
the Crown at the time of the accession of James the Second, or
which had been forfeited to the Crown since that time, should be
vested in trustees. These trustees were named in the bill; and
among them were the four commissioners who had signed the report.
All the Irish grants of William were annulled. The legal rights
of persons other than the grantees were saved. But of those
rights the trustees were to be judges, and judges without appeal.
A claimant who gave them the trouble of attending to him, and
could not make out his case, was to be heavily fined. Rewards
were offered to informers who should discover any property which
was liable to confiscation, and which had not yet been
confiscated. Though eight years had elapsed since an arm had been
lifted up in the conquered island against the domination of the
Englishry, the unhappy children of the soil, who had been
suffered to live, submissive and obscure, on their hereditary
fields, were threatened with a new and severe inquisition into
old offences.

Objectionable as many parts of the bill undoubtedly were, nobody
who knew the House of Commons believed it to be possible to carry
any amendment. The King flattered himself that a motion for
leaving at his disposal a third part of the forfeitures would be
favourably received. There can be little doubt that a compromise
would have been willingly accepted twelve months earlier. But the
report had made all compromise impossible. William, however, was
bent on trying the experiment; and Vernon consented to go on what
he considered as a forlorn hope. He made his speech and his
motion; but the reception which he met with was such that he did
not venture to demand a division. This feeble attempt at
obstruction only made the impetuous current chafe the more. Howe
immediately moved two resolutions; one attributing the load of
debts and taxes which lay on the nation to the Irish grants; the
other censuring all who had been concerned in advising or passing
those grants. Nobody was named; not because the majority was
inclined to show any tenderness to the Whig ministers, but
because some of the most objectionable grants had been sanctioned
by the Board of Treasury when Godolphin and Seymour, who had
great influence with the country party, sate at that board.

Howe's two resolutions were laid before the King by the Speaker,
in whose train all the leaders of the opposition appeared at
Kensington. Even Seymour, with characteristic effrontery, showed
himself there as one of the chief authors of a vote which
pronounced him guilty of a breach of duty. William's answer was
that he had thought himself bound to reward out of the forfeited
property those who had served him well, and especially those who
had borne a principal part in the reduction of Ireland. The war,
he said, had undoubtedly left behind it a heavy debt; and he
should be glad to see that debt reduced by just and effectual
means. This answer was but a bad one; and, in truth, it was
hardly possible for him to return a good one. He had done what
was indefensible; and, by attempting to defend himself, he made
his case worse. It was not true that the Irish forfeitures, or
one fifth part of them, had been granted to men who had
distinguished themselves in the Irish war; and it was not
judicious to hint that those forfeitures could not justly be
applied to the discharge of the public debts. The Commons
murmured, and not altogether without reason. "His Majesty tells
us," they said, "that the debts fall to us and the forfeitures to
him. We are to make good out of the purses of Englishmen what was
spent upon the war; and he is to put into the purses of Dutchmen
what was got by the war." When the House met again, Howe moved
that whoever had advised the King to return such an answer was an
enemy to His Majesty and the kingdom; and this resolution was
carried with some slight modification.

To whatever criticism William's answer might be open, he had said
one thing which well deserved the attention of the House. A small
part of the forfeited property had been bestowed on men whose
services to the state well deserved a much larger recompense; and
that part could not be resumed without gross injustice and
ingratitude. An estate of very moderate value had been given,
with the title of Earl of Athlone, to Ginkell, whose skill and
valour had brought the war in Ireland to a triumphant close.
Another estate had been given, with the title of Earl of Galway,
to Rouvigny, who, in the crisis of the decisive battle, at the
very moment when Saint Ruth was waving his hat, and exclaiming
that the English should be beaten back to Dublin, had, at the
head of a gallant body of horse, struggled through the morass,
turned the left wing of the Celtic army, and retrieved the day.
But the predominant faction, drunk with insolence and animosity,
made no distinction between courtiers who had been enriched by
injudicious partiality and warriors who had been sparingly
rewarded for great exploits achieved in defence of the liberties
and the religion of our country. Athlone was a Dutchman; Galway
was a Frenchman; and it did not become a good Englishman to say a
word in favour of either.

Yet this was not the most flagrant injustice of which the Commons
were guilty. According to the plainest principles of common law
and of common sense, no man can forfeit any rights except those
which he has. All the donations which William had made he had
made subject to this limitation. But by this limitation the
Commons were too angry and too rapacious to be bound. They
determined to vest in the trustees of the forfeited lands an
estate greater than had ever belonged to the forfeiting
landholders. Thus innocent persons were violently deprived of
property which was theirs by descent or by purchase, of property
which had been strictly respected by the King and by his
grantees. No immunity was granted even to men who had fought on
the English side, even to men who had lined the walls of
Londonderry and rushed on the Irish guns at Newton Butler.

In some cases the Commons showed indulgence; but their indulgence
was not less unjustifiable, nor of less pernicious example, than
their severity. The ancient rule, a rule which is still strictly
maintained, and which cannot be relaxed without danger of
boundless profusion and shameless jobbery, is that whatever the
Parliament grants shall be granted to the Sovereign, and that no
public bounty shall be bestowed on any private person except by
the Sovereign.

The Lower House now, contemptuously disregarding both principles
and precedents, took on itself to carve estates out of the
forfeitures for persons whom it was inclined to favour. To the
Duke of Ormond especially, who ranked among the Tories and was
distinguished by his dislike of the foreigners, marked partiality
was shown. Some of his friends, indeed, hoped that they should be
able to insert in the bill a clause bestowing on him all the
confiscated estates in the county of Tipperary. But they found
that it would be prudent in them to content themselves with
conferring on him a boon smaller in amount, but equally
objectionable in principle. He had owed very large debts to
persons who had forfeited to the Crown all that belonged to them.
Those debts were therefore now due from him to the Crown. The
House determined to make him a present of the whole, that very
House which would not consent to leave a single acre to the
general who had stormed Athlone, who had gained the battle of
Aghrim, who had entered Galway in triumph, and who had received
the submission of Limerick.

That a bill so violent, so unjust, and so unconstitutional would
pass the Lords without considerable alteration was hardly to be
expected. The ruling demagogues, therefore, resolved to join it
with the bill which granted to the Crown a land tax of two
shillings in the pound for the service of the next year, and thus
to place the Upper House under the necessity of either passing
both bills together without the change of a word, or rejecting
both together, and leaving the public creditor unpaid and the
nation defenceless.

There was great indignation among the Peers. They were not indeed
more disposed than the Commons to approve of the manner in which
the Irish forfeitures had been granted away; for the antipathy to
the foreigners, strong as it was in the nation generally, was
strongest in the highest ranks. Old barons were angry at seeing
themselves preceded by new earls from Holland and Guelders.
Garters, gold keys, white staves, rangerships, which had been
considered as peculiarly belonging to the hereditary grandees of
the realm, were now intercepted by aliens. Every English nobleman
felt that his chance of obtaining a share of the favours of the
Crown was seriously diminished by the competition of Bentincks
and Keppels, Auverquerques and Zulesteins. But, though the riches
and dignities heaped on the little knot of Dutch courtiers might
disgust him, the recent proceedings of the Commons could not but
disgust him still more. The authority, the respectability, the
existence of his order were threatened with destruction. Not
only,--such were the just complaints of the Peers,--not only are we to be
deprived of that coordinate legislative power to which we
are, by the constitution of the realm, entitled. We are not to be
allowed even a suspensive veto. We are not to dare to
remonstrate, to suggest an amendment, to offer a reason, to ask
for an explanation. Whenever the other House has passed a bill to
which it is known that we have strong objections, that bill is to
be tacked to a bill of supply. If we alter it, we are told that
we are attacking the most sacred privilege of the representatives
of the people, and that we must either take the whole or reject
the whole. If we reject the whole, public credit is shaken; the
Royal Exchange is in confusion; the Bank stops payment; the army
is disbanded; the fleet is in mutiny; the island is left, without
one regiment, without one frigate, at the mercy of every enemy.
The danger of throwing out a bill of supply is doubtless great.
Yet it may on the whole be better that we should face that
danger, once for all, than that we should consent to be, what we
are fast becoming, a body of no more importance than the

Animated by such feelings as these, a party in the Upper House
was eager to take the earliest opportunity of making a stand. On
the fourth of April, the second reading was moved. Near a hundred
lords were present. Somers, whose serene wisdom and persuasive
eloquence had seldom been more needed, was confined to his room
by illness; and his place on the woolsack was supplied by the
Earl of Bridgewater. Several orators, both Whig and Tory,
objected to proceeding farther. But the chiefs of both parties
thought it better to try the almost hopeless experiment of
committing the bill and sending it back amended to the Commons.
The second reading was carried by seventy
votes to twenty-three. It was remarked that both Portland and
Albemarle voted in the majority.

In the Committee and on the third reading several amendments were
proposed and carried. Wharton, the boldest and most active of the
Whig peers, and the Lord Privy Seal Lonsdale, one of the most
moderate and reasonable of the Tories, took the lead, and were
strenuously supported by the Lord President Pembroke, and by the
Archbishop of Canterbury, who seems on this occasion to have a
little forgotten his habitual sobriety and caution. Two natural
sons of Charles the Second, Richmond and Southampton, who had
strong personal reasons for disliking resumption bills, were
zealous on the same side. No peer, however, as far as can now be
discovered, ventured to defend the way in which William had
disposed of his Irish domains. The provisions which annulled the
grants of those domains were left untouched. But the words of
which the effect was to vest in the parliamentary trustees
property which had never been forfeited to the King, and had
never been given away by him, were altered; and the clauses by
which estates and sums of money were, in defiance of
constitutional principle and of immemorial practice, bestowed on
persons who were favourites of the Commons, were so far modified
as to be, in form, somewhat less exceptionable. The bill,
improved by these changes, was sent down by two judges to the
Lower House.

The Lower House was all in a flame. There was now no difference
of opinion there. Even those members who thought that the
Resumption Bill and the Land Tax Bill ought not to have been
tacked together, yet felt that, since those bills had been tacked
together, it was impossible to agree to the amendments made by
the Lords without surrendering one of the most precious
privileges of the Commons. The amendments were rejected without
one dissentient voice. It was resolved that a conference should
be demanded; and the gentlemen who were to manage the conference
were instructed to say merely that the Upper House had no right
to alter a money bill; that the point had long been settled and
was too clear for argument; that they should leave the bill with
the Lords, and that they should leave with the Lords also the
responsibility of stopping the supplies which were necessary for
the public service. Several votes of menacing sound were passed
at the same sitting. It was Monday the eighth of April. Tuesday
the ninth was allowed to the other House for reflection and
repentance. It was resolved that on the Wednesday morning the
question of the Irish forfeitures should again be taken into
consideration, and that every member who was in town should be
then in his place on peril of the highest displeasure of the
House. It was moved and carried that every Privy Councillor who
had been concerned in procuring or passing any exorbitant grant
for his own benefit had been guilty of a high crime and
misdemeanour. Lest the courtiers should flatter themselves that
this was meant to be a mere abstract proposition, it was ordered
that a list of the members of the Privy Council should be laid on
the table. As it was thought not improbable that the crisis might
end in an appeal to the constituent bodies, nothing was omitted
which could excite out of doors a feeling in favour of the bill.
The Speaker was directed to print and publish the report signed
by the four Commissioners, not accompanied, as in common justice
it ought to have been, by the protest of the three dissentients,
but accompanied by several extracts from the journals which were
thought likely to produce an impression favourable to the House
and unfavourable to the Court. All these resolutions passed
without any division, and without, as far as appears, any debate.
There was, indeed, much speaking, but all on one side. Seymour,
Harley, Howe, Harcourt, Shower, Musgrave, declaimed, one after
another, about the obstinacy of the other House, the alarming
state of the country, the dangers which threatened the public
peace and the public credit. If, it was said, none but Englishmen
sate in the Parliament and in the Council, we might hope that
they would relent at the thought of the calamities which impend
over England. But we have to deal with men who are not
Englishmen, with men who consider this country as their own only
for evil, as their property, not as their home; who, when they
have gorged themselves with our wealth, will, without one uneasy
feeling, leave us sunk in bankruptcy, distracted by faction,
exposed without defence to invasion. "A new war," said one of
these orators, "a new war, as long, as bloody, and as costly as
the last, would do less mischief than has been done by the
introduction of that batch of Dutchmen among the barons of the
realm." Another was so absurd as to call on the House to declare
that whoever should advise a dissolution would be guilty of high
treason. A third gave utterance to a sentiment which it is
difficult to understand how any assembly of civilised and
Christian men, even in a moment of strong excitement, should have
heard without horror. "They object to tacking; do they? Let them
take care that they do not provoke us to tack in earnest. How
would they like to have bills of supply with bills of attainder
tacked to them?" This atrocious threat, worthy of the tribune of
the French Convention in the worst days of the Jacobin tyranny,
seems to have passed unreprehended. It was meant--such at least
was the impression at the Dutch embassy--to intimidate Somers. He
was confined by illness. He had been unable to take any public
part in the proceedings of the Lords; and he had privately blamed
them for engaging in a conflict in which he justly thought that
they could not be victorious. Nevertheless, the Tory leaders
hoped that they might be able to direct against him the whole
force of the storm which they had raised. Seymour, in particular,
encouraged by the wild and almost savage temper of his hearers,
harangued with rancorous violence against the wisdom and the
virtue which presented the strongest contrast to his own
turbulence, insolence, faithlessness, and rapacity. No doubt, he
said, the Lord Chancellor was a man of parts. Anybody might be
glad to have for counsel so acute and eloquent an advocate. But
a very good advocate might be a very bad minister; and, of all
the ministers who had brought the kingdom into difficulties, this
plausible, fair-spoken person was the most dangerous. Nor was the
old reprobate ashamed to add that he was afraid that his Lordship
was no better than a Hobbist in religion.

After a long sitting the members separated; but they reassembled
early on the morning of the following day, Tuesday the ninth of
April. A conference was held; and Seymour, as chief manager for
the Commons, returned the bill and the amendments to the Peers in
the manner which had been prescribed to him. From the Painted
Chamber he went back to the Lower House, and reported what had
passed. "If," he said, "I may venture to judge by the looks and
manner of their Lordships, all will go right." But within half an
hour evil tidings came through the Court of Requests and the
lobbies. The Lords had divided on the question whether they would
adhere to their amendments. Forty-seven had voted for adhering,
and thirty-four for giving way. The House of Commons broke up
with gloomy looks, and in great agitation. All London looked
forward to the next day with painful forebodings. The general
feeling was in favour of the bill. It was rumoured that the
majority which had determined to stand by the amendments had been
swollen by several prelates, by several of the illegitimate sons
of Charles the Second, and by several needy and greedy courtiers.
The cry in all the public places of resort was that the nation
would be ruined by the three B's, Bishops, Bastards, and Beggars.
On Wednesday the tenth, at length, the contest came to a decisive
issue. Both Houses were early crowded. The Lords demanded a
conference. It was held; and Pembroke delivered back to Seymour
the bill and the amendments, together with a paper containing a
concise, but luminous and forcible, exposition of the grounds on
which the Lords conceived themselves to be acting in a
constitutional and strictly defensive manner. This paper was read
at the bar; but, whatever effect it may now produce on a
dispassionate student of history, it produced none on the thick
ranks of country gentlemen. It was instantly resolved that the
bill should again be sent back to the Lords with a peremptory
announcement that the Commons' determination was unalterable.

The Lords again took the amendments into consideration. During
the last forty-eight hours, great exertions had been made in
various quarters to avert a complete rupture between the Houses.
The statesmen of the junto were far too wise not to see that it
would be madness to continue the struggle longer. It was indeed
necessary, unless the King and the Lords were to be of as little
weight in the State as in 1648, unless the House of Commons was
not merely to exercise a general control over the government, but
to be, as in the days of the Rump, itself the whole government,
the sole legislative chamber, the fountain from which were to
flow all those favours which had hitherto been in the gift of the
Crown, that a determined stand should be made. But, in order that
such a stand might be successful, the ground must be carefully
selected; for a defeat might be fatal. The Lords must wait for
some occasion on which their privileges would be bound up with
the privileges of all Englishmen, for some occasion on which the
constituent bodies would, if an appeal were made to them, disavow
the acts of the representative body; and this was not such an
occasion. The enlightened and large minded few considered tacking
as a practice so pernicious that it would be justified only by an
emergency which would justify a resort to physical force. But, in
the many, tacking, when employed for a popular end, excited
little or no disapprobation. The public, which seldom troubles
itself with nice distinctions, could not be made to understand
that the question at issue was any other than this, whether a sum
which was vulgarly estimated at millions, and which undoubtedly
amounted to some hundreds of thousands, should be employed in
paying the debts of the state and alleviating the load of
taxation, or in making Dutchmen, who were already too rich, still
richer. It was evident that on that question the Lords could not
hope to have the country with them, and that, if a general
election took place while that question was unsettled, the new
House of Commons would be even more mutinous and impracticable
than the present House. Somers, in his sick chamber, had given
this opinion. Orford had voted for the bill in every stage.
Montague, though no longer a minister, had obtained admission to
the royal closet, and had strongly represented to the King the
dangers which threatened the state. The King had at length
consented to let it be understood that he considered the passing
of the bill as on the whole the less of two great evils. It was
soon clear that the temper of the Peers had undergone a
considerable alteration since the preceding day. Scarcely any,
indeed, changed sides. But not a few abstained from voting.
Wharton, who had at first spoken powerfully for the amendments,
left town for Newmarket. On the other hand, some Lords who had
not yet taken their part came down to give a healing vote. Among
them were the two persons to whom the education of the young heir
apparent had been entrusted, Marlborough and Burnet. Marlborough
showed his usual prudence. He had remained neutral while by
taking a part he must have offended either the House of Commons
or the King. He took a part as soon as he saw that it was
possible to please both. Burnet, alarmed for the public peace,
was in a state of great excitement, and, as was usual with him
when in such a state, forgot dignity and decorum, called out
"stuff" in a very audible voice while a noble Lord was haranguing
in favour of the amendments, and was in great danger of being
reprimanded at the bar or delivered over to Black Rod. The motion
on which the division took place was that the House do adhere to
the amendments. There were forty contents and thirty-seven not
contents. Proxies were called; and the numbers were found to be
exactly even. In the House of Lords there is no casting vote.
When the numbers are even, the non contents have it. The motion
to adhere had therefore been negatived. But this was not enough.
It was necessary that an affirmative resolution should be moved
to the effect that the House agreed to the bill without
amendments; and, if the numbers should again be equal, this
motion would also be lost. It was an anxious moment. Fortunately
the Primate's heart failed him. He had obstinately fought the
battle down to the last stage. But he probably felt that it was
no light thing to take on himself, and to bring on his order, the
responsibility of throwing the whole kingdom into confusion. He
started up and hurried out of the House, beckoning to some of his
brethren. His brethren followed him with a prompt obedience,
which, serious as the crisis was, caused no small merriment. In
consequence of this defection, the motion to agree was carried by
a majority of five. Meanwhile the members of the other House had
been impatiently waiting for news, and had been alternately
elated and depressed by the reports which followed one another in
rapid succession. At first it was confidently expected that the
Peers would yield; and there was general good humour. Then came
intelligence that the majority of the Lords present had voted for
adhering to the amendments. "I believe," so Vernon wrote the next
day, "I believe there was not one man in the House that did not
think the nation ruined." The lobbies were cleared; the back
doors were locked; the keys were laid on the table; the Serjeant
at Arms was directed to take his post at the front door, and to
suffer no member to withdraw. An awful interval followed, during
which the angry passions of the assembly seemed to be subdued by
terror. Some of the leaders of the opposition, men of grave
character and of large property, stood aghast at finding that
they were engaged,--they scarcely knew how,--in a conflict such as
they had not at all expected, in a conflict in which they could
be victorious only at the expense of the peace and order of
society. Even Seymour was sobered by the greatness and nearness
of the danger. Even Howe thought it advisable to hold
conciliatory language. It was no time, he said, for wrangling.
Court party and country party were Englishmen alike. Their duty
was to forget all past grievances, and to cooperate heartily for
the purpose of saving the country.

In a moment all was changed. A message from the Lords was
announced. It was a message which lightened many heavy hearts.
The bill had been passed without amendments.

The leading malecontents, who, a few minutes before, scared by
finding that their violence had brought on a crisis for which
they were not prepared, had talked about the duty of mutual
forgiveness and close union, instantly became again as rancorous
as ever. One danger, they said, was over. So far well. But it was
the duty of the representatives of the people to take such steps
as might make it impossible that there should ever again be such
danger. Every adviser of the Crown, who had been concerned in the
procuring or passing of any exorbitant grant, ought to be
excluded from all access to the royal ear. A list of the privy
councillors, furnished in conformity with the order made two days
before, was on the table. That list the clerk was ordered to
read. Prince George of Denmark and the Archbishop of Canterbury
passed without remark. But, as soon as the Chancellor's name had
been pronounced, the rage of his enemies broke forth. Twice
already, in the course of that stormy session, they had attempted
to ruin his fame and his fortunes; and twice his innocence and
his calm fortitude had confounded all their politics. Perhaps, in
the state of excitement to which the House had been wrought up, a
third attack on him might be successful. Orator after orator
declaimed against him. He was the great offender. He was
responsible for all the grievances of which the nation
complained. He had obtained exorbitant grants for himself. He had
defended the exorbitant grants obtained by others. He had not,
indeed, been able, in the late debates, to raise his own voice
against the just demands of the nation. But it might well be
suspected that he had in secret prompted the ungracious answer of
the King and encouraged the pertinacious resistance of the Lords.
Sir John Levison Gower, a noisy and acrimonious Tory, called for
impeachment. But Musgrave, an abler and more experienced
politician, saw that, if the imputations which the opposition had
been in the habit of throwing on the Chancellor were exhibited
with the precision of a legal charge, their futility would excite
universal derision, and thought it more expedient to move that
the House should, without assigning any reason, request the King
to remove Lord Somers from His Majesty's counsels and presence
for ever. Cowper defended his persecuted friend with great
eloquence and effect; and he was warmly supported by many members
who had been zealous for the resumption of the Irish grants. Only
a hundred and six members went into the lobby with Musgrave; a
hundred and sixty-seven voted against him. Such a division, in
such a House of Commons, and on such a day, is sufficient
evidence of the respect which the great qualities of Somers had
extorted even from his political enemies.

The clerk then went on with the list. The Lord President and the
Lord Privy Seal, who were well known to have stood up strongly
for the privileges of the Lords, were reviled by some angry
members; but no motion was made against either. And soon the
Tories became uneasy in their turn; for the name of the Duke of
Leeds was read. He was one of themselves. They were very
unwilling to put a stigma on him. Yet how could they, just after
declaiming against the Chancellor for accepting a very moderate
and well earned provision, undertake the defence of a statesman
who had, out of grants, pardons and bribes, accumulated a
princely fortune? There was actually on the table evidence that
His Grace was receiving from the bounty of the Crown more than
thrice as much as had been bestowed on Somers; and nobody could
doubt that His Grace's secret gains had very far exceeded those
of which there was evidence on the table. It was accordingly
moved that the House, which had indeed been sitting massy hours,
should adjourn. The motion was lost; but neither party was
disposed to move that the consideration of the list should be
resumed. It was however resolved, without a division, that an
address should be presented to the King, requesting that no
person not a native of his dominions, Prince George excepted,
might be admitted to the Privy Council either of England or of
Ireland. The evening was now far spent. The candles had been some
time lighted; and the House rose. So ended one of the most
anxious, turbulent, and variously eventful days in the long
Parliamentary History of England.

What the morrow would have produced if time had been allowed for
a renewal of hostilities can only be guessed. The supplies had
been voted. The King was determined not to receive the address
which requested him to disgrace his dearest and most trusty
friends. Indeed he would have prevented the passing of that
address by proroguing Parliament on the preceding day, had not
the Lords risen the moment after they had agreed to the
Resumption Bill. He had actually come from Kensington to the
Treasury for that purpose; and his robes and crown were in
readiness. He now took care to be at Westminster in good time.
The Commons had scarcely met when the knock of Black Rod was
heard. They repaired to the other House. The bills were passed;
and Bridgewater, by the royal command, prorogued the Parliament.
For the first time since the Revolution the session closed
without a speech from the throne. William was too angry to thank
the Commons, and too prudent to reprimand them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The health of James had been during some years declining and he
had at length, on Good Friday, 1701, suffered a shock from which
he had never recovered. While he was listening in his chapel to
the solemn service of the day, he fell down in a fit, and
remained long insensible. Some people imagined that the words of
the anthem which his choristers were chanting had produced in him
emotions too violent to be borne by an enfeebled body and mind.
For that anthem was taken from the plaintive elegy in which a
servant of the true God, chastened by many sorrows and
humiliations, banished, homesick, and living on the bounty of
strangers, bewailed the fallen throne and the desolate Temple of
Sion: "Remember, O Lord, what is come upon us; consider and
behold our reproach. Our inheritance is turned to strangers, our
houses to aliens; the crown is fallen from our head. Wherefore
dose thou forget us for ever?"

The King's malady proved to be paralytic. Fagon, the first
physician of the French Court, and, on medical questions, the
oracle of all Europe, prescribed the waters of Bourbon. Lewis,
with all his usual generosity, sent to Saint Germains ten
thousand crowns in gold for the charges of the journey, and gave
orders that every town along the road should receive his good
brother with all the honours due to royalty.21

James, after passing some time at Bourbon, returned to the
neighbourhood of Paris with health so far reestablished that he
was able to take exercise on horseback, but with judgment and
memory evidently impaired. On the thirteenth of September, he had
a second fit in his chapel; and it soon became clear that this
was a final stroke. He rallied the last energies of his failing
body and mind to testify his firm belief in the religion for
which he had sacrificed so much. He received the last sacraments
with every mark of devotion, exhorted his son to hold fast to the
true faith in spite of all temptations, and entreated Middleton,
who, almost alone among the courtiers assembled in the
bedchamber, professed himself a Protestant, to take refuge from
doubt and error in the bosom of the one infallible Church. After
the extreme unction had been administered, James declared that he
pardoned all his enemies, and named particularly the Prince of
Orange, the Princess of Denmark, and the Emperor. The Emperor's
name he repeated with peculiar emphasis: "Take notice, father,"
he said to the confessor, "that I forgive the Emperor with all my
heart." It may perhaps seem strange that he should have found
this the hardest of all exercises of Christian charity. But it
must be remembered that the Emperor was the only Roman Catholic
Prince still living who had been accessory to the Revolution, and
that James might not unnaturally consider Roman Catholics who had
been accessory to the Revolution as more inexcusably guilty than
heretics who might have deluded themselves into the belief that,
in violating their duty to him, they were discharging their duty
to God.

While James was still able to understand what was said to him,
and make intelligible answers, Lewis visited him twice. The
English exiles observed that the Most Christian King was to the
last considerate and kind in the very slightest matters which
concerned his unfortunate guest. He would not allow his coach to
enter the court of Saint Germains, lest the noise of the wheels
should be heard in the sick room. In both interviews he was
gracious, friendly, and even tender. But he carefully abstained
from saying anything about the future position of the family
which was about to lose its head. Indeed he could say nothing,
for he had not yet made up his own mind. Soon, however, it became
necessary for him to form some resolution. On the sixteenth
James sank into a stupor which indicated the near approach of
death. While he lay in this helpless state, Madame de Maintenon
visited his consort. To this visit many persons who were likely
to be well informed attributed a long series of great events. We
cannot wonder that a woman should have been moved to pity by the
misery of a woman; that a devout Roman Catholic should have taken
a deep interest in the fate of a family persecuted, as she
conceived, solely for being Roman Catholics; or that the pride of
the widow of Scarron should have been intensely gratified by the
supplications of a daughter of Este and a Queen of England. From
mixed motives, probably, the wife of Lewis promised her powerful
protection to the wife of James.

Madame de Maintenon was just leaving Saint Germains when, on the
brow of the hill which overlooks the valley of the Seine, she met
her husband, who had come to ask after his guest. It was probable
at this moment that he was persuaded to form a resolution, of
which neither he nor she by whom he was governed foresaw the
consequences. Before he announced that resolution, however, he
observed all the decent forms of deliberation. A council was held
that evening at Marli, and was attended by the princes of the
blood and by the ministers of state. The question was propounded,
whether, when God should take James the Second of England to
himself, France should recognise the Pretender as King James the

The ministers were, one and all, against the recognition. Indeed,
it seems difficult to understand how any person who had any
pretensions to the name of statesman should have been of a
different opinion. Torcy took his stand on the ground that to
recognise the Prince of Wales would be to violate the Treaty of
Ryswick. This was indeed an impregnable position. By that treaty
His Most Christian Majesty had bound himself to do nothing which
could, directly or indirectly, disturb the existing order of
things in England. And in what way, except by an actual invasion,
could he do more to disturb the existing order of things in
England than by solemnly declaring, in the face of the whole
world, that he did not consider that order of things as
legitimate, that he regarded the Bill of Rights and the Act of
Settlement as nullities, and the King in possession as an
usurper? The recognition would then be a breach of faith; and,
even if all considerations of morality were set aside, it was
plain that it would, at that moment, be wise in the French
government to avoid every thing which could with plausibility be
represented as a breach of faith. The crisis was a very peculiar
one. The great diplomatic victory won by France in the preceding
year had excited the fear and hatred of her neighbours.
Nevertheless there was, as yet, no great coalition against her.
The House of Austria, indeed, had appealed to arms. But with the
House of Austria alone the House of Bourbon could easily deal.
Other powers were still looking in doubt to England for the
signal; and England, though her aspect was sullen and menacing,
still preserved neutrality. That neutrality would not have lasted
so long, if William could have relied on the support of his
Parliament and of his people. In his Parliament there were agents
of France, who, though few, had obtained so much influence by
clamouring against standing armies, profuse grants, and Dutch
favourites, that they were often blindly followed by the
majority; and his people, distracted by domestic factions,
unaccustomed to busy themselves about continental politics, and
remembering with bitterness the disasters and burdens of the last
war, the carnage of Landen, the loss of the Smyrna fleet, the
land tax at four shillings in the pound, hesitated about engaging
in another contest, and would probably continue to hesitate while
he continued to live. He could not live long. It had, indeed,
often been prophesied that his death was at hand; and the
prophets had hitherto been mistaken. But there was now no
possibility of mistake. His cough was more violent than ever; his
legs were swollen; his eyes, once bright and clear as those of a
falcon, had grown dim; he who, on the day of the Boyne, had been
sixteen hours on the backs of different horses, could now with
great difficulty creep into his state coach.22 The vigorous
intellect, and the intrepid spirit, remained; but on the body
fifty years had done the work of ninety. In a few months the
vaults of Westminster would receive the emaciated and shattered
frame which was animated by the most far-sighted, the most
daring, the most commanding of souls. In a few months the British
throne would be filled by a woman whose understanding was well
known to be feeble, and who was believed to lean towards the
party which was averse from war. To get over those few months
without an open and violent rupture should have been the first
object of the French government. Every engagement should have
been punctually fulfilled; every occasion of quarrel should have
been studiously avoided. Nothing should have been spared which
could quiet the alarms and soothe the wounded pride of
neighbouring nations.

The House of Bourbon was so situated that one year of moderation
might not improbably be rewarded by thirty years of undisputed
ascendency. Was it possible the politic and experienced Lewis
would at such a conjuncture offer a new and most galling
provocation, not only to William, whose animosity was already as
great as it could be, but to the people whom William had hitherto
been vainly endeavouring to inspire with animosity resembling his
own? How often, since the Revolution of 1688, had it seemed that
the English were thoroughly weary of the new government. And how
often had the detection of a Jacobite plot, or the approach of a
French armament, changed the whole face of things. All at once
the grumbling had ceased, the grumblers had crowded to sign loyal
addresses to the usurper, had formed associations in support of
his authority, had appeared in arms at the head of the militia,
crying God save King William. So it would be now. Most of those
who had taken a pleasure in crossing him on the question of his
Dutch guards, on the question of his Irish grants, would be moved
to vehement resentment when they learned that Lewis had, in
direct violation of a treaty, determined to force on England a
king of his own religion, a king bred in his own dominions, a
king who would be at Westminster what Philip was at Madrid, a
great feudatory of France.

These arguments were concisely but clearly and strongly urged by
Torcy in a paper which is still extant, and which it is difficult
to believe that his master can have read without great
misgivings.23 On one side were the faith of treaties, the peace
of Europe, the welfare of France, nay the selfish interest of the
House of Bourbon. On the other side were the influence of an
artful woman, and the promptings of vanity which, we must in
candour acknowledge, was ennobled by a mixture of compassion and
chivalrous generosity. The King determined to act in direct
opposition to the advice of all his ablest servants; and the
princes of the blood applauded his decision, as they would have
applauded any decision which he had announced. Nowhere was he
regarded with a more timorous, a more slavish, respect than in
his own family.

On the following day he went again to Saint Germains, and,
attended by a splendid retinue, entered James's bedchamber. The
dying man scarcely opened his heavy eyes, and then closed them
again. "I have something," said Lewis, "of great moment to
communicate to Your Majesty." The courtiers who filled the room
took this as a signal to retire, and were crowding towards the
door, when they were stopped by that commanding voice: "Let
nobody withdraw. I come to tell Your Majesty that, whenever it
shall please God to take you from us, I will be to your son what
I have been to you, and will acknowledge him as King of England,
Scotland and Ireland." The English exiles who were standing round
the couch fell on their knees. Some burst into tears. Some poured
forth praises and blessings with clamour such as, was scarcely
becoming in such a place and at such a time. Some indistinct
murmurs which James uttered, and which were drowned by the noisy
gratitude of his attendants, were interpreted to mean thanks. But
from the most trustworthy accounts it appears that he was
insensible to all that was passing around him.24

As soon as Lewis was again at Marli, he repeated to the Court
assembled there the announcement which he had made at Saint
Germains. The whole circle broke forth into exclamations of
delight and admiration. What piety! What humanity! What
magnanimity! Nor was this enthusiasm altogether feigned. For, in
the estimation of the greater part of that brilliant crowd,
nations were nothing and princes every thing. What could be more
generous, more amiable, than to protect an innocent boy, who was
kept out of his rightful inheritance by an ambitious kinsman? The
fine gentlemen and fine ladies who talked thus forgot that,
besides the innocent boy and that ambitious kinsman, five
millions and a half of Englishmen were concerned, who were little
disposed to consider themselves as the absolute property of any
master, and who were still less disposed to accept a master
chosen for them by the French King.

James lingered three days longer. He was occasionally sensible
during a few minutes, and, during one of these lucid intervals,
faintly expressed his gratitude to Lewis. On the sixteenth he
died. His Queen retired that evening to the nunnery of Chaillot,
where she could weep and pray undisturbed. She left Saint
Germains in joyous agitation. A herald made his appearance before
the palace gate, and, with sound of trumpet, proclaimed, in
Latin, French and English, King James the Third of England and
Eighth of Scotland. The streets, in consequence doubtless of
orders from the government, were illuminated; and the townsmen
with loud shouts wished a long reign to their illustrious
neighbour. The poor lad received from his ministers, and
delivered back to them, the seals of their offices, and held out
his hand to be kissed. One of the first acts of his mock reign
was to bestow some mock peerages in conformity with directions
which he found in his father's will. Middleton, who had as yet no
English title, was created Earl of Monmouth. Perth, who had stood
high in the favour of his late master, both as an apostate from
the Protestant religion, and as the author of the last
improvements on the thumb screw, took the title of Duke.

Meanwhile the remains of James were escorted, in the dusk of the
evening, by a slender retinue to the Chapel of the English
Benedictines at Paris, and deposited there in the vain hope that,
at some future time, they would be laid with kingly pomp at
Westminster among the graves of the Plantagenets and Tudors.

Three days after these humble obsequies Lewis visited Saint
Germains in form. On the morrow the visit was returned. The
French Court was now at Versailles; and the Pretender was
received there, in all points, as his father would have been,
sate in his father's arm chair, took, as his father had always
done, the right hand of the great monarch, and wore the long
violet coloured mantle which was by ancient usage the mourning
garb of the Kings of France. There was on that day a great
concourse of ambassadors and envoys; but one well known figure
was wanting. Manchester had sent off to Loo intelligence of the
affront which had been offered to his country and his master, had
solicited instructions, and had determined that, till these
instructions should arrive, he would live in strict seclusion. He
did not think that he should be justified in quitting his post
without express orders; but his earnest hope was that he should
be directed to turn his back in contemptuous defiance on the
Court which had dared to treat England as a subject province.

As soon as the fault into which Lewis had been hurried by pity,
by the desire of applause, and by female influence was complete
and irreparable, he began to feel serious uneasiness. His
ministers were directed to declare everywhere that their master
had no intention of affronting the English government, that he
had not violated the Treaty of Ryswick, that he had no intention
of violating it, that he had merely meant to gratify an
unfortunate family nearly related to himself by using names and
observing forms which really meant nothing, and that he was
resolved not to countenance any attempt to subvert the throne of
William. Torcy, who had, a few days before, proved by
irrefragable arguments that his master could not, without a gross
breach of contract, recognise the Pretender, imagined that
sophisms which had not imposed on himself might possibly impose
on others. He visited the English embassy, obtained admittance,
and, as was his duty, did his best to excuse the fatal act which
he had done his best to prevent. Manchester's answer to this
attempt at explanation was as strong and plain as it could be in
the absence of precise instructions. The instructions speedily
arrived. The courier who carried the news of the recognition to
Loo arrived there when William was at table with some of his
nobles and some princes of the German Empire who had visited him
in his retreat. The King said not a word; but his pale cheek
flushed; and he pulled his hat over his eyes to conceal the
changes of his countenance. He hastened to send off several
messengers. One carried a letter commanding Manchester to quit
France without taking leave. Another started for London with a
despatch which directed the Lords Justices to send Poussin
instantly out of England.

England was already in a flame when it was first known there that
James was dying. Some of his eager partisans formed plans and
made preparations for a great public manifestation of feeling in
different parts of the island. But the insolence of Lewis
produced a burst of public indignation which scarcely any
malecontent had the courage to face.

In the city of London, indeed, some zealots, who had probably
swallowed too many bumpers to their new Sovereign, played one of
those senseless pranks which were characteristic of their party.
They dressed themselves in coats bearing some resemblance to the
tabards of heralds, rode through the streets, halted at some
places, and muttered something which nobody could understand. It
was at first supposed that they were merely a company of prize
fighters from Hockley in the Hole who had taken this way of
advertising their performances with back sword, sword and
buckler, and single falchion. But it was soon discovered that
these gaudily dressed horsemen were proclaiming James the Third.
In an instant the pageant was at an end. The mock kings at arms
and pursuivants threw away their finery and fled for their lives
in all directions, followed by yells and showers of stones.25
Already the Common Council of London had met, and had voted,
without one dissentient voice, an address expressing the highest
resentment at the insult which France had offered to the King and
the kingdom. A few hours after this address had been presented to
the Regents, the Livery assembled to choose a Lord Mayor.
Duncombe, the Tory candidate, lately the popular favourite, was
rejected, and a Whig alderman placed in the chair. All over the
kingdom, corporations, grand juries, meetings of magistrates,
meetings of freeholders, were passing resolutions breathing
affection to William, and defiance to Lewis. It was necessary to
enlarge the "London Gazette" from four columns to twelve; and
even twelve were too few to hold the multitude of loyal and
patriotic addresses. In some of those addresses severe
reflections were thrown on the House of Commons. Our deliverer
had been ungratefully requited, thwarted, mortified, denied the
means of making the country respected and feared by neighbouring
states. The factious wrangling, the penny wise economy, of three
disgraceful years had produced the effect which might have been
expected. His Majesty would never have been so grossly affronted
abroad, if he had not first been affronted at home. But the eyes
of his people were opened. He had only to appeal from the
representatives to the constituents; and he would find that the
nation was still sound at heart.

Poussin had been directed to offer to the Lords Justices
explanations similar to those with which Torcy had attempted to
appease Manchester. A memorial was accordingly drawn up and
presented to Vernon; but Vernon refused to look at it. Soon a
courier arrived from Loo with the letter in which William
directed his vicegerents to send the French agent out of the
kingdom. An officer of the royal household was charged with the
execution of the order. He repaired to Poussin's lodgings; but
Poussin was not at home; he was supping at the Blue Posts, a
tavern much frequented by Jacobites, the very tavern indeed at
which Charnock and his gang had breakfasted on the day fixed for
the murderous ambuscade of Turnham Green. To this house the
messenger went; and there he found Poussin at table with three of
the most virulent Tory members of the House of Commons,
Tredenham, who returned himself for Saint Mawes; Hammond, who had
been sent to Parliament by the high churchmen of the University
of Cambridge; and Davenant, who had recently, at Poussin's
suggestion, been rewarded by Lewis for some savage invectives
against the Whigs with a diamond ring worth three thousand
pistoles. This supper party was, during some weeks, the chief
topic of conversation. The exultation of the Whigs was boundless.
These then were the true English patriots, the men who could not
endure a foreigner, the men who would not suffer His Majesty to
bestow a moderate reward on the foreigners who had stormed
Athlone, and turned the flank of the Celtic army at Aghrim. It
now appeared they could be on excellent terms with a foreigner,
provided only that he was the emissary of a tyrant hostile to the
liberty, the independence, and the religion of their country. The
Tories, vexed and abashed, heartily wished that, on that unlucky
day, their friends had been supping somewhere else. Even the
bronze of Davenant's forehead was not proof to the general
reproach. He defended himself by pretending that Poussin, with
whom he had passed whole days, who had corrected his scurrilous
pamphlets, and who had paid him his shameful wages, was a
stranger to him, and that the meeting at the Blue Posts was
purely accidental. If his word was doubted, he was willing to
repeat his assertion on oath. The public, however, which had
formed a very correct notion of his character, thought that his
word was worth as much as his oath, and that his oath was worth

Meanwhile the arrival of William was impatiently expected. From
Loo he had gone to Breda, where he had passed some time in
reviewing his troops, and in conferring with Marlborough and
Heinsius. He had hoped to be in England early in October. But
adverse winds detained him three weeks at the Hague. At length,
in the afternoon of the fourth of November, it was known in
London that he had landed early that morning at Margate. Great
preparations were made for welcoming him to his capital on the
following day, the thirteenth anniversary of his landing in
Devonshire. But a journey across the bridge, and along Cornhill
and Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand, would have been too
great an effort for his enfeebled frame. He accordingly slept at
Greenwich, and thence proceeded to Hampton Court without entering
London. His return was, however, celebrated by the populace with
every sign of joy and attachment. The bonfires blazed, and the
gunpowder roared, all night. In every parish from Mile End to
Saint James's was to be seen enthroned on the shoulders of stout
Protestant porters a pope, gorgeous in robes of tinsel and triple
crown of pasteboard; and close to the ear of His Holiness stood a
devil with horns, cloven hoof, and a snaky tail.

Even in his country house the king could find no refuge from the
importunate loyalty of his people. Reputations from cities,
counties, universities, besieged him all day. He was, he wrote to
Heinsius, quite exhausted by the labour of hearing harangues and
returning answers. The whole kingdom meanwhile was looking
anxiously towards Hampton Court. Most of the ministers were
assembled there. The most eminent men of the party which was out
of power had repaired thither, to pay their duty to their
sovereign, and to congratulate him on his safe return. It was
remarked that Somers and Halifax, so malignantly persecuted a few
months ago by the House of Commons, were received with such marks
of esteem and kindness as William was little in the habit of
vouchsafing to his English courtiers. The lower ranks of both the
great factions were violently agitated. The Whigs, lately
vanquished and dispirited, were full of hope and ardour. The
Tories, lately triumphant and secure, were exasperated and
alarmed. Both Whigs and Tories waited with intense anxiety for
the decision of one momentous and pressing question. Would there
be a dissolution? On the seventh of November the King propounded
that question to his Privy Council. It was rumoured, and is
highly probable, that Jersey, Wright and Hedges advised him to
keep the existing Parliament. But they were not men whose opinion
was likely to have much weight with him; and Rochester, whose
opinion might have had some weight, had set out to take
possession of his Viceroyalty just before the death of James,
and was still at Dublin. William, however, had, as he owned to
Heinsius, some difficulty in making up his mind. He had no doubt
that a general election would give him a better House of Commons;
but a general election would cause delay; and delay might cause
much mischief. After balancing these considerations, during some
hours, he determined to dissolve.

The writs were sent out with all expedition; and in three days
the whole kingdom was up. Never--such was the intelligence sent
from the Dutch Embassy to the Hague--had there been more
intriguing, more canvassing, more virulence of party feeling. It
was in the capital that the first great contests took place. The
decisions of the Metropolitan constituent bodies were impatiently
expected as auguries of the general result. All the pens of Grub
Street, all the presses of Little Britain, were hard at work.
Handbills for and against every candidate were sent to every
voter. The popular slogans on both sides were indefatigably
repeated. Presbyterian, Papist, Tool of Holland, Pensioner of
France, were the appellations interchanged between the contending
factions. The Whig cry was that the Tory members of the last two
Parliaments had, from a malignant desire to mortify the King,
left the kingdom exposed to danger and insult, had
unconstitutionally encroached both on the legislature and on the
judicial functions of the House of Lords, had turned the House of
Commons into a new Star Chamber, had used as instruments of
capricious tyranny those privileges which ought never to be
employed but in defence of freedom, had persecuted, without
regard to law, to natural justice, or to decorum, the great
Commander who had saved the state at La Hogue, the great
Financier who had restored the currency and reestablished public
credit, the great judge whom all persons not blinded by prejudice
acknowledged to be, in virtue, in prudence, in learning and
eloquence, the first of living English jurists and statesmen. The
Tories answered that they had been only too moderate, only too
merciful; that they had used the Speaker's warrant and the power
of tacking only too sparingly; and that, if they ever again had a
majority, the three Whig leaders who now imagined themselves
secure should be impeached, not for high misdemeanours, but for
high treason. It soon appeared that these threats were not likely
to be very speedily executed. Four Whig and four Tory candidates
contested the City of London. The show of hands was for the
Whigs. A poll was demanded; and the Whigs polled nearly two votes
to one. Sir John Levison Gower, who was supposed to have
ingratiated himself with the whole body of shopkeepers by some
parts of his parliamentary conduct, was put up for Westminster on
the Tory interest; and the electors were reminded by puffs in the
newspapers of the services which he had rendered to trade. But
the dread of the French King, the Pope, and the Pretender,
prevailed; and Sir John was at the bottom of the poll. Southwark
not only returned Whigs, but gave them instructions of the most
Whiggish character.

In the country, parties were more nearly balanced than in the
capital. Yet the news from every quarter was that the Whigs had
recovered part at least of the ground which they had lost.
Wharton had regained his ascendency in Buckinghamshire. Musgrave
was rejected by Westmoreland. Nothing did more harm to the Tory
candidates than the story of Poussin's farewell supper. We learn
from their own acrimonious invectives that the unlucky discovery
of the three members of Parliament at the Blue Posts cost thirty
honest gentlemen their seats. One of the criminals, Tredenham,
escaped with impunity. For the dominion of his family over the
borough of St. Mawes was absolute even to a proverb. The other
two had the fate which they deserved. Davenant ceased to sit for
Bedwin. Hammond, who had lately stood high in the favour of the
University of Cambridge, was defeated by a great majority, and
was succeeded by the glory of the Whig party, Isaac Newton.

There was one district to which the eyes of hundreds of thousands
were turned with anxious interest, Gloucestershire. Would the
patriotic and high spirited gentry and yeomanry of that great
county again confide their dearest interests to the Impudent
Scandal of parliaments, the renegade, the slanderer, the
mountebank, who had been, during thirteen years, railing at his
betters of every party with a spite restrained by nothing but the
craven fear of corporal chastisement, and who had in the last
Parliament made himself conspicuous by the abject court which he
had paid to Lewis and by the impertinence with which he had
spoken of William.

The Gloucestershire election became a national affair.
Portmanteaus full of pamphlets and broadsides were sent down from
London. Every freeholder in the county had several tracts left at
his door. In every market place, on the market day, papers about
the brazen forehead, the viperous tongue, and the white liver of
Jack Howe, the French King's buffoon, flew about like flakes in a
snow storm. Clowns from the Cotswold Hills and the forest of
Dean, who had votes, but who did not know their letters, were
invited to hear these satires read, and were asked whether they
were prepared to endure the two great evils which were then
considered by the common people of England as the inseparable
concomitants of despotism, to wear wooden shoes, and to live on
frogs. The dissenting preachers and the clothiers were peculiarly
zealous. For Howe was considered as the enemy both of
conventicles and of factories. Outvoters were brought up to
Gloucester in extraordinary numbers. In the city of London the
traders who frequented Blackwell Hall, then the great emporium
for woollen goods, canvassed actively on the Whig side.

[Here the revised part ends.--EDITOR.]

Meanwhile reports about the state of the King's health were
constantly becoming more and more alarming. His medical
advisers, both English and Dutch, were at the end of their
resources. He had consulted by letter all the most eminent
physicians of Europe; and, as he was apprehensive that they might
return flattering answers if they knew who he was, he had written
under feigned names. To Fagon he had described himself as a
parish priest. Fagon replied, somewhat bluntly, that such
symptoms could have only one meaning, and that the only advice
which he had to give to the sick man was to prepare himself for
death. Having obtained this plain answer, William consulted Fagon
again without disguise, and obtained some prescriptions which
were thought to have a little retarded the approach of the
inevitable hour. But the great King's days were numbered.
Headaches and shivering fits returned on him almost daily. He
still rode and even hunted;26 but he had no longer that firm seat
or that perfect command of the bridle for which he had once been
renowned. Still all his care was for the future. The filial
respect and tenderness of Albemarle had been almost a necessary
of life to him. But it was of importance that Heinsius should be
fully informed both as to the whole plan of the next campaign and
as to the state of the preparations. Albemarle was in full
possession of the King's views on these subjects. He was
therefore sent to the Hague. Heinsius was at that time suffering
from indisposition, which was indeed a trifle when compared with
the maladies under which William was sinking. But in the nature
of William there was none of that selfishness which is the too
common vice of invalids. On the twentieth of February he sent to
Heinsius a letter in which he did not even allude to his own
sufferings and infirmities. "I am," he said, "infinitely
concerned to learn that your health is not yet quite
reestablished. May God be pleased to grant you a speedy recovery.
I am unalterably your good friend, William." Those were the last
lines of that long correspondence.

On the twentieth of February William was ambling on a favourite
horse, named Sorrel, through the park of Hampton Court. He urged
his horse to strike into a gallop just at the spot where a mole
had been at work. Sorrel stumbled on the mole-hill, and went down
on his knees. The King fell off, and broke his collar bone. The
bone was set; and he returned to Kensington in his coach. The
jolting of the rough roads of that time made it necessary to
reduce the fracture again. To a young and vigorous man such an
accident would have been a trifle. But the frame of William was
not in a condition to bear even the slightest shock. He felt that
his time was short, and grieved, with a grief such as only noble
spirits feel, to think that he must leave his work but half
finished. It was possible that he might still live until one of
his plans should be carried into execution. He had long known
that the relation in which England and Scotland stood to each
other was at best precarious, and often unfriendly, and that it
might be doubted whether, in an estimate of the British power,
the resources of the smaller country ought not to be deducted
from those of the larger. Recent events had proved that, without
doubt, the two kingdoms could not possibly continue for another
year to be on the terms on which they had been during the
preceding century, and that there must be between them either
absolute union or deadly enmity. Their enmity would bring
frightful calamities, not on themselves alone, but on all the
civilised world. Their union would be the best security for the
prosperity of both, for the internal tranquillity of the island,
for the just balance of power among European states, and for the
immunities of all Protestant countries. On the twenty-eighth of
February the Commons listened with uncovered heads to the last
message that bore William's sign manual. An unhappy accident, he
told them, had forced him to make to them in writing a
communication which he would gladly have made from the throne. He
had, in the first year of his reign, expressed his desire to see
an union accomplished between England and Scotland. He was
convinced that nothing could more conduce to the safety and
happiness of both. He should think it his peculiar felicity if,
before the close of his reign, some happy expedient could be
devised for making the two kingdoms one; and he, in the most
earnest manner, recommended the question to the consideration of
the Houses. It was resolved that the message should betaken into
consideration on Saturday, the seventh of March.

But on the first of March humours of menacing appearance showed
themselves in the King's knee. On the fourth of March he was
attacked by fever; on the fifth his strength failed greatly; and
on the sixth he was scarcely kept alive by cordials. The
Abjuration Bill and a money bill were awaiting his assent. That
assent he felt that he should not be able to give in person. He
therefore ordered a commission to be prepared for his signature.
His hand was now too weak to form the letters of his name, and it
was suggested that a stamp should be prepared. On the seventh of
March the stamp was ready. The Lord Keeper and the clerks of the
parliament came, according to usage, to witness the signing of
the commission. But they were detained some hours in the
antechamber while he was in one of the paroxysms of his malady.
Meanwhile the Houses were sitting. It was Saturday, the seventh,
the day on which the Commons had resolved to take into
consideration the question of the union with Scotland. But that
subject was not mentioned. It was known that the King had but a
few hours to live; and the members asked each other anxiously
whether it was likely that the Abjuration and money bills would
be passed before he died. After sitting long in the expectation
of a message, the Commons adjourned till six in the afternoon. By
that time William had recovered himself sufficiently to put the
stamp on the parchment which authorised his commissioners to act
for him. In the evening, when the Houses had assembled, Black Rod
knocked. The Commons were summoned to the bar of the Lords; the
commission was read, the Abjuration Bill and the Malt Bill became
laws, and both Houses adjourned till nine o'clock in the morning
of the following day. The following day was Sunday. But there was
little chance that William would live through the night. It was
of the highest importance that, within the shortest possible time
after his decease, the successor designated by the Bill of Rights
and the Act of Succession should receive the homage of the
Estates of the Realm, and be publicly proclaimed in the Council:
and the most rigid Pharisee in the Society for the Reformation of
Manners could hardly deny that it was lawful to save the state,
even on the Sabbath.

The King meanwhile was sinking fast. Albemarle had arrived at
Kensington from the Hague, exhausted by rapid travelling. His
master kindly bade him go to rest for some hours, and then
summoned him to make his report. That report was in all respects
satisfactory. The States General were in the best temper; the
troops, the provisions and the magazines were in the best order.
Every thing was in readiness for an early campaign. William
received the intelligence with the calmness of a man whose work
was done. He was under no illusion as to his danger. "I am fast
drawing," he said, "to my end." His end was worthy of his life.
His intellect was not for a moment clouded. His fortitude was the
more admirable because he was not willing to die. He had very
lately said to one of those whom he most loved: "You know that I
never feared death; there have been times when I should have
wished it; but, now that this great new prospect is opening
before me, I do wish to stay here a little longer." Yet no
weakness, no querulousness, disgraced the noble close of that
noble career. To the physicians the King returned his thanks
graciously and gently. "I know that you have done all that skill
and learning could do for me; but the case is beyond your art;
and I submit." From the words which escaped him he seemed to be
frequently engaged in mental prayer. Burnet and Tenison remained
many hours in the sick room. He professed to them his firm belief
in the truth of the Christian religion, and received the
sacrament from their hands with great seriousness. The
antechambers were crowded all night with lords and privy
councillors. He ordered several of them to be called in, and
exerted himself to take leave of them with a few kind and
cheerful words. Among the English who were admitted to his
bedside were Devonshire and Ormond. But there were in the crowd
those who felt as no Englishman could feel, friends of his youth
who had been true to him, and to whom he had been true, through
all vicissitudes of fortune; who had served him with unalterable
fidelity when his Secretaries of State, his Treasury and his
Admiralty had betrayed him; who had never on any field of battle,
or in an atmosphere tainted with loathsome and deadly disease,
shrunk from placing their own lives in jeopardy to save his, and
whose truth he had at the cost of his own popularity rewarded
with bounteous munificence. He strained his feeble voice to thank
Auverquerque for the affectionate and loyal services of thirty
years. To Albemarle he gave the keys of his closet, and of his
private drawers. "You know," he said, "what to do with them." By
this tune he could scarcely respire. "Can this," he said to the
physicians, "last long?" He was told that the end was
approaching. He swallowed a cordial, and asked for Bentinck.
Those were his last articulate words. Bentinck instantly came to
the bedside, bent down, and placed his ear close to the King's
mouth. The lips of the dying man moved; but nothing could be
heard. The King took the hand of his earliest friend, and pressed
it tenderly to his heart. In that moment, no doubt, all that had
cast a slight passing cloud over their long and pure friendship
was forgotten. It was now between seven and eight in the morning.
He closed his eyes, and gasped for breath. The bishops knelt down
and read the commendatory prayer. When it ended William was no

When his remains were laid out, it was found that he wore next to
his skin a small piece of black silk riband. The lords in waiting
ordered it to be taken off. It contained a gold ring and a lock
of the hair of Mary.

FN 1 Evelyn saw the Mentz edition of the Offices among Lord
Spencer's books in April 1699. Markland in his preface to the
Sylvae of Statius acknowledges his obligations to the very rare
Parmesan edition in Lord Spencer's collection. As to the Virgil
of Zarottus, which his Lordship bought for 46L, see the extracts
from Warley's Diary, in Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, i. 90.

FN 2 The more minutely we examine the history of the decline and
fall of Lacedaemon, the more reason we shall find to admire the
sagacity of Somers. The first great humiliation which befel the
Lacedaemonians was the affair of Sphacteria. It is remarkable
that on this occasion they were vanquished by men who made a
trade of war. The force which Cleon carried out with him from
Athens to the Bay of Pyles, and to which the event of the
conflict is to be chiefly ascribed, consisted entirely of
mercenaries, archers from Scythia and light infantry from Thrace.
The victory gained by the Lacedaemonians over a great confederate
army at Tegea retrieved that military reputation which the
disaster of Sphacteria had impaired. Yet even at Tegea it was
signally proved that the Lacedaemonians, though far superior to
occasional soldiers, were not equal to professional soldiers. On
every point but one the allies were put to rout; but on one point
the Lacedaemonians gave way; and that was the point where they
were opposed to a brigade of a thousand Argives, picked men, whom
the state to which they belonged had during many years trained to
war at the public charge, and who were, in fact a standing army.
After the battle of Tegea, many years elapsed before the
Lacedaemonians sustained a defeat. At length a calamity befel
them which astonished all their neighbours. A division of the
army of Agesilaus was cut off and destroyed almost to a man; and
this exploit, which seemed almost portentous to the Greeks of
that age, was achieved by Iphicrates, at the head of a body of
mercenary light infantry. But it was from the day of Leuctya that
the fall of Spate became rapid and violent. Some time before that
day the Thebans had resolved to follow the example set many years
before by the Argives. Some hundreds of athletic youths,
carefully selected, were set apart, under the names of the City
Band and the Sacred Band, to form a standing army. Their business
was war. They encamped in the citadel; they were supported at the
expense of the community; and they became, under assiduous
training, the first soldiers in Greece. They were constantly
victorious till they were opposed to Philip's admirably
disciplined phalanx at Charonea; and even at Chaeronea they were
not defeated but slain in their ranks, fighting to the last. It
was this band, directed by the skill of great captains, which
gave the decisive blow to the Lacedaemonian power. It is to be
observed that there was no degeneracy among the Lacedaemonians.
Even down to the time of Pyrrhus they seem to have been in all
military qualities equal to their ancestors who conquered at
Plataea. But their ancestors at Plataea had not such enemies to

FN 3 L'Hermitage, Dec. 3/13 7/17, 1697.

FN 4 Commons' Journals, Dec. 3. 1697. L'Hermitage, Dec 7/17.

FN 5 L'Hermitage, Dec. 15/24., Dec. 14/24., Journals.

FN 6 The first act of Farquhar's Trip to the Jubilee, the
passions which about his time agitated society are exhibited with
much spirit. Alderman Smuggler sees Colonel Standard and
exclaims, "There's another plague of the nation a red coat and
feather." "I'm disbanded," says the Colonel. "This very morning,
in Hyde Park, my brave regiment, a thousand men that looked like
lions yesterday, were scattered and looked as poor and simple as
the herd of deer that grazed beside them." "Fal al deral!" cries
the Alderman: "I'll have a bonfire this night, as high as the
monument." "A bonfire!" answered the soldier; "then dry,
withered, ill nature! had not those brave fellows' swords'
defended you, your house had been a bonfire ere this about your

FN 7 L'Hermitage, January 11/21

FN 8 That a portion at least of the native population of Ireland
looked to the Parliament at Westminster for protection against
the tyranny of the Parliament at Dublin appears from a paper
entitled The Case of the Roman Catholic Nation of Ireland. This
paper, written in 1711 by one of the oppressed race and religion,
is in a MS. belonging to Lord Fingall. The Parliament of Ireland
is accused of treating the Irish worse than the Turks treat the
Christians, worse than the Egyptians treated the Israelites.
"Therefore," says the writer, "they (the Irish) apply themselves
to the present Parliament of Great Britain as a Parliament of
nice honour and stanch justice. . . Their request then is that
this great Parliament may make good the Treaty of Limerick in all
the Civil Articles." In order to propitiate those to whom he
makes this appeal, he accuses the Irish Parliament of encroaching
on the supreme authority of the English Parliament, and charges
the colonists generally with ingratitude to the mother country to
which they owe so much.

FN 9 London Gazette, Jan 6. 1697/8; Postman of the same date; Van
Cleverskirke, Jan. 7/17; L'Hermitage, Jan. 4/14/, 7/17; Evelyn's
Diary; Ward's London Spy; William to Heinsius, Jan. 7/17. "The
loss," the King writes, "is less to me than it would be to
another person, for I cannot live there. Yet it is serious." So
late as 1758 Johnson described a furious Jacobite as firmly
convinced that William burned down Whitehall in order to steal
the furniture. Idler, No. 10. Pope, in Windsor Forest, a poem
which has a stronger tinge of Toryism than anything else that he
ever wrote, predicts the speedy restoration of the fallen palace.

"I see, I see, where two fair cities bend
their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend."

See Ralph's bitter remarks on the fate of Whitehall.

FN 10 As to the Czar: London Gazette; Van Citters, 1698; Jan.
11/21. 14/24 Mar 11/21, Mar 29/April 8; L'Hermitage 11/21, 18/28,
Jan 25/Feb 4, Feb 1/11 8/18, 11/21 Feb 22/Mar 4; Feb 25/Mar 7,
Mar 1/4, Mar 29/April 8/ April 22/ May 2 See also Evelyn's Diary;
Burnet Postman, Jan. 13. 15., Feb. 10 12, 24.; Mar. 24. 26. 31.
As to Russia, see Hakluyt, Purchas, Voltaire, St. Simon. Estat de
Russie par Margeret, Paris, 1607. State of Russia, London, 1671.
La Relation des Trois Ambassades de M. Le Comte de Carlisle,
Amsterdam, 1672. (There is an English translation from this
French original.) North's Life of Dudley North. Seymour's History
of London, ii. 426. Pepys and Evelyn on the Russian Embassies;
Milton's account of Muscovy. On the personal habits of the Czar
see the Memoirs of the Margravine of Bayreuth.

FN 11 It is worth while to transcribe the words of the engagement
which Lewis, a chivalrous and a devout prince, violated without
the smallest scruple. "Nous, Louis, par la grace de Dieu, Roi
tres Chretien de France et de Navarre, promettons pour notre
honneur, en foi et parole de Roi, jurons sue la croix, les saints
Evangiles, et les canons de la Messe, que nous avons touches, que
nous observerons et accomplirons entierement de bonne foi tous et
chacun des points et articles contenus au traite de paix,
renonciation, et amitie."

FN 12 George Psalmanazar's account of the state of the south of
France at this tune is curious. On the high road near Lyons he
frequently passed corpses fastened to posts. "These," he says,
"were the bodies of highwaymen, or rather of soldiers, sailors,
mariners and even galley slaves, disbanded after the peace of
Reswick, who, having neither home nor occupation, used to infest
the roads in troops, plunder towns and villages, and, when taken,
were hanged at the county town by dozens, or even scores
sometimes, after which their bodies were thus exposed along the
highway in terrorem."

FN 13 "Il est de bonne foi dans tout ce qu'il fait. Son procede
est droit et sincere." Tallard to Lewis, July 3. 1698.

FN 14 "Le Roi d'Angleterre, Sire, va tres sincerement jusqu'a
present; et j'ose dire que s'il entre une fois en traite avec
Votre Majeste, il le tiendra de bonne foi."--"Si je l'ose dire a
V. M., il est tres penetrant, et a l'esprit juste. Il s'apercevra
bientôt qu'on barguigne si les choses trainent trop de long."
July 8.

FN 15 I will quote from the despatches of Lewis to Tallard three
or four passages which show that the value of the kingdom of the
Two Sicilies was quite justly appreciated at Versailles. "A
l'egard du royaume de Naples et de Sicile le roi d'Angleterre
objectera que les places de ces etats entre mes mains me rendront
maitre du commerce de la Mediteranee. Vous pourrez en ce cas
laissez entendre, comme de vous meme, qu'il serait si difficile
de conserver ces royaumes unis a ma couronne, que les depenses
necessaires pour y envoyer des secours seraient si grands, et
qu'autrefois il a tant coute a la France pour les maintenir dans
son obeissance, que vraisemblablement j'etablirois un roi pour
les gouverner, et que peut-etre ce serait le partage d'un de mes
petits-fils qui voudroit regner independamment." April 7/17 1698.
"Les royaumes de Naples et de Sicile ne peuvent se regarder comme
un partage dont mon fils puisse se contenter pour lui tenir lieu
de tous ses droits. Les exemples du passe n'ont que trop appris
combien ces etats content a la France le peu d'utilite dont ils
sont pour elle, et la difficulte de les conserver." May 16. 1698.
"Je considere la cession de ces royaumes comme une source
continuelle de depenses et d'embarras. Il n'en a que trop coute a
la France pour les conserver; et l'experience a fait voir la
necessite indispensable d'y entretenir toujours des troupes, et
d'y envoyer incessamment des vaisseaux, et combien toutes ces
peines ont ete inutiles." May 29. 1698. It would be easy to cite
other passages of the same kind. But these are sufficient to
vindicate what I have said in the text.

FN 16 Dec. 20/30 1698.

FN 17 Commons' Journals, February 24. 27.; March 9. 1698/9 In the
Vernon Correspondence a letter about the East India question
which belongs to the year 1699/1700 is put under the date of Feb.
10 1698. The truth is that this most valuable correspondence
cannot be used to good purpose by any writer who does not do for
himself all that the editor ought to have done.

FN 18 I doubt whether there be extant a sentence of worse English
than that on which the House divided. It is not merely inelegant
and ungrammatical but is evidently the work of a man of puzzled
understanding, probably of Harley. "It is Sir, to your loyal
Commons an unspeakable grief, that any thing should be asked by
Your Majesty's message to which they cannot consent, without
doing violence to that constitution Your Majesty came over to
restore and preserve; and did, at that time, in your gracious
declaration promise, that all those foreign forces which came
over with you should be sent back."

FN 19 It is curious that all Cowper's biographers with whom I am
acquainted, Hayley, Southey, Grimshawe Chalmers, mention the
judge, the common ancestor of the poet, of his first love
Theodora Cowper, and of Lady Hesketh; but that none of those
biographers makes the faintest allusion to the Hertford trial,
the most remarkable event in the history of the family; nor do I
believe that any allusion to that trial can be found in any of
the poet's numerous letters.

FN 20 I give an example of Trenchard's mode of showing his
profound respect for an excellent Sovereign. He speaks thus of
the commencement of the reign of Henry the Third. "The kingdom
was recently delivered from a bitter tyrant, King John, and had
likewise got rid of their perfidious deliverer, the Dauphin of
France, who after the English had accepted him for their King,
had secretly vowed their extirpation."

FN 21 Life of James; St. Simon; Dangeau.

FN 22 Poussin to Torcy April 28/May 8 1701 "Le roi d'Angleterre
tousse plus qu'il n'a jamais fait, et ses jambes sont fort
enfles. Je le vis hier sortir du preche de Saint James. Je le
trouve fort casse, les yeux eteints, et il eut beaucoup de peine
a monter en carrosse."

FN 23 Memoire sur la proposition de reconnoitre au prince des
Galles le titre du Roi de la Grande Bretagne, Sept. 9/19, 1701.

FN 24 By the most trustworthy accounts I mean those of St. Simon
and Dangeau. The reader may compare their narratives with the
Life of James.

FN 25 Lettres Historiques Mois de Novembre 1701.

FN 26 Last letter to Heinsius.

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