J»V 



AT ^ 






o " o 



% % ^y x/^^>^ ^"•-«i 4 ^ ^* 






.0 N 



<fe«* 



O" - * • o, ^ 








■ay o +^&ur&* <v •*** 











A 



*> 



o > 

o^ :lli§lf: ^° *^ 




IN STEWART 
TIMES 




Fr. 



Charles I 

Van Dyck 

Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



IN STEWART 
TIMES 

SHORT CHARACTER-STUDIES OF THE 
GREAT FIGURES OF THE PERIOD 

BT 
Edith L. Elias 

AUTHOR OF 

"IN TUDOR TIMES" "THE WONDERFUL VOYAGES OF GULLIVER " 

"IN THE GREAT COLONIAL BUSH " ETC. 




NEW YORK 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



*$K* 






TO 

M. A. M. 



/2-3ZOZ 



Preface 



THIS book is intended as a companion volume to 
In Tudor Times, and it is arranged upon the 
same plan. In adopting the spelling, " Stewart," 
I have followed Professor Tout, and other recent historians. 
The principal books which I have used, either as sources of 
information, or for purposes of quotation, are as follows : — 

Macaulay's History of England; Guizot's English 
Revolution ; Green's History of the English People ; 
Napier's Memoirs of the Marquis of Montrose ; Calamy's 
Life of Baxter ; Professor Tout's History of England ; 
Milman's Annals of St Paulas ; Forster's Life of Sir John 
Eliot ; Pepys' Diary ; Lucy Aikin's Court of James the 
First ; Arber's Reprints in An English Garner ; Evelyn's 
Diary ; Carlyle's Letters of Oliver Cromwell ; Stanhope's 
History of Queen Anne ; Clements Markham's Life of 
Fairfax; Guizot's Life of Oliver Cromwell; Lodge's 
Portraits of Illustrious Personages ; several volumes in the 
" English Men of Letters Series " ; and the contemporary 
songs and ballads in the " Roxburgh " and " Bagford " 
collections respectively. 

In selecting the characters for the essays, many im- 
portant figures have had to be excluded. The aim has 
been to choose representatives from as many aspects of 
the period as possible, without giving undue preference 

to any single phase. 

Edith L. Elias 



Contents 



Introduction . . . . . .11 

PHASE I— THE KINGSHIP AND THE 
PROTECTORATE 

James I . . . . . .19 

Charles I . . . . . . .29 

Oliver Cromwell. . . . . .39 

Charles II . * .... 52 

James II . . . . . . . 67 

William III and Mary . . . . .75 

Anne ....... 85 

PHASE II— THE STATE 

George Villiers, First Duke of Buckingham . . 95 
Sir John Eliot ...... 105 

John Hampden . . . . . .115 

Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford . .122 

Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon . . .129 

Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury . 136 

George Savile, Marquis of Halifax . . .143 

Sidney, Earl Godolphin . . . . .150 

Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland . . .156 
7 



8 In Stewart Times 

PHASE III— THE ARMY 

PAGE 

Thomas, Lord Fairfax . . . . .163 

James Graham, Marquis of Montrose . . .172 

George Monck, Duke of Albemarle . . .180 

John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough . .188 

PHASE IV— RELIGION 

William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury . .197 

Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down . . . 205 

Richard Baxter . . . . . .213 

William Penn ...... 222 

PHASE V— SCIENCE AND THE FINE ARTS 

Francis Bacon, Viscount St Albans . . . 229 

Sir Christopher Wren ..... 239 

Sir Isaac Newton ..... 248 

Index ....... 255 



List of Illustrations 



Charles I 


. ( Van Dyck) Frontispiece 






PAGE 






20 


Oliver Cromwell . 


(Samuel Cooper) 


40 


Charles II . 


(John Greenhill) 


52 


William III .... 


(Jan Wyck) 


. 76 


The Duke of Buckingham 


(G. Honthorst) 


. 98 






108 


The Earl of Strafford . 


( Van Dyck) 


. 122 


The Earl of Clarendon . 


(Gerard Soest) . 


, 130 


The Earl of Shaftesbury 


(J. Greenhill) . 


140 


Earl Godolphin 


(Sir Godfrey Kneller) . 


154 






180 


The Duke of Marlborough 


(J. Closterman) 


188 


Archbishop Laud 


. (Van Dyck) . 


198 






214 


Sir Isaac Newton . 


. (Robert Walker) 


248 



In Stewart Times 

Introduction 

HER Majesty is dead." 
The words broke on the ear of Bolingbroke 
like a knell. It was the 1st of August in the year 
1714, and Queen Anne had just passed away. She had died 
on the very eve of a crisis. Whigs and Tories were in the 
midst of a sharp conflict, and the question of the succession 
was in dispute. By the Act of Settlement, passed in 1701, 
the crown belonged to George, son of Sophia, Electress of 
Hanover. But the claims of the Pretender had still to 
be taken into account, and Jacobite hearts beat fast with 
hopes of a restoration. Plans for the carrying out of this 
scheme had long been afoot. It only needed a few more 
weeks of time, and everything would have been ready. 
The death of the queen had come earlier than had been 
expected, and now everything was thrown into confusion. 
Bolingbroke gave a bitter laugh. 

" In six weeks more," he said, " we should have put 
things in such a condition that there would have been 
nothing to fear. But Oxford was removed on Tuesday ; 
the queen died on Sunday ! What a world is this, and 
how does fortune banter us ! " 

Full of the most uneasy thoughts, we imagine he sought 
ii 



12 In Stewart Times 

out a secluded corner, where he might think in quiet. All 
sorts of plans ran riot through his quick brain. Then 
suddenly a spell of musing fell upon him. So Anne was 
dead ! The last of the Stewarts, — f or there was little hope 
now of the Pretender ever mounting the throne of England. 
What a dynasty it had been ! What ups and downs of 
fortune its sovereigns had known. What dark and fear- 
some things had cast a shadow upon the pages of its 
history. There was James the First. It was a hundred 
years since he had first been called King of England. Or 
was it more than a hundred ? Bolingbroke pondered for 
a moment. Yes, it was more than a century ; for James 
had begun his rule in 1603, and it was now 1714. But 
after all it was only a small space of time ; the lives of 
two men, not more. Yet what changes had taken place 
since then. James had come to the throne, ignorant and 
full of pride. He had been met by a parliament just 
awakening to its powers of control. The king had been 
short-sighted and arrogant : the Commons had proved 
themselves equally stiff. A breach had been made 
between sovereign and people, and every year till the 
death of James it had grown steadily wider. Then came 
the reign of King Charles the First. Bolingbroke's 
gloom deepened at the remembrance. Such a king he 
might have been, and yet he had met with ruin. Again 
Bolingbroke's mind dwelt for a second upon that breach, 
begun by James, and widened, greatly widened, by 
Charles. The thought did not please him, and he passed 
on hastily to the Restoration. Ah ! that was the time 
in English history ! when men's hearts were aglow with 



Introduction 1 3 

loyalty, when every lip held a welcome for the Mayflower 
King. The thought of the corruption and vice which had 
disgraced the Court of the second Charles darted suddenly 
across his mind. It annoyed Bolingbroke that he should 
remember these sinister traditions, and he brushed them 
hastily aside, and passed on to the reign of James the 
Second. He remembered that he himself had been seven 
years old when the Duke of York put on the crown. 
Seven ! and now he was thirty-two, and James had been 
dead these nine years. Ah ! but his death had taken 
place long before then. The Revolution of 1688, when 
James had fled, like a coward, to France ; that had really 
been his end. And now Anne was dead — Anne, who 
had been queen since 1702. Who was to succeed her ? 
George of Hanover, a German prince. So the house of 
Stewart had come to an end. Queen Anne was dead. 

With an effort Bolingbroke shook himself free from his 
musings. If the last of the Stewarts had passed away, he 
himself was still living, a young man with ambitions to 
realise. It was time to be thinking out the next step in 
his own career. 

• • • • • . 

The Stewart period in history is an intermediate stage 
in the transition from medievalism to modern times. 
But for the strong rule of Elizabeth the mediaeval spirit 
would not have lingered so long. It was her firm control, 
and the influence of her strong personality, that kept the 
change from happening as rapidly as it would otherwise 
have done. James came to the throne greatly hampered. 



14 In Stewart Times 

He was a stranger to England and English ways ; and 
he made very little effort to grapple with his position. 
He regarded as upstarts and rebels, men who were simply 
voicing the subtle change that was taking place in the 
whole nation. When James and his Commons came to 
grief in their relations with one another, the trouble was 
really much more serious than it at first appeared. It was 
not merely a contest of wills between a king and his 
parliament; it was a struggle for hereditary rights, 
between the Crown and the Nation. To a large extent 
the Great Rebellion was a natural expression of the 
political evolution of the country. For a time a panacea 
was found in the establishment of a Commonwealth under 
a strong and determined chief. With the death of Oliver 
Cromwell the new system at once collapsed. Conditions 
of government that under his rule had seemed excellent, 
suddenly became hateful. There was no system ; no 
security. The instinct of the nation again turned to 
monarchy as the only safe course, and Charles the Second 
was restored. But though there was once more a king, 
the position of the people was very different from before. 
They had made good their claim to control the fortunes of 
the Throne. Future sovereigns would be obliged to keep 
back from any interference with the civil rights of the 
nation. 

Nevertheless this was not the end of the difficulty. 
Side by side with the civil struggle had been a religious 
growth, which the struggles at Westminster and on Marston 
Moor incidentally had quickened. The spiritual side of the 
nation had been passing through a series of changes. 



Introduction 1 5 

The people were groping blindly towards the principle 
of freedom in worship, just as they had fought for 
freedom in the State. James the Second failed to 
understand how matters lay. His folly brought about 
the Revolution of 1688, and the nation emerged from a 
second struggle, secure at last in both political and 
religious rights. The firm rule of William the Third 
settled the elements of unrest, and Anne's reign showed 
the fruits of the settlement in the great men of letters who 
adorned her time. Since the accession of James the First, 
England had endured many crises. She had passed 
through Civil War and Revolution. Her fame abroad had 
been woefully tarnished ; her trade had been desperately 
hindered. Nevertheless before the dynasty saw its end 
the nation began to taste the reward of her struggles. 
Under William the Third she more than won back her 
lustre abroad. Commerce rapidly improved, and colonis- 
ing schemes met with unlooked-for success. In spite of 
dark hours, and shocks, and struggles, the age of the 
Stewarts is one of moment and glory in English history. 
Though there had been wars and every sort of disturbance, 
the social conditions of the race had rapidly improved. 
Up to the time of Anne, houses were still small and low, 
but during her reign dwellings became very much better. 
Plain, flat, comfortable houses began to take the place of 
the low-roofed, overhanging buildings, and more light 
and air brought better health to the nation. Glass was 
still a novelty, though it was used in some of the coaches 
of the wealthy. In his diary Pepys records, that as Lady 
Peterborough was driving in her great glass coach she 



1 6 In Stewart Times 

saw a friend pass by. Wishing to speak to her, Lady 
Peterborough put her head outside, and was badly cut, for 
" the glass was so clear that she thought it had been open, 
and so ran her head through the glass." Dress among 
fashionable folk was rich and extravagant, and gorgeous 
garments graced the streets. Though the Puritans eyed 
frills sourly, and went about in plain coats of a sober 
shade, frivolous women made their husbands groan 
with despair at their dress-bills. A ballad written in 1686 
shows the habit of the day, — not so very unlike modern 

times : 

" I have a wife, the move's my care, 
Who like a gaudy peacock goes 
In top-knots, patches, powder'd hair."' 

Getting up early was unfashionable. It was often noon 
before my lady rose to begin her toilet, and it was five 
before she was ready to appear, after which she set off for 
a ball or play, and so the night was spent in pleasure and 
gaiety. 

So much for the dress and extravagance of the period. 
There was another and darker side. For in the midst of 
show and luxury, lurked the spectre of poverty. And while 
ladies of fashion went by in their glass coaches, hungry-eyed 
men and women worked hard for a wage upon which they 
could barely live. " Sweating " is not entirely a modern 
vice. In 1677 a bitter song dealt with this very point : 

' ' We will make them work hard for sixpence a day, 
Though a shilling they deserve, if they had their full pay. 

By poor people's labour we fill up our purse, 
Although we do get it with many a curse' 1 



Introduction 1 7 

Every sort of game was popular under Charles the 
Second. The cruel sports of bear-baiting and bull-fights 
were still practised, but they were not in favour with the 
humane. Simpler amusements, such as the game of 
pall-mall, were very fashionable, and brought hundreds 
of people out into the fresh air. Exercise, fresh air, and 
the general betterment of life soon began to make an 
improvement in the national physique. Women, as well 
as men, grew strong and hardy, and an amusing con- 
temporary ballad tells the story of one of these vigorous 
dames : 

" I have been abused of late, by some of the Poet's crew, 
Who say I broke my husband's pate, which I did never do. 

'Tis true I his ears did cuff, and gave him a kick or two, 

For this I had fust cause enough, because he would nothing do." J 

Literature, music, painting, architecture, all flourished 
under the Stewarts. But before all, the age is famous 
for its development of science. In 1 662 Charles the Second 
recognised the foundation of the Royal Society, and from 
this date science became recognised as a separate and 
definite branch of knowledge. Robert Royle and Isaac 
Newton are only two names of the great men who de- 
lighted the world with their investigations, or surprised 
simple folk with their experiments. The world indeed 
seemed in process of being born anew. All sorts of won- 
derful ideas crowded in upon men's minds, and the close 
of the Stewart dynasty found the nation highly sensitive 
to new impressions. Very rapid had been the development 
of the race in those hundred odd years during which the 
Stewarts had sat upon the throne of England. 

B 



Phase I — The Kingship and the 
Protectorate 



JAMES I 

" One who was, in his own opinion, the greatest master of king-craft 
that ever lived, but who was, in truth, one of those kings whom God 
seems to send for the express purpose of hastening revolutions.' 1 

Macaulay 

WITH the passing of Elizabeth, the great Tudor 
dynasty came to an end. The shock of the 
removal of a sovereign at once so revered and 
so dominant, left a deep impress upon the nation ; never- 
theless there was no anxiety for the future mingled with 
the people's grief. On the contrary, the brightest hopes 
were entertained. The Crown was passing into the hands 
of one who, by a fortunate accident of birth, naturally 
united the kingdoms of England and Scotland. This 
in itself was a thing of no mean importance. The com- 
mercial growth of either nation had been incessantly kept 
back by rivalry and suspicion. It now seemed probable 
that these petty jealousies concerning trade and intercourse, 
would cease with the advent of a king wearing the crowns 
of the two kingdoms. The coming of James was thus 
the signal for more than ordinary rejoicing. To his ill- 
concealed annoyance, his entry into the city gave occasion 
for huge crowds to draw together. His progress was 
hindered by the throng, and at every delay he showed a 
petulance and an impatience which contrasted very ill 

19 



20 In Stewart Times 

with the gracious behaviour of the late queen. Abashed, 
the crowds drew back, muttering a little, but excusing 
him in their hearts. Their first glimpse of the sovereign 
had not impressed them favourably, but loyalty kept them 
from so much as hinting at their feeling. His personal 
appearance, as well as his bearing, helped to increase their 
sense of disappointment. Elizabeth had prided herself 
upon her looks, and if in all honesty beauty must be denied 
her, she had at least conducted herself with regal dignity. 
But James was neither handsome nor dignified. His height 
was ordinary, though an inclination to stoutness made 
him seem shorter. A physical weakness made his gait 
stumbling and uncertain. A strange dread of attack led 
him to protect his body in an absurd fashion, with endless 
wrappings and waddings, so that, packed up in this odd 
way, he presented a ludicrous figure, quite without kingli- 
ness. His eyes were large and uneasy, and his tongue, 
malformed from birth, hung from his mouth, and made 
his eating and drinking disgusting. He had no fondness 
for water, and he never did more than wipe his hands with 
the end of a damp cloth. Those who had seen Queen Mary, 
his mother, carried with them an unforgettable remem- 
brance of a young and lovely face, and it was hard for them 
to believe that the clownish figure before them could 
be really her son. 

It was March when James first entered London, and 
the following July his coronation was celebrated. A spirit 
of joyousness still filled the air, and epithets as enthusiastic 
as any showered upon Elizabeth were flung on his pathway. 
" Now he is amongst us, God long preserve him over us ! 
whose presence makes old men say, ' Now that we have 
seen him we have lived long enough,' " cried an eye- 
witness of the procession, and the words were the 
expression of the general mind. Poets saluted him 







James I 

Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



James I 21 

as born to be " England's true joy " ; and in their 
abandon they even went so far as to apply the word 
" sacred " to his person, and term him a " mortal God." 
This part of their offering at least must have been pleasing 
to James, for already he was brooding upon that strange 
theory of the divine right of kings, which he afterwards 
unfolded before an astonished people. But for the most 
part he listened with ungracious impatience to the ad- 
dresses, made to him at the various stopping-places on the 
line of his progress. In particular, he unkindly ignored 
" Old Hind," a man of nearly eighty summers, who had 
seen four sovereigns come and go, and who now waited, 
quivering with eagerness, to pay his tribute to the fifth. 
James passed by without so much as a glance, and 
the old man fell back, bewildered and disappointed. 
Elizabeth would never have acted thus. However tedious 
she might find State functions, she at least had the grace 
and high breeding to carry them off with a smile. But 
James was too self-centred to understand the patriotic 
devotion implied in these eager little deeds, and he was 
too unsympathetic to see that they were really an ex- 
pression of affection. He looked upon himself as a great 
thinker, and a supreme master of statecraft. Nothing 
delighted him more than to address an audience forbidden 
by etiquette from replying to him. But when it was a 
question of showing courtesy as a listener, he made no 
effort at even ordinary politeness. At the end of the 
first few months of his reign, a close observer could have 
foreseen the difficulties that might be likely to arise between 
the nation and this king, who responded so coldly to the 
warm welcome showered upon him. 

Thus did James take up his power, amid every show of 
enthusiasm and delight. Twenty-two years later he laid 
it down in very different circumstances. For, long before 



22 In Stewart Times 

twenty-two years had passed, the nation had grown to 
dislike him heartily. The shouts of delight at his coming, 
very soon turned into sneers. 

James brought with him from Scotland two ideas 
firmly fixed in his mind. One was a feeling of dislike 
for the Puritans; the other, a strong belief in the 
right of a king to act according to his own personal desire. 
A coward at heart, he feared the Puritans, because he 
saw in them an opposition to sovereignty ; and there was 
no saying in which he indulged more often, or more fondly, 
than the words " No bishop, no king." In this catch 
phrase he saw, or fancied he saw, a safeguard against the 
revolution which had been begun under Henry VIII. But 
the wisest proverb was powerless to stem a movement so 
filled with vitality as the Reformation. James might 
place his pebbles in the way, but he might as well think 
thereby to keep back a river, as to check with mere sayings 
a spiritual evolution, which not Europe itself could control. 

The Puritan divines who came to the Conference at 
Hampton Court in 1604, went away grumbling and angry. 
And not without cause. For after making much display 
of his own knowledge of theology, James hotly concluded 
the discussion by declaring : "If you aim at a Scottish 
presbytery, it agrees as well with monarchy as God and 
the devil. Then Jack and Tom and Will and Dick shall 
meet, and at their pleasure censure me and my council. 
... If this be all your party hath to say I will make 
them conform themselves, or else harrie them out of the 
land, or else do worse." These words fell ominously upon 
the ears of men who were in deadly earnest. Hitherto the 
division between the different sections of the Church had 
not been immediately vital. In 1603 Convocation had 
recognised the un-Episcopal Church of Scotland "as a 
branch of the Holy Catholic Church of Christ," and it was 



James I 23 



after the date of the Armada that Bishop Cooper had 
declared in a public tract : " All those Churches in which 
the Gospell, in these daies, after great darknesse was first 
renewed, . . . have been directed by the Spirit of God to 
retaine this liberty, that, in external government and other 
outward orders, they might choose such as they thought 
in wisdome and godlinesse to be most convenient for the 
state of their countrey, and disposition of their people. 
... I think it therefore great presumption and bold- 
nesse ... to binde both prince and people in respect 
of conscience to alter the present state, and tie themselves 
to a certain platforme devised by some of our neighbours, 
which, in the judgment of many wise and godly persons, 
is most unfit for the state of a kingdome." 

Hampton Court, however, marked the turning of the 
ways, and the Conference became the signpost of parting. 
What had been so far merely religious schism, now took 
on the colour of deliberate political opposition. 

In his dealings with the Catholics, James was no less 
unfortunate. He dreaded the one extreme almost as 
much as the other. In grasping at personal safety and 
the immediate security of the Crown, he lost sight of all 
large issues of statesmanship, with the result that England's 
power abroad speedily dwindled. Thus the country 
which should have been strengthened and adorned by the 
bond with the Scottish kingdom, by it fell swiftly from the 
proud position it had reached under the Tudors. Till at 
last it actually became the sport of the very nation whose 
boasted Armada it had triumphantly crushed, some five 
years before the " auspicious accession " of James. 

If the phrase " No bishop, no king," was dear to the 
heart of the English sovereign, still dearer was his notion 
of the divine right of kings to govern as they chose. Some 
years before he was crowned he had explained this belief in 



24 In Stewart Times 

a work entitled " The True Law of Free Monarchy." 
He now set about carrying these notions into practice. 
With great curtness he said publicly, that " as it is atheism 
and blasphemy to dispute what God can do, so it is pre- 
sumption and a high contempt in a subject to dispute what 
a king can do, or to say that a king cannot do this or 
that." Thoughtful men, anxious to be loyal to their 
king, but determined above all else to obey their 
conscience, pondered long over the saying. And as a 
result the breach between the king and his people 
widened. Instead of inspiring allegiance, James raised 
the spirit of rebellion. He did it unknown to himself. 
He did not realise that the affection of the nation 
was slipping away, and he was bitterly surprised and 
disappointed later on, when it came home to him that 
true loyalty can never be bought, but must always be 
given. This was a lesson Elizabeth had never needed to 
learn. Her quick instinct had taught it her from the 
first. James was more of a blunderer. He chased the 
phantom of supreme power, thinking it the birthright of 
monarchs. His action made division easy. In fact it 
hinted plainly that a gulf lay between a king and his 
people. Elizabeth, on the other hand, never had any 
illusions about the right of sovereigns. But by identifying 
herself with the nation, she found in unity the supremest 
of " supreme power." 

Four parliaments met under James. The first of these 
was not summoned till a year after the accession, 
when the Commons were chafing at the king's neglect. 
They were men of an earnest temper ; honestly anxious to 
look after the interests of the nation ; honestly eager to 
obey their monarch. James quite failed to understand 
their attitude. He prided himself on his knowledge and 
his statesmanship ; but though he could argue eloquently, 



James I 25 

he could not manage men, and after a time his high-flown 
words fell upon deaf ears. The Commons held firmly to 
one principle. If the king would redress grievances, they 
would give him supplies. From this point they would not 
move, and neither threats nor persuasions could reach them. 
The more James argued, the more resolute they became, 
and the effect of their attitude rapidly influenced the 
nation. By his tactless bullying the king was fast rousing 
a spirit of rebellion that he could never again tame. 
Men who had gladly submitted to the strong rule of Eliza- 
beth, stiffened their lip and refused to be guided by a 
sovereign, whom they were beginning to hold in contempt. 
For this was the crowning weakness of the rule of James, 
he made himself of such small value in the eyes of his 
people, that they lost once and for all that frank delight 
in sovereignty, which Elizabeth had been at such pains 
to inspire and retain. Monarchy fell from its high 
estate, and it fell by the hand of a monarch. In 
the history of the race a critical moment had been 
reached. For good or ill the people were pressing on 
to a goal, which so far they only half understood. 
The time called either for a king strong enough 
to control the tide, or for one weak enough to submit 
cheerfully to the onrush of democracy. James belonged 
to neither type. If he had not enough personality 
to be master of the forces, he had too much spirit to 
give way helplessly before them. He objected openly 
and strongly to giving up the smallest right ; he fought 
hard for his privileges. But he was doomed to defeat. 
At his death he left the Commons in a far stronger position 
than before, and in the nation at large he left the seeds of 
rebellion, which he had himself scattered abroad. " Of 
all the enemies of liberty whom Britain has produced," 
says Macaulay, " James was at once the most harmless and 



26 In Stewart Times 

the most provoking. His office resembled that of the 
man, who, in a Spanish bull fight, goads the torpid savage 
to fury, by shaking a red rag in the air. James was always 
obtruding his despotic theories on his subjects without the 
slightest necessity. His foolish talk exasperated them 
infinitely more than forced loans or benevolences would 
have done." 

Disappointed in his management of the Commons, the 
sovereign fell back upon favourites, and exalted successively 
Robert Carr and George Villiers. The former he made 
Viscount Rochester, and upon the latter, the darling of his 
heart, he bestowed the title, Duke of Buckingham. 
James had always shown a liking for a fair face and a 
flattering tongue, in spite of his stern upbringing under 
the celebrated scholar, George Buchanan, who had wisely 
warned his young charge against those " self- constituted 
judges of all elegance, who perpetually season their dis- 
course with ' your Majesty,' ' your Highness,' ' most 
illustrious,' and 4 terms still more disgusting.' " In his 
behaviour towards Carr and Villiers he gave full rein to this 
weakness. Elizabeth's Court had not been free from ill- 
repute ; but under James, vice ran so high, and 
immorality was so open, that a popular ballad sneer- 
ingly contrasted the manners of a courtier of the day 
with those of a gallant in the previous reign : 

" With an old study filled full of learned old books, 
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks. 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, 
And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks, 

Like an old Courtier of the Queen's, 

And the Queen's old Courtier. 

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign' d, 
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiful mind, 



J 



ames I 27 



To be good to his old tenants and to his neighbours be kind ; 
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined, 

Like a young Courtier of the King's, 

And the King's young Courtier. 

With a new study stuft full of pamphlets and plays. 
With a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, 
With a new buttery hatch that opens once in four or five days, 
And a French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys ; 

Like a Courtier of the King's, 

And the King's young Courtier. 

With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold, 
For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold ; 
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, 
Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold, 

Among the young Courtiers of the King, 

And the King's young Courtiers." 

The death of James took place in March 1625. Some 
few months earlier his fourth and last Parliament had met. 
On this occasion there had been more good feeling between 
the monarch and his ministers than ever before. The hated 
Spanish match had been prevented, and James had de- 
clared himself willing to make war on behalf of the Elector. 
Something akin to warm feeling stirred in the nation, and 
in the joy of the moment the people forgot the gloom of 
the past. But affection could not be reborn in a day, 
and the king had long since lost their hearts. His death 
roused little comment. Everyone hoped for better times 
under Charles, and the personality of James soon faded 
from memory. He had shown himself overbearing and 
selfish ; without any large motives ; without either 
sympathy or tact ; without charity to forgive, or sense to 
forget. But he was also a man of academic parts, and in 
his own narrow way he ruled as he thought a king should. 
In insisting upon the theory of " divine right " he firmly 



28 In Stewart Times 

believed that he was upholding the greatness of the Crown. 
He did not see that in reality he was pulling it down ; 
that its fall would surely come ; and that his hand 
would be remembered as having begun the work of 
ruin. 






CHARLES I 

- On the whole, say not, good reader, as is often done, '- It was then 
all one as now. 1 Good reader, it was considerably different then 
from now. . . . The Ages differ greatly, even infinitely from one 
another. 11 Carlyle 

CHARLES I. became king in 1625. He was then 
twenty-five years of age, handsome in face and 
attractive in disposition. He looked an ideal 
monarch. But never did king undertake duties for which 
he was more unfitted, than Charles when he accepted the 
dread responsibility of guiding the English nation at this 
time of acute crisis. James had found kingship a difficult 
matter ; Charles was destined to find it impossible. He 
was amiable, but he was weak ; he was affectionate, but he 
had no discrimination. He had dignity, but he was faith- 
less ; and, crowning misfortune in the character of a king, 
he had no sense of his personal responsibility towards the 
nation. The matter of ruling seemed to him quite simple. 
He was the king, and the people were his subjects ; he was 
to govern, they were to obey. The idea that the fate and 
happiness of both king and people hung together did not 
enter his mind. He utterly failed to grasp the principle 
that the welfare of the monarch depends upon his subjects, 
just as much as the welfare of the subjects is due to the 
wise government of the monarch. As a private citizen 
his life would have been blameless and happy. As a king, 
and thus by all natural laws the trusted protector of his 
subjects, his career can only be regarded as one long, 
pitiable mistake. 
29 



30 In Stewart Times 



Difficulties met him from the outset. James had sown 
the seeds of suspicion and rebellion, and Charles found his 
first Parliament keenly jealous of their powers and privi- 
leges. They renewed the custom duties of Tonnage and 
Poundage for one year only, and refused to grant him the 
huge grant of money which he demanded for carrying out 
his foreign policy of enmity towards Spain. Charles 
declared himself indifferent towards the desires of the 
Commons and blindly pursued the war. Next year he 
was so short of money that he was obliged to call another 
Parliament. The members met in a defiant temper. 
They denied the king the right of collecting Tonnage and 
Poundage without their consent, and they repeated their 
axiom that supplies must be met with redress of grievance. 
In a rage the king dissolved the sitting, and hastened to 
levy a forced loan. This unconstitutional and despotic 
behaviour roused the bitterest anger. But it went deeper 
than that. It kindled a spark of exasperation, which soon 
grew into rebellion, under the king's steady opposition to 
their requests. Before long the reformers began to make 
definite schemes. Their ideas took the shape of a Bill, 
and when the third Parliament met in 1628, the Commons 
presented the famous Petition of Right. 

This celebrated charter forbade the levying of taxes by 
the king; the imprisonment of anyone without legal 
cause ; the billeting of soldiers on private houses ; the 
use of martial law for civil offences. Both Houses 
passed the Bill with enthusiasm, and everyone was full 
of eagerness to hear the king's answer. As usual, Charles 
found himself utterly unable to give a proper reply. 
He sent back a long, evasive reply, but he would make 
no promises of any kind. Directly afterwards he showed 
his unconcern by collecting Tonnage and Poundage as 
usual. This retort was so deliberate, and so open, that 



Charles I 31 

the Commons could no longer be blind to the fact that 
Charles had not the slightest intention of governing con- 
stitutionally unless it suited his own desires. The extreme 
difficulty of the situation was apparent to everyone, and 
every day made it worse. The king was bent on having his 
own way ; the Commons were determined not to let slip 
the rights of the nation. Where harmony and co-operation 
should have been, there was discord and division. An on- 
looker must have seen something pathetic in the spectacle 
of a king setting up private interests instead of maintaining 
the public welfare. The Commons had been neither violent 
nor unreasonable in their requests. Some show of integrity, 
and a very little yielding, on the part of the sovereign, 
might easily have saved the situation, and the deplorable 
catastrophe of 1649 would have been averted. 

After the friction of 1628 the breach between the 
sovereign and his ministers widened suddenly and con- 
siderably. The king was not without good intentions, but 
he had not learnt the art of government, and he was reckless 
from ignorance as much as from any other cause. The 
more haphazard he showed himself, the more determined 
grew the temper of the Commons. They openly denounced 
as enemies to the country both those who advised the 
levying of Tonnage and Poundage simply on the king's 
authority, and those who paid any such sum without 
public protest. This challenge roused Charles to fury, 
and he hastily ordered a dissolution. After this, Parlia- 
ment did not meet again for eleven years. 

Unhampered by the Commons, the sovereign now 
entered upon a long period of unconstitutional rule, aided 
by three odious and illegal courts — the Star Chamber, the 
Council of the North, and the Court of High Commission. 
With these three bodies to carry out his wishes, Charles 
managed to control the kingdom, raising what money he 



32 In Stewart Times 

needed by royal order ; by the sale of monopolies ; by 
ship money ; and by all sorts of fines and exactions. By 
these means he managed to keep his exchequer supplied, 
at the expense of losing the affection and respect of his 
people. The nation began to show their annoyance. 
They had welcomed Charles into a position of public trust ; 
and he had deliberately broken his part of the bargain. 
Discontent grew rapidly, and its expression became daily 
more and more open. Hampden's steady refusal to pay 
ship money in 1635 had an enormous effect on the country 
generally. This was one of the most hated of taxes, and 
it was well understood that its aim was only a blind. 
The money was collected on the ground that it was needed 
for the defence of the coasts. But the people knew per- 
fectly well that it was intended to fill the king's general 
purse. Charles himself confessed as much, when he re- 
marked that he meant it as "a spring and magazine that 
should have no bottom, and for an everlasting supply of 
all occasions." 

This long season of irregular taxation brought the 
country to the point of open revolt, and it was difficult to 
prophesy which way matters would next turn, when affairs 
in Scotland suddenly became violent, and for the time 
attention was diverted to the northern kingdom. Charles 
had always been strongly suspicious of the doctrines of 
Puritanism, and the darling wish of his heart was to see 
Scotland and England following the same ritual. His 
ambition in this direction was heartily supported by 
Laud. In utter ignorance of the Scottish temper, Charles 
ventured in 1637 to introduce Laud's Liturgy into the 
Scottish Church. The action roused the fiercest anger 
and opposition. Men and women alike spurned the pro- 
posal as detestable. In their terror they lost all sense of 
proportion, and they declared wildly that " Baal was in 



Charles I 33 

the Church." Charles failed to understand either the 
depth or the bitterness of their feeling, and with extra- 
ordinary obstinacy he insisted upon obedience. His short- 
sightedness brought its own result. The northern people 
did not mean to be lightly shuffled out of their religion. 
They drew up the National Covenant, and in March 1638 
the whole people joined in signing a general declaration 
that they would " labour by all means lawful to recover 
the purity and liberty of the Gospel as it was established 
before recent innovations." A straw tells the way that 
the wind is blowing. A wise king would have withdrawn, 
for a time, at anyrate. But Charles set about gathering an 
army to enforce his will, and an encounter actually took 
place on Dunse Law, near Berwick, in which the Scots 
more than held their own. 

In this dilemma the sovereign unwillingly made up his 
mind to summon the Commons, and in April 1640 the 
" Short " Parliament assembled. 

Eleven years had gone by since the king and the 
Commons had met. Many things had happened in the 
meantime ; many an unconstitutional act had been 
carried out under one of the three Councils acting for the 
king. It might have been supposed that after nursing 
their grievances for all these years, the Commons would 
have come together in an actively hostile spirit. On the 
contrary, they showed an almost eager desire to please 
the king, and even the partial Clarendon confesses in his 
History that " the House generally was exceedingly 
disposed to please the King and to do him service. . . . 
It could never be hoped that more sober or dispassionate 
men would ever meet together in that place, or fewer who 
brought ill purposes with them." All might have gone 
well, if the king had not made the fatal mistake of bargain- 
ing. He sent word he would give up ship money upon the 



34 In Stewart Times 

receipt of a sum amounting to nearly a million pounds. 
The Commons were willing to give the sum, but they were 
not willing to barter it for a right which they declared the 
sovereign had never possessed. They maintained that 
ship money had been illegal from the first, so that in this 
case the king had no right to sell it. If they agreed to 
buy it, they said they would be tacitly acknowledging that 
there had been a right on the king's part ; and this they 
swore there was not. Discussion arose, and the point 
was hotly debated. Presently the news was reported to 
Charles. The intelligence threw him into a passion, and 
without stopping to consider the wisdom of his conduct 
he hastily sent down word that Parliament was dissolved. 
The members were amazed and indignant. To be called 
together after eleven years, and then dismissed in this 
hasty fashion ! It was unbelievable. With burning 
hearts and angry words they left the House. The nation 
was no less aghast at the tidings than the Commons. 
After eleven years of tyranny they had at least hoped for 
redress of some of their grievances. Now, in a twinkling 
they saw their hopes dashed ; their fond fancies withered. 
Consternation reigned everywhere, except in the hearts of 
the more desperate, who declared that the time for half 
measures had gone by, since the king had forfeited all 
right to reverence or even consideration. 

With dogged folly Charles shut his eyes to danger, 
and plunged into Scottish affairs. Here matters went 
from bad to worse, and he was soon thoroughly 
beaten. This made a compact of some kind a necessity. 
Even Charles saw this much, and so, very much against his 
will, he called together another Parliament in November 
1640. Thus opened that most memorable of all Parlia- 
ments, known as the " Long," which clung grimly to its 
power, till its ruthless expulsion by Cromwell in 1653. 



Charles I 35 

Energetic measures were promptly taken. The three 
great Councils were abolished ; Laud and Strafford were 
impeached ; all who had served the king in collecting 
illegal taxes were called to account ; judges were appointed 
for life, upon good behaviour ; and a Triennial Bill was 
passed. Charles saw it was not the moment for words, 
so he permitted the reforms ; though he had no intention 
of abiding by his promises a minute longer than was un- 
avoidable. He gave way for a time ; but his spirit of 
obstinacy was thoroughly roused. He did not mean to 
give way for ever. Two years later he heard a rumour 
that the Commons meant to impeach Henrietta Maria. 
Without stopping to inquire into the report, he rashly 
decided on a counter-move, by himself impeaching five of 
the Commons, Pym, Hampden, Hazelrigge, Holies and 
Strode. The " five " failed to answer the summons, 
whereupon Charles suddenly appeared before Parliament 
with an armed guard of some hundreds, demanding 
that they should be given up. News of the king's 
action had been hinted at, and the five members 
had prudently withdrawn. The king went away foiled 
and angry. No more undignified position for a monarch 
could be imagined. The sovereign had stooped to 
challenge his ministers ; he had made personal and open 
attack upon five of his subjects ; and he had brought with 
him armed soldiers to make sure of carrying out his design. 
What that design may have been we can only surmise 
darkly, though it is difficult to believe with Macaulay, 
that Charles went " determined to carry out his unlaw- 
ful design into effect by violence ; and if necessary to shed 
the blood of the chiefs of the Opposition on the very floor 
of the Parliament House." 

News of the event flew over the land, and the nation 
stood alarmed and angry. War seemed the only possible 



36 



In Stewart Times 



settlement. Both parties began to make preparations ; 
Charles set about raising soldiers, and he made more than 
one attempt to seize the powder magazines in the country. 
Contemporary Parliamentarians lay the blame of opening 
the war upon him. But contemporary reports are seldom 
impartial, and at the moment when either party was ready for 
the attack, one side was in this respect as guilty as the other. 
War followed, and the nation found itself struggling with 
the sore calamity of being divided among itself. Some were 
for the king; some were for the Parliament. Everywhere 
was strife and preparation for action. Often enough the 
father was against his son ; the son against his father. 

Either side had its victories and defeats, but by 1647 
Charles found himself a prisoner, distracted and beaten. 
He had paltered with the Presbyterians ; he had intrigued 
with the Scots ; he had kept faith with no one. The 
army offered him terms. " Were I to accept these I should 
be a phantom king," he cried. The words were true ; 
it was all that the army felt could be safely offered 
him. Meanwhile he remained a prisoner, and in 1648 
Cromwell quickly defeated the Scots who rose in his favour. 
The army was now in complete control of officers, and 
the more resolute resolved to wait no longer. A com- 
mittee was held, and it was determined that Charles 
should be beheaded. The resolution was not formed 
without qualms. More than one agreed that a day 
might come when the deed would be held in horror. 
Among those with this view was Colonel Hutchinson. 
Yet in the end he voted for the execution, though he 
did so with the open acknowledgment that the act 
" might one day come to be again disputed among men." 
And so the grim council came to an end. The king's 
doom was already sealed, even though his trial had not 
yet taken place. 



Charles I 37 

Colonel Hutchinson's words soon came true, and 
almost at once men were " disputing " over the 
deed. From that day to this the " disputing " has con- 
tinued, and it will probably last for ever. It is not a light 
thing to take life from any being, most especially from 
a sovereign. But in excuse it must always be remembered 
that the times were extraordinary. Charles had over 
and over again shown that he cared nothing for faith, 
honour, or the welfare of his subjects. The men who had 
the daring to propose and carry out such a design were 
men of savagely austere temperament, but they were also 
most certainly men of sincerity. A weak character, such as 
Charles had had the misfortune to inherit, seemed all the 
more contemptible when exposed to the contrast of iron 
will ; and in an age of reformers his selfishness took on 
the shade of criminality. His trial was only a form. 
With becoming dignity he refused to plead before judges 
who were not his equals in rank. He bore himself gravely 
and quietly, so that at the last he won to his side many who 
before this had lost all affection for him. After the 
sentence had been carried out, a sudden and natural 
change of feeling surged over the land. The people had 
killed their king, and for the moment the awfulness of the 
deed made them forget the long years of tyranny under 
which they had suffered. The horror of the moment out- 
did the horrors of the past. All those piled-up corpses on 
Marston Moor and Naseby ; those mutilated victims of the 
Star Chamber; those hunted fugitives of the Court of 
High Commission, became as nothing before the great 
central fact that the king was dead, and that he had 
perished at the hand of his subjects. 

After the Restoration, a Royal Proclamation made the 
30th of January a solemn fast day for " the murther of 
the late King," and in his diary Pepys tells of a sermon he 



38 In Stewart Times 

heard on this occasion upon the sub j ect of Divine vengeance. 
By his death Charles reached a height far above kingship. 
His faults were forgotten ; his excellences exaggerated. 
" Eikon Basilike " gave him a halo which all Milton's 
efforts could not dim, and with strange irony poets of the 
day heaped upon him the very adjectives he least deserved, 
hailing him as " great, good and just." His life ended 
amid scenes of touching pathos. But history pays little 
heed to sentiment. Charles had had a magnificent chance, 
and he had played fast and loose with it. Many tender 
and lovable little traits sparkle out in his character, but 
his weakness was his ruin. The times were difficult. 
None but the bravest, sincerest men could hope to grapple 
with them. Charles, with his half promises, and his 
double dealing, was not the king for a crisis. The sad 
and terrible tragedy of his death is a blot on English 
history and a calamity in our national records. But 
it is hardly to be laid to the charge of the ruthless few 
who tried him. Charles was his own executioner. For in 
a monarch it is required above all else that he be just, 
faithful, and true, not only in his private relationships, 
but also in his conduct towards the nation. 



OLIVEE CROMWELL 

" The desire of the moth for the star, 
Of the night for the morrow, 
The devotion to something afar 
From the sphere of our sorrow.' 1 

Shelley 

IN the sleepy little town of Huntingdon, in the year 
1599, a child was born to Robert and Elizabeth 
Cromwell. Years passed by and the boy grew from 
youth to manhood, unknown and unregarded by the outside 
world, to whom the name Oliver Cromwell as yet signified 
nothing. Robert Cromwell, the father, was a squire of some 
substance ; a man interested in the general affairs of life ; 
who had himself been in Parliament. The career of the son 
seemed likely to follow that of his parent, and in 1628 he 
found a place among the Commons. The dandies there soon 
noticed that the new-comer did not make a fine figure. 
His clothes were cut badly and hung loosely round him ; 
his linen was plain, and not very clean. But he bore the 
air of good breeding, and when he rose to speak he was so 
much in earnest that he soon drew the ears of everyone 
present. The Parliament, however, was short-lived, and 
the Petition of Right once passed, Oliver Cromwell, with 
the rest of the members, withdrew into the obscurity of 
private life. Nevertheless his fleeting experience of public 
affairs had done this much : it had given him an insight into 
the political machinery of the country. Besides this, it had 
strengthened in him that fine sense of justice, that 
sincere wish to give every man his due, which both friend 

39 



4-0 In Stewart Times 

and foe acknowledged as his throughout his stormy career. 
Like Bunyan, as a young man, he was too much occupied in 
studying his own feelings. The more he brooded, the worse 
he imagined himself to be. Though there is every evidence 
that his early days were pure and honourable, he tortured 
himself with thoughts of odious vices which were never his. 
" You know," he declares in 1636 in a letter to a cousin, 
" you know what my manner of life hath been. Oh, I 
lived in and loved darkness and hated light. . . . This is 
true. I hated godliness, and yet God had mercy on me." 
The words have an affected ring in modern days, but the 
times were different then. People talked much more freely 
about the deep things of life. When Cromwell belittled 
himself, so far as he knew, he did it sincerely, and not 
to strike an effect. He was only in tune with his day — a 
day of real, and great effort. Puritanism was sweeping 
through the land like a scourging flame. Its lofty ideals, 
its mystic presentment of life, its hard conditions of 
fellowship, drew to it all those who were stirred with 
longings after goodness and purity. In its early, best 
sense, it stood for every sort of idealism ; it raised life 
to a higher plane ; it ennobled and strengthened the 
moral fibre of the nation as nothing else before or since. 
It did not imply a lessening of delight in life ; but rather 
the purifying and deepening of all human affections. This 
was Puritanism in its first beginnings. It was a deep, 
intense national emotion after goodness, and against 
everything artificial, — " very great ; very glorious, tragical 
enough to all thinking hearts that look on it from these 
days of ours." It was the product of neither Presbyterian- 
ism nor, any other sect. Its claims were as wide as the 
race, and Episcopalians as well as Presbyterians found in it 
an inspiration. But before long it fell from its high place. 
Fanaticism laid cold hands upon it, and its wide aims 




Oliver Cromwell 

Samuel Cooper 

Phcto W. A. Mansell & Co. 



40 



Oliver Cromwell 41 

shrank at once. It became identified with narrowness ; 
with a mean view of the joyousness of life. It was 
tarnished by sectarianism and dissension, whereas it 
had been as the breath of God. Men of the noblest 
minds became so intense in their anxiety to follow their 
conscience, that they attempted to rule the world by 
the puny glimmer of their own individual opinion. They 
shunned innocent pleasures ; they feared to indulge in 
laughter ; they thought so long and so constantly about 
right and wrong, that life became a burden. And in obeying 
their duty to themselves, they quite lost sight of their duty 
to others. But these are not the real fundamentals of 
Puritanism. Under much dross and sham, the true gold 
can be found. Human nature struggles to righteousness 
along many a thorny road. In the middle of the seven- 
teenth century, Puritanism was the thorny road, and over 
it toiled many earnest figures bent upon a crusade, genuine 
enough, if but little understood. Such was the spirit of the 
day when Oliver Cromwell shot suddenly into notice. 

The beginning of the Civil War found him eager for 
action. He gave generously of his money, and he organised 
troops, under his control, on behalf of Parliament. He was 
a born soldier, and he could tell at a glance the worth of a 
new recruit. What he valued most was steadfast courage, 
and he ranked faithfulness far above more brilliant 
qualities. He chose his men neither for their birth nor 
their talents, but solely upon the ground of character. 
No recommendation weighed with him like the virtue 
of honesty. " Sir," he said to Major-General Cranford, 
" surely you are not well advised to turn off one so faithful 
to the Cause, and so able to serve you as this man is. . . . 
The State, in choosing men to serve it takes no notice of 
their opinions ; if they be willing faithfully to serve it — 
that satisfies." And another time he declared warmly 



42 In Stewart Times 

that he would far rather have " a plain russet-coated 
captain " wrapped up in his work than an officer of finer 
parts, but " a gentleman and nothing else." 

Cromwell's great moment came in 1644 at Marston Moor, 
when his Ironsides turned the day against Prince Rupert, 
and at a blow killed the Royalist cause in the north. 
By this victory he became at once the most powerful 
general in the field. So far he had been grouped in the 
public imagination among Fairfax and the other Round- 
head leaders. Marston Moor made it plain that he was 
more than an ordinary general ; he was a man of genius. 
His enemies watched him keenly, expecting perhaps that 
victory would make him lax. The simplicity of his 
nature, and his love of soldiery, saved him from this 
catastrophe. Instead of becoming careless, he grew sterner. 
Strict before, he was now verged upon severity, and he 
drilled his soldiers with the skill and harshness of a 
martinet. But he never lost sight of the fact that though 
he was a general he was also a soldier. He identified 
himself with his men, and wrote naturally and simply of 
" us soldiers." 

To the end of the war his fame flourished. He was a 
magnificent general in the field, and his courage and 
brilliant leadership won him the admiration of everyone. 
But personally he showed to less advantage in the councils 
of peace. And when the fall of Charles placed power in 
the hands of the army, faults in his character, hidden by 
the stress of action, became glaringly visible. He had a 
genius for managing soldiers, but he was not tactful enough 
to thread his way through the intricacies of civil govern- 
ment without causing friction. Yet he ruled with superb 
courage, caring nothing for the personal feeling of the 
nation, conscious only that he was unravelling a problem 
that no one else could handle. He was determined to 



Oliver Cromwell 43 

reach the settlement he judged best for England, even at 
the expense of cruelty. His practical qualities as a soldier 
made it difficult for him to weigh up side issues. He 
imagined that a crisis, which had made the whole country 
rock, could be easily and successfully settled by simply 
removing the chief figure in the disturbance. He dwelt in 
the present rather than the future ; and though his sound 
common-sense made him see that the matter was one of 
fearful importance, he could not see beyond the moment, 
nor reckon up in advance the reaction that was sure to 
follow. He honestly and sincerely wanted to govern in 
the way that would further the general good of the nation. 
He did not grasp the fact that perhaps the public, for whom 
he was labouring, might resent his good offices, and of 
themselves upset the very plans he had made for their 
welfare. He seemed rather to imagine that once the 
figure of Charles were removed, the country would be re- 
duced to quietness ; that the whole event would fade away 
and be forgotten, and peace and prosperity follow as a 
natural result. In the strength of this false hope he 
signed the warrant for the king's execution ; and though 
he was a man of deep and tender feeling, in the excite- 
ment of the moment he forgot himself so far as to sport 
with colleagues, drawn together for the grim purpose of 
signing away the life of a sovereign. 

Charles was beheaded, and the real power in the govern- 
ment fell at once into the hands of Cromwell. He ac- 
cepted the position with the readiness of one who knows 
that he is fit for the work. He made no foolish excuses 
of inability. The government of England at such a crisis 
was a terrible and stupendous task. But he undertook it 
in the spirit which filled Pitt, who exclaimed at the time 
of another crisis, nearly one hundred years later : "I can 
save the country, and I am sure that no one else can." 



44 I n Stewart Times 

Cromwell knew enough of the times to be aware that he 
alone stood between the nation and anarchy. To pretend 
that another was more qualified for the post would have 
been folly, and he understood this thoroughly. Some of his 
disappointed followers afterwards asserted that it was 
partly " ambition " that led him to " usurp the place." 
Be this as it may, it was well for England that he took the 
post, from whatever motive. The peace of the nation 
depended upon him and him alone. Had he been less 
firm, less sure of himself, the country would soon 
have been drenched in anarchy. The army and the 
people were still suspicious of each other. Cromwell 
stood between them, a firm, defiant, courageous figure, 
and gradually either side grew more composed. With 
every enticement to advance his own interests, he showed 
himself wonderfully simple and straightforward. ; ' For 
myself," he said, " I desire not to keep my place in this 
Government an hour longer than I may preserve England 
in its just rights, and may protect the People of God in such 
a just liberty of conscience as I have already mentioned. 
... I undertook this Government in the simplicity of my 
heart, and as before God, and to do the part of an honest 
man to the interest ... so I can say that no particular 
interest, either of myself, estate, honour or family, are, 
or have been prevalent with me to this undertaking." 

These words were spoken before the First Protectorate 
Parliament of 1654, when he was reviewing the months 
since the Commons had first been summoned. They are 
a good example of the simple directness of speech which 
he always used. " I did think also, for myself," he went 
on to say, " I am like to meet with difficulties." Diffi- 
culties ! When the nation was already seething in a flood 
of remorse ; when Charles was being spoken of with awe, 
as a saint and a martyr ; when even among the closest of 



Oliver Cromwell 45 

Cromwell's supporters there were some who talked darkly 
of " ambition " and " usurpation." Difficulties ! — the 
mildest term that a man might use about the simplest 
reform. Say rather impossibilities, strenuous and terrible 
opposition, war to the death. But Cromwell had swept 
his eye over the land, and summed up the position, and now 
he declared serenely he was like to meet with difficulties. 

He treated Parliament as he dealt with the army. 
In 1653 he dissolved the " Rump " in disgust, be- 
cause he saw that the members were grasping at unlimited 
power. Immediately after, he called together a Conven- 
tion (known as the "Little" or "Barebones" Parliament). 
Each member of this had been named by himself, under 
the title of " Oliver Cromwell, Captain General and 
Commander-in-Chief of the Armies and Forces raised, and 
to be raised within this Commonwealth. ' ' In the last phrase 
of this summons lurks the hint of the Protector's ambition. 
Not only was he general of the present forces, but he was 
to be general of all succeeding armies. Further, he claimed 
the right not only to govern in his lifetime, but to name 
his successor. Like Elizabeth, he could not bear to think 
of the power which he had laboured to establish being 
shaken or invaded. He desired to keep a ghostly finger 
on the pulse of the nation, even after his withdrawal from 
the scene. 

The " Little " Parliament met, only to dissolve of its own 
accord, after some five months' work. The men who com- 
posed it were persons of intense character, who rushed 
forward with all sorts of suggestions for sweeping changes. 
They were alive with the spirit of reform, and so eager 
about righting wrongs that they forgot that the moment 
was scarcely suitable ; or that the rest of the nation 
would perhaps not agree to their plans. What was wrong, 
was to be made better at once. They even ventured 



46 In Stewart Times 

to discuss doing away altogether with the Court of Chan- 
cery, since already more than two thousand of its petitions 
remained unexamined, reducing the Court to a laughing 
stock. But the reformers were divided among themselves ; 
debates arose upon the power to dismiss clerics who did 
not bear good characters. After ten days' discussion, the 
point was still unsettled. Suddenly the eager little knot 
of men became aware of the hopelessness of their under- 
taking. The world could not be set straight in a week. 
They hastily resolved upon dissolution, upon the ground 
" that the sitting of this Parliament any longer, as now con- 
stituted, will not be for the good of the Commonwealth." 
After which, " the House rose ; and the Speaker, with 
many of the Members of the House, departed." 

This sudden event was followed by a notice calling to- 
gether the First Protectorate Parliament. It met in 1654, 
members from Ireland and Scotland for the first time 
sitting side by side with English representatives. 

Before its coming thither Cromwell had secured his 
authority by an arbitrary and daring act. He called 
the members to him in the Painted Chamber at West- 
minster. Here, after a long speech, in which he set out 
the events which had led up to his government, he declared 
that a Parliament such as theirs, chosen according to 
the terms of the Instrument of Government, ought to 
make " some owning of the Call and of the Authority " 
which brought them hither, and that such acknowledg- 
ment would be required before they entered the House. 
" I have caused," he remarked, calmly and intently, " a 
stop to be put to your entrance into the Parliament House 
till such Assurance be given." A dead silence followed 
the announcement of this high-handed and illegal por- 
ceeding. Then a babble of discussion broke out, and after 
a pause the members passed on to examine the document 



Oliver Cromwell 47 



awaiting their signatures. One by one they scanned the 
words : " I do hereby freely promise and engage myself 
to be true and faithful to the Lord Protector and the 
Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland ; and 
shall not . . . propose, or give my consent to alter the 
Government as it is settled in a single Person and a Parlia- 
ment." Some, on reading, took up the pen and wrote will- 
ingly, even gleefully ; others who at first hesitated to write, 
in the end made a hurried signature ; the rest, a hundred 
in all, turned away, refusing to subscribe, at least without 
further discussion among themselves. After thinking it 
over, most of them realised it was wisest to sign. So that 
in the end, all except one or two put their names to the 
document. It was plain that the times called for strong and 
prompt control ; that the nation needed sorely a ruler with 
genius to command and enough strength of character to 
insist upon getting his way. Even the most jealous granted 
Cromwell's fitness for the office, and from a sense of neces- 
sity they yielded. Their submission set the seal upon his 
triumph. He was now in complete control. He was head 
of the army ; master over the Parliament ; and official 
governor of the nation. 

His Parliament of 1654 gave him small satisfaction. 
The members were for reforming the Constitution. Crom- 
well was firmly convinced that the only hope of lasting 
peace for the nation lay in allowing time for affairs to 
settle down quietly. The " Instrument of Government," 
upon which the new rule was based, had hardly had time 
to be established. It was foolish to endanger it by fresh 
and perhaps ill-advised plans. Nothing could be more 
disastrous to the Parliamentarian cause than any new 
readjustment. For even at this early date, discontents 
and murmurings were making themselves heard among 
the nation ; the Instrument of Government must at all 



48 In Stewart Times 

costs be preserved. Such was Cromwell's policy, and 
he made up his mind that nothing should tempt him to 
let it slide. In upholding it he showed all the obstinacy 
of the Stewarts, but with this large difference. That 
whereas the determination of James and Charles had been 
the outcome of personal desire, bolstered up by self-will, 
and founded upon weakness, Cromwell's doggedness sprang 
from personal desire, coupled with a sense that his own 
wishes and the needs of the nation were at the moment 
one and the same. He had risen to his eminence 
through the sword, but he honestly desired to be the 
" Protector " of the people. He showed himself generous 
and broadminded towards all shades of opinions ; he 
never stooped to the baser sorts of indulgence common 
to sudden conquerors. "It is his special glory," says 
Professor Tout, " that among the great military despots 
of the world called to power by a military revolution, 
he has the best claim to be considered an honest 



man." 



He worked like a galley slave, but his aims were always 
those of a statesman. It was natural to him to command, 
and he did so with imperial greatness. " I will take my 
own resolutions," he once observed in private. It was 
the same in his public dealings. He relied almost entirely 
upon his own judgment. If he had been less great a man, 
such conduct would have roused an opposition too strong 
for him to overcome ; but in the critical state of affairs 
it was the only possible safeguard for the nation. 

A few months had passed since the First Protectorate 
Parliament had met, and the members were still busy over 
small and unimportant points. Cromwell's impatience grew 
daily greater. Disaffection was spreading. What time was 
it for the discussing of niceties of government, when the 
State itself was threatened ? In a condition of extreme 



Oliver Cromwell 49 

annoyance he went down to address the members. " I 
do not know what you have been doing," he cried. " I 
do not know whether you have been alive or dead. 
I have not once heard from you all this time ; I have not ; 
and that you all know. . . . Judge you whether the con- 
testing for things that were provided for by this Govern- 
ment hath been profitable expense of time. . . . You 
have wholly elapsed your time and done just nothing ! " 

The Commons sat silent and uneasy under the lash of 
his tongue, waiting for the final explosion. At last it 
came. " I think it my duty," cried the Protector, " to 
tell you that it is not for the profit of these Nations, nor 
for common and public good, for you to continue here 
any longer. And therefore I do declare unto you that 
I do dissolve this Parliament." 

From 1654 to 1656 Cromwell ruled without a Parlia- 
ment. Order throughout the country was kept up by 
means of major-generals, each set over some piece of the 
country, with power to exercise martial law. These 
officials excited great anger and bitterness. They re- 
minded the people too strongly of the time when the army 
had had the upper hand, and their short, rough way of 
dealing with culprits was hotly resented. "Silly mean 
fellows," says Mrs Hutchinson, " who . . . ruled according 
to their wills, by no law but what seemed good in their 
own eyes." 

A Second Parliament met in 1656, when the Humble 
Petition and Advice reaffirmed Cromwell's authority. 
He was made Protector for life ; allowed the power of 
naming his successor ; and promised a large yearly revenue. 
His power was at its height, and he put on some of the 
ceremony of kings. But though fineries might distract 
him for the minute, his aims were too wide for him to be 
dazzled for long by mere show. At heart he was still the 

D 



50 In Stewart Times 

plain, practical soldier, with an instinct for government, 
and a passion for duty. 

In foreign affairs his genius shone at its highest. The 
Dutch concluded an alliance with England ; Spain and 
France began to woo her friendship. The credit of the 
country abroad had sunk into nothing under the first two 
Stewarts, but Cromwell's brilliant statesmanship soon 
made a vast difference here. Victory after victory made 
England's name famous on the Continent. Blake's 
victories at sea were strengthened by triumphs on land, 
won by England and France allied against Spain. Before 
Cromwell died he had the proud satisfaction of seeing 
England recognised abroad as a country of renown and 
importance, instead of being treated with the contempt that 
had been her portion since the death of Elizabeth. In the 
midst of busy and harassing schemes for still greater efforts 
on the Continent, Cromwell was struck down by a severe 
illness. He struggled fiercely to throw it off ; for he had 
lived with zest, and was unwilling to die. But this time it 
was a losing battle that he fought, and he died on the 3rd 
of September 1658. The influence of his strong spirit, even 
after death, was so vital that it was some time before the 
nation fully realised that his life had ended. Richard 
Cromwell succeeded as quietly as if he had been the heir 
of a king. But his attempt at government, short as it 
was, made it very plain that Cromwell had only held his 
position by his genius : that none lesser than a Cromwell 
could hope to hold the nation in check. Quietly and 
naturally the country went back to the old order of 
things. Though it might seem to a careless onlooker 
that affairs were just as they had been before the Pro- 
tectorate, they were really very different. If Cromwell's 
power had been fleeting, it had nevertheless held imperish- 
able qualities, which had been absorbed by the country. 



Oliver Cromwell 51 

There was a very real and permanent change in the people. 
It was less than two hundred years since the great Eliza- 
beth had passed away. But in that short time the nation 
had suffered a complete transformation, and in two 
generations the race had altered enormously. On nearly 
every point public opinion had changed. The Civil War 
had caused the terrible death of a king ; but it also 
caused the birth of the nation as a body of thinking men. 

Cromwell was buried in Westminster Abbey with magnifi- 
cent state, though not with general approval. Evelyn notes 
curtly in his diary : " September 3rd died that arch rebell, 
called Protector." There were many who shared the 
opinion, and as soon as Cromwell was dead, criticism that 
had so far skulked past in a cloak, now showed a bare face. 
He who had been so extolled became bitterly reviled. Two 
years later his bod}^ was torn from its grave and exposed 
to every sort of ignominy. Five years went by, and 
again public opinion swung back so far that Pepys, 
writing in his diary, observed : "It is strange how 
everybody do nowadays reflect upon Oliver, and commend 
him, what brave things he did, and made all the neighbour 
princes fear him, while here a prince [Charles II.], come in 
with all the love and prayers and good liking of his people, 
who have given greater signs of loyalty and willingness to 
serve him with their estates than ever was done by any 
people, hath lost all so soon, that it is a miracle what 
way a man could devise to lose so much in so little time." 

Unhappy Stewarts ! So beloved, so revered ; so con- 
temned, so despised ! So unfitted for those stormy times, 
in which the mighty figure of Oliver Cromwell found its 
natural setting. 



CHARLES II 

" Pleasures are like the poppies spread > 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed j 
Or, like the snowfall in the river , 
A moment white, then melts for ever.' 1 

Burns 

THE short interim in which Richard Cromwell 
tried to hold the reins of government came to 
a sudden and inglorious end, and with infinite 
relief the son of the great Protector returned to the back- 
water of private life. His withdrawal showed that the 
army had again triumphed, and the nation trembled at 
the thought of what the next move might be, But within 
the ranks dissatisfaction already ran high, and Lambert's 
efforts at playing the part of a second Cromwell only ended 
in desertion and imprisonment. From Scotland, Monck 
was watching affairs with a calm, steady gaze. There were 
many guesses as to what he would do. But no one knew 
his intentions for a certainty. Then suddenly and silently, 
on 2nd January 1660, he moved towards the capital. A 
whisper ran round that he intended to announce a free 
Parliament, and all along the route citizens were frantic in 
their efforts to show delight. The general kept his in- 
tentions to himself, fearing lest discussion should spoil his 
plan ; and no one dared ask him questions. A soldier's 
duty was to obey orders, not to take part in the councils 
of his chiefs. So the troops moved onwards, a silent, well- 
ordered body, and none of those who watched them go by, 
could say what their real purpose might be. Nevertheless 

52 




Charles II 

John Greenhill 
Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



52 



Charles II 53 

hope ran high. In London bonfires were lighted and bells 
rung, and at night the streets were filled with men and 
women jostling one another in anxiety to share in the 
general excitement. " At Strand Bridge," says Pepys, 
" I could at one time tell thirty one fires ; and all along 
burning and roasting and drinking for rumps. There 
being rumps tied upon sticks and carried up and down. 
The butchers at the May Pole in the Strand rang a peal 
with their knives when they were going to sacrifice their 
rump. On Ludgate Hill there was one turning of the spit 
that had a rump tied upon it, and another basting of it. 
Indeed it was past imagination, both the greatness and 
the suddenness of it. At one end of the street you 
would fain think there was a whole lane on fire, and so 
hot that we were fain to keep on the further side." 
Monck's next step was to restore the Parliament of 1648. 
The " Rump," turned out by Cromwell, had of their own 
accord reassembled. To their amazement the excluded 
members arrived and entered without let or hindrance. 
Troops of soldiers guarded the entrance, set there, as 
perhaps the " Rump " had imagined, to keep out the very 
men now filing into their places ! Among the people the 
note of rejoicing rose higher than ever. Pepys was about, 
observing everything ; tasting each emotion in the air. " It 
was," he says, " a most pleasant sight to see the City from 
one end to the other with a glory about it, so high was the 
light of the bonfires. ' ' The delirium of the moment seemed to 
turn the heads of the nation. All sorts of extravagant hopes 
were current, and men talked with glib complacency about 
a golden age. The king was the " Pleasant May Flower " 
whose coming would make all England blossom anew ; 
and among the dozens of ballads launched at the moment 
there were none that erred on the side of expecting too 
little. He began to be regarded as a sort of demigod, and 



54 In Stewart Times 

he was talked of as if his arrival would instantly furnish a 
magic remedy for all the ills under which the nation 
groaned. 

Charles was fully alive to the feeling of the moment, 
and from France he issued a Declaration in which he 
promised a general pardon, full satisfaction to the army, 
and liberty of conscience to the nation. The " Rump," 
outvoted by the moderate party, was dissolved. A 
Convention Parliament took its place, and Charles was 
enthusiastically invited to take up his inheritance. He 
lost no time in responding to the summons, and in the 
month of May, 1660, he entered London, amid scenes of 
rejoicing which rivalled those on the day of Elizabeth's 
coronation. He entered from the Southwark side, and 
so on to London Bridge. 

" King Charles he now is landed to ease his subjects' moan, 
Those he faithful handed he takes them for his own. 
Oh, he is our Royal Sovereign King, and he is of the Regallist 

offspring, 
Peace and plenty with him he'll bring, and will set us free 
From all vexations and great taxations, 
Woe and misery ; 
And govern all these nations with great tranquillity} 1 

His progress was one long, gorgeous pageant. All along 
the way he found " the windows and streets exceedingly 
thronged with people to behold him, and the walls adorned 
with hangings and carpets of tapestry and other costly 
stuff ; and in many places sets of loud music ; all the 
conduits as he passed running claret ; and the several 
companies in the liveries as also the trained bands of the 
city . . . welcoming him with loyal acclamations." 

The slow progress of the procession was very unlike the 
impatient entry made by James I. The king was as 
affable as James had been surly. Smiles were every- 



Charles II 55 

where, and halts were many. Evelyn has left a picture of 
the gorgeousness of the scene in which " Lords and Nobles, 
clad in cloth of silver, gold, and velvet " tripped over one 
another in their eagerness to catch a glimpse of the " May- 
flower " king. Every house was crowded to the doorway. 
The " windowes and balconies," says Evelyn, " were well 
set with ladies ; trumpets, music, and myriads of people 
flocking, even so far as from Rochester, so as they were 
seven houres in passing the Citty, even from 2 in the 
afternoone till 9 at night." Pepys was among the 
throng, looking on with quick, observant eyes, noting the 
grandeur of Lord So-and-So's coat, spying out Sir Some- 
body's private indulgence in tippling, or commenting upon 
the careless behaviour of My Lady Great Riches. " After 
all this," he declares, " I can say, that, besides the pleasure 
of the sight of these glorious things, I may now shut my 
eyes against any other objects, nor for the future trouble 
myself to see things of state and showe, as being sure 
never to see the like again in this world." Among all 
this enthusiasm there was only one discordant note : 
the army alone refused to join in the general delight. 
From Blackheath the soldiers looked on, doubtful and 
uneasy, suspicious of any king boasting the name of 
" Stewart." 

In such a manner did Charles II. come into his own. His 
recall expressed the desire of the entire nation for peace 
and a settled government. It did not by any means in- 
dicate that the people were now ready to embrace that 
theory of Divine Right which had been one of the chief 
causes of the Civil War. It was merely a declaration 
that they meant to hold by the Constitution as it had been 
settled by the Long Parliament in 1640, and that they 
regarded the king as the traditional and natural up- 
holder of their national rights and liberties. Charles had 



56 In Stewart Times 

no desire to play the tyrant. But supposing he had ven- 
tured to show any inclination of the kind, he would very 
soon have found that he had to fight against a nation fully 
awake to its power of limiting the prerogative of any 
sovereign, daring to remove a tittle from the laws of the land. 
The new king was just thirty when his reign began. He 
had gone through extraordinary experiences. He had 
travelled in disguise, on foot and alone ; he had been so 
weary he knew not how to drag one foot after the other 
through the mud ; he had been so hungry that he had 
been " fain to eat a piece of bread and cheese out of a poor 
body's pocket." The tragical fate of his father was in 
itself a great and overwhelming reminder of the lengths to 
which a distracted nation might go. It seemed natural 
to expect that such a stormy upbringing would have made 
him harsh and serious; a just, severe ruler, quick at 
understanding the needs of his people, and slow in matters 
of self-indulgence. But on the contrary he seemed like 
a man who had never known a care. He was seldom 
serious, and never self-restrained. He came back deter- 
mined " never to set out on his travels again," but he was 
no statesman. He had no desire to govern his people, 
and he cared very little for the political importance of 
the country. The hot temper of the times into which he 
had been born, seemed to have resulted in creating in him 
a spirit which was little touched by any emotion. Nearly 
everything left him cold ; he neither loved nor hated with 
any intensity. His cynical attitude almost appeared like 
affectation : in reality it was the lukewarm temper of a 
man in love with the principle of letting things remain as 
they are. He gave liberally and often, but without sifting 
the inquiries of those who begged favours. The most 
persistent suitor won the day ; for his indolent nature 
made it hard for him to say " no." This dislike of grappling 



Charles II 57 

with things was a fatal weakness in his administration. 
Gradually it awakened the contempt of his ministers, and 
they took very little pains to hide their impatience with a 
monarch, who could end a debate upon a serious matter of 
bribery by " saying lazily : ' Why,' says he, f after all 
this discourse I now come to understand it ; and that is, 
that there can nothing be done in this more than is possible, 
and I would have these gentlemen do as much as possible 
to hasten the Treasurer's accounts and that is all,' which," 
adds Pepys scornfully, " was so silly as I never heard." 

The Convention Parliament was dissolved in the end 
of 1660, and early in the next year a new House met, the 
spirit of which was strongly hostile to the Puritans. 
Some called for sudden and severe vengeance upon the 
rebels ; and nearly all were loud in demanding that the 
severest laws should be passed against heresy. Charles 
was in a difficult position. He had been recalled by the 
Presbyterians no less than by the Cavaliers. Under a 
promise of good faith the army had quietly disbanded. 
By the Declaration of Breda he had proclaimed pardon to 
all save the regicides. He could not honourably agree to 
the cries for further punishment. Personally he was 
opposed to the general spirit of Puritanism. The memories 
of his sojourn in Scotland, lingered in his mind as those of 
a time when he had been the bored guest of a host zealous 
over matters about which he himself cared nothing. He 
hated the fanaticism which made the eating of mince pies 
a vice, or a game round a maypole a sin. He despised 
the mistaken zeal which shunned beauty, and turned 
talking into a whine. He saw all the littleness of the 
movement, and none of its greatness. He was quick to 
note foibles and absurdities, but he had not the depth of 
character either to discover or to estimate the worth of a 
spirit bent upon self-denial. He knew that many a man 



58 



In Stewart Times 



had made use of the cloak of religion to conceal villainies, 
and he carelessly concluded that this must be the way 
with most of its followers. He never set any value upon 
high virtues, such as honesty, purity, integrity; for he 
did not believe they existed. In his eyes every generous 
deed was done for a purpose, and every good word had 
its hidden meaning. No wonder he failed to understand 
a spirit, which in spite of much fanaticism and not a little 
absurdity, was a splendid and genuine endeavour after 
truth. 

But if Charles had no spiritual strain in his character, he 
was free from the cruelty of a persecutor, and the sharp 
measures suggested by the Cavalier Parliament of 1661 
drew from him a murmur of dissent. For now that the 
Royalists had once more got the upper hand they were 
quite ready to revenge themselves upon their old opponents. 
Fashionable dandies turned their wits upon them ; frivo- 
lous women made merry at their expense. They were the 
sport of every ballad-monger, and many a Court gallant 
must have heard and laughed over a popular song, sung 
at every street corner to the indignation of any chance 
passer-by who happened to think differently : 

" Fanatick Roundheads must go home agen, 
And humbly walk afoot to plow ; 
Nov domineer thus over honest men, 
But work to get their livings now ; 
Or if their minds be not inclined 
To leave their former knavery, 
A halter shall dispatch them all. 
And then the Gallows shall be made, 
The highest preferment of their trade, 
A joy full sight to seeP 

Charles made his protest, but the tide in the House was 
too strong for him, and in 1662 the Act of Uniformity was 



Charles II 59 

passed. This Act had a sudden and important influence. 
Nearly two thousand ministers chose to give up their 
livings rather than agree to its conditions, and as a result 
sectarians of all sorts, hitherto bitter and disunited, were 
joined in one strong body. Great discontent broke out 
at this early breach of faith of the conditions of the 
Treaty of Breda. " The Act of Uniformity," says Pepys, 
" is lately printed, which, it is thought will make mad 
work among the Presbyterians. People of all sides are 
much discontented." 

For the most part the ejected ministers behaved quietly 
and with dignity. The ever-ready Pepys resolved to go to 
St Dunstan's Church to hear the farewell sermon of Dr 
Bates, thinking no doubt he would hear plain speaking 
against the Government. But the sermon turned upon 
the " God of Peace," and it was neither bitter nor fault- 
finding. Just at the end there was one reference to the 
moment. " I do believe," said the speaker, " that many 
of you do expect that I should say something to you in 
reference to the time, this being the last time that possibly 
I may appear here. It is not my manner to speak anything 
in the pulpit that is extraneous to my text and business, 
yet though I shall say that it is not my opinion, fashion, 
nor humour, that keeps me from complying with what is 
required of us, but something after much prayer, discourse, 
and study yet remains unsatisfied and commands me 
herein." And so the sermon closed. The behaviour of 
most of the ejected ministers was marked by the same 
honourable and dignified conduct, with the result that they 
took with them into exile the affections and devotion of a 
large part of the nation. Clarendon's influence soon 
brought about even sterner regulations. Very severe 
laws, rapidly passed in the following years, made " Con- 
venticle " meetings unlawful ; and forbade all clergy turned 



60 In Stewart Times 

out by the Act of Uniformity, to teach or go within five 
miles of a town or place where they had held a charge. Cut 
off from the profession of teaching, the unfortunate men 
had hard work to make a living, and often enough they 
wandered miserably from coffee-house to coffee-house, where 
the baser sorts among them talked about their grievances, 
and snatched unworthily at the doles of sympathetic 
listeners. Within the ranks of every nation can always 
be found a smaller or larger body of discontented citizens ; 
but the result of the policy of " Clarendon's Code " was 
largely to increase the number of such malcontents, by 
giving them some solid reason for complaint. Charles 
himself, with his easy notions about religion and morals, 
could not be expected to understand how vital the question 
of " uniformity " might be in the eyes of some of his 
subjects, and no doubt he never realised the depth of the 
suffering inflicted by the new laws. Personal feeling made 
him prefer the Roman Catholic belief. But he was equally 
far from the temper of either the bigot or the mystic ; 
and he heard with complacency the ridiculous doctrine 
put forward by the philosopher Hobbes, to the effect that 
the will of the prince was " the standard of right and wrong, 
and that every subject ought to be ready to profess 
Popery, Mahometanism or Paganism, at the royal com- 
mand." Such a dangerous theory was not without its 
effect upon the nation ; and the frivolity and immorality 
which were fashionable at Court were soon copied in the 
country districts. No amount of money was enough for 
the wants of a king surrounded by shameless and greedy 
courtiers ; and funds that ought to have been spent in 
public affairs made only a drop in the sycophants' bucket. 
Street ballad after street ballad told of the gross indulgence 
of the times. The earnest temper, which had been general 
among the nation from the reign of Henry VIII. onward, 



Charles II 61 

seemed giving way to baser qualities of flippancy and self- 
seeking. The "Careless Gallant," published in 1675, 
reflects pretty well the fashionable life of the latter years 
of the reign of Charles : 

" Let us drink and be merry, dance , joke and rejoice, 
With Claret, and Sherry, Theorbo and voice, 
The changeable world to our joy is unjust, 
All treasure's uncertain ; then down with your dust, 
In frolicks depose your pounds, shillings and pence, 
For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence" 

Meanwhile the Commons looked on in despair, hoping 
against hope that the king would "retrench in a little 
time." But matters went from bad to worse in a Court 
where every man was out for what he could gain. Wren, 
meeting Pepysinthe street, spoke bitterly of the corruption 
of the Court, " where a man cannot get suitably without 
breach of his honour." The truth of his complaint was 
borne out by another, who deplored that " the King and 
Court were never in the world so bad as they are now for 
gaming, swearing, drinking, and the most abominable 
vices that ever were in the world." Such an example in 
high places gravely influenced for evil the general moral 
life of the country. 

In foreign politics Charles went upon the plan of support- 
ing France and opposing Spain ; " although," exclaimed 
Pepys, " we do all naturally love the Spanish and hate the 
French. ' ' He had no great desire to meddle in the matters 
of other countries, and he treated foreign affairs with the 
same easy carelessness that he showed in his home govern- 
ment. But his friendship with Louis XIV. was looked 
upon with suspicion by his subjects, and his ministers 
noted with anxiety that the power of the French sovereign 
was steadily growing. The prompt and diplomatic action 



62 In Stewart Times 

of Sir William Temple in completing the Triple Alliance 
in 1668 relieved the strain which the greedy schemes of 
Louis had roused. England, Sweden and Holland joined 
together in friendship ; the plans of France were for the 
time checkmated, and Louis was forced to sign the peace 
of Aix-la-Chapelle. The whole English nation rejoiced 
at the news. England had recovered her position on 
the Continent; France had been outwitted. But the 
delight of the people rested upon a false foundation, for 
already the English king was undermining the Treaty by 
dishonourable dealings. Two years later the underhand 
bargain was completed, and Charles put his name to the 
Secret Treaty of Dover (1670). By this deed he was 
placed in the contemptible position of outwardly keeping 
faith with his subjects in upholding the Triple Alliance, 
while in reality he was hand in glove with Louis XIV., 
and actually preparing to make war upon the Low 
Countries. Only one or two of the worst of his ministers 
knew of the treacherous compact. For the business 
had been carried out chiefly through Princess Henrietta 
of Orleans, sister-in-law to Louis, and famous at both 
Courts for her beauty and her brilliant wit. Immediately 
upon the conclusion of the Treaty, she died in circum- 
stances not altogether free from suspicion. 

The attack upon Holland was opened suddenly by both 
England and France at once. Charles had got the money 
he needed for the enterprise by dissolving Parliament and 
stopping payment to the goldsmiths, who had regular 
dealings with the Government. This act threw commerce 
into great confusion, for the goldsmiths could not carry 
on business, and many men were quite ruined. The 
reputation of the Exchequer was gone, and yet Charles 
reaped no benefit. "For," says Evelyn, "it did not supply 
the expense of the war, but melted away, I know not how." 



Charles II 63 

Before long, rumours about the Dover Treaty got afloat. 
Public suspicion was roused, and the people, who detested 
Popery as hotly as they hated Puritanism, flew into a 
fever of alarm. At this inauspicious moment Charles 
publicly declared an " Indulgence " towards all dissenters. 
The more excited section of the people looked upon the 
words as a blind to permit favour towards Roman Catholics, 
and Parliament promptly passed the Test Act 1673, 
shutting out from office all who would not deny the 
doctrine of Transubstantiation. This brought the Duke 
of York into the open as an avowed member of the Church 
of Rome. Public opinion rose strongly against him, and 
in 1678 a new event added fuel to the nation's alarm. It 
was believed there was a huge Popish Plot on foot, and 
Titus Oates, the informer, was the popular hero of the 
moment. Public affairs were in every man's mouth, 
and in the streets men chanted the latest song : 

" Good People, I pray, give ear unto me, 
A story so strange you have never been told, 
How the Jesuit, Devil and Pope did agree 
Our State to destroy, and Religion so old : 

To murder our King 

A most horrible thing. 

The truth of my story if any man doubt 
Whave witnesses ready to swear it all out' 1 

Hard upon this tumult the Habeas Corpus Act was 
passed (1679), reaffirming the liberties of the subject. 
Directly afterwards, the Exclusion Bill proposed to shut out 
the Duke of York from the succession. Politicians became 
bitterly divided. Charles was quite unable to contend with 
the struggle, so he contented himself with taking up the 
position of a looker-on, and waiting till the tide should turn. 
His own interest had, as usual, the first place in his 



64 In Stewart Times 

thoughts ; and neither the succession nor any other equally 
important issue could shake him from his resolve of so 
conducting himself that he " would never again set out on 
his travels." 

Titus Oates reached the height of notoriety, and then 
fell as suddenly as he had risen. His Majesty let the 
Commons know that he had been highly displeased by the 
disorderly and riotous behaviour of the election of 1681. 
They made no apology, but repeated their demand for 
the Exclusion Bill. Charles offered every other favour 
but this. The Commons refused to hear him, and in retort 
the king declared them dissolved. For once the nation 
was in sympathy with the king, and they praised him for 
a deed which, they declared, showed " natural feeling." 
The Whig party fell into discredit. The Rye House Plot 
(1683), which aimed at the assassination of both Charles 
and his brother, put the finishing touch to their mis- 
fortunes, and the Court party rode into power on the 
waves of popular enthusiasm. The Duke of York re- 
appeared in English streets, and before long he ventured 
to take part again in public affairs. But though apparently 
matters were settled, there was a good deal of dissatis- 
faction beneath the surface. Soon the Duke pressed 
for public acknowledgment of his claims. Halifax 
urged the king to consult with the Commons ; Rochester 
clamoured for still further repudiation of the Exclusion 
Bill. To his despair, Charles found himself in the position 
he most detested. He was called upon to decide between 
several parties, and the trend of his character and the 
whole habit of his life made him abhor the responsibility. 
He hesitated and considered, considered and hesitated. 
He promised everybody satisfaction, but he did not give 
a definite answer to any single individual. One minute 
ue said he would summon the Commons ; the next he 



Charles II 65 

declared that nobody should persuade him to do anything 
of the kind. He promised to uphold the Duke of York ; 
he declared he had the best of good- will towards Rochester; 
he vowed he would stand by Halifax. But in the midst 
of all these assertions he did nothing. Then suddenly 
death came upon him, and he died after an illness of two 
or three days. His end came as a shock to the nation, 
for he had a splendid physique and was unaccustomed to 
illness. All sorts of suspicions began to be noised abroad ; 
it was confidently asserted that he had been poisoned. 
Some laid the guilt at the door of the queen ; others 
blamed one of the physicians in attendance. These wild 
and unfounded assertions speedily found their way into 
the current catch-songs, notably in the " Swearers 
Chorus " : 

" There was a monstrous Doctor. 
This Doctor had no peer, 
A Rogue from his cradle, 
And bred to lie and swear. 
And a-Swearing we will go, will go, will go, 
A -Swearing we will go."- 

The terrible suddenness of the event roused Evelyn to 
one of his rare moments of eloquence. " I can never 
forget," he writes, " the inexpressible luxury and pro- 
fanenesse, gaming and all dissoluteness . . . which, this 
very se'n night, I was witnesse of, the King sitting and 
toying with his Mistresses ... a French boy singing 
love-songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about twenty of 
the greate courtiers and other dissolute persons were at 
Basset round a large table, a bank of at least £2,000 in 
gold before them. . . . Six days after was all in the 
dust." 

A man of many parts, Charles wasted his life in vain 

E 



66 In Stewart Times 

and easy living. His keen sense of self-preservation kept 
him from being forced into open contest with the Commons, 
so that he never attempted to rule either as a despot or as 
a tyrant. But his personal character debased him in the 
eyes of his people. He had unique opportunities for 
making his name glorious in history, in that he came to the 
throne at the call of an eager nation. But his self-indulg- 
ence was at once his fetish and his doom. It may be 
said, with Evelyn, that " he was a Prince of many virtues, 
and many great imperfections." A scrutiny of his 
character leaves as its chief impression that here was a 
man who, for the sake of his passions, abandoned the 
heritage he ought to have made splendid among the 
records of the nation. 



JAMES II 

" If you trap the moment before it is ripe, 
The tears of repentance you'll certainly wipe, 
But, if once you let the ripe moment go, 
You can never wipe off the tears of woe." 

Blake 

JAMES, DUKE OF YORK, succeeded to his brother's 
crown so quietly that it might have been imagined 
there had never been either Test Act or Exclusion 
Bill. This was due partly to the suddenness of the 
death of Charles, and partly to the fact that James 
was on the spot at the moment. He lost no time 
in hastening from the death chamber of his brother to 
the chief Ministers of State, to whom he at once declared 
his intention of ruling the people in clemency and righteous- 
ness. He complained he had been misrepresented as aiming 
at undue power, and he vowed he would " endeavour to 
maintain the Government, both in Church and State, as 
by Law established . . . and that he would never depart 
from the just rights and prerogatives of the Crown." 
These promises lessened the suspicions of the lords, and 
they resolved that the new king should be instantly 
proclaimed. This was at once done, and before the 
nation at large was fully alive to the fact that Charles 
was no more, the heralds had solemnly announced the 
accession of the Duke of York. 

The new monarch was above fifty years of age. Any 
traits of character were long since fixed and unalterable. 
The persecution of which he had been an object had soured 
67 



68 In Stewart Times 

his already bitter disposition, and sharpened the edge of his 
natural cruelty. He could look unmoved on the agony 
of others, and seemed even to take a spiteful pleasure in 
suggesting new and subtle torments. After the battle 
of Sedgemoor, his near kinsman, the Duke of Monmouth 
— hunted, beaten, desperate — was brought before him. 
Bound and wild-eyed the rebel faced his inflexible 
sovereign. He had been sentenced, justly enough, to pay 
for his insurrection with his head. James had not the 
smallest intention of softening the sentence. Yet with 
refined malice he called his unhappy nephew to him, so 
that he might listen to his undignified prayers for life at 
any price. Then, when the prisoner had thoroughly ex- 
hausted and lowered himself, the king dismissed him coolly 
and in silence. Such was the sovereign who now stepped 
into the place of the affable Charles. 

The Court party welcomed the accession of the new 
monarch with extravagant joy. But the selfish temper of 
the sovereign soon made itself felt, and many who had 
taken gifts from Charles found the day of their harvest 
ended. James was free from the worst of the voluptuous 
vices which had ruined the easy-going Charles, and his 
influence at once raised the moral standard among his 
officials. He was openly and passionately attached to 
his religion, though he made the most solemn promises 
that he would allow all men to worship as they pleased. 
But experience had taught the nation to put little trust 
in the word of a Stewart, and they hesitated to 
believe any tale of tolerance. Their doubts were before 
long justified, and the country was horrified by news 
of the unspeakable cruelty shown to the Covenanters. 
The stern, dogged temper of the Scot held its own, even 
in the face of mutilation and death. Martyrdom in- 
spired martyrdom ; young and old alike showed magni- 



James II 69 

ficent courage and persistence. Claverhouse threatened, 
condemned, executed. He was a splendid soldier, but a 
merciless persecutor, and he was determined to enforce his 
orders. But in spite of his severity he found himself, 
after countless atrocities, as far as ever from shaking the 
faith of a nation bent upon enduring anything rather than 
becoming apostates. News of their fierce resistance was 
sent to James. The tidings did not rouse in him any 
spark of admiration for so devoted a race, and the perse- 
cution was carried on with increasing severity. 

In the first eagerness of their welcome the Commons 
had voted James a sum of nearly two millions a year for 
life, so that by this means he was practically freed from the 
check of keeping their good- will. There was no need for 
him to follow the easy-going policy of Charles by yielding 
for the sake of getting supplies. The resources placed at 
his disposal freed him from unpleasant obligations, and 
left him full opportunity for carrying out any personal 
policy he chose to adopt. His burning ambition was to 
make a figure abroad, and for this purpose he was not 
above intriguing with Louis. But he hated the position 
of being under the control of the French monarch, and for 
a time he held aloof. Louis soon saw through the motive 
of this coldness, and he knew he could afford to wait. 
" Le roi, mon frere est fier" he said shrewdly to his 
minister, " mais il aime assez les pistoles de France" 
Louis' guess was right. French gold soon drew the 
English king. Expenses had mounted up in dealing 
with Scotland ; in suppressing Monmouth's rebellion ; 
and in satisfying the demands of the queen (Anne 
Hyde). These made serious inroads upon the king's large 
revenue. If he meant to pursue any militant policy 
abroad there was but one remedy, and like Charles he 
gave way to the indignity of receiving secret supplies from 



70 In Stewart Times 

Louis. Before long these negotiations began to be sus- 
pected, and a sense of uneasiness crept over the nation. 
The atrocious cruelty, with which James had permitted 
Judge Jefferies to visit his vengeance upon the followers of 
Monmouth, was an ominous object lesson to the country. 
If these things were done in the green tree, what would be 
done in the dry ? Neither mercy nor justice was to be 
expected from the drunken, ferocious judge, who rolled 
into court, " inflamed and staring like one distracted." 
Never did greater bully sit in the place of judgment. His 
savage looks were enough to frighten prisoners out of their 
senses. " His voice," says a contemporary, " was like 
the thunder of the day of judgment . . . and nothing 
ever made men tremble like his vocal inflictions. He 
loved to insult and was bold without check." 

It was once remarked about a certain prisoner that he 
was a trimmer. " A trimmer," roared the judge. " I 
have heard much of that monster but never saw one," 
and he ordered him to stand forth. Scared and trembling, 
the unhappy victim was only too glad to escape with 
nothing worse than words. Later, when one of his friends 
asked him how he had come off, he replied fearsomely : 
" I am escaped from the terrors of that man's face which I 
would scarce undergo again to save my life, and I shall cer- 
tainly have the frightful impression of it as long as I live." 
Such was the man upon whom James lavished favour, 
raising him finally to the high office of Lord Chancellor. 

The fancied security of his position soon increased in 
the king the Stewart tendency towards despotism which 
Charles II. had been wise enough to lay by. The army had 
been steadily increased ; and James believed he held it 
in his grasp. He began to make plans for the overthrow 
of the Habeas Corpus Act, which he looked upon as an 
injury against the rights of a king. His ideas about the 



James II 71 



prerogative of monarchs rested mainly upon the doctrines 
of Hobbes, who maintained that the king was " sole legis- 
lator, and supreme judge of controversies " ; who alone had 
power "to choose magistrates, counsellors, commanders, 
and all other officers and ministers ; and to determine 
of rewards and punishments, honour and order." The 
king was now bent upon putting this doctrine into practice, 
and with rank madness he demanded a repeal of the Test 
Act. No excuses can be found for this foolish proceeding. 
James was no stripling in the hands of unwise counsellors. 
He was a man in middle life. He had had every oppor- 
tunity of studying and understanding the temper of the 
Commons. In his heart he must have been aware that he 
was behaving in a manner likely to bring about his ruin, 
since the sores of the nation were not yet healed, and to 
open them again might cause a death struggle. And 
was it likely that James would fare better than his father, 
if the matter came to grips ? Would a sovereign, so con- 
temptible that he was openly insulted in a popular song, be 
able to hold his own against a united and determined nation ? 

Perhaps some fleeting idea of the direction in which he 
was drifting may have crossed the king's mind. If it 
did, he at once and contemptuously dismissed it, to pursue 
more keenly than ever his fatal personal policy. His 
theory that the king was beyond legal control was sup- 
ported by his servile judges. " The new, very young Lord 
Chief Justice Herbert," says Evelyn, " declared on the 
bench that the government of England was entirely in 
the King; that the Crown was absolute; . . . that he 
could pardon all offences against the Law . . . and why 
could he not dispense with them." On these grounds the 
king abolished the Test Act, at which, Evelyn remarks 
quaintly, " Everyone was astonished." 

Surprise, however, soon gave way to indignation, when 



72 In Stewart Times 

it was found that by holding out the bait of a general in- 
dulgence towards every shade of creed, James was making 
a bid to join the Catholic and sectarian bodies into one 
against the Episcopalians. 

To enforce his will, he unlawfully revived the Court of 
High Commission, after which, in 1688, he suddenly issued 
a second Declaration of Indulgence, ordered to be read from 
every pulpit in the land. This unconstitutional act roused 
loud opposition, and Nonconformists were as eager as 
Episcopalians in demanding resistance. No favours of 
religious liberty were to be considered for a moment, when 
their purchase hung upon civil tyranny. James was 
dogged ; the people were equally so. The Seven Bishops 
took upon their shoulders the responsibility of refusal to 
read what the king had ordered. Then came the trial, at 
which they were acquitted. All England listened for the 
verdict, and at the news a great shout went up. Bells 
pealed and bonfires blazed, all of which " was taken very 
ill at Court," where the king looked on, muttering and 
grumbling to himself. 

In the midst of this excitement a little prince had been 
born, but the people were so inflamed with suspicion that 
they refused to believe that the child was really the son of 
James. Great tumults followed, and the nation decided 
to invite William of Orange to bring a Dutch army into 
England to summon a tree Parliament. The tidings 
threw James into alarm, and he made wild and rapid con- 
cessions. But the moment for making terms had gone by. 
The band of self-seeking, greedy courtiers melted away 
like a bubble, and the king, who a while since had been 
the centre of a servile, smooth-spoken throng, suddenly 
found himself very desolate, and quite without friends. 

In his despair he thought of his old ally, Louis, and after 
hesitating as long as he dared he secretly fled to France, 



James II 73 

His flight relieved the strain in the country, and made a 
settlement possible. The people were at one in their good- 
will towards the Prince and Princess of Orange ; religious 
and political differences were forgotten, and with one accord 
they begged William to come over to occupy the seat of 
government. By his ill-considered departure James had 
abdicated the throne. Even those who inclined towards a 
belief in the divine rights of kings gave William a welcome, 
defending their action upon the ground that since the 
king had chosen to resign his office he had no further power 
over his subjects. " Had our sovereign remained among 
us," they said, " we were ready, little as he deserved our 
love, to die at his feet. Had he, when he quitted us, 
appointed us a regency to govern us with vicarious 
authority during his absence, to that regency alone should 
we have looked for direction. But he has disappeared, 
having made no provision for the preservation of order 
or the administration of justice. . . . He who was the 
magistrate, after long abusing his powers, has at last 
abdicated them. The abuse did not give us a right to 
depose him ; but the abdication gives us a right to consider 
how we may best supply his place." 

In 1689 the Declaration of Right was drawn up, and 
in due course William III. became king. The " Glorious 
Revolution " had accomplished its work without violence 
or bloodshed. The nation was at one in realising that 
nothing mattered so vitally as a settled constitution, in 
which the rights of the people and the rights of the monarch 
should be defined with equal precision. A hundred years 
had passed since the English had upheld their national 
independence against the Armada of Spain. In the 
century that had gone, the battle had been transferred 
from foreign considerations to intimate domestic problems. 
Now, after many ups and downs, firm ground had been 



74 In Stewart Times 

reached, and the nation stood victorious, holding in one 
hand the token of religious freedom, and in the other the 
symbol of civil liberty. 

Meanwhile James had reached St Germains, where he 
was courteously and generously treated by Louis. Every 
respect was shown him. So that he soon became absorbed 
in the novelty of his new home, where he found neither 
anxiety nor opposition. Here he lived, a constant menace 
to William, against whom he soon began to make plots. 
But though Louis promised help, and though many of the 
English were soon ready to second any Jacobite rising, 
the great bulk of the nation held firmly to the House of 
Orange. And even in these last and desperate ventures, 
James showed himself so bent upon exerting absolute 
power, that he lost the sympathy of many who dared not 
put trust in his promises of clemency and good faith. 
The news of his death in 1701 was received with relief by 
the English people. His hold on the imagination of the 
public had long since loosened, and his death roused no 
great emotion. " The death of King James," observes 
Evelyn, " happening on the fifteenth of this month 
[September], put an end to that unhappy Prince's troubles, 
after a short and unprosperous reign, indiscreetly attempt- 
ing to bring in Popery, and make himselfe absolute in 
imitation of the French . . . which the Nation would not 
endure." Thus his life ended in exile and ignominy. 
Yet he might have ruled wisely and well. For he had 
excellent business-like qualities, fair abilities, and he was 
persevering and painstaking. But he was headstrong 
and callous, and no cruelty held him back from carrying 
out his own whims. Common-sense and sympathy were 
alike unknown to him, and he lacked both the affability 
and the prudence which had successfully prevented 
Charles II. from falling into desperate dilemmas. 



WILLIAM III AND MARY 

" We have trees in our town that bear fruit in winter -. .- . / am 
one of those winter plums, and though I taste a little sour, yet I am 
sound at heart.' 1 Arber's Reprint 

" His wish by hers was echo'd."- 

Tennyson 

THE hasty and bloodless revolution of 1688 
ended abruptly after the arrival of William of 
Orange in London. His coming thither had been 
delayed by the hesitation of James, but as soon as the 
Stewart monarch had fled to France, William marched at 
once upon the capital. It was more than a month since 
he had landed at Torbay, on 5th November, and public 
jubilation, strung to its highest pitch by the delay, now 
broke out into wild enthusiasm. The streets were alive 
with onlookers. Every window had its ribbons, and its 
group of eager faces ; the air rang with the shouts of a 
thousand voices. Were they not welcoming a ruler who 
came to them as a deliverer ? Could any honour be too 
great for a prince who had snatched them from the 
tyranny of James ? " To such a strange temper, unheard 
of in former times," says Evelyn, " was this poore nation 
reduced." 

But on this December morning the citizens were far 
too excited at the idea of beholding their new ruler to 
spend time upon thoughts of " former times." Soon a 
shout told that the prince was in sight. The whispering, 

75 



76 



In Stewart Times 



joyous citizens dropped their chatter for a moment, and 
strained forward in order not to miss a detail of the 
pageant. A glance at William's long, thin, solemn face 
damped their first outbursts. With his lank cheeks and 
dark skin he looked like a foreigner, in itself " a sort of 
crime in English eyes." The shouts grew a little fainter, 
as men paused to turn and inquire of their neighbours 
an opinion of the prince just gone by. The women, no 
doubt, answered that they had seen nothing but royal 
Mary, the best and sweetest of princesses. But the 
crowd in general was vastly disappointed. This sense 
of chagrin lasted throughout the reign. In spite of 
his many splendid qualities, William was never a favourite 
with the nation. With Mary it was quite different. As the 
daughter of James II. her appearance as an English queen 
was natural and fitting. But it was not only this sense of 
satisfaction that made her welcome. Her gentle courtesy, 
and her amiability, won the love of everybody. Her 
tact, her goodness, shone all the brighter beside the rough 
curtness of the king. She was adored at Court, and 
idolised by the people. William's native brusqueries 
were often forgiven for her sake, and many a time she 
charmed away ill-feeling the king had unfortunately 
roused. William's public behaviour towards her was 
often wanting in niceties of politeness ; but he loved her 
with a deep and boundless passion, and her death in 1694 
overwhelmed him with grief. What were all his triumphs 
of statesmanship compared with the loss of so beloved 
a wife ? He wandered about, restless and miserable, so 
that even the most unsympathetic retainer felt a pang 
at the sorrow of his sovereign. Seven years later, when 
William himself had passed away, reverent hands removed 
from his neck a black ribbon, on which hung a ring and a 
lock of Mary's hair. Such was the pure devotion between 




William III 

Jan Wyck 
Photo W, A. Mansell. & Co, 



7 6 



William HI and Mary 77 

these two, who now came to the throne of England, amid 
the jubilation of an entire nation. 

Naturally enough the excess of enthusiasm led to a 
reaction. William's short manners offended some of the 
ablest ministers. His devotion to business disgusted his 
courtiers ; and his stern temper offended the gay mob of 
women, used to bandying idle nothings with their sovereign. 
The Stewarts had always been ready enough to listen to 
suitors greedy for self-advancement. But to all such 
William gave a deaf ear, and he did not hide his disgust at 
flattery. His own nature was strenuous, and he expected 
everyone else to be equally zealous. His plans were often 
unknown even to the queen, who accepted this trait of 
character with her usual serenity. But the courtiers were 
not satisfied so easily, and by the day of the coronation, 
in April 1689, public indignation had found a voice. Many 
coarse lampoons were successfully launched against the 
new sovereign, who was now sneeringly hailed in a ditty, 
with the contemptuous refrain : 

" A dainty fine king indeed." 

Before long the followers of King James began to talk 
of usurpation, and soon the sterner religious sects found 
cause for complaint in Queen Mary's gay mood. Sermons 
were preached against this undutiful daughter, merry in the 
midst of her father's misfortunes. Evelyn records bitingly 
that, " she came into Whitehall laughing and jolly, as to a 
wedding, so as to seem quite transported. . . . She smiled 
upon and talk'd to everybody, so that no change seemed 
to have taken place at Court since her last going away." 

Among the Ministers of State it had been proposed to 
invest Mary with the right of government, and only install 
William as Regent. This plan was promptly refused 
by the prince, who said sharply that he would never be 



78 



In Stewart Times 



his " wife's gentleman usher." The discussion ended by 
granting the kingship to William and Mary jointly, though 
the real executive power was given to the king, by a clause 
in the Bill of Rights, which asserted that " the sole and 
full exercise of the regal power be only in, and executed 
by, the said Prince of Orange." 

In this way began the reign of a sovereign of whom 
Hallam observes, " it must ever be an honour to the English 
Crown that it was worn by so great a man." Unfortun- 
ately much of William's splendid ability was hidden from 
the people of the time. On the other hand, his uncourtly 
manners and petty traits of character roused not a little 
bad feeling, so that throughout the first part of his reign 
there was a good deal of discontent in the country. The 
Commons were anxious to please, but they did not intend 
to part with one jot of the power they had gained since the 
great Parliament of 1640. They granted the king supplies 
for life, but they made them dependent upon yearly 
renewal. This safeguard in itself ensured an annual 
Parliament, but, to make doubly sure, a new Bill called 
the Mutiny Act was passed in 1689, placing military law 
upon the same renewable footing. Henceforward the 
sovereign would be forced to summon Parliament once a 
year in order that fresh supplies might be granted, and the 
power of maintaining discipline in the army reaffirmed. 
These new regulations greatly strengthened the hands of 
the Commons, and marked one more step in the direction 
of our modern political system. 

William set about straightening the affairs of the king- 
dom with wisdom and precision. He was a born states- 
man, and he honourably and sincerely wished to place 
the government of England upon a secure and just basis. 
But the nation was to him a foreign nation, just as he was 
to the people a foreign prince. They had no affection for 



William III and Mary 79 

him, nor he for them. He enjoyed the power that the 
kingship of England gave him, but any advantages he 
reaped from his position were more than balanced by the 
benefits he brought the nation. 

His ability soon roused foes, and the number of his 
enemies grew rapidly. Scarcely was he on the throne 
when there were schemes for the restoration of James. 
These plots left William's fine temper untouched with 
either bitterness or resentment. His only reply was to 
take every possible measure to secure the crown he had 
sworn to uphold. The claims of his own small country 
made many demands upon his affection, and he dearly 
longed to have leisure to attend to them. But he resolutely 
set aside Dutch affairs, till he had settled more pressing 
matters. Scotland and Ireland both offered him steady 
resistance, and for the time being he had more than enough 
to do. The worst stain upon his government occurs in his 
relations with the northern kingdom, and a cloud yet hangs 
over the sinister tragedy at Glencoe. The real motive for 
that dark and treacherous deed must for ever remain a 
matter of conjecture, though it is almost certain that 
private revenge lay at the heart of it. The odium of 
the crime undoubtedly belongs to others rather than to 
William, though he cannot be wholly freed from guilt in 
the matter. Clan jealousy made the cruel Earl of 
Breadalbane, and the revengeful Master of Stair, rejoice 
secretly at the delayed submission of the Macdonalds of 
Glencoe. Trickery was employed ; documents were kept 
back ; and a foul scheme set on foot for taking an unholy 
vengeance. The matter was explained to William, but 
only carelessly and in general terms. He set his name to 
a paper declaring that if Mac Ian of Glencoe and his 
tribe could be separated from the rest, it would be well 
as a " vindication of public justice to extirpate that 



80 In Stewart Times 

set of thieves." Macaulay upholds the probable view 
that William no doubt looked upon the clan as a knot of 
wild highwaymen, stained by many crimes, who acknow- 
ledged no law, and were a pest to the country generally. 
In this case their extermination would be no more than 
an act of public justice, and any ruler might place his name 
against an order for the punishment of wilful outlawry. 

The details of the terrible tragedy that followed are well 
known. At the beginning of February 1692 the troops of 
Argyle entered the valley on terms of peace. Twelve days 
later they left it with reeking hands, branded with the 
odium of treachery and murder. The news did not reach 
London for many months, and then only scantily and un- 
confirmed. For as soon as their wicked plot had been 
carried out, Breadalbane and Stair began to be scared. 
The horror must be hushed up at all costs, and above all 
William must not know. Happily he was in Holland; mean- 
while the affair would die down. Weeks afterwards vague 
rumours came to the king's ears, and he ordered the Earl 
of Hamilton to make an inquiry. Then Hamilton died, 
and the matter was thrust aside and forgotten, without 
William ever grasping exactly what had happened. For 
in those days the Highlands of Scotland hung vaguely 
in the public mind as a vast, uncivilised, distant region. 
" The Londoner of those days," says Macaulay, " . . . was 
not more moved by hearing that some Highland thieves 
had been surprised and killed, than we are by hearing that 
a band of Amakosah cattle stealers has been cut off, or 
that a bark full of Malay pirates has been sunk. . . . There 
had been a night brawl, one of the hundred night brawls 
between the Macdonalds and the Campbells ; and the 
Campbells had knocked the Macdonalds on the head." 

Meanwhile in Ireland, as well as in Scotland, there was 
the greatest unrest and discontent. The exiled monarch 



William III and Mary 81 

took advantage of the moment, and after a good deal 
of hesitation he resolved to cross to Kinsale and try his 
fortunes. The Catholics welcomed him warmly. Soldiers 
and arms were put at his disposal. But James II. 
was no general, and he hopelessly bungled matters. 
Londonderry fell before the English, after a long and 
terrible siege. Then came the battle of the Boyne (1690). 
In this encounter, William himself took part, and his 
brave bearing made the nervous fear of James seem 
all the more despicable. With the high serenity of real 
courage William dashed wherever danger was thickest. 
But James kept on the outskirts, and watched from 
afar, trembling, and white with panic. When the soldiers 
of William derided the valour of their enemies, the Irish 
retorted hotly : " Change kings with us and w T e will fight 
you again." The battle decided the supremacy of William 
and established his superb powers as a general. It also 
made manifest the weakness and cowardice of James. 
Besides this it was a further triumph for the passionate, 
militant Protestantism, so characteristic of the Stewart 
and later Tudor periods. Chapmen were everywhere 
busy offering the latest doggerel of the day, amongst 
which was the Londonderry chorus : 

" Protestant Boys, both valiant and stout , 
Fear not the strength and power of Rome, 
Thousands of them are put to the rout, 
Brave Londonderry tells 'urn their doom^- 

Scotland and Ireland being for the time settled, William 
turned his attention to the Continent, where Louis XIV. 
was still trying to overstep his rightful powers. Three 
months after the last cry of agony had pierced the night 
air of the valley of Glencoe, the English met and defeated 
the French in a great sea battle off La Hogue (1692). 



82 In Stewart Times 

This advantage was followed by land defeats at Steinkirk 
and Landen, but William's deep courage never flagged, 
and he cheerfully urged on his men to fresh and more 
heroic efforts. It seemed a miracle that the army could 
hold out so long against Louis' great troops, but perse- 
verance met with its reward in 1695, when William's men 
captured Namur. 

The great Treaty of Ryswick followed in 1697, and 
William proved for ever the wisdom of the daring policy 
to which he had devoted his life. By this peace Louis 
acknowledged William as King of England and declared 
he " would not countenance, in any manner, any attempt 
to subvert or disturb the existing Government of England." 

This important agreement settled foreign affairs, and 
at the same time it greatly strengthened the power of 
the English Parliament. For Louis' acknowledgment 
of William meant that foreign nations showed their 
approval of the action of the Commons, in obeying the 
nation's call for the removal of their sovereign. James 
was for ever discredited, and the theory of Divine Right 
totally extinguished. The news of the alliance was re- 
ceived with wild excitement, so that even the dullest on- 
looker, on the day when the rumour first got abroad, must 
have caught some enthusiasm from the joyous crowds. The 
whole nation seemed at play, and the people laughed and 
sang like children. Newspapers had just begun to make 
their appearance, and a special sheet was hastily printed 
and offered for sale. William became a national hero, 
and his praises fell lavishly from every tongue. His 
return from the Continent was the signal for rapturous 
joy. The Bishop of Salisbury preached a " panegyric " at 
Whitehall. Every shop was closed in holiday, and London 
was thronged with country folk, pressing in to see the 
show. At night the streets were alive with songs and 



William HI and Mary 83 

laughter, and a magnificent display of fireworks lit up 
the blackness of the sky. Even the taciturn king showed 
emotion at the open joy of the people, who for the moment 
forgot everything else, save that here was the man who 
had checkmated the genius of the French king and 
added a new glory to England's name. 

Prosperity followed upon the steps of peace. Trade 
revived and increased rapidly. The East India Company 
was thriving ; and in 1694 the Bank of England had 
been established. Scotland, however, nursed a grievance, 
through the failure in 1698 of the Darien Scheme. This 
great enterprise had aimed at founding a colony of traders 
on the narrow isthmus joining North and South America. 
But the climate was ill-suited for Scots, used to severer 
conditions, and the plan ended in dismal failure. How- 
ever it was only one failure in the midst of many 
successes. Trade had gained a firm foothold, and every 
month strengthened its position. 

But though peace seemed to have settled upon the 
country, William's keen eye foresaw troubles on the 
horizon. Charles II. of Spain was old and feeble. On 
his death, Louis would almost certainly try to secure the 
crown for his son, and then the plight of England, with 
France and Spain leagued together under a single monarch, 
would be worse than ever. Two Partition Treaties tried 
to solve the difficulty, but, on the death of Charles, Louis 
soon broke his faith. Dissatisfaction again made itself 
felt, and the Tory party spoke with biting contempt of 
William's policy. All the hidden dislike of a sovereign 
who was a " foreigner " showed itself suddenly in a series 
of petty regulations. The king was not to leave England 
without asking leave of the Commons ; no ministers were 
to sit in the House of Commons ; judges were only to be 
sent away upon the agreement of the Lords and Commons. 



84 In Stewart Times 

This last regulation irritated William unduly — probably 
because it was the last straw. He declared he would not 
sign the Bill, and by so doing he unwisely put himself 
into direct opposition to the Government. In the midst 
of these quarrels the king fell ill. He had been flung from 
his horse, and though the injuries were not in themselves 
great they proved too much for him in his poor health. 
Anxiety, sorrow, and incessant work had long since taken 
toll, and he had no strength to resist the fever which set in. 
After a few days' illness he died, on 8th March 1702. 
" His end," says Macaulay, " was worthy of his life. . . . 
His fortitude was the more admirable because he was 
not willing to die." He yearned to see the finish of the 
new struggle just beginning in Spain, and to one of his 
friends he said wistfully : " You know that I never feared 
death ; there have been times when I should have wished it ; 
but, now that this great new prospect is opening before me, 
I do wish to stay here a little longer." But doctors were 
powerless to gratify his desire, and very soon all was over. 
His greatest triumph had followed after the Peace of 
Ryswick, but even then it had soon been darkened by 
clouds of discontent. He had the unhappy knack of 
always displaying his worst side, so that many of his 
actions were misjudged. None but his queen and a few 
friends knew how deep and true his nature was ; how he 
shrank from slander and injustice ; how heroically he 
struggled after high endeavours. His private virtues, and 
his genius as a statesman were alike undiscovered by his 
contemporaries, and it is only by later historians that he 
has been hailed as one of the greatest kings England has 
ever known. 



ANNE 

"As when a soul laments, which hath been blest. 
Desiring what is mingled with past years, 
In yearnings that can never be exprest 
By sighs, or groans, or tears ; 

Because all words, tho' culled with choicest art, 
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, 

Wither beneath the palate, and the heart 
Faints, faded by its heat." 

Tennyson 

THE accession of Queen Anne in 1702 was en- 
thusiastically hailed by the nation. The younger 
daughter of James II. by his wife, Anne Hyde, 
she had the merit of being thoroughly English. This 
alone made her popular. The greater part of the people 
had always looked upon William with the suspicion 
given toa" foreigner," and his very kindnesses towards 
them had often been accepted grudgingly. Anne herself 
had no love for her predecessor, and neither good sense 
nor loyalty had held her back from making her court 
in England a centre of opposition to the king in his life- 
time. Her efforts in this direction had been furthered by 
Churchill, afterwards the famous Duke of Marlborough, 
who never lost an opportunity of thwarting the monarch. 
William had good reason to feel uneasy about the good 
faith of Churchill, and the ill-feeling between them was 
fostered by military rivalry. William felt doubtful about 
giving too much power into the hands of a soldier whose 
honesty was uncertain ; and, on his side, Churchill was 

85 



86 In Stewart Times 

secretly jealous of the splendid military tactics born of 
William's genius. The breach was further widened by a 
suspicion that Anne was secretly agreeing to the restoration 
of the Stewart interest, in the person of James Edward 
Stewart, the Old Pretender. News of the intrigue came 
by degrees into the palace, rousing the flame of William's 
anger. Churchill and his wife were driven hastily from 
Court, and with them went the Princess Anne. The 
bitterness between William and Anne was too violent and 
too open to admit of any genuine reconciliation. Anne 
was completely in the hands of her companions. Acting 
upon their advice, she declared that she repented of her 
share in the Revolution, and made definite advances 
towards James. Her hostility affected so profoundly her 
sister, Queen Mary, that even in the hour of dying she 
refused to see her again. Mary's nature was so sweet 
and amiable, that her firmness on this occasion points 
the conclusion that Anne's conduct must have been 
tinged with the deepest treachery in order to inspire such 
steady anger. 

After the death of Queen Mary in 1694 William was 
obliged to recall the Princess Anne, though he must have 
found her presence in England a political embarrassment, 
as well as a personal annoyance. But he made heroic 
efforts to sink private emotions in the public good, and 
when he was dying he strongly advised the queen-elect 
to let Churchill manage the military affairs of the kingdom. 
Such self-forgetfulness may perhaps have caused some 
surprise in the heart of the narrow-minded princess, but 
it is more likely that she accepted it without question, 
and without understanding the generosity of the advice. 
Whether William had asked her or not, it is certain she 
would have let Churchill manage her affairs. For at the 
time of her accession she was so devoted to this statesman 



Anne 87 

that she was willing to let him have any and every 
power. 

William died ; Anne was crowned ; and three days 
later Churchill was made Captain-General of the Forces. 
His appointment happened to be a master-stroke of diplo- 
macy, though it is only fair to confess that in making it, 
Anne was guided entirely by her personal inclination. 
She gave him the position because she wanted him to have 
it, not from motives of statecraft. But it fortunately 
happened that her feelings'led her into doing what was 
by far the best thing for the country. For Churchill was 
a strong Tory, and the Tories,Jhitherto opposed to the war 
against France, were pacified by seeing a Tory general at 
the head of the army, while the Whigs did not care who 
led the troops, so long as the campaign was undertaken. 
So that all parties were fairly well pleased, and Anne had 
the satisfaction of finding herself popular with both politi- 
cal sections, as well as with the general mass of the people. 

Her own accomplishments were of the slightest. She 
had neither ability to form a policy of her own, nor tact to 
submit generously to the counsels of those best fitted to 
advise her. Her reign, nevertheless, has justly acquired 
great glory. But the illumination is due to the number 
of able men who adorned the epoch, rather than to any 
great qualities displayed by the queen. The reigns of 
Elizabeth and Anne both stand out in history as periods 
of great achievement ; though the royal influence exercised 
by the Tudor sovereign was hopelessly beyond the power of 
Queen Anne. Both monarchs earned the title of " Good." 
Elizabeth won the term because the people loved and 
revered her. It was given to Anne for quite different 
reasons. Anne's personality was not strong enough to 
awaken either love or hate in the nation. She was " good " 
because she was a pure and virtuous queen. But though 



88 In Stewart Times 

the term implies all this, in her case it also hints at 
mediocrity. 

Anne's commonplace disposition made her the prey of 
violent and ambitious characters, and at all times she was 
easily moved by feminine influence. Since girlhood she 
had been extremely friendly with Sarah Jennings, the wife 
of Churchill, and the two had carried on a warm, informal 
correspondence under the names of " Mrs Morley " and 
" Mrs Freeman," Anne using the former title and her friend 
the latter. This intimacy was continued with arrogance, 
and even with insolence, on the part of the hot-tongued, 
ardent wife of Churchill. But Anne was blind to the 
faults of her favourite, and meekly suffered at her hands 
indignities which she would have resented bitterly from 
others. Between Churchill and his wife was a bond of 
extreme affection, and the general largely relied for influ- 
ence with the queen upon the plans of the duchess. For 
some time all went well. Anne was extravagant in her 
bounty. She opened her private purse ; she showered 
rare gifts ; " Mrs Freeman " took everything eagerly, 
but she was never satisfied. She believed she was secure in 
Anne's affection, and gradually she began to show some of 
the contempt bred by too great familiarity. For a time 
Anne endured it patiently, then suddenly she grasped the 
fact that she was in the hands of a tyrant of her own 
making. She began to hate the friend she had hitherto 
adored. " Mrs Freeman " — a duchess since 1702 — found 
herself ousted by Abigail Hill (Mrs Masham), one of her 
own cousins, whom she had herself brought into Anne's 
notice. In vain she scolded, begged, implored ; Anne 
remained quite unmoved. " I remember," wrote the 
duchess passionately, " that a long time before this being 
with the Queen, to whom I had gone very privately by a 
secret passage, on a sudden this woman, not knowing I 



Anne 89 

was there, came in with the boldest and gayest air 
imaginable, but upon sight of me stopped, and immediately 
changing her manner and making a most solemn curtsey 
asked, ' Did your Majesty ring ? ' " 

Anne had been so obedient in the hands of the Marl- 
boroughs that for long the duchess could not understand 
that a lasting change had taken place. It was too much 
for her to believe that she, the beloved duchess, should be 
ousted from Court. Forgetting all decorum and self- 
respect, she passed through every stage of attack upon 
the queen, from ratings and scoldings to the most miserable 
grovellings. At last Anne refused to see her any more, and 
simply sent word that she must give up the gold key of her 
office. With a last explosion the duchess tore it from 
her person, and flung it to the duke to bear to the sovereign. 
Her downfall, which was thus complete, had in the be- 
ginning been hastened by certain petty little acts against 
her rival, Mrs Masham. Tradition asserts that at a State 
banquet the duchess contrived to spill a glass of water, as 
if by accident, over Mrs Masham's gown. The queen 
remarked the deed, and it pleased her very ill. " And 
so," wrote Voltaire, " from the trifling cause of a pair of 
gloves, which the Duchess refused the queen, and a glass 
of water, insolently spilt on the gown of Mrs Masham, 
the whole face of Europe was changed." 

Anne's lack of judgment was strongly shown in her 
dealings both with her statesmen and with the Church. 
She could be obstinate upon occasion, and she clung fiercely 
to the theory that she had the right to appoint her own 
ministers. In 1710 she suddenly determined to make 
the Duke of Shrewsbury Lord Chamberlain in the place 
of the Marquis of Kent. Without so much as mentioning 
the matter to any of her advisers, she pacified Kent with 
a dukedom and gave his office to Shrewsbury. This was 



go In Stewart Times 

a distinct challenge to the Lord Treasurer, Godolphin, 
and if he meant to raise an objection he would have 
done well to make it quickly and with vigour. He did 
neither; for in matters calling for prompt action, it was 
characteristic of Godolphin to hesitate about taking a 
definite side. He wrote to the queen, but in such a style 
that the letter only made her realise afresh, that having 
got her own way in this affair, it would be much easier in 
the future to gather round her statesmen whom she liked, 
rather than submit to those put forward by the Commons. 
Anne had triumphed, but she had done so at the expense 
of sacrificing public interest to private inclination. 

Only a little while before she had allowed herself to give 
way to a similar display of private emotion. It was 
upon the occasion of the famous Sacheverell trial. A 
sermon preached at St Paul's, in November 1709, by Dr 
Henry Sacheverell had roused a sudden and extraordinary 
tumult. The preacher had thundered against the prin- 
ciples of the Revolution ; he had let fly shafts against 
the Dissenters ; he had made bitter allusion to " Volpone," 
the well-known nickname of Godolphin. As a result of the 
address the Jacobite cause had been given a new impetus. 
The cry that the Church was in danger rallied a number 
of new followers, and London was quickly in a ferment. 
If the matter had been ignored it is probable it would soon 
have died down and been forgotten, like most other 
sermons. But it was published, and bought up greedily. 
The Whigs were full of rage. Godolphin was sore from 
the allusions to himself, and the whole party gnashed their 
teeth. They determined to impeach the rash preacher, 
not realising that by doing so they were giving him the 
very notoriety he desired. He was tried and found guilty, 
but the sentence passed upon him was so light that it was 
generally thought to be an acquittal. He was forbidden 



Anne 9 1 

to preach for three years ; but he still read the service, 
and it became the fashion to have him to perform at 
baptisms. By the actions of his opponents he had 
leapt into fame. Anne's delight was unbounded. At a 
moment when a judicious sovereign would have been at 
pains to keep from displaying personal bias she was openly 
enthusiastic for Sacheverell. In this she showed herself 
anything but prudent ; since it was surely imperative for 
her own interest, as well as for the safety of the nation, that 
the principles of the Revolution settlement of 1689 should 
be strictly upheld by the sovereign. It was in points 
like these that Anne showed the strain of her parentage, 
betraying as the grand-daughter of the Earl of Clarendon 
an indulgence in personal feeling such as often marks the 
pages of Clarendon's great " History." The street ballads 
of 1710 show very clearly the pitch to which the excite- 
ment had risen. The long drain of the war with France 
had caused a popular cry for peace. The Whigs, as the 
war party, were hotly and constantly blamed. Very 
unwillingly Anne had submitted to Marlborough's orders, 
appointing Whig ministers where she longed for Tory 
ones, but always with a blind sense of resentment against 
the purposeful general, who commanded so regally. One 
of the bitterest songs of the day, called " A Tory Pill to 
Purge Whig Melancholy," expressed the situation with 
frank bluntness. 

" King William on our knees we curse, and damn the Revolution. 
And to preserve the Nation's Peace we study its confusion ; 

With treacherous heart and double tongue, both parties we adhere to, 
Pray for the side we swear against and curse the side we swear to. 

That Queens may Parliaments dissolve, no doubt 'tis right and 

just, 
But we have found it out that now, because she may she must. 



92 In Stewart Times 

The bankrupt Nation to restore, and pay the millions lent, 
We'll at one dash wipe out the score with sponge of Parliament. 

If not we'll close with terms of Peace, prescribed by France and Rome, 
That war being huddled up abroad, may then break out at home" 

Anne's own desire was towards peace, for her natural 
disposition was kind and compassionate. When there 
seemed a prospect of a truce being signed she said heartily : 
" I am sure I long for peace : I hate this dreadful work 
of blood." Such being her inclination it must have 
afforded her deep content when the kingdoms of England 
and Scotland were formally united in 1707. This wholly 
admirable act was not brought about without a good 
deal of the popular resistance, which so often marks any 
change in the laws of a country. Blind to future benefits, 
a large portion of the Scottish people saw in the alliance 
nothing but humiliation for themselves and glory for 
England. They did not see the great development of 
trade that would follow ; the commercial benefits that 
would be theirs ; the stability which would be of advantage 
to both nations. They thought only of the loss of in- 
dividuality, and, although Scottish legislation was left un- 
touched, in all matters of a legal or ecclesiastical nature, 
the fact that henceforth the Scottish Parliament would be 
represented in the English assembly by forty-five com- 
moners and sixteen peers, seemed to many a Scottish 
crofter like deliberately selling his birthright. From the 
first moment of her reign the idea of such a union had been 
dear to Anne. The formal speech which she made upon 
the subject before the Parliament of 1710 no doubt repre- 
sented her own feelings, though the words had been 
furnished by one of her ministers : " I consider," she said, 
" this union as a matter of the greatest importance to the 
wealth, strength and safety of the whole island . . . and 



Anne 93 

therefore I make no doubt but it will be remembered and 
spoken of hereafter to the honour of those who have been 
instrumental in bringing it to such a happy conclusion." 
These wise words, however, fell upon deaf ears in Scotland, 
and many a Celtic bard penned a passionate lament. 

" Caledon, Caledon, look back from whence you fell, 
And from your sufferings learn your guilt and never more rebel ; 
Regain your ancient Liberties, redeem your Rights and Laws, 
Restore your injur' d lawful King, or perish in the Cause." 

More bitter, though less passionate, was the " Scotsman's 
Lament " : 

" Shall Monarchy be quite forgot, and of it no more heard ? 
Antiquity be rased out, and Slav'ry put instead? 
Is Scotsmen's blood now grown so cold, the valour of their mind 
That they can never once reflect on old long sine ? 

Was not our nation sometime brave, invincible and stout ? 
Conquering Ccesar, that great king, could not put it to rout : 
Nor not so much as tribute get, for all his great design ; 
These men, I think, thought to maintain good old long sine. 

Now mark and see what is the cause of this so great a fall, 
Contempt of faith, falsehood, deceit and villainy withal ; 
But rouse yourselves like Scottish lads, and quit yourselves as men t 
And more and more strive to maintain good old long sine. 11 

On the 1st August 1714 Anne died. For some time it 
had been plain that she was seriously ill, and Bolingbroke's 
party had been hastily preparing for a coup d'etat on behalf 
of the Pretender. But before the arrangements were 
finished the queen's death took place, and the Whig party 
at once proclaimed the accession of George. 

As a queen, Anne had suffered a good many ups and 
downs at the hands of her ministers. Not clever enough 



94 



In Stewait Times 



to enter into their schemes, she must often have felt 
baffled, dumb, and helpless. She was sincerely anxious 
to rule well, but her very moderate abilities pre- 
vented her from taking a leading part. She was thus 
sometimes the shuttlecock to both political parties, who 
forced her into policies which she personally detested. A 
strain of sadness runs through the story of her life. All 
her children died young ; her affections lavished upon 
the Duchess of Marlborough turned to dust and ashes. 
She had not enough personality to attract hero-worship, 
though it may be hazarded that she often wistfully longed 
for the little, spontaneous shows of affection dear to most 
women. Her reign is one of the brightest in English 
history. Great men laid the ornament of their genius 
upon it ; Newton's achievements were hailed even then 
with admiration and applause. It was undoubtedly a 
great epoch, and there is thus something poignant in the 
reflection that the figure of Queen Anne herself seems 
somehow a little outside it all. 



Phase II— The State 

GEORGE VILLIERS, FIRST DUKE OF 
BUCKINGHAM 

• - He was such a darling of fortune, that he was at the top before 
he was well seen at the bottom ; and, as if he had been born a favourite, 
he was supreme the first month he came to Court." 

Clarendon 

" Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust} 1 

Shirley 

IT was one of the chief characteristics of James I. that 
he always needed the companionship of a favourite 
to bolster him up in his undertakings. His hand 
was against his Parliament, and this made him feel the 
more sorely the need of a man at hand to soothe and 
flatter him when things went awry. Thus more than one 
young man sprang into unworthy fame through working 
upon the weakness of the sovereign, and benefits which 
should have been given to deserving statesmen, were 
snatched up by greedy courtiers who knew how to play 
upon the king's foolish good nature. Last in the train 
of these hangers-on, but in point of importance easily 
first, was George Villiers, afterwards Duke of Buckingham. 
Born in 1592, the son of a knight in the county of 
Leicestershire, Villiers had little in the way of fortune save 
a handsome face and pleasing manners. As it happened, 
these brought him further than the most hopeful admirer 

95 



9 6 



In Stewart Times 



could have foreseen. He was neither industrious nor 
well educated. All the learning he possessed had been got 
at a small local school at Billesden, hard by his home. But 
at thirteen his schooling came to an end, and any further 
information he gathered came to him from his own observa- 
tion, or from mixing with other people. 

His mother was a frivolous woman, full of social am- 
bitions. She saw very early that her son was well suited 
for the easy life of an idle courtier, and with this end in 
view she had him taught every art likely to be of value at 
Court. Long before he had grown into young manhood 
he could fence and dance to perfection, or do a hundred 
things likely to please and delight the eye of a pleasure- 
loving monarch. But even so, it seemed rather a hopeless 
task to try to bring him into the notice of James. Friends 
were few, and for the most part of small importance. How 
would it be possible for the youth to get a chance of winning 
a footing at Court ? 

So the years went by, some spent in travel on the Conti- 
nent, others frittered in loitering and pleasure-making, 
and though Villiers had made many a fashionable friend 
he was still outside the magic circle. A chance came in 
1615, when he was twenty-three years of age. Sir James 
Graham, one of the lesser-known figures at Court, was 
accompanying James on a progress through England, and 
he invited Villiers to come with him. The invitation was 
eagerly accepted, but without any thought of the great 
events which would follow. For as it turned out, this 
invitation was nothing less than the key to fortune. The 
king no sooner saw Villiers than he admired him pas- 
sionately. His easy manners, his handsome face, and 
his graceful bearing all delighted a monarch who was 
hopelessly plain and awkward in appearance. All the 
advantages of face and figure, which James felt so painfully 



The Duke of Buckingham 97 

were not his own, he saw in the person of this new courtier. 
He gazed at him with frank delight, and privately he let 
it be known that he meant to make him a favourite. 
From this point honours fell upon the new-comer in a fairy 
shower. He was cupbearer almost at once, and soon after 
Gentleman of the Bedchamber, while a pension of one 
thousand pounds a year gave him money to fit his position. 
All this happened within a twelvemonth, so that it was no 
wonder if Villiers began to regard himself as a person of 
unusual consequence. These favours, great though they 
were, were rapidly succeeded by others. The king could 
deny him nothing. In the heat of his passion James heaped 
upon him titles which he denied to more worthy suitors. 
In 1616 he was made a peer, and in 1617 he became an earl. 
As if this were not enough, the next year James created 
him a marquis, and in 1619 he elevated him to the posi- 
tion of Lord High Admiral of England, Ireland and Wales. 
All this in four short years ! For scarcely that time had 
gone by since Villiers had set off on that memorable 
journey, in the service of Sir James Graham. 

The excessive love which James showed towards him 
had not failed to kindle indignation among the rest of his 
courtiers. With these Villiers was no favourite. They 
were jealous of his sudden and undeserved rise, and 
angered by the airs and graces he saw fit to assume. He 
strutted about like a king, and swaggered with an import- 
ance that onlookers found hard to endure. Wherever he 
went he was surrounded by a crowd of servants, and 
splendid jewels blazed upon his person. At the most 
ordinary function he would appear dressed in extra- 
vagant fashion, with " great diamond buttons " on his 
clothes, " diamond hatbands, cockades, and earrings." 
Long ropes of pearls were flung over his shoulders ; every 
inch had its special ornament. So that envious courtiers 



9 8 



In Stewart Times 



remarked to one another with a jeer that he was " manacled, 
fettered and imprisoned in j ewels. ' ' When he went abroad 
on a Court embassy he dressed with ill-advised magnifi- 
cence, and it is reported that when he was at the height 
of his favour in 1625, he appeared in a white velvet suit, 
glittering with diamonds, and valued even in those days 
at no less than eighty thousand pounds. But however 
wanton and ridiculous his display might be, James only 
loved him the more for it. He was utterly blind to his 
faults, and though the most charitable could see in him 
glaring and odious faults, the king never regarded him 
with anything except affection and indulgence. 

A man with a less coarse nature would have been 
ashamed to accept from his sovereign money and honours 
which the nation grudged him. But Villiers had no fine 
feelings in the matter of benefits, and in 1623 he heard with 
the utmost complacency that he had been created Duke of 
Buckingham. 

He was abroad when the tidings reached him, for 
slightly before this he had travelled to Spain with Prince 
Charles on the ill-fated mission to the Infanta. A match 
between Charles and the Spanish princess had long been 
the darling wish of King James, and for many years he 
had been working to this end. Politically the union 
seemed wise, but there were religious difficulties in the way. 
The King of Spain would not agree to the alliance unless 
there were to be large benefits to the Roman Catholics, 
and the English nation as a whole was fiercely against 
anything of the kind. Matters had come to this state when 
suddenly Villiers made up his mind to go over to Spain 
with the young prince, to pay the Infanta a surprise visit. 
The king did his best to break down the arrangement. But 
Villiers had set his heart upon the project, and nothing 
less would satisfy him. His insolence towards the sovereign 




The Duke of Buckingham 

G. Honthorst 

Photo Emery Walker 



The Duke of Buckingham 99 

was so unveiled that anyone less indulgent than James 
would have flung him off. As it was he gave way very 
reluctantly, full of laments that he was " undone and 
that he would lose Baby Charles." As soon as the point 
was gained, Villiers did his utmost to soothe his sovereign. 
He was " his dog Steenie," his " gossip's humble slave," 
and he promised all sorts of good results from the rash 
undertaking. The king was still full of sighs and troubles, 
but he made no further objection, and a few days later 
" Baby Charles " and " Steenie " set off on their travels 
under the names of " Jack and Tom Smith," and with only 
one attendant to keep them company. 

Once in Madrid all disguise was thrown off, and the 
King of Spain was informed of the presence of the English 
prince. The news no doubt caused him much amaze- 
ment, for there was no Court where matters of etiquette 
were observed more strictly than in Spain. However, 
now that the prince was here the king resolved to receive 
him with due dignity and splendour. State banquets 
were hastily ordered, and Charles formally began his suit. 
Buckingham meanwhile was a sharer in all the festivities. 
But he forgot that he was no longer in the eye of a doting 
monarch, and he behaved with such pride and disdain that 
very soon he had roused decided ill-will among the Spanish 
courtiers. Oblivious to the feeling around him, or else 
reckless about its effect, he continued to play the part 
of an insolent favourite. Prince Charles, too, becoming 
tired of the long-drawn etiquette of the proceeding, tried 
to hasten matters by jumping down into a garden where 
the princess was sitting. This rash deed only gave offence, 
and added a new complication to matters already unsatis- 
factory enough. The situation soon became even worse, 
through quarrels between Buckingham and the Spanish 
minister, Olivarez. " Steenie " was not looking after 



ioo In Stewart Times 

" Baby Charles " as well as he had promised to do, and 
though affectionate letters passed between " the venturous 
knights " and their " dear dad and gossip, James," the 
English king began to grow anxious. Suddenly Bucking- 
ham changed his plans, and became as much against the 
match as he had formerly urged it. Making up some excuse 
he left the Spanish Court, leaving " Baby Charles " to his 
own devices. Without his friend at hand, the prince soon 
wearied of his position. He hastened to join Buckingham, 
and before long the two were on their way back to England. 
Preparations had already been made for the wedding. 
Yet now, only a few weeks before its celebration, the match 
was broken off, and apparently for no better reason than 
a whim on the part of the headstrong favourite. Spain 
was deeply annoyed, and demanded Buckingham's head. 
But " Steenie " had little to fear while he had James and 
Charles to support him. He landed with his old air of 
easy carelessness, and he was quite ready to receive the 
shower of warm thanks that James poured upon him, 
for having brought " Baby Charles " home in safety. 
Moreover, for the moment he was actually a national hero. 
The people had been greatly afraid lest the heir of England 
should never come back from abroad, and they were grate- 
ful to Buckingham for his safe conduct. Besides this they 
were wild with joy at the news that the Catholic marriage 
they had dreaded would now never take place. Here 
again Buckingham got full credit for his share in the enter- 
prise. He seized upon the moment to beg the king to 
summon a Parliament for the purpose of declaring hostility 
towards Spain. The Commons readily voted supplies, 
and in 1624 the country heard with delight that there was 
to be war. 

But these outbursts of delight were soon changed to 
sullen murmurings ; for scarcely was the Spanish marriage 



The Duke of Buckingham 101 

cast off, when Buckingham came forward with plans for 
a union between Prince Charles and Henrietta Maria of 
France. The Protestants heard the tidings with dismay 
and surprise. What use were rejoicings over the failure 
of the Spanish match if a French alliance was to take its 
place? In the midst of general confusion and dissatis- 
faction, James I. died, and Buckingham entered upon a 
new phase in his career. 

So far Charles, as a prince, had shown himself as devoted 
to " Steenie " as ever his father had been, but among the 
courtiers many hoped that on becoming king he would 
shake himself free from favourites, and rule with a 
firm, independent hand. These hopes were soon dis- 
appointed. For if Buckingham had flourished under 
James, under Charles he was almost supreme. Courtiers 
watched him with ill-concealed fury, hating this man who 
flaunted about in robes shining with gems ; who bore him- 
self with a good-natured insolence that was harder to bear 
than open hostility. The nation's good-will, which he had 
won for a time, now changed into settled dislike, and people 
and courtiers alike prayed that the king might be set free 
from the toils of so worthless a schemer. But for the time 
being Buckingham's star was still in the ascendant. The 
French match was completed ; Henrietta Maria came 
over to England as the bride of Charles ; and war with 
Spain became a certainty. It appeared as if the favourite 
had got his own way everywhere. Through him the 
Spanish match had failed ; through him Henrietta Maria 
had become Queen of England ; through him the country 
had plunged into war. Nevertheless, just at the moment 
when every plan seemed to have succeeded, the first shadow 
of evil fortune fell upon him. The first expedition against 
Spain went badly, and at Cadiz in 1625 the English 
fleet was hopelessly beaten. Popular feeling at once 



102 In Stewart Times 

swung round, and when the people were faced with defeat, 
they did not forget the fact that it was through Bucking- 
ham that war had broken out. The next year matters grew 
worse by a breach with France. Buckingham had a 
grudge against Henrietta Maria, and he tried to revenge 
himself by overbearing conduct towards Louis, and towards 
the French followers who had come to England with the 
queen. In spite of the marriage alliance with France, 
Buckingham persuaded Charles to take up the cause of 
the Huguenots, and in 1627 English troops landed at Rhe, 
an island not far from La Rochelle. The attempt failed 
hopelessly, but Buckingham doggedly refused to make 
terms. Before many weeks had passed he was back in 
England, having lost nearly four thousand men, and with 
nothing done. He was reproached on all sides. The people 
were enraged at the bad management of the affair ; 
Henrietta was angry at this breach of her marriage 
treaty, which had promised kindness towards Catholics ; 
the Huguenots were bitterly disappointed at the failure of 
English help ; the French king, supported by Richelieu, 
made a point of showing hostility to the country which 
had flouted his offers. These disasters made the Commons 
in despair. Many of them declared that Buckingham had 
urged on the war with France more out of spite towards 
Henrietta Maria than from any other motive. They abused 
him roundly, without any attempt at polite speaking, 
saying bitterly that the state of the country did not allow 
of foreign enterprises, and that his foolish conduct was at 
the root of all these misfortunes. From this they went on 
to protest that it was monstrous he should be the chief 
guide of the king upon matters of national importance. 

But gentlemen in the House of Commons might rage and 
fume as they liked, Charles paid little heed to their indigna- 
tion. In his eyes " Steenie " was as adorable as ever he 



The Duke of Buckingham 103 

had been. Wentworth, who as yet was a leader of the 
party opposed to the king, made a greaf effort to ruin the 
favourite. Buckingham repaid him with baleful glances. 
He understood quite well that Wentworth's real aim was 
to edge himself into Court favour, and he knew how to 
keep at bay a rival with ambitions as keen as any he him- 
self had ever nursed. Nevertheless he was more anxious 
than he cared to show. Every day the Commons de- 
manded his impeachment with greater warmth ; till at 
last the king was faced with the alternatives of sacrificing 
his favourite, or of signing the Petition of Right. He chose 
what seemed to him the lesser evil, and in 1628 the great 
Bill became law. 

But though Buckingham had been spared for the minute, 
all was not well. His friends pointed out the risk of 
assassination, and advised him to wear a coat of mail 
beneath his jacket. He tossed the idea aside lightly, for 
he had at least the virtue of courage, and he went 
about with his old careless bravado. No anxiety was 
written on his smooth brow ; no fear gleamed unawares 
from his bold glance. He answered every man's glance 
with a stare, and passed on his way with a firm, haughty 
tread. 

Two expeditions to France had failed, and the country 
was full of dissatisfaction. In spite of everything, Bucking- 
ham in 1628 cheerfully urged a third attempt. His 
reputation had suffered through the failure of the attack 
upon Rhe, and he now hoped to win back his fame. He 
determined to lead the troops in person, and he spared no 
pains over the preparations. But he was doomed never 
to go. For just as he was about to embark a hidden foe 
sprang upon him, and in a moment he was stabbed to the 
heart. " The villain hath killed me," he cried, and then 
he fell back dead. 



104 In Stewart Times 

Charles was bitterly affected by the news, and even the 
nation, hating Buckingham as it did, was horrified by the 
crime. Felton, the man who had committed the deed, 
was the most unmoved. He declared he had acted as a 
patriot, with intent to save the country from the harmful 
influence of an upstart. He confessed no regret at his 
action, and he showed no fear when the sentence of death 
was passed upon him. In a mood of exultation he passed 
to the scaffold to pay for his crime. 

Now that Buckingham was dead it became clear how 
tremendous his hold upon the king had been. Had he 
been a wise and disinterested statesman he might have been 
one of the greatest figures in history. But he had no large 
motives, no great endeavours. His chief ambition was 
to reap advantage for himself, and he cared neither for 
king nor country, when the question of gain was at stake. 
He was naturally clever and acute. But he used his gifts 
for his own ends. No one could hold him back from em- 
barking upon a course, however wilful and disastrous for 
the nation, if once he had made up his mind to take it. 
His frankness and his generosity would have brought him 
many friends, had not these qualities been spoiled by the 
lack of scruples. He was generous but unjust ; kind but 
selfish. Amongst many sordid characteristics, his courage 
shines out like a jewel. Fop and courtier though he were, 
no man living had power to daunt his heart. With many 
possibilities and splendid natural gifts he might have 
done so much. But he did so little. 



SIR JOHN ELIOT 

" But indeed, Conviction, were it never so excellent, is worthless 
till it convert itself into Conduct. 11 

Carlyle 

THE fresh air of April, blowing over the county of 
Cornwall, swept down a little creek on the rocky 
banks of which rose the fishing-village of Port 
Eliot. It was the year 1590. Elizabeth was on the 
throne, and England was still exulting in the glory she 
had won by the great Armada defeat. Here, on the 20th 
of the month, and in the home of a Cornish squire, a child, 
John Eliot, had just been born. 

Eliot thus sprang from a part of England that prided 
itself upon its patriotism. This south-west corner of 
Devonshire, Dorset and Cornwall had cradled many an 
adventurous spirit. From here Hawkins had looked 
eagerly upon the dancing waters ; both Raleigh and Hum- 
phrey Gilbert had called it "home." In the hearts of 
all three patriotism had burned brightly. And the child 
in Port Eliot, now looking upon the world with puzzled 
baby eyes, was destined to show a temper no less un- 
daunted. He, too, was to win the name of patriot, defying 
even death for his country's sake. 

The home at Port Eliot was an easy and indulgent one. 
Very few rules barred the way to boyish pleasure. Many a 
happy adventure was carried on amid the snug crevices 
of the rock-bound shore ; many a wild game was played out 
in the lanes, and in all these Eliot had his part. Hot 
words sprang now and again, but anger could not last 
long in the stinging, healthy sea breezes. 
105 



106 In Stewart Times 

At the age of seventeen he was sent to Oxford, entering 
Exeter College in 1607. His great natural abilities began 
to show themselves, but his zest for games and sport re- 
mained as keen as ever. Later in life he was driven into 
a more fettered way of living. He exchanged the fresh 
breezes and games which he loved, for the close and excited 
air of Parliament. But however absorbed he grew in the 
part he had to play in the hot, riotous drama that followed, 
he still kept his love for open-air sports. When misfortune 
fell upon him, and he was flung into the Tower, he spent 
many hours playing bowls, swinging dumb-bells, or spinning 
a top, till stricter custody robbed him of these pleasures, 
and made him lament the loss of " aer and exercise " and 
the close, unhealthy atmosphere of a " smoaky " room. 

According to his own words, he had a place in the Parlia- 
ment of 1614, by which time he was twenty-four and had 
already been married three years. In the House he saw 
more than one face which became famous in later history. 
There was Oliver Luke, with his proud, free carriage. 
There, too, were Pym, Dudley Digges, Hampden, and 
Thomas Wentworth,— all of them men of keen ability 
and in the first promise of their manhood. Among these 
young men Eliot soon found a footing, and before long he 
began to be noticed by some of the older and shrewder 
leaders of the party. 

Affairs for the present went on smoothly, and in 1618 
he was knighted. Next year he was made Vice- Admiral 
of Devon, in which connection he was brought into a long 
and exciting contest with a notorious pirate named Nutt. 
The robberies of this bold and reckless adventurer were a 
menace to the entire coast, and Eliot was for repaying him 
with a gibbet. His hastiness was bitterly attacked by 
his enemies. They took up the cause of Nutt, and with 
such effect that soon the man whom Eliot had described 



Sir John Eliot 107 

as a " plunderer and an assassin " began to be spoken of as 
" that unlucky fellow, Captain Nutt." Eliot got the worst 
of the encounter, and Nutt was left free to carry on his 
piracy, which he did with such unscrupulous zest, that nine 
years later he openly joined foreign sea-rogues in defying 
English power, making himself " incomparably the greatest 
nuisance in His Majesty's dominions." 

In 1623 Eliot made his first important speech in Parlia- 
ment. Its style is characteristic of his political position 
throughout his life. He dwelt upon the rights and liberties 
of the subject, but he also spoke reverently of the sovereign. 
Almost to the last he kept his faith in the king, clinging 
to the excuse that the mistakes made by Charles were due 
to the influence of favourites. Even in the disastrous 
Parliament of 1628 he publicly pleaded for the monarch, 
saying he was sure it was some " misrepresentation to his 
Majesty " that had drawn his displeasure upon them. Yet 
it was on this same occasion (1628) that Eliot was startled, 
a few minutes later, by hearing the Speaker curtly interrupt 
him in a remark about Buckingham, on the ground that 
the king had strictly forbidden any unkind mention of 
that name. Amazed and indignant, Eliot gave way. But 
the interruption was stored up in the memories of those 
present as an ominous sign. 

From the beginning of his reign Charles had irritated 
the Commons by his peremptory manner, and only a 
trifle was needed to make them break into open discontent. 
Unhappily the removal of Parliament to Oxford in 
August 1625, because of an epidemic of plague, furnished 
this trifle. In their ruffled condition anything was enough 
to disturb the temper of the Commons, and they com- 
plained bitterly of the trouble to which they were put, so 
that " their travell on the waies, their danger in the inns . . . 
took all pleasure off the journey." Eliot's quick mind 



108 In Stewart Times 

however saw in the change another and greater danger. 
Some members might not trouble to go so far ; and the 
reforming party might meet with a defeat. He rose 
quickly and proposed that three days after the removal of 
the session the House should be called over, and censure 
passed " upon all such as shall then be absent." His 
prompt conduct was characteristic of the firm, eager spirit 
with which he always dealt with problems. Three years 
afterwards, when he was fighting for the Petition of Right, 
he displayed exactly the same qualities as now. 

Meanwhile Buckingham's reputation was growing more 
and more evil. Eliot looked on with a purposeful eye, 
and in 1626, when the favourite was impeached, 
he made a bold and determined attack upon him. 
His motive was probably a desire to save the king, 
for he thoroughly realised that any attempt to get 
Charles to deal fairly was hopeless, so long as the 
dangerous courtier possessed his confidence. Eliot's 
words were therefore neither temperate nor veiled. He 
compared Buckingham to the most notorious of all bad 
favourites. He declared he was like Sejanus, and he 
bitterly upbraided him for wasting public money in 
personal finery and gew-gaws. The House listened in- 
tently ; starts of excitement every now and then showed 
the sensation the speech was making, but still Eliot's clear 
voice went on : "I observe a wonder," he said passion- 
ately, "... that this man, so notorious in ill, so dangerous 
in the State . . . has been able to subsist and keep a being. 
He broke those nerves and sinews of the land, the stores 
and treasures of the king. . . . Not only to satisfy him- 
self, his own desires and avarice, but to satiate others with 
pride and luxury, he emptied those veins in which the 
kingdom's blood should run. . . . What vast treasures 
he has gotten, what infinite sums of money, and what a 




Sir John Eliot 

After an Engraving by W. Holl 
Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



108 



Sir John Eliot 109 

mass of lands . . . amounting to little less than the whole 
of the subsidies which the king has had within that time. 
. . . These are but collections of a short view used only 
as an epitome for the rest. There needs no search for it. 
It is too visible. His profuse expenses, his superfluous 
feasts, his magnificent buildings, his riots, his excesses, 
what are they but the visible evidences of an express 
exhausting of the State, a chronicle of the immensity of 
his waste of the revenues of the Crown ? No wonder, 
then, our king is now in want, this man abounding so. 
And as long as he abounds, the king must still be wanting." 
The startling boldness of this onslaught met with a 
swift punishment. It had been spoken on Wednesday, 
and on Thursday, before anyone knew properly what had 
happened, Eliot was hurried away to the Tower. The 
Commons were up in arms ; the right of free speech had 
been cast aside, and they loudly refused to do any further 
business till their colleague should be released. In the 
midst of the uproar the Speaker came forward to suggest 
that matters should go on as usual. But the only reply 
was a vast shout of " No business till we are righted in 
our liberties." After this a sudden great silence fell. The 
House was very full, but for a long time no one spoke. 
Every face bore the same expression of dogged resistance. 
At last Sir Dudley Carleton entered, breathless with 
messages from the king. The sovereign threatened darkly 
that he might be forced to " use new counsels." No answer 
met the suggestion, upon which Sir Dudley proceeded to 
tell over the benefits of the English. He compared them 
with foreign nations, taxed to such an extent that they 
looked like " ghosts and not men, being nothing but skin 
and bones, with some thin cover to their nakedness . . . 
so that they cannot eat meat or wear good clothes, but 
they must pay and be taxed unto the king for it. This," 



no In Stewart Times 

finished Carleton, with dramatic slowness, " is a misery 
beyond expression, and that which yet we are free from." 
His words broke the strain in the House, and produced 
an effect entirely opposite from the one he desired. A 
great guffaw went up, and men turned to make laughing 
remarks upon their clothes and their food. It was long 
before the speech was forgotten, or that men stopped 
talking about the skin and bones of the " poor foreigners." 
Full of intense annoyance Sir Dudley Carleton withdrew 
to report matters to the king. Eliot still remained in 
prison, but after a few days' hesitation Charles was forced 
to set him free, since " the House was never quiett." His 
reappearance among the Commons was hailed with loud 
cries of delight, for by now men had come to look upon him 
as the champion of public freedom. His release represented 
much more than a mere personal triumph. It set up a 
standard of fair play for every citizen. Up till now cas ~ 
of injustice had not often met with any determined protes 
It was to the interest of everyone belonging to the race 
that justice should be stable ; that small offences should 
not meet with heavy punishment. Not more than a year 
or two before this, a young 'prentice boy, named John 
Stevens, had been hurried up to London on a charge of 
treasonable talk. For a year he had been left in prison 
unheard, and then sent to the Assizes, where he was 
sentenced to be " hanged, drawn and quartered." This 
terrible miscarriage of justice roused no particular remark 
at the time, and in the street songs of the moment Stevens 
was merely held up as an example to others to beware of 
sinning in a like manner : 

" let me be example unto all, 
That they may never in such mischief e fall. 
Children and 'prentices, old and young. 
Serve God in hearte, and governe wel your tongue. 11 



Sir John Eliot in 



It was injustice of this kind that Eliot was anxious to 
remedy, and his release was a distinct triumph for the 
cause of free speech. His return was almost the last event 
of this " great, warm, ruffling Parliament of 1625," for 
directly afterwards Charles again gave sharp orders for 
its dissolution. 

Public attacks upon Eliot had failed so utterly, that his 
enemies now fell back upon secret attempts at his ruin. 
Spies dogged his movements ; his smallest public deed was 
inquired into. Out of all these tests he came with un- 
smirched character, for he had never sought to enrich him- 
self at public expense, nor had he ever been party to any 
kind of trickery. But in 1627 Sir James Bagg, his most 
relentless and deadly enemy, wrote gleefully to the Duke 
of Buckingham that Eliot had been thrown into prison 
for refusing to pay a forced loan, and that there was at last 
some hope for his downfall. This spiteful hope, however, 
came to nothing, since the state of the country was fast 
becoming dangerous. Charles saw that a new Parliament 
was the only remedy, and he gave orders for reassembling 
the Commons. The elections were at once begun, and 
Eliot and his comrades were set free, though amongst the 
Court party there were some who made no secret of their 
opinion that such an act was " nothing less than the letting 
loose of so many hungry lions." 

A great effort was made to keep him out of Parliament, 
but he had half the country at his heels, and he returned 
in triumph. Both sides met in a fighting mood. Charles 
resolved he would take a stronger note, and he said at once 
he would allow " no encroachment on his sovereignty or 
prerogative." As a safeguard the Commons drew up the 
Petition of Right. The king put them off without an 
answer, whereupon Eliot exclaimed bitterly : " We need 
no foes abroad. Time itself will ruin us." Hard upon 



ii2 In Stewart Times 

the Petition came the " Remonstrance," 1641, in which 
Eliot had a leading share. He was pressing home upon 
the sovereign, and yet at every point he found excuses for 
him. Again and again he repeated the need for keeping 
unstained the king's honour, " without which noe prince 
was great, hardly anie fortunat." To save Buckingham, 
Charles at last signed the Petition, but when the Commons 
relentlessly forced the Remonstrance upon him, disgust 
made him dissolve them. Next year a new House met. 
In the interval Buckingham had perished by an assassin's 
knife ; but the temper of the king seemed unchanged. 
Eliot was in his place, his eagle eye sweeping round the 
assembly. A friend, scenting danger, had written him a 
line, warning him to be only " a looker on." He crumpled 
up the note with a smile. He had no sense of fear. In the 
rough and tumble of sport, or in the quick clash of swords, 
he might always be counted upon being found in the thick 
of the fray. " None," he said slowly, emphasising each 
short word, " None have gone about to break parliaments 
but in the end parliaments have broken them." His 
prophecy, no doubt, carried a memory of that other occa- 
sion in 1626 when Charles had peremptorily declared: 
" Parliaments are altogether in my power . . . and there- 
fore, as I find the fruits of them to be good or evil, they 
are to continue or not to be." Each party stood with its 
challenge, ready fbr explosion at any moment. The old 
grievance about tonnage was brought forward. Eliot 
hotly denounced it. The Speaker struggled to dismiss 
the meeting ; Eliot and others held him down by force. 
The door of the House was locked, and officers from the 
king hammered at the panels in vain. In spite of the 
din, the resolution was carried. Come what might, 
Parliament had publicly sworn its undying opposition to 
illegal taxes. The Speaker could now go. 



Sir John Eliot 113 

The king heard of the tumult, and Eliot was hurried 
off to prison. Here the last scene in his life was played 
out. He refused to plead before any but the Commons, 
saying he had spoken as a public man, who could only 
be called to account by the members of the House. He 
was aware that to hold by this reply probably meant 
imprisonment for life, since Charles was unlikely to call 
another Parliament. But he accepted the position with 
the firmness which had always marked his behaviour at 
critical moments. Though he suffered much through 
petty annoyances, from the loss of exercise, and from 
confinement in a " smoaky " room, his cheerfulness never 
deserted him, nor did his peace of mind play him false. 
Consumption made grave ravages upon his frame, forcing 
him to plead with Charles for freedom to recover his health. 
" I humbly beseech your Majesty," he wrote, " that you 
will command your judges to set me at liberty, that for 
the recovery of my health I may take some fresh air." 
The king answered the appeal with a jeer, upon which 
the prisoner wrote again : " Sir, I am heartily sorry I 
have displeased your Majesty and . . . and do humbly 
beseech you once again, to set me at liberty, that, when 
I have recovered my health, I may return back to prison." 
This second appeal brought no happy reply, but Eliot 
was fast approaching the end of life. A fortnight later 
he died. 

Charles refused permission for his burial at Port Eliot, 
and he was hastily interred in the Tower. But he needs 
no monument. He lives in history as a patriot who 
served his country without prejudice and without self- 
interest. Darker impulses may have moved some of the 
men with whose schemes he was associated, but Eliot 
emerges from all tests untarnished. Without malignity, 
and without any gross motive, he held to the principles he 

H 



ii4 I n Stewart Times 

believed right. Not even prison took from him his con- 
fidence in the cause of liberty. He looked for its triumph 
in the future. And when after much evil and bloodshed 
England at last found a settled constitution, Eliot's spirit 
had its reward. 



JOHN HAMPDEN 

" Who is the happy warrior ? Who is he 
That every man in arms should wish to be ? 
— It is the generous Spirit , who, when brought 
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought 
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought : 
Whose high endeavours are an inward light 
That makes the path before him always bright.'** 

Wordsworth 

PATRIOT and friend. These two words express 
the character of John Hampden. In public 
places he seldom indulged in extravagant speech, 
and he was never a champion of lawlessness. But in the 
stormiest councils he had his place, and his calm, thought- 
ful words often broke like cooling spray upon the hot 
sayings of the more reckless. He believed in the saying, 
" Think before you speak." He was slow to speak ; 
slow to wrath, yet never from reasons of cowardice or 
apathy. Towards his friends he betrayed deep warm 
feelings, and courteous serenity marked his bearing 
towards the most casual acquaintances, so that even 
Clarendon has recorded his " smoothness and compla- 
cency to all men." Everyone loved him ; everyone 
revered him, except trucklers, scandalmongers, the mean- 
spirited, or the debauched. These, and all other worth- 
less persons, quickly grew uncomfortable in his presence, 
feeling instinctively he was different from themselves. 

His early days were spent in the leafy county of Buck- 
inghamshire, whence he passed finally to Magdalen College, 
Oxford. A short period of study at the Inner Temple 

ii5 



n6 In Stewart Times 

made him ambitious to enter Parliament, and in 1621 he 
found himself a member of the House of Commons. His 
entry into public life attracted very little attention. He 
was a wealthy young squire from Buckingham, evidently 
conscientious and honest, but nothing that he did or said 
was of a kind to indicate any special ability. Under 
Charles he was returned to Parliament in 1625, with his 
reputation much what it had been before. So many other 
young men, clearly more brilliant and audacious than 
himself, were striving for a hearing, that Hampden had 
very little chance of self-assertion. But he was there 
in his place with strict regularity, looking on with grave, 
earnest eyes, in the depths of which rose now and again 
a light that spoke of hidden force. His desire to serve 
his country was no less keen than that of the quick- 
tongued Wentworth, or the hard-hitting Eliot, but his 
gifts were of the kind which shine best in service under 
orders, rather than in brilliant leadership. 

Nevertheless before long his close attention to business 
made itself felt in the committees and councils upon 
which he served, till gradually it came to be held 
that few were his equals in dealing with matters that 
called for patient unravelling, or the exercise of dis- 
cretion and tact. He was never hurried, and he never 
spoke upon mere impulse. Some of the Commoners, such 
as Wentworth, often gave way to flights of oratory in 
which they pressed forward schemes they were by no 
means prepared to face to the end. But with Hampden it 
was different. What he said he would do, he did ; and he 
never spoke without being ready to stand by his words 
afterwards. Before he rose to express an opinion his 
plan of conduct had been mapped out and surveyed from 
every possible standpoint. His hearers often disagreed 
with his views, but they always confessed the sincerity of 



John Hampden 117 

the speaker. He made an early display of this dogged- 
ness by his refusal to pay the forced loan of 1626, and in 
consequence he was thrown into prison in 1627. He was 
by no means the only sufferer. Rebels were many and 
obstinate. " Nay, sweetheart," wrote another prisoner, 
whose wife urged him to compromise, so that he might 
come and spend Christmas quietly at home : " Nay, 
sweetheart, it shall be thought that I prejudice the public 
cause, beginning to conforme, which none yet hath done, 
of all that have been committed, except two poor men, a 
butcher and another, and they hooted at like owles 
amongste their neighbours." 

With opposition at such a pitch it was not good policy 
to keep prison doors closed too long, and presently Hamp- 
den among the rest gained his freedom. 

His conduct was an indication of how he would act in 
the future, and when ship money began to be demanded 
from the inland counties in 1635 it is quite probable that 
the magistrates of the district took hasty council together, 
wondering what course they had better adopt towards a 
man of Hampden's heroic stamp. They rated him at 
twenty shillings, a trifling sum, which certainly was not 
in accordance with his wealth. Hallam finds an explana- 
tion by saying the amount was for a part of the estate only. 
Guizot considers those in authority were anxious not to 
stir up evil, and hoped that the smallness of the sum 
would keep Hampden from making any protest. Neither 
explanation is very satisfactory ; and the case remains 
one of those puzzles for which it is hard to find a motive. 
But supposing Guizot is right ; that the twenty shil- 
lings represented a sop, the magistrates who offered it 
soon fell in with disappointment. Hampden had made 
up his mind to make it a test case, and he steadily refused 
to pay a farthing of the sum. His resistance was based 



n8 In Stewart Times 

on the point that the king, acting simply upon his own 
authority, had no right to decide whether or no the state 
of the country made it necessary that a tax for the navy 
should be levied upon inland counties. The country, more- 
over, was at peace at the moment. Everyone knew that 
the tax was nothing less than a general levy, to be used in 
whatever way the king might think fit, for " a spring and 
magazine that should have no bottom, and for an everlast- 
ing supply of all occasions." It was in the public interest 
that the point should be legally settled, and Hampden 
briefly declared himself willing to see the suit through. 
Twelve judges sat in conference, and the case dragged on 
at intervals for six months. It is to Hampden's credit 
that throughout the long and wearying processes he was 
never abusive nor violent. Even those watching sharply 
for any display of temper were forced to admit that 
he bore himself quietly and soberly. He persisted that 
it was as much to the interest of the king as to himself that 
the point should be once for all settled, and with quiet 
firmness he held to his plea. When the last stage of the 
proceedings arrived, it was evident that the case was 
going against him. But his serenity was as great as 
ever, and he listened quietly while the judges gave their 
opinion. Judge Berkeley said learnedly that he knew of 
" no king-yoking policy " ; that he had never heard that 
lex was rex, but that it was most certain that " rex was 
lex" Judge Vernon declared briefly that in any case of 
necessity the king could legally do away with any law ; 
and Attorney-General Banks added glibly that preroga- 
tive was inseparable from " the person of the kings of 
England," and that therefore the king could do no wrong. 
When the verdict was made known, it was found that 
seven out of twelve had decided in favour of the king. 
Hampden heard the news calmly. He had lost his suit. 



John Hampden 119 

It was no doubt the answer he had expected. He bowed 
to the wisdom of the judges, but he was as convinced as 
ever of the justice of his cause. ^Charles had followed the 
case closely. It had given him not a little uneasiness, but 
he breathed a sigh of relief at the verdict. He was even 
imprudent enough to make no secret of his delight that 
an open court had decided the right of a monarch to 
exercise arbitrary powers. But the feelings of the people 
were very different, and like Charles they made no attempt 
to hide them. They fell upon Hampden as a hero and a 
patriot, and the fact that five of the twelve judges had 
acquitted him gave them fresh courage. Every class had 
its own grievance to flaunt ; the list of complaints against 
the king rapidly lengthened. " Discontent," says Guizot, 
"hitherto deficient in cohesion became unanimous; gentle- 
men, citizens, farmers, tradespeople, presbyterians, sec- 
tarians, — the whole nation felt itself wounded by this 
decision." 

Before long Charles began to be aware that the triumph 
he had won was worthless. Hampden acquitted would 
have been a bad enough opponent, but Hampden defeated 
was nothing less than a conquering giant. The sentence 
pronounced by the servile judges was taken at its proper 
worth, and counted as insult added to injury. Hampden 
had been the spokesman of the nation, and as such he 
had been openly flouted. Henceforward the quarrel 
became a national matter, which the country determined 
to take in hand. If the judges could no longer be trusted 
to give honest verdicts, then it was clear that the king 
might do as he pleased. His next inclination might be of 
still more dangerous nature. A spirit of alarm seized 
upon the nation, and in several quarters plans were 
drawn up to be carried out in the case of emergency. 
For the time being Hampden found himself in the blaze 



i20 In Stewart Times 

of publicity, and it would have been easy for him to 
gather together a party. But he made no effort to secure 
followers. He pursued his old simple habits, and quietly 
attended to his business. Nevertheless his trial made this 
much difference, that henceforward his career was watched 
with public interest. He began, too, to play a notable 
part in the councils of the more prominent reformers, bent 
upon forcing from the king a pledge of national liberty. 
Hampden's rare gift for friendship met with many 
responses among the members of the House. Pym was his 
devoted admirer, and the relations between the two were 
warm and true to the last. In his own country he was 
greatly loved, and in the midst of the most harassing 
business he found time to keep up a gossiping correspond- 
ence with some of his old neighbours in Buckingham- 
shire. He took a leading part in the reforms undertaken 
by the Short Parliament in 1640, and the whole House 
felt the effect of his restrained and temperate speeches. 
Pym was bent upon sharp measures, and under his guid- 
ance the Grand Remonstrance was drawn up in 1641. 
Hampden followed Pym, and when the Bill was put to 
the vote it was found they had carried it by a small 
majority. In this lengthy document all the grievances 
against Charles were set out in full, and he was accused 
of maliciously " subverting the fundamental laws " of 
the country. The king was greatly enraged by it, but 
his courage rose to the moment. He impeached five 
of the members, Hampden among them, and when the 
charge was ignored, he resolved to go to the Commons 
and assert once for all that power of prerogative to 
which he clung with such fatal persistence. Such a 
bold step was nothing less than foolhardy. He went, 
and the sequel is well known. When he arrived at 
Westminster at the head of an armed throng he found 



John Hampden 121 

that the " five " were not there. The king's master- 
stroke was a dismal failure, and instead of commanding, 
he found himself thoroughly outwitted. His deed set 
the match to the passions of the country. There was no 
longer any talk of peace. The king began to inquire 
about foreign supplies ; the Commons secured ammuni- 
tion. Four thousand men from Buckinghamshire rode 
on horseback into London in support of Hampden's 
policy. Every man in the country began to take sides. 
War had long been skulking about as a shadow, but now 
it took bodily shape and came unblushingly into the open. 
At Chalgrove Field, in the summer of 1643, Hampden 
clashed against Prince Rupert, and was fatally hurt. He 
had been wounded in the shoulder, and he rode from the 
field, his head drooping, his fingers nerveless and weak. 
" He is certainly wounded," said a prisoner who noticed 
his altered bearing, and he called the attention of his 
fellows to the significant fact that Hampden was leaving 
before the battle was over, whereas he was usually the 
last to desert the scene of danger. Six days later the 
country heard with profound emotion that he had breathed 
his last. Scarcely a voice was found to utter anything 
against his name. The moderation of his speeches and the 
simplicity of his bearing had never given a loophole to 
malice, and his courage had been admired alike by friend 
and foe. His goodness had won the respect of a nation, 
quick at detecting self-seeking, and his death shook the 
foundation of the party to which he belonged. " Happy 
and but too rare fortune," says Guizot, " which thus fixed 
his name for ever on that height, whither the love and 
full confidence of his contemporaries had carried it, and 
perhaps saved his virtue, like his glory, from the rocks 
on which revolutions drive and wreck the noblest of 
their favourites." 



THOMAS WENTWORTH, EARL OF 
STRAFFORD 

" . . . If he did not faithfully insist for the common liberty of the 
subject to be preserved whole and entire y it was his desire that he 
might be set as a beacon on a hill for all men else to wonder at."- 

Speech by Wentworth in 1628 

AMONGST the candidates returned to the 
" Addled " Parliament of 1614 was a young man 
from Yorkshire, bearing the name of Sir Thomas 
Wentworth. He sprang from a well-born northern family, 
and had been educated at the University of Cambridge. 
Twenty-one years of age, and already half conscious of 
a smouldering passion for power, he took his seat among 
the members of that varied and short-lived Parliament. 
Many of the Commons who were present upon Went- 
worth's first entry never again found a place in West- 
minster. But there were few who did not keep some 
impression of the tall young man, stooping a little at the 
neck, whose " cloudy " face was now and again lighted up 
by a sudden and piercing gleam shot from his dark eyes. 
Power and ambition were already stirring in Wentworth's 
breast, and he began to grope about for some means of 
self-expression. The form in which he was to hold in- 
fluence hardly troubled him. He hungered after power, 
and he was ready to take up any course that would place 
it within his fingers. This desire of his sprang from no fine 
instincts ; and neither patriotism nor duty had a share in 
his programme, except as a means to an end. To his silent, 
( 122 




The Earl of Strafford 

Van Dyck 

Photo Emeiy Walker 



The Earl of Strafford 123 

deep-seated disgust, he found that his path to royal favour 
was at every corner deftly blocked by Buckingham, who 
saw at once that this was a rival of parts, easily capable of 
gaining too much favour with the sovereign. Conscious of 
the secret battle offered him by the " dog Steenie," 
Wentworth made up his mind to join the opposite party, 
and he quickly flung himself into the cause of the Parlia- 
ment. His brilliant and passionate speeches soon made 
him the star of the little company, bound together in 
common defence of the threatened liberties of the subject. 
When he rose to give an opinion the whole House sat 
breathless with interest. Sir John Eliot's oratory was 
more even, but in brilliance and passion Wentworth easily 
outshone him. His openings were calm and temperate, 
but he soon became dazzled by his own eloquence, and 
lost himself in splendid and sparkling flashes. Power, — 
power of any kind, — was what he craved ; at all costs he 
demanded it. Nevertheless there is no reason to suppose 
that his speeches at the moment held a double motive. 
His sincerity for the time being was absolutely pure, and 
if now and again one or two of the more keen-eyed and 
earnest among his comrades suspected that his passionate 
phrases about liberty were built upon rather insecure 
foundations, no one whispered such a suspicion abroad. 
It took little to raise his vehemence. In 1625, when there 
was a question as to the legality of the elections in the dis- 
trict for which he had been returned, he instantly braved 
Parliament, declaring he would make no reply except 
before the ordinary courts of law. This behaviour is a sign 
of his general character. He was determined to get what 
he wanted. By fair means, if it were possible ; if not, 
by any high-handed measure that might offer a way. 

He found just cause for an outbreak of haughty passion 
in the treatment he suffered in 1625. For as he sat in 



124 I n Stewart Times 

court as a sheriff, discharging duties which for ten years 
had been in his hands, he was suddenly and curtly told 
that his office had been taken from him and given to a 
neighbour and rival. It was the doing of Buckingham, 
and Wentworth knew it. His anger at once took fire. 
" I could wish," he cried hotly, " they had forborne this 
service this time. . . . Nevertheless, since they will 
needs thus weakly breathe upon me a seeming disgrace in 
the public face of my country, I shall crave leave to wipe 
it away as openly, as easily." 

With the same turbulence he flung himself into a 
defence of the privileges of the subject to reject taxes 
illegally forced by the king. " We must vindicate," he 
cried, " What ? New things ? No ! Our ancient, law- 
ful and vital liberties ! We must reinforce the laws 
made by our ancestors. We must set such a stamp upon 
them as no licentious spirit shall dare hereafter to invade 
them." When Buckingham brought a royal letter, in 
which Charles took to himself great credit for allowing his 
Commons to discuss a monarch's prerogative, Wentworth 
sprang to his feet impetuously. "As if," he cried scorn- 
fully, "as if this House went about to pinch the king's 
prerogative." 

But in spite of his acknowledged brilliance, he did not 
easily find the niche which he sought for himself. In the 
privacy of his own thoughts he gloomily acknowledged 
that while at Court he was foiled by Buckingham, in the 
Commons he was confronted by Eliot. For the " clashing 
and cudgellings " between these two able Commoners had 
now come to such a pitch that it had grown from " an 
emulation to an enmity." Already Wentworth was 
wearying of his devotion to the Parliament, and the 
Petition of Right was barely through before he was on 
the highroad to royal favour. His change of party 



The Earl of Strafford 125 

roused an outcry of surprise and contempt, but Went- 
worth himself felt very few qualms. " His patriotism," 
as Hallam says finely, " was a seed sown among thorns." 
Buckingham's death had removed the real obstacle to 
royal grace, and once the road was open, he who had 
often exhausted himself in spurning any infringement of 
hereditary liberties, made no scruple about pushing his 
way to the throne. 

Even during Buckingham's time Charles had often 
noticed Wentworth graciously, and he now held out well- 
paid offices as a bait to keep by his side this capable, 
unscrupulous statesman. Wentworth was nothing loth. 
His passion for power was as strong as ever, and he readily 
confessed himself willing to do as Charles pleased. He 
was at once made a peer. Then soon after he became 
President of the Council of the North, and his breach 
with the Commons was glaringly complete. He took up 
his new office with rapture, not because of the benefits 
of wealth, for he was at least free from sordid considera- 
tions, but because it gave him the weapon he had 
long yearned to handle. Charles was like plaster in the 
hands of his adviser, and he readily fell in with the firm, 
rapid suggestions regarding the royal prerogative which 
Wentworth cleverly threw out. The first draught of 
power intoxicated him to further efforts, so that soon he 
was found asserting kingly authority as hotly as ever he 
had upheld public liberty. His old colleagues, shamed 
and angry at his easy desertion of their cause, did not 
spare him any hard words. But Wentworth cared very 
little for what the country was saying about him. Was 
he not tasting the delights of ruling ? And what were a 
few frowns, a few sneers, or even a few open insults com- 
pared with the thrill of being in command ? He thought 
indulgently about his old friends in the House. They 



126 In Stewart Times 

were patriots, perhaps, but he was a statesman. Honesty 
with them would find a front place in their code of honour. 
His own motto lay in a word — expediency. Surely it was 
better to be expedient, when it brought such vivid de- 
lights ? 

His social prestige affected him very little. Men un- 
covered reverently at his approach. It pleased him, but it 
did not interest him greatly, save that it told him anew 
that he had at last become a master. Ireland had long been 
a centre of gloom and disaffection. In 1632 Wentworth 
cheerfully undertook its reform. His coming was noised 
abroad, and a dull shadow of foreboding crossed the Celtic 
minds of the islanders. They suspected evil times, but 
they did not know the depth of misery they were about to 
reach. Wentworth landed, and at once he set about 
carrying out his plan of " Thorough." At first the Irish 
looked on, angry and rebellious. But his harsh dealings 
speedily convinced them that they had met with a tyrant 
to whom scruples and mercy were alike unknown. They 
made what resistance they could ; then they submitted 
sourly and sullenly. Taken by surprise, no plan of action 
could be seized upon in a moment, but they meant to have 
their revenge. The Lord-Deputy might flatter himself 
that he controlled their actions, but he had not 
conquered their spirits. He little knew the depth of the 
hatred smouldering in their hearts, nor guessed how 
suddenly and how fiercely it would spring into flame. 

Left to himself, Charles soon found himself faced with 
grave difficulties, and when Wentworth returned in 1639 
he found excitement on the point of seething over. The 
country was clamouring for a Parliament ; the army was 
full of disaffection. In desperation the king summoned 
the Commons, and in 1640 Parliament met. The year 
before this the king had made Wentworth Earl of Strafford 



The Earl of Strafford 127 

and shown him many favours. But balanced against 
these royal gifts was the odium of an entire nation, and 
the knowledge that some day his tyranny might be called 
to account. Strafford began to be uneasy. He knew 
the Commons too well. He recalled some of his own hot 
speeches in the House, and he begged the king to let him 
go back to Ireland. If he kept out of sight it was possible 
he might be forgotten, but if he were there at hand, who 
could tell to what lengths their vengeance might go ? 
But on this point Charles was selfishly blind. He 
declared " that Parliament should not touch one hair 
of his head," and he absolutely refused to let him leave 
the country. Strafford gave way uneasily. He felt 
the danger of the situation. Nor were his fears idle, for 
before the Commons had done more than take their seats, 
they impeached the detested minister. His trial was a 
memorable scene. Eighty peers sat in judgment upon him ; 
the king and the queen watched from a curtained box. 
Lords and ladies thronged the gallery, and the floor was 
crowded with members of both Houses. Strafford made 
his own defence, and his old eloquence rose to its height. 
For fifteen days he pleaded his cause, reducing the audience 
to tears by his pathos. The Commons began to grow 
restless and uneasy, fearing the effect of his passionate 
speeches. They were determined that fine words should 
not let him escape punishment, and they hurriedly brought 
in a Bill of Attainder, condemning him to be beheaded. 
Charles was urged to sign the warrant. He refused. Had 
he not sworn that not a hair of Strafford's head should 
be injured ? He would not be bullied by these butchers 
in Parliament. The rumour that the king intended to 
save his favourite was whispered in the city, and roused the 
people to madness. " Justice ! Justice ! " they shouted, 
passing in a never-ceasing procession past the House of 



128 In Stewart Times 

Commons, brandishing sticks and waving poles. The 
king was in agony. Honour forbade him to sign ; fear 
made him finger the pen. He consulted with his bishops. 
With one exception they urged him to sacrifice an in- 
dividual rather than rouse the country. Then Strafford 
himself sent a letter : " Sire," he wrote, " after a long and 
hard struggle, I have come to the only resolution befitting 
me ; all private interest should give way to the happiness 
of your sacred person and of the state. I entreat you to 
remove, by attending to this bill, the obstacle which pre- 
vents a happy concord between you and your subjects." 

This settled the matter. Charles signed the warrant, 
and news of the deed was sent to the prisoner. He received 
the message with some surprise, exclaiming : " Put not 
your trust in princes." Next day he was hurried to his 
fate. His passage thither was full of dignity. " I can 
look death in the face," he said quietly, and he went with 
firm step towards the scaffold. 

The people looked on in gloomy silence. No pity was 
visible on their faces, and after the axe had fallen, many 
dashed off, shouting triumphantly : " His head is off ; his 
head is off ! " But there were others who went away more 
silently, forgetting for a moment the many tyrannies 
which had brought this man to the block, mindful only of 
the courage he had just shown. 



EDWARD HYDE, EARL OF 
CLARENDON 

" l Tis with our judgments as our watches, none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 11 

Pope 

EDWARD HYDE, afterwards Earl of Clarendon, 
was born in 1609. His birth was thus not so far 
beyond Tudor days as to place him outside the 
reach of Tudor influence. All his life he showed a love 
for the good old days, when sovereign power had been 
linked to strong personality, and the nation had instinc- 
tively and reverently looked up to the monarch as to a 
supreme lawgiver. It is easy to figure Clarendon flourish- 
ing under Henry VIII. or Elizabeth ; it is less easy to 
reconcile his fitness with the Stewart regime. A recent 
writer has explained it upon the ground that he was " an 
early sixteenth century figure strayed into the late seven- 
teenth." So that his character can only be understood 
by judging it by Tudor standards, rather than by those 
applied to Pym, Cromwell, or Wentworth. 

Wiltshire was the county in which his infant days were 
spent, but he was more properly of Cheshire origin. He 
passed with renown from Oxford to the Bar, becoming 
enrolled as a barrister of the Middle Temple when he was 
only twenty-four years of age. His fluency and his vivid 
powers of description were often remarked. No one 
could hear him make a public speech without feeling 
that here was a clever and picturesque pleader. 

I 129 



130 In Stewart Times 

Like most of the young men of the period he was stirred 
with an enthusiasm for the principles of freedom, and in 
the Commons he took an active part in opposing the 
Crown. But the first heat of his ardour soon cooled down, 
and he found himself steadily growing more and more out 
of sympathy with his colleagues. The Root and Branch 
Bill of 1641 roused him to opposition, and the Grand Re- 
monstrance found him bristling with indignation. So far 
he had mistaken his own character, imagining himself a 
democrat, whereas his real disposition was spun from an 
entirely different fibre. 

The Root and Branch Bill had startled him into a 
reconsideration of his plan of action, and it was probably 
with some sense of surprise that he suddenly realised how 
far he had drifted from the aims of the Parliamentary 
party, to which he had so far belonged. Perhaps he 
recalled that chance meeting with Oliver St John, close 
upon the sudden dissolution in 1640. St John's gloomy 
face was glowing with an unaccustomed eagerness ; Hyde 
felt nervous and uneasy. 

" What disturbs you ? " said St John cheerily. 

" That which disturbs many honest men," answered 
Hyde ; " the so imprudent dissolution of so sensible and 
moderate a Parliament, which, in our present disorders, 
was the only one likely to apply a remedy." 

" Ah well," said St John significantly, "before things 
get better they must get still worse ; this Parliament 
would never have done what must be done." 

For a long time this sentiment had been the general 
opinion of the uppermost party in the House, but Clarendon 
was just beginning to be aware how thoroughly he disliked 
it. In the following year he hotly opposed the Remon- 
strance, and when after a fierce debate it was carried by 
the narrow majority of eleven, he rose to protest against 



.... .... 

,••,>■..-....... ...•■• " 




The Earl of Clarendon 

Gerard Soest 
Photo Emery Walker 



130 



The Earl of Clarendon 131 

Hampden's suggestion that it should forthwith be printed 
and publicly circulated. 

" In my opinion," he cried indignantly, " the doing so 
is not lawful, and would produce mischievous effects. If 
it be adopted, let me protest." His words stirred up a 
commotion. On all sides there were cries of " I protest, 
I protest," and in a moment the House was on the point 
of nothing less than a melee. But for Hampden's tact the 
situation would have ended in a hubbub. As it was, after 
two hours' uproar the Commoners separated, their faces 
hot and flushed, but their bearing quiet and orderly. 

From this point it was obvious even to everybody 
that Hyde had no real place among those who op- 
posed the King's party, and when he went over to the 
monarch most men felt it had long been his proper place. 
In his case, at least, there was never any trace of self- 
advancement as a motive. Naturally Charles was ready 
to receive his new ally, and willing to show him favour, 
but those who assert that Hyde's change of front sprang 
from any sordid hope, fatally misjudge his character. 
His behaviour secretly puzzled even the king. Charles 
had no insight into complex emotions, and he failed to 
understand that honesty lay at the back of Clarendon's 
conduct. But he received him with every show of hearti- 
ness, and soon gave him his confidence. 

From this date the minister devoted himself entirely 
to the service of his sovereign. When active hostilities 
broke out he went with Charles to York. From there he 
wrote all the royal declarations, which the king laboriously 
copied out in his own handwriting, so that no one should 
guess their authorship. He gave the monarch sensible 
advice about the management of affairs, and often he 
strongly urged him to hold back from unconstitutional 
acts of government. Charles would listen in his usual 



132 In Stewart Times 

grave, courteous manner, but when the moment for action 
arose he straightway forgot his minister's wise warnings 
and plunged forward in his old, light-hearted, reckless way. 
Clarendon watching him from afar must often have 
suffered agonies of fear at the behaviour of his royal master. 
At such moments, too, he must have often felt the eyes 
of the Queen fixed upon him with gleeful look. For 
Henrietta Maria did not like Clarendon, and the minister 
was only too conscious of her feeling against him. 

But before long the greatest crisis of all threatened, and 
personal likes and dislikes soon disappeared when the very 
throne seemed to be in jeopardy. For a time the king's 
party appeared to recover and to enjoy security, but in 
reality it was hopelessly broken. Prince Charles, a mere 
boy of fifteen, was given the high-sounding title of General 
and sent to the west of England to give loyalty a chance 
of expressing itself. With him went the faithful Clarendon, 
who followed him through every misfortune till 1646, 
when they both took refuge in Jersey, and from thence 
made their way to The Hague. 

Afraid to return to England, Clarendon spent the hours 
in writing his "History," an immense piece of work, famous 
for its brilliant character sketches. Its historical value 
is less than its literary charm, for Clarendon had not the 
nice balance of mind which makes the historian ; but 
otherwise the memoirs are invaluable, as a record of how 
a contemporary statesman viewed the conduct of the 
House of Stewart. 

Very dark and gloomy were Clarendon's thoughts when 
he got news from England of tragedy following upon 
tragedy. The execution of Charles rightly thrilled him 
with horror, but his love for the sovereign so blinded his 
judgment that he summed up the character of the monarch 
in these words : 



The Earl of Clarendon 133 

" He was, if ever any, the most worthy of the title 
of a Honest Man ; so great a lover of Justice that no 
temptation could dispose him to a wrongful action." 

With the Restoration palmy days again dawned for 
Clarendon. He returned in triumph as Chancellor, and 
the next year he received the title of Earl. Two objects 
now became the passion of his life — to restore monarchy 
to its old position, and to uphold Episcopacy. His youth- 
ful opinions about controlling the power of the king had 
long since been cast aside, but in matters of religion he 
had all his life been equally strong against both Roman 
Catholics and Nonconformists. He now fell upon the 
dissenting bodies with venomous zeal, and his name took 
on a shade of odium from the cruel laws, known 
as the " Clarendon Code," for which he was mainly re- 
sponsible. But it may be questioned whether his savage 
conduct sprang from a persecuting spirit, so much as 
from a detestation of every kind of schism. Papists 
and Puritans were alike branded in his mind as un- 
worthy, and he blamed them both for disturbing the 
union of State and Church which he so ardently upheld. 
To a large extent his attitude was shared by the common 
people, who disliked the new sects as heartily as they 
hated the follower of Prelacy. Many street ballads aired 
popular feeling upon these two points, and " A Waking 
Vision," though not published till after Clarendon's fall, 
may be taken as an example of his own point of view. 

" Dread Sir, if you will Rule the Land in peace, 
Exp ell your Foes, and Friends will soon increase, 
Your Ruin does, Sir, too, too plain appear ; 

Rome leads the van, Geneva brings the Rear: 
If you'll be safe, you must expell them both, 
The Roman Gnat and the Dissenting Moth, 
A nd vigour ously let them understand 
You are the King, and will like Kings command^ 



134 I n Stewart Times 

The struggle which Clarendon watched with such 
anxiety, seemed to him the old tug-of-war of the days of 
Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, played anew. He did not 
grasp that in the meantime the background had altered ; 
that the nation had changed once and for all ; and that 
things could never again be as they had been before. 
These were facts that throughout his life he never saw. 
He could not move with the times ; and he did not 
realise that while he had been standing still, looking 
tenderly upon the past, the nation had rushed past him to 
a very different goal. Puzzled but dogged he still held 
to the old theories, hoping a vain hope of seeing the old 
regime spring into resurrection. 

His rule as a statesman was distinguished by one signal 
virtue : he was a man of honourable dealing. When the 
Royalist Parliament of 1661 was more than half inclined to 
do away with the Bill of Indemnity, to which Charles had 
agreed at his accession, Clarendon at once denounced 
any such breach of faith. Through his efforts a strong 
message was sent to the Commons from Charles, declaring 
that the mercy promised in the Bill must at all costs be 
carried out. The more malicious grumbled and protested, 
but Clarendon held to his point, and the honour of the 
Crown was saved. 

His fall came with the suddenness which is so often the 

fate of favourites. The king had grown tired of this 

minister with his tiresome scruples, and he was quite 

willing to let him fall into the hands of his enemies. 

Public opinion had vastly changed since Dryden's poem 

of 1662, in which the poet had fulsomely sung of Clarendon : 

(t So, in this hemisphere our utmost view 
Is only bounded by our King and you. 11 

Extravagant charges were brought against him. It 
was said he was in favour of a standing army ; that he had 



The Earl of Clarendon 135 

had a share in the sale of Dunkirk. He was, in fact, an 
official who could be blamed for any and every mistake 
of the reign. At the first noise of attack Clarendon con- 
sulted Charles. The king had nothing to say, and the 
minister awoke to the bitter fact that he was no longer 
needed. His pride shrivelled up like a spent balloon. 
Without waiting for his trial he retired to the Continent 
in 1667, there to live out the remaining seven years of his 
life, busy upon his " History of the Rebellion." 

There was no real tenderness in Clarendon's character, 
though his personal likings were strong and true. So that 
he lacks the touch of charm which can often be found in 
less worthy natures. He was honourable, but he was 
cruel. He was faithful, but he had little sense of absolute 
justice. He was free from the taint of self-seeking, but 
he was never generous towards those who differed from 
him. He made very few friends, for he possessed the 
unfortunate knack of irritating men to whom he bore 
no ill-will. No party made him its idol ; but every 
party had some ground of complaint against him. He 
served Charles II. truly and well, though the king used him 
ill. His character may best be summed up in the words 
of Pepys, who noted down in his" diary the brief remark 
that the Chancellor had shown himself " a good servant 
to the king." 



ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, EARL 
OF SHAFTESBURY 

" Nor can a man any more live, whose desires are at an end, than 
he whose senses and imaginations are at a stand. Felicity is the 
continual progress of the desire from one object to another, the attain- 
ing of the former being still but the way to the latter — so that in the 
■first place, I put for a general inclination of all mankind, a perpetual 
and restless desire of power after power, that ceaseth only in death. 11 

Hobbes 

BIRTH placed Anthony Ashley Cooper in a posi- 
tion of wealth and importance. He might 
easily have spent his life in the common occupa- 
tions of his class, hunting, dining, bullying or comforting 
his tenants, with a few rare jaunts to London, and one or 
two rarer excursions abroad. But very early the needle 
of ambition touched him, pricking him to new efforts in 
the chase after power. As a mere child he was left without 
the care and guidance of both his parents. This heavy 
misfortune, instead of filling him with a sense of helpless 
dependence upon strangers, made him extraordinarily 
self-reliant, and gave him, when only a boy, all the assur- 
ance of manhood. As a minor, and the heir to large 
estates, he had been put in the Court of Wards, where un- 
scrupulous officials looked upon him as a plum to satisfy 
their greed. To their astonished dismay they found that 
the plum had prickles, and prickles that stung pretty 
deeply. The boy of thirteen had no idea of becoming the 
prey of money-hunters, and he made a warm appeal to the 
Attorney General. This characteristic move indicates 

136 



The Earl of Shaftesbury 137 

the general trend of Shaftesbury's later life. No one 
could ever put him down, without first overcoming every 
kind of resistance. He knew what he wanted to have, 
and he was thoroughly determined to get it. Delicate 
considerations, such as harassed the finely strung mind of 
a Montrose, never troubled his coarser nature. He desired 
power ; but it was the battle of obtaining it that he loved, 
rather than the quieter exercise of employing it. Dryden's 
lines, quoted so often, describe with great shrewdness the 
undercurrents of his character : 

" A fiery soul, which working out its way, 
Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 
And o'er informed the tenement of clay: 
A daring pilot in extremity, 

Pleased with the danger when the waves went high, 
He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit 
Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 11 

The sound of battle, or the clash of tongues, found him 
springing to the front, eager to have full share in the joy of 
contest. Nothing lowered his exultation except the end 
of the struggle. With such a spirit to urge him onward 
he was a very chameleon in politics. He passed quickly 
from government to government, showing in his changes 
a good deal of self-seeking, and an entire lack of principle. 
Charles I. for a time held his service. But when the 
events of 1644 made it evident that the Royalists were 
fighting a dangerous cause, Shaftesbury crossed over to 
Cromwell's side, where he settled down among the Round- 
heads with a carelessness that was nothing less than 
astonishing. The death of the Protector, and the decisive 
conduct of Monck, brought him again to the Stewart 
cause, and from 1660 to 1679 he played an important 
part in the politics of the Restoration period. The 



138 In Stewart Times 

agitation over the Duke of York's succession gave him 
new opportunities for intrigue. He skilfully fanned the 
flame of Protestant alarm, and in 1680 he made plans for 
the elevation of Monmouth, scheming against the reigning 
sovereign with exactly the cool unconcern that he had 
shown in his devotion at different periods to Charles L, 
or Cromwell. 

In all these passages into perfidy two good characteris- 
tics mark his doings. He was always tolerant towards 
religious opinion, and he never sought to make money 
at the expense of the public. Both traits shine all the 
brighter in contrast with the open corruption and in- 
tolerance of that unblushingly wanton period. With all 
his faults and vices, Shaftesbury may at least be written 
down as a man who could make up his mind and carry 
out his intentions to an end. Dryden has bitterly derided 
him for his share in the Roundhead party, " the loudest 
bagpipe of the squealing train." But scorn on the ground 
of disloyalty comes ill from Dryden, who himself passed 
through pretty much the same changes. 

As a member of the famous Whig Cabal, Shaftesbury 
was in close touch with Charles II. The king found 
much to like in this clever minister, who was never at a 
loss for a witty reply, and in 1672 he made him Earl of 
Shaftesbury. At Court, Shaftesbury affected an air of 
idleness and profligacy, but his real temper was very 
different. Under his seeming indolence and well-bred 
indifference, he hid a keen and business-like mind. He 
had the gift of looking ahead, and long before an event 
took place he had scented out the likelihood of its happen- 
ing. But in the matter of the Secret Treaty of Dover 
(1670) he was entirely deceived, and it was not till long 
after the paper had been signed by Charles that he began 
to suspect the double dealings of the sovereign. By this 



The Earl of Shaftesbury 139 

treaty, Charles forswore the promises made by the Triple 
Alliance, and undertook to help Louis against Holland 
and Spain, upon receiving from the French sovereign 
money and men to help to restore Roman Catholicism in 
England. The effect of this discovery upon Shaftesbury's 
mind may be surmised. He would not shrink from the 
deed with the disgust of a less worldly statesman ; he 
would regard it coolly, and without embarrassment. 
Nevertheless, it must have given a shock even to his strong, 
unprincipled nature. Perhaps this disillusionment affords 
some clue to his exertions in 1680 on behalf of Monmouth, 
as a rival to the claims of the Duke of York, at a time 
when it seemed sheer madness to risk a rebellion on behalf 
of so hopeless a leader as the son of Lucy Walters. 
Popular sentiment found blunt expression in street 
song and ballad, and in spite of Shaftesbury's strongest 
efforts, Monmouth never had any real following in the 
country. The opinion of the nation had been much 
more shrewdly judged by the rhymster who wrote : 

"Banish thy spurious son, the land, 
Let him no more thy troops command ; 
Withdraw thy fondness from the Fool, 
Thy Darling, but the Party's tool." 

In 1679 Shaftesbury took a leading part in the agitation 
for the passing of the Habeas Corpus Act. Directly 
afterwards he exhausted his eloquence on behalf of the 
Exclusion Bill, which aimed at keeping out the Duke of 
York from succession to the Throne. Public opinion was 
very divided on the subject, and Shaftesbury was both 
hotly denounced and hotly applauded. From one quarter 
every base adjective was hurled at his head ; from another 
came applause and a torrent of praise. In the stress of 
the commotion, the minister went about with a proud step 



140 In Stewart Times 

and a shining eye. Conflict was to him as the wine of 
life, and the greater the difficulties of the situation, the 
stronger grew the glow of his interest. The House of 
Commons was thronged with opponents ; parties were 
openly and bitterly divided. "Whig" and "Tory" 
took on a fiercer meaning than they had so far known. 
Charles himself was so distracted, that in the intervals of 
feeding his ducks in the park, he pondered upon the wisdom 
of offering terms to his ministers. The elections opened 
amid the greatest excitement, and a man's political views 
suddenly became of vital importance. Blame and praise 
continued to pour upon Shaftesbury's head, and electioneer- 
ing songs did not hesitate to refer to him, either by name, 
or by allusions too plain to be mistaken. A good instance 
of these songs is given in the Essex Ballad (1680). 
Shaftesbury's colour was green, and everyone knew the 
meaning of the reference in the second line : 

" Now God preserve our King and Queen, 
From Pyebald Coats and Ribbons green, 
Let neither Knave nor Fool be seen 
about 'em. 11 

In spite of opposition, he was returned to office, and 
in October 1680 he was to be seen in the House of Lords, 
flinging down argument after argument in favour of the 
renowned Exclusion Bill. He was confronted by George 
Savile, Marquis of Halifax, who steadily and calmly 
pulled to pieces all his opponent's cleverest pleas. The 
battle between these two able men was fought to a finish, 
and to Shaftesbury's everlasting vexation he found him- 
self outdone by the quiet reasonableness of Halifax. 
Haughty and disgusted, he flung himself from the hall. 
It was the turning-point in his career. Henceforward 
he was to descend steadily into the abyss of disgrace. 




The Earl of Shaftesbury 

J. Greenhill 

Photo Emery Walker 



140 



The Earl of Shaftesbury 141 

As soon as he could find a decent reason for getting rid 
of his turbulent parliament, Charles issued an order for its 
dissolution. The reaction he had counted upon came 
quickly. Tory spirit triumphed, and Tories crowded 
upon the benches lately filled with Whigs. Shaftesbury's 
reputation began to dwindle with fatal rapidity. Ex- 
asperated citizens seized the opportunity for placing upon 
his shoulders the odium of maladministration, for which 
he had never been responsible. A clever, bitter ballad 
accusing him, quite unjustly, of a greed for money, flooded 
the streets and coffee-houses. His followers loudly 
denounced the slander, but the only reply they received 
was a taunting repetition of the chant : 

££ Tony, a turncoat at Worcester, yet swore he'd maintain the King's 
Right : 
But Tony did swagger and bluster, and never drew sword on his 
side." 

So the song goes on, till " old Rowley return'd heaven 
bless him,." Then the gibes fall faster than ever : 

- For now little Chancellor Tony with honour has feathered his wing ; 
And carefully scraped up the money, but never a groat for the King : 
But Tony's luck was confounded, the Duke soon smoaked him a 

Roundhead, 
From head to heel Tony was sounded, and York put a spoke in his 

wheel. 11 

This very characteristic song shows the depth of hatred 
that even then poisoned politics, and also witnesses to the 
popular liking for Charles II., often affectionately called 
" old Rowley." One bit in the song was true enough, 
Tony's luck was certainly confounded. In 1681 a charge 
of high treason was brought against him. He was 
promptly hurried to the silence of the Tower, that ancient 



142 In Stewart Times 

building which at different times has harboured alike rich 
and poor ; the just and the unjust ; the innocent and the 
guilty ; some to pass forth free and unsullied ; others to 
leave their bones as relics within the sanctuary of the time- 
worn chapel. Four months later (November 1681) he was 
tried and acquitted. Bells and bonfires hailed the verdict, 
showing that in London at least " Tony " could still boast 
of some sort of a following. 

On his release from prison some of his old boldness 
returned, and he went so far as to attempt to stir up a 
rebellion in the West on behalf of Monmouth. But his 
plans were found out and foiled, and there was nothing for 
him but flight. Foresight had always been a distinguish- 
ing trait of his intellect, and he realised at once that it was 
useless to try to pick up the broken fragments of his 
political career. He fled in haste to Holland, and here he 
lived for a year, till 1683, when death for ever put an end 
to those schemes within schemes, which his restless brain 
was never tired of weaving. 



GEORGE SAVILE, MARQUIS OF 
HALIFAX 

- The sagacious Trimmer:-' — Macaulay 

BORN in 1633, in the reign of Charles I., the 
career of George Savile, Marquis of Halifax, is 
identified with the most interesting portion of the 
Stewart rule. His death did not occur till midway in the 
reign of William III., so that during his life of some sixty 
odd years he saw many changes of government. With 
every advantage of wealth and position to help him, he 
rapidly became a foremost figure in the political world. 
His promotion did not bring him general popularity. 
Whigs and Tories alike found fault with a line of conduct 
which was always based upon personal decision, instead 
of party principle. " A Trimmer ! " cried the Tory side 
scornfully. "A Trimmer!" echoed the Whigs with 
equal contempt. Their taunts left Halifax quite un- 
moved. ' Yes, a Trimmer," he replied gravely, picking 
up the term so scornfully flung down. Henceforward he 
wore it as a feather in his cap, the proud badge of an un- 
prejudiced mind. The action was characteristic. Halifax 
was a man with personality, and he was very little affected 
by the snubs and cold looks that Whigs and Tories in turn 
saw fit to bestow upon him. He had a " lawyer's mind "— 
fatal to success in politics. For he saw with embarrassing 
clearness both sides of every argument, and he often 
spoke most strongly against the very party with which he 
happened at the moment to be leagued. His instinct was 
143 



144 I n Stewart Times 

to shepherd the defeated ; and once a cause had been lost 
he at once began to discover its good points. He had a 
wonderful capacity for judging events from the standpoint 
of the future rather than of the present. So that more 
practical, but less clever statesmen, who were unable to 
follow his lengthy flights, were apt to listen impatiently 
to the many side issues he was wont to discover on his way 
to a conclusion. No wonder he roused exasperation in the 
breast of William III., so capable, so decisive, so utterly 
unable to understand the cross-currents in a character 
of a man who was a philosopher as well as a statesman. 
The witty and affable Charles II. had listened with delight 
to his mellow and eloquent flow, but the more brusque 
William, anxious to get to the point, did not hesitate to 
break in with a word of impatience. 

" Halifax," said an onlooker, " was publicly reproved 
by the king for his prolonged indulgence in flights of 
fancy." The rebuke cut the minister's pride to the quick, 
bringing him down to earth with an unpleasant shock. 
Sovereign and subject were alike shut out by temperament 
from understanding each other. " To know all," says the 
French proverb, " is to forgive all." But this was just 
what William III. could never do in respect to Halifax. 
He put down as a conceited indulgence in wit, the series of 
minor arguments, that Halifax always discovered lying 
beside the main theme. He failed entirely to grasp the 
trend of a mind which saw both sides at once. 

To Halifax there were flies in every ointment. "He 
could not," says Macaulay, " long continue to act cordially 
with any body of men. The prejudices and the ex- 
aggerations of both the great parties in the State, in turn 
moved his scorn. He despised the mean acts and windy 
shouts of demagogues. He despised still more the doctrines 
of divine right and passive obedience. He smiled at 



The Marquis of Halifax 145 

the bigotry of the Churchman, and at the narrowness of 
the Puritan. He was equally unable to comprehend how 
any man should object to Saints' days and surplices, and 
how any man should persecute any other man for objecting 
to them." This broadmindedness gives the key to his 
career. Some less scrupulous statesmen made a change in 
policy for the sake of paltry gain ; but Halifax, never. 
He certainly swayed from side to side, but the reason for 
his change of front never sprang from a hope of self- 
advancement. He appeared to be inconsistent, but there 
was a method in all his doings, and he could always give 
a reason for the alteration in his views. The sharp 
shafts of his wit flashed through the House of Commons, 
and his speeches were always awaited with eagerness. 
Though both Whigs and Tories in turn scorned him, each 
party was wont to watch anxiously for his coming into the 
House on the day of an important measure, for who could 
predict his line of action, or foresee the arguments he would 
bring forth ? Who dared to say whether or not the Bill 
would pass, until Halifax had spoken ? To the politicians 
of the day he was what Drake had been to the Spaniards. 
" This Halifax " was capable of making a dangerously 
sudden swoop upon a point in discussion and carrying 
victory to a quarter where it was least expected. The 
rhymster of 1682, who wrote contemptuously of the 
Whigs, might have let his words stand for Halifax: 

" Yet they are - Loyal Still '- ! But ye must know 
-Tis with a Mental Reservation though. 11 

This shrewd hit exactly describes the famous Trimmer. 
He had always a " mental reservation," which when 
revealed often bred dismay among the very party counting 
upon his support. Such a moment occurred in 1680 at 
the time of the Exclusion Bill. Almost to a man the 



146 



In Stewart Times 



Whig House of Commons had voted it through. The 
next move lay with the Lords. King and country alike 
looked on with acute interest, and the Duke of York could 
hardly restrain his agony of mind. On the whole, the 
House of Lords was in accord with the Commons, and the 
Bill seemed on the point of becoming law when Halifax 
rose to speak. Every eye was bent upon him, every ear 
strained to catch his liquid utterances. Those most eager 
about the safe conduct of the Bill caught their breath in a 
fever of dread. What would Halifax say ? 

The Trimmer began his speech. After the first few 
words it was evident that he meant to oppose the motion, 
and with a scarcely suppressed groan its supporters pulled 
themselves together to follow the lofty persuasions of the 
orator. Charles himself was present, looking on with a 
glowing eye. He was thinking not so much about his 
brother as about the effect of the debate upon his own 
position. He knew that a large part of the nation was 
still chafing against the Stewarts ; and that any moment 
fresh menaces might appear. But he comforted himself 
with the reflection that at any rate the people would prefer 
him to his brother, who was the butt of endless gibes : 

" But with all his errors restore us our King y 
If ever you hope in December for Spring ; 
For tho' all the world cannot show such another , 
Yet we'd rather have him than his bigoted brother. "- 

For a moment the king let his thoughts wander off to 
his own fortunes, then he came back with a start to the 
scene around him. The clear, mellow voice of Halifax was 
still filling the hall. He was using every art of persuasion 
in his power ; now forcing home some witty thrust, now 
taking on a note of pathos. He was pleading on behalf 
of the Duke of York, and before long Charles grasped 



The Marquis of Halifax 147 

that his " bigoted brother " had found an able and powerful 
defender. Halifax went on speaking. A slight move- 
ment, the faintest of stirs, passed among the benches. The 
eloquence of the speaker was beginning to tell, and not a 
few of those peers who had come prepared to vote promptly 
and heartily for the Bill, began to wonder if there might not 
be something to be said on the other side. Still the speaker 
went on with his arguments, and gradually the temper of 
the House changed. Those whose hatred of the Duke 
was immovable began to gnash their teeth and cast 
baleful eyes at the dauntless orator. Up in the little 
gallery the glow in the eyes of the king deepened. Halifax 
sat down. Other speakers sprang to their feet. Protesta- 
tions and arguments were wildly uttered. But nothing 
was of any further avail. Halifax had stormed the citadel. 
He had won. By a large majority the Exclusion Bill 
was thrown out. In the eyes of the nation Halifax the 
Trimmer stood as a rascal and evildoer. Many bitter 
taunts were hurled at his head ; but it is significant that 
nobody dared to charge him with acting as he had done 
from secret sympathy with the Romanist party. He was 
commonly said to be an atheist, and as such he was 
branded in the eyes of both Catholics and Protestants. 

This signal service on his behalf should have made 
James, Duke of York, for ever the grateful debtor to 
Halifax, but it did not. When he became sovereign, and 
he could show his real feelings more openly, though he 
offered his thanks to Halifax, he let it be known privately 
that he had no love for the " Trimmer." On his side, no 
doubt, Halifax did not expect gratitude. His speech had 
not been inspired by personal feeling for James, nor by 
private devotion to the Roman Catholic religion. It had 
been merely the expression of his view of justice. 

He therefore showed no inconsistency in 1685, when 



148 



In Stewart Times 



he brought all the power of his tongue to bear against 
the repeal of the Test Act and the Habeas Corpus Act. 
He saw no reason why James should not follow his private 
liking in religion, but he claimed for himself the same 
freedom. Trimmer though he was, Halifax would not 
follow some of his less scrupulous colleagues across the 
threshold to the celebration of Mass. Nor would he be 
silent when it seemed as if the king meant to try to intro- 
duce private prejudices into the conduct of public affairs. 
James attempted to wheedle his minister into agreement, 
but when he found Halifax still obstinate, he flung him 
from him with petty irritation and demanded of him his 
office. Halifax made no demur, James might dash him 
from power, but he could not wring from him a vote he did 
not think should be given. But in spite of his hasty 
conduct, James, at the bottom of his heart, was aware 
that he had no other minister so brilliant or so clear- 
sighted, and in the dark days which preceded the corona- 
tion of William, the hapless Stewart sovereign more than 
once appealed to him for advice. 

James fled to France, and Halifax became the minister 
of William III. His career under the new sovereign 
was not very happy. The times called for swift and 
decisive action ; William was a man of few words, and 
still fewer thanks. Halifax, moreover, was smarting 
under the sorrow of the death of two of his sons, and he 
was ill-fitted to bear the strain put u^pon him. Enemies 
began to raise their heads. He had been entrusted with 
the management of Ireland, and things there had gone 
very ill. His son made a spirited defence on his behalf : 
" My father," he cried, " has not deserved to be thus 
trifled with. If you think him culpable, say so. He will 
at once submit to your verdict. Dismission from Court 
has no terrors for him." The bold words struck home, 



The Marquis of Halifax 149 

and Halifax was acquitted. But his career was practically 
over. Of his own free will he withdrew from the public 
life which his talents had so often lit up. His death 
happened with startling suddenness in 1695, at the 
moment when his son, Lord Eland, was being married to 
Lady Mary Finch. He died as he had lived, with a serene, 
unclouded temper, tolerant even in the face of the unfore- 
seen and rapid onslaught of death. 



SIDNEY, EARL GODOLPHIN 

" Mrs Timorous. — Well, I see you have a mind to go a- fooling 
too ; but take heed in time, and be wise ; while we are out of 
danger, we are out, but when we are in, we are in. 11 

" The Pilgrim's Progress " 

IN the year 1662, in the court of Charles II., a short, 
thin, dark youth might have been seen fulfilling the 
duties of page to his Majesty, the King. It was 
Sidney Godolphin, afterwards Earl of Godolphin, who 
thus early in life learned the wiles and arts of statecraft. 
He had little to say, and his nature was shy and shrinking. 
Few of the older statesmen paid him any attention. In 
the scramble for prizes which followed upon the Restora- 
tion, each man was too busy about his own interests to 
have any thoughts to spare for silent, eager-eyed youths, 
beginning a Court career. But beneath Godolphin's shy 
manner lay keen ability and not a little ambition. Court 
life was very much to his liking, and he meant to win a 
name for himself. At a very early age he had shown great 
skill in figures, and it was this gift that afterwards brought 
him to the front. Before the end of his life he was known 
throughout the country as the most able financier of his 
time. But in the year 1662 he was merely a page to the 
sovereign, with all his honours to win. 

He had none of the qualities which bring rapid promo- 
tion. He was neither brilliant, nor had he the art of 
pushing himself into public notice. Nevertheless he steadily 
held to what was his, and by degrees he reached the full 
blaze of political life. Though he had outgrown some of 
the shyness of his youth, he was still timid and nervous, 

ISO 



Earl Godolphin 151 

and often enough he found the roses of office very prickly 
to handle. Whenever a catastrophe happened, or there was 
a difficult point to be settled, Godolphin was wrung by 
doubts and fears before he decided to act. And even when 
he did call together enough courage to make a decision, he 
was often so late in arriving at his conclusions, that the 
moment for striking had gone by. His allegiance to 
Charles lasted till the death of the monarch, under whom 
he became a baron in 1684. The opening of the reign of 
James II. found him a minister with an established reputa- 
tion, and he was at once named Chamberlain to Queen Mary 
of Modena. The new queen, the daughter of a Spanish 
duke, was a Catholic. Godolphin was a Protestant, but 
it is typical of his character that he found no difficulty 
in accompanying his royal mistress to the Church she 
favoured. The rude shock of the Revolution found him 
full of anxious dread, but he loyally held to James, and he 
was one of the very last to withdraw from his service. His 
leaning towards the cause of the exiled Stewarts took the 
shape of secret correspondence with James Stewart, the 
Chevalier de St George, popularly known in England as 
the " Old Pretender." His schemes in this quarter never 
came to anything. There is good reason for thinking 
that his share in them at all was largely due to the influence 
of the strong-willed Marlborough, who was as ready to 
take firm action as Godolphin was eager to avoid it. For 
all this, Godolphin did not escape the scorn of his con- 
temporaries. It might be prudent to hesitate and waver, 
but it did not command admiration. Dryden cleverly 
hit off the popular feeling when he wrote : 

" But Sunderlandy Godolphin, Lord, 
These will appear such chits in story, 
'-Twill turn all politics to jests, 
> To be repeated like John Dory, 

When fiddlers sing at feasts. 11 



152 In Stewart Times 

So far Godolphin's sympathies had been entirely with 
the Tory party, and in 1695 he was overthrown by 
the triumphant Whigs. But Whig victories were soon 
capped by Tory triumphs, and three years later he was 
back again in office. For the next few years these waves 
of political feeling passed regularly over the country, either 
party being on top in turn. The death of William III., 
and the accession of Anne, brought in the Tory side with 
a rush. Godolphin was in high favour, and the Whigs 
had to withdraw into the background. The elections had 
been marked by hot feeling, which was fostered by Marl- 
borough's behaviour after the returns had been made 
known. The general was agog for war, but the Tories 
would not give supplies. It was plain that if campaigns 
were to be planned the Whigs would have to be brought 
back to power, and Marlborough now began to work hard 
to restore the very party he had always opposed. In this 
effort he was greatly helped by Godolphin, now united to 
him by marriage, for Godolphin's son had married Marl- 
borough's daughter. Together the two ministers gradually 
persuaded Anne to give office to the war party, and by 1708 
both of them were openly on the side of the Whigs. This 
change of front was uneasily watched by the country, and 
the ballad-makers sang : 

" // Whigs at this distance so terrible are ; 
Fa la la, la la la, la la la ; 
Such men in our bosom may well make us stare, 
Fa la la, la la la, la la la ; 

Such men in our bosom may well make us stare, 
A nd extort what they please if we do not take care, 
Fa la la, la la la, la la la. 11 

But Marlborough and the Whig party were now hand 
in glove, and Godolphin obediently followed. With great 



Earl Godolphin 153 

flourish of trumpets the War of the Spanish Succession 
went forward, while the nation looked on and talked and 
wondered. 

At no period in history have politics received more 
general attention than at the birth of our modern system 
during the reigns of William III. and of Anne. A man 
was marked out by his political opinions. Everyone was 
a statesman in little. Some of the coffee-houses were 
famous for their literary coteries, but even there men 
often talked of nothing but affairs of state. From his 
snug arm-chair in a coffee-house corner, many a wiseacre 
enjoyed the luxury of airing his opinions to his fellow. 
Not the slightest public event went by but Citizen Wise 
Man & Company had some remarks to offer. A typical 
ballad, written some twenty years before the accession of 
Anne, gives a good picture of the awakening of this new 
interest, which rose to its height after the Revolution 
of 1688. 

" F the Coffee House here's one with a grave face, 
When, after salute he hath taken his place, 
His pipe being lighted, begins for to prate, 
And wisely discovers the affairs of the State. 

A politick citizen in his blew gown, 
As gravely in shops he walks up and down, 
Instead of attending the wares on his stall, 
Is all day relating th'- intrigues at Whitehall.' 1 

It was unfortunate for one with Godolphin's tempera- 
ment that there were so many voices to offer opinions. 
He would have found his career so much more simple, if he 
had been freed from the host of men, thrusting forward their 
different views, to the distraction of the timid Treasurer. 
His hesitating character was seen in its full weakness at 
the time of the storm in Scotland over the Union of 1707. 



154 I n Stewart Times 

Many patriotic Scots were hotly against any formal tie 
between the sister kingdoms. At last Godolphin became 
so thoroughly harassed that he even agreed to the Bill of 
Security, brought in by the Scots, declaring that upon the 
death of Anne the northern country should have the right 
to separate its crown from that of England. At such a 
crisis it was very evident that he was not at all fitted for 
a diplomatic post. In his own department as financier 
he had no equal. Figures and estimates he could deal 
with. They, at least, were always the same. But men 
were a more perplexing problem, not to be settled by any 
mathematical process. 

Marlborough was quite aware of this weakness in 
Godolphin's character, and in matters of any difficulty he 
took care to be near at hand. In return Godolphin leant 
heavily upon his counsel, and a close friendship sprang up 
between these two men, with such very unlike characters. 
Marlborough himself, with all his force, found it more and 
more difficult to pacify the growing objection to the war. 
By 1709, he began to feel himself beaten, while as for the 
storm-tossed Treasurer, he wrote, declaring : "I must give 
myself the vent of saying that the life of a slave in the 
galleys is Paradise in comparison with mine." Poor, 
harassed Godolphin ! And yet he clung to office, willing 
to endure strain, fatigue, or the plentiful snubs of his royal 
mistress, anything, rather than see himself pushed out 
from Court. Then came the bombshell of Dr SacheverelPs 
sermon, in which the preacher referred more than once to 
" Volpone " or " the Fox." Everyone knew that this 
was the nickname of Godolphin, and naturally enough the 
Treasurer felt that he had been publicly insulted. The 
thought stung him to the quick and made him for once 
cast aside all prudence. He declared that Sacheverell 
ought to be impeached. Nothing less would satisfy him. 




[Earl Godolphin 

Sir Godfrey Kneller 

Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



154 



Earl Godolphin 155 

His excitement became a passion, and he wearied everyone 
he met with his demands. In the end he carried the day, 
and the impeachment was set on foot. Godolphin was 
full of delight ; he did not realise that by his protests he 
had given weight to an utterance that a wise man would 
have ignored. For the minute he had scored, but it was 
only for a moment. Very soon Sacheverell was the hero 
of the day, and with a leaden heart Godolphin understood 
too late that he had brought about his own undoing. 

From this point his position with Anne became worse 
than ever, and in the following year (1710) the queen 
snatched at a flimsy excuse for dismissing him. The 
memory of friendly relations in the past rose in Anne's 
heart as she wrote the order. She recalled a hundred times 
when expressions of goodwill had passed between them. 
Marlborough and Godolphin had both stood high in her 
esteem, and she did not tear either of them from her 
councils without a struggle. Even now her generosity 
showed itself to the ex-Treasurer in the form of a pension 
of four thousand pounds a year. " It is impossible," she 
wrote, " for me to continue you any longer in my service. 
But I Will give you a pension of £4000 a year ; and 
I desire that instead of bringing the Staff to me, you 
will break it, which I believe will be easier for us both." 
This sudden dismissal must have come as a blow to 
Godolphin, but no doubt he also felt it a relief to withdraw 
at last from the perplexities of public life. 

Marlborough's home at St Albans offered him welcome 
shelter, and here he died, two years later (1712) at the age 
of sixty-seven. His fame as a financier has justly sur- 
vived him, but otherwise he had not enough warmth of 
personality to make his figure more than a dim shadow on 
the screen of history. 



KOBERT SPENCER, SECOND EARL 
OF SUNDERLAND 

" They, after their headstrong manner, conclude that it is duty to 
rush on their journey all weathers, and I am for waiting for wind 
and tide . . . and for taking all advantages to secure my life and estate. 
They are for holding their notions though all other men be against 
them : but I am for religion . . . so far as the times and my safety will 
bear it} 1 

" The Pilgrim's Progress M 

MACAULAY has summed up the character of 
Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, in the 
brief, cutting sentence that " in him the 
political immorality of the age was personified in the most 
lively manner." The verdict is sweeping, but investiga- 
tion proves that it is not too sweeping for the unprincipled 
course, or courses of action, taken up by this powerful 
statesman. 

Born in 1640, the son of wealthy and nobly-born parents, 
Sunderland's early career was typical of his class. Much 
of his early life was spent in France, and he came to 
Oxford bringing with him the pleasure-loving odour of the 
French Court. In 1665, at the age of twenty-five, he 
married Anne Digby, heiress to great riches, and as am- 
bitious and scheming as her husband. Together the two 
young people set themselves to reach that position of 
wealth and renown which the one craved as restlessly as 
the other. 

At a very early age Sunderland showed signs of 
precocity. He had the outlook of a man at a time when 
a healthy boy would have been thinking only of play. 

156 



The Earl of Sunderland 157 

The passing of years changed his precocity into craftiness, 
and he took his place in the political world as a statesman 
of great abilities and few scruples. He was cold-hearted 
and selfish, and above all he had the detestable vice of 
treachery. He could smile in the face of the man whom 
he was secretly undermining, and load with compliments 
the friend against whom he was poisoning the ear of the 
King. At first he had been received gladly by the ministers 
of Charles II. But one by one they discovered his native 
badness, and they began to hold aloof from a colleague 
who could stoop to the deepest deceit. The whole 
spirit of the Court was frivolous and false, but even among 
men who made a boast of owning no scruples, Sunderland 
was looked upon with dislike and suspicion, and the better- 
minded among them muttered that he was always to be 
found in dark practices. 

His adroitness and ability won him the favour of suc- 
cessive sovereigns. It was a matter of small importance 
to him who might be on the throne, provided that he got a 
share of the " cakes and ale." Charles II., James II., or 
William III., he really did not care which he served. But 
the instant there was a suspicion of danger to himself 
he was in a panic of fear, ready to do anything, give 
anything, renounce anything, if he might escape with his 
life. Like a creature greedy for prey, suddenly startled 
by the approach of a larger foe, he fled at the first appear- 
ance of danger and hid in a corner. Many a time through- 
out his career the shock of ruin seemed to be upon him, 
when, at the last moment his wit found some means of 
escape. But in the last final burst of public wrath in 
1697, the real nature of the man showed itself plainly. 
His only anxiety was to be rid of all his offices ; to hasten 
off anywhere, so long as he could keep a whole skin. 

His political life under Charles II. offers some startling 



158 In Stewart Times 

contrasts. He began by upholding the king and his pre- 
rogative. But as soon as the nation showed signs of 
growing restless under a sovereign who " wholly abandoned 
all public affairs " Sunderland began to reshape his 
views. All day long he was busy finding out by cunning 
means which way things were tending, so that he could 
frame his conduct accordingly. A hint was enough for 
his sharp wit, and in the merest look he could read a whole 
story. By 1680 there was a general uneasiness in the 
country. The Duke of York was daily becoming more 
and more unpopular. Sunderland looked on and noted ; 
asked questions, and drew conclusions. The Bill of Ex- 
clusion was about to be discussed. He believed that 
popular prejudices would triumph ; that the Duke would 
be shut out from the succession. Everything seemed to 
justify him in going contrary to the king on this point, 
and he threw in his lot with the Exclusionist party. Then 
came the memorable debate in the House of Lords when 
Halifax carried the day. The Trimmer's eloquence in- 
furiated the scheming Sunderland, and he went home full 
of rage and despair. In spite of his precautions, in spite 
of his most careful questionings, he was on the defeated 
side ! He raged with ill-concealed anger, and when dis- 
missal from office followed upon his action, he tasted the 
bitter woe of a mean nature, suddenly pulled up in its 
crafty enterprises. He saw that the only remedy was 
to withdraw his words, and he set about winning back 
his old place by flattery and submission. He apologised 
humbly to James, and soon he was back in favour with 
Charles, pursuing anew his deep-laid plans of self-interest. 
Unprincipled statesmen, such as Wolsey in the reign of 
Henry VIII., had often in some sort redeemed their vices 
by their able furtherance of public interest. But in the 
case of Sunderland it is safe to say that his thoughts began 



The Earl of Sunderland 159 

and ended with himself. He cared nothing at all for the 
larger issues of statecraft, and he regarded every question 
of policy from the standpoint of personal gain. His 
wealth was already notorious, and in personal possessions 
he far outstripped anyone else. Yet the richer he got, the 
more he craved for gold, only to fling it, with strange con- 
tradiction of character, upon the loaded gaming-tables, 
round which a crowd of hawk-eyed courtiers always hung. 
It was against favourites of fortune such as these that 
the satirical little ballad had been flung in 1675 : 

" Let us drink and be merry, dance, joke and rejoyce, 
With Claret and Sherry, Theorbo and voice. 
The changeable world to our joy is unjust, 
All treasure's uncertain, then down with your dust, 
In frolicks depose your pounds, shillings and pence, 
For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence.' 1 

Scarcely had he wriggled himself back into royal favour 
when a new and perplexing question arose to harass him. 
James had succeeded Charles, and matters between the 
Episcopalians and the Roman Catholics were getting more 
and more strained. It was plain that matters were reach- 
ing a climax. Which side should he uphold ? This was 
the knotty question that stared him in the face night and 
day. Should he become a Roman Catholic, or should he 
not ? He had no religious scruples at stake. He simply 
looked upon the matter from the point of advantage. 
James was a Roman Catholic ; the minister who held the 
same faith might go far in his favour. He decided it was 
worth the risk, and in 1688, shortly before the seven 
bishops were brought to trial, he became a Papist. His 
action excited the liveliest interest. 

" Have you heard the news ? " cried one, bursting into a 
coffee tavern. " Sunderland has turned Roman Catholic." 



160 In Stewart Times 

Instantly there was a buzz of excitement, and not a man 
was without his remark. It was the same everywhere. 
Every coterie had something to say about the matter, and 
gibes at the expense of the turncoat were bandied about 
in abundance. In view of the trial just about to take place, 
even the most charitable saw that Sunderland's change 
had been based upon the most sordid motives. 

Everything added to the interest in the fate of the seven 
bishops, charged with defying the king, by refusing to read 
from their pulpits the Second Declaration of Indulgence 
(1688) . James did his best to pack the jury, and he awaited 
the result with an easy mind. But no jury dared to brave 
the wrath of an entire nation, and the king found he had 
miscalculated his power. 

"Not guilty." The words let loose a great shout of 
joy. The people heaped up bonfires, lighted candles, 
and rang bells. The whole city seemed a carnival, and 
the remotest country village had its share in the jubilation. 
But to the heart of one person at least the merrymakings 
were gall and ashes. Sunderland looked on with a clouded 
brow. After his change of faith was this to be the result ? 
Had he been too hasty after all ? He began to reflect 
whither the trial would lead. The throne was beginning 
to rock. Supposing James should be overthrown ? 
Would the next sovereign be likely to regard with especial 
favour a man who had first voted for the Exclusion Bill, 
and then made amends by deserting the Protestant faith ? 
The longer he thought, the deeper grew his gloom. It was 
truly an awkward situation for a man with Sunderland's 
outlook. He hastened to attract the notice of William 
of Orange by underhand and secret correspondence, 
carried on through the pen of his wife. The dangers that 
the crafty minister had foreseen followed fast upon the 
trial. The reign of James II. ended, and William III. 



The Earl of Sunderland 161 

mounted the throne of England. Sunderland was at his 
elbow. He had hastily doffed his new faith, and returned 
to Episcopacy, and he was now as eager in the service of 
Protestant William as he had been profuse towards Catholic 
James. His old colleagues were naturally furious at the 
success which had attended his base dealings, and they 
showed their disgust as openly as they dared. The object 
of their dislike was quite unmoved. He had grown so 
used to changing his principles that he found no difficulty 
in the transaction. For years he had been used to public 
gibes. As far back as 1683 a newspaper had made sport 
of his affected speech and his pretended devotion to his 
sovereign : 

" And then my Lord Sunderland in his court tone (for 
which he was very particular, and in speaking had made 
it almost a fashion to distend the vocal letters), 4 Whaat,' 
said he, ' if his Maajesty taarn out faarty of us, may not 
he have faarty others to saarve him as well ? and whaat 
maatters who saarves his Maajesty, so laang as his Maajesty 
is saarved.' " This sounded very well in public, but no 
one was so dull as to suppose that Sunderland would be 
content to see himself shut out from public office. To 
him it was a vital matter who served the sovereign. 

William III. had little time and less inclination to inquire 
into the niceties of character of the statesmen he found 
round the English throne. Sunderland was unquestion- 
ably a man of ability, and he had given ample proof of his 
foresight. In spite of popular prejudice, the new king saw 
no reason for shutting out a minister of proved skill. To 
the wrath of many honest men, Sunderland continued to 
mount in royal favour. By 1696 he had become so 
powerful that he persuaded the king to make a habit of 
choosing his ministers entirely from one party, instead of 
trying to please both at once, according to the old custom. 

L 



1 62 In Stewart Times 

This plan was the beginning of our modern political system, 
by which the Cabinet is composed of the chief men amongst 
the party which has the largest majority in the House of 
Commons. The method thus begun has continued in use 
ever since, so that Sunderland stands in history as the 
father of latter-day English politics. 

The next year William advanced him to the office of 
Lord Chamberlain, and he also made him one of the Lords 
Justices. A growl of protest foretold the approach of 
stronger opposition. He had been too long in the world 
of politics for his character to be unknown. Nobody 
trusted him ; very few liked him. It began to be 
whispered that the Commons meant to bring in a Bill 
asking the king to dismiss him. Sunderland got scent of 
the danger, and instantly his cowardly nature showed itself. 
He tore off the badge of his office in terror, and like a 
frightened rabbit, scurried off into private life. No argu- 
ments could bring him to withdraw his resignation. He 
had seen the face of Danger, and its appearance terrified 
him. 

His end came in 1702, and he died leaving the record of 
a statesman who had deliberately walked along crooked 
paths for the sake of personal ends. 






Phase III — The Army 

THOMAS, LORD FAIRFAX 

5 : : : " One who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time.'-'- 

Milton 

THE life of Thomas Fairfax affords a specimen 
of the noblest type of soldier to be found among 
the troops on either side in the great Civil War. 
In his general conduct he always showed high moral 
courage and lofty aims. His personal bravery was doubted 
by none. Though hampered by poor health, he was always 
ready to fling himself into any enterprise, no matter the 
hardships or danger involved. His soldiers loved him to 
the point of adoration ; Charles himself more than once 
spoke warmly of him ; and the Countess of Derby, a hot 
and outspoken Royalist, wrote down that though there 
were " various opinions about his intellect, there was no 
doubt about his courage, and that he was a man of his 
word." 

By descent he belonged to an old Yorkshire family, 
proud of tracing back its origin to the early Middle Ages. 
His own birth took place in 1612, at the Yorkshire village 
of Denton. Aristocratic relations stood as godparents 
to him, and thus he grew up from babyhood to young 
manhood, the carefully tended child of a country squire. 
But for the outbreak of the Civil War, it is more than 
probable that he would have followed the career of his 

163 



164 



In Stewart Times 



forefathers, and lived and died in leisured quiet, well 
liked by his tenantry, but unknown to the larger world. 
From school he went to Cambridge in 1626, returning some 
four years later to take his leave as a volunteer for the 
troops in the Low Countries. His fighting spirit had 
been quickened early, and it was with a high step and a 
shining eye that he set off for excitements which the 
university could never give him. The glow of his spirit 
hid the weakness of his body, and the personal charm of 
his manner soon endeared him to his companions. One of 
his cousins, Lord Falconberg, writes warmly of him in the 
prim style of that day : " My cousin's sweet condition," 
he observes, " begets him love of all that know him, and 
his well-tempered spirit is inferior to none of his age and 
quality." 

In the Low Countries, Fairfax joined the camp of Sir 
Horace Vere, where he gained a good deal of renown. 
When he came back to his Yorkshire home the villagers 
proudly pointed him out as a soldier from the siege of 
Bois-le-Duc, which had fallen before the English in 1630. 

This foreign campaign brought with it another important 
event. For while Fairfax had been abroad he had grown 
into terms of close friendship with his general, Sir Horace 
Vere, and now in 1637 he married Anne, one of the younger 
daughters. The marriage was one of deep love on both 
sides, and throughout her husband's war career, Lady 
Fairfax, a " Vere of the fighting Veres," was almost always 
on the field with him, ready to encourage him with praise, 
or to give him those attentions which his delicate health 
made necessary. 

Two quiet years went by, and then came the opening of 
1639, when Charles sent hasty notice to all the country 
gentlemen of the north that he was on his way to Scotland 
to reduce the Covenanters. The king further earnestly 



Lord Fairfax 165 

begged the support of such troops as his Yorkshire subjects 
could get together. The news was received with some 
dismay among the country squires, vastly more interested 
in their crops than in the politics of the time. They shrank 
moreover from warring upon the Scots, whom they regarded 
with the friendship of neighbours. With a strange fore- 
boding, Sir Henry Slingsby noted in his diary : "It is, 
I say, a thing horrible that we should engage ourselves 
in war one with another, and with our venom gnaw 
and consume ourselves. ... The cause of their grievance, 
as they pretend, is a matter of religion. Neither the 
one nor the other can expect to receive advantage by 
this war, where the remedy will prove worse than the 
disease." 

The call to arms found a quick response in Fairfax. 
His fighting instincts leapt into life on the moment, and 
he eagerly drilled a band of dragoons, who were nicknamed 
the " Yorkshire Redcaps." Six weeks later the first part 
of the war was over ; the Treaty of Berwick (1639) was 
made, and Fairfax returned home as " Sir " Thomas 
Fairfax. 

These early adventures in warfare showed clearly 
enough that he had a gift for military service, and in 1642, 
when the die between the king and Parliament was cast, he 
readily prepared to lend his aid. Like many of his neigh- 
bours and friends, he believed that a single battle would 
bring matters to a close. He had no idea of the deadliness 
of the quarrel. For except for brief intervals of soldiering, 
he had lived a secluded life, and he knew little of how 
matters stood in London. 

But though he spoke reverently of the king, his sym- 
pathies were strongly in favour of upholding the liberties 
of the subject, and with this view he accepted a commission 
as general on the Parliamentary side. His importance 



1 66 In Stewart Times 

dates from this year. The war was in every way one most 
likely to bring out a man's worst qualities as well as his 
best. But Fairfax steered his way with such simplicity 
and singleness of aim, that he soon became not only a 
trusted leader, but a powerful moral force among his men. 
His energy and enthusiasm roused the spark of adventure 
among everyone he met, and as the " Rider of the White 
Horse " his comings and goings were eagerly watched. 
The " white horse " soon gave place to a chestnut mare, 
which became famous on more than one field of battle. 
And when Charles II. made his triumphant entry into 
London at the Restoration he rode a splendid chestnut 
steed, given to him by Fairfax, and bred from the well- 
known mare. 

The earnest hope of the Yorkshiremen that one contest 
would be enough to bring back peace to the kingdom was 
soon dashed to the ground. No part of the country was 
without its battle scene, and all England knew to its cost 
the horrors of a Civil War. In the north, Fairfax led his 
men with signal success, and the Battle of Marston Moor 
marked the climax of his success. His courageous spirit 
never flagged under the gigantic difficulties he had to 
encounter, though his sunny gaiety gradually gave place to 
a more reserved and graver temper. But if the stress of 
the times robbed him of his first youthful carelessness, 
it gave him deeper and more enduring qualities, and it 
never took from him that strain of honour which to the 
end adorned his career. In 1647, when he led Charles a 
captive to Holmby House in Northamptonshire, the king 
said significantly : " The general is a man of honour, he 
has kept his word with me." 

This fine trait in his character was often a subject for 
comment among the other Parliamentary generals, some 
of whom had no such scruples. Therefore when Cornet 



Lord Fairfax 167 



Joyce was sent with instructions from Ireton and Cromwell 
forcibly to remove Charles from Holmby House to New- 
market, although Fairfax was Commander-in-Chief of the 
whole army, he was kept in the dark about the matter 
till everything had been carried out. Not till the abduction 
was over did the news reach the general. He at once 
reproached his colleagues for the deed, and went in person 
to protest to the king that he had been in ignorance of it. 
Joyce was called in to support the statement. " I told the 
king," he said, " that I had no warrant from the general ; 
I acted by order of the army." 

With perplexities such as these to face, Fairfax might 
well grow grave and sombre. He was too sensitive 
not to feel his office a burden as well as an honour. 
Earlier in his career, in 1645, when the position of General- 
in-Chief had been offered to him, he had not wanted to 
accept it. " Had not," he says, " so great an authority 
[the Parliament] commanded my obedience, and had I not 
been urged by the persuasions of my nearest friends, I 
should have refused such a charge." Two years had 
passed since then. Meanwhile, the events had certainly 
been of a kind to put the best of generals to the test. 
To the end of the tragedy of the king's death, Fairfax 
struggled hard to maintain honourable dealings. He in- 
sisted that Charles should be allowed to see his children, 
and he wrote to the Commons, urging that the sove- 
reign should receive kind usage, on the ground " that 
tender, equitable and moderate dealing, both towards his 
Majesty, his royal family, and his late party, is the most 
hopeful course to take away future feuds amongst our- 
selves and our posterity, and to procure a lasting place 
and agreement in this now distracted nation." The 
fortunes of Charles went from bad to worse, till the 
army made up its mind to cut matters short by shutting 



1 68 In Stewart Times 

out from Parliament all those members who were known 
to be favourable towards the king. It is more than probable 
that Fairfax was not told of this intended " purging " of 
the House, until it was over, on 6th December 1 648 . When 
the news reached him, however, he held to his colleagues, 
and instantly agreed to the action that had been taken by 
them. But though he still remained true to the side on 
which he served, his mind was full of dark perplexities 
at the critical turn which matters were taking. Yet he 
had neither subtlety nor foresight enough to think out 
any means of preventing the climax he dreaded. On the 
field, his duty was clear enough, and he did it heartily. 
But he was lost among the intrigues of Westminster, 
where his very simplicity made him the victim of men with 
sharper wits. He took his seat in the first assembly of 
the court appointed to try the king, but he never again 
presented himself. On a succeeding day, when the list 
of the commissioners was being read over, Lady Fairfax 
rose in the gallery at the mention of her husband's name, 
declaring hotly he was not there, and would never again 
sit among them. The remark made some stir, but it 
passed without further notice. Presently Charles was 
called upon to answer to the charges brought against him 
by the people of England. The words were hardly out 
of the Speaker's lips when the clear voice of a woman rang 
through the hall, saying slowly and distinctly : " It is a 
lie — not half the people. Where are they and their con- 
sents ? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor." Everyone turned 
to look up at the gallery, and few were surprised to see 
that the interruption came again from Lady Fairfax, 
renowned as a woman of warm and impulsive speech. 
Fairfax had now been in the field for seven years, during 
four of which he had held the high position of general-in- 
chief. His relations with Cromwell had always been of 



Lord Fairfax 169 

a friendly nature, and the letters which passed between the 
two, show that Cromwell thought highly of the leader, 
to whose " better judgment " he declared himself willing 
to submit. But in the year 1650 a sudden breach arose, 
when Fairfax made it known that he wished to resign his 
command rather than fight against the Scots. He declared 
he would fight to the death, if the Scots should invade the 
country ; but he objected to opening war upon a nation 
still linked to England by the terms of the Solemn League 
and Covenant. Cromwell begged and prayed that he 
would reconsider his action ; politicians and soldiers 
urged him to take back his withdrawal. But he remained 
immovable, largely (so it has been said) through the in- 
fluence of Lady Fairfax, who had shown herself a constant 
and eager supporter of the Presbyterians. Whether, in 
reality, his conduct was the outcome of the wishes of 
relations, or whether it sprang from personal feeling, it 
is now impossible to decide. But, whatever the cause, the 
general stood his ground resolutely, and in 1650 he with- 
drew from the army. Everyone deplored his action, and 
Mrs Hutchinson in her Memoirs stingingly records that 
hereby " he died to all his former glory, and became the 
monument of his own name, which every day wore out." 
From this date till 1660, he lived a secluded and tran- 
quil life at Nunappleton in Yorkshire. Then came news 
that Monck was marching to London to oppose Lambert 
and to secure a free Parliament. Ever since the death 
of Cromwell, Lambert, the major-general of the army, 
had been scheming to make himself Dictator. Almost 
before the withdrawal of Richard Cromwell from the 
Government, the " Rump," expelled in 1653, had re- 
assembled. Lambert at once asserted himself, and after 
dispersing a Royalist rising near Northwich in 1659, he 
returned to London and set up in the place of the frightened 



170 In Stewart Times 

Rump, a council, known as the Committee of Safety. 
His aim was to usurp the place which Oliver Cromwell 
had held and his ambition made him act with ill-advised 
haste. It was to check these plans that Monck now 
advanced southwards. 

Fairfax was delighted at the tidings of Monck's approach. 
He had long seen with anxiety the supremacy which Lam- 
bert was winning for himself, and he declared himself 
ready to support any movement for securing a free Parlia- 
ment. Quite suddenly he took the field, upon which so 
many of his old soldiers flocked to his side from Lambert, 
that the latter, finding himself deserted, took to flight. 
This prompt opposition to a new Dictatorship was an 
immense help to Monck, who was thus enabled to march 
onward with a solid body of troops. A petition in favour 
of a free Parliament was sent round, and Fairfax was the 
first to sign. He declared himself warmly in favour of any 
movement which would settle the nation in its ancient 
government, and at the same time preserve the freedom 
won by the Civil War. He welcomed the Restoration as 
heartily as he had taken sword against Charles I., and as 
sincerely as he had supported Cromwell. His quarrel 
against the king had been based solely upon a detestation 
of his tyranny. He had supported Cromwell because the 
Protector's rule brought with it settled government. But 
he now showed himself quite willing to swear loyalty to a 
sovereign who came offering the Declaration of Breda. 
His belief in Charles suffered a severe shock by the king's 
later behaviour towards the rebels, to whom he had pro- 
mised safety. Many were sought out and punished, upon 
which Fairfax hotly declared that if anyone deserved to 
be a victim to indignities it was himself, " who was the 
general of the army at the time." 

Natural ill-health, and the scars of battle, kept him 



Lord Fairfax 171 

inactive in his latter days, so that for the last ten years 
of his life he was forced to pass away the time in reading 
and the other quiet occupations. He died in 1671. His 
noble and courageous life has been glorified by Milton in 
a fine sonnet, written at the time of the siege of Colchester 
(1648) : 

" Fairfax whose name in arms through Europe rings, 
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise , 
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, 
A nd rumours loud that daunt remotest kings ; 
Thy -firm unshaken virtue ever brings 
Victory home, though new rebellions raise 
Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays 
Her broken league to imp their serpent-wings. 
O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand, 
{For what can war but endless war still breed ?) 
Till truth and right from violence be freed, 
And public faith cleared from the shameful brand 
Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, 
While Avarice and Rapine share the land}' 



JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF 
MONTROSE 



" After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
Treason has done his worst ; nor steel, nor poison. 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
Can touch him further.' 1 

Shakespeare 

AMONG the many heroic figures adorning the 
reigns of the early Stewarts, there flashes the 
picturesque and attractive personality of the 
brave, unfortunate Marquis of Montrose. Against the 
sombre background of those tragic times he stands out 
sharply, his winsome and high-souled character gleaming 
the brighter against the dark records of his contemporary 
and opponent, Argyle. 

He was born in 1612, in a home of wealth and re- 
finement, amid the rugged scenery of Scotland. Here he 
spent his early years, a happy boy, riding, fencing, or 
playing at games. Often enough he would wander off for 
a lonely ramble among the familiar rocky heights, returning 
full of a poetic glow, roused by pondering upon the beauty 
of the world. His imagination must have been richly fed 
by these excursions into the wilderness of nature. He 
grew to love the white mists pouring down over the moun- 
tains ; the winds blowing among the trees ; the white 
surf curling up on the storm-driven waves of the lake. 
The thrill, half pleasure, and half pain, that Wordsworth 
afterwards magnificently expressed in Tintern Abbey, 
swayed the heart of this eager boy, clambering noisily 

172 



The Marquis of Montrose 173 

from height to height, or stopping now and again to draw 
in great draughts of the pure mountain air. In one of his 
poems at least, Montrose is the forerunner of the Lake 
Poet, in his love for nature : 

" The misty mounts , the smoking lake, 
The rock's resounding echo, 
The whistling winds, the woods that shake 
Shall all with me sing heigho.' 1 

School days were followed by college life at St Andrews, 
and here he soon fell in love with Magdalene Carnegie, 
daughter of Lord Carnegie of Kinnaird. Montrose was 
only about seventeen at the time, but the death of his 
father some years ago had already given him the title 
Earl of Montrose, and there seemed no objection to the 
match. For three years he lived very happily with his 
bride at Kinnaird Castle, then bidding her good-bye he 
set out upon the round of Continental travel, which every 
well-born young man of the time thought a necessary 
finish to his education. In 1636 he came back, full of zest 
and eagerness. He was twenty-four, just at the crisis 
of his life, ready to be influenced by any powerful mind 
with whom he might come into contact. To the Court 
of Charles he went, with his quick, eager enthusiasms. 
Charles gave him a cold reception, and Montrose, who was 
quick to feel a rebuff, at once drew back, the high flame of 
his ardour suddenly grown chill. From London he went 
to Scotland, still eager for some great undertaking, still 
full of a blind longing to spend himself upon any heroic 
enterprise. The Covenanters quickly saw him to be a man 
of ability, and they threw out baits. After some hesita- 
tion he joined them, though even after his admission to 
their ranks the Covenanting leaders confessed among them- 
selves that " he was very hard to guide." For already 
Montrose showed a dislike for party spirit. He detested 



174 I n Stewart Times 

any deed that had self-interest as its motive, and he may 
fairly be reckoned as one of the very few who truly followed 
the light of conscience. 

As a Covenanter, he was a daring and able leader, and 
in 1639 he captured Aberdeen. Upon this occasion each 
of his men wore a piece of blue ribbon, which was nick- 
named " Montrose's whimsie." Later on these blue 
favours became the colours of the Covenanters, and as 
such found a place in many a military chorus or popular 
ballad, perhaps even inspiring such ditties as the well- 
known : 

" Oh dear, what can the matter be 
Johnny's so long at the fair ; 
He promised to bring me a bunch of blue ribbons, 
To tie up my bonny brown hair." 

It is easy to picture him, slim, eager-eyed, and carefully 
dressed, riding at the head of his dour, blue-ribboned 
followers into the grey old town of Aberdeen. The 
soldiers were full of a lust for vengeance, and they made no 
secret of their desire to see the town receiving " its just 
deserving." But the leader held them back. Battle was 
lawful when aggravation had been given, but he would 
have no share in cruelty and pillage. Very sharply he 
gave orders, by which lives and property were saved. 
Perhaps this was one of the occasions he had in mind, 
years later, when as a captive at Edinburgh, he made his 
last proud assertion : "I dare here avow in the presence 
of God, that never a hair of Scotsman's head that I could 
save fell to the ground. . . . Never was any man's 
blood spilt, but in battle ; and even then many thousand 
lives have I preserved." 

Hard upon the skirmish at Aberdeen came overtures 
from Charles. With his usual frankness, Montrose told 
his colleagues about the matter Then he wrote to 



The Marquis of Montrose 175 

Charles, and declined the invitation to London, on the 
plea that affairs in Scotland were still very unsettled. 
Even the most suspicious and prejudiced among the 
Covenanting side could find nothing but praise for such 
straightforward dealing. " Do nobly, as my Lord Mon- 
trose," wrote one of these, " who, having received a letter 
from the King himself . . . nobly has resolved . . . not 
to go to Court at all." 

Nevertheless, this incident was the turning point in his 
career, and henceforward it became more and more evident 
that there could be little real agreement between himself 
and his party. Argyle and he began to come into open 
collision, especially when the former argued that there 
could be no way of counteracting Monarchy " except by its 
immediate and violent overthrow." With more and more 
disgust, Montrose gradually realised that his antagonist's 
real aim was not so much the welfare of Scotland as the 
furthering of his own interests. He began to be on the 
alert, and soon he heard a rumour that Argyle meant to 
seize the position of a Dictator. Montrose was furious 
with indignation, and acting with his usual rashness, he 
drew upa" Bond " to overthrow Argyle's schemes. As 
a result of this movement, matters between Argyle and 
himself soon reached the point of a deadly feud. It is 
probable that the two men had never liked each other, 
but now their enmity was revealed in the boldest, most 
glaring fashion. Montrose came forward with a scheme 
for the welfare of the kingdom. He was bubbling over 
with enthusiasm, and childishly eager to explain his plans 
to everyone he met. For the time being, Argyle said 
very little. His cautious, unscrupulous character did 
not betray itself in rash undertakings. For the present 
he bided his time. But he had marked down his prey, 
and he was only waiting for the best moment to spring. 



176 



In Stewart Times 



Montrose was cast off by the Covenanters as a backslider 
and a plotter against their authority. He talked of im- 
peaching Argyle ; he wrote hotly in favour of upholding 
the king's sovereignty, as the only means " able to re- 
concile questions among us." Luckless Montrose ! At his 
earnest entreaty, Charles came in person to Scotland in 
1641, and behold, all Scotland was in a ferment ! Mon- 
trose had fondly imagined that a visit from his Majesty 
would set all matters right. He had forgotten to take into 
account that his relationship with the sovereign might 
look like treason in the eyes of the Covenanters, to whom 
he was still pledged. Argyle soon managed to have 
him thrown into prison. When Charles heard of his 
misfortune, he wrote at once, assuring the Scots that the 
sole reason for his journey to the country, had been 
" a perfect intention to satisfy my people in their religion 
and just liberties." He begged that Montrose might be 
released, and after as much delay as possible, Argyle 
reluctantly set him free. Once again Argyle had been 
baffled, but he still kept a baleful eye upon his rival. He 
was still biding his time. 

From this point, Montrose found himself growing more 
and more in sympathy with Charles, and the outbreak 
of the Civil War found him a leader of Royalist troops. 
His gay, heroic spirit made him put out every effort for 
the king, and he flung himself into the struggle with all 
the unstinted ardour of a disciple, delighting to suffer for 
his master. His own much quoted verses vividly express 
the warmth of his temperament, and the singleness of his 
aim. 

" He either fears his fate too much, 
Or his deserts are small. 
That dare not put it to the touch 
To gain or lose it all. 1 '- 



The Marquis of Montrose 177 

As he rode into battle he took with him the purest 
motives. Was he ever aware of the shufflings and 
treachery of Charles ? Or did he never catch sight of the 
blemishes in the character of his royal master ? The 
latter idea seems the more probable, for to the last he 
kept not only love but high reverence for the king he served 
so devotedly. 

Then came the fateful month of May 1646, when 
Charles surrendered himself to the Scottish army, and 
declared himself ready to make terms with the Cove- 
nanters. The news filled Montrose with dismay, and he 
wrote impetuously to the sovereign : "I must declare 
the horror I am in when I think of a treaty while your 
Majesty and they are in the field with two armies, unless 
they disband and submit themselves entirely to your 
Majesty's pardon and goodness." Charles replied in 
affectionate terms, desiring Montrose to give up his sword, 
disband his troops, and go over to France to take his 
orders from Henrietta Maria. With Montrose to hear was 
to obey, and he faithfully observed the command. After 
some mischances he reached the French coast, only to 
find he had been forestalled in the favour of Queen 
Henrietta, so that his pleadings for a speedy effort on 
behalf of Charles were in vain. Then came the bitter 
tidings of the execution early in 1649, and at once he 
offered his services to the son. His grief at the death of 
Charles I., and his intention to fight for Charles II., are 
alike expressed in his well-known poem : 

" Great, good and just, could I but rate 
My grief and thy too rigid fate, 
I'd weep the world to such a strain 
That it should deluge once again. 
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies 
More from Briar eus'' hands, than Argus' eyes, 
, I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds, 
And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds}'- 

M 



178 In Stewart Times 

Upon Charles the Second's direct request, Montrose went 
back to Scotland in 1650, in the hope of raising a successful 
rebellion. But he went only to his doom. In his coming, 
Argyle saw an opportunity of satisfying his long-smothered 
hate. The expedition failed, Montrose was captured, 
and the exiled Charles basely threw off this most faithful 
follower of the Stewarts. Montrose quickly guessed the 
fate that awaited him. But he never lost courage, and 
when he was taken to Edinburgh to go through a semblance 
of a trial, he rode with a composed and happy air. A 
rabble had collected, to watch him go by on the rough- 
coated pony provided for his use. Some desperate 
women, robbed of their husbands in the war, had been 
hired to stone him. But his winsome, undaunted bearing 
made them draw back, muttering ; and the stones were 
never flung. A few days went by between his trial and 
the execution of the sentence, and during the interval he 
took pains to order for himself a new suit of rich cloth, 
and all the little trifles of dress which he loved. Busy- 
bodies thrust their way into his prison, trying to force 
some confession from him. He begged to be left in peace, 
but his enemies were merciless. To one and all he made 
the same reply : "As for my coming in at this time, it 
was by his Majesty's command, in order to accelerate the 
treaty betwixt him and you. ... I may justly say that 
never subject acted upon more honourable grounds, nor 
by so lawful a power as I did in this service. ... I am 
very sorry any actions of mine have been offensive to 
the Church of Scotland, and I would with all my heart be 
reconciled with the same." 

The 22nd of May dawned, and with exquisite care he 
put on the new garments he had ordered — a suit of black 
cloth, a scarlet coat reaching to his knee, a beaver hat 
with a silver band, and long white gloves. " More like 



The Marquis of Montrose 179 

a bridegroom, than a felon," said an onlooker in the crowd, 
nudging his heavily-breathing neighbour. 

Towards the Grassmarket went the procession, winding 
with subtle intention past the house of the Earl of Moray, 
where the glittering eyes of Argyle peered out from behind 
the half-closed blinds. 

With complete self-control Montrose mounted the 
scaffold. Then he turned to make his last speech to the 
hostile crowds, watching in intense silence beneath him. 

" I acknowledge nothing," he said firmly, " but fear 
God and honour the king. I do but follow the light of 
my conscience. ... I have no more to say, but that I 
desire your charity and prayers." A few minutes more 
and his life was over. With a deep sigh the people turned 
away. For the most part they hated Montrose, but 
enemies though they were, they had been awed by the 
high serenity of one, whom a modern biographer has 
hailed as " the most accomplished Cavalier, the most 
humane Victor ; the most constitutional Statesman, and 
the purest Patriot of his country and his times." 



GEORGE MONCK, DUKE OF 
ALBEMARLE 

" No rash procedure will his actions stain."- 

Dryden 

THE name of General Monck is so closely con- 
nected with the great historical event known 
as the Restoration, that he is sometimes spoken 
of as if the whole glory of the coup d'etat of 1660 belongs 
to him. Certainly, he was the foremost figure in the 
movement, and the most powerful ; but he directed 
public sentiment, rather than inspired it. Or perhaps, 
it would be truer still to say that his own actions were the 
result of a canny prudence, in which he took his clue from 
the popular feeling of the moment. There were many 
circumstances which helped towards the revival of 
monarchy. There was no second Cromwell on the horizon. 
The little handful of bullying Commoners, known as the 
Rump, had fallen into general contempt ; everywhere 
there was a strong feeling in favour of a king. Above all, 
the army was hopelessly divided. Lambert's attempt at 
reaching the giddy heights which Cromwell had fearlessly 
scaled, had ended in a hasty downfall. Fairfax had made an 
open stand for a free Parliament, and scores of Lambert's 
men had gone over to the side of the old Yorkshire general. 
Monck had as yet made no public declaration. So far he 
had been watching events, counting and recounting his 
chances ; determined to do something, but not quite certain 
which course it were best to follow. After a long interval 
of inaction, he made up his mind to move to London, 

180 




George Monck 

Photo W. A. Man sell & Co. 



i8o 



General Monck 181 

and early in the year 1660 his memorable march was 
begun. His career before and after this event is of little 
interest. He had been born in 1608, and from boyhood he 
was a soldier. His general behaviour was always coloured 
by his military outlook. Even as a naval commander in 
1666 he clung to the old land-phrases, and it was laughingly 
asserted that when he wanted the ship's course altered he 
would shout out : " Wheel to the left," to the intense 
secret amusement of the sailors, who good temperedly 
mimicked him in private. His military instincts were 
much keener than his political feelings. At the beginning 
of his career he had served on the side of Charles I. Then 
in 1644 he was captured by Fairfax at Nantwich and 
thrown into the Tower, from which he emerged some years 
later to take service in Ireland on behalf of the Common- 
wealth. Cromwell's brilliant soldiery soon roused his ad- 
miration, and he became enthusiastic about his new master. 
The general was not above flattery, and besides this he knew 
the full value of Monck's solid service. A warm friendship 
sprang up between the two, and to the last Monck served 
him faithfully. Upon the death of the Protector, Monck 
would have been content to serve the son as devotedly as 
he had served the father, had that son shown himself 
worthy of support. But Richard Cromwell was entirely 
without the genius of his parent, and the dawn of 1660 
found Monck hesitating on which side to declare himself. 
He had no leaning towards fanaticism, and he despised 
sentiment. His own nature was unemotional. He knew 
how to deal with facts ; but he dismissed with contempt 
the more mystical problems, tormenting some of the 
greatest minds of the day. He marched towards London, 
without giving any hint of his plans, beyond the declara- 
tion that he meant to be true and faithful to the cause 
of the Parliament. In spite of his frequent promises, the 



1 82 In Stewart Times 

Rump began to be uneasy. A huge troop was following 
the general. His earlier change of side had not been 
forgotten, and no doubt more than one guessed shrewdly 
that he would do the most prudent thing, rather than the 
most heroic. Clarendon, who might have been expected 
to view Monck's faults very kindly, writes bitterly about 
his conduct, declaring his words were such that " every- 
body promised himself that which he most wished." 

Thus he continued his march to the capital, while 
from the Continent, Charles looked on, his breast stirred 
by a faint, very faint, hope of some good thing about to 
happen. With sudden tumult Monck's soldiers fell upon 
the gates of London and tore them from their sockets. 
Then they poured on in joyous rout through the narrow 
streets of the city. Within they found an excited people 
ready to load them with praise. The leader was at once 
surrounded by persons presenting addresses. Everyone 
begged him to give an expression of his views, but to all 
comers he kept the same stony silence. The city was 
strung with excitement, and the question of the general's 
next move was discussed in every coffee-house, and talked 
of at every street corner. The news ran that he had 
declared for a free Parliament, and at once London was 
beside itself with joy. On February 1660, the Rump 
was dissolved, " for joy whereof," writes Evelyn, " were 
many thousands of rumps roasted publicly in the streets 
at the bonfires, with ringing of bells and universal jubilee." 
The ever-ready rhymster seized on the event to launch yet 
another proof of his skill, and 'prentice boys went about 
humming joyfully the " Rump's Farewell." 

"And now let me venter this caveat to enter , 
That neither for fear nor affection, 
So much as a stump of that reprobate Rump, 
Be ever had more in Election.' 1 



General Monck 183 

But though Monck had got rid of the Rump, he had 
by no means declared his hand. The Presbyterians 
began to get restless; the Royalists were fast growing 
exasperated. More than once the general emphatically 
declared before the Commons that he was opposed to a 
scheme of Monarchy, but still he did nothing towards 
securing a Commonwealth. By-and-by it leaked out that 
for long he had been secretly corresponding with Charles, 
and it began to dawn on the nation that all this dallying 
had been nothing more than a means to gain time. By 
the delay he had successfully brought together a free 
Parliament ; he had weakened the strength of the troops 
still faithful to Lambert ; and he had given time for the 
nation's desire for the return of Charles to reach its height. 
The general's own men were prepared to support him in 
any plan he might choose, and he was already the idol 
of the capital. Very cautiously he veered round to the 
side of Charles, taking with him many of his men. " It 
may justly be said," observes Clarendon shrewdly, " and 
transmitted as a truth to Posterity, that there were very 
few men, who bore a part in these changes and giddy 
Revolutions, who had the least purpose or thought to 
contribute towards the King's Restoration — and nobody 
imagined a possibility of any composition without Blood." 

A good deal of Monck's fame was lost in the two ex- 
traordinary months which passed between his march into 
the capital and the return of Charles. He hesitated so 
long that his name began to appear in lampoons. One 
hot pamphlet, written by a keen Royalist, declared that 
' whereas he was the common hopes of all men, he is now 
the common hatred of all men, as a traitor, more detestable 
than Oliver himself." On the other hand the Commons 
began to press him to sign a paper against monarchy. 
Monck pacified both parties with more or less vague 



184 In Stewart Times 

promises, but in the meantime the glory that had sur- 
rounded his name was beginning to tarnish. As late as 
the first week in April he openly said he had no leanings 
towards monarchy, declaring he would " shed his last 
drop of blood to maintain the contrary." Hard upon 
this came the Declaration of Breda (1660), followed by the 
Convention Parliament and the triumph and return of 
Charles. Monck's policy began to be clear. All along 
he had been scheming for a settled government, and 
when the monarch actually entered England, he was one 
of the first to greet him. The series of pretences through 
which he passed into this policy cannot be defended, 
except upon the ground that the result they brought 
about was the best for the nation. A revolution had 
taken place, but no blood had been shed ; and the country, 
so long the prey of factions and parties, gratefully agreed 
to any peaceful solution. Order had been restored ; 
that much at least was certain. Few stopped to re- 
member the steps which had led up to it. Monck's 
double dealing was forgotten or excused, and for the 
moment, he was scarcely less adored than Charles. When- 
ever he stirred abroad, curious and admiring eyes followed 
him. His health was drunk in the taverns ; and his name 
was breathed as often, and with almost the same reverence 
as that of the sovereign. Dozens of ballads praising his 
action flooded the street : 

" My lord Monck's the man ! though his life's but a span, 
He's improved that little so well, 
That in true loyalty I can none espie 
That can this great worthy ex cell.'- 1 

No epithet was too great to give him. He was 
" Hercules," " St George," and the " Guardian Angel 
of Monarchy." Men vied with each other in their praises, 



General Monck 185 

and even the more satirical among them, laughingly- 
cried : 

" I should never have thought that a Monck could have wrought, 
Such a reformation so soon ; 
That House, which of late was the joke of the State, 
Will ere long be a House of Renown." 

One more ballad of the day, written as a dialogue 
between two passers-by, Tom and Dick, represents the 
eagerness with which the common people followed his 
movements. Monck is passing along the street ; Tom 
and Dick are both agog to see him : 

Tom : " Now would I give my life to see 
This wondrous man of might." 

Dick : " Dost see that folly lad ? that's he, 
I'll warrant him he's right." 

" Tom " takes a long look at Monck, and then exclaims 
warmly : 

" There's a true Trojan in his face ; 
Observe him o'er and o'er.' 1 

— to which " Dick " assents with equal emphasis : 

" Come, Tom, if ever George be base 
Ne'er trust good fellow more.' 1 

Rewards fell thick and fast upon the general who was 
looked upon as the prime cause of all the jubilation. 
Scarcely had the king landed when he made him a knight, 
and only a few months later he was raised to a baronetcy. 
From this distinction he succeeded to a dukedom, be- 
coming henceforth known as the Duke of Albemarle. 
Charles had a personal liking for the silent, resourceful 
soldier, whose support gave him a comforting sense of 



1 86 In Stewart Times 

safety. He would very gladly have admitted him to his 
Council Chamber, but like other famous generals, Monck 
had no taste for politics. He had been too long ac- 
customed to rule on the field to be able to bring himself 
into touch with the problems that harass a statesman, 
and he soon grew weary of the work. Affairs in Ireland 
for the time being gave him occupation, and in 1661 he 
was made Lord-lieutenant of that country. But here too, 
his energy presently flagged, and he gave way in favour 
of the Duke of Ormonde. After this, the flame of his 
renown burnt fitfully, sinking upon his retirement from 
Ireland, but blazing up anew after his courageous fight 
at sea against the Dutch in 1666. From sea enterprises 
he was called to London to help to stem the terrible 
damages caused by the Great Fire. Whole streets lay 
in ruins, and the bewildered city officials, worn out with 
anxiety and fatigue, rushed hither and thither, trying 
vainly to direct affairs. 

" What can I do ? " cried the Lord Mayor to Pepys, 
who hurried up to the scene, his eyes bright with excite- 
ment. " I am spent ; people will not obey me. I have 
been pulling down houses, but the fire overtakes us faster 
than we can do it. I must have more soldiers ; I have 
been up all night." 

Into this scene of dark disaster Monck entered, and soon 
his soldiers were hard at work. Some marched up and 
down the streets, keeping order among the rabble, who 
swarmed over the charred remains of timber, still warm 
and smouldering, in the hope of discovering treasure. 
Others bore off goods to safe quarters ; others pulled 
down houses with the haste of desperation. Every citizen 
able to work, gave a helping hand, and the king himself 
laid aside his pleasures and worked as eagerly as the rest. 

In the next year, Monck again held a civil post, becom- 



General Monck 187 

ing for some months First Lord of the Treasury. But the 
burden of the office soon became wearisome to him, and 
he promptly retired. Henceforward his life was passed 
away from public notice, till the year 1670 when he died, 
being sixty-two years of age. 

He lives in history chiefly for his share in the Restora- 
tion. As a general he was cautious and wary, always 
inclined to let others make the first leap. But he never 
hesitated to follow into danger, once he felt sure it was the 
best course to undertake. In his plans for action, he relied 
mainly upon his own conclusions, formed after personal 
thought. As a rule his own interests had weight in his 
schemes. He enjoyed the friendship of Fairfax, whose 
much finer character often sets Monck's conduct in an 
unfavourable light. The sinister shadow of self-interest 
dims Monck's glory, and he was certainly never stirred 
by the purer desires of a genuine patriot. But he was 
an able and powerful general, endeared to his soldiers by 
many a brave act ; idolised by the nation to whom he 
had restored their " Mayflower " king. He has often 
been blamed for the double-minded part he played at the 
time of the king's return, but his dealings may be forgiven 
him because of the need of the moment. Against his 
doubtful schemes must be set the fact that he very greatly 
helped to restore a settled government in England, at a 
moment when a rash general might easily have flung the 
nation into another Civil War. 



JOHN CHURCHILL, DUKE OF 
MARLBOROUGH 

" But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scatter eth her poppy , and 
deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of per- 
petuity. Who can but pity the founder of the pyramids ? Heros- 
tratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that 
built it. . . . Without the favour of the everlasting register, the first 
man had been as unknown as the last, and Methusalah's long life 
had been his only chronicle. 11 

Sir Thomas Browne 

FEW men in their character present so many sharp 
contrasts as the great Duke of Marlborough. 
His brilliant career as a soldier is dimmed by 
deeds of duplicity; outrageous greed mars his great 
abilities, and he who could show himself tender and 
devoted, was also cruel and harsh. His faults and his 
virtues stand out with the sharpness of a study in black 
and white; and unfortunately for his reputation in 
history, the black dye is so deep that it casts a shadow 
over the lighter touches. There can be no question about 
his greatness as a leader, and yet, in spite of his magnificent 
achievements, his victories are often forgotten and his 
greed for money remembered. Those who desire to 
regard him as a hero should read his career as a three 
volume story, and the first and last volumes should never 
be opened. In the first of these would be found the 
record of his treachery under William III. ; the last would 
treat of the exposure of his lust for gold ; but the middle 
one would be filled with his military triumphs, in which 
he figures as a king among generals. 

188 




The Duke of Marlborough 

J. Closterman 
Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



188 



The Duke of Marlborough 189 

He was born in 1650, in the home of Sir Winston 
Churchill, a Devonshire Royalist, who had spent most of 
his fortune in the service of Charles I. Stories about 
the Stewarts, would be popular in the Cavalier household, 
and the vivid imagination of the boy must often have been 
stirred by anecdotes of the sovereign for whom his father 
had fought. He would be ten at the time of the Restora- 
tion, old enough to be excited by the event. No doubt 
he heard many tales of the marvellous entry of Charles II., 
and perhaps later on he acted out the scene as a 
game. 

He was educated at St Paul's school, whence he be- 
came a page to the Duchess of Cleveland. He had no love 
for study, and to the end of his life he had a strong dis- 
taste for writing, though he spoke with the ease of a natural 
orator. To plan the capture of a fortress cost him much 
less pains than to write a despatch, and it was always with 
a sigh that he took up a pen to make a report. But he 
wrote often and willingly to his wife, Sarah Jennings, 
whom he adored with a passion that never grew less. To 
be away from her gave him the deepest pain, and when he 
set off on his ship for Holland he watched her lovingly 
through a telescope, till it was useless to look any longer. 
In every other matter he was changeable, but his love for 
his wife was steadfast and real. The Duchess of Marl- 
borough had a sharp tongue. She could be fretful, over- 
bearing, unreasonable, but throughout all her ill-humours 
the Duke remained as warmly and tenderly affectionate 
as ever. Battles could not ruffle his mind, nor upset his 
serene bearing, but an ill-natured word from her hurt him 
to the quick. " I can take pleasure in nothing so long as 
you continue uneasy and think me unkind," he wrote in 
1709, just after the battle of Malplaquet. The horror 
of that terrible encounter left him cool and composed, 



i go In Stewart Times 

but a single fretful letter from the Duchess threw him into 
a restless and miserable frame of mind. 

For the first eight years of the reign of Anne he passed 
quickly from one triumph to another. These successes he 
owed very largely to the influence of his wife with the 
queen. When Anne was still a princess, Sarah Jennings 
had been her maid-of-honour, and the two had become 
warm friends. Their characters were entirely different. 
Anne was slow, but affectionate and generous ; Sarah 
Jennings was clever and lively, but thoroughly selfish. 
For many years Anne meekly endured to be led by her 
favourite, humouring her caprices and giving her endless 
and costly presents. 

But the Duchess did much more than wheedle orna- 
ments and money out of her royal mistress. She played 
upon the queen to let the Duke have his own way in 
political matters, so that no statesman of the day had 
more real hold upon the affairs of the country than the 
scolding, selfish favourite. Upon her advice, Anne 
abandoned her father, James II., at the time of the Revolu- 
tion of 1688. Through her, too, the princess acknow- 
ledged William III. as king. Yet scarcely was 
William on the throne, before the unscrupulous tiring- 
woman began to stir up a party to champion the Princess 
Anne against imaginary grievances from William, and to 
secure for her from the Commons the granting of a huge 
income, quite apart from the control of the Crown. In all 
these schemes, Lady Marlborough was moved by a double 
desire. She wanted to humiliate William, and she was 
anxious to secure for Anne a sum large enough to admit 
of very generous slices coming her own way. In both 
plans she succeeded entirely. William never ceased to 
look upon her as a dangerous enemy, and from Anne's 
yearly income of fifty thousand pounds, she managed to 



The Duke of Marlborough 191 

secure a substantial sum for herself. Besides this, she gave 
Marlborough invaluable help by bringing him all the latest 
tattle from Anne's private rooms. In all his plans she was 
at his elbow, eager to suggest and advise. But discretion 
had no part in her character, and when at last she fell 
from favour, it was through her own greed and insolence. 

The death of William, and the accession of Anne, gave 
this ambitious pair the chance of their lifetime. Naturally 
enough William had not been inclined to favour a man 
whose faithfulness he suspected. So that though he had 
made the general Earl of Marlborough, and given him 
command of the English troops at Flanders in 1689, he 
had always kept a wary eye upon his conduct. His 
suspicions were fully justified. Marlborough repaid him 
basely. He made secret offers of service to James, 
and with a depth of even worse treachery, he betrayed 
the plans of the English army. Anne was aware of his 
double dealing, in which indeed she had had a share. 

But when she came to the throne, even this knowledge 
of the general's character did not shake her confidence in 
him. She willingly placed in his hands, power, rank, and 
wealth. Huge sums of money were given him. He was 
made Commander-in-Chief of the forces ; and at Court, 
his wife was even more indulged than she had been before. 
Towards the end of 1702, Marlborough crossed to Holland 
to take up his new office and carry on the War of the 
Spanish Succession. It was by no means an easy 
task, and many an able soldier might have shirked the 
undertaking ; but Marlborough's handsome face showed 
never a care as he went lightly to his post. Yet he was 
already fifty-two years of age, and might well have been 
thought past the time when fresh responsibilities would be 
cheerfully accepted. Blenheim (1704), Ramillies (1706), 
and Oudenarde (1708), followed in the next few years, 



192 In Stewart Times 

and in each encounter the general showed the same cour- 
age and cool self-control. He was never flustered, never 
heated. The most crushing anxieties surrounded him, 
but he grappled with them all without betraying the 
slightest anxiety or worry. His serenity acted like a 
charm through the ranks. It became the fashion to pre- 
serve a careless, nonchalant air. The soldier who hurried 
or flurried felt ashamed when he heard stories of his 
general's composure. Feelings were held in check, and 
everyone strove to imitate the matchless ease of the 
Commander-in-Chief. Through the years of these 
triumphs, Marlborough passed through many caprices of 
fortune. The battle of Blenheim made him the idol of the 
nation, and a terror to the French. After Malplaquet, his 
name rang through the world. " Malbrook s'en va en 
guerre " (Marlborough is off to the war), sang the French 
peasant woman, with a shiver. England caught the words 
and echoed them proudly : " Our Marlborough's away to 
the war." But in spite of his great position, the general's 
fame was built upon shaky foundations. By-and-by it 
came home to the nation that the victories had only been 
won at the cost of many lives and enormous sums of 
money. Like an exasperated child they called for peace 
upon any terms, and they flung every term of reproach at 
the man they had a little while ago loaded with praise. 
The coffee-houses were full of groups of excited talkers, 
denouncing Marlborough ; denouncing the war ; de- 
nouncing the entire Whig policy. In the House of Com- 
mons the Tory section pulled itself together for a last 
great effort. It was hinted that Marlborough had used 
public money for his own purposes. The hint soon be- 
came an accusation, whispered softly at first among a 
daring few, but soon spoken of openly in every public 
haunt. Marlborough, they said, had mismanaged army 



The Duke of Marlborough 193 

funds. He had enriched himself at the people's expense ; 
in fact he had robbed a helpless nation under cover of 
upholding its position abroad. Every day brought a 
fresh accusation against him from some new, sharp- 
tongued debater, ready with his words of denunciation and 
blame. Bitter gibes against him were bandied from lip to 
lip by people quite unable to judge the circumstances. 
Coarse and insulting lampoons were printed and offered 
for sale to passers-by only too ready to buy them. In a 
twinkling the general fell from glory to degradation. 

The victim of this abuse was well aware of the feelings 
excited against him. Nevertheless, he maintained the 
same wonderful serenity which had always been one of his 
greatest charms. He appeared utterly unmoved, and 
never once did his dignity forsake him. But beneath all 
his coolness there was a sense of natural irritation at the 
bitterness of some of the printed attacks, and in one of his 
letters to the Duchess he confesses that the gibes " Stab 
me to the heart." He seems, indeed, to have felt these 
petty attacks more than the heavier charges brought 
against him by the Commons. The little, stinging 
verses could touch him when he could offer an unmoved 
face to his more serious opponents. On the strength of a 
foolish impulse he asked St John, his avowed political 
enemy, to use the power of censorship to forbid the further 
issue of malicious libels, thus laying himself open to the 
polite snub which St John readily gave him. In quite a 
different spirit he met his impeachment in 1711, replying 
to the charges of the Commons by a clear and dignified 
statement, which he had drawn up and written out for 
the purpose. In this he claimed that the sums of money, 
which it was said he had made upon the rations of the 
army, were always the " perquisite " of a general in the 
Low Countries. In reply to the remark that no other 

N 



194 I n Stewart Times 

English general had ever before received such a bonus, 
he retorted that no English general had ever before 
been Commander-in-Chief in the Low Countries. But 
in spite of the Duke's clever arguing, it is clear 
that in his career abroad he not only snatched at the 
usual means of enriching himself, but put himself to some 
pains to discover new sources to satisfy his greed. One 
modern historian of repute has done his best to clear 
Marlborough's name from this stain ; but the general 
mass of evidence points to his lust for money. It was 
an extravagant age. Marlborough had long been accus- 
tomed to spend money lightly. What is more likely, than 
with every opportunity at enriching himself, he made use 
of the occasion without thinking about future conse- 
quences ? His character was without the noble founda- 
tions which would have made such conduct impossible. 
The man who would play off sovereign against sovereign, 
deserting James for William, William for James, James 
for Anne, and all with the same composure, would never 
be over-scrupulous in the matter of public funds. 

His impeachment gave his proud nature an unpleasant 
shock, but he never descended to beg for mercy. All he 
asked for was leave to go from England- Anne was 
anxious to do him this favour, but knowing the man, she 
wondered if she dare trust him to keep faith with her. 
The Court of the Pretender at St Germains was still a 
source of anxiety to England, and the most kindly dis- 
posed person must have reflected, that once Marlborough 
reached the Continent, he might easily set in motion some 
fresh intrigue or other. In her uneasiness the queen told 
Bolingbroke her fears. He advised her to let the Duke 
go, on the ground that it was " no longer in his power to do 
harm to anyone." Anne had a generous spirit, and upon 
this advice she at once sent off the passport, and Marl- 



The Duke of Marlborough 195 

borough and the Duchess left the country. Their de- 
parture was a relief to the queen. For although she had 
long since broken with the pair, their absence from 
England removed all feeling of constraint. 

Sharp taunts followed them as they turned from the 
shores of England. Swift, the satirist, let fly some of his 
bitterest verses to ding themselves unmercifully in the 
fallen general's ears : 

" While he his utmost strength applied, 
To swim against this popular tide, 
The golden spoils flew off apace ; 
Here fell a pension, there a place : 
The torrent merciless imbibes 
Commissions, perquisites and bribes ; 
By their own weight sunk to the bottom ; 
Much good may't do them that have caught -em ! 
A nd Midas now neglected stands, 
With asses'- ears and dirty hands.'- 1 

With his removal from the army, Marlborough soon 
sank into insignificance. Apart from his supreme gifts as a 
general, he had no outstanding abilities. Moreover, he was 
past the prime of life, and the change in his position must 
have been a daily annoyance to him. It is true he lived till 
the year 1722, but during the last ten years he was only a 
shadow of his former self. His life may more truly be 
regarded as ending in 1712, when his career as a general 
ceased. So he passes from sight, a smiling, debonair 
figure ; faultlessly dressed ; tall and handsome ; his face 
serene and unmarked by the scars of emotion. In many 
respects he may be regarded as the typical figure of an 
age when great generals went to war with the etceteras of 
a dandy ; when the near approach of an enemy might 
find an admiral busy over choosing the perfume for his 
handkerchief. Yet beneath this display of carelessness 



196 



In Stewart Times 



and frivolity lay a temper of steel. Men who dallied over 
the niceties of the toilet-table, stepped forward to meet 
the foe with a courage that bade defiance to the most 
terrible onslaught. And he who had spent time over the 
arrangement of his buckles, could endure hunger, fatigue, 
anxiety, annoyance, with the same smiling composure, 
the same gay, delusive bearing. Such a man was the great 
Duke of Marlborough, an embodiment of the most splendid 
valour and the most contemptible failings. Against his 
courage must be set his faithlessness ; and his marvellous 
lack of fear is balanced by his fondness for sordid gain. 
Truth and honour were qualities he neither valued nor 
possessed. But he could command an army with magni- 
ficent skill, and he was ready to exhaust every effort in 
wrenching a victory from the enemy. The weak spot in 
his character lies in his lack of scruples. As a soldier he 
was entirely without patriotism or conviction ; and he 
thought it no shame to be treacherous when treachery 
advanced his own ends. But he paid the penalty for his 
failings. His career, which should have lit up for ever 
the age in which he lived, is now remembered chiefly as 
an example of the mean dealings to which an unworthy 
general may stoop. 



Phase IV — Religion 

WILLIAM LAUD, ARCHBISHOP OF 
CANTERBURY 

" The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole y 
Can never be a mouse of any soul." 

Pope 

GUIZOT once remarked of Laud that " order ever 
seemed to him justice." It is an apt description. 
In all his dealing, order was the touchstone by 
which Laud tested everything, and he delighted in 
uniformity as heartily as Milton detested it. 

Two qualities in particular brought him into royal 
notice. The one, a tireless industry ; the other, a deep 
sincerity. By these he rose into power ; by these he also 
fell into the hands of the executioner. For when industry 
became changed into the system of " Thorough," and 
when sincerity passed into a passion for one form of wor- 
ship only, a hectored nation, in a last desperate effort 
after freedom, snatched at him with ruthless, angry 
fingers. 

He was born in 1573, when Elizabeth was still on the 
throne, and throughout his life he seemed to carry with 
him some faint suggestion of the atmosphere of the 
Elizabethan age. His life would have been much 
happier had it been passed under the strong, orderly rule 
of the great queen, rather than in the chaotic days of 
197 



198 



In Stewart Times 



King Charles I. Under any sovereign, he would 
have attracted attention, for he had many business-like 
qualities, such as industry, energy, and persistence, which 
are so often lacking in men of brilliance or genius. 

No special advantages came to him by birth. He was 
the son of a cloth merchant in Reading, a man with money 
enough to give his son a comfortable home and a good 
education, but not able to command the ear of men with 
a place at Court. 

He went to St John's College, Oxford, at seventeen, a 
serious, resolute youth, bent upon getting the utmost out 
of his studies. Zeal and energy such as his do not miss 
their reward, and in three years' time he had made himself 
so well known that he was chosen as a fellow of his college. 
This was the first step on the way to high office. He took 
it with a keen sense of delight, little foreseeing that it was 
also the first step towards an ignominious death. 

In matters of religion, he believed absolutely in the 
truth of the Episcopalian system. But though he was 
narrow-minded to the degree of intolerance, he was 
fascinated by the study of religion in general. As an 
undergraduate he pored over books of theology, and 
his clear, piercing mind soon made him master of his 
subject. Had his sympathies been as broad as his 
wit was acute, his character would have followed very 
different lines. As it was, he grew more and more wishful 
to make all forms of religion obey the model of which he 
himself approved. But the times were against his plan. 
Elizabeth had been able to impose upon the nation the 
dictates of her imperious will. Yet even she had done so 
only through the exercise of much tact ; and Laud had not 
the fortunate power of awakening men's love or confidence. 
Moreover, conditions had changed since then. A hundred 
new ideas in religion had taken root and were bearing 




Archbishop Laud 

Van Dyck 
Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



198 



William Laud 199 

blossom. New sects were daily springing up, and there was 
a general feeling of dislike for that " starched conformity," 
which some few years later Milton was to condemn in the 
cutting words of the Areopagitica. Was this the time 
to set out upon a campaign of making all men act alike ? 
Surely there were enough signs to show the attempt would 
fail. Yet Laud cheerfully started off for the encounter, 
brandishing as his motto the word " Thorough." 

His conduct may be explained upon one of two grounds. 
Either he was without ability to grasp the situation ; or 
else he was inspired by sheer, dogged determination to 
carry through, in the teeth of everyone, a purpose he felt 
to be a mission. The latter conclusion is probably nearer 
the truth. For blind though he was in most matters of 
statecraft, Laud can hardly have failed to notice signs of 
disaffection, which must have been plain to all but the 
dullest. Probably he saw the dangers, and thought that 
they made the need for prompt action all the greater. So 
he went on his way, with the blundering persistence of a 
person, who has not caught sight of the chasm, yawning 
a few feet before him. 

Meanwhile the Church was full of emotions ; she was 
struggling for new expression. A hundred bewildering 
feelings pulled her this way and that ; and in her con- 
fusion she made several false starts. These inner struggles 
were hidden from Laud, with his unemotional, unsubtle 
mind. He determined to drill the nation into an appear- 
ance of order, and upon his appointment as Bishop of 
London in 1628 he set to work with zest. The difficulties 
he met with, must often have made him gloomy ; often, 
they must have given him a cold-water surprise. Accord- 
ing to his way of thinking, all life was to be lived in straight 
lines. Intriguing and treachery were not only beneath 
the finer side of his nature, but quite outside his under- 



200 In Stewart Times 

standing. Thus he never foresaw the probable effect of 
his designs, and in 1640, when he heard the news of his 
own impeachment by the Long Parliament, the tidings 
burst upon him like a bombshell. He had been so 
busy over his schemes, that he had never stopped to 
think what might happen to himself. And besides, he 
was so entirely sure that his course was the truest and 
the best, that he utterly failed to see that it was 
possible others might think differently. His sensations 
on that dreadful day, when he found himself hurried 
off to prison, can be guessed at easily. An earthquake 
could not have astounded him more, nor found him more 
unprepared. Distressed, alarmed, confused, he accepted 
the situation with outward calm. But his mind must have 
been filled with more vital and sharp-set questions than 
had ever before entered his head. 

Ever since 1615, when he had been made Archdeacon of 
Huntingdon, he had met with steady preferment in the 
Church. In 1616 he became Dean of Gloucester ; in 1621 
he was made Bishop of St David's. Besides this he had 
already made himself known as a scholar and a man who 
could reason. Then came the accession of Charles L, 
and at once Laud's fortunes took a rapid step forward. 
The pleasant, kind-hearted king found a distinct sense of 
security in an adviser who always had a plan and an 
answer for everything, and soon a sense of friendship grew 
up between them. Yet their characters were oddly 
different. Charles had neither a strong sense of honour, 
nor very firm scruples. Laud, on the contrary, was a man 
of very keen principle, and even his most violent and 
high-handed deeds did not spring from mean or selfish 
motives. In carrying out his rigid programme he earned 
the hatred of the people. If he had won their gratitude, 
he would have been just as unmoved. Human emotions 



William Laud 20 1 

were outside his range. It is more than likely that he 
realised neither the true nature of the fire of the opposition 
he provoked, nor the cruelty and heartlessness of many 
of his actions. But underneath all his narrow-thinking, 
all his intolerance and shortsightedness, lay a rock-bed 
of principle, and an honest desire to serve the Church. 
" I laboured," he confesses in one of his writings, " nothing 
more than that the external worship of God — too much 
slighted in most parts of this kingdom — might be pre- 
served, and that with as much decency and uniformity 
as might be, being still of opinion that unity cannot long 
continue in the Church when uniformity is shut out at the 
doors." In this very characteristic sentence he showed 
his true aim. He was a man of peace ; a man of order. 
Given order, he firmly believed that peace would follow, 
and he put all his strength into persuading the nation to 
form habits in religion. But it was vain to talk about 
habits, or to preach of rule, when the sound of discontent 
was already in the air, and when the Petition of Right was 
making even the most careless courtier aware that a crisis 
was to be expected. 

With the gathering of the storm came further prefer- 
ment for Laud, In 1628 Wentworth had deserted the 
reforming party and come over to the Court, where already 
he had great influence. It began to be forced home upon 
Charles that out of all his kingdom there were but two men 
upon whom he could rely with confidence in an ex- 
tremity. One was Thomas Wentworth ; the other, 
William Laud. In 1632 he made Wentworth Lord Deputy 
of Ireland, and in the next year Laud became Archbishop 
of Canterbury. Each man accepted his post with the 
resolve to carry out instant reforms. But the wisdom of 
Strafford was lacking in the Archbishop. So that while 
the Lord Deputy of Ireland won a fleeting supremacy by 



202 In Stewart Times 

his high-handed methods, Laud made a fatal blunder in 
attempting to deal in the same way with the Church in 
Scotland. He meant to secure the loyalty of Scotland for 
Charles ; he did not see that his ill-advised despotism 
would end in almost wrecking not only the cause of 
the king, but the very Church that he served. Neverthe- 
less for the present there was no open outburst. Four 
slow years went by, during which Laud ruled with a cruel 
hand, while the nation looked on with a sullen, smoulder- 
ing hatred, that was none the less deep because it was 
unspoken. Every now and then there were attempts at 
resistance. But what man could hope to stand against 
an archbishop who could enforce his wishes by the hated 
and illegal Court of High Commission, which showed much 
despatch and no pity in dealing with its victims ? The 
bolder spirits murmured and threatened. Instantly they 
found themselves thrust into the hard arms of the pillory, 
to find what consolation they could. William Prynne, 
an obstinate, narrow-minded man, but a person of 
courage, gained notoriety in this way in 1633. And 
when he stepped down from the platform, with muti- 
lated ears, and wrenched limbs, he made in his mind a 
vow that he would spend his life in opposing Laud. The 
year 1637 found him again in the pillory, with the remain- 
ing stumps of his ears chopped off. Beneath him surged 
an angry, sympathetic crowd, heaping curses on Laud, 
and praying that the nation might be freed from his 
tyranny. Prynne was a revengeful man, and in 1644, 
when an opportunity came for sending Laud to the block, 
he strongly urged the deed. He had good cause for 
hatred, it is true, but nothing can excuse the malice which 
pushed into the executioner's hands an old man of seventy- 
one, who had already paid for his crimes by four years' 
imprisonment. 



William Laud 203 

The murmurs over Prynne's punishment in 1637 might 
have been expected to act as a warning to the tyrannical 
archbishop. Yet it was in that very year that he began 
his disastrous campaign in Scotland. He issued a Liturgy 
of his own, supported by the king's authority, and this he 
tried to force upon the hostile Scottish nation. The Dean 
of St Giles stood up to read the new service, but his voice 
was drowned in an uproar. Men and women joined in a 
cry " Baal is in the Church," and the congregation became 
a wild mob. The Dean did his best to go on with the 
service, but he had little chance against the throng of 
thoroughly angry people. The day closed with riots and 
excitement, leaving each side equally determined to get 
the better of the other. Laud soon found he had done 
a dangerous thing in setting a whole nation in revolt. 
In the beginning of 1638, he heard with dismay that the 
National Covenant had been signed by thousands of Scots, 
pledged to "uphold the Kirk of Scotland and to uproot all 
traces of idolatry. ' ' Nevertheless, he hoped with Charles that 
a few soldiers would soon settle the matter. The " Bishops' 
War " proved otherwise. In 1639 the Scots proved their 
triumph in the Treaty of Berwick, and by 1640 their 
position was so strong that they were able to wrest from 
the king further advantages in the Treaty of Ripon. 

The failure of the campaign in Scotland sounded the 
knell of Laud's doom. A month after the Treaty of Ripon 
the Long Parliament met. Laud was at once impeached. 
It was difficult to bring any exact charge against him, but 
he was accused of high treason, and attacked as " the 
root and ground of all our miseries." The accusation 
astonished him, and its wording gave him an entirely 
novel view of himself. He was aware that he had some 
enemies, but he had been so wrapt up in his schemes that 
he never imagined he could be described in so sweeping a 



204 In Stewart Times 

sentence. He remembered that the 'prentice boys had 
recently mobbed him in his palace at Lambeth ; but still 
he had not expected impeachment. 

The full sense of the word came upon him with a sudden 
rush when the gates of the Tower closed upon him, leaving 
him to ponder over that sinister phrase, " the root and 
ground of all our miseries." 

For four weary years he lay in prison, while England 
was racked with civil strife. From his prison window he 
saw his old friend, Strafford, go past to execution ; and 
in the silence of his cell he must have heard many sounds 
telling him of the confusion and excitement in the city. 
The battles of First Newbury and Marston Moor had been 
fought, and in 1645 the Presbyterians were urging terms of 
peace in the Treaty of Uxbridge. But there was another 
and more turbulent body to be dealt with, the extremists 
who set their face against any kind of truce. These, coming 
into power, took a hasty revenge upon the age-worn figure 
of Laud. Prynne was among his accusers, and past 
memories sharpened Prynne's venom. He urged that the 
fullest penalty should be exacted. A trial was arranged, 
at which Laud made an able defence. But he was the 
mark of many foes, and nothing could save him. His 
condemnation was hurried through, and early in 1645 he 
was beheaded on Tower Hill. He met his end in the 
dogged and even frame of mind he had always shown in 
life. Without complaint or resistance he stooped to 
what was inevitable. 



JEREMY TAYLOR, BISHOP OF 

DOWN 

" This day is mine and yours, but ye know not what shall be on 
the morrow." 

" . . . Which when I saw, I wept, and was afraid ; for I knew 
that it must be so with all men, for we also die, and end our quarrels 
and contentions by passing to a final sentence." 

"Holy Dying" 

THE warm sunshine of August was flinging the rich 
glow of summer upon the grey walls of Cambridge 
on the day when Jeremy Taylor was born, within 
the parish of the great College of Trinity. The first sights 
upon which his baby eyes rested were marked with the 
honourable signs of age and learning. Even in the days 
of the Stewarts, Cambridge was no mushroom town. 
The solemn sense of the garnerings of ages was already 
its own, and even the little barber's shop which Jeremy 
Taylor called " home " must have felt the spell of the 
Spirit of Learning. The barber's shop may appear a 
tawdry background for the youthful days of a great 
divine. But against this was the influence of the town, 
silent with the repose of bygone generations ; noisy with 
the flow of fresh young life. Ever in the past, yet ever 
in the present, at once a fulfilment and a vision. 

And as for the barber's shop, a barber then was not a 
mere man of brushes and soap. He bore something of the 
surgeon about him. He was the link between the regular 
professional and the tradesman, and he scorned to con- 
sider himself in the light of an ordinary shopkeeper. 

Moreover this particular barber, who was father to 
205 



206 In Stewart Times 

Jeremy Taylor, could boast of ancient families connected 
with himself, so that in spite of his humble trade, he prided 
himself upon being sprung from a well-bred race. All 
this mattered very little to the boy who played games in 
the narrow, twisted streets, or maybe fished in the brownish 
waters of the river, flowing almost without a ripple past 
stretches of flat meadow-land, open as far as the eye could 
see. 

In time fresh duties arose. The days of happy, ir- 
regular teaching under his father's care came to an end. 
The boy was thirteen, and quick at learning. It was 
time he had better teachers. So to college he was sent, 
and in 1626 Caius registered among her pupils one Jeremy 
Taylor. The year before this, Cambridge had welcomed 
another new-comer, John Milton, who in 1625 went up to 
Christ's College. Whether the two undergraduates ever 
met within the quadrangles is quite unknown. Milton 
was some five years older, and at thirteen, five years 
almost mark a generation. So that it is more than prob- 
able that Milton and Taylor did not meet, unless it was 
the merest and most casual encounter. 

At the University, Taylor's pleasant manner won him 
many a friend, and in spite of his extreme youthfulness 
he soon had a niche of his own. A sense of the business 
of life very early came home to him, and his mind was 
alert for action. He had none of that slow, dreamy 
awakening which often marks the development of a poet. 
Perhaps the circumstances of his birth influenced him here. 
At all events he was quick-eyed and practical, ready for 
any emergency, and always eager to grapple with 
difficulties. He spoke fluently and well, and the musical 
pitch of his voice added delight to his words. A sermon 
preached in London brought him into the notice of Laud, 
who inquired into his circumstances. Through Laud, too, 



Jeremy Taylor 207 

he finally got the offer of a fellowship at All Souls, Oxford, 
in the year 1635. This was the very chance which the 
young student needed. He was still over-young for public 
work, but in Oxford he would have time for reading, time 
for thought. He would meet and talk with some of the 
ripest scholars of the day. Above all, he would be able 
to get the full worth out of these advantages by being 
freed, through his fellowship, from the thought of money 
anxieties. What more could any ardent young scholar 
desire than time and quietness amid congenial friends, and 
enough means to pay for his wants ? Though there are 
no records of Jeremy Taylor's life at this time, it is safe 
to assume that he accepted Laud's kindly services with a 
grateful heart and an eager determination to prove his 
love and thanks. 

Many and long absences from Oxford during the time 
he was a Fellow are explained on the ground that he was 
at the same time acting as Chaplain to the Archbishop, 
so that frequent journeys were unavoidable. And very 
pleasant jaunts they must have been to the young student, 
who loved the green hedges and the cool woods almost as 
much as he delighted in books. With what bright, 
interested gaze he must have looked out, as the big, 
lumbering coach made its way down the deep rutted road 
that lay between Oxford and the capital ! But in 1638 
these travels came to an end. In that year he became 
Rector for the parish of Uppingham in Rutlandshire. A 
good deal had happened in the twenty-five years that had 
passed since he had been a child in the barber's shop in 
Cambridge. To become rector at twenty-five, even in 
those days when boys in their teens were men, was a great 
event. Taylor had certainly done well. 

These days in the Rutlandshire village must have been 
very happy, in spite of the worries sure to come to a man 



208 In Stewart Times 

with sincere and steadfast religious opinions, at a time 
when a difference in views was looked upon as almost a 
crime. The Episcopalians, the Roman Catholics, and the 
Nonconformists formed three points of a triangle hedging 
in the whole nation ; and unlucky was the man who had 
not a place on one of these vantage grounds, from which 
it seemed the proper thing to hurl insults at the other two. 
So it came about that when Jeremy Taylor was asked to 
preach at Oxford, on the 5th of November 1638, in com- 
memoration of the evil Gunpowder Plot, he preached with 
such plain, unvarnished gusto, that the Roman Catholics 
rose up, and with one voice bitterly denounced him. The 
sermon was afterwards published, with a dedication to 
Laud, who had always been a true and generous friend. 

The tract is interesting both as a specimen of Taylor's 
early work, and as a proof of his steadfast and upright 
character. 

The agonies and raptures which swept through the 
minds of many men of the day were unknown to his 
quieter spirit. He knew nothing of the emotional struggles 
common to men such as Baxter and Bunyan. He was a 
clear and able reasoner, and though his points are often 
hidden by splendid bursts of rhetoric, these flowers of 
speech did not spring from any mystical strain, but from 
a keen and observant eye and a passionate love for nature. 
He loved green meadows and wide-spreading trees ; the 
noise of children playing in the lanes ; or the sight of a 
familiar face, beaming a welcome. He was very much 
alive to the human note in everything, and he delighted 
in the friendliness of life. The metaphors that he uses 
nearly always reveal this winsome side of his character. 
" So have I seen," he says in one of his most famous 
passages, " a rose newly springing from the clefts of its 
hood, and at first, it was fair as the morning, and full with 



Jeremy Taylor 209 

the dew of heaven, as a lamb's fleece, but when a ruder 
breath had forced open its virgin modesty, and dismantled 
its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to put 
on darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms 
of a sickly age ; it bowed the head and broke its stalk ; 
and at night, having lost some of its leaves and all its 
beauty, it fell into the position of weeds and outworn 
faces." Here it is a rose that gives him his idea. There 
are many such instances — a child at its game ; a flower in 
its sweetest bloom ; a sharp hoarfrost in spring. Other 
men, such as Sir Thomas Browne, have been inspired by 
the sight of a handful of withered bones. But it was 
beauty that gave Jeremy Taylor his finest thoughts about 
eternity. Like the Celt, he saw in loveliness the shadow 
of decay, and in the sweetest songs he heard the saddest 
strains. " For not only the winter quarter is full of 
storms and cold and darkness, but the beauteous spring 
hath blasts and sharp frosts ; the fruitful turning summer 
is melted with heat, and burnt with the kisses of the sun, 
her friend, and choked with dust, and the rich autumn is 
full of sickness, and we are weary of that which we enjoy, 
because sorrow is its biggest portion." A man who can 
write passages like these may readily be forgiven the 
fault of repeating too often the words : " So have I seen," 
or of letting himself riot in words. 

After five years, Taylor exchanged his rectorship of 
Uppingham for that of Overstone. Here he settled in 
1643 with his two little sons. Many sad and happy 
memories filled his mind as he bade farewell to the little 
Rutlandshire village. Hither he had brought his bride, 
full of the first shy eagerness of married life. Now he was 
turning away without her. For a year ago she had died, 
soon after the death of her infant son. Personal sorrows 
struck Jeremy Taylor hard. His affections were deep and 
o 



210 In Stewart Times 

sincere, and his private letters again and again betray 
pride and delight in his home, or desolation and grief at 
human loss. His sense of the shortness of life grew daily- 
deeper, and in 1651, in his preface to Holy Dying, he 
exclaims : "I myself have lately seen and felt much 
sorrows of death, and such sad departure of dearest 
friends, that it is more than high time we should think 
ourselves nearly concerned in the accidents." A little 
later he says of human delight : " Men's joys are trouble- 
some ; and besides that the fear of losing them takes 
away the present pleasure, they are also wavering and full 
of trepidation. . . . They dwell upon ice, and they con- 
verse with the wind. . . . The same may every man 
observe to be true of himself ; he is always restless and 
uneasy ; he dwells upon the waters, and leans upon thorns, 
and lays his head upon a sharp stone." The vanity of 
life and the folly of pleasures, surely these are the text 
of a man looking upon the dark side of the world ! And 
yet Jeremy Taylor was never a pessimist. He was an 
eager, practical soul, pricked on to fresh efforts by the 
thought of the swift passage of time, yet always ready to 
find time for a homely chat, and always at leisure to listen 
to tales of trouble and distress. He was charitable in 
days when charity was not thought a special virtue, and 
after his death Bishop Rust declared of him : " The 
hungry that he fed, and the naked that he clothed, and 
the distressed that he supplied, and the fatherless that he 
provided for ; the poor children that he put to apprentice 
. . . will now sound a trumpet to that charity which he 
dispersed with his right hand, but would not suffer his 
left hand to have any knowledge of it." 

Like all other preachers he was the victim of many 
changes in the Civil War. Twice he was imprisoned, but 
never for very long, and both times he was fortunate in 



Jeremy Taylor 2x1 

meeting with courtesy and kindness. " I know not," he 
says in regard to the first occasion, " whether I have been 
more preserved by the courtesies of my friends, or the 
gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy." Imprisoned 
again a second time he writes : "I now have that 
liberty that I can receive any letters, and send any ; for 
the gentlemen under whose custody I am, as they are 
careful of their charges, so they are civil to my person." 

With the accession of Charles II., the Episcopalians 
once more rose into first favour. Jeremy Taylor was in 
Ireland, where he had been installed since 1658, and so 
he was out of direct touch with the Court. But he had 
many friends in England anxious to do him a kindness. 
Few men of talent had lived through the stormy Civil War 
without making enemies. But Jeremy Taylor's sweet 
disposition, his fair and reasonable judgments, his friendly 
manner, and his endless little kindnesses, made him liked 
by all who met him. Without winning the doubtful 
prize of extreme popularity, he was one of the best-liked 
men of his day, and there was a good deal of satisfaction 
when it was known that he had been made Bishop of 
Down (1661). The appointment had its disadvantages ; 
in fact it was a very prickly rose. On the one hand were 
the Roman Catholics, hot and angry ; only too ready to 
fling themselves upon the English Bishop, whose out- 
spoken sermon of '38 they had by no means forgotten. 
Then there were the Protestants, a sincere but dour, self- 
centred body, hating the Catholics as heartily as the 
Catholics hated them. To be bishop over such a flock 
was not at all an easy matter, nor, as a rule, a pleasant 
one. Jeremy Taylor, with his strong love of peace, and 
his delight in kindly little deeds, was very much troubled 
at the difficulties that met him. He wrote sharply and 
speedily against the evils of Papacy, but he spoke of his 



212 In Stewart Times 

opponents with no bitterness. To him they were " the 
poor deluded Irish," and his plain-speaking was nothing 
more than " a labour of love." But remedies are not 
always agreeable to sufferers. The Irish ungraciously 
flung back the Bishop's well-meant efforts, and these last 
few years of his life can hardly be said to have been happy. 
In 1667 he died after a few days' illness. 

" He that would willingly be fearless of death," he had 
said in Holy Dying, " must learn to despise the world. . . . 
It is certainly a great baseness and pusillanimity of spirit 
that makes death terrible, and extremely to be avoided." 
The words reveal his own deepest feelings. He had the 
free, open courage of a pure and noble mind ; but he was 
haunted by the uncertainties which appal an imaginative 
spirit. To such a man the end of life would bring both 
its bitter and its sweet ; its agony at the loss of human 
relationship ; its rapture at the foretaste of unguessed-at 
delights. 

" This great prelate," said Bishop Rust in his memorial 
sermon, had the good humour of a gentleman, the 
eloquence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness 
of a schoolman . . . the reason of an angel, the piety of 
a saint ; he had devotion enough for a cloister, learning 
enough for a University, and wit enough for a college 
of virtuosi." They were the words of a hero-worshipper. 
No man ever lived to deserve such eulogy. Yet they 
serve to show how much love Jeremy Taylor won in his 
day, and they bear witness to the worth of a character 
able to rouse such feelings. 



RICHARD BAXTER 

" / asked him [Johnson] what works of Richard Baxter I should 
read. He said y ■ Read any of them : they are all good ! '- ' l 

Boswell 

" Richard, Richard, dost thou think we'll hear thee poison the 
Court ? Richard, thou art an Old Fellow, an Old Knave ; thou 
hast written books eno' to load a cart, every one as full of Sedition 
{I might say Treason) as an Egg is full of Meat. 11 

Lord Chief Justice Jefferies 

DOWN a deep rutted lane in Shropshire, on a day 
in early spring, came a company of noisy boys, 
chattering in their uncouth, country accent, and 
eagerly scanning the thick hedges on either side of the 
rough, brown road. They were evidently bent on a 
particular errand, and soon the cry of a startled bird 
showed that they were carrying out a cruel intention of 
robbing nests. Amongst the throng was a slight, delicate- 
looking boy, with an eager, clever face. It was Richard 
Baxter, now about twelve years old, and well known in 
the village for his high spirits and mischievous ways. 
His parents scolded him for want of respect ; the 
neighbours grumbled at the tricks he played upon 
them ; and more than one farmer had chased him 
out of an orchard, whither he had gone to steal fruit. 
Had any of the long-suffering villagers been told that 
this naughty boy, the torment of the place, would end 
by becoming a famous and sincere divine, the idea would 
have been met with scorn and laughter. Richard Baxter 
become a preacher ! As well expect a cabbage to grow 

213 



214 I n Stewart Times 

into a rose. The one would be just as easy to believe as 
the other. 

Baxter had been born in 1615, and he was known 
everywhere as a noisy, troublesome boy till he was about 
fourteen years of age, when a sudden but lasting change 
came over him. Through reading a book called Persons 
of Resolution, he saw, in a flash, the folly of an idle, 
careless life, and he straightway made up his mind to be 
different. With the eagerness natural to his disposition 
he became as anxious about being good as he had before 
been careless about being bad. At nights, when he lay 
on his hard bed in the tiny cottage that he called " home," 
he thought feverishly about his sins. One after another 
his wrong-doings came into his mind, making him every 
minute more miserable. With deep earnestness he 
prayed to God, and by-and-by comfort came to his 
tortured mind. The seed of peace which thus fell into 
his heart remained with him ever after. Yet to the end 
of his long life he never forgot the early agonies he had 
suffered at the awakening of a sense of wrong-doing. 

Very little education came his way, for he himself 
states that his " rise was mean and his descent ob- 
scure." The village school was his only teacher, and 
any greatness in his writing must be put down to natural 
gifts, or to studies undertaken of his own accord. He 
determined to become a minister ; but his parents stood 
in the way. They saw he had talents, and becoming 
ambitious, they urged him to try for a footing at Court. 
Not altogether pleased at the prospect, Baxter made his 
way to London. But there was no room in the worldly 
court of James I. for this raw, grave-eyed, country 
youth, with his serious ways, and his blunt manner of 
speaking. Seeing that his errand was hopeless, Baxter 
very cheerfully returned to his Shropshire village. 




Richard Baxter 

Painter unknown 
Photo Emery Walker 



214 



Richard Baxter 215 

At the age of twenty-three he was ordained by the Bishop 
of Worcester and eked out a living by school teaching. 
Even in the hot years of youth he was moderate and 
broadminded in his outlook, and though at first he had 
little sympathy with the Puritan sects, he soon became 
convinced that many of them " were honest and godly 
people." The points that disturbed them seemed often 
enough of very little real importance to his more balanced 
mind, and he soon gained a reputation as a large-minded 
and sincere thinker. 

He found his first real difficulty in the " Et cetera " 
Oath of 1640, which exacted a pledge from the clergy 
that " they would never consent to the alteration of the 
present government of the Church by Archbishops, 
Bishops, Deans, Archdeacons, etc." Upon this last word 
the more cautious and clearheaded grounded. Refusal 
to sign meant expulsion. But even so, many hesitated 
to agree blindly. What did " et cetera " really mean ? 
Who could say to what he would be pledging himself by 
putting his name to such a vague term ? Very hot and 
excited debates arose over the point, and the satirist, 
Cleveland, caught up the feeling and cleverly embedded 
it in one of his poems : 

" Who swears et cetera, swears more oaths at once 
Than Cerberus out of his triple sconce. 
Who views it well, with the same eye beholds 
The old, false serpent in his numerous folds.- 1 

The oath had been framed with the idea of uniting the 
clergy, but instead it stirred up fatal questioning. Many 
who had been content to hold quietly by the old way of 
thinking were forced into facing facts, with the result that 
not a few of them " began to think better of the Cause of 
Nonconformity, and to Honour the Nonconformists more 



2l6 



In Stewart Times 



than before." Amongst these, was Richard Baxter. 
And so the strife in the Church at home grew greater, 
while from Scotland came frequent and threatening 
sounds of disturbance. 

In 1641 Baxter undertook a charge at Kidderminster, 
in which place almost the whole of the rest of his life was 
spent. The vicar, old and infirm, was not disturbed in 
his vicarage, but the preaching and work of the parish fell 
to Baxter. Before long he had got the whole town by 
the ears, through his strong, outspoken words against 
evil living. Inflamed crowds mobbed his house, and 
sought him out with sticks and any odd weapons. He 
could not go abroad without being followed by rude 
hoots and evil words. But the greater the tumult, the 
calmer and more self-possessed grew the preacher. 

" Since you so requite me as to seek my blood," he said, 
" I am willing to leave you and save you from that guilt." 
The angry crowds were struck dumb with shame and 
dismay. A sudden change of feeling swept over them, 
and they began to mutter they would be very sorry to 
part with him. Gradually things settled down, and 
before long the church was crowded with the very men 
who had been foremost in flinging stones. Baxter's 
courage and calmness had won the day, and henceforward 
he had a warm place in the hearts of the townsfolk. 
Their friendly feelings touched the preacher's affections, 
and made him toil more than ever for his people, till 
gradually a tie of good fellowship was formed, never to 
be broken. In the Civil War he took the side of the 
Parliament, and for a time he acted as an army chaplain. 
Even in the heat of war he was known as a man of 
moderation and good counsel. So that there was nothing 
unfitting in his appointment as King's chaplain at the 
time of the Restoration. He, at least, never came 



Richard Baxter 217 

within the reach of Butler's bitter and prejudiced satire 
against those who 

" Prove their doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knocks ; 
Call fire and sword, and desolation 
A godly thorough reformation. 

Compound for sins they are inclined to 
By damning those they have no mind to."- 

Baxter's common-sense made him hate division, and 
in 1660 he eagerly accepted the invitation of Charles II. 
to meet with other divines to discuss a religious settle- 
ment. But settlements were hopeless in the teeth of the 
Royalist reaction, and after a hundred disappointments 
the chaplain complained that " They were all branded as 
rigid Presbyterians, though they never put up one petition 
for Presbytery, but pleaded for Primitive Episcopacy. 
They were represented in the common talk of those who 
thought it their interest to be their Adversaries, as the 
most seditious People in the World, unworthy to be us'd 
like Men, or to enjoy any Liberty. They could not go 
abroad, but they met with daily Reproaches and false 
Stories raised upon them." 

Hard upon the conference came the five severe laws 
often grouped together as the " Clarendon Code." These 
were the Corporation Act (1661), the Act of Uniformity 
(1662), the Ordination Act (1662), the Conventicle Act 
(1664), and The Five Mile Act (1665). The second of 
these, the Act of Uniformity, drove Baxter into the 
opposing camp, and he was among the two thousand 
ejected ministers that " it was modish to run down as a 
Pack of unreasonable and humoursome Complainants." 

By this time he had reached middle life, and with years 



218 In Stewart Times 

his tolerance, always great, had become larger. He cared 
much more about points of agreement, and much less 
about differences in doctrine. He was neither so hot 
nor so hasty in his judgment of others, yet he was severer 
about his own conduct. His soul was much more troubled 
over the sorrows of the world, and if he " found few so 
Good when he came near them, as he apprehended them 
at a distance," he also found " few so Bad as the Malicious 
and Censorious do imagine." 

To such a mind the growing bitterness in the Church 
was not only a religious disaster, but a deep, personal 
sorrow. He wrote often and reasonably, pleading for a 
more generous outlook. But the times were neither 
sweet nor reasonable, and in 1685 Baxter found himself 
in prison for his pains. His trial was conducted by Lord 
Chief Justice Jefferies, as savage a man as ever lived, 
who glared upon the prisoner with bloated, impudent 
eyes, gleaming with inhuman malice. Five lawyers stood 
in defence of the prisoner, but they were all quickly 
silenced by the judge, who swore they were always to be 
found playing a part in the dirtiest causes. " Were it not 
for you Gentlemen of the Long Robe," he roared, " who 
should have more Wit and Honesty, than support and 
hold up these Factious Knaves by the Chin, we should 
not be at the Pass we are." Reply was useless against 
such a torrent, and Baxter was sworn in. One of the 
Counsel, named Wallop, tried to urge that the prisoner 
should be treated with respect since his writings had 
always shown great moderation, and he had himself once 
been mentioned by the king in connection with a Bishop- 
ric. " Baxter for Bishops," cried Jefferies, with a huge, 
course laugh. " Turn to the place, turn to it." The 
passages were quoted, upon which the judge let loose his 
bottled-up wrath : " Ay faith," he shouted, " this is 



Richard Baxter 219 

your Presbyterian Cant . . . Bishops set apart by such 
Factious, Snivelling Presbyterians as himself. A Kidder- 
minster Bishop he means. According to the saying of a 
Late Learned Author : ' and every Parish shall maintain 
a Tithe Pig Metropolitan.' " 

Baxter, who had listened to the outburst in silence, now 
ventured to put in a word. Jefferies cut him short : 

' l Richard, Richard," he said mockingly, " dost thou 
think we'll hear thee poison the Court ? Richard, thou 
art an Old Fellow, an Old Knave ; thou hast written 
books eno' to load a cart, every one as full of Sedition 
(I might say Treason) as an Egg is full of Meat. Hadst 
thou been whipp'd out of the Writing Trade forty years 
ago, it had been Happy. Thou pretendest to be a 
Preacher of the Gospel of Peace, and thou hast one Foot 
in the Grave ; 'tis time for thee to begin to think what 
Account thou intendest to give." He paused and flashed 
his leering eyes round the court, then he went on, with a 
sudden, dark menace : " Fll look after thee. I know thou 
hast a mighty Party, and I see a great mass of the Brother- 
hood in Corners, waiting to see what will become of their 
mighty Donne . . . but by the Grace of God Fll crush 
you all" 

A dull sense of despair seized upon those in Court when 
they heard the coarse threats of the judge, and saw the 
hatred in his glance. Many well-known persons had 
come prepared to give witness on Baxter's, behalf, but all 
evidence was useless in a court managed by such a bully, 
and no one attempted a defence. Baxter, however, was 
not the man to be frightened into silence and when 
the jury had retired he plucked up courage to say 
boldly : 

" Does your Lordship think any Jury will pretend to 
pass a verdict upon me upon such a Tryal ? " 



220 In Stewart Times 

A cruel light danced across Jefferies' bleared eyes. 

" I'll warrant you, Mr Baxter," he cried. " Don't you 
trouble yourself about that." His guess was correct 
enough. No jury, however bold, dared to cross the wishes 
of the ferocious Chief Justice, and they came back with a 
verdict of guilty. A fine of five hundred marks, with 
imprisonment till it should be paid, completed the 
sentence, and Baxter was led away to gaol. A year later 
he was set free, through the good offices of Lord Powis, 
and upon the promise of good conduct. 

From the time of his release till his death he lived in a 
house in Charter House Yard, where he busied himself 
with his writings, or with private meetings held within 
his own sitting-rooms. By degrees ill-health crept upon 
him, and in 1691 he died. 

To the last he displayed the same unruffled, courageous 
spirit. " My friends," he said to some that had come to 
visit him. " You come hither to learn to die. I am not 
the only person that must go this way. I can assure you 
that your whole life, be it never so long, is little enough 
to prepare for Death." 

So ended the life of one who had looked upon the 
world with wide, searching gaze, who had judged every- 
one mercifully, except himself ; who had yearned for a 
toleration that his day could not endure ; whose religion 
sprang from the depths of a sincere and earnest soul. 
The very large number of books which bear his name 
tell his industry and zeal. But they do more than this. 
In plain, sonorous English they show the deeper emotions 
of a great and spiritual mind. In a fine passage in Dying 
Thoughts he exclaims triumphantly : " Shall the waters 
grudge that they must glide away, and the plants that 
they must die, and half die every winter, and the fruit 
and flowers that they must fall, or the moon that it must 



Richard Baxter 22 1 

have its changing motions, or the sun that it must set 
and rise so oft, when all is but the action and order 
which maketh up that harmony and perfection which 
was designed by the Creator and is pleasing to his 
will ? . . . That is simply best which God willeth ; 
therefore to live here is best, whilst I do live here ; 
and to depart is best when the time for my departure 
cometh." In this simple faith he lived and died. 



WILLIAM PENN 

" A trewe swynkere and a good was he, 
Lyvynge in pees and par fit chavitee. 
God loved he best, with al his hoole herte, 
At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte."' 

Chaucer 

THE cloud of Civil War which had been threatening 
at the time when Newton was born, burst into 
thunder in the year of William Penn's birth. 
Amid the sunshine of July the battle of Marston Moor 
had been fought, and though summer had given place to 
October, the autumn brought no promise of a happy 
settlement. The shouts of strife were getting steadily 
louder ; parties were fiercer and more uproarious. The 
most far-sighted could see no end to the trouble. Amid 
circumstances such as these, on the 14th day of October, 
1644, was born William Penn, who was to become a fore- 
most figure in a party clinging to the doctrines of peace. 

He was the child of a happy and luxurious home. His 
father, Admiral Penn, was a breezy, generous man, not 
too particular over small scruples, provided he could 
secure for himself a well-paid, honourable post. During 
the Protectorate he served Cromwell, but, at the Restora- 
tion, he cheerfully held office under Charles. Bluff, 
good-natured, worldly-wise, he had a very different spirit 
from that of his thoughtful little son, who at twelve was 
awed by mystical joy at seeing a sudden glory in the 
room, giving him the " strongest conviction of the being 
of God." 

222 



William Penn 223 

Side by side with this spiritual strain in Penn's character, 
was a healthy and wholesome love for all kinds of outdoor 
sport. He was no moody boy, hiding away from his 
companions. He delighted in every game. Often he 
raced, breathless and eager, across the playing fields of 
the Grammar School at Chigwell, in Essex, the keenest 
among that throng of lighthearted boys, now, centuries 
since, sunk into dust and ashes. 

Chigwell gave place to Oxford, and Oxford to Lincoln's 
Inn. The boy had now passed into early manhood. He 
was twenty-one, and the world was before him. Intervals 
of study had been pleasantly varied by travels abroad, 
and Pepys, always sharp-eyed in the matters of dress and 
manners, remarked with some spite that Penn had come 
back from the Continent bringing with him a " great 
deal ... of the vanity of French garb, and an affected 
manner of speech and gait." 

This was in 1664. The " French garb " was soon to 
disappear in favour of the becoming simplicity of Quaker 
dress ; for in 1667 Penn openly confessed to Quaker 
opinions. Admiral Penn heard the news with violent 
disgust. He had intended his son for a very different 
life, and he was thoroughly annoyed at the announce- 
ment. His friends laughed and condoled with him. This 
only enraged him the more. It touched his spirit to the 
quick that London society should speak with amusement 
and wonder about the son on whom he had heaped the 
benefits of travel and a college education. But if he 
thought to wipe out these new principles with bluster or 
threats, he soon discovered his mistake. The son was as 
determined as the father, and sooner than give way they 
parted. These unfortunate differences were afterwards 
patched up, but to the end the lusty Admiral found it hard 
to understand the drift of his son's mind. 



224 I n Stewart Times 

Penn, meanwhile, was on fire with zeal for his cause. 
He published Truth Exalted, in which he warmly defended 
the doctrines of the Quakers. Almost before the ink was 
dry he followed it up with others, equally outspoken in 
tone. Prison was his reward. Here, like Bunyan, he 
used the enforced quiet in writing fresh pamphlets. 
No Cross, No Crown was sent forth as the result of 
these lonely hours. The boldness of his bearing, and 
the breadth of his view made him the hero of many. 
He believed that for himself there was no creed like the 
faith of the Quakers, but he was perfectly willing that 
everyone else should be allowed entire freedom in worship. 
His attitude was too largeminded for the times, and his 
continual plea for toleration offended not a few. 14 1 
abhor," he said in 1686, " two principles in religion, and 
pity them that own them ; the first is obedience upon 
authority without conviction ; and the other destroying 
them that differ from me for God's sake. Such a religion 
is without judgment, though not without teeth." In 
this, as in many other points, there is a likeness between 
Penn and Sir Thomas More. Both were men of great 
personal conviction ; both loved tolerance ; and both 
longed to bring about some betterment in social con- 
ditions. 

Sundry imprisonments and persecutions led Penn to 
ponder upon the lot of the Quakers generally. These 
bickerings of fortune affected his spirit very little; for 
he had a firm and philosophic mind. But he had also a 
strong practical bent, and he began to turn over schemes 
by which he might form a colony where Quakers could 
spend their lives in peace. He begged the Crown to give 
him a tract of land in North America in exchange for a 
debt, promising that he would answer for the well-being 
of the colonists. In 1681 he got his way. The stretch 



William Penn 225 

of land now known as Pennsylvania became his, subject 
to the control of the English Parliament, and in 1682 he 
and a hundred friends set sail. These departures of serious- 
minded men and women were becoming familiar to the 
English people, yet they never failed to jeer at each new 
expedition. Quakers were the special butt of ridicule 
and abuse, and many of the bitterest gibes of ballad 
makers were aimed at the sect that believed in the presence 
of an " inward light," and taught the doctrine of peace. 
All sorts of coarse and unjust taunts were turned into 
verse, a typical song being "The Quaker's Farewell to 
England," published in 1675. 

" Come Friends, let's away. 
Since our Yea and our Nay 
In England now is slighted ; 
To the Indians we'll go y 
And our Lights to them show, 
That they be no longer benighted. 

To New Jersey with speed, 

Come all Friends that need 

Wealth, or large Possessions, 

The Indians we'll make 

To serve us, and Quake 

And be slaves to our Professions. 11 

The charge in the last verse was wholly untrue, at least 
in the case of Penn. His abilities were never seen to 
better advantage than in his dealings with the Indians, 
whom he drew into close and friendly relations with the 
English. Though he held slaves, he was the first American 
legislator who tried to secure legal rights for them, and in 
1710 he did his utmost to push through a Bill forbidding 
the importation of negroes. His suggestions were thrown 



226 In Stewart Times 

out by the English Parliament, but the merit of making 
the attempt rests with him. 

As Governor of Pennsylvania, he showed great ability 
in ruling. His intentions were better than his judgment ; 
and sometimes his faith in human nature was too strong. 
Rogues and swindlers often boasted that they had gained 
the better of him, and Penn, to his sorrow, found that the 
men he had most trusted had only been playing a part. 
But these disappointments never spoiled the sweetness of 
his nature. He loved mankind, and like More, he set 
his heart upon an ideal commonwealth. More secured 
his within the pages of a book ; Penn attempted the more 
difficult plan of a real colony. Both dreamed dreams, 
but with this difference, that while More was always aware 
that his dreams were only dreams, Penn always cherished 
a hope that he might wake up and find his visions true. 
Brave men both of them, each an idealist in his own way. 

In 1687 there happened an incident in Penn's life which 
has given rise to criticism, and called forth Macaulay's 
bitterest taunts. James II. issued his Declaration of 
Indulgence. This famous measure was set forward as 
the outcome of a genuine desire for toleration. It did not 
require much insight to see that it was really a crafty 
attempt at securing for the Roman Catholic Party 
favours which the king could not get by straightforward 
means. But above this, the nation said that in issuing an 
Indulgence by his personal authority alone, James was 
breaking the constitution and robbing Parliament of its 
hereditary right. It was this latter point which made 
Churchmen and Nonconformists alike join in rejecting 
the benefits offered them. Penn was among the few who 
accepted the overtures of James at their face value, and 
through his influence the Quakers sent in an address of 
thanks to the king. His conduct can be explained upon 



William Penn 227 

many grounds. Though a clever man, he was not far- 
seeing, and he probably failed to grasp the full drift of the 
bargain that James was proposing to make. Apart from 
this, his own personal feelings had always been strongly 
in favour of toleration for everyone. At the outset of his 
colonising scheme, he had declared that " no men, nor 
numbers of men upon earth, hath power or authority to 
rule over men's conscience in religious matters," and he 
had never lost sight of this assertion. Moreover he had 
always been on friendly terms with James, and he was 
among the few who were openly loyal, even after the 
Revolution of 1688. 

Under William and Mary, Penn was the object of a good 
deal of suspicion, and in 1699 he returned to his colony. 
Three years later he came to England on matters of 
business, and meanwhile Anne became queen. Her 
accession improved Penn's position, and for a time he 
enjoyed a good deal of favour. Then things began to go 
badly in Pennsylvania, till by 1710 even his best friends 
in England began to look at him with a cold eye. With 
splendid courage he set himself to grapple with the situa- 
tion. He wrote an address to his " Old Friends," in such 
simple and moving terms that the hostile spirit of the 
assembly in Pennsylvania was quite changed. By this 
time the fearless Quaker was sixty-six years of age, and 
the sudden turn of opinion in his favour must have stirred 
his affections to the quick. The Indians, too, had a real 
love for the man who many years before had made truce 
with them. Affection such as they felt does not readily 
wither, and his death in 1718 called! forth no truer tribute 
of love than the lament which they brought. 

Penn was seventy-four when he died, and for six years 
before this he had suffered grave ill-health. In 1712, he 
had surrendered his rights over the Colony to the Crown, 



228 In Stewart Times 

receiving in return a large sum of money. The little 
villages of Brentford and of Ruscomb were the favourite 
haunts of his later years, and he ended his days in a quiet 
and secluded home, well suited as a background for the 
closing scene in a life spent in a large endeavour after 
peace and tolerance. 



Phase V — Science and the 
Fine Arts 

FRANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT 
ST ALBANS 

" I do reverence him for the greatness that was only proper to 
himself, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest 
men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many ages."- 

Ben Jonson 

IN strict point of time the career of Francis Bacon 
is associated with the reign of Queen Elizabeth 
rather than with that of James I. He was 
born in 1561, and he died in 1626. But his work and 
his importance belong chiefly to the days of the Stewarts, 
for he influenced succeeding generations much more than 
the men of his own day. He, himself, was aware that he 
saw ahead of his times, and in dying he bequeathed his 
name and memory to " men's charitable speeches, and to 
foreign nations, and the next ages." 

He had a splendid intellect, and many noble qualities, 
but a love for the comforts of life poisoned his conduct. 
He never lost sight of an opportunity for gain, and he who 
had spoken nobly for the advancement of learning, himself 
stooped to spend months and years of precious time in 
urging useless suits at Court. The meaner side of his 
character was thus thrown uppermost, and after years, it 
still casts a shadow on his greatness. 
229 



230 In Stewart Times 

His father, Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper to Eliza- 
beth, was well liked by the queen ; and the powerful 
Lord Burghley was his uncle. The boy thus grew up with 
the idea that he would some day be of importance at Court, 
and he early fell in love with the notion of being a man of 
power. But just when the most important period in his 
studies had arrived, when he was eighteen, and burning 
with desire to make his way at Elizabeth's Court, a sharp 
blow fell upon him in the shape of his father's death. 
Instead of finding an early pathway to fame and fortune, 
he was faced with the problem of living upon a much 
smaller income than he had hoped to enjoy. Besides this, 
he had lost for ever, not only a father, but a powerful 
friend at Court. There still remained his uncle, Lord 
Burghley, and to him the nephew went with an urgent 
and lengthy plea. Lord Burghley, however, turned him 
a polite but a very deaf ear. He had no love for his 
nephew, and he did not mean to further his advancement. 
Personal feeling may have brought about this judgment ; 
or it may have arisen from a keen understanding of 
what was lacking in Bacon's character. Whatever the 
cause, to his utmost chagrin and discontent, Bacon be- 
came aware that he had small chance of looking for pro- 
motion through his uncle's good offices. His practical 
nature at once grasped the need for other plans, and 
he threw himself into the study of law. At the same 
time he lost no opportunity of snatching at a hope of 
Court favour, however forlorn the chance might seem. 
No fine sense of dignity held him back from the most open 
pursuit of royal bounty. The more persistent he grew, 
the colder and more inflexible was the queen. He 
haunted public men, and he especially fixed upon Essex 
as a man likely to help him. Essex, who was some five 
years younger than Bacon, was flattered by this courtship, 




Francis Bacon 231 

and he did all that he could. In 1594, he suggested that 
Bacon should be made Attorney-General. Then the 
ominous figure of Burghley stepped forward, saying the 
appointment would not be easily digested by Elizabeth. 
" Digest me no digestings," cried the Earl, " for the 
Attorneyship is that I must have for Francis Bacon." 
Burghley's reply is not given, but no doubt the cautious 
statesman noted in his mind that whoever was to get the 
post, it must not be his young, and over-ambitious kins- 
man. And when Burghley had intentions about any 
matter, he usually managed to make things turn out in 
the way he wanted. So, in the end, Coke got the coveted 
office, and Essex found himself baffled. Bacon watched 
from afar, his dark eye gleaming with fury and disappoint- 
ment. His pride was bitterly hurt but he was not van- 
quished. In a letter to his friend, Fulke Greville, he 
complains : "I have been like a piece of stuff bespoken in 
the shop ; and if her Majesty will not take me, it may be 
the selling by parcels will be more gainful." He attempted 
every avenue to royal favour, and when he was again and 
again disappointed, he fell back upon humbler approaches. 
He had been a member of Parliament since 1584, and his 
reputation as a speaker was very high. He now seized 
upon this advantage and gradually made himself so use- 
ful to the Government that he came to be regarded almost 
as an official. By these means he got into some sort of 
communication with the Court, and though he was still 
very far from the position he hankered after, he had a hold 
upon those who had favours to give. He had at last 
ceased to look upon Essex as a patron, and when oppor- 
tunity arose, he did not even shrink from publicly attack- 
ing the man who had once worn himself out on Bacon's 
behalf. For some time Essex had mismanaged affairs in 
Ireland, and though Bacon warned him of the conse- 



232 



In Stewart Times 



quences, he paid no heed. Then Elizabeth grew angry. 
It was said the earl was trying to stir up the citizens of 
London against the queen. Early in 1601 he was brought 
to judgment, and Bacon was called to sum up the case 
against him. Did Bacon shrink from the odious position 
of conducting a public attack upon his friend ? There is no 
evidence of any such scruples ; no record of a struggle before 
he could bring his mind to the point. He spoke brilliantly, 
and he did not spare his scorn. But he showed no reluct- 
ance, and he made no apology. Those who watched the 
scene must have been moved by the encounter between 
these two, once close friends, now facing each other as 
public antagonists. The brilliant and reckless courtier 
looked with a proud, disdainful glance upon the keen face 
of the advocate, pressing home his case so cleverly and with 
such ruthless zest. So this was Francis Bacon ; the man for 
whom he had begged the Attorneyship ? No wonder if a 
bitter note crept into the voice of Essex as he said : "I 
call forth Mr Bacon against Mr Bacon." Bacon started 
and leant forward, listening silently. Essex began to speak. 
The whole court hung upon his words, as he quoted from 
letters he had once received frqm the lawyer now pleading 
against him. Coke was supposed to be conducting the case, 
but the trial was really a duel between Essex and Bacon. 
In spite of comparative youth, both were disappointed 
men, who had been egged on by a restless and eager 
temperament, to a vain pursuit after wealth and power. 

The trial came to an end. Essex's guilt was clearly 
proved. The sentence of beheading was passed upon him. 
Bacon heard the fatal words fall from the judge, then he 
turned away. With what thoughts, who can guess ? 

Two years passed by, and Bacon's fortunes remained 
pretty much what they had been before. Then came 
tidings of the death of Elizabeth, and at once his hopes 



Francis Bacon 233 

revived. He hurried forward with eager addresses, in 
which he declared that the " king's voice was the voice of 
God in man." James was inclined to be friendly, but two 
figures barred the way. Coke, Bacon's old rival, looked 
at him with a malicious eye, and though Lord Burghley was 
dead, his son, Robert Cecil, was as cold towards his cousin 
as ever the uncle had been. Bacon might try his hardest 
to edge his way into the magic circle ; but he had very 
little chance of squeezing through so long as these two were 
near to thwart him. Once more the much-tried lawyer 
was forced back upon himself, finding comfort for his 
disappointment in scientific experiments, and in musings 
upon the great schemes of philosophy which were simmer- 
ing in his brain. 

When James had been nine years on the throne, Bacon's 
promotion seemed as far off as ever. If he ventured to 
take a step towards the king, he at once found himself 
skilfully checked by his cousin, Robert Cecil, and power 
and riches still tantalised him from afar. But in 1612 
Cecil died, and the way to the king was open. A swarm 
of flatterers and tuft-hunters rushed upon the sovereign, 
Bacon among the rest. He was not too proud to urge his 
claims upon the king in the plainest terms. " I have 
been," he wrote, "an old truant in the school house of 
your council-chamber, though on the second form ; yet 
longer than any that now sitteth hath been upon the head 
form. ... I will be ready as a chessman to be wherever 
your Majesty's royal hand shall set me." 

The king made promises to everyone, and Bacon began 
to hope at last his long dreams of advancement were to 
come true. Many years of waiting had made him cautious, 
and he watched warily for an opportunity. It came in 
1613, when Coke was made Chief Justice of the king's 
bench. With a good deal of reluctance Coke accepted 



234 I n Stewart Times 

the higher office, hating to think that the post he was 
leaving would be filled by his old enemy. Very sourly he 
gave way, and Bacon stepped into his empty place. He 
was now Attorney-General, occupying the place upon 
which he had looked for years with covetous eyes. Twenty 
years ago, he had fought hard for the same position ; 
twenty years ago Essex had declared he " must have " 
the attorneyship for him, and yet for all that time he had 
been deliberately kept back from tasting power. Some- 
what bitter thoughts must have mingled with his self- 
satisfaction when he took his seat for the first time as 
Attorney. At fifty-two, life had lost a good deal of the 
zest it had held at thirty. Twenty years had made many 
changes in the man. He had become confirmed in his 
habit of self-seeking ; his finer qualities had become 
blunted ; he was known among men as a tuft-hunter and 
a hanger-on. Nevertheless, in the midst of much sordid- 
ness and avarice, he had not lost sight of his noble resolve 
of serving the cause of Science. Those long years which 
he had wasted in angling for the favour of Elizabeth had 
been marked by the publication of his Essays, and 
disappointed by James, he had found leisure in 1605 to 
bring out the Advancement of Learning. Philosophy 
strove hard to secure him as her disciple, but his devotion 
was not proof against Preferment when it came by. To 
the end of his life he never succeeded in conquering his 
love for riches and soft living ; and he never made any real 
effort at self-denial. Though he was a philosopher, he 
had neither the aloofness nor the serenity of the true 
thinker. In some respects he united the qualities of 
Dryden and Milton. Like Milton, he fostered a long- 
cherished and noble plan ; but like Dryden he made 
ignoble bids for the loaves and fishes of daily life. 

When he accepted the post of Attorney-General, he 



Francis Bacon 235 

thought that the appointment was a popular one. In 
this he was mistaken. He had few friends, and even 
these were not blind to his glaring faults ; while among 
the vulgar, his reputation was not at all high. His high- 
handed dealings had often been bitterly resented, and 
there was a good deal of murmuring and grumbling over 
the news that he had won office. Probably Bacon was 
unaware of the depth of the dislike in which the nation 
held him ; though he had himself never made any efforts 
to conceal his aversion for democracy. As a philosopher 
with a love for system and decorum the very word 
" people " was distasteful to him, suggesting ideas of 
upheavals and contests, the upsetting of plans, and the 
destruction of the orderliness, which as a scientist he 
valued highly. 

As Attorney-General he showed himself capable and 
industrious. Huge mountains of arrears at first blocked 
his path, but with splendid courage and perseverance he 
actually succeeded in three years, in bringing them within 
limits. His fame was daily increasing. It was known 
that he received sums of money from clients, but it was 
also equally well known that these gifts never influenced 
his judgments. Often enough those who had given the 
money, went out of court full of an indignation they dared 
not express, because in spite of their doles, the sentence 
had gone against them. 

For eight years he held office and flourished. He grew 
rich and powerful, and he seemed to be thoroughly 
established. Then, without a moment's warning, he was 
plunged in the deepest disgrace. He fell like an eagle — 
sheer into the sea beneath. The shock robbed him of 
every shred of courage and resistance. Before he could 
recover his balance, enemies came forward with tales of 
bribery and the receiving of gifts. He had taken doles 



236 



In Stewart Times 



from X. ; handsome presents from B. ; and A. had shown 
him favours with a purpose. The charges were true 
enough, and Bacon did not attempt to deny them. He 
had done what others had done in the same position. It 
had been held no dishonour to take bribes and gifts ; 
he had only acted as many before him had done. The 
attack upon him was really an outburst of public fury 
against an injustice of long standing. By the malignity 
of Coke it took on a personal note, and became directed 
against a definite person, whereas in strict justice the 
charge should have been brought against the office. 
Bacon was quite aware he was guilty, but he put forward 
as an excuse that any gifts he had received had left his 
judgment untouched. He had been the receiver of bribes, 
but he had given sentence strictly according to his 
sense of righteousness. He saw at once that a good deal of 
spite lay at the bottom of the attack upon him, and he 
detected the relentless finger of Coke. " My very good 
Lord," he wrote to Buckingham, " Your Lordship spake 
of Purgatory. I am now in it, but my mind is a calm ; 
for my fortune is not my felicity. I know I have clean 
hands and a clean heart. . . . But Job himself, or whoever 
was the justest judge, by such hunting for matters against 
him as hath been used against me, may for a time seem 
foul, specially in a time when greatness is the mark, and 
accusation is the game" 

Bacon's surmise was right. Coke had no intention of 
letting his old rival escape disgrace. He pressed the 
impeachment, and before long the former Attorney- 
General found himself in the Tower, with a fine of £40,000 
written up against him. The sentence appalled him, but 
he admitted its justice. And with fine courage he after- 
wards recorded in writing : " I was the justest judge that 
was in England these fifty years ; but it was the justest 



Francis Bacon 237 

censure in Parliament that was these two hundred 
years." 

Only a day or two passed before he was set free from the 
indignities of the Tower. He would have liked to find a 
home in London, but the city was forbidden him, so he 
retired to the seclusion of Gorhambury. More than once 
he tried to get back into royal favour, but he never 
recovered his old position. Nevertheless these years of 
disgrace form the most memorable part of his life. He 
had leisure for writing and for study. His great work, 
the Novum Organum, had appeared in 1620, the year 
before his fall, but the interval between his withdrawal 
from public affairs and his death was enriched by the 
publication of his Life of Henry VII. ; by a translation 
of the Advancement of Learning (first written in Latin) ; 
and by an enlarged edition of the Essays. 

His great service to science lies in the stress he lays on 
induction, and the value of experiment and investigation. 
He aptly compared himself to a signpost, pointing out 
the way, but not going along it. His investigations have 
perhaps had little practical effect upon modern scientific 
discoveries, but he deserves the glory of having been a 
pioneer ; of having opened up a new way, till then not 
even guessed at. He encouraged a love of investigation ; 
he pointed out new fields for experiment ; he taught the 
value of observation. He was a scientist at a time when 
the personality of science was just emerging from the 
thraldom of literature. His writings are in-between 
works, to be judged by literary standards rather than by 
the stricter tests of science. 

Two of his essays, one upon " Death," the other on 
" Gardens," rank among immortal writings. " Men fear 
Death as children fear to go in the dark." What simpler 
or more beautiful words could be imagined ? In the face 



2 3 8 



In Stewart Times 



of this everlasting mystery, the greatest are like little 
children, and " they fear the dark." And gardens ? 
" God Almighty first planted a garden." The humblest 
plot of land is at once sweetened by the fragrance of the 
breath of God. Touches like these show the true worth 
of Bacon, and lift him from a sordid arena to the high 
ground to which he really belongs. Even among his con- 
temporaries, his genius was spoken of with warmth and 
affection. " There was," says Ben Jonson, " one noble 
speaker who was full of gravity in his speaking. . . . No 
man ever spake more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, 
or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. 
. . . His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him 
without loss. He commanded where he spoke . . . the 
fear of every man that heard him was lest he should make 
an end." 

Some years later, Bacon being then dead, Pepys speaks 
of him in homely, familiar fashion : "I walked all alone 
in the fields behind Grayes Inn, making an end of 
reading over my dear Faber Fortunce of my Lord 
Bacon's." 

His dismissal from office gave fresh fire to Bacon's 
scientific labours, and it was when he was busy over an 
experiment with regard to the use of snow as a means of 
keeping back decay, that he was seized with a chill which 
turned into a fatal illness. Too unwell to go home, he 
drove to the house of a friend, and here a few days later 
he died in the year 1626. 

Though his character as a man is stained by an 
unworthy desire for wealth and position, as a scientist 
he deserves undying fame. He was a fearless investi- 
gator, and the greatest interpreter of his times. But 
above all, he was a writer of grave and beautiful 
English. 



s 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

" They dreamt not of a perishable home 
Who could thus build. Be mine, in hours of fear 
Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here ; 
Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam 
Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam 
Melts, if it cross thy threshold. 11 

Wordsworth 

IR Christopher Wren had the good fortune to be- 
gin his life at the time of an intellectual revival. He 
was born in 1632, when science was struggling hard 
to find a secure foothold. National danger had quickened 
national intelligence. New and wonderful ideas were 
abroad, and the country was on the verge of an awaken- 
ing, such as there had been in the days of Elizabeth after 
the defeat of the Armada. 

Though literature had already burst into full blossom, 
science still was in the bud. It was the shock of the 
Stewart struggles that afforded the touch of inspiration 
Heretofore literature had queened it royally among men 
inclined to letters, and science had been given a much 
smaller place. But from 1640 onward it stood upon its 
own merits, and was judged as a separate study. Extra- 
ordinary developments quickly followed, which were 
crowned in 1660 by the foundation of that proud associa- 
tion known as the Royal Society. One of the most 
famous presidents of this great body was Sir Christopher 
Wren. 

The father of Wren was the rector of the village of East 
Knoyle in Wiltshire, and it was here that the boy spent 
the first years of his life. Fresh country air blew daily 

239 



240 In Stewart Times 

round his home, placed in the midst of pleasant fields and 
green lanes. But child though he was, Wren was often 
unable to take part in the ordinary, healthy pleasures of 
the country, for he was small and delicate, and quite un- 
fitted for the rough and tumble of vigorous out-of-door 
life. Studies at home filled up his days till he was fit for 
harder work, when he was sent to Westminster School, 
under the famous Dr Busby. At school he surprised and 
delighted his companions by his skill in making all kinds 
of clever little toys. Often when the rest would be racing 
about in the enjoyment of some game, Wren would seek 
for a quiet corner, where he could puzzle out in peace his 
latest mechanical device. Nor were these contrivances 
merely toys, for when he was only twelve he sent his 
father a new astronomical instrument, designed and made 
entirely by himself. Probably enough he was often teased 
by his schoolfellows for busying himself with engines when 
he might have been playing games. But shy and quiet 
though he was, Wren would be able to hold his own in 
these encounters, and after all, what did a few good- 
natured gibes matter compared with the exquisite joy of 
creating something ? So he continued to busy himself 
over his toys, never so happy as when he had got a new 
idea to work out. Had he known it, there was in a village 
near Grantham, a child, as yet only an infant of two, who 
was to share the same passion for invention. This was 
Isaac Newton, born in 1642, when Wren was ten years 
old. And so these two boys, each destined to become a 
master-mind in the history of the nation, grew from 
childhood into youth, the one strewing the yard of the 
Grammar School at Grantham with the chippings of his 
water-clocks and windmills ; the other poring over his 
engines and astronomical instruments under the shade of 
Westminster School. Years passed by, and the child of 



Sir Christopher Wren 241 

two and the boy of ten both grew into men, acquainted 
with each other, and bound together in a warm friendship, 
built upon similar tastes and ambitions. 

In 1653, Wren became fellow of All Souls College 
Oxford, and though he was only then twenty years of age, 
his reputation was already considerable. Hither, in 
1654, came the sedate, clear-headed Evelyn, on a visit to 
the University. He had heard of Wren's performances, 
and he went round to call upon him. " After dinner," 
he says, (July 1644) " I visited that miracle of a youth, 
Mr Christopher Wren." The meeting between them 
can be imagined, though the conversation is unrecorded. 
Evelyn at the time was thirty-four, a shrewd, self-contained 
man. Wren, some twelve years younger, was full of the 
first enthusiasm of life, and delighted at receiving a call 
from the well-known scholar. Evelyn was anxious to 
know ; Wren just as eager to tell, and the meeting must 
have been pleasant to both. * A few days later they met 
again, this time at the dinner-table of Dr Wilkins of 
Wadham College, an enthusiast in experimenting upon 
beehives and every kind of mathematical instrument. 
Evelyn examined, noted, and remarked upon the many 
clever devices. He was told that " the prodigious young 
scholar " Wren, had had a large share in suggesting and 
making many of them. This led to further compliments, 
and Wren strengthened the friendship by giving his 
visitor a piece of marble, which he had coloured with a 
beautiful crimson stain. Evelyn never forgot the impres- 
sion made upon him by this memorable visit to Oxford, 
Twenty-seven years later, when he had again been dining 
with the " prodigious young scholar," now famous and a 
knight, and grown into a middle-aged man, he wrote in his 
diary : " A wonderful genius had this incomparable 
person." 

Q 



242 In Stewart Times 

There were no struggles with poverty to harass Wren 
in his career. Professorships were eagerly thrust upon 
him, first in London and then later in Oxford. But the 
great opportunity of his life came at the time of the Great 
Fire in 1666. Those were terrible days, when house after 
house, street after street gave way before the fierce 
breath of the flames. Terror sank into despair, and the 
frantic outcries of the citizens changed into dull hopeless- 
ness, as they watched the city being sucked in by the 
fiery tongue of their enemy. " I saw the whole south 
part of the City burning from Chepeside to the Thames," 
said Evelyn, " ... The conflagration was so universal, 
and the people so astonish'd, that from the beginning, 
I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly 
stirred to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or 
seen but crying out and lamentation. ... I now saw 
above ten thousand houses all in one flame ; the noise and 
crackling and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shriek- 
ing of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of 
towers, houses and churches was like an hideous storme, 
and the aire all about so hot and inflam'd that at 
the last one was not able to approch it, so that they 
were forced to stand still and let the flames burn 
on. . . . London was, but is no more ! . . . the very 
pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse 
nor man was able to tread on them, and the demoli- 
tion had stopped all the passages, so that no help could 
be applied." 

When the paralysis of the moment passed, every man 
took his share in pulling down or blowing up houses 
and workshops, till at last the flames were stopped by 
great masses of heaped-up rubbish. Round these smould- 
ering, tragic ruins, suggesting many a story of desolation 
and horror, walked Sir Christopher Wren, musing over 



Sir Christopher Wren 243 

their resurrection. The city would have to be built. 
Why should not the narrow streets and winding lanes be 
once for all swept away ? Why not restore the city, not 
upon its old, hemmed-in lines, but upon a nobler and wider 
plan ? In his mind he saw a new and fairer city, unfolding 
like a flower before him. He hastened to send in his 
schemes ; but his ideas were rejected. The town must 
needs be rebuilt, but the old foundations were to be kept. 
Brick should take the place of wood, but otherwise London 
should be what London had been before. Disappointed 
in his first great hope, Wren received with eager hands the 
order for the restoration of old St Paul's, now hopelessly 
in ruins. With a gleam of delight in his eye, he began to 
brood over designs. Till gradually there rose in his mind 
a vision of a great Cathedral, set upon a hill in the city. 
He built, he said, " for eternity," and he now bent the 
whole strength of his marvellous genius to the carrying 
out of this proud boast. His own desire would have been 
to enthrone St Paul's in a large and noble space, the centre 
and ornament of the whole city. But houses and shops 
crept nearer and nearer, and the splendid scheme was 
baffled. Building was everywhere going on apace, and 
soon out of the blackened ashes rose the same narrow 
streets which had before hampered the free passage of 
both carriages and people. On either side of the streets 
were rows of small, low houses, built, it is true, of brick, 
yet recalling vividly those ancient wooden erections, 
with small windows and poor ventilation, that had been 
seen in London before the Great Fire. How narrow 
the streets were, and how inconvenient as a means of 
thoroughfare, is shown by a ballad of 1636, aimed 
against the lumbering hackney coaches, which often 
blocked up the entire roadway and made progress 
impossible : 



244 I n Stewart Times 

" As I passed by this other day, 

Where sacke and charret spring, 
I heard a mad crowd by the way 

That loud did laugh and sing, 
High, downe dery, dery downe, 
With the hackney coaches downe, 

'-Tis cry'd aloud 

They make such a crowd 
Men cannot pass the town. 

I love Sedans, 'cause they do plod 

And amble everywhere ; 
Which prancers are with leather shod, 

And ne'er disturb the eare : 
Heigh, downe dery, dery downe, 
With the hackney coaches downe. 

Their jumpings make 

The pavements shake 
Their noyse doth mad the towne. 

'T would save much hurt, 
Spare dust and dirt, 
Were they cleane out of towne. 

Their terme's neare done, 
And shall be begun 
No more in London towne." 

Such were the London streets before the outbreak of the 
Great Fire, and they were not much better after. Wren's 
hopes for broader roadways and wider spaces came to 
nothing, and in the matter of St Paul's he had to agree to 
the close ring of houses and shops, which on all sides 
crowded the site. Happily there were then no " sky- 
scrapers," nor even five-storied buildings, and the low- 
roofed buildings would not have the same cramping effect 
as the tall warehouses of modern times. 

Humility, enthusiasm and ambition filled his heart, 
when the first laborious piece of the work had been done, 






Sir Christopher Wren 245 

and the foundations were well and securely laid. For 
centuries past there had been a church upon this crest in 
the heart of the city. Perhaps, even before the coming of 
the Romans, it had been the scene of ancient rites and 
sacrifices. So it had gradually come to be looked upon 
as the general meeting-place for the town. Hot-headed 
preachers and thinkers mounted near St Paul's Cross to 
address the people. A stone's-throw away, stood a 
pillory. Martyrs were driven past here on their way to 
a last trial. Every state procession went down Ludgate 
Hill. St Paul's had for centuries been the silent witness 
of the people's history. It was more than a church ; it 
was the symbol of a nation's hope in things unseen. 
Nevertheless Elizabeth had discovered to her horror that 
the splendid old building was the resort of every lounger 
and loafer. All kinds of merchandise were carried 
through the doorways. The ancient tomb of " Duke 
Humphrey " was used as a table for picnickers. Posters 
denied the walls ; and the voices of those busy over 
chaffering and bargaining were daily to be heard, not only 
in the churchyard, but within the church itself. With her 
usual energy Elizabeth soon put an end to these in- 
decencies, by declaring that " any person who shall make 
any fray, or draw, or put out his hand-gun or dagg within 
the Cathedral Church of St Paul's or churchyard adjoining 
thereto . . . shall suffer imprisonment for two months." 
Such were the historic ruins upon which Wren now set 
himself to rear up a vast and splendid cathedral. His 
genius for building soon made itself evident, even to the 
most prejudiced. He had had no special training in the 
science of architecture. But his abilities were so far- 
reaching, and his ideas so noble, that there was no doubt 
about his skill. To and fro among the gangs of workmen 
he went, his keen eyes noting every detail, his face stern 



246 



In Stewart Times 



with thought about the work in hand. Years came and 
went, people had more or less forgotten the dreadful days 
of the Great Fire. In 1697 it was opened for service, though 
parts of it were still unfinished. But ten years later St 
Paul's was still building. Then came a morning in 1710 
when the last stone was to be added. The streets were alive 
with curious and excited people, and a stranger stopping 
to inquire the reason of the bustle, would have been told 
that at such an hour the son of Sir Christopher Wren 
would place the last stone in the dome of the great cathe- 
dral. Hundreds of eager eyes looked on, but none gazed 
so earnestly as the grey-haired parent, who watched his 
son lay the final ornament in the marvellous building 
which had risen from his dreams. For thirteen years St 
Paul's had been open for service, but now the work was 
finished, and the glory of the great cathedral completed. 
It stood, a king among churches, overlooking the rows of 
low-roofed houses, and casting a guardian eye upon the 
slow-moving waters of the Thames. Even the most 
careless citizen went past the building with a proud 
feeling of possession, and there were many born with a 
craving for beauty, who found in its noble walls the 
expression of an emotion they had often tried vainly to 
put into words. As Wren turned home after this last 
scene in his great undertaking, what can have been his 
feelings ? Pride, joy, and thankfulness, must have 
surged through his mind, presently, perhaps, giving place 
to more sober sensations. The work was ended. He 
had seen the old church reduced to ashes ; he had made 
it rise again in a new and more splendid glory. Often 
he must have been haunted by fears lest he should die 
before his plans should be realised. He had tasted the 
full joy of creation ; the bitter-sweet sense of an ending 
to work begun was now his. As he passed outside the 



Sir Christopher Wren 247 

shadow of the noble cathedral, he must have felt a touch 
of sadness at the thought that the day of days in his 
career was over. 

In a sense, too, his life was ended. For soon after, a 
cloud raised by envy and jealousy fell upon him, and in 
1717, he who had spent his genius in designing St Paul's, 
found himself carelessly sent away from office. His dis- 
missal roused the anger of all men of feeling, and Pope 
expressed the general pity and indignation in the line : 

" Wren with sorrow to the grave descends." 

But resentment could find no place in the mind of the 
great architect. He accepted the ingratitude of the nation 
with philosophy and mildness. He had run his race, and 
he was more than willing to withdraw from the press. A 
pleasant home at Hampton Court, sheltered him in his 
last days. Here he lived, with one visit a year to his 
cherished cathedral. Death came upon him in 1723, at 
the age of ninety-one, and he passed away, leaving behind 
him the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, Marl- 
borough House, St Paul's Cathedral, and some fifty-two 
churches, as lasting proofs of the fire of his genius, and 
of a nature lofty enough to conceive what his genius was 
quick to bring to perfection. 



SIR ISAAC NEWTON 

" Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep, 
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind} 1 

Wordsworth 

THE eventful year of 1642 was drawing to a close, 
leaving England in the anguish of civil war. 
Christmas Day was at hand, and for the moment 
strife was hushed in carols and songs. In a lonely manor- 
farm at Woolsthorpe, near Grantham, there was more than 
usual gladness over the coming of a Christmas baby. 
Some months before this, the father of the child had died, 
and the baby was so tiny and feeble that it seemed as if 
his life had flickered in only to dwindle away like a cloud. 
But happily for posterity these fears proved wrong, and 
the child, Isaac Newton, lived to grow up and win for 
himself the proud title of England's greatest natural 
philosopher. 

Grantham Grammar School was near, and here the boy 
was sent when he was about twelve years old. After the 
free, cheerful life of the farm at Woolsthorpe, he found 
school tiresome and dull. Lessons bored him, and he 
sank steadily to the bottom of his class. Here he might 
have remained, lonely and disgraced, had not a spiteful 
schoolfellow given him a sudden blow. The challenge 
seemed to waken Newton's spirit. He turned upon his 
enemy, and fought till he had got the victory. This 
physical contest, in which he had hardly hoped to come off 
triumphant, roused his ambition in other directions. 
The books that he had tossed into a corner were now 
, 248 




Sir Isaac Newton 

Robert Walker 
Photo W. A. Mansell & Co. 



248 



Sir Isaac Newton 249 

picked up and studied. Increased knowledge soon made 
him love learning, and before he left the school he had won 
the coveted post of head boy. 

Meanwhile his inventive powers had been developing. 
When other boys were playing games, Newton would busy 
himself over making some ingenious mechanical toy, a 
windmill, a waterclock, or a rough sort of sundial. Some- 
times a little group of schoolfellows would gather round 
him, looking with interest at his clever little contrivances. 
But as a rule they found him dull and silent, and they 
thought him stupid in his dislike of games. So he became 
a somewhat lonely schoolboy, and when his mother now 
suggested that as he was nearly fifteen he should come home 
to help with the duties of the farm, he made no objection. 

For a time he went to and from market, carrying eggs 
and cheese under the guidance of a farm servant. But 
the eggs and cheese were left to look after themselves on 
the market stall, while Newton stole off to a quiet haunt 
to read his beloved books. With a sigh his mother agreed 
that it was quite useless trying to make him a farmer, 
and when one of his uncles, who had been at Cambridge, 
suggested that the boy should be sent to college, she made 
up her mind to try this plan of ending her difficulty. The 
news enraptured her son, and with a heart full of joyous 
hope, he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1661. 

Here he at once found himself in the midst of friends. 
He delighted in the air of learning which filled the Univer- 
sity, and he set himself to his studies with such enthusiasm 
that very soon he had made himself known as a scholar 
among the rest of the undergraduates. To him, the hard 
facts of mathematics were more entrancing than any 
other study, and he eagerly devoured every book on the 
subject upon which he could lay his hands. Euclid came 
his way, but he found it so easy that he laid it by as " a 



2$0 



In Stewart Times 



trifling book," and threw himself upon Descartes' Geome- 
try. Before long, he began to make observations for 
himself, and he set himself to calculate and explain 
natural phenomena, such as the yellow halos often to be 
seen round the moon. Four happy, excited years went 
by, then an outbreak of plague forced him from Cambridge, 
shortly after he had taken his degree. Three years later 
he was back again, with all the distinction of a " fellow." 

From this date his fame grew rapidly, and he attracted 
such attention that soon the other members of the Univer- 
sity began to talk about him as "an unparalleled genius." 
In 1669 a professorship fell vacant, and he was offered the 
post. He accepted it gladly, and began a series of mar- 
vellous lectures upon optics. After this, outside recogni- 
tion was not slow in coming, and in 1672 he was elected 
a Fellow of the Royal Society, that brilliant gathering, 
founded at the time of the Restoration. 

The years succeeding the accession of Charles II. 
were memorable years for scientists. The study of 
science as distinct from literature was only in its infancy. 
It still held the allurement of a subject just becoming 
specialised. Theories which for long had hung as 
hazy ideas in the air, became proved facts. England 
followed the example set by the continent of Europe, and 
the genius of the race for the moment expressed itself 
almost entirely in science. Membership of the Royal 
Society gave Newton opportunities for explaining his 
theories to men of understanding. One can imagine him 
in front of his audience, his face the most eager among 
all those eager countenances, explaining with nice exact- 
ness some difficult point in his lecture. He spared no 
pains to make himself understood, and often he adopted 
the most homely experiments to prove his point. The 
humility of his genius was strikingly shown in his ac- 



Sir Isaac Newton 251 

knowledgment of the vast problems he had left untouched. 
The quiet, dull schoolboy had been left far behind, and 
few would have known in this keen-eyed, eager professor, 
the idle youth who had flung his books disdainfully into 
a corner. A few critical, and even jealous eyes were to 
be picked out among the onlookers, watching the scientist's 
every movement. But most of the faces were full of pure 
admiration at the marvellous performances of one whom 
they gladly admitted as their superior. First and foremost 
among these admirers was Halley, the most generous and 
unselfish of disciples, the best and most affectionate of 
friends. 

As Newton's fame increased, he became more and more 
involved in outside discussions. " I see," he said, " that 
I have made myself a slave to philosophy." But his 
natural courtesy made him weary himself out in explain- 
ing point after point to his critics, even at a time when he 
was greatly harassed by the lack of money for everyday 
affairs. Happily this last difficulty was set right by the 
University, who might well cherish a spirit of such clear 
genius. From 1666 till 1686 he was busy with problems 
about the laws of gravity. He unfolded his ideas to Sir 
Christopher Wren, Halley, and Hooke, and the brilliant 
quartet often met, to discuss with ease and enthusiasm 
points which were far beyond the grasp of the ordinary 
citizen. The Great Plague and the Great Fire ravaged 
the city of London. Parliament was torn with struggles 
over the Exclusion Bill. Statesmen rose and fell. 
Charles II. died, and James II. succeeded, and all 
this time Newton was busy getting ready his great 
treatise. In those years of study and deep thought he 
passed through the exaltation and the despair of genius 
seeking to give expression to some great truth. In all this 
he was helped by the bright friendship of Halley, who 



2 52 In Stewart Times 

never lost heart, whose faith never wavered. On that 
April day in 1686, when the manuscript treatise, " Philo- 
sophia Naturalis Principia Mathematical' was laid before 
the Royal Society, Halley's excitement almost equalled 
that of Newton. Congratulations soon poured in from the 
members, eager to outdo one another in expressing their 
wonder at the lecture. But there was one gloomy face 
among them. Hooke looked on with a lowering brow. 
He declared he had himself made the same discoveries, 
and he said he had at least expected to find his work 
mentioned in the treatise. Halley as usual rushed into 
the breach with the suggestion that Newton should write 
a preface, containing a reference to Hooke. At the same 
time he made it clear that he did not himself consider 
Hooke had any real claim. As for the Royal Society, he 
says in a letter to Newton : "I found they were all of 
opinion that nothing thereof appearing in print, nor on 
the books of the Society, you ought to be considered as the 
inventor. And if in truth, he (Hooke) knew it before you, 
he ought not to blame any but himself for having taken 
no more care to secure a discovery which he puts so much 
value on." 

Newton, however, was much distressed by the incident. 
No man was freer from an intention to snatch an idea from 
a colleague, and his intensely chivalrous nature shrank 
from the very thought of such a deed. After all these 
years of study, was he to find the gilt of his discovery 
rubbed off by the jealous complaints of a disappointed 
rival ? He settled the matter, however, by adding to 
his work the following sentence : — " The inverse law of 
gravity holds in all the celestial motions, as was discovered 
also independently by my countrymen, Wren, Hooke, and 
Halley." This satisfied everyone and in 1687 the Prin- 
cipia was published. 



Sir Isaac Newton 253 

On two separate occasions Newton represented his 
university in Parliament. He had no desire to figure in 
the hot contests of the Commons, and he seldom spoke, 
though he conscientiously carried out the duties of his 
position. Here he met Charles Montagu, afterwards 
Earl of Halifax, who gave him a well-paid office at the 
Mint in 1696. This left him enough leisure to carry on his 
studies with an easy mind, though he was not the man to 
accept a post without accepting also its responsibilities. 
Whilst he was at the Mint, he toiled long and keenly on its 
behalf, carrying out with extreme care and ability the 
important operations connected with a recoinage. 

About this same time (1696), John Bernouilli issued a 
challenge to the scientists of Europe, in the shape of two 
problems to be solved within six months. The time went 
by, and the problems were still a mystery. It was asked 
that the date for replies might be extended, and meanwhile 
the paper fell into the hands of Newton. At once his eye 
flashed fire, and he devoured the questions with eager look. 
Two days passed, and then Bernouilli received an innocent 
envelope containing the right answers. The paper was 
unsigned, but there was no mistaking the author. With 
a smile, Bernouilli remarked he " knew the claws of the 
lion." Newton had once more shown himself the master 
mind of the age. 

Years passed by, bringing many honours to the boy who 
had once been meant to follow the quiet career of a farmer. 
He was made President of the Royal Society ; he was 
smiled upon and visited by royalty ; and in 1705 he was 
knighted. Newton accepted these signs of respect with 
the frankness of a child. His natural sweetness of temper 
made him grateful for every favour, but he was never 
deluded into mistaking the tawdry for the real. Nothing 
shook his devotion to science, and to the last he found his 



254 I n Stewart Times 

greatest pleasure in working out problems. All the 
world heaped compliments upon him. He recognised the 
kindness which prompted them, but his simplicity re- 
mained untarnished : "I know not what I may appear 
to the world," he said, not long before he died, " but to 
myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the 
seashore, diverting myself in now and then finding a 
smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst 
the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." 

In this spirit he died in 1727, at the age of eighty-five, 
one of the finest geniuses England has ever produced, 
and one of the most simple-hearted. 



INDEX 



Act of Settlement, Introd. 1 1 

"Addled" Parliament, 122 

Advancement of Learning, 234, 237 

Aix-la-Chapelle, Treaty of, 62 

All Souls College, 206, 241 

America, Quakers in, 224 

Anne, Queen, general sketch, 85-94 ; her 
devotion to Marlborough, 86-87, 88, 
89 ; her indiscretion, 91 ; her death, 
93 ; referred to, Introd. 11, 153,190, 
191, 194, 227 

Areopagitica, Milton's, 199 

Argyle, Archibald Campbell, Earl of, 
172, 175-176, 179 

Armada, the, 239 



" Baby Charles," 99-100 

Bacon, Francis, Viscount St Albans, 

general sketch, 229-238 ; early days, 
230 ; seeks promotion, 230-232 ; At- 
torney-General, 234 ; his fall, 235- 
236 ; his writings, 237 

Bacon, Sir Nicholas, 230 

Bagg, Sir James, 1 1 1 

Ballads of the Period, Introd. 16, 
Introd. 17, 26, 27, 54, 58, 61, 63, 
65, 81, 91, 92, 93, no, 133, 137, 
139, 140, 141, 145, 146, 151, 152- 
153, 159, 174, 182, 184-185, 195, 
215, 217, 225, 244 

Banks, Attorney-General, 118 

Bates, Dr, 59 

Baxter, Richard, general sketch, 213- 
221; early days, 213-214; as a 
preacher, 216-217; at the Restora- 
tion, 216; tried by Judge Jefferies, 
218-220 ; death, 220-221 ; referred 
to, 208 

Berkeley, Judge, 118 

Bernouilli, John, 253 

Bill of Attainder, 127 

Bill of Security, 154 

255 



Billesden, 96 
Bishops, the Seven, 72 
Bishops' War, the, 203 
Blake, Admiral Robert, 50 
Blenheim, battle of, 191, 192 
Bois-le-duc, siege of, 164 
Bolingbroke, Henry St John, Viscount, 

Introd. H-13, 193, 194 
Boyle, Robert, Introd. 17 
Boyne, battle of the, 81 
Breadalbane, Earl of, 79 
Brentford, 228 
Browne, Sir Thomas, 209 
Buchanan, George, 26 
Buckingham, Duke of (see Villiers) 
Bunyan, John, 40, 208 
Burghley, Lord (see Cecil, William) 
Busby, Dr, 240 

Cabal, the, 138 

Cadiz, 10 1 

Caius College, 206 

Cambridge, 205 

Careless Gallant, The, 61 

Carleton, Sir Dudley, 109 

Carnegie, Magdalene, 173 

Carnegie, Lord of Kinnaird, 173 

Carr, Robert, Viscount Rochester, 26 

Cecil, Robert, 233 

Cecil, William, 230, 231 

Chalgrove Field, battle of, 121 

Chancery, Court of, 46 

Charles I., King, general sketch, 29- 
38 ; his appearance, 29 ; his parlia- 
ments, 30-31 ; irregular taxation, 
32 ; Civil War, 35 ; death, 36-37 ; 
referred to, Introd. 12, 113, 120, 

121, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, I3I, 132, 
I98, 200, 202 

Charles II., King, general sketch, 52- 
66 : arrival in England, 54-55 ; his 
character, 56-57 ; relations with 
France, 61-63 ; the Exclusion Bill 



256 



In Stewart Times 



Charles II. , King — continued 

struggle, 64 ; referred to, Introd. 13, 
Introd. 17, 74, 98, 144, 157, 166, 
185, 189, 211, 217, 250, 251 

Charles II. , King of Spain, 83 

Chevalier de St George (see Pre- 
tender) 

Chigwell School, 223 

Christ's College, 206 

Churchill, John, Duke of Marlborough, 
general sketch, 188-196; early life, 
189 ; as a general, 191- 192 ; attacks 
made upon, 192-193; his fall, 195; 
character, 196 ; referred to, 85, 86, 
87, 152 

Churchill, Sir Winston, 189 

Clarendon, Earl of (see Edward Hyde) 

Clarendon Code, 60, 217 

Cleveland, John, 215 

Cleveland, Duchess of, 189 

Coke, Sir Edward, 231, 232, 233, 
236 

Colchester, 171 

Committee of Safety, 170 

Conventicle Act, First, 59-60, 217 

Convention, Cromwell's, 45 

Convocation, 22 

Cooper, Anthony Ashley, Earl of 
Shaftesbury, general sketch, 136- 
142; his character, 136-137; at 
Court, 138-139; upholds the Exclu- 
sion Bill, 139; supports Monmouth, 
142 

Cooper, Bishop, 23 

Corporation Act, 217 

Council of the North, 31, 125 

Covenant, the National, 33 

Cranford, Major- General, 41 

Cromwell, Oliver, general sketch, 39- 
5 1 ; early career, 39-40 ; during the 
civil war, 41-42; as a ruler, 42-51 ; 
his death, 50-51 ; referred to, Introd. 
14, 137, 168, 180, 181 

Cromwell, Richard, 50, 52, 181 

Cromwell, Robert, 39 



Darien Scheme, 83 
Declaration of Breda, 57, 170, 184 
Declaration of Indulgence (1672), 63 
Declaration of Indulgence (1687), 226 
Declaration of Right, 73 



Denton, 163 

Descartes, 250 

Digby, Anne, 156 

Digges, Dudley, 106 

Down, Bishop of (Jeremy Taylor), 211 

Drake, Sir Francis, 145 

Dryden, John, 134, 138, 234 

"Duke Humphrey," 245 

Dunkirk, 135 

Dunse Law, 33 

Dutch, the, 50, 79, 186 

Dying Thoughts, 220 

East India Company, 83 
East Knoyle, 239 

Eikon Basilike, 38 

Eland, Lord, 149 

Eliot, Sir John, general sketch, 105- 

114; in Parliament, 106; attacks 

Buckingham, 108 ; defies the 

Speaker, 112; in prison, 113; his 

character, 113-114; references to, 

116, 123 
Elizabeth, Queen, Introd. 13, 19, 20, 

21, 25, 50, 54, 87, 134, 197, 198, 

229, 230, 232, 239 
Essex Ballad, the, 140 
Essex, Robert Devereux, Earl of, 230, 

231, 232 
Et cetera Oath, 215 
Evelyn, John, quotations from, 51, 55, 

62, 65, 71, 74, 75, 77, 182, 241, 

242 
Exclusion Bill, 67, 145, 158, 160 
Exeter College, 106 

Faber Fortunes, 238 

Fairfax, Thomas, Lord Fairfax, 
general sketch, 163-171 ; as a soldier, 
164-165; in Parliament, 165-166; 
during the Civil War, 167-169; at 
the Restoration, 1 76 ; referred to, 
42, 180 

Fairfax, Lady, 164, 168, 169 

Falconberg, Lord, 164 

Finch, Lady Mary, 149 

Fire, the Great, 186, 242, 243, 244, 
246, 251 

Five Mile Act, 217 

France, 50, 61 

Freeman, Mrs, 88 



Index 



257 



Games, Introd. 17 

George I., Introd. II, 13 

Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, 105 

Glencoe, 79, 81 

Gloucester, 200 

Godolphin, Sidney, Earl Godolphin, 
general sketch, 150-155 ; his char- 
acter, 1 50- 1 51 ; his politics, 152-153 ; 
breaks with Queen Anne, 155; 
death, 155 ; referred to, 9c 

Gorhambury, 237 

Graham, James, Marquis of Montrose, 
general sketch, 172-179; early life, 
172-173 ; "Montrose's whimsie," 
174; opposes Argyle, 175-176; his 
expedition, 178; his death, 179 

Graham, John, of Claverhouse, 69 

Graham, Sir James, 96, 97 

Grantham, 240 

Guizot, quoted, 117, 121, 197 

Gunpowder Plot, 208 

Habeas Corpus Act, 63, 70, 139, 148 
Halifax, Charles Montagu, Earl of, 253 
Halifax, George Savile, Marquis of 

(see Savile) 
Hallam, Henry, quoted, 125 
Halley, Edmund, 251 
Hamilton, Earl, 80 
Hampden, John, general sketch, 115- 

121 ; in Parliament, 116- 117; his 

trial, 118; death, 121 ; referred to, 

32, 106, 131 
Hampton Court Conference, 22, 247 
Harley, Robert (see Oxford) 
Hawkins, Sir John, 105 
Hazelrigge, Arthur, 35 
Henrietta Maria, Queen, 35, 101, 102, 

132, 177 
Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans, 62 
Henry VIII., King, 60, 134, 158 
Herbert, Lord Chief Justice, 7 1 
High Commission, Court of, 31, 37, 

72, 202 
Hill, Abigail (see Mrs Masham) 
Hind, Old, 21 
Hobbes, Thomas, 60, 71 
Hooke, Robert, 251 
Holies, Denzil, 35 
Holmby House, 166, 167 
Holy Dying, 210, 212 
Humble Petition and Advice, 49 

R 



Huntingdon, town of, 39, 200 
Hutchinson, Mrs, quoted, 49, 169 
Hyde, Anne, Queen, 69, 85 
Hyde, Edward, Earl of Clarendon, 

general sketch, 129-135 ; in Parlia- 
ment, 1 30- 1 31 ; supports the king, 
131-133; his "History," 132; after 
the Restoration, 133; his fall, 134- 
135; referred to, 33, 59, 91, 115, 
182, 183 

Indemnity, Bill of, 134 
Instrument of Government, 47 
Ironsides, Cromwell's, 42 
Ireton, Henry, 167 

Jack and Tom Smith, 99 

James I., King, general sketch, 19-28 ; 
his coronation, 19 ; his appearance, 
20 ; religious opinions, 22 ; his parlia- 
ments, 24 ; his favourites, 26 ; his 
death, 27 ; referred to, Introd. 12, 
Introd. 14, 29, 54 

James II., King, general sketch, 67-74 ; 
his character, 67-69 ; relations with 
France, 69 ; his flight, 72 ; life in 
France, 74; referred to, Introd. 13, 
Introd. 15, 81, 159, 190, 194, 226 

James, Duke of York (see also 
James II.), 63, 64, 138, 146 

Jefferies, Chief Justice, 70, 218, 219, 
220 

Jennings, Sarah, Duchess of Marl- 
borough, 88, 94, 189, 190, 191, 195 

Joyce, Cornet, 167 

Kent, Marquis of, 89 
Kidderminster, 216, 219 
Kinsale, 81 

La Hogue, battle of, 81 

Lambert, General, 52, 169-170, 180, 

183 

Lambeth, 204 

Landen, siege of, 82 

La Rochelle, 102 

Laud, William, Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, general sketch, 197-204 ; his 
character, 198 ; promotion, 200-201 ; 
attempts reform in Scotland, 202- 
203 ; impeached, 203 ; executed, 
204 ; referred to, 32, 35 



25 8 



In Stewart Times 



Life of Henry VII. , 237 

Lincoln's Inn, Penn at, 223 

Liturgy, Laud's, 203 

London, James I.'s entry into, Introd. 

20 ; Charles II. 's entry, 54 
Londonderry, siege of, 81 
Long Parliament, 55, 200 
Louis XIV., King of France, 61, 69, 

74, 81, 82 
Luke, Oliver, 106 

Macaulay, quoted, 25, 35, 79, 80, 84, 
144, 156, 226 

Mac Ian of Glencoe, 79 

Madrid, 99 

Magdalen College, 115 

Malplaquet, battle of, 189, 192 

Marlborough, Duke of (see Churchill) 

Marlborough Duchess of (see Sarah 
Jennings) 

Marlborough House, 247 

Marston Moor, battle of, 37, 42, 166, 
204 

Mary of Modena, Queen, 151 

Mary of Scotland, Queen, 20 

Mary II., Queen (wife of William III.), 
general sketch, 75-84 ; her character, 
76 ; attitude towards Anne, 86 

Masham, Mrs (Abigail Hill), 88, 89 

Mayflower King (see Charles II. ) 

Milton, John, 171, 197, 206, 234 

Monck, George, Duke of Albemarle, 
general sketch, 180-187 ; m London, 
182-185 ; in Ireland, 186 ; his death, 
187 : referred to, 52, 137, 169, 170 

Monmouth, James, Duke of, 68, 70, 
139, 142 

Monopolies, 32 

Montagu, Charles (see Halifax) 

Montrose, Marquis of (see Graham) 

Moray, Earl of, 179 

More, Sir Thomas, 224, 226 

"Morley, Mrs," 88 

Mutiny Act, 78 

Nantwich, 181 
Namur, siege of, 82 
Naseby, battle of, 37 
National Covenant, 203 
Newbury, First battle of, 204 
Newmarket, 167 
Newspapers, 82 



Newton, Sir Isaac, general sketch, 
248-254 ; early days, 248-249 ; con- 
nection with the Royal Society, 250- 
252 ; his fame, 253 ; death, 254 ; 
referred to, Introd. 17, 94, 222, 240 

No Cross, no Crown, 224 

Northwich, 169 

Novum Organum, 237 

Nunappleton, 169 

Nutt, Captain, 106-107 

Oates, Titus, 63 
Olivarez, 99 

Orange, Prince of (see William III.) 
Ordination Act, 217 
Ormonde, Duke of, 186 
Oudenarde, battle of, 191 
Overstone, 209 
Oxford, Parliament at, 107 
Oxford, Earl of (Robert Harley), 
Introd. 11 

Parliament, Convention, the, 1660, 57 

Partition Treaties, 83 

Penn, William, general sketch, 222- 

228 ; early days, 222-223 ? a Quaker, 

224 ; in America, 225-226 ; death, 228 
Pennsylvania, 225, 227 
Pepys, Samuel, quoted, Introd. 15, 37, 

5i> 53> 57, 59, 61, 135, 186, 223, 

238 
Persons of Resolution, 214 
Petition of Right, 30, 39, 103, in, 

124, 201 
Peterborough, Lady, Introd. 15 
" Philo Sophia NaUiralis Principia 

Mathematical 2.^2. 
Pitt, William, Earl of Chatham, 43 
Plague, the Great, 251 
Politics, modern, birth of, 153 
Pope, Alexander, 247 
Popish Plot, 63 
Port Eliot, 105 
Presbyterians, 36, 57 
Pretender, the Old (James Edward 

Stewart), Introd. II, 86, 93, 151, 

194 
Protectorate Parliament, First, 44, 

46 
Prynne, William, 202, 204 
Puritanism, Introd. 16, 22, 32, 40, 57 
Pym, John, 35, 106, 120 



Index 



259 



" Quaker 's Farewell to England" 225 
Quaker sect, the, 223-225 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 105 
Ramillies, battle of, 191 
Beading, town of, 198 
Reformation, Introd. 14, 22 
Remonstrance, the Grand, 112, 120, 

130 
Revolution of 1688, 73, 91, 153, 227 
Rh6, island of, 102, 103 
Richelieu, Cardinal, 102 
" Rider of the White Horse," 166 
Ripon, Treaty of, 203 
Rochester, Viscount (see Carr) 
Rochester, Lawrence Hyde, Earl of, 64 
Root and Branch Bill, 130 
Royal Society, Introd. 17, 239, 250, 

252 
Rump, the, 53, 54, 169 
" Rump's Farewell" the, 182 
Rupert, Prince, 42, 121 
Ruscomb, 228 
Rust, Bishop, 210, 212 
Rye House Plot, 64 
Ryswick, Treaty of, 82, 84 

Sacheverell, Dr, 90-91, 154 

St David's, bishopric of, 200 

St George, Chevalier de (see Pre- 
tender) 

St Germains, 74, 194 

St Giles Cathedral, 203 

St John's College, 198 

St John, Henry (see Bolingbroke) 

St John, Oliver, 130 

St Paul's Cathedral, 244, 245, 247 

Salisbury, Bishop of, 82 

Savile, George, Marquis of Halifax, 
general sketch, 143-149; "A Trim- 
mer," 143 ; his tolerance, 145 ; 
opposes the Exclusion Bill, 146-147 ; 
death 149; referred to, 158 

" Scotsman's Lament," the, 93 

Scotland, 19, 32 

Secret Treaty of Dover, 138 

Sedgemoor, battle of, 68 

Settlement, Act of, Introd. 11 

Sejanus, Buckingham compared to, 
108 

Shaftesbury, Earl of (see Cooper) 

Ship money, 32, 117 



"Short" Parliament, the, 33 

Shrewsbury, Duke of, 89 

Slave traffic, 225 

Slingsby, Sir Henry, 165 

Solemn League and Covenant, 169 

Sophia, Electress of Hanover, Introd. 
11 

Spain, 50, 61 

Spencer, Robert, Earl of Sunderland, 
general sketch, 156-162; his char- 
acter, 156-157; his changes in 
politics, 158-160; death, 162 

Stair, Master of (John Dalrymple), 79 

Star Chamber, 31, 37 

"Steenie" (George Villiers), 99-100 

Steinkirk, battle of, 82 

Stevens, John, no 

Strafford, Earl of (see Wentworth) 

Strode, William, 35 

Sunderland, Earl of (see Spencer) 

" Swearers Chorus" the, 65 

Swift, Jonathan, 195 

Taylor, Jeremy, Bishop of Down, 

general sketch, 205-212 ; early days, 
205-206 ; sermon at Oxford, 208 ; 
Rector of Overstone, 209 ; Bishop 
of Down, 211 ; death, 212 

Temple, Sir William, 62 

Test Act, 63, 67, 71, 148 

" The True Law of Free Monarchy" 
24 

"Thorough," Strafford's system of, 
126, 197, 199 

Tintern Abbey, 172 

Tonnage and poundage duties, 30 

Torbay, 75 

" Tory Pill to Purge Whig Melan- 
choly," 91 

Treaty of Berwick, 165 

Treaty of Dover, 62, 138 

Treaty of Ripon, 203 

Treaty of Uxbridge, 204 

"Trimmer, A," 143 

Trinity College, 205, 247, 249 

Triple Alliance, the, 62 

Truth Exalted, 224 

Uniformity, Act of, 59, 217 
Union of England and Scotland, 92, 
153 



26o 



In Stewart Times 



Uppingham, 207, 209 
Uxbridge, Treaty of, 204 

Vere, Anne (see Lady Fairfax) 

Vere, Sir Horace, 164 

Vernon, Judge, 118 

Villiers, George, Duke of Buckingham, 

general sketch, 95-104 ; promotion, 
96-98; in Spain, 98-100; his op- 
ponents, 102-103; character, 104; 
impeached, 108 ; referred to, 26, 123, 
236 

" Volpone," 90, 154 

Voltaire, 89 

Wadham College, 241 

" Waking Vision, A" 133 

Walters, Lucy, 139 

War of the Spanish Succession, 191 

Wentworth, Thomas, Earl of Strafford, 
general sketch, 122-128; his oratory, 
123 ; changes his political opinions, 



Wentworth, Thomas — continued 

125 ; in Ireland, 126 ; his trial, 
127 ; death, 128 (see also 35, 103, 
106, 116, 201, 204) 

Westminster School, 240 

Wilkins, Dr, 241 

William III., general sketch, 75-84; 
arrival in London, j6 ; his character, 
76 ; his administration, 78-79 ; in 
Ireland, 81 ; foreign policy, 81-83 » 
his death, 84 ; referred to, Introd. 
15, 72, 144, 152, 153, 157, 160, 161, 
188, 190, 191, 194, 227 

Wolsey, Cardinal, 158 

Woolsthorpe, 248 

Worcester, Bishop of, 215 

Wordsworth, William, 172 

Wren, Sir Christopher, general sketch, 
239-247 ; at Oxford, 241 ; re- 
builds St Paul's, 243 ; end of life, 
247 ; referred to, 61, 251, 252 

" Yorkshire Redcaps" 165 






RD 247 



THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH. 













» 










,0 ^x-v 






V9 























4> c°l% ^ 



.0* *o 




^ .u... ^ 






• <V 



0° * 




**> V^ * s 







>^ 




.-4.* .<j^:% % ,o* ,-" 








4^ 





^ % °°^w;^ ** •** \lllK* ^\. °»Wf^ ** v 





I8RARY BINDING X>> ^_ >'l *>*• A> 



tTaugustine 



^^\ FLA. „ r> °* 



-v 



l^ : 



*^%^/k- ^ .<♦ •*. 







'**. 



A^^-V -^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



021 934 383 8 



t 



« 



mm 



lasmi 






Mfw 



Era 



BnN 



■ 



il 



nn 



^ 



sra 



^ 



*ffl 



1 



ns 



Hfti 






fflffim 



m