No More Learning

The general feeling was in favour
of the bill. It was rumoured that the majority which had determined to
stand by the amendments had been swollen by several prelates, by several
of the illegitimate sons of Charles the Second, and by several needy and
greedy courtiers. The cry in all the public places of resort was that
the nation would be ruined by the three B's, Bishops, Bastards, and
Beggars. On Wednesday the tenth, at length, the contest came to a
decisive issue. Both Houses were early crowded. The Lords demanded a
conference. It was held; and Pembroke delivered back to Seymour the
bill and the amendments, together with a paper containing a concise,
but luminous and forcible, exposition of the grounds on which the Lords
conceived themselves to be acting in a constitutional and strictly
defensive manner. This paper was read at the bar; but, whatever effect
it may now produce on a dispassionate student of history, it produced
none on the thick ranks of country gentlemen. It was instantly resolved
that the bill should again be sent back to the Lords with a peremptory
announcement that the Commons' determination was unalterable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poussin had been directed to offer to the Lords Justices explanations
similar to those with which Torcy had attempted to appease Manchester.
A memorial was accordingly drawn up and presented to Vernon; but Vernon
refused to look at it. Soon a courier arrived from Loo with the letter
in which William directed his vicegerents to send the French agent out
of the kingdom. An officer of the royal household was charged with the
execution of the order. He repaired to Poussin's lodgings; but Poussin
was not at home; he was supping at the Blue Posts, a tavern much
frequented by Jacobites, the very tavern indeed at which Charnock and
his gang had breakfasted on the day fixed for the murderous ambuscade
of Turnham Green. To this house the messenger went; and there he found
Poussin at table with three of the most virulent Tory members of the
House of Commons, Tredenham, who returned himself for Saint Mawes;
Hammond, who had been sent to Parliament by the high churchmen of the
University of Cambridge; and Davenant, who had recently, at Poussin's
suggestion, been rewarded by Lewis for some savage invectives against
the Whigs with a diamond ring worth three thousand pistoles. This supper
party was, during some weeks, the chief topic of conversation. The
exultation of the Whigs was boundless. These then were the true English
patriots, the men who could not endure a foreigner, the men who would
not suffer His Majesty to bestow a moderate reward on the foreigners who
had stormed Athlone, and turned the flank of the Celtic army at Aghrim.
It now appeared they could be on excellent terms with a foreigner,
provided only that he was the emissary of a tyrant hostile to the
liberty, the independence, and the religion of their country. The
Tories, vexed and abashed, heartily wished that, on that unlucky day,
their friends had been supping somewhere else. Even the bronze of
Davenant's forehead was not proof to the general reproach. He defended
himself by pretending that Poussin, with whom he had passed whole days,
who had corrected his scurrilous pamphlets, and who had paid him his
shameful wages, was a stranger to him, and that the meeting at the Blue
Posts was purely accidental. If his word was doubted, he was willing to
repeat his assertion on oath. The public, however, which had formed a
very correct notion of his character, thought that his word was worth as
much as his oath, and that his oath was worth nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

The King meanwhile was sinking fast. Albemarle had arrived at Kensington
from the Hague, exhausted by rapid travelling. His master kindly bade
him go to rest for some hours, and then summoned him to make his report.
That report was in all respects satisfactory.