Chapter IX: REIGN OF CHARLES II. (concluded) (2)

On the day of Lord William Russell's death, the University of Oxford marked the epoch by one of those rampant assertions of Toryism which have too often disgraced that seat of learning. It published a "Judgment and Declaration," as passed in their Convocation, for the honour of the holy and undivided Trinity, the preservation of Catholic truth in the Church, and that the king's majesty might be secured both from the attempts of open bloody enemies and the machinations of treacherous heretics and schismatics. In this declaration they attacked almost every principle of civil and religious liberty, which had been promulgated and advocated in the works of Milton, Baxter, Bellarmin, Owen, Knox, Buchanan, and others. They declared that the doctrines of the civil authority being derived from the people; of there existing any compact, tacit or expressed, between the prince and his subjects from the obligation of which, should one party retreat, the other becomes exempt; of the sovereign forfeiting his right to govern if he violate the limitations established by the laws of God and man, were all wicked, abominate, and devilish doctrines, deserving of everlasting reprobation. And they called upon "All and singular the readers, tutors, and catechists, diligently to instruct and ground their scholars in that most necessary doctrine, which in a manner is the badge and character of the Church of England, of submitting to every ordinance of man for the Lord's sake, teaching that this submission and obedience is to be clear, absolute, and without exception of any state or order of men." This doctrine of slaves, which Oxford would have fixed on the nation as the badge of Englishmen, they were in a very few years, under James, taught the practical blessing of. They had, when their turn came, quickly enough of it, flung the badge to the winds, and made a present of their plate to the Dutch prince, who came to drive their sovereign from the throne.

Before the trial of Algernon Sidney took place, Sir George Jeffreys was made Lord Chief Justice in place of Sanders, who was incapacitated by sickness. Before this alternately laughing and blackguarding demon Algernon Sidney, the last of the republicans, was arraigned at the bar of the King's Bench on the 7th of September, 1683. Rumsey, Keeling, and West were brought against him, as against Russell, but the main witness was the despicable Lord Howard, whom Evelyn truly calls, "That monster of a man, Lord Howard of Escrick." On their evidence he was charged with being a member of the Council of six, sworn to kill the king and overturn his Government; with having attended at those meetings already mentioned at Hampden's, Russell's, and Shepherd's; and with having undertaken to send Aaron Smith to Scotland, to concert a simultaneous insurrection, and to persuade the leading Scottish conspirators to come to London, on pretence of proceeding to Carolina.

Sidney, after Howard had delivered his evidence, was asked if he had any questions to put to the witness, but he replied with the utmost scorn, that "he had no questions to ask such as him!" "Then," said the Attorney-General, "silence--you know the rest of the proverb." The difficulty remained to prove Sidney's treason, for there were no two witnesses able or willing to attest an overt act. But if it depended on the existence of fact, there was not one of the Council of six who was not guilty of really conspiring to drive out the next successor to the Crown. Neither Russell, nor Hampden, nor Sidney, though they laboured in self-defence to prove the plot improbable, ever really denied its existence. They knew that it did exist, and were too honest to deny it, though they notoriously sought to evade the penalty of it, by contending that nothing of the kind was or could be proved. But what said Hampden himself after the Revolution, before a committee of the House of Lords? Plainly, "that the coming into England of King William was nothing else but the continuation of the Council of Six." The conspiracy by that time was become in the eyes of the Government no longer a crime, but a meritorious fact. The injustice thus done to these patriots was not that they had not committed treason against the existing Government, but that they were condemned on discreditable and insufficient evidence. When men conspire to get rid of a tyrannous government by force, they commit what is legally rendered treason, and must take the consequence, if detected by the ruling powers. But that circumstance does not render the attempt less meritorious, and if it succeeds they have their reward. In this case the prisoners knew very well that if their real doings could be proved against them, they must fall by the resentment of those whom they sought to get rid of; but they resisted, and justly, being condemned on the evidence of traitors like Lord Howard, and even then by evidence less than the law required.

To make out the two necessary witnesses in this case, the Attorney-General brought forward several persons to prove that the Scottish agents of conspiracy for whom Sidney had sent had actually arrived in London; but he relied much more on a manuscript pamphlet which was found in Sidney's desk when he was arrested. This pamphlet appeared to be an answer to Filmer's book, which argued that possession was the only right to power. Three persons were called to swear that it was in Sidney's handwriting; but the chief of these was the same perfidious Shepherd, the wine-merchant, who had so scandalously betrayed his party. He had seen Sidney sign several endorsements, and believed this to be his writing. A second, who had seen him write once, and a third, who had not seen him write at all, but had seen his hand on some bills, thought it like his writing. This was by no means conclusive, but that did not trouble the Court; it went on to read passages in order to show the treasonableness of the manuscript, and then it was adroitly handed to the prisoner on the plea of enabling him to show any reasons for its being deemed harmless; but Sidney was not caught by so palpable a trick. He put back the book as a thing that no way concerned him. On this Jeffreys turned over the leaves, and remarked, "I perceive you have arranged your matter under certain heads; so, what heads will you have read?" Sidney replied that the man who wrote it might speak to that; and asked with indignation whether a paper found in his study against Nero and Caligula would prove that he had conspired against Charles II.? What credit, he asked, was due to such a man as Lord Howard, who had betrayed every one that had anything to do with him, and had said that he could not get his pardon till the drudgery of swearing was over? He contended that Howard was his debtor, that he had a mortgage on his estate, and to get rid of repayment was now seeking his life. He commented on the oldness of the work in the manuscript, and asked the Attorney-General how many years the book of Filmer's, which it replied to, had been written. Jeffreys told him they had nothing to do with Filmer's book; the question was, would he acknowledge the authorship of the pamphlet? Sidney replied, "No;" that it was neither proved to be his, nor contained any treason if it had been.

(_After the Picture by Sir George Hayter._)]

Jeffreys, after a parade of humanity, declaring that the king desired not to take away any man's life which was not clearly forfeited to the law, but had rather that many guilty men should escape than one innocent man suffer, concluded, nevertheless, by telling the jury that _scribere est agere_--that they had evidence enough before them, and they, accordingly, brought in a verdict of guilty.

When the prisoner was brought up on the 26th of November to receive sentence, he pleaded in arrest of judgment that he had had no trial, that some of his jurors were not freeholders, and that his challenges had not been complied with; yet he seems to have exercised that right to a great extent, for the panel contains the names of eighty-nine persons, of whom fifty-five were challenged, absent, or excused. As jurymen, however, then were summoned, there might still be much truth in his plea. He objected, too, that there was a material flaw in the indictment, the words in the king's title--Defender of the Faith--being left out. "But," exclaimed Jeffreys, "that you would deprive the king of his life, that is in very full, I think." But this plea had a certain effect, and a Mr. Bampfield, a barrister, contended that the judgment should not be proceeded with whilst there was so material a defect in the indictment. Sidney also insisted that there was no proof of the manuscript being his, or of its being treason, and demanded that the Duke of Monmouth should be summoned, as he could not be earlier found, and now was at hand. But Jeffreys overruled all his pleadings, and declared that there was nothing further to do than to pass sentence. "I must appeal to God and the world that I am not heard," said Sidney. "Appeal to whom you will," retorted Jeffreys, brutally, and with many terms of crimination and abuse, passed on him sentence of death with all its butcheries. On the 7th of December he was led to execution.

A very different man at this epoch obtained his pardon, and played a very different part. The weak, impulsive, ambitious, and yet vacillating Monmouth was by means of Halifax reconciled to his father. Halifax, who was known as a minister by the name of the Trimmer, though he had aided the Tories in gaining the ascendant, no sooner saw the lengths at which they were driving, than he began to incline to the other side. His tendency was always to trim the balance. When the Whigs were in the ascendant he was a decided Tory; he did his best to throw out the Exclusion Bill, and when it was thrown out he was one of the first to advocate measures for preventing the mischiefs of a Popish succession. His genius was not to stimulate some great principle, and bear it on in triumph, but to keep the prevailing crisis from running into extravagance. He was, like Danby, an enemy to the French alliance; he loathed the doctrine of passive obedience; he was opposed to long absence of Parliaments; he dared to intercede for Russell and Sidney, when the Tory faction were demanding their blood; he saw the undue influence that the Duke of York had acquired by the late triumph over the Whigs, and he began to patronise Monmouth as a counterpoise; he wrote some letters for Monmouth, professing great penitence, and Monmouth copied and sent them, and the king at once relented. On the 25th of October Charles received him at the house of Major Long, in the City; and though he assumed an air of displeasure, and upbraided him with the heinous nature of his crimes, he added words which showed that he meant to forgive. On the 4th of November there was another private interview, and Halifax laboured hard to remove all difficulties. The king offered him full forgiveness, but on condition that he submitted himself entirely to his pleasure. On the 24th of November he threw himself at the feet of the king and the Duke of York, and implored their forgiveness, promising to be the first man, in case of the king's death, to draw the sword for the maintenance of the duke's claims. The duke had been prepared beforehand for this scene, and accorded apparently his forgiveness. But Monmouth was then weak enough to be induced to confirm the testimony of Lord Howard against his late associates, and to reveal the particulars of their negotiations with Argyll in Scotland. This he did under solemn assurances that all should remain secret, and nothing should be done which should humiliate him. Having done this, his outlawry was reversed, a full pardon formally drawn, and a present of six thousand pounds was made him by the king to start afresh with.

No sooner, however, was this done than he saw with consternation his submission and confession published in the _Gazette_. He denied that he had revealed anything to the king which confirmed the sentences lately passed on Russell and Sidney. The king was enraged, and insisted that he should in writing contradict these assertions. He was again cowardly enough to comply, and immediately being assailed by the reproaches of his late friends, and especially of Hampden, whose turn was approaching, and who said that Monmouth had sealed his doom, he hastened to Charles, and in great excitement and distress demanded back his letter. Charles assured him that it should never be produced in any court as evidence against the prisoners, and advised him to take some time to reflect on the consequences to himself of the withdrawal. But next morning, the 7th of December, renewing his entreaty for the letter, it was returned him in exchange for a less decisive statement, and Charles bade him never come into his presence again. He then retired to his seat in the country, and once more offered to sign a paper as strong as the last. Even Charles felt the infamy of this proceeding, and refused the offer.

But still it was determined to make use of him, and he was subpœnaed to give evidence on the approaching trial of Hampden. He pleaded the promise that his confession should not be used against the prisoners, but he was told that he had cancelled that obligation by his subsequently withdrawing his letter. Seeing by this that he would be dragged before a public court to play the disgraceful part of Lord Howard, he suddenly disappeared from his house in Holborn, and escaped to Holland, where he was well received by Prince William, who was now the grand refuge of English and Scottish refugees of all parties and politics. As Monmouth's escape deprived the court of his evidence, and only one main witness, Lord Howard, could be obtained, the charge of high treason was abandoned, and that of a misdemeanour was substituted. Howard was the chief witness, and Hampden was found guilty and punished by a fine of forty thousand pounds, and imprisoned till paid, besides having to find two securities for his good behaviour during life. When he complained of the severity of the sentence, which was equivalent to imprisonment during the life of his father, he was reminded that his crime really amounted to treason, and therefore was very mild.

On the return of the Duke of York to Scotland, the persecutions of the defeated Covenanters had been renewed there with a fury and diabolical ferocity which has scarcely a parallel in history. Wives were tortured for refusing to betray their husbands, children because they would not discover their parents. People were tortured and then hanged merely because they would not say that the insurrection there was a rebellion, or the killing of Archbishop Sharp was a murder. The fortress of the Bass Rock, Dumbarton Castle, and other strongholds were crammed with Covenanters and Cameronians. Witnesses, a thing unheard of before, were now tortured. "This," says Sir John Lauder of Fountainhall, "was agreeable to the Roman law, but not to ours; it was a barbarous practice, but yet of late frequently used amongst us." He also informs us that Generals Dalziel and Drummond had imported thumbscrews from Russia, where they had seen them used, by which they crushed the thumbs of prisoners to compel them to confess. All the laws of evidence were thrown aside, and the accused were condemned on presumptive evidence. On such testimony the property of numbers was forfeited, and the notorious Graham of Claverhouse was enriched by the estate of a suspected Covenanter.

By these torrents of blood, these diabolical engines of iron boots, thumbscrews, and other tortures; by witnesses forced to implicate their neighbours, and a herd of vile caitiffs brought forward to swear away the lives and fortunes of every man who dared to entertain, though he scarcely ventured to avow, a free opinion; by the Church preaching passive obedience; by servile, bullying, and brutal judges; Charles had now completely subdued the spirit of the nation, and had, through the aid of French money, obtained that absolute power which his father in vain fought for.

One of the first uses which he made of this beautiful tranquillity was to destroy the ancient seminaries of freedom--the corporations of the country. Writs of _quo warranto_ were issued, and the corporations, like the nation at large, prostrate at the foot of the polluted throne, were compelled by threats and promises to resign their ancient privileges. "Neither," says Lingard, "had the boroughs much reason to complain. By the renewal of their charters they lost no franchise which it was reasonable they should retain; many acquired rights which they did not previously possess; but individuals suffered, because the exercise of authority was restricted to a smaller number of burgesses, and these, according to custom, were in the first instance named by the Crown."

There, indeed, lay the gist and mischief of the whole matter. Charles cared little what other privileges they enjoyed so that he could deprive them of their most important privilege--their independence, and make them not only slavish institutions, but instruments for the general enslavement of the country. "In the course of time," says the same historian, "several boroughs, by the exercise of those exclusive privileges, which had been conferred on them by ancient grants from the Crown, had grown into nests or asylums of public malefactors, and on that account were presented as nuisances by the grand juries of the county assizes." This was a good reason why those "several boroughs" should have been reformed; but none whatever why all boroughs should be compelled to surrender their independence to a despotic monarch. The great instrument in this sweeping usurpation was the Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, a man admirably calculated for the work by his power of coaxing, jeering, browbeating, and terrifying the reluctant corporations. Before he set out on his summer circuit this year, Charles presented him with a ring from his own finger, as a mark of his especial esteem, at the same time giving him a very necessary piece of advice, Chief Justice as he was, to beware of drinking too much, as the weather would be hot. The ring was called Jeffreys' bloodstone, being presented to him just after the execution of Sir Thomas Armstrong.

Though blood had ceased to flow, persecution of the Whigs had not ceased. Sir Samuel Barnardiston, the foreman of the grand jury which had ignored the Bill against Lord Shaftesbury, was not forgotten. He was tried for a libel, and fined ten thousand pounds, and ordered to find security for his good behaviour during life. Williams, the Speaker of the House of Commons, was prosecuted for merely having discharged the duties of his office, in signing the votes; Braddon and Speke were tried and punished severely for slandering the king and duke by charging them with the murder of Essex. And James now indulged his spleen against Titus Oates for his proceedings against the Catholics, and his endeavour to exclude James from the succession. The pretence seized upon was, that Oates and Dutton Colt had declared that the Duke of York was a traitor, and that before he should come to the succession, he should be banished or hanged, the hanging being the fitter. Jeffreys, who tried them, had a particular pleasure in sentencing Oates, who, in the days of his popularity, had hit the rascally lawyer hard. In 1680 Jeffreys had fallen under the censure of Parliament for interfering in its concerns, and they had not only brought him to his knees at their bar, but had compelled him to resign the recordership of London. On the trial of College, the "Protestant joiner," Oates had appealed to Jeffreys, then Serjeant Jeffreys, to confirm a part of his evidence. Jeffreys indignantly said he did not intend becoming evidence for a man like him; whereupon Oates coolly replied, "I don't desire Sir George Jeffreys to become an evidence for me; I have had credit in Parliaments, and Sir George had disgrace in one of them." Jeffreys was stunned by this repartee, and merely replied, "Your servant, doctor; you are a witty man and a philosopher." But now the tide had turned; Jeffreys had the witty man at his mercy, and he fined him and Colt one hundred thousand pounds, or imprisonment till paid, which meant so long as they lived.

Tardy justice was also done to the Catholic peers who were in the Tower. Lord Stafford had fallen the victim of Protestant terrors during the ascendency of the Whigs; Lord Petre died, worn out by his confinement, but the Lords Powis, Arundel, and Bellasis, after lying in durance vile for five years, were brought up by writ of Habeas corpus, and were discharged on each entering into recognisances of ten thousand pounds for himself, and five thousand pounds each for four sureties, to appear at the bar of the House if called for. The judges, now that the Duke of York, the Catholic prince, was in power, could admit that these victims of a political faction "ought in justice and conscience to have been admitted to bail long ago." Danby, too, was liberated on the same terms, though he never could be forgiven by the king or duke for his patronage of Oates, and his zeal in hunting out the plot.

The influence of James was every day more manifest. Charles restored James to his former status by placing him at the head of the Admiralty; and, to avoid subjecting him to the penalties of the Test Act, himself signed all the papers which required the signature of the Lord High Admiral. Seeing that this was received with perfect complacency, he went a step farther, and, in defiance of the Test Act, introduced James again into the Council. This, indeed, excited some murmurs, even the Tories being scandalised at his thus coolly setting aside an Act of Parliament.

No sooner was James reinstated in the Council, than he planned yet more daring changes. Under the plea which he afterwards carried so far in his own reign, of relieving the Dissenters, he sought to relieve the Catholics from their penalties. What his regard was for the Dissenters has been sufficiently shown by their cruel persecution in England, and by his own especial oppression of the Covenanters in Scotland.

One morning, however, Jeffreys, who had lately been admitted to the Council, appeared at the board with an immense bundle of papers and parchments, and informed the king that they were the rolls of the names of the recusants that he had collected during his late circuit. He declared that the gaols were crammed with them, and that their case deserved the serious attention of the king. Lord Keeper North, who saw instantly the drift of the motion, and who had a profound jealousy of Jeffreys, who, he knew, was anxiously looking for the Seals, asked whether all the names in the list belonged to persons who were in prison? Jeffreys replied no, for the prisons could not hold all the persons convicted of recusancy. North then observed, that besides Catholics there were vast numbers of Nonconformists and other persons included in those lists, who were professed enemies of the king, and of Church and State, and that it would be far easier and safer to grant particular pardons to Catholics, than thus at once to set at liberty all the elements of commotion in the kingdom. The blow was struck. Strong as was the Government then, it dared not give a measure of exemption exclusively to the Catholics. The scheme, it was obviously seen, was transparent, and there was a significant silence. Neither Halifax, nor Rochester, nor the more Protestant members having occasion to open their mouths, the Council passed to other business.

But Halifax saw with alarm the advancing influence of the duke, and trembled for his own hold of office, for the duke, he knew, hated him mortally. He, therefore, as a certain resource against this advancing power, advised Charles to call a Parliament, but that Charles had resolved never to do. He still received a considerable sum from Louis, though not so large in amount nor so regularly paid as when his services were more needful; and to decrease his expenditure, he had, during the last year, sent a squadron under Lord Dartmouth to destroy the fortification of Tangier, which he had received as part of the dowry of the queen. Had that Settlement been well managed, it would have given England great advantages in the Mediterranean; but nothing of that kind was well managed by this unpatriotic king. To spare the expenditure necessary for its maintenance, he thus destroyed the defences, and left the place to the Moors, to the great indignation of Portugal, which thought rightly that, if he did not value it, he might have restored it.

Defeated in that quarter, Halifax next endeavoured to stop the advancement of Lord Rochester. This was Lawrence Hyde, the second son of the late Lord Chancellor Clarendon, and the especial favourite of the duke. He had (in 1682) not only been created Earl of Rochester, but made First Commissioner of the Treasury. Halifax beheld in his rise an ominous competitor, especially as the duke was the mainspring of his prosperity. He therefore accused Rochester of negligence or embezzlement in his office, and succeeded in removing him (1684) from the Treasury board to the Presidency of the Council. This Halifax called kicking a man upstairs. Nor did Rochester's promotion end here. He was soon after appointed to the government of Ireland, the old and veteran colleague of Rochester's father, and the staunch champion of Charles in the days of his adversity, being removed to make way for him. The great object, however, was not simply Rochester's promotion, but the organisation of a powerful Catholic army in Ireland, for which it was deemed Ormond was not active enough, this army having reference to James's views on England, which afterwards proved his ruin.

By this appointment Rochester was removed from immediate rivalry with Halifax; but sufficient elements of danger still surrounded that minister. Halifax and his colleagues had succeeded in strengthening the Protestant succession by the marriage of the second daughter of the duke, Anne, to a Protestant prince; but even in this event the influence of Louis had been active. Through the medium of Sunderland, who continued in office, and maintained a close intimacy with the French mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, Louis took care that, though the nation would not tolerate any but a Protestant prince for Anne's husband, it should be one of no great importance. George, Prince of Hanover, afterwards George I., had been selected, and made a visit to London, but returned without the princess. The fortune, it had been suggested, was not enough for the penurious German; his father recalled him to marry the Princess of Zell, a circumstance which Anne never forgot or forgave. In the midst of the agitation of the Rye House Plot, and but two days before the execution of Lord William Russell, another wooer appeared in George, brother of the King of Denmark. This young man also had the approbation of Louis, and the match took place a week after his arrival.

Still Halifax felt a growing insecurity in the royal favour. The whole influence of the Duke of York was exerted to ruin him, and he therefore determined once more to attempt to re-establish Monmouth in the king's favour. This popular but weak young man was living in great honour at the Court of the Prince of Orange. Many remonstrances had been made by the Duke of York to his daughter and son-in-law, against their encouragement of a son who had taken so determined a part both against his own father, the king, and himself, their father. But the prince and princess were well aware of Charles's affection for his undutiful son, and therefore did not fear seriously offending him. Under the management of Halifax, Van Citters, the Dutch ambassador in London, went over to the Hague on pretence of negotiating some measure of importance between the two countries. The Prince of Orange affected to comply with the wishes of Charles for the removal of Monmouth. But this nobleman, instead of taking up his residence at Brussels, as was given out, suddenly returned to London privately, had an interview with his father, and as suddenly returned to the Hague, saying that in three months he should be publicly admitted at Court, and the Duke of York be banished afresh. Charles, meantime, had proposed to James to go and hold a Parliament in Scotland, as if conferring a mark of particular honour and confidence on him. But the private visit of Monmouth had not escaped James, nor the correspondence of Halifax with him, and this caused a fresh energy of opposition to that minister to be infused into the duke's creatures at Court. Halifax had recommended a most enlightened measure to the king as regarded the American colonies, which, had it been adopted, might have prevented their loss at a later period. He represented that the grant of local legislatures to them would be the best means of developing their resources, and governing them in peace; but on this admirable suggestion the duke's partisans seized as something especially anti-monarchical and injurious to the power of the king. The duke, the Duchess of Portsmouth, and the Earl of Sunderland re-echoed these opinions, and drew from Charles a promise that unless Halifax retired of himself, he should be dismissed on the first plausible occasion. The influence of the French king was also at work to effect the overthrow of Halifax. It was in vain that Louis had endeavoured to buy him as he had done the king, the duke, and the other ministers; and as he could not be bought, the only alternative was to drive him from office. He was feebly supported by the Lord Keeper North; he was actively and zealously undermined by his colleagues, Sunderland and Godolphin; but still Charles hesitated. He enjoyed the wit and brilliant conversation of Halifax; he knew well his ability, and, still more, he was in a most indolent and undecided frame of mind. Macaulay has well described him at this moment:--"The event depended wholly on the will of Charles, and Charles could not come to a decision. In his perplexity he promised everything to everybody. He would stand by France, he would break with France; he would never meet another Parliament; he would order writs for a Parliament without delay. He assured the Duke of York that Halifax should be dismissed from office, and Halifax that the duke should be sent to Scotland. In public he affected implacable resentment against Monmouth, and in private conveyed to Monmouth assurances of unalterable affection. How long, if the king's life had been protracted, his hesitation would have lasted, and what would have been his resolve, can only be conjectured."

But his time was come. It was not likely that a man who had led the dissipated life that Charles had, would live to a very old age. He was now in his fifty-fifth year, and the twenty-fifth of his reign, that is, reckoning from the Restoration, and not from the death of his father, as the Royalists, who would never admit that a king could be unkinged, did. His health, or, more visibly, his spirits, had lately much failed--no doubt the consequence of that giving way of his debilitated system, which was soon to carry him off. His gaiety had quite forsaken him; he was gloomy, depressed, finding no pleasure in anything, and only at any degree of ease in sauntering away his time amongst his women. It was thought that his conscience began to trouble him for the profligacy of his life, and the blood that had been shed under his rule; but Charles was not a man much troubled with a conscience; he was sinking without being aware of it, and the heaviness of death was lying on him. On Monday, the 2nd of February, 1685, he rose at an early hour from a restless couch. Dr. King, a surgeon and chemist, who had been employed by him in experiments, perceived that he walked heavily, and with an unsteady gait. His face was ghastly, his head drooping, and his hand retained on his stomach. When spoken to he returned no answer, or a very incoherent one. King hastened out, and informed the Earl of Peterborough that the king was in a strange state, and did not speak one word of sense. They returned instantly to the king's apartment, and had scarcely entered it when he fell on the floor in an apoplectic fit. As no time was to be lost, Dr. King, on his own responsibility, bled him. The blood flowed freely, and he recovered his consciousness. When the physicians arrived they perfectly approved of what Dr. King had done, and applied strong stimulants to various parts of his body. The Council ordered one thousand pounds to be paid to Dr. King for his prompt services, but the fee was never paid.

As soon as the king rallied a little, he asked for the queen, who hastened to his bedside, and waited on him with the most zealous affection, till the sight of his sufferings threw her into fits, and the physicians ordered her to her own apartment. Towards evening Charles had a relapse, but the next morning he rallied again, and was so much better, that the physicians issued a bulletin, expressing hope of his recovery; but the next day he changed again for the worse, and on the fourth evening it was clear that his end was at hand. The announcement of his dangerous condition spread consternation through the City; the momentary news of his improvement was received with unequivocal joy, the ringing of bells, and making of bonfires. When the contrary intelligence of his imminent danger was made known, crowds rushed to the churches to pray for his recovery; and it is said the service was interrupted by the sobs and tears of the people. In the royal chapel prayers every two hours were continued during his remaining moments.

James was never a moment from the dying king's bedside. He was afterwards accused of having poisoned him--a suspicion for which there does not appear the slightest foundation; but, apart from natural brotherly regard, James was on the watch to guard the chances of his succession. Every precaution was taken to secure the tranquillity of the City, and to insure an uninterrupted proclamation of his accession. In the room, too, were as constantly a great number of noblemen and bishops. There were the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of London, Durham, and Ely, and Bath and Wells, besides twenty-five lords and privy councillors. A bishop, with some of the nobles, took turns to watch each night.

Early on the Thursday morning, Ken, of Bath and Wells, ventured to warn the king of his danger, and Charles receiving the solemn intelligence with an air of resignation, he proceeded to read the Office for the Visitation of the Sick. He asked Charles if he repented of his sins, and on replying that he did, Ken gave him absolution according to the prescribed form of the Church of England, and then inquired whether he should administer the Sacrament. To this there was no answer. Ken, supposing that the king did not clearly comprehend the question, repeated it more distinctly. Charles replied there was yet plenty of time. The bread and wine, however, were brought, and placed on a table near him; but though the question was again repeatedly asked by the bishop, Charles only replied, "he would think of it."

The mystery was, however, solved by the French mistress, who, drawing Barillon, the French ambassador into her boudoir, said, "Monsieur l'Ambassadeur, I am going to tell you the greatest secret in the world, and my head would be in danger if it were known here. The king, in the bottom of his heart, is a Catholic, and nobody tells him the state he is in, or speaks to him of God. I can no longer with propriety enter into his chamber, where the queen is almost constantly with him; the Duke of York thinks about his own affairs, and has no time to take the care that he ought of the king's conscience. Go and tell him that I have conjured you to warn him to do what he can to save the soul of the king, his brother. He is master in the royal chamber, and can make any one withdraw from it as he lists. Lose no time, for if you delay ever so little, it may be too late."

When Barillon whispered this to James, he started as from a lethargy, and said, "You are right, there is no time to lose. I will rather hazard all than not do my duty." A priest was found in Huddleston, who had been with the king in the battle of Worcester, and accompanied him in his flight. He had become a Benedictine monk, and had been appointed one of the chaplains of the queen.

The duke, stooping to the king's ear, had inquired in a whisper whether he should bring him a Catholic priest, and Charles instantly replied, "For God's sake, do!" The duke then requested, in the king's name, all the company to retire into an adjoining room, except the Earl of Bath, Lord of the Bedchamber, and Lord Feversham, Captain of the Guard, and as soon as this was done, Huddleston, disguised in a wig and gown, was introduced by the backstairs by Chiffinch, who for so many years had been employed to introduce very different persons. Barillon says that Huddleston was no great doctor, which is probably true enough, having originally been a soldier, but he managed to administer the Sacrament to the king, and also the extreme unction. Charles declared he pardoned all his enemies, and prayed to be pardoned by God, and forgiven by all whom he had injured.

This ceremony lasted three-quarters of an hour, and the excluded attendants passed the time in much wonder and significant guesses. They looked at one another in amazement, but spoke only with their eyes, or in whispers. The Lords Bath and Feversham being both Protestants, however, seemed to disarm the fears of the bishops. But when Huddleston withdrew, the news was speedily spread. That night he was in much pain; the queen sent to excuse her absence, and to beg that he would pardon any offence that she might at any time have given him. "Alas! poor woman!" he replied, "she beg my pardon! I beg hers with all my heart; take back to her that answer." He then sent for his illegitimate sons, except Monmouth, whom he never mentioned, and recommended them to James, and, taking each by the hand, gave them his blessing. The bishops, affected by this edifying sight, threw themselves on their knees, and begged he would bless them too; whereupon he was raised up and blessed them all. Having blessed the bishops, he next blessed the ladies of his harem, and particularly recommended to his successor the care of the Duchess of Portsmouth, who had been pretty active for his exclusion, and also the Duchess of Cleveland, hoping, moreover, that "poor Nelly"--Nell Gwynne--would not be left to starve. Three hours afterwards this strange monarch breathed his last on the 6th of February, 1685.

THE ANTE-CHAMBER OF WHITEHALL DURING THE LAST MOMENTS OF CHARLES II., 1685.

FROM THE PICTURE BY E. M. WARD, R.A., IN THE WALKER ART GALLERY, LIVERPOOL.]