He acted at different times with both the great political parties, but he never shared in the passions of either. Like most men of cautious tempers and prosperous fortunes, he had a strong disposition to support whatever existed. He disliked revolutions; and, for the same reason for which he disliked revolutions, he disliked counter-revolutions. His deportment was remarkably grave and reserved, but his personal tastes were low and frivolous; and most of the time which he could save from public business was spent in racing, card-playing, and cock-fighting. He now sat below Rochester at the Board of Treasury, and distinguished himself there by assiduity and intelligence.

Before the new Parliament was suffered to meet for dispatch of business, a whole year elapsed; an eventful year, which has left lasting traces in our manners and language. Never before had political controversy been carried on with so much freedom; never before had political clubs existed with so elaborate an organization or so formidable an influence. The one question of the exclusion occupied the public mind. All the presses and pulpits of the realın took part in the conflict. On one side it was maintained that the Constitution and religion of the state would never be secure under a popish king; on the other, that the right of James to wear the crown in his turn was derived from God, and could not be annulled, even by the consent of all the branches of the Legislature. Every county, every town, every family, was in agitation. The civilities and hospitalities of neighborhood were interrupted. The dearest ties of friendship and of blood were sundered. Even schoolboys were divided into angry parties; and the Duke of York and the Earl of Shaftesbury had zealous adherents on all the forms of Westminster and Eton. The theaters shook with the roar of the contending factions. Pope Joan was brought on the stage by the zealous Protestants. Pensioned poets filled their prologues and epilogues with eulogies on the king and the duke. The malcontents besieged the

throne with petitions, demanding that Parliament might be forthwith convened. The Loyalists sent up addresses, expressing the utmost abhorrence of all who presumed to dictate to the sovereign. The citizens of London assembled by tens of thousands to burn the pope in effigy. The government posted cavalry at Temple Bar, and placed ordnance round Whitehall. In that year our tongue was enriched with two words, Mob and Sham, remarkable memorials of a season of tumult and imposture.* Opponents of the court were called Birminghams, petitioners, and exclusionists. Those who took the king's side were Anti-Birminghams, abhorrers, and tantivies. These appellations soon became obsolete; but at this time were first heard two nicknames, which, though originally given in insult, were soon assumed with pride, which are still in daily use, which have spread as widely as the English race, and which will last as long as the English literature. It is a curious circumstance, that one of these nicknames was of Scotch, and the other of Irish origin. Both in Scotland and in Ireland, misgovernment had called into existence bands of desperate men, whose ferocity was heightened by religious enthusiasm. In Scotland, some of the persecuted Covenanters, driven mad by oppression, had lately murdered the primate, had taken arms against the government, had obtained some advantages against the king's forces, and had not been put down till Monmouth, at the head of some troops from England, had routed them at Bothwell Bridge. These zealots were most numerous among the rustics of the western lowlands, who were vulgarly called Whigs. Thus the appellation of Whig was fastened on the Presbyterian zealots of Scotland, and was transferred to those English politicians who showed a disposition to oppose the court, and to treat Protestant Nonconformists with indulgence. The bogs of Ireland, at the same time, afforded a refuge to popish outlaws, much resembling those who were afterward known as Whiteboys. These men were then called

Tories. The name of Tory was therefore given to Englishmen who refused to concur in excluding a Roman Catholic prince from the throne.

The rage of the hostile factions would have been sufficiently violent if it had been left to itself; but it was studiously exasperated by the common enemy of both. Louis still continued to bribe and flatter both court and Opposition. He exhorted Charles to be firm; he exhorted James to raise a civil war in Scotland; he exhorted the Whigs not to flinch, and to rely with confidence on the protection of France.

Through all this agitation, a discerning eye might have perceived that the public opinion was gradually changing. The persecution of the Roman Catholics went on, but convictions were no longer matters of course. A new brood of false witnesses, among whom a villain named Dangerfield was the most conspicuous, infested the courts; but the stories of these men, though better constructed than that of Oates, found less credit. Juries were no longer so easy of belief as during the panic which had followed the murder of Godfrey; and judges who, while the popular phrensy was at the height, had been its most obsequious instruments, now ventured to express some part of what they had from the first thought.

At length, in October, 1680, the Parliament met. The Whigs had so great a majority in the Commons that the Exclusion Bill went through all its stages there without difficulty. The king scarcely knew on what members of his own cabinet he could reckon. Hyde had been true to his Tory opinions, and had steadily supported the cause of hereditary monarchy; but Godolphin, anxious for quiet, and believing that quiet could be restored only by concession, wished the bill to pass. Sunderland, ever false and ever short-sighted, unable to discern the signs of approaching reaction, and anxious to conciliate the party which he believed to be irresistible, determined to vote against the court. The Duchess of Portsmouth implored her royal lover not to rush headlong to destruction

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If there were any point on which he had a scruple of conscience or of honor, it was the question of the succession; but during some days it seemed that he would submit. He wavered, asked what sum the Commons would give him if he yielded, and suffered a negotiation to be opened with the leading Whigs; but a deep mutual distrust, which had been many years growing, and which had been carefully nursed by the arts of France, made a treaty impossible. Neither side would place confidence in the other. The whole nation now looked with breathless anxiety to the House of Lords. The assemblage of peers was large. The king himself was present. The debate was long, earnest, and occasionally furious. Some hands were laid on the pommels of swords, in a manner which revived the recollection of the stormy Parliaments of Henry the Third and Richard the Second. Shaftesbury and Essex were joined by the treacherous Sunderland; but the genius of Halifax bore down all opposition. Deserted by his most important colleagues, and opposed to a crowd of able antagonists, he defended the cause of the Duke of York in a succession of speeches, which, many years later, were remembered as master-pieces of reasoning, of wit, and of eloquence. It is seldom that oratory changes votes; yet the attestation of cotemporaries leaves no doubt that, on this occasion, votes were changed by the oratory of Halifax. The bishops, true to their doctrines, supported the principle of hereditary right, and the bill was rejected by a great majority.*

* A peer who was present has described the effect of Halifax's oratory in words which I will quote, because, though they have been long in print, they are probably known to few even of the most curious and diligent readers of history.

"Of powerful eloquence and great parts were the duke's enemies who did assert the bill; but a noble lord appeared against it, who, that day, in all the force of speech, in reason, in arguments of what should concern the public or the private interests of men, in honor, in conscience, in estate, did outdo himself and every other man; and, in fine, his conduct and his parts were both victorious, and by him all the wit and malice of that party were over thrown "

The party which preponderated in the House of Commons, bitterly mortified by this defeat, found some consolation in shedding the blood of Roman Catholics. William Howard, viscount Stafford, one of the unhappy men who had been accused of a share in the plot, was brought before the bar of his peers, and on the testimony of Oates and of two other false witnesses, Dugdale and Turberville, was found guilty of high treason, and suffered death. But the circumstances of his trial and execution ought to have given a useful warning to the Whig leaders. A large and respectable minority of the House of Lords pronounced the prisoner not guilty. The multitude, which a few months before had received the dying declarations of Oates's victims with mockery and execrations, now loudly expressed a belief that Stafford was a murdered man. When he with his last breath protested his innocence, the cry was, "God bless you, my lord! We believe you, my lord." A judicious observer might easily have predicted that the blood then shed would shortly have blood.

The king determined to try once more the experiment of a dissolution. A new Parliament was summoned to meet at Oxford in March, 1681. Since the days of the Plantagenets the houses had constantly sat at Westminster, except when the plague was raging in the capital; but so extraordinary a conjuncture seemed to require extraordinary precautions. If the Parliament were held in its usual place of assembling, the House of Commons might declare itself permanent, and might call for aid on the magistrates and citizens of London. The train-bands might rise to defend Shaftesbury as they had risen forty years before to defend Pym and Hampden. The guards might be overpowered, the palace forced, the king a pris

This passage is taken from a memoir of Heury, earl of Peterborough, in a volume entitled "Succinct Genealogies, by Robert Halstead," fol., 1685. The name of Halstead is fictitious. The real authors were the Earl of Peterbor

ough himself and his chaplain. The book is extremely rare. Only twenty. four copies were printed, two of which are now in the British Museum. Of these two, one belonged to George the Fourth, and the other to Mr. Grenville.