THIRD.
CHAPTER THE FIRST. WILLIAM AND MARY.
[Illustration: 611]
The crown of England stood for almost two months in the same position
as Mahomet's tomb, for the diadem no longer rested on the head of James,
nor had it yet lighted on that of the Prince of Orange. On the 13th of
February, 1689, both Houses waited on the Prince and Princess of Orange
with a bill and a request that they would put their names to it. This
document was a Declaration of Rights, in which it was asserted that
"elections ought to be free," that "jurors ought to be duly empanelled
and returned," besides a number of those "oughts" which are highly
respected at the commencement of a reign, but frequently stand for
nothing before the end of it. The Prince of Orange was by no means so
squeezable as his name would seem to imply, for he refused to accept the
crown unless he could have the power as well as the name of king, and he
stipulated that his wife should have no share in the government. He
probably knew the lady's temper pretty well, and felt that neither the
country nor himself would have had much peace had she been allowed to
interfere, and indeed it was a saying of one of the ancients, whose name
we have not been able to learn, that "when a woman rules the roast, a
quantity of broils may be looked for." He threatened to return to
Holland if Parliament gave his wife any share of his authority, and the
once popular but now almost obsolete menace of "If you do I'm a
Dutchman," * originated no doubt in the intimation of William that he
would cut his English connections, and return to his Dutch duchy if his
views were thwarted by his adopted countrymen.
* The insertion of this rare old saying is rather intended
to display our own reading than with any idea of its being
absolutely essential to the narrative.
A country in want of a king is naturally prone to accept one upon
almost any terms; and though England might have been very particular
in ordinary circumstances about its chief magistrate, there was so much
unpleasantness in being without a person of the sort, that the nation
was very anxious to suit itself. William's stipulations were therefore
listened to, and it was even arranged that Mary, in whose right alone he
had any claim to the British Crown, should have but a nominal share
in it. The Commons voted that James had abdicated, or, in other words,
bolted, and thereby shut himself out; while the Lords resolved that the
throne was vacant; and thus by two different modes they came to the same
conclusion, namely, that there was an opening for any one to "step up,"
if the terms were agreed upon. After some negociation it was arranged
that William should take the vacant situation, which should be
considered to some extent a single-handed place, though nominally filled
by "a man and his wife," it being understood that the former should do
all the work, and that the latter should make herself generally useless.
It will naturally occur to the curious reader to inquire what has become
of the fugitive James, and we shall therefore commission our research
to set out as a policeman in pursuit of him. We first trace him to
Versailles, where he met with a very friendly reception from Louis the
Fourteenth, who made him as comfortable as circumstances would admit,
and lent him a lot of French soldiers to play at an invasion with.
Ireland was then, as it has been always, our weakest point, and it was
resolved that James should hit us on that unhappy raw, which all our
attempts to heal have only tended to aggravate. James repaired to Brest,
where he found himself in the bosom of a ragamuffin crowd of exiles; and
forming the best of these into a sort of army, he landed with a force of
about two thousand five hundred at Kinsale. Having taken the English by
surprise, James's party obtained a bit of a victory at Bantry Bay, for
the numbers of the former being comparatively few, their commander,
Admiral Herbert, thought it would be sheer folly not to sheer off, and
he made for Scilly, which he acknowledged to a friend was exceedingly
ridiculous. James made the most of the opportunity, and summoned an
Irish Parliament, which, with true Irish generosity, began voting away
money at a tremendous rate before it came in, and had bestowed upon
James £20,000 a month, out of nothing a year, within the few first days
of their sitting.
The Treasury was of course not in a condition to meet the liberal orders
that were made upon it, and James had no means of replenishing it,
except with what he brought over in his pocket from France, and this,
though it had come some distance, would not go very far, when he began
to try the experiment. Having a scarcity of gold and silver, he deter-,
mined to try the effect of brass, which he knew to be in many cases a
perfect substitute for both the precious metals, and he ordered that
his brazen coinage should pass for a hundred times its value, which
has furnished a _monumentum cere perennius_ of his brazen impudence.
His household was poverty-stricken in the extreme, and Black Rod had
nothing but an old Awkward Mistake, birch as the emblem of his office.
The Court was, in fact, rendered as bad as the lowest alley by the
turmoils and turbulence that prevailed in consequence of the shortness
of cash, and after some little hesitation, James deter-mined to go to
Londonderry for ammunition to carry on the war; but on his arrival the
only powder and shot he received came to him in the shape of the firing
of the garrison. Finding the place--or rather the inhabitants--unwilling
to surrender, James drew off, and arrived in Dublin, where some of
the famous Dublin stout in the shape of a few stalwart adherents still
sustained him in his enterprise.
[Illustration: 613]
William had no doubt a very troublesome part to play, for he was
surrounded by a discontented set, which must always arise upon a change
of dynasty, when the good things to be given away form a proportion
of about one-eighth per cent,--or half a crown in the £100--to the
expectations of the would-be recipients. When a plan is fixed upon for
dividing £1000 into fifty thousand equal shares of £100,000 each, there
will be some probability that the promoters of a revolution will, when
the revolution is complete, be all equally and perfectly satisfied.
William was speedily surrounded by a number of adherents to his cause,
who had stuck to it with the leech-like intention of drawing upon it to
the fullest possible extent; and his hangers-on were consequently more
weakening to him than otherwise.
On the 19th of October he opened the second session of his first
Parliament, and was soon pestered by the pecuniary importunities of
the Princess Anne of Denmark, who declared that her income was scarcely
enough to keep her in gloves and Denmark satin slippers; and that she
must have £70,000 a year settled upon her, quite independent of her
brother-in-law and her sister. A family quarrel ensued upon this demand,
and Queen Mary insisted that "Nancy must be mad" to prefer a request
so shamefully exorbitant. The matter was eventually compromised, by a
settlement of £50,000 a year on "Sister Anne," who was completely under
the influence of Churchill, now Earl of Marlborough.
In the beginning of 1690, William dissolved the Parliament; and a new
one met on the 20th of March; when the king announced his intention of
going to Ireland, and intimated his necessity for cash to enable him
to undertake the journey. He requested the assistance of the Commons in
settling the amount of his revenue, upon which he proposed to borrow a
considerable sum, thus acting on the dangerous and unprofitable system
of drawing a salary in advance, and spending to-day what will not come
to-morrow. He intended, in fact, to eat his pudding first, and to have
it afterwards, or rather to eat his own, and then come down upon that of
other people to supply the deficiency. The Commons, instead of checking
this improvidence, granted him £2,200,000, which was presented to
William in the shape of an elegant extract from the pockets of his
people. Money was not all that the new king required, for he was anxious
to cement his power, and like all those who feel the doubtful character
of their claims, was continually insisting on their being formally
recognised. Bills were passed, though not without some difficulty,
abjuring James and his title to the crown; but some nobles objected to
take the oaths, and Lord Wharton, who was a very old man, declared he
was unwilling to go swearing on to the end of his days, that "he had
taken so many affidavits, he scarcely knew one from the other, and
he must beg to be excused from any more oath-taking during the brief
remainder of his existence."
The Parliament having served its purpose, in a pecuniary point of view,
was prorogued rather early, and William started for Ireland. Previous
to the king's departure, the queen very reasonably suggested that as he
could not take the royal authority away with him, it would be a great
deal like a dog in the manger, if he refused to let her have the
enjoyment of the sovereign power during his brief absence. With some
reluctance he consented to the arrangement, observing coarsely, that
he knew she would make a mess of it, but as he should not be gone very
long, it did not much signify. With this surly concession, having agreed
to a temporary transfer of the sceptre into her grasp, he quitted her,
with the discouraging and discourteous words, "There, take it! and let
all the world see how right I was in preventing you from having a hand
in the use of it."
On his arrival at Belfast he began to look about him for James, whose
army was at length pounced upon on the banks of the Boyne, and a battle
became unavoidable. William was looking about him, when the enemy
loading two immense field-pieces, aimed them both at him; but, as
between two stools, one often goes to the ground, so, between two cannon
balls, one may occasionally come off without injury. William, when he
saw the balls bouncing by him, may have thought that he was lucky
in escaping a ball'd head, but he soon received a real wound on the
shoulder, which positively tore his coat, and grazed the skin, to the
utter horror of Lord Coningsby, who stuffed his pocket-handkerchief into
the sleeve, to staunch the blood that might have been, but, fortunately,
was not, flowing. William was more frightened than hurt, and his
officers were more frightened than William, while the enemy were more
frightened than either, and allayed their trepidation by giving out
that William was certainly dead, which we need not say was a mere
penny-a-line report, without the smallest foundation. A poultice soon
set his shoulder to rights, and at all events enabled him to put it to
the wheel, which he did, by calling a meeting of the officers at nine in
the evening. He told them he should cross the river the next day, and he
gave orders about their dress, observing to them playfully, that as they
would have to pass through the tide, they had better make themselves as
tidy as possible. Hearing that the enemy wore cockades, made of white
paper, he remarked that he would not have his men in such foolscaps, but
that he desired to see them all with green boughs in their hats; and
in this very guyish guise the soldiers of William met the adherents of
James in combat.
The gallant Duke of Schomberg, who was extremely touchy, had been
somehow or other offended at the Council of War, and had retired in a
huff to his tent, exclaiming pettishly, "Settle it yourselves how you
like, for it seems I'm nobody." In vain did some of his comrades call
after him, "Schomberg, Schomberg! Come back, come back;" for the general
withdrew within his quarters, and letting down his camp-curtains, sat
smoking his pipe with interjectional mutterings to himself on that
fruitful topic to a gentleman in the sulks--"The obstancy of _some_
people." The order of battle being formed, a copy of it was sent to him,
when, snatching it from the messenger with a loud "Umph!" he declared
that he had scarcely made up his mind whether he should obey or light
his pipe with the document. Having looked at it, however, the old
soldier gave a whistle of satisfaction as if in an ardent anticipation
of the work before him; and putting on his armour as coolly as if he had
been dressing for dinner, he made his way to the spot appointed for the
coming contest. His reception by his sovereign and his fellow-soldiers
was cheerful if not çordial; but it was evident by the twinkle of the
veteran's eye, that Schomberg was "himself again" when he stood in the
presence of an enemy.
The contending forces having a river between them, found their ardour a
great deal damped, for it is not easy to be valorous with the water up
to one's waist, and with every desire on both sides to make a splash,
the soldiers could only dabble in hostilities without plunging deeply
into them. William put his nag boldly across the stream, but the English
had to deplore the loss of the gallant old Duke of Schomberg, who, there
is too much reason to believe, was killed in mistake by one of his own
men, though, we must confess, we always look with very great suspicion
on these so-called accidents. James had taken his station at a most
respectable distance from danger during the whole of the affray, and he
no sooner saw that he had lost the day than he determined not to lose
a minute in making his escape from England. He galloped on horseback to
Dublin, hastened to Waterford, and embarked for France with a wretched
retinue. William returned to England, and sent the Duke of Marlborough
to Ireland, who reduced several places, and by putting the screw upon
Cork, made it pull out very handsomely.
The bishops now began to feel very uncomfortable about their allegiance,
and to doubt the validity of its transfer from James to William, though
the truth seems to be that they had not found the transfer fee so large
as they had expected. Several were deprived of their temporalities--the
surest way of bringing them to their senses; but there were numerous
instances of disinterestedness, in which a blindness to the advantages
of the see was honourably conspicuous. William troubled himself
comparatively little about what was going on at home, but was far more
anxious to carry on with success the league against France; and to
further this object he repaired to the Continent, where a warfare of a
rather paltry character was persisted in. The hostilities, though of a
contemptible kind, were sufficiently costly to render it necessary for
William to return in the course of a few months, and ask for more money
from the English Parliament. Large grants were made, but not without a
great deal of grumbling, for John Bull always pays, though he parts with
his money very reluctantly, and sometimes takes out half its value in
surly remonstrances against being compelled to put his hand into
his pocket. The general discontent was considerably aggravated by a
necessity for the revival of the odious poll-tax, which was a regular
rap on the head to all except paupers, children, and servants; for with
these exceptions everybody--or rather every head--was charged so much a
quarter for the privilege of remaining on its owner's shoulders.
William continued riding backwards and forwards between England and
Holland, but he paid the former the compliment of making it his purse on
every occasion. His majesty was constantly taking abroad with him both
money and men, the former being invariably spent and the latter severely
wounded, before the king came home again. Occasionally some impression
was made on a French fort, but the damage done to the enemy cost more
than it was worth to the English, whose patience and pockets continued
to be taxed for the continental freaks of the foreign king they had
permitted to rule over them. There were some able leaders on the side of
the British, and among the most conspicuous may be cited Sir Cloudesley
Shovel, who threw fresh coals on to the fire of enthusiasm that
occasionally burned up among the English.
It would be wearisome to make a list of the various journeys of William
to the Continent and back; nor, indeed, would the document amount to
anything more interesting than a time-table, were we to take the trouble
of preparing it. His people might with reason have complained that they
never saw anything of him, unless he wanted something from them, and at
length on the 12th of November, 1694, when William condescended to meet
his Parliament and request the favour of £5,000,000 to "carry on the
war," the opposition led by Mr. Harley, the statesman,--not the low
comedian--forced upon nis majesty's acceptance a bill for the summoning
of triennial Parliaments.
The assent he gave to this unpalatable measure has been attributed to
the anxiety he felt on account of the dangerous illness of his wife,
which may very naturally have incapacitated him for any serious
resistance to a demand which Parliament urged with wonderful unanimity
and energy. Poor Mary was seized with an attack of the small-pox, and
it is a curious mark of the unfeeling character of the punsters of
that happily remote age, that her malady was made the subject of a pun,
which, as it was new at the period of which we are writing, we may be
allowed for the three thousand and eighty-fourth time to chronicle.
When it was known that her majesty had caught the small-pox, or rather
that the small-pox had caught her majesty, it was remarked with a
savageness that loses none of its ferocity from the fact of its being a
bitter truth, that she was "very much to be pitted." Whether the queen
ever heard this unfeeling and poverty-stricken joke, the chroniclers do
not relate, and we cannot answer with certainty for its having been
the death of her; but, as she actually died, the supposition we have
suggested is exceedingly feasible. She expired on the 28th of December,
1694, in the thirty-third year of her age, to the great grief of her
husband, and the regret of the nation in general; for though she was not
particularly beloved either by one or the other during her life, there
was a decent show of sorrow on the part of both at losing her. William
no doubt felt the bereavement in more ways than one, for he had a
servant the less to wait upon him, a dependant the less to bully, and a
subject the less to domineer over. He lamented her less as a partner
and friend than he missed her as a companion and housekeeper. She was
certainly a devoted wife, but the devotion of a woman to her husband's
interests is, after all, only a second selfishness, which, when viewed
in a proper light, is far more prudent than respectable. Her inveterate
dislike of her sister, with whom she refused to be reconciled even on
her death-bed, convinces us that it was not altogether a warmth of heart
that bound her to her husband; and we therefore set her down as a cold
unfeeling person who could sacrifice all other ties for the sake of one
which she believed to be of the most importance to her interests.
We should not, however, be doing justice to the character of Mary if we
were to omit to state that she was exceedingly skilful in the use of the
needle, and by working curious devices on chairs or carpets, she in one
way at least set a pattern to the female portion of the community.
CHAPTER THE SECOND. WILLIAM THE THIRD.
[Illustration: 620]
WILLIAM was now _en garçon_ upon the throne of England; but, to use the
words of a quaint commentator, "he missed his missus" very grievously.
When spoken to on business, he for several weeks returned no other
answer than an intimation that business might experience that fate which
attends a dramatic production when an audience will not listen to a word
of it. The Princess Anne, his sister-in-law, sought a reconciliation
through Somers, the lord-keeper, whose reception was not by any means
as mild as a summer's day, and who congratulated himself on having
the royal conscience rather than the royal temper in his keeping. The
keeper, however, was determined to keep it up, and so importuned William
to be reconciled to Anne, that his majesty ultimately roared out, "Do as
you like, but don't bother me, for I'm not fit for business, nor indeed
for anything." Somers arranged an interview between sister Anne and the
king, who gave her St. James's Palace as a residence, and a quantity of
the jewels, which the late queen, whom he called his "duck of diamonds,"
had left behind her. The Marlboroughs, who had gone quite out of favour
with the king, but were the right and left hand of Anne, expected to
have a share of the reconciliation, and an interest in its proceeds.
Early in 1695, a glut of unpaid washing-bills which were floating about
the neighbourhood of all the barracks, threw a doubt on the honesty, or
at all events on the prudence, of the soldiery; and it was determined
by the Government that an inquiry should be made into the causes of this
paltry irregularity. The disgraceful discovery was instantly arrived at,
that the soldiers could not pay their scores because the gallant fellows
had not received their salaries.
Corruption and bribery of the lowest kind in the highest quarters were
soon brought to light, and it was proved that the secretary of the
treasury had taken a large percentage on the money he had to pay, as a
sort of bonus for giving himself the trouble to hand it over. Sir John
Trevor, the Speaker of the House of Commons, turned out a shocking old
rogue, and was found to have been in the habit of receiving bribes for
putting questions from the chair, or for smuggling measures through
their various stages. He had, in fact, undertaken to get bills done
for anyone who brought him a tempting _douceur_, and a sum of £1050
was distinctly traced to the pocket of the venerable knave from the
promoters of the Orphans' Bill. He was punished by being compelled to
put from the chair of the House the resolution that he, Sir John Trevor,
was unworthy of sitting in the House, and deserved to be kicked out of
it. The "Ayes" decidedly had it, and Sir John Trevor would have had it
too, if he had not instantly withdrawn, to avoid the unpleasantness of
forcible ejection. Mr. Hungerford, the chairman of the committee on the
same bill, was also accused, when, yielding to a loud cry of "Turn
him out!" mingled with occasional mutterings of "Throw him over!" the
dis-honourable member sneaked away from the senate. A further series
of corruptions would certainly have been detected had not William
determined to avoid further scandal, or at all events further exposure,
by dissolving the Parliament.
James was constantly urging his friend Louis to invade England, and he
was at length persuaded to collect a fleet and army on the coast, while
James himself sent over Sir George Barclay and the Duke of Berwick to
attempt an insurrection. The idea of a couple of adventurers coming
over to upset the Government was of itself absurd, and the affair was
rendered more preposterous by Barclay having taken a lodging in Hatton
Garden, where a garret formed his place of business for conducting the
affairs of the conspiracy. A simple notification to "ring the top bell,"
was all that pointed out this nest of treason to those who took an
interest in its progress. Even the modern accessories of a boy and
a board-room, with a provisional committee, a dozen chairs, and a
dining-table, were wanting to this desperate scheme, and indeed, while
Barclay was away in order to get his meals--for there was no cooking
on the premises--a recommendation to put letters through the door,
and leave messages with the porter at the lodge, formed the entire
instructions upon which the subordinate conspirators had to act when
they chanced, in the absence of their chief, to call at the chambers.
Such were the contemptible arrangements of this project for turning the
thrown upside down, and burying, or at all events, bonnetting, William
in the ruins of the outraged upholstery. We cannot be surprised that its
progress was not by any means encouraging, but Barclay had heard of
a plot to assassinate the king, in which one Sir William Perkins was
concerned, and thus the since celebrated firm of Barclay and Perkins may
be considered to have originated in a partnership project for brewing
the storm of revolution. Barclay thought well of the scheme, and was
introduced to one Porter; but in those days Barclay and Perkins turned
up their noses at Porter, "who was a drunkard and a blab," and they
therefore were unwilling to put any faith in him. Barclay, however,
resolved to persevere in his regicide scheme, and applied to one Captain
Fisher, who lived in King Street, Westminster, and was understood to be
open to an offer as decidedly as if there were written over his door,
"Murders carefully performed. Assassins' work in general."
[Illustration: 622]
The proposal of Barclay, whatever it may have been, was not sufficiently
liberal; for Fisher would only undertake to kill one of the royal
coach-horses between Hyde Park and St. James's, but he declined any
higher responsibility at the price that was offered. Barclay called
Fisher a fool, and they never came to terms; but the former resolved to
make the attempt on William's life, and the romantic Green of Tumham,
over which the king was about to pass, on a day appointed, was selected
as the scene of the treasonable experiment. The party of assassins had
swelled to thirty-five, who planted themselves in ambush behind some
bushes, when news was brought that the king had changed his mind, and
would not come to Turnham Green; "Which," says Burnet, "was enough to
turn 'em pale with anger and disappointment." There being some fear that
the plot would be discovered, Barclay sneaked off to France, abandoning
his fellow-conspirators to their fate, and believing that his old
companion Perkins would be nicely left in the lurch; but by a strange
coincidence, that personage had entertained a similar notion with regard
to his associate, and had got away first, so that the recreant couple
had been equally deep in their cowardice and duplicity.
It appeared that Fisher, who had volunteered the horrible office of
knacker upon the coach-horse of the king, disclosed to Lord Portland
the particulars of the plot, and the result was that several more of the
traitors, finding confession the order of the day, went forward to tell
not only all they knew, but a great deal more that they had invented for
the sake of having something to communicate. This glut of confidential
intelligence was so embarrassing, that the Government did not know what
to believe or what to doubt; but nevertheless a proclamation was issued,
offering £1000 and a pardon to any gentleman involved in the scheme, who
would be fool enough to criminate himself, and villain enough to betray
his accomplices. There were, of course, several candidates for the cash,
and disclosures at £1000 each poured in at such a rapid rate, that it
was difficult to meet the demands made on the treasury, on account of
the news for which the Government had advertised. To make a long story
short, several were tried, found guilty, and executed, for having shared
in the treasonable design against William, and among them was one Keys,
a trumpeter, who was a mere instrument--like his own trumpet--in the
hands of any one by whom he could be played upon.
William's popularity increased, on account of the plots that had been
put into operation against him; for it is a beautiful trait in the
English character, that the people will become suddenly attracted
towards any one who seems to be an object of dislike to others.
Unfortunately, however, this generosity is somewhat inconsistent in its
nature, for it is usually accompanied by an excess of illiberality in an
opposite direction, and if a man is a martyr to a spirit of hostility,
the sympathy evinced for him by the public is joined with a savage
desire to make martyrs of his enemies. Upon this principle, poor Sir
John Fenwick was pounced upon for having compassed or imagined the death
of the king, and though there is every reason to believe that such an
idea was quite out of the compass of his wildest imagination, he was
brought to the scaffold.
It is doubtful, notwithstanding the fuss we now make--and, indeed, have
been making ever since the event--about the glorious Revolution of
1688, whether we really had anything like full value for the trouble it
occasioned us. However numerous the blessings we have since derived from
it, we must contend that it did not pay in the first instance; for as
long as England derived no other advantage than William for its king,
the good achieved by the Revolution of 1688 must be considered rather
more than dubious. He spent his own time and his new country's money
in sustaining his own title against the attacks made upon it by foreign
powers, whose interest in supporting the doctrine of the "right divine
of kings to govern wrong," kept them constantly in a state of active
sympathy with James, whose misconduct had caused his forfeiture of the
crown, which would otherwise have been legitimately his beyond the power
of any one on earth to take it away from him. William was consequently
at perpetual warfare with some of the continental states; and it was
only when he got into discredit with his subjects that he seemed to rise
in favour with some of the absolute monarchs, who then, for the first
time, appeared disposed to bear with him. Louis of France listened to
the terms of an arrangement; but he never intended to keep faith with
William, and was, in fact, intriguing with Spain to defeat the very
project he pretended to be willing to carry out with the duped majesty
of England. It was evident that the British public did not look with
favour upon the individual that had been chosen to enact the part of
king; and though, like the frogs in the fable, the people had rejoiced
in being relieved from the devouring stork of absolutism embodied in
the Stuarts, the Dutch log of which William formed the type was quite as
distasteful to the nation in general.
It would be most unprofitable to unravel the tangled thread of events
that made up the complicated but most uninteresting annals of this
worrying reign, which was distinguished by the multiplicity and the
pettiness of the disputes between the prince and a portion of his
people. The loggishness of the sovereign seemed to affect the whole
nation with the loggerheads; and not only were parties arrayed against
each other, but on some occasions the Lords and the Commons came into
very serious collision. The disputes in which William was involved with
foreign governments were exceedingly costly to his own country, but he
finally, on the 7th of September, 1701, after having been a party to
several treaties that had been either violated or "gone off," entered
into a "second grand alliance" at the Hague, with various powers. By
this arrangement all the parties were bound to provide men and money,
which their people of course had to pay; and the emperor, who had made
himself liable to furnish a contingency, was so excessively hard up,
that he was compelled to borrow the money upon his quicksilver mines;
but no silver, however quick, could keep pace with the rapidity with
which the money was called for and got rid of.
We will now return for a few minutes to James the Second, who was in a
very bad way at St. Germains, and was understood to have been dying all
the summer. At length, on Friday, the 2nd of September, he was taken
very bad indeed with a fainting fit, but got better, until another and
another still succeeded; and the last fit was stronger than the first.
On Tuesday, the 13th, Louis came to his bedside to say "How d'ye do?"
but poor James was unable to answer the polite and obliging inquiry, for
he was almost without consciousness. Louis kindly endeavoured to comfort
his last moments by promising to protect his family, and treat the
nominal Prince of Wales as actual King of England, but this recognition
was not likely to do much good either to the dead or the living, as the
only parties who were capable of giving it effect, namely, the English
people, would have nothing whatever to do with it. Poor James, who was
dosed with a great deal of medicine, and swallowed no end of James's
powders, was now beyond the aid of medical skill, and he died on the
16th of September, 1701, at the age of sixty-seven. An attempt was made
to pitchfork this very indifferent sovereign into the Roman Calendar as
a first-rate saint; but there has never been any disposition among the
English to award him the honours of martyrdom.
William was by no means the thing in his own health, when the news of
the death of James was brought to him. A report was indeed spread that,
like a bill at thirty days, he had only a month to run; but this rumour
was circulated by the friends of Louis the Fourteenth, who fancied that
if William was once out of the way, the _grand monarque_ might be as
potent in Europe as the bull of fabled lore was at his ease in the china
shop. William had been in Holland, where he was really dangerously ill;
but he contrived to get back to England, where he dissolved Parliament
in November, 1701, and called a new one together, which met on the 31st
of December, to see the old year out and the new year in, and for the
despatch of business. The king made a long and rather an effective
speech, which had been written expressly for the occasion by Lord
Somers, and had a great effect in giving an impetus to the waning
fidelity of the people towards the sovereign of their selection. They
might, however, have exclaimed with the poet, that they "never loved a
young--or old--gazelle," without the usual unhappy result; for just as
they were getting to know William well, and love him--or at least to
pretend to do so--he was attacked in such a manner as to make him "sure
to die." He had been a great deal shaken by the severity of the winter;
but it was hoped he would recover in the spring, which he probably
might have done, but for an accident that befel him on the road between
Kensington and Hammersmith. "A-hunting he would go, would go" in that
savage suburb, whose wildness is remarkable to this day, and his horse
coming to a block of stone, was unfortunate enough to find it a regular
stumbling-block. William was thrown with some force, and experienced a
fracture of the collar-bone, when, having been removed to Hampton Court,
the medical men began to quarrel about the treatment of his majesty.
They of course made no bones about setting the collar; but a dispute
arose about the necessity for bleeding the king, and in the heat of the
argument, the physicians all pulled at his pulse with such fury, that
they unset the bone "while intending," says Burnet, "to make a dead
set at one another." The doctors continuing fractious, the fracture
got worse, and at length, on the 8th of March, 1702, the royal patient
expired. He had reigned thirteen years and a half, and was in the
fifty-second year of his age, when the fatal catastrophe happened.
The character of William will not add much to the reputation of British
royalty in former days, when sovereigns were so bad that they would
never have been allowed to pass current in times like these, in which
there is a disposition to examine closely the weight and quality of the
metal. He was by no means popular when alive, and bad characters do not,
like old port, improve by keeping. The state of parties during his reign
made him the centre in which a great deal of odium met, for he happened
to form in his own person the embodiment, or rather the representative,
of certain principles which were regarded with the utmost aversion by
many.
The most valuable attribute of William, which has handed him down as an
object of respect and even of enthusiasm in the minds of some, is the
fact of the question of constitutional monarchy having been settled in
the affirmative by his elevation to the throne of England. His case is
certainly valuable as a precedent, but its greatest value consists in
the probability that its existence will spare the country hereafter
from the disagreeable necessity of being obliged to follow it. English
sovereigns have learned the possibility of their being set aside like
James the Second, and replaced by one who, like William the Third, owed
his power to the will of the people. Such Revolutions as that of 1688,
notwithstanding the glorious character that belongs to it, are better as
beacons for rulers than as precedents for the people, since a change
of dynasty, however constitutionally effected, must be at all times an
unpleasant, not to say a deplorable process.
William the Third is entitled to the very highest admiration for
having succeeded in holding firmly a position from which the slightest
vacillation would have inevitably shaken him. His early stipulation for
all the throne or none, and his repudiation of the right of his wife to
interfere, though domestically harsh, was politically respectable. The
constitution underwent during his reign some of the most substantial
and valuable repairs that were ever bestowed upon it, either before or
since, notwithstanding some very high-sounding nominal advantages that
the country has in ancient and modern times experienced. It was in
William's reign that the Commons took the purse-strings of the country
tightly in hand, and the censorship of the Press was, during the same
period, permitted to expire. The judges were secured in their places
during good behaviour; and members of the Privy Council being compelled,
by the Act of Settlement, to sign the measures they proposed, we
obtained from William's reign the blessing of a responsible Cabinet. It
is true that official heads fell more frequently before than since, but
the great salubrity of the provision to which we allude is shown in the
fact that it has secured the good conduct of ministers so effectually,
as to have preserved their heads upon their shoulders. It is a curious
truth that the National Debt increased marvellously during William's
reign, and there would seem, therefore, to be some reason for the common
assertion, that this tremendous liability is a mark of our national
prosperity. It certainly proves our credit to be good, as a load of debt
in the case of an individual would make it evident that his tradesmen
had trusted him; but no one will contend that, on that account, he must
be considered more prosperous.
It was the great increase of the Government expenses that had caused the
augmentation of the National Debt, and afforded another illustration of
the infallible principle, that nothing good can be had without liberally
paying for. We might get a republic done for us no doubt at a hundredth
part--or less--of the cost of our present excellent constitutional
monarchy; but we do not think any reasonable person would feel very
anxious to try the cheap and nasty experiment.
Some historians who have preceded us, fall into what we consider the
error of eulogising William as if he had been the author of all the
good that occurred in his reign, when the fact is that a great deal was
accomplished, not alone without his agency, but actually in spite of
him. When he came, or rather when he was called to the throne, the
nation had profited by experience, and had become equally sensible to
the dangers of democratic excess and of absolute monarchy. The tyranny
of the Republic, no less than that of the Stuarts, had pointed out
the safety of a middle course between the two sorts of despotism; and
William, as a very middling person in every respect, was well adapted
for the situation that appeared to be made for him. It was owing to no
particular merit on his part that his reign was not arbitrary, for he
sometimes tried his hardest to make it so; but the good sense of
the nation, sharpened by the troubles it had lately passed through,
preserved it against further victimisation at the hands of either kings
or demagogues.
As the first really constitutional sovereign, William is, we repeat,
entitled to our respect and admiration; but we must not forget that
the people themselves made the mould to which, we will admit, he was
exceedingly well adapted, for he was pliable enough to take the right
impress, and sufficiently firm to give body and substance to the
nation's _beau ideal_ of a limited monarchy.
THE accession of Anne to the throne of her Anne-cestors, as Hume in
a most humiliating attempt at humour hath it, was hailed with general
satisfaction, for it usually happens that a new reign is welcomed on the
old principle of "anything for a change," and most people expect that
some good may come out of it. It will be remembered that Anne was
originally a Miss Hyde, being the child of James by his first wife--the
daughter of Old Hyde, afterwards Earl of Clarendon; and she had been
married to the young man known among his familiar friends as "Georgey
Porgey, Prince of Denmark."
It is a beautiful remark of Thomson, that "the women never can keep
quiet;" and Anne soon realised this estimate of the female character by
declaring war against France with the utmost promptitude. The Commons
voted the supplies necessary.
CHAPTER THE THIRD. QUEEN ANNE.
[Illustration 628]
The Dutch and the Germans perceiving that the King of France had "got no
friends," felt that the time had arrived for hitting him, and echoed
the English declaration of war, though their puny voices came upon
the French monarch's ear like the penny whistle after the full-blown
ophicleide. Marlborough was appointed _generalissimo_ of the allied
army, and he certainly proved himself worthy of the confidence reposed
in him. He made the Low Countries lower than they had ever been before,
and subsequently throwing himself upon Bavaria, he swept the independent
elector before him, leaving that unhappy individual to make his election
between flight and compromise.
On the 12th of August, 1704, Marlborough observed the enemy marking out
a camp near Blenheim, and merely muttering to himself, "So so, my fine
fellows; that's what you're after, is it?" he resolved on their
instant discomforture. He determined to give battle, and on the 13th,
notwithstanding a swampy country, which greatly tested his determination
to stick at nothing, he commenced an attack in three columns, each of
which behaved so gallantly as to have deserved a supplementary column
to its memory. The contest was exceedingly fierce on both sides; but
the superior skill of Marlborough rendered the English victorious. The
general was rewarded by the grant of an estate, upon which was built
a magnificent mansion called Blenheim, after the place near which the
battle was fought; and future Dukes of Marlborough have turned many
an honest, though not a very honourable shilling, by sharing with the
housekeeper and other servants the gratuities received from the visitors
to this splendid monument of a country's generosity.
England could not rest satisfied without interfering in the disputes
of other states, and had lent a helping hand to the Archduke Charles of
Austria, who was playing a sort of game at bob-cherry with the Spanish
crown, which hung suspended over his head in a very tempting manner. A
fleet was sent under Admiral Sir George Booke to convey the archduke to
Lisbon; and Booke, who was as cunning as an old crow, proceeded towards
Barcelona, which would have been nuts for him had he succeeded in taking
it. In this attempt, however, he failed; but putting his vessel astern,
and altering her gib towards Gibraltar, he made an attack on the
fortress, which he took with the utmost facility. For this service
the conqueror was rewarded with an empty vote of thanks, and he had no
sooner got the copy of the resolution than he put it in his pipe and
smoked it--according to some; or, as others say, he merely lighted his
pipe with the valueless document.
Domestic affairs did not progress very pleasantly, and the English began
to quarrel with the Scotch, who evinced their national propensity to
come to the scratch in a very annoying manner. The Parliaments of the
two countries came into decided collision and the English legislature
having prohibited the importation of Scotch heifers, "there arose," says
Swindle, "a heffervescence of the most deplorable character." The queen
proposed that there should be an immediate union of the two Parliaments;
but the little matter could not be arranged; and as the two negatives
could hot be induced to make an affirmative, Anne put an end to both by
a dissolution.
In the summer of 1705, Marlborough, who had been waiting on the banks
of the Blue Moselle, forced the French lines, and very hard lines they
proved both to the vanquished and the victors.
We must here be permitted to introduce the beautiful episode of Sir
Isaac Newton, and turn from the turmoils of war to the peaceful pursuits
of science. We are sure we shall not be accused of irrelevancy if we
step aside from the rushing stream of history which, like a cataract, is
hurrying us rapidly along, and enjoy a few moments of calm reflection on
the life and merits of the great philosopher.
Isaac Newton was born in 1642, and came as unusually little into the
world as he went greatly, and indeed gigantically, out of it. His mother
declared he might have been put into a quart pot at his birth, and
therefore, had he been always judged by the rule of "measures not men,"
he would never have attained the elevation he has arrived at. In early
boyhood he displayed a great mechanical turn, and buying a box of
carpenter's tools, he got perhaps the first insight into plane geometry,
and deduced from a few wise saws, a variety of modern instances. He
was very fond of measuring time, but not by its loss alone, for he
constructed a wooden clock, and ascertained the position of the sun by
driving nails into the wall--hitting, no doubt, the right one on the
head very readily. Having a shrewd suspicion that there was something in
the wind, he would occupy himself in leaping with it and against it, to
ascertain its power. These pranks did not elevate him much in his class,
of which he was generally at the bottom; for the routine of his school
education did not include trials of strength with old Boreas, and the
other exciting pursuits in which Master Isaac Newton indulged himself.
In course of time he was removed to Cambridge, where the works of
Des-Cartes fell into his hands, and where those ponderous volumes, from
their soporific effect upon youth, often fall out of the hands they have
fallen into. Young Newton grasped them with energy, and he soon profited
amazingly by their contents, which set his own mind at work to add to
the stock of discovery already in existence. During the great plague in
1665, he was compelled to leave Cambridge for a rural retirement, though
the rustication was not of the ordinary kind: and while sitting in an
orchard, "his custom sometimes of an afternoon," an apple fell upon his
head with considerable violence.
[Illustration: 631]
Beginning to reason from this "_argumentum ad hominem_," he asked
himself why every other object did not at once fall to the earth; and
he even speculated on the possibility of the moon alighting heavily,
and leaving him in a literally moon-struck condition. It was some time
before he discovered the laws of gravitation by which the apple had been
carried to his head; and it is not true, as is commonly believed, that
he was struck all of a heap with the great truths that he has given
to posterity. They were published in 1687, at the expense of the Royal
Society, under the title of the "Principia;" and it is a curious fact,
that the critics of the day were not altogether pleased with it.
Some few pronounced it "a work that ought to be on every gentleman's
sideboard," and our old friend, the evening paper, patronised it as a
production that might "repay perusal;" * but some very learned, very
cold, very dull, and very stupid, "gentlemen of the press" "regretted
that Mr. Newton should have wasted so much time upon a work of such
a description." They were angry with him for what they considered his
levity in popularising serious matters, and advised him to keep his
hands off the moon, which was far too lofty a subject for him to meddle
with.
* A curious puzzle has been suggested by a celebrated
arithmetician, who has expressed a desire to know how many
of the works that the reviewers say will "repay perusal" are
likely to "repay the printer."
It has been noticed as a very unaccountable circumstance, that Newton
never made any important addition to scientific discovery after he had
completed his forty-fifth year; though he lived to be eighty-four, and
had therefore got beyond the period at which the poet's apostrophe, "_O
Vir be-eighty_," might have been addressed to him. He was exceedingly
fond of tobacco, and it is believed that he felt more at home in his
astronomical reflections when he could envelop himself in a cloud of
his own blowing. The old saying, that "There is no smoke without fire,"
received an apt confirmation from the fact that Newton was scarcely ever
without a pipe in his mouth during the most brilliant and blazing period
of his genius.
We now return to Anne, who, _anno_ 1705, went to Cambridge, where she
knighted Mr. Newton, who was the Mathematical Professor at Trinity
College. We feel we ought not to pass over in silence a piece of
wonderful self-denial on the part of a lawyer, which gives to this
reign a peculiarity that ought to make it stand apart from all that have
preceded or followed it. There had been formerly an old custom of making
a present to the Lord Chancellor on New Year's Day, at the cost of
the practitioners, who usually contributed about £1500, which previous
keepers of the royal conscience had most unconscientiously pocketed. To
the great honour of Lord Chancellor Cowper be it spoken, he declined the
proffered bonus, which appeared to him to resemble somewhat too closely
a bribe, and thus set an early example of disinterestedness, by which
the tone of judicial morality was improved, and has at last reached the
perfection we have at the present day the satisfaction of witnessing.
The subject of the Union between England and Scotland, which had
from time to time been discussed, was at length taken into serious
consideration at a place called the Cockpit, from which the reader
must not infer that it was considered as a sporting event, and that the
betting men were chiefly interested in promoting it. After a great deal
of disagreement, the preliminaries were ultimately settled, and on the
6th of March, 1707, the royal assent was given to the Act of Union.
There were no less than twenty-five articles, by the majority of
which the Scotch had been cunning enough to make the best bargain for
themselves; and they had taken care that if the British Lion got the
lion's share, they would at least secure the fox's perquisites. The
Union took effect from the 1st of May, and the queen went in state to
St. Paul's, to celebrate the event with due solemnity.
The 22nd of October, in the same year, derives a mournful interest from
the loss of poor Shovel, whose ship got scuttled on the rocks of Scilly,
and though Shovel himself went at it "poker and tongs" to save the
vessel, his own and two others were involved in the same* calamity.
On the 28th of October, 1708, the queen lost her husband, Prince George
of Denmark, who died of asthma at Kensington. His malady of course
prevented him from having a voice in public affairs; but, if he had had
one, he would certainly have been afraid of using it. He combined the
mildness of the moonbeam with the stupidity of the jackass, and not only
had he been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he had become one
entire spoon--fiddle-head and all--in his excessive pliability. He was,
however, one of those spoons that made very little stir, and his removal
from the busy scene of life left a gap that was scarcely perceptible.
Within little better than three months, both Houses of Parliament
addressed the queen, imploring her to marry again, which shows that they
did not estimate very highly her grief at the loss of her first husband.
Her majesty's reply contained no specific answer to the petition, but
intimated her belief that a decided response was not expected by the
applicants.
On the 5th of November in the same year a political parson, named Dr.
Sacheverel, began to raise the since famous cry of "Church in danger,"
which, like that of "Wolf," has been since so frequently and foolishly
set up, that it stands a chance of being neglected when it really
may require attention. The object of all the rant in which this noisy
churchman indulged, was to obtain popularity, flavoured with a spice of
martyrdom, and his opponents being silly enough to fall into the trap,
they kept up the ball for him with a vivacity that must have equalled
his most sanguine desire. Like a shuttlecock, that must drop to the
ground if its elevation is not secured by frequent blows, Sacheverel
would have tumbled irredeemably to the earth, if he had not been kept
aloft by the knocks he experienced. He was ultimately exalted into the
position of a delinquent standing to take his trial at the bar of
the House of Lords; and when he was found guilty of having preached a
sermon, warning the public of danger to the Church, he had reached the
highest point of glory in the estimation of the large mass of people who
are under the influence of bigotry and prejudice. He was condemned to
forbear from preaching for three years; but his sentence not excluding
him from accepting a good living, one was placed at his disposal
immediately afterwards. The reverend sufferer for conscience' sake
eventually got something still better, in the form of the living of St.
Andrew's, Holbom, where, finding it no longer worth his while to quarrel
with the Government, he sought a vent for his turbulent disposition
in repeated rows with his parishioners. His first sermon after his new
appointment sold forty thousand copies, and a little calculation will
give some idea of what the reverend gentleman's martyrdom brought him
in from first to last in the shape of livings, copyrights, and other
contingencies that arise out of a well-managed popularity.
In the latter end of 1711, some very disreputable disclosures, in which
the Duke of Marlborough and Mr. Walpole were chiefly involved, were
brought before the House of Commons. Marlborough, not satisfied with
his pay, pensions, and other emoluments, had been taking a percentage on
every transaction in which he had been confidentially concerned; while
Walpole, in his capacity of Secretary at War, had been playing the same
game as the illustrious soldier. Marlborough and his wife were in the
enjoyment of upwards of £60,000 a year, so that there was no excuse for
them on the score of poverty; and even if they had been in want of cash,
they might have done what, as we have already hinted, their successors
have done since, namely, shown Blenheim to the public, and shared
with their own domestics the daily proceeds. The duke and duchess were
deprived of their offices, while Mr. Walpole was expelled from the House
of Commons, amid a chorus of "Serve him right!" from nearly the whole of
his fellow-countrymen.
Marlborough was further accused by Lord Paulet of having knocked his own
officers on the head, in order to be enabled to sell their commissions;
but this would seem to have been a most superfluous piece of atrocity,
for he might have easily got their heads knocked off in a more regular
and reputable manner, by exposing them to the blows of the enemy. The
duke challenged Lord Paulet for having made this assertion; but after an
interchange of hostile messages, the seconds contrived so to complicate
the business as to lose sight of the real matter of dispute, and the
duel was prevented. The reputation of Marlborough was so damaged by what
had taken place, that he obtained permission of the queen to go abroad,
and he crossed over to Ostend, in the vague hope that a sea voyage might
have the same effect it is said to produce on a bottle of Madeira, and
cause an improvement of his quality.
The disgrace of the British general had been fortunately delayed till
the period when his services were no longer required, for the treaty of
Utrecht, which was signed on the 30th of March, 1713, secured the peace
of Europe. By this celebrated arrangement the Protestant succession in
England was formally recognised; the crowns of France and Spain were
split into two, giving those countries one apiece; the harbour of
Dunkirk was demolished, and other little matters of difference settled
to the satisfaction of all parties, except the Emperor of Germany, who
stood aside in a corner by himself, objecting to everything.
Just before the close of the year, while political matters of importance
were on foot, the gout laid Queen Anne by the heels, at Windsor, and the
funds suffered in sympathy with the toe of royalty. There was a rapid
run upon the bank; but the gout abating so far as to enable her majesty
to bear the weight of a shoe, the pressure was relieved immediately
and the country stood much as before, which may also be said of the
sovereign.
[Illustration: 635]
On the 2nd of March, 1714, the queen came down in a sedan to open
Parliament. Her use of the chair arose from her being very chary of
her foot, which retained some of the effects of the havoc that gout had
performed upon it. In the course of her speech she took the opportunity
of assuring the House that the Protestant succession was not in danger,
and the House of Commons subsequently assured itself of the same
fact--as far as words could go--in a resolution that was carried by a
large majority. These repeated assurances proved more than anything else
that the Protestant succession was not quite so safe as the queen
and the Parliament could have desired, and a number of precautionary
measures directed against the Pretender and the Jacobites furnished
still stronger proofs that the Government really entertained the fears
it seemed so very anxious to repudiate.
On the 29th of July, 1714, the queen, who was almost tired out by the
disputes of her ministers, fell into a lethargy, and the Council, who
had been quarrelling in the Cockpit, adjourned to Kensington.
At this critical juncture, an individual of the name of Mr. Craggs
suddenly started on to the canvas of history as a writer of a letter to
the Elector of Brunswick, apprising him of the perilous condition of
the queen, and telling him that his succession would be quietly provided
for. On the 1st of August, poor Anne expired of dropsy, in the fiftieth
year of her age, the thirteenth of her reign, the third of her gout, and
the first of her lethargy.
In person, Anne was of the middle size, as far as height was concerned;
but if we look at her as a piece of measurement goods, and take her by
her bulk, we shall have to put upon her a very different estimate. It
cannot be said that she was one of Nature's favourites, though Nature
had certainly made much of her, and perhaps more than the queen herself
would have desired. Her hair was dark brown, and her complexion a sort
of clear mahogany, while her nose standing prominently out from a
very round face, gave her something the appearance of a perpendicular
sun-dial. Her voice was as clear as a bell, and her tongue as active as
the clapper. Her capacity was good, but her acquirements miserably
few, and her mind therefore presented a resemblance to a fine site
for building, which had remained uncovered for want of the necessary
capital. She was very fond of hunting, but she had a very odd way
of showing her fondness, for she used to follow the hounds in a pony
chaise, which of course became a vehicle for a good deal of merriment.
All historians concur in saying that she lived very fast, but whether it
was in eating or in drinking that her weakness, or rather her strength,
was shown, the various authorities are not yet agreed upon. She was a
mother to her people, a master to her husband, a pattern to her own sex,
and a terror to ours. She was obstinately attached to her own way, and
it was only the fortunate feebleness of her intellect that prevented
her from developing herself into that gigantic nuisance, a strong-minded
woman. Though her own mental powers were not sufficient to throw lustre
on her reign, it was rendered glorious by numerous men of learning
and genius who were the contemporaries of her majesty. We have already
enjoyed a paragraph or two with Newton, and we must not forget Locke,
who furnished so many keys to the understanding and the difficult arts
of government.
Considering the fuss that has lately been made about the merit of having
originated penny and twopenny publications, we ought not to forget that
the modern claimants to the honour of the idea did but steal it from
Steele, whose "Tatler," started in 1709, was followed by the "Spectator"
and the "Guardian." To the more recent projectors of cheap periodicals
we are quite ready to allow the originality of their assertion, that
their speculations are not intended for their own profit, but to fulfil
exclusively the great purpose of benefiting the community. In compliance
with these large hearted and benevolent intentions, we may, we suppose,
look with confidence to the day when the produce will be paid over for
the benefit of the people, whom the existing race of cheap periodical
proprietors love so very much better than they do themselves, if we are
to believe their protestations and their prospectuses.
We may at all events say for the reign of Anne, that it was much
freer than the reign of Victoria from these wondrous professions of
disinterestedness, which we have been waiting in vain, for the last ten
years, to see carried into practice.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH. GEORGE THE FIRST.
[Illustration: 637]
IT is not without some feeling of humiliation and regret that the
historian finds England so badly off for a sovereign as to be obliged to
borrow one from abroad, and her throne in the seventeenth century, like
her stage of the nineteenth, to be indebted for its support to foreign
adaptations. The British Lion must have been a poor cub in those
degenerate days, for there does not seem to have been a roar of
remonstrance from that indifferent beast when the Elector of Hanover
quietly took the crown from the royal bandbox, caused it to be altered
to suit a gentleman's instead of a lady's head, and, using the sceptre
for a walking stick, coolly stepped into the kingly office.
This somewhat more than middle-aged gentleman was the eldest son
of Ernest Augustus, first Elector--and anything but an independent
elector--of Brunswick, and of the Princess Sophia, grand-daughter
to James the First, through whom he had pretensions to a good title,
though, oddly enough, the Stuart family being repudiated, the only
legitimate portion of his claim was that which the country refused to
recognise. It seemed, however, that England, after its numerous wars
of succession, which had formed a long succession of wars, was resolved
upon putting up with anything for peace and quietness--a contented
disposition of which we have long experienced the blessings, inasmuch as
it has given us a family of sovereigns under whose constitutional
sway the country has enjoyed an unexampled degree of prosperity and
happiness.