‘Come life, come death,’ she says desperately, ‘I am resolved never to
desert you.’ He further asserted that the continual rebuffs she
received threw her into a state of melancholy, and that she often
spoke of her intention to destroy herself. The prisoner continued,
that on the first day of the Assizes he went first to his lodgings,
but, unwilling to mortify Sarah, afterwards to her mother’s house, and
stayed dinner; went out, and returned to supper; but when the maid had
gone upstairs, and he was alone with the girl, although he declined
detailing the conversation which ensued between them, he gave the
judge and jury to understand that it was from consideration for her
character that he left the house, which he did alone, and returned to
his lodgings in the Market Place.
The next morning the news of the terrible event reached him. His
brother William and his wife both testified to the state of
despondency into which Sarah had lately fallen, and her frequent
allusions to approaching death. As regarded ‘the accomplices,’ they
gave good reasons for their coming to Hertford, and, for himself, he
had never had any communication with them. The judge summed up in a
vacillating and illogical manner, confessing that he was rather faint,
and was sensible he had omitted many things, but could repeat no more
of the evidence. The half-hour which it took the jury to deliberate
must have seemed interminable to those members of Cowper’s family,
already nearly maddened by suspense—above all, to the brother who sat
near him, and followed the details of the trial with breathless
interest. The jury returned, and, when the foreman answered the awful
question, the prisoner was the one individual in Court who manifested
the least emotion as the words ‘Not guilty’ echoed through the
building, and all but the enemies and slanderers acknowledged the
justice of the verdict. A feeble attempt was made to bring all the
four accused men to a fresh trial, by what was then called an ‘appeal
to murder,’ and there were various hearings on the subject by men of
the highest standing in the law, William Cowper, on these occasions,
being counsel for his brother. The proceedings, however, were quashed.
Some scurrilous writings were published, in hopes of setting the tide
of public opinion against Spencer, but they were soon forgotten. He
pursued his profession, in which he rose to eminence; but it may
easily be conjectured that, when presiding at a trial for murder,
Judge Cowper must have felt, even more than the generality of his
colleagues, the responsibility of his position, from an intimate and
personal sympathy with the feelings of an accused prisoner; and he was
remarked for his merciful tendencies. On the accession of George I.,
he was named Attorney-General to the Prince of Wales, was one of the
managers on the trial of Dr. Sacheverell for high treason, and
successively Chief-Justice of Chester, Chancellor of the Duchy of
Lancaster, Serjeant-at-Law, and Judge of the Court of Common Pleas. He
also sat in Parliament for Truro, and his sister-in-law, Lady Cowper,
tells us that in 1714 the King gave M. Robethon (one of his favourite
German Ministers) the grant of Clerk of the Parliament after the death
of Mr. Johnson, who then held it, for any one he liked to name. ‘M.
Robethon let my brother Cowper have it in reversion for his sons for
£1800.’
By his wife, Pennington, daughter of John Goodere, Esq., Spencer had
three sons,—William, John, and Ashley. The official appointments above
alluded to were held in succession by the family for several years. He
had also a daughter, Judith, known as a poetess, married to
Lieut.-Colonel Madan. Spencer Cowper died at his chambers in Lincoln’s
Inn Fields, in 1728, and was buried at Hertingfordbury, where an
elaborate monument is erected to his memory. He was grandfather to
William Cowper the poet.
------------------
_No. 11._
WILLIAM, FIRST EARL COWPER, FIRST LORD CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.
_Full length. In Chancellor’s robes. Flowing wig. Chair._
BORN 1664, DIED 1723.
BY RICHARDSON.
HE was the eldest son of Sir William Cowper, the second Baronet, by
Sarah, daughter of Sir Samuel Holled, merchant, of London, and was
born at Hertford Castle. He went to school at St. Albans, and seems to
have been of a most docile disposition, to judge by a letter written
to his mother when only eight years old. He says: ‘I thank you for my
bow and arrows, which I shall never use but when my master gives us
leave to play. I shall hereafter take more care of my spelling and
writing, even without ruled lines.’
His childish letters were written in a fair hand, giving promise of
the beautiful writing for which the future Lord Chancellor was famed,
and were addressed with much punctilio, ‘These for my ever honoured
mother, the Lady Cowper, at her house in the Charter-House Yard,
London.’
The boy took great pains, not only with his writing, but with his
style, so much so as to cause a suspicion in his mother’s mind that
one of the epistles was dictated by an usher, an insinuation which the
young student repelled with some asperity. It seems doubtful whether
he ever went to a public school, and certainly he never entered a
University; but at eighteen he became a Templar, giving himself up
rather to pleasure than study in these first years of a London life.
He formed a connection with a Miss Culling of Hertingfordbury, by whom
he had two children. This _liaison_ was much talked of, and by many it
was reported he had married her, a circumstance which caused him much
annoyance at a later period. In 1686 he became attached to one
Mistress Judith Booth, wise and beautiful, but poor withal, in
consequence of which his family opposed the marriage. His father was
in the prime of life, and had other children to provide for; but, in
spite of all opposition, the wedding took place, and the young husband
became studious and steady from the pressure of domestic
responsibility. He writes an amusing letter to his wife, describing
his maiden motion in the Court of King’s Bench, and tells her that he
was blamed for not interweaving enough ‘May it please your Lordships’
and the like urbanities in his speech, adding, ‘but I will amend in
future, and you shall find me begin to practise extraordinary
civilities on your sweet self.’
The precepts and example of Sir William Cowper had instilled
principles of political liberality in the young lawyer’s mind which
made him regard with disapprobation and anger many of Charles II.’s
(public) proceedings, towards the latter part of his reign, and still
more so those of his successor, added to which considerations the
Cowper family were rigid Protestants; and thus it came about that when
the Prince of Orange landed in England, the brothers William and
Spencer hastily raised a small body of volunteers, and set forth, with
more than a score of young gentlemen of the same political tendencies,
to join William.
In a diary he sent to his wife, Cowper gives an amusing description of
how he fell in with the Prince at Wallingford, at a small inn, where
he saw him ‘dine with a great variety of meats, sauces, and
sweetmeats, which, it seems, is part of the fatigue we admire so much
in great generals!’
He travelled with the Prince to Windsor, where they were received with
unfeigned pleasure; and he speaks of the new face of the Court, ‘where
there is nothing of the usual affectation of terror, but extreme
civility to all sorts of people, and country women admitted to see the
Prince dine.’ He does not mention a circumstance which befell in this
journey; but his daughter, Lady Sarah, who had the particulars from
her uncle Spencer, proudly records an instance of her father’s
gallantry:—On the bridge at Oxford, the small regiment of
Hertfordshire volunteers found one of the arches broken down, and an
officer, with three files of musketeers, who presented arms, and asked
who they were for. There was a silence, as the volunteers did not know
to which side their questioners belonged. ‘But my father,’ says Lady
Sarah, ‘was quite unconcerned, and, spurring his horse forward, he
flung up his hat, crying, “The Prince of Orange,” which was answered
by a shout, for they were all of the same mind.’
When the new King no longer required his services, Cowper resumed his
profession with diligence and zeal. He writes to his wife to express
his regret at not being able to stay with her in the country; but, had
he done so, he would throw himself out of the little business he had.
Another time he writes from Kingston, giving an account of his having
achieved a journey through the Sussex ways (which are ruinous beyond
imagination) without hurt. ‘I vow ’tis a melancholy consideration that
mankind should inhabit such a heap of dirt.’
Lord Campbell tells us, writing from Abinger Hall in 1845, ‘that it is
a still common expression in that part of Surrey, that those who live
on the south side of Leith Hill are in the dirt.’ Cowper contrasts the
damp undrained tracts of Sussex with the fine champaign country of
Surrey, dry and dusty, ‘as if you had shifted in a few hours from
winter to mid-summer.’
The lawyer was rising gradually to great estimation in his profession,
and his friend Lord Chancellor Sommers suggested to him to go
into Parliament, believing he would be most serviceable to the Whig
party. When the elections took place in 1695, the Whigs were in the
ascendant, and both Sir William Cowper and his eldest son were
returned for Hertford, the Quakers being their chief supporters.
Young Cowper’s maiden speech gave promise (afterwards well fulfilled)
of his qualifications as a debater. He was in great favour at Court,
and, being raised to the rank of King’s Counsel, distinguished himself
by his eloquence in the prosecution of more than one State prisoner.
During the trial of Lord Mohun, for the murder of Richard Coote,
Cowper received a tribute for the clearness and excellence of his
voice, a quality for which, in after times, he became proverbial.
Several of the Lords, whose patience was being sorely tried by the
confused, indistinct tones in which the Solicitor-General summed up,
moved that some one with a good voice, ‘particularly Mr. Cowper,’
should be heard,—a great compliment to the gentleman, although the
motion was overruled. The Cowper family, and Sir William’s eldest son
in particular, seemed in the good graces of fortune, until the
untoward event occurred which threw all those who bore the name into
distress and perplexity, being, namely, the charge of murder against
Spencer Cowper, as already recorded in our notice of his life. He and
his brother were much attached, were members of the same profession,
and travelled the same Circuit—in fact, were almost inseparable
companions.
The justice of Spencer Cowper’s acquittal was unquestionable, yet the
popular feeling ran so high in the town and neighbourhood, especially
among the community of which the unfortunate girl was a member, that
it was clear to every one that no candidate bearing the name of Cowper
would be successful at the next election. Sir William indeed retired
from Parliamentary life altogether, and his eldest son having failed
in his canvass for Totness, in Devon (for which place he had stood by
the wish and advice of his friend and patron, Lord Sommers), he
was fain to take refuge in the close borough of Berealstone, which he
represented until intrusted with the Great Seal. William III. died,
and Queen Anne reigned in his stead, ascending the throne with
feelings most inimical to the Whig party. Affairs did not look
promising for William Cowper, all the more so as Lord Sommers
had fallen into great disfavour; but he weathered the storm, and when
the general election in 1705 resulted in a majority for the Whigs, the
Great Seal of England was transferred from the hands of Sir Nathan
Wright to those of William Cowper. He had for some time been looked
upon as leader in the House of Commons, where his agreeable manners
and graceful address had made him personally popular. As in the case
of his brother, slander had been busy with his name, and the report
that he had married two wives (of which circumstance hereafter) had
been widely circulated. But he had powerful friends at Court in the
Duchess of Marlborough and Lord Treasurer Godolphin; and her Majesty
listened to their recommendations and her own bias in his favour, and
William Cowper kissed hands at Kensington Palace on his appointment as
Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.
‘The youngest Lord Keeper,’ says his daughter, Lady Sarah (he was in
his forty-first year), ‘on record.’ ‘He looked very young, and wearing
his own hair made him appear more so, which the Queen observing,
obliged him to cut it off, remarking, it would be said she had given
the Seals to a boy.’
It was about this time he contracted his second marriage; he had
sorely mourned for the death of his wife Judith, and her child, but
the charms of a fair client had made a deep impression on his heart.
Mary, daughter of John Clavering, Esq. of Chopwell, county Durham (a
gentleman of Tory principles), was handsome, as we see from Kneller’s
portrait—sensible, and intelligent, as we gather from her charming
diary.
The marriage was at first kept secret, which seems unaccountable, as
the lady was well born, well bred, and of great personal charms. But
she herself gives us a clue to the mystery. The Lord Keeper was still
young, very handsome, in a high position, with every prospect of
advancement, and the eyes of many a Court beauty were turned on him as
a desirable match. We have enlarged on all the intrigues that were
carried on to prevent his union with his ‘dear rogue’ (as he fondly
calls her in one of his letters) in the notice of Lady Cowper; suffice
it to say that the sequel proved how excellent had been his choice.
But he did not allow domestic happiness to interfere with official
duties. He set himself, with the advice of Lord Sommers, to
bring about reforms on many points in the Court of Chancery, and,
above all, he took a step which met with the highest approbation among
all but the few, who aspired to the dignity he had already attained;
he abolished the custom of New Year’s gifts. For many years it had
been expected of every person connected with the Court of Chancery to
present the Lord Keeper or Lord Chancellor with gifts of provisions
and wine. But latterly money had been substituted for these minor
donations, and hundreds, and sometimes thousands, had been presented
to the great official on the 1st of January.
Lady Cowper tells us a laughable story of Lord Chancellor Nottingham
(who spoke with a lisp). He used to stand by his table on New Year’s
Day, for the better reception of the moneys, and every time he laid a
fresh sum on the table he cried aloud, ‘O tyrant cuthtom!’
But before the advent of the year 1706, the Lord Keeper had it
intimated to all those whom it might concern that the practice was
abolished, having first, as (he considered) in duty bound, apprised
the Prime Minister, Lord Godolphin, of his intention. In spite of his
prohibition, some gifts appeared on the day in question, which were
refused. He says in his Diary: ‘New Year’s gifts turned back. I pray
God it do me more good than hurt.’
Now Lord Campbell, while praising the Lord Keeper’s magnanimity,
accuses him of wanting the courage of his opinions; and, finding he
had raised a storm amongst all the heads of all the departments that
had benefited by this ‘tyrant custom’ of present-giving, implied he
had done it in part unintentionally. If this be so, we know at least,
and that from his wife’s diary, that on his second assumption of
office, he adhered to his determination; for,—as to the people who
presented these gifts, ‘it looked like insinuating themselves into the
favour of the Court; and if it was not bribery, it looked too like
it.’
Of the Lord Keeper’s disinterestedness in money matters, and his
liberality, especially where men of talent were concerned, there can
be no doubt. Colley Cibber tells us that when Sir Richard Steele’s
patent as Governor of the Theatre Royal passed the Great Seal, Lord
Cowper steadily refused all fees.
‘Cowper managed the Court of Chancery with impartial justice and great
despatch, and was very useful in the House of Lords in the promotion
of business.’ So far Burnet’s testimony. He was chosen one of the
Lords Commissioners for England on the occasion of the Union with
Scotland, and, being next in rank to the Archbishop of Canterbury (who
did not attend), he occupied a most prominent post at the daily
conferences. Lord Campbell tells us that, by his insight into
character, and his conciliatory manners, he succeeded wonderfully in
soothing Caledonian pride and in quieting Presbyterian jealousy. He
regained his seat at Hertford in spite (as he thought, at least) of
Lord Harley’s machinations; for between him and that Minister there
was no love lost, although Harley had an exalted opinion of the Lord
Keeper’s abilities. He was at this time in the Queen’s confidence, who
sent for him one day to her closet, in order to consult him on the
choice of a Chief Baron for Ireland. ‘I observed it was difficult to
find a fit man; but it was obviously the interest of England to send
over as many magistrates as it was possible from hence, being the best
means to preserve the dependency of that country on England.’ The
Queen said she understood that they had a mind to be independent if
they could, but that they should not. Verily ‘l’histoire se rêpête de
jour en jour.’ He was now raised to the peerage as Baron Cowper of
Wingham, county Kent, and was deputed to offer the thanks of
Parliament to his friend, the Duke of Marlborough, for his late
victory at Ramilies.
The Act of Union appointed there should be one Great Seal for the
United Kingdom, although a Seal should still be kept in Scotland for
things appertaining to private right, and Lord Cowper was declared by
the Queen in Council to be the first Lord Chancellor of Great Britain.
This was in May 1707. In the general election of 1708 the Whigs gained
a decided majority, and Cowper’s enemy, Harley, retired; while his
friend, Lord Sommers, was made President of the Council. Shortly
after the famous trial of Dr. Sacheverell, at which the Lord
Chancellor presided, the Whig Ministry resigned, and the Tories
returned to power. Every endeavour was made by Harley and the Queen
herself to induce Lord Cowper to retain office. He was subjected to
the greatest importunity, in spite of his repeated refusals, and his
repugnance ‘to survive his colleagues.’
He was actually followed down to Cole Green, ‘my place in
Hertfordshire (where I had gone to visit my wife, who had lately lain
in),’ by emissaries of the new Minister, and when he waited on her
Majesty to resign the Seal in person, the Queen persisted in her
refusal to receive it, and forced Lord Cowper to ‘take it away and
think the matter over till the morrow.’ He returned unaltered in his
decision, and Lord Campbell, from whom we quote so largely, says ‘he
withdrew from her presence, carrying with him, what was far more
precious than this badge of office, the consciousness of having acted
honourably.’ Lord Cowper now sought quiet in his country house, but
even here he was assailed by Swift’s abuse, and subjected to stormy
visits from the Duchess of Marlborough, who came there more especially
to vent her spleen by abuse of Queen Anne. Now Lord Cowper had opposed
the Duke of Marlborough on more than one point when he considered his
ambition overweening, but he was sincerely attached both to him and to
his wife, and when the Duke and Duchess were attacked, their faithful
friend raised his voice and pen in behalf of these ex-favourites. Lord
Sommers was growing infirm, and Lord Cowper now led the
Opposition in the House of Lords, where the Queen said she hoped he
would still serve her. He replied he would act in the same manner as
he would have done had he continued in the same office, to which her
kindness had appointed him; and he kept his word.
He strove hard to deter his Royal mistress from what many in that day
considered an unconstitutional proceeding, namely the creation of
Peers for the special purpose of carrying a measure or strengthening a
party—at least, so we gather from the Queen’s remark, ‘He was pleased
to say to me he considered the House of Lords full enough!’ in spite
of which remark twelve new peers of Tory tendencies took their seats a
few days afterwards, who were facetiously asked if they would vote by
their foreman. Lord Cowper never let an opportunity pass of paying a
tribute to his aged friend, Lord Sommers; and we find a
well-timed and two-sided compliment to Sir Isaac Newton, appointed by
that nobleman to the Mastership of the Mint. Lord Cowper thanked the
great philosopher for one of his scientific works written in Latin,
and goes on to say, ‘I find you have taken occasion to do justice to
that truly great man, my Lord Sommers, but give me leave to say
the other parts of the book which do not appear to concern him are a
lasting instance, among many others, to his clear judgment in
recommending the fittest man in the whole kingdom to that employment.’
It was about this time that the feud between Oxford (Harley) and
Bolingbroke (St. John) was at its height, the former still continuing
his overtures to Cowper to coalesce, when the Gordian knot was cut
asunder by the shears of Atropos. The Queen’s dangerous illness was
announced, and the Treasurer’s staff wrested from Oxford’s grasp, and
consigned by the dying sovereign into the hands of the Duke of
Shrewsbury, who burst into the Cabinet while sitting, accompanied by
the Duke of Argyll, with the important news that Oxford was dismissed,
and Bolingbroke called upon to form a Ministry. Great confusion
prevailed; all Privy Councillors were summoned to attend, and Lords
Cowper and Sommers (both fast friends to the Hanoverian
succession) repaired to Kensington Palace to make preparations for the
reception of the new monarch—for Queen Anne had breathed her last.
On the accession of George I. Lords Justices were appointed by the
Regency Act for the administration of the Government till the arrival
of the King. The Whig Lords outnumbered the Tories, and Cowper was
their guiding spirit. Their first measure was to name Joseph Addison
secretary, and respecting this appointment a laughable story is told.
Being directed to draw up an official statement of the death of Queen
Anne, the great author was so deeply impressed with the responsibility
of his situation, and so overwhelmed by a choice of words, that the
Lords Justices lost all patience, and directed a common clerk to do
the business. No change took place in the Government offices till the
arrival of George from Hanover, with the exception of Lord
Bolingbroke, ‘the Pretender’s friend,’ who was summarily dismissed.
Lord Cowper, being one of those intrusted with this duty, and the
recently appointed Treasurer, found the very doors of his office
locked against him.
No sooner did George I. arrive from Hanover than the Whigs returned to
power. Lord Cowper was summoned to the Royal presence, and the Great
Seal once more intrusted to that worthy keeping.
‘The King was pleased to say he was satisfied with the character he
had heard of me, and so I replied that I accepted the post with the
utmost gratitude, and would serve his Majesty faithfully, and, as far
as my health would allow, industriously.’
The Prince of Wales was in the outer room, and very cordial in his
manner to the new Lord Chancellor.
On the 20th October 1714, the King was crowned, and Lord and Lady
Cowper were both present. The lady had translated for the King’s
benefit (seeing he knew no English) a memorial written by her lord,
and entitled _An Impartial History of Parties_, decidedly in favour of
Whig principles, which strengthened his Majesty’s predilection for his
Chancellor; and indeed both husband and wife stood in high favour at
Court, Lady Cowper having just been named Lady of the Bedchamber to
the Princess of Wales. Now the King, although he had long looked
forward to the possession of the English Crown, had never given
himself the trouble to learn English, while Cowper had neither French
nor German,—a circumstance which was productive of some difficulties
in the new Parliament. The King’s ignorance and natural awkwardness
were all the more distasteful to those who had been accustomed (we
quote Lord Campbell’s words) ‘to the late Queen’s graceful delivery,
scarcely excelled by what we ourselves so warmly admire.’