 CHAPTER XV. While the convocation was wrangling on the one side of old palace-yard, the Parliament was wrangling even more fiercely on the other. The houses, which had separated on the 20th of August, had met again on the 19th of October. On the day of meeting an important change struck every eye. Halifax was no longer on the woolsack. He had reason to expect that the persecution from which the preceding session he had narrowly escaped would be renewed. The events which had taken place during the recess, and especially the disasters of the campaign in Ireland, had furnished his persecutors with fresh means of annoyance. His administration had not been successful, and though his failure was partly to be ascribed to causes against which no human wisdom could have contended, it was also partly to be ascribed to the peculiarities of his temper and of his intellect. It was certain that a large party in the Commons would attempt to remove him, and he could no longer depend on the protection of his master. It was natural that a prince who was emphatically a man of action should become weary of a minister who was a man of speculation. Charles, who went to council as he went to the play, solely to be amused, was delighted with an adviser who had a hundred pleasant and ingenious things to say on both sides of every question. But William had no taste for disquisitions and disputations, however lively and subtle, which occupied much time and led to no conclusion. It was reported, and is not improbable, that on one occasion he could not refrain from expressing in sharp terms at the council board his impatience at what seemed to him a morbid habit of indecision. Halifax, mortified by his mischances in public life, dejected by domestic calamities, disturbed by apprehensions of an impeachment, and no longer supported by royal favour, became sick of public life, and began to pine for the silence and solitude of his seat in Nottinghamshire, an old Cistercian abbey buried deep among woods. Early in October it was known that he would no longer preside in the upper house. It was at the same time whispered, as a great secret, that he meant to retire altogether from business, and that he retained the privy seal only till a successor should be named. Chief Baron Atkins was appointed speaker of the lords. On some important points there appeared to be no difference of opinion in the legislature. The commons unanimously resolved that they would stand by the king in the work of reconquering Ireland, and that they would enable him to prosecute with vigor the war against France. With equal unanimity they voted an extraordinary supply of two millions. It was determined that the greater part of this sum should be levied by an assessment on real property. The rest was to be raised partly by a poll tax, and partly by new duties on tea, coffee, and chocolate. It was proposed that a hundred thousand pounds should be exacted from the Jews, and this proposition was at first favourably received by the house, but difficulties arose. The Jews presented a petition in which they declared that they could not afford to pay such a sum, and that they would rather leave the kingdom than stay there to be ruined. Enlightened politicians could not but perceive that special taxation laid on a small class which happens to be rich, unpopular and defenseless, is really a confiscation, and must ultimately impoverish rather than enrich the state. After some discussion the Jew tax was abandoned. The Bill of Rights, which in the last session had, after causing much altercation between the houses, been suffered to drop, was again introduced and was speedily passed. The peers no longer insisted that any person should be designated by name as a successor to the Crown if Mary, Anne, and William should all die without posterity. During eleven years nothing more was heard of the claims of the House of Brunswick. The Bill of Rights contained some provisions which deserved special mention. The convention had resolved that it was contrary to the interests of the kingdom to be governed by a Papist, but had prescribed no test which could ascertain whether a Prince was or was not a Papist. The defect was now supplied. It was enacted that every English sovereign should, in full Parliament and at the coronation, repeat and subscribe the Declaration against Transubstantiation. It was also enacted that no person who should marry a Papist should be capable of reigning in England, and that if the sovereign should marry a Papist the subject should be absolved from allegiance. Burnett boasts that this part of the Bill of Rights was his work. He had little reason to boast, for a more wretched specimen of legislative workmanship will not easily be found. In the first place no test is prescribed. Whether the consort of a sovereign has taken the oath of supremacy, has signed the Declaration against Transubstantiation, has communicated according to the ritual of the Church of England, are very simple issues of fact. But whether the consort of a sovereign is or is not a Papist is a question about which people may argue forever. What is a Papist? The word is not a word of definite signification, either in law or in theology. It is merely a popular nickname, and means very different things in different mouths. Is every person a Papist who is willing to concede to the Bishop of Rome a primacy among Christian prelates? If so, James I, Charles I, Lod, Hewlin, or Papist? Or is the Appalachian to be confined to persons who hold the ultra-montane doctrines touching the authority of the Holy See? If so, neither Bousset nor Pascal was a Papist. What again is the legal effect of the words which absolved the subject from his allegiance? Is it meant that a person arraigned for high treason may tender evidence to prove that the sovereign has married a Papist? Would Whistlewood, for example, have been entitled to an acquittal if he could have proved that King George I had married Mrs. Fitzherbert, and that Mrs. Fitzherbert was a Papist? It is not easy to believe that any tribunal would have gone into such a question. Yet to what purpose is it to enact that, in a certain case, the subject shall be absolved from his allegiance, if the tribunal before which he is tried for violation of his allegiance is not to go into the question whether that case has arisen? The question of the dispensing power was treated in a very different manner, was fully considered, and was finally settled in the only way in which it could be settled. The Declaration of Right had gone no further than to pronounce that the dispensing power, as of late exercised, was illegal. That a certain dispensing power belonged to the Crown was a proposition sanctioned by authorities and precedents, of which even Whig lawyers could not speak without respect. But as to the precise extent of this power hardly any two jurists were agreed, and every attempt to frame a definition had failed. At length, by the Bill of Rights, the anomalous prerogative which had caused so many fierce disputes was absolutely and forever taken away. In the House of Commons there was, as might have been expected, a series of sharp debates on the misfortunes of the autumn. The negligence or corruption of the Navy Board, the frauds of the contractors, the rapacity of the captains of the King's ships, the losses of the London merchants were themes for many keen speeches. There was indeed reason for anger. A severe inquiry, conducted by William in person at the Treasury, had elicited the fact that much of the salt with which the meat furnished to the fleet had been cured had been by accident mixed with gulls such as are used for the purpose of making ink. The victuallers threw the blame on the rats and maintained that the provisions thus seasoned, though certainly disagreeable to the pallet, were not injurious to health. The Commons were in no temper to listen to such excuses. Several persons who had been concerned in cheating the government and poisoning the sailors were taken into custody by the sergeant, but no censure was passed on the Chief Offender, Torrington, nor does it appear that a single voice was raised against him. He had personal friends in both parties. He had many popular qualities. Even his vices were not those which excite public hatred. The people readily forgave a courageous open-hand sailor for being too fond of his bottle, his boon companions and his mistresses, and did not sufficiently consider how great must be the perils of a country of which the safety depends on a man sunk in indolence, stupefied by wine, innervated by lesentiousness, ruined by prodigality, and enslaved by sycophants and harlots. The sufferings of the army in Ireland called forth strong expressions of sympathy and indignation. The Commons did justice to the firmness and wisdom with which Schomburg had conducted the most arduous of all campaigns. That he had not achieved more was attributed chiefly to the villainy of the commissariat. The pestilence itself was said would have been no serious calamity if it had not been aggravated by the wickedness of man. The disease had generally spared those who had warm garments and bedding, and had swept away by the thousands those who were thinly clad and who slept on the wet ground. Immense sums had been drawn out of the treasury, yet the pay of the troops was in arrear. Hundreds of horses, tens of thousands of shoes, had been paid for by the public, yet the baggage was left behind for want of beast to dry it, and the soldiers were marching barefoot through the mire. Seventeen hundred pounds had been charged to the government for medicines, yet the common drugs with which every apothecary in the smallest market town was provided were not to be found in the plague-stricken camp. The cry against shales was loud. An address was carried to the throne, requesting that he might be sent for to England, and that his accounts and papers might be secured. With this request the king readily complied, but the quig majority was not satisfied. By whom had shales been recommended for so important a place as that of commissary general? He had been a favourite at Whitehall in the worst times. He had been zealous for the declaration of indulgence. Why had this creature of James been entrusted with the business of catering for the army of William? It was proposed by some of those who were bent on driving all Tories and Trimmers from office to ask his majesty by whose advice a man so undeserving of their royal confidence had been employed. The most moderate and judicious wigs pointed out the indecency and impolicy of interrogating the king, and of forcing him either to accuse his ministers or quarrel with the representatives of his people. Advise his majesty, if you will, said Summers, to withdraw his confidence from the councillors who recommended this unfortunate appointment. Such advice, given as we should probably give it, unanimously, must have great weight with him. But do not put to him a question such as no private gentleman would willingly answer. Do not force him, in defence of his own personal dignity, to protect the very men whom you wish him to discard. After a hard fight of two days and several divisions, the address was carried by a hundred and ninety-five votes to a hundred and forty-six. The king, as might have been foreseen, coldly refused to turn in former, and the house did not press him further. To another address, which requested that a commission might be sent to examine into the state of things in Ireland, William returned a very gracious answer, and desired the commons to name the commissioners. The commons, not to be outdone in courtesy, excused themselves, and left it to his majesty's wisdom to select the fittest persons. In the midst of the angry debates on the Irish war a pleasing incident produced for a moment good humour and unanimity. Walker had arrived in London, and had been received there with boundless enthusiasm. His face was in every print shop. Newsletters describing his person and his demeanour were sent to every corner of the kingdom. Broad sides of prose and verse, written in his praise, were carried in every street. The companies of London feasted him splendidly in their halls. The common people crowded to gaze on him wherever he moved, and almost stifled him with rough caresses. Both the universities offered him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. Some of his admirers advised him to present himself at the palace in that military garb in which he had repeatedly headed the sallies of his fellow townsmen. But with a better judgment than he sometimes showed, he made his appearance at Hampton Court in the peaceful robe of his profession, was most graciously received, and was presented with an order for five thousand pounds. And do not think, Doctor, Williams said with great benignity, that I offer you this sum as payment for your services. I assure you that I consider your claims on me as not at all diminished. It is true that amidst the general applause the voice of detraction made itself heard. The defenders of London Dairy were men of two nations and of two religions. During the siege, hatred of the Irishry had held together all Saxons, and hatred of Popory had held together all Protestants. But when the danger was over, the Englishman and the Scotchman, the Episcopalian and the Presbyterian, began to wrangle about the distribution of praises and rewards. The dissenting preachers, who had zealously assisted Walker in the hour of peril, complained that, in the account which he published of the siege, he had, though acknowledging that they had done good service, omitted to mention their names. The complaint was just, and had it been made in language becoming Christians and gentlemen, would probably have produced a considerable effect on the public mind. But Walker's accusers, in their resentment, disregarded truth and decency, used scurrilous language, brought columnius accusations which were triumphantly refuted, and thus threw away the advantage which they had possessed. Walker defended himself with moderation and candor. His friends fought his battle with vigor, and retaliated keenly on his assailants. At Edinburgh perhaps the public opinion might have been against him, but in London the controversy seems only to have raised his character. He was regarded as an Anglican divine of eminent merit, who after having heroically defended his religion against an army of popish referees, was rabbled by a mob of scotch covenanters. He presented to the commons a petition setting forth the destitute condition to which the widows and orphans of some brave men who had fallen during the siege were now reduced. The commons instantly passed a vote of thanks to him, and resolved to present the king in a dress requesting that ten thousand pounds might be distributed among the families whose sufferings had been so touchingly described. The next day it was rumored about the benches that Walker was in the lobby. He was called in. The speaker, with great grace and dignity, informed him that the house had made haste to comply with his request, commended him in high terms for having taken on himself to govern and defend a city, betrayed by its proper governors and defenders, and charged him to tell those who had fought under him that their fidelity and valor would always be held in grateful remembrance by the commons of England. About the same time the course of parliamentary business was diversified by another curious and interesting episode, which, like the former, sprang out of the events of the Irish War. In the preceding spring, when every messenger from Ireland brought evil tidings, and when the authority of James was acknowledged in every part of that kingdom, except behind the ramparts of London Dairy and on the banks of Locke Urne, it was natural that Englishmen should remember with how terrible an energy the great Puritan warriors of the preceding generation had crushed the insurrection of the Celtic race. The names of Cromwell, of Ayrton, and of the other chiefs of the conquering army were in many mouths. One of those chiefs, Edmund Ludlow, was still living. At twenty-two he had served as a volunteer in the parliamentary army. At thirty he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant General. He was now old, but the vigor of his mind was unimpaired. His courage was of the truest temper, his understanding strong, but narrow. What he saw he saw clearly, but he saw not much at a glance. In an age of profidity and levity he had, amidst manifold temptations and dangers, adhered firmly to the principles of his youth. His enemies could not deny that his life had been consistent, and that with the same spirit with which he had stood up against the stewards he had stood up against the Cromwells. There was but a single blemish on his fame, but that blemish, in the opinion of a great majority of his countrymen, was one for which no merit could compensate and which no time could efface. His name and seal were on the death warrant of Charles I. After the restoration Ludlow found a refuge on the shores of the lake of Geneva. He was accompanied thither by another member of the High Court of Justice, John Liesel, the husband of that Alice Liesel whose death has left a lasting stain on the memory of James II. But even in Switzerland the regicides were not safe. A large price was set on their heads, and a succession of Irish adventurers, inflamed by national and religious animosity, attempted to earn the bride. Liesel fell by one of the hands of these assassins, but Ludlow escaped unhurt from all the machinations of his enemies. A small knot of vehement and determined wigs regarded him with eveneration, which increased as years rolled away, and left him almost the only survivor, only the most illustrious survivor, of a mighty race of men, the conquerors in a terrible civil war, the judges of a king, the founders of a republic. More than once he had been invited by the enemies of the House of Stuart to leave his asylum, to become their captain, and to give the signal for a rebellion. But he had wisely refused to take any part in the desperate enterprises with which the wild man's and Ferguson's were never weary of planning. The revolution opened a new prospect to him. The right of the people to resist oppression, a right which, during many years, no man could assert without exposing himself to ecclesiastical anathemas and to civil penalties, had been solemnly recognized by the estates of the realm, and had been proclaimed by the Garter King-at-Arms on the very spot where the memorable scaffold had been set up forty years before. James had not, indeed, like Charles, died the death of a traitor. Yet the punishment of the sun might seem to differ from the punishment of the father, rather in degree than in principle. Those who had recently waged war on a tyrant, who had turned him out of his palace, who had frightened him out of his country, who had deprived him of his crown, might perhaps think that the crime of going one step further had been sufficiently expiated by thirty years of banishment. Ludlow's admirers, some of whom appear to have been in high public stations, assured him that he might safely venture over, nay, that he might expect to be sent on high command to Ireland, where his name was still cherished by his old soldiers and by their children. He came, and early in September it was known that he was in London, but it soon appeared that he and his friends had misunderstood the temper of the English people. By all, except a small extreme section of the Whig Party, the act in which he had borne apart, never to be forgotten, was regarded not merely with the disapprobation due to a great violation of law and justice, but with horror such as even the gunpowder plot had not excited. The absurd and almost impious service which is still read in our churches on the thirtieth of January had produced in the minds of the vulgar a strange association of ideas. The sufferings of Charles were confounded with the sufferings of the Redeemer of mankind, and every regicide was a Judas, a Caiaphas, or a Herod. It was true that, when Ludlow sat on the tribunal in Westminster Hall, he was an ardent enthusiast of twenty-eight, and that now he had returned from exile a grey-headed and wrinkled man in his seventeenth year. Perhaps, therefore, if he had been content to live in close retirement and to shun places of public resort, even zealous royalists might not have grudged the old Republican aggrave in his native soil. But he had no thought of hiding himself. It was soon rumored that one of those murderers, who had brought on England's guild, for which she annually, in sackcloth and ashes, implored God not to enter into judgment with her, was strutting about the streets of her capital, and boasting that he should ere long command her armies. His lodgings, it was said, were the headquarters of the most noted enemies of monarchy and episcopacy. The subject was brought before the House of Commons. The Tory members loudly called for justice on the traitor. None of the wigs ventured to say a word in his defence. One or two faintly expressed a doubt whether the fact of his return had been proved by evidence, such as would warrant a parliamentary proceeding. The objection was disregarded. It was resolved, without a division, that the King should be requested to issue a proclamation for the apprehending of Ludlow. Seymour presented the address, and the King promised to do what was asked. Some days, however, elapsed before the proclamation appeared. Ludlow had time to make his escape, and again hid himself in his alpine retreat, never again to emerge. English travellers are still taken to see his house close to the lake, and his tomb in a church among the vineyards which overlooked the little town of Vivée. On the house was formally legible and inscription purporting that, to him to whom God is a father every land is a fatherland, and the epitaph on the tomb still attests to the feelings with which the stern old Puritan, to the last, guarded the people of Ireland and the house of Stuart. Tories and wigs had concurred, or had affected to concur, in paying honour to Walker and in putting a brand on Ludlow. But the feud between the two parties was more bitter than ever. The King had entertained a hope that, during the recess, the animosities which had, in the preceding session, prevented an act of indemnity from passing, would have been mitigated. On the day on which the house is reassembled, he had pressed them earnestly to put an end to the fear and discord which could never cease to exist, while great numbers held their property and their liberty, and not a few even their lives, by an uncertain tenure. His exhortation proved of no effect. October, November, December passed away, and nothing was done. An indemnity bill, indeed, had been brought in and read once, but it had ever since lain neglected on the table of the house. Vindictive as had been the mood in which the wigs had left Westminster, the mood in which they returned was more vindictive still. Smarting from old sufferings, drunk with recent prosperity, burning with implacable resentment, confident of irresistible strength, they were not less rash and headstrong than in the days of the exclusion bill. 1680 was come again. Again all compromise was rejected. Again the voices of the wisest and most upright friends of liberty were drowned by the clamour of hothead and designing agitators. Even moderation was despised as cowardice or executed as treachery. All the lessons taught by the cruel experience were forgotten. The very same men who had expiated by years of humiliation, of imprisonment, of penury, of exile, the folly with which they had misused the advantage given them by the Popish plot, now misused with equal folly the advantage given them by the Revolution. The second madness would in all probability, like the first, have ended in their prescription, dispersion, decimation, but for the magnanimity and wisdom of that great Prince, who bent on fulfilling his mission and insensible alike to flattery and outrage, coldly and inflexibly saved them in their own despite. It seemed that nothing but blood would satisfy them. The aspect and the temper of the House of Commons reminded men of the time of the ascendancy of Oates, and that nothing might be wanting to the resemblance Oates himself was there. As a witness indeed, he could now render no service, but he had caught the scent of carnage, and came to gloat on the butchery in which he could no longer take an active part. His loathsome features were again daily seen, and his well-known ah, lard, ah, lard, was again daily heard in the lobbies and in the gallery. The House fell first on the renegades of the late rain. Of those renegades, the earls of Peterborough and Salisbury were the highest in rank, but were also the lowest in intellect, for Salisbury had always been an idiot, and Peterborough had long been a dot-herd. It was, however, resolved by the Commons that both had, by joining the Church of Rome, committed high treason, and that both should be impeached. A message to that effect was sent to the lords. Poor old Peterborough was instantly taken into custody, and was sent, tottering on a crutch, and wrapped up in woolen stuff to the tower. The next day Salisbury was brought to the bar of his peers. He muttered something about his youth and his foreign education, and was then sent to bear Peterborough company. The Commons had, meanwhile, passed on to the offenders of Humbler Station and better understanding. Sir Edward Hales was brought before them. He had doubtless, by holding office in defiance of the Test Act, incurred heavy penalties. But these penalties fell far short of what the revengeful spirit of the victorious party demanded, and he was committed as a traitor. Then Obadiah Walker was let in. He behaved with appusulanimity and disingenuousness which deprived him of all claim to respect or pity. He protested that he had never changed his religion, that his opinions had always been and still were those of some highly respectable divines of the Church of England, and that there were points on which he differed from the Papists. In spite of this quibbling he was pronounced guilty of high treason and sent to prison. Castlemane was next put on the bar, interrogated and committed under a warrant which charged him with the capital crime of trying to reconcile the kingdom to the Church of Rome. CHAPTER XV In the meantime the Lords had appointed a committee to inquire who were answerable for the deaths of Russell, of Sidney, and of some other imminent Whigs. Of this committee, which was popularly called the Murder Committee, the Earl of Stamford, a Whig who had been deeply concerned in the plots formed by his party against the Stewards, was Chairman. The books of the Council were inspected, the clerks of the Council were examined, some facts disgraceful to the judges, to the solicitors of the Treasury, to the witnesses for the Crown, and to the keepers of the State prisons were elicited, but about the packing of the juries no evidence could be obtained. The sheriffs kept their own counsel. Sir Dudley North in particular underwent a most severe cross-examination with characteristic clearness of head and firmness of temper, and steadily asserted that he had never troubled himself about the political opinions of the persons whom he put on any panel, but had merely inquired whether they were substantial citizens. He was undoubtedly lying, and so some of the Whig-peers told him in very plain words and in very loud tones, but though they were morally certain of his guilt, they could find no proofs which would support a criminal charge against him. The indelible stain, however, remains on his memory, and it is still a subject of lamentation to those who, while loathing his dishonesty and cruelty, cannot forget that he was one of the most original, profound, and accurate thinkers of his age. Halifax, more fortunate than Dudley North, was completely cleared, not only from legal but also from moral guilt. He was the chief object of attack, and yet a severe examination brought nothing to light that was not to his honour. Toletson was called as a witness. He swore that he had been the channel of communication between Halifax and Russell when Russell was a prisoner in the tower. My Lord Halifax, said the doctor, showed a very compassionate concern for my Lord Russell, and my Lord Russell charged me with his last thanks for my Lord Halifax's humanity and kindness. It was proved that the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth had borne similar testimony to Halifax's good nature. One hostile witness, indeed, was produced, John Hampton, whose mean supplications and enormous bribes had saved his neck from the halter. He was now a powerful and prosperous man. He was a leader of the dominant party in the House of Commons, and yet he was one of the most unhappy beings on the face of the earth. The recollection of the pitiable figure which he had made at the bar of the Old Bailey embittered his temper, and impelled him to avenge himself without mercy on those who had directly or indirectly contributed to his humiliation. Of all the wigs he was the most intolerant and the most obstinately hostile to all plans of amnesty. The consciousness that he had disgraced himself made him jealous of his dignity and quick to take offense. He constantly paraded his services and his sufferings, as if he hoped that this ostentatious display would hide from others the stain which nothing could hide from himself. Having, during many months, harangued vehemently against Halifax in the House of Commons, he now came to swear against Halifax before the Lords. The scene was curious. The witness represented himself as having saved his country, as having planned the Revolution, as having placed their majesties on the throne. He then gave evidence intended to show that his life had been endangered by the machinations of the Lord Privy Seal, but that evidence missed the mark at which it was aimed, and recoiled on him from whom it proceeded. Hampton was forced to acknowledge that he had sent his wife to implore the intercession of the man whom he was now persecuting. Is it not strange, asked Halifax, that you should have requested the good offices of one whose arts had brought your head into peril? Not at all, said Hampton. To whom was I to apply except to the men who were in power? I applied to Lord Jeffries, I applied to Father Peter, and I paid them six thousand pounds for their services. But did Lord Halifax take any money? No, I cannot say that he did. And Mr. Hampton, did you not afterwards send your wife to thank him for his kindness? Yes, I believe I did, answered Hampton, but I know of no solid effects of that kindness. If there were any, I should be obliged to my Lord to tell me what they were. Disgraceful as had been the appearance which this degenerate heir of an illustrious name had made at the Old Bailey, the appearance which he made before the Committee of Murder was more disgraceful still. It is pleasing to know that a person who had been far more cruelly wrong than he, but whose nature differed widely from his, the noble-minded Lady Russell, remonstrated against the injustice with which the extreme wigs treated Halifax. The malice of John Hampton, however, was unwirried and unabashed. A few days later, in a Committee of the Whole House of Commons on the State of the Nation, he made a bitter speech, in which he ascribed all the disasters of the year to the influence of the men who had, in the days of the Exclusion Bill, been censured by parliaments, of the men who had attempted to mediate between James and William. The King, he said, ought to dismiss from his councils and presence all the three noblemen who had been sent to negotiate with him at Hungerford. He went on to speak of the danger of employing men of Republican principles. He doubtless alluded to the chief object of his implacable malignity. For Halifax, though from temperaverse to violent changes, was well known to be in speculation a Republican, and often talked with much ingenuity and pleasantry against hereditary monarchy. The only effect, however, of the reflection now thrown on him was to call forth a roar of derision. Yet a Hampton, that the grandson of the great leader of the long Parliament, that a man who boasted of having conspired with Algernon Sidney against the Royal House, should use the word Republican as a term of reproach. When the storm of laughter had subsided, several members stood up to vindicate the accused statesman. Seymour declared that, much as he disapproved of the manner in which the administration had lately been conducted, he could not concur in the vote which John Hampton had proposed. Look where you will, he said, to Ireland, to Scotland, to the Navy, to the army. You will find abundant proofs of mismanagement. If the war is still to be conducted by the same hands, we can expect nothing but a recurrence of the same disasters. But I am not prepared to prescribe men for the best thing that they ever did in their lives, to prescribe men for attempting to avert a revolution by timely mediation. It was justly said by another speaker that Halifax and Nottingham had been sent to the Dutch camp because they possessed the confidence of the nation, because they were universally known to be hostile to the dispensing power, to the Popesh religion, and to the French ascendancy. It was at length resolved that the King should be requested in general terms to find out and remove the authors of the late miscarriages. A committee was appointed to prepare an address. John Hampton was chairman, and drew up a representation in terms so bitter that, when it was reported to the House, his own father expressed disapprobation, and one member exclaimed, This, an address, it is libel. After a sharp debate, the address was recommitted, and it was not again mentioned. Indeed, the animosity which a large part of the House had felt against Halifax was beginning to abate. It was known that, though he had not yet formally delivered up the privy seal, he had ceased to be a confidential advisor of the Crown. The power which he had enjoyed during the first months of the reign of William and Mary had passed to the more daring, more unscrupulous, and more practical Carmarthen, against whose influence Shrewsbury contended in vain. Personally, Shrewsbury stood high in the royal favour, but he was a leader of the Whigs, and like all leaders of parties, was frequently pushed forward against his will by those who seemed to follow him. He was himself inclined to a mild and moderate policy, but he had not sufficient firmness to withstand the clamorous importunity with which such politicians as John Howe and John Hampton demanded vengeance on their enemies. His advice had therefore at this time little weight with his master, who neither loved the Tories nor trusted them, but who was fully determined not to prescribe them. Meanwhile the Whigs, conscious that they had lately sunk in the opinion both of the King and of the Nation, resolved on making a bold and crafty attempt to become independent of both. A perfect account of that attempt cannot be constructed out of the scanty and widely dispersed materials which have come down to us. Yet the story, as it has come down to us, is both interesting and instructive. A bill for restoring the rights of those corporations which had surrendered their charters to the Crown during the last two reigns had been brought into the House of Commons, had been received with general applause by men of all parties, had been read twice and had been referred to a select committee, of which Summers was Chairman. On the second of January Summers brought up the report. The attendance of Tories was scanty, for as no important discussion was expected, many country gentlemen had left town, and were keeping a merry Christmas by the chimney fires of their manor houses. The muster of zealous Whigs was strong. As soon as the bill had been reported, Cheshireville, renowned in the stormy parliaments of the late reign of Charles II, as one of the ablest and keenest of the exclusionists, stood up and moved to add a clause providing that every municipal functionary, who had in any manner been a party to the surrendering of the franchises of a borough, should be incapable for seven years of holding any office in that borough. The Constitution of almost every corporate town in England had been remodeled during that hot fit of loyalty which followed the detection of the Ryehouse plot, and in almost every corporate town the voice of the Tories had been for delivering up the charter, and for trusting everything to the paternal care of the sovereign. The effect of Cheshireville's clause, therefore, was to make some thousands of the most opulent and highly considered men of the kingdom incapable, during seven years, of bearing any part in the government of the places in which they resided, and to secure to the Whig party, during seven years, and overwhelming influence in borough elections. The minority exclaimed against the gross injustice of passing, rapidly and by surprise, at a season when London was empty, a law of the highest importance, a law which retrospectively inflicted a severe penalty on many hundreds of respectable gentlemen, a law which would call forth the strongest passions in every town from Barrick to St. Ives, a law which must have a serious effect on the composition of the house itself. Common decency required at least an adjournment. An adjournment was moved, but the motion was rejected by 127 votes to 89. The question was then put that Cheshireville's clause should stand part of the bill, and was carried by 133 to 68. Sir Robert Howard immediately moved that every person who, being under Cheshireville's clause disqualified for municipal office, should presume to take any office, should forfeit five hundred pounds, and should be for life incapable of holding any public employment whatever. The Tories did not venture to divide. The rules of the house put it in the power of a minority to obstruct the progress of the bill, and this was assuredly one of the very rare occasions on which that power would have been with great propriety exerted. It does not appear, however, that the parliamentary tacticians of that age were aware of the extent to which a small number of members can, without violating any form, retard the course of business. It was immediately resolved that the bill, enlarged by Cheshireville's and Howard's clauses, should be engrossed. The most vehement wigs were bent on finally passing it within forty-eight hours. The lords, indeed, were not likely to regard it very favorably. But it should seem that some desperate men were prepared to withhold the supplies till it should pass, nay, even tack it to the bill of supply, and thus to place the upper house under the necessity either consenting to a vast prescription of the Tories, or refusing to the government the means of carrying on the war. There were wigs, however, honest enough to wish that fair play should be given to the hostile party, and prudent enough to know that an advantage obtained by violence and cunning could not be permanent. These men insisted that at least a week should be suffered to elapse before the Third Reading and carried their point. Their less scrupulous associates complained bitterly that the good cause was betrayed. What new laws of war were these? Why was chivalrous courtesy to be shown to foes who thought no stratagem immoral, and who had never given quarter? And what had been done that was not in strict accordance with the law of Parliament? That law knew nothing of short notices and long notices, of thin houses and full houses. It was the business of a representative of the people to be in his place. If he chose to shoot and guzzle at his country's seat when important business was under consideration at Westminster, what right had he to murmur because more upright and laborious servants of the public passed, in his absence, a bill which appeared to them necessary to the public safety? As, however, a postponement of a few days appeared to be inevitable, those who had intended to gain the victory by stealing a march now disclaimed that intention. They solemnly assured the king, who could not help showing some displeasure at their conduct, and who felt much more displeasure than he showed, that they had owed nothing to surprise, and that they were quite certain of a majority in the fullest house. Cheshavirol is said to have declared with great warmth that he would stake his seat on the issue, and that if he found himself mistaken he would never show his face in Parliament again. Indeed, the general opinion at first was that the Whigs would win the day, but it soon became clear that the fight would be a hard one. The males had carried out along all the high roads the tidings that, on the 2nd of January, the commons had agreed to a retrospective penal law against the whole Tory party, and that on the 10th that law would be considered for the last time. The whole kingdom was moved from Northumberland to Cornwall. A hundred knights and squires left their halls hung with mistletoe and holly, and their boards groaning with brawn and plum porridge, and rode up post to town, cursing the short days, the cold weather, the miry roads, and the villainous Whigs. The Whigs, too, brought up reinforcements, but not to the same extent, for the clauses were generally unpopular and not without good cause. Assuredly no reasonable man of any party will deny that the Tories, in surrendering to the Crown all the municipal franchises of the realm, and with those franchises the power of altering the Constitution of the House of Commons, committed a great fault. But in that fault the nation itself had been an accomplice. If the mayors and aldermen whom it was now proposed to punish had, when the tide of loyal enthusiasm ran high, sturdily refused to comply with the wish of their sovereign, they would have been pointed at in the street as round-head knaves, preached at by the rector, lampooned in ballads, and probably burned in effigy before their own doors. That a community should be hurried into errors alternately by fear of tyranny and by fear of anarchy is doubtless a great evil. But the remedy for that evil is not to punish for such errors some persons who have merely erred with the rest, and who have since repented with the rest. Nor odd it to have been forgotten that the offenders against whom Cheshavarl's cause was directed had, in 1688, made large atonement for the misconduct of which they had been guilty in 1683. They had, as a class, stood up firmly against the dispensing power, and most of them had actually been turned out of their municipal offices by James for refusing to support his policy. It is not strange, therefore, that the attempt to inflict on all these men without exception a degrading punishment should have raised such a storm of public indignation as many Whig members of parliament were unwilling to face. As the decisive conflict drew near, and as the muster of the Tories became hourly stronger and stronger, the uneasiness of Cheshavarl and of his Confederates increased. They found that they could hardly hope for a complete victory. They must make some concession. They must propose to recommit the bill. They must declare themselves willing to consider whether any distinction could be made between the chief offenders and the multitudes who had been misled by evil example. But as the spirit of one party fell, the spirit of the other rose. The Tories, glowing with resentment which was but too just, were resolved to listen to no terms of compromise. The tenth of January came, and before the late daybreak of that season the house was crowded. More than a hundred and sixty members had come up to town within a week. From dawn till the candles had burned down to their sockets the ranks kept unbroken order, and few members left their seats, except for a minute to take a crust of bread or a glass of claret. Messengers were in waiting to carry the result to Kensington, where William, though shaken by a violent cough, sat up till midnight, anxiously expecting the news, and riding to Portland, whom he had sent on an important mission to the Hague. The only remaining account of the debate is defective and confused. But from that account it appears that the excitement was great. Sharp things were said. One young Whig member used language so hot that he was in danger of being called to the bar. Some reflections were thrown on the speaker for allowing too much license to his own friends. But in truth it mattered little whether he called transgressors to order or not. The house had long been quite unmanageable, and veteran members bitterly regretted the old gravity of debate and the old authority of the chair. That summers disapproved of the violence of the party to which he belonged may be inferred, both from the whole course of his public life and from the very significant fact that, though he had charge of the corporation-bill, he did not move the penal clauses, but left that ungracious office to mend more impetuous and less sagacious than himself. He did not, however, abandon his allies in this emergency, but spoke for them and tried to make the best of a very bad case. The house divided several times. On the first division a hundred and seventy-four voted with Chacheverelle, a hundred and seventy-nine against him. Still the battle was stubbornly kept up, but the majority increased from five to ten, from ten to twelve, and from twelve to eighteen. Then, at length, after a stormy sitting of fourteen hours, the Whigs yielded. It was near midnight when, to the unspeakable joy and triumph of the Tories, the Clark tore away from the parchment on which the bill had been engrossed, the odious clauses of Chacheverelle and Howard. CHAPTER XV. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of England from the Assessment of James II. Volume III. CHAPTER XV. By Thomas Babington Macaulay, Section III. Emboldened by this great victory, the Tories made an attempt to push forward the indemnity bill which had lain many weeks neglected on the table. But the Whigs, notwithstanding their recent defeat, were still the majority of the house, and many members who had shrunk from the unpopularity which they would have incurred by supporting the Chacheverelle Clause and the Howard Clause, were perfectly willing to assist in retarding the general pardon. They still propounded their favourite dilemma. How, they asked, was it possible to defend this project of amnesty without condemning the Revolution? Could it be contented that crimes which had been grave enough to justify resistance had not been grave enough to deserve punishment? And if those crimes were of such magnitude that they could justly be visited on the sovereign whom the Constitution had exempted from responsibility, on to what principle was immunity to be granted to his advisors and tools who were beyond all doubt responsible? One facetious member put this argument in a singular form. He contrived to place in the Speaker's Chair a paper which, when examined, appeared to be a bill of indemnity for King James, with a sneering preamble about the mercy which had, since the Revolution, been extended to more heinous offenders, and about the indulgence due to a king, who, in oppressing his people, had only acted after the fashion of all kings. On the same day on which the smock Bill of Indemnity disturbed the gravity of the Commons, it was moved that the House should go into committee on the real bill. The wigs threw the motion out by a hundred and ninety three votes to a hundred and fifty-six. They then proceeded to resolve that a bill of pains and penalties against a linguist should be forthwith brought in, and engrafted on the Bill of Indemnity. A few hours later a vote passed that showed more clearly than anything that had yet taken place how little chance there was that the public mind would be speedily quieted by an amnesty. Few persons stood higher in the estimation of the Tory Party than Sir Robert Sawyer. He was a man of ample fortune and aristocratic connections, of orthodox opinions and regular life, an able and experienced lawyer, a well-read scholar, and, in spite of a little pomposity, a good speaker. He had been Attorney General at the time of the detection of the Rye House plot. He had been employed for the crown in the prosecutions which followed, and he had conducted those prosecutions with an eagerness which would, in our time, be called cruelty by all parties, but which in his own time, and to his own party, seemed to be merely laudable zeal. His friends indeed asserted that he was conscientious even to scrupulosity in matters of life and death. But this is a nulogy which persons who bring the feelings of the nineteenth century to the study of the state trials of the seventeenth century will have some difficulty in understanding. The best excuse which can be made for this part of his life is that the stain of innocent blood was common to him with almost all the eminent public men of those evil days. When we blame him for prosecuting Russell we must not forget that Russell had prosecuted Stafford. Great as Sawyer's offences were, he had made great atonement for them. He had stood up manfully against potpoury and despotism. He had, in the very present's chamber, positively refused to draw warrants in contravention of acts of parliament. He had resigned his lucrative office rather than appear in Westminster Hall as the champion of the dispensing power. He had been the leading counsel for the seven bishops, and he had, on the day of their trial, done his duty ably, honestly, and fearlessly. He was therefore a favorite with high churchmen, and might be thought to have fairly earned his pardon from the Whigs. But the Whigs were not in a pardoning mood, and Sawyer was now called to account for his conduct in the case of Sir Thomas Armstrong. If Armstrong was not belied he was in deep in the worst secrets of the Ryehouse plot, and was one of those who undertook to slay the two royal brothers. When the conspiracy was discovered he fled to the continent and was outlawed. The magistrates of Layden were induced by a bribe to deliver him up. He was hurried on board of an English ship, carried to London, and brought before the King's Bench. Sawyer moved the court to award execution on the outlawry. Armstrong represented that a year had not elapsed since he had been outlawed, and that by an act passed in the reign of Edward VI, an outlaw who yielded himself within the year was entitled to plead not guilty, and to put himself on his country. To this it was answered that Armstrong had not yielded himself, that he had been dragged to the bar a prisoner, and that he had no right to claim a privilege which was evidently meant to be given only to persons who voluntarily rendered themselves up to public justice. Jeffries and the other judges unanimously overruled Armstrong's objection, and granted the award of execution. Then followed one of the most terrible of the many terrible scenes which, in those times, disgraced our courts. The daughter of the unhappy man was at his side. My Lord! she cried out, you will not murder my father. This is murdering a man. How now, roared the Chief Justice, who is this woman? Take her, Marshal. Take her away. She was forced out, crying as she went. God's almighty judgments lied on you. God Almighty's judgment, said Jeffries, will light on traitors. Thank God I am clamor-proof. When she was gone her father again insisted on what he conceived to be his right. I ask, he said, only the benefit of the law. And by the grace of God you shall have it, said the Judge. Mr. Sheriff, see that execution be done on Friday next. There is the benefit of the law for you. On the following Friday Armstrong was hanged, drawn, and quartered, and his head was placed over Westminster Hall. The insolence and cruelty of Jeffries excites, even at the distance of so many years, an indignation which makes it difficult to be just to him. Yet a perfectly dispassionate inquirer may perhaps think it by no means clear that the award of execution was illegal. There was no precedent, and the words of the Act of Edward VI May, without any straining, be construed as the court construed them. Indeed, had the penalty been only fine or imprisonment, nobody would have seen anything reprehensible in the proceeding. But to send a man to the gallows as a traitor, without confronting him with his accusers, without hearing his defense, solely because a timidity which is perfectly compatible with innocence has impelled him to hide himself, is surely a violation, if not of any written law, yet of those great principles to which all laws ought to conform. The case was brought before the House of Commons. The orphaned daughter of Armstrong came to the bar to demand vengeance, and a warm debate followed. Sawyer was fiercely attacked and strenuously defended. The Tories declared that he appeared to them to have done only what, as counsel for the crown he was bound to do, and to have discharged his duty to God, to the king, and to the prisoner. If the award was illegal, nobody was to blame, and if the award was illegal, the blame lay, not with the Attorney General, but with the judges. There would be an end of all liberty of speech at the bar, if an advocate was to be punished for making a strictly regular application to a court, and for arguing that certain words in a statute were to be understood in a certain sense. The Whigs called Sawyer murderer, bloodhound, hangman. If the liberty of speech claimed by advocates meant the liberty of haranguing men to death, it was high time that the nation should rise up and exterminate the whole race of lawyers. Things will never be well done, said one order, till some of that profession be made examples. No crime to demand execution, exclaimed John Hampton, we shall be told next that it was no crime in the Jews to cry out crucify him. A wise and just man would probably have been of opinion that this was not a case for severity. Sawyer's conduct might have been, to a certain extent, culpable. But if an act of indemnity was to be passed at all, it was to be passed for the benefit of persons whose conduct had been culpable. The question was not whether he was guiltless, but whether his guilt was of so peculiarly black a dye that he ought, notwithstanding all his sacrifices and services, to be excluded by name from the mercy which was to be granted to many thousands of offenders. This question, calm and impartial judges, would probably have decided in his favor. It was, however, resolved that he should be accepted from the indemnity and expelled from the house. On the morrow the Bill of Indemnity, now transformed into a Bill of Pains and Penalties, was again discussed. The Whigs consented to refer it to a committee of the whole house, but proposed to instruct the committee to begin its labors by making out a list of the offenders who were to be prescribed. The Tories moved the previous question. The house divided, and the Whigs carried their point by a hundred and ninety votes to a hundred and seventy-three. The King watched these events with painful anxiety. He was weary of his crown. He had tried to do justice to both the contending parties, but the justice would satisfy neither. The Tories hated him for protecting the dissenters. The Whigs hated him for protecting the Tories. The amnesties seemed to be more remote than when, ten months before, he first recommended it from the throne. The last campaign in Ireland had been disastrous. It might well be that the next campaign would be more disastrous still. The malpractices, which had done more than the exhalations of the Marshes of Dundalk to destroy the efficiency of the English troops, were likely to be as monstrous as ever. Every part of the administration was thoroughly disorganized, and the people were surprised and angry because a foreigner, newly come among them, imperfectly acquainted with them, and constantly thwarted by them, had not in a year put the whole machine of government to rights. Most of his ministers, instead of assisting him, were trying to get up addresses and impeachments against each other. Yet if he employed his own countrymen, on whose fidelity and attachments he could rely, a general cry of rage was set up by all the English factions. The navery of the English commissariat had destroyed an army, yet a rumor that he intended to employ an able, experienced, and trusty commissary from Holland had excited general discontent. The king felt that he could not, while thus situated, render any service to that great cause to which his whole soul was devoted. Already the glory which he had won by conducting to a successful issue the most important enterprise of that age was becoming dim. Even his friends had begun to doubt whether he really possessed all that sagacity and energy, which had a few months before exhorted the unwilling admiration of his enemies. But he would endure his splendid slavery no longer. He would return to his native country. He would content himself with being the first citizen of a commonwealth to which the name of Orange was dear. As such he might still be foremost among those who were banded together in defense of the liberties of Europe. As for the turbulent and ungrateful islanders who detested him because he would not let them tear each other in pieces, Mary must try what she could do with him. She was born on their soil, she spoke their language. She did not dislike some parts of their liturgy, which they fancy to be essential, and which to him seemed at best harmless. If she had little knowledge of politics and war, she had what might be more useful, feminine grace intact, a sweet temper, a smile and a kind word for everybody. She might be able to compose the disputes which distracted the State and the Church. Holland, under his government and England under hers, might act cordially together against the common enemy. He secretly ordered preparations to be made for his voyage. Having done this he called together a few of his chief counsellors and told them his purpose. A squadron, he said, was ready to convoy him to his country. He had done with them. He hoped that the Queen would be more successful. The ministers were thunderstruck. For once all quarrels were suspended. The Tory Carmarthen on one side, the Whig Shrewsbury on the other, expostulated and implored with a pathetic vehemence rare in the conferences of statesmen. Many tears were shed. At length the King was induced to give up, at least for the present, his design of abdicating the government. But he announced another design which he was fully determined not to give up. Since he was still to remain at the head of the English administration he would go himself to Ireland. He would try whether the whole royal authority strenuously exerted on the spot where the fate of the Empire was to be decided would suffice to prevent speculation and to maintain discipline. But he had seriously meditated a retreat to Holland long continued to be a secret, not only to the multitude but even to the Queen. That he had resolved to take the command of his army in Ireland was soon rumoured all over London. It was known that his camp furniture was making and that Sir Christopher Wren was busyed in constructing a house of wood which was to travel about, packed in two wagons, and to be set up wherever his Majesty might fix his quarters. The Whigs raised a violent outcry against the whole scheme. Not knowing or affecting not to know that it had been formed by William and by William alone, and that none of his ministers had dared to advise him to encounter the Irish swords and the Irish atmosphere, the whole party confidently affirmed that it had been suggested by some traitor in the Cabinet, by some Tory who hated the Revolution and all that had sprung from the Revolution. What any true friend have advised his Majesty, in firm and health as he was, to expose himself not only to the dangers of war, but to the malignity of a climate which had recently been fatal to thousands of men much stronger than himself? In private the King sneered bitterly at this anxiety for his safety. It was merely in his judgment the anxiety which a hard master feels lest his slaves should become unfit for their drudgery. The Whigs, he wrote to Portland, were afraid to lose their tool before they had done their work. As to their friendship, he added, you know what it is worth. His resolution, he told his friend, was unalterably fixed. Everything was at stake, and go he must, even though Parliament should present an address imploring him to stay. He soon learned that such an address would be immediately moved in both houses and supported by the whole strength of the Whig party. This intelligence satisfied him that it was time to take a decisive step. He would not disregard the Whigs, but he would give them a lesson of which they stood much in need. He would break the chain in which they imagined that they had him fast. He would not let them have the exclusive possession of power. He would not let them persecute the vanquished party. In their despite he would grant an amnesty to his people. In their despite he would take the command of his army in Ireland. He arranged his plan with characteristic prudence, firmness, and secrecy. A single Englishman it was necessary to trust, for William was not sufficiently master of our language to address the houses from the throne in his own words, and on very important occasions his practice was to write his speech in French, and to employ a translator. It is certain that to one person, and to one only, the King confided the momentous resolution which he had taken, and it can hardly be doubted that this person was Carmarthen. On the twenty-seventh of January Black Rod knocked at the door of the Commons. The Speaker and the Members were paired to the House of Lords. The King was on the throne. He gave his assent to the supply-bill, thanked the houses for it, announced his intention of going to Ireland, and prorogued the Parliament. None could doubt that a dissolution would speedily follow. As the concluding words, I have thought it convenient now to put an end to this session, were uttered, the Tories, both above and below the Bar, broke forth into a shout of joy. The King, meanwhile, surveyed his audience from the throne with that bright eagle eye which nothing escaped. He might be pardoned if he felt some little vindictive pleasure in annoying those who had cruelly annoyed him. I saw, he wrote to Portland the next day, faces an L long. I saw some of those men change colour with vexation twenty times while I was speaking. End of Section 3. Section 4 of The History of England, from the Assession of James II, Volume 3, Chapter 15. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Leader. The History of England, from the Assession of James II, Volume 3, Chapter 15, by Thomas Babington Macaulay, Section 4. A few hours after the prorogation, 150 Tory members of Parliament had a parting dinner together at the Apollo Tavern in Fleet Street, before they set out for their counties. They were in better temper with William than they had been since his father-in-law had been turned out of Whitehall. They had scarcely be covered from the joyful surprise with which they had heard it announced from the Throne that the session was at an end. The recollection of their danger and the sense of their deliverance were still fresh. They talked of repairing to court in a body to testify their gratitude, but they were induced to forgo their intention, and not without cause, for a great crowd of squires, after a revel at which doubtless neither October nor Claret had been spared, might have caused some inconvenience in the presence chamber. Sir John Louther, who in wealth and influence was inferior to no country gentleman of that age, was deputed to carry the thanks of the assembly to the palace. He spoke, he told the King, the sense of a great body of honest gentlemen. They begged his Majesty to be assured that they would in their counties do their best to serve him, and they cordially wished him a safe voyage to Ireland, a complete victory, a speedy return, and a long and happy reign. During the following week many, who had never shown their faces in the circle at St. James since the revolution, went to kiss the King's hand. So warmly indeed did those who had hitherto been regarded as half-Czechobites express their approbation of the policy of the government, that the thoroughgoing Czechobites were much disgusted, and complained bitterly of the strange blindness which seemed to have come on the sons of the Church of England. All the acts of William at this time indicated his determination to restrain, steadily though gently, the violence of the Whigs, and to conciliate, if possible, the goodwill of the Tories. Several persons whom the commons had thrown into prison for treason were set at liberty on bail. The prelates, who held that their allegiance was still due to James, were treated with a tenderness rare in the history of revolutions. Within a week after the prorogation, the first of February came, the day on which those ecclesiastics who refused to take the oath were to be finally deprived. Several of the suspended clergy, after holding out till the last moment, swore just and time to save themselves from beggary. But the primate and five of his suffragens were still inflexible. They consequently forfeited their bishoprics. But Sankraft was informed that the King had not yet relinquished the hope of being able to make some arrangement which might avert the necessity of appointing successors, and that the non-juring prelates might continue for the present to reside in their palaces. Their receivers were appointed receivers for the crown, and continued to collect the revenues of the vacant seas. Similar indulgence was shown to some divines of lower rank. Sherlock, in particular, continued after his deprivation to live unmolested in his official mansion close to the temple church, and now appeared a proclamation dissolving the parliament. The rips for a general election went out, and soon every part of the kingdom was in affirmant. Van Citters, who had resided in England during many eventful years, declared that he had never seen London more violently agitated. The excitement was kept up by compositions of all sorts, from sermons with sixteen heads down to jingling street-ballads. Lists of the visions were, for the first time in our history, printed and dispersed for the information of constituent bodies. Two of these lists may still be seen in old libraries. One of the two, circulated by the wigs, contained the names of those Tories who had voted against declaring the throne vacant. The other, circulated by the Tories, contained the names of those wigs who had supported the Sachevral clause. It soon became clear that public feeling had undergone a great change during the year which had elapsed since the convention had met. And it is impossible to deny that this change was, at least in part, the natural consequence and the just punishment of the intemperate and vindictive conduct of the wigs. Of the City of London they thought themselves sure. Delivery had, in the preceding year, returned four zealous wigs without a contest. But all the four had voted for the Sachevral Clause, and by that clause many of the merchant princes of Lombard Street and Cornhill, men powerful in the twelve great companies, men whom the goldsmiths followed humbly, hat in hand, up and down the arcades of the royal exchange, would have been turned with all indignity out of the Court of Alderman and out of the Common Council. The struggle was for life or death. No exertions, no artifices were spared. William wrote to Portland that the wigs of the City, in their despair, stuck at nothing, and that, as they went on, they would soon stand as much in need of an active indemnity as the Tories. Four Tories, however, were returned, and that by so decisive a majority, that the Tory who stood lowest pulled four hundred votes more than the wig who stood highest. The sheriffs, desiring to defer as long as possible the triumph of their enemies, granted a scrutiny. But though the majority was diminished, the result was not affected. At Westminster, two opponents of the Sachevral Clause were elected without a contest. But nothing indicated more strongly the disgust excited by the proceedings of the late House of Commons than what passed in the University of Cambridge. Newton retired to his quiet observatory over the gate of Trinity College. Two Tories were returned by an overwhelming majority. At the head of the poll was Sawyer, who had, but a few days before, been accepted from the indemnity bill and expelled from the House of Commons. The records of the University contain curious proofs that the unwise severity with which he had been treated had raised an enthusiastic feeling in his favour. Newton voted for Sawyer, and this remarkable fact justifies us in believing that the great philosopher, in whose genius and virtue the wig party justly glories, had seen the headstrong and revengeful conduct of that party with concern and disapprobation. It was soon plain that the Tories would have a majority in the new House of Commons. All the leading wigs, however, obtained seats, with one exception. John Hampton was excluded and was regretted only by the most intolerant and unreasonable members of his party. The king, meanwhile, was making in almost every department of the Executive Government a change corresponding to the change which the general election was making in the composition of the legislature. Still, however, he did not think of forming what is now called a ministry. He still reserved to himself more especially the direction of foreign affairs, and he superintended with minute attention all the preparations for the approaching campaign in Ireland. In his confidential letters he complained that he had to perform, with little or no assistance, the task of organising the disorganised military establishments of the kingdom. The work, he said, was heavy, but it must be done, for everything depended on it. In general the government was still a government by independent departments, and in almost every department wigs and Tories were still mingled, though not exactly in the old proportions. The wig element had decidedly predominated in 1689. The Tory element predominated, though not very decidedly, in 1690. Halifax had laid down the Privy Seal. It was offered to Chesterfield, a Tory who had voted in the Convention for a Regency, but Chesterfield refused to quit his country house and gardens in Derbyshire for the court and the council chamber, and the Privy Seal was put into commission. Carmarthen was now the chief advisor of the crown on all matters relating to the internal administration and to the management of the two houses of Parliament. The white staff and the immense power which accompanied the white staff, William was still determined never to entrust to any subject. Carmarthen, therefore, continued to be Lord President, but he took possession of a suite of apartments in St. James Palace, which was considered as peculiarly belonging to the Prime Minister. He had, during the preceding year, pleaded ill health as an excuse for seldom appearing at the council board, and the plea was not without foundation, for his digestive organs had some morbid peculiarities which puzzled the whole college of physicians. His complexion was livid, his frame was meager, at his face, handsome and intellectual as it was, had a haggard look which indicated the restlessness of pain as well as the restlessness of ambition. As soon, however, as he was once more minister, he applied himself strenuously to business, and toiled every day and all day long with an energy which amazed everybody who saw his ghastly countenance and tottering gait. Though he could not obtain for himself the office of Lord Treasurer, his influence at the Treasury was great. Monmouth, the First Commissioner, and Delamere, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, two of the most violent wigs in England, quitted their seats. On this, as on many other occasions, it appeared that they had nothing but their wiggism in common. The volatile Monmouth, sensible that he had none of the qualities of a financier, seems to have taken no personal offense at being removed from a place which he never ought to have occupied. He thankfully accepted a pension, which his profuse habits made necessary to him, and still continued to attend councils, to frequent the court, and to discharge the duties of a Lord of the Bedchamber. He also tried to make himself useful in military business, which he understood, if not well, yet better than most of his brother Nobles. And he professed, during a few months, a great regard for Carmarthen. Delamere was in a very different mood. It was in vain that his services were overpaid with honors and riches. He was created Earl of Warrington. He obtained a grant of all the lands that could be discovered belonging to Jesuits in five or six counties. A demand made by him on account of expenses incurred at the time of the revolution was allowed, and he carried with him into retirement as the reward of his patriotic exertions, a large sum which the state could ill-spare. But his anger was not to be so appeased, and to the end of his life he continued to complain bitterly of the ingratitude with which he at his party had been treated. Sir John Louther became First Lord of the Treasury, and was the person of whom Carmarthen chiefly relied for the conduct of the ostensible business of the House of Commons. Louther was a man of ancient descent, ample estate, and great parliamentary interest. Though not an old man, he was an old senator, for he had, before he was of age, succeeded his father as Knight of the Shire for Westmoreland. In truth the representation of Westmoreland was almost as much one of the hereditiments of the Louther family as Louther Hall. Sir John's abilities were respectable. His manners, though sarcastically noticed in contemporary lampoons as too formal, were eminently courteous. His personal courage he was too ready to prove. His morals were irreproachable. His time was divided between respectable labours and respectable pleasures. His chief business was to attend the House of Commons and to preside on the bench of justice. His favorite amusements were reading and gardening. In opinions he was a very moderate Tory. He was attached to hereditary monarchy and to the established church, but he had concurred in the revolution. He had no misgivings touching the title of William and Mary. He had sworn allegiance to them without any mental reservation, and he appears to have strictly kept his oath. Between him and Kettermarvin there was a close connection. They had acted together cordially in the Northern Insurrection, and they agreed in their political views as nearly as a very cunning statesman and a very honest country gentleman could be expected to agree. By Kettermarvin's influence Louther was now raised to one of the most important places in the kingdom. Unfortunately it was a place requiring qualities very different from those which suffice to make a valuable county member and chairman of quarter-sessions. The tongue of the new First Lord of the Treasury was not sufficiently ready, nor was his temper sufficiently callous for his post. He had neither adroitness, nor parry, nor fortitude to endure the jibes and reproaches to which in his new character of courtier and placement he was exposed. There was also something to be done which he was too scrupulous to do. Something which had never been done by Woolsey or Burley. Something which has never been done by any English statesman of our generation, but which, from the time of Charles II to the time of George III, was one of the most important parts of the business of a minister. The history of the rise, progress, and decline of parliamentary corruption in England still remains to be written. No subject has called forth a greater quantity of eloquent vituperation and stinging sarcasm. Three generations of serious and of sportive writers wept and laughed over the venality of the Senate. That venality was denounced on the hustings, anathematized from the pulpit, and burlesque on the stage. It was attacked by pope and brilliant verse, and by Bullingbrook in stately prose, by swift, with savage hatred, and by gay with festive malice. The voices of Tories and Wigs, of Johnson and Ackenside, of smallot and fielding, contributed to swell the cry. But none of those who railed or of those who gestured, took the trouble to verify the phenomena, or to trace them to the real causes. Sometimes the evil was imputed to the depravity of a particular minister, but when he had been driven from power, and when those who had most loudly accused him governed in his stead, it was found that the change of men had produced no change of system. Sometimes the evil was imputed to the degeneracy of the national character. Luxury and cupidity, it was said, had produced in our country the same effect which they had produced of old in the Roman Republic. The modern Englishmen was to the Englishmen of the sixteenth century what Verus and Curio were to Dantatis and Fabricius. Those who held this language were as ignorant and shallow as people generally are who extol the past at the expense of the present. A man of sense would have perceived that, if the English of the time of George II had really been more sordid and dishonest than their forefathers, the deterioration would not have shown itself in one place alone. The progress of judicial venality and of official venality would have kept pace with the progress of parliamentary venality. But nothing is more certain than that, while the legislature was becoming more and more venal, the courts of law and the public offices were becoming purer and purer. The representatives of the people were undoubtedly more mercenary in the days of Hardwick and Pelham than in the days of the Tudors. But the chancelors of the Tudors took plate and jewels from suitors without scruple or shame, and Hardwick would have committed for contempt any suitor who had dared to bring him a present. The treasurers of the Tudors raised princely fortunes by the sale of places, titles, and pardons, and Pelham would have ordered his servants to turn out of his house any man who had offered him money for a peerage or a commissionership of customs. It is evident, therefore, that the prevalence of corruption in the parliament cannot be ascribed to a general deprivation of morals. The taint was local. We must look for some local cause, and such a cause will, without difficulty, be found. Section 5 of the History of England from the Assession of James II, Volume 3, Chapter 15. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The History of England from the Assession of James II, Volume 3, Chapter 15, by Thomas Babington Macaulay. Section 5 Under our ancient sovereigns, the House of Commons rarely interfered with the executive administration. The speaker was charged not to let the members meddle with matters of state. If any gentleman was very troublesome, he was cited before the privy council, interrogated, reprimanded, and sent to meditate on his undutiful conduct in the Tower. The Commons did their best to protect themselves by keeping their deliberation secret, by excluding strangers, by making it a crime to repeat out of doors what had passed within doors. But these precautions were of small avail. In so large an assembly there were always tailbearers ready to carry the evil report of their brethren to the palace. To oppose the court was therefore a service of serious danger. In those days, of course, there was little or no buying of votes. For an honest man was not to be bought, and it was much cheaper to intimidate or to coerce a naïve than to buy him. For a very different reason, there has been no direct buying of votes within the memory of the present generation. The House of Commons is now supreme in the state, but is accountable to the nation. Even those members who are not chosen by large constituent bodies are kept in awe by public opinion. Everything is printed, everything is discussed, every material word uttered in debate is read by a million of people on the tomorrow. Within a few hours after an important division, the lists of the majority and the minority are scanned and analysed in every town from Plymouth to Invenus. If a naïve be found were it ought not to be, the apostate is certain to be reminded in sharp language of the promises which he has broken and of the professions which he has bellied. A present, therefore, the best way in which a government can secure the support of a majority of the representative body is by gaining the confidence of the nation. But between the time when our parliament ceased to be controlled by royal prerogative and the time when they began to be constantly and effectually controlled by public opinion there was a long interval. After the restoration no government ventured to return to those methods by which, before the civil war, the freedom of deliberation has been restrained. A member could no longer be called to account for his arangs or his votes. He might obstruct the passing of bills of supply. He might arraign the whole foreign policy of the country. He might lay on the table articles of impeachment against all the chief ministers. And he ran not the smallest risk at being treated as Morris had been treated by Elizabeth or Eliot by Charles I. The senator now stood in no awe of the court. Nevertheless all the defences behind which the feeble parliaments of the 16th century had entrenched themselves against the attacks of prerogative were not only still kept up but were extended and strengthened. No politician seems to have been aware that these defences were no longer needed for their original purpose and had begun to serve a purpose very different. The rules which had been originally designed to secure faithful representatives against the displeasure of the sovereign now operated to secure unfaithful representatives against the displeasure of the people and proved much more effectual for the latter end than they had ever been for the former. It was natural it was inevitable that in a legislative body emancipated from the restraints of the 16th century and not yet subjected to the restraints of the 19th century in a legislative body which feared neither the king nor the public there should be corruption. The plague spot begun to be visible and palpable in the days of the cabal. Clifford the boldest and fiercest of the wicked five had the merit of discovering that a noisy patriot whom it was no longer possible to send to prison might be turned into a courtier by a goldsmith's note. Clifford's example was followed by his successors. It soon became a proverb that a parliament resembled a pump. Often the wits said, when a pump appears to be dry if a very small quantity of water is poured in a great quantity of water gushes out and so when a parliament appears to be negatively 10,000 pounds judiciously given in bribes will often produce a million in supplies. The evil was not diminished nay it was aggravated by that revolution which freed our country from so many other evils. The House of Commons was now more powerful than ever as against the crown and yet was not more strictly responsible than formally to the nation. The government had a new motive for buying the members and the members had no new motive for refusing to sell themselves. William indeed had an aversion to bribery. He resolved to abstain from it and during the first year of his reign he kept his resolution. Unhappily the events of that year did not encourage him to persevere in his good intentions. As soon as Carmarthen was placed at the head of the internal administration of the realm a complete change took place. He was in truth no novice in the art of purchasing votes. He had 16 years before succeeded Clifford at the Treasury had inherited Clifford's tactics had improved upon them and had implored them to an extent which would have amazed the inventor. From the day on which Carmarthen was called a second time to the chief direction of affairs parliamentary corruption continued to be practiced with scarcely any intermission by a long succession of statesmen till the close of the American War. Neither of the great English parties can justly charge the other with any peculiar guilt on this account. The Tories were the first who introduced the system and the last who clung to it but it attained its greatest figure in the time of with ascendancy. The extent to which parliamentary support was battered for money cannot be with any precision ascertained but it seems probable that the number of highlings was greatly exaggerated by vulgar report and was never large though often sufficient to turn the scale on important divisions. An unprincipled minister eagerly accepted the services of these mercenaries. An honest minister reluctantly submitted for the sake of the commonwealth to what he considered as a shameful and odious extortion. For during many years every minister whatever his personal character might be consented willingly or unwillingly to manage the parliament in the only way in which the parliament could then be managed. It at length became as notorious that there was a market for votes at the treasury as that there was a market for cattle in Smithfield. Numerous demodigies out of power declined against this vile traffic but every one of those demodigies as soon as he was in power found himself driven by a kind of fatality to engage in that traffic or at least to connive at it. Now and then perhaps a man who had romantic notions of public virtue refused to be himself the paymaster of the corrupt crew and averted his eyes while his less scrupulous colleagues did that which he knew to be indispensable and yet felt to be degrading but the instances of this prudery were rare indeed. The doctrine generally received even among upright and honorable politicians was that it was shameful to receive bribes but that it was necessary to distribute them. It is a remarkable fact that the evil rich the greatest height during the administration of Henry Pelham as statesman of good intentions of spotless murals in private life and of exemplary disinterestness. It is not difficult to guess by what arguments he and other well-meaning men who like him followed the fashion of their age quieted their consciences. No casualist however severe has denied that it may be a duty to give what it is a crime to take. It was infamous in jeffreys to demand money for the lives of the unhappy prisoners whom he tried at Dorchester and Taunton but it was not infamous. No it was laudable in the kingsmen and friends of a prisoner to contribute of their substance in order to make up a purse for jeffreys. The Sally Rover who threatened to bastonado a Christian captive to death unless the ransom was forthcoming was an odious raffian but to ransom a Christian captive from a Sally Rover was not merely an innocent but a highly meritorious act. It would be improper in such cases to use the word corruption. Those who receive the filthy liquor are corrupt already. He who bribes them does not make them wicked. He finds them so and he merely prevents their evil propensities from producing evil effects and might not the same plea be urged in defence of a minister who when no other expedient would avail pay greedy and low-minded men not to ruin their country. It was by such reasoning as this that the scruples of William were overcome. Honours Burnett with the uncourtly courage which distinguished him ventured to remonstrate with the king. Nobody, we are answered, hates bribery more than I but I have to do with a set of men who must be managed in this vile way or not at all. I must strain a point or the country is lost. It was necessary for the Lord President to have in the House of Commons an agent for the purchase of members and Lothar was both too awkward and too scrupulous to be such an agent. But a man in whom craft and profligacy were united in high degree was without difficulty found. This was the master of the roles, Sir John Trevor, who had been Speaker in the single parliament held by James. High as Trevor had risen in the world there were people who could still remember him, a strange-looking lawyer's clerk in the inner temple. Indeed nobody who had ever seen him was likely to forget him. For his grotesque features and his hideous squint were far beyond the reach of a caricature. His parts, which were quick and vigorous, had enabled him early to master the science of chicanes. Gambling and betting were his amusements and out of these amusements he contrived to extract much business in the way of his profession. For his opinion on a question arising out of a wager or a game at chance had as much authority as a judgment of any court in Westminster Hall. He soon rose to be one of the Boone companions which Jefferies hugged in fits of mortal friendship over the bottle at night and cursed and reviled in court on the morrow. Under such a teacher Trevor rapidly became a proficient in that peculiar kind of rhetoric which had enlivened the trials of Baxter and of Alice Lyle. Reports indeed spoke of some scolding matches between the Chancellor and his friend in which the disciple had been no less valuable and scurrilous than the master. These contests, however, did not take place till the younger adventurer had attained riches and dignities such that he no longer stood in need of the patronage which had raised him. Among high churchmen Trevor, in spite of his notorious want of principle, had at this time a certain popularity which he seems to have owed chiefly to their conviction that, however insecure he might be in general, his hatred of the dissenters was genuine and hearty. There was little doubt that in a house of commons in which the Tories had a majority he might easily with the support of the court be chosen speaker. He was impatient to be again in his old post which he well knew how to make one of the most lucrative in the kingdom and he willingly undertook that secret and shameful office for which Lothar was altogether unqualified. Richard Hamden was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. This appointment was probably intended as a mark of royal gratitude for the moderation of his conduct, for the attempts which he had made to curb the violence of his weak friends and especially of his son. Godolphin voluntarily left the Treasury, why we are not informed. We can scarcely doubt that the dissolution and the result of the general election must have given him pleasure. For his political opinions leaned towards tourism and he had in the late reign done some things which, though not very heinous, stood in need of an indemnity. It is probable that he did not think it compatible with his personal dignity to sit at the board below Lothar who was in rank his inferior. A new commission of admiralty was issued. At the head of the Naval Administration was placed Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, a high-born and high-bred man who had ranked among the Tories, who had voted for a regency and who had married the daughter of Sawyer. That Pembroke's tourism, however, was not of a narrow and illiberal kind is sufficiently proved by the fact that immediately after the revolution the essay on the human understanding was dedicated to him by John Locke in token of gratitude for kind officers done in evil times. Nothing was admitted which could reconcile Torrenton to this change. For though he had been found an incapable administrator, he still stood so high in general estimation as a seaman that the government was unwilling to lose his services. He was assured that no slight was intended to him. He could not serve his country at once on the ocean and at Westminster and it had been thought less difficult to supply his place in his office than on the deck of his plague ship. He was at first very angry and actually laid down his commission but some concessions were made to his pride, a pension of three thousand pounds a year and a grant of ten thousand acres of crown land in the Peterborough level were irresistible boats to his cubity and in an evil hour for England he consented to remain at the head of the naval force on which the safety of their coasts depended. While these changes were making in the offices around Whitehall the commissions of lieutenancy all over the kingdom were revised. The Tories had, during 12 months, been complaining that their share in the government of the districts in which they lived bore no proportion to their number, to their wealth and to the consideration which they enjoyed in society. They now regained, with great delight, their former position in their shires. The Whigs raised a cry that the king was fairly betrayed and that he had been induced by evil counsellors to put the sword into the hands of men who, as soon as a favourable opportunity offered, would turn the edge against himself in a dialogue which was believed to have been written by the newly created Earl of Warrington and which had a wide circulation at the time but as long been forgotten the Lord Lieutenant of a county was introduced expressing his apprehensions that the majority of these deputies were traitors at heart but nowhere was the excitement produced by the new distribution of power so great as in the capital. By a commission of lieutenancy which had been issued immediately after the revolution the train bans of the city had been put under the command of staunch Whigs. Those powerful and opulent citizens whose names were admitted complained that the list was filled with elders of Puritan congregations, with shaftsferries, brisk boys, with ryehouse plotters and that it was scarcely possible to find mingled with that multitude of fanatics and levelers, a single man sincerely attached to monarchy and to the church. A new commission now appeared frame by Carmarthen and Nottingham. They had taken counsel with Compton the Bishop of the Diocese and Compton was not a very discreet advisor. He had originally been a high churchman and a Tory. The severity with which he had been treated in the late rain had transformed him into a later denerian and a rebel and he had now, from jealousy of Tillotson, turned high churchman and Tory again. The Whigs complained that they were ungratefully proscribed by a government which owed its existence to them that some of the best friends of King William had been dismissed with consumely to make room for some of his worst enemies, for men who were as unworthy of trust as any Irish referee, for men who had delivered up to a tyrant the charter and the immemorial privileges of the city, for men who had made themselves notorious by the cruelty with which they had enforced the penal laws against Protestants, dissenters, nay the men who had sat on those juries which had found Russell and Cornish guilty. The discontent was so great that it seemed during a short time likely to cause pecuniary embarrassment to the state. The supplies voted by the late parliament came in slowly. The wants of the public service were pressing. In such circumstances it was to the citizens of London that the government always looked for help and the government of William had hitherto looked especially to those citizens who professed Whig opinions. Things were now changed. A few eminent Whigs, in their thirst anger, sullenly refused to advance money, nay one or two unexpectedly withdrew considerable sums from the Exchequer. The financial difficulties might have been serious, had not some wealthy Tories, who, if such for else clause had become more, would have been excluded from all municipal honours, offered the treasury a hundred thousand pounds down and promised to raise a still larger sum. While the city was thus agitated came a day appointed by royal proclamation for a general fast. The reasons assigned for this solemn act of devotion were the lamentable state of Ireland and the approaching departure of the King. Prey's were offered up for the safety of his Majesty's person, and for the success of his arms. The churches of London were crowded. The most eminent preachers of the capital, who were, with scarcely an exception, either moderate Tories or moderate Whigs, exerted themselves to calm the public mind, and earnestly exorted their flocks not to withhold. At this great conjuncture a hearty support from the Prince, with whose fate was bound up the fate of the whole nation. Burnett told a large congregation from the pulpit how the Greeks, when the great Turk was preparing to besiege Constantinople, could not be persuaded to contribute any part of their wealth for the common defence, and how bitterly they repented of their avarice when they were compelled to deliver up to the victorious infidels, the treasurers which had been refused to the supplications of the last Christian emperor. The Whigs, however, as a party, did not stand in need of such an admonition, grieved and angry as they were. They were perfectly sensible that on the stability of the throne of William depended all that they most highly prized. What some of them might, as this conjuncture had been tempted to do, if they could have found another leader, if, for example, their Protestant Turk, their King Monmouth, had still been living, may be doubted, but their only choice was between the sovereign whom they had set up and the sovereign whom they had pulled down. It would have been strange indeed if they had taken part with James in order to punish William, when the worst fault which they imputed to William was that he did not participate in the vindictive felling with which they remembered the tyranny of James. Much as they disliked the Bill of Indemnity, they had not forgotten the bloody circuit. They therefore, even in their ill humour, continued true to their own King, and while grumbling at him were ready to stand by him against his adversary with their lives and fortunes.