ANTE-LIBRARY.

No. 1.

ADMIRAL DE RUYTER.In armour, holding a truncheon. The other arm akimbo. Curtain.BORN 1607, DIED 1676.

ADMIRAL DE RUYTER.

In armour, holding a truncheon. The other arm akimbo. Curtain.

BORN 1607, DIED 1676.

BORN at Flushing, of which town his father was a burgher. As a mere child Michael de Ruyter was determined to be a sailor, and gained the paternal consent that he should go to sea as cabin-boy when only eleven years of age. He rose quickly in his profession, was made a pilot when still very young for the post, and passed through the intermediate grades, till he gained the command of a vessel. In 1635 he made several campaigns in the East Indies, and in 1645 was sent as Vice-Admiral in command of a Dutch fleet to assist the Portuguese against the Spaniards. After two years’ retirement from service, De Ruyter engaged the Algerine corsairs off Sarley, and gained a complete victory. The Moors, who were spectators of the conflict, insisted on his entering the town in triumph, on a richly caparisoned horse, followed by a long retinue, including many of the captive pirates.

These ‘plagues of the ocean,’ as they were justly termed, continued to give De Ruyter much annoyance, but he was usually successful in his encounters with them, and in one fierce combat he seized and hanged one of the most notoriously cruel and rapacious of these ‘buccaneer sea-dogs.’ In 1659 he was sent, by order of the States-General, to the assistance of Denmark against Sweden, an enterprise in which he distinguished himself greatly, and gained the gratitude of the King of Denmark, who complimented him highly, and granted him a pension. On his return home De Ruyter was received with great honour, and promoted. He then proceeded to the coast of Africa, to look after some Dutch colonies, of which England had taken possession. England and the United Provinces were now in constant collision, and the Dutch Admiral found a noble and well-matched foe in the gallant commander Prince Rupert, soldier, sailor, and artist. De Ruyter was afterwards joined in command with Van Tromp, a worthy colleague, but of no friendly spirit. During the time that negotiations were pending for peace with England, at Breda, De Ruyter resolved, so to speak, to hasten his opportunities; he therefore bore down on Sheerness, burned all the available shipping, and, continuing his work of destruction up the river Thames, approached too near London to be agreeable to the more peaceable portion of the citizens.

In 1671 he had sole command of his country’s fleet, against the combined forces of England (under the Duke of York) and France (under the Comte D’Estrées), and it is but just to record that he was frequently successful, but invariably brave. Indeed, the French Admiral wrote to Colbert, the Minister, at home, ‘I would lay down my life for the glory that De Ruyter has gained.’ In 1675 the Spaniards had recourse to their old enemies, the Dutch, to ask assistance for the inhabitants of Messina, againstthe French, and De Ruyter was despatched to Sicily for that purpose. A terrible sea-fight ensued, the French being commanded by Duquesne, a brave and efficient officer; many vessels were sunk and destroyed on both sides, and the carnage was terrible.

At the commencement of the action the gallant De Ruyter had his left foot carried away, and a few moments afterwards his right leg was shattered by a shell. Writhing with pain, and covered with blood, the brave sailor remained on deck, and issued his orders, even to the bitter end of the battle. It was only when he became aware that five of his vessels, including his own, were about to fall into the hands of the enemy, that he could be prevailed upon to give the word for retreat. Favoured by the approaching darkness, he made the port of Syracuse, and in that town he died of his wounds. His heart was carried to Amsterdam, where the States-General caused a noble mausoleum to be erected to the memory of this brave and patriotic commander. His name is still venerated in his native country.

The King of Spain sent De Ruyter the title of Duke, but the patent did not arrive till after his death, and his children wisely refrained from pressing any claim to rank, which would have been incongruous in a Republic; and they were more proud of their father’s simple name than of any foreign and alien dignity. LouisXIV.expressed his regret for the death of this brave commander in public, and when reminded that he had lost a dangerous enemy, he replied generously, ‘I always mourn the death of a great and brave man.’ A medal was struck in honour of Admiral de Ruyter, and the following distich was written on his name:—

‘Terruit Hispanos Ruyter,terterruit Anglos,Terruit Gallos,territus ipse ruit.’

‘Terruit Hispanos Ruyter,terterruit Anglos,

Terruit Gallos,territus ipse ruit.’

It will not be necessary that the reader should be a scholarto enableherto perceive the anagrammatic and punning nature of these lines, but we subjoin a very ingenious rendering of the same, done into English by a friend in what he terms ‘a free-and-easy translation’—

‘Ruyter thrice the Spaniards routed,Daunted thrice the British foe,Thrice o’ercame the Gallic squadrons,Struck his flag, and went below.’

‘Ruyter thrice the Spaniards routed,

Daunted thrice the British foe,

Thrice o’ercame the Gallic squadrons,

Struck his flag, and went below.’

No. 2.

WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE, AFTERWARDS WILLIAM III. OF ENGLAND.In armour. His hand resting on a black and white dog. Helmet lying on the table.DIED 1702.By Wissing.

WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE, AFTERWARDS WILLIAM III. OF ENGLAND.

In armour. His hand resting on a black and white dog. Helmet lying on the table.

DIED 1702.

By Wissing.

HE was the son of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange (and grandson of Henry Frederic, the Stadtholder), by Princess Mary, daughter of CharlesI.of England. He married, in 1677, Mary, daughter of JamesII., and in 1688 came over to England, and ascended the throne as King Consort. He left no children.

No.3.

ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, FIRST EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.Fawn-coloured Chancellor’s robes. Wig. Sitting in an arm-chair.BORN 1621, DIED 1683.By Greenhill.

ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, FIRST EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.

Fawn-coloured Chancellor’s robes. Wig. Sitting in an arm-chair.

BORN 1621, DIED 1683.

By Greenhill.

SON of Sir John Cooper of Rockbourne, county Hants, by Anne, daughter and sole heir of Sir Anthony Ashley, Bart., of Wimborne St. Giles, county Dorset, where the future Chancellor was born.

In his Autobiography he describes his mother of ‘low stature,’ as was also the aforesaid Sir Anthony, ‘a large mind, but his person of the lowest,’ while his own father was ‘lovely and graceful in mind and person, neither too high nor too low,’ therefore the pigmy body of which Dryden speaks must have been inherited from the maternal side.

Sir Anthony was delighted with his grandson; and although at the time of the infant’s birth the septuagenarian was on the point of espousing a young wife, his affection was in nowise diminished for his daughter, or her boy.

Lady Cooper and her father died within six months of each other. Sir John married again, a daughter of Sir Charles Morrison, of Cassiobury, county Herts, by whom he had several children. He died in 1631, leaving the little Anthony bereft of both parents, with large but much-encumbered estates, and lawsuits pending.

Many of his own relations being most inimical to his interests, Anthony went with his brother and sister to reside with Sir Daniel Norton, one of his trustees, who—we once more quote the Autobiography—‘took me to London, thinking my presence might work some compassion on those who ought to have been my friends.’

He refers to the suit in which they were now engaged. The boy must have had a winning way with him (as the old saying goes), for, when only thirteen, he went of his own accord to Noy, the Solicitor-General, and entreated his assistance as the friend of his grandfather. Noy was deeply touched, took up the case warmly, and gained one suit in the Court of Wards, stoutly refusing to take any fee whatever.

After Sir Daniel Norton’s death, Anthony went to live with an uncle, Mr. Tooker, near Salisbury, though it was supposed Lady Norton would gladly have kept him under her roof, with a view to a match with one of her daughters. He says himself: ‘Had it not been for the state of my litigious fortune, the young lady’s sweet disposition had made me look no farther for a wife.’

In 1637 he went to Exeter College, Oxford, where he ‘made such rapid strides in learning as to be accounted the most prodigious youth in the whole University.’ By his own showing, he was popular with his companions and well satisfied with himself,—indeed, a general spirit of self-complacency pervades these pages. In little more than a year he went to Lincoln’s Inn, where he appears to have found the theatres, fencing galleries, and the like, more to his taste than the study of the law.

An astrologer who was in old Sir Anthony’s house at the time of the grandson’s birth cast the horoscope, and to the fulfilment of these predictions may probably be attributed young Anthony’s own predilection for the study of astrology in later days. The horoscope in question foreboded feudsand trouble at an early age; and some years afterwards the same magician, foreseeing through the medium of the planets that a certain Miss Roberts (a neighbour without any apparent prospect of wealth) would become a great heiress, he endeavoured to persuade his pupil to marry her. The lady did eventually come into a considerable fortune; but Mr. Tooker, who was not over-credulous, had other views at the time for his nephew; and accordingly, at eighteen, Ashley Cooper became the husband of Margaret, the daughter of my Lord Keeper Coventry, ‘a woman of excellent beauty and incomparable gifts.’

The young couple resided with the bride’s father in London, Sir Anthony, as he now was, paying flying visits to Dorsetshire. He was subject to fits, but even this infirmity redounded to his advantage, according to his own version; how that being in Gloucestershire on one occasion, and taken suddenly ill, ‘the women admired his courage and patience under suffering,’ and he contrived to ingratiate himself with the electors of Tewkesbury to some purpose.

He gives us an amusing and characteristic description of how he won the favour of the electors and bailiffs of this town by his conduct at a public dinner, where he and a certain Sir Henry Spiller were guests, and sat opposite each other. The knight, a crafty, perverse, rich man, a Privy Councillor, had rendered himself very obnoxious in the hunting-field, and, at the banquet aforementioned, began the dinner with all the affronts and dislikes he could possibly put on the bailiffs and their entertainment, which enraged and disgusted them, and this rough raillery he continued. ‘At length I thought it my duty to defend the cause of those whose bread I was eating, which I did with so good success, sparing not the bitterest retorts, that I had a complete victory. This gained the townsmen’s hearts, and their wives’ to boot. I was made free of the town, and at the next Parliament (though absent at thetime), was chosen burgess by an unanimous vote, and that without a penny charge.’

Sir Anthony had strange humours: he loved a frolic dearly. He had a confidential servant who resembled him so much that, when dressed in his master’s left-offs, the lackey was often mistaken for his better. This worthy was a clever man-milliner, and had many small accomplishments which made him popular in country houses, and his master confesses that he often listened to the valet’s gossip, and made use of it, in the exercise of palmistry and fortune-telling, which produced great jollity, and ‘of which I did not make so bad a use as many would have done.’ With this account he finishes the record of his youth. A time of business followed, ‘and the rest of my life is not without great mixture of public concerns, and intermingled with the history of the times.’

Sir Anthony sat for Tewkesbury in 1639, but that Parliament was hastily dissolved. He raised a regiment of horse for the King’s service, and occupied places of trust in his own county; but, believing himself unjustly treated and slighted by the Court, he listened to the overtures of the Parliament, and returned to Dorsetshire as colonel of a regiment in their army.

In 1649 he lost the wife he dearly loved, to whose memory he pays a most touching tribute in his Diary. But she left no living child, and before the expiration of the year the widower had espoused Lady Frances Cecil, daughter of the Earl of Exeter, a Royalist.

The friendship of the Protector and Sir Anthony was of a most fitful and spasmodic nature,—now fast allies, now at daggers drawn. Some writers affirm that, on the death of his second wife, he asked the hand of one of Cromwell’s daughters; others, that he advised the Protector to assume the Crown, who offered it to him in turn!

He held many appointments under the reigning Government,and continued to sit in Parliament; but having, with many other Members, withstood the encroachments of the great man, Oliver endeavoured to prevent his return, and, not being able to do so, forbade him to enter the House of Commons. (See the history of the times.) The Members, with Ashley Cooper at their head, insisted on re-admittance. Again ousted, again admitted; nothing but quarrels and reconciliations. The fact was, that Sir Anthony was too great a card to lose hold of entirely. He had still a commission in the Parliamentary army, and a seat at the Privy Council, circumstances that in nowise prevented him carrying on a correspondence with the King ‘over the water.’ Indeed, he was accused of levying men for the Royal service; arrested, acquitted; sat again in Parliament under Richard Cromwell, joined the Presbyterian party to bring back Charles, and when the Parliament declared for the King, Sir Anthony was one of the twelve Members sent over to Breda to invite his return. While in Holland, Ashley Cooper had a fall from his carriage, and a narrow escape of being killed. Clarendon (there was no love lost between them) says it was hoped that by his alliance (as his third wife) with a daughter of Lord Spencer of Wormleighton, a niece of the Earl of Southampton, ‘his slippery humour would be restrained by his uncle.’

He now took a leading part in politics, was appointed one of the Judges of the Regicides, created Baron Ashley at the Coronation, and afterwards became Chancellor of the Exchequer, Under-Treasurer, and further high offices, and in 1672 Lord Cooper of Pawlett, county Somerset, and Earl of Shaftesbury; and so quickly did honours rain on him, that the same year saw him Lord High Chancellor of England. He appears to have given great umbrage to many of the law officers by his haughty bearing. We are told ‘he was the gloriousest man alive; he said he would teach the bar that a man of sense was above all their forms; and that he wasimpatient to show them he was a superior judge to all who had ever sat before on the marble chair.’

He maddened the gentlemen of the long robe by his vagaries and innovations, and defiance of precedents. He wore an ash-coloured gown instead of the regulation black, assigning as his reason that black was distinctive of the barrister-at-law, and he had never been called to the bar.

He went to keep Hilary term ‘on a horse richly caparisoned, his grooms walking beside him,’ all his officers ordered to ride on horseback, ‘as in the olden time.’

No doubt the good Dorsetshire country gentleman, the lover of sport and of horse-flesh, who had been accused of regaling his four-footed favourites on wine and cheese-cakes, had a mischievous pleasure in seeing the uneasy and scared looks of his worshipful brethren, some of whom perhaps had never sat on a saddle till that day.

At all events, poor Judge Twisden was laid in the dust, and he swore roundly no Lord Chancellor should ever reduce him to such a plight again. Shaftesbury lived at this time in great pomp at Exeter House, in the Strand, and was in high favour with his Royal master, who visited him at Wimborne St. Giles during the Plague, when the Court was at Salisbury.

At Oxford, when Parliament sat, he made acquaintance with the celebrated John Locke, who afterwards became an inmate of his patron’s house, his tried friend, and medical adviser.

The situations of public employment which Shaftesbury obtained for this eminent man were, unfortunately, in the end, the source of difficulty and distress rather than advantage. The history of the Cabal, of which he was the mainspring, and of which he formed the fourth letter (Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley, Lauderdale), would suffice for his biography during the five years of its life. But it must neverbe forgotten that to Shaftesbury England owes the passing of the Habeas Corpus Bill, as likewise one for making judges independent of the Crown.

The reader must seek elsewhere, and elect for himself, whether Shaftesbury was or was not guilty of all the plots and conspiracies against King and country of which he has been accused. To the Duke of York he made himself most obnoxious. He was instrumental in establishing the Test Act, which made Roman Catholics ineligible for public offices; he was, moreover, the champion of the Exclusion Bill, and opposed James’s marriage with Mary of Modena; and there is little doubt that the Duke did all to undermine Shaftesbury’s favour with the King.

There was always an element of humour mixed up with his doings, even when fortune frowned on him. Finding that the King meant to unseat him from the Woolsack, and that his successor was already named, he sought the Royal presence. The King was about to proceed to chapel. The fallen favourite told Charles he knew what his Majesty’s intentions were, but he trusted he was not to be dismissed with contempt. ‘Cod’s fish, my lord,’ replied the easy-going monarch, ‘I will not do it with any circumstances that may look like a slight,’ upon which the ex-Minister asked permission to carry the Great Seals of Office for the last time before the King into chapel, and then to his own house till the evening.

Granted permission, Shaftesbury, with a smiling countenance, entered the sacred building, and spoiled the devotions of all his enemies, during that service at least. Lord Keeper Finch, who was to succeed him, was at his wit’s end, believing Shaftesbury reinstated, and all (and there were many) who wished his downfall were in despair.

The whole account is most amusing and characteristic, including the manner in which the Seals were actually resigned, but we have not space to say more. Shaftesbury was indeednow ‘out of suits with fortune.’ In 1677 he, with other noblemen, was committed to the Tower for contempt of the authority of Parliament, and although other prisoners were soon liberated, he was kept in confinement thirteen months. On regaining his freedom he was made Lord President of the Council, but, opposing the Duke of York’s succession, was dismissed from that post in a few months. In 1681 he was again apprehended, on false testimony, and once more sent to the Tower on charge of treason, and that without a trial.

His papers were searched, but nothing could be found against him except one document, ‘neither writ nor signed by his hand.’ The jurors brought in the bill ‘Ignoramus,’ which pleased the Protestant portion of the community, who believed the Earl suffered in the cause of religion.

Bonfires were kindled in his honour; one of the witnesses against him narrowly escaped from the fury of the mob; a medal was struck to commemorate his enlargement. Hence the poem of that name from the pen of Dryden, suggested by the King. On regaining his liberty, Shaftesbury went to reside at his house in Aldersgate Street, when, finding his enemies were still working against him, he took the friendly advice of Lord Mordaunt, and after lyingperduin another part of London for a night or two, he set off for Harwich,en routefor Holland, with a young relative, both disguised as Presbyterian ministers, with long black perukes. Adverse winds detained them at a small inn, when one day the landlady entered the elder gentleman’s room, and, carefully shutting the door, told him that the chambermaid had just been into his companion’s apartment, and instead of a swarthy, sour-faced dominie, had found a beautiful fair-haired youth. ‘Be assured, sir,’ said the good woman, ‘that I will neither ask questions, nor tell tales, but I cannot answer for a young girl’s discretion.’

The man who had been so hunted of late was touched,thanked the good soul, and bade his handsome young friend make love to the maid, till the wind changed.

The fugitives, however, had an extra run for it, as it was, for the hounds were on their track. Fortunately the capture of one of Shaftesbury’s servants, dressed like his master, gave them time to embark.

They arrived at Amsterdam after a stormy passage, where Shaftesbury hired a large house, with the intention of remaining some time, and all the more that he found himself treated with great respect by all the principal inhabitants. But misfortune pursued him. He was seized with gout in the stomach, and expired on the 1st of January 1683. His body was conveyed to England, and landed at Poole, whither the gentlemen of his native county flocked, uninvited, to pay a tribute to his memory, by attending the remains to Wimborne St. Giles.

We leave the sentence to be pronounced on the first Earl of Shaftesbury to wiser heads than ours, but one remark we feel authorised to make,—that we are not called on to believe him as black as Dryden has painted him, since we cannot but question the justice of the pen that described CharlesII.as the God-like David, in the far-famed poem of ‘Absalom (the Duke of Monmouth) and Achitophel’ (Shaftesbury), which loads the latter with invective:—

‘A name to all succeeding ages curst,For close designs and crooked counsels fit,Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit,Restless, unfixed in principles and place,In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace;A fiery soul, which working out its way,Fretted the pigmy body to decay....Great wits are sure to madness close allied;...Oh! had he been content to serve the CrownWith virtues only proper to the gown,’ etc. etc.

‘A name to all succeeding ages curst,

For close designs and crooked counsels fit,

Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit,

Restless, unfixed in principles and place,

In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace;

A fiery soul, which working out its way,

Fretted the pigmy body to decay....

Great wits are sure to madness close allied;...

Oh! had he been content to serve the Crown

With virtues only proper to the gown,’ etc. etc.

There spoke the Laureate, and woe indeed to the manwho had such a poet as Dryden for his censor! Yet for all this abuse, which he had written to order, Dryden could not help bearing testimony as follows:—

‘Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge,The Statesman we abhor, but praise the Judge;In Israel’s courts ne’er sate an AbbethdinWith more discerning eyes or hands more clean,Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress,Swift of despatch, and easy of access.’

‘Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge,

The Statesman we abhor, but praise the Judge;

In Israel’s courts ne’er sate an Abbethdin

With more discerning eyes or hands more clean,

Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress,

Swift of despatch, and easy of access.’

Lord Shaftesbury was kind and charitable to the poor in his neighbourhood, and was very hospitable. In 1669 Cosimo de’ Medici, being in England, went to St. Giles’s, and was so much pleased with his reception, that he kept up a correspondence with his English friend, and sent him annually a present of Tuscan wine. It has been adduced by some, in evidence of his immorality, that on one occasion, while still in favour with Charles, the King said to him, ‘I believe, Shaftesbury, you are the greatest profligate in England.’ The Earl bowed low, and replied, ‘For a subject, sire, I believe I am.’ It would be hard to condemn a man on the testimony of a repartee.

No. 4.

WILLIAM, FIRST EARL COWPER, FIRST LORD CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.In Chancellor’s robes.BORN 1664, DIED 1723.By Sir Godfrey Kneller.

WILLIAM, FIRST EARL COWPER, FIRST LORD CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.

In Chancellor’s robes.

BORN 1664, DIED 1723.

By Sir Godfrey Kneller.

No. 5.

JOHN, FIRST LORD SOM̅ERS, LORD CHANCELLOR.Violet velvet coat. Lace cravat. Fall wig.BORN 1652, DIED 1716.By Sir Godfrey Kneller.

JOHN, FIRST LORD SOM̅ERS, LORD CHANCELLOR.

Violet velvet coat. Lace cravat. Fall wig.

BORN 1652, DIED 1716.

By Sir Godfrey Kneller.

THE fine old cathedral city of Worcester is so justly proud of its noble citizen, the first Lord Som̅ers, that different districts have contested the honour of his birthplace; but the best evidence goes to prove that he was born at his father’s estate of Whiteladies, which at that period was not included in the precincts of the city.

The house was a dissolved Carthusian nunnery, and had been granted to the Som̅ers family at the time of the Reformation.

For two generations before the birth of Lord Som̅ers, the name was spelled without the finals, which probably gave rise to the supposition that it had a common origin with that of Van Somer, the famous Flemish painter. On the other hand,some writers contend that the name was derived from a St. Omer, as in the case of St. Maur, St. Leger, and the like.

Be this as it may, they undoubtedly claimed kinship with the gallant admiral, Sir George Somers, who rediscovered the island (or rather the cluster of islands) of Bermuda, so called after one Juan Bermudez, ‘who was driven thereon by force of tempest.’ The place did not enjoy a good reputation; it was termed ‘the island of divelles,’ or the ‘enchanted isle,’ and was supposed to harbour sea-monsters, mermen, and ‘such cattle,’ from which legend doubtless sprang Setebos and Caliban. Admiral Somers was also wrecked here, and thus rediscovered the whereabouts which had been lost; and he was most desirous it should bear his name, and so it is still called Bermuda or Somers’ (erroneously Summer’s) island.

Purchas, in hisPilgrimage, gives a long description of the abundance of sea-fowl, on which the shipwrecked mariners feasted, and of the wonderful tameness of the birds,—for Somers might have said with Alexander Selkirk:—

‘They are so unaccustomed to man,Their tameness is shocking to me.’

‘They are so unaccustomed to man,

Their tameness is shocking to me.’

Purchas goes on to say, ‘Notwithstanding the wonted danger, you may now touch at Bermuda, for danger hath made it not so dangerous:’ after the fashion of many another peril that calls for precautionary measures.

Waller, in his didactic poem on the beauties of this region, forgets to do honour to the gallant old ‘salt,’ who was as well known for his daring rejoinder to King JamesI.as for his nautical adventures; it was when subjected to one of the tyrant’s manifold acts of injustice. ‘I hope I may be the last of sacrifices in your time. When from private appetite it is resolved that a creature shall be sacrificed, it is easy to pick up sticks enough from any thicket, whither it has strayed, to make a fire to offer it with.’

The immediate ancestors of the Lord Chancellor had been settled for some time on a small estate in Gloucestershire, called Stoke Severne, and they also owned the ‘Whiteladies,’ then a suburb of Worcester. Here, in 1585, the family entertained Queen Elizabeth, in her progress through Worcestershire, and although the Som̅erses afterwards imbibed republican principles, the bed in which good Queen Bess lay, and the cup out of which she drank, were long preserved as precious relics in the family.

Queen Elizabeth was much pleased with her reception at the Whiteladies, and indeed at Worcester altogether. More especially was her Grace’s fancy taken by a conceit of Master Som̅ers, who caused a splendid pear-tree, loaded with fruit, to be transplanted from his own garden to the market-place in the town, as a decoration, at the time of the Queen’s public reception,—in remembrance of which Elizabeth granted an augmentation to the arms of the city, in the shape of three pears, as may be seen to this day.

Master Som̅ers, the father of the future Peer, had been bred up to the law, and practised as an attorney, but, when the civil war broke out, in opposition to the majority of his fellow-citizens, he took part with the Roundheads, and raised a troop of horse to serve under Cromwell. He was for some time quartered at Upton, near his own estate of Stoke Severne, the parish church of which he frequented.

Now the Rector was a Royalist, and a firm upholder of Divine right, and he was very apt to mix political with theological arguments in his sermons. Captain Som̅ers had constantly warned him against so doing, but in vain; and one Sunday the good parson indulged in so much abuse of the Cromwell men as to raise the ire of the Parliamentarian officer, who, drawing forth a loaded pistol, lodged a shot in the sounding-board above his reverence’s head.

In spite of all this, King Charles passed the night previousto the battle of Worcester, and that following, at the Whiteladies, where, after ‘shifting himself’ into a disguise, he left his trunk hose, his garters, and two pairs of fringed gloves, to be added to the Royal Elizabethan relics. Lord Campbell remarks that a species of sanctity had been attached to the Whiteladies by both parties, since the building was spared, when almost every other edifice was destroyed; but Nash, the county historian, accounts for the circumstance by saying that the soldiers spared the house on account of its being a strong building, capable of holding 500 men with safety.

Not many days after the King’s flight, Captain Som̅ers brought his wife, Mistress Catherine (whose maiden name was Ceaverne, a native of Shropshire), to this stronghold, she being at the time in an interesting condition for the second time, having already presented her husband with a daughter; and there, to the best of our belief, was born, a few months afterwards, the future Lord Chancellor of England, and the first Peer of the name. Few good stories are told of his boyhood, excepting one which was probably very much prized in the home archives, and is remembered till this day, as an omen of his future greatness. He was on a visit to his aunt, Mistress Bluron, the wife of a Presbyterian minister, with whom he was walking hand-in-hand amid the glories of her poultry-yard, when a beautiful roost-cock lighted on the little fellow’s curly head, and crowed three distinct times while perched thereon. No less honour than the Woolsack could surely be prognosticated by so splendid an augury! When, in modern times, could there have been such literalavium garritus?

The boy went to the College School at Worcester, where he became the favourite model pupil of the master, Dr. Bright, a distinguished classical scholar. He is described as weakly in health, wearing a little black cap, but the ‘brightest boy in the whole school, so studious and contemplative that he did notcare for the sports of his companions, and was usually seen musing alone with a book in his hand during the hours of recreation.’ He appears to have gone to more than one other school, and at intervals to have learned the business of an attorney in his father’s office, the elder Som̅ers having by this time resumed the profession to which he was bred before he joined Cromwell’s army.

At the time of the Restoration he had solicited, and obtained, a pardon, under the Great Seal, for his former disaffection to the Crown, but, ‘being a lawyer,’ says Lord Campbell, ‘he perhaps remembered Sir Edward Coke’s wise observation, that “good men will never refuse pardon from God or the King, because every man doth often offend both.”’ In 1667 young Som̅ers matriculated, and was entered at Trinity College, Oxford, but apparently only remained there a short time, and did not take his degree. While at the University he showed more predilection for the study of thebelles lettresthan for that of law, in spite of which his father insisted on his becoming his clerk at Whiteladies. The picturesque old place was now not only inhabited by Som̅ers, the well-to-do solicitor, and his wife and children, but it had been converted into a species of colony, and was peopled by several families connected, for the most part, with the owner, either by blood or marriage. Some of the occupants were engaged in the cultivation of the large farm adjoining, others in producing all kinds and colours for dyeing materials, or manufacturing cloth, which trade was at that time in a flourishing condition in Worcester; and, above all, in making bricks and tiles for rebuilding the ruined city and suburbs. The latter calling gave rise to the epithet by which the scurrilous libellers of later days thought (vainly) to lower the pride of the great Lord Som̅ers, by calling him the brickmaker’s son! When the multifarious labours of the day were at an end, the various inhabitants, occasionally augmented by outside guests, met, to the numberof twenty or thirty, round the table, in the old refectory of the nunnery, where the produce of the farm and gardens afforded them a plentiful and inexpensive banquet. John Som̅ers, senior, had great influence in electioneering matters, and also received and entertained at his house many persons of weight and influence,—among others, Sir Francis Winnington, a rising lawyer, and Member for the city, afterwards Solicitor-General. The good knight was much impressed by young John’s talents, and recommended that he should pursue the study of the law, in which profession, he remarked, many Worcestershire men had risen to eminence. It took some time to persuade the father to send his son away from the establishment, which was growing more lucrative every day, but at length he yielded to the wish of Sir Francis, and entered his son as student of the Middle Temple, 1669. The youth returned, however, and read law at Whiteladies for a year before settling in the Temple, and, both at Worcester and in London, he benefited by the friendship and tuition of his good friend Sir Francis. His circle of acquaintance in London was, at first, limited almost exclusively to lawyers, and amongst his intimates was Sir Joseph Jekyll, afterwards his brother-in-law.

But the young Templar returned for his vacations to Worcester (although the society did not much suit his taste) until the year 1672, when he met a genial spirit at Whiteladies. His father was agent for the estates of several noblemen, and, among others, of the young Earl of Shrewsbury, son to the unfortunate Peer who had been killed in a duel with the Duke of Buckingham,—his shameless wife, at least so goes the tradition, holding her lover’s horse while he murdered her husband.

Grafton, the estate of the Shrewsburys, was at that time out of repair, and the young Earl gladly accepted an invitation to Whiteladies, and no sooner did our Templar come down from London for his usual visit, than the two youths formed afriendship which proved lifelong. They became inseparable companions, both in their studies and their recreations, and the intimacy continued when they returned to London. Lord Shrewsbury took a delight in introducing Som̅ers to the most distinguished men of his acquaintance, whether remarkable for birth or learning. John Som̅ers, becoming aware of his own deficiency in education, resolved to return to the University, where he made the Classics his more especial study, without neglecting his legal pursuits, or giving up his visits to home. It speaks well for the liberality both of father and son, that John was able and willing to contribute five pounds (a large sum for a student in those days) towards the reparation of the chapel; and in after years and better circumstances he gave a larger donation for the same purpose, as a proof of his attachment to his old College. We are told rather a laughable story, which shows in what high repute he was held by his father, who, in his frequent visits to London, used to leave his horse at the George Inn at Acton, and in conversing with the landlord seldom omitted a panegyric on ‘young John,’—so much so, that mine host’s curiosity was inflamed, and he requested to be allowed some day to see this prodigy. Mr. Som̅ers, in consequence, asked his son one time to escort him on his way as far as Acton, and on entering the inn, he took the landlord aside, and whispered, ‘I have brought him, Cobbett, but you must not talk to him as you do to me, for he will not suffer such fellows as you in his company.’

John Som̅ers, junior, was called to the bar in 1666, but did not practise much till five years afterwards; and it was on the occasion of the famous trial of the seven Bishops that he first made his mark. Macaulay, in his eloquent account of the transaction, does honour to the rising barrister. He gives an animated description of the progress of these stout-hearted Prelates on their committal to the Tower, to await their trial, of which we give a short extract: ‘The river was alive withwherries when they came forth under a guard to embark, and the emotion of the people broke through all restraint. Thousands fell on their knees and prayed for the men who had emulated the Christian courage of Ridley and Latimer; many dashed into the water up to their waists, and cried on the holy fathers to bless them. All down the stream, from Whitehall to London Bridge, the royal barge passed between lines of boats, whence arose a shout of “God bless your Lordships!”’

John Som̅ers had been chosen as junior counsel for the Bishops on the trial. He had not yet had much opportunity of distinguishing himself in public, ‘but his genius, industry, his great and various accomplishments, were well known to a small circle of friends, and in spite of his Whig opinions, his pertinent and lucid mode of arguing, and the constant propriety of his demeanour, had already secured to him the ear of the Court of King’s Bench, and it was said of him beforehand that no man in Westminster Hall was so well qualified to treat an historical and constitutional question.’

Even while endeavouring to keep within our prescribed limits, we feel it is but simple justice to the future Chancellor to quote the great historian’s own words: ‘Som̅ers rose last. He spoke little more than five minutes, but every word was full of weighty matter, and when he sat down his reputation as an orator and a constitutional lawyer was established. The jury were long in coming to a decision, but when they did return, and the foreman pronounced the verdict—“Not guilty”—amid deathless silence, a tempest of rejoicing arose. Lord Halifax threw up his hat, and ten thousand people who crowded the Hall made the oaken roof crack with shouts, which, echoed by the throng outside, resounded as far as Temple Bar, and were caught up and sent back by all the boatmen on the river. The acquittal was mainly attributed to Som̅ers’s speech, the effect of which upon the jury was greatly heightened by the modesty and grace with which it was delivered. He now,and ever, merited the praise that his pleading at the bar was masculine and persuasive, free from everything that was trivial and affected.’

Amid the solemn details of this most important trial, the comic element cropped up in a speech of one of the jurymen, a Nonconformist, who was brewer to the Court. The story goes that he complained bitterly of the dilemma in which he was placed. ‘What am I to do?’ he asked piteously; ‘if I say Not guilty, I shall brew no more for the Court; if I say Guilty, I shall brew no more for anybody else.’ On the same day that the Bishops were acquitted, a paper was drawn up, entitled ‘The Association,’ censuring the Government of King JamesII., and calling on William, Prince of Orange, to come over to England, and deliver the country from Popery and despotism. The name of Som̅ers did not appear, but by many it was believed that the wording of the document emanated from him. It was signed by all his political friends, and Lord Shrewsbury immediately afterwards went to the Hague, laden with large supplies of money, to urge on the Prince the advisability of his coming over without delay. William answered by a ‘Declaration,’ announcing his readiness (as the husband of the Princess Mary) to accede to the wishes of the nation, and promised to proceed to England, ‘in order to have a free and lawful Parliament assembled for the maintenance of liberty and the Protestant religion, and by the decision of that Parliament he would abide.’

This document also was ascribed to Som̅ers, or at all events it was said to have been supervised by him, for he had by this time, to quote the words of Lord Sunderland, become the ‘very soul and spirit of his party.’ No sooner had King James left the country than Som̅ers was returned for his native city, having refused to sit in the former Parliaments under the two last Kings.

This was in the so-called ‘Convention Parliament;’ and wegive Macaulay’s notice of the new Member’s first appearance in the House of Commons. After enumerating the names of many political veterans, he says: ‘But they were speedily thrown into shade by two young Whigs, who, on this great day, took their seats for the first time, and soon rose to the highest honours of the State, who weathered the fiercest storms of faction together, and, having been long and widely renowned as statesmen, as orators, and as munificent patrons of genius and learning, died within a few months of each other. These were Charles Montagu and John Som̅ers.’

The latter led the debate in the Lower House, and in his maiden speech, which was considered a model of eloquence, he maintained that James, by his flight and abdication, had forfeited all claim to allegiance, and he drew up a manifesto to that effect, declaring the throne of England to be vacant.

He was thus most instrumental in the passing of the Exclusion Bill, which precluded the succession of a Popish Prince to the Crown of England. In all the differences of opinion which now ensued between the two Houses, John Som̅ers zealously supported the claims of William and Mary. He also gained lasting renown by the declaration that he drew up for classing under general heads ‘such things as were necessary for the better security of our religion, laws, and liberties.’ Hence sprang the world-famed Bill of Rights, with which the name of John Som̅ers is indissolubly connected. William and Mary were proclaimed King and Queen; Lord Shrewsbury made his friend, and that friend’s merits, known to the new Sovereigns; and Sir John Som̅ers, Knight, was appointed Solicitor-General. He now took a prominent part in every public question of importance, evincing the utmost consistency in his opinions and principles; and his biographer and earnest admirer, Lord Campbell, appears never to have found fault with his administration of justice, excepting in one instance, namely, the course he pursued with regard to a Bill for regulatinghigh treason—a question we leave to judicial minds. But the same pen awards him great praise for the manner in which he conducted prosecutions before Courts of Justice, which he designates as ‘mild, candid, and merciful.’ Speaking of the trial of Lord Preston and others for high treason (the first State trial of the reign), in which his moderation and humanity were universally extolled, Som̅ers himself said: ‘I did never think that it was the part of any, who were counsel for the King in cases of this nature, to aggravate the crime of the prisoners, or to put false colours on the evidence.’

Indeed, the manner in which these trials were conducted formed an epoch in legal annals, contrasting brilliantly with the injustice and cruelty which had characterised former tribunals. Lord Preston, though found guilty, and sentenced to death, owed his respite and subsequent pardon to the recommendation of Sir John Som̅ers.

When war was declared with France, it was the Solicitor-General who drew up the declaration; and in 1692 he was promoted to the office of Attorney-General, and shortly afterwards chosen counsel for the plaintiff in the first trial for criminal conversation,i.e.the Duke of NorfolkversusSir John Germaine. But the divorce was not granted till after Som̅ers became Chancellor. In 1693 he was again returned for Worcester, and a few days afterwards the Great Seal of England was intrusted to his keeping, and he took his seat at the Council Board. Evelyn thus records the event: ‘The Attorney-General Som̅ers made Lord Keeper, a young lawyer of extraordinary merit.’

The appointment (with the exception, naturally, of adverse politicians) was generally popular. Burnet says: ‘Som̅ers is very learned in his own profession, with a great deal more learning in other professions,—divinity, philosophy, and history.’

He had great capacity for business, a fair and gentletemper, having all the patience and softness, as well as the justice and equity, becoming a great magistrate. He had always agreed in his notions with the Whigs, and had striven to bring them to better thoughts of the King, and greater confidence in him. During the seven years he presided in the Court of Chancery he won golden opinions, having most important judicial duties to perform, and acting on several occasions as Lord Steward in State trials. A close friendship now existed between the King and Som̅ers, but the latter knew how to uphold both his personal and official dignity, which he proved in a most remarkable manner at the beginning of this reign, in a passage of arms that occurred between his Royal master and himself. During the time that the Seal was in commission, his Majesty had exercised unlimited judicial patronage, and conceived the idea of continuing to do so, unquestioned. He was on the eve of embarking for Flanders at the time of Som̅ers’s appointment, and he sent Lord Nottingham to the new Minister, with orders to make out patents for the Chief Baron of the Exchequer, the Chief-Justice of Chester, and for the Attorney-General. This cavalier manner of proceeding did not suit Sir John Som̅ers, and as the King was still detained at Harwich, waiting for favourable winds, he wrote a respectful but resolute letter to his Majesty on the subject, pointing out, in clear, distinct terms, that, under the conditions imposed on him, he must tender his resignation—Anglicè, he would not accept a post shorn of all judicial patronage. The King responded nobly to this straightforward appeal, declined the resignation, paid the Lord Keeper the highest tribute as to ability and fitness for the great office, announced his intention of non-interference for the future, but ended by the hope that Som̅ers would take the names of the candidates already mentioned into consideration.

In fact, this short misunderstanding increased and cemented the cordiality between King and Minister. The three menWilliam had named were continued, but the office of Attorney-General soon after falling vacant, was filled up by a nominee of Som̅ers’s own selection. Although he declined the offer of a Peerage, he sat in the House of Lords as Speaker, and exercised a weighty influence over William’s opinions. On the subject of ‘unlicensed printing,’ the liberal King and the liberal Minister were agreed, and the Bill was passed by which, says Macaulay, ‘English literature was emancipated for ever.’

It was strange how little excitement was caused by so great an event. Neither Evelyn nor Luttrell allude to it in their Diaries, and the Dutch Minister forgot to mention it in his despatches.

However, from this time forth, the liberty of the Press was assured; and ‘now we have only to be watchful,’ Lord Campbell sapiently remarks, ‘lest the Press itself be not turned into an engine of tyranny.’

In 1690 Queen Mary was attacked with small-pox, and to the inexpressible grief of her husband, shared by the greater part of the nation, she died after a very short illness. Friendly messages had been exchanged between her and her sister, but Mary’s state was too critical to allow of her being exposed to the excitement of an interview. When the last scene was over, and the last duties paid to the beloved Queen and consort, the attempt at reconciling the Princess of Denmark and her brother-in-law was renewed, and Lord Sunderland, the Duke of Marlborough, and Sir John Som̅ers, joined to promote the wished-for result. Anne had been persuaded to write to the King, who, stunned by grief, showed little inclination to respond to her advances. Som̅ers therefore, bent on carrying out his object, made his way into the Royal presence at Kensington, where he found William absorbed in speechless grief. He waited for some time in respectful sympathy, hoping that the King would break the painful silence, but was at length compelled to take the initiative.

With the gentle delicacy that characterised him, the Lord Keeper broached the subject, pointing out how essential it was, on public as well as private grounds, that the enmity between his Majesty and his wife’s sister should cease. ‘Do as you will,’ replied the unhappy widower, ‘I can think of no business.’ An interview was accordingly arranged. Anne was graciously received, apartments assigned her in St. James’s Palace, and due honour paid her as heir-presumptive to the Crown. William once more pressed a Peerage on Sir John (through his friend, now Duke of Shrewsbury), but it was again declined. He was placed virtually at the head of the Regency (the Archbishop of Canterbury presiding only in name), when the King again left England for a foreign campaign.

He took a prominent part in the great measure for the reformation of the coinage, and drew up and strongly advocated a plan by which clipping money could be prevented; but this was not carried into effect. Lord Macaulay praises him highly for the appointments he made of such eminent men as Sir Isaac Newton and John Locke, for the respective posts of Warden of the Mint and a Lordship of Trade.

In 1697 Sir John resigned the Seals, only to have them returned to him, with the title of Lord Chancellor and Baron Som̅ers of Evesham, county Worcester, as also grants of the manors of Reigate and Howleigh in Surrey, with a yearly income to enable him to keep up the same. On the retirement of Lord Godolphin, the Ministry became wholly Whig,—Montagu, Russell, Som̅ers, and Wharton forming ‘the Junto.’ In the same year the Peace of Ryswick was signed, by which France made great concessions, and acknowledged William as King of England, and Anne as his successor, a circumstance which gave rise to much rejoicing. But serious differences took place between the King and his Parliament, which required the disbanding of the troops that had done such goodservice in foreign campaigns. The most stormy discussions ensued, and the press, in all the wild ardour of recent emancipation, thundered with controversy. To Lord Som̅ers was attributed (indeed Macaulay speaks of the authorship as a certainty) a treatise, called ‘The Balancing Letter,’ which made a great noise at the time, weighing, as it did, the arguments for and against the momentous question, but undoubtedly leaning towards the advisability of maintaining a small standing army. In spite of William’s vehement opposition, he found himself compelled to ship off his beloved Dutch Guards, and to diminish the English forces.

Until this time the life of John Som̅ers had been uninterrupted in its prosperity and advancement; but a change in his fortunes was now impending. Henceforward he had both public and private trials to encounter, added to which, his health had become much impaired. In July 1698, Parliament being dissolved, and the King gone to Holland, Lord Som̅ers gladly availed himself of the opportunity to recruit his bodily powers, by drinking the waters in the pleasant retirement of Tunbridge Wells. The question of the Spanish succession (CharlesII., king of that country, being at the time in a dying state) belongs rather to the political history of Europe than to the biography of an individual, yet Lord Som̅ers was so intimately connected with the so-called ‘Tradition Treaties,’ that we cannot altogether keep silence on the matter. Before the King’s departure for Holland, William had already consulted Som̅ers on the subject, and, on arriving at the Loo, he wrote, authorising him to consult with any of his colleagues, on whose discretion and secrecy he could rely, and asking for opinions on the arrangement proposed, which his Majesty detailed at full length. Now such a treaty could not be concluded without the appendage of the Great Seal and the signature of one Secretary of State. The Lord Chancellor was therefore directed to send full powers to the Loo, sealed, butwith blanks left for the names of the Plenipotentiaries; and it was strongly urged that the clerks whose duty it was to draw up the documents should be kept in profound ignorance of the subject, and the importance of the work they were performing. The Royal missive found ‘Som̅ers at a distance from his political friends, his delicate frame enfeebled by the labours and vigils of many months, and his aching head giddy with the first draughts of the chalybeate spring.’ But he lost no time, and communicated promptly with all the leading statesmen, who agreed with the King in wishing to see the question of the Spanish succession settled without delay. Som̅ers, however, delicately hinted to his master that he and his colleagues had misgivings on many points of the treaty, although the Royal wishes had been complied with.

The powers were sent off, the enjoined secrecy observed, the blanks left for the names of two Commissioners, who, the Lord Chancellor suggested, should be English, either by birth or naturalisation, and consequently responsible to Parliament.

A second Partition Treaty was shortly afterwards drawn up and signed, with fresh clauses and allotments to the different European powers, with the same secrecy; and when the terms of these treaties became known in England, a great outcry was raised against the Whigs, and strenuous efforts made to overthrow the Administration. The Lord Chancellor, in particular, became the mark for attacks of different kinds, such as his misconduct in the appointment and dismissal of magistrates, while a novel charge for the dignitary of the Woolsack was adduced against John Lord Som̅ers, namely that of piracy on the high seas,—not in person, indeed, but by proxy. Thus it came about: he, in common with other Ministers, had subscribed a sum of several hundreds towards the fitting out of a ship calledThe Adventure Galley, for the purpose of ridding the Indian seas of pirates. The command was givento Captain William Kid, a naval officer, who had hitherto borne a high character for honour as well as courage.

As may easily be believed, Lord Som̅ers knew nothing of the matter further than that he thought it became the post he occupied to assist in such a public service; and a grant was made to all the undertakers of the scheme that they should become possessed of any booty taken from the pirates by their ship. Captain Kid was armed with full powers to sink, burn, and destroy the pirates, but on breathing the air of the buccaneering seas, he turned pirate himself, and became a dangerous foe to honest traders of all nations, till, after a sharp encounter with an English frigate, he was taken, and brought home in irons. A motion was now brought forward by his (Som̅ers’s) political adversaries, that the Lord Chancellor should be made responsible for all the outrages committed by Kid, with whom, they affirmed, he had intended to go shares for the purpose of swelling his own coffers,—‘Such black constructions,’ says Burnet, ‘are men apt to put on the actions of those whom they intend to disgrace.’ The charge, being preposterous, was rejected by a large majority.

A Bill was now brought in to resume the Irish forfeited estates, which the King had bestowed on his Dutch favourites, and Lord Som̅ers incurred both the Royal displeasure and that of the Opposition in Parliament for his absence during the debates, although he pleaded the excuse of bad health. William expected assistance from the Chancellor in opposing this measure, but the public opinion was so strong that Som̅ers did not consider it advisable to support his Majesty. His enemies had now become persistent in their attacks; and a motion was made in the House of Commons to the effect that ‘the King should be advised to remove the present Lord Chancellor from his councils for ever,’ in common with other leading Ministers.

He had been absent from his duties for some time, inconsequence of failing health, in spite of which the Opposition did all in their power to induce him to coalesce in the formation of a new Government; and in answering the overtures made him by Lord Sunderland, Som̅ers replied that he considered such a step would be inconsistent with honour.

The refusal naturally increased the bitterness of his adversaries, and Harley especially, who rose in arms against him.

William, with all his predilection for the Chancellor, was at length persuaded of the expediency of removing him, and Lord Som̅ers received a hint to that effect, ‘which determined him to wait on his Majesty at Kensington, in order to know his real mind.’ The King told him plainly that the time had come when it was necessary for the Seals to pass into other hands, at the same time expressing a wish that Som̅ers himself would resign.

The Chancellor begged his Majesty’s pardon for following the advice of numerous friends, who had warned him against such a step, which would be ascribed to guilt or fear; adding that he well knew the designs of his enemies; that the Great Seal was his greatest crime, and if permitted to keep it, in spite of their malice, he would do so, being well aware what a bad use they would make of it. He had no fear of them, but he would be firm to his friends, with more in that style; but the King only shook his head, and said, ‘It must be so.’ And thus was Lord Som̅ers discharged from the great office which he had held for so many years, ‘with the highest reputation for capacity, integrity, and diligence.’

Strangely enough, this ever-coveted post was offered to and refused by several men ‘high in the law,’ possibly from the fear of comparison with such an illustrious predecessor. The Seals were at length delivered to Sir Nathan Wright, ‘in whom,’ says Burnet, ‘there was nothing equal to the post, much less to the man who had lately filled it.’

Wright represented a dark shadow between two such shining lights as Som̅ers and Cowper.

After a short residence at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of the waters, the ex-Chancellor retired to his villa, and, resuming his literary pursuits, strove to forget all the mortification and humiliation to which he had lately been exposed. LouisXIV., breaking through the conditions imposed by the Tradition Treaty, took advantage of a will made by the Spanish king on his deathbed, in which the imbecile Charles had been made to bequeath his dominions to the French king’s grandson, Philip of Anjou; and the young prince was despatched to Madrid with a splendid and exulting Court. A violent outcry ensued in England against the Whigs, and Lord Som̅ers in particular, to whom this public catastrophe was in a great measure attributed. Parliament was dissolved, and on the reassembling of the new House, the Commons proposed to impeach the ex-Chancellor for the part he had taken in concluding these treaties, and for other high crimes and misdemeanours. Prior thus alludes to the circumstance in writing to the Duke of Manchester: ‘I congratulate you on being out of this noise and tumult, where we are tearing and destroying every man his neighbour. To-morrow is the great day, when we expect my Lord Chancellor to be fallen upon, though God knows of what crime he is guilty, but that of being a great man and an upright judge.’ Som̅ers begged to be heard in his own defence, and his demeanour was so dignified, and his explanation so clear, as to enlist many members on his side, notably Robert Walpole, a young senator, afterwards Prime Minister, who took the warmest interest in Lord Som̅ers’s cause, and voted in his behalf. Notwithstanding, the motion for the impeachment (with that of four other noblemen) was carried in the House of Commons—a measure which caused tremendous indignation in the Upper House, ‘at the infringement of their privileges;’while the King’s reply to the Lower House conveyed a rebuke (though couched in mild terms) for the irregularity of their proceedings. In spite of King and Peers the impeachment commenced, and fourteen articles were exhibited against Lord Som̅ers. The six first concerned his share in carrying out the Partition Treaties; the next five accused him of passing illegal grants of Crown property in his own favour; the thirteenth, of giving a commission to William Kid, pirate; ‘while the last,’ says Lord Campbell, ‘was a frivolous charge of judicial delinquency.’

A violent altercation now took place between the two Houses of Parliament regarding the time and manner of the trial, the Whig element at that time being paramount among the Lords, while the Tories preponderated in the Commons. So it came to pass, when the Peers were seated in great state in Westminster Hall, and Lord Som̅ers placed within the bar, the Commons were summoned to make good their indictment, but in vain. A long pause ensued, but not one member appeared, and after another solemn procession to and from their own House, their Lordships decided the question by themselves.

John Lord Som̅ers was acquitted by a majority of his peers, and the impeachment dismissed. ‘The following comparison between his demeanour and that of a former Chancellor, Lord Verulam, on a similar occasion, is thus drawn by Joseph Addison: ‘The conduct of these extraordinary persons under the same circumstances was vastly different. One, as he had given just occasion for his impeachment, sank under it, and was reduced to such abject submission as diminished the lustre of so exalted a character. But Lord Som̅ers was too well fortified in his integrity to fear the impotence of an attack on his reputation, and though his accusers would gladly have dropped their impeachment, he was instant for the prosecution, and would not let the matter rest till it was brought to an issue.’

The two Houses fell to fighting once more, and fierce and bitter hatred was fostered by the late proceedings. The Duke of Shrewsbury, Som̅ers’s early and faithful friend, alluding to these squabbles, thus writes to him from Rome: ‘I cannot help referring to my old opinion, and wonder that a man can be found in England, who has bread, that will be concerned in public business. Had I a son I would sooner breed him a cobbler than a courtier, and a hangman than a statesman.’

In 1701 JamesII.died, and LouisXIV.astonished Europe in general, and England in particular, by recognising the Pretender as King of England,—a step which even incensed the Jacobites, jealous of foreign interference, and set the Whig party in a flame. A reaction now took place in favour of the latter faction: the King dismissed his Tory Ministers, and it was confidently believed that in the formation of a new Cabinet Lord Som̅ers would resume office. But William’s days were numbered. His health had long been a source of anxiety to his friends and the nation at large, when a fatal accident hurried the crisis. He had not yet relinquished his favourite exercise of riding, and even occasionally hunted, but neither his seat nor his hand was what it had been. Riding one day through his favourite haunt of the Home Park at Hampton Court, mounted on ‘Grey Sorrel,’ the horse, having just broken into a gentle canter, stumbled at a molehill, and fell on his knees, throwing his rider, who broke his collar-bone, and otherwise injured himself. The bone was set; William proceeded in his coach to Kensington, but he never rallied. ‘His last days,’ says his enthusiastic admirer Macaulay, ‘were worthy of his life.’ He transacted business calmly, took an affectionate leave of his friends, joined in prayer with the two Bishops who attended him, and breathed his last. Round his neck was found, suspended to a black riband, the locket which contained the hair of his beloved wife.

In WilliamIII.Lord Som̅ers lost a sincere and admiringfriend, and far different was the treatment he met with from the new Sovereign. In a combined Ministry of Whigs and Tories, not only had he no post assigned him, but he was not allowed to renew the oaths of a Privy Councillor. His name was struck out of the Commission of the Peace in every county in England, and it was intimated to him that her Majesty would not admit him to the Royal presence. Anne condescended to the mean spite of suspending the pension granted to Addison, whose only crime was that Lord Som̅ers esteemed and protected him. Such petty conduct on the part of the Queen called forth no reprisals from the man who had his country’s welfare at heart. Finding that Godolphin and Marlborough considered it expedient to adopt the home and foreign policy which he advocated, Som̅ers gave his support to the Government, and was a diligent attendant in the House of Lords. Indeed, he now divided his time between his Parliamentary duties and the enjoyment of literary and scientific pursuits. President of the Royal Society, he continued his friendship with Addison, and exerted himself unwearyingly in his behalf. Although an ex-Minister, and slighted by the Court, he still carried great weight in public measures, especially in the famous case of the Aylesbury election trial. This was an action brought against the returning officer by a man who accused him of not recording his vote, and the case coming by appeal before the Lords, the Commons declared it a breach of privilege. The warfare between the two Houses was now resumed, and waged for some time as fiercely as that between France and England. In 1706 Lord Som̅ers was most instrumental in negotiating the Union with Scotland, as, in the fluctuating state of parties, the constant coalitions and mosaic Governments which were formed, his great talents were generally recognised in an emergency. The death of Prince George of Denmark in 1708 brought about further changes, and the presidency of the Council becomingvacant, Lord Som̅ers succeeded to the post. The appointment gave general satisfaction, for, says Burnet, ‘it was expected that propositions for a general peace would shortly be made, and so they reckoned that the management of that upon which not only the safety of the nation, but all Europe, depended, would be in sure hands. Som̅ers was a man of inflexible integrity, on whom neither ill practices nor false colours were like to make any impression.’

He remained President of the Council until the famous trial of Dr. Sacheverell. Impeached by the Whigs for preaching against them and the Government, Sacheverell escaped with a light sentence, but the proceedings were followed by the downfall of the Administration, which was replaced by one composed entirely of Tories,—Harley, St. John, etc.

When the news of the Queen’s dangerous illness became known, Som̅ers put himself into communication with the Elector of Hanover, but the curious scene which took place at the last Privy Council held in this reign is given in our notice of Lord Chancellor Cowper, between whom and Lord Som̅ers a warm friendship had long existed. On the morning of Sunday, the 1st of August 1714, Queen Anne expired, and a meeting of the Lords Justices was immediately held. Lord Som̅ers was not present, on account of his infirm health, but he attended the Privy Council, and took the oaths of allegiance to GeorgeI.On the arrival of that monarch in England, and the reinstatement of the Whigs in office, Som̅ers would inevitably have joined the Ministry in his former capacity of Chancellor, but his increasing indisposition determined him to decline any public post, even the comparatively light duties of President of the Council having become irksome to him; but he promised to attend the meetings of the Privy Council as often as it was possible for him to do so, and he received an additional pension as a mark of public gratitude. He made a point of being present at the first council, which was heldin GeorgeI.’s reign, but his infirmities gained upon him, and a paralytic affection incapacitated him from the exertion consequent on public business. He became torpid and inactive in mind and body; when a sudden fit of the gout roused him for a time from his lethargy. This happened at the moment that the Septennial Bill, a measure in which he had always taken the deepest interest, was pending. His mind brightened up, his intellect was re-sharpened, and he took to conversing with his well-named physician, Dr. Friend, on passing affairs, with all the clearness and vigour of former times. The good doctor hurried off with the good news to Lord Townshend, one of the chief promoters of the Bill, who instantly flew to his ancient colleague to consult him on the subject. On entering the room, the dying statesman embraced his old friend, cordially congratulated him on the work in which he was employed (having, he said, never approved of the Triennial Bill), and ended by assuring him of ‘my hearty approbation in the business, for I believe it will be the greatest support possible to the liberty of the country.’

When the gout subsided, Lord Som̅ers fell back into a state of torpor and helplessness, from which he was released by death on the 26th of April 1716, the very day the Bill in question was passed. He died of apoplexy at his villa in Hertfordshire, and was buried in the parish church of North Mymms, where a plain monument bears this modest inscription:—

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