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of shouting pikemen. She asked him what he thought of the army. "It is," he said, “a brave army." There was something in his tone or manner which showed that he meant more than his words expressed. The queen insisted on his speaking out. 'Madam," he said, " 'your grace's army is brave indeed. I have not in the world the name of a coward, and yet I am the greatest coward here. All these fine fellows are praying that the enemy may land, and that there may be a battle; and I, who know that enemy well, cannot think of such a battle without dismay." De Vere was doubtless in the right. The Duke of Parma, indeed, would not have subjected our country; but it is by no means improbable that, if he had effected a landing, the island would have been the theatre of a war greatly resembling that which Hannibal waged in Italy, and that the invaders would not have been driven out till many cities had been sacked, till many counties had been wasted, and till multitudes of our stout-hearted rustics and artisans had perished in the carnage of days not less terrible than those of Thrasymene and Cannæ.

While the pamphlets of Trenchard and Somers were in every hand, the Parliament met.

The words with which the king opened the session brought the great question to a speedy issue. "The circumstances," he said, "of affairs abroad are such, that I think myself obliged to tell you my opinion, that, for the present, England cannot be safe without a land force; and I hope we shall not give those that mean us ill the opportunity of effecting that under the notion of a peace which they could not bring to pass by war.'

The speech was well received; for that Parliament was thoroughly well affected to the government. The members had, like the rest of the community, been put into high good-humor by the return of peace and by the revi val of trade. They were indeed still under the influence of the feelings of the preceding day; and they had still in their ears the thanksgiving sermons and thanksgiving anthems: all the bonfires had hardly burned out; and the rows of lamps and candles had hardly been taken down. Many, therefore, who did not assent to all that the king had said, joined in a loud hum of approbation when he concluded.* As soon as the Commons had retired to their

* L'Hermitage, Dec... 1697.

own chamber, they resolved to present an address assuring his majesty that they would stand by him in peace as firmly as they had stood by him in war. Seymour, who had, during the autumn, been going from shire to shire, for the purpose of inflaming the country gentlemen against the ministry, ventured to make some uncourtly remarks; but he gave so much offence that he was hissed down, and did not venture to demand a division.*

The friends of the government were greatly elated by the proceedings of this day. During the following week hopes were entertained that the Parliament might be induced to vote a peace establishment of thirty thousand men. But these hopes were delusive. The hum with which William's speech had been received, and the hiss which had drowned the voice of Seymour, had been misunderstood. The Commons were indeed warmly attached to the king's person and government, and quick to resent any disrespectful mention of his name; but the members who were disposed to let him have even half as many troops as he thought necessary were a minority. On the 10th of December his speech was considered in a committee of the whole House, and Harley came forward as the chief of the opposition. He did not, like some hot-headed men among both the Whigs and the Tories, contend that there ought to be no regular soldiers, but he maintained that it was unnecessary to keep up, after the peace of Ryswick, a larger force than had been kept up after the peace of Nimeguen. He moved, therefore, that the military establishment should be reduced to what it had been in the year 1680. The ministers found that, on this occasion, neither their honest nor their dishonest supporters could be trusted; for, in the minds of the most respectable men, the prejudice against standing armies was of too long growth and too deep root to be at once removed; and those means by which the court might, at another time, have secured the help of venal politicians, were, at that moment, of less avail than usual. The Triennial Act

was beginning to produce its effects. A general election was at hand. Every member who had constituents was desirous to please them; and it was certain that no member would please his constituents by voting for a standing army; and the resolution moved by Harley was strongly

*Commons' Journal, Dec 3. 1697.

L'Hermitage, Der 7.

supported by Howe, was carried, was reported to the House on the following day, and, after a debate in which several orators made a great display of their knowledge of ancient and modern history, was confirmed by one hundred and eighty-five votes to one hundred and fortyeight.*

In this debate the fear and hatred with which many of the best friends of the government regarded Sunderland were unequivocally manifested. "It is easy," such was the language of several members, "it is easy to guess by whom that unhappy sentence was inserted in the speech from the throne. No person well acquainted with the disastrous and disgraceful history of the last two reigns can doubt who the minister is who is now whispering evil counsel in the ear of a third master." The chamberlain, thus fiercely attacked, was very feebly defended. There was indeed in the House of Commons a small knot of his creatures, and they were men not destitute of a certain kind of ability, but their moral character was as bad as his. One of them was the late Secretary of the Treasury, Guy, who had been turned out of his place for corruption. Another was the late speaker, Trevor, who had, from the chair, put the question whether he was or was not a rogue, and had been forced to pronounce that the ayes had it. A third was Charles Duncombe, long the greatest goldsmith of Lombard Street, and now one of the greatest land-owners of the North Riding of Yorkshire. Possessed of a private fortune equal to that of any duke, he had not thought it beneath him to accept the place of Cashier of the Excise, and had perfectly understood how to make that place lucrative; but he had recently been ejected from office by Montague, who thought, with good reason, that he was not a man to be trusted. Such advocates as Trevor, Guy, and Duncombe could do little for Sunderland in debate. The statesmen of the Junto would do nothing for him. They had undoubtedly owed much to him. His influence, cooperating with their own great abilities and with the force of circumstances, had induced the king to commit the direction of the internal administration of the realm to a Whig cabinet. But the distrust which the old traitor and

* L'Hermitage, Dec. 18. Dec. 14. Journals.

apostate inspired was not to be overcome. The ministers could not be sure that he was not, while smiling on them, whispering in confidential tones to them, pouring out, as it might seem, all his heart to them, really calumniating them in the closet or suggesting to the opposition some ingenious mode of attacking them. They had very recently been thwarted by him. They were bent on making Wharton a secretary of state, and had therefore looked forward with impatience to the retirement of Trumball, who was indeed hardly equal to the duties of his great place. To their surprise and mortification they learned, on the eve of the meeting of Parliament, that Trumball had suddenly resigned, and Vernon, the under-secretary, had been summoned to Kensington, and had returned thence with the seals. Vernon was a zealous Whig, and not personally unacceptable to the chiefs of his party. But the lord-chancellor, the first lord of the treasury, and the first lord of the admiralty, might not unnaturally think it strange that a post of the highest importance should have been filled up in opposition to their known wishes, and with a haste and secrecy which plainly showed that the king did not wish to be annoyed by their remonstrances. The lord-chamberlain pretended that he had done all in his power to serve Wharton. But the Whig chiefs were not men to be duped by the professions of so notorious a liar. Montague bitterly described him as a fire-ship, dangerous at best, but on the whole most dangerous as a consort, and least dangerous when showing hostile colors. Smith, who was the most efficient of Montague's lieutenants, both in the Treasury and in the Parliament, cordially sympathized with his leader. Sunderland was therefore left undefended. His enemies became bolder and more vehement every day. Sir Thomas Dyke, member for Grinstead, and Lord Norris, son of the Earl of Abingdon, talked of moving an address requesting the king to banish forever from the court and the council that evil adviser who had misled his majesty's royal uncles, had betrayed the liberties of the people, and had abjured the Protestant religion.

Sunderland had been uneasy from the first moment at which his name had been mentioned in the House of Commons. He was now in an agony of terror. The whole enigma of his life- an enigma of which many unsatisfactory and some absurd explanations have been propounded, is at

once solved if we consider him as a man insatiably greedy of wealth and power, and yet nervously apprehensive of danger. He rushed with ravenous eagerness at every bait which was offered to his cupidity. But any ominous shadow, any threatening murmur, sufficed to stop him in his full career, and to make him change his course or bury himself in a hiding-place. He ought to have thought himself fortunate indeed, when, after all the crimes which he had committed, he found himself again enjoying his picture-gallery and his woods at Althorpe, sitting in the House of Lords, admitted to the royal closet, pensioned from the privy purse, consulted about the most important affairs of state. But his ambition and avarice would not suffer him to rest

till he held a high and lucrative office till he was a regent of the kingdom. The consequence was, as might have been expected, a violent clamor; and that clamor he had not the spirit to face.

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His friends assured him that the threatened address would not be carried. Perhaps a hundred and sixty members might vote for it, but hardly more. "A hundred and sixty!" he cried : no minister can stand against a hundred and sixty. I am sure that I will not try." It must be remembered that a hundred and sixty votes in a house of five hundred and thirteen members would correspond to more than two hundred votes in the present House of Commons, a very formidable minority on the unfavorable side of a question deeply affecting the personal character of a public man. William, unwilling to part with a servant whom he knew to be unprincipled, but whom he did not consider as more unprincipled than many other English politicians, and in whom he had found much of a very useful sort of knowledge, and of a very useful sort of ability, tried to induce the ministry to come to the rescue. It was particularly important to soothe Wharton, who had been exasperated by his recent disappointment, and had probably exasperated the other members of the Junto. He was sent for to the palace. The king himself entreated him to be reconciled to the lord-chamberlain, and to prevail on the Whig leaders in the Lower House to oppose any motion which Dyke or Norris might make. Wharton answered in a manner which made it clear that from him no help was to be expected. Sunderland's terrors now became insupportable. He had requested some of his friends to come