No More Learning

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. Sherlock, in particular, continued, after his
deprivation, to live unmolested in his official mansion close to the
Temple Church.

And now appeared a proclamation dissolving the Parliament. The writs for
a general election went out; and soon every part of the kingdom was in
a ferment. Van Citters, who had resided in England during many eventful
years, declared that he had never seen London more violently agitated,
[570] The excitement was kept up by compositions of all sorts, from
sermons with sixteen heads down to jingling street ballads. Lists of
divisions were, for the first time in our history, printed and dispersed
for the information of constituent bodies. Two of these lists may still
be seen in old libraries. One of the two, circulated by the Whigs,
contained the names of those Tories who had voted against declaring the
throne vacant. The other, circulated by the Tories, contained the names
of those Whigs who had supported the Sacheverell clause.

It soon became clear that public feeling had undergone a great change
during the year which had elapsed since the Convention had met; and
it is impossible to deny that this change was, at least in part, the
natural consequence and the just punishment of the intemperate and
vindictive conduct of the Whigs. Of the city of London they thought
themselves sure. The Livery had in the preceding year returned four
zealous Whigs without a contest. But all the four had voted for the
Sacheverell clause; and by that clause many of the merchant princes of
Lombard Street and Cornhill, men powerful in the twelve great companies,
men whom the goldsmiths followed humbly, hat in hand, up and down the
arcades of the Royal Exchange, would have been turned with all indignity
out of the Court of Aldermen and out of the Common Council. The struggle
was for life or death. No exertions, no artifices, were spared. William
wrote to Portland that the Whigs of the City, in their despair, stuck
at nothing, and that, as they went on, they would soon stand as much
in need of an Act of Indemnity as the Tories. Four Tories however were
returned, and that by so decisive a majority, that the Tory who stood
lowest polled four hundred votes more than the Whig who stood highest,
[571] The Sheriffs, desiring to defer as long as possible the triumph
of their enemies, granted a scrutiny. But, though the majority was
diminished, the result was not affected, [572] At Westminster, two
opponents of the Sacheverell clause were elected without a contest,
[573] But nothing indicated more strongly the disgust excited by
the proceedings of the late House of Commons than what passed in the
University of Cambridge. Newton retired to his quiet observatory over
the gate of Trinity College. Two Tories were returned by an overwhelming
majority. At the head of the poll was Sawyer, who had, but a few days
before, been excepted from the Indemnity Bill and expelled from the
House of Commons. The records of the University contain curious proofs
that the unwise severity with which he had been treated had raised an
enthusiastic feeling in his favour. Newton voted for Sawyer; and this
remarkable fact justifies us in believing that the great philosopher,
in whose genius and virtue the Whig party justly glories, had seen
the headstrong and revengeful conduct of that party with concern and
disapprobation, [574]

It was soon plain that the Tories would have a majority in the new House
of Commons, [575] All the leading Whigs however obtained seats, with one
exception. John Hampden was excluded, and was regretted only by the most
intolerant and unreasonable members of his party, [576]

The King meanwhile was making, in almost every department of the
executive government, a change corresponding to the change which the
general election was making in the composition of the legislature.
Still, however, he did not think of forming what is now called a
ministry. He still reserved to himself more especially the direction
of foreign affairs; and he superintended with minute attention all
the preparations for the approaching campaign in Ireland. In his
confidential letters he complained that he had to perform, with little
or no assistance, the task of organizing the disorganized military
establishments of the kingdom. The work, he said, was heavy; but it must
be done; for everything depended on it, [577] In general, the government
was still a government by independent departments; and in almost every
department Whigs and Tories were still mingled, though not exactly in
the old proportions. The Whig element had decidedly predominated, in
1689. The Tory element predominated, though not very decidedly, in 1690.

Halifax had laid down the Privy Seal. It was offered to Chesterfield,
a Tory who had voted in the Convention for a Regency. But Chesterfield
refused to quit his country house and gardens in Derbyshire for
the Court and the Council Chamber; and the Privy Seal was put into
Commission, [578] Caermarthen was now the chief adviser of the Crown
on all matters relating to the internal administration and to the
management of the two Houses of Parliament. The white staff, and the
immense power which accompanied the white staff, William was still
determined never to entrust to any subject. Caermarthen therefore,
continued to be Lord President; but he took possession of a suite of
apartments in Saint James's Palace which was considered as peculiarly
belonging to the Prime Minister, [579] He had, during the preceding
year, pleaded ill health as an excuse for seldom appearing at the
Council Board; and the plea was not without foundation, for his
digestive organs had some morbid peculiarities which puzzled the whole
College of Physicians; his complexion was livid; his frame was meagre;
and his face, handsome and intellectual as it was, had a haggard look
which indicated the restlessness of pain as well as the restlessness
of ambition, [580] As soon, however, as he was once more minister, he
applied himself strenuously to business, and toiled every day, and all
day long, with an energy which amazed every body who saw his ghastly
countenance and tottering gait.

Though he could not obtain for himself the office of Lord Treasurer, his
influence at the Treasury was great. Monmouth, the First Commissioner,
and Delamere, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, two of the most violent
Whigs in England, quitted their seats. On this, as on many other
occasions, it appeared that they had nothing but their Whiggism
in common. The volatile Monmouth, sensible that he had none of the
qualities of a financier, seems to have taken no personal offence at
being removed from a place which he never ought to have occupied. He
thankfully accepted a pension, which his profuse habits made necessary
to him, and still continued to attend councils, to frequent the Court,
and to discharge the duties of a Lord of the Bedchamber, [581] He also
tried to make himself useful in military business, which he understood,
if not well, yet better than most of his brother nobles; and he
professed, during a few months, a great regard for Caermarthen. Delamere
was in a very different mood. It was in vain that his services were
overpaid with honours and riches. He was created Earl of Warrington. He
obtained a grant of all the lands that could be discovered belonging
to Jesuits in five or six counties. A demand made by him on account
of expenses incurred at the time of the Revolution was allowed; and
he carried with him into retirement as the reward of his patriotic
exertions a large sum, which the State could ill spare. But his anger
was not to be so appeased; and to the end of his life he continued to
complain bitterly of the ingratitude with which he and his party had
been treated, [582]

Sir John Lowther became First Lord of the Treasury, and was the person
on whom Caermarthen chiefly relied for the conduct of the ostensible
business of the House of Commons. Lowther was a man of ancient descent,
ample estate, and great parliamentary interest. Though not an old man,
he was an old senator: for he had, before he was of age, succeeded
his father as knight of the shire for Westmoreland. In truth
the representation of Westmoreland was almost as much one of the
hereditaments of the Lowther family as Lowther Hall. Sir John's
abilities were respectable; his manners, though sarcastically noticed
in contemporary lampoons as too formal, were eminently courteous;
his personal courage he was but too ready to prove; his morals were
irreproachable; his time was divided between respectable labours and
respectable pleasures; his chief business was to attend the House of
Commons and to preside on the Bench of justice; his favourite amusements
were reading and gardening. In opinions he was a very moderate Tory. He
was attached to hereditary monarchy and to the Established Church; but
he had concurred in the Revolution; he had no misgivings touching the
title of William and Mary; he had sworn allegiance to them without
any mental reservation; and he appears to have strictly kept his oath.
Between him and Caermarthen there was a close connection. They had acted
together cordially in the Northern insurrection; and they agreed in
their political views, as nearly as a very cunning statesman and a
very honest country gentleman could be expected to agree, [583] By
Caermarthen's influence Lowther was now raised to one of the most
important places in the kingdom. Unfortunately it was a place requiring
qualities very different from those which suffice to make a valuable
county member and chairman of quarter sessions. The tongue of the new
First Lord of the Treasury was not sufficiently ready, nor was his
temper sufficiently callous for his post. He had neither adroitness to
parry, nor fortitude to endure, the gibes and reproaches to which, in
his new character of courtier and placeman, he was exposed. There was
also something to be done which he was too scrupulous to do; something
which had never been done by Wolsey or Burleigh; something which has
never been done by any English statesman of our generation; but which,
from the time of Charles the Second to the time of George the Third, was
one of the most important parts of the business of a minister.

The history of the rise, progress, and decline of parliamentary
corruption in England still remains to be written. No subject has called
forth a greater quantity of eloquent vituperation and stinging sarcasm.
Three generations of serious and of sportive writers wept and laughed
over the venality of the senate. That venality was denounced on the
hustings, anathematized from the pulpit, and burlesqued on the stage;
was attacked by Pope in brilliant verse, and by Bolingbroke in stately
prose, by Swift with savage hatred, and by Gay with festive malice. The
voices of Tories and Whigs, of Johnson and Akenside, of Smollett and
Fielding, contributed to swell the cry. But none of those who railed
or of those who jested took the trouble to verify the phaenomena, or to
trace them to the real causes.

Sometimes the evil was imputed to the depravity of a particular
minister: but, when he had been driven from power, and when those who
had most loudly accused him governed in his stead, it was found that the
change of men had produced no change of system. Sometimes the evil
was imputed to the degeneracy of the national character. Luxury and
cupidity, it was said, had produced in our country the same effect which
they had produced of old in the Roman republic. The modern Englishman
was to the Englishman of the sixteenth century what Verres and Curio
were to Dentatus and Fabricius. Those who held this language were as
ignorant and shallow as people generally are who extol the past at the
expense of the present. A man of sense would have perceived that, if the
English of the time of George the Second had really been more sordid and
dishonest than their forefathers, the deterioration would not have shown
itself in one place alone. The progress of judicial venality and
of official venality would have kept pace with the progress of
parliamentary venality. But nothing is more certain than that, while the
legislature was becoming more and more venal, the courts of law and the
public offices were becoming purer and purer. The representatives of
the people were undoubtedly more mercenary in the days of Hardwicke and
Pelham than in the days of the Tudors. But the Chancellors of the
Tudors took plate and jewels from suitors without scruple or shame; and
Hardwicke would have committed for contempt any suitor who had dared
to bring him a present. The Treasurers of the Tudors raised princely
fortunes by the sale of places, titles, and pardons; and Pelham would
have ordered his servants to turn out of his house any man who had
offered him money for a peerage or a commissionership of customs. It is
evident, therefore, that the prevalence of corruption in the Parliament
cannot be ascribed to a general depravation of morals. The taint was
local; we must look for some local cause; and such a cause will without
difficulty be found.

Under our ancient sovereigns the House of Commons rarely interfered with
the executive administration. The Speaker was charged not to let
the members meddle with matters of State. If any gentleman was very
troublesome he was cited before the Privy Council, interrogated,
reprimanded, and sent to meditate on his undutiful conduct in the
Tower. The Commons did their best to protect themselves by keeping their
deliberations secret, by excluding strangers, by making it a crime to
repeat out of doors what had passed within doors. But these precautions
were of small avail. In so large an assembly there were always
talebearers ready to carry the evil report of their brethren to the
palace. To oppose the Court was therefore a service of serious danger.
In those days of course, there was little or no buying of votes. For an
honest man was not to be bought; and it was much cheaper to intimidate
or to coerce a knave than to buy him.

For a very different reason there has been no direct buying of votes
within the memory of the present generation. The House of Commons is
now supreme in the State, but is accountable to the nation. Even those
members who are not chosen by large constituent bodies are kept in awe
by public opinion. Every thing is printed; every thing is discussed;
every material word uttered in debate is read by a million of people on
the morrow. Within a few hours after an important division, the lists
of the majority and the minority are scanned and analysed in every town
from Plymouth to Inverness. If a name be found where it ought not to be,
the apostate is certain to be reminded in sharp language of the promises
which he has broken and of the professions which he has belied. At
present, therefore, the best way in which a government can secure the
support of a majority of the representative body is by gaining the
confidence of the nation.

But between the time when our Parliaments ceased to be controlled by
royal prerogative and the time when they began to be constantly and
effectually controlled by public opinion there was a long interval.
After the Restoration, no government ventured to return to those methods
by which, before the civil war, the freedom of deliberation has been
restrained. A member could no longer be called to account for his
harangues or his votes. He might obstruct the passing of bills of
supply; he might arraign the whole foreign policy of the country; he
might lay on the table articles of impeachment against all the chief
ministers; and he ran not the smallest risk of being treated as Morrice
had been treated by Elizabeth, or Eliot by Charles the First. The
senator now stood in no awe of the Court. Nevertheless all the defences
behind which the feeble Parliaments of the sixteenth century had
entrenched themselves against the attacks of prerogative were not only
still kept up, but were extended and strengthened. No politician seems
to have been aware that these defences were no longer needed for their
original purpose, and had begun to serve a purpose very different.
The rules which had been originally designed to secure faithful
representatives against the displeasure of the Sovereign, now operated
to secure unfaithful representatives against the displeasure of the
people, and proved much more effectual for the latter end than they had
ever been for the former. It was natural, it was inevitable, that, in
a legislative body emancipated from the restraints of the sixteenth
century, and not yet subjected to the restraints of the nineteenth
century, in a legislative body which feared neither the King nor the
public, there should be corruption.

The plague spot began to be visible and palpable in the days of the
Cabal. Clifford, the boldest and fiercest of the wicked Five, had
the merit of discovering that a noisy patriot, whom it was no longer
possible to send to prison, might be turned into a courtier by a
goldsmith's note. Clifford's example was followed by his successors.
It soon became a proverb that a Parliament resembled a pump. Often, the
wits said, when a pump appears to be dry, if a very small quantity of
water is poured in, a great quantity of water gushes out: and so, when
a Parliament appears to be niggardly, ten thousand pounds judiciously
given in bribes will often produce a million in supplies. The evil was
not diminished, nay, it was aggravated, by that Revolution which freed
our country from so many other evils. The House of Commons was now more
powerful than ever as against the Crown, and yet was not more strictly
responsible than formerly to the nation. The government had a new motive
for buying the members; and the members had no new motive for refusing
to sell themselves. William, indeed, had an aversion to bribery; he
resolved to abstain from it; and, during the first year of his reign, he
kept his resolution. Unhappily the events of that year did not encourage
him to persevere in his good intentions. As soon as Caermarthen was
placed at the head of the internal administration of the realm, a
complete change took place. He was in truth no novice in the art of
purchasing votes. He had, sixteen years before, succeeded Clifford at
the Treasury, had inherited Clifford's tactics, had improved upon them,
and had employed them to an extent which would have amazed the inventor.
From the day on which Caermarthen was called a second time to the
chief direction of affairs, parliamentary corruption continued to be
practised, with scarcely any intermission, by a long succession of
statesmen, till the close of the American war. Neither of the great
English parties can justly charge the other with any peculiar guilt on
this account. The Tories were the first who introduced the system and
the last who clung to it; but it attained its greatest vigour in the
time of Whig ascendency. The extent to which parliamentary support was
bartered for money cannot be with any precision ascertained. But it
seems probable that the number of hirelings was greatly exaggerated by
vulgar report, and was never large, though often sufficient to turn the
scale on important divisions. An unprincipled minister eagerly accepted
the services of these mercenaries. An honest minister reluctantly
submitted, for the sake of the commonwealth, to what he considered as
a shameful and odious extortion. But during many years every minister,
whatever his personal character might be, consented, willingly or
unwillingly, to manage the Parliament in the only way in which the
Parliament could then be managed. It at length became as notorious that
there was a market for votes at the Treasury as that there was a market
for cattle in Smithfield. Numerous demagogues out of power declaimed
against this vile traffic; but every one of those demagogues, as soon as
he was in power, found himself driven by a kind of fatality to engage in
that traffic, or at least to connive at it. Now and then perhaps a man
who had romantic notions of public virtue refused to be himself the
paymaster of the corrupt crew, and averted his eyes while his less
scrupulous colleagues did that which he knew to be indispensable, and
yet felt to be degrading. But the instances of this prudery were
rare indeed. The doctrine generally received, even among upright and
honourable politicians, was that it was shameful to receive bribes, but
that it was necessary to distribute them. It is a remarkable fact that
the evil reached the greatest height during the administration of Henry
Pelham, a statesman of good intentions, of spotless morals in private
life, and of exemplary disinterestedness. It is not difficult to guess
by what arguments he and other well meaning men, who, like him, followed
the fashion of their age, quieted their consciences. No casuist, however
severe, has denied that it may be a duty to give what it is a crime to
take. It was infamous in Jeffreys to demand money for the lives of the
unhappy prisoners whom he tried at Dorchester and Taunton. But it was
not infamous, nay, it was laudable, in the kinsmen and friends of a
prisoner to contribute of their substance in order to make up a purse
for Jeffreys. The Sallee rover, who threatened to bastinado a Christian
captive to death unless a ransom was forthcoming, was an odious ruffian.
But to ransom a Christian captive from a Sallee rover was, not merely
an innocent, but a highly meritorious act. It would be improper in such
cases to use the word corruption. Those who receive the filthy lucre are
corrupt already. He who bribes them does not make them wicked: he finds
them so; and he merely prevents their evil propensities from producing
evil effects. And might not the same plea be urged in defence of a
minister who, when no other expedient would avail, paid greedy and
lowminded men not to ruin their country?

It was by some such reasoning as this that the scruples of William were
overcome. Honest Burnet, with the uncourtly courage which distinguished
him, ventured to remonstrate with the King. "Nobody," William answered,
"hates bribery more, than I. But I have to do with a set of men who must
be managed in this vile way or not at all. I must strain a point or the
country is lost. " [584]

It was necessary for the Lord President to have in the House of Commons
an agent for the purchase of members; and Lowther was both too awkward
and too scrupulous to be such an agent. But a man in whom craft and
profligacy were united in a high degree was without difficulty found.
This was the Master of the Rolls, Sir John Trevor, who had been Speaker
in the single Parliament held by James. High as Trevor had risen in the
world, there were people who could still remember him a strange looking
lawyer's clerk in the Inner Temple. Indeed, nobody who had ever seen
him was likely to forget him. For his grotesque features and his hideous
squint were far beyond the reach of caricature. His parts, which were
quick and vigorous, had enabled him early to master the science of
chicane. Gambling and betting were his amusements; and out of these
amusements he contrived to extract much business in the way of his
profession. For his opinion on a question arising out of a wager or
a game at chance had as much authority as a judgment of any court in
Westminster Hall. He soon rose to be one of the boon companions whom
Jeffreys hugged in fits of maudlin friendship over the bottle at night,
and cursed and reviled in court on the morrow. Under such a teacher,
Trevor rapidly became a proficient in that peculiar kind of rhetoric
which had enlivened the trials of Baxter and of Alice Lisle. Report
indeed spoke of some scolding matches between the Chancellor and his
friend, in which the disciple had been not less voluble and scurrilous
than the master. These contests, however, did not take place till the
younger adventurer had attained riches and dignities such that he no
longer stood in need of the patronage which had raised him, [585] Among
High Churchmen Trevor, in spite of his notorious want of principle, had
at this time a certain popularity, which he seems to have owed chiefly
to their conviction that, however insincere he might be in general, his
hatred of the dissenters was genuine and hearty. There was little doubt
that, in a House of Commons in which the Tories had a majority, he
might easily, with the support of the Court, be chosen Speaker. He was
impatient to be again in his old post, which he well knew how to make
one of the most lucrative in the kingdom; and he willingly undertook
that secret and shameful office for which Lowther was altogether
unqualified.

Richard Hampden was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. This
appointment was probably intended as a mark of royal gratitude for the
moderation of his conduct, and for the attempts which he had made to
curb the violence of his Whig friends, and especially of his son.

Godolphin voluntarily left the Treasury; why, we are not informed. We
can scarcely doubt that the dissolution and the result of the general
election must have given him pleasure. For his political opinions leaned
towards Toryism; and he had, in the late reign, done some things which,
though not very heinous, stood in need of an indemnity. It is probable
that he did not think it compatible with his personal dignity to sit at
the board below Lowther, who was in rank his inferior, [586]

A new Commission of Admiralty was issued. At the head of the naval
administration was placed Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, a high born
and high bred man, who had ranked among the Tories, who had voted for
a Regency, and who had married the daughter of Sawyer. That Pembroke's
Toryism, however, was not of a narrow and illiberal kind is sufficiently
proved by the fact that, immediately after the Revolution, the Essay on
the Human Understanding was dedicated to him by John Locke, in token of
gratitude for kind offices done in evil times, [587]

Nothing was omitted which could reconcile Torrington to this change.
For, though he had been found an incapable administrator, he still
stood so high in general estimation as a seaman that the government
was unwilling to lose his services. He was assured that no slight was
intended to him. He could not serve his country at once on the ocean
and at Westminster; and it had been thought less difficult to supply his
place in his office than on the deck of his flagship. He was at first
very angry, and actually laid down his commission: but some concessions
were made to his pride: a pension of three thousand pounds a year and a
grant of ten thousand acres of crown land in the Peterborough level were
irresistible baits to his cupidity; and, in an evil hour for England, he
consented to remain at the head of the naval force, on which the safety
of her coasts depended, [588]

While these changes were making in the offices round Whitehall, the
Commissions of Lieutenancy all over the kingdom were revised. The Tories
had, during twelve months, been complaining that their share in the
government of the districts in which they lived bore no proportion
to their number, to their wealth, and to the consideration which they
enjoyed in society. They now regained with great delight their former
position in their shires. The Whigs raised a cry that the King was
foully betrayed, and that he had been induced by evil counsellors to put
the sword into the hands of men who, as soon as a favourable opportunity
offered, would turn the edge against himself. In a dialogue which was
believed to have been written by the newly created Earl of Warrington,
and which had a wide circulation at the time, but has long been
forgotten, the Lord Lieutenant of a county was introduced expressing his
apprehensions that the majority of his deputies were traitors at heart,
[589] But nowhere was the excitement produced by the new distribution of
power so great as in the capital. By a Commission of Lieutenancy which
had been issued immediately after the Revolution, the train bands of the
City had been put under the command of staunch Whigs. Those powerful and
opulent citizens whose names were omitted complained that the list was
filled with elders of Puritan congregations, with Shaftesbury's brisk
boys, with Rye House plotters, and that it was scarcely possible to
find, mingled with that multitude of fanatics and levellers, a single
man sincerely attached to monarchy and to the Church. A new Commission
now appeared framed by Caermarthen and Nottingham. They had taken
counsel with Compton, the Bishop of the diocese; and Compton was not
a very discreet adviser. He had originally been a High Churchman and a
Tory. The severity with which he had been treated in the late reign had
transformed him into a Latitudinarian and a rebel; and he had now, from
jealousy of Tillotson, turned High Churchman and Tory again. The Whigs
complained that they were ungratefully proscribed by a government
which owed its existence to them; that some of the best friends of King
William had been dismissed with contumely to make room for some of
his worst enemies, for men who were as unworthy of trust as any Irish
Rapparee, for men who had delivered up to a tyrant the charter and
the immemorial privileges of the City, for men who had made themselves
notorious by the cruelty with which they had enforced the penal laws
against Protestant dissenters, nay, for men who had sate on those juries
which had found Russell and Cornish guilty, [590] The discontent was
so great that it seemed, during a short time, likely to cause pecuniary
embarrassment to the State. The supplies voted by the late Parliament
came in slowly. The wants of the public service were pressing. In such
circumstances it was to the citizens of London that the government
always looked for help; and the government of William had hitherto
looked especially to those citizens who professed Whig opinions. Things
were now changed. A few eminent Whigs, in their first anger, sullenly
refused to advance money. Nay, one or two unexpectedly withdrew
considerable sums from the Exchequer, [591] The financial difficulties
might have been serious, had not some wealthy Tories, who, if
Sacheverell's clause had become law, would have been excluded from all
municipal honours, offered the Treasury a hundred thousand pounds down,
and promised to raise a still larger sum, [592]

While the City was thus agitated, came a day appointed by royal
proclamation for a general fast. The reasons assigned for this solemn
act of devotion were the lamentable state of Ireland and the approaching
departure of the King. Prayers were offered up for the safety of His
Majesty's person and for the success of his arms. The churches of London
were crowded. The most eminent preachers of the capital, who were, with
scarcely an exception, either moderate Tories or moderate Whigs, exerted
themselves to calm the public mind, and earnestly exhorted their flocks
not to withhold, at this great conjuncture, a hearty support from the
prince, with whose fate was bound up the fate of the whole nation.
Burnet told a large congregation from the pulpit how the Greeks, when
the Great Turk was preparing to besiege Constantinople, could not be
persuaded to contribute any part of their wealth for the common defence,
and how bitterly they repented of their avarice when they were compelled
to deliver up to the victorious infidels the treasures which had been
refused to the supplications of the last Christian emperor, [593]

The Whigs, however, as a party, did not stand in need of such an
admonition. Grieved and angry as they were, they were perfectly sensible
that on the stability of the throne of William depended all that they
most highly prized. What some of them might, at this conjuncture, have
been tempted to do if they could have found another leader, if, for
example, their Protestant Duke, their King Monmouth, had still been
living, may be doubted.