CHAP. XXIV. EDWARD VI.

HENRY the eighth was ſucceeded on the throne by his only ſon Edward the ſixth, now in the ninth year of his age. The late king in his will, which he expected would be abſolute⯑ly obeyed, fixed the majority of the prince at the completion of his eighteenth year; and in the mean time appointed ſixteen executors of his will, to whom, during the miniority, he [2] entruſted the government of the king and kingdom. But the vanity of his aims was ſoon diſcovered; for the firſt act of the execu⯑tors was to chuſe the earl of Hertford, who was afterwards made duke of Somerſet, as protector of the realm, and in him was lodg⯑ed all the regal power, together with a pri⯑vilege of naming whom he would for his privy council.

This was a favourable ſeaſon for thoſe of the reformed religion; and the eyes of the late king were no ſooner cloſed, than all of that perſuaſion congratulated themſelves on the event. They no longer ſuppreſſed their ſentiments, but maintained their doctrines openly, in preaching and teaching, even while the laws againſt them continued in full force. The protector had long been regarded as the ſecret parti⯑zan of the reformers; and, being now freed from reſtraint, he ſcrupled not to expreſs his intention of correcting all the abuſes of the ancient religion, and of adopting ſtill more the doctrines propagated by Luther. His power was not a little ſtrengthened by his ſucceſs a⯑gainſt an incurſion of the Scotch, in which about eight hundred of their army were ſlain; and the popularity which he gained upon this occaſion, ſeconded his views in the further pro⯑pagation [3] of the new doctrines. But the cha⯑racter of Somerſet did not ſtand in need of the mean ſupports of popularity acquired in this manner, as he was naturally humble, civil, affable, and courteous to the meaneſt ſuitor, while all his actions were directed by motives of piety and honour.

The protector, in his ſchemes for advancing the reformation, had always recourſe to the counſels of Cranmer, who; being a man of moderation and prudence, was averſe to vio⯑lent changes, and determined to bring over the people by inſenſible innovations to his own peculiar ſyſtem. The perſon who op⯑poſed with the greateſt authority any farther advances towards reformation, was Gardiner, biſhop of Wincheſter, who, though he had not obtained a place at the council-board, yet from his age, experience, and capacity, was regarded by moſt men with ſome degree of veneration. Upon a general viſitation of the church, which had been commanded by the primate and protector, Gardiner defended the uſe of images, which was now very openly attacked by the proteſtants; he even wrote an apology for holy water; but he particu⯑larly alleged, that it was unlawful to make any change in religion during the king's mi⯑nority. [4] This oppoſition of Gardiner drew on him the indignation of the council; and he was ſent to the Fleet priſon, where he was uſed with much harſhneſs and ſeverity.

Theſe internal regulations were in ſome meaſure retarded by the war with Scotland, which ſtill continued to rage with ſome violence. But a defeat, which that nation ſuffered at Muſſelborough, in which above ten thouſand periſhed in the field of battle, induced them to ſue for peace, in order to gain time; and the protector returned to ſettle the buſineſs of the reformation, which was as yet only be⯑gun. But, though he acquired great po⯑pularity by this expedition, he did not fail to attract the envy of ſeveral noblemen, by procuring a patent from the young king his nephew, to ſit in parliament on the right hand of the throne, and to enjoy the ſame honours and privileges which had uſually been granted the uncles of kings in England. However, he ſtill drove on his favourite ſchemes of refor⯑mation, and gave more conſiſtency to the te⯑nets of the church. The cup was reſtored to the laity in the ſacrament of the Lord's ſupper; private maſſes were aboliſhed; the king was empowered to create biſhops by letters patent. Vagabonds were adjudged to be ſlaves for [5] two years, and to be marked with a red hot iron; an act commonly ſuppoſed to be levelled a⯑gainſt the ſtrolling prieſts and friars. It was enacted alſo, that all who denied the king's ſupremacy, or aſſerted the pope's, ſhould, for the firſt offence, forfeit their goods and chat⯑tels, and ſuffer impriſonment during pleaſure; for the ſecond offence they were to incur the pain of premunire, and for the third offence to be at⯑tainted of treaſon. Orders were ſoon after iſ⯑ſued by the council that candles ſhould no lon⯑ger be carried about on Candlemas day, aſhes on Aſh Wedneſday, or palms on Palm Sun⯑day. Theſe were ancient ſuperſtitious prac⯑tices, which led to immoralities that it was thought proper to reſtrain. An order alſo was iſſued for the removal of all images from the churches, an innovation which was much deſired by the reformers, and which alone, with regard to the populace, amounted almoſt to a change of the eſtabliſhed religion. The people had for ſome time been extremely diſ⯑tracted by the oppoſite opinions of their preach⯑ers; and as they were totally incapable of judg⯑ing the arguments advanced on either ſide, and naturally regarded every thing they heard at church, as of the greateſt authority, much confuſion and fluctuation reſulted from this [6] uncertainty. The council firſt endeavoured to remove the inconvenience by laying ſome reſtraints upon preaching; but finding this ex⯑pedient fail, they impoſed a total ſilence upon preachers, which however, was removed by degrees, in proportion as the reformation gain⯑ed ground among the people.

But theſe innovations, evidently calculated for the good of the people, were not brought about without ſome ſtruggles at home, while the protector was but too buſily employed againſt the Scotch, who united with, and ſe⯑conded by France, ſtill puſhed on their inroads with unremitting animoſity. Beſides, there was ſtill an enemy that he had yet to fear more than any of the former; and this was his own brother, lord Thomas Seymour, the ad⯑miral, a man of uncommon talents, but proud, turbulent, and untractable. This no⯑bleman could not endure the diſtinction which the king had always made between him and his elder brother; ſo that they divided the whole court and the kingdom by their oppo⯑ſite cabals and pretenſions. By his flattery and addreſs, he had ſo inſinuated himſelf into the good graces of the queen dowager, that, forgetting her uſual prudence and decency, ſhe married him immediately upon the deceaſe of [7] the late king. This match was particularly diſpleaſing to the elder brother's wife, who now ſaw that while her huſband had the pre⯑cedency in one place, ſhe was obliged to yield it in another. His next ſtep was to cabal and make a party among the nobility, who, as they hated his brother, fomented his ambition. He then bribed the king's domeſtics to his inter⯑eſt; and young Edward frequently went to his houſe, on pretence of viſiting the queen. There he ingratiated himſelf with his ſovereign by the moſt officious aſſiduities, particularly by ſupplying him with money to diſtribute a⯑mong his ſervants and favourites, without the knowledge of his governor. In the protector's abſence with the army in Scotland, he made it his buſineſs to redouble all his arts and inſinua⯑tions; and thus obtained a new patent for admiral, with an additional appointment. Sir William Paget perceiving the progreſs he daily made in the king's affection, wrote to the protector on the ſubject, who finiſhed the campaign in Scotland with all poſſible diſ⯑patch, that he might return in time to coun⯑ter-work his machinations. But before he could arrive in England, the admiral had engaged in his party ſeveral of the princi⯑pal nobility, and had even prevailed on the [8] king himſelf to write a letter to the two houſes of parliament with his own hand, deſiring that the admiral might be appointed his governor; but the council being apprized of his ſchemes, ſent deputies to aſſure him, that if he did not deſiſt they would deprive him of his office, ſend him priſoner to the Tower, and proſecute him on the laſt act of parliament, by which he was ſubject to the penalty of high treaſon, for attempting to diſturb the peace of the govern⯑ment. It was not without ſome ſevere ſtruggles within himſelf, and ſome menaces divulged a⯑mong his creatures, that he thought proper to ſubmit, and deſired to be reconciled to his bro⯑ther. Yet he ſtill nouriſhed the ſame deſigns in ſecret; and his brother, ſuſpecting his ſin⯑cerity, employed ſpies to inform him of all his private tranſactions.

But it was not in the power of perſuaſions or menaces to ſhake the admiral's unalterable views of ambition. His ſpouſe, the queen⯑dowager, had died in child-bed; and this ac⯑cident, far from repreſſing his ſchemes, only ſeemed to promote them. He made his ad⯑dreſſes to the Princeſs Elizabeth, afterwards ſo revered by the Engliſh; and it is ſaid that ſhe liſtened to his inſinuations, contrary to the will of her father, who had excluded her the ſuc⯑ceſſion, [9] in caſe ſhe married without the conſent of council. The admiral, however, it is ſup⯑poſed, had projects of getting over that objection; and his profeſſions ſeemed to give reaſon to believe that he intended aiming at regal authority. By promiſes and perſuaſions he brought over many of the principal nobili⯑ty to his party; he neglected not even the moſt popular perſons of inferior rank; and he com⯑puted that he could on occaſion command the ſervice of ten thouſand men among his ſer⯑vants, tenants, and retainers. He had already provided arms for their uſe; and having en⯑gaged in his intereſts Sir John Sharrington,A.D. 1548 maſter of the mint at Briſtol, a very corrupt man, he flattered himſelf that money would not be wanting.

Somerſet being well aſcertained of all theſe alarming circumſtances, endeavoured by every expedient that his power or his near connec⯑tion could ſuggeſt, to draw him from his de⯑ſigns. He reaſoned, he threatened, he heap⯑ed new favours upon him; but all to no pur⯑poſe. At laſt he reſolved to make uſe of the laſt dreadful remedy, and to attaint his own brother of high treaſon. In conſequence of this reſolution, and ſecretly adviſed to it by Dudley, earl of Warwick, a wicked ambitious [10] man, who expected to riſe upon the downfall of the two brothers, he deprived him of his office of high-admiral and ſigned a warrant for committing him to the Tower. Yet ſtill the protector ſuſpended the blow, and ſhewed a reluctance to ruin one ſo nearly connected with himſelf: he offered once more to be ſincerely re⯑conciled, and give him his life, if he was con⯑tented to ſpend the remainder of his days in re⯑tirement and repentance. But finding himſelf unable to work on the inflexible temper of his brother by any methods but ſeverity, he order⯑ed a charge to be drawn up againſt him, con⯑ſiſting of thirty-three articles; and the whole to be brought into parliament, which was now be⯑come the inſtrument by which the admini⯑ſtration uſually puniſhed their enemies. The charge being brought firſt into the houſe of lords, ſeveral peers, riſing up in their places, gave an account of what they knew concern⯑ing lord Seymour's conduct, and his criminal words and actions. There was more difficulty in managing the proſecution in the houſe of commons; but upon receiving a meſſage from the king, requiring them to proceed, the bill paſſed in a very full houſe, near four hundred voting for it, and not above nine or ten againſt it. The ſentence was ſoon after executed, by [11] beheading him on Tower-Hill. His death, however, was, in general, diſagreeable to the nation, who conſidered the lord Seymour as hardly dealt with, in being condemned upon general allegations, without having an opportunity of making a defence, or con⯑fronting his accuſers. But the chief odium fell upon the protector; and it muſt be owned that there was no reaſon for carrying his ſeve⯑rity to ſuch a length as he did.

This obſtacle being removed, the protector went on to reform and regulate the new ſyſtem of religion, which was now become the chief concern of the nation. A committee of biſhops and divines had been appointed by the coun⯑cil to frame a liturgy for the ſervice of the church; and this work was executed with great moderation, preciſion, and accuracy. A law was alſo enacted, permitting prieſts to marry; the ceremony of auricular confeſſion, though not aboliſhed, was left at the diſcretion of the people, who were not diſpleaſed at being freed from the ſpiritual tyranny of their inſtructors; the doctrine of the real preſence was the laſt tenet of popery that was wholly abandoned by the people, as both the clergy and laity were loth to renounce ſo miraculous a benefit, as it was aſſerted to be. However, at laſt, not [12] only this, but all the principal opinions and prac⯑tices of the Catholic religion, contrary to what the ſcripture authorizes, were aboliſhed; and the reformation, ſuch as we have it, was almoſt entirely completed in England.A.D. 1549 With all theſe innovations the people and clergy in general acquieſced; and Gardiner and Bonner, were the only perſons whoſe oppoſition was thought of any weight; they were, therefore, ſent to the Tower, and threatened with the king's fur⯑ther diſpleaſure in caſe of diſobedience.

But it had been well for the credit of the reformers, had they ſtopt at impriſonment only. They alſo reſolved to become perſecutors in turn; and although the very ſpirit of their doctrines aroſe from a freedom of thinking, yet they could not bear that any ſhould controvert what they had been at ſo much pains to eſtabliſh. A commiſſion was granted to the primate and ſome others, to ſearch after all anabaptiſts, heretics, or contemners of the new liturgy. Among the number of thoſe who were ſuppoſed to incur guilt upon this oc⯑caſion, was one Joan Boucher, commonly call⯑ed Joan of Kent; who was ſo extremely ob⯑ſtinate, that the commiſſioners could gain no⯑thing upon her. She had maintained an ab⯑ſtruſe metaphyſical ſentiment, that Chriſt, as [13] man, was a ſinful man; but as the Word he was free from ſin, and could be ſubject to none of the frailties of the fleſh with which he was cloathed. For maintaining this doctrine, which none of them could underſtand, this poor ig⯑norant woman was condemned to be burnt to death as an heretic. The young king, who it ſeems had more ſenſe than his miniſters, refuſ⯑ed at firſt to ſign the death warrant; but being at laſt preſſed by Cranmer, and vanquiſhed by his importunities, he reluctantly complied; de⯑claring, that if he did wrong, the ſin ſhould be on the head of thoſe who had perſuaded him to it. The primate, after making a new effort to reclaim the woman from her opinions, and finding her obſtinate againſt all his arguments, at laſt committed her to the flames. Some time after, one Van Paris, a Dutchman, being accuſed of an hereſy called Arianiſm, was con⯑demned to the ſame puniſhment. He ſuffered with ſo much ſatisfaction, that he hugged and careſſed the faggots that were conſuming him; and died exulting in his ſituation.

Although theſe meaſures were intended for the benefit of the nation, and in the end turn⯑ed out entirely to the advantage of ſociety; yet they were at that time attended with many in⯑conveniences, to which all changes, whatſoever, [14] are liable. When the monaſteries were ſup⯑preſſed, a prodigious number of monks were ob⯑liged to earn their ſubſiſtence by their labour; ſo that all kinds of buſineſs were overſtocked. The lands of the monaſteries, alſo, had been formerly farmed out to the common people, ſo as to employ a great number of hands; and the rents being moderate, they were able to maintain their families on the profits of agri⯑culture. But now theſe lands being poſſeſſed by the nobility, the rents were raiſed; and the farmers perceiving that wool was a better com⯑modity than corn, turned all their fields into paſture. In conſequence of this practice, the price of meal aroſe, to the unſpeakable hardſhip of the lower claſs of people. Beſide, as few hands were required to manage a paſture farm, a great number of poor people were utterly deprived of ſubſiſtence, while the nation was filled with murmurs and complaints againſt the nobility, who were conſidered as the ſources of the gene⯑ral calamity. To add to theſe complaints, the rich proprietors of lands proceeded to encloſe their eſtates; while the tenants, regarded as an uſeleſs burthen, were expelled their habita⯑tions. Even cottagers, deprived of the com⯑mons on which they formerly fed their cattle, were reduced to miſery; and a great decay of [15] people as well as a diminution of proviſions, was obſerved in every part of the kingdom. To add to this picture of general calamity, all the good coin of the kingdom was hoarded up or exported abroad; while a baſe metal was coined at home, or imported from abroad in great abundance; and this the poor were obliged to receive in payment, but could not diſburſe at an equal advantage. Thus an univerſal dif⯑fidence and ſtagnation of commerce took place; and nothing but loud complaints were heard in every quarter.

The protector, who knew that his own pow⯑er was to be founded on the depreſſion of the nobility, eſpouſed the cauſe of the ſufferers. He appointed commiſſioners to examine whe⯑ther the poſſeſſors of the church-lands had ful⯑filled the conditions on which thoſe lands had been ſold by the crown; and ordered all late encloſures to be laid open on an appointed day. As the object of this commiſſion was very diſagreeable to the gentry and nobility, they called it arbitrary and illegal; while the com⯑mon people, fearing it would be eluded, and being impatient for redreſs, roſe in great num⯑bers, and ſought a remedy by force of arms. The riſing began at once, in ſeveral parts of England, as if an univerſal conſpiracy had [16] been formed among the people. The rebels in Wiltſhire, were diſperſed by Sir William Herbert; thoſe of Oxford and Glouceſter, by lord Gray of Wilton; the commotions in Hampſhire, Suſſex, Kent, and other counties, were quieted by gentle methods; but the diſ⯑orders in Devonſhire and Norfolk were the moſt obſtinate, and threatened the greateſt danger. In the firſt of theſe counties, the in⯑ſurgents amounting to ten thouſand men, were headed by one Humphry Arundel, an expe⯑rienced ſoldier; and they were ſtill more en⯑couraged by ſermons, which gave their revolt the air of a religious confederacy. They ac⯑cordingly ſent a ſet of articles to court, which, in general, demanded an abolition of the ſtatutes lately made in favour of the reformation; but the miniſtry rejected their demands with con⯑tempt, at the ſame time offering a pardon to all that would lay down their arms and return to their habitations. But the inſur⯑gents were now too far advanced to recede; and ſtill encouraged by the monks, who were with them they laid ſiege to Exeter, car⯑rying before them croſſes, banners, holy-wa⯑ter, candleſticks, and other implements of their ancient ſuperſtition; but the town was gal⯑lantly defended by the inhabitants. In the [17] mean time, lord Ruſſel had been ſent againſt them with a ſmall body of forces; and being reinforced by lord Gray and others, he attack⯑ed, and drove them from all their entrench⯑ments. Great ſlaughter was committed upon theſe deluded creatures, both in the action and the purſuit. Arundel, their leader, and ſeveral others, were ſent to London, where they were condemned and executed. Many of the in⯑ferior ſort were put to death by martial law. The vicar of St. Thomas, one of the principal incendiaries, was hanged on the top of his own ſteeple, arrayed in his popiſh habits, with his beads at his girdle.

The ſedition at Norfolk appeared ſtill more alarming. The inſurgents there a⯑mounted to twenty thouſand men; and as their forces were numerous, their demands were exorbitant. They required the ſuppreſ⯑ſion of the gentry, the placing new counſel⯑lors about the king, and the eſtabliſhment of their ancient rights. One Ket, a tanner, had aſſumed the priority among them; he erected his tribunal near Norwich, under an old oak, which was termed the Oak of Reformation. He afterwards undertook the ſiege of Nor⯑wich, which having reduced, he impriſoned the mayor, and ſome of the principal citizens. [18] The marquis of Northampton was firſt ſent down againſt them, but met with a repulſe; the earl of Warwick followed ſoon after, at the head of ſix thouſand men, and ſoon coming to a general engagement, put them entirely to the rout. Two thouſand of them fell in the fight and purſuit; Ket was hanged at Nor⯑wich caſtle, nine of his followers on the boughs of the Oak of Reformation; and the inſurrection, which was the laſt in favour of popery, was thus entirely ſuppreſſed.

But though the ſuppreſſion of theſe inſur⯑rections ſeemed to be very favourable to the intereſts of the protector, yet the authority which the earl of Warwick gained in quelling that of Norfolk, terminated in Somerſet's ruin. Of all the miniſters, at that time in the council, Dudley, earl of Warwick, was the moſt artful, ambitious, and unprincipled. Reſolved at any rate to poſſeſs the principal place under the king, he cared not what means were to be uſed in acquiring it. However, unwilling to throw off the maſk, he covered the moſt exor⯑bitant views under the faireſt appearances. Having aſſociated himſelf with the earl of Southampton, he formed a ſtrong party in the council, who were determined to free them⯑ſelves from the controul the protector aſſumed [19] over them. That nobleman was, in fact, now grown obnoxious to a very prevailing party in the kingdom. He was hated by the nobles for his ſuperior magnificence and power; he was hated by the Catholic party for his regard to the Reformation; he was diſliked by many for his ſeverity to his brother, beſides the great eſtate he had raiſed at the expence of the church and the crown, rendered him obnoxious to all. The palace which he was then building in the Strand, ſerved alſo by its magnificence, and ſtill more by the unjuſt methods that were taken to raiſe it, to expoſe him to the cenſures of the public. The pariſh church of St. Mary, with three biſhop's houſes, were pulled down to furniſh ground and materials for the ſtruc⯑ture. Several other churches were demoliſh⯑ed, to have their ſtones employed to the ſame purpoſe; and it was not without an inſurrec⯑tion, that the pariſhioners of St. Margaret's Weſtminſter, prevented their church from being pulled down to make room for the new fabric.

Theſe imprudences were ſoon exaggerated and enlarged upon by Somerſet's enemies. They repreſented him as a parricide, a ſacrilegious tyrant, and an unjuſt uſurper upon the pri⯑vileges of the council and the rights of the king. In conſequence of this, the lord St. [20] John, preſident of the council, the earls of War⯑wick, Southampton, and Arundel, with five counſellors more, met at Ely-Houſe; and aſ⯑ſuming to themſelves the whole power of the council, began to act independent of the pro⯑tector, whom they pretended to conſider as the author of every public grievance. They wrote letters to the chief nobility and gentry of England, informing them of the preſent meaſures, and requiring their aſſiſtance. They ſent for the mayor and aldermen of London, and enjoined them to concur in their meaſures, which they repreſented as the only means of ſaving the nation. The next day ſeveral others of the council joined the ſeceding members; and the protector now began to tremble, not for his authority, but his life.

He had no ſooner been informed of theſe tranſactions, than he ſent the king to Windſor, and armed the inhabitants of Hampton and Windſor alſo for his ſecurity. But finding that no man of rank, except Cranmer and Paget, adhered to him, and that the people did not riſe at his ſummons, perceiving that he was in a manner deſerted by all, and that all reſiſtance was fruitleſs, he reſolved to apply to his enemies for pardon. This gave freſh ſtrength and confidence to the par⯑ty [21] of Warwick; they aſſured the king, with the humbleſt profeſſions of obedience, that their only aim was to put the council on the ſame footing on which it had been ordained by the will of their late ſovereign, and to reſcue his authority from the hands of a man who had aſſumed all power to himſelf. The king, who never much cared for Somerſet, gave their ad⯑dreſs a favourable reception; and the protec⯑tor was ſent to the Tower, with ſome of his friends and partizans, among whom was Cecil, afterwards earl of Saliſbury. Mean while the council ordered ſix lords to act as governors to the king, two at a time officiating alternate⯑ly. It was then, for the firſt time, that the earl of Warwick's ambition began to appear in full ſplendour; he ſet himſelf forward as the prin⯑cipal promoter of the protector's ruin, and the other members, without the leaſt oppoſition, permitted him to aſſume the reins of govern⯑ment.

It was now ſuppoſed that Somerſet's fate was fixed, as his enemies were numerous, and the charges againſt him of the moſt heinous nature. The chief article of which he was accuſed, was his uſurpation of the govern⯑ment, and the taking all power into his own hands; ſeveral others of a ſlighter tint were [22] added to invigorate this accuſation, but none of them could be ſaid to amount to the crime of high treaſon. In conſequence of theſe, a bill of attainder was preferred againſt him in the houſe of lords; but Somerſet contrived, for this time, to elude the rigour of their ſen⯑tence, by having previouſly, on his knees, confeſſed the charge before the members of the council. This confeſſion, which he ſign⯑ed with his own hand, was alleged and read againſt him at the bar of the houſe, who once more ſent a deputation to him, to know whe⯑ther the confeſſion was voluntary or extorted. Somerſet thanked them for their candour; owned that it was his voluntary act, but ſtre⯑nuouſly inſiſted, that he had never harboured a ſiniſter thought againſt the king or the com⯑monwealth. In conſequence of this confeſ⯑ſion, he was deprived of all his offices and goods, together with a great part of his landed eſtate, which was forfeited to the uſe of the crown. This fine on his eſtate was ſoon after remitted by the king, and Somerſet once more, contrary to the expectation of all, recovered his liberty. He was even re-admitted into the council; happy for him, if his ambition had not revived with his ſecurity.

[23]The catholics were extremely elevated at the protector's fall; and they began to enter⯑tain hopes of a revolution in their favour. But they were miſtaken in their opinion of Warwick, who now took the lead, as ambi⯑tion was the only principle in his breaſt; and to that he was reſolved to ſacrifice all others. He ſoon gave inſtances of his diſregard in reli⯑gious points, by his permitting Gardiner to un⯑dergo the penalties preſcribed againſt diſobe⯑dience. Many of the prelates, and he among the reſt, though they made ſome compliances, were ſtill addicted to their ancient communion. A reſolution was therefore taken to deprive them of their ſees; and it was thought proper to begin with him, in order to ſtrike a terror into the reſt. He had been now for two years in priſon, for having refuſed to inculcate the duty of obedience to the king during his mi⯑nority; and the council took this opportunity to ſend him ſeveral articles to ſubſcribe, a⯑mong which was one, acknowleging the juſ⯑tice of the order for his confinement. He was likewiſe to own, that the king was ſupreme head of the church; that the power of mak⯑ing and diſpenſing holidays was a part of the prerogative; and that the Common Prayer Book was a godly and commendable form. Gar⯑diner [24] was willing to put his hand to all the articles, except that by which he accuſed him⯑ſelf, which he refuſed to do, juſtly perceiving that their aim was either to ruin or diſhonour him. For this offence he was deprived of his biſhopric, committed to cloſe cuſtody; his books and papers were ſeized; all company was denied him; and he was not even per⯑mitted the uſe of pen and ink. This ſeverity, in ſome meaſure, countenanced thoſe which this prelate had afterwards an opportunity of retaliating when he came into power.

But the reformers did not ſtop here: the rapacious courtiers, never to be ſatisfied, and giving their violence an air of zeal, deprived, in the ſame manner, Day, biſhop of Chicheſter, Heathe of Worceſter, and Voiſy of Exeter. The biſhops of Landaff, Saliſbury, and Co⯑ventry came off ſomething more advantage⯑ouſly, by ſacrificing the moſt conſiderable ſhare of their eccleſiaſtical revenues. Not only the revenues of the church, but the libraries alſo, underwent a dreadful ſcrutiny. The libraries of Weſtminſter and Oxford were ordered to be ranſacked, and purged of the Romiſh miſſals, legends, and other ſuperſtitious vo⯑lumes; in which ſearch great devaſtation was made even in uſeful literature. Many vo⯑lumes [25] claſped in ſilver were deſtroyed for the ſake of their rich bindings; many of geo⯑metry and aſtronomy were ſuppoſed to be ma⯑gical, and met no mercy. The univerſity, unable to ſtop the fury of theſe barbarians, ſilently looked on, and trembled for its own ſecurity.

Warwick was willing to indulge the nobi⯑lity with theſe humiliations of the church; and perceiving that the king was extremely attached to the reformation, he ſuppoſed that he could not make his court to the young monarch better than by a ſeeming zeal in the cauſe. But he was ſtill ſtedfaſtly bent on en⯑larging his own power; and as the laſt earl of Northumberland died without iſſue or heirs, Warwick procured for himſelf a grant of his ample poſſeſſions, and obtained the title alſo of duke of Northumberland. The duke of Somerſet was now the only perſon he wiſh⯑ed to have entirely removed; for though fallen as he was by his late ſpiritleſs conduct, yet he ſtill preſerved a ſhare of popularity that rendered him formidable to this aſpirer. In⯑deed Somerſet was not always upon his guard againſt the arts of Northumberland; but could not help now and then burſting out into invectives, which were quickly carried to his [26] ſecret enemy. As he was ſurrounded by Northumberland's creatures, they took care to reveal all the deſigns which they had them⯑ſelves firſt ſuggeſted; and Somerſet ſoon found the fatal effects of his rival's reſentment. He was, by Northumberland's command, arreſted with many more, accuſed of being his partizans; and he was, with his wife the dutcheſs, alſo thrown into priſon. He was now accuſed of having formed a deſign to raiſe an inſurrection in the North; of attacking the train-bands on a muſ⯑ter day; of plotting to ſecure the Tower, and to excite a rebellion in London. Theſe charges he ſtrenuouſly denied; but he con⯑feſſed to one of as heinous a nature, which was, that he had laid a project for murdering Northumberland, Northampton, and Pem⯑broke, at a banquet, which was to be given them by lord Paget. He was ſoon after brought to a trial before the marquis of Win⯑cheſter, who ſat as high-ſteward on the occa⯑ſion, with twenty-ſeven peers more, including Northumberland, Pembroke, and Northamp⯑ton, who were at once his judges and accuſers. He was accuſed with an intention to ſecure the perſon of the king, and re-aſſume the ad⯑miniſtration of affairs, to aſſaſſinate the duke of Northumberland, and raiſe an inſurrection [27] in the city. He pleaded not guilty to the firſt part of the charge, and of this he was accord⯑ingly acquitted; but he was found guilty of conſpiring the death of a privy-counſellor, which crime had been made felony in the reign of Henry the ſeventh; and for this he was condemned to be hanged. The populace ſee⯑ing him re-conveyed to the Tower without the ax, which was no longer carried before him, imagined that he had been entirely ac⯑quitted; and in repeated ſhouts and acclama⯑tions manifeſted their joy; but this was ſud⯑denly damped, when they were better inform⯑ed of his doom. Care in the mean time had been taken to prepoſſeſs the young king a⯑gainſt his uncle; and leſt he ſhould relent, no acceſs was given to any of Somerſet's friends, while the prince was kept from reflection by a ſeries of occupations and amuſements. At laſt the priſoner was brought to the ſcaffold on Tower-hill, where he appeared, without the leaſt emotion, in the midſt of a vaſt con⯑courſe of the populace, by whom he was belov⯑ed. He ſpoke to them with great compoſure, proteſting that he had always promoted the ſer⯑vice of his king, and the intereſts of true re⯑ligion, to the beſt of his power. The people atteſted their belief of what he ſaid, by cry⯑ing [28] out, ‘"It is moſt true."’ An univerſal tumult was beginning to take place; but So⯑merſet deſiring them to be ſtill, and not to in⯑terrupt his laſt meditations, but to join with him in prayer, he laid down his head, and ſubmitted to the ſtroke of the executioner. Sir Ralph Vane, and Sir Miles Partridge, were hanged; and Sir Michael Stanhope, with Sir Thomas Arundel, were beheaded, as being his accom⯑plices.

Nothing could have been more unpopular than the meaſure of deſtroying Somerſet, who, though many actions of his life were very ex⯑ceptionable, yet ſtill conſulted the good of the people. The houſe of commons was parti⯑cularly attached to him; and of this Northum⯑berland was very ſenſible. He therefore re⯑ſolved to diſſolve that parliament, and call another that would be more obſequious to his will. For this purpoſe he engaged the king to write circular letters to all the ſheriffs, in which he enjoined them to chuſe ſuch men as he and the privy-council ſhould recommend. With this deſpotic mandate the ſheriffs im⯑mediately complied; and the members return⯑ed, fully anſwered Northumberland's expecta⯑tions. He had long aimed at the firſt autho⯑rity; and the infirm ſtate of the king's health [29] opened the proſpects to his ambition. He repreſented to that young prince that his ſiſters Mary and Elizabeth, who were appointed by Henry's will to ſucceed in failure of direct heirs to the crown, had been both declared il⯑legitimate by parliament; that the queen of Scots, his aunt, ſtood excluded by the king's will, and being an alien alſo, loſt all right of ſucceeding; that as the three princeſſes were thus legally excluded, the ſucceſſion naturally devolved to the marchioneſs of Dorſet, whoſe next heir was the lady Jane Grey, a lady every way accompliſhed for government, as well by the charms of her perſon, as the virtues and acquirements of her mind. The king, who had long ſubmitted to all the politic views of this deſigning miniſter, agreed to have the ſucceſſion ſubmitted to council, where Nor⯑thumberland hoped to procure an eaſy concur⯑rence.

In the mean time, as the king's health decli⯑ned, the miniſter laboured to ſtrengthen his own intereſts and connexions. His firſt aim was to ſecure the intereſts of the marquis of Dorſet, father to Lady Jane Gray, by procu⯑ring for him the title of duke of Suffolk, which was lately become extinct. Having thus obliged this nobleman, he then propoſed [30] a match between his fourth ſon, lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady Jane Gray, whoſe inte⯑reſts he had been at ſo much pains to advance. Still bent on ſpreading his intereſts as widely as poſſible,A.D. 1553 he married his own daughter to lord Haſtings; and had theſe marriages ſolem⯑nized with all poſſible pomp and feſtivity. Mean while, Edward continued to languiſh; and ſeveral fatal ſymptoms of a conſumption began to appear. It was hoped, however, that his youth and temperance might get the better of his diſorders; and from their love the people were unwilling to think him in danger. It had been remarked indeed by ſome, that his health was viſibly ſeen to decline, from the time that the Dudleys were brought about his perſon. The character of Northumberland might have juſtly given ſome colour to ſuſpi⯑cion; and his removing all, except his own emiſſaries, from about the king, ſtill farther encreaſed the diſtruſts of the people. Nor⯑thumberland, however, was no way uneaſy at their mumurs; he was aſſiduous in his at⯑tendance upon the king, and profeſſed the moſt anxious concern for his ſafety; but ſtill drove forward his darling ſcheme of transfer⯑ring the ſucceſſion to his own daughter-in-law. The judges who were appointed to draw up [31] the king's letters patent for that purpoſe, warmly objected to the meaſure; and gave their reaſons before the council. They begged that a parliament might be ſummoned, both to give it force, and to free its partizans from danger; they ſaid, that the form was invalid, and would not only ſubject the judges who drew it, but every counſellor who ſigned it, to the pains of treaſon. Northumberland could not brook their demurs; he threatened them with the dread of his authority; he called one of them a traitor, and ſaid, that he would fight in his ſhirt with any man on ſo juſt a cauſe, as that of the lady Jane's ſucceſſion. A method was therefore found out of ſcreening the judges from danger, by granting them the king's pardon for what they ſhould draw up; and at length, after much deliberation, and ſome re⯑fuſals, the patent for changing the ſucceſſion was completed. Thus, by this patent, Mary and Elizabeth were ſet aſide; and the crown was ſettled on the heirs of the dutcheſs of Suf⯑folk, for the dutcheſs herſelf was contented to forego her claim.

Northumberland having thus far ſucceeded, thought phyſicians were no longer ſerviceable in the king's complaint; they were diſmiſſed by his advice; and Edward was put into the hands [32] of an ignorant woman, who very confidently undertook his cure. After the uſe of her me⯑dicines, all the bad ſymptons encreaſed to a moſt violent degree; he felt a difficulty of ſpeech and breathing; his pulſe failed, his legs ſwelled, his colour became livid, and many other ſymptoms appeared of his approaching end. He expired at Greenwich, in the ſix⯑teenth year of his age, and the ſeventh of his reign, greatly regretted by all, as his early vir⯑tues gave a proſpect of the continuance of an happy reign. What were the real qualities of this young prince's heart there was no time to diſcover; but the cultivation of his underſtan⯑ding, if we may credit hiſtorians, was amazing. He was ſaid to underſtand the Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and Spaniſh languages. He was verſed in logic, muſic, natural philoſophy, and theology. Cardan, the extraordinary ſcho⯑lar and viſionary, happening to pay a viſit to the Engliſh court, was ſo aſtoniſhed at his early progreſs, that he extols him as a prodigy of nature. It is probable, however, that ſo much flattery as he received would have con⯑tributed to corrupt him, as it had formerly corrupted his father.

CHAP. XXV. MARY.

THE death of Edward only ſerved to prepare freſh troubles for a people that had hitherto greatly ſuffered from the depravity of their kings, or the turbulence of their nobili⯑ty. The ſucceſſion to the throne had hitherto been obtained partly by lineal deſcent, and partly by the aptitude for government in the perſon choſen. Neither quite hereditary, nor [34] quite elective, it had made anceſtry the pretext of right, while the conſent of the people was neceſſary to ſupport all hereditary pretenſions. In fact, when wiſely conducted, this is the beſt ſpecies of ſucceſſion that can be conceiv⯑ed, as its prevents that ariſtocracy, which is ever the reſult of a government entirely elec⯑tive; and that tyranny, which is too often eſta⯑bliſhed, where there is never an infringement on hereditary claims.

Whenever a monarch of England happened to be arbitrary, and to enlarge the prerogative, he generally conſidered the kingdom as his property, and not himſelf as a ſervant of the people. In ſuch caſes it was natural for him at his deceaſe to bequeath his dominions as he thought proper, making his own will the ſtan⯑dard of his ſubjects' happineſs. Henry the eighth, in conformity to this practice, made his will, in which he ſettled the ſucceſſion mere⯑ly according to his caprice. In that, Edward his ſon was the firſt nominated to ſucceed him; then Mary, his eldeſt daughter, by Catharine of Spain; but with a ſpecial mark of conde⯑ſcenſion, by which he would intimate her ille⯑gitimacy. The next that followed was Eli⯑zabeth, his daughter by Anne Bullen, with the ſame marks, intimating her illegitimacy [35] alſo. After his own children, his ſiſter's chil⯑dren were mentioned; his younger ſiſter the dutcheſs of Suffolk's iſſue were preferred before thoſe of their elder ſiſter the queen of Scotland, which preference was thought by all to be neither founded in juſtice, nor ſupported by reaſon. This will was now, however, ſet aſide by the intrigues of Northumberland, by whoſe advice a will was made, as we have ſeen; in fa⯑vour of lady Jane Gray, the dutcheſs of Suf⯑folk's daughter, in prejudice of all other clai⯑mants. Thus, after the death of this young monarch, there were no fewer than four prin⯑ceſſes who could aſſert their pretenſions to the crown. Mary, who was the firſt upon Henry's will, but who had been declared illegitimate by an act of parliament, which was never repealed. Elizabeth was next to ſucceed, and though ſhe had been declared illegitimate, yet ſhe had been reſtored to her rights during her father's life-time. The queen of Scotland, Henry's eldeſt ſiſter, was firſt in right, ſuppoſing the two daugh⯑ters illegitimate, while lady Jane Gray might alledge the will of the late king in her own favour.

Of theſe, however, only two put in their pretenſions to the crown. Mary relying on the juſtice of her cauſe, and lady Jane [36] upon the ſupport of the duke of Northumber⯑land, her father-in-law. Mary was ſtrongly bigotted to the popiſh ſuperſtitions, having been bred up among church-men, and hav⯑ing been even taught to prefer martyrdom to a denial of belief. As ſhe had lived in continual reſtraint, ſhe was reſerved and gloomy; ſhe had, even during the life of her father, the reſolution to maintain her ſentiments, and re⯑fuſed to comply with his new inſtitutions. Her zeal had rendered her furious; and ſhe was not only blindly attached to her religious opi⯑nions, but even to the popiſh clergy who main⯑tained them. On the other hand, Jane Gray was ſtrongly attached to the reformers; and though yet but ſixteen, her judgment had at⯑tained to ſuch a degree of maturity, as few have been found to poſſeſs. All hiſtorians agree that the ſolidity of her underſtanding, improv⯑ed by continual application, rendered her the wonder of her age. Aſcham, tutor to Elizabeth, informs us, that coming once to wait upon lady Jane at her father's houſe in Leiceſterſhire, he found her reading Plato's works in Greek, while all the reſt of the fami⯑ly were hunting in the Park. Upon his teſ⯑tifying his ſurprize at her ſituation, ſhe aſſured him that Plato was an higher amuſement to [37] her than the moſt ſtudied refinements of ſen⯑ſual pleaſure; and ſhe, in fact, ſeemed born for philoſophy, and not for ambition.

Such were the preſent rivals for power; but lady Jane had the ſtart of her antagoniſt. Nor⯑thumberland now reſolving to ſecure the ſuc⯑ceſſion, carefully concealed the death of Ed⯑ward, in hope of ſecuring the perſon of Mary, who, by an order of council, had been requir⯑ed to attend her brother during his illneſs; but being informed of his death, ſhe immediately prepared to aſſert her pretenſions to the crown. This crafty miniſter, therefore, finding that farther diſſimulation was needleſs, went to Sion-houſe, acccompanied by the duke of Suffolk, the earl of Pembroke, and others of the nobility, to ſalute lady Jane Gray, who reſided there. Jane was in a great meaſure ignorant of all theſe tranſactions; and it was with equal grief and ſurprize that ſhe received intelligence of them. She ſhed a flood of tears, appeared inconſolable, and it was not without the utmoſt difficulty that ſhe yielded to the entreaties of Northumberland, and the duke her father. At length, however, they exhorted her to conſent, and next day conveyed her to the Tower, where it was then uſual for the kings of England to paſs ſome days after [38] their acceſſion. Thither alſo all the members of the council were obliged to attend her; and thus were in ſome meaſure made priſoners by Northumberland, whoſe will they were under a neceſſity of obeying. Orders were given al⯑ſo for proclaiming her throughout the king⯑dom; but theſe were but very remiſsly obey⯑ed. When ſhe was proclaimed in the city, the people heard her acceſſion made public without any ſigns of pleaſure, no applauſe en⯑ſued, and ſome even expreſſed their ſcorn and contempt.

In the mean time Mary, who had retired, upon the news of the king's death, to Kenning-Hall in Norfolk, ſent circular letters to all the great towns and nobility in the kingdom, re⯑minding them of her right, and commanding them to proclaim her without delay. Having taken theſe ſteps, ſhe retired to Framlingham-Caſtle in Suffolk, that ſhe might be near the ſea, and eſcape to Flanders in caſe of failure. But ſhe ſoon found her affairs wear the moſt promiſing aſpect. The men of Suffolk came to pay her their homage; and being aſ⯑ſured by her, that ſhe would defend the laws and the religion of her predeceſſor, they en⯑liſted themſelves in her cauſe with alacrity and affection. The people of Norfolk ſoon [39] after came in; the earls of Bath, and Suffex, the eldeſt ſons of lord Wharton, and lord Mor⯑daunt joined her; and lord Haſtings, with four thouſand men, which were raiſed to op⯑poſe her, revolted to her ſide. Even a fleet that had been ſent to lie off the coaſt of Suf⯑folk to prevent her eſcaping, engaged in her ſervice; and now, but too late, Northumber⯑land ſaw the deplorable end of all his ſchemes and ambition.

This miniſter, with the conſent of the coun⯑cil, had aſſembled ſome troops at Newmarket, had ſet on foot new levies in London, and ap⯑pointed the duke of Suffolk general of the army, that he might himſelf continue with, and overawe the deliberations of the council. But he was turned from this manner of managing his affairs, by conſidering how unfit Suffolk was to head the army; ſo that he was obliged himſelf to take upon him the military command. It was now, therefore, that the council being free from his influence, and no longer dreading his imme⯑diate authority, began to declare againſt him. Arundel led the oppoſition, by repreſent⯑ing the injuſtice and cruelty of Northumber⯑land, and the exorbitancy of his ambition. Pembroke ſeconded him with declarations, that he was ready to fight all of a contrary opi⯑nion; [40] the mayor and aldermen, who were ſent for, readily came into the ſame meaſures; the people expreſſed their approbation by ſhouts and applauſes; and even Suffolk himſelf, find⯑ing all reſiſtance fruitleſs, threw open the gates of the Tower, and joined in the general cry. Mary's claims now became irreſiſtible, in a little time ſhe found herſelf at the head of forty thouſand men; while the few who at⯑tended Northumberland, continued irreſolute; and he even feared to lead them to the en⯑counter.

Lady Jane, thus finding that all was loſt, reſigned her royalty, which ſhe had held but ten days, with marks of real ſatisfaction, and retired with her mother to their own habita⯑tion. Northumberland, alſo, who found his affairs deſperate, and that it was impoſſible to ſtem the tide of popular oppoſition, attempted to quit the kingdom; but he was prevented by the band of penſioner guards, who inform⯑ed him that he muſt ſtay to juſtify their con⯑duct in being led out againſt their lawful ſove⯑reign. Thus circumvented on all ſides, his cunning was now his only reſource; and he began by endeavouring to recommend himſelf to Mary, by the moſt extravagant proteſta⯑tions of zeal in her ſervice. He repaired to [41] the market-place in Cambridge, and proclaim⯑ing her queen of England, was the firſt to throw up his cap in token of joy. But he reaped no advantage from this mean duplicity; he was the next day arreſted in the queen's name by the earl of Arundel, at whoſe feet he fell upon his knees, begging protection with the moſt abject ſubmiſſion. His three ſons, his brother, and ſome more of his followers were arreſted with him, and com⯑mitted to the Tower of London. Soon after, the lady Jane Gray, the duke of Suffolk her father, and lord Guildford Dudley her huſ⯑band, were made priſoners by order of the queen, whoſe authority was now confirmed by univerſal aſſent.

Northumberland was the firſt who ſuf⯑fered for oppoſing her, and was the perſon who deſerved puniſhment the moſt. When brought to his trial, he openly deſired permiſ⯑ſion to aſk two queſtions of the peers, who were appointed to ſit on his jury; ‘"Whether a man could be guilty of treaſon, who obeyed orders given him by the council under the great ſeal? and, whether thoſe who were involv⯑ed in the ſame guilt with himſelf, could act as his judges?"’ Being told that the great ſeal of an uſurper was no authority; and that his [42] judges were proper, as they were unimpeached, he acquieſced, and pleaded guilty. At his execution, he owned himſelf a papiſt; and ex⯑horted the people to return to the catholic faith, as they hoped for happineſs and tran⯑quility. Sir John Gates, and Sir Thomas Palmer, two infamous tools of his power, ſuf⯑fered with him; and the queen's reſentment was appeaſed by the lives of three men, who had forfeited them by ſeveral former crimes. Sen⯑tence was pronounced againſt lady Jane, and lord Guildford, but without any intention for the preſent of putting it in execution; the youth and innocence of the perſons, neither of whom had reached their ſeventeenth year, pleaded powerfully in their favour.

Mary now entered London, and with very little effuſion of blood, ſaw herſelf joyfully proclaimed, and peaceably ſettled on the throne. This was the criſis of Britiſh happi⯑neſs; a queen whoſe right was the moſt equit⯑able, in ſome meaſure elected by the people, the ariſtocracy of the laſt reign almoſt wholly ſuppreſſed, the houſe of commons by this means reinſtated in its ancient authority, the pride of the clergy humbled, and their vices detected, peace abroad, and unanimity at home. This was the flattering proſpect of Mary's ac⯑ceſſion, [43] but ſoon this pleaſing phantom was diſſolved. Mary was moroſe, and a bigot; ſhe was reſolved to give back their former power to the clergy; and thus once more to in⯑volve the kingdom in all the horrors it had juſt emerged from. The queen had promiſed the men of Suffolk, who firſt came to declare in her favour, that ſhe would ſuffer religion to remain in the ſituation in which ſhe found it. This promiſe, however, ſhe by no means intend⯑ed to perform; ſhe had determined on bring⯑ing the ſentiments of the people to correſpond with her own; and her extreme ignorance rendered her utterly incapable of doubting her own belief, or of granting indulgence to the doubts of others. Gardiner, Bonner, Tonſtal, Day, Heath, and Veſey, who had been con⯑fined, or ſuffered loſſes for their catholic opi⯑nions, during the late reigns, were taken from priſon, re-inſtated in their ſees, and their for⯑mer ſentences repealed. On pretence of diſ⯑couraging controverſy, ſhe ſilenced, by her prerogative, all preachers throughout Eng⯑land, except ſuch as ſhould obtain a particu⯑lar licence; which ſhe was previouſly deter⯑mined to grant only to thoſe of her own per⯑ſuaſion. Men now, therefore, foreſaw that the Reformation was to be overturned; and though [44] the queen ſtill pretended that ſhe would grant a general toleration, yet no great favour could be expected by thoſe who were hateful to her from inveterate prejudices.

The firſt ſteps that cauſed an alarm among the proteſtants, was the ſevere treatment of Cranmer, whoſe moderation, integrity, and vir⯑tues, had made him dear, even to moſt of the catholic party. A report being ſpread, that this prelate, in order to make his court to the queen, had promiſed to officiate in the Latin ſervice, he drew up a declaration, in which he entirely cleared himſelf of the aſper⯑ſion indeed, but incurred what was much more terrible, the queen's reſentment. On the pub⯑lication of this paper, Cranmer was thrown into priſon, and tried for the part he had act⯑ed, in concurring among the reſt of the coun⯑cil, to exalt lady Jane, and ſet aſide the right⯑ful ſovereign. This guilt he had in fact in⯑curred; but as it was ſhared with a large body of men, moſt of whom were not only uncen⯑ſured, but even taken into favour; the malig⯑nanty of the proſecution was eaſily ſeen through. Sentence of high treaſon was, therefore, pro⯑nounced againſt him; but it was not then exe⯑cuted, as this venerable man was reſerved for a more dreadful puniſhment. Shortly after, [45] Peter Martyr, a German reformer, who had in the late reign been invited over to England, ſeeing how things were likely to go, deſired leave to return to his native country. But the zeal of the catholics, though he had eſcap⯑ed them, was malignantly, though harmleſsly, wrecked upon the body of his wife, which had been interred ſome years before at Oxford. It was dug up by public order, and buried in a dunghill.A.D. 159 The bones alſo of Bucer and Fa⯑gius, two foreign reformers, were about the ſame time committed to the flames at Cam⯑bridge. The greater part of the foreign pro⯑teſtants, took early precautions to leave the kingdom; and many of the arts and manu⯑factures, which they ſucceſsfully advanced, fled with them. Nor were their fears without foundation; a parliament, which the queen called ſoon after, ſeemed willing to concur in all her meaſures; they at one blow repealed all the ſtatutes with regard to religion, which had paſſed during the reign of her predeceſſor: ſo that the national religion was again placed on the ſame footing, on which it ſtood at the death of Henry the eighth.

While religion was thus returning to its primitive abuſes, the queen's miniſters, who were willing to ſtrengthen her power by a ca⯑tholic [46] alliance, had been for ſome time look⯑ing out for a proper conſort. The perſon on whom her own affections ſeemed chiefly placed was the earl of Devonſhire; but that noble⯑man either diſliking her perſon, or having al⯑ready placed his affections on her ſiſter Eliza⯑beth, neglected all overtures to ſuch an alli⯑ance. Cardinal Pole, who, though inveſted with that eccleſiaſtical dignity, was ſtill a lay⯑man, and a perſon of high character for vir⯑tue, generoſity, and attachment to the catho⯑lic religion, was next thought of. But as he was in the decline of life, the queen ſoon dropped all thoughts of him. The perſon laſt thought of, and who ſucceeded, was Phi⯑lip, prince of Spain, and ſon of the celebrated Charles the fifth. In order to avoid as much as poſſible any diſagreeable remonſtrances from the people, the articles of marriage were drawn as favourably as poſſible to the intereſts and honour of England; and this in ſome mea⯑ſure ſtilled the clamours that had already been begun againſt it. It was agreed, that though Philip ſhould have the title of king, the ad⯑miniſtration ſhould be entirely in the queen; that no foreigner ſhould be capable of enjoy⯑ing any office in the kingdom; that no inno⯑vation ſhould be made in the Engliſh laws, [47] cuſtoms, and privileges; that her iſſue ſhould inherit, together with England, Burgundy, and the Low Countries; and that if Don Carlos, Philip's ſon by a former marriage, ſhould die, the queen's iſſue ſhould then enjoy all the dominions poſſeſſed by the king. Such was the treaty of marriage, from which poli⯑ticians foreſaw very great changes in the ſyſtem of Europe; but which in the end came to nothing, by the queen's having no iſſue.

The people, however, who did not ſee ſo far, were much more juſt in their ſurmiſes, who ſaw that it might be a blow to their li⯑berties and religion. They loudly murmured againſt it, and a flame of diſcontent was kindled over the whole nation. Sir Thomas Wyatt, a Roman catholic, at the head of four thouſand inſurgents, marched from Kent to Hyde Park, publiſhing, as he went forward, a declaration againſt the queen's evil counſel⯑lors, and againſt the Spaniſh match. His firſt aim was to ſecure the Tower; A.D. 1554 but his raſhneſs undid him. As he marched forward through the city of London, and among the narrow ſtreets without ſuſpicion, care was taken by the earl of Pembroke to block up the way behind him by ditches and chains thrown a⯑croſs, and guards placed at all the avenves to [48] prevent his return. In this manner did this bold demagogue paſs onward, and ſup⯑poſed himſelf now ready to reap the fruits of his undertaking, when, to his utter confuſion, he found that he could neither go forward, nor yet make good his retreat. He now, therefore, perceived that the citizens, from whom he had expected aſſiſtance, would not join him; and loſing all courage in this exigency, he ſurrendered at diſcretion.

The duke of Suffolk was not leſs guilty alſo; he had been joined in a confederacy with Sir Peter Carew, to make an inſurrection in the counties of Kent, Warwick, and Leiceſ⯑ter; but his confederate's impatience engaging him to riſe in arms before the day appointed, Suffolk vainly endeavoured to excite his de⯑pendants; but was ſo cloſely purſued by the earl of Huntingdon, that he was obliged to diſperſe his followers; and being diſcovered in his retreat was led priſoner to London, where he, together with Wyatt, and ſeventy perſons more, ſuffered by the hand of the exe⯑cutioner. Four hundred were conducted be⯑fore the queen with ropes about their necks; and falling on their knees received pardon, and were diſmiſſed.

[49]But what excited the compaſſion of the peo⯑ple moſt of all, was the execution of lady Jane Gray, and her huſband lord Guilford Dudley, who were involved in the puniſhment, though not in the guilt, of this inſurrection. Two days after Wyatt was apprehended, lady Jane and her huſband were ordered to prepare for death. Lady Jane, who had long before ſeen the threatened blow, was no way ſur⯑priſed at the meſſage, but bore it with heroic reſolution; and being informed that ſhe had three days to prepare, ſhe ſeemed diſpleaſed at ſo long a delay. On the day of her execu⯑tion her huſband deſired permiſſion to ſee her; but this ſhe refuſed, as ſhe knew the parting would be too tender for her fortitude to with⯑ſtand. The place at firſt deſigned for their execution was without the Tower; but their youth, beauty, and innocence being likely to raiſe an inſurrection among the people, orders were given that they ſhould be executed with⯑in the verge of the Tower. Lord Dudley was the firſt that ſuffered; and while the lady Jane was conducting to the place of execu⯑tion, the officers of the Tower met her, bear⯑ing along the headleſs body of her huſband ſtreaming with blood, in order to be inter⯑red in the Tower-chapel. She looked on [50] the corpſe for ſome time without any emo⯑tion; and then, with a ſigh, deſired them to proceed. John Gage, conſtable of the Tower, as he led her to execution, deſired her to be⯑ſtow on him ſome ſmall preſent, which he might keep as a perpetual memorial of her. She gave him her tablets, where ſhe had juſt written three ſentences on ſeeing her huſband's dead body, one in Greek, one in Latin, and one in Engliſh, importing, that ſhe hoped God and poſterity would do him and their cauſe juſtice. On the ſcaffold ſhe made a ſpeech, in which ſhe alledged that her offence was not the having laid her hand upon the crown, but the not rejecting it with ſufficient conſtancy; that ſhe had leſs erred through ambition than filial obedience; that ſhe wil⯑lingly accepted death as the only atonement ſhe could make to the injured ſtate; and was ready by her puniſhment to ſhew, that in⯑nocence is no plea in excuſe for deeds that tend to injure the community. After ſpeak⯑ing to this effect, ſhe cauſed herſelf to be diſ⯑robed by her women, and with a ſteady ſerene countenance ſubmitted to the executioner.

The enemies of the ſtate being thus ſup⯑preſſed, the theatre was now opened for the pretended enemies of religion. The queen [51] being freed from apprehenſions of an inſurrec⯑tion, began by aſſembling a parliament, which upon this, as upon moſt occaſions, ſeemed only met to give countenance to her various ſeverities. The nobles, whoſe only religion was that of the prince who governed, were eaſily gained over; and the houſe of commons had long been paſſive under all the variations of regal caprice. But there was a new enemy ſtarted up againſt the reformers in the perſon of the king, who, though he took all poſſible care to conceal his averſion, yet ſecretly influ⯑enced the queen, and enflamed all her pro⯑ceedings. Philip had for ſome time been come over; and had uſed every endeavour to encreaſe that ſhare of power which he had been allowed by parliament, but without ef⯑fect. The queen, indeed, who loved him with a fooliſh fondneſs that ſat but ill on a perſon of her years and diſagreeable perſon, endea⯑voured to pleaſe him by every conceſſion ſhe could make or procure; and finding herſelf incapable of ſatisfying his ambition, ſhe was not remiſs in concurring with his zeal; ſo that heretics began to be perſecuted with inquiſi⯑torial ſeverity.A.D. 1554 The old ſanguinary laws were now revived, which had been rejected by a former parliament. Orders were given that [52] the biſhops and prieſts who had married ſhould be ejected, that the maſs ſhould be reſtored, that the pope's authority ſhould be eſtabliſhed, and that the church and its privileges, all but their goods and eſtates, ſhould be put upon the ſame foundation on which they were be⯑fore the commencement of the reformation. As the gentry and nobles had already divided the church-lands among them, it was thought inconvenient, and indeed impoſſible, to make a reſtoration of theſe.

At the head of thoſe who drove ſuch mea⯑ſures forward were Gardiner, biſhop of Win⯑cheſter, and cardinal Pole, who was now re⯑turned from Italy. Pole, who was nearly al⯑lied by birth to the royal family, had al⯑ways conſcientiouſly adhered to the catholic religion, and had incurred Henry's diſplea⯑ſure, not only by refuſing his aſſent to his mea⯑ſures, but by writing againſt him. It was for this adherence that he was cheriſhed by the pope, and now ſent over to England as legate from the holy ſee. Gardiner was a man of a very different character; his chief aim was to pleaſe the reigning prince, and he had ſhewn already many inſtances of his prudent confor⯑mity. He now perceived that the king and queen were for rigorous meaſures; and he [53] knew that it would be the beſt means of pay⯑ing his court to them, even to out-go them in ſeverity. Pole, who had never varied in his principles, declared in favour of toleration; Gardiner, who had often changed, was for puniſhing thoſe changes in others with the ut⯑moſt rigour. However, he was too prudent to appear at the head of a perſecution in per⯑ſon; he therefore conſigned that odious of⯑fice to Bonner, biſhop of London, a cruel, brutal, and ignorant man.

This bloody ſcene began by the martyrdom of Hooper, biſhop of Glouceſter, and Ro⯑gers, prebendary of St. Paul's. They were examined by commiſſioners appointed by the queen, with the chancellor at the head of them. It was expected by their recantation that they would bring thoſe opinions into diſ⯑repute which they had ſo long inculcated; but the perſecutors were deceived; they both con⯑tinued ſtedfaſt in their belief, and they were accordingly condemned to be burnt, Rogers in Smithfield, and Hooper in his own dioceſe at Glouceſter. Rogers, beſide the care of his own preſervation, lay under very power⯑ful temptations to deny his principles, and ſave his life, for he had a wife whom he ten⯑derly loved, and ten children; but nothing [54] could move his reſolution. Such was his ſe⯑renity after condemnation, that the jailors, we are told, waked him from a ſound ſleep upon the approach of the hour appointed for his execution. He deſired to ſee his wife before he died; but Gardiner told him that being a prieſt he could have no wife. When the fag⯑gots were placed around him, he ſeemed no way daunted at the preparation; but cried out, ‘"I reſign my life with joy in teſtimony of the doctrine of Jeſus."’ When Hooper was tied to the ſtake a ſtool was ſet before him with the queen's pardon upon it, in caſe he ſhould relent; but he ordered it to be re⯑moved, and prepared chearfully to ſuffer his ſentence, which was executed in its full ſe⯑verity. The fire, either from malice or ne⯑glect, had not been ſufficiently kindled; ſo that his legs and thighs were firſt burned, and one of his hands dropped off, while with the other he continued to beat his breaſt. He was three quarters of an hour in torture, which he bore with inflexible conſtancy.

Sanders and Taylor, two other clergymen, whoſe zeal had been diſtinguiſhed in carrying on the reformation, were the next that ſuf⯑fered. Taylor was put into a pitch-barrel; and before the fire was kindled, a faggot from [55] an unknown hand was thrown at his head, which made it ſtream with blood. Still, how⯑ever, he continued undaunted ſinging the thirty-firſt pſalm in Engliſh, which one of the ſpectators obſerving, ſtruck him a blow on the ſide of the head, and commanded him to pray in Latin. Taylor continued a few mi⯑nutes ſilent with his eyes ſtedfaſtly fixed up⯑ward, when one of the guards, either through impatience or compaſſion, ſtruck him down with his halbert, and thus happily put an end to his torments.

The death of theſe only ſerved to encreaſe the ſavage appetite of the popiſh biſhops and monks, for freſh ſlaughter. Bonner, bloated at once with rage and luxury, let looſe his vengeance without reſtraint; and ſeemed to take a pleaſure in the pains of the unhappy ſufferers; while the queen, by her letters, ex⯑horted him to purſue the pious work without pity or interruption. Soon after, in obe⯑dience to her commands, Ridley, biſhop of London; and the venerable Latimer, biſhop of Worceſter, were condemned together. Rid⯑ley had been one of the ableſt champions for the reformation; his piety, learning, and ſoli⯑dity of judgment, were admired by his friends, and dreaded by his enemies. The night be⯑fore [56] his execution, he invited the mayor of Ox⯑ford and his wife to ſee him; and when he beheld them melted into tears, he himſelf ap⯑peared quite unmoved, inwardly ſupported and comforted in that hour of agony. When he was brought to the ſtake to be burnt, he found his old friend Latimer there before him. Of all the prelates of that age, Latimer was the moſt remarkable for his unaffected piety, and the ſimplicity of his manners. He had never learned to flatter in courts; and his open re⯑buke was dreaded by all the great, who at that time too much deſerved it. His ſermons, which remain to this day, ſhew that he had much learning, and much wit; and there is an air of ſincerity running through them, not to be found elſewhere. When Ridley began to comfort his ancient friend; Latimer, on his part, was as ready to return the kind office. ‘"Be of good cheer, brother, cried he, we ſhall this day kindle ſuch a torch in England, as I truſt in God, ſhall never be extinguiſhed."’ A furious bigot aſcended to preach to them and the people, while the fire was preparing; and Rid⯑ley gave a moſt ſerious attention to his diſ⯑courſe. No way diſtracted by the prepara⯑tions about him, he heard him to the laſt; and then told him, that he was ready to anſwer all [57] that he had preached upon, if he were permitted a ſhort indulgence; but this was refuſed him. At length fire was ſet to the pile: Latimer was ſoon out of pain, but Ridley continued to ſuffer much longer, his legs being conſumed before the fire reached his vitals.

One Thomas Haukes, when conducted to the ſtake, had agreed with his friends, that if he found the torture ſupportable, he would make them a ſignal for that purpoſe in the midſt of the flames. His zeal for the cauſe in which he ſuffered was ſo ſtrong, that when the ſpectators thought him near expiring, by ſtretching out his arms, he gave his friends the ſignal that the pain was not too great to be borne. This example, with many others of the like conſtancy, encouraged multitudes not only to ſuffer, but even to aſpire after mar⯑tyrdom.

But women ſeemed perſecuted with as much ſeverity even as men. A woman in Guernſey, condemned for hereſy, was delivered of a child in the midſt of the flames. Some of the ſpec⯑tators, humanely ran to ſnatch the infant from danger; but the magiſtrate, who was a papiſt, ordered it to be flung in again, and there it was conſumed with the mother.

[58]Cranmer's death followed ſoon after, and ſtruck the whole nation with horror. This prelate, whom we have ſeen acting ſo very conſpicuous a part in the reformation, during the two preceding reigns, had been long de⯑tained a priſoner, in conſequence of his imput⯑ed guilt in obſtructing the queen's ſucceſſion to the crown. But it was now reſolved to bring him to puniſhment; and to give it all its ma⯑lignity, the queen ordered that he ſhould be puniſhed for hereſy, rather than for treaſon. He was accordingly cited by the pope, to ſtand his trial at Rome; and though he was kept a priſoner at Oxford, yet upon his not appear⯑ing, he was condemned as contumacious. But his enemies were not ſatisfied with his tortures, without adding to them the poignancy of ſelf-accuſation. Perſons were, therefore, employed to tempt him by flattery and inſinuation; by giving him hopes of once more being received into favour, to ſign his recantation, by which he acknowledged the doctrines of the papal ſupremacy and the real preſence. His love of life prevailed. In an unguarded moment he was induced to ſign this paper; and now his enemies, as we are told of the devil, after hav⯑ing rendered him completely wretched, reſolv⯑ed to deſtroy him. But it was determined be⯑fore [59] they led him out to execution, that they ſhould try to induce him to make a recanta⯑tion in the church before the people. The un⯑fortunate prelate, either having a ſecret inti⯑mation of their deſign, or having once more re⯑covered the native vigour of his mind, entered the church, prepared to ſurprize the whole au⯑dience by a contrary declaration. Being placed in a conſpicuous part of the church, a ſermon was preached by Cole, provoſt of Eaton, in which he magnified Cranmer's converſion as the immediate work of heaven itſelf. He aſ⯑ſured the archbiſhop, that nothing could have been ſo pleaſing to God, the queen, or the people; he comforted him, that in caſe it was thought fit he ſhould ſuffer, that numberleſs dirges and maſſes ſhould be ſaid for his ſoul; and that his own confeſſion of his faith would ſtill more ſecure his ſoul from the pains of purgatory. During this whole rhapſody, Cran⯑mer expreſſed the utmoſt agony, anxiety, and internal agitation; he lifted up his eyes to heaven, he ſhed a torrent of tears, and groan⯑ed with unutterable anguiſh. He then began a prayer, filled with the moſt pathetic expreſ⯑ſions of horror and remorſe: he then ſaid he was well apprized of his duty to his ſove⯑reign; but that a ſuperior duty, the duty which [60] he owed his Maker, obliged him to declare that he had ſigned a paper contrary to his con⯑ſcience: that he took this opportunity of at⯑toning for his error, by a ſincere and open re⯑cantation; he was willing, he ſaid, to ſeal with his blood that doctrine, which he firmly believed to be communicated from heaven; and that as his hand had erred, by betraying his heart, it ſhould undergo the firſt puniſhment. The aſ⯑ſembly, conſiſting chiefly of papiſts, who hoped to triumph in the laſt words of ſuch a con⯑vert, were equally confounded and incenſed at this declaration. They called aloud to him to leave off diſſembling; and led him forward amidſt the inſults and reproaches of his au⯑dience, to the ſtake at which Latimer and Rid⯑ley had ſuffered. He was reſolved to triumph over their inſults by his conſtancy and forti⯑tude; and the fire beginning to be kindled round him, he ſtretched forth his right-hand, and held it in the flames till it was conſum⯑ed, while he frequently cried out, in the midſt of his ſuerings, ‘"That unworthy hand;"’ at the ſame time exhibiting no appearance of pain or diſorder. When the fire attacked his body, he ſeemed to be quite inſenſible of his tortures; his mind was occupied wholly upon the hopes of a future reward. After his body was deſtroyed, his heart [61] was found entire; an emblem of the conſtan⯑cy with which he ſuffered.

Theſe perſecutions were now become odious to the whole nation; and, as it may be eaſily ſuppoſed, the perpetrators of them were all willing to throw the odium from themſelves upon others. Philip, ſenſible of the hatred which he muſt incur upon this occaſion, endea⯑voured to remove the reproach from himſelf by a very groſs artifice. He ordered his con⯑feſſor to deliver in his preſence a ſermon in favour of toleration; but Bonner in his turn would not take the whole of the blame, and retorted the ſeverities upon the court. In fact, a bold ſtep was taken to introduce a court ſimilar to that of the Spaniſh inquiſition, that ſhould be empowered to try heretics, and condemn them without any other form of law but its own authority. But even this was thought a method too dilatory in the preſent exigence of affairs. A proclamation iſſued againſt books of hereſy, treaſon, and ſedition decla⯑red, that whoſoever having ſuch books in his poſſeſſion did not burn them without reading, ſhould be eſteemed rebels, and ſuffer accord⯑ingly. This, as might be expected, was at⯑tended with bloody effects, whole crowds were executed, till even at laſt the very magiſ⯑trates, [62] who had been inſtrumental in theſe cruelties, at laſt refuſed to lend their aſſiſtance. It was computed, that during this perſecution, two hundred and ſeventy-ſeven perſons ſuffer⯑ed by fire, beſides thoſe puniſhed by impriſon⯑ment, fines, and confiſcations. Among thoſe who ſuffered by fire were five biſhops, twenty-one clergymen, eight lay gentlemen, eighty-four tradeſmen, one hundred huſbandmen, fifty-five women, and four children.

All this was terrible; and yet the temporal affairs of the kingdom did not ſeem to be more ſucceſsful. From Philip's firſt arrival in England the queen's pregnacy was talked of; and her own extreme deſire that it ſhould be true, induced her to favour the report. When Pole, the pope's legate, was firſt intro⯑duced to her, ſhe fancied the child ſtirred in her womb; and this her flatterers compared to the leaping of John the Baptiſt in his mo⯑ther's belly, at the ſalutation of the Virgin. The catholics were confident that ſhe was preg⯑nant; they were confident that this child ſhould be a ſon; they were even confident that heaven would render him beautiful, vi⯑gorous, and witty. But it ſoon turned out that all their confidence was ill founded; for the queen's ſuppoſed pregnancy was only the [63] beginning of a dropſy, which the diſordered ſtate of her health had brought upon her.

This opinion of the queen's pregnancy was all along carefully kept up by Philip, as it was an artifice by which he hoped to extend his authority in the kingdom. But he was miſta⯑ken: the Engliſh parliament, however lax in their principles at that time, harboured a con⯑tinual jealouſy againſt him, and paſſed repeat⯑ed acts, by which they aſcertained the limits of his power, and confirmed the authority of the queen. Ambition was his only ruling paſſion; and the extreme fondneſs of the queen for his perſon was rather permitted by him than deſired. He only wanted to make her inclinations ſubſervient to the purpoſes of his power; but finding her unable to ſatisfy him in that hope, he no longer treated her with any return of affection, but behaved to her with apparent indifference and neglect. At length, tired with her importunities and jea⯑louſies, and finding his authority extremely limited in England, he took hold of the firſt opportunity to leave her, and went over to the emperor his father in Flanders. In the mean time, the queen's paſſion encreaſed in proportion to the coolneſs with which it was returned. She paſſed moſt of her time [64] in ſolitude, where ſhe gave vent to her ſor⯑rows, either by tears or by writing fond epiſtles to Philip, who, except when he wanted money, ſeldom returned her any anſwer. To ſupply his demands upon theſe occaſions, ſhe took ſeveral very extorting methods by loans, which were forced from ſeveral whom ſhe thought moſt affectionate to her perſon, or beſt able to ſpare it. She offered the Engliſh merchants at Antwerp fourteen per cent. for a loan of thirty thouſand pounds, and yet was mortified by a refuſal.

She was more ſucceſsful in her attempts to engage the Engliſh in a war with France, at the inſtigation of her huſband, although in the end it turned out to her utter confuſion. A war had juſt been commenced between Spain and that kingdom; and Philip, who took this occaſion to come over to England, declared, that if he were not ſeconded by England at this criſis, he would never ſee the country more. This declaration greatly heightened the queen's zeal for promoting his intereſts; and though ſhe was warmly oppoſed in this meaſure by cardinal Pole, and the reſt of her council, yet, by threatening to diſmiſs them all, ſhe at laſt ſucceeded. War was declared againſt France, and preparations were every [65] where made for attacking that kingdom with vigour.A.D. 1557 An army of ten thouſand men was raiſed, and ſupplied by various methods of ex⯑tortion, and ſent over into Flanders.

A battle gained by the Spaniards at St. Quintin ſeemed to promiſe great ſucceſs to the allied arms; but ſoon an action, performed by the duke of Guiſe in the midſt of winter, turn⯑ed the ſcale in favour of France, and affect⯑ed, if not the intereſts, at leaſt the honour of England in the tendereſt point. Calais had now for above two hundred years been in poſſeſſion of the Engliſh; it had been made the chief market for wool, and other Britiſh com⯑modities; it had been ſtrongly fortified at different times, and was then deemed im⯑pregnable. But all the fortifications, which were raiſed before gunpowder was found out, were very ill able to reſiſt the attacks of a re⯑gular battery from cannon; and they only continued to enjoy an ancient reputation for ſtrength, which they were very ill able to maintain. Coligny, the French general, had remarked to the duke of Guiſe, that as the town of Calais was ſurrounded by marſhes, which during winter were impaſſable, except over a dyke guarded by two caſtles, St. Aga⯑tha and Newnam Bridge; the Engliſh were, [66] of late, accuſtomed, to ſave expence, to diſ⯑miſs a great part of the garriſon at the ap⯑proach of winter, and recall them in ſpring. The duke of Guiſe upon this, made a ſudden and unexpected march towards Calais, and aſſaulted the caſtle of St. Agatha with three thouſand arquebuſiers. The garriſon was ſoon obliged to retreat to their other caſtle of New⯑nam Bridge, and ſhortly after compelled to quit that poſt, and to take ſhelter in the city. Mean while a ſmall fleet was ſent to block up the entrance of the harbour; and thus Calais was inveſted by land and ſea. The governor, lord Wentworth, made a brave defence; but his garriſon being very weak, they were unable to reſiſt an aſſault given by the French, who made a lodgement in the caſtle. On the night following, Wentworth attempted to recover this poſt; but having loſt two hundred men in the attack, he was obliged to capitulate; ſo that in leſs than eight days, the duke of Guiſe recovered a city that had been in poſſeſſion of the Engliſh ſince the time of Edward the third, and which he had ſpent eleven months in beſieging. This loſs filled the whole kingdom with murmurs, and the queen with deſpair; ſhe was heard to ſay, that when dead, the name of Calais would be found engraven on her heart.

[67]Theſe complicated evils, a murmuring peo⯑ple, an encreaſing hereſy, a diſdainful huſband, and an unſucceſsful war, made dreadful depre⯑dations on Mary's conſtitution. She began to appear conſumptive, and this rendered her mind ſtill more moroſe and bigotted. The people now therefore began to turn their thoughts to her ſucceſſor; and the princeſs Elizabeth came into a greater degree of con⯑ſideration than before. During this whole reign, the nation was in continual apprehen⯑ſions with regard not only to the ſucceſſion, but the life of this princeſs. The violent hatred of the queen broke out upon every occaſion; while Elizabeth, conſcious of her danger, paſt her time wholly in reading and ſtudy, entirely detached from buſineſs. Propoſals of marriage had been made to her by the Swediſh ambaſ⯑ſador, in his maſter's name; but ſhe referred him to the queen, who leaving it to her own choice, ſhe had the magnanimity to reſerve herſelf for better fortune. Nor was ſhe leſs prudent in concealing her ſentiments of reli⯑gion, and in eluding all queſtions relative to that dangerous ſubject. She was obnoxious to Mary for two reaſons; as ſhe was next heir to the throne, it was feared ſhe might aſpire to it during her ſiſter's life-time; but it was [68] ſtill more reaſonably apprehended that ſhe would, if ever ſhe came to the crown, make an innovation in that religion, which Mary took ſuch pains to eſtabliſh. The biſhops, who had ſhed ſuch a deluge of blood, foreſaw this; and often told Mary that her deſtroying meaner heretics was of no advantage to the ſtate, while the body of the tree was ſuffered to remain. Mary ſaw and acknowledged the cogency of their arguments, confined her ſiſter with proper guards, and only waited for ſome freſh inſurrection, or ſome favourable pretext, to deſtroy her. Her own death prevented the perpetration of her meditated cruelty.

Mary had been long in a very declining ſtate of health; and having miſtaken her drop⯑ſy for a pregnancy, ſhe made uſe of an impro⯑per regimen, which had encreaſed the diſor⯑der. Every reflection now tormented her. The conſciouſneſs of being hated by her ſub⯑jects, the proſpect of Elizabeth's ſucceſſion, whom ſhe hated, and, above all, her anxiety for the loſs of her huſband, who never intend⯑ed to return; all theſe preyed upon her mind, and threw her into a lingering fever, of which ſhe died, after a ſhort and unfortunate reign of five years, four months, and eleven days, in the forty-third year of her age. Cardinal [69] Pole, whoſe gentleneſs in power we have of⯑ten had occaſion to mention, ſurvived her but one day. She was buried in Henry the ſe⯑venth's chapel, according to the rites of the church of Rome.

CHAP. XXVI. ELIZABETH.

A.D. 1558 WERE we to adopt the maxim of the catholics themſelves, that evil may be done for the production of good, one might ſay that the perſecutions in Mary's reign were permitted only to bring the kingdom more generally over to the proteſtant religion. No⯑thing could preach ſo effectually againſt the cruelty and vices of the monks, as the actions [71] of the monks themſelves. Wherever heretics were to be burnt, the monks were always pre⯑ſent, rejoicing at the flames, inſulting the fal⯑len, and frequently the firſt to thruſt the flam⯑ing brand againſt the faces of the ſufferers. The Engliſh were effectually converted by ſuch ſights as theſe from their ancient ſuper⯑ſtitions. To bring the people over to any opinion, it is only neceſſary to perſecute, inſtead of attempting to convince. The peo⯑ple had formerly been compelled to embrace the proteſtant religion, and their fears induced them to conform; but now almoſt the whole nation were proteſtants from inclination.

Nothing, therefore, could exceed the joy that was diffuſed among the people upon the acceſſion of Elizabeth, who now came to the throne without any oppoſition. She had been at Hatfield, when informed of her ſiſter's death; and, haſtening up to London, was re⯑ceived by the multitude with univerſal acclama⯑tions. Elizabeth had her education in that beſt ſchool, the ſchool of adverſity; and ſhe had made the proper uſe of her confinement. Being debarred the enjoyment of pleaſures a⯑broad, ſhe ſought for knowledge at home; ſhe cultivated her underſtanding, learned the languages and ſciences; but of all the arts which ſhe acquired, that of concealing her [72] opinions, of checking her inclinations, of diſ⯑pleaſing none, and of learning to reign, were the moſt beneficial to her.

This virgin monarch, as ſome hiſtorians have called her, upon entering the Tower according to cuſtom, could not refrain from remarking on the difference of her preſent, and her former fortune, when ſhe was ſent there as a priſoner, and from whence ſhe had ſo narrowly eſcaped. She had alſo been ſcarce proclaimed queen, when Philip, who had been married to Mary, but who ever teſtified a partiality in favour of Elizabeth, ordered his ambaſſador in London, the duke of Feria, to make her propoſals of marriage from his maſter. What political motives Elizabeth might have againſt this marriage, are not mentioned; but certain it is, that ſhe neither liked the perſon, nor the religion of her admirer. She was willing at once to enjoy the pleaſures of independence, and the vanity of numerous ſolicitations. But while theſe were her views, ſhe returned him a very obliging, though evaſive anſwer; and he ſtill retained ſuch hopes of ſucceſs, that he ſent a meſſen⯑ger to Rome, with orders to ſolicit the diſ⯑penſation.

Elizabeth had, from the beginning, reſolved upon reforming the church, even while ſhe was [73] held in the conſtraints of a priſon; and now, upon coming to the crown, ſhe immediately ſet about it. But not to alarm the partizans of the catholic religion all at once, ſhe retain⯑ed eleven of her ſiſter's council; and, in or⯑der to balance their authority, added eight more who were known to be affectionate to the proteſtant religion. Her particular adviſer, however, was Sir William Cecil, ſecretary of ſtate, a man more earneſtly employed in the buſineſs than the ſpeculations of the times; and whoſe temper it was to wiſh for any religion that he thought would contribute to the welfare of the ſtate. By his advice, therefore, ſhe immediately recalled all exiles, and gave liberty to all priſoners who were con⯑fined on account of religion. She next pub⯑liſhed a proclamation, by which ſhe forbade all preaching without a ſpecial licence. She alſo ſuſpended the laws ſo far as to have a great part of the ſervice to be read in Engliſh,A.D. 1559 and forbade the hoſt to be any more elevated in her preſence. A parliament ſoon after com⯑pleted what the prerogative had begun; act after act was paſſed in favour of the reforma⯑tion; and in a ſingle ſeſſion the form of reli⯑gion was eſtabliſhed as we at preſent have the happineſs to enjoy it.

[74]The oppoſition which was made to theſe religious eſtabliſhments was furious, but feeble. A conference, of nine doctors on each ſide, was propoſed and agreed to, in preſence of the lord keeper Bacon. They were to diſpute public⯑ly upon either ſide of the queſtion; and it was reſolved that the people ſhould hold to that which came off with the victory. Diſputations of this kind never carry conviction to either par⯑ty; ſo much is to be ſaid, and ſo wide is the field that both ſides have to range in, that the ſtrength of both is exhauſted before the en⯑gagement may be properly ſaid to begin. The conference therefore came to nothing; the ca⯑tholics declared that it was not in their power to diſpute a ſecond time upon topics, on which they had gained a former victory; while the proteſtants, on the other ſide, aſcribed their caution to their fears. Of nine thouſand four hundred beneficed clergymen, which were the number of thoſe in the kingdom, only fourteen biſhops, twelve archdeacons, fifteen heads of colleges, and about eighty of the parochial clergy, choſe to quit their preferments rather than give up their religion. Thus England was ſeen to change its belief in religion four times ſince the beginning of the reign of Henry the eighth. ‘"Strange, ſays a foreign writer, [75] that a people ſo reſolute, ſhould be guilty of ſo much inconſtancy; that the ſame people, who this day aſſiſted at the execution of here⯑tics, ſhould the next, not only think them guiltleſs, but conform to their ſyſtems of think⯑ing."’

Elizabeth was now fixed upon a proteſtant throne; and had conſequently all the catholic powers of Europe her open or ſecret enemies France, Scotland, the pope, and even Spain itſelf, began to think of combining againſt her. Her ſubjects of Ireland were concealed enemies; and the catholic party in England, though profeſſing obedience, were yet ready to take the advantage of her ſlighteſt misfortunes. Theſe were the dangers ſhe had to fear; nor had ſhe formed a ſingle alliance to aſſiſt her, nor poſſeſſed any foreign friends that ſhe could ſafely rely on. In this ſituation, therefore, ſhe could hope for no other reſource but what pro⯑ceeded from the affection of her own ſubjcts, her own inſight into her affairs, and the wiſ⯑dom of her adminiſtration. From the beginning of her reign, ſhe ſeemed to aim at two very difficult attainments; to make herſelf loved by her ſubjects, and feared by her courtiers. She reſolved to be frugal of her treaſury; and ſtill more ſparing in her rewards to favourites. [76] This at once kept the people in good humour; and the great too poor to ſhake off their inde⯑pendence. She alſo ſhewed, that ſhe knew how to diſtribute both rewards and puniſhments with impartiality; that ſhe knew when to ſooth, and when to upbraid; that ſhe could diſſem⯑ble ſubmiſſion, but preſerve her prerogatives. In ſhort, ſhe ſeemed to have ſtudied the people ſhe was born to govern, and even ſhewed that ſhe knew when to flatter their foibles to ſecure their affections.

Her chief miniſter was Robert Dudley, ſon to the late duke of Northumberland, whom ſhe ſeemed to regard from capricious mo⯑tives, as he was poſſeſſed neither of abilities nor virtue. But to make amends, the two favourites next in power, were Bacon and Ce⯑cil, men of great capacity and infinite appli⯑cation: they regulated the finances, and di⯑rected the political meaſures with foreign courts, that were afterwards followed with ſo much ſucceſs.

A ſtate of permanent felicity is not to be ex⯑pected here; and Mary Stuart, commonly called Mary queen of Scots, was the firſt per⯑ſon that excited the fears or the reſentment of Elizabeth. We have already mentioned, that Henry the ſeventh married his eldeſt [77] daughter, Margaret, to James, king of Scot⯑land, who dying, left no iſſue that came to ma⯑turity except Mary, afterwards ſurnamed Queen of Scots. At a very early age, this prin⯑ceſs being poſſeſſed of every accompliſhment of perſon and mind, was married to Francis, the dauphin of France, who dying, left her a widow at the age of nineteen. As Elizabeth had been declared illigitimate by Henry the eighth, Francis, in right of his wife, began to aſſume the title of king of England; nor did the queen of Scots, his conſort, ſeem to decline ſharing in this empty appellation. But though no⯑thing could have been more unjuſt than ſuch a claim, or more unlikely to ſucceed, Eliza⯑beth, knowing that ſuch pretenſions might pro⯑duce troubles in England, ſent an ambaſſador to France, complaining of the behaviour of that court in this inſtance. Francis, however, was not upon ſuch good terms with Elizabeth as to forego any claims that would diſtreſs her; and her ambaſſador was ſent home with⯑out ſatisfaction. Upon the death of Francis, Mary, the widow, ſtill ſeemed diſpoſed to keep up the title; but finding herſelf expoſed to the perſecutions of the dowager queen, who now began to take the lead in France, ſhe determin⯑ed to return home to Scotland, and demanded [78] a ſafe paſſage from Elizabeth through Eng⯑land. But it was now Elizabeth's turn to re⯑fuſe; and ſhe ſent back a very haughty an⯑ſwer to Mary's requeſt. From hence a deter⯑mined perſonal enmity began to prevail be⯑tween theſe rival queens, which ſubſiſted for many years after, until at laſt the ſuperior for⯑tune of Elizabeth prevailed.

As the tranſactions of this unfortunate queen make a diſtinguiſhed part in Elizabeth's hiſtory, it will be neceſſary to give them greater room than I have hitherto given to the occurences of Scotland. The reforma⯑tion in England having taken place, in Scot⯑land, alſo, that work was begun, but with cir⯑cumſtances of greater animoſity againſt their ancient ſuperſtitions. The mutual reſentment which either party, in that kingdom, bore to each other, knew no bounds; and a civil war was likely to end the diſpute. It was in this di⯑vided ſtate of the people, that Elizabeth, by giving encouragement to the reformers, gain⯑ed over their affections from their natural queen, who was a catholic, and who conſe⯑quently favoured thoſe of that perſuaſion. Thus religion at laſt effected a ſincere friend⯑ſhip between the Engliſh and Scotch, which neither treaties, nor marriages, nor the vicini⯑ty [79] of ſituation, was able to produce. The re⯑formers, to a man, conſidered Elizabeth as their patroneſs and defender, and Mary as their per⯑ſecutor and enemy.

It was in this ſituation of things, that Mary returned from France to reign at home in Scotland, entirely attached to the cuſtoms and manners of the people ſhe left; and conſe⯑quently very averſe to the gloomy ſeverity which her reformed ſubjects affected, and which they fancied made a proper ingredient in reli⯑gion. A difference in religion between the ſovereign and the people is ever productive of bad effects; ſince it is apt to produce con⯑tempt on the one ſide, and jealouſy on the other. Mary could not avoid regarding the four manners of the reformed clergy, who now bore ſway among the people, without a mix⯑ture of ridicule and hatred; while they, on the other hand, could not look tamely on the gaie⯑ties and levities which ſhe introduced among them, without abhorrence and reſentment. The jealouſy thus excited, began every day to grow ſtronger; the clergy waited only for ſome in⯑diſcretion in the queen to ſly out into open op⯑poſition; and her indiſcretion but to ſoon gave them ſufficient opportunity.

[80]After two years had been ſpent in alter⯑cation and reproach, between Mary and her ſubjects, it was reſolved upon at laſt by her council, that ſhe ſhould look out for ſome alliance, by which ſhe might be ſheltered and protected againſt the inſolence and miſguided zeal of her ſpiritual inſtructors.A.D. 1564 After ſome deliberation, the lord Darnley, ſon to the earl of Lenox, was the perſon in whom their opinions and wiſhes centered. He had been born and educated in England, was now in his twentieth year, was couſin-german to the queen; and what perhaps ſhe might admire ſtill more, he was extremely tall. Elizabeth was ſecretly no way averſe to this marriage, as it freed her from the dread of a foreign al⯑liance; but when informed that it was actual⯑ly concluded and conſummated, ſhe pretended to teſtify the utmoſt diſpleaſure; ſhe menaced, complained, proteſted; ſeized all the earl of Lenox's Engliſh eſtate, and threw the counteſs and her ſecond ſon into the Tower. This du⯑plicity of conduct was common enough with Elizabeth; and on the preſent occaſion, it ſerv⯑ed her as a pretext for refuſing Mary's title to the ſucceſſion of England, which that prin⯑ceſs had frequently urged, but in vain.

[81]But notwithſtanding Elizabeth's complaints and reſentment, Mary was reſolved to indulge her own inclinations, and, ſtruck with the beauty of Darnley's figure, the match was driven forward with all expedition; and ſome of the firſt weeks of their connexion ſeemed to promiſe an happy union for the reſt of their lives. However, it was not without ſome op⯑poſition from the reformers that this marriage was completed. It was agitated, whether the queen could marry without the conſent of the people? Some lords roſe up in arms to pre⯑vent it; but being purſued by a ſuperior force, they found themſelves obliged to abandon their country, and take refuge in England. Thus far all was favourable to Mary; and thus far ſhe kept within the bounds of ſtrict virtue. Her enemies were baniſhed, her ri⯑val over-ruled, and ſhe herſelf married to the man ſhe loved.

While Mary had been dazzled by the pleaſ⯑ing exterior of her new lover, ſhe had entirely forgot to look to the accompliſhments of his mind. Darnley was but a weak and ignorant man; violent, yet variable in his enterprizes; inſolent, yet credulous, and eaſily governed by flatterers; devoid of all gratitude, becauſe he thought no favours equal to his merit; and [82] being addicted to low pleaſures, he was equally incapable of all true ſentiments of love and tenderneſs. Mary, in the firſt effuſions of her fondneſs, had taken a pleaſure in exalting him beyond meaſure; but having leiſure afterwards to remark his weakneſs and his vices, ſhe be⯑gan to convert her admiration into diſguſt; and Darnly, enraged at her encreaſing cold⯑neſs, pointed his vengeance againſt every per⯑ſon he eſteemed the cauſe of this change in her ſentiments and behaviour.

There was then in the court one David Rizzio, the ſon of a muſician at Turin, him⯑ſelf a muſician, who finding it difficult to ſubſiſt by his art in his own country, had fol⯑lowed the ambaſſador from that court into Scotland. As he underſtood muſic to perfec⯑tion, and ſung a good baſs, he was introdu⯑ced into the queen's concert, who was ſo taken with him, that ſhe deſired the ambaſſa⯑dor, upon his departure, to leave Rizzio be⯑hind. The excellence of his voice ſoon pro⯑cured him greater familiarities; and although he was by no means handſome, but rather ugly, the queen ſeemed to place peculiar con⯑fidence in him, and ever kept him next her perſon. Her ſecretary for French diſpatches having ſome time after fallen under her diſ⯑pleaſure, [83] pleaſure, ſhe promoted Rizzio to that office, who, being ſhrewd, ſenſible, and aſpiring be⯑yond his rank, ſoon after began to enter⯑tain hopes of being promoted to the im⯑portant office of chancellor of the kingdom. He was conſulted on all occaſions; no favours could be obtained but by his interceſſion, and all ſuitors were firſt obliged to gain Rizzio to their intereſts, by preſents, or by flattery. It was eaſy to prevail upon a man of Darn⯑ley's jealous uxorious temper, that Rizzio was the perſon who had eſtranged the queen's af⯑fections from him; and a ſurmiſe once con⯑ceived became to him a certainty. He ſoon therefore conſulted with ſome lords of his party, ſtung as he was with envy, rage, and reſentment; and they not only fanned the con⯑flagration in his mind, but offered their aſſiſt⯑ance to diſpatch Rizzio. George Douglas, natural brother to the counteſs of Lenox, the lords Ruthven and Lindſey, ſettled the cir⯑cumſtances of this poor creature's aſſaſſination among them; and determined that, as a pu⯑niſhment for the queen's indiſcretions, the mur⯑der ſhould be committed in her preſence. Mary was at this time in the ſixth month of her pregnancy, and was then ſupping in pri⯑vate, at table with the counteſs of Argyle, [84] her natural ſiſter, ſome other ſervants, and her favourite Rizzio. Lord Darnly led the way into the apartment by a private ſtair-caſe, and ſtood for ſome time leaning at the back of Mary's chair. His fierce looks and unexpect⯑ed intruſion greatly alarmed the queen, who, nevertheleſs, kept ſilence, not daring to call out. A little after lord Ruthven, George Douglas, and the other conſpirators, ruſhed in, all armed, and ſhewing in their looks the brutality of their intentions. The queen could no longer reſtrain her terrors, but demanded the reaſon of this bold intruſion. Ruthven made her no anſwer; but ordered Rizzio to quit a place of which he was unworthy. Riz⯑zio now ſaw that he was the object of their vengeance; and trembling with apprehenſion took hold of the queen's robes to put himſelf under her protection, who, on her part, ſtrove to interpoſe between the aſſaſſins and him. Douglas, in the mean time, had reached the unfortunate Rizzio; and ſnatching a dagger from the king's ſide, while the queen filled the room with her cries, plunged it in her pre⯑ſence into Rizzio's boſom, who, ſcreaming with fear and agony, was torn from Mary by the other conſpirators, and dragged into the anti-chamber, where he was diſpatched with [85] fifty-ſix wounds. The unhappy princeſs con⯑tinued her lamentations; but being informed of his fate, at once dried her tears, and ſaid ſhe would weep no more, for ſhe would now think of revenge. The inſult indeed upon her perſon and honour, and the danger to which her life was expoſed on account of her pregnancy, were injuries ſo atrocious and ſo complicated, that they ſcarce left room for pardon.

This act of violence was only to be puniſh⯑ed by temporizing; ſhe pretended to forgive ſo great a crime; and exerted the force of her natural allurements ſo powerfully, that her huſband ſubmitted implicitly to her will. He ſoon gave up his accomplices to her reſent⯑ment, and retired with her to Dunbar, while ſhe, having collected an army, which the con⯑ſpirators had no power to reſiſt, advanced to Edinburgh, and obliged them to fly into Eng⯑land, where they lived in great poverty and diſtreſs. They made application, however, to the earl of Bothwell, a new favourite of Mary's; and that nobleman, deſirous to ſtreng⯑then his party by the acceſſion of their inter⯑eſt, was able to pacify her reſentment, and he ſoon after procured them liberty to return home.

[86]The vengeance of the queen was implacable to her huſband alone; his perſon was before diſagreeable to her; and having perſuaded him to give up his accomplices, ſhe treated him with merited diſdain and indignation. But it were well for her character and happineſs had ſhe reſted only in deſpiſing; ſhe ſecretly reſolved on a ſeverer revenge. The earl Both⯑wel, who was now become her favourite, was of a conſiderable family in Scotland; and though not diſtinguiſhed by any talents, civil or military, yet he made ſome noiſe in the diſſenſions of the ſtate, and was an oppoſer of the reformation. He was a man of profligate manners, had involved his fortune in great debts, and had reduced himſelf to beggary by his profuſion. This nobleman, notwithſtanding, had ingratiated himſelf ſo far with the queen, that all her meaſures were entirely directed by his advice and authority. Reports were even ſpread of more particular intimacies; and theſe gave ſuch uneaſineſs to Darnley, that he left the court, and retired to Glaſgow, to be no longer a ſpectator of her exceſſes. But this was not what the queen aimed at; ſhe was determined upon more ample puniſhment. Shortly after, all thoſe who wiſhed well to her character, or repoſe to their country, were ex⯑tremely [87] pleaſed, and ſomewhat ſurpriſed, to hear that her tenderneſs for her huſband was revived; and that ſhe had taken a journey to viſit him, during his ſickneſs there. Darnley was ſo far allured by her behaviour on this oc⯑caſion, that he reſolved to part with her no more; he put himſelf under her protection, and ſoon after attended her to Edinburgh, which it was thought would be a place more favourable to his declining health. She lived in the palace of Holyroood-houſe; but as the ſituation of that place was low, and the con⯑courſe of perſons about the court neceſſarily attended with noiſe, which might diſturb him in his preſent infirm ſtate, ſhe fitted up an a⯑partment for him in a ſolitary houſe at ſome diſtance, called the Kirk of Field. Mary there gave him marks of kindneſs and attachment; ſhe converſed cordially with him, and ſhe lay ſome nights in a room under him. It was on the ninth of February that ſhe told him ſhe would paſs that night in the palace, becauſe the marriage of one of her ſervants was to be there celebrated in her preſence. But dread⯑ful conſequences enſued. About two o'clock in the morning the whole city was much alarmed at hearing a great noiſe; the houſe in which Darnley lay was blown up with gun⯑powder. [88] His dead body was found at ſome diſtance in a neighbouring field, but without any marks of violence or contuſion. No doubt could be entertained but that Darnley was murdered; and the general ſuſpicion fell upon Bothwell as the perpetrator.

All orders of the ſtate, and the whole body of the people, began to demand juſtice on the ſuppoſed murderer; the queen herſelf was not entirely exempt from the general ſuſpicion; and papers were privately ſtuck up every where, ac⯑cuſing her of being an accomplice. Mary, more ſolicitous to puniſh others than defend her⯑ſelf, offered rewards for the diſcovery of thoſe who had ſpread ſuch reports; but no rewards were offered for the diſcovery of the murderers. One indiſcretion led on to another; Bothwell, though accuſed of being ſtained with her huſ⯑band's blood, though univerſally odious to the people, had the confidence, while Mary was on her way to Stirling, on a viſit to her ſon, to ſeize her at the head of a body of eight hundred horſe, and to carry her to Dunbar, where he forced her to yield to his purpoſes. It was then thought by the people that the mea⯑ſure of his crimes was complete; and that he who was ſuppoſed to kill the queen's huſband, and to have offered violence to her perſon, [89] could expect no mercy; but they were aſto⯑niſhed upon finding, inſtead of diſgrace, that Bothwell was taken into more than former fa⯑vour; and, to crown all, that he was married to the queen, having divorced his own wife to procure this union.

This was a fatal alliance to Mary; and the people were now wound up by the complica⯑tion of her guilt, to pay very little deference to her authority. The proteſtant teachers, who had great power, had long borne great animoſity towards her; the opinion of her guilt was by that means more widely diffuſed, and made the deeper impreſſion. The princi⯑pal nobility met at Stirling; and an aſſociation was ſoon formed for protecting the young prince, and puniſhing the king's murderers. Lord Hume was the firſt in arms; and lead⯑ing a body of eight hundred horſe, ſuddenly environed the queen and Bothwell, in the caſ⯑tle of Borthwick. They found means, how⯑ever, to make their eſcape; and Bothwell, at the head of a few forces, meeting the aſſocia⯑tors within about ſix miles of Edinburgh, was obliged to capitulate, while Mary was con⯑ducted by the prevailing party into Edin⯑burgh, amidſt the inſults and reproaches of the populace. From thence ſhe was ſent a [90] priſoner to the caſtle of Lochlevin, ſituated in a lake of that name, where ſhe ſuffered all the ſeverities of an unkind keeper, and an up⯑braiding conſcience, with a feeling heart. Both⯑well, however, was more fortunate; he fled during the conference, unattended to Dunbar, where fitting out a few ſmall ſhips, he ſub⯑ſiſted among the Orkneys for ſome time by piracy. Being purſued thither, and his do⯑meſtics taken, who made a full diſcovery of his crimes, he eſcaped himſelf in an open boat to Denmark, where he was thrown into priſon, loſt his ſenſes, and died miſerably about ten years afterwards.

In this ſituation, Mary was not entirely without protection and friends. Queen Eli⯑zabeth, who now ſaw her rival entirely hum⯑bled, began to relent; ſhe was ſeen to reflect on the precarious ſtate of royal grandeur, and the danger of encouraging rebellious ſubjects; ſhe, therefore, ſent Sir Nicholas Throgmorton as her ambaſſador to Scotland, to interpoſe in her behalf; but the aſſociated lords thought proper to deny him, after ſeveral affected de⯑lays, all acceſs to Mary's perſon. However, though he could not confer with her, he pro⯑cured her the beſt terms with the rebellious lords that he could, which was, that ſhe ſhould [91] reſign the crown in favour of her ſon, who was as yet a minor; that ſhe ſhould appoint the earl of Murray, who had from the begin⯑ing teſtified an hatred to lord Darnly, as re⯑gent of the kingdom; and as he was then in France, that ſhe ſhould appoint a council till his arrival. Mary could not think of reſign⯑ing all power without a plentiful effuſion of tears; but at laſt ſigned what was brought to her, even without inſpection. In conſequence of this forced reſignation, the young prince was proclaimed king, under the title of James the ſixth. The queen had now no hopes but from the kindneſs of the earl of Murray; but even here ſhe was diſappointed; the earl, upon his return, inſtead of comforting her, as ſhe expected, loaded her with reproaches, which reduced her almoſt to deſpair.

The calamities of the great, even though juſtly deſerved, ſeldom fail of creating pity, and procuring friends. Mary, by her charms and promiſes, had engaged a young gentle⯑man, whoſe name was George Douglas, to aſſiſt her in eſcaping from the place where ſhe was confined: and this he effected, by convey⯑ing her in diſguiſe in a ſmall boat, rowed by himſelf, a-ſhore. It was now that the news of her enlargement being ſpread abroad, all [92] the loyalty of the people ſeemed to revive once more. As Bothwell was no longer aſſociated in her cauſe, many of the nobility, who expect⯑ed to ſucceed him in favour, ſigned a bond of aſſociation for her defence; and in a few days ſhe ſaw herſelf at the head of ſix thou⯑ſand men.

The earl of Murray, who had been declared regent, was not ſlow in aſſembling his forces; and although his army was inferior to that of the queen of Scots, he boldly took the field againſt her. A battle was fought at Langſide, near Glaſgow, which was entirely deciſive in his favour; and he ſeemed to merit victory by his clemency after the action. Mary, now totally ruined, fled ſouthwards from the field of battle with great precipitation; A.D. 1568 and came with a few attendants to the borders of Eng⯑land, where ſhe hoped for protection from Elizabeth, who had upon ſome recent occa⯑ſions declared in her favour.

With theſe hopes ſhe embarked on board a fiſhing boat in Galloway, and landed the ſame day at Wirkington in Cumberland, a⯑bout thirty miles diſtant from Carliſle, whence ſhe immediately diſpatched a meſſenger to London, craving protection, and deſiring liber⯑ty to viſit the queen. Elizabeth being inform⯑ed [93] of her misfortunes and retreat, deliberat⯑ed for ſome time upon the proper methods of proceeding, and reſolved at laſt to act in a friendly, yet cautious manner. She immedi⯑ately ſent orders to lady Scrope, ſiſter to the duke of Norfolk, a lady who lived in that neighbourhood, to attend on the queen of Scots; and ſoon after diſpatched lord Scrope himſelf, and ſir Francis Knolles, to pay her all poſſi⯑ble reſpect. Notwithſtanding theſe marks of diſtinction, the queen refuſed to admit Mary into her preſence, untill ſhe had cleared her character from the many foul aſperſions that it was ſtained with. It might, perhaps, have been Elizabeth's duty to protect, and not to examine, her royal fugitive. However, ſhe acted entirely under the direction of her coun⯑cil, who obſerved, that if the crimes of the Scot⯑tiſh princeſs were really ſo great as they were re⯑preſented, the treating her with friendſhip would but give them a ſanction; if ſhe was found guiltleſs upon trial, every enterpize, which friendſhip ſhould inſpire in her defence, would be conſidered as laudable and glorious.

Mary was now, though reluctantly, obliged to admit her ancient rival as an umpire in her cauſe; and the accuſation was readily under⯑taken by Murray the regent, who expected [94] to remove ſo powerful an aſſiſtant as Eliza⯑beth, by the atrociouſneſs of Mary's offences. This extraordinary conference, which delibe⯑rated on the conduct of a foreign queen, was managed at York; three commiſſioners being appointed by Elizabeth, nine by the queen of Scots, and five by the regent, in which he himſelf was included. Theſe conferences were carried on for ſome time at the place firſt ap⯑pointed; but after a while, Elizabeth, either unwilling to decide, as ſhe would thus give up the power ſhe was now poſſeſſed of, or perhaps deſirous of throwing all light poſſible upon Mary's conduct, ordered the commiſſi⯑oners to continue their conferences at Hamp⯑ton-court, where they were ſpun out by affect⯑ed delays. Whatever might have been the cauſe of protracting this conference in the beginning is not known; but many of the proofs of Mary's guilt, which were ſuppreſſed at York, made their appearance before the board at Hampton. Among other proofs, were many letters and ſonnets written in Mary's own hand to Bothwell, in which ſhe diſcovers her knowledge of Darnley's intended murder, and her contrivance to marry Both⯑well, by pretending a forced compliance. Theſe papers, it muſt be owned, are not free [95] themſelves from ſuſpicion of being a forgery; yet the reaſons for their authenticity ſeem to prevail. However this be, the proofs of Mary's guilt appearing ſtronger, it was thought proper to engage her advocates to give anſwers to them; but they, contrary to expectation, refuſed, alledging, that as Mary was a ſove⯑reign princeſs, ſhe could not be ſubject to any tribunal, not conſidering that the aim of this conference was not puniſhment, but reconcilia⯑tion; that it was not to try Mary, in order to inflict penalties, but to know whether ſhe was wor⯑thy of Elizabeth's friendſhip and protection. Inſtead of attempting to juſtify her conduct, the queen of Scots laboured nothing ſo much as to obtain an interview with Elizabeth; conſcious that her inſinuations, arts, and ad⯑dreſs, of all which ſhe was a perfect miſtreſs, would be ſufficient to perſuade her royal ſiſter, and ſtand in place of innocence. But as ſhe ſtill perſiſted in a reſolution to make no de⯑fence, this demand was finally refuſed her.

She ſtill, however, perſiſted in demanding Elizabeth's protection; ſhe deſired that either ſhe ſhould be aſſiſted in her endeavours to re⯑cover her authority, or that liberty ſhould be given her for retiring into France, there to make trial of the friendſhip of other princes. [96] But Elizabeth, ſenſible of the danger which attended either of theſe propoſals, was ſecretly reſolved to detain her ſtill in captivity, and ſhe was accordingly ſent to Tuthury caſtle, in the county of Stafford, where ſhe was put un⯑der the cuſtody of the earl of Shrewſbury; there ſhe gave her royal priſoner hopes of one day coming into favour, and that unleſs her own obſtinacy prevented, an accommodation might at laſt take place.

But this unhappy woman was fated to no⯑thing but misfortunes; and thoſe hopes of ac⯑commodation which ſhe had been given to ex⯑pect, were ſtill put off by ſome ſiniſter accident. The factions of her own ſubjects in Scotland tended not a little to alarm the jealouſy of Elizabeth, and encreaſe the rigours of Mary's confinement. The regent of Scotland, who had been long her inveterate enemy, happen⯑ing to be aſſaſſinated, in revenge of a private in⯑jury, by a gentleman of the name of Hamilton, upon his death the kingdom relapſed into its former anarchy. Mary's party once more aſ⯑ſembled themſelves together, and became maſ⯑ters of Edinburgh. They even ventured to⯑wards the borders of England, where they committed ſome diſorders, which called upon the vigilance of Elizabeth to ſuppreſs. She [97] quickly ſent an army commanded by the earl of Suffex, who entering Scotland, principally chaſtiſed all the partizans of the captive queen, under a pretence that they had offended his miſtreſs by harbouring Engliſh rebels.

But the deſigns and arts of Elizabeth did not reſt here; while ſhe kept up the moſt friendly correſpendence with Mary, and the moſt warm proteſtations of ſincerity paſſed between them, ſhe was far from either aſſiſting her cauſe, or yet from rendering it deſperate. It was her intereſt to keep the factions in Scot⯑land ſtill alive, to weaken the power of that reſtleſs and troubleſome nation; for this pur⯑poſe ſhe weakened the party of the queen, that had now promiſed to prevail, by tedious negociations; and in the mean time procur⯑ed the earl of Lenox to be appointed regent, in the room of Murray who was flain.

This attempt, which promiſed to be favour⯑able to Mary, proved thus unſucceſsful, as well as another, which was concerted near the place of her captivity. The duke of Norfolk was the only peer who enjoyed that higheſt title of nobility in England; and the qualities of his mind correſponded to his high ſtation. Beneficent, affable, and generous,A.D. 1568 he had ac⯑quired the affections of the people; and yet [98] from his moderation, he had never alarmed the jealouſy of the ſovereign. He was at this time a widower, and being of a ſuitable age to eſpouſe the queen of Scots, her own at⯑tractions, as well as his intereſts, made him deſirous of the match. But the obtaining Eli⯑zabeth's conſent, previous to their nuptials, was conſidered as a circumſtance eſſential to his aims. But while this nobleman made al⯑moſt all the nobility of England confidants to his paſſion, he never had the prudence, or the courage, to open his full intentions to the queen herſelf. On the contrary, in order to ſuppreſs the ſurmiſes that were currently reported, he ſpoke contemptuouſly of Mary to Elizabeth; affirmed that his eſtates in England were of more value than the revenue of the whole kingdom; and declared, that when he amuſed himſelf in his own tennis-court at Norwich, he was a more magnificent prince than a Scottiſh king. This duplicity only ſerved to enflame the queen's ſuſpicions the more; and finding that ſhe gave his profeſſions no great degree of credit, he retired from the court in diſguſt. Repenting, however, ſoon after of this mea⯑ſure, he was reſolved to return, with a view of regaining the queen's good graces; but on the way, he was ſtopt by a meſſenger from the [99] queen, and ſoon commited to the Tower under the cuſtody of Sir Henry Nevil.

But the duke of Norfolk was too much beloved by his partizans in the North, to be confined without an effort made for his releaſe. The earls of Weſtmorland and Northumber⯑land had prepared meaſures for a rebellion; had communicated their deſign to Mary and her miniſters; had entered into a correſpon⯑dence with the duke of Alva, governor of the Low Countries, and had obtained his promiſe of men and ammunition. But the vigilance of Elizabeth's miniſters was not to be eluded; or⯑ders were immediately ſent for their appear⯑ance at court, and now the inſurgent lords per⯑ceiving their ſchemes diſcovered, were obliged to begin their revolt before matters were en⯑tirely prepared for its opening. They accord⯑ingly publiſhed a manifeſto, in which they al⯑ledged, that no injury was intended againſt the queen, to whom they vowed unſhaken al⯑legiance; but that their ſole aim was to re-eſ⯑tabliſh the religion of their anceſtors, to remove all evil counſellors from about the queen's perſon; and to reſtore the duke of Norfolk to his liberty and the queen's favour. Their num⯑ber amounted to four thouſand foot, and ſix⯑teen hundred, horſe; and they expected to be [100] joined by all the catholics in England. But they ſoon found themſelves miſerably unde⯑ceived; the queen's conduct had acquired the general good will of the people, and ſhe now perceived that her ſureſt ſupport was the juſ⯑tice of her actions. The duke of Norfolk himſelf, for whoſe ſake they had revolted, uſed every method that his circumſtances would permit, to aſſiſt and ſupport the queen; the in⯑ſurgents were obliged to retire before her forces to Hexham; and hearing that reinforcements were upon their march to join the royal army, they found no other expedient but to diſperſe themſelves without a blow. Northumberland fled into Scotland, and was confined by the re⯑gent to the caſtle of Lochlevin; Weſtmorland, after attempting to excite the Scotch to revolt, was obliged to eſcape into Flanders, where he found protection. This rebellion was follow⯑ed by another, led on by lord Dacres, but with as little ſucceſs. Some ſeverities were uſed againſt theſe revolters, and it is ſaid, that no leſs than eight ſuffered by the hands of the executioner on this occaſion. The queen was ſo well pleaſed with the duke of Norfolk's be⯑haviour,A.D. 1569 that ſhe now releaſed him from the Tower; allowed him to return home, only exacting a promiſe from him, not to proceed [101] any farther in his pretenſions to the queen of Scots.

But the queen's confidence was fatal to this brave, but undeſigning nobleman. He had not been releaſed above a year, when new pro⯑jects were ſet on foot by the enemies of the queen and the reformed religion, ſecretly fo⯑mented by Rodolphi, an inſtrument of the court of Rome, and the biſhop of Roſs, Mary's miniſter in England. It was concerted by them, that Norfolk ſhould renew his deſigns upon Mary, to which it is probable he was prompt⯑ed by paſſion; and this nobleman entering into their ſchemes, he from being at firſt only ambitious, now became criminal. It was mu⯑tually agreed, therefore, that the duke ſhould enter into all Mary's intereſts; while on the other hand, the duke of Alva promiſed to tranſport a body of ſix thouſand foot, and four thouſand horſe, to join Norfolk as ſoon as he ſhould be ready to begin. This ſcheme was ſo ſecretly laid, that it had hitherto entirely eſcaped the vigilance of Elizabeth, and that of ſecretary Cecil, who now bore the title of lord Burleigh. It was found out merely by accident; for the duke having ſent a ſum of money to lord Herreis, one of Mary's partizans in Scot⯑land, omitted truſting the ſervant with the con⯑tents [102] of his meſſage; and he finding, by the weight of the bag, that it contained a larger ſum than the duke mentioned to him, began to miſtruſt ſome plot, and brought the money, with the duke's letter, to the ſecretary of ſtate. It was by the artifices of that great ſtateſman, that the duke's ſervants were brought to make a full confeſſion of their maſter's guilt; and the biſhop of Roſs ſoon after, finding the whole diſcovered, did not ſcruple to confirm their teſtimony. The duke was inſtantly committed to the Tower, and ordered to prepare for his trial. A jury of twenty-five peers unanimouſly paſſed ſentence upon him; and the queen, four months after, reluctantly ſigned the warrant for his execution. He died with great calm⯑neſs and conſtancy; and though he cleared himſelf of any diſloyal intentions againſt the queen's authority, he acknowledged the juſtice of the ſentence by which he ſuffered. A few months after, the duke of Northumberland be⯑ing delivered up by the regent, underwent a ſimilar trial, and was brought to the ſcaffold for his rebellion. All theſe ineffectual ſtruggles in favour of the unfortunate queen of Scots, ſeemed only to rivet the chains of her con⯑finement; and ſhe now found relief only in the reſources of her own mind, which diſtreſs [103] had contributed to ſoften, refine, and improve. From henceforth ſhe continued for ſeveral years a precarious dependent on Elizabeth's ſuſpicions; and only waited for ſome new ef⯑fort of her adherents to receive that fate, which political, and not merciful motives ſeemed to prolong.

CHAP. XXVII. ELIZABETH (Continued.)

HAVING thus far attended the queen of Scotland, whoſe conduct and misfortunes make ſuch a diſtinguiſhed figure in this reign, we now return to ſome tranſactions, prior in point of time, but of leſs conſideration.

In the beginning of this reign, the Hugo⯑nots, or reformed party in France, were oblig⯑ed [105] to call in the protection of the Engliſh; A.D. 1562 and in order to ſecure their confidence, as they were poſſeſſed of the greateſt part of Normandy, they offered to put Havre into the queen's hands, a proffer which ſhe immediately ac⯑cepted. She wiſely conſidered, that as that port commanded the mouth of the river Seine, it was of much more importance than Calais; and ſhe could thus have the French ſtill in her power. Accordingly three thouſand Engliſh took poſſeſſion of Havre and Dieppe, under the command of Sir Edward Poinings, but the latter place was found ſo little capable of being defended, that it was immediately aban⯑doned. But Havre itſelf was obliged to capi⯑tulate ſhortly after. Although the garriſon was reinforced, and was found to amount to ſix thouſand men; and every means was em⯑ployed for putting the town in a poſture of defence againſt the French army that was pre⯑paring to beſiege it, yet it felt a ſeverer ene⯑my within its walls; for the plague had got into the town, and committed ſuch havock among the ſoldiers, that an hundred were com⯑monly ſeen to die of it in one day. The gar⯑riſon, being thus diſpirited and diminiſhed to fifteen hundred men, finding the French army indefatigable in their approaches, were obliged [106] to capitulate; and thus the Engliſh loſt all hopes of ever making another eſtabliſhment in the kingdom of France. This misfortune was productive of one ſtill more dreadful to the nation, for the Engliſh army carried back the plague with them to London, which made ſuch ravages, that twenty thouſand perſons died there in one year.

A.D. 1563 This, if we except the troubles raiſed upon the account of Mary, ſeems to have been the only diſaſter that, for above thirteen years, any way contributed to diſturb the peace of this reign. Elizabeth, ever vigilant, active, and re⯑ſolute, attended to the ſlighteſt alarms, and re⯑preſſed them before they were capable of pro⯑ducing their effect. Her frugality kept her independent, and her diſſimulation (for ſhe could diſſemble) made her beloved. The opinion of the royal prerogative was ſuch, that her commands were obeyed as ſtatutes; and ſhe took care that her parliaments ſhould ne⯑ver venture to circumſcribe her power. In her ſchemes of government ſhe was aſſiſted by lord Burleigh, and Sir Anthony Bacon, two of the moſt able miniſters that ever directed the affairs of England; but while ſhe com⯑mitted, to them all the drudgery of duty, her favourite Robert Dudley, earl of Leiceſter, en⯑groſſed [107] all her favour, and ſecured all the ave⯑nues to preferment. All requeſts were made through him; and nothing given away with⯑out his conſent and approbation. His merits, however, were by no means adequate to his ſucceſſes; he was weak, vain, and boaſtful; but theſe qualities did no injury to the ſtate, as his two co-adjutors were willing, while he maintained all the ſplendour of office, to ſe⯑cure to themſelves the more ſolid emolu⯑ments.

During this peaceable and uniform govern⯑ment, England furniſhes but few materials for hiſtory. While France was torn with inter⯑nal convulſions; while above ten thouſand of the Hugonots were maſſacred in one night, in cool blood, on the feaſt of St. Bartholomew, at Paris; while the inhabitants of the Low Countries had ſhaken off the Spaniſh yoke, and were bravely vindicating their rights and their religion; while all the reſt of Europe was teeming with plots, ſeditions, and cruel⯑ty; the Engliſh, under their wiſe queen, were enjoying all the benefits of peace, extending commerce, improving manufactures; and ſet⯑ing an example of arts and learning to all the reſt of the world. Except the ſmall part, therefore, which Elizabeth took in foreign [108] tranſactions, there ſcarce paſſed any occurence which requires a particular detail.

There had for ſome time ariſen diſguſts between the court of England and that of Spain. Elizabeth's having rejected the ſuit of Philip, might probably have given riſe to theſe diſtruſts; and after that, Mary's claim⯑ing the protection of that monarch, tended ſtill more to widen the breach. This began, as uſual on each ſide, with petty hoſtilities; the Spaniards, on their part, had ſent into Ireland a body of ſeven hundred of their nation, and Italians, who built a fort there; but were ſoon after cut off to a man, by the duke of Or⯑mond. On the other hand the Engliſh, under the conduct of Sir Francis Drake, aſſaulted the Spaniards in the place where they deemed themſelves moſt ſecure, in the New World. This was the firſt Engliſhman that ſailed round the globe; and the queen was ſo well pleaſed with his valour and ſucceſs, that ſhe accepted a banquet from him at Deptford, on board the ſhip which had atchieved ſo memorable a voyage.

In this manner, while hoſtilities were daily multiplying between Spain and England; and while the power of Spain, as well as the mo⯑narch's inclinations, were very formidable to [109] the queen, ſhe began to look out for an al⯑liance that might ſupport her againſt ſuch a dangerous adverſary. The duke of Anjou had long made pretenſions to Elizabeth; and though ſhe was near twenty-five years older than he, he took the reſolution to prefer his ſuit in perſon, and paid her a viſit in ſecret at Greenwich. It appears, that though his figure was not advantageous, his addreſs was pleaſ⯑ing. The queen ordered her miniſters to fix the terms of the contract; a day was appointed for the ſolemnization of their nuptials, and every thing ſeemed to ſpeak an approaching union. But Elizabeth could not be induced, as that event appeared to approach, to change her condition; ſhe appeared doubtful, irreſo⯑lute, and melancholy; ſhe was obſerved to paſs ſeveral nights without any ſleep, till at laſt her ſettled habits of prudence prevailed over her ambition, and the duke of Anjou was diſmiſſed.

The queen thus depriving herſelf of a fo⯑reign ally, looked for approbation and aſſiſt⯑ance from her own ſubjects at home. Yet even here ſhe was not without numberleſs enemies, who either hated her for religion, or envied her for ſucceſs. There were ſeve⯑ral conſpiracies formed againſt her life, many [110] of which were imputed to the intrigues of the queen of Scots, at leaſt it is certain that her name was uſed in all. Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, brother to him beheaded ſome years before, and Philip Howard, earl of Arundel, ſon to the unfortunate duke of Norfolk, fell under ſuſpicion; and the latter was, by order of council, confined to his own houſe. Francis Throgmorton, a private gen⯑tleman, was committed to cuſtody, on ac⯑count of a letter which he had written to the queen of Scots; and ſhortly after confeſſing his guilt, he was condemned and executed. Soon after William Parry, a catholic gentle⯑man, who had on a former occaſion received the queen's pardon, was found engaged in a deſperate conſpiracy to aſſaſſinate his ſovereign and benefactor. He had conſulted upon the juſtice and expediency of this vile meaſure both with the pope's nuncio and legate, who exhorted him to perſevere in his reſolution, and extremely applauded his deſign. He, therefore, aſſociated himſelf with one Nevil, who entered zealouſly into the deſign; and it was determined to ſhoot the queen, while ſhe was taking the air on horſeback. But while they were watching an opportunity for the execution of their purpoſe, the earl of Weſt⯑moreland [111] happened to die in exile; and as Nevil was next heir to the family, he began to entertain hopes, that by doing ſome accept⯑able ſervice to the queen, he might recover the eſtate and honours which had been forfeited by the rebellion of the laſt earl. He betrayed the whole conſpiracy to the miniſters; and Parry being thrown into priſon confeſſed the guilt both to them, and to the jury who tried him. He was ſhortly after condemned and executed.

Theſe attempts, which were entirely ſet on foot by the catholic party, ſerved to encreaſe the ſeverity of the laws againſt them. Popiſh prieſts were baniſhed the kingdom; thoſe who harboured or relieved them were declared guilty of felony; and many were executed in conſequence of this ſevere edict. Nor was the queen of Scots herſelf without ſome ſhare of the puniſhment. She was removed from un⯑der the care of the earl of Shrewſbury, who had always been indulgent to his priſoner, par⯑ticularly with regard to air and exerciſe; and ſhe was committed to the cuſtody of Sir Amias Paulett, and Sir Drue Drury, men of honour, but inflexible and rigid in their care and at⯑tention.

[112]Theſe conſpiracies ſerved to prepare the way for Mary's ruin, whoſe greateſt misfortunes proceeded rather from the violence of her friends, than the malignity of her enemies. Elizabeth's miniſters had long been wait⯑ing for ſome ſignal inſtance of the captive queen's enmity, which they could eaſily convert into treaſon; and this was not long wanting.A.D. 1586 About this time one John Ballard, a popiſh prieſt, who had been bred in the Engliſh ſeminary at Rheims, reſolved to com⯑paſs the death of a queen, whom he conſider⯑ed as the enemy of his religion; and with that gloomy reſolution came over into England in the diſguiſe of a ſoldier, with the aſſumed name of captain Forteſcue. He bent his endea⯑vours to bring about at once the project of an aſſaſſination, an inſurrection, and an invaſion. The firſt perſon he addreſſed himſelf to was Anthony Babington, of Dethick, in the county of Derby, a young gentleman of good family, and poſſeſſed of a very plentiful fortune. This perſon had been long remarkable for his zeal in the catholic cauſe, and in particular for his attachment to the captive queen. He there⯑fore came readily into the plot, and procured the concurrence and aſſiſtance of ſome other aſſociates in this dangerous undertaking. Barn⯑well, [113] a gentleman of a noble family in Ire⯑land, Charnock, a gentleman of Lancaſhire, Abington, whoſe father had been cofferer to the houſehold, and chief of all John Savage, a man of deſperate fortunes, who had ſerved in the Low Countries, and came into England under a vow to deſtroy the queen. He indeed did not ſeem to deſire any aſſociate in the bold enterprize, and refuſed for ſome time to per⯑mit any to ſhare with him in what he eſteemed his greateſt glory. He challenged the whole to himſelf; and it was with ſome difficulty that he was induced to depart from his prepoſterous ambition. The next ſtep was to apprize Mary of the conſpiracy formed in her favour; and this they effected by conveying their letters to her by means of a brewer that ſupplied the fa⯑mily with ale, through a chink, in the wall of her apartment. In theſe, Babington informed her of a deſign laid for a foreign invaſion, the plan of an inſurrection at home, the ſcheme for her delivery, and the conſpiracy for aſſaſ⯑ſinating the uſurper by ſix noble gentlemen, as he termed them, all of them his private friends, who, from the zeal which they bore the catholic cauſe, and her majeſty's ſervice, would undertake the tragical execution. To theſe Mary replied, that ſhe approved highly of the deſign; that the gentlemen might ex⯑pect [114] all the rewards which it ſhould be ever in her power to confer; and that the death of Elizabeth was a neceſſary circumſtance, pre⯑vious to any further attempts either for her delivery, or the intended inſurrection.

Such was the ſcheme laid by the conſpira⯑tors; and nothing ſeemed ſo certain as its ſe⯑crecy and its ſucceſs. But they were all mi⯑ſerably deceived; the active and ſagacious mi⯑niſters of Elizabeth were privy to it in every ſtage of its growth, and only retarded their diſcovery till the meditated guilt was ripe for puniſhment and conviction. Ballard was ac⯑tually attended by one Maude, a catholic prieſt, who was a ſpy in pay with Walſingham, ſe⯑cretary of ſtate. One Polly, another of his ſpies, had found means to inſinuate himſelf among the conſpirators, and to give an exact account of their proceedings. Soon after one Giffard a prieſt came over, and diſcovering the whole conſpiracy to the bottom, made a ten⯑der of his ſervice to Walſingham. It was he that procured the letters to be conveyed thro' the wall to the queen, and received her anſwers; but he had always taken care to ſhew them to the ſecretary of ſtate, who had them deci⯑phered, and took copies of them all.

[115]The plot being thus ripe for execution, and the evidence againſt the conſpirators inconteſt⯑ible, Walſingham reſolved to ſuſpend their pu⯑niſhment no longer. A warrant was accord⯑ingly iſſued out for the apprehending of Bal⯑lard; and this giving the alarm to Babington, and the reſt of the conſpirators, they covered themſelves with various diſguiſes, and endea⯑voured to keep themſelves concealed. But they were ſoon diſcovered, thrown into priſon, and brought to trial. In their examination they contradicted each other, and the leaders were obliged to make a full confeſſion of the truth. Fourteen were condemned and exe⯑cuted, ſeven of whom died acknowledging their crime.

The execution of theſe wretched men only prepared the way for one of ſtill greater im⯑portance, in which a captive queen was to ſub⯑mit to the unjuſt deciſions of thoſe who had no right, but that of power, to condemn her. Though all England was acquainted with the detection of Babington's conſpiracy, every ave⯑nue to the unfortunate Mary was ſo ſtrictly guarded, that ſhe remained in utter ignorance of the whole matter. But her aſtoniſhment was equal to her anguiſh, when ſir Thomas Gor⯑ges, by Elizabeth's order, came to inform her [116] of the fate of her unhappy confederates. She was at that time mounted on horſe-back, going a-hunting; and was not permitted to return to her former place of abode, but con⯑ducted from one gentleman's houſe to another, till ſhe was lodged in Fotheringay caſtle, in Northamptonſhire, where the laſt ſcene of her miſerable tragedy was to conclude.

The council of England was divided in opinion about the meaſures to be taken a⯑gainſt the queen of Scots. Some members propoſed, that as her health was very infirm, her life might be ſhortened by cloſe confine⯑ment; therefore to avoid any imputation of vio⯑lence or cruelty, the earl of Leiceſter propoſed that ſhe ſhould be diſpatched by poiſon; but the majority inſiſted on her being put to death by legal proceſs. Accordingly a commiſſion was iſſued to forty peers, with five judges, or the major part of them, to try and paſs ſen⯑tence upon Mary, daughter and heir of James the fifth, king of Scotland, commonly called queen of Scots, and dowager of France.

Thirty ſix of theſe commiſſioners arriving at the caſtle of Fotheringay, preſented her with a letter from Elizabeth, commanding her to ſub⯑mit to a trial for her late conſpiracy. Mary peruſed the letter with great compoſure; and [117] as ſhe had long foreſeen the danger that hung over her, received the intelligence without emotion or aſtoniſhment. She ſaid, however, that ſhe wondered the queen of England ſhould command her as a ſubject, who was an inde⯑pendent ſovereign, and a queen like herſelf. She would never, ſhe ſaid, ſtoop to any con⯑deſcenſion which would leſſen her dignity, or prejudice the claims of her poſterity. The laws of England, ſhe obſerved, were unknown to her; ſhe was deſtitute of counſel; nor could ſhe conceive who were to be her peers, as ſhe had but one equal in the kingdom. She add⯑ed, that inſtead of enjoying the protection of the laws of England, as ſhe had hoped to ob⯑tain, ſhe had been confined in priſon ever ſince her arrival in the kingdom; ſo that ſhe derived neither benefit, nor ſecurity from them. When the commiſſioners preſſed her to ſubmit to the queen's pleaſure, otherwiſe they would proceed againſt her as contumacious, ſhe declared ſhe would rather ſuffer a thou⯑ſand deaths, than own herſelf a ſubject to any prince on earth. That, however, ſhe was ready to vindicate herſelf in a full and free parliament, as for aught ſhe knew, this meet⯑ing of commiſſioners was deviſed againſt her life, on purpoſe to take it away with a pretext [118] of juſtice. She exhorted them to conſult their own conſciences, and to remember that the theatre of the world was much more extenſive than that of the kingdom of England. At length, the vice-chamberlain Hatton vanquiſh⯑ed her objections, by repreſenting that ſhe in⯑jured her reputation by avoiding a trial, in which her innocence might be proved to the ſatisfaction of all mankind. This obſervation made ſuch an impreſſion upon her, that ſhe agreed to plead, if they would admit and al⯑low her proteſt, of diſallowing all ſubjection. This, however, they refuſed; but they ſatisfied her, by entering it upon record, and thus they proceeded to a trial.

The principal charge againſt her was urged by ſerjeant Gaudy, who accuſed her with knowing, approving, and conſenting to Ba⯑bington's conſpiracy. This charge was ſup⯑ported by Babington's confeſſion, by the co⯑pies which were taken of their correſpondence, in which her approbation of the queen's mur⯑der was expreſly declared, by the evidence of her own two ſecretaries, Nau, a Frenchman, and Curle, a Scotchman, who ſwore that ſhe received Babington's letters, and that they had anſwered them by her orders. Theſe were ſtill further confirmed by the teſtimony of Bal⯑lard [119] and Savage, to whom Babington had ſhewn theſe letters, declaring them to have come from the captive queen. To theſe charges Mary made a ſenſible and reſo⯑lute defence; ſhe ſaid Babington's confeſſion was extorted from his fears of the torture, which was really the caſe; ſhe alledged, that the letters were forgeries; and ſhe defied her ſecretaries to perſiſt in their evidence, if brought into her preſence. She owned, indeed, that ſhe had uſed her beſt endeavours to recover her liberty, which was only purſuing the dic⯑tates of nature; but as for harbouring a thought againſt the life of the queen, ſhe treated the idea with horror. During the courſe of the trial, as a letter between Mary and Babington was reading, mention was made in it of the earl of Arundel and his brothers. On hearing their names ſhe ſhed a flood of tears, exclaiming, Alas! what hath the noble houſe of the Howards endured for my ſake! She took occaſion alſo to obſerve, that his let⯑ter might have been a baſe contrivance of Walſingham's, who had frequently practiſed both againſt her life and her ſon's. Walſing⯑ham thus accuſed roſe up, and proteſted that his heart was free from malice; that he had never done any thing unbecoming an honeſt [120] man in his private capacity, nor aught unwor⯑thy of the place he occupied in the ſtate. Mary declared herſelf ſatisfied of his inno⯑cence, and begged he would give as little cre⯑dit to the malicious accuſations of her ene⯑mies, as ſhe now gave to the reports which ſhe had heard to his prejudice.

Whatever might have been this queeen's offences, it is certain that her treatment was very ſevere. She deſired to be put in poſſeſ⯑ſion of ſuch notes as ſhe had taken preparative to her trial; but this was refuſed her. She demanded a copy of her proteſt; but her re⯑queſt was not complied with; ſhe even required an advocate to plead her cauſe againſt ſo many learned lawyers, as had undertaken to urge her accuſations, but all her demands were re⯑jected; and, after an adjournment of ſome days, ſentence of death was pronounced againſt her in the Star-chamber in Weſtminſter, all the commiſſioners, except two, being preſent. At the ſame time a declaration was publiſhed by the commiſſioners, implying, that the ſen⯑tence againſt her did no wiſe derogate from the title and honour of James, king of Scot⯑land, ſon to the attainted queen.

Though the condemning a ſovereign prin⯑ceſs at a tribunal to which ſhe owed no ſub⯑jection, [121] was an injuſtice that muſt ſtrike the moſt inattentive, yet the parliament of Eng⯑land, who met four days after, did not fail to approve the ſentence, and to go ſtill farther, in preſenting an addreſs to the queen, deſiring that it might ſpeedily be put into execution. But Elizabeth ſtill poſſeſſed, or pretended to poſſeſs, an horror for ſuch precipitate ſeverity. She entreated them to find ſome expedient to ſave her from the neceſſity of taking a ſtep ſo repugnant to her inclination. But at the ſame time ſhe ſeemed to dread another conſpi⯑racy to aſſaſſinate her within a month, which probably was only an artifice of her miniſters to encreaſe her apprehenſions, and conſequent⯑ly her deſire of being rid of a rival, that had given her ſo much diſturbance. The parlia⯑ment, however, reiterated their ſollicitations, arguments, and entreaties; and even remon⯑ſtrated, that mercy to the queen of Scots was cruelty to them, her ſubjects, and her children. Elizabeth affected to continue inflexible; but at the ſame time permitted Mary's ſentence to be made public; and lord Buckhurſt, and Beale, clerk to the council, were ſent to the unhappy queen to apprize her of the ſentence, and the popular clamour for its ſpeedy exe⯑cution.

[122]Upon receiving this dreadful information, Mary ſeemed no way moved; but inſiſted that ſince her death was demanded by the proteſt⯑ants, ſhe died a martyr to the catholic re⯑ligion. She ſaid, that as the Engliſh often embrued their hands in the blood of their own ſovereigns, it was not to be wondered at that they exerciſed their cruelty towards her. She wrote her laſt letter to Elizabeth, not demand⯑ing her life, which ſhe now ſeemed willing to part with, but deſiring, that after her enemies ſhould be ſatiated with her innocent blood, her body might be conſigned to her ſervants, and conveyed to France, there to repoſe in a catholic country, with the ſacred reliques of her mother.

In the mean time, accounts of this extraor⯑dinary ſentence were ſpread into all parts of Europe; and the king of France was among the foremoſt who attempted to avert the threatened blow. He ſent over Believre as an extraordinary ambaſſador, with a profeſſed intention of interceding for the life of Mary. But James of Scotland, her ſon, was, as in duty obliged, ſtill more preſſing in her behalf. He diſpatched one Keith, a gentleman of his bed-chamber, with a letter to Elizabeth, con⯑juring her to ſpare the life of his parent, and [123] miring threats of vengeance, in caſe of a refu⯑ſal. Elizabeth, however, treated his remon⯑ſtrances with the utmoſt indignation; and when the Scotch ambaſſador begged that the execution might be put off for a week, the queen anſwered with great emotion, ‘"No, not for an hour."’ Thus Elizabeth, when ſol⯑licited by foreign princes to pardon the queen of Scots, ſeemed always diſpoſed to proceed to extremities againſt her; but when her mini⯑ſters urged her to ſtrike the blow, her ſcruples and her reluctance ſeemed to return.

Whether the queen was really ſincere in her reluctance to execute Mary, is a queſtion which, though uſually given againſt her, I will not take upon me to determine. Certain⯑ly there were great arts uſed by her courtiers to determine her to the ſide of ſeverity; as they had every thing to fear from the reſent⯑ment of Mary, in caſe ſhe ever ſucceeded to the throne. Accordingly, the kingdom was now filled with rumours of plots, treaſons, and inſurrections; and the queen was continually kept in alarm by fictitious dangers. She, therefore, appeared to be in great terror and perplexity; ſhe was obſerved to ſit much alone, and to mutter to herſelf half ſentences, import⯑ing the difficulty and diſtreſs to which ſhe was [124] reduced. In this ſituation, ſhe one day called her ſecretary, Daviſon, whom ſhe ordered to draw out ſecretly the warrant for Mary's exe⯑cution, informing him, that ſhe intended to keep it by her in caſe any attempt ſhould be made for the delivery of that princeſs. She ſigned the warrant, and then commanded it to be carried to the chancellor to have the ſeal affixed to it. Next morning, however, ſhe ſent two gentlemen ſucceſſively to deſire that Daviſon would not go to the chancellor, until ſhe ſhould ſee him; but Daviſon telling her that the warrant had been already ſealed, ſhe ſeemed diſpleaſed at his precipitation. Daviſon, who probably wiſhed himſelf to ſee the ſentence executed, laid the affair before the council, who unanimouſly reſolved, that the warrant ſhould be immediately put in exe⯑cution, and promiſed to juſtify Daviſon to the queen. Accordingly, the fatal inſtrument was delivered to Beale, who ſummoned the noble⯑men to whom it was directed, namely, the earls of Shrewſbery, Derby, Kent, and Cum⯑berland, and theſe together ſet out for Fother⯑ingay caſtle, accompanied by two execution⯑ers, to diſpatch their bloody commiſſion.

Mary heard of the arrival of her execution⯑ers, who ordered her to prepare for death by [125] eight o'clock the next morning. Without any alarm ſhe heard the death-warrant read with her uſual compoſure, though ſhe could not help expreſſing her ſurprize, that the queen of England ſhould conſent to her execution. She even abjured her being privy to any con⯑ſpiracy againſt Elizabeth, by laying her hand upon a New Teſtament, which happened to lie on the table. She deſired that her confeſ⯑ſor might be permitted to attend her, which, however, theſe zealots refuſed. After the earls had retired, ſhe ate ſparingly at ſupper, while ſhe comforted her attendants, who con⯑tinued weeping and lamenting their miſtreſs, with a chearful countenance, telling them, they ought not to mourn, but rejoice, at the proſpect of her ſpeedy deliverance from a world of miſery. Towards the end of ſupper, ſhe called in all her ſervants, and drank to them; they pledged her in order on their knees, and craved her pardon for any paſt neglect of duty. She craved mutual forgive⯑neſs; and a plentiful effuſion of tears attended this laſt ſolemn ſeparation.

After this, ſhe reviewed her will, and pe⯑ruſed the inventory of her effects. Theſe ſhe bequeathed to different individuals, and divid⯑ed her money among her domeſtics, recom⯑mending [126] them in letters to the king of France, and the duke of Guiſe. Then going to bed at her uſual hour, ſhe paſſed part of the night in uninterrupted repoſe; and riſing, ſpent the remainder in prayer, and acts of devotion. Towards morning, ſhe dreſſed her⯑ſelf in a rich habit of ſilk and velvet, the only one which ſhe had reſerved for this ſolemn oc⯑caſion. Thomas Andrews, the under-ſheriff of the country, then entering the room, he informed her that the hour was come, and that he muſt attend her to the place of execution. She replied, that ſhe was ready; and bidding her ſervants farewel, ſhe proceeded, ſupported by two of her guards, and followed the ſheriff, with a ſerene compoſed aſpect, with a long veil of linen on her head, and in her hand a crucifix of ivory. In paſſing through an hall adjoining to her chamber, Sir Andrew Melvil, maſter of her houſhold, fell upon his knees, and ſhedding a flood of tears, lamented his misfortune, in being doomed to carry the news of her unhappy fate to Scotland. ‘"Lament not, ſaid ſhe, but rather rejoice. Mary Stuart will ſoon be freed from all her cares. Tell my friends that I die conſtant in my religion, and firm in my affection and fideli⯑ty to Scotland and France. God forgive [127] them that have long deſired my end, and have thirſted for my blood, as the heart panteth for the water-brook. Thou O God, who art truth itſelf, and perfectly under⯑ſtandeſt the inmoſt thoughts of my heart, knoweſt how greatly I have deſired that the realms of Scotland and England might be united. Commend me to my ſon, and aſ⯑ſure him I have done nothing prejudicial to the ſtate, or the crown of Scotland. Ad⯑moniſh him to perſevere in amity and friend⯑ſhip with the queen of England, and ſee that thou doſt him faithful ſervice. And ſo good Melvil farewel; once again fare⯑wel, good Melvil, and grant the aſſiſtance of thy prayers to thy queen and thy miſtreſs."’ In this place ſhe was received by the four noblemen, who with great difficulty were pre⯑vailed upon to allow Melvil, with her phyſi⯑cian, apothecary, and two female attendants, to be preſent at her execution. She then paſ⯑ſed into another hall, the noblemen and the ſheriff going before, and Melvil bearing up her train; where was a ſcaffold erected and covered with black. As ſoon as ſhe was ſeated, Beale began to read the warrant for her execution. Then Fletcher, dean of Peter⯑borough, ſtanding without the rails, repeated [128] a long exhortation, which ſhe deſired him to forbear, as ſhe was firmly reſolved to die in the catholic religion. The room was crowded with ſpectators, who beheld her with pity and diſtreſs, while her beauty, though dimmed by age and affliction, gleamed through her ſuffer⯑ings, and was ſtill remarkable in this fatal mo⯑ment. The earl of Kent obſerving, that in her devotions ſhe made frequent uſe of the crucifix, he could not forbear reproving her, exhorting her to have Chriſt in her heart, not in her hand. She replied, with preſence of mind, that it was difficult to hold ſuch an object in her hand, without feeling her heart touched for the ſufferings of him whom it repre⯑ſented. She now began, with the aid of her two women, to undreſs for the block; and the executioner alſo lent his hand to aſſiſt them. She ſmiled, and ſaid that ſhe was not accuſtom⯑ed to undreſs herſelf before ſo large a com⯑pany, nor to be attended by ſuch ſervants. Her two women burſting into tears, and loud exclamations of ſorrow, ſhe turned about to them, put her finger upon her lips, as a ſign of impoſing ſilence upon them; and having given them her bleſſing, deſired their prayers in return. The two executioners kneeling, and aſking her pardon, ſhe ſaid ſhe forgave them, [129] and all the authors of her death, as freely as ſhe hoped forgiveneſs from her Maker, and then once more made a ſolemn proteſtation of her innocence. Her eyes were then covered with a linen handkerchief; and ſhe laid herſelf down without any fear or trepidation. Then reciting a pſalm, and repeating a pious ejacu⯑lation, her head was ſevered from her body at two ſtrokes by the executioner. He inſtant⯑ly held it up to the ſpectators, ſtreaming with blood, and agitated with the convulſions of death; the dean of Peterborough alone ex⯑claimed, ‘"So periſh all queen Elizabeth's enemies."’ The earl of Kent replied Amen, while the reſt of the ſpectators wept and ſighed at this affecting ſpectacle; for flat⯑tery and zeal alike gave place to ſtronger and better emotions. Thus died Mary, in the forty-fifth year of her age, and the nineteenth of her captivity, a princeſs unmatched in beauty, and unequalled in misfortunes. In contemplating the contentions of mankind, we find almoſt ever both ſides culpable; Mary, who was ſtained with crimes that deſerved pu⯑niſhment, was put to death by a princeſs who had no juſt pretenſions to inflict puniſhment on her equal.

[130]It is difficult to be certain of the true ſtate of Elizabeth's mind, upon receiving the firſt accounts of the death of Mary. Hiſtorians in general are willing to aſcribe the extreme ſorrow ſhe teſtified on that occaſion to falſe⯑hood and deep diſſimulation. But where is the neceſſity of aſcribing to bad motives, what ſeems to proceed from a more generous ſcource? There is nothing more certain, than that, upon hearing the news, ſhe teſtified the utmoſt ſurprize and indignation. Her coun⯑tenance changed, her ſpeech faltered and failed her, and ſhe ſtood fixed for a long time in mute aſtoniſhment. When the firſt burſt of ſorrow was over, ſhe ſtill perſiſted in her reſentment againſt her miniſters, none of whom dared to approach her. She committed Daviſon to priſon, and ordered him to be tried in the Star-chamber for this miſdemeanor. He was condemned to impriſonment during the queen's, pleaſure, and to pay a fine of ten thou⯑ſand pounds; in conſequence of which he re⯑mained a long time in cuſtody, and the fine, though it reduced him to want and beggary, was rigorouſly levied upon him. It is likely therefore that Elizabeth was ſincere enough in her anger for the fate of Mary; as it was an event likely to brand her reign with the cha⯑racter [131] of cruelty, and though ſhe might have deſired her rival's death, yet ſhe muſt certainly be ſhocked at the manner of it.

But the uneaſineſs the queen felt from this diſagreeable forwardneſs of her miniſtry, was ſoon loſt in one much greater. Philip, who had long meditated the deſtruction of Eng⯑land, and whoſe extenſive power gave him grounds to hope for ſucceſs, now began to put his projects into execution. The point on which he reſted his glory, and the perpetual object of his ſchemes, was to ſupport the catholic religion, and exterminate the reformation. The revolt of his ſubjects in the Netherlands ſtill more enflamed his reſentment againſt the Engliſh, as they had encouraged that inſur⯑rection, and aſſiſted the revolters. He had, therefore, for ſome time been making prepa⯑rations to attack England by a powerful in⯑vaſion; and now every part of his vaſt empire reſounded with the noiſe of armaments, and every art was uſed to levy ſupplies for that great deſign. The marquis of Santa Croce, a ſea officer of great reputation and experi⯑ence, was deſtined to command the fleet, which conſiſted of an hundred and thirty veſ⯑ſels, of a greater ſize than any that had been hitherto ſeen in Europe. The duke of Parma [132] was to conduct the land forces, twenty thou⯑ſand of whom were on board the fleet, and thirty-four thouſand more were aſſembled in the Netherlands, ready to be tranſported into England. The moſt renowned nobi⯑lity and princes of Italy and Spain, were ambitious of ſharing in the honour of this great enterprize. Don Amadaeus of Savoy, Don John of Medicis, Gonzaga, duke of Sabionetta, and others, haſtened to join this great equipment; no doubt was entertained of its ſucceſs, and it was oſtentatiouſly ſtyled the Invincible Armada. It carried on board, beſide the land forces, eight thouſand four hundred mariners, two thouſand galley-ſlaves, and two thouſand ſix hundred and thirty great pieces of braſs ordnance. It was victualled for ſix months, and was attended with twenty leſſer ſhips, called Caravals, and ten Salves, with ſix oars a-piece.

Nothing could exceed the terror and con⯑ſternation which all ranks of people felt in England upon news of this terrible Armada being under ſail to invade them. A fleet of not above thirty ſhips of war, and thoſe very ſmall, in compariſon, was all that was to op⯑poſe it by ſea; and as for reſiſting by land, that was ſuppoſed to be impoſſible, as the [133] Spaniſh army was compoſed of men well diſ⯑ciplined, and long enured to danger. The queen alone ſeemed undiſmayed in this threat⯑ening calamity; ſhe iſſued all her orders with tranquility, animated her people to a ſteady reſiſtance; and the more to excite the martial ſpirit of the nation, ſhe appeared on horſeback in the camp at Tilbury, exhorting the ſoldiers to their duty, and promiſing to ſhare the ſame dangers, and the ſame fate with them. ‘"I myſelf, cried ſhe, will be your general, your judge, and the rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. Your alacrity has already deſerved its rewards; and on the word of a prince they ſhall be duly paid you. Perſevere then in your obedience to command, ſhew your valour in the field, and we ſhall ſoon have a glorious victory over thoſe enemies of my God, my kingdom, and my people."’ The ſoldiers with ſhouts proclaimed their ardour, and only wiſhed to be led on to conqueſt.

Nor were her preparations by ſea driven on with leſs alacrity; although the Engliſh fleet was much inferior in number and ſize of ſhip⯑ping to that of the enemy, yet it was much more manageable, the dexterity and courage of the mariners being greatly ſuperior. [134] Lord Howard of Effingham, a man of great courage and capacity, as lord Admiral, took on him the command of the navy. Drake, Hawkins, and Frobiſher, the moſt renowned ſeamen in Europe, ſerved under him; while a ſmall ſquadron conſiſting of forty veſſels, Engliſh and Flemiſh, commanded by lord Seymour, lay off Dunkirk, in order to inter⯑cept the duke of Parma. This was the pre⯑paration made by the Engliſh, while all the proteſtant powers of Europe regarded this enterpize as the critical event which was to decide for ever the fate of their religion.

In the mean time, while the Spaniſh Arma⯑da was preparing to ſail, the admiral Santa Croce died, as likewiſe the vice admiral Pa⯑liano; and the command of the expedition was given to the duke de Medina Sidonia, a perſon utterly unexperienced in ſea affairs; and this, in ſome meaſure, ſerved to fruſtrate the deſign. But ſome other accidents alſo con⯑tributed to its failure. Upon leaving the port of Liſbon, the Armada next day met with a violent tempeſt, which ſunk ſome of the ſmall⯑eſt of their ſhipping, and obliged the fleet to put back into harbour. After ſome time ſpent in refitting, they again put to ſea; where they took a fiſherman, who gave them intelligence [135] that the Engliſh fleet, hearing of the diſperſion of the Armada in a ſtorm, was retired back in⯑to Plymouth harbour, and moſt of the ma⯑riners diſcharged. From this falſe intelli⯑gence, the Spaniſh admiral, inſtead of going directly to the coaſt of Flanders, to take in the troops ſtationed there, as he had been inſtruct⯑ed, reſolved to ſail to Plymouth, and deſtroy the ſhipping laid up in that harbour. But Ef⯑fingham, the Engliſh admiral, was very well prepared to receive them; he was juſt got out of port when he ſaw the Spaniſh Armada com⯑ing full ſail towards him, diſpoſed in the form of an half moon, and ſtretching ſeven miles from one extremity to the other. However the Engliſh admiral, ſeconded by Drake, Haw⯑kins, and Frobiſher, attacked the Armada at a diſtance, pouring in their broadſides with admirable dexterity. They did not chuſe to engage the enemy more cloſely, becauſe they were greatly inferior in the number of ſhips, guns, and weight of metal; nor could they pretend to board ſuch lofty ſhips without ma⯑nifeſt diſadvantage. However, two Spaniſh galleons were diſabled and taken. As the Ar⯑mada advanced up the Channel, the Engliſh ſtill followed and infeſted their rear; and their fleet continually encreaſing from different ports, [136] they ſoon found themſelves in a capacity to attack the Spaniſh fleet more nearly; and ac⯑cordingly fell upon them, while they were as yet taking ſhelter in the port of Calais. To encreaſe their confuſion, Howard took eight of his ſmaller ſhips, and filling them with com⯑buſtible materials, ſent them, as if they had been fire ſhips, one after the other into the midſt of the enemy. The Spaniards, taking them for what they ſeemed to be, immediately took flight in great diſorder; while the Eng⯑liſh, profiting by their panic, took or deſtroyed about twelve of the enemy.

This was a fatal blow to Spain; the duke de Medina Sidonia being thus driven to the coaſt of Zealand, held a council of war, in which it was reſolved, that as their ammuni⯑tion began to fail, as their ſhips had received great damage, and the duke of Parma had re⯑fuſed to venture his army under their protec⯑tion, they ſhould return to Spain by ſailing round the Orkneys, as the winds were con⯑trary to his paſſage directly back. Accord⯑ingly they proceeded northward, and were fol⯑lowed by the Engliſh fleet as far as Flambo⯑rough-head, where they were terribly ſhattered by a ſtorm. Seventeen of the ſhips, having five thouſand men on board, were afterwards [137] caſt away upon the weſtern iſles, and the coaſt of Ireland. Of the whole Armada, three and fifty ſhips only returned to Spain, in a miſer⯑able condition; and the ſeamen as well as ſol⯑diers who remained, only ſerved, by their ac⯑counts, to intimidate their countrymen from attempting to renew ſo dangerous an expedi⯑tion.

Theſe diſaſters of the Spaniſh Armada, ſerved only to excite the ſpirit and courage of the Engliſh, to attempt invaſions in their turn. It would be endleſs to relate all the advantages obtained over the enemy at ſea, where the cap⯑ture of every ſhip muſt have been made a ſepa⯑rate narrative; or their various deſcents upon different parts of the coaſt, which were attended with effects too tranſient for the page of hiſtory. It is ſufficient to obſerve, that the ſea captains of that reign are ſtill conſidered as the boldeſt and moſt enterprizing ſet of men that England ever produced; and among this number, we reckon our Rawleigh, and Howard, our Drake, our Cavendiſh, and Hawkins. The Engliſh navy then firſt began to take the lead; and has ſince continued irreſiſtible in all parts of the ocean.

Of thoſe who made the moſt ſignal figure in theſe depredations upon Spain, was the [138] young earl of Eſſex, a nobleman of great bra⯑very, generoſity, and genius; and fitted, not only for the foremoſt ranks in war by his valour, but to conduct the intrigues of a court by his eloquence and addreſs. But with all theſe en⯑dowments, both of body and mind, he wanted prudence; being impetuous, haughty, and to⯑tally incapable of advice or controul. The earl of Leiceſter had died ſome time before, and now left room in the queen's affections for a new favourite, which ſhe was not long in chuſing, ſince the merit, the bravery, and the popularity of Eſſex, were too great not to en⯑gage her attention. Elizabeth, though ſhe rejected an huſband, yet appeared always paſ⯑ſionately deſirous of a lover; and flattery had rendered her ſo inſenſible to her want of beauty, and the depredations of age, that ſhe ſtill thought herſelf as powerful by her perſonal accompliſhments as by her authority. The new favourite was young, active, ambitious, witty, and handſome; in the field, and at court, he always appeared with ſuperior luſtre. In all the maſques which were then performed, the earl and Elizabeth were generally coupled as partners; and although ſhe was almoſt ſixty, and he not half ſo old, yet her vanity over⯑looked the diſparity; the world told her that ſhe [139] was young, and ſhe herſelf was willing to think ſo. This young earl's intereſt in the queen's affec⯑tions, as may naturally be ſuppoſed, promoted his intereſts in the ſtate; and he conducted all things at his diſcretion. But young and unex⯑perienced as he was, he at length began to fancy that the popularity he poſſeſſed, and the flatteries he received, were given to his merits and not to his favour. His jealouſy alſo of lord Burleigh, who was his only rival in power, made him ſtill more untractable; and the many ſucceſſes he had obtained againſt the Spaniards, encreaſed his confidence. In a debate before the queen, between him and Burleigh, about the choice of a governor for Ireland, he was ſo heated in the argument, that he entirely forgot both the rules and duties of civility. He turn⯑ed his back on the queen in a contemptuous manner, which ſo provoked her reſentment, that ſhe inſtantly gave him a box on the ear. Inſtead of recollecting himſelf, and making the ſubmiſſions due to her ſex and ſtation, he clapped his hand to his ſword; and ſwore he would not bear ſuch uſage even from her fa⯑ther. This offence, though very great, was overlooked by the queen; her partiality was ſo prevalent, that ſhe re-inſtated him in his former favour, and her kindneſs ſeemed to [140] have acquired new force from that ſhort in⯑terruption of anger and reſentment. The death alſo of his rival, lord Burleigh, which happen⯑ed ſhortly after, ſeemed to confirm his power.

But though few men were poſſeſſed of Eſ⯑ſex's talents, both for war and peace, yet he had not art enough to guard againſt the in⯑trigues of a court; his temper was too candid and open, and gave his enemies many advan⯑tages over him. At that time the earl of Ty⯑rone headed the rebellious natives of Ireland; who, not yet thoroughly brought into ſubjection to the Engliſh, took every opportunity to make incurſions upon the more civilized inhabitants, and ſlew all they were able to overpower. To ſubdue theſe was an employment that Eſſex thought worthy of his ambition; nor were his enemies diſpleaſed at thus removing a man from court, where he obſtructed all their private aims of preferment. But it ended in his ruin.

Eſſex, upon entering on his new command in Ireland, employed his friend, the earl of Southampton, who was long obnoxious to the queen, as general of his horſe; nor was it till after repeated orders from Elizabeth, that he could be prevailed on to diſplace him. This indiſcretion was followed by another; inſtead of attacking the enemy in their grand retreat [141] in Ulſter, he led his forces into the province of Munſter, where he only exhauſted his ſtrength, and loſt his opportunity againſt a people that ſubmitted at his approach, but took up arms again when he retired. It may eaſily be ſup⯑poſed, that theſe miſcarriages were urged by the enemies of Eſſex at home; but they had ſtill greater reaſon to attack his reputation, when it was known, that inſtead of humbling the rebels, he had only treated with them; and inſtead of forcing them to a ſubmiſſion, he had concluded a ceſſation of hoſtilities. This iſſue of an enterprize, from which much was ex⯑pected, did not fail to provoke the queen moſt ſenſibly; and her anger was ſtill more height⯑ened by the peeviſh and impatient letters, which he daily wrote to her and the council. But her reſentment againſt him was ſtill more juſtly let looſe, when ſhe found, that leaving the place of his appointment, and without any permiſſion demanded or obtained, he had re⯑turned from Ireland to make his complaints to herſelf in perſon.

At firſt, indeed, Elizabeth was pleaſed at ſee⯑ing a favourite come back, whom ſhe longed to ſee; but the momentary ſatisfaction of his unex⯑pected appearance being over, ſhe reflected on the impropriety of his conduct with greater [142] ſeverity; and ordered him to remain a priſoner at his own houſe. But this was a reception Eſſex was not unprepared for: he uſed every expreſſion of humiliation and ſorrow, and tried once more, the long unpractiſed arts of inſinuation that had brought him into favour. The queen, however, ſtill continuing inflexible, he reſolved to give up every proſpect of ambition; but pre⯑vious to his retiring into the country, he aſſured the queen, that he could never be happy till he again ſaw thoſe eyes, which were uſed to ſhine upon him with ſuch luſtre; that, in expectance of that happy moment, he would, like another Nebuchadnezzar, dwell with the beaſts of the field, and be wet with the dew of heaven, till ſhe again propitiouſly took pity on his ſuffer⯑ings. This romantic meſſage, which was quite in the breeding of the times, ſeemed peculiarly pleaſing to the queen; ſhe thought him ſincere from the conſciouſneſs of her own ſincerity; ſhe, therefore replied, that after ſome time, when convinced of his ſincerity, ſomething might be expected from her lenity. When theſe ſymptoms of the queen's returning af⯑fection were known, they equally renewed the fears of his real enemies, and the aſſiduities of his pretended friends. He did not, therefore, decline an examination of his conduct before [143] the council, ſecure in his miſtreſs's favour, and their impotence to do him a real injury. In conſequence of this, he was only ſentenced for his late miſconduct, to reſign his employments, and to continue a priſoner in his own houſe, till her majeſty's further pleaſure ſhould be known.

He now, therefore, had, in ſome meaſure,A.D. 1600 triumphed over his enemies; and the diſcre⯑tion of a few months might have reinſtated him in all his former employments; but the impetuoſity of his character would not ſuffer him to wait for a ſlow redreſs of what he con⯑ſidered as wrongs; and the queen's refuſing his requeſt to continue him in the poſſeſſion of a lucrative monopoly of ſweet wines, which he had long enjoyed, ſpurred him on to the moſt violent and guilty meaſures. Having long built with fond credulity on his great popu⯑larity, he began to hope, from the aſſiſtance of the giddy multitude, that revenge upon his enemies in the council, which he ſuppoſed was denied him from the throne. With theſe aims he began to encreaſe the general propen⯑ſity in his favour, by an hoſpitality little ſuited to his ſituation, or his circumſtances. He en⯑tertained men of all ranks and profeſſions; but particularly the military, whom he hoped [144] in his preſent views might be ſerviceable to him. But his greateſt dependence was up⯑on the profeſſions of the citizens of Lon⯑don, whoſe ſchemes of religion and govern⯑ment he appeared entirely to approve; and while he gratified the puritans by railing at the government of the church, he pleaſed the en⯑vious, by expoſing the faults of thoſe in pow⯑er. However the chief ſeverity of his cenſure was heard to reſt upon the queen, whom he did not heſitate to ridicule; and of whom he declared that ſhe was now become an old wo⯑man, and that her mind was grown as crooked as her body.

It may well be ſuppoſed that none of theſe indiſcretions were concealed from the queen; his enemies, and her emiſſaries, took care to bring her information of all his reſentments and aims, and to aggravate his ſlighteſt re⯑flections into treaſon. Elizabeth was ever re⯑markably jealous where her beauty was in queſtion; and though ſhe was now in her ſeventieth year, yet ſhe eagerly liſtened to all the flattery of her courtiers, when they called her a Venus, or an Angel. She, therefore, began to conſider him as unworthy of her eſteem, and permitted his enemies to drive him to thoſe extremities to which he was na⯑turally [145] very well inclined to proceed. He had, in fact, by this time collected together a ſelect council of malcontents, who flattered him in his wild projects; and, ſuppoſing their adherents much more numerous than they really were, they took no pains to conceal their intentions. Among other criminal projects, the reſult of blind rage and deſpair, they reſolv⯑ed at laſt that Sir Chriſtopher Blount, one of his creatures, ſhould, with a choice detach⯑ment, poſſeſs himſelf of the palace gates; that Sir John Davis ſhould ſeize the hall, Sir Charles Davers the guard-chamber, while Eſſex himſelf would ruſh in from the Meuſe, attended by a body of his partizans, into the queen's preſence, entreat her to remove his and her enemies, to aſſemble a new parlia⯑ment, and to correct the defects of the preſent adminiſtration.

It was the fortune of this queen's reign, that all projects againſt it were fruſtrated by a timely notice of their nature and intent. The queen and council, alarmed at the great reſort of people to Eſſex, and having ſome intimations of his deſign, ſent ſecretary Herbert to require his appearance before the council, which was aſ⯑ſembled at the lord keeper's. While Eſſex was deliberating upon the manner he ſhould [146] proceed, whether to attend the ſummons, or fly into open rebellion, he received a private note, by which he was warned to provide for his own ſafety. He now, therefore, conſulted with his friends touching the emergency of their ſituation; they were deſtitute of arms and ammunition, while the guards at the palace were doubled, ſo that any attack upon that would be fruitleſs. While he and his confi⯑dants were in conſultation, a perſon, probably employed by his enemies, came in as a meſſen⯑ger from the citizens, with tenders of friend⯑ſhip and aſſiſtance againſt all his adverſaries. Wild as the project was of raiſing the city, in the preſent terrible conjuncture it was reſolved on, but the execution of it was delayed till the day following.

Early in the morning of the next day, he was attended by his friends, the earls of Rut⯑land and Southampton, the lords Sandes, Parker, and Mounteagle, with three hundred perſons of diſtinction. The doors of Eſſex⯑houſe were immediately locked, to prevent all ſtrangers from entering; and the earl now diſcovered his ſcheme for raiſing the city more fully to all the conſpirators. In the mean time, Sir Walter Raleigh ſending a meſſage to Sir Ferdinando Gorges, this officer had a [147] conference with him in a boat on the Thames, and there diſcovered all their proceedings. The queen being informed of the whole, ſent in the utmoſt haſte Egerton, the lord keeper, Sir William Knollys, the controller, Popham, the lord chief juſtice, and the earl of Worceſt⯑er, to Eſſex houſe, to demand the cauſe of theſe unuſual proceedings. It was ſome time before they received admittance through the wicket into the houſe; and it was not without ſome degree of fury, that they ordered Eſſex and his adherents to lay down their arms. While they continued undaunted in the diſcharge of their duty, and the multitude around them clamoured loudly for their pu⯑niſhment, the earl of Eſſex, who now ſaw that all was to be hazarded, reſolved to leave them priſoners in his houſe, and to ſally forth to make an inſurrection in the city. But he had made a very wrong eſtimate in expecting that popularity alone could aid him in time of danger; he iſſued out with about two hundred followers, armed only with ſwords; and in his paſſage to the city was joined by the earl of Bedford and lord Cromwell. As he paſſed through the ſtreets, he cried aloud, For the queen! for the queen! a plot is laid for my life! hoping to engage the populace to riſe; [148] but they had received orders from the mayor to keep within their houſes; ſo that he was not joined by a ſingle perſon. He then pro⯑ceeded to the houſe of Smith, the ſheriff, on whoſe aid he greatly depended; but the crowd gathered round him rather to ſatisfy their cu⯑rioſity than to lend him any aſſiſtance. Eſſex now perceived that he was quite undone; and hearing that he was proclaimed a traitor by the earl of Cumberland, and lord Burleigh, he began to think of retreating to his own houſe, there to ſell his life as dearly as he could. But he was prevented in his aims even there; the ſtreets in his way were baricadoed, and guarded by the citizens, under the com⯑mand of Sir John Leviſon. In fighting his way through this obſtruction, Henry Tracy, a young gentleman, for whom he had a ſingu⯑lar affection, was killed, and Sir Chriſtopher Blount wounded and taken. The earl, him⯑ſelf, attended by a few of his followers, the reſt having privately retired, made towards the river; and, taking a boat, arrived once more at Eſſex-houſe, where he began to make preparations for his defence. But his caſe was too deſperate for any remedy from valour; wherefore, after demanding in vain for hoſta⯑ges, and conditions from his beſigers, he ſur⯑rendered [149] at diſcretion, requeſting only civil treatment, and a fair and impartial hearing.

Eſſex and Southampton were immediately carried to the archbiſhop's palace at Lam⯑beth, from whence they were next day convey⯑ed to the Tower, and tried by their peers on the nineteenth of February following. Little could be urged in their defence; their guilt was too flagrant, and though it deſerved pity it could not meet an acquittal. Eſſex after condemnation was viſited by that religious horror which ſeemed to attend him in all his diſgraces. He was terrified almoſt to deſpair by the ghoſtly remonſtrances of his own chap⯑lain, he was reconciled to his enemies, and made a full confeſſion of his conſpiracy. It is alledged upon this occaſion, that he had ſtrong hopes of pardon, from the irreſolution which the queen ſeemed to diſcover before ſhe ſigned the warrant for his execution. She had given him formerly a ring, which ſhe de⯑ſired him to ſend her in any emergency of this nature, and that it ſhould procure his ſafety and protection. This ring was actually ſent her by the counteſs of Nottingham, who, being a concealed enemy to the unfortunate earl, never delivered it; while Elizabeth ſecretly fired at his obſtinacy in making no applica⯑tions for mercy and forgiveneſs. The fact is, [150] ſhe appeared herſelf as much an object of pity, as the unfortunate nobleman ſhe was induced to condemn. She ſigned the warrant for his execution, ſhe countermanded it, ſhe again reſolved on his death, and again felt a new re⯑turn of tenderneſs. At laſt ſhe gave her con⯑ſent to his execution, and was never ſeen to enjoy one happy day more.

After the beheading of Eſſex, which death he ſuffered in the thirty-fifth year of his age, ſome of his aſſociates were brought in like manner to their trials. Cuffe, his ſecretary, a turbulent man, but poſſeſſed of great learning, Davers, Blount, Meric, and Davis, were con⯑demned and executed; the queen pardoned the reſt, being perſuaded that they were cul⯑pable only from their friendſhip to their bene⯑factor.

The remaining events of this reign are not conſiderable enough to come into a picture, already crouded with great ones. With the death of her favourite Eſſex, all Elizabeth's pleaſures ſeemed to expire; ſhe afterwards went through the buſineſs of the ſtate merely from habit, but her ſatisfactions were no more. She had fallen into a profound melancho⯑ly, which all the advantages of her high for⯑tune, all the glories of her proſperous reign, [151] were unable to remove. She had now found out the falſehood of the counteſs of Notting⯑ham; who, on her death-bed, ſent for the queen, and informed her of the fatal circumſtance of the ring, which ſhe had neglected to deliver. This information only ſerved to awaken all that paſſion which the queen had vainly en⯑deavoured to ſuppreſs. She ſhook the dying counteſs in her bed, crying out, ‘"That God might pardon her, but ſhe never would."’ She then broke from her, and reſigned herſelf to the dictates of her fixed deſpair. She refuſed food and ſuſtenance; ſhe continued ſilent, and gloomy; ſighs, and groans, were the only vent ſhe gave to her deſpondence; and ſhe lay for ten days and nights upon the carpet, leaning on cuſhions, which her maids brought her. Per⯑haps the faculties of her mind were impaired by long and violent exerciſe; perhaps ſhe re⯑flected with remorſe on ſome paſt actions of her life, or perceived, but too ſtrongly, the decays of nature, and the approach of her diſſolution. She ſaw her courtiers remitting their aſſiduity to her, in order to pay their court to James, the apparent ſucceſſor. Such a concurrence of cauſes was more than ſufficient to deſtroy the remains of her conſtitution; and her end was now viſibly ſeen to approach. Feeling a [152] perpetual heat in her ſtomach, attended with an unquenchable thirſt, ſhe drank without ceaſe⯑ing, but refuſed the aſſiſtance of her phyſicians. Her diſtemper gaining ground, Cecil, and the lord admiral, deſired to know her ſentiments with regard to the ſucceſſion. To this ſhe re⯑plied, that as the crown of England had al⯑ways been held by kings, it ought not to de⯑volve upon any inferior character, but upon her immediate heir the king of Scotland. Be⯑ing then adviſed by the archbiſhop of Canter⯑bury to fix her thoughts upon God, ſhe re⯑plied, that her thoughts did not in the leaſt wander from him. Her voice ſoon after left her; ſhe fell into a lethargic ſlumber, which continued ſome hours, and ſhe expired gently without a groan, in the ſeventieth year of her age, and the forty-fifth of her reign. Her character differed with her circumſtances; in the beginning, ſhe was moderate and humble; towards the end of her reign, haughty, and ſevere. But ever prudent, active, and diſcern⯑ing, ſhe procured for her ſubjects that happi⯑neſs, which was not entirely felt by thoſe about her. She was indebted to her good for⯑tune, that her miniſters were excellent; but it was owing to her indiſcretion that the favou⯑rites, who were more immediately choſen by [153] herſelf, were unworthy. Though ſhe was poſſeſſed of excellent ſenſe, yet ſhe never had the diſcernment to diſcover that ſhe wanted beauty; and to flatter her charms at the age of ſixty-five, was the ſureſt road to her favour and eſteem.

But whatever were her perſonal defects as a queen, ſhe is to be ever remembered by the Engliſh with gratitude. It is true, indeed, that ſhe carried her prerogative in parliament to its higheſt pitch; ſo that it was tacitly al⯑lowed in that aſſembly, that ſhe was above all law, and could make and unmake them at her pleaſure; yet ſtill ſhe was ſo wiſe and good, as ſeldom to exert that power which ſhe claim⯑ed, and to enforce few acts of her prerogative, which were not for the benefit of the people. It is true, in like manner, that the Engliſh during her reign were put in poſſeſſion of no new, or ſplendid acquiſitions; but commerce was daily growing up among them, and the peo⯑ple began to find that the theatre of their trueſt conqueſts was to be on the boſom of the ocean. A nation which hitherto had been the object of every invaſion, and a prey to every plunderer, now aſſerted its ſtrength in turn, and became terrible to its invaders. The ſucceſsful voy⯑ages of the Spaniards and Portugueſe, be⯑gan [154] to excite their emulation; and they fitted out ſeveral expeditions for diſcovering a ſhort⯑er paſſage to the Eaſt-Indies. The famous Sir Walter Raleigh, without any aſſiſtance from government, colonized New England, while internal commerce was making equal improve⯑ments; and many Flemings, perſecuted in their native country, found, together with their arts and induſtry, an eaſy aſylum in England. Thus the whole iſland ſeemed as if rouzed from her long habits of barbarity; arts, com⯑merce, and legiſlation began to acquire new ſtrength every day; and ſuch was the ſtate of learning at that time, that ſome fix that period as the Auguſtan age of England. Sir Walter Raleigh, and Hooker, are conſidered as among the firſt improvers of our language. Spenſer and Shakeſpeare are too well known, as poets, to be praiſed here; but of all mankind, Fran⯑cis Bacon, lord Verulam, who flouriſhed in this reign, deſerves, as a philoſopher, the higheſt applauſe; his ſtyle is copious and correct, and his wit is only ſurpaſſed by his learning and penetration. If we look through hiſtory, and conſider the riſe of kingdoms, we ſhall ſcarce find an inſtance of a people, becoming, in ſo ſhort a time, wiſe, powerful, and happy. Liber⯑ty, it is true, ſtill continued to fluctuate; Eli⯑zabeth [155] knew her own power, and ſtretched it to the very verge of deſpotiſm; but now that commerce was introduced, liberty ſoon after fol⯑lowed; for there never was a nation perfectly commercial, that ſubmitted long to ſlavery.

CHAP. XXVIII. JAMES I.

JAMES, the ſixth of Scotland and the firſt of England, the ſon of Mary, came to the throne with the univerſal approbation of all orders of the ſtate, as in his perſon were unit⯑ed every claim, that either deſcent, bequeſt, or parliamentary ſanction could confer. He had every reaſon, therefore, to hope for an happy reign; and he was taught, from [157] his inafncy, that his prerogative was uncon⯑troulable, and his right tranſmitted from hea⯑ven. Theſe ſentiments he took no care to con⯑ceal; and he even publiſhed them in many parts of thoſe works, which he had written be⯑fore he left Scotland.

But he was greatly miſtaken in the ſpirit of thinking of the times; for new ſyſtems of go⯑vernment, and new ideas of liberty, had for ſome time been ſtealing in with the reforma⯑tion; and only wanted the reign of a weak or merciful monarch, to appear without controul. In conſequence of the progreſs of knowledge, and a familiar acquaintance with the governments of antiquity, the old Gothic forms began to be deſpiſed; and an emula⯑tion took place, to imitate the freedom of Greece and Rome. The ſevere, though popu⯑lar government of Elizabeth, had confined this riſing ſpirit within very narrow bounds; but when a new ſovereign, and a new family ap⯑peared, leſs dreaded, and leſs loved by the people, ſymptoms immediately began to be ſeen of a more free and independent genius in the nation.

James ſcarce was entered into England when he gave diſguſt to many. The deſire in all to ſee their new ſovereign was ardent and na⯑tural; [158] but the king, who loved retirement, forbid the concourſe that attended on his jour⯑ney from Scotland, pretending that this great reſort of people would produce a ſcarcity of proviſions. To this offence to the people he added, ſoon after, what gave offence to the higher orders of the ſtate, by proſtituting titles of honour, ſo that they became ſo common as to be no longer marks of diſtinction. A paſ⯑quinade was fixed up at St. Paul's, declaring that there would be a lecture given on the art of aſſiſting ſhort memories, to retain the names of the new nobility.

But though his countrymen ſhared a part of theſe honours, yet juſtice muſt be done the king, by confeſſing, that he left almoſt all the great offices in the hands he found them. Among theſe, Cecil, created earl of Saliſbury, who had been ſo active in the laſt reign againſt his own intereſts, was continued now prime miniſter and chief counſellor. This crafty ſtateſman had been too cunning for the reſt of his aſſociates; and while, during Elizabeth's reign, he was apparently leagued againſt the earl of Eſſex whom James protected, yet he kept up a ſecret corroſpondence with that mo⯑narch, and ſecured his intereſts without for⯑feiting the confidence of his party.

[159]But it was not ſo fortunate with lord Grey, lord Cobham, and Sir Walter Raleigh, who had been Cecil's aſſociates. They felt imme⯑diately the effects of the king's diſpleaſure, and were diſmiſſed their employments. Theſe three ſeemed to be marked out for peculiar indig⯑nation, for ſoon after they were accuſed of en⯑tering into a conſpiracy againſt the king; nei⯑ther the proofs of which, nor its aims, have reached poſterity: all that is certain is, that they were condemned to die, but had their ſentence mitigated by the king. Cobham and Grey were pardoned, after they had laid their heads on the block. Raleigh was reprieved, but remained in confinement many years after⯑wards, and at laſt ſuffered for this offence, which was never proved.

This mercy, ſhewn to theſe ſuppoſed delin⯑quents, was very pleaſing to the people; and the king, willing to remove all jealouſy of his being a ſtranger, began his attempts in parlia⯑ment by an endeavour to unite both king⯑doms into one. However, the people were not as yet ripe for this coalition; they were ap⯑prehenſive that the poſts and employments, which were in the gift of the court, would be conferred on the Scotch, whom they were as yet taught to regard as foreigners. By the [160] repulſe in this inſtance, as well as by ſome ex⯑ceptions, the houſe of commons took to the form of his ſummons to parliament, James found that the people he came to govern, were very different from thoſe he had left behind; and perceived that he muſt give reaſons for every meaſure he intended to enforce.

He now, therefore, attempted to correct his former miſtake, and to peruſe the Engliſh laws, as he had formerly done thoſe of his own country, and by theſe he reſolved to govern. But even here he again found himſelf diſap⯑pointed. In a government ſo fluctuating as that of England, opinion was ever deviating from law; and what was enacted in one reign, was contradicted by cuſtom in another. The laws had all along declared in favour of an al⯑moſt unlimited prerogative, while the opi⯑nions of the people were guided by inſtructors, who began to teach oppoſite principles. All the kings and queens before him, except ſuch as were controuled by inteſtine diviſions, or awed by foreign invaſion, iſſued rather their commands to parliament, than gave their rea⯑ſons. James, unmindful of this alteration in the opinions of the people, reſolved to govern in the ancient manner; while the people, on the contrary, having once got an idea of the [161] inherent privileges of mankind, never gave it up, ſenſible that they had reaſon and power alſo on their ſide.

Numberleſs, therefore, were the diſputes between the king and his parliament during his whole reign; one attempting too keep the privileges of the crown entire, the other aiming at abridging the dangerous part of the preroga⯑tive; the one labouring to preſerve cuſtoms eſtabliſhed for time immemorial, the other equally aſſiduous in defending the inherent privileges of humanity. Thus we ſee laud⯑able motives actuating the diſputants on both ſides of the queſtion, and the principles of both founded either in law or in reaſon. When the parliament would not grant a ſubſidy, James had examples enough among his pre⯑deceſſors, which taught him to extort a bene⯑volence. Edward the fourth, Henry the eighth, and queen Elizabeth herſelf, had often done ſo; and precedent undoubtedly entitled him to the ſame privilege. On the other hand, the houſe of commons, who found their growing power to protect the people, and not ſuffer the impoſitions of the crown, conſidered that this extorted benevolence might at length render the ſovereign entirely independent of the parliament, and therefore [162] complained againſt it as an infringement of their privileges. Theſe attempts of the crown, and theſe murmurings of the commons, con⯑tinued through this whole reign, and firſt gave riſe to that ſpirit of party, which has ever ſince ſubſiſted in England; the one for preſerving the ancient conſtitution, by main⯑taining the prerogative of the king; the other for trying an experiment to improve it, by extending the liberties of the people.

During theſe conteſts, James, who ſup⯑poſed no arguments ſufficient to impair the prerogative, ſeemed entirely ſecure that none would attempt to alledge any. He daily continued to entertain his parliament with ſet ſpeeches, and florid harrangues, in which he urged his divine right and abſolute power as things inconteſtible; to theſe the commons made as regular anſwers, not abſo⯑lutely denying his pretenſions, but ſlowly and regularly abridging his power.

However, tho' James perſevered in aſſerting his prerogative, and threatened thoſe who ſhould preſume to abridge it, yet his juſtice and clem⯑ency were very apparent in the toleration which he gave to the teachers of different religions throughout the kingdom. The minds of the people had long been irritated [163] againſt one another, and each party perſecuted the reſt, as it happened to prevail; it was ex⯑pected, therefore, that James would ſtreng⯑then the hands of that which was then upper⯑moſt; and that the catholics and ſectaries ſhould find no protection. But this monarch wiſely obſerved, that men ſhould be puniſhed for actions, and not for opinions; a deciſion which gave general diſſatisfaction: but the univerſal complaint of every ſect was the beſt argument of his moderation towards all.

Yet mild as this monarch was, there was a project contrived in the very beginning of his reign for the re-eſtabliſhment of popery, which, were it not a fact known to all the world, could ſcarcely be credited by poſterity. This was the gun-powder plot, than which a more hor⯑rid or terrible ſcheme never entered into the human heart to conceive, and which ſhews at once the moſt determined courage may be united with the moſt execrable intentions.

The Roman catholics had expected great favour and indulgence on the acceſſion of James, both as a deſcendant from Mary, a rigid catholic, and alſo as having ſhewn ſome partiality to that religion in his youth. But they ſoon diſcovered their miſtake; and were at once ſurpriſed and enraged to find James [164] on all occaſions expreſs his reſolution of ſtrict⯑ly executing the laws enacted againſt them, and of perſevering in the conduct of his predeceſſor. This declaration determined them upon more deſperate meaſures; and they at length formed a reſolution of deſtroy⯑ing the king and both houſes of parliament at a blow. The ſcheme was firſt broached by Robert Cateſby, a gentleman of good parts and ancient family, who conceived that a train of gun-powder might be ſo placed under the parliament-houſe, as to blow up the king and all the members at once. He opened his intention to Thomas Percy, a deſcendant from the illuſtrious houſe of Northumberland, who was charmed with the project, and readily came into it. Thomas Winter was next en⯑truſted with the dreadful ſecret; and he went over to Flanders in queſt of Guy Fawkes, an officer in the Spaniſh ſervice, with whoſe zeal and courage the conſpirators were thoroughly acquainted. When they enliſted any new zealot into their plot, the more firmly to bind him to ſecrecy, they always, together with an oath, employed the ſacrament, the moſt ſacred rite of religion. Every tender feeling and all pity were baniſhed from their breaſts; and Teſmond and Garnet, two jeſuits, ſuperiors [165] of the order, abſolved their conſciences from every ſcruple.

How horrid ſoever the contrivance might appear, yet every member ſeemed faithful and ſecret in the league; and about two months before the ſitting of parliament, they hired an houſe, in Percy's name, adjoining to that in which the parliament was to aſſemble. Their firſt intention was to bore a way under the parliament-houſe, from that which they occu⯑pied, and they ſet themſelves laboriouſly to the taſk; but when they had pierced the wall, which was three yards in thickneſs, on ap⯑proaching the other ſide, they were ſurpriſed to find that the houſe was vaulted underneath, and that a magazine of coals were uſually depoſited there. From their diſappointment on this account they were ſoon relieved, by information that the coals were then ſelling off, and that the vaults would be then let to the higheſt bidder. They therefore ſeized the opportunity of hiring the place, and bought the remaining quantity of coals with which it was then ſtored, as if for their own uſe. The next thing done was to convey thither thirty-ſix barrels of gun-powder, which had been purchaſed in Holland; and the whole was covered with the coals and with faggots [166] brought for that purpoſe. Then the doors of the cellar were boldly flung open, and every body admitted, as if it contained nothing dangerous.

Confident of ſucceſs, they now began to plan the remaining part of their project. The king, the queen, and prince Henry, the king's eldeſt ſon, were all expected to be preſent at the opening of the parliament. The king's ſecond ſon, by reaſon of his tender age, would be abſent, and it was reſolved that Percy ſhould ſeize, or aſſaſſinate him. The prin⯑ceſs Elizabeth, a child likewiſe, was kept at lord Harrington's houſe in Warwickſhire; and Sir Everard Digby was to ſeize her, and immediately proclaim her queen.

The day for the ſitting of parliament now approached. Never was treaſon more ſecret, or ruin more apparently inevitable; the hour was expected with impatience, and the conſpi⯑rators gloried in their meditated guilt. The dreaful ſecret, though communicated to above twenty perſons, had been religiouſly kept during the ſpace of near a year and an half; when all the motives of pity, juſtice, and ſafety, were too weak, a remorſe of private friendſhip ſaved the kingdom.

Sir Henry Percy, one of the conſpirators, [167] conceived a deſign of ſaving the life of lord Mounteagle, his intimate friend and compa⯑nion, who alſo was of the ſame perſuaſion with himſelf. About ten days before the meeting of parliament, this nobleman, upon his return to town, received a letter from a perſon unknown, and delivered by one who fled as ſoon as he had diſcharged his meſſage. The letter was to this effect, ‘"My Lord, ſtay away from this parliament; for God and man have concurred to puniſh the wicked⯑neſs of the times. And think not ſlightly of this advertiſement, but retire yourſelf in⯑to your country, where you may expect the event in ſafety. For though there be no appearance of any ſtir, yet I ſay they will receive a terrible blow this parliament; and yet they ſhall not ſee who hurts them. This counſel is not to be contemned, be⯑cauſe it may do you good, and can do you no harm. For the danger is paſt as ſoon as you have burned the letter."’

The contents of this myſterious letter ſur⯑priſed and puzzled the nobleman to whom it was addreſſed; and though inclined to think it a fooliſh attempt to affright and ridicule him, yet he judged it ſafeſt to carry it to lord Saliſbury, ſecetary of ſtate. Lord Saliſbury [168] too was inclined to give little attention to it, yet thought proper to lay it before the king in council, who came to town a few days after. None of the council were able to make any thing of it, although it appeared ſerious and alarming. In this univerſal agitation be⯑tween doubt and apprehenſion, the king was the firſt who penetrated the meaning of this dark epiſtle. He concluded that ſome ſudden danger was preparing by gun-powder; and it was thought adviſeable to inſpect all the vaults below the houſes of parliament. This care belonged to the earl of Suffolk, lord cham⯑berlain, who purpoſely delayed the ſearch, till the day before the meeting of parliament. He remarked thoſe great piles of faggots which lay in the vault under the houſe of peers; and he caſt his eye upon Fawkes, who ſtood in a dark corner, and who paſſed himſelf for Percy's ſervant. That daring determined courage, which he had long been noted for, even among the deſperate, was fully painted in his countenance, and ſtruck the lord chamberlain with ſtrong ſuſpicion. The great quantity of fuel alſo kept there for the uſes of a perſon ſeldom in town, did not paſs unnoticed; and he reſolved to take his time to make a more exact ſcrutiny. About mid⯑night, [169] therefore, Sir Thomas Knevit, a juſtice of peace, was ſent with proper attendants, and, juſt at the entrance of the vault, he ſeized a man preparing for the terrible enterprize, dreſſed in a cloak and boots, and a dark lan⯑thorn in his hand. This was no other than Guy Fawkes, who had juſt diſpoſed every part of the train for its taking fire the next morning, the matches and other combuſtibles being found in his pockets. The whole of the deſign was now diſcovered; but the atro⯑ciouſneſs of his guilt, and the deſpair of par⯑don, inſpiring him with reſolution, he told the officers of juſtice, with an undaunted air, that had he blown them and himſelf up together he had been happy. Before the council he diſplayed the ſame intrepid firmneſs, mixt even with ſcorn and diſdain, refuſing to diſco⯑ver his aſſociates, and ſhewing no concern but for the failure of his enterprize. But his bold ſpirit was at length ſubdued; being confined to the Tower for two or three days, and the rack juſt ſhewn him, his courage, fatigued with ſo long an effort, at laſt failed him, and he made a full diſcovery of all his accomplices.

Cateſby, Percy, and the conſpirators who were in London, hearing that Fawkes was [170] arreſted, fled with all ſpeed to Warwickſhire, where Sir Everard Digby, relying on the ſuc⯑ceſs of the plot, was already in arms, in order to ſeize the princeſs Elizabeth. But the country ſoon began to take the alarm, and wherever they turned, they found a ſuperior force ready to oppoſe them. In this exigence, beſet on all ſides, they reſolved, to about the number of eighty perſons, to fly no farther, but make a ſtand at an houſe in Warwickſhire, to defend it to the laſt, and ſell their lives as dearly as poſſible. But even this miſerable conſolation was denied them: a ſpark of fire happening to fall among ſome gun-powder that was laid to dry, it blew up, and ſo maimed the principal conſpirators, that the ſurvivors reſolved to open the gate, and ſally out a⯑gainſt the multitude that ſurrounded the houſe. Some were inſtantly cut to pieces; Cateſby, Percy, and Winter, ſtanding back to back, fought long and deſperately, till in the end the two firſt fell covered with wounds, and Winter was taken alive. Thoſe that ſurvived the ſlaughter were tried and con⯑victed; ſeveral fell by the hands of the execu⯑tioner, and others experienced the king's mer⯑cy. The jeſuits, Garnet and Oldcorn, who were privy to the plot, ſuffered with the reſt; [171] and, notwithſtanding the atrociouſneſs of their treaſon, Garnet was conſidered by his party as a martyr, and miracles were ſaid to have been wrought by his blood.

Such was the end of a conſpiracy that brought ruin on its contrivers, and utterly ſupplanted that religion it was intended to eſtabliſh. Yet it is remarkable, that before this audacious attempt, the conſpirators had always borne a fair reputation; Cateſby was loved by all his acquaintance, and Digby was as highly reſpected both for his honour and integrity as any man in the nation. However, ſuch are the lengths that ſuperſtition and early prejudice can drive minds originally well form⯑ed, but impreſſed by a wrong direction.

The king's moderation, after the extinction of this conſpiracy, was as great as his penetra⯑tion in the prevention of it. The hatred ex⯑cited in the nation againſt the catholics knew no bounds; and nothing but a total extinction of thoſe who adhered to that perſuaſion, ſeem⯑ed capable of ſatisfying the greater part of the people. James bravely rejected all violent meaſures, and nobly declared, that the late conſpiracy, however atrocious, ſhould never alter his plans of government; but as, on the one hand, he was determined to puniſh guilt, [172] ſo, on the other, he would ſtill ſupport and protect innocence.

This moderation, however laudable, was at that time no way pleaſing to the people, and the malignant part of his ſubjects were willing to aſcribe his lenity to the papiſts, to his being himſelf tinctured with their ſuperſtitions. However this be, he ſtill found his parliaments refractory to all the meaſures he took to ſup⯑port his authority at home, or his deſire of peace with foreign ſtates. His ſpeeches in⯑deed betrayed no want of reſolution to defend his rights; but his liberality to his favourites, and the inſufficiency of his finances to maintain the royal dignity, ſtill rendered him dependent upon his parliament for money, and they took care to keep him in indigence. Thus he was often forced into conceſſions, which, when once granted, could never be recalled; and while he ſuppoſed himſelf maintaining the royal prerogative, it was diminiſhing on every ſide.

It was, perhaps, the oppoſition which James met with from his people, that made him place his affections upon different perſons about the court, whom he rewarded with a liberality that bordered on profuſion. The [173] death of young prince Henry, his eldeſt ſon, which happened at this time,A.D. 1612 a youth of great hopes, gave him no very great uneaſineſs, as his affections were rather taken up by newer con⯑nexions. In the firſt rank of theſe ſtood Robert Carre, a youth of a good family in Scotland, who, after having paſſed ſome time in his travels, arrived in London, at about twenty years of age. All his natural accom⯑pliſhments conſiſted in a pleaſing viſage; all his acquired abilities, in an eaſy and graceful demeanor. This youth came to England with letters of recommendation to ſee his countryman, lord Hay; and that nobleman took an opportunity of aſſigning him the of⯑fice of preſenting the king his buckler at a match of tilting. When Carre was advancing to execute his office, he was thrown by his horſe, and his leg was broke in the king's preſence. James approached him with pity and concern, and ordered him to be lodged in the palace till his cure was completed. He himſelf, after tilting, paid him a viſit in his chamber, and returned frequently during his confinement. The ignorance and ſimplicity of the youth confirmed the king's affections, as he diſregarded learning in his favourites, of which he found but very little uſe in his own [174] practice. Carre was therefore ſoon conſidered as the moſt riſing man at court; he was knighted, created viſcount Rocheſter, honour⯑ed with the order of the garter, made a privy-counſellor; and, to raiſe him to the higheſt pitch of honour, he was at laſt created earl of Somerſet.

This was an advancement which ſome re⯑garded with envy; but the wiſer part of man⯑kind looked upon it with contempt and ridi⯑cule, ſenſible that ungrounded attachments are ſeldom of long continuance. Nor was it long before the favourite gave proofs of his being unworthy the place he held in the king's affections. Among the friends whom he con⯑ſulted at court was Sir Thomas Overbury, a man of great abilities and learning; among the miſtreſſes whom he addreſſed was the young counteſs of Eſſex, whoſe huſband had been ſent by the king's command to travel, until the young couple ſhould be arrived at the age of puberty. But the aſſiduities of a man of ſuch perſonal ac⯑compliſhments as the favourite were too pow⯑erful to be reſiſted; a criminal coreſpondence was commenced between the counteſs and the earl; and Eſſex, upon his return from his travels, found his wife beautiful and lovely indeed, but her affections entirely placed upon [175] another. But this was not all; not contented with denying him all the rights of an huſband, ſhe was reſolved to procure a divorce, and then to marry the favourite, to whom ſhe had granted her heart. It was upon this occaſion that Overbury was conſulted by his friend; and that this honeſt counſellor declared him⯑ſelf utterly averſe to the match. He deſcrib⯑ed the counteſs as an infamous and abandon⯑ed woman; and went ſo far as to threaten the earl that he would ſeparate himſelf from him for ever, if he could ſo far forget his honour and his intereſt as to proſecute the intended marriage. The conſequence of this advice was fatal to the giver. The counteſs, being made acquainted with his expoſtulations, urged her lover to undo him. In conſequence of this command, the king was perſuaded by the favourite to order Overbury on an embaſſy into Ruſſia; Overbury was perſuaded by the ſame adviſer to refuſe going; the delin⯑quent was ſhut up in the Tower, and there he was poiſoned, by the direction of the coun⯑teſs, in a tart.

In the mean time, the divorce which had been with ſome difficulty procured, took place, and the marriage of the favourite was ſolemnized with all imaginable ſplendour. But the [176] ſuſpicion of Overbury's being poiſoned every day grew ſtronger, and reached the favourite, amidſt all the glare and ſplendor of ſeeming happineſs and ſucceſs. The graces of his youth gradually diſappeared; the gaiety of his manners were converted into ſullen ſilence; and the king, whoſe affections had been en⯑gaged by theſe ſuperficial accompliſhments, began to cool to a man who no longer con⯑tributed to his amuſement. But the adoption of another favourite, and the diſcovery of Somerſet's guilt, ſoon removed all remains of affection, which the king might ſtill harbour for him.

An apothecary's apprentice, who had been employed in making up the poiſon, having retired to Fluſhing, had divulged the ſecret there; and the affair being thus laid before the king, he commanded Sir Edward Coke, lord chief juſtice, to ſift the affair to the bottom, with rigorous impartiality. This injunction was exe⯑cuted with great induſtry and ſeverity; and the whole complication of their guilt was careful⯑ly unravelled. The lieutenant of the Tower, with ſome of the leſſer criminals, were con⯑demned and executed; Somerſet and his counteſs were ſoon after found guilty, but reprieved, and pardoned after ſome years of [177] ſtrict confinement. The king's duplicity and injuſtice on this occaſion are urged as very great ſtains upon his character. Somerſet was in his preſence at the time the officer of juſtice came to apprehend him; and boldly reprehended that miniſter's preſumption for daring to arreſt a peer of the realm before the king. But James being informed of the cauſe, ſaid, with a ſmile, ‘"Nay, nay, you muſt go; for if Coke ſhould ſend for my⯑ſelf, I muſt comply."’ He then embraced him at parting, begged he would return im⯑mediately, and aſſured him he could not live without his company: yet he had no ſooner turned his back, than he exclaimed, ‘"Go, and the devil go with thee, I ſhall never ſee thy face again."’ He was alſo heard to wiſh, ſome time after, that God's curſe might fall upon him and his family, if he ſhould pardon thoſe whom the law ſhould condemn; however, he afterwards reſtored them both to liberty, and granted them a penſion, with which they retired, and languiſh⯑ed out the remainder of their lives in guilt, infamy, and mutual recrimination.

But the king had not been ſo improvident as to part with one favourite until he had provided himſelf with another. This was [178] George Villiers, a youth of one and twenty, a younger brother of a good family, who was re⯑turned about that time from his travels, and whom the enemies of Somerſet had taken occaſion to throw in the king's way, certain that his beau⯑ty and faſhionable manners would do the reſt. Accordingly, he had been placed at a comedy full in the king's view, and immediately caught the monarch's affections. The hiſtory of theſe times, which appears not without ſome degree of malignity againſt this monarch, does not however inſinuate any thing flagitious in theſe connexions, but imputes his attach⯑ment rather to a weakneſs of underſtanding, than to any perverſion of appetite. Villiers was immediately taken into the king's ſervice, and the office of cup-bearer was beſtowed upon him. It was in vain that Somerſet had uſed all his intereſt to depreſs him; his ſtern jealou⯑ſy only ſerved the more to intereſt the king in the young man's behalf.

But after Somerſet's fall, the favour of James was wholly turned upon young Vil⯑liers; in the courſe of a few years he created him viſcount Villiers, earl, marquis, and duke of Buckingham, knight of the garter, maſter of the horſe, chief juſtice in Eyre, warden of the cinque ports, maſter of the king's bench [179] office, ſteward of Weſtminſter, conſtable of Windſor, and lord high admiral of England. His mother obtained the title of counteſs of Buckingham; his brother was created viſcount Purbeck; and a numerous train of needy re⯑lations were all puſhed up into credit and au⯑thority. It may, indeed be reckoned among the moſt capricious circumſtances of this mo⯑narch's reign, that he, who was bred a ſcholar, ſhould chuſe for his favourites the moſt illiter⯑ate perſons about his court; that he, whoſe perſonal courage was greatly ſuſpected, ſhould laviſh his honours upon thoſe whoſe only ac⯑compliſhments were a ſkill in the warlike exer⯑ciſes of the times.

When unworthy favourites were thus ad⯑vanced, it is not to be wondered at if the pub⯑lic concerns of the kingdom were neglected, and men of real merit left to contempt and mi⯑ſery. Yet ſuch was the caſe at preſent, with regard to the cautionary towns in Holland, and the brave Sir Walter Raleigh at home.

In the preceding reign, Elizabeth, when ſhe gave aſſiſtance to the Dutch, at that time ſhak⯑ing off the Spaniſh yoke, was not ſo diſin⯑tereſted upon her lending them large ſums of money, as not to require a proper depoſit for being repaid. The Dutch, therefore, put [180] into her hands the three important fortreſſes of Fluſhing, Brille, and Ramekins, which were to be reſtored upon payment of the money due, which amounted in the whole to above eight hundred thouſand pounds. But James, in his preſent exigence, being to ſupply a needy favourite and a craving court, agreed to evacuate theſe fortreſſes, upon being paid a third part of the money that was ſtrictly due. The cautionary towns, therefore, were eva⯑cuated, which had held the ſtates in total ſub⯑jection; and which an ambitious or enterprize⯑ing prince would have regarded as his moſt valuable poſſeſſions.

The univerſal murmur which this impolitic meaſure produced, was ſoon after heightened by an act of ſeverity, which ſtill continues as the blackeſt ſtain upon this monarch's me⯑mory. The brave and learned Raleigh had been confined in the Tower almoſt from the very beginning of James's acceſſion, for a con⯑ſpiracy which had never been proved againſt him; and in that abode of wretchedneſs he wrote ſeveral valuable performances, which are ſtill in the higheſt eſteem. His long ſufferings, and his ingenious writings, had now turned the tide of popular opinion in his favour; and they who once deteſted the enemy of Eſſex, [181] could not now help pitying the long captivity of this philoſophical ſoldier. He himſelf ſtill ſtruggled for freedom; and perhaps it was with this deſire that he ſpread the report of his having diſcovered a gold mine in Guiana, which was ſufficient to enrich, not only the ad⯑venturers who ſhould ſeize it, but afford im⯑menſe treaſures to the nation. The king, ei⯑ther believing his aſſertions, or willing to ſub⯑ject him to further diſgrace, granted him a commiſſion to try his fortune in queſt of theſe golden ſchemes; but ſtill reſerved his former ſentence as a check upon his future behaviour.

Raleigh was not long in making prepara⯑tions for this adventure, which, from the ſan⯑guine manner in which he carried it on, many believe he thought to be as promiſing as he deſcribed it. He bent his courſe to Guiana, and remaining himſelf at the mouth of the river Oroonoko, with five of the largeſt ſhips, he ſent the reſt up the ſtream, under the com⯑mand of his ſon and of captain Keymis, a per⯑ſon entirely devoted to his intereſts. But inſtead of a country abounding in gold, as the adven⯑turers were taught to expect, they found the Spaniards had been warned of their approach, and were prepared in arms to receive them. [182] Young Raleigh, to encourage his men, called out that ‘"This was the true mine,"’ meaning the town of St. Thomas, which he was ap⯑proaching; ‘"and that none but fools looked for any other:"’ but juſt as he was ſpeaking, he received a ſhot, of which he immediately ex⯑pired. This was followed by another diſap⯑pointment, for when the Engliſh took poſſeſ⯑ſion of the town they found nothing in it of any value.

It was Keymis who pretended that he had ſeen the mine, and gave the firſt account of it to Raleigh; but he now began to retract, and though he was within two hours march of the place, he refuſed, on the moſt abſurd pre⯑tences, to take any effectual ſtep towards find⯑ing it. He returned, therefore, to Raleigh with the melancholy news of his ſon's death; and then going into his cabbin, put an end to his own life in deſpair.

Raleigh, in this forlorn ſituation, found now that all his hopes were over; but ſaw his mis⯑fortunes ſtill farther aggravated by the re⯑proaches of thoſe whom he had undertaken to command. Nothing could be more deplorable than his ſituation, particularly when he was told that he muſt be carried back to England to anſwer for his conduct to the king. It is pretended [183] that he employed many artifices, firſt to engage them to attack the Spaniſh ſettlements at a time of peace; and failing of that, to make his eſcape into France. But all theſe proving unſucceſsful, he was delivered into the king's hands, and ſtrictly examined, as well as his fellow adventurers, before the privy-council. Count Gondemar, the Spaniſh ambaſſador, made heavy complaints againſt the expedition; and the king declared that Raleigh had ex⯑preſs orders to avoid all diſputes and hoſti⯑lities againſt the Spaniards. Wherefore, to give the court of Spain a particular inſtance of his attachment, he ſigned the warrant for his execution, not for the preſent offence, but for his former conſpiracy. Thus ſhew⯑ing himſelf guilty of complicated injuſtice; unjuſt in originally having condemned him without proof; unjuſt in having truſted a man with a commiſſion without a pardon, expreſſive of that confidence; unjuſt in puniſhing with death a tranſgreſſion that did not deſerve it; but moſt unjuſt of all, when he refuſed a new trial, but condemned him upon an obſolete ſentence. This great man died with the ſame fortitude that he had teſtified through life; he obſerved, as he felt the edge of the ax, that it was a ſharp, but a ſure remedy for all evils; [184] his harangue to the people was calm and elo⯑quent; and he laid his head down on the block with the utmoſt indifference. His death en⯑ſured him that popularity, which his former intrepidity and his ſufferings, ſo much greater than his crimes, had tended to procure him; and no meaſure, in this reign, was attended with ſo much public diſſatisfaction. The death of this great man was ſoon after followed by the diſgrace of a ſtill greater, namely, the chan⯑cellor Bacon, who was accuſed of receiving bribes in his office; and, pleading guilty, was degraded and fined thirty thouſand pounds; but his fine was afterwards remitted by the king.

A.D. 1618 But there ſoon appeared very apparent rea⯑ſons for James's partiality to the court of Spain, in the caſe of Raleigh. This monarch had entertained an opinion which was peculiar to himſelf, that in marrying his ſon Charles, the prince of Wales, any alliance below that of royalty would be unworthy of him; he, there⯑fore, was obliged to ſeek, either in the court of France or Spain, a ſuitable match, and he was taught to think of the latter. Gonde⯑mar, who was ambaſſador from that court, perceiving this weak monarch's partiality to a crowned head, made an offer of the ſecond [185] daughter of Spain to prince Charles; and that he might render the temptation irreſiſtible, he gave hopes of an immenſe fortune which ſhould attend the princeſs. However this was a negotiation that was not likely ſoon to be concluded; and from the time the idea was firſt ſtarted, James ſaw five years elapſed with⯑out bringing the treaty to any kind of conclu⯑ſion.

A delay of this kind was very diſpleaſing to the king, who had all along an eye on the great fortune of the princeſs; nor was it leſs diſagreeable to prince Charles, who, bred up with ideas of romantic paſſion, was in love without ever ſeeing the object of his affections. In this general tedium of delay, a project en⯑tered the head of Villiers, who had for ſome years ruled the king with abſolute authority, that was fitter to be conceived by the knight of a romance, than by a miniſter and a ſtateſ⯑man. It was nothing leſs, than that the prince ſhould himſelf travel in diſguiſe into Spain, and viſit the object of his affections in perſon. Buckingham, who wanted to ingratiate him⯑ſelf with the prince, offered to be his compa⯑nion; and the king, whoſe buſineſs it was to check ſo wild a ſcheme, gave his conſent to this hopeful propoſal. Their adventures on this [186] project could fill novels; and have actually been made the ſubject of many. Charles was the knight-errant, and Buckingham was his 'ſquire. They travelled through France in diſguiſe, aſſuming the names of Jack and Tom Smith. They went to a ball at Paris, where the prince firſt ſaw the princeſs Henrietta, whom he afterwards married, and who was then in the bloom of youth and beauty. They were received at the court of Spain with all poſſible demonſtrations of reſpect; but Buck⯑ingham filled the whole city with intrigues, adventures, ſerenades, challenges, and jealou⯑ſy. To complete the catalogue of his follies, he fell in love with the dutcheſs of Olivarez, the prime miniſter's wife, and inſulted that miniſter in perſon. Theſe levities were not to be endured at ſuch a court as that of Spain, where jealouſy is ſo prevalent, and decorum ſo much obſerved; the match therefore broke off, for what reaſon hiſtorians do not aſſign; but if we may credit the noveliſts of that time, the prince had already fixed his affections upon the French princeſs.

In fact, a match for this prince was ſoon after negotiated with Henrietta, who was the daughter of the great Henry the fourth; and this met with much better ſucceſs than the [187] former. However, the king had not the ſame allurements in proſecuting this match as the former, as the portion promiſed him was much ſmaller; but willing that his ſon ſhould not be altogether diſappointed of a bride, as the king of France demanded only the ſame terms which had been offered to the court of Spain, James conſented to comply. In an article of this treaty of marriage it was ſtipulated, that the education of the children, till the age of thirteen, ſhould belong to the mother; and this probably gave that turn towards popery, which has ſince been the ruin of that unfortu⯑nate family.

Indeed a variety of cauſes ſeemed to con⯑ſpire, together with their own imprudence, to bring down upon them thoſe evils which they afterwards experienced. The houſe of com⯑mons was by this time become quite unma⯑nageable; the prodigality of James to his fa⯑vourites, had made his neceſſities ſo many, that he was contented to ſell the different branches of his prerogative to the commons, one after the other, to procure ſupplies. In proportion as they perceived his wants, they found out new grievances; and every grant of money was ſure to come with a petition for redreſs. The ſtruggles between him and his [188] parliament had been growing more and more violent every ſeſſion; and the very laſt ad⯑vanced their pretenſions to ſuch a degree, that he began to take the alarm; but theſe evils fell upon the ſucceſſor, which the weak⯑neſs of this monarch had contributed to give birth to.

Theſe domeſtic troubles were attended by others ſtill more important in Germany, and which produced in the end the moſt dangerous effects. The king's eldeſt daughter had been married to Frederic, the elector Palatine of Germany, and this prince revolting againſt the emperor Ferdinand the ſecond, was defeated in a deciſive battle, and obliged to take re⯑fuge in Holland. His affinity to the Engliſh crown, his misfortunes, but particularly the proteſtant religion, for which he had contend⯑ed, were ſtrong motives for the people of England to wiſh well to his cauſe; and fre⯑quent addreſſes were ſent from the commons to ſpur up James to take a part in the Ger⯑man conteſt, and to replace the exiled prince upon the throne of his anceſtors.A.D. 1620 James at firſt attempted to ward off the misfortunes of his ſon-in-law by negotiations; but theſe prov⯑ing utterly ineffectual, it was reſolved at laſt to reſcue the Palatinate from the emperor by [189] force of arms. Accordingly war was declared againſt Spain and the emperor; ſix thouſand men were ſent over into Holland, to aſſiſt prince Maurice in his ſchemes againſt thoſe powers; the people were every where elated at the courage of their king, and were ſatisfied with any war which was to exterminate the papiſts. This army was followed by another conſiſting of twelve thouſand men, commanded by count Mansfeldt, and the court of France promiſed its aſſiſtance. But the Engliſh were diſap⯑pointed in all their views: the troops being embarked at Dover, upon ſailing to Calais, they found no orders for their admiſſion. After waiting in vain for ſome time, they were obliged to ſail towards Zealand, where no pro⯑per meaſures were yet conſulted for their diſ⯑embarkation. Mean while, a peſtilential diſ⯑temper crept in among the forces, ſo long cooped up in narrow veſſels; half the army died while on board, and the other half, weakened by ſickneſs, appeared too ſmall a body to march into the Palatinate; and thus ended this ill-concerted and fruitleſs expedi⯑tion.

Whether this misfortune had any effect upon the conſtitution of the king is uncertain; but he was ſoon after ſeized with a tertian ague,A.D. 1625 [190] which, when his courtiers aſſured him from the proverb that it was health for a king, he replied, that the proverb was meant for a young king. After ſome fits he found himſelf ex⯑tremely weakened, and ſent for the prince, whom he exhorted to perſevere in the pro⯑teſtant religion; then preparing with decency and courage to meet his end, he expired, af⯑ter a reign over England of twenty-two years, and in the fifty-ninth year of his age. With regard to foreign negotiations, James neither underſtood nor cultivated them; and perhaps in a kingdom ſo ſituated as England, domeſtic politics are alone ſufficient. His reign was marked with none of the ſplendors of triumph, nor no new conqueſts or acqui⯑ſitions; but the arts were nevertheleſs ſilently and ſucceſsfully going on to improvement. Reaſon was extending her influence, and diſco⯑vering to mankind a thouſand errors in reli⯑gion, in morals, and in government, that had long been reverenced by blind ſubmiſſion. The reformation had produced a ſpirit of liberty, as well as of inveſtigation, among all ranks of mankind, and taught them that no precedents could ſanctify fraud, tyranny, or injuſtice. James taught them by his own example to argue upon the nature of the king's prerogative, and the ex⯑tent [191] of the ſubjects liberty. He firſt began by ſetting up the preſcriptive authority of kings againſt the natural privileges of the people; but when the ſubject was ſubmitted to a con⯑troverſy, it was ſoon ſeen that the monarch's was the weakeſt ſide.

CHAP. XXIX. CHARLES I.

A.D. 1625 FEW princes have aſcended a throne with more apparent advantages than Charles; and none ever encountered more real difficulties. The advantages were ſuch as might flatter even the moſt cautious prince into ſecurity; the difficulties were ſuch as no abilities could ſurmount. He found himſelf, upon coming to the crown, poſſeſſed of a peaceful and flou⯑riſhing [193] kingdom; his right undiſputed by all the world, his power ſtrengthened by an alli⯑ance with one of the moſt potent nations in Europe, his abſolute authority tacitly acknow⯑ledged by one part of his ſubjects, and en⯑forced from the pulpit by the reſt. To add to all this he was loved by his people, whoſe hearts he had gained by his virtues, his humi⯑lity, and his candour.

But on the oppoſite ſide of the picture we are preſented with a very different ſcene. Men had begun to think on the different rights of mankind; and found, that all had an equal claim to the ineſtimable bleſſings of freedom. The ſpirit of liberty was rouſed; and it was reſolved to oppoſe the ancient claims of mo⯑narchs, who uſurped their power in times of ignorance or danger, and who pleaded in ſuc⯑ceeding times their former depredations as preſcriptive privileges. Charles had been taught from his infancy to conſider the royal preroga⯑tive as a ſacred pledge, which it was not in his power to alienate, much leſs his duty to a⯑bridge. His father, who had contributed ſo much to ſink the claims of the crown, had nevertheleſs boldly defended them in his writ⯑ings, and taught his ſon to defend by the ſword what he had only inculcated by the [194] preſs. Charles, though a prince of tolerable underſtanding, had not comprehenſion enough to ſee, that the genius and diſpoſition of his people had received a total change; he re⯑ſolved, therefore, to govern by old maxims and precedents, a people who had lately found out that theſe maxims were eſtabliſhed in times of ignorance and ſlavery.

In the foregoing reigns I have given very little of the parliamentary hiſtory of the times, which would have led me out of the way; but in the preſent it will be fit to point out the tranſactions of every parliament, as they make the principal figure in this remarkable aera, in which we ſee genius and courage united in op⯑poſing injuſtice, ſeconded by cuſtom, and backed by power.

Charles undertook the reins of government with a fixed perſuaſion that his popularity was ſufficient to carry every meaſure. He had been loaded with a treaty for defending the Palati⯑nate in the late reign; and the war declared for that purpoſe was to be carried on with vi⯑gour in this. But war was more eaſily de⯑clared than ſupplies granted. After ſome re⯑luctance the commons voted him two ſubſi⯑dies; a ſum far from being ſufficient to ſup⯑port him in his intended equipment, to aſſiſt [195] his brother-in-law; and to this was added a petition for puniſhing papiſts, and redreſſing the grievances of the nation. Buckingham, who had been the late king's favourite, and who was ſtill more careſſed by the preſent mo⯑narch, did not eſcape their cenſures; ſo that inſtead of granting the ſums requiſite, they employed the time in diſputations and com⯑plaints, till the ſeaſon for proſecuting the in⯑tended campaign was elapſed. Charles, there⯑fore, wearied with their delays, and offended at their refuſal of his demands,A.D. 1625 thought pro⯑per to diſſolve a parliament which he could not bring to reaſon.

To ſupply the want of parliamentary aids, Charles had recourſe to ſome of the ancient methods of extortion, practiſed by ſovereigns when in neceſſitous circumſtances. That kind of tax called a benevolence was ordered to be exacted, and privy-ſeals were iſſued accord⯑ingly. In order to cover the rigour of this ſtep, it was commanded, that none ſhould be aſked for money but ſuch as were able to ſpare it; and he directed letters to different perſons, mentioning the ſums he deſired. With this the people were obliged, though reluctantly, to comply; it was in fact authoriſed by many precedents; but no precedents whatſoever could give a ſanction to injuſtice.

[196]With this money a fleet was equipped a⯑gainſt Spain, carrying ten thouſand men, the command of which army was entruſted to lord Wimbleton, who ſailed directly to Ca⯑diz, and found the bay full of ſhips of great value. But he failed in making himſelf maſ⯑ter of the harbour, while his undiſciplined army landing, inſtead of attacking the town, could not be reſtrained from indulging them⯑ſelves in the wine, which they found in great abundance on ſhore. Further ſtay, therefore, appearing fruitleſs, they were re-imbarked; and the plague attacking the fleet ſoon after⯑wards, they were obliged to abandon all hopes of ſucceſs, and return to England. Loud complaints were made againſt the court, for entruſting ſo important a command to a perſon who was judged ſo unqualified for the under⯑taking.

This ineffectual expedition was a great blow to the court; and to retrieve the glory of the nation, another attempt was to be made, but with a more certain proſpect of ſucceſs. New ſupplies therefore being requiſite, the king was reſolved to obtain them in a more regular and conſtitutional manner than before. Another parliament was accordingly called; and tho' ſome ſteps were taken to exclude the more po⯑pular [197] leaders of the laſt houſe of commons, by nominating them as ſheriffs of counties, yet the preſent parliament ſeemed more refractory than the former. When the king laid before the houſe his neceſſities, and aſked for a ſupply, they voted him only three ſubſidies, which a⯑mounted to about an hundred and ſixty thou⯑ſand pounds; a ſum no way adequate to the importance of the war, or the neceſſities of the ſtate. But even this was not to be grant⯑ed, until the grievances of the ſtate were re⯑dreſſed. Their chief indignation was levelled againſt Buckingham, a miniſter who had no real merit, and the great infelicity of being the king's favourite. Whenever the ſubjects reſolve to attack the royal prerogative, they begin with the favourites of the crown, and wiſe monarchs ſeldom have any. Charles was not poſſeſſed of the art of making a diſtinc⯑tion between friends and miniſters; and who⯑ever was his friend was always truſted with the adminiſtration of his affairs. He loved Buck⯑ingham, and undertook to protect him, al⯑though to defend a perſon ſo obnoxious to the people, was to ſhare his reproach. The com⯑mons undertook to impeach him in the lower houſe, while the earl of Briſtol, who had re⯑turned from his embaſſy in Spain, accuſed him [198] among his peers. The purport of the charge againſt him amounted to little more than that he had engroſſed too much power for himſelf and his relations; that he had neglected to guard the ſeas with the fleet; and that he had applied a plaſter to the late king's ſide, which was ſuppoſed to be poiſonous, and to haſten his end. Theſe frivolous accuſations muſt have ſunk of themſelves, had they not been intemperately oppoſed by the royal authority. The king gave orders to the lord-keeper to command the commons expreſsly in his name not to meddle with his miniſter and ſervant Buckingham. The more to enrage them, he had him elected chancellor of the univerſity of Cambridge, and wrote that body a letter of thanks for their compliance. He aſſured the commons, that if they would not comply with his demands, he would try new councils. But what juſtly enraged them beyond all ſufferance was when two of their members, Sir Dudley Digges and Sir John Elliot, complaining of this partiality in favour of a man odious to the nation, the king ordered both to be com⯑mitted to priſon for ſeditious behaviour. This was an open act of violence, and ſhould have been ſupported, or never attempted.

[199]It was now that the commons juſtly ex⯑claimed that their privileges were infringed, and all freedom of debate deſtroyed. They proteſted, in the moſt ſolemn manner, that neither of their members had ſaid any thing diſreſpectful of the king, and they made pre⯑parations for publiſhing their vindication. The king, whoſe character it was to ſhew a readi⯑neſs to undertake harſh meaſures, but not to ſupport them, releaſed the two members; and this compliance confirmed that obſtinacy in the houſe, which his injuries had contributed to give riſe to. The earl of Arundel, for being guilty of the ſame offence in the houſe of lords, was raſhly impriſoned, and as tamely diſmiſſed by the king. Thus the two houſes having refuſed to anſwer the intentions of the court without previous conditions, the king, rather than give up his favourite, choſe to be without the ſupply, and therefore once more diſſolved the parliament.

The new councils which Charles had men⯑tioned to the parliament, were now to be tried, in order to ſupply his neceſſities. Inſtead of making peace with Spain, and thus trying to abridge his expences, ſince he could not enlarge his income, he reſolved to carry on the war, and to keep up a ſtanding army for this purpoſe. [200] Perhaps alſo he had further views in keeping this army in pay, which was to ſeize upon the liberty of his ſubjects, when he found matters ripe for the execution. But at preſent his forces were new levied, ill paid, and worſe diſ⯑ciplined; ſo that the militia of the country, that would be inſtantly led out againſt him, were far his ſuperiors. In order, therefore, to gain time and money, a commiſſion was openly granted to compound with the catholics, and agree for a diſpenſation of the penal laws a⯑gainſt them. He borrowed a ſum of money from the nobility, whoſe contributions came in but ſlowly. But the greateſt ſtretch of his power was in the levying of ſhip-money. In order to equip a fleet (at leaſt this was the pretence made) each of the maritime towns was required, with the aſſiſtance of the adja⯑cent counties, to arm as many veſſels as were appointed them. The city of London was rated at twenty ſhips. This was the com⯑mencement of a tax, which afterwards, being carried to ſuch violent lengths, created ſuch great diſcontents in the nation. But the ex⯑tortions of the miniſtry did not reſt here. Perſons of birth and rank, who refuſed the loan, were ſummoned before the council; and, upon perſiſting in a refuſal, were put into con⯑finement. [201] Thus we ſee here, as in every ci⯑vil war, ſomething to blame on one ſide and the other. Both ſides guilty of injuſtice, yet either in general actuated by motives of vir⯑tue. The one contending for the inherent liberties of mankind, the other for the pre⯑ſcriptive privileges of the crown; both driven to all the extremes of falſehood, rapine, and injuſtice; and, by a fate attendant on huma⯑nity, permitting their actions to degenerate from the motives which firſt ſet them in motion.

Hitherto the will of the monarch was re⯑luctantly obeyed; moſt of thoſe who refuſed to lend their money, were thrown into priſon, and patiently ſubmitted to confinement, or applied by petition to the king for their re⯑leaſe. Five perſons alone undertook to de⯑fend the cauſe of the public; and, at the ha⯑zard of their whole fortunes, were reſolved to try whether the king legally had a right to confine their perſons without an infringement of any law. The names of theſe patriots were Sir Thomas Darnel, Sir John Corbet, Sir Wal⯑ter Earl, Sir John Haveningham, and Sir Ed⯑ward Hambden. Their cauſe was brought to a ſolemn trial before the King's Bench, and the whole kingdom was attentive to the reſult of ſo important a trial.

[202]By the debates on this ſubject it appeared, that perſonal liberty had been ſecured by no leſs than ſix different ſtatutes, and by an arti⯑cle of the Great Charter itſelf. That in times of turbulence and ſedition, the princes infring⯑ed upon thoſe laws; and of this alſo many ex⯑amples were produced. The difficulty then lay to determine when ſuch violent meaſures were expedient; but of that the court pre⯑tended to be the ſupreme judge. As it was legal, therefore, that theſe five gentlemen ſhould plead the ſtatute, by which they might demand bail, ſo it was expedient in the court to remand them to priſon, without determin⯑ing on the neceſſity of taking bail for the pre⯑ſent. This was a cruel evaſion of juſtice; and, in fact, ſatisfied neither the court nor the country party. The court inſiſted that no bail could be taken; the country exclaimed, that the priſoners ſhould be ſet free.

The king being thus embroiled with his parliament, his people, and ſome of the moſt powerful foreign ſtates, it was not without amazement that all men ſaw him enter into a war with France, a kingdom with which he had but lately formed the moſt natural al⯑liance. This monarch, among the foibles of a good diſpoſition, relied too much on the [203] ſincerity of his ſervants; and, among others, permitted Buckingham to lead him as he thought proper. All hiſtorians agree that this miniſter had conceived hopes of gaining the heart of the queen of France, while, at the ſame time, Cardinal Richelieu aſpired to the ſame honour. The rivalry of theſe favourites produced an inveterate enmity between them; and from a private quarrel, they reſolved to involve their reſpective nations in the diſpute. However this be, war was declared againſt France; and Charles was taught to hope, that hoſtilities with that kingdom would be the ſureſt means of producing unanimity at home.

But fortune ſeemed to counteract all this monarch's attempts. A fleet was ſent out, under the command of Buckingham, to re⯑lieve Rochelle, a maritime town in France, that had long enjoyed its privileges indepen⯑dent of the French king; but that had for ſome years embraced the reformed religion, and now was beſieged with a formidable army. This expedition was as unfortunate as that to the coaſts of Spain. The duke's meaſures were ſo ill concerted, that the inhabitants of the city ſhut their gates, and refuſed to admit allies, of whoſe coming they were not pre⯑viouſly informed. Inſtead of attacking the [204] iſland of Oleron, which was fertile and de⯑fenceleſs, he bent his courſe to the Iſle of Rhé, which was garriſoned, and well fortified. He attempted there to ſtarve out the garriſon of St Martin's caſtle, which was copiouſly ſup⯑plied with proviſions by ſea. By that time the French had landed their forces privately at another part of the iſland; ſo that Bucking⯑ham was at laſt obliged to retreat, but with ſuch precipitation, that two thirds of his ar⯑my were cut in pieces before he could reim⯑bark, though he was the laſt man of the whole army that quitted the ſhore. This proof of his perſonal courage, however, was but a ſmall ſubject of conſolation for the diſ⯑grace which his country had ſuſtained, and his own perſon would have been the laſt they would have regretted.

The bad ſucceſs of this expedition ſerved to render the duke ſtill more obnoxious, and the king more needy. He therefore reſolved to call a third parliament; for money was to be had at any rate. In his firſt ſpeech, he told them they were convoked on purpoſe to grant the ſupplies; and that if they ſhould neglect to contribute what was neceſſary for the ſupport of the ſtate, he would, in diſcharge of his conſcience, uſe thoſe means that God [205] had put into his hands, for ſaving that, which the folly of certain perſons would otherwiſe endanger. But the king did not find his commons intimidated by his threats, nor by thoſe of the lord-keeper, who commented upon what he ſaid. They boldly inveighed againſt his late arbitrary meaſures, forced loans, benevolences, taxes without conſent of parliament, arbitrary impriſonments, bilet⯑ting ſoldiers, martial laws; theſe were the grievances complained of, and againſt theſe they inſiſted that an eternal remedy ſhould be provided. An immunity from theſe vexations they alledged to be the inherent right of the ſub⯑ject; and their new demand they reſolved to call a petition of right, as implying privileges they had already been poſſeſſed of.A.D. 1628 Nothing could be more juſt than the enacting the contents of this petition of right into a law. The Great Charter, and the old ſtatutes, were ſufficiently clear in favour of liberty; but as all the kings of England had ever, in caſes of neceſſity or expediency, been accuſtomed at intervals to elude them; and as Charles, in a complication of inſtances, had lately violated them, it was but requiſite to enact a new law, which might not be eluded or violated by any authority, or any former precedent to the contrary.

[206]But though this was an equitable propoſal, and though the ready compliance with it might have prevented many of the diſorders that were about to enſue, Charles was taught to conſider it as the moſt violent encroachment on his prerogative, and uſed at firſt every me⯑thod to obruct its progreſs. When he found that nothing but his aſſent would ſatisfy the houſe, he gave it; but at firſt in ſuch an am⯑biguous manner as left him ſtill in poſſeſſion of his former power. At length, however, to avoid their indignation, and ſtill more to ſcreen his favourite Buckingham, he thought proper to give them full ſatisfaction. He came therefore to the houſe of peers, and pro⯑nouncing the uſual form of words ‘"Soit come il e deſire; Let it be law as it is deſired,"’ he gave the petition of right all the ſanction that was neceſſary to paſs it into a law. The ac⯑clamations with which the houſe reſounded ſufficiently teſtified the joy of the people; and a bill for five ſubſidies, which paſſed ſoon af⯑ter, was the ſtrongeſt mark of their gratitude.

But the commons finding their perſeverance crowned with ſucceſs in this inſtance, were reſolved to carry their ſcrutiny into every part of government, which they conſidered as de⯑fective. The leaders of the houſe of commons [207] at this time were very different from thoſe il⯑literate barbarians which a century or two before came up to the capital, not to grant ſupplies, but to conſider where ſupplies were to be procured; not to debate as legiſlators, but to receive commands as inferiors. The men of whom the preſent parliaments were compoſ⯑ed, were perſons of great knowlege and ex⯑tenſive learning; of undaunted courage, and inflexible perſeverance.

A little before the meeting of this parlia⯑ment, a commiſſion had been granted to thirty-three of the principal officers of ſtate, empowering them to meet, and concert among themſelves the methods of levying money by impoſitions, or otherwiſe. The commons applied for cancelling that commiſſion; and indeed the late ſtatute of the petition of rights ſeemed to render ſuch a commiſſion entirely unneceſſary. They objected to another com⯑miſſion for raiſing money for the introduction of a thouſand German horſe, which, with juſt reaſon, they feared might be turned againſt the liberties of the people. They reſumed alſo their cenſure of Buckingham, whom they reſolved implacably to purſue. They alſo openly aſſerted, that a method of levying mo⯑ney uſed by the king called tonnage and pound⯑age, [208] without the conſent of parliament, was a palpable violation of all the liberties of the people. All theſe grievances were preparing to be drawn up in a remonſtrance to his ma⯑jeſty, when the king, hearing of their inten⯑tions, came ſuddenly to the houſe, and ended the ſeſſion by a prorogation.

But they were not ſo eaſily to be intimidated in their ſchemes for the liberty of the people. They urged their claims with ſtill more force on their next ſitting; and the duty of tonnage and poundage was diſcuſſed with greater pre⯑ciſion than before. This tax upon merchan⯑diſe was a duty of very early inſtitution, and had been conferred on Henry the fifth, and all ſucceeding princes during life, in order to enable them to maintain a naval force for the protection of the kingdom. But the parlia⯑ment had uſually granted it as of their ſpecial favour in the beginning of each reign, except to Henry the eighth, who had it not conferred on him by parliament, till the ſixth year of his ſitting on the throne. Although he had continued to receive it from the beginning, yet he thought it neceſſary to have the ſanction of parliament to enſure it to him, which cer⯑tainly implied that it was not an inherent pri⯑vilege of the crown. Upon this argument, [209] the commons founded their objections to the levying it in the preſent reign; it was a tax they had not yet granted, and it had been granted by them in every preceding reign. They refuſed, therefore, to grant it now; and inſiſted the king could not levy it without their permiſſion.

This bred a long conteſt, as may be ſup⯑poſed, between the commons and the crown. The officers of the cuſtom-houſe were ſum⯑moned before the commons, to give an ac⯑count by what authority they ſeized the goods of the merchants, who had refuſed to pay theſe duties. The barons of the Exchequer were queſtioned concerning their decrees on that head; the ſheriff of London was committed to the Tower for his activity in ſupporting the cuſtom-houſe officers. Theſe were bold meaſures; but the commons went ſtill farther, by a reſolution to examine into religious griev⯑ances, and a new ſpirit of intolerance began to appear. The king, therefore,A.D. 1629 reſolved to diſſolve a parliament, which he found himſelf unable to manage; and Sir John Finch, the ſpeaker, juſt as the queſtion concerning ton⯑nage and poundage was going to be put, roſe up, and informed the houſe that he had a command from the king to adjourn.

[210]Nothing could exceed the conſternation and indignation of the commons upon this information. Juſt at a time they were carry⯑ing their moſt favourite points to a bearing, to be thus adjourned, and the parliament diſ⯑ſolved, rendered them furious. The houſe was in an uproar; the ſpeaker was puſhed back into his chair, and forcibly held in it by Hollis and Valentine, till a ſhort remonſtrance was framed, and paſſed by acclamation rather than vote. In this haſty production, Papiſts and Arminians were declared capital enemies to the ſtate. Tonnage and poundage was condemned as contrary to law; and not only thoſe who raiſed that duty, but thoſe who paid it, were conſidered as guilty of capital crimes.

In conſequence of this violent procedure, Sir Miles Hobart, Sir Peter Heyman, Selden, Coriton, Long, and Strode, were, by the king's order, committed to priſon, under pre⯑tence of ſedition. But the ſame temerity that impelled Charles to impriſon them, induced him to grant them a releaſe. Sir John Elliot, Hollis, and Valentine, were ſummoned before the King's Bench; but they refuſing to appear before an inferior tribunal, for faults com⯑mitted in a ſuperior, they were condemned to be impriſoned during the king's pleaſure, to [211] pay a fine, the two former of a thouſand pounds each, and the latter of five hundred, and to find ſureties for their good behaviour. The members triumphed in their ſufferings, while they had the whole kingdom as ſpectators and applauders of their fortitude.

In the mean time, while the king was thus diſtreſſed by the obſtinacy of the commons, he felt a much ſeverer blow in the death of his favourite, the duke of Buckingham, who fell a ſacrifice to his unpopularity. It had been reſolved once more to undertake the raiſ⯑ing of the ſiege of Rochelle; and the earl of Denbigh, brother-in-law to Buckingham, was ſent thither, but returned without effecting any thing. In order to repair this diſgrace, the duke of Buckingham went in perſon to Portſ⯑mouth to hurry on another expedition, and to puniſh ſuch as had endeavoured to defraud the crown of the legal aſſeſſments. In the general diſcontent that prevailed againſt this nobleman, it was daily expected that ſome ſe⯑vere meaſures would be reſolved on; and he was ſtigmatized as the tyrant and the betrayer of his country. There was one Felton, who caught the general contagion; an Iriſhman of a good family, who had ſerved under the duke as lieutenant, but had reſigned, on being [212] refuſed his rank on the death of his captain, who had been killed at the Iſle of Rhé. This man was naturally melancholy, courageous, and enthuſiaſtic; he felt for his country, as if labouring under a calamity which he thought it in the power of his ſingle arm to remove. He therefore reſolved to kill the duke, and thus revenge his own private inju⯑ries, while he did ſervice alſo to God and man. Animated in this mannner with gloomy zeal, and miſtaken patriotiſm, he travelled down to Portſmouth alone, and entered the town while the duke was ſurrounded by his levee, and giving out the neceſſary orders for embarka⯑tion. He was at that time engaged in conver⯑ſation with one Soubize, and other French gen⯑tlemen; and a difference of ſentiments having ariſen in the conference, it was attended with all theſe violent geſticulations with which foreigners generally enforce their meaning. The converſation being finiſhed, the duke drew towards the door; and while he was ſpeaking to one of his colonels, Felton ſtruck him over that officer's ſhoulder in the breaſt with his knife. The duke had only time to ſay, ‘"The villain has killed me,"’ when he fell at the colonel's feet, and inſtantly expired. No one had ſeen the blow, nor the perſon [213] who gave it; but in the confuſion it was ge⯑nerally ſuppoſed that he was murdered by one of the Frenchmen, who appeared ſo violent in their motions but a little before. They were accordingly ſecured, as for certain puniſh⯑ment; but in the mean time an hat was picked up, on the inſide of which was ſewed a paper, containing four or five lines of the remon⯑ſtrance of the commons againſt the duke; and under theſe lines a ſhort ejaculation, deſiring aid in the attempt. It was now concluded that this hat muſt belong to the aſſaſſin; and while they were employed in conjectures whoſe it ſhould be, a man without an hat was ſeen walking very compoſedly before the door, and was heard to cry out, I am he. He diſdained denying a murder in which he gloried; and averred, that he looked upon the duke as an enemy to his country, and as ſuch deſerving to ſuffer. When aſked at whoſe inſtigation he had performed that horrid deed? he anſwer⯑ed, that they need not trouble themſelves in that enquiry; that his conſcience was his only prompter, and that no man on earth could diſpoſe him to act againſt its dictates. He ſuffered with the ſame degree of conſtancy to the laſt; nor were there many wanting who admired not only his fortitude, but the action for which he ſuffered.

[214]The king had always the higheſt regard for Buckingham, and was extremely mortified at his death; he began to perceive that the tide of popularity was entirely turned from him, and that the houſe of commons only ſerved to encreaſe the general diſcontent. He felt therefore a diſguſt againſt parliaments; and he was reſolved not to call any more, till he ſhould ſee greater indications of a compli⯑ant diſpoſition in the nation. Having loſt his favourite Buckingham, he became more his own miniſter, and never afterwards impoſ⯑ed ſuch unlimited confidence in any other. But though the miniſter of the crown was changed, the meaſures ſtill continued the ſame; the ſame diſregard to the petitions of the people, the ſame deſire of extending and ſupporting the prerogative, the ſame temerity, and the ſame weakneſs of condeſcenſion.

His firſt meaſure, however, now being left without a miniſter and a parliament, was a prudent one.A.D. 1629 He made peace with the two crowns, againſt whom he had hitherto waged war, which had been entered upon without neceſſity, and conducted without glory. Be⯑ing freed from theſe embarraſſments, he bent his whole attention to the management of the internal policy of the kingdom, and took two [215] men as his aſſociates in this taſk, who ſtill acted an under-part to himſelf. Theſe were Sir Thomas Wentworth, afterwards created earl of Strafford; and Laud, afterwards arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury.

Strafford, by his eminent talents and abili⯑ties, merited all the confidence which the king repoſed in him. His character was ſtately and auſtere; more fitted to procure eſteem than love; his fidelity to the king was unſha⯑ken; but in ſerving the intereſts of the crown, he did not conſider himſelf as an agent alſo for benefit of the people. As he now em⯑ployed all his counſels to ſupport the preroga⯑tive, which he formerly had endeavoured to diminiſh, his actions are liable to the imputation of ſelf-intereſt and ambition, but his good character in private life made up for that ſeeming duplicity of public conduct.

Laud was in the church ſomewhat reſem⯑bling Strafford in the ſtate, rigid, ſevere, punctual, and induſtrious. His zeal was un⯑relenting in the cauſe of religion, and the forms as eſtabliſhed in the reign of queen Elizabeth ſeemed eſſentially connected with it. His deſire to keep theſe on their former footing was imprudent and ſevere; but it muſt be confeſſed that the furious oppoſition he met with was ſufficient to excite his reſentment.

[216]Since the times of Elizabeth, a new reli⯑gious ſect had been gaining ground in Eng⯑land; which, from the ſuppoſed greater purity of their manners, were called Puritans. Of all other ſects, this was the moſt dangerous to monarchy; and the tenets of it more calcu⯑lated to ſupport that imagined equality which obtains in a ſtate of nature. The partizans of this religion, being generally men of warm, obſtinate tempers, puſhed their ſentiments into a total oppoſition to thoſe of Rome; and in the countries where their opinions had taken place, not only a religious, but a political free⯑dom began to be eſtabliſhed. All enthuſiaſts, indulging themſelves in rapturous flights, ex⯑taſies, viſions, and inſpirations, have a natural averſion to all ceremonies, rites, or forms, which are but external means of ſupplying that devotion, which they want no prompter but their hearts to inſpire. The ſame bold and daring ſpirit which accompanied them in their addreſſes to the divinity, appeared in their political ſpeculations; and the princi⯑ples of civil liberty, which had hitherto been almoſt totally unknown in Europe, began to ſhoot forth in this ungracious ſoil. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if kings and biſhops were willing to ſuppreſs the growth of [217] opinions ſo unfavourable to their authority; and that Laud, who of all men alive, was the moſt attached to ceremony and ſhew, ſhould treat with rigour, men who braved him into ſeverity. The truth is, that in the hiſtories of the times, we find the great cauſe of the preſent conteſt between the king and his people to ariſe, not from civil, but religious motives; not from a deſire on the one hand of extending power, and on the other of pro⯑moting liberty; but merely from the ardour of the king in ſupporting biſhops, ſurplices, and other ceremonies of the church, and the fury of the puritans in aboliſhing thoſe diſtinc⯑tions, as remnants of popiſh idolatry. Theſe diſtinctions in religion, at this day, are regard⯑ed with more unconcern; and, therefore, we are more apt to impute the diſorders of thoſe times, rather to civil motives of eſtabliſh⯑ing liberty, which, in reality, made but a very ſubordinate conſideration.

The humour of the nation ran, at that time, into the extreme oppoſite of ſuperſtition; and thoſe ancient ceremonies, to which men had been accuſtomed in England, ſince the com⯑mencement of the Reformation, were in general conſidered as impious and idolatrous. It was, therefore, the moſt impolitic time in the world [218] for Laud to think of introducing new ceremo⯑nies and obſervances, which could not fail of being treated with utter deteſtation. Never⯑theleſs he went on boldly with his injunctions for the obſervance of thoſe rites, which, in them⯑ſelves, were of no moment; and, therefore, were as unneceſſary to be urged by him, as ri⯑diculous in being oppoſed by the puritans.

Orders were given, and rigorouſly inſiſted on, that the communion table ſhould be re⯑moved from the middle of the church, where it hitherto ſtood ſince the Reformation, to the Eaſt end; where it ſhould be railed in, and denominated the altar. The kneeling at the altar, and the uſing of copes, an embroidered veſtment uſed in popiſh countries, were intro⯑duced to the great diſcontent of the people. Some pictures were admitted again into churches by his command. All ſuch clergy as neglected to obſerve every ceremony, were ſuſpended, and deprived by the high commiſ⯑ſion court. And, to mortify the puritans ſtill more, orders were iſſued from the council, for⯑bidding any controverſy, either from the pul⯑pit or the preſs, on the points in diſpute be⯑tween them and their opponents, concerning free will and predeſtination. At the ſame time that he obtained the king's protection for [219] carrying on theſe meaſures, he took care to repay the monarch, by magnifying on every occaſion the regal authority; and treating all pretenſions to independence, as a puritanical innovation. The king's divine, hereditary, and indefeaſible right, was the theme of every ſermon; and thoſe who attempted to queſtion ſuch doctrines, were conſidered as making an attack upon religion itſelf. The king, who had now taken a reſolution of calling no more parliaments, and which reſolution he adhered to for the ſpace of eleven years after, was very well ſatisfied with theſe doctrines; as they were the only means of facilitating his meaſures of government, and procuring thoſe pecuniary ſupplies which he had no legal means of ob⯑taining.

While Laud, therefore, during this long in⯑terval, ruled the church, the king and Straf⯑ford undertook to manage the temporal in⯑tereſts of the nation. A proclamation was iſſued, in which Charles declared, ‘"That whereas, for ſeveral ill ends, the calling again of a parliament is divulged; yet the late abuſes, having for the preſent, unwill⯑ingly driven him out of that courſe; he will account it preſumption for any one to pre⯑ſcribe to him any time for calling that aſ⯑ſembly."’ [220] This was generally conſtrued as a declaration, that during that reign no more parliaments would be ſummoned; and every meaſure of the king but too well ſerved to confirm the ſuſpicion.

It was now that the people, without a de⯑fender, or hopes of redreſs, ſaw themſelves at the mercy of a monarch, who, though good and gentle in his own nature, might at any time change in his conduct. They now ſaw the conſtitution at one blow wholly overthrown, and one branch of the legiſlature aſſuming thoſe rights, which had been divided between three. Tonnage and poundage were conti⯑nued to be levied by royal authority alone: cuſtom-houſe officers received orders from the council to enter any houſe whatever, in ſearch of ſuſpected goods: compoſitions were openly made with papiſts; and their religion was become a regular part of the revenue. The high commiſſion court of Star-chamber exerciſed its power, independent of any law, upon ſeveral bold innovators in liberty, who only gloried in their ſufferings, and contri⯑buted to render government odious and con⯑temptible. Sir David Foulis was fined by this court five thouſand pounds, merely for diſſuad⯑ing a friend from compounding with the com⯑miſſioners; [221] who called upon him to take up the title of knighthood. Prynne, a barriſter of Lincoln's inn, had written an enormous quar⯑to of a thouſand pages, which was entitled Hiſtriomaſtix, or a Scourge for the Stage. In this, beſide much paltry declamation againſt the ſtage, he took occaſion to blame the ce⯑remonies and late innovations of the church; and this was an offence that Laud was not like⯑ly to forgive. He was condemned by the Star-chamber to be degraded from the bar; to ſtand in the pillory, in two places, Weſtminſter and Cheapſide; to loſe his ears, one at each place; to pay five thouſand pounds to the king, and to be impriſoned during life. This ſentence, which was equally cruel and unjuſt, was rigo⯑rouſly executed; and Prynne gloried in his ſufferings. Burton, a divine, and Baſtwick, a phyſician, were tried before this tribunal for ſchiſmatical libels, in which they attacked, with great ſeverity and intemperate zeal, the ceremonies of the church of England. They were condemned to the ſame puniſhment that had been inflicted upon Prynne; and Prynne himſelf was alſo tried for a new offence, for which he was fined five thouſand pounds more, and ſentenced to loſe the reſt of his ears. The anſwers which theſe bold demagogues gave [222] into court, were ſo full of contumacy and in⯑vective, that no lawyer could be prevailed with to ſign them. The rigours, however, which they underwent, being ſo unworthy men of their profeſſion, gave general offence; and the patience, or rather alacrity with which they ſuffered, encreaſed ſtill further the public indignation.

The puritans, reſtrained in England, ſhipped themſelves off for America, where they laid the foundations of a new government, agree⯑able to their ſyſtems of political freedom. But the government, unwilling that the nation ſhould be deprived of its uſeful members, or dreading the unpopularity of theſe migrations, was prevailed on to iſſue a proclamation, de⯑barring thoſe devotees acceſs, even into thoſe inhoſpitable regions. Eight ſhips, lying in the Thames, and ready to ſail, were detained by order of counſel; and in theſe were embarked Sir Arthur Hazlerig, John Hamden, and Oli⯑ver Cromwell, who had reſolved for ever to abandon their native country. This may ſtand as a proof of the ſincerity theſe men afterwards teſtified in the cauſe for which they fought; and is a clear proof that hypocriſy, with which they were charged, in the beginning at leaſt, was not among the motives of their oppoſition.

[223]Every year, every month, every day, gave freſh inſtances, during this long intermiſſion of parliaments, of the reſolutions of the court to throw them off for ever: but the levying of ſhip-money, as it was called, being a general burthen, was univerſally complained of as a national grievance. This was a tax which had, in former reigns, been levied without the con⯑ſent of parliament; but then the exigency of the ſtate demanded ſuch a ſupply. But as the neceſſity at preſent was not ſo apparent, and might excite murmurs among the people, a queſtion was propoſed by the king to the judges, whether, in a caſe of neceſſity, for the defence of the kingdom, he might not impoſe this tax? and whether he was not ſole judge of this neceſſity? To this the judges replied that he might; and that he was ſole judge of the neceſſity. In this univerſal appearance of obe⯑dience to the king's injunctions, John Ham⯑den, a gentleman of fortune in Buckingham⯑ſhire, refuſed to comply with the tax, and re⯑ſolved to bring it to a legal determination. He had been rated at twenty-ſhillings for his eſtate, which he refuſed to pay; and the caſe was argued twelve days in the Exchequer chamber, before all the judges of England. The nation regarded, with the utmoſt anxiety, [224] the reſult of a trial that was to fix the limits of the king's power; but after the former opi⯑nion of the judges on this ſubject, the event might have been eaſily foreſeen. All the judges, four only excepted, gave ſentence in favour of the crown; while Hamden, who loſt his cauſe, was more than ſufficiently recompenſed by the applauſes of the people. Nothing now was heard in every company but murmurs againſt government, and encomiums on him who had withſtood its uſurpations. It was now alleged, that tyranny was confirmed into ſyſtem; and that there was no redreſs except in ſullen patience, or contented ſlavery. Ec⯑cleſiaſtical tyranny was thought to give aid to political injuſtice; and all the rights of the nation, tranſmitted through ſo many ages, ſe⯑cured by ſo many laws, and purchaſed by the blood of ſo many heroes, now lay proſtrate in undiſtinguiſhed neglect. In this univerſal ſtate of deſpondence, or clamour, an accident gave the people of England an opportunity of vin⯑dicating their ancient privileges; and even of acquiring greater than was compatible with the ſubjects' happineſs to be poſſeſſed of.

The Scotch had, during the reign of James the firſt, ſhewed a ſtrong attachment to puri⯑tanical principles; and though they ſtill con⯑tinued [225] to allow of biſhops; yet they were re⯑duced to poverty, and treated with contempt. James, indeed, had ſeen the low eſtate of epiſ⯑copacy in that kingdom, and had endeavour⯑ed to exalt and eſtabliſh it once more; but he died in the midſt of his endeavours. It was the fate of Charles, for ever to aim at projects which were at once impracticable, and unne⯑ceſſary; he reſolved, therefore, to complete what his father had begun. This ill-judged attempt ſerved to alienate the affections of his Scotch ſubjects, as much as his encroachments on liberty had rendered him unpopular in Eng⯑land. The flame of ſedition in Scotland, paſſ⯑ed from city to city, while the puritans formed a Covenant, to ſupport and defend their opi⯑nions; and reſolved to eſtabliſh their doctrines, or overturn the ſtate. On the other hand, the court were determined to eſtabliſh the liturgy of the church of England; and both ſides be⯑ing obſtinate in opinion, thoſe ſanguinary mea⯑ſures were ſoon begun in Scotland, which had hitherto been only talked of among the Eng⯑liſh.

The diſcontent and oppoſition which the king met with in maintaining epiſcopacy among his Engliſh ſubjects might, one would think, hinder him from attempting to intro⯑duce [226] it among thoſe of Scotland; but ſuch was his ardour, that he was reſolved to have it eſtabliſhed in every part of his dominions. Having publiſhed an order for reading the liturgy in the principal church in Edinburgh, the people received it with clamours and im⯑precations. The court-party, indeed, with great juſtice, blamed their obſtinacy, as the innovations were but trifling; but the people might have retorted with ſtill greater force the folly of their thus earneſtly attempting the eſtabliſhment of trifles. The ſeditious diſpoſi⯑tion in that kingdom, which had hitherto been kept within bounds, was now too furious for reſtraint, and the inſurrection became general over all the country.

Yet ſtill the king could not think of deſiſt⯑ing from his deſign; and ſo prepoſſeſſed was he in favour of royal right, that he thought the very name of king, when forcibly urged, would induce them to return to their duty. But he was ſoon undeceived; the puritans of Scotland were republicans in principle, as well as thoſe in England; and they only wiſhed to ſee the biſhops firſt humbled, in order to make a more ſucceſsful attack upon unguarded monarchy. Charles, therefore, finding them in arms, and that they inſiſted on diſplacing the [227] biſhops, conſidered their demands as an open declaration of war; and accordingly ſummon⯑ed ſuch of the nobility of England as held lands of the crown, to furniſh him with a proper number of forces to oppoſe them. To add to theſe ſupplies, he demanded a vo⯑luntary contribution from the clergy, as he was, in fact, fighting their cauſe; and by means of his queen, the catholics were alſo preſſed for their aſſiſtance. By theſe methods he ſoon found himſelf at the head of an un⯑diſciplined and reluctant army, amounting to about twenty thouſand men, and commanded by generals leſs willing to fight than to nego⯑ciate. His ſuperiority in numbers, however, gave him the manifeſt advantage over his re⯑bellious ſubjects, who were no way ſlow in marching to give him battle. But Charles, who inherited the peaceable diſpoſition of his father, was unwilling to come to extremities, although a blow then ſtruck with vigour might have prevented many of his ſucceeding misfortunes. Inſtead of fighting with his op⯑ponents, he entered upon a treaty with them; ſo that a ſuſpenſion of arms was ſoon agreed upon, and a treaty of peace concluded, which neither ſide intended to obſerve; and then both parties agreed to diſband their forces. This [228] ſtep of diſbanding the army was a fatal mea⯑ſure to Charles, as he could not levy a new army without great labour and expence; while the Scotch inſurgents, who were all volunteers in the ſervice, could be muſtered again at plea⯑ſure. Of this the heads of the malcontents ſeemed ſenſible; for they lengthened out the negotiations with affected difficulties, and threw in obſtructions, in proportion as they were confident of their own ſuperiority. At length, after much altercation, and many trea⯑ties ſigned and broken, both parties once more had recourſe to arms, and nothing but blood could ſatiate the contenders.

War being thus reſolved on, the king took every method as before for raiſing money to ſupport it. Ship-money was levied as uſual; ſome other arbitrary taxes were exacted from the reluctant people with great ſeverity; but one method of raiſing the ſupplies reflects im⯑mortal honour on thoſe who contributed. The counſellors and ſervants of the crown lent the king whatever ſums they could ſpare, and diſtreſſed their private fortunes to gratify their ſovereign. Theſe were the reſources of the crown to prepare an army; but they were far from being ſufficient; and there now remained only one method more, the long-neglected method of a parliamentary ſupply.

[229]It was now above eleven years ſince the king had called a parliament.A.D. 1640 The fierce and ungovernable ſpirit of the laſt had taught him to hate and to fear ſuch an aſſembly; but all reſources being exhauſted, and great debts contracted, he was obliged to call another par⯑liament, from which he had no great reaſon to expect any favour. The many illegal, and the numerous imprudent ſteps of the crown, the hardſhips which ſeveral perſons had ſuffer⯑ed, and their conſtancy in undergoing puniſh⯑ment, had as much alienated the affections of the king's Engliſh as of his Scotch ſubjects. Inſtead of ſupplies the king was harraſſed with murmurs and complaints. The zealous in religion were pleaſed with the diſtreſſes of the crown, in its attempts againſt their bre⯑thren in opinion; and the real friends to the liberties of mankind ſaw, with their uſual penetration, that the time was approaching when the royal authority muſt fall into a to⯑tal dependence on popular aſſemblies, and when public freedom muſt acquire a full aſcendant.

The Houſe of commons, therefore, could not be induced to treat the Scotch, who were of the ſame principles with themſelves, and contending againſt the ſame ceremonies, as ene⯑mies [230] to the ſtate. They regarded them as friends and brothers, who firſt roſe to teach them a duty it was incumbent on all virtuous minds to imitate. The king, therefore, could reap no other fruits from this aſſembly than murmurings and complaints. Every method he had taken to ſupply himſelf with money was declared an abuſe, and a breach of the conſtitution. Tonnage and poundage, ſhip-money, the ſale of monopolies, the billeting ſoldiers upon refractory citizens, were all voted as ſtretches of arbitrary power. The king finding no hopes of redreſs from the commons, had recourſe to the houſe of peers; but this was equally ineffectual with the former ap⯑plication. The king, therefore, finding no hopes of a compliance with his requeſt, but recrimination inſtead of redreſs, once more diſ⯑ſolved the parliament, to try more feaſible methods of removing his neceſſities.

The king having now made enemies of his Scotch ſubjects, by controlling them in their mode of worſhip, and of the commons by diſſolving them, it remained to exaſperate the city of London againſt him by ſome new im⯑prudence. Upon their refuſing to lend him money to carry on the Scotch war, he ſued the citizens in the Star-chamber for ſome lands [231] in Ireland, and made them pay a conſiderable fine. He continued alſo to exact all the taxes againſt which every former parliament had re⯑monſtrated; but all were inſufficient. A loan of forty thouſand pounds was extorted from the Spaniſh merchants, who had bullion in the Tower, expoſed to the attempts of the king. Coat and conduct money for the ſoldiers was levied on the counties; an ancient practice, but ſuppoſed to be aboliſhed by the petition of right. All the pepper was bought from the Eaſt India company upon truſt, and ſold at a great diſcount for ready money. A ſcheme was propoſed for coining two or three hundred thouſand pounds of baſe money; and yet all theſe methods were far from being effectual. The Scotch, therefore, ſenſible of the extre⯑mities to which he was reduced, led on an army of twenty thouſand men as far as New-caſtle upon Tyne, to lay their grievances be⯑fore their ſovereign, as they were pleaſed to term their rebellion. One of the moſt diſ⯑guſting ſtrokes in the puritanical character of the times, was this gentle language and hum⯑ble cant, in the midſt of treaſon; and their flattery to their prince, while they were at⯑tempting to dethrone and deſtroy him.

To theſe troops, inſpired by religion, fluſhed with ſome ſlight victories obtained over ſtrag⯑gling [232] parties of the royaliſts, and encouraged by the Engliſh themſelves, among whom they continued, the king was able to oppoſe only a ſmaller force, new levied, undiſciplined, ſeditious, and ill paid. Being therefore in deſpair of ſtemming the torrent, he at laſt yielded to it. He firſt ſummoned a great council of peers to York; and, as he foreſaw that they would adviſe him to call a parlia⯑ment, he told them in his firſt ſpeech that he had already taken that reſolution. Having thus prepared for his misfortunes, he a ſhort time after called that long parliament, which never diſcontinued ſitting till they finally ac⯑compliſhed his ruin.

CHAP. XXX. CHARLES I. (Continued.)

THE ardent expectations of men with re⯑gard to a parliament at ſuch a critical juncture, and during ſuch general diſcontents, might na⯑turally engage the attendance of the members on their duty. The houſe of commons was never, from its firſt inſtitution, obſerved to be ſo numerous, or the aſſiduity of its members greater. Without any interval, therefore, they entered upon buſineſs; and by unani⯑mous conſent they ſtruck a blow that might be regarded as deciſive. Inſtead of granting the demanded ſubſidies, they impeached the earl of Strafford, the king's firſt miniſter, and had him arraigned before the houſe of peers for high treaſon. Pym, a tedious, but ſenſi⯑ble ſpeaker, who had firſt opened the accuſa⯑tion againſt him in the houſe of commons, was ſent up to defend it at the bar of the houſe of lords; and moſt of the houſe accompanied their member on ſo agreeable an errand.

To beſtow the greateſt ſolemnity on this im⯑portant trial, ſcaffolds were erected in Weſt⯑minſter Hall, where both houſes ſat, the one as judges, the other as accuſers. Beſide the [234] chair of ſtate, a cloſe gallery was prepared for the king and queen, who attended during the whole trial. The articles of impeachment againſt him were twenty-eight in number, the ſubſtance of which was, that he had attempted to extend the king's authority at home, and had been guilty of ſeveral exactions in Ireland. But though four months were employed by the managers in framing the accuſation, yet there appears very little juſt cauſe of blame in him, ſince the ſtretches of the king's power were made before he came into authority. How⯑ever, the managers for the houſe of commons pleaded againſt him with vehemence ſtronger than their reaſons, and ſummed up their argu⯑ments, by inſiſting, that though each article taken ſeparately did not amount to a proof, yet the whole taken together might be fairly concluded to carry conviction. This is a method of arguing frequently uſed in the Engliſh courts of juſtice even at this day: and perhaps none can be more erroneous; for almoſt every falſe⯑hood may be found to have a multiplicity of weak reaſons to ſupport it. In this tumult of aggravation and clamour, the earl himſelf, whoſe parts and wiſdom had been long re⯑ſpectable, ſtood unmoved and undaunted. He defended his cauſe with all the preſence of [235] mind, judgment, and ſagacity, that could be expected from innocence and ability. His children were placed beſide him as he was thus defending his life, and the cauſe of his maſter. After he had in a long and eloquent ſpeech, delivered without premeditation, con⯑futed all the accuſations of his enemies; af⯑ter he had ſhewn that during his government in Ireland, he had introduced the arts of peace among the ſavage part of that people; after he had declared, that though his meaſures in England were harſh, he ſhewed the neceſſity by which he was driven into them, ſince his coming over; after he had clearly refuted the argument upon the accumulative force of his guilt, he thus drew to a concluſion. ‘"But, my lords, I have troubled you too long; longer than I ſhould have done, but for the ſake of theſe dear pledges, which a ſaint in heaven has left me."’ —Upon this he pauſed, dropped a tear, looked upon his children, and proceeded.— ‘"What I forfeit for myſelf is a trifle; that my indiſcretions ſhould reach my poſterity, wounds me to the heart.— Pardon my infirmity.—Something I ſhould have added, but am not able; therefore let it paſs. And now, my lords, for myſelf; I have long been taught that the afflictions of [236] this life are overpaid by that eternal weight of glory which awaits the innocent; and ſo my lords, even ſo, with the utmoſt tran⯑quillity, I ſubmit myſelf to your judg⯑ment, whether that judgment be life or death: not my will, but thine, O God, be done."’ His eloquence and innocence in⯑duced thoſe judges to pity, who were the moſt zealous to condemn him. The king himſelf went to the houſe of lords, and ſpoke for ſome time in his defence; but the ſpirit of ven⯑geance that had been chained for eleven years, was now rouzed, and nothing but his blood could give the people ſatisfaction. He was found guilty by both houſes of parliament; and nothing remained but for the king to give his conſent to the bill of attainder. But in the preſent commotions the conſent of the king was a thing that would very eaſily be diſ⯑penſed with; and imminent dangers might at⯑tend his refuſal. Yet ſtill Charles, who loved Strafford tenderly, heſitated, and ſeemed re⯑luctant, trying every expedient to put off ſo dreadful a duty, as that of ſigning the warrant for his execution. While he continued in this agitation of mind, not knowing how to act, his doubts were at laſt ſilenced by an act of heroic bravery in the condemned lord. He [237] received a letter from that unfortunate noble⯑man, deſiring that his life might be made the ſacrifice of a mutual reconciliation between the king and his people; adding, that he was prepared to die, and to a willing mind there could be no injury. This inſtance of noble generoſity was but ill repaid by his maſter, who complied with his requeſt. He conſent⯑ed to the ſigning the fatal bill by commiſſion; Strafford was beheaded on Tower-hill, behav⯑ing with all that compoſed dignity of reſolu⯑tion that was expected from his character. The people, taught by his death to trample upon the rights of humanity, ſoon after reſolved to ſhed blood that was ſtill more precious.

But the commons did not ſtop their im⯑peachments here. Laud alſo, after a delibera⯑tion which did not continue half an hour, was conſidered as ſufficiently culpable to incur the ſame accuſation, and was committed to cuſto⯑dy. Finch, the lord keeper, was alſo impeach⯑ed; but he had the precaution to make his eſcape, and fly over into Holland, as did Sir Francis Wyndebank, the ſecretary, into France.

The crown being thus deprived of the ſer⯑vices of its miniſters, the commons next pro⯑ceeded to attack the few privileges it ſtill [238] poſſeſſed. During the late military opera⯑tions, ſeveral powers had been exerted by the lieutenants, and deputy-lieutenants of coun⯑ties, men who were all under the influence of the crown. Theſe were, therefore, voted Delinquents; a term now firſt uſed to ſignify tranſgreſſors, whoſe crimes were not as yet aſ⯑certained by law. The ſheriffs alſo, who had obeyed the king's mandate in raiſing ſhip-mo⯑ney, were voted alſo to be delinquents. All the farmers and officers of the cuſtoms, who had been employed during ſo many years in levying tonnage and poundage, were ſubjected to the ſame imputation, and only purchaſed their ſafety by paying an hundred and fifty thouſand pounds. Every diſcretionary or arbitrary ſentence of the Star-chamber, and High commiſſion courts, underwent a ſevere ſcrutiny; and all thoſe who had any hand in ſuch ſentences were voted to be liable to the penalties of the law. The judges, who had declared againſt Hamden in the trial of ſhip-money, were accuſed before the peers, and obliged to find ſecurity for their appearance. All thoſe monopolies which had been lately granted by the crown, were now annihilated by the order of the commons; and they carried their deteſtation of that grievance ſo far, as to [239] expel from their own houſe all ſuch members as had been monopoliſts or projectors.

Hitherto we have ſeen the commons in ſome meaſure the patrons of liberty and of the peo⯑ple; boldly oppoſing the ſtretches of illegal power, or repreſſing thoſe claims which, tho' founded on cuſtom, were deſtructive of free⯑dom. Thus far their aims, their ſtruggles, were juſt and honourable: but the general paſſions of the nation were now excited; and having been once put into motion, they ſoon paſſed the line, and knew not where to ſtop. Had they been contented with reſting here, af⯑ter abridging all thoſe privileges of monarchy which were capable of injuring the ſubject, and leaving it all thoſe prerogatives that could benefit, they would have been conſidered as the great benefactors of mankind, and would have left the conſtitution pretty nearly on the ſame footing on which we enjoy it at preſent. But they either were willing to revenge their former ſufferings, or thought that ſome terri⯑ble examples were neceſſary to deter others from attempting to enſlave their country. The horrors of a civil war were not ſufficiently at⯑tended to; and they precipitately involved the nation in calamities which they themſelves were the firſt to repent.

[240]The whole nation was thrown into a ge⯑neral ferment. The harangues of the mem⯑bers, now firſt publiſhed and diſperſed, kept alive the horrors which were felt for the late adminiſtration. The pulpits, delivered over to the puritanical preachers, whom the commons arbitrarily placed in all the conſiderable churches, reſounded with faction and fanati⯑ciſm. The preſs, freed from all fear or re⯑ſtraint, ſwarmed with productions, dangerous by their ſedition and calumny, more than by their eloquence or ſtyle.

In this univerſal uproar againſt the crown, Prynne, Burton, and Baſtwick, who had ſome years before ſuffered ſo ſeverely for their licen⯑tious abuſes, and had been committed to re⯑mote priſons, were ſet at liberty by or⯑der of the commons, and were ſeen making their triumphant entry into the capital. Baſt⯑wick had been confined in Scilly, Burton in Jerſey, and Prynne in Guernſey; and upon landing at their reſpective places they were re⯑ceived by the acclamations of the people, and attended by crowds to London. Boughs were carried in this tumultuous proceſſion; the roads were ſtrewed with flowers, their ſuffer⯑ings were aggravated, and their perſecutors reviled. Every perſon who had been puniſhed [241] for ſeditious libels during the foregoing admi⯑niſtration, now recovered their liberty, and had damages given them upon thoſe who had de⯑creed their puniſhment.

Grievances had, no doubt, and heavy ones, been endured during the laſt intermiſſion of parliaments; but the very complaints againſt them now became one of the greateſt griev⯑ances. So many were offered within doors, and petitioned againſt without, that the houſe was divided into above forty committees, charged each of them with the examination of its reſpective complaints. The torrent riſing to ſo dreadful and unexpected an height, de⯑ſpair ſeized all thoſe who, from intereſt or ha⯑bit, were attached to monarchy; while the king himſelf ſaw, with amazement, the whole fabric of government totally overturned. ‘"You have taken, ſaid he to the parliament, the whole machine of government to pieces; a practice frequent with ſkilful artiſts, when they deſire to clear the wheels from any ruſt which may have grown upon them. The en⯑gine may be reſtored to its former uſe and mo⯑tions, provided it be fitted up entire, ſo as not a pin be wanting."’ But the commons, in their preſent temper, were much better adapted to deſtroy than to fit up; and having taken [242] the machine aſunder, they ſoon found an ex⯑peditious ſet of workmen ready, to ſtep in and take the whole buſineſs off their hands.

But in this univerſal rage for aboliſhing the former conſtitution, the parliament fell with great juſtice on two courts, which had been erected under arbitrary kings, and had ſeldom been employed but in caſes of neceſſity. Theſe were, the High-commiſſion court, and the court of Star-chamber. A bill unanimouſly paſſed the houſes to aboliſh both; and in them to an⯑nihilate the principal and moſt dangerous ar⯑ticles in the king's prerogative. The firſt of thoſe, which was inſtituted for defending the eſtabliſhments of the church, had great power in all eccleſiaſtical matters; and the judges in that court were entirely arbitrary in whatever puniſhments, or fines, they thought proper to inflict. The Star-chamber had given force to the king's proclamations, and puniſhed ſuch as ventured to tranſgreſs them; but that being now taken away, his proclamations were of no effect, and might be oppoſed with im⯑punity. Such were, the tranſactions of this firſt ſeſſion of the long parliament; and tho' in ſome caſes they acted with anger, and in others with precipitation, yet their merits ſo much overbalanced their miſtakes, that they deſerve the higheſt gratitude from poſterity.

[243]After this, the parliament ſeemingly ad⯑journed; but a committee of both houſes, a thing altogether unprecedented, was appoint⯑ed to ſit during the receſs, with very ample powers, and very little leſs than thoſe of the parliament in the plenitude of its authority. Pym was appointed chairman of the lower houſe; in this further attempts were made for aſſuming the ſovereign executive powers, and publiſhing the ordinances of this committee as ſtatutes enacted by all the branches of the legiſlature. In the mean the king went to pay a viſit to his ſubjects in Scotland.

In the midſt of theſe troubles, the papiſts of Ireland fancied they found a convenient opportunity of throwing off the Engliſh yoke. There was a gentleman called Roger More, who, though of a narrow fortune, was deſcend⯑ed from a very ancient Iriſh family, and was very much celebrated among his countrymen for his valour and capacity. This man firſt formed the project of expelling the Engliſh, and aſſerting the independency of his native country. The occaſion was favourable; the Engliſh, warmly engaged in domeſtic animoſi⯑ties, were unable to attend to a diſtant inſurrec⯑tion; and thoſe of that nation, who reſided among them, were too feeble to reſiſt. Struck with [244] theſe motives, Sir Phelim O'Neale entered in⯑to a conſpiracy; lord Macguire came into his deſigns, and ſoon after all the chiefs of the native Iriſh promiſed their concurrence.

Their plan was laid accordingly, which was, that Sir Phelim O'Neale, and the other con⯑ſpirators, ſhould all begin an inſurrection on one day throughout the provinces; ſhould de⯑ſtroy all the Engliſh, while lord Macguire, and Roger More, ſhould ſurpriſe the caſtle of Dublin. They had fixed on the approach of winter for this revolt, the day was appointed, every thing in readineſs, the ſecret profoundly kept, and the conſpirators promiſed them⯑ſelves a certainty of ſucceſs. The earl of Leiceſ⯑ter, who had been appointed lord lieutenant, was then in London. Sir William Parſons, and Sir John Borlace, the two lords juſtices, were men of mean intellects; and, without attending to the intereſts of their country, indulged them⯑ſelves in the moſt profound tranquility on the very brink of ruin.

The very day before the intended ſeizure of the caſtle of Dublin, the plot was diſcovered by one O'Connolly, an Iriſhman, but a pro⯑teſtant, to the juſtices, who fled to the caſtle, and alarmed all the proteſtant inhabitants of the city to prepare for their defence. Mac⯑guire [245] was taken, but More eſcaped; and new informations being every hour added to thoſe already received, the project of a general in⯑ſurrection was no longer a ſecret.

But though the citizens of Dublin had juſt time enough to ſave themſelves from danger; the proteſtants diſperſed over the different parts of the country, were taken unprepared. O'Neale and his confederates had already taken arms in Ulſter. The Iriſh, every where inter⯑mingled with the Engliſh, needed but a hint from their leaders and prieſts to maſſacre a people whom they hated for their religion, and envied for their riches and proſperity. The in⯑ſurrections of a civilized people, are uſually marked with very little cruelty; but the revolt of a ſavage nation, generally aims at extermina⯑tion. The Iriſh accordingly reſolved to cut off all the proteſtants of the kingdom at a ſtroke; ſo that neither age, ſex, or condition, received any pity. In ſuch indiſcriminate ſlaughter, nei⯑ther former benefits, nor alliances, nor authori⯑ty, were any protection: numberleſs were the inſtances of friends murdering their intimates, relations their kinſmen, and ſervants their maſ⯑ters. In vain did flight ſave from the firſt aſſault; deſtruction, that had an extenſive ſpread, met the hunted victims at every turn. [246] Not only death, but ſtudied cruelties were inflicted on the unhappy ſufferers; the very avarice of the revolters could not reſtrain their thirſt for blood, and they burned the inhabi⯑tants in their own houſes to encreaſe their pu⯑niſhment. Several hundreds were driven up⯑on a bridge; and from thence obliged, by theſe barbarians, to leap into the water, where they were drowned. The Engliſh colonies were totally annihilated in the open country of Ul⯑ſter; but in the other provinces the rebels pre⯑tended to act with greater humanity.

The proteſtants were driven there from their houſes, to meet the ſeverity of the weather, without food or raiment, and numbers of them periſhed with the cold, which happened at that time to be peculiarly ſevere. By ſome computations, thoſe who periſhed by all theſe cruelties, are made to amount to an hundred and fifty, or two hundred thouſand; but, by a moderate computation, they could not have been leſs than forty thouſand.

In the mean time the Engliſh Pale, as it was called, conſiſting of the old Engliſh catholics, who had firſt come over, joining with the na⯑tive Iriſh, a large army was formed, amounting to above twenty thouſand men, which threaten⯑ed a total extermination of the Engliſh power [247] in that iſland. The king was at that time in Scotland, when he received the firſt accounts of this rebellion; and though he did all in his power to induce his ſubjects there to lend aſſiſtance to the proteſtant cauſe, yet he found them totally averſe to ſending any ſuccours into Ireland. Their aim was to oblige the parliament of England, with what ſuccours they could ſpare, and not to obey the injunc⯑tions of their ſovereign. They went ſtill far⯑ther, and had the aſſurance to impute a part of theſe dreadful maſſacres to the king's own contrivance. In fact, the rebels of Ireland did not fail to ſhew a royal patent, authoriſing their attempts; and it is ſaid that Sir Phelim O'Neale, having found a royal patent in lord Caulfield's houſe, whom he had murdered, he tore off the ſeal, and affixed it to a commiſſion which he had forged for himſelf.

However this be, the king took all the pre⯑cautions in his power to ſhew his utter deteſta⯑tion of theſe bloody proceedings; and being ſenſible of his own inability to ſuppreſs the re⯑bellion, he had once more recourſe to his Eng⯑liſh parliament, and craved their aſſiſtance for a ſupply. But here he found no hopes of aſ⯑ſiſtance; many inſinuations were thrown out that he had himſelf fomented this rebellion, [248] and no money could be ſpared for the extinc⯑tion of diſtant dangers, when they pretended that the kingdom was threatened with greater at home.

It was now that the republican ſpirit began to appear without any diſguiſe in the pre⯑ſent parliament; and that party, inſtead of attacking the faults of the king, reſolved to deſtroy monarchy. They had ſeen a republi⯑can ſyſtem of government lately eſtabliſhed in Holland, and attended with very noble effects; they began, therefore, to wiſh for a ſimilar ſyſtem at home, and many productions of the preſs at that time ſketched out the form. It would be unjuſt to deny theſe men the praiſe of be⯑ing guided by honeſt motives; but it would be unwiſe not to ſay alſo, that they were ſwayed by wrong ones. In the compariſon between a republic and a limited monarchy, the ba⯑lance entirely inclines to the latter, ſince a real republic never yet exiſted, except in ſpecula⯑tion; and that liberty which demagogues pro⯑miſe to their followers, is generally only ſought after for themſelves. The aim in general of popular leaders, is rather to depreſs the great than exalt the humble; and in ſuch govern⯑ments, the lower ranks of people are too com⯑monly the moſt abject ſlaves. In a republic, [249] the number of tyrants are capable of ſupport⯑ing each other in their injuſtice; while in a monarchy there is one object, who, if he offends, is eaſily puniſhable, and ought to be brought to juſtice.

The leaders of the oppoſition began their operations by a reſolution to attack epiſco⯑pacy, which was one of the ſtrongeſt bul⯑warks of the royal power; but previouſly framed a remonſtrance, in which they ſum⯑moned up all their former grievances.A.D. 1641 Theſe they aſcribed to a regular ſyſtem of tyranny in the king, and aſſerted that they amounted to a total ſubverſion of the conſtitution. This, when drawn up by a tumultuous majority of the houſe, they ordered to be printed and publiſhed, without being carried up, as is uſual in ſuch caſes, to the houſe of peers, for their aſſent and approbation. The commons hav⯑ing thus endeavoured to render the king's adminiſtration univerſally odious, they began upon the hierarchy. Their firſt meaſure was, by their own ſingle authority, to ſuſpend all the laws which had been made for the obſer⯑vance of public worſhip. They particularly forbade bowing at the name of Jeſus. They complained of the king's filling five vacant biſhoprics; and conſidered it as an inſult upon [250] them, that he ſhould complete and ſtrengthen an order which they were reſolved to aboliſh. They accuſed thirteen biſhops of high treaſon, for enacting canons without the conſent of parliament; and endeavoured to prevail upon the houſe of peers to exclude all the prelates from their ſeats and votes, in that auguſt aſ⯑ſembly. But notwithſtanding all their ef⯑forts, the lords refuſed their concurrence to this law; and all ſuch as any way tended to the farther limitation of royal authority. The majority of the peers adhered to the king; and plainly foreſaw the depreſſion of the nobility as a neceſſary conſequence of the popular uſur⯑pations on the crown. The commons mur⯑mured at their refuſal, mixed threats with their indignation, and began, for the firſt time, to inſinuate that the buſineſs of the ſtate could be carried on without them.

In order to intimidate the lords into their meaſures, the populace was let looſe to inſult and threaten them. Multitudes of people flocked every day towards Weſtminſter, and inſulted the prelates, and ſuch lords as ad⯑hered to the crown. Some ſeditious appren⯑tices being ſeized and committed to priſon, the houſe of commons immediately ordered them to be ſet free. Encouraged by the coun⯑tenance [251] of the houſe, the populace crowded about Whitehall, and threw out inſolent menaces againſt the king himſelf. It was at this time that ſeveral reduced officers and ſtudents of the inns of court, offered their ſervices to the king, to repreſs the rioters; and many frays enſued not without bloodſhed. The rabble, by way of reproach, were called Round-heads, from the manner of wearing their hair, and the gentlemen Cavaliers. Theſe names afterwards ſerved to diſtinguiſh the par⯑tizans of either ſide, and ſerved ſtill more to divide the nation.

The fury of the commons, and alſo of the populace, did not fail to intimidate the biſhops; they ſaw the ſtorm that was gather⯑ing againſt them; and, probably, to avert its effects, they reſolved to attend their duty in the houſe of lords no longer; but drew up a proteſt, which was ſigned by twelve of them, in which they declared, that being hindered by the populace from attending at the houſe of lords, they reſolved to go there no more till all commotions ſhould be appeaſed; pro⯑teſting, in the mean time, againſt all ſuch laws as ſhould be enacted in their abſence.

This ſeceſſion of the biſhops from the houſe of lords was what the commons moſt ardently [252] wiſhed for; and they ſeized the opportunity with pleaſure. An impeachment of high trea⯑ſon was immediately ſent up againſt them, as guilty of ſubverting the fundamental laws, and invalidating the legiſlative authority. In conſequence of this, they were by the lords excluded from parliament, and committed to cuſtody, no man in either houſe daring to ſpeak a word in their vindication. One of the lords, indeed, was heard to ſay, that he did not believe they were guilty of treaſon, but he thought they were mad, and therefore were fitter for Bedlam, than a ſeat in parliament.

This was a fatal blow to the royal intereſt; but it ſoon felt a much greater from the king's own imprudence. Charles had long ſuppreſſed his reſentment and only ſtrove to ſatisfy the commons by the greatneſs of his conceſſions; but finding that all his compliance had but encreaſed their demands, he could no longer contain. He gave orders to Herbert, his at⯑torney general, to enter an accuſation of high treaſon in the houſe of peers againſt lord Kim⯑bolton, one of the moſt popular men of his party, together with five commoners, Sir Ar⯑thur Haſlerig, Hollis, Hambden, Pym, and Strode. The articles were, that they had trai⯑terouſly endeavoured to ſubvert the funda⯑mental [253] laws and government of the kingdom; to deprive the king of his regal power, and to impoſe on his ſubjects an arbitrary and ty⯑rannical authority; that they had invited a foreign army to invade the kingdom; that they had aimed at ſubverting the very rights and being of parliaments, and had actually raiſed and countenanced tumults againſt the king. Men had ſcarce leiſure to wonder at the precipitancy and imprudence of this im⯑peachment, when they were aſtoniſhed by ano⯑ther meaſure, ſtill more raſh and more unſup⯑ported. A ſerjeant at arms, in the king's name, demanded of the houſe the five members, and was ſent back without any poſitive anſwer. This was followed by a conduct ſtill more ex⯑traordinary. The next day the king himſelf was ſeen to enter the houſe of commons alone, advancing through the hall, while all the members ſtood up to receive him. The ſpeaker withdrew from his chair, and the king took poſſeſſion of it. Having ſeated himſelf, and looked round him for ſome time, he told the houſe that he was ſorry for the occaſion that forced him thither, that he was come in perſon to ſeize the members, whom he had accuſed of high treaſon, ſeeing they would not deliver them up to his ſerjeant at arms. Ad⯑dreſſing [254] himſelf to the ſpeaker, he deſired to know whether any of them were in the houſe; but the ſpeaker falling on his knees, replied, that he had neither eyes to ſee, nor tongue to ſpeak in that place, but as the houſe was pleaſ⯑ed to direct him; and he aſked pardon for being able to give no other anſwer. He then ſate for ſome time to ſee if the accuſed were preſent; but they had eſcaped a few minutes before his entry. Thus diſappointed, perplexed, and not knowing on whom to rely, he next proceeded, amidſt the clamours of the popu⯑lace, who continued to cry out, ‘"Privilege! privilege!"’ to the common council of the city, and made his complaint to them. The common council only anſwered his complaints with a contemptuous ſilence; and on his re⯑turn, one of the populace, more inſolent than the reſt, cried out, ‘"To your tents, O Iſrael!"’ a watch word among the Jews, when they in⯑tended to abandon their princes.

When the commons were aſſembled the next day, they affected the greateſt terror, and paſſed an unanimous vote that the king had violated their privileges, and that they could not aſſemble again in the ſame place, till they ſhould have obtained ſatisfaction, with a guard for their ſecurity. They aſcribed the laſt mea⯑ſure [255] of the king to the counſels of the papiſts, and the city was thus filled with groundleſs conſternation.

As the commons had artfully kept up their panic, in order to enflame the populace, and as the city was now only one ſcene of confu⯑ſion, the king, afraid of expoſing himſelf to any freſh inſult from the fury of the populace, retired to Windſor, overwhelmed with grief, ſhame, and remorſe. There he began to re⯑flect on the raſhneſs of his former proceedings; and now too late reſolved to make ſome atone⯑ment. He therefore wrote to the parliament, informing them, that he deſiſted from his for⯑mer proceedings againſt the accuſed members; and aſſured them, that upon all occaſions he would be as careful of their privileges as of his life or his crown. Thus his former vio⯑lence had rendered him hateful to his com⯑mons, and his preſent ſubmiſſion now rendered him contemptible.

The commons had already ſtript the king of almoſt all his privileges; the biſhops were fled, the judges were intimidated; it now only remained that, after ſecuring the church and the law, they ſhould get poſſeſſion of the ſword alſo. The power of appointing governors, generals, and levying armies, was ſtill a re⯑maining [256] prerogative of the crown. Having, therefore, firſt magnified their terrors of po⯑pery, which perhaps they actually dreaded, they proceeded to petition that the Tower might be put into their hands, and that Hull, Portſmouth, and the fleet, ſhould be intruſted to perſons of their chuſing. Theſe were re⯑queſts, the complying with which levelled all that remained of the ancient conſtitution; however, ſuch was the neceſſity of the times, that they were at firſt conteſted, and then grant⯑ed. At laſt, every compliance only encreaſ⯑ing the avidity of making freſh demands, the commons deſired to have a militia, raiſed and governed by ſuch officers and commanders as they ſhould nominate, under pretext of ſecu⯑ring them from the Iriſh papiſts, of whom they were in great apprehenſions.

It was here that Charles firſt ventured to put a ſtop to his conceſſions; and that not by a refuſal, but a delay. He was at that time at Dover, attending the queen, and the princeſs of Orange, who had thought prudent to leave the kingdom. He replied to the petition of the commons, that he had not now leiſure to con⯑ſider a matter of ſuch great importance; and therefore would defer an anſwer till his return. But the commons were well aware, that though [257] this was depriving him even of the ſhadow of power; yet they had now gone too far to re⯑cede, and were therefore deſirous of leaving him no authority whatſoever, as being con⯑ſcious that themſelves would be the firſt victims to its fury. They alleged, that the dangers and diſtempers of the nation were ſuch as could endure no longer delay; and unleſs the king ſpeedily complied with their demands, they ſhould be obliged, both for his ſafety and that of the kingdom, to diſpoſe of the militia by the authority of both houſes, and were re⯑ſolved to do it accordingly. In their remon⯑ſtrances to the king, they deſired even to be permitted to command the army for an ap⯑pointed time; which ſo exaſperated him, that he exclaimed, ‘"No, not for an hour."’ This peremptory refuſal broke off all further trea⯑ty; and both ſides were now reſolved to have recourſe to arms.

Charles, taking the prince of Wales with him, retired to York, where he found the peo⯑ple more loyal, and leſs infected with the reli⯑gious frenzy of the times. He found his cauſe there backed by a more numerous party than he had expected among the people. The queen, who was in Holland, was making ſuc⯑ceſsful levies of men and ammunition, by ſell⯑ing [258] the crown-jewels. But before war was openly declared the ſhadow of a negotiation was carried on, rather to ſerve as a pretence to the people, than with a real deſign of recon⯑ciliation. The king offered propoſals to the commons, which he knew they would not ac⯑cept; and they, in return, ſubmitted nineteen propoſitions to his conſideration, which, if complied with, would have rendered him en⯑tirely ſubſervient to their commands. Their import was, that the privy-council, the prin⯑cipal officers of ſtate, the governors of the king's children, the commanders of the forts, his fleet, and army, ſhould be all appointed by, and under the controul of parliament; that papiſts ſhould be puniſhed by their authority; that the church and liturgy ſhould be reform⯑ed at their diſcretion; and that ſuch members as had been diſplaced, ſhould be reſtored. Theſe propoſals, which, if they had been complied with, would have moulded the government in⯑to an ariſtocracy, were, happily for poſterity, re⯑jected by the king. ‘"Should I grant theſe de⯑mands, ſaid he, in his reply, I might be waited on bare-headed; I might have my hand kiſſed, the title of majeſty be continued to me, and the king's authority ſignified by both houſes of parliament, might be ſtill the ſtyle of [259] your commands; I might have ſwords and maces carried before me, and pleaſe myſelf with the ſight of a crown and ſceptre (tho' even theſe twigs would not long flouriſh, when the ſtock upon which they grew was dead): but as to true and real power, I ſhould remain but the outſide, but the pic⯑ture, but the ſign of a king."’ War on any terms was, therefore, eſteemed preferable to ſuch an ignominious peace. Thus the king and his parliament mutually reproached each other for beginning a ſcene of ſlaughter, of which both were equally culpable.

CHAP. XXXI. CHARLES I. (Continued.)

A.D. 1642 NO period ſince England began could ſhew ſo many inſtances of courage, abilities, and virtue, as the preſent fatal oppoſition called forth into exertion. Now was the time when talents of all kinds, unchecked by authority, were called from the lower ranks of life to diſpute for power and pre-eminence. Both ſides, equally confident of the juſtice of their cauſe, appealed to God to judge of the recti⯑tude of their intentions. The parliament was convinced that it fought for heaven, by aſſerting its regards for a peculiar mode of worſhip; and the king was not leſs con⯑vinced that his claims were ſacred, as he had ever been taught to conſider them as of divine original. Thus paſſion and enthuſiaſm on each ſide animated the combatants; and courage, rather than conduct among theſe un⯑diſciplined troops, decided the fortune of the day.

Never was conteſt more unequal than ſeem⯑ed at firſt between the contending parties; the [261] king being entirely deſtitute of every advan⯑tage. His revenue had been ſeized by par⯑liament; all the ſea-port towns were in their hands, except Newcaſtle, and thus they were poſ⯑ſeſſed of the cuſtoms, which theſe could ſupply; the fleet was at their diſpoſal; all magazines of arms and ammunition were ſeized for their uſe; and they had the wiſhes of all the moſt active members of the nation.

To oppoſe this, the king had that acknow⯑ledged reverence which was paid to royalty, to give ſanction to his cauſe. The greater part of the nobility adhered to him, as their diſtinctions muſt riſe or fall with the ſource of honour. Moſt of the men of education alſo, and the ancient gentry, ſtill conſidered loyalty as a virtue, and armed their tenants and ſer⯑vants in his cauſe. With theſe followers and hopes, therefore, he reſolved to take the field, and erected the royal ſtandard at Nottingham.

Manifeſtoes on the one ſide and the other were now diſperſed throughout the whole kingdom; and the people were univerſally divided between two factions, diſtinguiſhed by the names of Cavaliers and Roundheads. The king, to bind himſelf by the moſt ſolemn en⯑gagements to his people, made the following proteſtation before his whole army.

The ſincerity with which this ſpeech was delivered, and the juſtice of its contents, ſerved to ſtrengthen the king's cauſe. At firſt he appeared in a very low condition; beſides the train-bands of the county, raiſed by Sir John Digby, the ſheriff, he had not got together three hundred infantry. His cavalry, which compoſed his chief ſtrength, exceeded not eight hundred, and were very ill provided with arms. However, he was ſoon gradually reinforced from all quarters; but not being then in a condition to face his enemies, he thought it prudent to retire by ſlow marches to Derby, and thence to Shrewſbury, in order to countenance the levies which his friends were making in thoſe quarters.

In the mean time, the parliament were not remiſs in preparations on their ſide. They had a magazine of arms at Hull, and Sir John Hotham was appointed governor of that place by parliament. Charles had ſome time before preſented himſelf before that town, but was re⯑fuſed admiſſion: and from this they drew their principal reſources. The forces alſo, which [264] had been every where raiſed on pretence of the ſervice of Ireland, were now more openly en⯑liſted by the parliament for their own pur⯑poſes; and the command given to the earl of Eſſex, a bold man, who rather deſired to ſee monarchy abridged, than totally deſtroyed. In London, no leſs than four thouſand men were enliſted in one day; and the parliament voted a declaration, which they required every member to ſubſcribe, that they would live and die with their general. Orders were alſo iſſued out for loans of money and plate, which were to defend the king, and both houſes of parlia⯑ment; for they ſtill preſerved this ſtyle. This brought immenſe quantities of plate to the treaſury; and ſo great was men's ardour in the cauſe, that there was more than they could find room for. By theſe means they found themſelves in a ſhort time at the head of ſix⯑teen thouſand men; and the earl of Eſſex led them towards Northampton againſt the king.

The army of the royaliſts was not ſo great as that of Eſſex; however it was ſuppoſed to be better diſciplined, and better and conducted. The two ſons of the unfortunate Elector Pa⯑latine, prince Rupert and prince Maurice, offered their ſervices to the king, and were gladly accepted. A ſlight advantage gained [265] by prince Rupert over colonel Sandys, in the beginning, gave great hopes of his future acti⯑vity, and inſpired the army with reſolution to hazard a battle. So little were both armies ſkilled in the arts and ſtratagems of war, that they were within ſix miles of each other before they were acquainted with their mutual ap⯑proach; and, what is remarkable, they had been ten days within twenty miles of each other without knowing it.

Edge-Hill was the firſt place where the two armies were put in array againſt each other, and the country firſt drenched in civil ſlaughter. It was a dreadful ſight, to ſee above thirty thou⯑ſand of the braveſt men in the world, inſtead of employing their courage abroad, turning it againſt each other, while the deareſt friends, and the neareſt kinſmen, embraced oppoſite ſides, and prepared to bury their private re⯑gards in factious hatred. In the beginning of this engagement, Sir Faithful Forteſcue, who had levied a troop for the Iriſh war, but had been obliged to ſerve in the parliamentary ar⯑my, deſerted to the royaliſts; and ſo intimidat⯑ed the parliamentary forces, that the whole body of cavalry fled. The right wing of their army followed the example; but the victors too eagerly purſuing, Eſſex's body of reſerve [266] wheeled upon the rear of the purſuers, and made great havock among them. After the royaliſts had a little recovered from their ſur⯑prize, they made a vigorous ſtand; and both ſides, for a time, ſtood gazing at each other, without ſufficient courage to renew the attack. They all night lay under arms, and next morn⯑ing found themſelves in ſight of each other; this had been the time for the king to have ſtruck a deciſive blow; he loſt the opportunity, and both ſides ſeparated with equal loſs. Five thouſand men are ſaid to have been found dead on the field of battle.

It would be tedious, and no way inſtructive, to enter into the marchings, and countermarch⯑ings of theſe undiſciplined and ill conducted armies: war was a new trade to the Engliſh, as they had not ſeen an hoſtile engagement in the iſland for near a century before. The queen came to re-inforce the royal party; ſhe had brought ſoldiers and ammunition from Holland, and immediately departed to furniſh more. But the parliament, who knew its own ſtrength, was no way diſcouraged. Their de⯑mands ſeemed to encreaſe in proportion to their loſſes; and as they were repreſſed in the field, they grew more haughty in the cabinet. Such governors as gave up their fortreſſes to the king, [267] were attainted of high treaſon. It was in vain for the king to ſend propoſals after any ſuc⯑ceſs, this only raiſed their pride and their ani⯑moſity. But though this deſire in the king to make peace with his ſubjects was the high⯑eſt encomium on his humanity, yet his long negociations, one of which he carried on at Ox⯑ford, were faulty as a warrior. He waſted that time in altercation and treaty, which he ſhould have employed in vigorous exertions in the field.

However, his firſt campaign, upon the whole, wore a favourable aſpect. One victory fol⯑lowed after another; Cornwall was reduced to peace and obedience under the king: a victory was gained over the parliamentarians at Strat⯑ton Hill, in Devonſhire, another at Rounda⯑way Down, about two miles from the Devizes; and ſtill a third at Chalgrave Field. Briſtol was beſieged and taken; and Glouceſter was beſieged: the battle of Newbury was favour⯑able to the royal cauſe, and great hopes of ſucceſs were formed from an army in the North, raiſed by the marquis of Newcaſtle.

But in this campaign, the two braveſt and greateſt men of their reſpective parties were killed; as if it was intended, by the kindneſs of Providence, that they ſhould be exempted from ſeeing the miſeries and the ſlaughter [268] which were ſhortly to enſue. Theſe were John Hampden, and Lucius Cary, lord Falk⯑land.

In an incurſion made by prince Rupert to with in about two miles of the enemies quar⯑ters, a great booty was obtained. This the parliamentarians attempted to reſcue; and Hampden at their head, overtook the royaliſts on Chalgrave Field. As he was ever the firſt to enter into the thickeſt of the battle, he was ſhot in the ſhoulder with a brace of bullets, and the bone broke. Some days after, he died in great pain; nor could his whole party, had their army met a total overthrow, have been caſt into greater conſternation. Even Charles his enemy felt for his diſaſter, and offered his own ſurgeon to aſſiſt his cure. Hampden, whom we have ſeen in the beginning of theſe troubles refuſe to pay ſhip-money, gained, by his inflexible integrity, the eſteem even of his enemies. To theſe he added affa⯑bility in converſation, temper, art, eloquence in debate, and penetration in counſel.

But Falkland was ſtill a greater loſs, and a greater character. He added to Hamden's ſe⯑vere principles, a politeneſs and elegance, but then beginning to be known in England. He had boldly withſtood the king's pretenſions, [269] while he ſaw him making a bad uſe of his power; but when he perceived the deſign of the parliament, to overturn the religion and the conſtitution of his country, he changed his ſide, and ſtedfaſtly attached himſelf to the crown. From the beginning of the civil war, his natural chearfulneſs and vivacity forſook him; he became melancholy, ſad, pale, and negligent of his perſon. When the two ar⯑mies were in ſight of each other, and prepar⯑ing for the battle of Newbury, he appeared deſirous of terminating his life, ſince he could not compoſe the miſeries of his country. Still anxious for his country alone, he dreaded the too proſperous ſucceſs of his own party, as much as that of the enemy; and he pro⯑feſſed that its miſeries had broken his heart. His uſual cry among his friends, after a deep ſilence, and frequent ſighs, was Peace! Peace! He now ſaid, upon the morning of the en⯑gagement, that he was weary of the times, and ſhould leave them before night. He was ſhot by a muſquet-ball in the belly; and his body was next morning found among an heap of ſlain. His writings, his elegance, his juſtice, and his courage, deſerved ſuch a death of glory: and they found it.

[270]The king, that he might make preparations during the winter for the enſuing campaign, and to oppoſe the deſigns of the Weſtminſter parliament, called one at Oxford; and this was the firſt time that England ſaw two par⯑liaments ſitting at the ſame time. His houſe of peers was pretty full; his houſe of com⯑mons conſiſted of about an hundred and forty, which amounted to not above half of the other houſe of commons. From this ſhadow of a parliament he received ſome ſupplies, after which it was prorogued, and never after aſ⯑ſembled.

In the mean time the parliament was equally active on their ſide. They paſſed an ordi⯑nance, commanding all the inhabitants of London and its neighbourhood to retrench a meal a week, and to pay the value of it for the ſupport of the public cauſe. But what was much more effectual, the Scotch, who conſidered their claims as ſimilar, led a ſtrong army to their aſſiſtance. They levied an army of fourteen thouſand men in the eaſt, under the earl of Mancheſter; they had an army of ten thouſand men under Eſſex, another of nearly the ſame force, under Sir William Waller. Theſe were ſuperior to any force the king could bring into the field; and were well ap⯑pointed [271] with ammunition, proviſions, and pay.

Hoſtilities,A.D. 1644 which even during the winter ſeaſon had never been wholly diſcontinued, were renewed in ſpring with their uſual fury, and ſerved to deſolate the kingdom, without deciding victory. Each county joined that ſide to which it was addicted from motives of conviction, intereſt, or fear, though ſome obſerved a perfect neutrality. Several fre⯑quently petitioned for peace; and all the wiſe and good were earneſt in the cry. What par⯑ticularly deſerves remark, was an attempt of the women of London; who, to the number of two or three thouſand, went in a body to the houſe of commons, earneſtly demanding a peace. ‘"Give us thoſe traitors, ſaid they, that are againſt a peace; give them, that we my tear them in pieces."’ The guards found ſome difficutly in quelling this inſurrection, and one or two women loſt their lives in the fray.

The battle of Marſton-Moor was the be⯑ginning of the king's misfortunes and diſgrace. The Scotch and parliamentarian army had join⯑ed, and were beſieging York; when prince Ru⯑pert, joined by the marquis of Newcaſtle, de⯑termined to raiſe the ſiege. Both ſides drew [272] up on Marſton-Moor, to the number of fifty thouſand, and the victory ſeemed long unde⯑cided between them. Rupert, who command⯑ed the right wing of the royaliſts, was oppoſed by Oliver Cromwell, who now firſt came into notice, at the head of a body of troops, whom he had taken care to levy and diſcipline. Crom⯑well was victorious; he puſhed his opponents off the field, followed the vanquiſhed, return⯑ed to a ſecond engagement, and a ſecond vic⯑tory; the prince's whole train of artillery was taken, and the royaliſts never after recovered the blow.

While the king was unfortunate in the field, he was not more ſucceſsful in negociation. A treaty was begun at Uxbridge, which, like all others, came to nothing. The puritans de⯑manded a total abolition of the epiſcopacy, and all church ceremonies; and theſe Charles, from conviction, from intereſt, and perſuaſion, was not willing to permit. He had all along ad⯑hered to the epiſcopal juriſdiction, not only becauſe it was favourable to monarchy, but becauſe all his adherents were paſſionately de⯑voted to it. He eſteemed biſhops as eſſential to the chriſtian church; and thought himſelf bound, not only by temporal, but ſacred ties, to defend them. The parliament was as ob⯑ſtinately [273] bent upon removing this order; and to ſhew their reſolution, began with the fore⯑moſt of the number.

William Laud, archbiſhop of Canterbury, as we have already ſeen, had been impriſoned in the Tower at the ſame time with Strafford; and he had patiently endured ſo long a con⯑finement, without being brought to any trial. He was now, therefore, accuſed of high trea⯑ſon, in endeavouring to ſubvert the fundamen⯑tal laws, and of other high crimes and miſde⯑meanors. The groundleſs charge of popery, which his life, and afterwards his death belied, was urged againſt him. In his defence, he ſpoke ſeveral hours, with that courage which ſeems the reſult of innocence and integrity. The lords, who were his judges, appeared willing to acquit him; but the commons, his accuſers, finding how his trial was likely to go, paſſed an ordinance for his execution, and terrified the lords who conti⯑nued obſtinate to give their conſent. Seven peers alone voted in this important queſtion; all the reſt, either from ſhame or fear, did not appear. When brought to the ſcaffold, this venerable prelate, without any terror, but in the uſual tone of his exhortations from the pulpit, made the people a long ſpeech. He told them that he had examined his heart; [274] and thanked God that he found no ſins there, which deſerved the death he was going to ſuf⯑fer. The king, he ſaid, had been traduced by ſome, as labouring to introduce popery; but he believed him as ſound a proteſtant as any man in the kingdom; and as for parlia⯑ments, though he diſliked the conduct of one or two, yet he never deſigned to change the laws of his country, or the proteſtant religion. After he had prayed for a few minutes, the executioner ſevered his head at a blow. It is indeed a melancholy conſideration, that in theſe times of trouble, the beſt men were thoſe on either ſide who chiefly ſuffered.

The death of Laud was followed by a total alteration of the ceremonies of the church. The Liturgy was, by a public act, aboliſhed the day he died, as if he had been the only obſtacle to its former removal. The church of England was in all reſpects brought to a conformity to the pu⯑ritanical eſtabliſhment; while the citizens of London, and the Scotch army, gave public thanks for ſo happy an alteration.

The total abolition of the reformed reli⯑gion, as eſtabliſhed by queen Elizabeth, ſeemed at firſt to promiſe vigour and conſiſtence to the counſels of the parliamentarians. But ſuch is the nature of man, that if he does not [275] find, he makes oppoſition. From the moment the puritans began to be apparently united, and ranked under one denomination of preſby⯑terians, they began again to divide into freſh parties, each profeſſing different views and in⯑tereſts. One part of the houſe was compoſed of Preſbyterians, ſtrictly ſo called; the other, though a minority, of Independents, a new ſect that had lately been introduced, and gain⯑ed ground ſurpriſingly.

The difference between theſe two ſects would be hardly worth mentioning, did not their re⯑ligious opinions influence their political con⯑duct. The church of England, as we have ſeen, had appointed biſhops of clerical ordi⯑nation, and a book of common prayer. The preſbyterians exclaimed againſt both; they were for having the church governed by cler⯑gymen elected by the people, and prayers made without premeditation. The independents went ſtill farther; they excluded all the clergy, they maintained that every man might pray in public, exhort his audience, and explain the ſcriptures. Their political ſyſtem kept pace with their religious. Not contented with re⯑ducing the king to a firſt magiſtrate, which was the aim of the preſbyterians, this ſect aſpired at the abolition not only of all monar⯑chy, [276] but of all ſubordination. They main⯑tained, and they maintained right, that all men were born equal; but they alleged alſo, that no accidental or artificial inſtitutions could de⯑ſtroy this equality; and there they were de⯑ceived. Could ſuch a plan of government as theirs be practicable, it would no doubt be the moſt happy; but the wiſe and induſtrious muſt in every country prevail over the weak and idle; and the bad ſucceſs of the inde⯑pendent ſcheme ſoon after ſhewed how ill adapted ſuch ſpeculative ideas were to human infirmity. Poſſeſſed, however, with an high idea of their own rectitude, both in religion and politics, they gave way to a ſurly pride, which is ever the reſult of narrow manners and ſolitary thinking.

Theſe were a body of men that were now growing into conſideration; their apparent ſanctity, their natural courage excited by en⯑thuſiaſm, and their unceaſing perſeverance, began to work conſiderable effects; and tho' they were out-numbered in the houſe of com⯑mons, which was compoſed of more enlight⯑ened minds, they formed a majority in the army, made up chiefly of the loweſt of the vulgar.

[277]The royaliſts endeavoured to throw a ridi⯑cule on this fanaticiſm, without being ſenſible how much reaſon they had to apprehend its dangerous conſequences. The forces of the king were united by much feebler ties; and licence among them, which had been intro⯑duced by the want of pay, had ariſen to a dan⯑gerous height, rendering them as formidable to their friends as their enemies. To encreaſe this unpopularity, the king finding the par⯑liament of Scotland as well as that of Eng⯑land declaring againſt him, thought proper to make a truce with the papiſts of Ireland, in or⯑der to bring over the Engliſh forces who ſerved in that kingdom. With theſe troops he alſo received ſome of the native Iriſh into his ſervice, who ſtill retained their fierceneſs and their barbarity. This gave the parliament a plauſible opportunity of upbraiding him with taking papiſts into his ſervice, and gave a co⯑lour to the ancient calumny of his having ex⯑cited them to rebel. Unfortunately, too ſoon after it was found, that they rather encreaſed the hatred of his ſubjects, than added to the ſtrength of his army. They were routed by Fairfax, one of the generals of the parliament army; and though they threw down their arms they were ſlaughtered without mercy. [278] It is ſaid that ſeveral women were found among the ſlain, who with long knives had done con⯑ſiderable execution; but the animoſity of the Engliſh againſt theſe wretches at that time, might have given riſe to the report.

Theſe misfortunes were ſoon after ſucceeded by another. Charles, who had now retired to Oxford, found himſelf at the head of a tur⯑bulent ſeditious army, who, from wanting pay, were ſcarcely ſubject to control; while, on the other hand, the parliamentarians were well ſupplied and paid, and held together from principle. The parliament, to give them an example of diſintereſtedneſs in their own con⯑duct, paſſed an act, called the Self-denying or⯑dinance, which deſerved all commendation. They reſolved, leſt it ſhould be ſuggeſted by the nation that their intent was to make themſelves maſters, that no member of their houſe ſhould have a command in the army. The former generals were therefore changed; the earls of Eſſex, Denbigh, and Mancheſter, gave up their commiſſions; and Fairfax, who was now appointed general with Cromwell, who found means to keep at once his ſeat and his commiſſion, new modelled the army. This, which might at firſt have ſeemed to weaken their forces, gave them new ſpirit; and the [279] ſoldiers, become more confident in their new commanders, were irreſiſtible.

Never was a more ſingular army aſſembled than that which now drew the ſword in the par⯑liamentary cauſe. The officers exerciſed the office of chaplains; and, during the intervals of action, inſtructed their troops by ſermons, prayers, and exhortations. Rapturous ecſta⯑cies ſupplied the place of ſtudy and reflection; and while they kindled as they ſpoke, they aſcribed their own warmth to a deſcent of the ſpirit from heaven. The private ſoldiers, ſeized with the ſame ſpirit, employed their va⯑cant hours in prayer, in peruſing the holy ſcriptures, in ghoſtly conferences. When marching to the field of battle, the hymn and the ejaculation, mixed their notes with thoſe of the trumpet. An army thus actuated be⯑came invincible.

The well-diſputed battle, which decided the fate of Charles, was fought at Naſeby, a vil⯑lage in Yorkſhire. The main body of the royal army was commanded by lord Aſt⯑ley, prince Rupert led the right wing, Sir Marmaduke Langdale the left, and the king himſelf headed the body of reſerve. On the oppoſite ſide, Fairfax and Skippon command⯑ed the main body; Cromwell led on the right [280] wing, and Ireton, his ſon-in-law, the left. Prince Rupert attacked the left wing with his uſual impetuoſity and ſucceſs: they were broke and purſued as far as the village; but he loſt time in attempting to make himſelf maſter of their artillery. Cromwell, in the mean time, was equally ſucceſsful on his ſide, and broke through the enemies horſe after a very obſtinate reſiſtance. While theſe were thus engaged, the infantry on both ſides main⯑tained the conflict with equal ardour; but in ſpite of the efforts of Fairfax and Skippon, their battalions began to give way. But it was now that Cromwell returned with his vic⯑torious forces, and charged the king's infantry in flank with ſuch vigour, that a total rout began to enſue. By this time prince Rupert had rejoined the king, and the ſmall body of reſerve; but his troops, though victorious, could not be brought to a ſecond charge. They were at all times licentious and ungo⯑vernable; but they were now intimidated; for the parliamentarians having recovered from the firſt ſhock, ſtood ready in order of battle to receive them. The king was de⯑ſirous of charging them at the head of his re⯑ſerve; but the earl of Carnwarth, who rode by his majeſty's ſide, ſeizing the bridle of his [281] horſe, turned him round, ſaying, with a loud oath, ‘"Will you go upon your death in an inſtant."’ The troops ſeeing this motion, wheeled to the right, and rode off in ſuch con⯑fuſion, that they could not be rallied again during the reſt of the day. The king per⯑ceiving the battle wholly loſt, was obliged to abandon the field to his enemies, who took all his cannon, baggage, and above five thou⯑ſand priſoners.

This fatal blow the king never after reco⯑vered; his army was diſperſed, and the con⯑querors made as many captives as they thought proper. Among the other ſpoils taken on this occaſion, the king's cabinet of letters was ſeized, in which was contained all his private correſpondence with the queen. Theſe were ſhortly after publiſhed by the command of the parliament, who took a vulgar and brutal plea⯑ſure in ridiculing all thoſe tender effuſions which were never drawn up for the public eye.

The battle of Naſeby put the parliament⯑arians in poſſeſſion of almoſt all the ſtrong ci⯑ties of the kingdom. Briſtol, Bridgewater, Cheſter, Sherborn, and Bath. Exeter was be⯑ſieged; and all the king's troops in the weſt⯑ern counties being entirely diſperſed, Fairfax preſſed the place, and it ſurrendered at diſ⯑cretion. [282] The king's intereſts ſeemed going to ruin on every quarter. The Scotch army, which, as has been ſaid, took part with the par⯑liament, having made themſelves maſters of Carliſle after an obſtinate ſiege, marched ſouth and laid ſiege to Hereford. Another en⯑gagement followed between the king and the parliamentarians, in which his forces were put to the rout by colonel Jones, a thouſand of his men made priſoners, and five hundred ſlain. Thus ſurrounded, harraſſed on every ſide, he retreated to Oxford, that in all con⯑ditions of his fortune had held ſteady to his cauſe; and there he reſolved to offer new terms to his victorious purſuers.

Nothing could be more affecting than the king's ſituation during his abode at Oxford. Saddened by his late melancholy diſaſters, im⯑preſſed with the apprehenſions of ſuch as hung over him, harraſſed by the murmurs of thoſe who had followed his cauſe, and ſtung with ſorrow for his incapacity to relieve them. He now was willing to grant the parliament their own terms, and at any rate to procure a reconciliation. He therefore ſent them repeated meſſages to this purpoſe, but they never deigned to make him the leaſt reply. At laſt, after reproaching him with the blood ſpilt dur⯑ing [283] the war, they told him that they were preparing ſome bills, to which if he would conſent, they would then be able to judge of his pacific inclinations.

In the mean time Fairfax was approaching with a powerful and victorious army, and was taking the proper meaſures of laying ſiege to Oxford, which promiſed an eaſy ſurrender. To be taken captive, and led in triumph by his inſolent ſubjects, was what Charles juſtly abhorred; and every inſult and violence was to be dreaded from the ſoldiery, who had felt the effects of his oppoſition. In this deſpe⯑rate extremity he embraced a meaſure which, in any other ſituation, might juſtly lie under the imputation of imprudence and indiſcretion. He reſolved to give himſelf up to the Scotch army, who had never teſtified ſuch implacable animoſity againſt him, and to truſt to their loyalty for the reſt.

That he might the better conceal his deſign from the people of Oxford, orders were given at every gate of the city for allowing three perſons to paſs. In the night, the king, ac⯑companied by one doctor Hudſon, and Mr. Aſhburnham, took the road towards London, travelling as Aſhburnham's ſervant. He, in fact, came ſo near London, that he once en⯑tertained [284] ſome thoughts of entering that city, and of throwing himſelf on the mercy of the parliament. At laſt, after paſſing through many croſs-roads and bye-ways, he arrived at the Scotch camp before Newark, and diſco⯑vered himſelf to lord Leven, the Scotch ge⯑neral.

The Scotch, who had before given him ſome general aſſurances of their fidelity and protection, now ſeemed greatly ſurpriſed at his arrival among them. Inſtead of beſtow⯑ing a thought on his intereſts, they inſtantly entered into a conſultation upon their own. The commiſſioners of their army ſent up an account of the king's arrival to the parlia⯑ment, and declared, that his coming was al⯑together uninvited and unexpected. In the mean time they prevailed upon the king to give directions for ſurrendering all his garri⯑ſons to the parliament, with which he com⯑plied. In return for this condeſcenſion they treated him with very long ſermons among the eccleſiaſtics, and with the moſt cautious reſerve, but very different from reſpect, among the officers. The preachers of the party in⯑deed inſulted him from the pulpit; and one of them, after reproaching him to his face with his miſconduct, ordered that pſalm to be [285] ſung, which begins,

The king ſtood up, and called for that Pſalm, which begins with theſe words:

The audience accordingly ſung this Pſalm in compaſſion to majeſty in diſtreſs.

The parliament being informed of the king's captivity, immediately entered into a treaty with the Scotch about delivering up their pri⯑ſoner. The Scotch had, from their firſt entrance into England, been allowed pay by the par⯑liament, in order to prevent their plundering the country; much of this, however, remain⯑ed unpaid, from the unavoidable neceſſities of the times, and much more was claimed by the Scotch than was really due. Neverthe⯑leſs, they now ſaw this a convenient time for inſiſting on their arrears; and they reſolved to make the king the inſtrument by which this money was to be obtained. After various de⯑bates upon this head between them and the parliament, in which they pretended to great honour, and inſiſted upon many punctilios, they agreed, that upon payment of four hun⯑dred [286] thouſand pounds they would deliver up the king to his enemies, and this was chear⯑fully complied with. An action ſo atrocious may be palliated, but can never be defended; they returned home laden with plunder, and the reproaches of all good men.

From this period, to the deſpotic govern⯑ment of Cromwell, the conſtitution was con⯑vulſed with all the agitations of faction, guilt, ignorance, and enthuſiaſm. The kingly power being laid low, the parliament attempted to aſſume the rein; but they were ſoon to ſubmit in turn to the military power, which, like all democracies, was turbulent, tranſient, feeble, and bloody.

CHAP. XXXII. CHARLES I. (Continued.)

THE king being delivered over by the Scotch to the parliamentary commiſſioners, he was conducted under a guard to Holmby Caſ⯑tle, in Northamptonſhire. They treated him in confinement with the moſt rigorous ſeve⯑rity, diſmiſſing all his ancient ſervants, debar⯑ring him from all viſits, and cutting off all communication with his friends and family.

The civil war was now over; the king had abſolved his followers from their allegiance, and the parliament had now no enemy to fear, except thoſe very troops by which they had extended their overgrown authority. But in proportion as the terror of the king's power diminiſhed, the diviſions between the inde⯑pendents and the preſbyterians became more apparent. The majority in the houſe were of the preſbyterian ſect; but the majority of the army were ſtaunch independents. At the head of this ſect was Cromwell, who ſecretly directed its operations, and invigorated all their meaſures.

[288]Oliver Cromwell, whoſe talents now began to appear in full luſtre, was the ſon of a pri⯑vate gentleman of Huntingdon; but being the ſon of a ſecond brother, he inherited a very ſmall paternal fortune. He had been ſent to Cambridge; but his inclinations not at that time turning to the calm occupations of elegant literature, he was remarkable only for the profligacy of his conduct, and the waſting his paternal fortune. It was, perhaps, his poverty that induced him to fall into the oppoſite extreme ſhortly after; for, from being one of the moſt debauched men in the king⯑dom, he became the moſt rigid and abſtemious. The ſame vehemence of temper, which had tranſported him into the extremes of pleaſure, now diſtinguiſhed his religious habits. He endeavoured to improve his ſhattered fortunes by agriculture; but this expedient ſerved only to plunge him in further difficulties. He was even determined to go over and ſettle in New England; but was hindered by the king's or⯑dinance to the contrary. From accident or intrigue, he was choſen member for the town of Cambridge, in the long parliament; but he ſeemed at firſt to poſſeſs no talents for oratory, his perſon being ungraceful, his dreſs ſlovenly, his elocution homely, tedious, obſcure, and [289] embarraſſed. He made up, however, by zeal and perſeverance, what he wanted in natural powers; and being endowed with unſhaken in⯑trepidity, much diſſimulation, and a thorough conviction of the rectitude of his cauſe, he roſe, through the gradations of preferment, to the poſt of lieutenant-general under Fairfax; but, in reality, poſſeſſing the ſupreme command over the whole army.

Soon after the retreat of the Scotch, the preſbyterian party, ſeeing every thing reduced to obedience, began to talk of diſmiſſing a conſiderable part of the army, and to ſend the reſt to Ireland. It may eaſily be ſuppoſed, that for every reaſon the army were as unwil⯑ling to diſband, as to be led over into a coun⯑try as yet uncivilized, uncultivated, and bar⯑barous. Cromwell took care to inſpire them with an horror of either; they loved him for his bravery and religious zeal, and ſtill more for his ſeeming affection to them. Inſtead, therefore, of preparing to diſband, they reſolv⯑ed to petition; and they began by deſiring an indemnity, ratified by the king, for any illegal actions which they might have commit⯑ted during the war. This the commons, in turn, treated with great ſeverity; they voted, that this petition tended to introduce mutiny, [290] to put conditions upon the parliament, to obſtruct the relief of the kingdom of Ireland; and they threatened to proceed againſt the promoters of it as enemies to the ſtate and diſturbers of the public peace.

The army now began to conſider themſelves as a body diſtinct from the commonwealth; and complained, that they had ſecured the general tranquility, while they were, at the ſame time, deprived of the privileges of Eng⯑liſhmen. In oppoſition, therefore, to the par⯑liament at Weſtminſter, a military parliament was formed, compoſed of the officers and common ſoldiers of each regiment. The prin⯑cipal officers formed a council to repreſent the body of peers; the ſoldiers elected two men out of each company to repreſent the houſe of commons, and theſe were called the Agita⯑tors of the army. Cromwell took care to be one of the number, and thus contrived an eaſy method under-hand of conducting and pro⯑moting the ſedition of the army.

This fierce aſſembly having debated for a very ſhort time, declared, that they found many grievances to be redreſſed; and began by ſpecifying ſuch as they deſired to be moſt ſpeedily removed. The very ſame conduct which had formerly been uſed with ſucceſs by [291] the parliament againſt their ſovereign, was now put in practice by the army againſt the par⯑liament. As the commons granted every re⯑queſt, the agitators roſe in their demands; theſe accuſed the army of mutiny and ſedition; the army retorted the charge, and alledged, that the king had been depoſed only to make way for their uſurpations.

The unhappy king, in the mean time, con⯑tinued a priſoner at Holmby caſtle; and as his countenance might add ſome authority to that ſide which ſhould obtain it, Cromwell, who ſecretly conducted all the meaſures of the army, while he apparently exclaimed againſt their violence, reſolved to ſeize the king's perſon. Accordingly a party of five hundred horſe appeared at Holmby caſtle, under the command of one Joyce, who had been originally a taylor; but who, in the preſent confuſion of all ranks and orders, was advan⯑ced to the rank of cornet. Without any op⯑poſition he entered the king's apartment, armed with piſtols, and told him, that he muſt prepare to go with him. Whither? ſaid the king, To the army, replied Joyce. By what warrant? aſked the king. Joyce pointed to his followers. ‘"Your warrant, replied Charles is wrote in fair characters."’ And then [292] without further delay he went into his coach, and was ſafely conducted to the army who were haſtening to their rendezvous at Triplo⯑heath, near Cambridge. The next day Crom⯑well arrived among them, where he was receiv⯑ed with acclamations of joy, and was inſtantly inveſted with the ſupreme command.

It was now that the commons perceived a ſettled deſign in the army to preſcribe laws to their employers; and they did not fail to ſpread the alarm through the city. But it was too late to reſiſt; the army, with Cromwell at their head, advanced with precipitation, and arrived in a few days at St Alban's; ſo that the commons now began to think of tempo⯑rizing. The declaration, by which they had voted the military petitioners enemies to the ſtate, was recalled, and erazed from their journal book. But all ſubmiſſion was be⯑come vain; the army ſtill roſe in their de⯑mands, in proportion as thoſe demands were gratified, until at laſt they entirely threw off the maſk, and claimed a right of modelling the whole government, and ſettling the na⯑tion.

But as too precipitate an aſſumption of au⯑thority might appear invidious, Cromwell be⯑gan [293] by accuſing eleven members of the houſe as guilty of high treaſon, and enemies to the army. The members accuſed were the very leaders of the preſbyterian party, the very men who had preſcribed ſuch rigorous meaſures to the king, and now, in their turn, were threa⯑tened with popular reſentment. As they were the leading men in the houſe, the commons were willing to protect them; but the army inſiſting on their diſmiſſion, they voluntarily left the houſe, rather than be compelled to withdraw.

At laſt, the citizens of London, who had been ever foremoſt in ſedition, began to open their eyes, and to perceive that the conſtitution was totally overturned. They ſaw an oppreſ⯑ſive parliament now ſubjected to a more op⯑preſſive army; they found their religion abo⯑liſhed, their king a captive, and no hopes of redreſs but from another ſcene of ſlaughter. In this exigence, therefore, the common-coun⯑cil aſſembled the militia of the city; the works were manned, and a manifeſto publiſhed, ag⯑gravating the hoſtile intentions of the army. Finding that the houſe of commons, in com⯑pliance with the requeſt of the army, had voted that the city militia ſhould be diſbanded, the multitude roſe, beſieged the door of the [294] houſe, and obliged them to reverſe that vote which they had paſſed ſo lately.

In this manner was this wretched houſe in⯑timidated on either ſide, obliged at one time to obey the army, at another, to comply with the clamours of the city rabble. This aſſembly was, in conſequence, divided into parties, as uſual, one part ſiding with the ſeditious citi⯑zens; while the minority, with the two ſpeakers at their head, were for encouraging the army. In ſuch an univerſal confuſion, it is not to be ex⯑pected that any thing leſs than a ſeparation of the parties could take place; and accord⯑ingly the two ſpeakers, with ſixty two mem⯑bers, ſecretly retired from the houſe, and threw themſelves under the protection of the army, that were then at Hounſlow-heath. They were received with ſhouts and acclamations, their integrity was extolled, and the whole body of the ſoldiery, a formidable force of twenty-thouſand men, now moved forward to rein⯑ſtate them in their former ſeats and ſtations.

In the mean time, that part of the houſe that was left behind, reſolved to act with vigour, and reſiſt the encroachments of the army. They choſe new ſpeakers, they gave orders for enliſting troops, they ordered the train⯑bands to man the lines; and the whole city, [295] boldly reſolved to reſiſt the invaſion. But this reſolution only held while the enemy was thought at a diſtance, for when the formida⯑ble force of Cromwell appeared, all was obe⯑dience and ſubmiſſion; the gates were opened to the general, who attended the two ſpeakers, and the reſt of the members, peaceably to their habitations. The eleven impeached members, being accuſed as cauſes of the tumult, were expelled, and moſt of them retired to the con⯑tinent. The mayor, ſheriff, and three alder⯑men, were ſent to the Tower; ſeveral citizens, and officers of militia, were committed to pri⯑ſon, and the lines about the city were levelled to the ground. The command of the Tower was given to Fairfax, the general; and the par⯑liament ordered him their hearty thanks for having diſobeyed their commands.

It now only remained to diſpoſe of the king, who had been ſent by the army a priſoner to Hampton-Court. The independent army, at the head of whom was Cromwell, on one hand; and the preſbyterians in the name of either houſe, on the other hand, treated ſeparately with him in private. He had at one time even hopes, that in theſe ſtruggles for power, he might have been choſen mediator in the diſ⯑pute; and he expected that the kingdom, at [296] laſt ſenſible of the miſeries of anarchy, would, like a froward child, huſhed with its own im⯑portunities, ſettle into its former tranquil con⯑ſtitution. However, in all his miſeries and doubts, though at firſt led about with the army, and afterwards kept a priſoner by them at Hampton, ſuch was his admirable equality of temper, that no difference was perceived in his countenance and behaviour. Though a captive in the hands of his moſt inveterate enemies, he ſtill ſupported the dignity of a monarch; and he never one moment ſunk from the conſciouſneſs of his own ſuperio⯑rity.

It is true, that at firſt he was treated with ſome flattering marks of diſtinction; he was permitted to converſe with his old ſervants, his chaplains were admitted to attend him, and celebrate divine ſervice their own way. But the moſt exquiſite pleaſure he enjoyed was in the company of his children, with whom he had ſeveral interviews. The meet⯑ing on theſe occaſions was ſo pathetic, that Cromwell himſelf, who was once preſent, could not help being moved; he was heard to declare, that he had never beheld ſuch an affecting ſcene before; and we muſt do juſtice to this man's feelings, as he was himſelf a tenderfather.

[297]But thoſe flattering inſtances of reſpect and ſubmiſſion were of no long continuance. As ſoon as the army had gained a complete victory over the houſe of commons, the independents began to abate of their expreſſions of duty and re⯑ſpect. The king therefore was now more ſtrictly guarded: they would hardly allow his domeſtics to converſe with him in private, and ſpies were employed to mark all his words and actions. He was every hour threatened with falſe dangers of Cromwell's contrivance; by which he was taught to fear for his perſonal ſafety. The ſpies and creatures of that cunning man, were ſedulouſly employed in raiſing the king's terrors, and repreſenting to him the danger of his ſituation. Theſe, therefore, at length pre⯑vailed, and Charles reſolved to withdraw him⯑ſelf from the army. Cromwell conſidered, that if he ſhould eſcape the kingdom, there would be then a theatre open to his ambition; if he ſhould be apprehended, the late attempt would aggravate his guilt, and apologize for any ſucceeding ſeverity.

Early in the evening the king retired to his chamber, on pretence of being indiſpoſed; and about an hour after midnight, he went down the back-ſtairs, attended by Aſhburn⯑ham and Legg, both gentlemen of his bed⯑chamber. [298] Sir John Berkeley waited for him at the garden-gate with horſes, which they in⯑ſtantly mounted, and travelling through the Foreſt all night, arrived at Tichfield, the ſeat of the earl of Southampton. Before he arrived at this place, had gone towards the ſhore, and expreſſed great anxiety that a ſhip, which Aſh⯑burnham had promiſed to be in readineſs, was not to be ſeen. At Tichfield he deliberated with his friends upon his next excurſion, and they adviſed him to croſs over to the Iſle of Wight, where Hammond was governor; who, though a creature of Cromwell's, was yet a nephew of one doctor Hammond, the king's chaplain. To this inauſpicious protector it was reſolved to have recourſe; Aſhburnham and Berkeley were ſent before to exact a pro⯑miſe from this officer, that if he would not protect the king, he would not detain him. Hammond ſeemed ſurpriſed at their demand; expreſſed his inclination to ſerve his majeſty, but at the ſame time alledged his duty to his employers. He therefore attended the king's gentlemen to Tichfield, with a guard of ſol⯑diers, and ſtaid in a lower apartment while Aſhburnham went up to the king's chamber. Charles no ſooner underſtood that Hammond was in the houſe with a body of troops, than [299] he exclaimed, ‘"O Jack! thou haſt undone me!"’ Aſhburnham ſhed a flood of tears, and offered to go down and diſpatch the governor, but the king repreſſed his ardour. When Ham⯑mond came into his preſence, he repeated his profeſſions of regard; Charles ſubmitted to his fate; and, without further delay, attended him to Cariſbrook caſtle, in the Iſle of Wight, where at firſt he found himſelf treated with marks of duty and reſpect.

While the king continued in this forlorn ſituation, the parliament, new modelled as it was by the army, was every day growing more feeble and factious. Cromwell, on the other hand, was ſtrengthening the army, and taking every precaution to repreſs any tendency to factious diviſion among them. Nor were his fears without juſt cauſe; for had it not been for the quickneſs of his penetration, and the boldneſs of his activity, the whole army would have been thrown into a ſtate of ungovernable frenzy.

Among the independents, who, in general, were for having no eccleſiaſtical ſubordination, a ſet of men grew up called Levellers, who diſ⯑allowed all ſubordination whatſoever, and de⯑clared that they would have no other chap⯑lain, king, or general, but Chriſt. They de⯑clared [300] that all men were equal; that all de⯑grees and ranks ſhould be levelled, and an exact partition of property eſtabliſhed in the nation. This ferment ſpread through the army; and as it was a doctrine well ſuited to the poverty of the daring ſoldiery, it promiſed every day to become more dangerous and fatal. Several petitions were preſented, urging the juſtice of a partition, and threatening vengeance in caſe of refuſing redreſs.

Cromwell now ſaw that he was upon the point of loſing all the fruits of his former ſchemes and dangers, and dreaded this new faction ſtill more, as they turned his own pre⯑tended principles againſt himſelf. Thus find⯑ing all at ſtake, he reſolved, by one reſolute blow, to diſperſe the faction, or periſh in the attempt. Having intimation that the levellers were to meet at a certain place, be unexpected⯑ly appeared before the terrified aſſembly, at the head of his red regiment, which had been hi⯑therto invincible. He demanded, in the name of God, what theſe meetings and murmurings meant; he expoſtulated with them upon the danger and conſequence of their precipitate ſchemes, and deſired them immediately to de⯑part. But inſtead of obeying, they returned an inſolent anſwer; wherefore, ruſhing on them [301] in a fury, he laid, with his own hands, two of them dead at his feet. His guards diſperſing the reſt, he cauſed ſeveral of them to be hang⯑ed upon the ſpot, he ſent others priſoners to London; and thus diſſipated a faction, no otherwiſe criminal than in having followed his own example.

This action ſerved ſtill more to encreaſe the power of Cromwell in the camp, and in the parliament; and while Fairfax was nominally general of the troops, he was inveſted with all the power. But his authority ſoon became irreſiſtible, in conſequence of a new and unex⯑pected addition to his ſucceſſes. The Scotch, perhaps aſhamed of the reproach of having ſold their king, and ſtimulated farther by the independents, who took all occaſions to mor⯑tify them, raiſed an army in his favour, and the chief command was given to the earl of Ha⯑milton; while Langdale, who profeſſed him⯑ſelf at the head of the more bigotted party, who had taken the covenant, marched at the head of his ſeparate body, and both invaded the North of England. Their two armies amounted to above twenty thouſand men. But Cromwell, at the head of eight thouſand of his hardy veterans, feared not to give them battle; he attacked them one after the other, [302] routed and diſperſed them, took Hamilton priſoner; and, following his blow, entered Scot⯑land, where he ſettled the government entirely to his ſatisfaction. An inſurrection in Kent, was quelled by Fairfax, at the ſame time with the ſame eaſe; and nothing but ſucceſs attend⯑ed all this bold uſurper's criminal attempts.

During theſe contentions, the king, who was kept a priſoner at Cariſbrook, continued to negociate with the parliament for ſettling the unſpeakable calamities of the kingdom. The parliament ſaw no other method of deſtroying the military power, but to depreſs it by the kingly. Frequent propoſals for an accommo⯑dation paſſed between the captive king and the commons; but the great obſtacle which had all along ſtood in the way, ſtill kept them from agreeing. This was the king's refuſing to abo⯑liſh epiſcopacy, though he conſented to de⯑ſtroy the liturgy of the church. However, the treaty was ſtill carried on with vigour, as the parliament had more to apprehend from the deſigns of their generals, than from the attempts of the king; and, for the firſt time, they ſeemed in earneſt to conclude their nego⯑ciations.

But all was now too late; their power was ſoon totally to expire, for the rebellious army, [303] crowned with ſucceſs, was returned from the deſtruction of their enemies; and, ſenſible of their own power, with furious remonſtrances be⯑gan to demand vengeance on the king. At the ſame time they advanced to Windſor; and ſend⯑ing an officer to ſeize the king's perſon, where he was lately ſent under confinement, they con⯑veyed him to Hurſt-caſtle, in Hampſhire, op⯑poſite the Iſle of Wight. It was in vain that the parliament complained of this harſh proceeding, as being contrary to their approbation; it was in vain that they began to iſſue ordinances for a more effectual oppoſition; they received a meſſage from Cromwell, that he intended pay⯑nig them a viſit the next day with his army; and in the mean time, ordered them to raiſe him forty thouſand pounds upon the city of London.

The commons, however, though deſtitute of all hopes of prevailing, had ſtill courage to reſiſt, and attempted, in the face of the whole army, to cloſe their treaty with the king. They had taken into conſideration the whole of his conceſſions; and though they had for⯑merly voted them unſatisfactory, they now renewed the conſultation with freſh vigour. After a violent debate, which had laſted three days, it was carried in the king's favour by a [304] majority of an hundred and twenty-nine againſt eighty-three, that his conceſſions were a foun⯑dation for the houſes to proceed upon in the ſettlement of the kingdom. This was the laſt attempt in his favour; for the next day Co⯑lonel Pride, at the head of two regiments, blockaded the houſe, and ſeized in the paſſage forty-one members of the preſbyterian party; and ſent them to a low room belonging to the houſe, that paſſed by the denomination of Hell. Above an hundred and ſixty mem⯑bers more were excluded: and none were allowed to enter but the moſt furious and determined of the independents, in all not exceeding ſixty. This atrocious invaſion of the parliamentary rights, commonly paſſed by the name of Pride's purge, and the remain⯑ing members were called the Rump. Theſe ſoon voted, that the tranſactions of the houſe a few days before were entirely illegal, and that their general's conduct was juſt and neceſ⯑ſary.

Nothing now remained after the conſtitution had been deſtroyed, after the parliament had been ejected, after the religion of the country had been aboliſhed, after the braveſt and the beſt of its ſubjects had been ſlain, but to mur⯑der the king! This vile parliament, if it now deſerves the name, was compoſed of a medley [305] of the moſt obſcure citizens, and the officers of the army. In this aſſembly, therefore, a committee was appointed to bring in a charge againſt the king; and, on their report, a vote paſſed, declaring it treaſon in a king to levy war againſt his parliament. It was therefore reſolved that an High Court of Juſtice ſhould be appointed to try his majeſty for this new⯑invented treaſon. For form ſake they deſired the concurrence of the few remaining lords in the other houſe; but here there was virtue enough left unanimouſly to reject the horrid propoſal.

But the commons were not to be ſtopped by ſo ſmall an obſtacle. They voted, that the concurrence of the houſe of lords was unne⯑ceſſary; they voted, that the people were the origin of all juſt power, a fact which, though true, they could never bring home to them⯑ſelves. To add to their zeal, a woman of Herefordſhire, illuminated by prophetical vi⯑ſions, deſired admittance, and communicated a revelation which ſhe had received from hea⯑ven. She aſſured them that their meaſures were conſecrated from above, and ratified by the ſanction of the Holy Ghoſt. This intelli⯑gence gave them great comfort, and much confirmed them in their preſent reſolutions.

[306]Colonel Harriſon, the ſon of a butcher, was commanded to conduct the king from Hurſt caſtle to Windſor, and from thence to London. His afflicted ſubjects, who ran to have a ſight of their ſovereign, were greatly affected at the change that appeared in his face and perſon. He had allowed his beard to grow; his hair was become venerably grey, rather by the preſſure of anxiety than the hand of time; while the reſt of his apparel bore the marks of misfortune and decay. Thus he ſtood a ſolitary figure of majeſty in diſtreſs, which even his adverſaries could not behold without reverence and compaſſion. He had been long attended only by an old decrepid ſervant, whoſe name was Sir Philip Warwick, who could only deplore his maſter's fate, without being able to revenge his cauſe. All the exterior ſymbols of ſovereignty were now withdrawn; and his new attendants had orders to ſerve him without ceremony. The duke of Hamilton, who was reſerved for the ſame pu⯑niſhment with his maſter, having leave to take a laſt farewell as he departed from Windſor, threw himſelf at the king's feet crying out, ‘"My dear maſter."’ The unhappy monarch raiſed him up, and embracing him tenderly, replied, while the tears ran down his cheeks, [307] ‘"I have indeed been a dear maſter to you."’ Theſe were ſevere diſtreſſes; however, he could not be perſuaded that his adverſaries would bring him to a formal trial; but he every moment expected to be diſpatched by private aſſaſſination.

From the ſixth, to the twentieth of January, was ſpent in making preparations for his ex⯑traordinary trial. The court of juſtice con⯑ſiſted of an hundred and thirty-three perſons named by the commons; but of theſe never above ſeventy met upon the trial. The members were chiefly compoſed of the chief officers of the army, moſt of them of very mean birth, together with ſome of the lower houſe, and a few citizens of London. Bradſhaw, a law⯑yer, was choſen preſident, Coke was appointed ſollicitor for the people of England, Doriſlaus, Steele and Aſke, were named aſſiſtants. The court ſat in Weſtminſter-Hall.

The king was now conducted from Wind⯑ſor to St. James's, and the next day was brought before the high court to take his trial. While the crier was calling over the names of the commiſſioners for trying him, no body anſwering for lord Fairfax, a female voice from the gallery was heard to cry out, ‘"He has more wit than to be here."’ When [308] the impeachment was read in the name of the people of England, the ſame voice exclaimed, ‘"No, nor a tenth part of them."’ Axtel, the officer who guarded the court, giving orders to fire into the box from whence the voice proceeded, it was diſcovered that theſe bold anſwers came from the lady Fairfax, who alone had courage to condemn their proceed⯑ings.

When the king was brought forward before the court, he was conducted by the mace⯑bearer to a chair placed within the bar. Tho' long detained a priſoner, and now produced as a criminal, he ſtill ſuſtained the dignity of a king; he ſurveyed the members of the court with a ſtern haughty air, and, without moving his hat, ſat down, while the members alſo were covered. His charge was then read by the ſollicitor, accuſing him of having been the cauſe of all the bloodſhed which followed ſince the commencement of the war; at that part of the charge he could not ſuppreſs a ſmile of con⯑tempt and indignation. After the charge was finiſhed, Bradſhaw directed his diſcourſe to the king, and told him, that the court ex⯑pected his anſwer.

The king with great temper entered upon his defence, by declining the authority of the [309] court. He repreſented, that having been en⯑gaged in treaty with his two houſes of parlia⯑ment, and having finiſhed almoſt every article, he expected a different treatment from that he now received. He perceived, he ſaid, no ap⯑pearance of an upper houſe, which was neceſ⯑ſary to conſtitute a juſt tribunal. That he was himſelf the king and fountain of law, and con⯑ſequently could not be tried by laws to which he had never given his aſſent; that having been entruſted with the liberties of the people, he would not now betray them, by recogniz⯑ing a power founded in uſurpation; that he was willing before a proper tribunal to enter into the particulars of his defence; but that before them he muſt decline any apology for his innocence, leſt he ſhould be conſidered as the betrayer of, and not a martyr for the con⯑ſtitution.

Bradſhaw, in order to ſupport the authority of the court, inſiſted, that they had received their power from the people, the ſource of all right. He preſſed the priſoner not to decline the authority of the court, that was delegated by the commons of England, and interrupted, and over-ruled the king in his attempts to reply.

In this manner the king was three times pro⯑duced before the court, and as often perſiſted [310] in declining its juriſdiction. The fourth and laſt time he was brought before this ſelf-creat⯑ed court, as he was proceeding thither, he was inſulted by the ſoldiers and the mob, who exclaimed, ‘"Juſtice! juſtice! execution! exe⯑cution!"’ but he continued undaunted. His judges having now examined ſome witneſ⯑ſes, by whom it was proved that the king had appeared in arms againſt the forces commiſ⯑ſioned by parliament, they pronounced ſen⯑tence againſt him. He ſeemed very anxious at this time to be admitted to a conference with the two houſes; and it was ſuppoſed that he intended to reſign the crown to his ſon; but the court refuſed compliance, and conſi⯑dered his requeſt as an artifice to delay juſtice.

The conduct of the king under all theſe in⯑ſtances of low-bred malice was great, firm, and equal; in going through the hall from this execrable tribunal, the ſoldiers and rabble were again inſtigated to cry out juſtice and execu⯑tion. They reviled him with the moſt bitter reproaches. Among other inſults, one miſ⯑creant preſumed to ſpit in the face of his ſo⯑vereign. He patiently bore their inſolence. ‘"Poor ſouls, cried he, they would treat their generals in the ſame manner for ſix pence."’ Thoſe of the populace, who ſtill retained the [311] feelings of humanity, expreſſed their ſorrow in ſighs and tears. A ſoldier more compaſ⯑ſionate than the reſt, could not help imploring a bleſſing upon his royal head. An officer overhearing him, ſtruck the honeſt centinel to the ground before the king, who could not help ſaying, that the puniſhment exceeded the offence.

At his return to Whitehall, he deſired the permiſſion of the houſe to ſee his children, and to be attended in his private devotions by doctor Juxon, late biſhop of London. Theſe requeſts were granted, and alſo three days to prepare for the execution of the ſentence. All that remained of his family now in England were the princeſs Elizabeth, and the duke of Glouceſter, a child of about three years of age. After many ſeaſonable and ſenſible ex⯑hortations to his daughter, he took his little ſon in his arms, and embracing him, ‘"My child, ſaid he, they will cut off thy father's head, yes they will cut off my head, and make thee a king. But mark what I ſay; thou muſt not be a king as long as thy brothers Charles and James are alive. They will cut off their heads when they can take them, and thy head too they will cut off at laſt, and therefore I charge thee do not be [312] made a king by them."’ The child, burſt⯑ing into tears, replied, ‘"I will be torn in pieces firſt."’

Every night during the interval between his ſentence and execution, the king ſlept ſound as uſual, though the noiſe of the workmen, employed in framing the ſcaffold, continually reſounded in his ears. The fatal morning being at laſt arrived, he roſe early; and calling one of his attendants, he bad him employ more than uſual care in dreſſing him, and preparing him for ſo great and joyful a ſolemnity. The ſtreet before Whitehall was the place deſtined for his execution; for it was intended that this would encreaſe the ſeverity of his puniſhment. He was led through the Banquetting Houſe to the ſcaffold adjoining to that edifice, at⯑tended by his friend and ſervant biſhop Juxon, a man endowed with the ſame mild and ſteady virtues with his maſter. The ſcaffold, which was covered with black, was guarded by a regiment of ſoldiers, under the command of colonel Tomlinſon, and on it were to be ſeen the block, the ax, and two executioners in maſques. The people in great crowds ſtood at a greater diſ⯑tance, in dreadful expectation of the event. The king ſurveyed all theſe ſolemn prepara⯑tions with calm compoſure; and as he could [313] not expect to be heard by the people at a diſ⯑tance, he addreſſed himſelf to the few perſons who ſtood round him. He there juſtified his own innocence in the late fatal wars; and ob⯑ſerved, that he had not taken arms till after the parliament, had ſhewn him the example. That he had no other object in his warlike preparations than to preſerve that authority en⯑tire, which had been tranſmitted to him by his anceſtors: but, though innocent towards his people, he acknowledged the equity of his execution in the eyes of his Maker. He owned that he was juſtly puniſhed for having conſented to the execution of an unjuſt ſen⯑tence upon the earl of Strafford. He forgave all his enemies, exhorted the people to return to their obedience, and acknowledge his ſon as his ſucceſſor, and ſignified his attachment to the proteſtant religion, as profeſſed in the church of England. So ſtrong was the impreſ⯑ſion his dying words made upon the few who could hear him, that colonel Tomlinſon himſelf, to whoſe care he had been committed, acknowleged himſelf a convert.

While he was preparing himſelf for the block, biſhop Juxon called out to him: ‘"There is, Sir, but one ſtage more, which, though turbulent and troubleſome, is yet a [314] very ſhort one. It will ſoon carry you a great way. It will carry you from earth to heaven, and there you ſhall find, to your great joy, the prize to which you haſten, a crown of glory."’ ‘"I go, replied the king, from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no diſturbance can have place."’ ‘"You exchange, replied the biſhop, a temporal for an eternal crown, a good exchange."’ Charles having taken off his cloak delivered his George to the prelate, pronouncing the word ‘"Remember."’ Then he laid his neck on the block, and ſtretching out his hands as a ſignal, one of the executioners ſevered his head from his body at a blow, while the other, holding it up, exclaimed, ‘"This is the head of a traitor."’ The ſpectators teſtified their horror at that ſad ſpectacle in ſighs, tears, and lamentations; the tide of their duty and af⯑fection began to return, and each blamed him⯑ſelf either with active diſloyalty to his king, or a paſſive compliance with his deſtroyers. The very pulpits, that uſed to reſound with inſo⯑lence and ſedition, were now bedewed with tears of unfeigned repentance; and all united in their deteſtation of thoſe dark hypocrites, who, to ſatisfy their own enmity, involved a whole nation in the guilt of treaſon.

[315]Charles was executed in the forty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-fourth of his reign. He was of a middling ſtature, robuſt, and well proportioned. His viſage was pleaſ⯑ing, but melancholy; and it is probable that the continual troubles in which he was in⯑volved might have made that impreſſion on his countenance. As for his character, the reader will deduce it with more preciſion and ſatisfaction to himſelf from the detail of his conduct, than from any ſummary given of it by the hiſtorian. It will ſuffice to ſay, that all his faults ſeem to have ariſen from the error of his education; while all his virtues, and he poſſeſſed many, were the genuine offspring of his heart. He lived at a time when the ſpirit of the conſtitution was at variance with the genius of the people; and governing by old rules and precedents, inſtead of accommodat⯑ing himſelf to the changes of the times, he fell, and drew down as he ſunk the conſtitu⯑tion in ruins round him. Many kings before him expired by treaſons or aſſaſſinations; but never ſince the times of Agis the Lacedemo⯑nian was there any other ſacrificed by his ſub⯑jects with all the formalities of juſtice. Many were the miſeries ſuſtained by the nation in bringing this monarch to the block, and more [316] were yet to be endured previous to the ſettle⯑ment of the conſtitution; yet theſe ſtruggles in the end were productive of domeſtic hap⯑pineſs and ſecurity, the laws became more preciſe, the monarch's privileges better aſcer⯑tained, and the ſubjects duty better delineated; all became more peaceable, as if a previous fermentation in the conſtitution was neceſſary for its ſubſequent refinement.

CHAP. XXXIII. THE COMMONWEALTH▪

CROMWELL,A.D. 1649 who had ſecretly ſolli⯑cited, and contrived the king's death, now began to feel wiſhes to which he had been hi⯑therto a ſtranger. His proſpects widening as he roſe, his firſt principles of liberty were all loſt in the unbounded ſtretch of power that lay before him. When the peers met on the day appointed in their adjournment, they en⯑tered [318] upon buſineſs, and ſent down ſome votes to the commons, of which the latter deigned not to take the leaſt notice. In a few days af⯑ter the commons voted, that the houſe of lords was uſeleſs and dangerous, and therefore was to be aboliſhed. They voted it high treaſon to acknowledge Charles Stuart, ſon of the late king, as ſucceſſor to the throne. A great ſeal was made, on one ſide of which were engra⯑ven the arms of England and Ireland, with this inſcription: ‘"The great ſeal of Eng⯑land."’ On the reverſe was repreſented the houſe of commons ſitting, with this motto: ‘"On the firſt year of freedom, by God's bleſſing reſtored, 1648."’ The forms of all public buſineſs were changed from the king's name, to that of the keepers of the liberties of England.

The next day they proceeded to try thoſe gallant men, whoſe attachment to their late ſovereign had been the moſt remarkable. The duke of Hamilton and lord Capel were con⯑demned and executed, the earl of Holland loſt his life by a like ſentence, the earl of Nor⯑wich and Sir John Owen were condemned, but afterwards pardoned by the commons.

The Scotch, who had in the beginning ſhewn themſelves ſo averſe to the royal family, [319] and having, by a long train of ſucceſſes, to⯑tally ſuppreſſed all inſurrections in its favour, now firſt began to relent from their various perſecutions. Their loyalty began to return; and the inſolence of the independents, with their victories, ſerved to enflame them ſtill more. The execution of their favourite duke Hamilton alſo, who was put to death not only contrary to the laws of war, but of nations, was no ſmall vexation; they, therefore, deter⯑mined to acknowlege prince Charles for their king. But their love of liberty was ſtill pre⯑dominant, and ſeemed to combat with their manifold reſentments. At the ſame time that they reſolved upon raiſing him to the throne, they abridged his power with every limitation which they had attempted to impoſe on their late ſovereign.

Charles, after the death of his father, hav⯑ing paſſed ſome time at Paris, and finding no likelihood of aſſiſtance from that quarter, was glad to accept of any conditions. He poſſeſſed neither the virtues nor the conſtancy of his father; and being attached to no religion as yet, he agreed to all their propoſals, being ſatis⯑fied with even the formalities of royalty. It is remarkable, that while the Scotch were thus inviting their king over, they were, neverthe⯑leſs, [320] cruelly puniſhing thoſe who had adhered to his cauſe. Among others, the earl of Mon⯑troſe, one of the braveſt, politeſt, and moſt finiſhed characters of that age, was taken pri⯑ſoner, as he endeavoured to raiſe the High⯑landers in the royal cauſe; and being brought to Edinburgh was hanged on a gibbet thirty feet high, then quartered, and his limbs ſtuck up in the principal towns of the kingdom. Yet notwithſtanding all this ſeverity to his fol⯑lowers, Charles ventured into Scotland, and had the mortification to enter the gate of Edin⯑burgh, where the limbs of that faithful adhe⯑rent were ſtill expoſed.

Being now entirely at the mercy of the gloomy and auſtere zealots, who had been the cauſe of his father's misfortunes, he ſoon found that he had only exchanged exile for impriſonment. He was ſurrounded, and in⯑ceſſantly importuned by the fanatical clergy, who obtruded their religious inſtructions, and obliged him to liſten to long ſermons, in which they ſeldom failed to ſtigmatize the late king as a tyrant, to accuſe his mother of idolatry, and himſelf of an untoward diſpoſition. Six ſer⯑mons a day were his uſual allowance; and though they laboured to out-go each other in abſurdity, yet he was denied the ſmall conſo⯑lation [321] of laughter. In ſhort, the clergy having brought royalty under their feet, were reſolved to keep it ſtill ſubſervient, and to trample upon it with all the contumely of ſucceſsful upſtarts. Charles for a while bore all their inſolence with hypocritical tranquili⯑ty, and even pretended to be highly edified by their inſtructions. He once, indeed, at⯑tempted to eſcape from among them; but being brought back, he owned the greatneſs of his error, he teſtified repentance for what he had done, and looked about for another op⯑portunity of eſcaping.

In the mean time, Cromwell, who had been appointed to the command of the army in Ireland, proſecuted the war in that kingdom with his uſual ſucceſs. He had to combat againſt the Royaliſts, commanded by the duke of Ormond, and the native Iriſh, led on by O'Neal. But ſuch ill connected and barbarous troops could give very little oppoſition to Cromwell's more numerous forces, conducted by ſuch a general, and emboldened by long ſuc⯑ceſs. He ſoon over-ran the whole country; and after ſome time, all the towns revolted in his favour, and opened their gates at his ap⯑proach. But in theſe conqueſts, as in all the reſt of his actions, there appeared a brutal fe⯑rocity, [322] that could tarniſh the moſt heroic va⯑lour. In order to intimidate the natives from defending their towns, he, with a barbarous policy, put every garriſon that made any re⯑ſiſtance to the ſword. He entered the city of Drogheda by ſtorm, and indiſcriminately butch⯑ered men, women, and children, ſo that only one eſcaped the dreadful carnage to give an account of the maſſacre. He was now in the train of ſpeedily reducing the whole kingdom to ſubjection, when he was called over by the parliament to defend his own country againſt the Scotch, who, having eſpouſed the royal cauſe, had raiſed a conſiderable army to ſup⯑port it.

After Cromwell's return to England, upon taking his ſeat, he received the thanks of the houſe, by the mouth of the ſpeaker, for the ſervices he had done the commonwealth in Ireland. They then proceeded to deliberate upon chuſing a general for conducting the war in Scotland, which Fairfax refuſing upon principle, as he had all along declined oppoſ⯑ing the preſbyterians, the command neceſſa⯑rily devolved upon Cromwell. Fairfax, from that time forward declined meddling in public affairs; but ſending his commiſſion of gene⯑raliſſimo to the houſe, he retired to ſpend the [323] remainder of his life in peace and privacy. Cromwell, eager to purſue the path of ambi⯑tion that now lay before him, and being de⯑clared captain-general of the forces, boldly ſet forward for Scotland, at the head of an army of ſixteen thouſand men.

The Scotch, in the mean time, who had invited over their wretched king to be a pri⯑ſoner, not a ruler, among them, prepared to meet the invaſion. They had given the com⯑mand of their army to general Leſley, a good officer, who formed a proper plan for their defence. This prudent commander knew, that though ſuperior in numbers, his army was much inferior in diſcipline and experience to the Engliſh; and he kept himſelf carefully within his entrenchments. After ſome pre⯑vious motions on one ſide and the other, Cromwell, at laſt, ſaw himſelf in a very diſ⯑advantageous poſt near Dunbar, and his anta⯑goniſt waiting deliberately to take advantage of his ſituation.A.D. 1650 But the madneſs of the Scotch clergy ſaved him from the imminent diſgrace that was likely to attend him, and to their vain inſpirations he owed his ſecurity. Theſe had it ſeems been night and day wreſt⯑ling with the Lord in prayer, as they termed it; and they at laſt fancied that they had ob⯑tained the ſuperiority. Revelations they ſaid [324] were made them, that the heretical army, toge⯑ther with Agag their general, would be delivered into their hands. Upon the aſſurances of theſe viſions, they obliged their general, in ſpite of all his remonſtrances, to deſcend into the plain, and give the Engliſh battle.

The Engliſh had their viſions and their aſ⯑ſurances on their ſide alſo. Cromwell, in his turn, had been wreſtling with the Lord, and had come off with ſucceſs. When he was told that the Scotch army were coming down to engage, he aſſured his ſoldiers that the Lord had delivered the enemy into his hands; and he ordered his army to ſing pſalms, as already poſſeſſed of a certain victory. The Scotch, though double the number of the Engliſh, were ſoon put to flight, and purſued with great ſlaughter, while Cromwell did not loſe above forty men in all.

The unfortunate king, who hated all the Scotch army, and only dreaded Cromwell, was well enough pleaſed at the defeat, which belied all the aſſurances of his oppreſſors. It was attended alſo with this good conſequence to him, that it ſerved to introduce him to a greater ſhare of power than he had hitherto been permitted to enjoy. He now, therefore, put himſelf at the head of the ſmall part of the Scotch army that had ſurvived the defeat; [325] and theſe he ſtill further ſtrengthened by the royaliſts, whom the covenanters had ſome time before excluded from his ſervice. Cromwell, however, ſtill followed his blow, purſued the king's forces towards Perth, and cutting off the proviſions of the Scotch army, made it impoſſible for Charles to maintain his forces in that country any longer.

In this terrible exigence he embraced a re⯑ſolution worthy a prince, who was willing to hazard all for empire. Obſerving that the way was open to England, he reſolved immediately to march into that country, where he expected to be reinforced by all the royaliſts in that part of the kingdom. His generals were perſuaded to enter into the ſame views; and with one conſent the Scotch army, to the number of fourteen thouſand men, made an irruption ſouthwards.

But Charles ſoon found himſelf diſappoint⯑ed in the expectation of encreaſing his army. The Scotch, terrified at the proſpect of ſo hazardous an enterprize, fell from him in great numbers. The Engliſh, affrighted at the name of his opponent, dreaded to join him; but his mortifications were ſtill more encreaſed as he arrived at Worceſter, when informed, that Cromwell was marching with haſty ſtrides [326] from Scotland, with an army encreaſed to forty thouſand men. The news ſcarce arrived, when that active general himſelf appeared; and falling upon the town on all ſides, broke in upon the diſordered royaliſts. The ſtreets were ſtrewed with ſlaughter, the whole Scotch army was either killed or taken priſoners, and the king himſelf, having given many proofs of perſonal valour, was obliged to fly.

Imagination can ſcarce conceive adventures more romantic, or diſtreſſes more ſevere, than thoſe which attended the young king's eſcape from the ſcene of ſlaughter. After his hair was cut off, the better to diſguiſe his perſon, he wrought for ſome days in the habit of a peaſant, cutting faggots in a wood. He next made an attempt to retire into Wales, under the conduct of one Pendrel, a poor farmer, who was ſincerely attached to his cauſe. In this attempt, however, he was diſappointed, every paſs being guarded to prevent his eſcape. Being obliged to return, he met one colonel Careleſs, who, like himſelf, had eſcap⯑ed the carnage at Worceſter; and it was in his company that he was obliged to climb a ſpreading oak, among the thick branches of which they paſſed the day together, while they heard the ſoldiers of the enemy in purſuit of [327] them below. From thence he paſſed, with imminent danger, feeling all the varieties of famine, fatigue, and pain, till he arrived at the houſe of one colonel Lane, a zealous roy⯑aliſt in Staffordſhire. There he deliberated about the means of eſcaping into France; and Briſtol being ſuppoſed the propereſt port, it was agreed that he ſhould ride thither, before this gentleman's ſiſter, on a viſit to one Mrs. Norton, who lived in the neighbourhood of that city. During this journey he every day met with perſons, whoſe faces he knew; and at one time paſſed through a whole regiment of the enemy's army.

When they arrived at Mrs. Norton's, the firſt perſon they ſaw was one of his own chap⯑lains ſitting at the door, amuſing himſelf with ſeeing people play at bowls. The king, after having taken proper care of his horſe in the ſtable, was ſhewn to an apartment, which Mrs. Lane had provided for him, as it was ſaid he had the ague. The butler, however, being ſent to him with ſome refreſhment, no ſooner beheld his face, which was very pale with anxiety and fatigue, then he recollected his king and maſter; and falling upon his knees, while the tears ſtreamed down his cheeks, cried out, ‘"I am rejoiced to ſee your ma⯑jeſty."’ [328] The king was alarmed, but made the butler promiſe that he would keep the ſecret from every mortal, even from his maſter; and the honeſt ſervant punctually obeyed him.

No ſhip being found that would for a month ſet ſail from Briſtol, either for France or Spain, the king was obliged to go elſewhere for a paſſage. He therefore repaired to the houſe of colonel Wyndham, in Dorſetſhire, where he was cordially received; that gentleman's family having ever been loyal. His mother, a venerable matron, ſeemed to think the end of her life nobly rewarded, in having it in her power to give protection to her king. She expreſſed no diſatisfaction at having loſt three ſons, and one grand-child in the defence of his cauſe, ſince ſhe was honoured in being in⯑ſtrumental to his own preſervation.

Purſuing from thence his journey to the ſea⯑ſide, he once more had a very providential eſcape from a little inn, where he ſet up for the night. The day had been appointed by parliament for a ſolemn faſt; and a fanati⯑cal weaver, who had been a ſoldier in the parlia⯑ment army, was preaching againſt the king in a little chapel fronting the houſe. Charles, to a⯑void ſuſpicion, was himſelf among the audience. It happened, that a ſmith of the ſame princi⯑ples [329] with the weaver had been examining the horſes belonging to the paſſengers, and came to aſſure the preacher that he knew by the faſhion of the ſhoes, that one of the ſtrangers horſes came from the north. The preacher immediately affirmed that this horſe could be⯑long to no other than Charles Stuart, and in⯑ſtantly went with a conſtable to ſearch the inn. But Charles had taken timely precautions, and had left the inn before the conſtable's ar⯑rival.

At Shoreham, in Suſſex, a veſſel was at laſt found, in which he embarked. He was known to ſo many, that if he had not ſet ſail in that critical moment, it had been impoſſible for him to eſcape. After one and forty days concealment, he arrived ſafely at Feſchamp in Normandy. No leſs than forty men and women had, at different times, been privy to his eſcape.

In the mean time, Cromwell, crowned with ſucceſs, returned in triumph to London, where he was met by the ſpeaker of the houſe, ac⯑companied by the mayor of London, and the magiſtrates, in all their formalities. His firſt care was to take advantage of his late ſucceſ⯑ſes, by depreſſing the Scotch, who had ſo lately withſtood the work of the Goſpel, as he called [330] it. An act was paſſed for aboliſhing royalty in Scotland, and annexing that kingdom, as a conquered province, to the Engliſh common⯑wealth. It was impowered, however, to ſend ſome members to the Engliſh parliament. Judges were appointed to diſtribute juſtice; and the people of that country, now freed from the tyranny of the eccleſiaſtics, were not much diſatisfied with their preſent government. The prudent conduct of Monk, who had was left by Cromwell to complete their ſub⯑jection, ſerved much to reconcile the minds of the people, harraſſed with diſſenſions, of which they never well underſtood the cauſe.

In this manner the Engliſh parliament, by the means of Cromwell, ſpread their uncon⯑teſted authority over all the Britiſh dominions. Ireland was totally ſubdued by Ireton and Ludlow. All the ſettlements in America, that had declared for the royal cauſe, were obliged to ſubmit; Jerſey, Guernſey, Scilly, and the Iſle of Man, were brought eaſily under ſub⯑jection. Thus mankind ſaw, with aſtoniſh⯑ment, a parliament compoſed of ſixty or ſeven⯑ty obſcure and illiterate members, governing a great empire with unanimity and ſucceſs. Without any acknowledged ſubordination, ex⯑cept a council of ſtate conſiſting of thirty-eight, [331] to whom all addreſſes were made, they levied armies, maintained fleets, and gave laws to the neighbouring powers of Europe. The finances were managed with oeconomy and exactneſs. Few private perſons became rich by the plunder of the public: the revenues of the crown, the lands of the biſhops, and a tax of an hundred and twenty thouſand pounds each month, ſupplied the wants of the govern⯑ment, and gave vigour to all their proceed⯑ings.

The parliament, having thus reduced their native dominions to perfect obedience, next reſolved to chaſtiſe the Dutch, who had given but very ſlight cauſes of complaint. It hap⯑pened that one doctor Doriſlaus, who was of the number of the late king's judges being ſent by the parliament as their envoy to Holland, was aſſaſſinated by one of the royal party, who had taken refuge there. Some time after alſo Mr. St. John, appointed their ambaſſador to that court, was inſulted by the friends of the prince of Orange. Theſe were thought motives ſuffi⯑cient to induce the commonwealth of England to declare war againſt them. The parliament's chief dependence lay in the activity and cou⯑rage of Blake, their admiral; who, though he had not embarked in naval command till late [332] in life, yet ſurpaſſed all that went before him in courage and dexterity. On the other ſide, the Dutch oppoſed to him their famous ad⯑miral Van Tromp, to whom they never ſince produced an equal. Many were the engage⯑ments between theſe celebrated admirals, and various was their ſucceſs. Sea-fights, in gene⯑ral, ſeldom prove deciſive; and the vanquiſhed are ſoon ſeen to make head againſt the victors. Several dreadful encounters, therefore, rather ſerved to ſhew the excellence of the admirals, than to determine their ſuperiority. The Dutch, however, who felt many great diſad⯑vantages by the loſs of their trade; and by the total ſuſpenſion of their fiſheries, were willing to treat for a peace; but the parliament gave them a very unfavourable anſwer. It was the policy of that body, to keep their navy on foot as long as they could; rightly judging, that while the force of the nation was exerted by ſea, it would diminiſh the power of general Cromwell by land, which was now become very formidable to them.

This great aſpirer, however, quickly per⯑ceived their deſigns; and from the firſt ſaw that they dreaded his growing power, and wiſh⯑ed its diminution. All his meaſures were con⯑ducted with a bold intrepidity that marked [333] his character; and he now ſaw, that it was not neceſſary to wear the maſk of ſubordination any longer. Secure, therefore, in the attach⯑ment of the army, he reſolved to make another daring effort; and perſuaded the officers to preſent a petition for payment of arrears and redreſs of grievances, which he knew would be rejected with diſdain. The petition was ſoon drawn up and preſented, in which the officers, after demanding their arrears, deſired the par⯑liament to conſider how many years they had ſat; A.D. 1653 and what profeſſions they had formerly made of their intentions to new model the houſe, and eſtabliſh freedom on the broadeſt baſis. They alledged, that it was now full time to give place to others; and however me⯑ritorious their actions might have been, yet the reſt of the nation had ſome right, in turn, to ſhew their patriotiſm in the ſervice of their country.

The houſe was highly offended at the pre⯑ſumption of the army, although they had ſeen, but too lately, that their own power was wholly founded on that very preſumption. They appointed a committee to prepare an act, or⯑daining that all perſons who preſented ſuch pe⯑titions, for the future, ſhould be deemed guilty of high treaſon. To this the officers made a [334] very warm remonſtrance, and the parliament as angry a reply; while the breach between them every moment grew wider. This was what Cromwell had long wiſhed, and had well foreſeen. He was ſitting in council with his officers, when informed of the ſubject on which the houſe was deliberating; upon which he roſe up in the moſt ſeeming fury, and turn⯑ing to major Vernon, cried out, ‘"That he was compelled to do a thing that made the very hair of his head ſtand on end."’ Then haſtening to the houſe with three hundred ſol⯑diers, and with the marks of violent indigna⯑tion on his countenance he entered, took his place, and attended to the debates for ſome time. When the queſtion was ready to be put, he ſuddenly ſtarted up, and began to load the parliament with the vileſt reproaches for their tyranny, ambition, oppreſſion, and rob⯑bery of the public. Upon which, ſtamping with his foot, which was the ſignal for the ſoldiers to enter, the place was immediately filled with armed men. Then addreſſing himſelf to the members: ‘"For ſhame, ſaid he, get you gone. Give place to honeſter men; to thoſe who will more faithfully diſcharge their truſt. You are no longer a parliament; I tell you you are no longer a parliament; the Lord [335] has done with you."’ Sir Harry Vane ex⯑claiming againſt this conduct: ‘"Sir Harry, cried Cromwell with a loud voice, O Sir Harry Vane, the Lord deliver me from Sir Harry Vane."’ Taking hold of Martin by the cloak, thou art a whore maſter; to an⯑other, thou art an adulterer; to a third, thou art a drunkard; and to a fourth, thou art a glut⯑ton. ‘"It is you, continued he to the mem⯑bers, that have forced me upon this. I have ſought the Lord night and day that he would rather ſlay me than put me upon this work."’ Then pointing to the mace, ‘"Take away, cried he, that bauble."’ After which, turning out all the members, and clearing the hall, he ordered the doors to be locked, and putting the key in his pocket, returned to Whitehall.

Thus, by one daring exploit, the new re⯑public was aboliſhed, and the whole command, civil and military, centered in Cromwell only. The people, however, that were ſpectators in ſi⯑lent wonder of all theſe precipitate tranſactions, expreſſed no diſapprobation at the diſſolution of a parliament that had overturned the con⯑ſtitution, and deſtroyed the king. On the contrary, the uſurper received congratulatory addreſſes from the fleet, the corporations, and [336] the army, for having diſmiſſed a parliament that had ſubjected them to the moſt cruel im⯑poſitions.

But this politic man was too cautious to be ſeduced by their praiſe, or driven on by their exhortations. Unwilling to put forth all his power at once, he reſolved ſtill to amuſe the people with the form of a commonwealth, which it was the deluſion of the times to ad⯑mire, and to give them a parliament that would be entirely ſubſervient to his commands. For this purpoſe, conſulting with ſome of the principal officers, it was decreed, that the ſo⯑vereign power ſhould be veſted in one hun⯑dred and forty-four perſons, under the deno⯑mination of a parliament; and he undertook himſelf to make the choice.

The perſons pitched upon for exerciſing this ſeemingly important truſt, were the low⯑eſt, meaneſt, and the moſt ignorant among the citizens, and the very dregs of the fanatics. He was well apprized that during the admini⯑ſtration of ſuch a groupe of characters he alone muſt govern, or that they muſt ſoon throw up the reins of government, which they were unqualified to guide. Accordingly, their practice juſtified his ſagacity. To go further than others into the abſurdities of fanaticiſm [337] was the chief qualification which each of theſe valued himſelf upon. Their very names, com⯑poſed of cant phraſes borrowed from Scrip⯑ture, and rendered ridiculous by their miſap⯑plication, ſerved to ſhew their exceſs of folly. Not only the names of Zerobabel, Habba⯑kuk, and Meſopotamia were given to thoſe ignorant creatures, but ſometimes whole ſen⯑tences from Scripture. One of them parti⯑cularly, who was called Praiſe God Barebone, a canting leatherſeller, gave his name to this odd aſſembly, and it was called Barebone's parliament.

Their attempts at legiſlation were entirely correſpondent to their ſtations and characters. As they were chiefly compoſed of antino⯑mians, a ſect that, after receiving the ſpirit, ſuppoſed themſelves incapable of error, and of fifth monarchy men, who every hour ex⯑pected Chriſt's coming on earth, they began by chuſing eight of their tribe to ſeek the Lord in prayer, while the reſt calmly ſat down to deliberate upon the ſuppreſſion of the clergy, the univerſities, the courts of juſtice; and in⯑ſtead of all this it was their intent to ſubſti⯑tute the law of Moſes.

To this hopeful aſſembly was committed the treaty of peace with the Dutch; but [338] the ambaſſadors from that nation, though themſelves preſbyterians, were quite carnal minded to theſe. They were regarded by the new parliament as worldly men, intent on com⯑merce and induſtry, and therefore not to be treated with. They inſiſted that the man of ſin ſhould be put away, and a new birth ob⯑tained by prayer and meditation. The ambaſ⯑ſadors finding themſelves unable to converſe with them in their own way, gave up the treaty as hopeleſs.

The very vulgar began now to exclaim a⯑gainſt ſo fooliſh a legiſlature; and they them⯑ſelves ſeemed not inſenſible of the ridicule which every day was thrown out againſt them. Cromwell was probably well enough pleaſed to find that his power was likely to receive no di⯑minution from their endeavours; but began to be aſhamed of their complicated abſurdi⯑ties. He had carefully choſen many perſons among them entirely devoted to his inter⯑eſts, and theſe he commanded to diſmiſs the aſſembly. Accordingly, by concert, they met earlier than the reſt of their fraternity; and obſerving to each other that this parlia⯑ment had ſat long enough, they haſtened to Cromwell, with Rouſe their ſpeaker at their head, and into his hands they reſigned the authority with which he had inveſted them.

[339]Cromwell accepted their reſignation with pleaſure; but being told that ſome of the number were refractory, he ſent colonel White to clear the houſe of ſuch as ventured to re⯑main there. They had placed one Moyer in the chair by the time that the colonel had ar⯑rived; and he being aſked by the colonel ‘"What they did there?"’ Moyer replied very gravely, that they were ſeeking the Lord. ‘"Then you may go elſewhere, cried White; for to my certain knowlege the Lord has not been here theſe many years."’

This ſhadow of a parliament being diſſolved, the officers, by their own authority, declared Cromwell protector of the commonwealth of England. Nothing now could withſtand his authority; the mayor and aldermen were ſent for to give ſolemnity to his appointment; and he was inſtituted into his new office at White⯑hall, in the palace of the kings of England. He was to be addreſſed by the title of high⯑neſs; and his power was proclaimed in Lon⯑don, and other parts of the kingdom. Thus an obſcure and vulgar man, at the age of fifty-three, roſe to unbounded power, firſt by following ſmall events in his favour, and at length by directing great ones.

[340]It was, indeed, in a great meaſure neceſſary that ſome perſon ſhould take the ſupreme com⯑mand; for affairs were brought into ſuch a ſituation by the furious animoſities of the con⯑tending parties, that, nothing but abſolute power could prevent a renewal of former bloodſhed and confuſion. Cromwell, there⯑fore, might have ſaid with ſome juſtice upon his inſtallation, that he accepted the dignity of protector merely that he might preſerve the peace of the nation; and this it muſt be own⯑ed he effected with equal conduct, modera⯑tion, and ſucceſs. The government of the kingdom was adjuſted in the following man⯑ner. A council was appointed, which was not to exceed twenty-one, nor to be under thir⯑teen perſons. Theſe were to enjoy their of⯑fices for life, or during good behaviour; and, in caſe of a vacancy, the remaining members named three, of whom the protector choſe one. The protector was appointed the ſu⯑preme magiſtrate of the commonwealth, with ſuch powers as the king was poſſeſſed of. The power of the ſword was veſted in him jointly with the parliament when ſitting, or with the council at intervals. He was obliged to ſummon a parliament every three years, and to allow them to ſit five months without [341] adjournment. A ſtanding army was eſtabliſh⯑ed of twenty thouſand foot, and ten thouſand horſe, and funds were aſſigned for their ſup⯑port. The protector enjoyed his office during life; and on his death the place was immedi⯑ately to be ſupplied by the council. Of all thoſe clauſes the ſtanding army was alone ſufficient for Cromwell's purpoſe; for while poſſeſſed of that inſtrument, he could mould the reſt of the con⯑ſtitution to his pleaſure at any time.

Cromwell choſe his council among his offi⯑cers, who had been the companions of his dangers and his victories, to each of whom he aſſigned a penſion of one thouſand pounds a year. He took care to have his troops, upon whoſe fidelity he depended for ſupport, paid a month in advance; the maga⯑zines were alſo well provided, and the public treaſure managed with frugality and care: while his activity, vigilance, and reſolution were ſuch, that he diſcovered every conſpiracy againſt his perſon, and every plot for an in⯑ſurrection before they took effect.

His management of foreign affairs, though his ſchemes were by no means political, yet well correſponded with his character, and, for a while, were attended with ſucceſs. The Dutch having been humbled by repeated de⯑feats, [342] and totally abridged in their commer⯑cial concerns; were obliged at laſt to ſue for peace, which he gave them upon terms ra⯑ther too favourable. He inſiſted upon their paying deference to the Britiſh flag. He com⯑pelled them to abandon the intereſts of the king, and to pay eighty-five thouſand pounds as an indemnification for former expences, and to reſtore the Engliſh Eaſt India company a part of thoſe dominions of which they had been diſpoſſeſſed by the Dutch during the former reign, in that diſtant part of the world.

He was not leſs ſucceſsful in his negotiations with the court of France. Cardinal Maza⯑rine, by whom the affairs of that kingdom were conducted, deemed it neceſſary to pay deference to the protector; and deſirous ra⯑ther to prevail by dexterity than violence, ſub⯑mitted to Cromwell's imperious character, and thus procured ends equally beneficial to both.

The court of Spain was not leſs aſſiduous in its endeavours to gain his friendſhip, but was not ſo ſucceſsful. This vaſt monarchy, which but a few years before had threatened the liberties of Europe, was now reduced ſo low as to be ſcarce able to defend itſelf. Crom⯑well, however, who knew nothing of foreign [343] politics, ſtill continued to regard its power with an eye of jealouſy, and came into an aſſociation with France to depreſs it ſtill more. He lent that court a body of ſix thouſand men to attack the Spaniſh dominions in the Nether⯑lands; and upon obtaining a ſignal victory by his aſſiſtance at Dunes, the French put Dun⯑kirk, which they had juſt taken from the Spa⯑niards, into his hands, as a reward for his at⯑tachment.

But it was by ſea that he humbled the power of Spain with ſtill more effectual ſucceſs. Blake, who had long made himſelf formidable to the Dutch, and whoſe fame was ſpread over Europe, now became ſtill more dreadful to the Spaniſh monarchy. He ſailed with a fleet into the Mediterranean, whither, ſince the time of the cruſades, no Engliſh fleet had ever ven⯑tured to advance. He there conquered all that ventured to oppoſe him. Caſting anchor before Leghorn, he demanded and obtained ſatisfaction for ſome injuries which the Engliſh commerce had ſuffered from the duke of Tuſcany. He next ſailed to Algiers, and compelled the Dey to make peace,A.D. 1655 and to reſtrain his pyratical ſubjects from farther in⯑juring the Engliſh. He then went to Tunis, and having made the ſame demands, he was [344] deſired by the Dey of that place to look at the two caſtles, Porto Farino, and Goletta, and do his utmoſt. Blake ſhewed him that he was not ſlow in accepting the challenge; he entered the harbour, burned the ſhipping there, and then ſailed out triumphantly to purſue his voyage. At Cadiz, he took two galleons valued at near two million pieces of eight. At the Canaries, he burned a Spaniſh fleet of ſixteen ſhips, and returning home to England to enjoy the ſame of his noble actions, as he came within ſight of his native country he expired. This gallant man, though he fought for an uſurper, yet was averſe to his cauſe; he was a zealous republican in principle, and his aim was to ſerve his country, not to eſtabliſh a tyrant. ‘"It is ſtill our duty, he would ſay to the ſea-men, to fight for our country into whatever hands the government may fall."’

At the ſame time, that Blake's expeditions were going forward, there was another carried on under the command of admiral Pen and Venables, with about four thouſand land-forces, to attack the Iſland of Hiſpaniola. Failing however, in this, and being driven off the place by the Spaniards, they ſteered to Jamai⯑ca, which was ſurrendered to them without a [345] blow. So little was thought of the impor⯑tance of this conqueſt, that, upon the return of the expedition, Pen and Venables were ſent to the Tower, for their failure in the prin⯑cipal object of their expedition.

All theſe ſucceſſes might rather be aſcribed to the ſpirit of the times, than the conductor of them. Cromwell was poſſeſſed of but two arts in perfection, that of managing the army, by which he ruled; and obtaining the ſecrets of his enemies that were plotting againſt him. For the firſt, his valour and canting zeal were ſufficient; for the latter, it is ſaid he paid ſixty thouſand pounds a year to his ſpies to come by his intelligence. But he took care to make the nation refund thoſe extraordinary ſums which he ex⯑pended for ſuch information. One or two conſpi⯑racies entered into by the royaliſts, which were detected and puniſhed, ſerved him as a pretext to lay an heavy tax upon all of that party, of a tenth penny on all their poſſeſſions. In order to raiſe this oppreſſive impoſition, ten major-generals were inſtituted, who divided the whole kingdom into ſo many military juriſdic⯑tions. Theſe men had power to ſubject whom they pleaſed to a payment of this tax, and to impriſon ſuch as denied their juriſdic⯑tion. Under colour of theſe powers, they [346] exerciſed the moſt arbitrary authority; the people had no protection againſt their exac⯑tions; the very maſk of liberty was thrown off, and all property was at the diſpoſal of a military tribunal. It was in vain that the na⯑tion cried out for a free parliament; Crom⯑well aſſembled one in conſequence of their clamours; but as ſpeedily diſſolved it, when he found it refractory to his commands.

In this ſtate of univerſal dejection, in which Scotland and Ireland were treated as conquered provinces, in which the protector iſſued his abſolute orders without even the maſk of his former hypocriſy, and in which all truſt and confidence were loſt in every ſocial meeting, the people were ſtruck with a new inſtance of the uſurper's ambition. As parliaments were ever dear to the people, it was reſolved to give them one; but ſuch as ſhould be entirely of the protector's chuſing, and chiefly compoſed of his own creatures. Leſt any of a different complexion ſhould preſume to enter the houſe, guards were placed at the door, and none ad⯑mitted but ſuch as produced a warrant from his council. The principal deſign of conven⯑ing this aſſembly was, that they ſhould of⯑fer him the crown, with the title of king, and all the other enſigns of royalty.

[347]His creatures, therefore, took care to in⯑fuſe into this aſſembly the merits of the pro⯑tector; the confuſion there was in legal pro⯑ceedings without the name of a king; that no man was acquainted with the extent or li⯑mits of the preſent magiſtrate's authority, but thoſe of a king had been well aſcertained by the experience of ages. At laſt the motion was made in form in the houſe, by alderman Pack, one of the city members, for inveſting the protector with the regal dignity. The majority of the houſe being Cromwell's crea⯑tures, it may eaſily be ſuppoſed that the bill was voted according to his ſecret wiſhes; and nothing now remained but his own conſent to have his name enrolled among the kings of England.

Whether it was his original intention by having this bill carried through the houſe, to ſhew that he was magnanimous enough to re⯑fuſe the offer, or whether finding ſome of thoſe on whom he moſt depended averſe to his tak⯑ing the title, cannot now be known. Certain it is his doubts continued for ſome days; and the conference which he carried on with the mem⯑bers who were ſent to make him the offer, ſeems to argue that he was deſirous of being compelled to accept what he feared openly to [348] aſſume. The obſcurity of his anſwers, the abſurdity of his ſpeeches on this occaſion (for they ſtill remain) ſhew plainly a mind at va⯑riance with itſelf, and combatting only with a wiſh to be vanquiſhed. ‘"I confeſs, ſaid he, for it behoves me to deal plainly with you, I muſt confeſs, I would ſay I hope I may be underſtood in this; for indeed I muſt be tender what I would ſay to ſuch an audience as this; I ſay I would be underſtood, that in this argument I do not make a parallel between men of a different mind, and a parliament which ſhall have their deſires. I know there is no compariſon; nor can it be urged upon me that my words have the leaſt colour that way, becauſe the parlia⯑ment ſeems to me to give liberty to me to ſay any thing to you. As that is a tender of my humble reaſons and judgment and opinion to them, and if I think they are ſuch, and will be ſuch to them, and are faithful ſervants, and will be ſo to the ſu⯑preme authority and the legiſlative, where⯑ſoever it is. If I ſay I ſhould not tell you knowing their minds to be ſo, I ſhould not be faithful if I ſhould not tell you ſo, to the end that you may report it to par⯑liament."’ In this manner did this moſt [349] unaccountable of all characters anſwer their petitions for his aſſuming the kingly name and dignity; however the conference ended in his refuſing their offer.

But it muſt not be ſuppoſed that his ſitua⯑tion, with all theſe offered honours, was at this time enviable? Perhaps no ſtation, however mean, or loaded with contempt, could be more truly diſtreſsful than his, at a time the nation was loading him with congratulations and ad⯑dreſſes. He had by this,A.D. 1658 rendered himſelf hateful to every party; and he owed his ſafety to their mutual hatred and diffidence of each other. His arts of diſſimulation had been long exhauſted; none now could be deceived by them, thoſe of his own party and princi⯑ples, diſdaining the uſe to which he had con⯑verted his zeal and profeſſions. The truth ſeems to be, if we may uſe a phraſe taken from common life, he had began with being a dupe to his own enthuſiaſms, and ended with being a ſharper.

The whole nation ſilently deteſted his admi⯑niſtration, but he had not ſtill been reduced to the extreme of wretchedneſs, if he could have found domeſtic conſolation. Fleetwood, his ſon in-law, actuated with the wildeſt zeal, de⯑teſted that character which could uſe religious [350] profeſſions for the purpoſes of temporal ad⯑vancement. His eldeſt daughter, married to Fleetwood, had adopted republican principles ſo vehemently, that ſhe could not behold even her own father entruſted with uncontrolable power. His other daughters were no leſs ſanguine in favour of the royal cauſe; but above all, Mrs. Claypole, his favourite daugh⯑ter, who, upon her death-bed, upbraided him with all thoſe crimes that led him to trample on the throne.

Every hour added ſome new diſquietude. Lord Fairfax, Sir William Waller, and many of the heads of the preſbyterians, had ſecretly entered into an engagement to deſtroy him. His adminiſtration, ſo expenſive both at home and abroad, had exhauſted his revenue, and he was left conſiderably in debt. One conſpiracy was no ſooner detected, but another roſe from its ruins; and to encreaſe his calamity, he was now taught, upon reaſoning principles, that his death was not only deſirable, but his aſſaſſi⯑nation would be meritorious. A book was publiſhed by colonel Titus, a man who had formerly been attached to his cauſe, en⯑titled Killing no Murder. Of all the pam⯑phlets that came forth at that time, or perhaps of thoſe that have ſince appeared, this was the [351] moſt eloquent and maſterly. Shall we, ſaid this popular declaimer, who would not ſuffer the lion to invade us, tamely ſtand to be de⯑voured by the wolf. Cromwell read this ſpi⯑rited treatiſe, and was never ſeen to ſmile more.

All peace was now for ever baniſhed from his mind. He now found, that the grandeur to which he had ſacrificed his former peace, was only an inlet to freſh inquietudes. The fears of aſſaſſination haunted him in all his walks, and was perpetually preſent to his imagination. He wore armour under his cloaths, and always kept piſtols in his pockets. His aſpect was clouded by a ſettled gloom; and he regarded every ſtranger with a glance of timid ſuſpicion. He always travelled with hurry, and was ever attended by a numerous guard. He never returned from any place by the road he went; and ſeldom ſlept above three nights together in the ſame chamber. Society terrified him, as there he might meet an enemy; ſolitude was terrible, as he was there unguarded by every friend.

A tertian ague kindly came at laſt to deli⯑ver him from this life of horror and anxiety. For the ſpace of a week no dangerous ſymp⯑toms appeared; and in the intervals of the [352] fits he was able to walk abroad. At length the fever encreaſed, and he himſelf began to dread his approaching fate; but he was taught to conſider his preſent diſorder as no way fa⯑tal, by his fanatic chaplains, on whom he en⯑tirely relied. When his chaplain Goodwin told him that the elect would never be damned, then ‘"I am ſure, ſaid he, that I am ſafe; for I was once in a ſtate of grace."’ His phyſicians were ſenſible of his dangerous caſe; but he was ſo much encouraged by the reve⯑lations of his preachers, that he conſidered his recovery as no way doubtful. ‘"I tell you, cried he to the phyſicians, that I ſhall not die of this diſtemper; I am well aſſured of my recovery. Favourable anſwers have been returned from heaven, not only to my own ſupplications, but likewiſe to thoſe of the godly, who have a cloſer correſpond⯑ence with God than I. Ye may have ſkill in your profeſſion; but nature can do more than all the phyſicians in the world; and God is far above nature."’ Upon a faſt day appointed on account of his ſickneſs, his miniſters thanked God for the undoubted pledges they had received of his recovery. Not⯑withſtanding theſe aſſurances the fatal ſymp⯑toms every hour encreaſed; and the phyſi⯑cians [353] were obliged to declare that he could not ſurvive the next fit. The council now there⯑fore came to know his laſt commands concern⯑ing the ſucceſſion; but his ſenſes were gone, and he was juſt able to anſwer yes to their de⯑mand, whether his ſon Richard ſhould be ap⯑pointed to ſucceed him. He died on the third day of September, that very day which he had always conſidered as the moſt fortunate of his life; he was then fifty-nine years old,A.D. 1658 and had uſurped the government nine years.

CHAP. XXXIV. From the Death of OLIVER CROMWELL to the RESTORATION.

WHATEVER might have been the differences of intereſt after the death of the uſurper, the influence of his name was ſtill ſufficient to get Richard his ſon proclaimed protector in his room. It was probably owing to the numerous parties that were formed in the kingdom, and their hatred of each other, that Richard owed his peaceable advancement to this high ſtation. He was naturally no way ambitious, being rather mild, eaſy, and good-natured; and honour ſeemed rather to purſue, than to attract him. He had nothing active in his diſpoſition; no talents for buſineſs, no knowledge of government, no influence among the ſoldiery, no importance in council.

It was found neceſſary, upon his firſt ad⯑vancement, to call a parliament, to furniſh the ſupplies to carry on the ordinary ope⯑rations of government. The houſe of com⯑mons was formed legally enough; but the houſe of lords conſiſted only of thoſe perſons [355] of no real title, who were advanced to that dignified ſtation by the late protector. But it was not on the parliament that the army choſe to rely. A great number of the principal male⯑contents of the army, eſtabliſhed a meeting at general Fleetwood's, which, as he dwelt in Wallingford-houſe, was called the Cabal of Wallingford. The reſult of their delibera⯑tions was a remonſtrance that the command of the army ſhould be entruſted to ſome per⯑ſon in whom they might all confide; and it was plainly given to underſtand that the young protector was not that perſon.

A propoſal ſo daring and dangerous did not fail to alarm Richard; he applied to his coun⯑cil, and they referred it to the parliament. Both agreed to conſider it as an audacious at⯑tempt, and a vote was paſſed that there ſhould be no meeting, or general council of officers, without the protector's permiſſion. This brought affairs immediately to a rupture. The palace of the protector was the next day ſur⯑rounded by a body of officers; and one Deſbo⯑row, a man of a clowniſh brutal nature, pene⯑trating into his apartment with an armed re⯑tinue, threatened him if he ſhould refuſe. Richard wanted reſolution to defend what had been conferred upon him; he diſſolved the [356] parliament then, and ſoon after he ſigned his own abdication in form.

Henry Cromwell, his younger brother, who was appointed to the command in Ireland, fol⯑lowed the protector's example, and reſigned his commiſſion without ſtriking a blow. Rich⯑ard lived ſeveral years after his reſignation, at firſt on the continent, and afterwards upon his paternal fortune at home. He was thought by the ignorant to be unworthy of the happi⯑neſs of his exaltation; but he knew by his tranquility in private, that he had made the moſt fortunate eſcape.

The officers being once more left to them⯑ſelves, determined to replace the remnant of the old parliament which had beheaded the king, and which Cromwell had ſo diſgracefully turned out of the houſe. This was called the good old cauſe from their attachment to re⯑publican principles; and to the members of this, the cabal of officers for a while delivered up their own authority. The members, who had been ſecluded by colonel Pride's purge, as it was called, attempted, but in vain, to reſume their ſeats among them.

The Rump parliament, for that was the name it went by, although reinſtated by the army, was yet very vigorous in its attempts to leſſen the [357] power by which it was replaced. The members began their deſign of humbling the army by new modelling part of the forces, by caſhiering ſuch of the officers as they feared, and appoint⯑ing others, on whom they could rely, in their room. Theſe attempts, however, were not unobſerved by the officers; and their diſcon⯑tent would have broke out into ſome reſolu⯑tion, fatal to the parliament, had it not been checked by apprehenſions of danger from the royaliſts, or preſbyterians, who were conſider⯑ed as the common enemy.

In this exigence, the officers held ſeveral conferences together, with a deſign to con⯑tinue their power. They at length came to a reſolution, uſual enough in theſe times, to diſſolve that aſſembly, by which they were ſo vehemently oppoſed. Accordingly Lambert, one of the general officers, drew up a choſen body of troops; and placing them in the ſtreets which led to Weſtminſter-hall, when the ſpeaker Lenthall proceeded in his carriage to the houſe, he ordered the horſes to be turned, and very civily conducted him home. The other members were likewiſe intercepted, and the army returned to their quarters to obſerve a ſo⯑lemn faſt, which generally either proceeded, or attended their outrages.

[358]The officers having thus reſumed the power they had given, reſolved not to part with it for the future upon eaſy terms. They elected a committee of twenty-three perſons, of whom ſeven were officers; theſe they called a com⯑mittee of ſafety, and pretended to inveſt them with ſovereign authority. Fleetwood, a weak zealot, was made commander in chief; Lambert, an artful ambitious man, major-general; Deſborow, lieutenant-general; and Monk, who had been inveſted by Cromwell with the government of Scotland, was appoint⯑ed major-general of the foot. A military government was now eſtabliſhed, which gave the nation the melancholy proſpect of endleſs ſervitude, and tyranny without redreſs: a ſuc⯑cour came to relieve the nation from a quarter on which it was the leaſt expected.

During theſe tranſactions, general Monk was at the head of eight thouſand veterans in Scotland, and beheld the diſtraction of his na⯑tive country with but ſlender hopes of reliev⯑ing it. This perſonage, to whom the nation owes ſuch ſignal obligations, was at firſt a ſoldier of fortune. After ſome time ſpent a⯑broad, he was intruſted with a regiment in the ſervice of king Charles, and was uſually called by the ſoldiery, for his good nature, honeſt [359] George Monk. He was, however, taken pri⯑ſoner at the ſiege of Nantwich, by Fairfax, and ſoon after ſent to the Tower. He did not re⯑cover his liberty till after the total overthrow of the royal party, when Cromwell took him into favour and protection, and ſent him to op⯑poſe the Iriſh rebels, againſt whom he peform⯑ed ſignal ſervices. Upon the reduction of that kingdom he was ſent over into Scotland, and there entruſted with the ſupreme com⯑mand, in which ſtation he was not leſs eſteem⯑ed by the Scotch, than loved and adored by his own army.

This general, upon hearing that the officers had, by their own authority, diſſolved the par⯑liament, proteſted againſt the meaſure, and reſolved to defend their invaded privileges. But deeper deſigns, either in the king's favour or his own, were ſuſpected to be the motive of his actions from the beginning. What⯑ever might have been his deſigns, it was im⯑poſſible to cover them with greater ſecrecy than he did. As ſoon as he put his army into motion, to enquire into the cauſes of the diſ⯑turbances in the capital, his countenance was eagerly ſought by all the contending par⯑ties. His own brother, a clergyman, who was a zealous royaliſt, came to him with a meſſage [360] from lord Granville, in the name of the king. The general aſked him if he had ever com⯑municated the contents of his commiſſion to any other perſon. His brother replied, to none except to Mr. Price, the general's own chaplain, a man of probity, and in the royal intereſts. The general altering his counte⯑nance, at once changed the diſcourſe, and would enter into no further conference with him. The ſame deep reſerve was held thro' all his ſubſequent proceedings.

Hearing that the officers were preparing an army to oppoſe him; and that general Lam⯑bert was actually advancing northward to meet him, Monk ſent three commiſſioners to Lon⯑don, with very earneſt profeſſions of an ac⯑commodation, by which means he relaxed their preparations. His commiſſioners even proceeded ſo far as to ſign a treaty, which he refuſed to ratify. Still, however, he made pro⯑poſals for freſh negociations; and the com⯑mittee of officers again accepted his fallacious offers.

In the mean time, the people perceiving that they were not entirely defenceleſs, began to gather ſpirit, and to exclaim loudly againſt the tyranny of the army. Hazlerig, and More⯑ley, while Lambert was abſent, took poſſeſ⯑ſion [361] of Portſmouth, and declared for the par⯑liament. The city apprentices roſe in a tu⯑mult, and demanded a free parliament. Admi⯑ral Lawſon came into the river with his ſqua⯑dron, and declared for the parliament; and even the regiments that had been left in Lon⯑don, being ſolicited by their old officers, who had been caſhiered, revolted again to the par⯑liament. The Rump, thus being invited on all hands, again ventured to reſume their ſeats, and to thunder their votes in turn againſt the officers, and that part of the army by which they had been ejected. Without taking any notice of Lambert, they ſent orders to the troops he conducted, immediately to re⯑pair to the garriſons they appointed for them. The ſoldiers were not ſlow in obeying the par⯑liamentary orders; and Lambert at laſt found himſelf deſerted by his whole army. He was ſoon after committed to the Tower; ſeveral of his brother-officers caſhiered, and the par⯑liament ſeemed now to ſtand on a firmer baſis than before.

But they were far from being ſo ſecure as they imagined. Monk, though he had heard of their reſtitution, and therefore might be ſuppoſed to have nothing more to do, ſtill continued to march his army towards the ca⯑pital; [362] all the world equally in doubt as to his motives, and aſtoniſhed at his reſerve. The gentry, on his march, flocked round him with entreaties and addreſſes, expreſſing their deſire of a new parliament. Fairfax brought him a body of troops, with which he offered to aſſiſt in the work of reſtoration; but Monk continued his inflexible taciturnity, and at laſt came to St. Alban's, within a few miles of London.

He there ſent the parliament a meſſage, deſiring them to remove ſuch forces as remain⯑ed in London to country quarters. With this, ſome of the regiments refuſed to comply, but Monk was reſolved to be obeyed; he entered London the next day, turned the ſoldiers out, and, with his army, took up his quarters in Weſtminſter. He then waited upon the houſe, which was ready enough to vote him their ſincere thanks for the ſervices he had done his country. But he, in a blunt man⯑ner, aſſured them, that his only merit was a deſire to reſtore peace to the community; and, therefore, he entreated them that they would permit a free parliament to be called, as the only balm that could heal the wounds of the conſtitution. He obſerved alſo, that many oaths of admiſſion upon this occaſion were un⯑neceſſary; [363] and the fewer the obligations of this kind, the clearer would their conſciences be.

The hope of being inſolent with ſecurity, ſoon inſpired the citizens to refuſe ſubmiſſion to the preſent government. They reſolved to pay no taxes, until the members, formerly excluded by colonel Pride, ſhould be replac⯑ed. But the parliament found their general willing to give them the moſt ready inſtances of his obedience; he entered the city with his troops, arreſted eleven of the moſt obnoxious of the common-council, and began to deſtroy the gates. Then he wrote a letter to the par⯑liament, telling them what he had done; and begging they would moderate the ſeverity of their orders. But being urged by the houſe to proceed, he, with all poſſible circumſtances of contempt, broke the gates and port-culliſes; and having expoſed the city to the ſcorn and deriſion of all who hated it, he returned in triumph to his quarters in Weſtminſter. But the next day he began to think he had pro⯑ceeded too vigorouſly in this act of obedience; he therefore marched into the city again, and de⯑ſired the mayor to call a common-council, where he made many apologies for his conduct the day before. He aſſured them of his perſeverance in the cauſe of freedom; and that his army [364] would, for the future, co-operate only in ſuch ſchemes as they ſhould approve.

This union of the city and the army cauſed no ſmall alarm in the houſe of commons. They knew that a free and general parliament was deſired by the whole nation; and in ſuch a caſe, they were convinced that their own power muſt have an end. But their fears of puniſhment were ſtill greater than their un⯑eaſineſs at diſmiſſion; they had been inſtru⯑mental in bringing their king to the block, in loading the nation with various taxes, and ſome of them had grown rich by the common plunder; they reſolved, therefore, to try every method to gain off the general from his new alliance; even ſome of them, deſperate with guilt and fanaticiſm, promiſed to inveſt him with the dignity of ſupreme magiſtrate, and to ſupport his uſurpation. But Monk was too juſt, or too wiſe to hearken to ſuch wild propoſals; he reſolved to reſtore the ſecluded members, and by their means to bring about a new election, which was what he deſired.

There was no other method to effect this, but by force of arms: wherefore, having previouſ⯑ly ſecured the conſent of his officers, and exact⯑ed a promiſe from the excluded members, that they would call a full and free parliament, he [365] accompanied them to Whitehall. From thence, with a numerous guard, he conducted them to the houſe of commons, the other members of which were then ſitting. They were ſurpriſed to ſee a large body of men entering the place; but ſoon recollected them for their ancient bre⯑thren, who had been formerly tumultuouſly expelled, and were now as tumultuouſly re⯑ſtored. The number of the new comers was ſo ſuperior to that of the rump, that the chiefs of this laſt party now, in their turn, thought proper to withdraw.

The reſtored members began by repealing all thoſe orders by which they had been ex⯑cluded. They renewed and enlarged the ge⯑neral's commiſſion; they fixed a proper ſti⯑pend for the ſupport of the fleet and the army; and having paſſed theſe votes for the compo⯑ſure of the kingdom, they diſſolved themſelves, and gave orders for the immediate aſſembling a new parliament. Mean while Monk new modelled his army to the purpoſes he had in view. Some officers, by his direction, pre⯑ſented him with an addreſs, in which they promiſed to obey implicitly the orders of the enſuing parliament. He approved of this en⯑gagement, which he ordered to be ſigned by all the different regiments; and this furniſhed [366] him with a pretence for diſmiſſing all the of⯑ficers by whom it was rejected.

In the midſt of theſe tranſactions his en⯑deavours were very near being defeated by an accident as dangerous as unexpected. Lam⯑bert had eſcaped from the Tower, and began to aſſemble forces; and as his activity and principles were ſufficiently known, Monk took the earlieſt precautions to oppoſe his meaſures. He diſpatched colonel Ingoldſby with his own regiment againſt Lambert, before he ſhould have time to aſſemble his dependents. That officer had taken poſſeſſion of Daventry with four troops of horſe; but the greater part of them joined Ingoldſby, to whom he himſelf ſurrendered, not without exhibiting marks of puſillanimity, that ill agreed with his former reputation.

A.D. 1660 As yet the new parliament was not aſſem⯑bled, and no perſon had hitherto dived into the deſigns of the general. He ſtill perſe⯑vered in his reſerve; and although the call⯑ing a new parliament was but, in other words, to reſtore the king, yet his expreſſions never once betrayed the ſecret of his boſom. No⯑thing but a ſecurity of confidence at laſt ex⯑torted the confeſſion from him. He had been intimate with one Morrice, a gentleman of [367] Devonſhire, of a ſedentary ſtudious diſpoſi⯑tion, and with him alone did he deliberate upon the great and dangerous enterprize of the reſtoration. Sir John Granville, who had a commiſſion from the king, applied for ac⯑ceſs to the general; but he was deſired to communicate his buſineſs to Morrice. Gran⯑ville refuſed, though twice urged, to deliver his meſſage to any but the general himſelf; ſo that Monk now finding he could depend upon this miniſter's ſecrecy, he opened to him his whole intentions; but with his uſual cau⯑tion ſtill ſcrupled to commit any thing to pa⯑per. In conſequence of theſe the king left the Spaniſh territories, where he very nar⯑rowly eſcaped being detained at Breda by the governor, under pretence of treating him with proper reſpect and formality. From thence he retired into Holland, where he reſolved to wait for further advice.

In the mean time the elections in parlia⯑ment went every where in favour of the king's party. The preſbyterians had long been ſo harraſſed by the falſhood, the folly, and the tyranny of their independent coadjutors, that they longed, for nothing ſo ardently as the king's reſtoration. Theſe, therefore, joined to the royaliſts, formed a deciſive majority on [368] every conteſt, and without noiſe, but with ſteddy reſolution, determined to call back the king. Though the former parliament had voted that no one ſhould be elected, who had himſelf, or whoſe father had borne arms for the late king, yet very little regard was any where paid to this ordinance; and in many places the former ſufferings of the candidate were his beſt recommendation.

At length the long expected day for the ſit⯑ting of a free parliament arrived; and they choſe Sir Harbottle Grimſtone for their ſpeaker, a man, though at firſt attached to the oppoſing party, yet a royaliſt in his heart. The affections of all were turned towards the king; yet ſuch were their fears, and ſuch dan⯑gers attended a freedom of ſpeech, that no one dared for ſome days to make any mention of his name. They were terrified with former examples of cruelty; and they only ſhewed their loyalty in their bitter invectives againſt the late uſurper, and in execrations againſt the murder⯑ers of their king. All this time Monk, with his uſual reſerve, tried their tempers, and ex⯑amined the ardour of their wiſhes; at length he gave directions to Anneſley, preſident of the council, to inform them that one Sir John Granville, a ſervant of the king's, had been [369] ſent over by his majeſty, and was now at the door with a letter to the commons.

Nothing could exceed the joy and tranſport with which this meſſage was received. The members for a moment forgot the dignity of their ſituations, and indulged in a loud excla⯑mation of applauſe. Granville was called in, and the letter eagerly read. A moment's pauſe was ſcarce allowed; all at once the houſe burſt out into an univerſal aſſent at the king's propoſals; and to diffuſe the joy more widely, it was voted that the letter and decla⯑ration ſhould immediately be publiſhed.

The king's declaration was highly reliſhed by every order of the ſtate. It offered a ge⯑neral amneſty to all perſons whatſoever, and that without any exceptions, but ſuch as ſhould be made by parliament. It promiſed to indulge ſcrupulous conſciences with liberty in matters of religion; to leave to the exami⯑nation of parliament the claims of all ſuch as poſſeſſed lands with conteſted titles; to con⯑firm all theſe conceſſions by act of parliament; to ſatisfy the army under general Monk with reſpect to their arrears, and to give the ſame rank to his officers when they ſhould be re⯑ceived into the king's ſervice.

[370]This declaration was not leſs pleaſing to the lords than to the people. After voting the re⯑ſtitution of the ancient form of government, it was reſolved to ſend the king fifty thouſand pounds, the duke of York his brother ten thouſand, and the duke of Glouceſter half that ſum. Then both houſes eraſed from their records all acts that had paſſed to the preju⯑dice of royalty. The army, the navy, the city of London, were eager in preparing their addreſſes to be preſented to his majeſty; and he was ſoon after proclaimed with great ſo⯑lemnity at Whitehall, and at Temple Bar. The people, now freed from all reſtraint, let looſe their tranſports without bounds. Thou⯑ſands were ſeen running about frantic with pleaſure; and, as lord Clarendon ſays, ſuch were the numbers of the loyaliſts that preſſed forward on this occaſion, that one could not but wonder where thoſe people dwelt who had lately done ſo much miſchief.

Charles took care to confirm the ſubſtance of his declarations to the Engliſh commiſ⯑ſioners, who were diſpatched to attend him into his native dominions. Montague, the Eng⯑liſh admiral, waited upon his majeſty to in⯑form him that the fleet expected his orders at Scheveling. The duke of York immediately [371] went on board, and took the command as lord high-admiral. The king went on board, and landing at Dover, was received by the ge⯑neral, whom he tenderly embraced. Very different was his preſent triumphant return from the forlorn ſtate in which he left the Engliſh coaſt at Suſſex. He now ſaw the ſame people that had ardently ſought his life, as warmly expreſſing their pleaſure at his ſafe⯑ty, and repentance for their paſt deluſions. He entered London on the twenty-ninth of May, which was his birth-day. An innu⯑merable concourſe of people lined the way wherever he paſſed, and rent the air with their acclamations. They had been ſo long diſ⯑tracted by unrelenting factions, oppreſſed and alarmed by a ſucceſſion of tyrannies, that they could no longer ſuppreſs theſe emotions of de⯑light to behold their conſtitution reſtored; or rather, like a phoenix, appearing more beau⯑tiful and vigorous from the ruins of its former conflagration.

Fanaticiſm, with its long train of gloomy terrors, fled at the approach of freedom; the arts of ſociety and peace began to return; and it had been happy for the people if the arts of luxury had not entered in their train.

CHAP. XXXV. CHARLES II.

THIS is one of the moſt extraordinary epochas in Engliſh hiſtory, in which we ſee the people toſſed into oppoſite factions, and, as the ſea after a ſtorm, ſtill continuing thoſe vio⯑lent motions by which they were firſt impelled. We ſee them at one period of the following reign, with unbounded adulation ſolliciting the ſhackles of arbitrary power; at another, [373] with equal animoſity baniſhing all the emiſ⯑ſaries of unbounded power from the throne; now courting the monarch, and then threat⯑ening thoſe on whom he moſt depended. There ſeems a clue that can unravel all theſe inconſiſtencies. While the people thought the king a proteſtant, they were willing to entruſt him with their lives and fortunes; but when they ſuppoſed that he was more inclining to popery, all their confidence vaniſhed, and they were even willing to puniſh papiſts, as the propereſt method of ſhewing their reſent⯑ment againſt himſelf.

When Charles came to the throne he was thirty years of age, poſſeſſed of an agreeable perſon, an elegant addreſs, and an engaging manner. His whole demeanor and be⯑haviour was well calculated to ſupport and encreaſe popularity. Accuſtomed during his exile to live chearfully among his cour⯑tiers, he carried the ſame endearing fami⯑liarities to the throne; and from the levity of his temper no injuries were dreaded from his former reſentments. But it was ſoon found that all theſe advantages were merely ſuperfi⯑cial. His indolence and love of pleaſure made him averſe to all kinds of buſineſs; his fami⯑liarities were proſtituted to the worſt as well as the beſt of his ſubjects; and he took no [374] care to reward his former friends, as he had taken no ſteps to be avenged of his former enemies.

It required ſome time before the ſeveral parts of the ſtate, disfigured by war and faction, could come into proper form; a council was compoſed, into which church of England men and preſbyterians indiſcriminately were admit⯑ed; and the king's choice of his principal miniſ⯑ters was univerſally pleaſing to the people. Sir Edward Hyde, who had attended him in his exile, was now created a peer by the title of lord Clarendon, and appointed lord-chancel⯑lor, and firſt miniſter of ſtate. This excel⯑lent man is better known now by his merits as an hiſtorian, than as a ſtateſman; but his in⯑tegrity and wiſdom were equally excellent in both. The marquis, afterwards created duke of Ormond, was appointed lord-ſteward of the houſhold, the earl of Southampton high trea⯑ſurer, and Sir Edward Nicholas ſecretary of ſtate. Theſe men, combined by private friend⯑ſhip, and purſuing one common aim, laboured only for the public, and ſupported its inter⯑eſts with their own.

But though the joy of the people was unbounded, yet ſomething was thought to be due to juſtice, and ſome vengeance was neceſſary to be taken upon thoſe who had [375] lately involved the nation in its calami⯑ties. Though an act of indemnity was paſſ⯑ed, thoſe who had an immediate hand in the king's death were excepted. Even Crom⯑well, Ireton, and Bradſhaw, though dead, were conſidered as proper objects of reſent⯑ment; their bodies were dug from their graves, dragged to the place of execution, and, after hanging ſome time, buried under the gallows. Of the reſt, who ſat in judgment on the late monarch's trial, ſome were dead, and ſome were thought worthy of pardon. Ten only, out of fourſcore, were devoted to immediate deſtruction. Theſe were enthuſiaſts, who had all along acted from principle, and who, in the general ſpirit of rage excited againſt them, ſhewed a fortitude that might do honour to a better cauſe.

General Harriſon, who was firſt brought to his trial, pleaded his cauſe with that undaunted firmneſs which he had ſhewn through life. What he had done, he ſaid, was from the im⯑pulſes of the ſpirit of God. He would not, for any benefit to himſelf, hurt an hair of the pooreſt man or woman upon earth; and dur⯑ing the uſurpation of Cromwell, when all the reſt of the world acknowledged his right, or bowed down to his power, he had boldly up⯑braided [376] the uſurper to his face; and all the terrors of impriſonment, and all the allure⯑ments of ambition, had not been able to bend him to a compliance to that deceitful tyrant. Harriſon's death was marked with the ſame admirable conſtancy which he ſhewed at his his trial; ſo that the greatneſs of ſome vir⯑tues which he poſſeſſed, in ſome meaſure coun⯑terbalanced the greatneſs of his guilt.

Carew, Coke, Peters, Scot, Clement, Scrope, Jones, Hacker, and Axtel, ſhared the ſame fate. They bore the ſcorn of the multitude, and the cruelty of the executioner, not ſimply with fortitude, but with the ſpirit and confi⯑dence of martyrs, who ſuffered for having done their duty. Some circumſtances of ſcan⯑dalous barbarity attended their execution. Har⯑riſon's entrails were torn out, and thrown into the fire before he expired. His head was fixed on the ſledge that drew Coke and Peters to the place of execution, with the face turned towards them. The executioner having mang⯑led Coke approached Peters, beſmeared with the blood of his friend, and aſked how he liked that work. Peters viewed him with an air of ſcorn: ‘"You have butchered a ſervant of God in my ſight; but I defy your cruelty."’

[377]This was all the blood that was ſhed in ſo great a reſtoration. The reſt of the king's judges were reprieved, and afterwards diſ⯑perſed into ſeveral priſons. Charles being di⯑rected in all things by Clarendon, gave uni⯑verſal ſatisfaction as well by the lenity as the juſtice of his conduct. The army was diſ⯑banded that had for ſo many years governed the nation; prelacy, and all the ceremonies of the church of England, were reſtored; at the ſame time that the king pretended to preſerve an air of moderation and neutrality. In fact, with regard to religion, Charles, in his gayer hours, was a profeſſed deiſt, and attached to none; but in the latter part of his life, when he began to think more ſeriouſly, he ſhewed an inclination to the catholic perſuaſion, which he had ſtrongly imbibed in his exile.

But this toleration, in which all were equally included, was not able to remove the fears, or quell the enthuſiaſm of a few deſperate men, who, by an unexampled combination, were impelled by one common phrenzy. One Ven⯑ner, a deſperate enthuſiaſt, who had often conſpired againſt Cromwell, and had as often been pardoned, had by this time perſuaded his followers, that if they would take arms, Jeſus would come to put himſelf at their head. [378] With theſe expectations, to the number of ſixty perſons, they iſſued forth into the ſtreets of London in complete armour, and proclaim⯑ed king Jeſus where ever they went. They believed themſelves invulnerable and invinci⯑ble, and expected the ſame fortune which had attended Gideon, and the other heroes of the Old Teſtament. Every one at firſt fled before them; one unhappy man being aſked who he was for, anſwering that he was for God and the king, they ſlew him upon the ſpot. In this manner they went from ſtreet to ſtreet, and made a deſperate reſiſtance againſt a body of the train bands that was ſent to attack them. After killing many of the aſſailants, they made a regular retreat into Cane wood, near Hamp⯑ſtead. Being diſlodged from thence, the next morning they returned to London, and took poſſeſſion of an houſe, in which they defended themſelves againſt a body of troops, until the majority was killed. At laſt the troops, who had untiled the houſe, and were tired of ſlaugh⯑ter, ruſhed in, and ſeized the few that were left alive. They were tried, condemned, and executed; and to the laſt they declared, that if they were deceived, it was the Lord himſelf that was their deceiver.

The abſurdity, and even ridicule which at⯑tended the profeſſions and expectation of theſe [379] poor deluded men, ſtruck the people very ſtrongly; and from the gloomy moroſeneſs of enthuſiaſm, they now went over into the oppo⯑ſite extreme of riot and debauchery. The court itſelf ſet them the example; nothing but ſcenes of gallantry and feſtivity were to be ſeen; the horrors of the late war were become the ſubject of ridicule; the formality and ig⯑norance of the ſectaries were diſplayed upon the ſtage, and even laughed at from the pul⯑pit. But while the king thus rioted, the old faithful friends and followers of his family were left unrewarded. Numbers who had fought for him and his father, and had loſt their whole fortunes in his ſervice, ſtill con⯑tinued to pine in want and oblivion. While, in the mean time, their perſecutors, who had profited by the times, had acquired fortunes during the civil war, and were ſtill permitted to enjoy them without moleſtation. The ſuf⯑ferers petitioned in vain: the family of the Stuarts were never remarkable for their grati⯑tude; and the amuſers, the flatterers, and the concubines of this monarch, enjoyed all his conſideration. The wretched royaliſts mur⯑mured without redreſs; he fled from their gloomy expoſtulations to ſcenes of mirth, riot, and feſtivity.

[380]Nevertheleſs his parliaments, both of Eng⯑land and Scotland, ſeemed willing to make reparation for their former diſobedience, by their preſent conceſſions.A.D. 1661 In the Engliſh houſe, monarchy and epiſcopacy were carried to as great ſplendour, as they had ſuffered miſery and depreſſion. The biſhops were per⯑mitted to reſume their ſeats in the houſe of peers; all military authority was acknowledg⯑ed to be veſted in the king; and he was em⯑powered to appoint commiſſioners for regula⯑ting corporations, and expelling ſuch mem⯑bers as had intruded themſelves by violence, or profeſſed principles dangerous to the conſti⯑tution. An act of uniformity in religion was paſſed, by which it was required that every clergyman ſhould be re-ordained, if he had not before received epiſcopal ordination; that he ſhould declare his aſſent to every thing con⯑tained in the Book of Common Prayer, and ſhould take the oath of canonical obedience. In conſequence of this law, above two thou⯑ſand of the preſbyterian clergy relinquiſhed their cures in one day, to the great aſtoniſh⯑ment of the nation; thus ſacrificing their in⯑tereſt to their religion.

But the Scotch parliament went ſtill greater lengths in their proſtrations to the king. It was [381] there that his divine, indefeaſible, and heredi⯑tary right, was aſſerted in the fulleſt and moſt poſitive terms. His right was extended to their lives and poſſeſſions, and from his original grant was ſaid to come all that his ſubjects might be ſaid to enjoy. They voted him an additional reve⯑nue of forty thouſand pounds; and all their for⯑mer violences were treated with a degree of the utmoſt deteſtation.

This was the time for the king to have made himſelf independent of all parliaments; and it is ſaid that Southampton, one of his miniſters, had thought of procuring his maſter from the commons the grant of a revenue of two millions a year, which would effectually render him abſolute; but in this his views were obſtructed by the great Clarendon, who, tho' attached to the king, was ſtill more the friend of liberty and the laws. Charles, however, was no way intereſted in theſe oppoſite views of his miniſters; he only deſired money, in order to proſecute his pleaſures; and provid⯑ed he had that, he little regarded the manner in which it was obtained.

It was this careleſs and expenſive diſpoſi⯑tion that firſt tended to diſguſt his ſubjects, and to diſpel that intoxication of loyalty, which had taken place at his reſtoration. Tho' [382] the people were pleaſed with the mirth and pleaſantry of their monarch, yet they could not help murmuring at his indolence; his de⯑baucheries, and profuſion. They could not help remembering the ſtrict frugality and active diligence that marked the uſurper's ad⯑miniſtration; they called to mind the victories they had gained under him, and the vaſt pro⯑jects he had undertaken. But they now ſaw an oppoſite picture; a court ſunk in debauch⯑ery, and they taxes of the nation only employ⯑ed in extending vice, and corrupting the morals of the people. The ejected clergy did not fail to enflame theſe juſt reſentments in the minds of the audience; but particularly when the nation ſaw Dunkirk, which had been acquired during the late vigorous adminiſtra⯑tion, now baſely ſold to the French, for a ſmall ſum to ſupply the king's extragance, they could put no bounds to their complaints. From this time,A.D. 1662 he found the wheels of go⯑vernment clogged with continual obſtructions, and his parliaments reluctantly granting thoſe ſupplies, which he as meanly condeſcended to implore.

His continual exigences drove him con⯑ſtantly to meaſures no way ſuited to his incli⯑nation. Among others, was his marriage, cele⯑brated [383] at this time with Catharine, the Infanta of Portugal, who, though a virtuous princeſs, poſſeſſed as it ſhould ſeem but few perſonal attractions. It was the portion of this prin⯑ceſs that the needy monarch was enamoured of, which amounted to three hundred thouſand pounds, together with the fortreſs of Tangier in Africa, and of Bombay in the Eaſt Indies. The chancellor Clarendon, the dukes of Or⯑mond, and Southampton, urged many reaſons againſt this match, particularly the likelihood of her never having any children; the king diſre⯑garded their advice, and the inauſpicious mar⯑riage was celebrated accordingly.

But ſtill his neceſſities were greater than his ſupplies. He never much loved the ſteady virtue of lord Clarendon, and imputed to him ſome of thoſe neceſſities to which he was redu⯑ced. It is ſaid alſo that this great miniſter prevented him from repudiating the queen, which he had thoughts of doing, in order to marry one Mrs. Stuart, on whom he had pla⯑ced his affections, by procuring that lady to be privately married to the duke of Rich⯑mond. However this be, he was now willing to give him up to the reſentment of the par⯑liament, to whom he was become obnoxious, in order to obtain ſome farther ſupplies. For [384] this purpoſe he aſſembled the commons in the Banquetting-houſe; and, in the cloſe of a flat⯑tering ſpeech, replete with profeſſions of eter⯑nal gratitude, and the warmeſt affection, he begged a ſupply for his preſent occaſions, which he ſaid were extremely preſſing. They could not reſiſt his humble ſupplications; they granted him four ſubſidies; and the clergy, in convocation, followed their example. On this occaſion lord Briſtol ventured to impeach the chancellor in the houſe of peers; but not ſup⯑porting his charge for this time, the affair dropped, only in order to be revived again the next ſeſſions with greater animoſity.

It was probably with a view of recruiting the ſupply for his pleaſures, that he was in⯑duced to declare war againſt the Dutch, as the money appointed for that purpoſe, would go through his hands. A vote, by his contri⯑vance, was procured in the houſe of commons, alledging, that the wrongs, affronts, and in⯑dignities offered by the Dutch in ſeveral quar⯑ters of the globe, had in a great meaſure ob⯑ſtructed the trade of the nation. This was enough for his majeſty to proceed upon. As his prodigality always kept him neceſſitous, he foreſaw that he ſhould be able to convert a part of the ſupplies to his private amuſe⯑ments. [385] His brother alſo, the duke of York, longed for an opportunity of ſignalizing his courage and conduct, as high admiral, againſt a people he hated, not only for their republi⯑can principles, but alſo as being one of the chief bulwarks of the proteſtant religion.

This war began on each ſide with mutual depredations. The Engliſh, under the com⯑mand of Sir Robert Holmes, not only expell⯑ed the Dutch from Cape Corſe caſtle, on the coaſt of Africa, but likewiſe ſeized the Dutch ſettlements of Cape Verde, and the Iſle of Goree. Sailing from thence to America, the admiral poſſeſſed himſelf of Nova Belgia, ſince called New York; a country that has ſince continued annexed to the Engliſh government. On the other hand, de Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, ſailed to Guinea, diſpoſſeſſed the Engliſh of all their ſettlements there, except Cape Corſe. He then ſailed to America, attacked Barba⯑does, but was repulſed. He afterwards com⯑mitted hoſtilities on Long Iſland. Soon after, the two moſt conſiderable fleets of each na⯑tion met, the one under the duke of York, to the number of an hundred and fourteen ſail, the other commanded by Opdam, admi⯑ral of the Dutch navy, of nearly equal force. The engagement began at four in the morn⯑ing, [386] and both ſides fought with their uſual in⯑trepidity. The duke of York was in the hot⯑teſt part of the engagement, and behaved with great ſpirit and compoſure, while his lords and attendants were killed beſide him. In the heat of the action, when engaged in cloſe fight with the duke, the Dutch admiral's ſhip blew up: this accident much diſcouraged the Dutch, who fled towards their own coaſt; they had nineteen ſhips ſunk and taken, the victors loſt only one. This diſaſter threw the Dutch into conſternation; and de Wit, their great miniſter, whoſe genius and wiſdom were admirable, was obliged to come on board, and take the command of the fleet upon himſelf. This extraordinary man quickly became as much maſter of naval affairs, as if he had been from his infancy educated in them. He even improved ſome parts of the naval art, beyond what expert mariners had ever expected to attain.

The ſucceſs of the Engliſh naturally excited the jealouſy of the neighbouring ſtates, par⯑ticularly France and Denmark, who reſolved to protect the Dutch againſt the ſuperior power of their oppoſers. The Dutch, being thus ſtrengthened by ſo powerful an alliance, re⯑ſolved to face their conquerors once more. [387] De Ruyter, their great admiral, was returned from his expedition to Guinea; and was ap⯑pointed, at the head of ſeventy-ſix ſail, to join the duke of Beaufort, the French admiral, who, it was ſuppoſed, was then entering the Britiſh channel from Toulon. The duke of Albemarle and prince Rupert now commanded the Eng⯑liſh fleet, which did not exceed ſeventy-four ſail. Albemarle, who from his ſucceſſes un⯑der Cromwell had learned too much to deſ⯑piſe the enemy, propoſed to detach prince Ru⯑pert with twenty ſhips to oppoſe the duke of Beaufort. Sir George Ayſcue, well acquaint⯑ed with the force of his enemies, proteſted againſt the temerity of this reſolution; but Albemarle's authority prevailed. The Eng⯑liſh and Dutch, thus engaging upon unequal terms, a battle enſued, the moſt memorable in the annals of the ocean. The battle began with incredible fury: the Dutch admiral Evertzen was killed by a cannon ball, and one veſſel of their fleet was blown up, while one of the Engliſh ſhips was taken: darkneſs parted the combatants for the firſt day. The ſecond day they renewed the combat with encreaſed ani⯑moſity; ſixteen freſh ſhips joined the Dutch, and the Engliſh were ſo ſhattered, that their fighting ſhips were reduced to twenty-eight. [388] Upon retreating towards their own coaſt, the Dutch followed them, where another dreadful conflict was beginning, but parted by the dark⯑neſs of the night as before. The morning of the third day, the Engliſh were obliged to conti⯑nue their retreat, and the Dutch perſiſted in purſuing. Albemarle, who ſtill kept in the rear, and preſented a dreadful front to the enemy, made a deſperate reſolution to blow up his ſhip rather than ſubmit to the enemy; when he happily found himſelf reinforced by prince Rupert with ſixteen ſhips of the line. By this time it was night; and the next morn⯑ing, after a diſtant cannonading, the fleets came to a cloſe combat, which was continued with great violence, till they were parted by a miſt. Sir George Ayſcue, in a ſhip of one hundred guns, had the misfortune to ſtrike on the Galoper Sands, where he was ſurrounded and taken. The Engliſh retired firſt into their harbours; both ſides claimed the victory, but the Dutch certainly obtained the advantage, though not the glory of the combat.

A ſecond engagement, equally bloody, fol⯑lowed ſoon after, with larger fleets on both ſides, commanded by the ſame admirals; and in this the Dutch were obliged to own them⯑ſelves vanquiſhed, and retreat into their own [389] harbours. But they ſoon were in a capacity to out-number the Engliſh fleet, by the junc⯑tion of Beaufort the French admiral. The Dutch fleet appeared in the Thames, con⯑ducted by their great admiral; and threw the Engliſh into the utmoſt conſternation: a chain had been drawn acroſs the river Medway; ſome fortifications had been added to the forts along the banks, but all theſe were unequal to the preſent force: Sheerneſs was ſoon taken, the Dutch paſſed forward, and broke the chain, though fortified by ſome ſhips, ſunk there by Albemarle's orders. Deſtroying the ſhipping in their paſſage, they advanced ſtill onward, with ſix men of war, and five fire-ſhips, as far as Upnore caſtle, where they burned three men of war. The whole city of London was in conſternation; it was expected that the Dutch might fail up next tide to London bridge, and deſtroy, not only the ſhipping, but even the buildings of the metropolis. But the Dutch were unable to proſecute that pro⯑ject, from the failure of the French, who had promiſed to give them aſſiſtance; ſpreading, therefore, an alarm along the coaſt, and having inſulted Norwich, they returned to their own ports, to boaſt their inſult on the Britiſh glory.

[390] A.D. 1667 Nothing could exceed the indignation felt by the people at this diſgrace. But they had lately ſuſtained ſome accidental calamities, which in ſome meaſure moderated their rage and their pride. A plague had ravaged the city the year before, which ſwept away more than an hundred thouſand of its inhabitants. This calamity was ſoon after followed by an⯑other ſtill more dreadful, as more unexpected: a fire breaking out at a baker's houſe, who lived in Pudding-lane, near the bridge, it ſpread with ſuch rapidity, that no efforts could extinguiſh it till it laid in aſhes the moſt con⯑ſiderable party of the city. The conflagration continued three days; while the wretched in⯑habitants fled from one ſtreet, only to be ſpec⯑tators of equal calamities in another. At length, when all hope vaniſhed, and a total deſtruction was expected, the flames ceaſed unexpectedly, after having reduced thouſands from affluence to miſery. As the ſtreets were narrow, and moſtly built of wood, the flames ſpread the faſter; and the unuſual dryneſs of the ſeaſon prevented the proper ſupplies of water. But the people were not ſatisfied with theſe obvious motives; having been long taught to impute their calamities to the ma⯑chinations of their enemies, they now aſcribed [391] the preſent misfortune to the ſame cauſe, and imputed the burning of the city to a plot laid by the papiſts. But happily for that ſect, no proofs were brought of their guilt, though all men were willing to credit them. The magiſtracy, therefore, contented themſelves with aſcribing it to them, on a monument raiſ⯑ed where the fire began; and which ſtill con⯑tinues as a proof of the blind credulity of the times. This calamity, though at firſt it af⯑fected the fortunes of thouſands, in the end proved both beneficial and ornamental to the city. It roſe from its ruins in greater beauty than ever; and the ſtreets being widened, and built of brick inſtead of wood, became thus more wholeſome and more ſecure.

Theſe complicated misfortunes did not fail to excite many murmurs among the people; fearful of laying the blame on the king, whoſe authority was formidable, they very li⯑berally aſcribed all their calamities to papiſts, jeſuits, and fanatics. The war againſt the Dutch was exclaimed againſt, as unſucceſsful and unneceſſary; as being an attempt to hum⯑ble that nation, who were equal enemies of popery with themſelves. Charles himſelf alſo began to be ſenſible that all the ends for which he had undertaken the Dutch war, were like⯑ly [392] to prove entirely ineffectual. Whatever projects he might have formed for ſecreting the money granted him by parliament for his own uſe, he had hitherto failed in his inten⯑tion; and inſtead of laying up, he found him⯑ſelf conſiderably in debt. Propoſals were, therefore, thrown out for an accommodation, which, after ſome negociation, the Dutch con⯑ſented to accept. A treaty was concluded at Breda, by which the colony of New York was ceded by the Dutch to the Engliſh, and has continued a moſt valuable acquiſition to the preſent time.

Upon the whole of this treaty, it was con⯑ſidered as inglorious to the Engliſh, as they failed in gaining any redreſs upon the com⯑plaints which gave riſe to it. Lord Claren⯑don, therefore, gained a ſhare of blame, both for having firſt adviſed an unneceſſary war, and then for concluding a diſgraceful peace. He had been long declining in the king's fa⯑vour, and he was no leſs diſpleaſing to the majority of the people. His ſevere virtue, his uncomplying temper, and his deteſtation of factious meaſures, were unlikely to gain him many partizans in ſuch a court as that of Charles, that had been taught to regard every thing ſerious as ſomewhat criminal. There [393] were many accuſations now therefore brought up againſt him; the ſale of Dunkirk, the bad pay⯑ment of the ſeamen, and diſgrace at Chatham, were all added to the accumulation of his guilt. But particularly his imputed ambition was urged among his crimes. His daughter had, while yet in Paris, commenced an amour with the duke of York; and had permitted his gallan⯑tries to tranſgreſs the bounds of virtue. Charles, who then loved Clarendon, and who was un⯑willing that he ſhould ſuffer the mortification of a parent, obliged the duke to marry his daugh⯑ter; and this marriage, which was juſt in itſelf, be⯑came culpable in the miniſter. A building like⯑wiſe of more expence than his ſlender fortune could afford, had been undertaken by him; and this was regarded as a ſtructure raiſed by the plunder of the public. Fewer accuſations than theſe would have been ſufficient to diſgrace him with Charles; he ordered the ſeals to be taken from him, and given to Sir Orlando Bridgeman.

This ſeemed the ſignal for Clarendon's ene⯑mies to ſtep in, and effect his entire overthrow. The houſe of commons, in their addreſs to the king, gave him thanks for his diſmiſſion of that nobleman; and immediately a charge was opened againſt him in the houſe, by Mr. Sey⯑mour, [394] conſiſting of ſeventeen articles. Theſe, which were only a catalogue of the popular rumours before-mentioned, appeared at firſt ſight falſe or frivolous. However Clarendon finding the popular torrent, united to the vio⯑lence of power, running with impetuoſity againſt him, thought proper to withdraw to France. The legiſlature then paſſed a bill of baniſhment and incapacity, while Clarendon continued to reſide in a private manner at Paris, where he employed his leiſure in reducing his hiſtory of the civil war into form, for which he had before collected materials.

A confederacy of great importance, which goes by the name of the Triple Alliance, was formed by Charles, ſoon after the fall of this great ſtateſman, as if to ſhew that he could ſtill ſupply his place. It was conducted by Sir William Temple, one of the great ornaments of Engliſh literature; who united the philoſo⯑pher and the ſtateſman, and was equally great in both. This alliance was formed between England, Holland, and Sweden, to prevent the French king from completing his con⯑queſts in the Netherlands. That monarch had already ſubdued the greater part of that delightful country; when he was unexpectedly ſtopped in the midſt of his career by this league; [395] in which it was agreed by the contracting powers, that they would conſtitute themſelves arbiters of the differences between France and Spain, and check the inordinate pretenſions of ei⯑ther.

To this foreign confederacy ſucceeded one of a domeſtic nature, that did not promiſe ſuch beneficial effects as the former. The king had long been fluctuating between his pride and his pleaſures; the one urged him to extend his prerogative, the other to enjoy the good things that fortune threw in his way. He therefore would be likely to find the great⯑eſt ſatisfaction in thoſe miniſters, who could flatter both his wiſhes at once. He was ex⯑cited by the active ſpirit of his brother, to riſe above humble ſolicitations to his parliament; and was beſet by ſome deſperate counſellors, who importuned and encouraged him to aſſert his own independence. The principal of thoſe were, Clifford, Aſhley, Buckingham, Arling⯑ton, Lauderdale, a junto diſtinguiſhed by the appellation of the Cabal, a word containing the initial letters of their names. Never was there a more dangerous miniſtry in England, nor one more fitted to deſtroy all that liberty which had been eſtabliſhing for ages.

[396]Sir Thomas Clifford, was a man of a daring and impetuous ſpirit, rendered more danger⯑ous by eloquence and intrigue. Lord Aſhley, ſoon after known by the name of lord Shafteſ⯑bury, was the moſt extraordinary man of his age; he had been a member of the long par⯑liament, and had great influence among the preſbyterians; he was a favourite of Crom⯑well, and afterwards had a conſiderable hand in the reſtoration; he was turbulent, ambi⯑tious, ſubtle, and enterpriſing; well acquaint⯑ed with the blind attachment of parties, he ſurmounted all ſhame; and while he had the character of never betraying any of his friends, yet he changed his party as it ſuited his con⯑venience. The duke of Buckingham was gay, capricious, of ſome wit, and great viva⯑city, well fitted to unite, and harmonize the graver tempers of which this junto was com⯑poſed. Arlington was a man but of very mo⯑derate capacity, his intentions were good, but he wanted courage to perſevere in them. Laſt⯑ly, the duke of Lauderdale, who was not de⯑fective in natural, and ſtill leſs in acquired ta⯑lents, but neither was his addreſs graceful, nor his underſtanding juſt; he was ambitious, obſtinate, inſolent, and ſullen. Theſe were the men to whom Charles gave up the con⯑duct [397] of his affairs; and who plunged the re⯑maining part of his reign in difficulties,A.D. 1670 which produced the moſt dangerous ſymptoms.

A ſecret alliance with France, and a rup⯑ture with Holland, were the firſt conſequences of their advice. The duke of York had the confidence boldly to declare himſelf a catho⯑lic; and to alarm the fears of the nation ſtill more, a liberty of conſcience was allowed to all ſectaries, whether diſſenters, or papiſts. Theſe meaſures were conſidered by the peo⯑ple as deſtructive, not only of their liber⯑ties, but of their religion, which they va⯑lued more. A proclamation was iſſued, con⯑taining very rigorous clauſes in favour of preſſ⯑ing; another full of menaces againſt thoſe who ventured to ſpeak undutifully of his ma⯑jeſty's meaſures; and even againſt thoſe who heard ſuch diſcourſes, unleſs they informed in due time againſt the offenders. Theſe mea⯑ſures, though ſtill within bounds, were yet no way ſuitable to that legal adminiſtration, which upon his reſtoration he had promiſed to eſta⯑bliſh.

The Engliſh now ſaw themſelves engaged in a league with France againſt the Dutch; and conſequently, whether victorious or vanquiſh⯑ed, their efforts were like to be equally unſuc⯑ceſsful. [398] The French had for ſome years been growing into power; and now, under the con⯑duct of their ambitious monarch, Lewis XIV. they began to threaten the liberties of Europe, and particularly the proteſtant religion, of which Lewis had ſhewn himſelf a determined enemy. It gave the people, therefore, a gloomy proſpect, to ſee an union formed, which, if ſucceſsful, muſt totally ſubvert that balance of power, which the proteſtants aimed at pre⯑ſerving; nor were they leſs apprehenſive of their own ſovereign, who, though he pretend⯑ed to turn all religion to ridicule in his gayer hours, yet was ſecretly attached to the catho⯑lics, or was very much ſuſpected of being ſo. The firſt events of this war, therefore, were very correſpondent to their fears of French treachery. The Engliſh and French combin⯑ed fleets, commanded by the duke of York, and the mareſchal d'Etrees, met the Dutch fleet to the number of ninety ſail, commanded by admiral de Ruyter, and a furious battle en⯑ſued. In this engagement, the gallant Sand⯑wich, who commanded the Engliſh van, drove his ſhip into the midſt of the enemy, beat off the admiral that ventured to attack him, ſunk another ſhip that attempted to board him, and ſunk three fire-ſhips that endeavoured [399] to grapple with him. Tho' his veſſel was torn with ſhot, and out of a thouſand men, there only remained four hundred, he ſtill continued to thunder in the midſt of the engagement. At laſt a fire-ſhip, more fortunate than the former, having laid hold of his veſſel, her deſtruction was now inevitable. Sandwich however refuſed to quit his ſhip, though warned by Sir Edward Haddock his captain; he periſhed in the flames, while the engagement continued to rage all around him. Night parted the combatants; the Dutch retired, and were not followed by the Engliſh. The loſs ſuſtained by the two maritime powers was nearly equal; but the French ſuffered very little, not having entered into the heat of the engagement. It was even ſuppoſed that they had orders for this conduct, and to ſpare their own ſhips, while the Dutch and Engliſh ſhould grow weak by their mu⯑tual animoſities.

The combined powers were much more ſucceſsful againſt the Dutch by land. Lewis conquered all before him, croſſed the Rhine, took all the frontier towns of the enemy, and threatened the new republic with a final diſſo⯑lution. Terms were propoſed to them by the two conquerors. Lewis offered them ſuch as would have deprived them of all power of [400] reſiſting an invaſion from France by land. Thoſe of Charles expoſed them equally to every invaſion from ſea. At laſt, the murmurs of the Engliſh at ſeeing this brave and induſtrious people, the ſupporters of the proteſtant cauſe, totally ſunk, and on the brink of deſtruction, were too loud not to impreſs the king. He was obliged to call a parliament to take the ſenſe of the nation upon his conduct; A.D. 1673 and he ſoon ſaw how his ſubjects ſtood affected.

The eyes of all men, both abroad and at home, were fixed upon this new parliament, which, af⯑ter many prorogations, continued ſitting for near two years. Before the commons entered upon buſineſs, there lay before them an affair, which diſcovered, beyond a poſſibility of doubt, the arbitrary projects of the king. It had been a conſtant practice in the houſe for many years, in caſe of any vacancy, to iſſue out writs for new elections; but, by Shafteſbury's advice, ſeveral members had taken their ſeats upon more irregular writs iſſued by the chancellor; ſo that the whole houſe in time might be filled with members clandeſtinely called up by the court. The houſe was no ſooner therefore aſſembled, and the ſpeaker placed in his chair, than a motion was made againſt this method of election; and the members themſelves, [401] thus called to parliament, had the modeſty to withdraw.

The king's late declaration of indulgence to all ſectaries was next taken into conſideration, and a remonſtrance drawn up againſt that ex⯑erciſe of the prerogative. The commons per⯑ſiſted in their oppoſition to it; and repreſented that ſuch a practice, if admitted, might tend to interrupt the free courſe of the laws, and alter the legiſlative power, which had always been acknowledged to reſide in the king and the two houſes. Charles, therefore, found himſelf obliged, reluctantly, to retract his declaration; but that he might do it with a better grace, he aſked the opinion of the houſe of peers, who adviſed him to comply. The commons ex⯑preſſed the utmoſt ſatisfaction with this mea⯑ſure, and the moſt entire duty to the king. He on his part aſſured them, that he would wil⯑lingly paſs any law which might tend to give them ſatisfaction in all their juſt grievances.

Having abridged the king's ſtretches of power in theſe points, they went ſtill farther, and reſolved to make the conformity of na⯑tional principles ſtill more general. A law was paſſed, entitled the Teſt act, impoſing an oath on all who ſhould enjoy any public office. Beſides the taking the oaths of allegiance, and [402] the king's ſupremacy, they were obliged to receive the ſacrament once a year in the eſta⯑bliſhed church, and to abjure all belief in the doctrine of tranſubſtantiation. As the diſſen⯑ters alſo had ſeconded the efforts of the com⯑mons againſt the king's declaration for indul⯑gence, a bill was paſſed for their eaſe and re⯑lief, which, however, went with ſome difficulty through the houſe of peers.

But ſtill the great object of their meeting was to be enquired into; for the war againſt the Dutch continued to rage with great ani⯑moſity. Several ſea engagements ſucceeded each other very rapidly, which brought on no deciſive action; both nations claiming the victory after every battle. The commons, therefore, weary of the war, and diſtruſtful even of ſucceſs, reſolved that the ſtanding army was a grievance. They next declared, that they would grant no more ſupplies to carry on the Dutch war, unleſs it appeared that the ene⯑my continued ſo obſtinate as to refuſe all reaſon⯑able conditions. To cut ſhort theſe diſagreeable altercations, the king reſolved to prorogue the parliament; and, with that intention, he went unexpectedly to the houſe of peers, and ſent the uſher of the black-rod to ſummon the houſe of commons to attend. It happened that [403] the ſpeaker and the uſher nearly met at the door of the houſe; but the ſpeaker, being within, ſome of the members ſuddenly ſhut the door, and cried To the chair! Upon which the following motions were inſtantly made in a tumultuous manner. That the alliance with France was a grievance; that the evil counſellors of the king were a grievance; that the duke of Lauderdale was a grievance; and then the houſe roſe in great confuſion. The king ſoon ſaw that he could expect no ſupply from the commons for carrying on the war, which was ſo odious to them; he reſolved, therefore, to make a ſeperate peace with the Dutch, on terms which they had propoſed through the channel of the Spaniſh ambaſſador. For form ſake, he aſked the advice of his parliament, who, concurring heartily in his intentions, a peace was concluded accordingly.

This turn in the ſyſtem of the king's politics was very pleaſing to the nation in general; but the Cabal quickly ſaw that it would be the deſtruction of all their future attempts and power. Shafteſbury, therefore, was the firſt to deſert them, and go over to the country party, who received him, with open arms, and truſted him with unbounded reſerve. Clifford was dead. Buckingham was deſirous of imitating [404] Shafteſbury's example. Lauderdale and Ar⯑lington were expoſed to all the effects of na⯑tional reſentment. Articles of impeachment were drawn up againſt the former, which, however, were never proſecuted; and as for the other, he every day grew more and more out of favour with the king, and contemptible to the people. This was an end of the power of a junto, that had laid a ſetled plan for over⯑turning the conſtitution, and fixing unlimited monarchy upon its ruins.

A.D. 1674 In the mean time, the war between the Dutch and the French went on with the greateſt vigour; and although the latter were repreſſed for a while, they ſtill continued making en⯑croachments upon the enemies territories. The Dutch forces were commanded by the prince of Orange, who was poſſeſſed of courage, acti⯑vity, vigilance, and patience; but he was in⯑ferior in genius to thoſe conſummate generals oppoſed to him. He was, therefore, always unſucceſsful; but ſtill found means to repair his loſſes, and to make head in a little time againſt his victorious enemies. Theſe ineffec⯑tual ſtruggles for the preſervation of his coun⯑try's freedom, intereſted the Engliſh ſtrongly in his favour; ſo that from being his oppoſers, they now wiſhed to lend him aſſiſtance. They [405] conſidered their alliance with France as threa⯑tening a ſubverſion to the proteſtant, religion; and they longed for an union with him, as the only means of ſecurity. The commons, there⯑fore, adreſſed the king, repreſenting the dan⯑ger to which the kingdom was expoſed from the growing greatneſs of France; and they aſſured him, in caſe of a war, that they would not be backward in their ſupplies. Charles was not diſpleaſed with the latter part of their addreſs, as money was neceſſary for his pleaſures. He therefore told them, that unleſs they granted him ſix hundred thouſand pounds, it would be impoſſible for him to give them a ſatisfactory anſwer. The commons refuſed to truſt to his majeſty's profeſſions; his well known profuſion was before their eyes. The king reproved them for their diffi⯑dence, and immediately ordered them to ad⯑journ.A.D. 1677 The marriage of the duke of York's eldeſt daugther, the princeſs Mary, heir appa⯑rent to the crown, with the prince of Orange, was a meaſure that gave great ſatisfaction in theſe general diſquietudes about religion. The negotiation was brought about by the king's own deſire; and the proteſtants now ſaw an happy proſpect before them of a ſucceſſion, that would be favourable to their much loved [406] reformation. A negotiation for peace between the French and the Dutch followed ſoon after, which was rather favourable to the latter. But the mutual animoſities of theſe ſtates not being as yet ſufficiently quelled, the war was conti⯑nued for ſome time longer. The king, therefore, to ſatisfy his parliament, who declar⯑ed loudly againſt the French, ſent over an army of three thouſand men to the continent, under the command of the duke of Mon⯑mouth, to ſecure Oſtend. A fleet alſo was fitted out with great diligence; and a quadru⯑ple alliance was projected between England, Holland, Spain, and the Emperor. Theſe vigorous meaſures brought about the famous treaty of Nimeguen, which gave a general peace to Europe.A.D. 1678 But though peace was ſe⯑cured abroad, the diſcontents of the people ſtill continued at home.

CHAP. XXXVI. CHARLES II. (Continued.)

THIS reign preſents the moſt amazing contraſts of levity and cruelty, of mirth and gloomy ſuſpicion. Ever ſince the fatal league with France, the people had entertained vio⯑lent jealouſies againſt the court. The fears and diſcontents of the nation were vented without reſtraint; the apprehenſions of a popiſh ſucceſſor, an abandoned court, and a parliament which, though ſometimes aſſer⯑tors of liberty, yet continuing for ſeventeen years without change; theſe naturally render⯑ed the minds of mankind timid and ſuſpicious, and they only wanted objects on which to wreck their ill humour.

When the ſpirit of the Engliſh is once rouſ⯑ed, they either find objects of ſuſpicion or make them. On the twelfth of Auguſt, one Kirby, a chemiſt, accoſted the king as he was walking in the Park. ‘"Sir, ſaid he, keep within the company, your enemies have a deſign upon your life, and you may be [408] ſhot in this very walk."’ Being queſtioned in conſequence of this ſtrange intimation, he offered to produce one doctor Tongue, a weak credulous clergyman, who had told him that two perſons, named Grove and Pickering, were engaged to murder the king; and that Sir George Wakeman, the queen's phyſician, had undertaken the ſame taſk by poiſon. Tongue was introduced to the king with a bundle of papers relating to this pretended con⯑ſpiracy, and was referred to the lord treaſurer Danby. He there declared that the papers were thruſt under his door; and he afterwards declared, that he knew the author of them, who deſired that his name might be concealed, as he dreaded the reſentment of the Jeſuits.

This information appeared ſo vague and unſatisfactory, that the king concluded the whole was a fiction. However Tongue was not to be repreſſed in the ardour of his loyalty; he went again to the lord treaſurer, and told him, that a pacquet of letters, written by Jeſuits concerned in the plot, was that night to be put into the poſt-houſe for Windſor, directed to one Bedingfield, a Jeſuit, who was confeſſor to the duke of York, and who reſided there. Theſe letters had actually been received a few hours before by the duke; but he had ſhewn them to the king as [409] a forgery, of which he neither knew the drift nor the meaning. This incident ſtill farther con⯑firmed the king in his incredulity. He deſired, however, that it might be concealed, as it might raiſe a flame in the nation; but the duke, ſollicitous to prove his innocence, in⯑ſiſted upon a nicer diſcuſſion, which turned out very different from his expectations.

Titus Oates, who was the fountain of all this dreadful intelligence, was produced ſoon after, who, with ſeeming reluctance, came to give his intelligence. This man affirmed that he had fallen under the ſuſpicion of the Jeſuits, and that he had concealed himſelf, in order to avoid their reſentment. This Titus Oates was an abandoned miſcreant, obſcure, illiterate, vulgar, and indigent. He had been once in⯑dicted for perjury, was afterwards chaplain on board a man of war, and diſmiſſed for unna⯑tural practices. He then profeſſed himſelf a Roman catholic, and croſſed the ſea to St. Omer's, where he was for ſome time main⯑tained in the Engliſh ſeminary of that city. The fathers of that college ſent him with ſome diſpatches to Spain; but after his return, when they became better acquainted with his character, they would not ſuffer him to conti⯑nue among them; ſo that he was obliged to [410] return to London, where he was ready to en⯑counter every danger for his ſupport. At a time that he was ſuppoſed to have been en⯑truſted with a ſecret involving the fate of kings, he was allowed to remain in ſuch ne⯑ceſſity, that Kirby was obliged to ſupply him with daily bread.

He had two methods to proceed, either to ingratiate himſelf by this information with the miniſtry, or to alarm the people, and thus turn their fears to his advantage. He choſe the latter method. He went, therefore, with his two companions to Sir Edmondſbury Godfrey, a noted and active juſtice of peace, and before him depoſed to a narrative dreſſ⯑ed up in terrors fit to make an impreſſion on the vulgar. The pope, he ſaid, conſidered himſelf as entitled to the poſſeſſion of Eng⯑land and Ireland, on account of the hereſy of the prince and people, and had accordingly aſſumed the ſovereignty of theſe kingdoms. This, which was ſaint Peter's patrimony, he had delivered up to the Jeſuits, and Oliva, the general of that order, was his delegate. Se⯑veral Engliſh catholic lords, whoſe names he mentioned, were appointed by the pope to the other offices of ſtate; lord Arundel was cre⯑ated chancellor, lord Powis treaſurer, Sir Wil⯑liam [411] Godolphin privy-ſeal, Coleman, the duke's ſecretary, was made ſecretary of ſtate, Lang⯑horne attorney-general, lord Belaſis general of the forces, lord Peters lieutenant-general, and lord Stafford pay-maſter. The king, whom the Jeſuits called the Black Baſtard, was ſolemnly tried by them, and condemned as an heretic. He aſſerted that father Le Shee, meaning the French king's confeſſor La Chaiſe, had offered ten thouſand pounds to any man who ſhould kill the king. Ten thouſand pounds had been offered to Sir George Wakeman to poiſon him; but he was mercenary, and demanded fifteen thouſand, which demand was complied with. Leſt theſe means ſhould fail, four Iriſh ruffians had been employed by the Jeſuits at the rate of twenty guineas a piece to ſtab the king at Windſor. Colman, late ſecretary to the dutcheſs of York, was deeply involved in the plot, and had given a guinea to the meſ⯑ſenger, who carried them orders for the aſſaſ⯑ſination. Grove and Pickering, to make ſure work, were employed to ſhoot the king, and that too with ſilver bullets. The former was to receive fifteen hundred pounds for his pains, and the latter, being a pious man, thirty thou⯑ſand maſſes. Pickering would have executed his purpoſe, had not the flint dropped out of [412] his piſtol at one time, and at another the prim⯑ing. Oates went on to ſay that he himſelf was chiefly employed in carrying notes and letters among the Jeſuits, all tending to the ſame end of murthering the king. A wager of an hun⯑dred pound was made, and the money depoſited, that the king ſhould eat no more Chriſtmaſs pyes. The great fire of London had been the work of the Jeſuits; ſeveral other fires were reſolv⯑ed on, and a paper model was already framed for firing the city anew. Fire-balls were called among them Tewkſbury muſtard-pills. Twenty thouſand catholics in London were prepared to riſe; and Coleman had remitted two hun⯑dred thouſand pounds to aſſiſt the rebels in Ireland. The duke of York was to be of⯑fered the crown in conſequence of the ſucceſs of theſe probable ſchemes, on condition of ex⯑tirpating the proteſtant religion. Upon his re⯑fuſal ‘"To pot James muſt go,"’ as the Je⯑ſuits were ſaid to expreſs it.

In conſequence of this dreadful informa⯑tion, ſufficiently marked with abſurdity, vul⯑garity, and contradiction, Titus Oates became the favourite of the people, notwithſtanding during his examination before the council, be ſo betrayed the groſſneſs of his impoſtures, that he contradicted himſelf in every ſtep of his [413] narration. While in Spain he had been car⯑ried, he ſaid, to Don John, who promiſed great aſſiſtance to the execution of the catho⯑lic deſigns. The king aſked him what ſort of a man his old acquaintance Don John was. Oates replied that he was a tall lean man, which was directly contrary to the truth, as the king well knew. Though he pretended great intimacies with Coleman, yet he knew him not when placed very near him, and had no other excuſe but that his ſight was bad by candle-light. He was guilty of the ſame miſ⯑take with regard to Sir George Wakeman.

But theſe improbabilities had no weight againſt the general wiſh, if I may ſo expreſs it, that they ſhould be true. The violent ani⯑moſity which had been excited againſt the ca⯑tholics in general, made the people find a gloomy pleaſure in hoping for an opportunity of ſatiating their hatred. The more impro⯑bable any account ſeemed, the more unlikely it was that any impoſtor ſhould invent improba⯑bilities, and therefore appeared more like truth.

A great number of the Jeſuits mentioned by Oates were immediately taken into cuſtody. Coleman, who was ſaid to have acted ſo ſtre⯑nuous a part in the conſpiracy, at firſt retired; but next day ſurrendered himſelf to the ſecre⯑tary [414] of ſtate, and ſome of his papers, by Oates's directions, were ſecured. Theſe papers, which were ſuch as might be naturally expected from a zealous catholic in his ſituation, were converted into very dangerous evidence againſt him. He had, without any doubt, maintained a cloſe correſpondence with the French king's confeſ⯑ſor, with the pope's nuncio at Bruſſels, and with many other catholics abroad, in which there was a diſtant project on foot for bring⯑ing back popery upon the acceſſion of the duke of York. But theſe letters contained nothing that ſerved as proof in the preſent in⯑formation; and their very ſilence in that reſpect, though they appeared imprudent enough in others, was a proof againſt Oates's pretended diſcovery. However, when the contents of thoſe letters were publicly known, they diffuſed the panic which the former narrative had be⯑gun. The two plots were brought to ſtrength⯑en each other, and confounded into one. Cole⯑man's letters ſhewed there had actually been deſigns on foot, and Oates's narrative was ſup⯑poſed to give the particulars.

In this fluctuation of paſſions, an accident ſerved to confirm the prejudices of the peo⯑ple, and to put it beyond a doubt that Oates's narrative was nothing but the truth. Sir Ed⯑mondſbury [415] Godfrey, who had been ſo active in unravelling the whole myſtery of the po⯑piſh machinations, after having been miſſing ſome days, was found dead in a ditch by Primroſe-hill, in the way to Hampſtead. His own ſword was thruſt though his body; but no blood had flowed from the wound; ſo that it appeared he was dead ſome time before this method was taken to deceive the public. He had money in his pockets, and there was a broad livid mark quite round his neck, which was diſlocated. The cauſe of his death re⯑mains, and muſt ſtill continue, a ſecret; but the people, already enraged againſt the papiſts, did not heſitate a moment to aſcribe it to them. No farther doubt remained of Oates's vera⯑city; the voice of the whole nation united againſt them; and the populace were exaſper⯑ated to ſuch a degree, that moderate men be⯑gan to dread a general maſſacre of that un⯑happy ſect. The body of Godfrey was car⯑ried through the ſtreets in proceſſion, pre⯑ceded by ſeventy clergymen; and every one who ſaw it made no doubt that his death could be only cauſed by the papiſts. Even the bet⯑ter ſort of people were infected with this vul⯑gar prejudice; and ſuch was the general con⯑viction of popiſh guilt, that no perſon, with [416] any regard to perſonal ſafety, could expreſs the leaſt doubt concerning the information of Oates, or the murther of Godfrey.

It only remained for the parliament to re⯑preſs theſe deluſions, and to bring back the people to calm and deliberate enquiry. But the parliament teſtified greater credulity than even the vulgar. The cry of plot was im⯑mediately echoed from one houſe to the other; the country party would not let ſlip ſuch an opportunity of managing the paſſions of the people; the courtiers were afraid of being thought diſloyal, if they ſhould doubt the in⯑nocence of the pretended aſſaſſins of their king. Danby, the prime miniſter, himſelf en⯑tered into it very furiouſly; and though the king told him that he had thus given the houſes a handle to ruin himſelf, and to diſturb the affairs of government, yet this miniſter perſevered, till he found the king's prognoſtic but too true.

The king himſelf, whoſe ſafety was thus threatened and defended, was the only perſon who treated the plot with becoming contempt. He made ſeveral efforts for ſtifling an enquiry, which was likely to involve the kingdom in confuſion, and muſt at any rate hurt his bro⯑ther, who had more than once profeſſed his re⯑ſolution to defend the catholic religion.

[417]In order to continue and propagate the alarm, an addreſs was voted for a ſolemn faſt. It was requeſted that all papers tending to throw light upon ſo horrible a conſpiracy might be laid before the houſe, that all papiſts ſhould remove from London, that acceſs ſhould be denied at court to all unknown and ſuſpicious perſons, and that the train-bands in London and Weſtminſter ſhould be in readineſs to march. They voted, after hearing Oates's evidence, that there was a damnable and hel⯑liſh plot, contrived and carried on by the po⯑piſh recuſants, for aſſaſſinating and murdering the king, and for rooting out the proteſtant religion. Oates, who had acknowleged the ac⯑cuſations againſt his morals to be true, was, how⯑ever, recommended by parliament to the king. He was lodged in Whitehall, and encouraged by a penſion of twelve hundred pounds a-year to proceed in forging new informations.

The encouragement given to Oates did not fail to bring in others alſo, who hoped to profit by the deluſion of the times William Bedloe, a man, if poſſible, more infamous than Oates, appeared next upon the ſtage. He was, like the former, of very low birth, had been noted for ſeveral cheats and thefts, had travelled over many parts of Europe under [418] borrowed names, and had frequently paſſed himſelf for a man of quality. This man, at his own deſire, was arreſted at Briſtol, and conveyed to London, where he declared be⯑fore the council that he had ſeen the body of Sir Edmondſbury Godfrey at Somerſet-houſe, where the queen lived. He ſaid that a ſervant of lord Bellaſis offered to give him four thou⯑ſand pounds if he would carry it off. He was queſtioned about the plot, but utterly de⯑nied all knowlege of it, and alſo aſſerted that he had no acquaintance with Oates. Next day, however, he thought it would be better to ſhare the emoluments of the plot, and he gave an ample account of it. This narrative he made to tally as well as he could with the in⯑formation of Oates, which had been publiſhed; but to render it the more acceptable, he added ſome circumſtances of his own, ſtill more tre⯑mendous, and ſtill more abſurd, than thoſe of Oates. He ſaid that ten thouſand men were to be landed from Flanders in Burlington-bay, and were immediately to ſeize Hull. He affirmed that the lords Powis and Petre had undertaken to raiſe an army in Radnorſhire; that fifty thouſand men were ready to riſe in London; that he himſelf had been tampered with to murder a man, and was to receive four thouſand pounds [419] for that ſervice, beſide the pope's bleſſing; that the king was to be aſſaſſinated, the pro⯑teſtants butchered, and the kingdom offered to One, if he would conſent to hold it of the church; if not, the pope ſhould continue to govern without him. He likewiſe accuſed the lords Carrington and Brudenell, who were committed to cuſtody by order of parliament. But the moſt terrible part of all was that Spain was to invade England with forty thou⯑ſand men, who were ready at St. Jago in the character of pilgrims; though at this time Spain was actually unable to raiſe ten thouſand men to ſupply her own garriſons in Flanders.

Theſe narrations carry their own refutation; the infamy of the witneſſes, the contradiction in their teſtimony, the improbability of it, the low vulgarity of the information, unlike what men truſted with great affairs would be apt to form, all theſe ſerve to raiſe our horror againſt theſe baſe villians, and our pity at the deluſion of the times that could credit ſuch reports. In order to give a confident air to the diſcovery, Bedloe publiſhed a pamphlet, with this title. ‘"A Narrative and impartial Diſcovery of the horrid Popiſh Plot, carried on for the burning and deſtroying the Cities of London and Weſt⯑minſter, with their ſuburbs, &c. by Captain [420] William Bedloe, lately engaged in that horrid deſign, and one of the Popiſh committees for carrying on ſuch fires."’ The papiſts were thus become ſo obnoxious, that vote after vote paſſed againſt them in the houſe of commons. They were called idolaters; and ſuch as did not concur in acknowleging the truth of the epi⯑thet, were expelled the houſe without ceremo⯑ny. Even the duke of York was permitted to keep his place in the houſe by a majority of only two. ‘"I would not, ſaid one of the lords, have ſo much as a popiſh man or a popiſh woman to remain here, not ſo much as a popiſh dog, or a popiſh bitch, not ſo much as a popiſh cat to mew, or pur about our king."’ This was wretched eloquence; but it was admirably ſuited to the times.

Encouraged by the general voice in their favour, the witneſſes, who all along had en⯑larged their narratives, in proportion as they were greedily received, went a ſtep farther, and ventured to accuſe the queen. The com⯑mons, in an addreſs to the king, gave counten⯑ance to this ſcandalous accuſation; the lords rejected it with becoming diſdain. The king received the news of it with his uſual good humour. ‘"They think, ſaid he, that I have a mind to a new wife; but for all that I will [421] not ſuffer an innocent woman to be abuſed."’ He immediately ordered Oates to be ſtrictly confined, ſeized his papers, and diſmiſſed his ſervants. But his favour with parliament ſoon procured his releaſe.

Edward Coleman, ſecretary to the duke of York, was the firſt who was brought to trial, as being moſt obnoxious to thoſe who pretended to fear the introduction of popery. His letters were produced againſt him. They plainly teſtified a violent zeal for the catholic cauſe, and that alone at preſent was ſufficient to con⯑vict him. But Oates and Bedloe came in to make his condemnation ſure. The former ſwore that he had ſent fourſcore guineas to a ruffian, who undertook to kill the king. The date of the tranſaction he fixed in the month of Auguſt, but would not fix the particular day. Coleman could have proved that he was in the country the greateſt part of that month, and therefore the witneſs would not be parti⯑cular. Bedloe ſwore that he had received a commiſſion, ſigned by the ſuperior of the Jeſuits, appointing him papal ſecretary of ſtate, and that he had conſented to the king's aſſaſſination. After this unfortunate man's ſentence, thus procured by theſe vipers, many members of both houſes offered to interpoſe in his behalf, if he would make an ample con⯑feſſion; [422] but as he was, in reality, poſſeſſed of no treaſonable ſecrets, he would not procure life by falſehood and impoſture. He ſuffered with calmneſs and conſtancy, and to the laſt perſiſted in the ſtrongeſt proteſtations of his innocence.

The trial of Coleman was ſucceeded by thoſe of Ireland, Pickering, and Grove. Ireland, a Jeſuit, was accuſed by Oates and Bedloe, the only witneſſes againſt him, that he was one of the fifty Jeſuits who had ſigned the great re⯑ſolve againſt the king. Ireland affirmed, and proved, that he was in Staffordſhire all the month of Auguſt, a time when Oates aſſerted he was in London. The jury brought him in guilty, and the judge commended their verdict. It was in the ſame manner ſworn that Picker⯑ing and Grove had bound themſelves by an oath to aſſaſſinate the king; that they had pro⯑vided themſelves with ſcrewed piſtols and ſil⯑ver bullets. They both proteſted their inno⯑cence, and were found guilty. All theſe un⯑happy men went to execution proteſting their innocence, a circumſtance which made no im⯑preſſion on the ſpectators; their being Jeſuits baniſhed even pity from their ſufferings.

The animoſities of the people, however, ſeemed a little appeaſed by the execution of [423] theſe four; but a new train of evidence was now diſcovered, that kindled the flame once more. One Miles Prance, a goldſmith, and a profeſſed Roman catholic, had been accuſed by Bedloe of being an accomplice in Sir Edmondſbury's murder; and, upon his denial, had been load⯑ed with heavy irons, and thrown into the condemned hole, a place cold, dark, and noi⯑ſome. There the poor wretch lay groaning and exclaiming that he was not guilty; but being next day carried before Lord Shafteſbu⯑ry, and there threatened with ſeverer puniſh⯑ment in caſe of obſtinacy, he demanded if a confeſſion would procure his pardon. Being aſſured of that, he had no longer courage to reſiſt, but confeſſed himſelf an accomplice in Godfrey's murder. He ſoon after, however, retracted his evidence before the king; but the ſame rigours being employed againſt him, he was induced once more to confirm his firſt infor⯑mation. The murder he ſaid was committed in Somerſet-houſe, by the contrivance of Gerrard and Kelly, two Iriſh prieſts. That Lawrence Hill, footman to the queen's treaſurer, Robert Green, cuſhion-keeper to her chapel, and Henry Berry, porter of the palace, followed Sir Edmondſbury at a diſtance, from ten in the morning till ſeven in the evening; but that [424] paſſing by Somerſet-houſe, Green throwing a twiſted handkerchief over his head, he was ſoon ſtrangled, and the body carried to a high chamber in Somerſet-houſe, from whence it was removed to another apartment, where it was ſeen by Bedloe.

Hill, Green, and Berry, were tried upon this evidence, though Bedloe's narrative, and Prance's information, were totally irreconcile⯑able, and though their teſtimony was invalidat⯑ed by contrary evidence, all was in vain, the priſoners were condemned and executed. They all denied their guilt at execution; and as Berry died a proteſtant this circumſtance was regarded as very conſiderable. But inſtead of ſtopping the torrent of credulity, it only encreaſ⯑ed the people's animoſity againſt a proteſtant, who could at once be guilty of a popiſh plot, of murder, and of denying it in his laſt mo⯑ments.

This frightful perſecution continued for ſome time; and the king, contrary to his own judgment, was obliged to give way to the popular fury. Whitebread, provincial of the Jeſuits, Fenwick, Gavan, Turner, and Har⯑court, all of them of the ſame order, were brought to their trial: Langhorne ſoon after. Beſides Oates and Bedloe, Dugdale, a new wit⯑neſs, [425] appeared againſt the priſoners. This man ſpread the alarm ſtill farther, and even aſſerted, that two hundred thouſand papiſts in England were ready to take arms. The pri⯑ſoners proved, by ſixteen witneſſes from St. Omers, that Oates was in that ſeminary at the time he ſwore he was in London. But as they were papiſts, their teſtimony could gain no manner of credit. All pleas availed them nothing; both the Jeſuits and Lang⯑horne were condemned and executed, with their laſt breath denying the crimes for which they died.

The informers had leſs ſucceſs on the trial of Sir George Wakeman, the queen's phyſi⯑cian, who, though they ſwore with their uſual animoſity, was acquitted. His condemnation would have involved the queen in his guilt; and it is propable the judge and jury were afraid of venturing ſo far.

The earl of Stafford, near two years after, was the laſt man that fell a ſacrifice to theſe bloody wretches; the witneſſes produced a⯑gainſt him were Oates, Dugdale, and Tuber⯑ville. Oates ſwore that he ſaw Fenwick, the Jeſuit, deliver Stafford a commiſſion from the general of the Jeſuits, conſtituting him pay-maſter of the papal army. Dugdale gave [426] teſtimony that the priſoner had endeavoured to engage him in the deſign of murdering the king. Turberville affirmed, that the priſoner, in his own houſe at Paris, had made him the ſame propoſal. The clamour and out-rage of the populace againſt the priſoner was very great; he was found guilty and condemned to be hanged and quartered; but the king changed the ſentence into that of beheading. He was executed on Tower-hill, where even his perſecutors could not forbear ſhedding tears at that ſerene fortitude which ſhone in every feature, motion, and accent of this aged nobleman. Some other lords, who were taken up and impriſoned upon the former evidence, were tried and acquitted ſome time after, when the people began to recover from their phrenzy.

A.D. 1679 But while theſe proſecutions were going for⯑ward, raiſed by the credulity of the people, and ſeconded by the artifice of the parliament, other deſigns equally vindictive, were carried on. The lord treaſurer Danby was impeached in the houſe of commons, by Seymour his ene⯑my. The principal charge againſt him was, his having written a letter to Montague, the king's ambaſſador at Paris, directing him to ſell the king's good offices at the treaty of Nimeguen, [427] to the king of France for a certain ſum of money; contrary to the general intereſts of the confederates, and even thoſe of his own kingdoms. This was a charge he could not deny; and though the king was more culpa⯑ble than the miniſter, yet the proſecution was carried on againſt him with vigour. But he had the happineſs to find the king reſolved to defend him. Charles aſſured the parliament, that as he had acted in every thing by his or⯑ders, he held him as entirely blameleſs; and though he would deprive him of all his employ⯑ments, yet he would poſitively inſiſt on his per⯑ſonal ſafety. The lords were obliged to ſub⯑mit; however they went on to impeach him, and Danby was ſent to the Tower, but no worſe conſequences enſued.

Theſe furious proceedings had been all car⯑ried on by an houſe of commons that had now continued undiſſolved for above ſeventeen years; the king, therefore, was reſolved to try a new one, which he knew could not be more unmanageable than the former. However, the new parliament did not in the leaſt abate of the activity and ob⯑ſtinacy of their predeceſſors. The king, indeed, changed his council, by the advice of Sir William Temple, and admitted into it ſeveral of both parties, by which he hoped to appeaſe his op⯑ponents; [428] but the antipathy to popery had taken too faſt a poſſeſſion of men's minds, to be removed by ſo feeble a remedy. This houſe reſolved to ſtrike at the root of the evil, which threatened them from a popiſh ſucceſſor; and, after ſome deliberations a bill was brought in for the total excluſion of the duke of York from the crown of England and Ireland. It was by that intended, that the ſovereignty of theſe kingdoms, upon the king's death or re⯑ſignation, ſhould devolve to the perſon next in ſucceſſion to the duke; and that all acts of royalty, which that prince ſhould afterwards perform, ſhould not only be void, but deemed treaſon. This important bill paſſed the lower houſe, by a majority of ſeventy nine.

Nor did their efforts reſt here, the com⯑mons voted the king's ſtanding army and guards to be illegal. They proceeded to eſta⯑bliſh limits to the king's power of impriſoning delinquents at will. It was now that the ce⯑lebrated ſtatute, called the Habeas Corpus act, was paſſed, which confirms the ſubject in an ab⯑ſolute ſecurity from oppreſſive power. By this act, it was prohibited to ſend any one to priſons beyond the ſea: no judge, under ſevere penal⯑ties, was to refuſe to any priſoner his writ of [429] habeas corpus; by which the gaoler was to pro⯑duce in court the body of the priſoner, whence the writ had its name, and to certify the cauſe of his detainer and impriſonments. If the goal lie within twenty miles of the judge, the writ muſt be obeyed in three days, and ſo propor⯑tionably for greater diſtances. Every priſoner muſt be indicted the firſt term of his commit⯑ment, and brought to trial the ſubſequent term. And no man after being enlarged by court, can be recommitted for the ſame of⯑fence.

This law alone, would have been ſufficient to endear the parliament that made it to poſte⯑rity; and it would have been well if they had reſted there. The duke of York had retired to Bruſſels during theſe troubles; but an in⯑diſpoſition of the king led him back to Eng⯑land, to be ready, in caſe of any ſiniſter acci⯑dent, to aſſert his right to the throne. After prevailing upon his brother to diſgrace the duke of Monmouth, a natural ſon of the king's, by one Mrs. Waters, and now become very popular, he himſelf retired to Scotland, under pretence of ſtill quieting the apprehenſions of the Engliſh nation; but in reality, to ſtreng⯑then his intereſts there. This ſeceſſion ſerved [430] ſtill more to enflame the country party, who were ſtrongly attached to the duke of Mon⯑mouth, and were reſolved to ſupport him againſt the duke of York. Mobs, petitions, pope burnings, were artifices employed to keep up the terrors of popery, and alarm the court. The parliament had ſhewn favour to the va⯑rious tribes of informers, and that ſerved to encreaſe the number of theſe miſcreants; but plots themſelves alſo became more numerous. Plot was ſet up againſt plot; and the people kept ſtill ſuſpended in dreadful apprehen⯑ſion.

The Meal-Tub Plot, as it was called, was brought forward to the public on this occaſion. One Dangerfield, more infamous, if poſſible, than Oates and Bedloe, a wretch who had been ſet in the pillory, ſcourged, branded, and tranſported for felony and coining, hatched a plot in conjunction with a midwife, whoſe name was Cellier, a Roman catholic, of aban⯑doned character. Dangerfield began by de⯑claring, that there was a deſign on foot to ſet up a new form of government, and remove the king and the royal family. He commu⯑nicated this intelligence to the king and the duke of York, who ſupplied him with money, [431] and countenanced his diſcovery. He hid ſome ſeditious papers in the lodgings of one colo⯑nel Manſel; and then brought the cuſtom-houſe officers to his apartment, to ſearch for ſmuggled merchandize. The papers were found, and the council having examined the affair, concluded they were forged by Dan⯑gerfield. They ordered all the places he fre⯑quented to be ſearched; and in the houſe of Cellier, the whole ſcheme of the conſpiracy was diſcovered upon paper, concealed in a meal-tub, from whence the plot had its name. Dangerfield being committed to Newgate, made an ample confeſſion of the forgery, which, though probably entirely of his own contrivance, he aſcribed to the earl of Caſtle⯑main, the counteſs of Powis, and the five lords in the Tower. He ſaid that the deſign was to ſuborn witneſſes to prove a charge of ſo⯑domy and perjury upon Oates, to aſſaſſinate the earl of Shafteſbury, to accuſe the dukes of Monmouth and Buckingham, the earls of Eſſex, Hallifax and others, of having been concerned in the conſpiracy againſt the king and his brother. Upon this information, the earl of Caſtlemain and the counteſs of Powis were ſent to the Tower, and the king him⯑ſelf [423] was ſuſpected of encouraging this impoſ⯑ture.

But it was not by plots alone the adverſe parties endeavoured to ſupplant each other. Tumultuous petitions on the one hand, and flattering addreſſes on the other, were ſent up from all quarters. Wherever the country party prevailed, petitions filled with grie⯑vances and apprehenſions, were ſent to the king with an air of humble inſolence. Where⯑ever the church, or the court party prevailed, addreſſes were framed, containing expreſſions of the higheſt regard to his majeſty, and the deepeſt abhorrence of thoſe who endeavoured to diſturb the public tranquility. Thus the nation came to be diſtinguiſhed into Petitioners and Abhorrers. Whig and Tory alſo were firſt uſed as terms of mutual reproach at this time. The Whigs, were ſo denominated from a cant name given to the ſour Scotch conven⯑ticlers, (Whig being milk turned ſour.) The Tories were denominated from the Iriſh ban⯑ditti ſo called, whoſe uſual manner of bidding people deliver, was by the Iriſh word Toree, or give me.

As this parliament ſeemed even to ſurpaſs the former in jealouſy and reſentment, the king was induced to diſſolve it; and could willing⯑ly [433] have never applied to another. But his ne⯑ceſſities, cauſed by his want of oeconomy, and his numberleſs needy dependents, obliged him to call another. However every change ſeemed only to inflame the evil; A.D. 1680 and his new parlia⯑ment ſeemed willing to out do even their pre⯑deceſſors. Every ſtep they took, betrayed that zeal with which they were animated. They voted the legality of petitioning to the king; they fell with extreme violence on the Abhor⯑rers, who; in their addreſſes to the crown, had expreſſed their diſapprobation of thoſe peti⯑tions. Great numbers of theſe were ſeized by their order, from all parts of England, and committed to cloſe cuſtody: the liberty of the ſubject, which had been ſo carefully guarded by their own recent law, was every day violated by their arbitrary and capricious commitments. One Stowel of Exeter, was the perſon that put a ſtop to their proceedings; he refuſed to obey the ſerjeant at arms, who was ſent to apprehend him; he ſtood upon his defence, and ſaid he knew no law by which they pretended to commit him. The houſe, finding it equally dangerous to proceed or to recede, got off by an evaſion. They in⯑ſerted in their votes, that Stowel was indiſpoſ⯑ed; and a month's time was allowed him for his recovery. It is happy for the nation, that [434] ſhould the commons at any time overleap the bounds of their authority, and order men ca⯑priciouſly to be committed to priſon; there is no power, in caſe of reſiſtance, that can compel the priſoner to ſubmit to their decrees.

But the chief point which the commons la⯑boured to obtain, was the Excluſion Bill, which, though the former houſe had voted, was never paſſed into a law. Shafteſbury, and many con⯑ſiderable men of the party, had rendered them⯑ſelves ſo obnoxious to the duke of York, that they could find ſafety in no meaſure but his his ruin. Monmouth's friends hoped that the ex⯑cluſion of James would make room for their own patron. The duke of York's profeſſed bigotry to the catholic ſuperſtition influenced numbers; and his tyrannies, which were practiſed without con⯑troul, while he continued in Scotland, rendered his name odious to thouſands. In a week, there⯑fore, after the commencement of the ſeſſions, a motion was made for bringing in an exclu⯑ſion bill, and a committee was appointed for that purpoſe. The debates were carried on with great violence on both ſides; the bill was defended by lord Ruſſel, who had now reſign⯑ed his office of attorney general, by Sir Wil⯑liam Jones, Sir Francis Winnington, Sir Harry Capel, Sir William Pultney, colonel Titus, [435] Treby, Hambden, and Montague. It was op⯑poſed by Sir Leoline Jenkins, ſecretary of ſtate, Sir John Ernely, chancellor of the ex⯑chequer; by Hyde, Seymour, and Temple: the bill paſſed by a great majority in the houſe of commons, but was oppoſed in the houſe of peers with better ſucceſs. Shafteſbury, Sunderland, and Eſſex, argued for it. Halifax chiefly conducted the arguments againſt it. The king was preſent during the whole debate; and had the pleaſure of ſeeing the bill thrown out by a very great majority. All the biſhops, ex⯑cept three, voted againſt it; for they were of opinion that the church of England was in much greater danger from the prevalence of preſbyterianiſm, than of popery.

The commons were extremely mortified and enraged at the rejection of their favourite bill; and to ſhew how ſtrongly they reſented the indulgence which was ſhewn to popery, they paſſed a bill for eaſing the proteſtant diſ⯑ſenters, and for repealing ſuch acts as tended to their perſecution. They proceeded to bring in bills, which, though contributing to ſecure the liberty of the ſubject, yet probably at that period only calculated to excite them to inſurrection. They had thoughts of renewing the triennial act; of continuing the judges in their [436] offices during good behaviour; of ordering an aſſociation for the defence of his majeſty's per⯑ſon, and the ſecurity of the proteſtant religion. They voted, that till the excluſion bill was paſſed, they could not, conſiſtent with the truſt repoſed in them, grant the king any man⯑ner of ſupply; and to prevent his taking other methods to get money, they voted that who⯑ever ſhould hereafter lend, by way of advance, any money upon any branches of the king's revenue, ſhould be reſponſible to parliament for his conduct. The king, therefore, finding that there were no hopes of extorting either money or obedience from the commons, came to a reſolution of once more diſſolving the parliament. His uſher of the black rod ac⯑cordingly came to diſſolve them, while they were voting that the diſſenters ſhould be en⯑couraged, and that the papiſts had burned the city of London.

The parliament thus diſſolved, it was con⯑ſidered as a doubt, whether the king would ever call another: however, the deſire he had of being ſupplied with money, ſurmounted his fears from every violence a parliament might offer. But it had always been ſuppoſed that the neighbourhood of London, at once both potent and factious, was an improper place [437] for aſſembling a parliament that would be ſtedfaſt in the king's intereſts; he therefore re⯑ſolved at once to puniſh the Londoners, by ſhewing his ſuſpicions of their loyalty; and to reward the inhabitants of Oxford, by bringing down his parliament to that city. Accord⯑ingly a parliament was ordered to aſſemble at Oxford,A.D. 1681 and meaſures taken on both ſides to engage the partizans to be ſtrenuous in their reſolutions. In this, as in all former parlia⯑ments, the country party predominated: the parliamentary leaders came to that city, attend⯑ed not only by their ſervants but with numer⯑ous bands of their retainers. The four Lon⯑don members were followed by great multi⯑tudes, wearing ribbons, in which were woven theſe words, ‘"No Popery! No Slavery!"’ The king was not behind them in the num⯑ber and formidable appearance of his guards; ſo that the parliament rather bore the appear⯑ance of a military congreſs, than of a civil aſ⯑ſembly.

This parliament trod exactly in the ſteps of the former. The commons having choſen the ſame ſpeaker, who filled the chair laſt par⯑liament, ordered the votes to be printed every day, that the public might be acquainted with the ſubject of their deliberations. The bill [438] of excluſion was more fiercely urged than ever. Ernely, one of the king's miniſters, propoſed that the duke ſhould be baniſhed during life, five hundred miles from England; and that upon the king's death, the next heir ſhould be conſtituted regent with regal power. Yet even this expedient, which left the duke the bare title of king, could not obtain the atten⯑tion of the houſe. Nothing but a total exclu⯑ſion could ſatisfy them.

Each party had now for ſome time reviled and ridiculed each other in pamphlets and libels; and this practice, at laſt, was attended with an incident, that deſerves notice. One Fitzharris, an Iriſh papiſt, dependent on the dutcheſs of Portſmouth, one of the king's miſtreſſes, uſed to ſupply her with theſe occa⯑ſional publications. But he was reſolved to add to their number by his own endeavours; and employed one Everhard, a Scotchman, to write a libel againſt the king and the duke of York. The Scot was actually a ſpy for the oppoſite party; and ſuppoſing this a trick to entrap him, he diſcovered the whole to Sir William Waller, an eminent juſtice of peace; and to convince him of the truth of his infor⯑mation, poſted him, and two other perſons, privately, where they heard the whole confer⯑ence [439] between Fitzharris and himſelf. The libel compoſed between them was replete with the utmoſt rancour and ſcurrility. Waller carried the intelligence to the king, and ob⯑tained a warrant for committing Fitzharris, who happened at that very time to have a copy of the libel in his pocket. Seeing himſelf in the hands of a party, from which he ex⯑pected no mercy, he reſolved to ſide with them, and throw the odium of the libel upon the court, who, he ſaid, were willing to draw up a libel, which, ſhould be imputed to the ex⯑cluſioners, and thus render them hateful to the people. He enchanced his ſervices with the country party, by a new popiſh plot, ſtill more tremendous than any of the forego⯑ing. He brought in the duke of York as a principal accomplice in this plot, and as a contriver in the murder of Sir Edmondſbury Godfrey.

The king impriſoned Fitzharris; the com⯑mons avowed his cauſe. They voted that he ſhould be impeached by themſelves, to ſcreen him from the ordinary forms of juſtice; the lords rejected the impeachment; the commons aſſerted their right; a commotion was likely to enſue; and the king, to break off the con⯑teſt, went to the houſe, and diſſolved the par⯑liament, [440] with a fixed reſolution never to call another.

This vigorous meaſure was a blow that the parliament had never expected; and nothing but the neceſſity of the times could have juſti⯑fied the king's manner of proceeding. From that moment, which ended the parliamentary commotions, Charles ſeemed to rule with deſpotic power; and he was reſolved to leave the ſucceſſion to his brother, but clogged with all the faults and misfortunes of his own ad⯑miniſtration. His temper, which had always been eaſy and merciful, now became arbitrary, and even cruel; he entertained ſpies and infor⯑mers round the throne, and impriſoned all ſuch as he thought moſt daring in their deſigns.

He reſolved to humble the preſbyterians; theſe were diveſted of their employments and their places; and their offices given to ſuch as held with the court, and approved the doc⯑trine of non-reſiſtance. The clergy began to teſtify their zeal and their principles by their writings and their ſermons; but though among theſe, the partizans of the king were the moſt numerous, thoſe of the oppoſite faction were the moſt enterprizing. The king openly eſ⯑pouſed the cauſe of the former; and thus pla⯑cing himſelf at the head of a faction, he de⯑prived [441] the city of London, which had long headed the popular party, of their charter. It was not till after an abject ſubmiſſion that he reſtored it to them, having previouſly ſubjected the election of their magiſtrates to his imme⯑diate authority.

Terrors alſo were not wanting to confirm this new ſpecies of monarchy. Fitzharris was brought to his trial before a jury, and condem⯑ned, and executed. The whole gang of ſpies, witneſſes, informers, ſuborners, which had long been encouraged and ſupported by the leading patriots, finding now that the king was entire⯑ly maſter, they turned ſhort upon their ancient drivers, and offered their evidence againſt thoſe who had firſt put them in motion. The king's miniſters, with an horrid ſatisfaction, gave them countenance and encouragement; ſo that ſoon the ſame cruelties, and the ſame injuſtice, was practiſed againſt preſbyte⯑rian ſchemes, that had been employed againſt catholic treaſons.

The firſt perſon that fell under the diſplea⯑ſure of the miniſtry, was one Stephen College, a London joiner, who had become ſo noted for his jeal againſt popery, that he went by the name of the Proteſtant Joiner. He had attend⯑ed the city members to Oxford, armed with [442] ſword and piſtol; he had ſometimes been heard to ſpeak irreverently of the king, and was now preſented by the grand jury of Lon⯑don as guilty of ſedition. The ſheriffs of London were in ſtrong oppoſition to the court; and the grand jury, named by them, rejected the bill againſt College. However, the court were not to be foiled ſo; they ſent the priſoner to Oxford, where the treaſon was ſaid to have been committed, and there tried before a partial judge, and a packed jury. He was accuſed by Dugdale, Turberville, and others, who had already given evidence againſt the catholics; and the nation ſaw themſelves reduced to a ridiculous dilemna upon their teſtimony. The jury, who were royaliſts, could not accept their evidence, as they believ⯑ed them, to be abandoned liars, nor yet could they rejct it, as they were taught by their opponents to think them ſufficient evidence for conviction. College defended himſelf with great preſence of mind, and invalidated all their teſtimonies. But all was in vain. The jury, after half an hour's deliberation, brought him in guilty, and the ſpectators teſti⯑fied their inhuman pleaſure, with a ſhout of applauſe. He bore his fate with unſhaken fortitude; and at the place of execution de⯑nied [443] the crime for which he had been con⯑demned.

But higher vengeance was demanded by the king, whoſe reſentment was chiefly level⯑led againſt the earl of Shafteſbury, and not without reaſon. No ſums were ſpared to ſeek for evidence, and even to ſuborn witneſſes a⯑gainſt this intriguing and formidable man. A bill of indictment being preſented to the grand jury, witneſſes were examined, who ſwore to ſuch incredible circumſtances, as muſt have invalidated their teſtimony, even if they had not been branded as perjured villains. Among his papers, indeed, a draught of an aſſociation was found, which might have been conſtrued into treaſon; but it was not in the earl's hand writing, nor could his adverſaries prove that he had ever communicated this ſcheme to any body, or ſignified his approbation of any ſuch project. The ſheriffs had ſummon⯑ed a jury, whoſe principles coincided with thoſe of the earl, and that probably, more than any want of proof, procured his ſafety.

The power of the crown by this time be⯑came irreſiſtible,A.D. 1683 the city of London having been deprived of their charter, which was reſ⯑tored only upon terms of ſubmiſſion, and the giving up the nomination of their own ma⯑giſtrates [444] was ſo mortifying a circumſtance, that all the other corporations in England ſoon began to fear the ſame treatment, and were, ſucceſſively induced to ſurrender their charters into the hands of the king. Conſider⯑able ſums were exacted for reſtoring theſe charters and all the offices of power and pro⯑fit were left at the diſpoſal of the crown. Re⯑ſiſtance now, however juſtifiable, could not be ſafe; and all prudent men ſaw no other expe⯑dient, but peaceably ſubmiting to the preſent grievances. But there was a party in England that ſtill cheriſhed their former ideas of free⯑dom, and were reſolved to hazard every dan⯑ger in its defence.

This, like all other combinations, was made up of men, ſome guided by principle to the ſubverſion of the preſent deſpotic power, ſome by intereſt, and ſtill many more by re⯑venge. Some time before, in the year 1681, the king had been ſeized with a fit of ſickneſs at Windſor, which gave a great alarm to the pub⯑lic. Shafteſbury had even then attempted to ex⯑clude the duke of York from the ſucceſſion, and united with the duke of Monmouth, lord Ruſſel, and lord Grey, in caſe of the king's death, they conſpired to riſe in arms, and vindicate their opi⯑nions by the ſword. Shafteſbury's impriſonment and trial for ſome time put a ſtop to theſe deſigns; [445] but they ſoon revived with his releaſe. Mon⯑mouth engaged the earl of Macclesfield, lord Brandon, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, and other gentle⯑men in Cheſhire. Lord Ruſſel fixed a corre⯑ſpondence with Sir William Courtney, Sir Francis Rowles, and Sir Francis Drake, who promiſed to raiſe the Weſt. Shafteſbury, with one Ferguſon, an independent clergyman, and a reſtleſs plotter, managed the city, upon which the confederates chiefly relied. It was now that this turbulent man found his ſchemes moſt likely to take effect. After the diſap⯑pointment and deſtruction of an hundred plots, he at laſt began to be ſure of this. But this ſcheme, like all the former, was diſap⯑pointed. The caution of lord Ruſſel, who in⯑duced the duke of Monmouth to put off the enterprize, ſaved the kingdom from the hor⯑rors of a civil war; while Shafteſbury was ſo ſtruck with a ſenſe of his impending danger that he left his houſe, and lurking about the city attempted, but in vain, to drive the Londoners into open inſurrection. At laſt, enraged at the numberleſs cautions and delays which clogged and defeated his projects, he threatened to begin with his friends alone. However after a long ſtrug⯑gle between fear and rage, he abandoned all hopes of ſucceſs, and fled out of the kingdom to [446] Amſterdam, where he ended his turbulent life ſoon after, without being pitied by his friends, or feared by his enemies.

The loſs of Shafteſbury, though it retarded the views of the conſpirators, did not ſuppreſs them. A council of ſix was erected, conſiſt⯑ing of Monmouth, Ruſſel, Eſſex, Howard, Algernon Sidney, and John Hambden, grand⯑ſon to the great man of that name. Theſe correſponded with Argyle and the malcon⯑tents in Scotland, and reſolved to proſecute the ſcheme of the inſurrection, though they widely differed in principles from each other. Monmouth aſpired at the crown; Ruſſel and Hambden propoſed to exclude the duke of York from the ſucceſſion, and redreſs the grievances of the nation; Sidney was for re⯑ſtoring the republic, and Eſſex joined in the ſame wiſh. Lord Howard was an abandoned man, who, having no principles, ſought to embroil the nation, to gratify his private in⯑tereſt in the confuſion.

Such were the leaders of this conſpiracy, and ſuch their motives. But there was alſo a ſet of ſubordinate conſpirators, who frequently met together, and carried on projects quite unknown to Monmouth and his council. Among theſe men was colonel Rumſey, an [447] old republican officer, together with lieutenant-colonel Walcot of the ſame ſtamp, Goodenough, under-ſheriff of London, a zealous and noted par⯑ty-man, Ferguſon, an independent miniſter, and ſeveral attornies, merchants, and tradeſmen of London. But Rumſey and Ferguſon were the only perſons that had acceſs to the great lead⯑ers of the conſpiracy. Theſe men in their meetings embraced the moſt deſperate reſolu⯑tions. They propoſed to aſſaſſinate the king in his way to Newmarket; Rumbal, one of the party, poſſeſſed a farm upon that road called the Rye-houſe, and from thence the conſpiracy was denominated the Rye-houſe Plot. They deliberated upon a ſcheme of ſtopping the king's coach by overturning a cart on the high-way at this place, and ſhoot⯑ing him through the hedges. The houſe in which the king lived at Newmarket took fire accidentally, and he was obliged to leave New⯑market eight days ſooner than was expected, to which circumſtance his ſafety was aſcribed.

Among the conſpirators was one Keiling, who finding himſelf in danger of a proſecu⯑tion for arreſting the lord-mayor of London, reſolved to earn his pardon by diſcovering this plot to the miniſtry. Colonel Rumſey, and Weſt, a lawyer, no ſooner underſtood [448] that this man had informed againſt them, than they agreed to ſave their lives by turning king's evidence, and they ſurrendered themſelves ac⯑cordingly. Sheppard, another conſpirator, being apprehended, confeſſed all he knew, and general orders were ſoon iſſued out for apprehending the reſt of the leaders of the conſpiracy. Monmouth abſconded; Ruſſel was ſent to the Tower; Grey eſcaped; Howard was taken concealed in a chimney; Eſſex, Sidney, and Hambden, were ſoon after arreſted, and had the mor⯑tification to find lord Howard an evidence againſt them.

Walcot was firſt brought to trial and con⯑demned, together with Hone and Rouſe, two aſſociates in the conſpiracy, upon the evidence of Rumſey, Weſt, and Sheppard. They died penitent, acknowledging the juſtice of the ſentence by which they were executed. A much greater ſacrifice was ſhortly after to fol⯑low. This was the lord Ruſſel, ſon of the earl of Bedford, a nobleman of numberleſs good qualities, and led into this conſpiracy from a conviction of the duke of York's in⯑tentions to reſtore popery. He was liberal, popular, humane, and brave. All his virtues were ſo many crimes in the preſent ſuſpicious diſ⯑poſition of the court. The chief evidence againſt [449] him was lord Howard, a man of very bad character, one of the conſpirators, who was now contented to take life upon ſuch terms, and to accept of infamous ſafety. This wit⯑neſs ſwore that Ruſſel was engaged in the de⯑ſign of an inſurrection; but he acquitted him, as did alſo Rumſey and Weſt, of being privy to the aſſaſſination. His own candour would not allow him to deny the deſign in which he really was concerned; but his own confeſſion was not ſufficient to convict him. To the fact which principally aimed at his life there was but one witneſs, and the law required two; this was over ruled; for juſtice, during this whole reign, was too weak for the prevailing party. The jury, who were zealous royaliſts, after a ſhort deliberation brought the priſoner in guilty. After his condemnation the king was ſtrongly ſollicited in his favour. Even money, to the amount of two hundred thou⯑ſand pounds, was offered to the dutcheſs of Portſmouth, by the old earl of Bedford, lord Ruſſel's father. The king was inexorable. He dreaded the principles and popularity of this nobleman, and reſented his former activity in promoting the bill of excluſion. Lord Ca⯑vendiſh, the intimate friend of Ruſſel, offered to effect his eſcape by exchanging apparel [450] with him, and remaining a priſoner in his room. The duke of Monmouth ſent a meſ⯑ſage to him, offering to ſurrender himſelf, if he thought that ſtep would contribute to his ſafety. Lord Ruſſel generouſly rejected both theſe expedients, and reſigned himſelf to his fate with admirable fortitude. His conſort, the daughter and heireſs of the earl of South⯑ampton, finding that all ſupplications were vain, took leave of her huſband without ſhed⯑ding a tear; while, as he parted from her, he turned to thoſe about him, ‘"Now, ſaid he, the bitterneſs of death is over."’ A little before the ſheriffs conducted him to the ſcaf⯑fold, he wound up his watch. ‘"I have now, done with time, ſaid he, and muſt hence⯑forth think of eternity."’ The ſcaffold for his execution was erected in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields; he laid his head on the block without the leaſt change of countenance, and at two ſtrokes it was ſevered from his body.

The celebrated Algernon Sidney, ſon to the earl of Leiceſter, was next brought to his trial. He had been formerly engaged in the parliamentary army againſt the late king, and was even named on the high court of juſtice that tried him, but had not taken his ſeat among the judges. He had ever oppoſed Cromwell's [451] uſurpation, and went into voluntary baniſh⯑ment upon the reſtoration. His affairs, however, requiring his return, he applied to the king for a pardon, and obtained his requeſt. But all his hopes and all his reaſonings were formed upon republican principles. For his adored republic he had written and fought, and went into baniſhment, and ventured to return. It may eaſily be conceived how obnoxious a man of ſuch principles was to a court that now was not even content with limitations to its power. They went ſo far as to take illegal methods to procure his condemnation. The only witneſs that depoſed againſt Sidney was lord Howard, and the law required two. In order, therefore, to make out a ſecond witneſs, they had recourſe to a very extraordinary ex⯑pedient. In ranſacking his cloſet, ſome diſ⯑courſes on government were found in his own hand writing, containing principles favourable to liberty, and in themſelves no way ſubver⯑ſive of a limited government. By overſtrain⯑ing ſome of theſe they were conſtrued in⯑to treaſon. It was in vain he alledged that papers were no evidence; that it could not be proved they were written by him; that, if proved, the papers themſelves contained nothing criminal. His defence was over⯑ruled; [452] the violent and inhuman Jefferies, who was now chief-juſtice, eaſily prevailed on a partial jury to bring him in guilty, and his execution followed ſoon after. One can ſcarce contemplate the tranſactions of this reign with⯑out horror. Such a picture of factious guilt on each ſide, a court at once immerſed in ſenſuality and blood, a people armed againſt each other with the moſt deadly animoſity, and no ſingle party to be found with ſenſe enough to ſtem the general torrent of rancour and factious ſuſpicion.

Hambden was tried ſoon after; and as there was nothing to affect his life, he was fined forty thouſand pounds. Holloway, a merchant of Briſtol, who had fled to the Weſt-Indies, was brought over, condemned, and executed. Sir Thomas Armſtrong alſo, who had fled to Hol⯑land, was brought over, and ſhared the ſame fate. Lord Eſſex, who had been impriſoned in the Tower, was found in an apartment with his throat cut; but whether he was guilty of ſuicide, or whether the bigotry of the times might not have induced ſome aſſaſſin to com⯑mit the crime, cannot now be known.

This was the laſt blood that was ſhed for an imputation of plots or conſpiracies, which con⯑tinued during the greateſt part of this reign. [453] Nevertheleſs the cruelty, and the gloomy ſuſ⯑picion of the duke of York, who, ſince the diſſolution of the laſt parliament, daily came into power, was dreadful to the nation. Titus Oates was fined an hundred thouſand pounds, for calling him a popiſh traitor, and he was im⯑priſoned till he could pay it, which he was ut⯑terly incapable of. A like illegal ſentence was paſſed upon Dutton Colt for the ſame offence. Sir Samuel Barnardiſton was fined ten thouſand pounds, for having, in ſome private letters, re⯑flected on the government. Of all thoſe who were concerned in the late conſpiracy, ſcarce one eſcaped the ſeverity of the court, except the duke of Monmouth, and he was the moſt culpable of any.

At this period, the government of Charles was as abſolute as that of any monarch in Europe; but to pleaſe his ſubjects by an act of populari⯑ty, he judged it proper to marry the lady Anne, his niece, to prince George, brother to the king of Denmark. This was the laſt tranſaction of this extraordinary reign. The king was ſeized with a ſudden fit, which reſembled an apoplexy; and though he was recovered from it by bleeding, yet he languiſhed only for a few days, and then expired, in the fifty-ninth year of his age, and the twenty-fifth of his reign. During his ill⯑neſs, [445] ſome clergymen of the church of Eng⯑land attended him, to whom he diſcovered a total indifference. Catholic prieſts were brought to his bed-ſide, and from their hands he receiv⯑ed the rites of their communion. Two papers were found in his cloſet, containing arguments in favour of that perſuaſion. Theſe were ſoon after publiſhed by James his ſucceſſor, by which he greatly injured his own popularity, and his brother's memory.