No More Learning

Even his vices were not those which excite public
hatred. The people readily forgave a courageous openhanded 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, stupified by
wine, enervated by licentiousness, 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 Schomberg had conducted the most arduous of all
campaigns. That he had not achieved more was attributed chiefly to the
villany of the Commissariat. The pestilence itself it 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 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 beasts to draw 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 plaguestricken 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 Whig 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 the royal confidence had been employed. The most
moderate and judicious Whigs pointed out the indecency and impolicy
of interrogating the King, and of forcing him either to accuse his
ministers or to quarrel with the representatives of his people. "Advise
His Majesty, if you will," said Somers, "to withdraw his confidence
from the counsellors 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, [526] The King, as might have been foreseen, coldly refused
to turn informer; and the House did not press him further, [527] 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, [528]

In the midst of the angry debates on the Irish war a pleasing incident
produced for a moment goodhumour 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. Broadsides of
prose and verse written in his praise were cried 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," William 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. " [529]

It is true that amidst the general applause the voice of detraction made
itself heard. The defenders of Londonderry were men of two nations
and of two religions. During the siege, hatred of the Irishry had
held together all Saxons; and hatred of Popery 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 calumnious accusations which were triumphantly refuted, and
thus threw away the advantage which they had possessed. Walker defended
himself with moderation and candour. His friends fought his battle with
vigour, 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 Rapparees, was rabbled
by a mob of Scotch Covenanters, [530]

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 to the King an address
requesting that ten thousand pounds might be distributed among the
families whose sufferings had been so touchingly described. The next day
it was rumoured about the benches that Walker was in the lobby. He was
called in. The Speaker, with great dignity and grace, 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 valour would
always be held in grateful remembrance by the Commons of England, [531]

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 Londonderry and on the banks of Lough
Erne, 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
Ireton, 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 vigour 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 perfidy 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 Stuarts he had stood up against the Cromwells.
There was but a single blemish on his fame: but that blemish, in the
opinion of the 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 the First.

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 Lisle, the husband of that Alice Lisle whose
death has left a lasting stain on the memory of James the Second. 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 bribe. Lisle
fell by the hand of one of these assassins. But Ludlow escaped unhurt
from all the machinations of his enemies. A small knot of vehement and
determined Whigs regarded him with a veneration, which increased as
years rolled away, and left him almost the only survivor, certainly 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
rebellion: but he had wisely refused to take any part in the desperate
enterprises which the Wildmans and Fergusons were never weary of
planning, [532]

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 recognised by the Estates of the realm, and
had been proclaimed by 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 son 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 situations, assured him that he might safely venture
over, nay, that he might expect to be sent in high command to Ireland,
where his name was still cherished by his old soldiers and by their
children, [533] He came and early in September it was known that he
was in London, [534] 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 a part
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 sate on the tribunal in Westminster
Hall, he was an ardent enthusiast of twenty eight, and that he now
returned from exile a greyheaded and wrinkled man in his seventieth
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 a grave in his native soil.
But he had no thought of hiding himself. It was soon rumoured that one
of those murderers, who had brought on England guilt, 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 head quarters of the most noted enemies of monarchy
and episcopacy, [535] The subject was brought before the House of
Commons. The Tory members called loudly for justice on the traitor. None
of the Whigs 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,
[536] 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 overlook the little town of Vevay. On the house was
formerly legible an inscription purporting that to him to whom God is a
father every land is a fatherland; [537] and the epitaph on the tomb
still attests the feelings with which the stern old Puritan to the last
regarded the people of Ireland and the House of Stuart.

Tories and Whigs 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 Houses 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, [538] Vindictive as had been the mood in which the Whigs 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. Sixteen hundred and eighty 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 hotheaded and designing
agitators. Again moderation was despised as cowardice, or execrated as
treachery. All the lessons taught by a 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
proscription, dispersion, decimation, but for the magnanimity and
wisdom of that great prince, who, bent on fulfilling his mission, and
insensible alike to flattery and to 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 ascendency 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
Laard, ah Laard! " was again daily heard in the lobbies and in the
gallery, [539] The House fell first on the renegades of the late reign.
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 dotard. 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,
[540] 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 woollen stuffs, 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, [541] The Commons had meanwhile passed on to
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, [542] Then Obadiah Walker was led in.
He behaved with a pusillanimity 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,
[543] Castlemaine was put next to 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, [544]

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
eminent 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 Stuarts, was chairman, [545]
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 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, [546]

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. Tillotson 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 Hampden, 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 Whigs 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 offence. 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. Hampden 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 Hampden; "to whom was I to apply except to
the men who were in power? I applied to Lord Jeffreys: I applied to
Father Petre; 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. Hampden, did not you afterwards send your wife to thank him
for his kindness? " "Yes, I believe I did," answered Hampden; "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, [547] It is pleasing to
know that a person who had been far more cruelly wronged than he, but
whose nature differed widely from his, the nobleminded Lady Russell,
remonstrated against the injustice with which the extreme Whigs treated
Halifax, [548]

The malice of John Hampden, however, was unwearied 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 counsels 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 temper averse 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.
That a Hampden, 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 statesmen. 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 Hampden 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
proscribe men for the best thing that they ever did in their lives, to
proscribe 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 Popish religion, and to the French ascendency.
It was at length resolved that the King should be requested in general
terms to find out and to remove the authors of the late miscarriages,
[549] A committee was appointed to prepare an Address. John Hampden 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 a libel. " After a sharp
debate, the Address was recommitted, and was not again mentioned, [550]

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
adviser 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 Caermarthen, 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
Hampden 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 proscribe
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 Somers was chairman. On the
second of January Somers 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, Sacheverell, renowned in
the stormy parliaments of the reign of Charles the Second 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
remodelled during that hot fit of loyalty which followed the detection
of the Rye House Plot; and, in almost every corporate town, the voice
of the Tories had been for delivering up the charter, and for trusting
every thing to the paternal care of the Sovereign. The effect of
Sacheverell's clause, therefore, was to make some thousands of the most
opulent and highly considered men in 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, an
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 Berwick 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 a hundred and twenty-seven votes
to eighty-nine. The question was then put that Sacheverell's clause
should stand part of the bill, and was carried by a hundred and
thirty-three to sixty-eight. Sir Robert Howard immediately moved that
every person who, being under Sacheverell's clause disqualified for
municipal office, should presume to take any such 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, [551]
The rules of the House put it in the power of a minority to obstruct
the progress of a 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 Sacheverell's and
Howard's clauses, should be ingrossed. The most vehement Whigs were bent
on finally passing it within forty-eight hours. The Lords, indeed, were
not likely to regard it very favourably. But it should seem that some
desperate men were prepared to withhold the supplies till it should
pass, nay, even to tack it to the bill of supply, and thus to place
the Upper House under the necessity of either consenting to a vast
proscription of the Tories or refusing to the government the means of
carrying on the war, [552] There were Whigs, 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 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.
Sacheverell 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 mails had carried
out along all the high roads the tidings that, on the second of January,
the Commons had agreed to a retrospective penal law against the whole
Tory party, and that, on the tenth, 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 villanous 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 Roundhead 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 ought it to have been forgotten that the offenders
against whom Sacheverell's clause 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 Sacheverell 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, sate up till midnight,
anxiously expecting the news, and writing 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 licence 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,
[553] That Somers 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 men 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 Sacheverell, 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
clerk tore away from the parchment on which the bill had been engrossed
the odious clauses of Sacheverell and Howard, [554]

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, [555] 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
Sacheverell 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
contended 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
what principle was immunity to be granted to his advisers 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, [556]

On the same day on which this mock Bill of Indemnity disturbed the
gravity of the Commons, it was moved that the House should go into
Committee on the real Bill. The Whigs 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 delinquents should
be forthwith brought in, and engrafted on the Bill of Indemnity, [557]

A few hours later a vote passed that showed more clearly than any thing
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 aristocratical 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; [558] but this is an eulogy 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 Popery and despotism; he had, in
the very presence 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 favourite 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 deep in the worst secrets of the
Rye House 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 Leyden 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 yet elapsed since he had been outlawed, and that, by an Act passed
in the reign of Edward the Sixth, 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.
Jeffreys 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 Almighty's judgments light on you! " "God Almighty's
judgment," said Jeffreys, "will light on traitors. Thank God, I am
clamour 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, [559]

The insolence and cruelty of Jeffreys excite, 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 the Sixth may, without any straining,
be construed as the Court construed them. Indeed, had the penalty
been only fine or imprisonment, nobody would have seen any thing
reprehensible in the proceeding. But to send a man to the gallows as a
traitor, without confronting him with his accusers, without hearing his
defence, 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
orphan 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 legal, 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 orator, "till some of that profession be made examples. "
"No crime to demand execution! " exclaimed John Hampden. "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 favour. It
was, however, resolved that he should be excepted from the Indemnity,
and expelled from the House, [560]

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 labours by making out a list of the offenders who
were to be proscribed. 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, [561]

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
justice would satisfy neither. The Tories hated him for protecting the
Dissenters. The Whigs hated him for protecting the Tories. The amnesty
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 attachment he could rely, a general
cry of rage was set up by all the English factions. The knavery of
the English Commissariat had destroyed an army: yet a rumour 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
extorted 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 defence 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 them. She was born on their soil.
She spoke their language. She did not dislike some parts of their
Liturgy, which they fancied 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 and tact, a sweet temper, a
smile and a kind word for every body. 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 convey 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 Caermarthen 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
peculation and to maintain discipline, [562]

That he had seriously meditated a retreat to Holland long continued to
be a secret, not only to the multitude, but even to the Queen, [563]
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 busied in constructing a house
of wood which was to travel about, packed in two waggons, and to be set
up wherever His Majesty might fix his quarters, [564] 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. Would any true friend have advised His Majesty, infirm in
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. Every thing was at stake; and go he must, even
though the Parliament should present an address imploring him to stay,
[565]

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 discard 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 Caermarthen.

On the twenty-seventh of January, Black Rod knocked at the door of the
Commons. The Speaker and the members repaired 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 ell long. I saw some of those
men change colour with vexation twenty times while I was speaking. "
[566]

A few hours after the prorogation, a hundred and fifty 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 recovered 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 forego 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 Lowther, 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 Saint James's since the Revolution,
went to kiss the King's hand. So warmly indeed did those who had
hitherto been regarded as half Jacobites express their approbation of
the policy of the government that the thoroughgoing Jacobites were much
disgusted, and complained bitterly of the strange blindness which seemed
to have come on the sons of the Church of England, [567]

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 good will of the Tories. Several persons
whom the Commons had thrown into prison for treason were set at liberty
on bail, [568] 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 in time to save themselves
from beggary. But the Primate and five of his suffragans were still
inflexible. They consequently forfeited their bishoprics; but Sancroft
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 nonjuring 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 sees, [569] Similar indulgence was shown to some
divines of lower rank.