security to the Romish church, it would be necessary to obtain the sanction of the legislative body. This he had, from the commencement of his reign, been vainly endeavouring to obtain; and nothing more plainly shows the real temper of the nation than his entire absence of success. Generally, the temper and opinions of the representatives of the nation are so far divided, and for the most part there is so much ignorance of constitutional interests, and so much indifference to all but private and personal interests, that it is not difficult to form a tolerably even balance in favour of any views of the cabinet; and, unless when some great national ferment has been raised, it is difficult to conceive a course of policy so deleterious to constitutional welfare and stability, that cannot soon be maintained by a sincere, zealous and powerful party, both in the house and throughout the nation. Such indeed is necessarily the constitution of public opinion; a thing, if we may so call it, more many-headed than seems to be generally imagined by those who write and speak of it; so that it is, as it were, the fictitious deity of journalists and street rhetoricians. And yet so strong, unanimous, and resolute, was the universal repugnance to the aims which James had so much at heart, that his first and most obsequious parliament, who would, if properly managed, have yielded up every barrier of the constitution, were found stubborn in this. In vain the king had recourse to the summary expedient of the quo warranto, and tried by the usurped prerogative of dissolving, renewing, and changing at will the corporations, to command the boroughs and the magistracy: in vain he continued an illegal jurisdiction to interfere with the privileges of the electors. The result of all his interferences, tamperings, and closetings, was the same. party which he was thus enabled to form did not amount to any assignable proportion of the constituency anywhere, and he was obliged to give up the hope.

The

In this infatuated course of tyrannical but self-destructive efforts, the king continued to rush forward with something like a judicial blindness for some years. It is indeed difficult to conceive the degree of rashness which his whole conduct evinced, without having recourse to the supposition of an influence behind the throne too great for ordinary discretion. The probable duration of his life was measured by his spiritual counsellors against the progress of their wishes; and all their counsels, directed to the conscience of the feeble and bigoted monarch, were strongly actuated by some sense of the desperation of their cause. At length matters began to take a more decided turn, and events occurred which soon precipitated the career of this rash and ill-fated king. Rather goaded by continued disappointment, and embittered by the influence of an unceasing controversy with his people, than warned by instances so decided of the national spirit, the king became more harsh and peremptory in the assertion of his designs, and took more decided steps. Of these the most decisive was the attack upon the bishops, which had the dangerous effect of drawing forth a decided and general expression of the national sense. In 1688, he published a fresh de

*The elections in many of the borough towns were by this means placed directly in the nomination of the crown, or what was the same thing, in that of its minions. Such indeed is always the virtual result of any regulation which gives individuals a power or a preponderating influence over the elections.

claration of indulgence, to which he added a command, that it should be read, for two successive Sundays, in all the churches immediately after divine service. The bishops were commanded to send this round with the sanction of their authority. The command caused great alarm, and the bishops and clergy held meetings to consider what course they should steer in a matter of such pressing emergency. The enormous power of the crown, when directed against individuals, was too formidable to be looked upon with defiance: on the opposite scale, the voice of conscience, the sense of the nation, and the safety of their church, presented motives of greater weight. In this difficulty a few less firm advised a compromise-such as, in less trying times, had often evaded acts of tyranny by an equivocal obedience or a mental reservation. Against this most disgraceful and unworthy course the voice of the majority was now raised: it was clearly pointed out that their ruin was so evidently designed that no compromise could avert it; that the obedience now required would be but a step towards this purpose; that it was useless to consider how far they could safely comply, as the requisitions upon their compliance were uniformly precedents for greater demands; and if they must make a stand at some point, the sooner the better, and the more especially, as these compliances would have the effect of drawing other persons into still greater compliances, by which at last they might be left in a dangerously small party; for they could not reasonably expect the nobility to sacrifice their own private interests in a struggle for the church, if the clergy themselves led the way in its abandonment. These, and other such reasons, operated upon those who required them—the body of the clergy required no reasoning to actuate their conduct-and some of the bishops prepared to stand in the gap of the constitution, and to take that part which the interests of the church and state, as well as the feelings of the nation, demanded. They resolved that the declaration should not be read.

The king was not prepared for a step so decided; some few prelates who were nothing more than creatures of the court, had deceived him into the notion that his order would be obeyed by the majority of the bishops and clergy; and that from the general submission he might draw a reasonable pretext for proceeding for contumacy against the recusant party, and thus a very decided confirmation of his authority would be obtained. While the court lay still in this delusion created by its own partisans, the churchmen proceeded with quiet and secret celerity, to convey their orders, and intimate the course to be pursued to the clergy throughout the kingdom.

The feeble and indecisive Sancroft then at the head of the English church, found himself involved in the necessity of leading the march of resistance; and it may be observed that this is of itself a strong indication of the spirit of the moment, as well as of the strong sense of the emergent necessity of the occasion; two years sooner this archbishop would have given way: he now prepared to act as became the duty of his high station. Having convened his bishops and clergy and taken their nearly unanimous consent, he came with six bishops to London, where they agreed upon a petition to the king, expressive of the reasons for their resolution not to obey the late orders of council. They disclaimed any un

willingness that a toleration should be conceded to the dissenters, but objected to the power by which it was attempted to be done, as laying both the church and constitution of which it was (then) a part, at the mercy of an illegal and arbitrary discretion. They expressed their willingness to consent to any measure to the same effect, which should be affirmed by the wisdom of the parliament and convocation; and noticed, that the power involved in such an order had been repeatedly declared illegal in parliament, in 1662, 1672, and in the beginning of the present reign.

Sancroft was himself ill, but sent the six bishops, St Asaph, Ely, Bath and Wells, Peterborough, Chester, and Bristol, to deliver the petition, which was however drawn up with his own hand. They were admitted quickly and received by the king with unexpected complacency. Deluded to the last, the king was persuaded that their object was simply to evade the public feeling, by throwing the responsibility of the required obedience upon their chancellors, and that their petition was only to suggest that it was usual to direct such an order to these functionaries, instead of to the bishops. The king's good temper was destined to have a speedy reverse; on hearing the actual petition, his rage and surprise were boundless, and his language was suitably violent. It was one of his habits to address the most indecorous and intemperate language on the most solemn or public occasions, to all who fell under his displeasure; and to the bishops his wrath was now shown by the most unmeasured reproaches. Among other things he told them "he was their king, and that they should be made to feel what it was to disobey him," to this the only reply was— "the will of God be done." Such was the crisis of this blind monarch's fate; there was no longer room for either party to retract.

For a fortnight matters lay quiet; the king was himself staggered by the decisive blow he had struck, and consulted with persons of every persuasion. The Roman catholic noblemen of his council strongly urged that he should let the matter drop in silence. But this was repugnant to the character and state maxims of James, who held that a king should never retract, and that any measure once begun should be carried through. Father Petre, violent, short-sighted, incapable of looking to consequences, and only alive to the fierce impulse of the conflict, was transported beyond all bounds of decorous reserve by the hope of a triumph. He said in his joy that the bishops "should eat their own dung," and exerted his entire influence to hurry on the king in the frantic path on which he needed no spur. bishops were cited before the council, and asked if the petition was theirs: they urged that their own confession should not be brought against them, and, assuming that a course so unfair would not be adopted, they acknowledged the petition. They were then charged with its publication. To this charge they answered that, they had not only not published it but that all pains had been taken to prevent its being seen by any one beyond themselves and the king. There had been no copies taken from the original draught in the archbishop's own hand, but the one; and the publication must have proceeded from some one to whom the king had shown that one. The bishops were then re

The

quired to enter into bonds for their appearance before the king's bench; but on pleading their peerage, they were sent to the Tower.

This step caused a ferment in the city, such as says Burnet, was never "known in the memory of man.” A ferment not soon allayed, or confined in its immediate effects. The bishops were sent by water to the Tower; the banks of the river were crowded the entire way with people, who threw themselves upon their knees, and asked their blessing as they past along; the soldiers who were their escort caught the universal enthusiasm and followed the example of the people. At the Tower they were received with the same testimonies of reverence and affection. The king was indignant but unalarmed by demonstrations which should have made him pause and reconsider his course, had it been other than infatuation—si mens non læva fuisset. The moderate portion of his friends were dismayed and urged moderation to no purpose; and in two days after when the queen was delivered (or said to be delivered) of a son, they pressed it upon him to take the fair pretext which this event offered, for their release. But the king was inflexible; he replied that his authority "would become contemptible if he allowed such an affront to pass unpunished."

A week after their committal they were brought up on a writ of Habeas Corpus to the bar of the king's bench, and entered into bonds for their appearance in a fortnight, to answer the charges which should be brought against them. The trial came on at the appointed time, and excited a vast commotion of the city, and not less in the army which lay encamped on Hounslow heath. As the reader is already aware of the grounds of charge, it will be unnecessary to enter upon the details of this trial, simple in the character of its proceedings and the obvious questions at issue, but momentous in its consequences. There was in fact no ground on which the prosecution had a moment's chance to stand in any court having the least pretence to be called a court of justice. Williams and Powis who conducted the case for the crown, found some thing to say, as advocates must and will. The only evidence against the bishops was their own confession; and the publication could not by any reach of ingenuity be brought home to them. Their right to petition could not be shaken by any argument sufficient to satisfy the most courtly understanding that had any pretence to sit there; and had the judges forgotten themselves so far, there was a jury. The people of England stood at the door; its first nobility crowded the court; the atmosphere of influence and corruption was excluded; and the justice of British law took its untrammelled course. The principal charge was that the petition was a libel against the king's government; to which it was replied, that the bishops had not only, in common with all sub-jects, a right to petition the king; but as peers they had a right to offer their counsel; and, being spiritual peers, more especially in matters of ecclesiastical concern; that having been required to act in direct violation of the law, and of their own ideas of the obligations of conscience and duty, they had a right to offer their reasons. It was also strongly argued that the dispensing power claimed by the king had been, by many votes of parliament, declared illegal, and that the point had been given up by the late king.

The trial lasted ten hours. The jury were quickly agreed upon their verdict, but they considered it prudent to make some show of prolonged deliberation. They therefore remained shut up till morning. The crowd continued all this time in anxious suspense; the king, with the impetuosity of his temper, had not allowed the fear of defeat to approach him. Early the next morning he went out to Hounslow Heath, considering his presence necessary to repress the temper which had upon that occasion manifested itself in the army. While he was there, the joyful acclamations of the city on the announcement of the bishops' acquittal rose loudly on the air, and was heard with no great complacency by the royal persecutor. His presence kept the troops silent; but he no sooner turned to leave them than their irrepressible joy broke forth. On hearing their tumultuous cheers, the king stopped to ask the cause: "Nothing but the acquittal of the bishops, which has reached them," was the simple but astounding answer. Call you that nothing," said James; "but it shall be worse for them."

King James had little weighed his force, or the power with which he had thus rashly committed his strength; and he was not to be warned by defeat. He was like a personage described by Milton, who "For very spite

Still will be tempting him who foils him still,

And never cease, though to his shame the more."

From the shame of defeat his pride and self-will only collected accumulated inveteracy; and he now resolved to show his contempt for the triumph of the bishops by transferring the same violence to the inferior clergy. But they too, had this lesson been wanting, had learned their strength, and seen the impotence of their persecutor. The chan

cellors and archdeacons of the dioceses were requested to send in a list of the clergy who had disobeyed and resisted the order of council. They refused to comply. And the bishop of Rochester, who had hitherto sat with the court of commission, declined to sit with them any longer. In consequence, this illegal court adjourned for some months, and never sat again.

These affairs were not, in their results, confined to England; but caused a profound sensation in every part of Europe; and it was generally considered, as it really was, a contest for victory between the crown and the church. The constitution of England was actually in the very crisis of a struggle between its higher and more vital powers: the rights of the nation, its liberties, its laws, and its religion, were quivering in the balance against those pervading and all-grasping powers of spiritual tyranny, on which the principles of the most crushing despotism reposed. In this awful juncture, the church and the courts of justice had held their ground; but two of the judges were dismissed on suspicion of having favoured the bishops, and the powers of the constitution were giving way to a more detailed system of attack-the magistracy had been changed and the corporations tampered with. The local authorities were easily taken in detail. The king's assumed power to dispense with laws and the disabilities they created, met no power to resist them in the provinces, and there were mayors and sheriffs everywhere to secure the king's interest at the next election. It is indeed plain enough that if not