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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 c^(!>
 
 PARADOXES AND PUZZLES
 
 PARADOXES AND PUZZLES 
 
 HISTORICAL. JUDICIAL, AND LITERARY 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN PAGET 
 
 1;/ 
 BAIUUSTEK-AT-LA\V 
 
 " IIIDINU .STUAIGHT I'l' 10 TUB CENTRAL PAVILION, HE STUl'CK WITH THE 
 SHARP END OF HIS Sl'EAR THE SHIELD OF BRIAN DE BOIS-OUIIRERT." . . . 
 "all STOOD ASTONISHED AT HIS PRESUMPTION." — ' Ivanhoc' 
 
 "a paradox is SOMETHING WHICH IS APART FROM GENERAL OPINION, 
 EITHER IN.Sl'BJECT-MArrER, METHOD, OR CONCLUSION." 
 
 ; — De Morgan, ' Biidijet of PewdoxeA,' \>. 2. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXIV
 
 r 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE NEW "EXAIMEN:" 
 
 AN INQUIRY INTO TUE EVIDENCE RELATING TO CERTAIN 
 PASSAGES IN LORD MACAULAY's HISTORY. 
 
 I.— LORD MACAULAY AND THE DUKE OF*MARLBOROUGn. 
 
 Charm of Lord Macaulay's writings, 
 
 Tlieir defects, .... 
 
 James II. and Arabella Churchill, 
 
 William III. and Elizabeth Villiers, 
 
 Lord Macauliiy's jiartiality, . 
 
 His Whiggisni and caprice, . 
 
 The youth of Marlborough, . 
 
 His education, .... 
 
 The Duchess of Cleveland, 
 
 ' The New Atalantis,' 
 
 Sarah Jennings, .... 
 
 The Duke of Somerset, . 
 
 Lord Macaulay's slanders of the Duchess 
 
 of Marlborougli, .... 
 Charges .against Marlborough, 
 Charge of aviiricc, .... 
 
 PAGE 
 3 
 
 Cliarge of obtaining money under false 
 liretcnccs, 
 
 ' The Dear I3argain,' , , _ . 
 
 The Jacobite iiamiihleteers, . ' . 
 
 Charge of murder, .... 
 
 Camaret Bay, .... 
 
 Floyd, 
 
 The Stuart papers, 
 
 Russell, Shrewsbury, Gwlolphin, 
 
 Inttlligonco cDuveyed to Louis, 
 
 William's Utter to Shrewsbury, 
 
 Burcliett -Lord Cacnnarthen, 
 
 Derail of Talmash, 
 
 Lord Macaulay's groundless and UU' 
 scnipulous charges, ... 
 
 His suppression and falsification of evi 
 dcnce, 29 
 
 II.— LORD MACAULAY AND THE MASSACRE OP GLENCOE. 
 
 The Glencoe men, .... 
 
 Their character, .... 
 
 Peaceable st^ile of the Highlands, . 
 
 Truce of Achallader, 
 
 Treaty of Limerick, 
 
 The Earl of Breadalbane, 
 
 Meeting at .\cliallader, . 
 
 M'Domild (if Glencoe, 
 
 The valley iif (ileneoe, . 
 
 Lord Maciiulay's description, 
 
 Inaccurate and exaggerated, . 
 
 Real state of the glen. 
 
 Described by the biographer of Lochicl, 
 
 By Mrs Grant of Lagg.an, 
 
 The Master of Stair, 
 
 Unjustly treat<Ml by Lord Macaulay, 
 
 His letters to the Earl of Breadalbane, 
 
 M'lan at Inverlochy, 
 
 M'lan takes the oath, 
 
 Returns to Glencoe, 
 
 William III., . 
 
 Tlie " Extiri>ation " order, 
 
 Signed by William, 
 
 Buniet excuses, 
 
 Lord Macaulay justifies. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's sophisms, . 
 
 33 Preparations for tlie Massacre, 
 
 34 Letters of Stair to Livingstone, 
 
 34 Colonel Hill 
 
 35 Hamilton, .... 
 
 35 Glenlyon, . . , , 
 
 36 The Massacre, 
 
 37 Murder of M'lan and his wife, 
 
 37 Of Auchintriaten, . 
 
 38 Escape of Auchintriatcn's brother, 
 
 39 Murder of the children, women, and old 
 
 39 '"^'n 
 
 40 Ronald M 'Donald's father burnt, . 
 
 40 The glen jdundered by the soldiers, 
 
 41 Re]iiirt in the ' Paris Gazette,' 
 43 The Jacobite version, 
 
 46 Charles Leslie, .... 
 
 47 ' (iallienus Hedivivus,' . 
 
 51 Unfairly quoted by Lord Macaulay, 
 
 52 Report of the Commission, 
 52 Lonl Macaulay's misrepresentations, 
 54 William III. resiionsible for the mas 
 
 54 sacre, 
 
 55 lie jianlons .Stair, . 
 55 And rewanls him, . 
 55 Tlie other actors, . 
 56 
 
 57 
 S8 
 59 
 60 
 60 
 60 
 63 
 65 
 64 
 
 65 
 65 
 66 
 68 
 68 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 70 
 7" 
 
 72 
 73 
 74 
 76
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Ill —Tin: IIIOIll.ANDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 I.i.nl Mncniiliiy'H |n■<li^,'r^•l•, 
 
 1 1 Ih liiitrnl I if II IkIiIiiiiiIi'I-h ami i<rQiiitkurH, 
 
 IliH (IrHiTlplloii (iftlio IIIkIiIiukU, 
 
 OlJvci'CioMNiiiitli, . 
 
 Ulclinnl Frniick, 
 
 Coloiu'l Clcliiiiil, 
 
 TIU! Ill){lllllll(l IIOHt, 
 
 ljurt's Luttcre, 
 
 IV.— LORD M 
 
 Miscnncoptlon an to Dunduc, 
 
 Hir Walter Scott, . 
 
 ' Old Mort.ility,' . 
 
 Lonl Macaulay'a History 
 
 His cl<H|iiciico, 
 
 Mis jiower, 
 
 His viust knowledge. 
 
 His iigustice. 
 
 His jiortniit of Claverhouse, 
 
 The "Chief of Tophet," 
 
 His iiiisre|irpsentjitions, 
 
 Mar^aivtM'Lachlan and Margaret Wilson, 
 
 Andrew Hi.sUii) 
 
 John l}rt)wn, " The Christian Carrier," 
 
 Lord Mucaulay's account 
 Wodrow's account, . 
 Professor Aytoun, . 
 Patrick Walker's accoun 
 Sir Walter Scott, 
 William Crookshank, 
 
 of his death, 
 
 v.— LORD M 
 
 \CAULAY AND WILLLVM PENN. 
 
 Charges against Penn, 
 Tlie Maids of Taunton, 
 Robert Brent and George 
 The Duke of Somerset, 
 Sir Francis Warre, . 
 " Mr Penne," . 
 Oldmixon, Ralph, &c. , 
 Sir James Mackintosh, 
 Cornish an<l Gaunt, 
 Cliarge of inhumanity. 
 Declaration of Indulgence, 
 Conduct of Dissenters, 
 Bunyan — Kiffln, 
 Burnet, 
 
 Attainiicr of Penwick, 
 " Kinphatic honesty," 
 Magdalen College, . 
 Anthony Fanner, . 
 Hough, . 
 Parker, . 
 Penn at Oxford, 
 Lonl Macaulay's cliarge. 
 The anonymous letter. 
 Interview at Windsor, 
 
 77 Safety of travelling, 
 
 78 Highland fare, 
 
 79 Lowland delicacies, 
 
 80 Tlic' Knglisli fox-liuntcr, 
 83 The llighlaml laird, 
 
 88 Slanders and Mattery, 
 
 8g Mrs Manley ami Ajiiira Bchn, 
 
 91 The Scotch an<l the Welsh, 
 
 \CAULAY AND DUNDEE. 
 
 lOI 
 lOI 
 
 103 
 
 103 
 103 
 103 
 103 
 103 
 103 
 103 
 
 JOS 
 107 
 107 
 108 
 109 
 109 
 III 
 III 
 III 
 
 112 
 
 Walker's narrative, 
 
 Lord Macaulay's mis<|uotAtlon.s, 
 
 Murder of Arclihishop Sharpe, 
 
 Hackston of lUthillet, . 
 
 Roherl Hamilton, . 
 
 Murder of the jirisoner at Drwmclog 
 
 " Jesu.s, and no quarter," 
 
 Murder of Peter Peirson, 
 
 Real history of John Brown, . 
 
 The Queensberry Papers, 
 
 Dundee's despatch, 
 
 Abjunition Oath, 
 
 The character of Claverhouse, 
 
 His strict discipline. 
 
 His justice 
 
 His humanity. 
 
 His piety 
 
 His private life. 
 
 His genius 
 
 His death, .... 
 
 (no 
 
 135 
 136 
 137 
 138 
 139 
 140 
 141 
 143 
 147 
 147 
 148 
 150 
 151 
 153 
 
 15s 
 156 
 156 
 158 
 
 159 
 161 
 163 
 164 
 166 
 
 93 
 94 
 95 
 97 
 97 
 99 
 99 
 too 
 
 "4 
 "7 
 118 
 
 I30 
 131 
 131 
 131 
 133 
 «23 
 134 
 135 
 137 
 139 
 139 
 139 
 130 
 131 
 132 
 133 
 
 «33 
 
 Hough's letter, 167 
 
 Sununary of the charges, . • '73 
 
 Penn In 1688, 173 
 
 Letter to Shrewsbury, . . . .173 
 
 Avaux, 17s 
 
 Nevill Penn (nofe)i77 
 
 Gerard Croese, 178 
 
 Imaginai-y inteniew between Penn and 
 
 the king, 179 
 
 Preston's plot, 181 
 
 Funeral of Fox, 183 
 
 Henry Sidney, 183 
 
 Luttrell's Diary 187 
 
 Penn's retirement 189 
 
 Death of his wife, 190 
 
 Captain Williamson, .... 191 
 
 WiUiam Fuller, 192 
 
 Dangerfield (note) 193 
 
 Robert Francis (note) 193 
 
 Character of Penn, 196 
 
 Appendix, 197 
 
 Postscript, 309 
 
 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 I. -NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 
 
 Mr Ruskin's charges. 
 
 • 213 
 
 Rose's Diaries, &c.. 
 
 • 213 
 
 " Perlldy and murder," . 
 
 • 214 
 
 Tlie Riy of Naples, 
 
 ■ 214 
 
 Cai>itvilation of the castles, . 
 
 215 
 
 Canlinal RufTo, 
 
 215 
 
 Captain Foote, 
 
 215 
 
 The laws of war. 
 
 Charges brought by Fox again: 
 
 Nelson's justification, 
 
 Miss Williams, 
 
 Death of Caracciolo, 
 
 His character, 
 
 Conduot of Nelson, 
 
 216 
 
 ttheNa\-y, 218 
 
 . 218 
 
 320, 223 
 331 
 335 
 336
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VU 
 
 II.— LADY UAMILTON. 
 
 Her birth , 229 
 
 Early life 229 
 
 Caiitiiin Payne, 230 
 
 Sir Harry Featherstonchaugh, . . 230 
 
 Slanderous Jiienioirs 230 
 
 Honourable C. Greville 231 
 
 The quack Graham, .... 231 
 
 Her introduction to Roinney, . . 232 
 
 Roniney's i>orti'aits, .... 233 
 
 Gilray 234 
 
 Marriage to Sir W. Hamilton, . . 235 
 
 Kesidcnce at Naples, . . . . 236 
 
 The battle of the Nile, .... 237 
 
 Escape of the King and Queen of Naples, 238 
 
 Execution of Caracciolo, . . . 240 
 
 Slanders on Nelson and Lady Hamilton 
 by Southey, Lord Hrougham, Captaiu 
 
 Brenton, and Lord Holland, . 240, 241 
 
 Vindication by John Mitford, Sir Fran- 
 cis Collier, Lord Northwick, and the 
 Queen of Naples, . . . .241 
 
 Horatia, 243 
 
 Death of NeLson, 243 
 
 His will, 244 
 
 He leaves Lady Hamilton and Horatia 
 
 as a "legacy to his country," . . 245 
 
 Nelson's brother, 245 
 
 His baseness, 246 
 
 Ingratitude of England 247 
 
 Cliaracter of Lady Hamilton, . . 248 
 
 Her poverty 248 
 
 Her imprisonment, .... 248 
 
 Her rescue by Alderman Smith, . . 248 
 
 Her flight to Calais 248 
 
 Her death and funeral, . . . 250, 251 
 
 III.— THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 
 
 Mr Mark Napier and Principal Tulloch, 253 
 
 Lord Macaulay, 253 
 
 The trial and reprieve 256 
 
 Sir George Mackenzie, . 
 Kirk-session of Peuniughame, 
 
 258 
 262 
 
 IV.— RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 
 
 The Countess Guiccioli, 
 Lord Byron's marriage. 
 
 265 
 267 
 
 Birth of " Ada," 270 
 
 The " Dear Duck " letter, . . . 270 
 
 Lady Byron leaves her home, . . 271 
 Fanatical attack on Lord Byron, . .27' 
 
 Shelley, 272 
 
 Lord Macaulay, 272 
 
 Lady Byron's silence, .... 273 
 
 Lord BjTon's mistaken generosity. 
 
 Death of Lord Byron, 
 
 Lady Byron's " Remarks," 
 
 Thomas Campbell, . 
 
 Dr Lushington's letter, . 
 
 Lady Byron, . 
 
 The moral " Brinvilliers," 
 
 Destruction of Lord BjTon's Memoirs, 
 
 273 
 275 
 27s 
 27s 
 278 
 279 
 280 
 281 
 
 v.— LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 
 
 Mi-s Beeeher Stowe, .... 283 
 
 Her story, 284, 285 
 
 Wickedness and falsehood of her calum- 
 nies, ....... 288 
 
 Mrs Leigli— her character, . . . 290 
 
 Mr Delni6 RadclifTe, .... 291 
 
 Lady Byron's letters, .... 293 
 
 La<ly Anne Barnard, .... 296 
 
 Dr Lushiiigton 297 
 
 His silence 299 
 
 Lord Broughton, .... 301-307 
 Exclusion of Byron's statue from West- 
 minster Abbey, 307 
 
 Dr Ireland, 307 
 
 Character of Lord BjTon by Lord 
 
 Broughton, 307 
 
 Do. by the Rev. Wm. Harness, , .311 
 
 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 I.-ELIZABETH CANNING. 
 
 Her story 317-325 
 
 Henry Fielding, 325 
 
 Sir Crispc Gascoync 329 
 
 Conviction of Squires and Wells, 
 Conviction of Canning, . 
 
 329 
 335 
 
 II.— THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 
 
 Cliipping-Cam\nlcn, .... 337 
 
 Justice Shallow and " Will Squele," . 338 
 
 Disaiipearancc of Harrison . . . 338 
 
 Omfession of John Perrj', . . . 340 
 Trial anil execution of Joan, Riclianl, 
 
 and John Perrj' 341 
 
 Return of Harrison 342 
 
 His narrative, 342 
 
 Coufessions, 346 
 
 Mania for self-accusation, 
 Cowper the iioet, 
 Case at Calais, 
 Confession of the witi'hcs, 
 Isabcll Gowdie, Janet Bieadlicid, 
 
 Modern ca.scs 
 
 Samuel Wall, .... 
 Mutiny on the " Hcmiione," 
 
 3t7 
 347 
 348 
 348 
 35 > 
 353 
 353 
 3S6
 
 VIII 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 HI.— Til H ANNKHLEY CA8K. 
 
 MiirrlnKc nf I,onI AHhnin, . . . 3^ 
 
 Al'lM'JiriiiirtMir llic claiiuaiil, . . . 3^kj 
 
 llin tri/il for iiimilcr, mill acnuittrtl, . 360 
 
 Iliid l<ii<Iy Altliiim i^vi/r liml a child? . 361 
 
 The household at Duiimaliie, . . 362 
 
 Contnulictory cviiletiPf , . . 362, 3'i7 
 
 Kvidi!n>'(! of I'alliitvr, Joan I^Ruti, and 
 
 Mar}' Ilf'atli, 367 
 
 Kldiia|ii>lii){ (jf Richard Aiincblcy, . . 369 
 Conlrailictory verdicts 370 
 
 IV.— ELIZA PENNING. 
 
 Her runoral, 373 Hatch'H ciusc, 383 
 
 Ilcrtrial, 374-378 I'luiniiicr'H Raso 383 
 
 UuiHoiui for bcHcviriR hor Kiiilty, 379, 380 Case of B(|uire8 384 
 
 Kulo of law which jirohiliits an accused Canning's cAse 384 
 
 person from giving evidence in hia Suggested alteration of the rule, . . 384 
 
 own liehalf, 382 Fmiwick's case 384 
 
 Inconsistency of the rule, . . . 382 Tlic Road murder, 385 
 
 Evils of the rule, 3S3 
 
 Sarah Stout, 
 
 Character of Spencer Cowpcr, 
 
 Ilis trial, 
 
 Walker's e\idenco, .... 
 Ciiwper's defence, .... 
 FiiidinK of the Inxly of Sarah Stout, 
 Loril Macaulay's account of the trial, 
 liis hatred of Quakers and Tories, . 
 
 v.— SPENCER COWPER'S CASE. 
 
 387 
 
 His misrepresentation of facts and dis- 
 
 388 tortion of evidence, . . . 397-401 
 
 389 Tlie Quakers, 404 
 
 390 Their eccentricities 404 
 
 391 William Tallack, 405 
 
 394 Lorfl Macaulay's unscrupulous treatment 
 
 397 of facts a dangerous weapon, . 407 
 
 397 Might be easily turned against himself, 408 
 
 ESSAYS ON AET. 
 
 I.— THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 
 
 Mr Ruskin, 413 Christ), — 3. Modem (denying 
 
 His teachings, 414 Christ), 427 
 
 His notions as to perspective, . . 414 Raphael — Tlie Vatican — The " Sainte 
 
 As to optics, 418 Chapelle "—The TuUeries — The Goil- 
 
 His practice as to both, . . . 417-420 lotine, ... .... 428 
 
 As to light and shade, .... 421 Leonidas — St Louis — Nelson, . 429-431 
 
 As to shadow in water 421 Mr Ru.skin's want of reverence, . . 432 
 
 Etty 426 His intolerance, 432 
 
 Mr Ruskin's notions on History, Reli- Impotence of his blame, . . . 433 
 
 gion, and Political Economy, . . 427 Mischief of his praise, .... 433 
 
 Mr Ruskin's three great periods, . . 427 Mr Wallis — Mr I3rett — Mr Windus, . 434 
 
 I. Classical,— 2. Medieval (confessing Mr Noel Paton, 434 
 
 Mr Ruskin's style, 435 
 
 II.— A D.VY AT ANTTS'ERP: 
 
 Qucntin Matsys, 438 
 
 Rubens, 439 
 
 Mr Millais — Mr Holman Hunt, . . 440 
 
 y Tlie Adoratiim of the Magi, . . . 440 
 
 ^ The Cnicilixion 442 
 
 St Teresa 442 
 
 Mr Ruskin on the Refonnation, . . 443 
 "It's a wise child that knows its own 
 
 father," 443 
 
 Mr Ruskindeniesthetruth of the proverb, 444 
 
 RUBENS AND RUSKIN. 
 
 Purity of " scarlet," .... 445 
 
 Tlie " Scarlet Lady," .... 445 
 "Love:" its various kinds entunerated 
 
 by Mr Ruskin 445 
 
 Conjugal love omitted, .... 446 
 Mr Ruskin's contempt for that affection, 
 as manifested by Rembrandt and Ru- 
 bens, 447 
 
 Charles Felo, 44S 
 
 III.-GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 Gil ray and Cniikshank, . 
 Peculiar excellences of each, 
 Oliver Twist, . 
 •• The Bottle," 
 
 430 Fairy Tales, 
 
 453 Rookwond — Jack Sheppard, , . . 
 
 454 Guy Fawkcs- Tlic Tower of London, 
 456 Debt of Gratitude to George Cniik9h.ink, 
 
 IV.— JOHN LEECH. 
 
 Leech at the Cliartcr-houso, . . . 465 
 His characteristics, .... 467 
 
 His sporting and domestic sketches, 469 
 
 Tlie mail-coaches, 
 His death. 
 
 458 
 
 459 
 460 
 461 
 
 470 
 472
 
 THE NEW ^'EXAMEN." 
 
 TUE EIGHT HON. SIR JOHN M'NEILL, G.C.B. 
 
 My dear Sir John, — 
 
 Dedications are out of fashion, but I feel that 
 the publication of the following pages requires a few 
 words of explanation, and I prefer addressing them to 
 you, to adoj^tiug the more ordinary form of a preface. 
 
 For this I have two reasons. In the first place, I 
 am desirous to connect an attempt, however humble, 
 to vindicate the fair fame of departed greatness with 
 the name of one to whose undaunted love of truth Eng- 
 land owed so much in a recent crisis of her fortunes. 
 The second reason is more personal to myself. It was 
 impossible for me to recur so frequently as I have done 
 in the following pages to the Highlands, without a 
 constant remembrance of the honour which you, like 
 so many others, have conferred upon the land of your 
 ancestors, of your birth, and of your strongest and most
 
 X THK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 jihidini^ alFectioiis ; nor could I forget tliat it is to your 
 kindiics-s and to your friendship that I owe my famil- 
 iarity with a country, where, in your society, I have 
 passed many of the most agreeable days of my life, 
 and garnered uj) recollections which are a source of 
 constant enjoyment. 
 
 The following Essays were, as you know, with the 
 exception of one (that on Viscount Dundee), published 
 during the lifetime of the eminent historian to whose 
 writings they refer. The sudden and melancholy 
 event which threw a gloom over society — which closed 
 for ever one of the brightest sources of intellectual 
 enjoyment, and left the highest place in the world 
 of letters vacant without a successor — has, however, 
 as it appears to me, made no difference in the duty of 
 one who seeks merely to advocate the cause of truth. 
 It was not without great hesitation, nor until after a 
 most careful examination of the evidence, that I ven- 
 tured at last to express my conviction of the errors 
 into which Lord Macaulay's ' History ' was likely to 
 lead those who placed an implicit reliance upon his 
 representations. Of this number I frankly confess 
 myself originally to have been one. Sharing in his 
 opinions, sympathising in his feelings, and sincerely 
 attached to that party in politics of which he was so 
 brilliant an ornament, I permitted myself to be carried 
 away by the eloquent torrent of his declamation ; and 
 it was not without many a struggle that I found myself 
 compelled, by a dry examination #f facts, to surrender
 
 DEDICATION. XI 
 
 the illusion by which I had been enthralled. The 
 following pages are the result of this examination. I 
 have confined myself to five instances. Three relate 
 to men who played prominent and important parts, 
 and who have left their impress distinctly marked on 
 history. One relates to an event which throws much 
 light upon the character of William, — which excited 
 strongly the sympathies and passions of the day, with 
 regard to which the evidence is remarkably full, and 
 the duty of the historian to hold the balance with a 
 steady hand, and to award his judgment with strict 
 impartiality, is peculiarly imperative. The remaining 
 one refers to a country, a people, and a condition of 
 society which might naturally have been supposed to 
 possess a singular interest for Lord Macaulay. I have 
 done little more than examine, carefully and honestly, 
 the various authorities. The issues are of a kind upon 
 which every man of ordinary capacity, when he has 
 the evidence before him, is competent to form a judg- 
 ment. How far the result may be such as to induce 
 an exercise of caution in receiving Lord Macaulay's 
 statements, and adopting his conclusions as to other 
 matters, is a question which every reader must deter- 
 mine for himself. After the lapse of more than a 
 century and a half, such inquiries should be freed from 
 the passions which naturally biassed the judgments of 
 contemporary historians. Genius and heroism arc the 
 heritage of no party. Tory slanders against Marl- 
 borough, and Whig calumnies against Dundee, should
 
 Xll Tlir: NKVV " EXAMEN. 
 
 ))(! l)uric(l l)cncatli the stately mausoleum at lileiilieim 
 and the green turf of the peaceful kirkyard at Blair 
 Athole. It is not as Tories or as Whigs, but as Eng- 
 lishmen and Scotsmen, that we inherit the benefits 
 conferred upon us by the victorious career of the one, 
 and the bright example of courage and fidelity to a 
 falling cause bequeathed to us by the other. It is not 
 as members of this or that communion, but as men 
 sharing in the common feelings of religion and hu- 
 manity, that we respect the pure life of the Quaker 
 Penn, and execrate the atrocities which stained the 
 valley of Glencoe with innocent blood. 
 
 If the following pages should assist even a few in- 
 quirers after truth, and remove some obstacles from 
 their path in the course of an investigation which I 
 have found not unattended with a certain amount of 
 labour, it is all that I desire. I can, at any rate^ say 
 that I have pursued that inquiry honestly, and that I 
 have furnished every means of testing my accuracy. 
 
 I remain, my dear Sir John, with every feeling of 
 respect and attachment, 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 JOIIX TAGET. 
 London, 1861.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 The ' Exanien ' is a Second Edition. Tlie Essays in the rest 
 of the Volume are now publislied for the first time in a 
 collected form.
 
 THE NEW ''EXAMEN" 
 
 I. THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH 
 II. THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE 
 
 III. THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND 
 
 IV. VISCOUNT DUNDEE 
 V. WILLIAM PENN
 
 " He lias \vritten an incomparable book. He has written something 
 better, pcrliajis, than the best history ; Init he has not written a good 
 history: he is from the first chapter to the last, an inventor." — Lokd 
 Macaulay's Miscell. Writings, i. 233 [1828].
 
 THE NEW "EX A MEN." 
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.^ 
 
 The peculiar charm of Lord Macaulay's writings arises from 
 the fact that his vivid imagination enables him to live for 
 the time amongst those whose portraits he paints. The per- 
 sons of his drama are not cold abstractions summoned up 
 from the past to receive judgment for deeds done in the 
 flesh ; they are living men and women — beings to be loved 
 or hated, feared or despised, with all the fervency which be- 
 longs to Lord Macaulay's character. The attention of the 
 reader is excited, his sympathies are awakened, his passions 
 are aroused ; he devours page after page and volume after 
 volume with an appetite similar to that which attends upon 
 the perusal of the most stirring fiction ; he closes the book 
 with regret, and then, and not till then, comes the reflection 
 that he lias been listening to the impassioned harangue of 
 the advocate, not to the calm summing-up of the judge. It 
 would be well if this were the worst. We are reluctantly 
 convinced that Lord Macaulay sometimes exceeds even the 
 privileges of the advocate ; that when he arraigns a culprit 
 before the tribunal of public opinion, and showers down upon 
 him that terrible invective of which he is so accomplished a 
 master, evidence occasionally meets with a treatment at his 
 
 ' Blackwood's Magazine, June 1859,
 
 4 TITE NEW '• EXAMEN. 
 
 liands IVoiii wliicli llio least scrupulous practitioner at the bar 
 would shrink. Documents are suppressed, dates transposed, 
 witnesses of the most infamous character are paraded as pure 
 and unimpeachable, and even forgotten and anonymous slan- 
 ders, of the foulest description, are revived and cast on the 
 unhappy object of the historian's wrath. 
 
 It is often diflicult, and sometimes impossible, to divine 
 what particular qualities will arouse Lord ^lacaulay's animo- 
 sity. The virtues which receive the tribute of admiration and 
 respect when they are found in one man, appear to excite 
 nothing but contempt when they are met with in another ; 
 and, in like manner, the vices which in one are venial 
 transgressions, chargeable rather on the age than on the 
 individual, become disgraceful offences or foul crimes in 
 another. 
 
 An example of this occurs in his treatment of the domestic 
 irregularities of James and William. 
 
 Both those monarchs were unfaithful to their wives. Lord 
 Macaulay records the " highly criminal " passion of James for 
 Arabella Churchill and for Catharine Sedley, sneering con- 
 temptuously at the plain features of the one and the lean form 
 and haggard countenance of the other,^ but forgetting the 
 charms recorded in the Memoirs of Grammont as those to 
 which the former owed her power, and whilst admitting the 
 talents which the latter inherited from her father, denying any 
 capacity in the King to appreciate them. William, on the 
 other hand, married to a young, beautiful, and faithful wife, 
 to whose devotion he owed a crown, in return for which she 
 only asked the affection which he had withheld for years, 
 maintained, during the whole of his married life, an illicit 
 connection with Elizabeth Villiers (who squinted abominably ),2 
 upon whom he settled an estate of £25,000 a-year,^ making 
 her brother (whose wife he introduced to the confidence of the 
 
 1 Vol. ii. 1858, 34, 322-4. Vol. i. 8vo, 459 ; ii. 69. 
 
 2 "I think the devil was in it the other day, that I should talk to her of 
 an ugly S([iiinting cousin of hers, and the poor lady herself, you know, squints 
 like a dragon."— Swift to Stella, Oct. 28, 1712. 
 
 3 Journal to Stella, Sept. 15, 1712, note. Vol. xv. 318 ; Nichol's Edition, 
 1808.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 5 
 
 Queen,^) a peer; and Lord Macaulay passes it over as an in- 
 stance of the commerce of superior minds ! ^ In James, con- 
 jugal infidelity is a coarse and degrading vice ; in William, it 
 is an intellectual indulgence, hardly deserving serious repre- 
 hension. In like manner, the inroads upon law attempted by 
 James, under the mask of a regard for the rights of conscience, 
 are justly and unsparingly denounced ; whilst the ambition 
 which urged William, by the cruel means of domestic unkind- 
 ness, to fix his grasp prospectively on the crown of England, 
 long before any necessity for such an invasion of the con- 
 stitution had arisen, is wise foresight, regard for religious 
 freedom, the interests of Protestantism, and the attainment 
 of the great object of his life — the curbing the exorbitant 
 power of France.^ 
 
 Lord Macaulay's Wliiggisra sometimes affords a clue to his 
 historical predilections. It is easy to understand why he 
 should take pleasure in perpetuating, in the most exaggerated 
 form of hostile tradition, every story, however apocryphal, 
 that can tarnish the gallantry and fidelity of Dundee, and in 
 repeating, after reiterated confutation, every groundless slan- 
 der upon William Penn. But this is not always a safe guide. 
 In one instance, and that the most remarkable of all, the case 
 is the very reverse. By a strange caprice, the man whom Lord 
 Macaulay especially delights to dishonour is the very one 
 whose genius shed most honour on the Whig party, who con- 
 tributed more perhaps than any other to place William upon 
 the throne, but for whom the landing at Torbay might not 
 improbably have been followed by a similar result to that at 
 Lyme, and whose imperishable glory (a glory Mhich has made 
 his name second only, if indeed it be second, to that of Wel- 
 
 ^ "Edward Villiors, afterwards successively created Baron Yillitrs and Earl 
 of Jersey, was in liigli favour with Kiiif,' William, to whom his sister Elizabeth 
 was mistress, and at the same time his lady enjoyed the confidence of Queen 
 Mary." — Coxc, i. .34, note. 
 
 2 Voh vii. 96, 1858; iv. 471, 8vo ; ii. 174. 
 
 ' Vol. ii. 172, 178, 179, to 190, passim, Svo ; Burnet, vol. iii. 129 ; notes 
 hy Swift a7id Lord Dartmouth, ibid., 130, 131. The useful and discreditable 
 part played by Burnet in this transaction comes out more plainly in his own 
 narrative than in Lord Macaulay's brilliant paraphrase.
 
 6 TIIK NHW " KXAMKN. 
 
 lingtoii ill tlu; iuiiiiilsol' I'jigluiid) is derived I'loiii lii.s Ion;,' iiiid 
 succussful contest with that power, to curb which William 
 had devoted every energy of liis mind. 
 
 Brilliant as were the services rendered by ^larlborough to 
 his country, grand as was his genius, great and many as were 
 his virtues, public and private, that regard for truth wliich we 
 are about to vindicate as the quality most essential of all to 
 the historian, compels us to admit that he did not walk, from 
 the age of sixteen to sixty-four, through all the mazes of 
 politics and revolutions, of war and of courts, in an age the 
 most profligate in morals, public and private, that England 
 has seen — rising from the humble post of carrying a pair of 
 colours to the very summit of earthly power — without con- 
 tracting some stains of the vices prevalent, it might almost be 
 said universal, in his day. Making the most amj)le allowance 
 for this, enough remains to make every true Englishman look 
 to Marlborough with pride, reverence, and affection ; and, 
 moved by these feelings, we shall proceed to discharge our 
 share of a duty we feel incumbent on all honest men, by re- 
 moving some at least of the dirt which has been so plentifully 
 and so unscrupulously cast upon the Great Captain by Lord 
 Macaulay. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's picture of the youth of IMarlborough is suf- 
 ficiently repulsive. He was, he says, so iUiterate, that " he 
 could not spell the most common words in his own language." ^ 
 He was " thrifty in his very vices, and levied ample contribu- 
 tions on ladies enriched by the spoils of more liberal lovers."^ 
 He was " kept by the most profuse, imperious, and shameless 
 of harlots." ^ He subsisted upon " the infamous wages be- 
 stowed upon him by the Duchess of Cleveland."* He was 
 " insatiable of riches." ^ He '* was one of the few who have 
 in the bloom of youth loved lucre more than wine or women, 
 and who have, at the height of greatness, loved lucre more 
 than power or fame." "^ " All the precious gifts which nature 
 had lavished upon him, he valued chiefly for what they 
 would fetch." ^ "At twenty he made money of his beauty 
 
 1 Vol. ii. 34, 1858. 2 n.i.i^ 35 3 ii,ij_^ 515. 4 ibid., 517. 
 
 s Ibid. « Vol. iii. Svo, 438. ^ Ibid.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 7 
 
 and his vigour ; at sixty he made money of his genius and 
 glory ;"i and he " owed his rise in life to his sister's shame." ^ 
 
 With regard to the want of a liberal education — which, by 
 the way, is a charge rather against his father than against 
 himself — it is sufficient to observe that he was educated at St 
 Paul's school, and that his despatches show that, at any rate, 
 he was a proficient in Latin, French, and English composition.^ 
 He appears, however, to have passed through his school course 
 as the Duke of Wellington afterwards did at Eton, without 
 distinction, A competitive examination would probably have 
 excluded both from the army, and the result of Blenheim 
 and Waterloo might have been reversed. He owed more to 
 nature than to schoolmasters ; and Bolingbroke truly summed 
 up his character in the fewest possible words, when he said 
 that he w^as "the perfection of genius matured by expe- 
 rience." * 
 
 Plunged at a very early age into the dissipations of the court of 
 Charles II., his remarkably handsome person and his engaging 
 manners soon attracted notice. For the loathsome imputation 
 cast upon him by Lord Macaulay, that he availed himself of 
 these advantages for the purposes which he intimates — that 
 he bore to the wealthy and licentious ladies of the court the 
 relation which Tom Jones did to Lady Bellaston — we can dis- 
 cover no foundation even in the scandalous chronicles of those 
 scandalous days. That he did not bring to the court of 
 Charles the virtue which made the overseer of Potiphar's 
 houseliold famous in that of Pharaoh, must be freely admit- 
 ted. The circumstances of his intrigue with the Duchess of 
 Cleveland are recorded in the pages of Grammont.^ Never, 
 says Hamilton, were her charms in greater perfection than 
 when she cast her eyes on the young officer of the Guards. 
 That Churchill, in the bloom of youth, should be insensible 
 to the passion which he had awaked in the breast of the most 
 beautiful woman of that voluptuous court, was hardly to be 
 expected. He incurred, in consequence, the displeasure of the 
 
 1 Vol. iii. 8vo, 438. " Vol. ii. 51.'5, 1853 ; ii. 255, Svo. 
 
 3 Alison's Life of Marlborough, i. 3; Coxe, 1, 2, 3. 
 
 * Alison, ii. 387. '• P. 270, 280, 4to; 1783.
 
 8 TIIK Ni;W " KXAMKN. 
 
 Kill;:, wlin I'niliiulc liiin llu; conrl. I'"ar ])C it from us to Lc 
 tlu^ julvocatcs of lax iii(»iality ; ])Ut Cliuifliill imi.st Ijc judged 
 by the standard of his day. He corrupted no innocence ; he 
 invaded no domestic peace. The Duchess of Cleveland was 
 not only the most beautiful, but slie was also the most licen- 
 tious and tlie most inconstant of women. From the King 
 down to Jacob Hall she dispensed her favours according to 
 the passion or the fiincy of the moment. She was as liberal 
 of her purse as of her person, and Marlborough, a needy and 
 handsome ensign, no doubt shared both. But it is a mere 
 misuse of language to charge Churchill with receiving "in- 
 famous wages," or to say that he was " kept by the most 
 profuse, iniperious, and shameless of harlots," because he 
 entertained a daring and successful passion for the beautiful 
 mistress of his King. 
 
 Of two stories which are current with regard to this amour, 
 Lord IMacaulay accepts one and rejects the other. The first 
 is, that upon one occasion the King surprised Churchill in the 
 apartment of the Duchess, upon which the lover saved the 
 honour of his mistress (such as it was) by leaping from the 
 window. "With regard to this, it is sufficient to say that 
 Ilamilton, who must have known the story, if true, and who 
 would have been delighted to tell it, is silent. The other is, 
 that jSIarlborough, in his prosperity, refused a small loan to the 
 Duchess. This story Lord Macaulay verj' properly rejects. He 
 had good reason to suspect its falsehood, for it is told by his 
 own witness, the authoress of ' The New Atalautis,' whose filthy 
 pages, full of imputations upon "William, even more foul than 
 those upon Marlborough, Lord ^lacaulay has honoured by 
 transferring from them to his own, in some cases almost word 
 for word, the abuse for heaping which upon the great Whig 
 General she was paid by the Tories. Little do the readers of 
 Lord Macaulay suspect that his eloquent denunciation of 
 jSLirlborough is but a rkhauffi of the forgotten scurrility of a 
 female hack scribe, whom Swift used to call one of his "under 
 spur-leathers." ^ 
 
 » See the history of "Count Fortunatus," Kew Atalantis, i. 21-43. The 
 |\assagc is too long, and part of it wholly unfit, for quotation. Any reader
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 9 
 
 Such is the history of the amour of Churchill \vith the 
 Duchess of Cleveland. But a pure and ennobling attachment, 
 to which he remained faithful till the grave closed over him, 
 soon dispelled his passion for the lovely and inconstant 
 Duchess. This cold, sordid profligate — for such Lord ^lacau- 
 lay would fain persuade us he was — married, at the age of 
 eight-and-twenty, a beautiful and penniless girl, after an 
 engagement prolonged by the poverty of both parties. 
 
 To judge of the animus which pervades the whole of Lord 
 Macaulay's account of ^Marlborough, it is only necessary to 
 observe the mode in which, with regard to him, he treats the 
 passions and the virtues which, through all ages, have been 
 most certain to awaken the sympathies and secure the respect 
 and attachment of mankind. 
 
 Lord INIacaulay's intimate acquaintance, if not with human 
 nature, at any rate wdth the writings of those who, in all ages 
 and all languages, have most deeply stirred the heart of man, 
 might have told him that tale of young passionate love mel- 
 lowing into deep and tender affection, living on linked to eter- 
 nity, stronger than death and deeper than the grave, was fitly 
 the object of feelings far different from those which it appears 
 to waken in his breast. It is a singular fact that two of the 
 most vigorous writers of the English language appear to be in 
 total ignorance of all the feelings which take their rise from 
 the passion of love. We know of no single line that has fallen 
 from the pen of Swift, or from that of Lord Macaulay, which 
 indicates any sympathy with that- passion which affords in 
 the greater number of minds the most powerful of all motives. 
 The love of Churchill and Sarah Jennings seems to inspire 
 Lord Macaulay with much the same feelings as those with 
 which a certain personage, whom Dr Johnson used to call 
 " the first AVhig," regarded the hai)pines3 of our first parents 
 in the Garden of Eden. It is difficult to say whether the fol- 
 lowing passage is more distinguished by bad feeling or bad 
 taste — by malignant insinuation or jingling antithesis — 
 
 whoso curiosity may lead liini to verify our assertion may compare p. 27 with 
 Macaulaj', vol. ii. 8vo, ISTjO, p. 2.')4, coiitaiiiin;^ the accDUiit of Marlborough's 
 marriage, and p. 26, 31, 41, and 13, with i. 457, 458, and ii. 251, 252,253.
 
 10 THK NEW "KXAMEN." 
 
 " He iiiumI, liiivc Ik'cii ciminouicd imlciil. For li<- liiul little i)ro|»c;rty, 
 I'Xtcpt lilt! aiiMuily whicli he luul l»ouj,'ht with tlie inriiriious wageH he- 
 Hti)\M<l on iiiiii li_v the. Duchf.sH of" CIcvclaiul : he was iiiHatiable of richeK : 
 Sarah was jxtor ; and a plain ^,'iil with a larf,'e fortune was jtroposed to 
 him. His love, after a fitru},'gh;, i)revail('il over liis avarice: marriage 
 only.strcn^'thi'ni'd his passion ; and, to tlie last hour of his life, Sarah 
 enjoyed the pleasure and distinction of heing the one human lieing who 
 was able to mislead that farsighted and surefooted judgment, who was 
 fervently loved liy that cold heart, and who was servilely feared by that 
 intrepid spirit." ^ 
 
 Such is tliG language in which Lord MacaiUay speaks of a 
 love as constant and fervent as any recorded in the pages of 
 history, or even of fiction. jNIarlborough's letters, written to 
 his wife in the decline of life, and at the summit of his fame, 
 breathe a passion as warm, a tenderness as devoted, as that 
 which inspired the young and ardent lover to brave that 
 poverty which Lord Macaulay asserts was the earthly " evil he 
 most dreaded " ^ to win her hand ; and years after his death, 
 when that hand was sought in second wedlock by the Duke 
 of Somerset, she replied — " If I were young and handsome 
 as I was, instead of old and faded as I am, and you could 
 lay the empire of the world at my feet, you should never 
 share the heart and hand that once belonged to John, Duke 
 of Marlborough." ^ 
 
 ' Vol. ii. 517 ; IS.'SS. 2 Ibid. 
 
 3 Alison's Life of JLirlborougli, ii. 318. Lord Macaulay makes a foul and 
 groundless insinuation against the Duchess in relation to her interview with 
 Shrewsbury in 1C90, ontho subject of the provision for the Princess Anne. 
 His words are as follows : "After some inferior agents had expostulated with 
 her in vain, Shrewsbury waited on her. It might have been expected that his 
 intervention would have been successful ; for if the scandalous chronicle of 
 those times could be trusted, he hod stood high, too high, in her favour." * No 
 one ought to know better than Lord Macaulay that Sarah Jennings passed 
 through the ordeal of the court of Charles the Second with a reputation perfectly 
 unsullied ; that no breath of scandal ever tainted the purity of her chamcter. 
 Yet he makes this infamous imputation on no better authoritj- than a doggerel 
 lampoon, entitled "The Female Nine." We have bestowed no small amount 
 of laltour in the endeavour to discover this forgotten trash, but without succes.s. 
 We have exhausted all sources of information (and they have not been few) 
 open to us : and wc shall feel greatly indebted to any reader wlio may be aide 
 to direct us where we can obtain a sight of the " contemporary lampoon " which 
 Lord Macaulay considers sufficiently trustworthy to entitle him to cast a slur 
 . " Vol. iiL 565, Svo.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 11 
 
 That the passion of James for Arabella Churchill smoothed 
 the early steps in her brother's path to fame may be admitted. 
 " Cela etait dans I'ordre," is the remark of Hamilton ; ^ and in 
 the court of Charles it was not esteemed shame. Beyond this, 
 no blame can fairly attach to Marlborough. His sister was 
 some years older than himself. He was a mere boy when 
 the connection began, and was hardly twenty at the time of 
 the birth of the Duke of Berwick. Taking into account the 
 manners of the day, the amount of moral reprobation with 
 which Churchill's acquiescence in the feelings with which his 
 father and the rest of his family, according to Lord IMacaulay, 
 regarded the connection of Arabella with the Duke of York, 
 will be but small. 
 
 We now come to the charges of avarice and fraud. " The 
 applauses justly due,". says Lord Macaulay, "to his conduct at 
 Walcourt, could not altogether drown the voices of those who 
 muttered that, wherever a broad piece was to be saved or 
 
 upon the character of a ^vom;m who, whatever other faults she might liave, hns 
 up to tliis time borne an unsullied reputation for a virtue rare in that age and 
 that court. Lord Macaulay, when he penned this sentence, had before him 
 (for he refers to it) the evidence that at this time Shrewsbury was not even on 
 visiting terms with the Duchess. (See her narrative, 33.) Lord Macaulay 
 calls the Duchess "a?! abandoned liar," and says that, "witli habitual in- 
 accuracy which, even when she has no motive for lying, makes it necessary to 
 read every word written by her with susi)icion, she creates Shrewsbury a duke, 
 and represents herself as calling him 'Your Grace.' He was not made a duke 
 till 1694" (note vol iii. 565). The Duchess docs nothing of the kind. The 
 "habitual inaccuracy " is not hers, but Lord Macaulay's. Writing long after 
 1694, and when Shrewsbury had been a duke many years, she speaks of him as 
 "The Duke," and relates what he said to ^^ His Grace." She does not, as 
 Lord Macaulay asserts, represent herself as calling him " Your Grace," or use 
 the words " Your Grace" at all; though Lord JIacaulay marks those words 
 with inverted commas. Would Lord Macaulay think himself justified in de- 
 nouncing as an ".abandoned liar" a writer who, in the jiresent day, should 
 refer to the Duhc of Wellington's victories in the Peninsula without specifying 
 that he was a viscount at Busaco, an earl at Badajos, and a marfiuess at San 
 Sebastian and Toulouse, and that he was not made a duke until the 3d of May 
 1814, a fortnight after the war had terminated ? Is it necessary to read with 
 suspicion cveiy word written by the gallant historian of that war, because ho 
 habitually speaks of " Lord" Wellington — a title which in strictness the Duke 
 never held at all, inasmuch as it is appropriate to a baron, and the Duke was 
 raised at one step to the rank of a viscount ? — or are we bound, in criticising 
 his history, to speak of it as the work of Mister Macaulay ? 
 1 Memoirs of Granimont, '2SU.
 
 12 Tiiio nf:w "kxamkn. 
 
 got, t/iis hero wos a mere Euclio, a mere Ilarpnf/on : tliat, 
 tli()u;,'li he (Iniw a lar<,'o allowance under pretence of keepin*^ 
 a i)ul)lic table, he never asked an oOicer to dinner ; that his 
 VI icstcr-rolls were fraudulently made up : that he pocketed pay 
 ill (he names of men who had long hccn dead, of men who had 
 been killed in his own si(jhtfour years before at Sedijcm.fjor ; 
 that there were twenty such names in one troop ; that there 
 were thirty-six in another." ^ 
 
 As " L'Avare " was first acted in 1G67, it is certainly possible 
 that the Jacobites may have applied to the great object of 
 their hatred the name of Harpagon ; but as Pope was not born 
 until 1 688, the voices " muttering that Marlborough was a 
 mere Euclio," which had to be drowned in 1689, must have 
 been confined to the readers of the " Aulularia " of Plautus, 
 about which the Jacobites in general would probably have 
 said, like Edie Ochiltree, " Lord-sake, sir, what do I ken about 
 your Howlowlaria ? — it's mair like a dog's language than a . 
 man's." This, is, however, one of those anachronisms into 
 which Lord Macaulay's love of the picturesque sometimes 
 misleads him : it hardly claims a passing notice, and must not 
 divert us from the serious inquiry we are pursuing. 
 
 The charge of avarice has been repeatedly brought and 
 repeatedly answered. It was the stock charge of the libellers 
 and pamphleteers of the day. Even Swift stooped so low in 
 his " Letter to Crassus " as to accuse Marlborough of having 
 risked his life rather than lose a pair of old stockings. Such 
 calumnies answer themselves. His declining, when in poverty 
 and disgrace, to accept of the generosit)' of the Princess Anne ; 
 his repeated refusal of the government of the Netherlands, 
 with its princely income of £60,000 a-year ; ^ his generosity to 
 young and desemng officers ;^ his application of all the money 
 at his private disposal amongst the wounded officers of the 
 enemy after the battle of Malplaquet ; * his liberal provision 
 during his own lifetime for his children : these, and many other 
 facts, attest his disinterestedness and generosity, public and 
 private. These were not the acts of a Euclio or a Harpagon. 
 
 1 Vol V. 64, edit. 1858 ; iii. 438, Svo. 
 -' Alison, i. 2S3. 3 Ibid., ii. 394. * Ibid., ii 395.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 13 
 
 The latter part of the paragraph we have quoted contains a 
 more specific accusation ; nothing less, in fact, than that Marl- 
 borough was guilty of the vulgar crime of obtaining money 
 under false pretences. We have searched through the pro- 
 ceedings which took place on the fall of Marlborough in 1712 ; 
 through the writings of Swift (not a merciful or scrupulous 
 adversary) ; through such of the pamphlets of the day as we 
 have been able to obtain, without discovering any trace of this 
 very serious charge. Lord Macaulay here, however, cites his 
 authority in these words ; " See the ' Dear Bargain,' a Jacobite 
 pamphlet, clandestinely irrinted in 1690 ;"^ and we can there- 
 fore judge what kind of evidence, unsupported by a single 
 tittle of confirmation, he considers sufficient to convict so ^reat 
 a man of so mean a crime. 
 
 The 'Dear Bargain' is a quarto pamphlet of twenty-four pages, 
 closely printed in double column, without title-page or date, 
 or the name of the author, printer, or the place where it was 
 printed. It is even more scurrilous and stupid than the 
 generality of such publications. William is accused of con- 
 triving the death of his English soldiers by sending them to 
 die of starvation and disease in Holland, where, tlie author 
 says, " you might see them sprawling by parcels, and groaning 
 under the double gripes of their bowels and their con- 
 sciences," ^ in order that " the Dutch, the Danes, and other 
 foreigners, may possess our country." Mary is an " ungrate- 
 ful TuUia," — " astonishing barbarous nations, scandalising 
 Christianity," and "driving her beasts over the face of her 
 dead father." Churchill is " Judas on both sides," with 
 " nothing in his conduct, from one end to the other, but mere 
 Judas and damnation." James is " King Lear," " our lawful 
 King, who has shown himself upon all occasions a Lover of 
 his people, an Encourager of trade, a Desirer of true liberty 
 to tender consciences, an Hater of all injustice, and a true 
 Father to his country." ^ 
 
 Sucli is the ' Dear Bargain.' •• Will Lord Macaulay indorse 
 
 ' Vi.l. V. G4, note ; iii. 430 ; 8vo. - Pajrc 11. » Va^c 24. 
 
 * The 'Dear Bargain ' is reprinted amongst the Soinera Tracts, x. 3-19. \\\ 
 original copy is preserved in the Advocates' Library.
 
 I t TiiK XKW " f:xamkn. 
 
 tilt' l(!.stiinony of his own witness? We lianlly lliiiik Ik; will. 
 Vet this is the only evidence that he cites, and, as far as we 
 have been able to discover, the only evidence that exists, in 
 support of this foul charge. The words of the pampljlet are : 
 " lie excelled in ^dving false muster-rolls, even twenty in one 
 troop, and thirty-six in another, putting in names, some 
 killed in Monmouth's llebellion, others dead in England 
 since, and alive at this day, out of all service, the lists of 
 which have been shown to me." ^ The picturesque addition 
 tliat these men who, according to the nameless and ungram- 
 matical author, were both dead and alive, had been " killed 
 in ]Marlborough's own sight four years before at Sedgemoor," 
 is a creation of Lord Macaiilay's own strong inventive faculties. 
 The nameless author of the ' Dear Bargain ' drops a naked, mis- 
 begotten calumny in the streets, where it lies forgotten for a 
 century and a half, and would have perished, as it deserved ; 
 but Lord Macau] ay picks up the foundling, dresses it, decks 
 it out, introduces it to the world, adopts it, gives it his own 
 name and the sanction of his character, and it may in all pro- 
 bability live and flourish as long as the English language 
 lasts. Does Lord Macaulay think that the historian has no 
 higher duty, no deeper responsibility, than this ? He cannot 
 plead ignorance of the infamous character of his witness. 
 Upon another occasion, when he addresses himself to the task 
 of attempting to clear William from the infamy attaching to 
 the Massacre of Glencoe, he says : " We can hardly suppose he 
 was much in the habit of reading Jacobite pamphlets ; and if 
 he did read them, he would have found in them such a quan- 
 tity of absurd and rancorous invective against himself, that he 
 would have been very little inclined to credit any imputation 
 which they might throw on his servants. He would have seen 
 himself accused, in one tract, of being a concealed Papist ; in 
 another, of having poisoned Jeffreys in the Tower ; in a third, 
 of having contrived to have Talma sh taken off before Brest. 
 He would have seen it asserted that in Ireland he once ordered 
 fifty of his wounded English soldiers to be burned alive. He 
 would have seen that the unalterable affection which he felt 
 
 ' Page 21.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 15 
 
 from his boyhood to his death for three or four of the bravest 
 and most trusty friends that ever prince had the happiness to 
 possess, was made a ground for imputing to him abominations 
 as foul as those which are buried under the waters of the Dead 
 Sea. He might, therefore, naturally be slow to believe fright- 
 ful imputations thrown by writers whom he knew to be habit- 
 ual liars on a statesman whose abilities he valued highly, and 
 to whose exertions he had, on some great occasions, owed 
 much." ^ 
 
 Such is Lord Macaulay's description of the Jacobite pam- 
 phleteers. The witness who is utterly unworthy of belief when 
 he deposes against William, whose testimony the King was 
 justified in rejecting when given against the infamous Master 
 of Stair, is, however, wholly unimpeachable when he gives 
 evidence against Marlborough. It is on the testimony of one 
 of the vilest of these " habitual liars " that Lord Macaulay asks 
 his readers to believe this foul charge. It is upon this evi- 
 dence that he has given the sanction of his name and reputa- 
 tion to slanders against Marlborough, as false, as foul, as con- 
 temptible as some which we can ourselves remember to 
 have been current with regard to an equally illustrious man. 
 It is to be hoped that no future historian will arise to play the 
 part of a chiffonier amongst the dirt-heaps of St Giles's — to 
 transcribe from filthy broadsides and tattered and forgotten 
 pamphlets page after page of malignant slander against the 
 Hero of the Peninsular War, and to give the result of his 
 labour to the world as the life and character of Wellington ! 
 
 We shall now proceed to examine an accusation even more 
 serious, and to investigate the grounds on which Lord ]\Iacaulay 
 has thought himself justified in denouncing Marlborough in 
 distinct terms as a " murderer." That we may run no risk of 
 misrepresenting Lord INIacaulay, we copy the whole passage 
 word for word.- 
 
 " William, in order to cross the designs of the enemy, determined to 
 send Russell to the Mediterranean with the greater part of the eomliined 
 lleet of England and IloUand. A sijuadron was to remain in the British 
 seas, under the command of the Earl of Berkeley. Talmash was to 
 
 ' Vol. iv. 579, 8vo, 1855. = Vol. vii. 134, edit, of 1858 ; iv. 507, 8vo.
 
 16 IIIK Ni:\V " KXAMEN. 
 
 <iiil)aik f)ii l«.;vr.l nf iIiIh nquailron with a large body of troops, and was to 
 (itUck Wn-A, wliicli would, it was suppoaed, in the absence of Tourvillt! 
 and his lifty-lhrcc! vchsuIh, be an easy conrpiest. 
 
 " That ])icparatioiH were making at Portsmouth for an expedition, in 
 which the land forces were to bear a part, could not be kept a secret. 
 There was much speculation at the Ilose ami at Garraway's touching the 
 di'stination of the armament. Some talked of Rhe, some of Oleron, some 
 of Rochelle, some of Rochcfort. Many, till the fleet actually began to 
 move westward, believed that it was bound for Dunkirk. Many gnes.sed 
 that I'.rest would be the point of attack ; but they only guessed this, for 
 tlic secret was much better kept than most of the secrets of that age.* 
 Russell, till he was ready to weigh anchor, persisted in assuring his 
 Jacobite friends tltat he knew nothing. His discretion was proof even 
 against all the arts of Marlborough. Marlborough, however, had other 
 sources of intelligence. To those sources he applied himself; and 
 he at length succeeded in discovering the whole plan of the Govern- 
 ment. He instantly ^v^ote to James. He had, he said, but that moment 
 ascertained that twelve regiments of infantry and two regiments of marines 
 were about to embark, under the command of Talmash, for the purpose 
 of destroying the harbour of Brest, and the shipping which lay there. 
 * This,' he added, ' would be a great advantage to England. But no con- 
 .■^ideration can, or ever shall, hinder me from letting you know what I 
 think may be for your service.' He then proceeded to caution James 
 against Russell. ' I endeavoured to learn this some time ago from him, 
 but he always denied it to me, though I am very sure that he knew the 
 design for more than six weeks. This gives me a bad sign of this man's 
 intentions.' ' 
 
 " The intelligence sent by Marlborough to James was communicated 
 by James to the French Government. That Government took its mea- 
 sures with characteristic promptitude. Promptitude was indeed neces- 
 sary ; for, when Marlborough's letter was written, the preparations at 
 Portsmouth were all but complete ; and if the wind had been favourable 
 to the English, the object of the expedition might have been attained 
 
 * L'Hcrmitage, May 15 [25]. After mentioning the various reports, he says: 
 " De tons ces divers projets qu'on s'imagine aucun n'est venu a la cognoissance 
 du public." This is important ; for it has often been said, in excuse for Marl- 
 borough, that lie communicated to the Court of St Germains only what was the 
 talk of all the cofl'ee-houses, and must have been known without his instrumen- 
 tality. — Note by Lord Maoaulay, edit, of 1858. 
 
 ' Life of James IL, 522; Macpherson, i. 4S7. The letter of Marlborough 
 is dated May 4. It was enclosed in one from Saekville to Melfort, which would 
 alone suflice to prove that those who represent the intelligence as iminiportant 
 arc entirely mistaken. " I send it," says Saekville, "by an express, judging it 
 to be of the utmost consequence for the service of the King my master, and 
 consequently for the service of his most Christian Majesty." Would Saekville 
 have written thus if the destination of the expedition had been alreatly known 
 to all the world?— Note by Lord JLacaulay, edit, of 1858.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 17 
 
 without a struggle. But adverse gales detained our fleet in the Cliannel 
 during another mouth. Meanwhile a large hody of troops was collected 
 at Brest. Vauban was charged with the duty of putting the defences in 
 order ; and under his skilful direction, liatteries were planted which com- 
 manded every spot where it seemed likely that an invader would attempt 
 to land. Eight large rafts, each carrying many mortars, were moored 
 in the harbour, and some days before the English arrived, all was ready 
 for their reception. 
 
 " On the 6th of June the whole allied fleet was on the Atlantic, about 
 fifteen leagues west of Cape Finisterre. There Russell and Berkeley 
 parted company. Russell proceeded towards the Mediterranean ; Berke- 
 ley's squadron, with the troops on board, steered for the coast of Brittany, 
 and anchored just without Camaret Bay, close to the mouth of the hai*- 
 bour of Brest. Talmash proposed to land in Camaret Bay. It was there- 
 fore desirable to ascertain with accuracy the state of the coast. The 
 eldest son of the Duke of Leeds, now called Marquess of Caermarthen, 
 undertook to enter the basin, and to obtain the necessary information. 
 The passion of this brave and eccentric young man for maritime adven- 
 ture was unconquerable. He had solicited and obtained the rank of Rear- 
 Admiral, and had accompanied the expedition in his own yacht, the 
 Peregrine, renowned as the masterpiece of shipbuilding, and more than 
 once already mentioned in this history. Cutts, who had distinguished 
 himself by his intrepidity in the Irish war, and had been rewarded with 
 an Irish Peerage, offered to accompany Caernuirthen. Lord Mohun, ^\■ho, 
 desirous, it may be hoped, to efface by honourable exploits the stain 
 which a shameful and disastrous brawl had left on his name, was serving 
 with the troops as a volunteer, insisted on being of the party. The Pere- 
 grine went into the bay with its gallant crew, and came out safe, but not 
 without having run great risks. Caermarthen reported that the defences — 
 of which, however, he only had seen a small part — were formidable. But 
 Berkeley and Talmash suspected that he overrated the danger. They 
 were not aware that their design had long been known at Versailles ; 
 that an army had been collected to oppose them ; and that the gi-eatest 
 engineer in the world had been emi)loyed to fortify the coast against 
 them. They therefore did not doubt that their troops might easily be 
 l)Ut on shore under the protection of a fire from the ships. Ou the 
 following morning Caermarthen was ordered to enter the bay with eight 
 vessels, and to batter the French works. Talmash was to follow with 
 about a hundred boats full of soldiers. It soon appeared that the enter- 
 prise was even more perilous tlian it had on the preceding day apjieared 
 to be. Batteries which had then escaped notice opened on the ships a 
 lire so murderous that several decks were soon cleared. (Jreat bodies of 
 foot and horse were discernible ; and, by their uniftmn, they appeared to 
 l)e regular troops. Tlie young Rear-Admiral sent an officer in all haste 
 to warn Talmash. But Talmash was so completely possessed l)y the 
 notion that the French were not prejtared to repel an attack, that he dis- 
 regarded all cautions, and wouM not even trust liis own eyes. lie felt
 
 18 TIIK NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 Hitrc tliiit tin; force which he saw assembled on the coa«t was a mere 
 nibhlc of peaHJUits, who hiul been brouj,'ht to;,'ether in hawtc from the Kur- 
 roiuuling country. Conliclent tliat these mock soldiers wouM run like 
 sheep before real sokliers, he ordered his men to pull for the beach. He 
 was soon undeceived. A terrible fire mowed down his troops faster than 
 they could f^et on shore. He had himself scarcely sprung on dry ground 
 when he received a wound in the thigh from a cinnon-ball, and was 
 carried back to his skiff. His men ro-embarked in confusion. Ships 
 and boats made haste to get out of the bay, but did not succeed till four 
 hundred seamen and seven hundred soldiers had fallen. During many 
 days the waves continued to throw up pierced and shattered corpses on 
 tile beach of Brittany. The Ijattery from which Talmash received his 
 wound is called to this day the Englishman's Death. 
 
 " The unliappy general was laid on his couch ; and a coimcil of war 
 was held in his cabin. He was for going straight into the harbour of 
 Brest and bombarding the town. But this suggestion, which indicated 
 but too clearly that his judgment had been affected by the irritation of a 
 wounded body and a wounded mind, was wisely rejected l>y the naval 
 officers. The armament returned to Portsmouth. There Talmash died, 
 exclaiming with his last breath that he had been lured into a snare by 
 treachery. The public grief and indignation were loudly expressed. The 
 nation remembered the services of the unfortxmate general, forgave his 
 rashness, pitied his sufl'erings, and execrated the unkno\vii traitors whose 
 machinations had been fatal to him. There were many conjectures and 
 many rumours. Some sturdy Englishmen, misled by national prejudice, 
 swore that none of our jjlans would ever be kept a secret from the enemy 
 while French refugees were in high military command. Some zealous 
 "Whigs, misled by party spirit, muttered that the Court of St Gemiains 
 would never want good intelligence while a single Tory remained in the 
 Cabinet Council. The real criminal was not named ; nor, till the archives 
 of the House of Stuart were explored, was it known to the public that 
 Talmash had perished by the basest of all the hvmdred \allanies of Marl- 
 borough. ^ 
 
 •' Yet never had Marlborough been less a Jacobite than at the moment 
 when he rendered this wicked ;xnd shameful service to the Jacobite cause. 
 It may be confidently affirmed that to serve the banished family was not 
 his object, and that to ingratiate himself with the banished family was 
 only his secondary object. His primaiy object was to force himself into 
 the service of the existing Government, and to gain possession of those 
 important and lucrative places from which he had been dismissed more 
 than two years before. He knew that the country and the Parliament 
 would not patiently bear to see the English army commanded by foreign 
 generals. Two Englishmen only had sho\ni themselves fit for high mili- 
 tar}' posts, himself and Talmash. If Talmash were defeated and dis- 
 
 1 London Gazette, June 14, 18, 1694; Paris Gazette, June 16 [July 3]; 
 Hurchctt ; Journal of Lord Caermarthen; Baden, June 15 [25]; L'Hermitage, 
 June l.*; [25], 19 [29].
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 19 
 
 graced, William would scarcely have a choice. In fact, as soon as it was 
 known that the expedition had failed, and that Talmash was no more, 
 the general cry was that the king ought to receive into his favour the 
 accomplished captain who had done such good service at Walcourt, at 
 Cork, and at Kinsale. Nor can we blame the multitude for raising this 
 cry. For everybody knew that Marlborough was an eminently brave, 
 skilful, and successful officer. But very few persons knew that he had, 
 while commanding William's troops, while sitting in William's council, 
 while waiting in William's bedchamber, formed a most artful and danger- 
 ous plot for the subversion of William's throne ; and still fewer suspected 
 the real author of the recent calamity, of the slaughter in the Bay of 
 C'amaret, of the melancholy fate of Talmash. The effect, therefore, of 
 the foulest of all treasons, was to raise the traitor in the public estima- 
 tion. Nor was he wanting to himself at this conjuncture. While the 
 Royal Exchange was in consternation at the disaster of which he was the 
 cause, while many families were clothing themselves in mourning for the 
 brave men of whom he was the murderer, he repaired to Whitehall, and 
 there, doubtless with all that grace, that nobleness, that suavity, under 
 which lay, hidden from all common observers, a seared conscience and a 
 remorseless heart, he professed himself the most devoted, the most loyal, 
 of all the subjects of William and Mary, and expressed a hope that he 
 might, in tliis emergency, be permitted to offer his sword to their ma- 
 jesties. Shrewsljury was very desirous that the offer should be accepted ; 
 but a short and dry answer from William, who was then in the Nether- 
 lands, put an end for the present to all negotiations. About Talmash 
 the king expressed himself with generous tenderness. ' The poor fellow's 
 fate,' he wrote, ' has affected me much. I do not indeed think that he 
 managed well ; but it was his ardent desire to distinguish himself that 
 impelled him to attempt impossibilities.' " ' 
 
 We are willing to accept this passage as the battle-ground on 
 which to decide the question how far Lord Macaulay's treat- 
 ment of evidence entitles him to confidence as an historian. 
 AVe do so for two reasons. First, it is selected by Lord 
 Macaulay himself as the strongest case against INIarlborough ; 
 and secondly, the evidence lies in a very narrow compass, and 
 is to be found on the shelves of every ordinary library. The 
 reader may therefore easily judge for himself, and from a short 
 examination supply himself with a measure by whicli to gauge 
 the amount of confidence to be placed in other statements. 
 
 This charge may be divided under four heads — 
 
 ^ "Shrewsbury to William, June 15 [2o], IfiOl ; WHliain to Shrewsbury, 
 July 1 ; Shrewsbury to Willi.-im, Juno 22 [July 2]."— Macaulay, vol. iv. 8vo, 
 1855; vol. vii. (1858) p. 131.
 
 20 Tin: SEW "KXAMEN. 
 
 I. 1'liiiL iMaill)orou;,'Ii, making use of certain sources of in- 
 forination peculiar to himself, discovered the design of the 
 Government to make a descent upon Brest, and revealed it 
 to James, and through him to Louis, who would not otherwise 
 liave known it in time to prepare for defence. 
 
 II. That the information so communicated by Marlborough 
 enabled the French Government to take such steps, and that 
 they did thereupon take such steps, as rendered the expedition 
 al)ortive. 
 
 III. That Talmash was by these means " lured into a snare," 
 and, to use Lord Macaulay's own words, " perished by the 
 basest of all the hundred villanies of Marlborough." 
 
 IV. That Marlborough was thus the real author of the 
 slaughter in Camaret Bay, and the " murderer of Talmash," his 
 object being to get rid of Talmash as a personal rival, and to 
 force himself back into the service of the Government and the 
 possession of the important and lucrative places from which 
 he had been discharged two years before. 
 
 It is impossible to deepen the shadows of this picture. If it 
 be true, Marlborough was a monster of depravity ; if it be false, 
 and if it can be shown that Lord Macaulay had before him the 
 evidence showing its falsehood, we should be sorry to put into 
 plain English what Lord Macaulay must be held to be in the 
 estimation of all honest men. 
 
 To fix this charge upon Marlborough, Lord jMacaulay relies 
 upon the revelations contained in the Stuart Papers. Until 
 the archives of that house were explored (he says), the " real 
 criminal was not named," nor " was it known to the world 
 that Talmash had perished by the basest of all the hundred 
 villanies of ^Marlborough." i 
 
 These papers, therefore, are the authority upon which Lord 
 Macaulay relies, and we shall proceed to show from these very 
 papers that every one of the charges is groundless ; that the 
 guilt of one man has been laid upon the shoulders of another ; 
 that the " real criminal " has been shielded ; that evidence has 
 been garbled ; that facts have been suppressed, and the whole 
 transaction so distorted and disfigured, that it is impossible to 
 
 ' Vol. iv. .'512, Svo.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 2L 
 
 recognise its true features. These are grave charges. If we do 
 not conclusively establish their truth, upon our heads be the 
 responsibility. 
 
 In the original Stuart Papers, published by ^Tacpherson, 
 under the date of May 1694,^ is a report headed "Accounts 
 brought by Captain Floyd, lately arrived from England." 
 
 rioyd was groom of the bedchamber to James, and was 
 much employed by him as an emissary to his adherents in 
 England. 2 "In the beginning of March," 1694,^ Floyd, by 
 the direction of James, went to England and sought interviews 
 with Eussell, Shrewsbury, Godolphin, and Churchill.'* Of 
 these four, all, except Churchill, held office under William. 
 Eussell was First Lord of the Admiralty and High Admiral. 
 Shrewsbury had just received from William the seals of office 
 as Secretary of State, the King saying as he placed them in his 
 hands, " I know you are a man of honour, and if you undertake 
 to serve me, you will do so faithfully : " at the same time 
 raising him to a dukedom, and conferring upon him the Garter.^ 
 Godolphin was First Lord of the Treasury. Churchill alone 
 was out of office, and in disgrace, having only just been re- 
 leased from a prison, in which he had been confined on a charge 
 notoriously false, and supported by the most infamous perjury. 
 
 Churchill received Floyd with expressions of loyalty and 
 attachment to James, and of contrition for his conduct towards 
 him. Beyond these general and vague protestations, Floyd 
 obtained nothing from Churchill. He derived no information 
 whatever from him. It is important to keep this fact in view 
 as it throws light upon the whole of Marlborough's conduct 
 with regard to the exiled family. It must be admitted in the 
 outset that his correspondence with the Court of St Germains 
 can on no ground be justified. Marlborough, even whilst 
 rendering the most important services to that cause of religious 
 and political freedom, the success of which was dependent on 
 the stal)ility of William's throne, unhappily continued to lavisli 
 fair words and fallacious promises upon James, and his cliar- 
 acter must bear the stain of his having done so. 
 
 ' l\Iacplu'rsoii, Grip. Tiip., i. 480. - Had., i. 479. 
 
 3 Ihi.l., i. 245. < Il.id., i. 4S0. » .Macaulay, iv. 505.
 
 22 TIIK M'W " KXAMEN. 
 
 I''1(»>(1 I hell went to llnssell, wlio received him witli warni 
 j)rotostations of devotion to the cause of tlie exiled family, 
 hacked hy many oatlis and imprecations. 
 
 Shrewshury, through liis niollier the Countess, assured Floyd 
 that lie had only accepted ofiice under AVilliam, " in order to 
 serve James more effectually thereafter ! " But the conversa- 
 tion with Godolphin was the most important. The First Lord 
 of the Treasury received the emissary of James " in the most 
 affectionate manner imaginable," and informed him "that 
 liussell would infallibly appear before Brest : the land-officers 
 being of opinion that the place might he insulted [i.e., assaulted], 
 although the sea-officers luere of a different opnnion ; that this 
 would give a just pretext to his Most Christian Majesty [Louis] to 
 send troops to that place." ^ Floyd adds, " he reiterated his 
 protestations with the greatest loyalty to your majesty." 
 
 There is evidence which fixes the date of this conversation 
 between Godolphin and Floyd within a very narrow compass. 
 Floyd, as we have seen, went to England at the beginning of 
 March. Immediately after giving the account of liis conversa- 
 tion with Godolphin, he goes on to narrate one which took 
 place with the Countess of Shrewsbury, in which she alludes 
 to the prorogation of Parliament as a future event, without 
 any expression from which it can be inferred that it was im- 
 mediately to be expected. Parliament was, in fact, prorogued 
 on the 25th of April. ^ So that w^e have it clearly established 
 that the conversation between Floyd and Godolphin was, at 
 any rate, some time before that day. Floyd returned to 
 France, reported his proceedings to James and the Earl of 
 Melfort, by the latter of whom his report was translated into 
 French, and "carried to Versailles on the 1st of May 1694"' 
 Taking into account the time thus occupied, the rate of travel- 
 ling in those days, and bearing in mind the conversation with 
 Lady Shrewsbury, it may fairly be inferred that Godolpliin's 
 information was given to the agent of James not later than the 
 middle of April. It unquestionably reached Louis on the \st 
 of May. 
 
 ^ Macphcrson, Orig. Pap., i. 483. 2 Gazette. 
 
 ' Macpherson, i. 480.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 23 
 
 Marlborough's letter, which Lord IMacaulay treats as being 
 the result of secret sources of information to which he alone 
 had access — as the first communication of the design to Louis 
 — as the occasion of the steps taken by the French Government 
 for the fortification of Brest — the cause of the failure of the 
 expedition, and of the death of Talmash — was not written until 
 the 4th of May, three days after Louis was in possession of the 
 formal rejwrt, drawn up hy Melfort from Floyd's narrative, and. 
 weeks after Godolphin had betrayed the ivhole scheme to the 
 emissary of James. 
 
 Marlborough's letter is not dated ; but the compiler of the 
 'Life of James '^ and Lord Macaulay himself^ concur in 
 assigning the 4th of May as the date ; and what appears to 
 show conclusively that they are correct is, that Marlborough 
 says "Eussell sails to-morroiv." Russell did, in fact, sail on 
 the 5th of ]\ray,^ Marlborough says that he had only learnt 
 the news he sends on the very day on which he writes. If so, 
 Louis was in possession of the intelligence before Marlborough. 
 It may be said that JNlarlborough was equally guilty in inten- 
 tion — that Godolphin had merely forestalled him in the wicked 
 act. That is not the question we are discussing. At present 
 we are inquiring whether Lord jNIacaulay has or has not given 
 a true account of the transaction. But even this charge cannot 
 be maintained. It is far more consistent with the fact of Marl- 
 borough's intimacy with Godolphin, and with his conduct on 
 other occasions, to suppose that he was acquainted with the 
 design upon Brest, but concealed it until he thought, as was 
 the fact, that revealing it could do no harm. lie might well 
 suppose that information conveyed only the day before Russell 
 sailed would be of no service. The fact is, that the letter of 
 Marlborough was perfectly harmless. The French Court had 
 long before been informed, not only by Godolphin, but also by 
 Lord Arran,^ of the design upon Brest. They had taken pre- 
 cautions to fortify the place, and it was perfectly veil knotcn to 
 William and to Talmash that they had done so. 
 
 William, ^vriting to Shrewsbury on the 1 8th of June, after 
 
 1 Clarke, ii. 522. '- Vol. vii. 134, edit. IS^S ; vidr ante, p. 16. 
 
 2 Gazette. * Life of James, ii. 523.
 
 24 Tin; nkw " kxamen." 
 
 till- Ciiilinc of lli(! attciiipt, says : " You may easily conceive my 
 vexation when I lioard tlie repulse our troops had experienced 
 in the descent near Brest ; and although the loss is very in- 
 considerable, yet in war it is always mortifying to undertake 
 auythini,' that docs not succeed ; and I oicn to you that I did 
 not sujyposc they wo^dd have 'made the attempt vnthout having 
 ivell reconnoitred the situation of the enemy to receive them ; 
 since they were long apprised of our intended attack, and made 
 active preparations for defence ; for what was practicable two 
 niontJis ago v:as no longer so at present." ^ 
 
 Shrewsbury, in reply, says : "I was never so entirely 
 satisfied with the design upon Brest as to be surprised at its 
 miscarrying, especially since the enemy had so much warning to 
 prepare for their defence. But I always concluded it was not 
 to be attempted, in case their preparations had made it so im- 
 practicable as it is related now to appear to those who viewed 
 it from the ships, but that then they had full power to try 
 what could be done on any other part of the coast they should 
 find more feasible, though the advantage should not altogether 
 be so considerable as seizing a post at Brest." ^ 
 
 William, in his next letter (which Lord ^lacaulay quotes), 
 says : " I am indeed extremely affected with the loss of poor 
 Talmash ; for although I do not approve of his conduct, yet I 
 am of opinion that his too ardent zeal to distinguish himself 
 induced him to attempt what was impracticable." ^ 
 
 These letters distinctly negative Lord Macaulay's assertion 
 that the leaders of the attack upon Brest were " not aware 
 that the design had been long known at A^ersailles. " * It is 
 impossible that William could have written the letters we have 
 quoted — that he could have used such expressions as that the 
 enemy had been " long apprised of the intended attack" — that 
 
 ^Coxc's Slirewsburj- Corrcspondeuce, 45. " Ibid., 44, 45, 46. 
 
 ' It is remarkable that Lord Macaulay appears to be incapable of transcribing 
 con-ectly. He quotes the above letter thus : " The poorfelloir's fate has afiFected 
 me much. I do not, indeed, think he managed well; but it was his ardent 
 desire to distinguish himself that impelled him to attempt impossibilities." 
 "William's letter is better English, and in better taste. Such colloquialisms as 
 " i>oor fellow" belong to the free-and-easy school of the nineteenth centurj'. 
 
 * r. 510, vol. iv. 8vo.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 25 
 
 the plan was practicable " two months ago " — that he could 
 have commented as he did upon the conduct of Talmash — if, 
 as Lord Macaulay asserts, Talmash had been led into a snare, 
 or if the fiist information had been conveyed to the French 
 Court by a letter written on the 4th of May, the day before 
 Talmash set out on the expedition. On the contrary, William 
 treats Talmash throughout as having braved a danger which 
 he knew, and which he ought not to have encountered without 
 further precautions. 
 
 Nor is this all. Burchett, the authority to whom Lord 
 Macaulay refers, narrates with great particularity the attack 
 upon Camaret Bay ; observes upon the " early advice " which 
 had been given to the French of the intended attack ; and uses 
 no expression whatever from which it can be inferred that 
 there was any surprise in the matter. Lord Caermarthen, in 
 his ' Journal,' ^ states that they found the place stronger than 
 they had anticipated, and describes the precautions advised by 
 Cutts and neglected by Talmash ; but he never intimates that 
 there was any suspicion of treachery or " snare." Lord Caer- 
 marthen also gives an account of the death of Talmash, but is 
 altogether silent as to the exclamation which Lord Macaulay 
 asserts the dying general made " with his last breath, that he 
 had been lured into a snare by treachery." 
 
 Lord Macaulay appears to have derived his account of the 
 death of Talmash from Oldmixon, of whom he elsewhere says 
 that " it is notorious that of all our historians he is the least 
 trustworthy." ^ 
 
 All the other accounts (as far as we are aware) simply state 
 that Talmash died like a gallant soldier (as he undoubtedly 
 was), "more concerned for the ill success of the action than for 
 the loss of his own life." ' Oldmixon goes into more minute 
 particulars, on what authority it does not appear ; but though 
 Lord Macaulay seems to have derived his account from Old- 
 mixon, the account given by that historian directly negatives 
 Lord ^lacaulay's charge against jNIarlborough. 
 
 Waiving for the present tlie question of how far Oldmixon 
 
 1 P. 11, 14, 15. - Vol. ii. 240, edit. 1858. 
 
 3 Ralph, ii. 504.
 
 '20 TiiK NKW "kxamf:n. 
 
 is oulitlcMl to credit, Ivl us .see what his account is. "The 
 brave general, Talmasli," he says, " was mortally wounded ; 
 and beinr^ conveyed to Plymouth, died there a few days after. 
 It is certain he believed himself betrayed. His last words were 
 very remarkable, and prove beyond all question the correspond- 
 ence the French had witli soine of King William's council. 'I 
 die contented,' said he, ' having done my duty in the service 
 of a good prince ; but I am very sorry the Government is 
 betrayed.' He knew who were the traitors, and named them 
 to a person who stood at his bedside, that he might dis- 
 cover them to Queen Mary in his Majesty's absence, that she 
 might be upon her guard against those pernicious counsellors 
 who had retarded the descent, and by that means given France 
 time so to fortify Brest as to render all approaches to it 
 im practical >le." ^ 
 
 Now, if this account is true, those to whose correspondence 
 with France Talmash referred were " of King William's coim- 
 cil," which Marlborough was not. The traitors whom he " knew 
 and named " to the nameless person who " stood by his bed- 
 side," were " pernicious counsellors," who had access to the 
 Queen, which Marlborough had not. They were persons who 
 had " retarded the descent, and by that means given France 
 time to fortify Brest." This Marlborough never had the 
 power to do, nor has Lord JNIacaulay accused him of doing 
 it. It is clear, therefore, that if Talmash did, as Lord ^lac- 
 aulay asserts, " exclaim with his last breath that he had 
 been lured into a snare by treachery," he also declared that 
 the treason was perpetrated by some person who by no 
 possibility could be ^Marlborough — possibly Godolphin, pos- 
 sibly Shrewsbury, possibly both, but clearly and distinctly 
 not ^Marlborough. 
 
 It is stated in the Life of William, published immediately 
 after his death, and about eight years after these events had 
 taken place, that it was common talk at London and elsewhere, 
 long before the feet ivent out, that the design was upon Brest, 
 and that the French themselves were so sensible of it that they 
 took all the prcoautioiis imaginable, by j^lanting batteries, making 
 
 ^ Oldmixon, iii. 92.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 27 
 
 intrenchments, and bringing niimcrous hodies of regular troops 
 to defend themselves against the impending danger." ^ 
 
 Ealph, referring to Boyer, states that it was town-talk in 
 Loudon some months before it " was put in execution."^ Ken- 
 net 3 uses the same expression, and adds that " it is certain 
 that the French had time to provide themselves against the 
 design." Oldmixon quotes and confirms Kennet.^ Luttrell, 
 in giving an account of the despatch which brought the tidings 
 of the defeat, says : " The French certainly knew of our design, 
 having about 10,000 foot and 4000 horse of veteran soldiers 
 encamped there ever since the 22d of April, and 10,000 militia 
 within the town, Vauban, the engineer, was also there, and 
 fortified every pass." ^ Here, then, we have the united testi- 
 mony of contemporary historians — of Floyd, of Shrewsbury, of 
 James, and of William — that the design upon Brest had been 
 long known to the French Court ; that the precautions taken 
 in consequence by the Government of that country were known 
 to the English Government ; that it was town-talk in London, 
 long before the fleet sailed, that Brest was their destination. 
 We have Godolphin's communication to Floyd in April, Lord 
 Arran's to James some time before; we have the 1st of May 
 distinctly fixed as the date of a formal communication to 
 Louis; we have the fact of troops being assembled in April — 
 of the fortification of Brest, not hurried and imperfect, but 
 performed with skill, deliberation, and completeness ; we find 
 Lord Macaulay citing the very authorities upon whose pages 
 these facts appear, the very papers and letters in which the 
 details are given, and yet deliberately asserting that the secret 
 was faithfully kept until IMarlborough, through some private 
 channels, discovered it on the 4th of May, the very day before 
 the fleet sailed, and "instantly" revealed it to James, and that 
 the failure of the expedition and the death of Talmash M'crc 
 consequent upon the information thus conveyed ! 
 
 It must be admitted that in no view of the case can the 
 
 ' liifc of Willitini, Anon,, 1703, second edition, 378. 
 
 ■■^ Iviilph, ii. fiOl, citing Boyer, Life of Kinj,' ■\Villiain, ii. 300. 
 
 3 Vol. iii. 664. •* Oldmixon, iii. 5)2. 
 
 6 Luttrell's Diary, iii. 32S; Jnne 14, 1694.
 
 28 TMl': NKW " KXAMKN. 
 
 comluct of Marlborouj,'h in tliis transaction be justified. I5ut 
 liis onVncc soonis ratlier to liavcbccai agfiinst JaiiMj.s, in .socking 
 credit for a service of no value, than against William ; and we 
 ought not, perhaps, to weigli too nicely the conduct of a man 
 in those doul)le-dealing times whose head was in peril between 
 two equally implacable sovereigns. It must be remembered, 
 too, that at this time a large proportion of the people of Eng- 
 land still considered James as their rightful sovereign ; that 
 the Dutch troops of William were looked upon by many in 
 the light of enemies, as much as the French troops of Louis. 
 The con-espondence of Marlborough with James must therefore 
 be regarded as an offence of a very different character from 
 what it would have been had it been carried on with a foreign 
 potentate, or had Marlborough, like Eussell, Shrewsbury, and 
 Godolphin, held office and enjoyed the confidence of William. 
 Prizing as we do the benefits conferred upon us by the Kevo- 
 lution, we are apt to forget in how different a light from that 
 in which we look upon William, he was regarded by those who 
 had seen him only a few years before placed on the throne, in 
 compliance, it is true, with religious and political necessity, 
 but no less truly by means of treachery and falsehood, from 
 the stains of wliich, unhappily, Marlborough himself was not 
 free. 
 
 Our present task, however, is not to determine the very 
 difficult question of what amount of blame is justly to be 
 awarded to Marlborough, but to examine how far confidence 
 can be placed in even the most specific and deliberate state- 
 ments of Lord ^Licaulay. Nothing can exceed in minuteness 
 of detail and positiveness of assertion this particular charge 
 against INIarlborough. Nothing can exceed its gravity and 
 impoiiance. At the same time it is difficult to say whether it 
 excels most in the suggestio falsi or in the supprcssio vert. It 
 is not true that it was by means of ^Marlborough's information 
 that the French Government were enabled to fortify Brest ; 
 it is not true that Talmash M-as lured into a snare ; it is not 
 true that he and Berkeley were in ignorance that the design 
 upon Brest was known at Versailles, and that steps had been 
 taken for defence ; it is not true that ]\Iailborough was the
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 29 
 
 cause of the failure of the expedition ; and it is a monstrous 
 and a foul calumny that jVIarlborough was the " murderer " of 
 Talmash. The instances of suirprcssio vcri are almost as re- 
 markable. The treachery of Shrewsbuiy is suppressed ; the 
 treachery of Godolphin is suppressed. The reader would never 
 discover from Lord Macaulay's narrative that eitlier of them 
 had anything whatever to do with the transaction. Floyd's 
 intelligence is suppressed ; Lord Arran's information is sup- 
 pressed ; Melfort's communication to Louis is suppressed ; the 
 fact of the fortification of Brest in April is suppressed ; the 
 correspondence between William and Shrewsbury is garbled ; 
 and the dying words of Talmash, which afford the clearest 
 proof of the innocence, in his estimation, of Marlborough, are 
 distorted into evidence of his guilt ! 
 
 We would willingly suppose that Lord Macaulay had been 
 misled by other historians, who might have been biassed by 
 the party feelings of the day. But this unhappily is impos- 
 sible. He quotes and refers to the very documents we have 
 laid before the reader — the very documents that disprove his 
 assertions. The evidence was in his hands which proves 
 incontestably that James was in possession of the information 
 in April ; that Godolphin had communicated it to Floyd 
 during that month, and that Louis was in possession of it 
 certainly not later than the 1st of May ; that it was known 
 to the English Court that the French King was aware of their 
 intentions, and that precautions had been taken for the protec- 
 tion of Brest. Yet Lord Macaulay persists, year after year, 
 and edition after edition, in reiterating this monstrous accusa- 
 tion — designates this as " the foulest of treasons," " the basest 
 of the hundred villanies of Marlborough," and showers down 
 upon him such appellations as " traitor," " criminal," and 
 " murderer." 
 
 We have been amongst those who have shared most deeply 
 in the universal admiration due to the genius and eloquence 
 of Lord iMacaulay. In his own department we still regard 
 him as unrivalled. He is beyond comparison the greatest 
 master of brilliant and unscrupulous historical fiction that has 
 ever adorned the language of England. It is impossible
 
 •M) THK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 iur uny Miiglisliniaii— it is impossible lor any honest man, to 
 rise from a perusal of this attack upon Marlborough, anrl an 
 examination of the evidence upon which it rests, without 
 feelings of the deepest indignation. 
 
 Here, for the present, we pause. We have done enough to 
 put the reader upon his guard as to liow he accepts even the 
 most confident and positive assertions of Lord ^lacaulay, and 
 to show the kind of services to history which have been 
 deemed wortliy of being rewarded by a peerage. 
 
 The mischief done is incalculable. Proljably no book that 
 has issued from the press of tliis country since the Waverley 
 Novels, has had so universal a circulation as Lord Macaulay's 
 History. 
 
 The poison has spread far and wide. It has entered into 
 and corrupted the life-blood of modem literature. Lord 
 Macaulay has proclaimed to the whole civilised world, in 
 tones which reach its remotest corners, that the first of Eng- 
 land's military commanders, one of the greatest of her states- 
 men and diplomatists — the man who, at a period of peril to our 
 religious and political freedom, wielded more than sovereign 
 power, and to whom we owe more perhaps than to any other 
 man the blessings we most prize — was a " prodigy of turpi- 
 tude ; " ^ that he was stained with every vice that most degrades 
 humanity ; that he was a miser, a profligate, a cheat, a traitor, 
 and a murderer. Lord Macaulay — we say it deliberately — has 
 stated this, having before him and referring to the very docu- 
 ments which prove the falsehood of these charges. The anti- 
 dote to this poison may work slowly, but it will work surely. 
 Many years may elapse before the still small voice of truth 
 can be distinctly heard above the torrent of eloquent declamation 
 and the din of popular applause. Lord ^Macaulay, probably for 
 his life, may enjoy the triumph of having successfully held up 
 the greatest of English generals to the contempt and execra- 
 tion of the world. But the hour of retribution, though it may 
 be distant, is certain. Reputations such as that of ^Marlborough 
 cannot die, and the avenging spirit lives and breathes in thou- 
 sands of manly and honest hearts. Even now we hear on all 
 
 ' Vol. ii. 515, edit. 1S58.
 
 THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 31 
 
 sides murmurs which grow deeper and louder each succeeding 
 year, which shape and syllable themselves into the expression 
 of a growing belief, gradually finding utterance from the lips 
 of men who read and think, that wherever party interests or 
 personal predilections or aversions interfere. Lord Macaulay is 
 not to be trusted either to narrate facts accurately, to state 
 evidence truly, or to award the judgment of History with 
 impartiality.
 
 32 
 
 II. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY AND THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.^ 
 
 Our last number contained some remarks on the freedom of 
 hand with which Lord Macaulay flings the darkest colours on 
 his canvas, in his portrait of England's most famous Whig 
 general. We propose, in the following pages, to show with how 
 light a touch he can spread a sparkling and transparent glaze 
 over the most repulsive features of the great Whig king. 
 
 There is a popular superstition, that the blood of a murdered 
 man impresses an indelible mark on the spot where it falls. 
 The stains on the staircase at Holyrood and the floor of the 
 dressing-room at Staunton Harold are still pointed out to hun- 
 dreds of half-believing gazers. There is a moral truth at the 
 foundation of this belief. The place in which a great crime 
 has been committed can never be seen or named without calling 
 up the memory of that crime. The mean purposes to which 
 they have been applied cannot efi'ace the association which 
 unites the nanies of Smithfield, and of tlie market-place of 
 Rouen, in our minds with the martyrs of religion and patriot- 
 ism ; and no time can disconnect the name of Glencoe from 
 the memory of an outrage so revolting, that, after the lapse of 
 a century and a half, the blood curdles at it as if it were a deed 
 of yesterday. 
 
 The story of the slaughter of M'lan of Glencoe and his tribe, 
 often as it has been repeated, never palls in interest. It has 
 lately been told by the greatest word-painter of the age, whose 
 steps it woidd be presumption to follow, and from whom quota- 
 tion is needless, as every one is familiar with his eloquent nar- 
 rative. Were that narrative as trustworthy as it is eloquent, 
 
 ^ niaok wood's Magnzine, July 1859.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. o3 
 
 we should only have the pleasant duty of joining in the general 
 tribute of applause, instead of asking our readers to follow us 
 through the comparatively dry details which appear to us 
 necessary to place tlie actors in that tragedy in their true 
 light. 
 
 We have read Lord Macaulay's account of the Massacre of 
 Glencoe over and over again, each time with increased admira- 
 tion of the marvellous variety of his powers. The most skilful 
 advocate never framed an argument so subtle to avert punish- 
 ment from the guilty, no labyrinth constructed to conceal the 
 evidence of crime ever was so intricate, as the story which Lord 
 Macaulay has woven to shield William from the obloquy which 
 attaches to his name for his share in that dark transaction. 
 The mind is insensibly drawn away from the issue ; indigna- 
 tion is aroused, to be directed successively at one subordinate 
 agent after another, until the great and principal offender has 
 time to escape, and the full torrent of invective bursts on the 
 guilty and miserable head of one accomplice. 
 
 It is essential to a correct judgment upon the case to under- 
 stand distinctly the relation in which the Glencoe men stood 
 to the Government of William. The terms rebels, marauders, 
 thieves, banditti, murderers, have been so freely and so fraudu- 
 lently used by historians and political partisans, from the close 
 of the seventeenth century down even to our own day, and 
 such is the effect of positive, reckless, and often-repeated asser- 
 tion, that some of our readers may be disposed to smile incred- 
 ulously when we state, as we do most positively, that none 
 of these terms are justly applicable to the Macdonalds of Glen- 
 coe at the time of the massacre. 
 
 In the summer of 1691, the war which was being vigorously 
 carried on in Ireland was smouldering but not extinguished in 
 Scotland. The clans remained faithful to James, but a year 
 had elapsed since they had made any overt demonstration in 
 his favour. Colonel Hill, who connnanded William's garrison 
 at Inverlochy, writing on the 15th of May 1091, says: "The 
 people hereabouts have robbed none all this M'inter, but have 
 been very peaceable and civil." ^ Ou the 3d of June he writes 
 
 1 Hill to Melville, Hit^lilaml Pai-crs, Maitlaiid Chili, 11. 
 C 
 
 //
 
 34 THK NKVV " FIXAMEN. 
 
 1(1 the Miul of Melville : " We are at present as peaceaLle horo- 
 nboiit.s as ever." ' On Hh! 20th of July the Privy Council 
 report that "the Highland reljels have of late been very peace- 
 able, acting no hostilities." ^ On the 22d of August, Colonel 
 Hill writes from Fort William to Lord Itaith: "This acquaints 
 your Lordship that we are here still in the same peaceable con- 
 dition that we have been for more than a year past." ^ The 
 chiefs, indeed, only awaited the arrival of permission from 
 St Germains to enable them to lay down their arms without 
 blemish to their honour or taint upon their fidelity. 
 
 On the 30th of June a suspension of arras was agreed upon, 
 and a truce was entered into in the following terms, between 
 the commander of the forces of James, and the Earl of Breadal- 
 bane on behalf of William : — 
 
 " We, Major - General Buchan, Brigadier, and Sir Geo. 
 Barclay, general officers of King James the Seventh his forces 
 within the kingdom of Scotland, to testifie our aversion of 
 shedding Christian blood, and y* we design to appear good 
 Scotsmen, and to w^ish y* this nation may be restored to 
 its wonted and happy peace, doe agree and consent to a fore- 
 bearance of all acts of hostilitie and depreda" to be committed 
 upon the subjects of this nation or England, until the first day 
 of October next ; providing that there be no acts of hostility 
 or depreda"* committed upon any of the King's subjects, who 
 have been or are engaged in his service, under our command, 
 either by sea or land ; we having given all necessary orders to 
 such as are under our command to forbear acts of hostility, by 
 sea or laud, untill the afors*^ tyme. — Subscribed at Achallader 
 y« 30th June 1G9L 
 
 "Whereas the chieftains of clans have given bonds not to 
 commit acts of hostility or depreda** before the first day of 
 October next, upon the conditions contained in the afs*^ bonds ; 
 and in regard that the officers sent by King James to command 
 the s^ chieftains have by one unanimous consent in their council 
 of war agreed to the s** forbearance : Therefore I, as having 
 
 ' Leven and Melville Papere, 617; Highland Papers, 14, 16. 
 
 * Ibid. ; Iligliland Papers, 25. 
 
 3 Ibid., 648; Higliland Pnpers, .32.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 35 
 
 warrant from King William and Queen Mary to treat with the 
 forsaid Highlanders concerning the peace of the kingdom, doe 
 hereby certify y* the s*^ officers and chieftains have signed 
 a forbearance of acts of hostilitie and depreda" till the first of 
 October next. Wherefore it's most necessary, just, and reason- 
 able, y* noe acts of hostility by sea or land or depreda'' be com- 
 mitted upon the s'^ officers, or any of their party whom they 
 doe command, or upon the chieftains, or their kinsmen, friends, 
 tennents, or followers, till the for'^ first day of October. — Sub- 
 scribed at Achallader the 30th day of June 1691. — Bkaidal- 
 
 BINE." ^ 
 
 This document is conclusive that those who were in arms for 
 James in Scotland were legitimate belligerents, enemies who 
 might lawfully be shot down in battle, but who might treat 
 and be treated with, and who were entitled to all those rights 
 which the laws of nations award to an enemy. 
 
 The treaty of Limerick was signed on the 3d of October in 
 the same year. It will be admitted by every one, that to have 
 shot or hanged Sarsfield as a rebel would have been an outrage 
 as much on the laws of war as on those of humanity. It has 
 served the interest of those who desired to shield the perpetra- 
 tors of an infiimous crime from opprobrium to call ^Macdonald 
 of Glencoe a rebel. He was as much a rebel as Sarsfield was, 
 and no more ; in both cases the distinction is broad and clear 
 — so broad and clear, that we should have supposed it im- 
 possible for any one honestly to be blind to it. Neither Sars- 
 field nor Glencoe had ever owned the authority of William. 
 As long as James was in arms to defend his crown, as long as 
 subjects who had never owned any other allegiance flocked 
 round his standard, so long were those subjects entitled to 
 all the rights which the laws of war concede to enemies. 
 
 Contemporaneously with the signature of the treaty we have 
 referred to, negotiations for a permanent pacification were going 
 on. Colonel Hill, in one of the letters we have already quoted, 
 says : " The Appin and Glencoe men liave desired tliey may 
 go in to my Lord Argyle, because he is their superior, and I 
 have set tliem a sliort day to do it in." " The Privy Council, 
 
 1 Culln.lcii r.ipors, ]8. ^ Lovcii aiul Molvilli' Tupcrs, 607, .Tunc 1091.
 
 *36 THE NRW " lOXAMKN." 
 
 ill Die next inoiitli, icpnii tli;it llir; IIi;,rlil,'inds liad of late 
 been very [)oac(;ablc ; that many liad accejjtcd tlie oath from 
 <Juluncl Hill, " iiover to rise in arms against thoir Majesties 
 or the Government ; " ■* and that others were living quietly and 
 peaceably. 
 
 We have been thus preeise in our statement of the position 
 of the Highland adherents of James during the summer and 
 autumn of 1G91, for the purpose of showing, by the best possible 
 testimony — that of the civil and military servants of William 
 — that there was nothing to provoke or excuse any measure of 
 severity; that the war, though not extinguished, was suspended, 
 and that the conduct of the Highlanders, considering the unset- 
 tled state of the country, was singularly peaceful and orderly. 
 
 Immediately after the signature of the treaty, the Earl of 
 Breadalbane invited the heads of the clans to a meeting at 
 Achallader, with the view of arranging a final cessation of 
 hostilities.^ Amongst others, Glencoe was invited, and obeyed 
 the summons. Lord INIncaulay attempts M'ith great ingenuity 
 to depreciate the position held by Glencoe amongst his brother 
 chiefs. It is true that the fighting men who owned his com- 
 mand did not exceed one-fourth of the number of those who, 
 at the summons of the fiery cross, liocked together to obey the 
 behests of Locheil or Glengarry ; but he commanded half as 
 many as Keppoch, and a number equal to the haughty chief 
 of Barra, who l)oasted that he was the fourteenth Iloderick 
 M'Neill who had reigned in uninterrupted succession from 
 father to son over his island kingdom, and who handed down 
 that patriarchal sway to our own time. ^ 
 
 1 Lcven and Melville Papers, July 29, 1691. 
 
 2 Achallader was a house of the Earl of Breadalhanc, situate near the north- 
 eastern end of Loch TuUich, in the neighbourhood of the shooting-lodge of the 
 present Marquess, and of the famous deer-forest of the Black Mount. It was 
 on the opposite side of the lake to the present Inn of Inverorau, a place pro- 
 bably well known to many of our readei-s. 
 
 ^ The following document shows the proportionate strength of the clans at 
 this time : — 
 
 "We, Lord James Murray, Pat. Stewart of BiiUechan, Sir John M 'Lean, 
 Sir Donald M 'Donald, Sir Ewen Cameron, Glengarrie, Benbecula, Sir Alex- 
 ander M'Lean, Appin, Enveray, Keppoch, Glencoe, Strowan, Calothele, Lieut- 
 Col. M'(Jregor, Bara, Larg, M'Naughton, do hereby bind and oblige ourselves,
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 37 
 
 Much of tlic influence of Glencoe was due to his personal 
 character. " He was a person of great integrity, honour, good- 
 nature, and courage. . . . ^luch loved by his neighbours, 
 and blameless in his conduct."^ Such is his character, drawn 
 by the biographer of Locheil. His personal prowess, which has 
 been celebrated both in prose and verse, added, no doubt, to the 
 consideration in which he was held. 
 
 It is by no means improbable, however, that amongst the 
 tribe of which he was the head there were some who felt little 
 scruple in possessing themselves of the flocks and herds of 
 hostile clans, and who, as Lord Macaulay remarks, as little 
 thought themselves thieves for doing so as " the Ealeighs and 
 Drakes considered themselves thieves when they divided the 
 cargoes of Spanish galleons." ^ 
 
 Feuds had been of frequent occurrence between the Glencoe 
 men and the neighbouring clansmen of Breadalbane. An 
 ancient antipathy, deepened by political differences, existed 
 between the Macdonalds and that branch of the Campbells. 
 Breadalbane, either forgetful for the moment of the important 
 business he had in hand, or, which appears more probable, 
 desirous to pick a quarrel and prevent an amicable settlement 
 with one whom he hoped to be able to crush, if he could find 
 a plausible excuse for doing so, reproached Glencoe " about 
 some cows that the Earl alleged were stolen from his men by 
 
 for his Majesty's service and our own safeties, to meet at the 
 
 day of Sept. next, and bring along with us fencible men, that is to 
 say- 
 Lord James Murray and Ballechan, 
 
 Sir John M 'Lean, . . .200 Keppoch, . . . .100 
 Sir Donald Macdonald, . . 200 Lieut. -Col. M'Gregor, . . 100 
 Sir Ewen Cameron, . . 200 Calochele, .... 50 
 Glengarric, . . . .200 Strowan, .... GO 
 
 Benbecula, .... 200 Bara, 50 
 
 Sir Alex. M'Lean, . . . 100 Glencoe, .... 60 
 
 Appin, 100 M'Naughton, ... 50 
 
 Enveray, . . . .100 Larg 50 
 
 But in case any of the rebels shall assault or attack any of the above-named 
 persons, lietwixt the date hereof and the first day of rendezvous, we do all 
 .solcnmly promise to assist one another to the utmost of our power,— as witness 
 these presents signed by us, at the Castle of Blair, tlie 24th Aug. 1689." 
 (Here follow the signatures.)— Browne's History of tlie Clans, ii. 183. 
 ' Memoirs of Locheil, 321. * Vol. iii. 307.
 
 38 'I' I IK Ni;W " EXAM EN. 
 
 Glencoe'.s iiiiii." ' Glencoe left Achalladerin anger, as Bread- 
 albanc probably intended he should, and returned with his two 
 sons to his i)atriarchal home. lie knew the malice of ]5read- 
 albane ; but the truce was not to expire until October, and till 
 then, at least, he and those for whose safety he was responsible 
 were secure. 
 
 Lord Macavday, with some philological assumption, intro- 
 duces his description of the glen by telling his readers that 
 "in the Gaelic tongue, ' Glencoe' signifies the Glen of Weep- 
 ing." It signifies no such thing. According to the simplest 
 and most apparent derivation, it signifies the Glen of the Dogs, 
 " con " being the genitive plural of " cu," a dog. Had Lord 
 Macaulay's knowledge of Gaelic been sufficient to tell him this, 
 he would probably have urged it as conclusive proof of the es- 
 timation in which the inhabitants were held. But in fact the 
 name signifies no more than the Valley of the Conn or Cona, 
 that being the name which the stream flowing through it bears 
 in common with many other rivers in Scotland, derived either 
 from the Scotch fir or from the common moss which covers the 
 valley, both of which bear the name of " cona." The word 
 which signifies lamentation or weeping is the unmanageable 
 compound of letters " caoidh," which probably would be quite 
 as great an enigma to Lord Macaulay as the mystical M.O.A.I. 
 was to Malvolio. 
 
 His picture of Glencoe is painted with the historian's usual 
 brilliancy, and his usual fidelity. It bears the same relation 
 to the place itself as Mr Charles Kean's scenery at the Princess's 
 Theatre does to Harfleur, Agincourt, or Eastcheap. We have 
 seen the glen in the extremes of weather : we have been 
 drenched and scorched in it. We have wrung rivers out of 
 our plaid, and we have knelt down to suck up through parched 
 lips the tiny rivulets that trickled over the rocks. We there- 
 fore consider ourselves entitled to criticise Lord Macaulay's 
 description. 
 
 ^ See the very plain and simple account given in the depositions of John 
 and Alexander M'lan, 13 State Trials, 897 j and Lord Macaulay's picturesque 
 paraphrase, iv. 193. 
 
 ' See Sir John Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, i. 4Sj.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 39 
 
 Lord Macaulay says : " In truth, that pass is the most 
 dreary and melancholy of all Scottish passes — the very valley 
 of the shadow of death. . . . Mile after mile the traveller 
 looks in vain for the smoke of one hut, for one human form 
 wrapped in a plaid, and listens in vain for the bark of a shejj- 
 herd's dog or the bleat of a lamb : the only sound that indicates 
 life is the faint cry of a bird of prey from some storm-beaten 
 pinnacle of rock." ^ The reader must not suppose that -this 
 exaggerated description of the desolation of Glencoe is without 
 an object, or that it is due only to the pleasure which Lord 
 Macaulay feels in soaring on the powerful wings of his imagi- 
 nation. We shall presently see that in the most studied and 
 ingenious manner he seeks to diminish the feeling of sympa- 
 thy for the Macdonalds by showing tliat they were "banditti," 
 " thieves," " robbers," " freebooters," " ruffians," " marauders 
 who in any well-governed country would have been hanged 
 thirty years before ; " 2 and by this means gradually to lead to 
 the conclusion that it was the cruelty and treachery which 
 accompanied the execution of the order for their " extirpa- 
 tion " which constitutes the crime, and not the giving of the 
 order itself. 
 
 The ]\Lacdonalds, he infers, must have been thieves — honest 
 men could not have existed in such a wilderness ; and accord- 
 ingly, in the next page, he says that " the wilderness itself 
 was valued on account of the shelter which it afforded to the 
 plunderer and his plunder." ^ Now, from the entrance to the 
 glen until it expands as it approaches the village of Inverco 
 is about six miles, and in this distance there is at least one 
 farmhouse — if our memory serves us correctly, there are two, 
 and several cottages ; so that if Lord Macaulay looked in vain 
 for the smoke of a hut, it must have been because at that 
 moment the fires were not lighted. As to not hearing the bark 
 of a dog or the bleat of a lamb, at our last visit we were almost 
 deafened by both, for Glencoe is a sheep-walk occupied by that 
 well - known sportsman and agriculturist, ^Ir Campbell of 
 Monzie, one of whose deer-forests it innnediately adjoins, and 
 who, on the occasion we refer to, was superintending in person 
 
 » Vol. iv. 191. 2 Vol. iv. 203, 204, 205. ' Vol. iv. 102.
 
 40 Tin-, NKW " lOXAMKN." 
 
 the gathering of liis Hocks IVdiii the iiiouiit;iiii9, preparatory 
 to starting fur Falkirk. At the lower end (the scene of tlie 
 massacre) the glen expands, and forms a considerahle plain of 
 arable and pasture land, where the reapers were busy gathering 
 ill the harvest in the fields round the village, which still stands 
 surrounded by flourishing trees on the same spot where it 
 stood in 1 G92, and where it is marked under the name of 
 Innercoan upon Visscher's map of Scotland, published at Am- 
 sterdam in 1700 — pretty good proof that it was not then a very 
 inconsiderable place. A mile or two further on, Loch Leven 
 glittered in the setting sun, round the island burial-place of 
 the ]\rTans, where the murdered chieftain sleeps with his 
 fathers. The chink of hammers sounded from the busy slate- 
 quarries of Mr Stewart of Ballachulish, and in the distance the 
 wood of Lettermore (the scene of another foul outrage) stretched 
 forwards towards the broad waters of the Linnhe Loch. 
 
 If Lord Macaulay had said that the Pass of Glencoe excels 
 all others in Scotland in stern beauty, he would, as far as our 
 knowledge goes, have said what was perfectly correct ; but we 
 know many passes far more "desolate" and "melancholy," 
 none grander, but many "sadder" and "more awful." The 
 pass from Loch Kishorn to Applecross is more desolate ; the 
 head of Loch Torridon is more dreary ; and even Glen Rosa, 
 in Arran, is more destitute of the signs of human habitation. 
 Many others will occur to the mind of any one whose steps have 
 wandered out of the beaten track of Cockney tourists. Such 
 is Glencoe at the present day. It was described not long after 
 the massacre, by the author of the * Memoirs of Sir Evan Cam- 
 eron of Lochiel,' in the following words : — 
 
 " The country of Glencoe is, as it were, the mouth or inlet 
 into Lochaber from the south, and the inhabitants are the first 
 vre meet with that appeared unanimously for King James. 
 They are separated from Breadalbane on the south by a large 
 desert, and from Lochaber by an arm of the sea on the north ; 
 on the east and west it is covered by high, rugged, and rocky 
 mountains, almost perpendicular, rising like a wall on each 
 side of a hcauti/ul valley, where the inhabitants reside." ^ 
 ' JMemoira of Lochcil, Maitlaiul Cluli, 315.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 41 
 
 Just midway between the time of the massacre and the pre- 
 sent day, we have the testimony of another perfectly competent 
 witness to its state. Mrs Grant of Laggan, at that time a girl 
 of nineteen, was residing with her father, who was barrack- 
 master at Fort Augustus. She was distantly connected with 
 the family of Glencoe ; and the granddaughters of the chief 
 himself of that day, who had been carried oil' to the hills by 
 his nurse on the night of the massacre, when he was an infant 
 of two years old, had been her schoolfellows. She writes in 
 May 1773, from Fort "William, speaks of an invitation she 
 had received from her schoolfellow to visit her at Glencoe, 
 and then proceeds as follows : — 
 
 " Glencoe she has often described to me as very singular in 
 its appearance and situation ;— a glen so narrow, so warm, 
 so fertile, so overhung by mountains which seem to meet above 
 you — with sides so shrubby and woody! — the haunt of roes 
 and numberless small birds. 
 
 " They told me it was unequalled for the chorus of ' wood- 
 notes wild ' that resounded from every side. The sea is so 
 near that its roar is heard, and its productions abound ; it was 
 always accounted (for its narrow bounds) a place of great 
 ^ilenty and security."^ 
 
 Lord ]\Iacaulay must have seen this description, for he 
 alludes to the letter in a contemptuous note,^ in which he says 
 that Mrs Grant's account of the massacre is " grossly incor- 
 rect," ^ and that she makes a mistake of two years as to the 
 date. Mrs Grant's account of the massacre is just what we 
 might expect from a girl deeply imbued with the Ossianic 
 furor, writing from tradition, without even the pretence of 
 historical accuracy. It is curious, however, that Lord JNIacau- 
 lay imports into his History the most improbable incident that 
 she relates — namely, that " the hereditary bard of the tribe 
 took his seat on a rock which overhung the place of slaughter, 
 and poured forth a long lament over his murdered bretliren 
 and his desolate home." ■* IVIrs Grant's bard bears too evident 
 a likeness to the gentleman of the same profession who sat 
 
 ' TiCttors from tlio Mountains, i. TiO. 
 
 = Vol. iv. 213. » Ibid. * ll.id., 212.
 
 42 
 
 TIIK NHW " EXAMEN." 
 
 " Oil a rock, whoHC haiiglity l)row 
 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood," 
 
 and cuimiiiUcd suicide iu its " roaring tide," to be acknowledged 
 as an historical personage. Her mistake as to time, which Lord 
 Macaulay condemns so harshly, is a mistake of six weeks — not, 
 as he asserts, of two years. She says the massacre took place 
 during the festivities of Christmas : it occurred, in fact, on the 
 13th of February. Notwitlistanding these inaccuracies, Mrs 
 Grant is a perfectly good witness as to what the state of the 
 glen was in her time ; and any one who visits it now, unless 
 he is a Cockney boxed up inside the " Rob Eoy," somnolent 
 from the effect of the coach dinner at Tyndrum, or unaccus- 
 tomed potations of toddy at King's House, will see much to 
 confirm the correctness of her description. Two mistakes 
 which are frequently made we must guard him against. The 
 site of the house of Achtriaten, about half-way down the glen, 
 is pointed out by some as the scene of the massacre. Ach- 
 triaten himself was murdered — not, however, in his own house, 
 but in that of his brother at Auchnaiou.^ Others, better in- 
 formed as to the localities, state that a ruined gable, still 
 standing, formed part of Glencoe's house : it xery possibly 
 occupies the same site as the house of the chief which was 
 burned on the night of the massacre ; but the date and mono- 
 gram upon a stone inserted under one of the windows show 
 that it was probably the house of John ]Macdonald, the eldest 
 son and successor of the chief, rebuilt on his return to the 
 glen after his father's murder. 
 
 We copied the inscription faithfully, as it appeared in 1857. 
 
 ^ Report, 21.
 
 THE MASSACKE OF GLENCOE. 43 
 
 We must now leave Glencoe for the present in his mountain 
 home, and Breadalbane proceeding with his negotiations with 
 the other chiefs. Another actor comes upon the stage — the 
 Master of Stair — according to Lord Macaulay " the most poli- 
 tic, the most eloquent, the most powerful of Scottish states- 
 men ; " 1 " the original author of the massacre ; " ^ the " single 
 mind " ^ from whom all the " numerous instruments employed 
 iu the work of death," * " directly or indirectly, received their 
 impulse ; " ^ the " one offender w^ho towered high above the 
 crowd of offenders, pre-eminent in parts, knowledge, rank, and 
 power ; " ^ the " one victim demanded by justice in return for 
 many victims immolated by treachery."^ Such is Lord Mac- 
 aulay's judgment. We are not about to dispute the justice of 
 the sentence which consigns the Master of Stair to eternal ex- 
 ecration ; but it is the duty of the historian to mete out with 
 an unsparing hand the judgment of posterity to all ; and it is 
 not by heaping upon one head the punishment due to many 
 that the claims of justice are satisfied. 
 
 It is difficult, in dealing with the memory of a man whose 
 crimes excite such just indignation as do those committed by 
 the Master of Stair, to gird one's self up to the duty of saying, 
 that of part of that which he has been charged with he was 
 not guilty. Black as he was, he was not so black as he has 
 been painted. Lord Macaulay dooms him from the first to be 
 the Demon of the piece. He is the lago of the tragedy, " more 
 deep damned than Prince Lucifer," no " fiend in hell so ugly ; " 
 and accordingly, Lord Macaulay omits every particle of evi- 
 dence which tends in the slightest degree to lighten the load 
 of guilt. It is not pleasant to discharge the duty of devil's 
 advocate, but we shall lay this evidence before the reader : 
 when all is done, the Master of Stair will remain quite black 
 enough to satisfy any moderate amateur of villains. 
 
 Lord ]\Iacaulay introduces him to the reader iu the following 
 passage : — 
 
 " The Master of Stair was one of the first men of his time— a jurist, a 
 statesman, a line sehohir, an elo(j[uent orator. His polished manners and 
 
 1 Mac. iv. 579. ' Ibid., 578. ^ Il.id , .'580. 
 
 Mbid. •• n.id. «lMd. Ml.id.
 
 44 TIIK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 livi'ly (^mvcrsalioii were tlic <lflif,'ht of aristocmtical HocieticH ; ami none 
 wlio nift liiiii in HUch Hocietics would have thouglit it j)O.H'<ibIe that he 
 cimlil hear the chief i)art in any atrocious crime. His political principlcH 
 were lax, yet not more lax than those of most Scotch politicians of that 
 age. Cruelty had never been inijiuted to him. Those who most disliked 
 him did him the justice to own that, where his schemes of policy were 
 not concerned, he was a very good-natured man. There is not the 
 slightest reason to believe that he gained a single pound Scots by the 
 act which has covered his name with infamy. He had no personal 
 reason to wish the Glencoe men ill. There had been no feud between 
 them and his family. His property lay in a district where their tart^in 
 was never seen. Yet he hated them with a hatred as fierce and implac- 
 able as if they had laid waste his fields, burned his mansion, murdered 
 his child in the cradle." . . . (Vol. iv. 198.) 
 
 "He was well read in histor}"^, and doubtless knew how great rulers 
 had, in his own and other countries, dealt with such banditti. He 
 doubtless knew with what energy and what severity James the Fifth had 
 put down the moss-troopers of the Border ; how the chief of Heuderland 
 had been hung over the gate of the castle in which he had prepared a 
 banquet for the king ; how John Armstrong and his thirty-six horse- 
 men, when they came forth to welcome their sovereign, had scarcely 
 been allowed time to say a single prayer before they were all tied up and 
 turned off. Nor probably was the Secretary ignorant of the means by 
 which Sixtus the Fifth had cleared the ecclesiastical state of outlaws. 
 The eulogists of that great pontiff tell lis that there was one formidable 
 gang which could not be dislodged from a stronghold among the Apen- 
 nines. Beasts of burden were therefore loaded ^\-ith poisoned food and 
 wine, and sent by a road which ran close to the fastness. The robbers 
 sallied forth, seized the prey, feasted, and died ; and the pious old Pope 
 exulted greatly when he heard that the corpses of thirty ruffians, who had 
 been the terror of many peaceful villages, had been found lying among 
 the mules and packages. The plans of the Master of Stair were con- 
 ceived in the spirit of James and of Sixtus ; and the rebellion of the 
 mountaineers furnished what seemed to be an excellent opportunity for 
 carrying those plans into effect. Mere rebellion, indeed, he could have 
 easily pardoned. On Jacobites, as Jacobites, he never showed any in- 
 clination to bear hard. He hated the Highlanders, not as enemies of 
 this or that dynasty, but as enemies of law, of industry, and of trade. 
 In his private correspondence he applied to them the short and terrible 
 form of words in which the implac^ible Roman pronounced the doom of 
 Carthage, His project was no less than this, that the whole hill-country 
 from sea to sea, and the neighbouring islands, should be wasted with fire 
 and sword ; that the Camerons, the ^lacleans, and all the branches of the 
 race of Macdonalds, should be rooted out. He therefore looked with no 
 friendly eye on schemes of reconciliation ; and, while others were hoping 
 that a little money would set everything right, hinted very intelligibly
 
 THE MASSACRE OF OLENCOE. 45 
 
 his opinion, that wluitever money was to be laid out on the clans would 
 be best laid out in the form of bullets and bayonets. To the last 
 moment he continued to iiatter himself that the rebels would be ob- 
 stinate, and would thus furnish him with a plea for accomplishing that 
 great social revolution on which his heart was set. The letter is .still 
 extant in which he directed the commander of the forces in Scotland how 
 to act, if the Jacobite chiefs should not come in before the end of 
 December. There is something strangely terrible in the calmness and 
 conciseness with which the instructions were given. * Your troops will 
 destroy entirely the country of Lochaber, Lochiel's lands, Kepi)ocli's, 
 Glengarry's, and Glencoe's. Your power shall be large enough. I hope 
 the soldiers will not trouble the Government with prisoners.' " • — (Vol. 
 iv. 202.) 
 
 " His design was to butcher the whole race of thieves — the whole 
 damnable race. Such was the language in which his hatred vented 
 itself. lie studied the geography of the wild country which suiTOunded 
 Glencoe, and made his arrangements with infernal skill. If possible, the 
 l)low must be quick and crushing, and altogether unexpected. But if 
 Maclan should apprehend danger, and should attempt to take refuge in 
 the territories of his neighbours, he must find every road barred. The 
 pass of Rannoch must be secured. The Laird of Weerns, who was power- 
 ful in Strath Tay, must be told that, if he harbours the outlaws, he does so 
 at his peril. Breadalbane promised to cut olf the retreat of the fugitives 
 on one side, MacCallum More on anc^ther. It was fortunate, the Secre- 
 tary wrote, that it was winter. This was the time to maul the wretches. 
 The nights were so long, the mountain-tops so cold and stormy, that even 
 the hardiest men could not long bear exposure to the open' air without 
 a roof or a spark of fire. That the women and the children could find 
 shelter in the desert was (juite impossible. When he wrote thus, no 
 thought that he was committing a great wickedness crossed his mind. 
 He was ha])i)y in the apjjroljation of his own conscience. Duty, justice — 
 nay, charity and mercy — were the names under which he disguised his 
 cruelty ; nor is it by any means improbable that the disguise imposed 
 upon himself." ^ 
 
 Much of this brilliant passage is true. Ijut we distinctly 
 
 ^ That the i)lan originally fraiuud l)y the Master of Stair was such as I have 
 represented it, is clear from parts of his letters wliich are (luotcd in the report 
 of 1G9.5 ; and from his letters to Breadalbane of October 27, Deoember 2, and 
 Dccenil)er 3, 1691. Of these letters to Breadalbane, the last two are in Dal- 
 rymplo's Ai)pendix. The first is in the appendix to the fn-.tt vohiine of Mr 
 Burton's valuable History ot Scotland. "It appeared," says Burnet (ii. 157), 
 "that a black design was laid not only to cut oil' the men of Glencoe, but a 
 
 groat many more clans, reckoned to be in all above six thousand person.s. " 
 
 Note by l^ord Maeaulay. 
 
 - Vol. i. 206.
 
 40 Tlir: NEW " KXAMEN. 
 
 deny thai I he Master of Stair "looked with no friendly eye on 
 schemes of reconciliation." On the contrary, the correspond- 
 ence, to i)art of wliich Lord Macaulay refers, omitting any 
 notice of the remainder, shows distinctly two facts : first, that 
 for months the Master of Stair was most active and urgent in 
 promoting schemes of reconciliation, by negotiation, by threats, 
 and by money ; and secondly, that William had every fact 
 brought to his immediate notice, and gave personal directions 
 even as to matters so minute as the expenditure of a few hun- 
 dred pounds. 
 
 It was not until the failure of the negotiation that all the 
 tiger broke out in the disposition of the Master of Stair ; it 
 was then, and not till then, that he gave in to Breadalbane's 
 scheme for mauling them — (a scheme which Lord Macaulay 
 most unjustifiably attributes not to the Earl, to whom it be- 
 longs of right, but to the ]\Iaster of Stair,^ who has quite enough 
 to answer for without bearing any share of other men's crimes) 
 — and joined in the determination to " extirpate" (for such was 
 the terrible word selected for the order which William signed 
 and countersigned with his own hand) the whole clan of M'lan 
 of Glencoe. 
 
 In June 1691 the Master of Stair was with William in the 
 Netherlands ; from thence he sent the following letter to the 
 Earl of Breadalbane : — 
 
 "From the Camp at Approbaix, 
 /«ne25 [15], 1691. 
 
 " My Lord, — I can say nothing to you. All things as you 
 wish, but I do long to hear from you. By the King's letter to 
 the Council you will see lie has stopped all Jwsfilitus affairist 
 the Iliglilandcrs till he may hear from you, and that your tinje 
 be elapsed without coming to some issue, which I do not ap- 
 prehend, for there will come nothing to them. . . . But if they 
 will be mad, before Lammas, they will repent it ; for the army 
 ■will be allowed to go into the Highlands, which some thirst 
 so much for, and the frigates will attack them ; but / have so 
 much confidence in your conduet and capacity to let them see tlie 
 
 » Vol. i. 206.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 47 
 
 ground they stand on, that I think these suppositions arc vain. 
 I have sent your instructions. My dear Lord, adieu."' — Stair 
 to Lord Breadalbane. 
 
 On the 24th of August he writes again : — 
 
 "Nancoub, Aug. 24, O.S., 1691. 
 
 " The more I do consider our affairs, I think it the more 
 necessary that your Lordship do with all diligence post from 
 thence,- and that you write to the clans to meet you at Edin- 
 burg, to save your trouble of going further. They have been 
 for some time excluded from that place, so they are fein, and 
 will be fond to come there." " 
 
 In his next letter from Loo he says : " I hope it is not in 
 anybody's power to deprive you of tlie success to conclude 
 that affair in the terms the King hath appro ven." ^ Again, 
 writing from Deeren on the 30th [20] of Sept., he says : " My 
 Lord, — I had yours from London, signifying that you had not 
 been then despatched, for which I am very uneasy. I spoke 
 immediately to the, King, tliat without the money the High- 
 landers would never do ; and there have been so many diffi- 
 culties in the matter, that a resolution to do, especially in 
 money matters, would not satisfy. The King said they were 
 not presently to receive it, which is true, but tliat he had 
 ordered it to be delivered out of his treasury, so they need not 
 fear in the least performance ; besides the pajjer being signed by 
 his majesty's hand for such sums so to be employed, or their 
 equivalent. . . . There wants no endeavours to render you 
 suspicious to the King, but he asked what proof there was for 
 the information ? and bid me tell you to go on in your busi- 
 ness ; the best evidence of sincerity was the bringing that matter 
 quicJdy to a conclusion. . . . I hope your lordship shall not 
 only keejy them from giving any offence, but bring them to take 
 the allegiance, whicli they ought to do very checrfidly; for their 
 
 ' I):il. Ap., l*t. ii. 110. - i.e., from London. 
 
 » Dill. Ap., Vt. ii. 210. 
 
 < Ibid., rt. ii. 211. Ilislil.nid I'appis, Maitlund <'hil), 4r..
 
 48 Tin: N7:w " kxamen. 
 
 lives (I )id furl II IK a Ihnj have Jruin Ikcir riiajestics."^ — Stair to 
 lireadalbjine. 
 
 Many other passages occur in the correspondence ^ showing 
 tlie strong desire, on tlie part of the Master of Stair, that the 
 llighhmds should be pacified, if possible, by means of negotia- 
 tion. In the next letter, however, we hear the low growl of the 
 coming storm which was about to burst in consequence of his 
 disappointment at the failure of his plans. 
 
 "London, Dec. 2, 1691. 
 
 "My Lord, — Yours of the IGth past was very uneasy ; it's 
 a little qualified by that of tlie 1 9th. I know not by what I 
 was moved to write to you eiglit days ago, as if I had known 
 what these letters brought me ; and though what I WTote then 
 was only to hasten matters, the lingering being of ill conse- 
 quence, yet I never thought there was danger in the miscaiTy- 
 ing of it. I confess I was desirous of your return upon the 
 finishing of your negotiation ; but without that, or the having 
 prevailed with one man, is what I never wish to see. 
 
 " I am convinced it is neither your fault, nor can any 
 prejudice arise to their Majesties' service by the change of 
 measures, but only ruin to the Highlanders ; but yet at the 
 present settlement it would do yourself and your friends no 
 
 advantage I doubt not but all M'ill come 
 
 right ; but though it is necessary you do seem to come liither, 
 that they may rue, yet you had not best in my opinion leave 
 it ; and here you cannot be before our settlement, as I appre- 
 hend, is in readiness. I shall not repeat my thoughts of your 
 doited cousin. ^ I perceive half-sense will play a double game, 
 but it requires solidity to embrace an opportunity, which to 
 him will be lost for ever ; and the garrison of Inverlochy is 
 little worth, if he can either sleep in his own bounds, or if he 
 ever be master there. / repent nothing of the plan; but what 
 account can be given why Argyle should be forced to part with 
 
 1 Dal. Ap., Pt. ii. 212. 
 
 ^ See Ibid., Pt. ii. Higlilaud Paiais, Maitlaud Club. 
 
 3 Locbeil.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 49 
 
 Avdnarauvclian, to which Locheil hath no more pretence than J ? 
 You cannot believe with what indifferency the King lieard this 
 matter, which did alarm and surprise us all, and confirmed the 
 
 bold assertions of others against you 
 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, ])eputy-Governor of Inverlochy, 
 is a discreet man ; you may make use of him. I should be 
 glad to find, before you get any positive order, tliat your 
 business is done, for shortly we will conclude a resolution for 
 
 the winter campaign I think the clan Donell 
 
 must be rooted out, and Locheil. Leave the IM'Leans to Argyle. 
 But [for] this, Leven and Argyle's regiments, with two more, 
 would have been gone to Flanders. Now, all stops, and no 
 more money from England to entertain tlieni. God knows 
 whether the £12,000 sterling had been better employed to 
 settle the Highlands, or to ravage them; but since we will 
 make them desperate, I think we should root them out before 
 they can get tliat help they depend upon." ^ — Stair to Bread- 
 albane. 
 
 Even then the Master of Stair did not give up all hope. 
 The following letter, written the very next day, contains so 
 curious and valuable a picture of his state of mind that we 
 give it entire : — 
 
 " London, December 3, 1691.'' 
 
 "My Lord, — Tlie last post brought Tarbat letters from 
 Glengarry, or from his lady, and Korry upon a message. 
 (Jlengarry liad sent to him to Edinburg. This hath furnished 
 him ojjporttniity to discourse the King on all these matters. 
 He tells me he hath vindicated you; only the share that tlie 
 Macdonalds get is too little, and unequal to your good cousin's ^ 
 (really that's true); and lie would have the money given to 
 Glengarry, and leave Argyle and him to deal for the ]»lea. 
 He thought his share had been only £1000 sterlinu. / have 
 
 ' Dal. A p., rt. ii. 214. 
 
 " In the Ai)i)enilix to D.alrym]ili''s Memoirs, this letter is horded thus, 
 " Secretary Stair to Lord Hreailalbiii. — Desires his miiulhiy seheiiu'." 
 •* Locheil. 
 
 D
 
 50 'IIIK NKVV " KXAMEN." 
 
 aatisfu'd tlic Kiiifi in these jwvits, that liis share is £1500 
 stcrliiiL,', and that he nor none of them can ^'ct tlie money 
 if Argyle cons(;nt not ; for that destroys all that is good in 
 the settlement, which is to take away grounds of hereditaiy 
 lends. To be brief, I'll assure you that I shall never consent 
 anybody's meddling shall be so much regarded as to get any of 
 your terms altered. By the next I expect to hear eiiJicr that 
 tJiese 2^cf>2^i6 ^''>'^ come to your hand, or else your scheme for 
 maulinrj them; for it will not delay. On the next week the 
 officers will be despatched from this, with instructions to 
 garrison luvergarry, and Buchan's regiment will join Leven, 
 which will be force enough ; they will have petards and some 
 cannon. / a??i not changed as to the expediency of doing things 
 by the easiest means and at leisure, but the madness of these 
 people, and their ungratefulness to you, makes me plainly see 
 there is no reckoning on them : but dclcnda est Carthago. 
 Yet who have accepted, and do take the oaths, will be safe, 
 but deserve no kindness ; and even in that case there must be 
 hostages of their nearest relations, for there is no regarding 
 men's words when their interest cannot oblige. Menzies, 
 Glengarry, and all of them, have written letters and taken 
 pains to make it believed that all you did was for the interest 
 of King James. Therefore look on and yon shall be satisfied 
 of your revenge. — Adieu." ^ 
 
 Two things (as we have already observed) are clear from this 
 correspondence, — 
 
 1st, That up to December the Master of Stair was desirous 
 to promote a peaceable and bloodless settlement with the 
 Highland chieftains. 
 
 2d, That every step was communicated to William ; and that 
 so far from his having been, as Burnet and Lord Macaulay 
 represent him,- kept in ignorance as to what was going on, he 
 attended to all the minutiai of the aflair, down even to the 
 distribution of a small sum of money. 
 
 Lord Macaulay cites two passages from these letters : one, 
 
 ' Dal. App., Pt. ii. 217. 
 
 - r.urnet, iv. l.">4 ; Mac, iv. 204.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLEXCOE. 51 
 
 that retening to the scheme i'ur " mauling," which he attiiLutes 
 to Stair instead of to Breadalbane ;^ aud the other to the 
 " words in which the implacahle Pioman pronounced the doom 
 of Carthage," ^ wliich he refers to without quoting the sentence 
 in which they occur, and exactly reversing the meaning of tlie 
 passage. The Master of Stair expresses regret that this must 
 take place, because other means had failed, and on account of 
 the madness and ingratitude of the Higl danders. Lord j\Iac- 
 aulay cites the expression as a proof of his implacable deter- 
 mination to destroy them. A reference to the letter shows at 
 once the sense in wdiich it is used. We know nothing in 
 Lord Macaulay's History more unfair than his treatment of 
 these letters, his knowledge of which is proved by the two 
 instances in which he misquotes them. 
 
 We left M'lan at Glencoe protected from the vindictiveness 
 of Breadalbane by the treaty of the 30th of June. In August 
 a proclamation was issued by the Government, offering a free 
 indemnity and pardon to all Highlanders who had been in 
 arms, upon their coming in and taking the oath of allegiance 
 before the 1st of January following.'' Breadalbane's negoti- 
 ation failed, and he returned to court " to give an account of 
 his diligence, and to bring back the money." * Such is Bur- 
 net's account ; and this is a point upon which, from his con- 
 nection with William, he was likely to be well informed, and 
 (what is of quite equal importance) it is one as to which he 
 does not appear to have had any interest in misstating the 
 facts. 
 
 About the end of December — such are the words of the 
 ' Report ' — M'lan'' presented himself before Colonel Hill at 
 Inverlochy, and desired that the oath of allegiance should be 
 administered to him. Hill appears to have considered that, 
 as a military officer, he had no power to administer the oath. 
 
 ' The passaj^c iu the letter leaves no (loul)t tliat tlic " srlicnic for mauling 
 them" was Breadalbane's; whether the brutal e.xprcssion was his or .Stair's is 
 of little conse(iueucc. 
 
 2 Vol. iv. 201. 3 Keport, 14 ; .State Trials, xiii. 89G. 
 
 " Burnet, iv. 153. 
 
 "Report, 14— ])ulilishc(l 17^4; reprint of 1818. The h'rpurt will also bo 
 found ill .St;ile Trials, xiii. 89().
 
 52 'llli: NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 lit', liowcv(!r, advised M'lan to i;o without delay to Sir Colin 
 Campbell of Ardkiiilas, the sheriff-depute of Argyle, at Inver- 
 ary, to whom he gave him a letter urging Ardkinlas to receive 
 him " as a lost slicep." ' M'lan hastened to Inverary with all 
 the speed that a country i-ough and destitute of roads and a 
 tempestuous season would permit; he crossed Loch Leven 
 within half a mile of his own house, but did not even turn 
 aside to visit it. As he passed Barcaldine, which appears then 
 to have been in the possession of Breadalbane,- he was seized 
 upon by Captain Drummond (of whom we shall hear more 
 presently), and detained twenty-four hours. He arrived at 
 Inverary on the 2d or 3d of January ; but here again luck was 
 against him, for Ardkinlas (detained by the bad weather) did 
 not arrive until three days afterwards. On the 6th of January, 
 Ardkinlas, after some scruple, and upon the earnest solicitation 
 of M'lan, administered the oath.-' 
 
 M'lan returned to Glencoe, " called his people together, told 
 them that he had taken the oath of allegiance and made his 
 peace, and therefore desired and engaged them to live peace- 
 ably under King William's Government."^ He considered 
 that he and his people were now safe. Ardkinlas forwarded 
 a certificate that Glencoe had taken the oath, to Edinburgh, 
 written on the same paper with some certificates relating to 
 other persons. When the paper was afterwards produced by 
 the clerk of the Council, Sir Gilbert Elliot, upon the occasion 
 of the inquiry which took place some years afterwards, the 
 part relating to Glencoe was found scored through and oblit- 
 erated, but so, nevertheless, that it was still legible. Lord 
 Macaulay attributes this — as he attributes everything foul — 
 to the Master of Stair. " By a dark intrigue," he says, " of 
 which the history is but imperfectly known, but which was in 
 all probability directed by the Master of Stair, the evidence 
 of M'lan's tardy submission was suppressed."^ The circum- 
 stances are set forth in the ' Report/ and do not appear to us 
 to be shrouded in much mystery. Ardkinlas forwarded to his 
 namesake, Colin Campbell, the sheriff-clerk of Argyle, who 
 
 > Kepoit. ' Report, 15. ^ Report, 16. 
 
 * IJ.port, 18. ^ Vol. iv. 203.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 53 
 
 was iu Edinburgh at the time, along with the certificates, Hill's 
 letter to himself, urging that he should receive " the lost 
 sheep," and at the same time wrote how earnest Glencoe was 
 to take the oath of allegiance — that he had taken it on the 
 6th of January, but that he (Ardkinlas) was doubtful if the 
 Council would receive it.^ The sheriff-clerk took the certi- 
 ficate to the clerks of the Council, Sir Gilbert Elliot and Mr 
 David Moncrieff, who refused to receive it because the oath 
 was taken after the time had expired. The sheriff-clerk and 
 a Writer to the Signet, another Campbell, then applied to 
 Lord Aberuchill, also a Campbell, who was a member of the 
 Privy Council, who, after advising with some other privy 
 councillors, of whom, according to one account, Lord Stair,- 
 tlie father of the Master, was one, gave it as their opinion that 
 the certificate could not be received with safety to Ardkinlas 
 or advantage to Glencoe, without a warrant from the King. 
 It was therefore obliterated, and in that condition given in to 
 the clerk of the Council. But it did not appear that the mat- 
 ter was brought before the Council, "that their pleasure might 
 be known upon it, though it seemed to have been intended by 
 Ardkinlas, who both wrote himself and sent Colonel Hill's 
 letter for to make Glencoe's excuse, and desired expressly to 
 know the Council's pleasure."^ There appears to be nothing 
 to connect the Master of Stair, who was in London at the 
 time, with this transaction ; indeed, his letter of the 9th of 
 January, in which he says " that they have had an account 
 that " Glencoe had taken the oaths at Inverary," * and regrets 
 his being safe ; and that of the 11th, in which he says " that 
 Argyle told him Glencoe had not taken the oaths," '^ seem 
 conclusively to negative his having had any correct knowledge 
 of what had taken place. 
 
 In the mean time, Brcadalbane, eager to satisfy old gnidgcs, 
 and the Master of Stair, in whose mind disappointment for 
 
 » Kepoit, 17. 
 
 * Mr Burton, in liis History of Scotland, falls into a not unnatural, but 
 rather important, mistake, which he will no doubt be glad to corrcLt, betwcci: 
 the father and son, and states that the Master of Stair was consulted, &c. 
 
 3 Report, 18. * OaL Ked. 101, 104. » Ibid.
 
 54 TiiK Ni;\v " i;xami;n. 
 
 the t'liiliirc ol' his .scliciiic .scteins to Ii.'ivc uwakcin'tl a rccliii;^ of 
 ferocity, tlir intenseness oi" wliidi MjipcaiH hardly compatibhi 
 with sanity, hail detenniiicd iqxjii the destruction of the; Ohn- 
 coe men. 
 
 Burnet states tliat the ])ro])o.sal for a military execution 
 u])on the Glencoe men emanated from Ureadalbane ; that he 
 had the double view of gratifying his own revenge and ren- 
 dering the King hateful.^ If this were so, he certainly at- 
 tained both objects. Here, liowever, we find no guide wliom 
 we can safely follow ; for Burnet's narrative, written long 
 after, and with the manifest design of excusing William, is 
 full of inaccuracies and false statements. We have, however, 
 the fact, as to which there can be no doubt whatever, that the 
 following order was signed by William on the IGth of January 
 1G92:— 
 
 " IGth January 1692. 
 
 "William E. — 1. The copy of that paper given by Mac- 
 donald of Aughtera to you hath been shown us. We did 
 formerly grant passes to Buchan and Cannon, and we do 
 authorise and allow you to grant passes to them, and for ten 
 servants to each of them, to come freely and safely to Leith; 
 and from that to be transported to the Netherlands before 
 the day of March next ; to go from thence when they 
 
 please without any stop or trouble. 
 
 " 2. We do allow you to receive the submissions of Glen- 
 garry and those with him, upon their taking the oath of al- 
 legiance and delivering up the house of luvergarry ; to be 
 safe as to their lives, but as to their estates they must depend 
 upon our mercy. 
 
 " 3. In case you find that the house of Invergany cannot 
 probably be taken in this season of the year, with the artillery 
 and other provisions you can bring there ; in that case we 
 leave it to yoiir discretion to give Glengarry the assurance of 
 entire indemnity for life and fortune, upon delivering of the 
 house and arms, and talcing the oath of allegiance. In this you 
 are allowed to act as you find the circumstances of the affair 
 
 1 Burnet, iv. 153.
 
 THE MASSACllE OF GLENCOE. 55 
 
 do require; but it were much better that those who have not 
 taken the benefit of our indemnity in the terms, and within 
 the diet prefixt by our proclamation, they should be obliged 
 to render upon mercy. And the taking the oath of allegiance 
 is indispensable, others having already taken it. 
 
 " 4. If M'Ean of Glencoe and that try be can be well sepa- 
 rated from the rest, it will be a proper vindication of the public 
 justice to extirpate that sect of thieves. The double of these 
 instructions is only comnmnicated to Colonel Hill. — "W. Rex." 
 — Instructions from the King to Sir Thomas Livingston. ^ 
 
 The advocates of William have framed various defences for 
 this act. Burnet says he signed the order without inquiry.'^ 
 Lord Macaulay sees, as every one must, that it is impossible 
 to support this in the face of the facts. He takes the bolder 
 course, and justifies the order. He says that — 
 
 " Even on the supi^osition that lie read the order to which he affixed 
 his name, there seems to be no reason for hlaming liim'" — that the words 
 of the order " naturally hear a sense 'perfectly innocent, and would, but 
 for the liorrible event which followed, have been universally understood 
 in that sense. It is undoul)tedly one of the first duties of every Govern- 
 ment to extirpate gangs of thieves. This does not mean that ever\' thief 
 ought to be treacherously assassinated in his sleep, or even that every 
 thief ought to be publicly executed after a fair trial, but that every gang, 
 as a gang, ought to l)e completely broken up, and that whatever severity 
 is indispensably necessary for that end ought to be used. 
 
 " If William had read and weighed the words which were submitted 
 to him by his secretary, he would probably have understood them to 
 mean that Glencoe was to be occupied by troops ; that resistance, if 
 resistance were attemi)ted, was to be put down with a strong hand ; that 
 severe punishment was to be inflicted on those leading members of the 
 clan who could be proved to have been guilty of great crimes ; that some 
 active young freebooters who were more used to handle the broadsword 
 than the plough, and who did not seem likely to settle down into quiet 
 labourers, were to be sent to the army in the Low Countries; that othere 
 were to be transported to the American plantations ; and that those 
 Macdonalds who were sullered to remain in their native valley were to 
 be disarmed, and retpiired to give hostages for good behaviour." ' 
 
 1 Hij,'ld;iiul 1'iiiKT.s, 65. Sec the diipULate addressed to Hill, Culloduu 
 Papers, 19. 
 
 =* Burnet, iv. 151. ^ Vol. iv. 'J05.
 
 56 TIIK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 We can Iniidly supjxt.Sft tliat Luiil Macaulay intended hi.H 
 r(!aders to accept th(!se transparent sophisms as his deliberate 
 opinion. We suspect he is lauf,dn'n<^ in liis sleeve at the 
 credulity of the puljlic. The only charge against the ^fac- 
 donalds was that they had been ih arms against the Govern- 
 ment, and had omitted to take the oaths of alhsgiance before a 
 specified day. There was no question before; William of any 
 suppression of a " gang of freebooters." There was no accusa- 
 tion even of offences comnn'tted against life or property. lUit 
 supposing there had been such a charge — supposing that 
 Breadalbane had accused certain individuals of the tribe of 
 steoAing his cows, or even of firing his house — does Lord 
 Macaulay mean gravely to assert that such an accusation 
 would have justified William, without inquiry or trial, in 
 issuing an order for the " extirpation " of three hundred men, 
 women, and children, simply for bearing the name and owning 
 the blood of the offenders ? 
 
 Hardly a month passes without worse offences than any 
 the Glencoe men have ever been accused of, being committed 
 at the present time in Ireland. What would Lord Macaulay 
 think of a Government that proceeded to "extirpate " by mili- 
 tary execution, without trial and without warning, all the 
 inhabitants of the parish where a murder had been commit- 
 ted, with particular instructions that the squire of the parish 
 should by no means be allowed to escape ? 
 
 If the order is to be justified as Lord Macaiday here 
 attempts to justify it, as an act of the civil power done in 
 execution of " one of the first duties of every Government," it 
 should have been preceded by the trial and conviction of the 
 offenders. It should have been addressed, not to the military 
 governor of Inverlochy, but to the Lord Advocate or the 
 sheriff-depute of the county. The attempt to justify the order 
 on the ground of its being a civil act, is clearly untenable ; 
 and Lord Macaulay himself subsequently aliandons it when 
 he attempts to justify William for not inflicting punishment 
 on the perpetrators of the act, on the ground that they were 
 compelled to do it by the military duty of obedience to their 
 superior officers. If the subject were less horrible, if the
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 67 
 
 duties of an historian were less solemn, Lord Macaulay's 
 attempt to introduce a new meaning for the word " extirpate " 
 would be simply amusing, "^^'e are quite satisfied to abide by 
 tlie authority of Johnson and of old Bailey tlie " f /X&'Xoyof," 
 who agree that it means " to root out," " to destroy ; " and we 
 have no doubt William knew enough of English to attach the 
 same meaning to the word.^ 
 
 This order, it will be observed, is dated on the 16th of Jan- 
 uary. Few facts in history are proved by better evidence than 
 the fact (denied both by Burnet and Lord Macaulay^) that 
 William, at the time he signed it, knew that M'lan had taken 
 the oath. 
 
 A reference to the Master of Stair's letters of the 25th of 
 June, 20th of September, and 3d of December, will show how 
 minute an attention was paid by the King to all that was 
 going on in Scotland with relation to the clans. On the 9th 
 of Januaiy, the jNIaster of Stair wrote from London, where he 
 was in constant communication with William, — " We have an 
 account that Lockhart and INIacnaughten, Appin and Glenco, 
 took the benefit of the indemnity at Inverary ;" and he adds : 
 " I have been with the King ; he says your instructions shall 
 be despatched on Monday."^ When we couple these facts 
 with the subsequent imj)unity which William granted to all, 
 and the rewards he bestowed upon some of those who executed 
 the order, we think no reasonable doubt can be entertained 
 that he knew both the fact tliat Glencoe had taken the oath 
 and the nature of the warrant he gave, though we do not 
 tliink that he contemplated (indeed it was hardly possible he 
 should) the peculiar circumstances of treacheiy and barbarity 
 which attended the execution of the order. 
 
 Most of the accounts of these transactions give only the 
 concluding paragraph of the order. The whole of the docu- 
 ment is material. It contains internal evidence whicli places 
 
 ' Tlie examjile given by Jolinson is the following : "We iu vnin attempt 
 to drive the wolf from our own door to another's door. The breed ought to be 
 extirpated out of the island." — Lockk. 
 
 2 [{urnct, iv. 1.54; Mar., iv. 201. 
 
 2 Gal. Ked., 101-104.
 
 ."38 THE Ni;W " KXAMHN. 
 
 it Itcyoiid (luubt tliiit Willi;iin had considered and approved of 
 its contents. The i)articuhir directions as to the passes to be 
 granted to Buchan and Cannon, the instructions as to the line 
 to he pursued witli regard to Glengarry, Lear tlie marks of 
 having been under liis consideration ; and it is particularly 
 deserving of observation tliat it is assumed that Glengarry 
 and the Macdonalds had not taken the oaths, yet they were to 
 be safe as to their lives, and in certain circumstances as to 
 their property also, whilst Glenco and the M'lans were to be 
 " extirpated." The only circumstance to distinguish Mac- 
 donald of Glengarry from M'lan of Glencoe being, that the 
 former was at that moment holding his castle in open and 
 avowed defiance, whilst the latter had taken the oath of alle- 
 giance, and had brought his people into a state of peaceful 
 submission to the Government. Yet Lord Macaulay thinks 
 that there is " no reason for blaming " the King for signing an 
 order to spare Glengarry and to " extirpate " Glencoe, and that 
 the order itself was " perfectly innocent." 
 
 The Master of Stair lost no time in putting William's com- 
 mands into execution. He forwarded the order forthwith in 
 duplicate to Livingstone, the commander of the forces, and to 
 Hill, the governor of the garrison of Inverlochy ; and he wrote 
 on the IGth January, the very day on which the order was 
 signed, the following letter to the former : — 
 
 "London, Jnn. 16, 1692. 
 " Sill, — By this flying packet I send you further instruc- 
 tions concerning the propositions by Glengarry ; none know 
 what they are but Col. Hill, &:c. . . . The King docs not at 
 all incline to receive any after the diet hut on mercy, &c. . . , 
 But, for a just example of vengeance, I intreat that the thiev- 
 ing tribe of Glenco may be rooted out in earnest. . . . Let 
 me know whether you would have me expede your commis- 
 sion as a brigadier of the army in general, or if you would 
 rather want it till the end of this expedition ; that I hope your 
 success may he such as to incline to give you a fartlicr advance- 
 ment^' &c. — Stair to Livingstone.^ 
 
 1 Higliland Paiicrs, 66.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 59 
 
 He wrote on the same day to Hill : — 
 
 "I shall entreat you, that for a just vengeance and public 
 example the thieving tribe of Glenco may be rooted out ^ to 
 purpose. The Earls of Argile and Breadalbane have promised 
 they shall have no retreat in their bounds. The passes to 
 Eannocli would be secured, &c. A party that may be posted 
 in Island Stalker must cut them off," &c.-^ 
 
 Again on the 30th of January he wrote : — 
 
 "... Let it be secret and sudden. ... It must be quietly 
 done, otherwise they will make shift both for the men and 
 their cattle. Argyle's detachment lies in Keppoch welP to 
 assist the garrison to do all on a sudden."^ 
 
 Other letters from the Master of Stair contain expressions 
 even more savage. In one of them he informs Livingstone 
 with exultation that a report had reached him, through 
 Argyle, that Glencoe had not taken the oath ; but these 
 which we have quoted refer immediately and expressly to 
 William's order for " extii-pation " of the 16th of Januar}'. 
 
 Hill was a time-serving but not an inhumaii man. He 
 had kept in with every Government since the Commonwealth, 
 but he had no taste for unnecessary bloodshed, though he had 
 not sufficient manliness or courage to oppose the slaughter. 
 Eeady agents were, however, found in Sir Thomas Livingstone, 
 Lieut.-Col. Hamilton, Major Duncanson, Captain Campbell of 
 Glenlyon, Captain Drummond, and the two Lindsays. These 
 names have been handed down to an immortality of infamy, 
 as the willing and remorseless tools of the King, of Breadal- 
 bane, and the ^Master of Stair, in the work of murder. On 
 the 23d of January, immediately after the receipt of the 
 Master's letter of the 16th, Sir Thomas Livingstone wrote to 
 Lieut.-Col. Hamilton, as follows : — 
 
 " KDiNv.ritGn, Jan. 23, 1692. 
 " Sir, — Since my last I understand that the Laird of 
 
 ' It is worth a passing notice that the expression of Stair, " rooted oat," is 
 tlu' ]irecise ciiuivak-nt for William's extirpate. 
 2 Highland Papers, Maitland Cluh, 66. 
 ^ In other copies these words arc "in Lettrickwhecl." 
 * Gal. Red., 102 ; Report, 31.
 
 fiO 'IHK M;\V " KXAMKN. 
 
 (Jleiicoc, coming utter the pretixt time, was not admitted to 
 take the oath — which is very good riewa to us here, being that 
 at Court it is wished that he had not taken it — so that tlie 
 very nest might be entirely routed out ; for the secretary, in 
 three of his last letters, has made mention of him, and it is 
 known at Court that he lias not taken it. So, sir, here is a 
 fair occasion to show you that your garrison serves for some 
 use ; and heirig that the order is so j)ositive from Court to me not 
 to spare any of them that were not timeously come in, as you 
 may see by the orders I sent to your colonel, I desire you 
 would begin with Glencoe, and spare nothing of what belongs 
 to them ; hut do not trouble the Government with prisoners. I 
 shall expect with the first occasion to hear the progress you 
 have made in this, and remain, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "T. Livingstone."^ 
 
 Hamilton lost no time. ^ Campbell of Glenlyon was 
 selected for the service. On the 1st of February 1692 he 
 entered the glen with his two subalterns, Lieutenant and 
 Ensign Lindsay, and one hundred and twenty men. The 
 story of the massacre has been told in eloquent prose and in 
 impassioned verse, but never, in our opinion, so vividly, so 
 impressively, as in the words of the ' Eeport ' of 1695 : — 
 
 " The slaughter of the Glenco men was in this manner — 
 viz. : John and Alexander Macdonald, sons to the deceased 
 Glenco, depone that, Glengar}''s house being reduced, the 
 forces were called back to the south, and Glenlyon, a captain 
 of the Earl of Argyle's regiment, with Lieutenant Lindsay and 
 Ensign Lindsay, and six-score soldiers, returned to Glenco 
 about the 1st of February 1692, where at their entry the elder 
 brother John met them, with about twenty men, and de- 
 manded the reason of their coming ; and Lieutenant Lindsay 
 showed him his orders for quartering there, under Colonel 
 
 " CuUoden Tapers 19 ; Highland Papers, Maitland Club, 68 ; Report, 31. 
 
 ' Just one hundred years after these events, in 1791, the opening of the 
 roads and the establishment of posts are mentioned as having had so great an 
 elTfct that "a letter might come froni Edinburgh to Appin in three days or 
 even two days and a half." — Sinclair's Statistical Account of the Highlands, 
 i. -197.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. Gl 
 
 Hill's hand, and gave assurance that they were only come to 
 quarter ; whereupon they were billeted in the country, and 
 had free quarters and kind entertainment, living familiarly 
 with the people until tlie 13th day of February. And 
 Alexander further depones, that Glenlyon, being his wife's 
 uncle, came almost every day and took liis morning drink 
 at his house ; and that the very night before the slaughter, 
 Glenlyon did play at cards in his own quarters with both the 
 brothers. And John depones, that old Glenco, his father, had 
 invited Glenlyon, Lieutenant Lindsay, and Ensign Lindsay, to 
 dine with him upon the very day the slaughter happened." 
 
 Here we must break in upon the narrative, and show how 
 this 12th of February, which was passed by Glenlyon in 
 playing cards with the young Macdonalds in his quarters, 
 and receiving invitations from their father, was employed by 
 Hill, Hamilton, and Duncanson. This will appear from the 
 following letters, all of which are dated on that day : — 
 
 " Fort William, 12ik Feb. 1692. 
 " Sir, — You are, with four hundred of my regiment, and 
 the four hundred of my Lord Argyle's regiment under the 
 command of Major Duncanson, to march straight to Glenco, 
 and there put in execution the orders you have received from 
 the Commander-in-Chief. Given under my hand at Fort 
 William the 12th [Feb.] 1692. J. Hill."— Col. Hill to 
 Lieut.-Col. Hamilton.^ 
 
 (?) 2 " Balliciiyi.ls, I2ih Fib. 1692. 
 
 "Sir, — Persuant to the Commander-in-Chief and my 
 colonel's order to me, for putting in execution the King's 
 command against these rebels of Glenco, wherein you, with 
 the party of the Earl of Argyll's regiment under your com- 
 mand, are to be concerned : you are, therefore, forthwith to 
 order your affairs so as that the several posts already assigned 
 
 > Highland Pajiers, Maitland Club 74 ; Report, 32. Hamilton had re- 
 ceived his orders dire(;t from Livingstone. Hill says, " that for himself he 
 liked not the business, but was very grieved at it." — Report, 30. 
 
 ■^ "Fort William" in other copies, and ap]iarently correct. See the order 
 in the P.S. to have the boats on (his .side to jirevcnt the escape of the victims. 
 — Highland Tapers, 71.
 
 02 TFIK NKW " KXAMKN." 
 
 you 1»(! hy }(iii ;iM(l y<iur sovonil (lotachments falii in activo- 
 ness precisely by five of tlic clock to-morrow morning, being 
 Siitunlay ; at wliich time I will endeavour the same with those 
 appuintcd from tliis regiment for the other places. It will be 
 most necessary you secure well those avenues on the south side, 
 that the old fox, nor none of his cubs, get away. The orders 
 are, that none be spared of tlie sword, nor the Government 
 troubled with prisoners ; which is all until I see you, from, 
 sir, your most humble servant, James Hamilton'. 
 
 " Please to order a guard to secure the ferry and boats 
 there ; and the boats must be all on this side the ferry after 
 your men are over." — Lieut.-Col. Hamilton to Major liobt. 
 Duncanson.^ 
 
 ''\-2th Fch. 1G92. 
 
 " Sir, — You are hereby ordered to fall upon the rebels, the 
 Macdonalds of Glenco, and put all to the sword under seventy. 
 You are to have an especial care that the old fox and his sons do 
 not escape your hands ;^ you are to secure all the avenues that 
 no man escape. This you are to put in execution at five of 
 the clock precisely ; and by that time, or very shortly after it, 
 I will strive to be at you with a stronger party. If I do not 
 come to you at five, you are not to tarry for me, but to fall on. 
 This is hy the King's special command, for the good and safety 
 of the country, that these miscreants he cut off, root and branch. 
 See that this^ be put in execution without fear or favour, or 
 you may expect to be dealt with as one not true to King 
 or Government, nor a man fit to carry commission in the 
 King's service. Expecting you wiD not fail in the fulfilling 
 hereof, as you love yourself — I subscribe this with my hand 
 at Ballychylls the 12th Feb. 1G92. Eobekt Duncanson."— 
 Major liobert Duncanson to Captain Eobert Campbell of 
 Glenlyon.'* 
 
 We now return to the deposition of John and Alexander 
 
 ^ Report, 33 ; Highland Tapers, Maitlaiul Club, 74. 
 
 - " Do on no account escape 3'oiir hands." — Higliland Papei-s, 73. 
 
 ^ "5o that this," &c. — Highhuul Papers, 73. 
 
 * See Higliland Papers, Maitland Club, 72, 73, for two copies of this letter.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 63 
 
 Macdonald as to the course of events in Glencoe, and the mode 
 in which Glenlyon executed these orders. 
 
 " But on the 13th day of Feljruary, being Saturday, about 
 four or five in the morning, Lieutenant Lindsay -with a party 
 of the foresaid soldiers, came to okl Glenco's house, where, 
 having called in a friendly manner, and got in, they shot his 
 father dead, with several shots, as he was rising out of his bed ; 
 and their mother having got up and put on her clothes, the 
 soldiers stripped her naked, and drew the rings off her fingers 
 with their teeth ; as likewise they killed one man more, and 
 wounded another grievously at the same place. And this 
 relation they say they had from their mother, and is confirmed 
 by the deposition of Archibald Macdonald, indweller in Glencf), 
 who further depones that Glenco was shot behind his back 
 with two shots — one through the head and another through 
 the body ; and two more were killed with him in that place, 
 and a third wounded and left for dead : and this he knows, 
 because he came that same day to Glenco House, and saw his 
 dead body lying before the door, with the other two that were 
 killed, and spoke with the third that was wounded, whose 
 name was Duncan Don, who came there occasionally with 
 letters from the Brae of Mar." 
 
 " The said John Macdonald, eldest son to the deceased 
 Glenco, depones : The same morning that his father was killed 
 there came soldiers to his house before day, and called at his 
 window, which gave him the alarm, and made liim go to 
 Innerriggen, where Glenlyon was quartered; and that he 
 found Glenlyon and his men preparing their arms, which made 
 the deponent ask the cause ; but Glenlyon gave him only good 
 words, and said they were to march against some of CJlen- 
 garrie's men ; and if they were ill intended, would he not 
 have told Sandy and his niece ? — meaning the deponent's 
 brother and his wife — which made the deponent go home and 
 go again to his bed, until his servant, who hindered him to 
 sleep, roused him ; and when he rose and went out, he per- 
 ceived about twenty men coming towards his house, with 
 their bayonets fixed to their muskets ; whereupon he fled to 
 the hill, and having Auchnainn, a little village in Glenco, in
 
 04 TIIK Ni:\V " MX A MEN. 
 
 view, he heard tl»e sliots wherewith Aucliintriaten and four 
 more were killed ; and that he heard also the shots at Inner- 
 riggen, where Glenlyon had caused to kill nine more, as shall 
 be hereafter declared; and this is confirmed by the concurring 
 deposition of Alexander Macdonald, his brother, whom a 
 servant waked out of sleep, saying, It is no time for you to 
 be sleeping when they are killing your brother at the door ; 
 which made Alexander to flee with his brother to the hill, 
 M'here both of them heard the foresaid shots at Auchnaion 
 and Innerriggen. And the said John, Alexander, and Archi- 
 bald ^Macdonald do all depone, that the same morning there 
 was one Serjeant ]'>arber, witli a party at Auchnaion, and that 
 Achintriaten being there in his brother's house, with eiglit 
 more sitting about the fire, the soldiers disciiarged upon them 
 about eighteen shots, which killed Aucliintriaten and four 
 more ; but the other four, whereof some were wounded, falling 
 down as dead, Serjeant Barber, laid hold of Auchintriaten's 
 brother, one of the four, and asked him if he were alive ? He 
 answered that he was, and that he desired to die without 
 rather than within. Barber said, that for his meat that he 
 had eaten, he would do him the favour to kill him without ; 
 but when the man was brought out, and soldiers brought up 
 to shoot him, he having his plaid loose, flung it over their 
 faces, and so escaped ; and the other three broke through the 
 back of the house, and escaped. And at Innerriggen, where 
 Glenlyon was quartered, the soldiers took other nine men, and 
 did bind them hand and foot, and killed them one by one with 
 shot ; and when Glenlyon inclined to save a young man of 
 about twenty years of age, one Captain Drummond came and 
 asked how he came to be saved, in respect of the order's that 
 were given, and shot him dead. And another young boy, of 
 about thirteen years, ran to Glenlyon to be saved ; he was 
 likewise shot dead. And in the same town there was a 
 woman, and a boy about four or five yeai-s of age, killed. And 
 at Auchnaion, there was also a child missed, and nothing 
 found of him but the hand. There were likewise several killed 
 at other places, whereof one was an old man about eighty years 
 of age. And all this, the deponents say, they aftirm, because they
 
 THE ^[ASSACRE OF GLENCOE. G5 
 
 heard tlie shot, saw the dead bodies, and had an account from 
 the women that were left. And Ronald Macdonald, indweller 
 in Glenco, further depones : That he, being living with his 
 father in a little town in Glenco, some of Glenlyon's soldiers 
 came to his father's house, the said 13th day'of February, in 
 the morning, and dragged his father out of his bed, and 
 knocked him down for dead at the door ; which the deponent 
 seeing, made his escape ; and his father recovering after the 
 soldiers were gone, got into another house ; but this house 
 was shortly burnt, and his fatlier burnt in it ; and the de- 
 ponent came there after and gathered his father's bones and 
 buried them. He also declares, that at Auchnaion, where 
 Auchintriaten was killed, he saw the body of Auchintriaten 
 and three more cast out and covered with dung. And another 
 witness of the same declares, that upon the same 13th day of 
 February, Glenlyon and Lieutenant Lindsay, and their soldiers, 
 did, in the morning before day, fall upon the people of Glenco, 
 when they were secure in their beds, and killed them ; and 
 he being at Innerriggen, fled with the first, but heard shots, 
 and had two brothers killed there, with three men more and a 
 woman, who were all buried before he came back. And all 
 these five witnesses concur that the aforesaid slaughter was 
 made by Glenlyon and his soldiers, after they had been quar- 
 tered, and lived peaceably and friendly with the Glenco men 
 about thirteen days, and that the number of those whom they 
 knew to be slain were about twenty-five, and that the soldiers, 
 after the slaughter, did burn the houses, barns, and goods, and 
 carried away a great spoil of horse, nolt, and sheep, above 
 1000. And James Campbell, soldier in the castle of Stirling, 
 depones : That in January 1692, he then being a soldier in 
 Glenlyon's company, marched with the company from Inver- 
 lochie to Glenco, where the company was quartered, anil very 
 kindly entertained for the space of fourteen days ; that he 
 knew nothing of the design of killing the Glenco men till the 
 morning that the slaughter was committed, at which time 
 Glenlyon and Captain Drummond's companies were drawn out 
 in several parties, and got orders from Glenlyon and tlieir 
 other officers to slmot and kill all the couutiymen the} nut 
 
 E
 
 66 rm; nmow " examen." 
 
 with ; aiul tliiit the deponent, being one oi' the party which 
 was at the town where Glenlyon had his quarters, did see 
 several men drawn out of their beds, and particularly he did 
 see Glenlyon's own landlord shot by his order, and a young 
 boy about twelve years of age, who endeavoured to save him- 
 self by taking hold of Glenlyon, offering to go anywhere with 
 him if he would spare his life ; and was shot dead by Captain 
 Drummond's order. And the deponent did see about eight 
 persons killed and several houses burned, and women flying 
 to the hills to save their lives. And lastly, Sir Colin Camp- 
 bell of Aberuchil depones : that after the slaughter, Glenlyon 
 told him that Macdonald of Innerriggen was killed with the 
 rest of the Glenco men, with Colonel Hill's pass or protec- 
 tion in his pocket, which a soldier brought and showed to 
 Glenlyon." 
 
 Some circumstances still remain strangely obscure. We 
 have been unable to discover whether the clan gave up their 
 arms when they made their submission to the Government. 
 It is difficult to suppose that a fact which would add so 
 greatly to the atrocity of the deed should have been passed 
 over unnoticed ; yet it is equally difficult to suppose that a 
 body of from fifty to a hundred men, trained to arms, should 
 have permitted themselves, their wives, and children, to be 
 butchered without striking a single blow in their defence; 
 and unequal as the numbers were, and sudden as was the 
 attack, it can hardly be supposed that such defence would 
 have been wholly without effect. 
 
 Another point which has never been cleared up, relates to the 
 plunder of the glen by the troops. The soldiers of William, 
 who, according to Lord j\Iacaulay, were executing justice upon 
 thieves and marauders, did not content themselves with mur- 
 der, but added the crimes of robbery and arson. The flocks 
 and herds, the only movables of value, were swept away, and 
 all that could not be removed was ruthlessly burned. The 
 plunder was considerable — above a thousand head of cattle, 
 horses, and sheep rewarded the murderers. Of this they 
 appear to have retained quiet possession ; at least we can 
 nowhere trace any act of restitution. The Parliament of
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. C7 
 
 Scotland addressed the King, recommending that some re- 
 paration might be made to the survivors of the massacre for 
 their losses, and " such orders given for supplying their neces- 
 sities as his majesty should think fit." William was deaf to 
 their prayer. The only effect was the remission of a cess 
 which had been imposed upon the valley, and which they 
 appear to have been utterly unable to pay.^ 
 
 Such is the story of the IMassacre of Glencoe. Lord Macaulay 
 observes : " It may be thought strange that these events 
 should not have been followed by a burst of execration from 
 every part of the civilised world." ^ It would have been 
 strange, indeed, had they passed unnoticed. Official publi- 
 cation in England was of course suppressed. The London 
 Gazettes, the monthly Mercuries, and the licensed pamphlets 
 were silent. But the ' Paris Gazette ' of April 1692, under 
 date of the 23d March (less than six weeks after the event), 
 has the following announcement : — 
 
 " D'Edimbourg, 23 Mars 1G92. 
 
 " Le Laird de Glencow a est6 massacre depuis quelques 
 jours, de la mani^re la plus barbare, quoij qu'il sc fust soihnis 
 cm Gouvernemcnt present. Le Laird de Glenlion, capitaine dans 
 le regiment d'Argyle, suivant I'ordre expres du Colonel Hill, 
 gouverneur d'lnverlochie, se transporta la nuit ii Glencow, 
 avec un corps de troupes ; et les soldats estant entrez dans 
 les maisons, tiierent le Laird de Glencow, deux de ses fils, 
 trente six hommes ou enfans et quatre femmes. 
 
 " lis avoient rdsolu d'exterminer ainsi le reste des habitans, 
 nonohstant ramnestie qui le^ir avoit este acconUe : niais environ 
 deux cents se sauv^rent. On fait courir le bruit qu'il a estr 
 tu6 dans une ambuscade les armes k la main, pour diniinucr 
 I'horreur d'une action si barbare, capable de faire connoistre a 
 toute la nation, le pcu de surete qu'il y a dans les paroles de 
 cuix qui gouvernement." ^ 
 
 Lord Macaulay cites this passage in the following words 
 
 ' Jligliliiiul Papers, Mait. CI. '■^ Vol. iv. 213. 
 
 =» Paris Gazetto, 12 Avril 1G92.
 
 68 riiH m:\v " kxamen." 
 
 "The Jacubite version, written at Jiidinljurgli on the '2'.'>d 
 of March, appeared in the * Paris Gazette ' of the 7th 
 of April. (Jlciilyon, it was said, had been sent witli a 
 detachment from Arj,'yle's regiment, under cover of dark- 
 ness, to surprise the inhabitants of Glencoe, and liad killed 
 thirty-six men and boys and four women ; " and adds, " In 
 this there was nothing very strange or shocking." ' We con- 
 fess ourselves wholly unable to understand this. If murder 
 committed in violation of pledged faith is not shocking, we 
 should be glad to know what is. The Gazette which Lord 
 -Macaulay quotes, and which he must therefore be presumed 
 to have read, states that Glencoe had " submitted himself to 
 the existing Government;" that the attack was made under 
 cover of night, and upon peaceful people ; that women and 
 children were slaughtered ; and that the intention was to " ex- 
 terminate " the whole of the inhabitants, " in breach of an 
 amnesty which had been granted to them." 
 
 Nobody suspects Lord jMacaulay of inhumanity, or of a 
 want of sympathy with the innocent victims of cruelty and 
 treachery ; but it is much to be regretted that his eager par- 
 tisanship should have led him to adopt a course of argument, 
 and to make use of expressions, from which it might be 
 inferred that he was deficient in qualities which, it is well 
 known, he possesses in a high degree. 
 
 A detailed and very accurate account, entitled "A Letter 
 from a Gentleman in Scotland to his Friend in London," &c., 
 dated April 20, 1692, next appeared. Lord Macaulay inti- 
 mates his opinion that this letter was not published until the 
 following year, and reminds his readers that the date of 1692 
 was at that time used down to the 2oth March 1693. But 
 Lord Macaulay has failed to obsei-ve that the date of tlie 
 letter is April, and April 1692 was always April 1692. 
 
 It is no doubt difficult to fix the precise date — great 
 obstacles were thrown in the way of publication. But the 
 contents of the letter were certainly known in London before 
 June 1692, for in that mouth Charles Leslie, the writer of the 
 ' Gallienus Bedivivus,' went in consequence of this letter to 
 
 1 Vol. iv. 214.
 
 THE MASSACKE OF GLENCOE. 69 
 
 Brentford, where Glenlyon and ]Jrummond, with the rest of 
 Lord Argyle's regiment, were quartered, and tliere heard the 
 account of the massacre from the soldiers who liad been actors 
 in it, one of whom said, " Glencoe hangs about Glenlyon 
 night and day ; you may see him in his face." ^ 
 
 It is strange that Lord Macaulay, who is not scrupulous as 
 to the sacrifices he makes for the sake of the picturesque, 
 should have lost the poetry of this passage by using a doubt- 
 ful term, substituting a place for a person, and a prosaic para- 
 phrase for the simple words and poetical imagination of the 
 Highlander who saw the image of the murdered man reflected 
 in the face of his murderer.- 
 
 The * Gallieuus Eedivivus,' which. Lord Macaulay says, 
 " speedily followed," did not appear until after the execution 
 of the commission in 1695. Lord INIacaulay bestows a note^ 
 upon the singular name of this pamphlet, which deserves 
 a passing notice, as it betrays the care with which he has 
 availed himself of every opportunity to divert indignation 
 from William to the Master of Stair. He says,"* " An un- 
 learned, and indeed a learned reader, may be at a loss to guess 
 why the Jacobites should have selected so strange a title for a 
 pamphlet on the Massacre of Glencoe." The reader, learned 
 or unlearned, who found himself at any loss in the matter, 
 must be singularly stupid, inasmuch as the reason is fully 
 stated at page 107 of the pamphlet, where a parallel is drawn 
 between William and the Emperor Gallienus, and a compari- 
 son instituted between the " extirpation " order of the former 
 and a letter of the Emperor to Venianus. This letter, which 
 the writer of the pamphlet quotes, and which Gibl)on describes 
 as •" a most savage mandate from Gallienus to one of his 
 ministers after the suppression of Ingenuus, who had assumed 
 the purple in Illyricum," •' concludes, Lord ^Macaulay tells us, 
 
 ' rial. Rod., 'J2. 
 
 - Lord Jlacaulay's woid.s are as follows: " Some of his soldiers, however, 
 who observed him closely, whispered that all this bravery was put on. He was 
 not the man that he had been before that night. The form of his countenance 
 was changed. In all places, at all hours, whether he waked or slept, Glencoe 
 was for ever before him." — Vol. iv. 21G. 
 
 =' Sec note, p. 213. ^ Vol. iv. 213. * Gibbon, Decline and Fall, i. 412.
 
 70 THK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 with the roUovviiig words : " Language to wliich," lie says, 
 " that of the Mrustcr of Stair bore but too much reseniblftnce ; " 
 " Noil inihi satisfacies, si tantum amiatos occideris, fj[UOS et 
 fors belli interimere potuisset. reriinendus est omiiis sexus 
 virilis. Oecidendus est quicunque maledixit. Occidendus est 
 quicuiKiue male voluit. Lacera. Occide. Coneide." ^ Deal- 
 ing,' with a book which is in the hands of so few as the 'Gal- 
 lienus liedivivus,' Lord Macaulay's treatment of this passage is 
 hardly fair. The ]>arallel drawn by the writer is not, as the 
 reader of Lord Macaulay might be led to suppose, between 
 Gallienus and the Master of Stair, but, as we have already 
 stated, between Gallienus and AVilliam. The passage is given 
 entire in the pamphlet as follows, the words which we put in 
 italics being omitted by Lord ^Macaulay : " Non mihi satis- 
 facies, si tantum armatos occideris, quos et fors belli interimere 
 potuisset. Perimendus est omnis sexus virilis, si et sencs atque 
 impuheres sine rcprehensione nostra occidi possent. Occidendus 
 est quicunque male voluit. Occidendus est quicunque male 
 dixit contra me, contra Vakriani jilium, contra tot principv.m 
 patrem ct fratrcm. Ingenuus /actus est imperator. Lacera, 
 occide, concide : animtom mewni intelligere poles, mea mentc 
 irasccre qui hccc manu mea scripsi." 
 
 The order to " exterminate " without sparing either age or 
 youth, the signature of the letter by the very hand of the 
 emperor, the expressions which peculiarly mark it as his own 
 personal act, as the immediate emanation of his own mind, are 
 omitted by Lord Macaulay, who substitutes the Master of 
 Stair for "William, and his letters for the " extirpation " order, 
 and garbles the quotation to make it fit. 
 
 We owe the knowledge we derive of the massacre from the 
 evidence taken before the commission to a fortunate combina- 
 tion of circumstances. 
 
 The excitement of public feeling rendered it impossible for 
 William to resist the demand for inquiry, and the jealousy of 
 Johnston made that inquiry searching and complete, with the 
 view of destroying his colleague, the Master of Stair. We 
 agree with Tx)rd Macaulay, that the report of the commission 
 
 1 Mac, iv. 213.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 7l 
 
 is an " excellent digest of evidence." ^ The character of 
 " austere justice," which he claims for it, we wholly deny. 
 " The conclusion," says Lord Macaulay, " to which the com- 
 mission came, and in which every intelligent and candid in- 
 quirer vAll concur, was that the slaughter of Glencoe was a 
 barbarous murder, and tliat of this barbarous murder the letters 
 of the Master of Stair were the sole warrant and causey ^ At 
 the risk of having our intelligence or our candour denied by 
 Lord Macaulay, we are compelled to dissent from the latter 
 portion of this judgment. Admitting in its full extent the 
 atrocity of these letters, they formed, in our opinion, but a 
 small and secondary part of the cause of the slaughter. There 
 was another gi-eater than Stair, or than Breadalbane, who 
 must, according to the " austere justice " of history, bear a 
 larger share of the responsibility for this great crime than 
 either of them. Lord Macaulay misleads his readers, and ob- 
 scures the question, by treating the slaughter, when it suits 
 his purpose, as the exercise of a wild and irregular justice 
 against a band of murderers and freebooters. To prepare the 
 mind of the reader, he evokes from past centuiies horrible 
 tales of outrages committed by the remote ancestors of the 
 IVIacdonalds of Glengarry on the people of Culloden, by the 
 inhabitants of Eig on the ^lacleods, and by the Macleods 
 again on the people of Eig. He narrates a story, unsupported 
 by a single tittle of evidence, of IM'Ian having at some former 
 period executed, with his own hand, the wild justice of the 
 tribe on a member of his own clan.^ He likens the jMac- 
 donalds to the mosstroopers of the Border and the banditti 
 of the Apennines, to the savages of Caffraria and Borneo, to 
 Amakosah cattle-stealers and ]\Lalay pirates, and describes 
 them as marauders who, in any well-governed country, would 
 have been hanged thirty years before." ^ Lord ]\Iacaulay is an 
 accomplished advocate, and is well aware of the effect that de- 
 
 1 Vol. iv, 574. - IM.l. 
 
 ^ This story \v:i.s lirst told by Dalryniiik- in 1771. There is no truce wliat- 
 evcr of it to be iliscovercd in tin- contemporary proceedings, where, no doubt, 
 it would have l)pen found, had there been even the slij,'htcst foundation for it. 
 
 ^ Vul. iv. 197, 200, 203, 215.
 
 72 TIIK Ni;W " KXA.MKN. 
 
 (•l;iiii;itinii (i| lliis kind will ih'imIiicc (tii tln' iiiiinls of iiiiu' <iul 
 (illcn of liis iviidors. The tenth man knows tliat he has the 
 testimony of Colonel Hill to the quiet, peaceable, and honest 
 dem(!anour of the Highlanders; and the conclusive fact, that 
 during the whole of the inquiry, though abundance of liard 
 langunge was used, there was no attempt to bring even a 
 single charge of any offence whatever against the Macdonalds 
 of Glencoe. This puts an end at once to any defence of 
 William's "extirpation" order, grounded on the supposition of 
 its being directed against civil offenders. We may therefore 
 confine our attention to the inquiry into how far it was justi- 
 fied, and who was responsible for it as a militaiy act. 
 
 The rarliament of Scotland found the slaughter to be 
 murder, and demanded that Glenlyon, Drummond, the Lynd- 
 says, and Sergeant Barber should be sent home to be prose- 
 cuted for the crime of murder under trust. Lord !Macaulay 
 says that the Parliament was here severe in the wrong place ;^ 
 that the crimes of these men, horrible as they were, were 
 nevertheless not the fitting subject of punishment, inasmuch 
 as each was compelled to act as he had done by the subor- 
 dination necessary in an army. Lord IMacaulay nins up the 
 ladder of responsibility from the sergeant to the ensign, and 
 so on up to Glenlyon, and from him to his colonel, Hamilton ; 
 but he appears to have overlooked the conclusion to which 
 this argument necessarily leads. If Glenlyon was justified by 
 the order of Hamilton, Hamilton was in like manner justified 
 by the order of Livingstone. Thus we reach the commander- 
 in-chief. Does the responsibility rest there ? If it did, loud 
 would have been the cry of vengeance for innocent blood ; 
 yet the Scottish Parliament acquitted Livingstone, and Lord 
 Macaulay passes him over unnoticed. That the slaughter in 
 Glencoe was a barbarous murder, murder under trust, the 
 foulest and highest degree of crime, all are agreed. W^e have 
 traced the responsibility up to the commander-in-chief ; who 
 was /iw superior? Not the Master of Stair. The Secretary 
 of State for Scotland has no authority in military matters 
 over the commander-in-chief, except so far as he is the mouth- 
 
 > Vol. iv. 576.
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 73 
 
 piece of the King. Livingstone derived his orders direct from 
 William. If he exceeded those orders, the blood-guiltiness 
 rests on his head. It is of no avail for him to say, " I obeyed 
 the Master of Stair," unless the Master of Stair spoke and 
 wrote as the agent of the King ; and if he did, his orders were 
 William's orders. The Parliament of Scotland voted that the 
 order signed by William did not authorise the slaughter of 
 Glencoe. If Johnson's Dictionary had been in existence, and 
 if they had consulted it to discover the meaning of the King's 
 words, they would have found that his design was to " root 
 out, to eradicate, to exscind, to destroy," and the following 
 example given : " We in vain endeavour to drive the wolf 
 from our own to another's door ; the breed ought to he extir- 
 pated out of the island!' ^ It would be difficult to point out 
 any passage in the Master of Stair's letters which exceeds 
 this. Inhuman as they are, they add nothing to the plain 
 and simple words of the order. Tlie execution certainly 
 fell far short. Instead of " extirpation," not more than about 
 one -tenth part of the clan was destroyed. Here, then, 
 following out Lord Macaulay's own principle, we are led 
 inevitably to the conclusion that the responsibility rests with 
 William. The only escape is the one suggested by lUirnet 
 — namely, that William affixed his signature to a paper pre- 
 sented to him by Stair and Breadalbane, in ignorance of its 
 contents. We have already shown how entirely this hypo- 
 thesis is unsupported by evidence, how strong the presump- 
 tions are against it. But there remains one piece of evidence, 
 which to our minds is conclusive. Had William been thus 
 entrapped, how terrible would have been his wrath when he 
 discovered the crime to which he had been unwittingly made 
 a party ! How signal his vengeance on the traitors Stair and 
 Breadalbane ! Instead of this, we find that, when he was 
 obliged to dismiss Stair from office in compliance with public 
 opinion and the intrigues of his colleagues, instead of handing 
 him over to justice, consigning him to the trial, the conviction, 
 and the death of shame, which he most unquestionably would 
 have deserved, he grants Iiim full pardon, immunity, and 
 
 ' Locke.
 
 71 TlfK NKW " KXAMFCN. 
 
 liKttfcti'iii Inr all his ,'icts, and especially for his share in the 
 8lau;;hter of the men of Glcncoo. 
 
 We are not aware that the following document has been 
 cited in any liistory of the massacre : to us it appears conclu- 
 sive of the original participation of William in that great 
 crime : — 
 
 " Scroll of Discharge to John Viscount Stair." 
 
 " His majesty, considering that John Viscount of Stair hath 
 been employed in his majesty's service for many years, and 
 in several capacities, first as his majesty's Advocate, and 
 thereafter as Secretary of State, in which eminent employ- 
 ments persons are in danger, either by exceeding or coming 
 short of their duty, to foil under the severities of law, and 
 become obnoxious to prosecutions or trouble therefor ; and his 
 majesty being well satisfied that the said Viscount of Stair 
 hath rendered him many faithful services, and being well 
 assured of his affection and good intentions, and being gra- 
 ciously pleased to pardon, cover, and secure him now after the 
 demission of his office, and that he is divested of public 
 employment, from all questions, prosecutions, and trouble 
 whatsoever ; and particularly his majesty, considering that the 
 manner of execution of the men of Glenco was contrary to the 
 laws of humanity and hospitality, being done by those soldiers 
 who for some days before had been quartered amongst them 
 and entertained by them, which was a fault in the actors, or 
 those who gave the immediate orders on the place. But that 
 the said Viscoimt of Stair, then Secretary of State, being at 
 London, many hundred miles distant, he could have no know- 
 ledge of nor accession to the method of that execution ; and 
 his majesty being willing to pardon, forgive, and remit any 
 excess of zeal or going beyond his instructions by the said 
 John Viscount of Stair, and that he had no hand in the bar- 
 barous manner of execution; therefore his majesty ordains a 
 letter of remission to be made, and passed his great seal of his 
 majesty's antient kingdom, &c., and particularly any excess, 
 crime, or fault done or committed by the said John Viscount 
 of Stair in that matter of Glenco, and doth exoncr, discharge,
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 7o 
 
 pardon, indemnify, and remit tlie said John Viscount of 
 Stair," &c} 
 
 It is to be observed that the very gentle censure contained 
 in this document is confined entirely to " the manner of execu- 
 tion." The King shows no disapproval whatever either of the 
 order — his signature to which, Burnet says, was obtained by 
 the fraud of Stair — or of those letters which Lord JNIacaulay 
 asserts to have been the " sole warrant and cause of this bar- 
 barous murder." If anything were wanting to prove without 
 a possibility of doubt the King's participation in the crime, it 
 would be supplied by the fact that this " Scroll of Discharge " 
 is immediately followed by a grant from William of the teiud 
 duties and others of the regality of Glenluce, as a " mark of 
 his favour to John Viscount Stair." 
 
 None of the actors in the transaction, so far as we are 
 aware, incurred any marks of the displeasure of the King. 
 They appear to have led prosperous lives : Colonel Hill be- 
 comes Sir John ; Glenlyon, when he reappears on the page of 
 history, is a colonel ; Livingstone becomes Lord Teviot.^ The 
 Master of Stair, though withdrawn for a time from active em- 
 ployment, in obedience to the voice of the Parliament and public 
 opinion, was, as we have seen, rewarded by William, and not 
 many years afterwards reappears an earl instead of a viscount. 
 
 We do not think that it is a task of any great difficulty to 
 measure out the degree of responsibility which fairly attaches 
 to each of the actors in this horrible tragedy. 
 
 First comes the King. lie had not the excuse, poor as it 
 may be, that he was urged on by personal wrong and ani- 
 mosity, like Breadalbane ; or by chagrin and disappointment 
 at the failure of a favourite scheme, like the Master of Stair. 
 We cannot doubt that William's signature was affixed to the 
 order with full knowledge of the facts, and that his intention 
 was to strike terror into the Highlanders by tlie " extirpation " 
 of a clan too weak to offer any effectual resistance, but 
 important enough to serve as a formidable example. 
 
 1 Papers Illustrative of the Higlilamls of Scollainl, Maitlaiul Clul). 
 •■' Life of William III., 357.
 
 70 TMF-: Ni;W " KXAMKN. 
 
 Next conic liicadiilbano and the Master of Stair, V)etwecn 
 wilt nil the scales balance so nicely that it is liard to say to 
 which the lar<,'cr share of execration is due, 
 
 Livingstone, Hamilton, Duncanson, Drummond, Glenlyon 
 and his subalterns, must share amongst themselves the respon- 
 sibility for the peculiar circumstances of treacliery and breach 
 of hospitality attendant upon the execution. For this we 
 think neither William, Breadalbane, nor the Master of Stair 
 can justly be hold answerable. 
 
 The blundering partisans of the day attempted to make 
 light of the atrocity of the slaughter. Lord Macaulay is too 
 skilful and too humane to be betrayed even by his parti- 
 sanship into supporting so false an issue. He denounces 
 the crime with unsparing severity. But by suppression, by 
 so})hism, by all the arts which are questionable in an advocate 
 and intolerable in a judge, he seeks to obtain a verdict of 
 acquittal for William — to limit his culpability to his remiss- 
 ness in failing to bring the Master of Stair to ju.stice, and, 
 by dwelling in strong terms on the minor offence, to keep out 
 of view his participation in the far deeper guilt of the original 
 crime. The readers of the ' Decameron ' know by what means 
 San Ciappelletto obtained canonisation ; the readers of Lord 
 Maca\ilay's History see how the meed of justice and humanity 
 may be awarded to the murderer of Glencoe. Tliey may com- 
 pare the portrait of Marlborough with the portrait of William, 
 and judge what fidelity is likely to be found in the rest of 
 Lord ^lacaulay's picture-gallery.
 
 77 
 
 III. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY AND THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND.i 
 
 The genealogy of Peers is public property. Without goiug 
 the length of saying, as has been said, that more Englisli men 
 and women read the ' Peerage ' than the Bible, it is still true 
 that it is a volume of whose contents most persons have some 
 knowledge. Lord Macaulay's pedigree is one of which no 
 man need be ashamed, and of which many would be proud. 
 His paternal grandfather w\as the Highland minister of a 
 Highland parish, with a Highland wife and Highland chil- 
 dren, one of whom, Zachariah by name, following the example 
 of his forefathers, descended into the Lowlands to gather gear, 
 not by lifting cows, but by peaceful trade. The youthful 
 Zachariah found favour in the eyes of the daughter of a 
 Bristol Quaker who supplied the serious and respectable 
 society to which he belonged with such literature as was 
 acceptable to Friends, the call for which was not, however, so 
 pressing as to prevent the grandsire of the future essayist of 
 the * Edinburgh Eeview ' from employing his talents in peri- 
 odical composition, and cultivating literary pursuits as the 
 editor of a provincial paper. 
 
 Meantime the loves of the young Highlander and tlie fair 
 Quakeress prospered, and from their union sprang Thomas 
 Babington Macaulay, Baron Macaulay of liothley, in the 
 county of Leicester, the libeller of William Penn, and llie 
 lampooner of the Highlands. With Higliland and (i>uaker 
 blood flowing in equal currents through liis veins, it is ditli- 
 cult to say whether a Higlilander or a Quaker is the more 
 favourite object of his satire and butt for the sliafts of his 
 
 ' I'.laikwooil's Miif,':iziiio, Auj,'. 1851).
 
 7h tiik nkw " kxamen. 
 
 ri.liriilc; wlictlicr CJcor^^o Fox or C(;]l of the Cows comes in 
 lui- tlio larger shiirc of liis contempt; whether the enthusiast 
 who felt himself (liviiuily moved to take off what wc are in 
 the hiihit of considering as the most essential of all garments, 
 and to walk in tlie simplicity of nature through the town of 
 Skii»t()n, or the native of the CJrampians, who never possessed 
 such an article of dress at all, is the niftre ridiculous in his 
 eyes ; whether, in short, he despises most those who gave 
 hirth to his father or his mother. It is with the paternal 
 ancestors of the historian that we have at present to do. No 
 (piarrel is so bitter as a family quarrel : when a man takes to 
 abusing his father or his mother, he does it with infinitely 
 greater gusto than a mere stranger. Lord !Macaulay's descrip- 
 tion of the Highlands is accordingly so vituperative, so spiteful, 
 so grotesque — it displays such command of the language of 
 hatred, and such astounding power of abuse, that, coming as 
 it does from a writer who challenges a place by the side of 
 Hume and Gibbon, it takes the breath away, and one feels 
 almost as one would on receiving a torrent of blasphemy from 
 a Bishop, or ribaldry from a Judge, or a volley of oaths from 
 a young lady whose crinoline one had just piloted, with the 
 utmost respect, tenderness, and difficulty, to her place at the 
 dinner-table. Lord Macaulay tells us that in the days of our 
 great-grandfathers^ — that is to say, when his own grandfather 
 M-as just beginning to " wag his pow " in a Highland pulpit — 
 if an Englishman " condescended to think of a Highlander at 
 all," he thought of him only as a " filthy abject savage, a slave, 
 a Papist, a cut-throat, and a thief ; " - that the dress of even 
 the Highland " gentleman " was " hideous, ridiculous, nay, 
 grossly indecent ; " that it was " begrimed with the accumu- 
 lated filth of years ; " that he dwelt in a " hovel which smelt 
 worse than an English hog-stye ;"^ that he considered a "stab 
 in the back, or a shot from behind a rock, the approved mode 
 of taking satisfaction for an insult ; " that a traveller who 
 ventured into the " hideous wilderness " which he inhabited, 
 would find " dens of robbers " instead of inns ; that he would 
 be in imminent danger of being murdered or starved ; of 
 
 > Vol. iii. 300. 2 p 309. ^ p. 304, 311.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 79 
 
 " falling two thousand feet perpendicular " from a precipice ; 
 of being compelled to " run for his life " from the " boiling 
 waves of a torrent " which suddenly " whirled away his bag- 
 gage ; " ^ that he would find in the glens " corpses which 
 marauders had just stripped and mangled;" that "his own 
 eyes " would probably afford " the next meal to the eagles " 
 which screamed over his head ; that if he escaped these 
 dangers, he would have to content himself with quarters in 
 which " the food, the clothing, nay, the very hair and skin of 
 his hosts, would have put his philosophy to the proof His 
 lodging would sometimes have been in a hut, of which every 
 nook would have swarmed with vermin. He would have 
 inhaled an atmosphere thick with peat-smoke, and foul with 
 a hundred noisome exhalations. At supper, grain fit only for 
 horses would have been set before him, accompanied by a cake 
 of blood drawn from living cows. Some of the company with 
 whom he would have feasted would have been covered with 
 cutaneous eruptions, and others would have been smeared 
 with tar like sheep. His couch would have been the bare 
 earth, dry or wet, as the weather might be, and from that 
 couch he would have risen half poisoned with stench, half 
 lilind with the reek of turf, and half mad with the itch." ^ 
 
 " This," says Lord Macaulay, " is not an attractive picture " 
 — a sentiment we sincerely echo. If it is a true one. Lord 
 Macaulay's grandfather must have had a stubborn generation 
 to deal with, and we fear his preaching must have been of little 
 avaiL We are not Highlanders. We believe that justice is 
 better administered under Queen Victoria than ever it was by 
 the Lord of the Isles, or even by Fin j\Iac-Coul. We would 
 rather ride after a fox than stalk the " muckle hart of Bon- 
 more " himself Tlie Monarch of tlie Glen may toss his royal 
 head, and range over his mountain kingdum safe from our 
 treason. We should feel it almost a crime to level a rifle at 
 his deep shoulder, or to pierce his lordly throat witli a skean- 
 dhu. We have no wish to see his soft lustrous eye grow dim, 
 and his elastic limbs stiffen under our hands. We never wore 
 a kilt, and never intend to array our limbs in so comfortless a 
 » Vol. iii. .301. 2 i> 305^ 306.
 
 HO 'IIIK NKW " KXAMMN. 
 
 ;^ariu('iit. Notwitlistanding all our love and veneration lui 
 till- Wizard of the North, we cannot but tliink that old Allan's 
 liaip must have been apt to be out of tune in the climate of 
 Loch Katrine, and that Helen herself must have found her 
 Isle too damp to be comfoitable during the greater pait of the 
 year. We would rather have seen the Magician himself in 
 the library at Abbotsford than amongst the Children of the 
 Mist. Our tastes, our habits, our affections, and our preju- 
 dices, are with the Lowlands. But we cannot allow this gross 
 caricature, this shameless libel, this malignant slander, this 
 parricidal onslaught by a son of the Highlands on the people 
 and the land of his fathers — a race and a country which has 
 furnished heroes whose deeds in every quarter of the globe 
 have been, and at the very time we write are, such that their 
 names awaken a thrill of admiration in every heart that is 
 capable of generous feeling — to pass unnoticed. Lowlanders 
 as we are, it moves our indignation. It is not histoiy : to 
 attempt to follow and answer it step by step would be to com- 
 mit a folly only exceeded by the absurdity of the original libel. 
 We prefer to introduce our readers to the authorities on which 
 Lord INIacaulay professes to have founded this gross carica- 
 ture. They are few in number, consisting of Oliver Goldsmith, 
 Kichard Franck, who wrote a book called ' Northern Memoirs,' 
 Colonel Cleland, and Captain Burt. We have bestowed some 
 pains upon an examination of them, and we proceed to lay 
 the result before our readers, and to show how little foun- 
 dation they aflbrd for Lord jMacaulay's malignant lampoon. 
 We will take them in order. Lord Macaulay says : " Gold- 
 smith was one of the very few Saxons who, more than a 
 century ago, ventured to explore the Highlands. He was 
 (Usgusted hj the hideous wilderness, and declared that he 
 greatly preferred the charming country round Leyden, the 
 vast expanse of verdant meadows, and the villas with their sta- 
 tues and grottoes, trim tlower-beds, and rectilinear avenues." ^ 
 Those who are unacquainted with Lord Maeaulay's mode of 
 dealing with authorities may perhaps be surprised to learn 
 that the only passage in Goldsmith's correspondence directly 
 ' Vol. iii. 302.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 81 
 
 relating to his journey to the Highlands is the following : " I 
 have been a montli in the Highlands. I set out the first day 
 on foot, but an ill-natured corn I have got on my toe has for 
 the future prevented that cheap method of travelling ; so the 
 second day I hired a horse, of about the size of a ram, and he 
 walked away (trot he could not) as pensive as his master. In 
 three days we reached the Highlands. This letter Mould Ije 
 too long if it contained the description I intend giving of that 
 country, so I shall make it the subject of my next." ^ 
 
 Whether Goldsmith ever carried his intention into effect, 
 or whether the promised description has been lost, is not 
 known. " No trace of this communication," says Mr Prior, 
 " which we may believe, from his humour and skill in narra- 
 tion, to have been of an amusing character, has been found." - 
 
 Lord IMacaulay says that Goldsmith was " disgusted with 
 the hideous wilderness." The only thing he expresses any 
 disgust at is the corn on his toe, and he says nothing about 
 any hideous wilderness whatever. 
 
 Goldsmith, however, did write some letters during his resi- 
 dence at Edinburgh as a medical student, and also afterwards 
 at Leyden, containing a few passing observations upon Scot- 
 land generally, which Lord Macaulay quotes as if they referred 
 to the Highlands in particular. These letters Lord Macaulay 
 either wholly misunderstands or has grossly misrepresented. 
 Probably no two men of genius ever were more dissimilar 
 than Oliver Goldsmith and Lord Macaulay. The delicate 
 humour and refined satire of the former appear to be Avholly 
 incomprehensible to the latter. Goldsmith's weapon is the 
 smallest of small swords, which he wields with wonderful 
 skill. Lord Macaulay lays about him with an axe ; he mauls 
 and disfigures his foe ; he splashes about in blood and brains ; 
 he is not content with slaying his enemy — he stamps upon his 
 carcass, tears his limbs in pieces, seethes them in pitch, and 
 gibbets them like his own Tom Boilman. It is hardly possible 
 to avoid feeling some sympathy for the criminal, however 
 execrable, to whom Lord Macaulay plays the part of execu- 
 tioner. Goldsmith is the gentlest and most playful of writris. 
 1 I'rior's Goldsmitli, v. 148. = Ibid, v. 145. 
 
 F
 
 82 THE NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 To conceive Lord Macaulay cither gentle or playful would he 
 to conjure up an image which would be grotesque if it were 
 not inipos.sible. It is not, therefore, surprising that Lord 
 Macaulay should wholly misinterpret the two letters from 
 which he quotes a few lines, which, taken apart from the 
 context and applied to a subject to which they do not refer, 
 appear at first sight in some degree to justify his remarks. 
 The first of these letters is addressed by Goldsmith to his 
 IViend Bryanton, at Ballymahon, and has been omitted (Mr 
 Trior tells us) from most of the Scottish editions of his works, 
 " for no other reason, as it appears, than containing a few 
 harmless jests upon Scotland." * In this playful letter he 
 laughs alike at the Irish squires and the Scotch belles, who, 
 he says, nevertheless, " are ten thousand times fairer and 
 handsomer than the Irish," an opinion which he expressly 
 desires may be communicated to the sisters of his Irish friend, 
 for whose bright eyes he " does not care a potato." He 
 describes an Edinburgh ball, retails the observations of three 
 " envious prudes " upon the beautiful Duchess of Hamilton, 
 and desires especially to know if " John Binely has left ofif 
 drinking drams, or Tom Allan got a new wig ? " It is this 
 playful badinage of the young medical student that Lord 
 Macaulay gravely quotes as the judgment of the " author of 
 the ' Traveller ' and the ' Deserted Village.' " ^ 
 
 The other letter is written about six months afterwards 
 from Ley den, and addressed to his uncle Contarine. It is in 
 the same vein of playful humour. The principal object of his 
 satire is, however, the Dutchman ; and Lord Macaiday might 
 just as well have quoted the following description as a faithful 
 portrait of Bentinck or of William himself, as the few lines 
 he devotes to Scotland as a picture of that country. " The 
 downright Hollander," says Goldsmith, '•' is one of the oddest 
 figures in nature. Upon a head of lank hair he wears a half- 
 cocked narrow hat, laced with black ribbon ; no coat, but seven 
 waistcoats and nine pair of breeches, so that his hips reach 
 almost up to his armpits. This well-clothed vegetable is now 
 tit to see company or to make love. But what a pleasing 
 » Piioi's Goldsmith, v. 139. - JIacaulay, iii. 302.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 83 
 
 creature is the object of his appetite ! Why, she wears a 
 large fur cap with a deal of Flanders lace, and for every pair 
 of breeches he carries, she puts on two petticoats ! " ^ 
 
 Eighteen petticoats ! — a warm and substantial crinoline. 
 We trust that the gauzy garments of the present day are 
 applied to no such purpose as that which Goldsmith describes 
 in the next paragraph : " You must know, sir, every woman 
 carries in her hand a stove with coals in it, wliich, when she 
 sits, she snugs vmder her petticoats ; and at this chimney 
 dozing Strephon lights his pipe." In this playful strain he 
 goes on to compare the Dutch women with the Scotch women, 
 and the country he had just left with the country in which 
 he had just arrived. Scotland, he observes very truly, is hilly 
 and rocky, while Holland " is all a continued plain." He 
 compares the Scotchman to a " tulip planted in dung," and 
 the Dutchman to an " ox in a magnificent temple." We con- 
 fess we do not recognise the truth of either simile ; the wit is 
 too evanescent for us. But about the Highlands there is not 
 one word. 
 
 We need not, therefore, trouble ourselves further as to any 
 weight which Lord Macaulay's strictures derive from the 
 supposed authority of Oliver Goldsmith ; whatever he knew 
 or thought, he has told us nothing. 
 
 The next in the list of Lord INIacaulay's authorities is less 
 known. Pvichard Franck was born at Cambridge about the 
 beginning of the seventeenth century. He resided at Notting- 
 ham, was strongly imbued with the peculiar religious tenets 
 of the Independents, served as a trooper in the army of Crom- 
 well, and about the year 1656 or 1657 visited Scotland. His 
 description, therefore, applies to a period nearly a century 
 before the days of our great-grandfathers. Lord ^lacaulay, 
 referring to this book, says that " five or six years after the 
 Revolution, an indefatigable angler published an account of 
 Scotland ; " - that, though professing to have ex])lored tlie 
 whole kingdom, he had merely " caught a few glimpses of 
 Highland scenery;"^ that he asserts that "few Englishmen 
 had ever seen Inveraray. All beyond Inveraray was chaos ;"* 
 
 ^ Trior's Golilsinith, y. ICl. ■' Vol. iii. 30.3. » Ibid., note. ^ Ibid.
 
 84 I' in-; nkw " kxamen. 
 
 niitl Lord Maciiulay iulds, in a note to a subsequent passage: 
 " Much to the same eflect are the very few words wliicli 
 Franck Philantliropus (1694) spares to the Highlanders : 
 ' They live like lairds and die like loons — hating to work, and 
 no credit to borrow : tliey make depredations, and rob their 
 neighbours.' " ^ 
 
 This is all, we believe, for which Lord Macaulay cites the 
 ' Northern Memoirs.' We shall presently see that he is in- 
 accurate as to the name, wrong as to the date, and in error 
 both as to what the author saw of the Highlands and what he 
 says of them. 
 
 First, Lord IMacaulay cites the book as if it were written 
 under the pseudonym of " Philanthropus " — a designation 
 which Piichard Franck adds to his name, according to the 
 fantastical fashion of his day, as he might have called himself 
 " Piscator," or " Venator," or " Viator," after the manner of 
 Isaac Walton. Secondly, The book was written in 1658, 
 thirty years heforc the Eevolution, instead of six years after.- 
 Thirdly, Instead of merely catcliing a few glimpses of High- 
 land scenery, Franck visited every Highland county, and 
 penetrated to the north of Sutherland and Caithness. Instead 
 of saying that " all beyond Inveraray was chaos," or giving the 
 character of the Highlands which Lord Macaulay attributes 
 to him, his words are as follows : " Here we cannot stay to 
 inhabit, nor any longer enjoy these solitary recreations ; we 
 must steer our course by the north pole, and relinquish those 
 nourishing fields of Kintire and Inveraray, the pleasant bounds 
 of Marquess Argyle, which very few Englishmen have made 
 discovery of, to inform us of the glories of the Western High- 
 lauds, enriched with grain and the plenty of herbage. But 
 how the Highlanders will vindicate Bowhidder and Lochaber, 
 with Ileven in Badenoch, that I know not ; for tlierc they live 
 like lairds and die like loons — hating to work, and no credit 
 to borrow : they make depredations, and so rob their neigh- 
 bours." 3 So that we see that the words Lord Macaulay quotes 
 
 ' Vol. iii. 310. 
 
 - See Prefiice by Sir Walter Scott to the edition of Franck's book, 1S21. 
 
 ^ r. ii4.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 85 
 
 as applicable to the Highlands' in general, are used by Franck 
 in reference to the districts of Balquhidder — for such we 
 presume to be the place called by him Bowliidder — Lochaber, 
 and a part of Badenoch, the lawlessness of Avliich he contrasts 
 with the rest of the Highlands ; and instead of all beyond 
 Inveraray being chaos, it is in these " pleasant bounds " that 
 " the glories of the Western Highlands, enriched with grain 
 and plenty of herbage," are to be found. 
 
 The opinion which Franck formed of Scotland he has not 
 been niggardly in expressing. He sums it up thus : " For 
 you are to consider, sir, that the whole tract of Scotland is 
 but one single series of admirable deliglits, notwithstanding 
 the prejudicate reports of some men that represent it other- 
 wise. For if eyesight be argument convincing enough to 
 confirm a truth, it enervates my pen to describe Scotland's 
 curiosities, which properly ought to fall under a more elegant 
 style to range them in order for a better discovery. For Scot- 
 land is not Europe's umbra, as fictitiously imagined by some 
 extravagant wits. No ; it's rather a legible fair draught of 
 the beautiful creation dressed up with polished rocks, pleasant 
 savannahs, flourishing dales, deep and torpid lakes, with shady 
 firwoods immerged with rivers and gliding rivulets ; where 
 every fountain o'erflows a valley, and every ford superabounds 
 with fish ; where also the swelling mountains are covered 
 with sheep and the marish grounds strewed with cattle, whilst 
 every field is filled with corn and every swamp swarms with 
 fowl. This, in my opinion, proclaims a plenty, and presents 
 Scotland a kingdom of prodigies and products too, to allure 
 foreigners and entertain travellers." ^ 
 
 It is greatly to be regretted that Franck, who had the o[»por- 
 tunity of affording so much information, should have been led 
 by his intolerable pedantry into a style of writing fit only for 
 Don Adriano de Armado. If he had been content to " deliver 
 himself like a man of this world," his liook would have formed 
 a most valuable record of the condition of the countr}' at a 
 time when (though we by no means accept Lord Macaulay's 
 assertion that less was known of the Grampians tlian of the 
 ^ Franck's Xortliern Memoirs, Preface, .\.
 
 86 THE NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 Andes) we are certainly in want (jf accurate and iinjiartial 
 information. The book is scarce, and the reader may take the 
 followiti;^ description of Dumbarton as a fair sample of the 
 style in which the whole of it i,s written. Arnoldus, it must 
 be remembered, was Franck himself, 
 
 "TuKOi'H. — What lofty domineorinf,' towers arc those that 
 storm the air and stand on tiptoe (to my thinking) upon two 
 stately elevated pondrus rocks, that shade the valley with 
 their prodigious growth, even to amazement ? Because they 
 display such adequate and exact proportion, with such equality 
 in their mountainous pyramides, as if nature had stretched 
 them into parallel lines with most accurate poize, to amaze 
 the most curious and critical observer ; though with exquisite 
 perspectives he double an observation, yet shall he never trace 
 a disproportion in those iniiform piermonts. 
 
 "Arn.— These are those natural and not artificial pyramides 
 that have stood, for ought I know, since the beginnings of 
 time ; nor are they sheltered under any disguise, for Nature 
 herself dressed up this elaborate precipice, without art or 
 engine, or any other manual, till arriving at this period of 
 beauty and perfection. And because, having laws and limits 
 of her own, destinated by the prerogative-royal of Heaven, 
 she heaped up these massy inaccessible pyramides, to invali- 
 date art and all its admirers, since so equally to shape a 
 mountain, and to form it into so great and such exact pro- 
 portions. 
 
 "TiiEOPH. — Then it's no fancy, I perceive, when in the 
 midst of those lofty and elevated towers a palace presents 
 itself unto us, immured with rocks and a craggy front, that 
 with a haughty brow contemns the invaders ; and where be- 
 low, at those knotty descents, Neptune careers on brinish 
 billows, armed with tritons in corselets of green, that threat- 
 ens to invade tliis impregnable rock, and shake the founda- 
 tions, which if he do, he procures an earthquake. 
 
 " Arn. — This is the rock ; and that which you see elevated 
 in air, and inoculated to it, is an artificial fabrik, invelop't, as 
 you now observe, in the very breast of this prodigious moun- 
 tain ; which briefly, yet well enough, your observation directs
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 87 
 
 to, both as to the form, situation, and strength. Moreover, it's 
 a garrison, and kept by the Albions, wliere formerly our friend 
 i'oelecius dwelt, who of late upon preferment is transplanted 
 into Ireland : however, Aquilla will bid us welcome ; and if I 
 mistake not, he advances to meet us : look wishly forward, 
 and you'll see him trace those delightful fields from the ports 
 of Dumbarton. 
 
 " Aquil. — What vain delusions thus possess me ! Nay, 
 what idle dotages and fictitious dreams thus delude me, if 
 these be ghosts which I fancy men ! — O Heavens ! it's our 
 friend Arnoldus, and (if I mistake not) Theophilus with him. 
 Welcome to Dumbarton I " ^ 
 
 After some further conversation in the same style, Arnoldus 
 and Theophilus display their fishing-rods, and all three forth- 
 with descend from their stilts, and talk like men of this world. 
 " I'm for the fly," says Arnoldus. " Then I'm for ground- 
 bait," replies Aquilla. " And I'm for any bait or any colour, 
 so that I be but doing," exclaims Theophilus ; and then fol- 
 lows a discussion upon brandlings, gildtails, cankers, cater- 
 pillars, grubs, and locusts, with a barbarous suggestion to 
 " strip off the legs of a grasshopper," worthy of that " quaint 
 old cruel coxcomb " Isaac Walton, whom, in spite of all his 
 cold-blooded abominations, we cannot help loving in our 
 hearts. The three friends then part, Arnoldus for the head, or 
 more properly the foot, of Loch Lomond, whilst Aquilla and 
 Theophilus remain to try their luck and skill in the waters 
 of Leven, and meet again to compare their sport and display 
 their spoil. Franck was a dull man on everything but fishing. 
 When the rod and the fly are concerned he writes in earnest, 
 his intolerable pedantry and affectation disappear, and his 
 book, like all books containing a mixture; of natural history, 
 topography, sporting, and personal adventure, is delightful. 
 His pedantry and dulness spoil every other subject ; even the 
 Elitropia of Boccaccio, and the story of Bailie Priiigle's cow, 
 and the Doch-an-dorroch, became stupid and tiresome in his 
 hands ; and he gives an account of the venerable Laird of 
 Urquhart, who was the happy father of forty legitimate chil- 
 
 1 P. 109, 110.
 
 88 Tin; Ni;\V " KXAMKN. 
 
 (Inn, and who ;it IIk; latter part of liis life was in the habit of 
 ;,n»iii;,' to lied in Ills coH'm, which was then liiuilcd liy jmHeys 
 close up to the ridge-tree of the liouse, in order that the old 
 gentleman might be so much the nearer heaven should he re- 
 ceive a sudden summons, — without any appreciation of the 
 grotes(jue humour of the old man. 
 
 Here and there a peevish word escapes liim at the want of 
 the comforts he had been accustomed to on the banks of the 
 Trent, and did not find in the wilds of Sutherland and Cro- 
 marty ; but so far from encountering any of the perils which 
 Lord ^lacaulay paints so vividly, he says, writing in a remote 
 part of Suthcrlandshire, " Let not our discourse discover us 
 ungrateful to the inhabitants, for it were madness more than 
 good manners not to acknowledge civilities from a people that 
 so civilly treated us." ^ This was in 1G57. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's next witness is William Cleland. He 
 vouches him to prove the important fact of the tar. " For 
 the tar," says Lord Macaulay, " I am indebted to Cleland's 
 poetry." - Cleland deserves to be remembered for better 
 things than a poem which Lord Macaulay himself elsewhere 
 describes as a " Hudibrastic satire of very little intrinsic 
 value." ^ He was an accomplished man and a gallant soldier, 
 but about as bad a witness as to anything concerning the 
 Highlanders as can be conceived. During the whole of his 
 short life he was engaged in a bitter hand-to-hand contest 
 with them. It was a struggle for life or death, and only ter- 
 minated when Cleland, at the age of twenty-seven, fell by a 
 Highland bullet at the head of the Cameronians, during his 
 gallant and successful defence of Dunkeld from the attack of 
 the Highlanders in 1689. No one, therefore, would think of 
 regarding Cleland as an impartial "witness. But his poem, 
 which Lord j\Lacaulay quotes, will be found on examination to 
 relate, not to the Highlands and their inhabitants in general, 
 to whom Lord jNIacaulay applies it, but simply to that " High- 
 land Host " which was sent by Lauderdale to ravage the west 
 in 1678, when Cleland was a boy of seventeen. It does not 
 profess even to give any description of the Highlanders in 
 ^ r. 211. » Vol. iii. 306. ^ y^i ^^ 276.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 89 
 
 general. The book is extremely scarce : the only copy we 
 have seen — a small 12mo in the Grenville Collection — is 
 marked as having cost three guineas. AVe therefore give the 
 passage which Lord Macaulay refers to entire, in order that 
 the reader may judge how far this description of the lawless 
 rabble, let loose upon free quarter on the western counties, 
 justifies Lord Macaulay 's account of the company with whom 
 a peaceful traveller would have " feasted " wlien journeying 
 across Scotland. Even Cleland, it will be seen, draws by no 
 means a contemptible picture of the officers of this host, his 
 description of whose dress and accoutrements well befits the 
 leaders of an irregular force. 
 
 " But to descrive them right surpasses 
 The art of nine Parnassus lasses, 
 Of Lucan, Virgil, or of Horas, 
 Of Ovid, Homer, or of Floras ; 
 Yea, sure such sights might have inclined 
 A man to nauceate at mankind : 
 Some might have judged they were the creatures 
 Called Selties, wlios costumes and features 
 Paracelsus does descry 
 In his Occult Philosophy ; 
 Or Faunes, or Brownies, if ye will, 
 Or Satjrres, come from Atlas hill, 
 Or that the three-tongued tyke wiis sleeping 
 Who hath the Stygian door a-keeping. 
 Their head, their neck, their legges, and thighs, 
 Are influenced by the skies. 
 Without a clout to interrupt them. 
 They need not strip them when they whip them, 
 Nor loose their doublet when they're hanged ; 
 If they be missed, it's sure they're wrong'd. 
 This keeps their bodies from corruptions, 
 From fistuls, humours, and eruptions. 
 
 Their durks hang down between their legs, 
 Where they make many slopes and gegges. 
 By rubbing on their naked hide, 
 And wambling from side to side. 
 But those who were their chief commanders, 
 And such who bore the pirnie standarts, 
 Who led the van and drove the rear. 
 Were right well mounted of their gear ; 
 With Brogues, Treues, and pirnie plaides. 
 With gude blew Bouucta on their heads,
 
 (j{) TFIK NICW " EXAMEN. 
 
 Whiih on tho one sitlc had a flipo 
 
 Aiioiiit-'il with a Tobacco-pipe. 
 
 With Dvirk ami siiapwork, and SnufT-niillc, 
 
 A baj; which tliuy with onions fill, 
 
 And, as their at rick observers say, 
 
 A tupe-horn filled with u.squebay, 
 
 A shushed out coiit beneath her jilaiilea, 
 
 A tarf^o of timber, nailes, and hides, 
 
 "With a lonf,' two-handed sword, 
 
 As good's the country can alFoord. 
 
 Had they not need of bulk and bones 
 
 Who figlit with all these arms at once ? 
 
 It's marvellous how in such weather. 
 
 O'er liill and hop they came together. 
 
 How in such storms lliey came so far ; 
 
 Tlie reason is, they're smeared with tar, 
 
 \Vliich doth defend them heel and neck. 
 
 Just as it does their sheep protect ; 
 
 Hut least ye doubt that this be trew. 
 
 They're just the colour of tarr'd wool. 
 
 Nought like religion they retain, 
 
 Of moral honestie they're clean; 
 
 In nothing they're accounted sharp, 
 
 Except in bagpipe and in harpe. 
 
 For a misobliging word 
 
 She'll durk her neighbour over the boord ; 
 
 And then she'll flee like fire from ilint, 
 
 She'll scarcely ward the second dint. 
 
 If any ask her of her thrift, 
 
 Foresooth her nain sell lives by theft. " ^ 
 
 Cleland's picture of the " Highland Host " may pass well 
 enough with Gilray's caricatures of Napoleon's army. As an 
 illustration of what people said and thought, it is valuable ; 
 as a record of facts it is worthless. A far greater satirist, 
 some years later, drew a French officer preparing his o\vn din- 
 ner by spitting half-a-dozen frogs on his rapier, and a Clare- 
 market butcher tossing a French postilion, with a large port- 
 manteau on his back, bodily over his shoulder with one hand. 
 Even Lord INIacaulay could hardly cite Hogarth to prove the 
 diet of the French army, or the proportion of muscular 
 strength of the two nations respectively. 
 
 Lord jNLicaulay's total want of perception of humour, of the 
 power of distinguishing a grotesque play of fancy from the 
 solemn assertion of a fact, leads him into numerous errors. 
 
 » Cleland's Highlaud Hobt, 11-13.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 91 
 
 We now come to Lord Macaulay's principal authority : 
 " Almost all tlicse circumstances," he says (with a special ex- 
 ception of the tar in honour of Colonel Clelantl), " are taken 
 from Burt's Letters." ^ Here, then, we arrive at the fountain- 
 head. Burt's Letters were first published in 1754. They 
 were written twenty or thirty years earlier — that is to say, 
 about the latter end of the reign of George L Burt was a 
 man of ability, and possessed considerable power of observa- 
 tion ; but he was a coxcomb and a Cockney. He was quar- 
 tered at Inverness with some brother officers, one of whom 
 attempted to " ride through a rainbow," - and another became 
 so terrified on a hillside (where there was, be it observed, a 
 horse-road) that in panic terror he chnig to the heather on the 
 mountain-side, and remained there till he was rescued by two 
 of his own soldiers.^ Others of the party attempted to ascend 
 to the top of Ben Nevis, " but could not attain it." ■* They 
 related on their return that this " wild expedition," unsuccess- 
 ful as it was, " took tliem up a whole summer's day from five 
 in the morning." They returned, thankful that they had 
 escaped the mists, in which, had they been caught, they 
 " must have perished with cold, wet, and hunger." ^ Burt 
 himself travelled on horseback, witli a sumpter-horse attend- 
 ing him. With this equipage he attempted to ride over a bog, 
 and got bogged as he deserved ; next he tried bog-trotting on 
 foot, in heavy jack-boots with high heels,^ with little better 
 success. Old hock, claret, and French brandy were necessary 
 to his comfort — he nauseated at the taste of whisky and the 
 smell of peat. He has left a minute account of his personal 
 adventures during an expedition into the Highlands in Octo- 
 ber 172- His route we have attempted in vain to trace. 
 He met with bad weather, and Avas forced to take refuge in a 
 " hut." Let us hear the description wliich this line gentleman 
 has left of his quarters under tlie most disadvantageous cir- 
 cumstances : " My fare," he says, " was a couple of roasted 
 hens (as they call them), very poor, new killed, tlie skins 
 much broken with plucking, black with smoke, and greased 
 
 » Vol. iii. 306. " Bmt, ii. 68. » Ibid., ii. 45. 
 
 * Ibid., ii. 11. » Ibid., ii. 12. « Ibid., ii. 27.
 
 '.V2 TUK NF:W " lOXAMEN. 
 
 with had Ituttcr.' As I liad no great appetite to that dish, I 
 sj»()k(; for s(jino liard off^'s, made iny supper of the yolks, .ind 
 wiushcd them down with a boitle of (jood small claret. My bed 
 
 liad cU*an slieets and blankets For want of any- 
 
 thin<,' more proper for breakfast, I took up with a little 
 l)raiidy, water, sugar, and yolks of eggs beat up together, 
 which 1 think they called ' old man's milk.' " We have many 
 a time ourselves been thankful for far worse fare than this. 
 A couple of fowls brandered, fresh eggs, butter not to be com- 
 mended, good light claret, brandy-and-water hot, with clean 
 sheets and a clear turf-fire — not bad chance-quarters, when 
 a snowstorm was howling down the glens, whirling madly 
 round the mountains, and beating on the roof which sheltered 
 the thankless Cockney. Better, at any rate, than he deserved. 
 Burt saw nothing in the 
 
 " Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
 Land of tlie mountain and the flood," 
 
 but ridges of '•' rugged iri'egular lines," those which " appear 
 next to the ether being rendered extremely harsh to the eye 
 by appearing close to that diaphanous body." What he thinks 
 " the most horrid, is to look at the hills from east to west, or 
 vice versa!' He laments the fate which has banished him to 
 the Highlands, and sighs for a " poetical mountain, smooth and 
 easy of ascent, clothed with a verdant flowery turf, where 
 shepherds tend their Hocks, sitting under the shade of tall 
 poplars." - Burt was a 
 
 "Sir Plunic, of amber snuff-box justly vain, 
 And the nice manage of a clouded aine." 
 
 Richmond Hill was fairer in his eye than Ben Cruachan. 
 He measures the terrors of a mountain-pass by saying that it 
 was " twice as high as the cross of St Paul's is from Ludgate 
 Hill." ^ From the top of his hat to the sole of his shoe he 
 was a Cockney, — one of those men for whose eyes the foxglove 
 hangs its banner out in vain, to whom the odours of a London 
 dining-room are more fragrant than the sweetest breeze that 
 
 * Burt, ii. 4L « Ibid., ii. 10-13. » Ibid., ii. 45.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 93 
 
 ever came love-laden with the kisses of the honeysuckle from 
 the shores of Inuisfallen — to whose eyes Pall Mall affords a 
 fairer prospect than the wildest glen in which stag ever 
 crouched among the bracken — who see nothing but gloomy 
 purple in tliat heatlier whose bloom even the truth of eye and 
 skill of liand of Leitch or Iiichardson can hardly transfer in all 
 its richness and all its tenderness to canvas or to paper — who 
 are blind to the countless beauties of tlie brown winter wood, 
 and deaf to that melody in the sough of the wind through 
 the leafless trees, which never failed to awaken kindred 
 poetry in the soul of Burns. Yet even Burt, as we have seen, 
 in no way supports Lord Macaulay's description. The risk 
 of murder and robbery, so eloquently dilated upon by Lord 
 Macaulay, is disposed of at once by Burt in the following 
 passage : " Personal robberies are seldom heard of among 
 them. For my own part, I have several times, with a single 
 servant, passed the mountain- way from hence to Edinburg 
 with four or five hundred guineas in my portmanteau, without 
 any apprehension of robbers by the way, or danger in my 
 lodgings at night; though in my sleep any one with ease 
 might have thrust a sword from the outside through the wall 
 of the hut and my body together. / loish wc could say as 
 rmich of our own country, civilised as it is said to be, though wc 
 cannot he safe in going from London to Highgate." ^ 
 
 This is the witness Lord Macaulay produces to prove tlie 
 imminent peril a traveller in the Highlands was in of being 
 " stripped and mangled " by marauders, and his eyes given as 
 a meal to tlie eagles ! 
 
 Neither Burt nor Franck intimate that they were ever in 
 the slightest personal danger of this kind. The precipices 
 and the torrents, on the dangers of which Lord Macaulay 
 dilates, are precisely the same now tliat they weri! a lunulred 
 years ago ; the risk of falling from the former depends on the 
 quantity of whisky the traveller may have imbibed, and is no 
 greater than it is on the top of Sleive League or the pass of 
 Striden Edge. The perils of the ford depend (m the skill and 
 care of those who traverse it. ^Ve ourselves were of a part}', 
 
 ' Vol. ii. 217.
 
 04 TFIK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 Iml two years ago, ill lln' iioilli (jT INjs.s, when two hulies, a 
 pony, and a baskct-carriagu, wore, to us(3 Lciid Macaulay's 
 nin,t,'niloquont expression, " suddenly whirled away by the 
 boiling waves of a torrent." The pony swam as Highland 
 ponies know how to swim. As for the precious freight, they, 
 like Ophelia, 
 
 " Fell in the wccpinr; brook ; their cloaths spread wide, 
 And, mcrmaid-iiko, awhile did bear them up." 
 
 Thus happily rescued from "muddy death," they shook 
 down their long wet tresses, wrung out " their garments heavy 
 witli their drink," and joined heartily in the laughter which 
 followed close upon the momentary alarm occasioned by the 
 adventure. All depends, in these cases, upon laying hold of 
 the right handle. A man whose head turns giddy at the top 
 of a precipice, who fears to walk through a stream up to his 
 middle, who cannot feed well and sleep sound on such fare 
 and in such quarters as Captain Burt thought it a hardship to 
 be compelled to take up wdth a hundred and fifty years ago, 
 who detests whisky and peat-smoke, had better keep out of 
 the Highlands, where he would be as much out of place as 
 Lord Macaulay attempting to ride across Leicestershire with 
 Mr Little Gilmour or Mr Green of Rolleston. 
 
 The idea of making one's supper upon a cake composed of 
 oats and cow's blood is not agreeable. But it must be remem- 
 bered that this is mentioned by Burt^ not as fare that had 
 ever been set before himself or any other traveller, but as an 
 expedient resorted to " by the lower order of Highlanders " in 
 seasons of extraordinary scarcity ; and after all, we may 
 fairly ask ourselves whether our disgust is not more moved 
 by the revolting description than by the actual diet itself. 
 Did Lord Macaulay of Rothley, in the county of Leicester, 
 never eat black-pudding or lambs' tails ? both of which, we 
 can assure him, are esteemed delicacies in that part of the 
 world. If he did, what would ho think of seeing his repast 
 described in the following manner ? " At dinner a pudding 
 composed of grain fit only for horses, mixed with the blood 
 
 > VoL u. 109.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 95 
 
 and fat of a pig, and boiled in a bag formed of the intestines 
 of the same unclean beast, was set before him. This was fol- 
 lowed by a dish composed of joints cut with a knife from the 
 bodies of living lambs, whose plaintive bleatings, as they 
 wriggled their bleeding stumps within hearing and sight, did 
 not disturb the appetite of the guest. Such was the diet 
 which a peer, a poet, and a historian did not think unpalatable 
 in the middle of the nineteenth century." ^ One might go on 
 ad infinitum with similar illustrations. Shrimps are esteemed 
 universally, we believe, to be delicate viands, and are espe- 
 cially in favour with the visitors at Margate and Heme Bay, 
 who call them "swimps." What would be the effect upon 
 Mr and Mrs Tomkins, and all the Master and Miss Tomkinses, 
 as they return home by the Gravesend boat, if they were told 
 that they had feasted for a week upon obscene animals, fed 
 upon the putrid flesh of dead dogs and drowned sailors, and 
 packed in earthen vessels covered with rancid butter ? Lord 
 Macaulay, we presume, does not visit Eosherville, but pro- 
 bably he eats " swimps " somewhere ; and we have no doubt 
 that he spreads the trail of a woodcock upon a toast (first 
 carefully extracting the sandbag), and swallows it with a 
 relish which we should be sorry to interfere with by describing 
 how the fine flavour which delights his palate is produced. 
 It is absurd to look too minutely into these matters ; but a 
 very little reflection will show that it is equally absurd to 
 rely upon them as being necessarily indications of barbarism. 
 
 That there were, and still are, huts in the Highlands which 
 swarm with vermin, and whose inhabitants are subject to 
 cutaneous diseases, we are by no means disposed to deny. 
 Unhappily the same thing may be said with truth of every 
 county in England — nay, of every parish in London. Within 
 a stone's throw of St James's Palace, garrets may be found 
 
 ' This fiict is alluded to in a beautiful ballad, some stanzas of which have 
 been handed down to our own daj", and which tells that when — 
 
 " Little Bo-in'cp had lost lier sheep, 
 Ami diiln't know where to find them ; 
 She fouml thciii indeed. 
 Hut it made her heart bleed. 
 For they'd left their tnilH behind thcni.
 
 «>n TMK nf:w 
 
 till' inhabitants of wliidi .sufl'er iVoin all the maladies in Ixjrd 
 Miuiaulay'.s loathsoiiM! catalo^'uc, and more to boot. That 
 ()utra<,'('H, revolting to Immanity have been, and a.s long as the 
 passions and vices of human nature remain what they are, will 
 again be perpetrated in the Highlands, as well as in every 
 other place where man has set his foot, we freely admit. Few 
 years have passed since, in the very heart of London, a 
 wretched woman was brutally murdered in the course of lier 
 miserable and degraded profession, and the murderer, for 
 aught we know, still walks the streets in safety. Not many 
 months ago, one mangled corpse was dropped over the j)arapet 
 of Waterloo Bridge ; and another, stripped naked, was thrown 
 into a ditch within iive miles of Hyde Park Corner : in neither 
 case has the murderer been brought to justice. K we were 
 disposed to paint a picture of the state of London, after the 
 manner of Lord Macaulay, from these materials (facts, be it 
 remembered, recorded, not in a lampoon or a satire, but on the 
 registers of the police and the reports of coroners' inquests), 
 what a den of assassins, what a seething caldron of vice and 
 profligacy — what an abode of crime, disease, misery, and 
 despair — might we represent the metropolis of the British 
 empire to be ! 
 
 ]>urt, as we have said, was a Cockney. His highest idea of 
 sport was a little quiet hare-hunting. It was not until many 
 years later that Somerville (to whose memory be all honour 
 paid) sketched a character now happily not uncommon. It 
 was reserved for us in the present day to see the keenest 
 sportsman, the best rider to hounds, the most enduring deer- 
 stalker, and most skilful angler, at the same time an accom- 
 plished scholar, an eloquent writer, an orator, and a statesman.^ 
 Amongst the wits of the reign of Queen Anne, the fox-hunt- 
 ing country squire was the constant subject of ridicule. Burt 
 aped their mode of thought, and it will be seen that his 
 
 ' That this is a true picture of a numerous class, will be admitted by all. 
 To the minds of those who ever had the hajipincss to meet him— on the moor, 
 in the field, in the House of Commons, or at his own fireside — or who are ac- 
 quainted with his admirable Essays ou Agriculture, the late Mr Thomas Gis- 
 borne of Yoxal Lodge will at once occur as one of the most remarkable 
 examples of that cla.ss.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 97 
 
 picture of the English squire is fully as unpleasing as that of 
 the Highland laird ; it will be seen also how little foundation 
 the latter, hostile and prejudiced as it is, affords for Lord 
 Macaulay's representation of him as a filthy, treacherous 
 savage, who held robbery to be a calling " not merely innocent 
 but honourable," who revenged an insult by a " stab in the 
 back," and who, whilst he was "taking his ease, fighting, 
 hunting, or marauding," compelled his " aged mother, his 
 pregnant wife, and his tender daughters " to till the soil and 
 to reap the harvest.^ 
 
 Burt thus compares the English fox-hunter and the High- 
 land laird : — 
 
 " The first of these characters," he says, " is, I own, too 
 trite to be given you — but this by way of comparison. The 
 squire is proud of his estate and affluence of fortune, loud and 
 positive over his October, impatient of contradiction, or rather 
 will give no opportunity for it ; but whoops and halloos at 
 every interval of his own talk, as if the company were to sup- 
 ply the absence of liis hounds. The particular characters of 
 the pack, the various occurrences in a chase, where Jowler is 
 the eternal hero, make the constant topic of his discourse, 
 though perhaps none others are interested in it. And his 
 favourites, the trencher-hounds, if they please, may lie un- 
 disturbed upon chairs and counterpanes of silk ; and upon 
 the least cry, though not hurt, his pity is excited more for 
 them than if one of his children had broken a limb ; and 
 to that pity his anger succeeds, to the terror of the whole 
 family. 
 
 " The laird is national, vain of the number of his followers 
 and his absolute command over them. In case of contra- 
 diction he is loud and imperious, and even dangerous, being 
 always attended by those who are bound to support his arbi- 
 trary sentiments. 
 
 " The great antiquity of his family, and the heroic actions 
 of his ancestors, in their conquests upon the enemy clans, is 
 the iuexliaustible theme of his conversation ; and, being 
 accustuiiied to dominion, lie imagines himself, in his usky, to 
 
 ' Vol. iii. 305. 
 G
 
 08 TIIK NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 l)c a sovereign prince, and, as I said before, fancies he may dis- 
 pose of lieads at liis pleasure. 
 
 " Thus one of tliem phaces his vanity in his fortune and his 
 pU^asure in his hounds. The other's pride is in his lineage, 
 and his delight is in command, both arbitrary in their way ; 
 and this the excess of liquor discovers in both. So that what 
 little din'crcnce there is between them, seems to arise from the 
 accident of their birth ; and if the exchange of countries had 
 been made in their infancy, I make no doubt but each might 
 have had the other's place, as they stand separately described 
 in this letter. On the contrary, in like manner as we have 
 many country gentlemen, merely such, of great humanity and 
 agreeable (if not general) conversation ; so in the Highlands I 
 have met with some lairds who surprised me with their good 
 sense and polite behaviour, being so far removed from the 
 more civilised part of the world, and considering the wildness 
 of the country, which one would think was sufficient of itself 
 to give a savage turn to a mind the most humane." ^ 
 
 It may perhaps be said that Lord Macaulay makes amends 
 to the Highlands for his groundless slanders by his equally 
 groundless flattery. That the Highland gentleman has no 
 right to complain of his stating that his clothes were "be- 
 grimed with the accumulated filth of years," and that he 
 dwelt in a hovel that " smelt worse than an English hog-stye," 
 because he says in the next line that he did the honours of his 
 hog-stye with a " lofty courtesy worthy of the most splendid 
 circle of Versailles." That " in the Highland councils men 
 who would not have been qualified for the duty of parish 
 clerks " (by which, if he means anything, Lord Macaulay 
 must mean that they were not " men of sweet voice and 
 becoming gravity to raise the psalm," like the famous P. P., 
 clerk of this parish), "argued questions of peace and war, of 
 tribute and homage, with ability worthy of Halifax and Car- 
 marthen ;" and that "minstrels who did not know their letters" 
 produced poems in which the " tenderness of Otway " was 
 mingled with " the vigour of Dryden." ^ What the honours 
 of a hog-stye may be — whether Halifax or Carmarthen could 
 » Butt, ii. 247. 2 Yo1_ ^^ 307, 308.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 99 
 
 " adventure to lead the psalm," or exercise themselves in 
 " singing godly ballads" — or what kind of verses were produced 
 by minstrels who were unable to commit them to writing, and 
 whose productions have consequently not come down to our 
 day, — we know not. But, to quote a homely proverb, two 
 blacks do not make a white ; and to call a man a thief, a mur- 
 derer, and a filthy, abject, ignorant, illiterate savage, in one 
 line, describing him in the next as graceful, dignified, and full 
 of noble sensibility and lofty courtesy, with the intellect of a 
 statesman and the genius of a poet — gives about as accurate 
 a picture of his mind and manners as one would obtain of his 
 features by two reflections taken the one vertically and the 
 other horizontally in the bowl of a silver spoon. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's taste for, and, we are bound to add, his ex- 
 tensive knowledge of, the most worthless productions that 
 have survived from the time of the Revolution to our own 
 day, is amusing. It is a class of literature which would have 
 made his grandfather's hair stand on end. It is enough to 
 make the staid old Quaker turn in his grave to think of his 
 graceless grandson flirting with INIrs Manley and Aphra Behn. 
 From the latter lady he cites ^ a " coarse and profane Scotch 
 poem," describing, in terms which he is too modest to quote, 
 " how the first Hielandman was made." Possibly it is the 
 same modesty, and a feeling of reluctance to corrupt his 
 readers, which has induced Lord IMacaulay to cite a volume in 
 which this poem is not to be found. In that volume, how- 
 ever, there happens to be a description of a Dutchman equally 
 indecent, and, though Lord Macaulay may perhaps not admit 
 it, equally worthy of belief Portraits of Irishmen, just as 
 authentic, abound in the farces which were popular a few 
 years later ; and even now the English gentleman on the 
 French stage, with his mouth full of " rosbif " and " Goddams," 
 threatens to " sell his vife at Smitfield." 
 
 If Lord Macaulay's New Zealander should take to writing 
 history after the fashion of his great progenitor, he may per- 
 haps paint the Welsh in colours similar to and upon authorities 
 as trustworthy as those Lord Macaulay has used and relied 
 
 » Vol. iii. 217.
 
 100 THR Nr:\V ' KXAMEN. 
 
 u|»<»ii ill his ])icturc of the Scotch. If he sliould, his descrip- 
 tiuii will he sonicthin^ of tlic following kind : — 
 
 " In the days of Queen Victoria, the inliabitant of the 
 Ti incipality was a savage and a thief. He subsisted by 
 [)lun(l(>r. The plough was unknown. He snatched from his 
 more industrious neighbour his Hocks and his herds. "NVlien 
 the flesh he thus obtained was exhausted, he gnawed the bones 
 like a dog, until hunger compelled him again to visit the 
 homesteads and larders of England. With all the vices, he 
 had few or none of the virtues of the savage. He was un- 
 grateful and inhospitable. That this was his character is 
 proved by verses whicli still re-echo in the nurseries of Bel- 
 grave Square and along the marches of Wales : — 
 
 ' Taffy was a AVtlshman, 
 Taffy was a thief ; 
 Taffy came to my house, 
 Stole a piece of beef. 
 I went to Taffy's house, 
 Taffy was from home : 
 Taff}' came to my house, 
 Stole a marrow-bone.'" 
 
 This is every bit as authentic as Lord jMacaulay's description 
 of the Higlilanders. Sucb history may be supplied in any 
 quantity and at the shortest notice. All that is necessary is 
 a volume of contemporary lampoons, a bundle of political songs, 
 or a memory in whicli such things are stored, and which may 
 save the trouble of reference. The genius it requires is a 
 genius for being abusive. The banks of the Thames and the 
 Cam furnish abundance of professors, male and female, of the 
 art of vituperation ; but as Lord Macaulay, from his frequent 
 repetition of the same terms of abuse, seems to have exhausted 
 his " derangement of epitaphs," we would recommend him to 
 turn to Viner's Abridgment, title 'Action for Words,' where 
 he will find one hundred and thirty folio pages of scolding, 
 from which he may select any phrase that suits his purpose, 
 with the advantage of knowing also the nice distinctions by 
 which the law has decided what words are and what are not ac- 
 tionable, which maybe used Nvith impunity against the living, 
 and which must be reserved for the safe slander of the dead.
 
 101 
 
 IV. 
 
 LORD MACAULAY AND DUNDEE.^ 
 
 Few celebrated men have suffered more injustice at the hands 
 of posterity than John Grahame of Claverhouse, Viscount 
 Dundee. A perverse fate seems to have pursued his memory. 
 Falling upon evil days, and playing an important part in the 
 chasing scenes of a dark and tragic period, it is not to be won- 
 dered at that his acts should have been misrepresented, and 
 his character distorted, by contemporary malice and falsehood. 
 But the ill fortune of Claverhouse has pursued him to our oAvn 
 times. Sir "Walter Scott once remarked, with perfect truth, 
 " that no character had been so foully traduced as that of the 
 Viscount of Dundee — that, thanks to Wodrow, Crookshank, 
 and such chroniclers, he, who was every inch a soldier and a 
 gentleman, still passed among the Scottish vulgar for a ruffian 
 desperado, who rode a goblin horse, w^as proof against shot, 
 and in league with the devil." '^ 
 
 Unhappily it is not among the Scottish vulgar alone that 
 misconception as to the character of Dundee has prevailed. 
 It is indeed only very lately, and principally in consequence 
 of the reaction produced by the unscrupulous virulence of 
 recent attacks upon his memory, that investigations have 
 been made, which have placed his character in a truer light, 
 and removed the load of obloquy under which it has so 
 long and so unjustly lain. True as Sir Walter Scott's instincts 
 and sympathies were, even he has admitted into his masterly 
 portrait of Claverhouse some touches darker than can bo 
 justified by Mliat we now know of liis character. This is to 
 
 1 Blackwood's Miignzinc, Aug. 1860. 
 ^ Lofkharf s Life of Scott, iv. 38.
 
 102 TIIK NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 be attributed partly to tlie fact that many circumstances have 
 couK! to b"j^lit since 'Old Mortality' was written, and partly 
 to the excellences of Sir Walter Scott's own character, which 
 became, by excess, defects. His acquaintance with the times 
 of which he wrote was profound ; his power of reproducing 
 the character he depicted — of evoking not merely the form 
 and lineaments of the dead, but of breathing into that form 
 the veiy soul by which it had been animated — was unequalled 
 by any but Shakespeare himself ; and his mind was far too 
 great, his sympathies too catholic, and his disposition too 
 generous, to permit him to pervert this power to the service 
 of party aims, or the promulgation of his individual opinions 
 and predilections. His fault lay in the opposite direction. 
 His opponents found more than justice at his hands, whilst 
 those with whose opinions and characters he sympathised, 
 sometimes found less. He has adorned Balfour of Burley 
 with a wild heroism far higher than should be awarded to 
 the savage murderer of Archbishop Sharpe, and has dealt out 
 but scant measure of justice to the accomplished and chival- 
 rous Grahame of Claverhouse. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's errors were of a different kind. They pro- 
 ceeded from a too eager partisanship, a too fervid attachment 
 to the creeds and traditions of the party to which he belonged. 
 AVe liave never grudged our share of the tribute universally 
 and justly paid to the eloquence, the power, the varied re- 
 search, the vast knowledge, which combine to chain the reader 
 by a magical influence to the pages of his ' History.' It stands 
 like that fair cathedral, whose unfinished towers are reflected 
 in the waters of the Piliine, a mighty and a beautiful fragment. 
 We trust that no feebler hand will attempt its completion ; 
 and we indulge with pleasure the belief that future volumes 
 would have redeemed the injustice into which an impetuous 
 temperament, a love of striking and picturesque eftects, 
 and sometimes a natural, though dangerous, delight in the 
 exercise of his own powers, have too often betrayed the 
 historian. 
 
 There are few occurrences that so deeply impress the mind 
 and touch the heart, as when a noble antagonist is struck
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 103 
 
 down in the full vigour of his powers. The eloquent pen 
 which placed in vivid reality before our eyes the defence of 
 Derry and the trial of "NVarren Hastings, which painted the 
 Court of Charles II. with the gaiety of Watteau, and the Black 
 Hole of Calcutta with the power of Rembrandt, has dropped 
 from the hand that guided it ; the flashing eye which heralded 
 the impetuous words to which we have often listened with 
 deliglit is dim; and the stores of that marvellous memory, 
 where priceless jewels and worthless trifles were alike trea- 
 sured up, wiU never more be poured out in prodigal generosity 
 for our instruction and delight. 
 
 Justice to the mighty dead with whose ashes liis own are 
 now mingled, has, however, frequently compelled us to point 
 out what have appeared to us to be the errors, the mistakes, 
 and the faults of Lord Macaulay's ' History.' 
 
 The conqueror of Blenheim, the founder of Pennsylvania, 
 the hero of Killiecrankie, and the victim of Glencoe, stand 
 now no further from us than he whom we have so lately lost, 
 The'narrow line over which we may be as suddenly summoned, 
 is all that separates us. Silent shadows, they demand equal 
 justice. But we enter upon our present task with mournful 
 feelings, and we trust that we shall keep carefully in view, 
 that in writing of the dead it is the duty no less of the critic 
 than of the historian to keep ever in mind that he is dealing 
 with those who cannot reply. 
 
 Lord Macaulay's portrait of Claverhouse is dashed in with 
 the boldest handling, and in the darkest colours. Every 
 lineament is that of a fiend. Coiirage — the courage of a 
 demon fearing neither God nor man — is the only virtue, if 
 indeed such courage can be called a virtue, he allows him. A 
 few lines suffice for the sketch : — 
 
 " Pre-eminent among the banils ■which oppressed and wasted these 
 unhappy districts, were the dragoons commanded by John Grahame of 
 Chiverhouse. The story ran that these wicked men u.sed in their revels 
 to play at the torments of hell, and to call each other by the names of 
 devils and damned souls. The chief of this Tophet, a soldier of dia- 
 tinL,'uislipd courage and professional skill, but rapacious and profane, of 
 violent temper and of obdurate heart, has left a name Mhich, wherever 
 the lScotti.sh race is settled on tlie face of the globe, is mentioned with a
 
 1 1 'IIIP: NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 IHsculiiir encrj,'}' of linlrt'il. To rccaiiitulate all the crimcH by which thirt 
 mnn, and men like him, goaileil the peasantry of the Western Lowlands 
 into madness, would be an endless tjisk."* 
 
 We confess that we are at a loss to understand the extreme 
 horror witli wliich tlie satanic sports of the soldiery seem to 
 have inspired Lord Macaulay. One would not expect the 
 amusement of troopers to be of the most refined description ; 
 but it is going rather far to conclude that a dragoon must 
 necessarily be " wild, wicked, and hard-hearted," ^ because he 
 hits a comrade across the shoulders in s^Dort, and calls him 
 Beelzebub. Sportive allusions to the prince of darkness and 
 his imps do not necessarily imply allegiance to his power. 
 King George III. was certainly a pious prince, yet "the story 
 runs," as Lord Macaulay would say, that when Lord Erskine 
 presented the corps of volunteers belonging to the Inns of 
 Court to his Majesty, the King exclaimed, " What ! what ! all 
 lawyers ? Call them the Devil's Own — call them the Devil's 
 Own." And " the Devil's Own " they were called from that 
 day forward ; their learned and gallant successors, who drill 
 in Lincoln's-Inn Garden and King's Bench Walk still re- 
 joicing in the same infernal designation, and being rather 
 proud of it. We remember a jeu cVcsprit, currently ascribed 
 to an eminent Whig pen, which ran the cii'cuit of the papers 
 some twenty years ago, in which every eminent member of 
 the Tory party was adorned with liis particular diabolical cog- 
 nomen. We quote from memory, but we have a very distinct 
 recollection of the following lines as a part of the catalogue : — 
 
 " Devils of wit ami devils of daring, 
 Mcpliistopheles Lyndhnrst and Manunon Baring ; 
 Devils of wealth and devils of zeal, 
 Belial Croker and Beelzebub Peel." 
 
 Yet we never heard that the venerable ex-chancellor felt his 
 dignity compromised, or that Sir Eobert Peel ever considered 
 whether there might not be three courses open to him, any 
 
 ' Macaulay, i. 498. 
 
 - "Those Willi and hard-hearted men, who nicknamed one another Beekebub 
 and Aiwllyou."— Vol. iii. 499.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 105 
 
 one of which he miglit select to punish the audacious poet. 
 Nor, we conceive, would Lord IMacaulay have denounced him 
 as " wicked and profane." 
 
 To descend from kings and statesmen to " mortal men and 
 miscreants," we remember when the " Olympic Devils " 
 was the most popular of all amusements. It was in our 
 younger days when, in that pleasant little theatre behind the 
 Strand Church, men, and women too, used to " play at the 
 torments of hell," and to call each other by very diabolical 
 names. Yet the chief of that Topliet in Wych Street, an 
 actress of distinguished beauty and professional skill, was, 
 we trust, neither rapacious nor profane, and certainly not 
 of violent temper nor obdurate heart, and has left a name 
 which, wherever the English race is settled on the face of the 
 globe, is mentioned with a peculiar energy of anything but 
 hatred. 
 
 To come to more important matters : When Lord Macaulay 
 asserts that Claverhouse was one of those whose conduct 
 "goaded the peasantry of the Western Lowlands into mad- 
 ness," he shows an utter disregard both of facts and dates. 
 There is probably but one opinion now as to the insanity of 
 the attempt to force Episcopacy upon Scotland. But Prelacy 
 was restored in May 1002 ; ^ the ministers were ejected in 
 the month of November in the same year.^ The Court of 
 .Ecclesiastical Commission commenced its proceedings in lOO-i.^ 
 The military oppressions raged in 1665.* The insurrection 
 which terminated in the defeat of Pentland took place the 
 following year. Then followed countless executions, civil 
 and military. The boot and the gibbet were in constant 
 employment. In 1668 the life of Sharpe was attempted by 
 Mitchell. In 1670, rigorous laws were passed against con- 
 venticles ; at the same time, the tyranny and insolence of 
 Lauderdale excited universal hatred and disgust. In 1676 
 the proceedings of the Government became even more severe. 
 " Letters of intercommuning," as they were called, were issued, 
 
 1 Laing, ii. 21, Ist edit., vol iv. of 2(1 edit. •' Ibid., 34. 
 
 - Ibid., ii. 27. ' Ibid., ii. 35.
 
 IOC, TIIK NFAV " HXAMKN. 
 
 (IciiMuiKiiiL; tlie severest penalties against all who should 
 iilloid meat, drink, or shelter to an outlaw.^ The field- 
 l)rt'achors were hunted down by the soldiery, hut their hearers 
 rallied round them, and contests, frequently bloody, and often 
 of doubtful issue, occurred. The Bass was converted into a 
 l)rison, the dungeons of which were crowded with captive 
 ministers; and the Highland host was called in to ravage 
 the unhappy Western Lowlands at the latter end of 1077.'^ 
 
 These wore the outrages by which the country was " goaded 
 into madness." But Claverhouse had not, nor could he have 
 had any part or share whatever in them. He was absent from 
 the country, serving in France and Holland, the whole of the 
 time during which they were committed, and did not return 
 to Scotland until the early part of the year 1678.3 The first 
 mention of him that occurs in Wodrow is in May 1679, im- 
 mediately before the skirmish of Dmmclog. Lord Macaulay 
 had Wodrow before him — he refers to him as his sole authority 
 for this passage ; yet it is upon Wodrow's pages that the dates 
 and facts are to be found which contradict his deliberate and 
 often-repeated assertion. 
 
 Lord Macaulay selects five instances of the crimes "by 
 which the peasantry of the Western Lowlands were goaded 
 into madness."'* An ordinary reader would certainly infer 
 from his langiiage that Claverhouse was concerned in all these 
 instances, and would be somewhat surprised, after perusing 
 Lord ^Macaulay's narrative, to find, on turning to his authority, 
 that in three out of the five cases, Claverhouse had no share 
 whatever, and that in a fourth he acted the part of an inter- 
 cessor for mercy, and exerted himself in vain to save the life 
 of the victim. In the most cruel of all — that of ^Margaret 
 INIaclachlan and ^Margaret Wilson — we find, on referring to 
 Wodrow, that a Colonel Graham was concerned, but it was 
 Colonel David Graham, the sheriff of Wigtownshire, not 
 Colonel John Grahame of Claverhouse.^ Lord Macaulay 
 might as well have confounded David Hume with Joseph 
 
 1 Laing, ii. 48, 56, 68. = "Wodrow, i. 453-480, fol. 
 
 * Napier, Memoirs of Dundee, 182-5. * Ibid., i. A^^, 1S49: ii. 73, 1S5S. 
 
 •• Wodrow, ii. 505 ; Crooksliank, ii. 3SG.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 107 
 
 Hume, or, as he has done upon other occasions, Patrick Graham 
 of the Town Guard with the hero of Killiecrankie, and George 
 Penne with the founder of Pennsylvania. Even in this case, 
 cruel and atrocious as it was, Lord Macaulay misquotes his 
 authorities. He asserts that these unhappy M'onien " suffered 
 death for their religion." Wodrow and Crookshank, on the 
 contrary, distinctly state that they were indicted and con- 
 victed for being in open rebellion at Bothwell Bridge and 
 Aird's Moss. Lord IMacaulay also omits to mention what is 
 stated by the historians he refers to — namely, that upon the 
 case being brought to the notice of the Council, the prisoners 
 were respited, and a pardon recommended, but that the exe- 
 cation was hurried on by the brutality of Major Windram and 
 the Laird of Lagg.^ 
 
 In the case of Andrew Hislop, Lord Macaulay says that the 
 Laird of Westerhall having discovered that one of the pro- 
 scribed Covenanters had found shelter in the house of a 
 respectable widow, and had died there, " pulled down the 
 house of the poor woman, carried away her furniture, and, 
 leaving her and her younger children to wander in the fields, 
 drar/ged her son Andrew, who ivas still a lad, hcfore Clavcrhouse, 
 who ha2>j)cncd to he marching through that ^j«r^ of the country. 
 Claverhouse was that day strangely lenient. Some thought 
 that he had not been quite himself since the death of the 
 Christian Carrier, ten days before. But "Westerhall M'as eager 
 to signalise his loyalty, and extorted a sullen consent.'"-^ 
 
 For this Lord Macaulay cites Wodrow, but Wodrow 's story 
 is very different. It was not Westerhall that brought Hislop 
 a prisoner before Claverhouse, but Claverhouse that brought 
 him before Westerliall, who, it is evident from the whole 
 narrative, at that time possessed an authority superior to 
 that of Claverhouse. Wodrow narrates the barbarous cxpul- 
 
 ^ Crook.sliank. Since the above passage was written, tlie industry of Mr 
 Mark Napier seems to have estalilislieil pretty conclusively that these women 
 never were drowned at all, and tluit the whole story of their execution or 
 niurdi-r, whichever it was, is a fabrication. 
 
 Tliis subject will be found discussed in a subsciiucnt part of the [)resent 
 volume. See ;w.s<, "The "Wigtown Martyrs." 
 
 - Macaulay, ii. 76, ed. 1S5S.
 
 108 TIN-: Ni;W " KXAMKN. 
 
 sioii of llii- widitw iiiid her cliildrcii in tlic following words : 
 " WlHii'cupoii "We.stcrmw went ininicdiatdy to tho liou.se, and 
 sj»oiled it, taking away everything that was jjortable, and 
 pulled down the house, putting the woman and her children 
 to the fields. "When thus they are forced to wander, Claver- 
 liouse falls upon Andrew llislop in the fields. May 10, and 
 seized him, without any design, as aiij^carcd, to murder him, 
 bringing him prisoner with him to Eskdale unto Westcrraw, that 
 night." 1 
 
 Wodrow adds : " Claverhouse in this instance was very 
 backward, perhaps not wanting his own reflections upon John 
 Brown's murder the first of this month, as we have heard, and 
 pressed the delay of the execution. But AVesterraw urged till 
 the other yielded, saying, * The blood of this poor man be upon 
 you, Westcrraw; I am free of it! " '^ 
 
 This is the story as told by the bitterest enemy of Claver- 
 house. It is impossible for any one who looks at it with the 
 slightest candour, or desire to discern the truth, not to per- 
 ceive that the influence of Claverhouse was exercised on the 
 side of humanity and mercy. Why does Lord Macaulay, 
 whose narrative so frequently, without any authority whatever, 
 assumes the dramatic form, in this instance suppress the 
 words of Claverhouse, graphically recorded both by Wodrow 
 and Crookshank, " The blood of this poor man be upon you, 
 Westerraw ; I am free of it " ? 
 
 We now come to the only authority (except vulgar tradi- 
 tion) that Lord JNIacaulay has given for his character of 
 Claverhouse. It is the often-repeated story of " John Brovrn, 
 the Christian Carrier." Immediately upon the appearance 
 of the first volume of Lord Macaulay's ' History,' Professor 
 Aytouu challenged the correctness of his picture of Claver- 
 house, and in a note to his noble and spirit-stirring " Burial- 
 March of Dundee," exposed, by means of the most accurate 
 reasoning and the most conclusive evidence, the errors into 
 which the historian had fallen. It is much to be regretted 
 that Lord Macaulay, who availed himself of the coiTections of 
 the Professor upon some minor points, did not exercise the 
 
 ' Wodrow, ii. 507. * Ibid.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 109 
 
 same discretion on this more important matter. The picture 
 of Claverhouse, and the story of John Bro\s'ii, have reappeared 
 unaltered in each successive edition that has issued from the 
 press. We quote from the one published in 1858 : — 
 
 " John BrowTi, a poor carrier of Lanarkshire, was, for his pin<(iilar 
 piety, commonly called the Cliristian Carrier. Many years later, when 
 Scotland enjoyed rest, prosj)erity, and religious freedom, old men, who 
 remembered the evil days, descril^ed him as one versed in divine things, 
 blameless in life, and so peaceable that the tyrants could find no offence 
 in him, except that he absented himself from the public worship of the 
 Episcopalians. On the first of May he was cutting turf, when he was 
 seized by Claverhouse's dragoons, rapidly examined, convicted of noncon- 
 formity, and sentenced to death. It is said that, even among the soldiers, 
 it was not easy to find an executioner. For the wife of the poor man was 
 present : she led one child by the hand : it was easy to see that she was 
 about to give Ijirtli to another ; and even those wild and hard-hearted 
 men, who nicknamed one another Beelzebub and Apollyon, shrank from 
 the great wickedness of butchering her husliand before her face. The 
 prisoner, meanwhile, raised above himself by the near prospect of eter- 
 nity, prayed loud and fervently, as one inspired, till Claverhouse, in a 
 fury, shot him dead. It was reported by crediljle witnesses that the 
 widow cried out in her agony, ' Well, sir, well, the day of reckoning A\-ill 
 come ; ' and that the murderer replied, ' To man I can answer for wliat I 
 have done. — and as for God, I will take Him into mine own hand.' Yet it 
 was rumoured tliat even on his seared conscience and adamantine heart 
 the dying ejaculations of his victim made an impression which was never 
 eflaced." ^ 
 
 This story of John Brown affords a curious example of tlie 
 mode in which calumnies are propagated and grow ; and at 
 the risk of some repetition of what has already been so well 
 done by Professor Aytouu, we shall proceed to trace the false- 
 hood to its source. 
 
 Lord Macaulay cites as his authority " Wodrow, iii. ix. G." 
 But though following him in the main, Lord j\Iacaiday seems 
 to have been conscious that Wodrow's narrative would not 
 bear the test of critical examination. - 
 
 1 Macaulay, i. 490, 8vo, ii. 74 ; edit. 1858. 
 
 - 'Woibow's narrative is as follows : "This pood man had conic homo and 
 was at his work, near liis own house in Prii'stfuld, casting peats. C'lavcrliouse 
 was coming from Losmahago with three troops of dragoons ; whether he hud 
 got any information of John's i)iety and nonconformity I cannot tell, but he 
 caused bring him up to liis own door, from the place where he was. I do not
 
 1 10 THE NEW ' EXAM EN. 
 
 Wixlrow asserts that the soldiers were melted and moved by 
 the "Scriptural expressions and grace of x>rayer" of Jolin 
 I'rown, and mutinied, refusing to execute the commands of 
 thi'ir ollicer. Tliis seems to have heen too gross and palpable 
 an improbability for Lord ^Macaulay, who represents them as 
 merely moved l)y the natural feeling of compassion for the un- 
 happy wife. This is certainly a more probable story, but it is 
 710^ the tale told by Wodrow. Again, Lord Macaulay asserts 
 that Claverhonse shot John Brown dead in a fit of passion, 
 excited by his loud and fervent prayers. Wodrow's statement 
 is veiy different. He says that " not one of the soldiers 
 would shoot him, or obey Claverhouse's commands, so that he 
 vas forced to turn executioner himself, and in a fret shot him 
 with his own hand." ^ Wodrow, it will be seen, asserts posi- 
 tively the refusal of the soldiers, and attributes the act of 
 Claverhouse to that refusal. Lord Macaulay confines his 
 statement to a natural reluctance on the part of the soldiers, 
 and attributes the act of Claverhouse to a sudden gust of 
 brutal and furious passion. It is painful to obser\'e, and 
 difficult to believe, the extent to which Lord Macaulay has 
 
 find that they were at much trouble with him in interrogations and questions ; 
 we see them now almost wearied of that leisurely way of doing business ; 
 neither do any of my informations bear that the Abjuration Oath was ofTered 
 to him. 
 
 " With some difficiilty he was allowed to pray, which he did with the 
 greatest liberty and melting, and withal, in such suitable and Scriptural 
 expressions, and in a peculiar judicial style, he having great measures of the 
 gift as well as the grace of prayer, that the soldiers were aflfected and aston- 
 ished ; yea, which is yet more singular, such convictions were left in their 
 bosoms, that, as my informations bear, not one of them would shoot him, or 
 obey Claverhouse's command, so that he was forced to turn executioner him- 
 self, and in a fret shot him with his own hand, before his own door, his wife 
 with a young infant stautling by, and she very near the time of her delivery 
 of another child. 
 
 "When tears and entreaties could not prevail, and Claverhouse had shot 
 him dead, I am credibly informed the widow said to him, ' Well, sir, you must 
 give an account of what you have done.' Claverhouse answered, 'To men, I 
 can be answerable; and as for God, I'll take Him into my own hand.' I am 
 well informed that Claverhouse himself frequently acknowledged afterwards, 
 that John Brown's prayer left such impressions upon his spirit, that he could 
 never get altogether worn ofl', when he gave himself liberty to think of it." — 
 Wodrow, ii. 503. 
 
 ' Wodrow, B. iii., c. ix.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. Ill 
 
 considered himself entitled to alter and pervert the authority 
 he quotes ; and it is strange that he should have adopted, 
 upon the sole authority of Wodrow, a story which he yet 
 appears to have felt to be so grossly improbable, that he could 
 not produce it until he had pruned down some of its most 
 extravagant features. 
 
 Wodrow's narrative first appeared in 1722^ — thirty-seven 
 years after the event is supposed to have taken place, and 
 thirty-four after the Eevolution. Professor Ayton justly 
 remarks that — 
 
 " These dates are of the utmost importance in considering a 
 matter of this kind. The Episcopalian party which adhered 
 to the cause of King James was driven from power at the 
 lievolution, and the Episcopal Church proscribed. No mercy 
 was shown to opponents in the literary war which followed. 
 Every species of invective and vituperation was lavished 
 upon the supporters of the fallen dynasty. Yet for thirty- 
 three years after the Revolution, the details of this atrocious 
 murder were never revealed to the puhlic." - 
 
 Wodrow gives no authority whatever for his narrative. 
 But there is another historian, Patrick Walker the packman, 
 who, two years after the appearance of Wodrow's ' History ' — 
 namely, in 1724 — gave a very different, and in many respects 
 a contradictory, accoiint of the same transaction. 
 
 Professor Aytoun, with rather an excess of candour, says 
 that " Mr Macaulay may not have known that such testimony 
 ever existed, for even the most painstaking historian is sure 
 to pass over some material in so wide a field." It is difficult 
 to suppose that Lord jNIacaulay could have been unaware (tf 
 the existence of a story which Sir Walter Scott has twice 
 repeated at full length ; first in the notes to the ' IMinstrelsy 
 of the Scottish Porder; '^ and, secondly, in the 'Tales of a 
 Grandfather,' ' in both cases citing Walker's ' Life of Peden ' 
 as his authority. But besides this there is other evidence of 
 
 ' The first volume was published in 1721, the second in 1722. 
 2 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, App., .334. 
 » Note to the " Battle of Hothwell Brig." 
 * History of Scotland, a lii.
 
 1 rj TIFK NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 \ho. liilsehood of Woclrow, which it is difficult to account for 
 liis having overlooked. 
 
 In 1749 the llev. William Crookshank published his ' His- 
 tory of the State and Suflcvings of the Church of Scotland.' 
 In the preface he says — 
 
 " When I first engaged in this undertaking, I only intended 
 to ahridge Mr Wodrovv's 'History;' but by the advice of 
 friends I was induced to use other hel])S for making the 
 history of this persecuting period more clear and full. Ac- 
 cordingly, when I mention anything not to be found in 
 Wodrow, I generally tell my author, or quote him in the mar- 
 gin ; so that though fherc is nothing I thowjht material in that 
 author irhich J have omitted, yet the reader will find many 
 things of consequence in the following work which the other 
 takes no notice of." ^ 
 
 When Crookshank arrives at that part of his ' History ' 
 which relates to John Brown, he abandons Wodrow altogether 
 and adopts W^alker's narrative, citing him in the margin as 
 his authority.- Here, then, we find Wodrow contradicted by 
 the contemporary authority of Walker ; Crookshank, the dis- 
 ciple and follower of Wodrow, confirming that contradiction, 
 and feeling himself obliged to discard his master's story ; Sir 
 Walter Scott casting the weight of his authority into the same 
 scale ; and yet Lord Macaulay, with all this evidence before 
 him, added to the gross improbability of the tale itself, repro- 
 duces Wodrow's story in edition after edition, with certain 
 alterations purely his own, and calls it History ! 
 
 Walker hated Claverhouse with a hatred fully as bitter as 
 that of ^^'odrow ; he cannot, therefore, be suspected of having 
 suppressed or softened down any circumstance that could tell 
 against him, or enhance the tragic nature of the scene. He 
 states that he derived part, at least, of his account from the 
 widow of the murdered man ; the testimony he relies upon is 
 therefore that most hostile to Claverhouse. Walker was a 
 contemporary of Wodrow, though many years older, and had 
 borne a part in the troubled times to which the ' History ' of 
 the latter relates. In 1682 he shot a dragoon who attempted 
 ^ Crookshank, rreface, xix. - Yol. ii. 375, 376.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 113 
 
 to capture him. According to Walker's owu account, he and 
 two of his comrades, returning from a nightly meeting armed 
 with firearms, were pursued by one Francis Garden, a trooper 
 in Lord Airley's regiment, alone, and armed only with his 
 sword. How he intended to capture his prisoners, unless 
 after the Irish fashion of " surrounding " theui, does not very 
 clearly appear. The result, however, was, that Walker shot 
 him through the head. Writing more than thirty years after 
 the event, and when, according to Lord Macaulay, " Scotland 
 enjoyed rest, prosperity, and religious freedom," he says — 
 " When I saw his blood run, I wished that all the blood of the 
 Lord's stated and avowed enemies in Scotland had been in his 
 veins : having such a clear call and opportunity, / would have 
 rejoiced to have seen it all gone out loith a gush." ^ 
 
 We may therefore feel well assured that nothing which 
 could be told against such a " stated and avowed enemy of 
 the Lord " as Claverhouse, would be omitted by Walker ; and 
 it should at least throw a doubt on the veracity of Wodrow 
 when we find so zealous a Covenanter denouncing his ' His- 
 tory ' as a collection of " lies and groundless stories." 
 
 Walker's ' Life of Peden' first appeared in 1724, three years 
 after the publication of Wodrow's ' History.' It is still widely 
 circulated and extremely popular amongst the peasants of 
 Scotland, and has been frequently reprinted up to the present 
 time in the form of a chap-book. That even this account, 
 though more trustworthy than that of Wodrow, is not to be 
 received with implicit confidence, will, we think, be admit- 
 ted, when it is observed that the story is first revealed in 
 a miraculous manner to the inspired ]\Ir Peden, or as he 
 commonly caUs himself, " Old Sandy." On the morning of 
 John Brown's death, Peden was at a house about ten or eleven 
 miles distant. 
 
 " Betwixt seven and eight lie desired to call in the family 
 that he might pray among them. He said, ' Lord, when wilt 
 Thou avenge Brown's bltjod ? Oh, let Brown's blood be pre- 
 cious in Thy sight, and liasten the day when Tliou'lt avenge it, 
 with Cameron's, Cargill's, and many other of our martyrs' 
 
 ' I/ifc of Peden ; Napier's Menmrials of Dumlcc, 157. 
 
 n
 
 114 TJIK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 namos. And oh lor thut day when the Lord would avenge 
 all tlioir bloods ! ' When ended, John Muirhead inquired 
 what he meant by Urown's blood ? He said twice over, 
 ' What do I mean ? Claverhouse has been at the Preshill 
 this morning, and has cruelly murdered John Brown. His 
 corpse is lying at the end of his house, and his poor wife 
 sitting weeping by his corpse, and not a soul to speak com- 
 fortably to her. This morning, after the sun-rising, I saw a 
 strange apparition in the firmament, the appearance of a very 
 bright, clear, shining star fall from heaven to earth ; and, 
 indeed, there is a clear, shining light fallen this day, the 
 greatest Christian that ever I conversed with.' " ^ 
 
 Walker's narrative of the death of Brown is as follows. 
 Between five and six in the morning, he says — 
 
 " The said John Brown having performed the worship of 
 God in his family, was going, with a spade in his hand, to 
 make ready some peat ground. The mist being very dark, he 
 knew not until cruel and bloody Claverhouse compassed him 
 with three troops of horse, brought him to his house, and 
 there examined him ; who, though he was a man of a stam- 
 mering speech, yet answered him distinctly and solidly, which 
 made Claverhouse to examine those whom he had taken to be 
 his guides through the muirs, if ever they heard him preach ? 
 They answered, ' No, no ; he was never a preacher.' He said, 
 ' If he has never preached, meikle he has prayed in his time.' 
 He said to John, ' Go to your prayers, for you shall immedi- 
 ately die.' When he was praying, Claverhouse interrupted 
 him three times ; one time that he stopt him, he was pleading 
 that the Lord would spare a remnant, and not make a full 
 end in the day of His anger. Claverhouse said, ' I gave you 
 time to pray, and ye are begun to preach.' He turned upon 
 his knees and said, ' Sir, you know neither the nature of 
 preacliing or praying, that calls this preaching.' Then con- 
 tinued without confusion. Wlien ended, Claverhouse said, 
 ' Take good-night of your wife and children.' His wife, stand- 
 ing by with her child in her arms that she had brought forth 
 to him, and another child of his first wife's, ho came to her 
 
 ' Bio. Pros. i. 75; Life of Pcden.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 115 
 
 and said, ' Now, Marian, the day is come that I told you 
 would come, when I spake first to you of marrying me,' She 
 said, ' Indeed, John, I can willingly part with you.' ' Then,' 
 he said, ' tliis is all .1 desire ; I have no more to do but die.' 
 He kissed his wife and bairns, and wished purchased and 
 promised blessings to be multiplied upon them, and his bless- 
 ing. Claverhouse ordered six soldiers to shoot him. The 
 most part of the bullets came upon his head, which scattered 
 his brains upon the ground. Claverhouse said to his wife, 
 ' What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman ? ' She 
 said, ' I thought ever much of him, and now as much as ever.' 
 He said, 'It were but justice to lay thee beside him.' She 
 said, ' If you were permitted, I doubt not but your crueltie 
 would go that length ; but how will ye make answer for this 
 morning's work ? ' He said, ' To man I can be answerable ; 
 and for God, I will take Him in my own hand.' Claverhouse 
 mounted his horse, and marched, and left her with the corpse 
 of her dead husband lying there ; she set the bairn on the 
 ground, and gathered his brains, and tied up his head, and 
 straighted his body, and covered him in her plaid, and sat 
 down and wept over him. It being a very desert place, where 
 never victual grew, and far from neighbours, it was some time 
 before any friends came to her. The first that came was a 
 very fit hand, that old singular Christian woman in the Cum- 
 merhead, named Elizabeth Menzies, three miles distant, who 
 had been tried with the violent death of her husband at 
 Pentland, afterwards of two worthy sons — Thomas Weir, who 
 was killed at Drumclog, and David Steel, who was suddenly 
 shot afterwards when taken. The said Marian Weir, sitting 
 upon her husband's grave, told me, that before that she could 
 see no blood but she was in danger to faint, and yet she was 
 helped to be a witness to all this without either fainting 
 or confusion ; except when the shots were let off, her eyes 
 dazzled." ^ 
 
 That this wild, picturesque, and touching stoiy should have 
 taken strong hold on the poetical imagination and kind heart 
 of Sir Walter Scott, can be no matter of surprise to afty one. 
 
 * Lift' of Pedcn ; niof^niphb Prc'slntciiaua, i. 72, 74.
 
 110 THK NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 That it did so, is shown, not only by liis frequent reference to 
 it, hut hy the mode in which liis genius has interwoven some 
 of the most aftcctin-,^ incidents into the beautiful episode of 
 JJcssie Maclurc.' Jkit the historian had. a far diilerent task 
 from that of the novelist. His duty was to compare the two 
 narratives, and to examine how much of eitlier should be 
 admitted as trustworthy evidence. That Walker's testimony 
 is sufficient to convict Wodrow of falsehood in asserting that 
 the soldiers mutinied, and that Claverhouse was himself the 
 executioner of John Brown, is abundantly clear. Walker's 
 informant was the widow of John Brown, an eyewitness of 
 the transaction. She told the story " sitting on her husband's 
 grave." To suppose that she could have omitted such a cir- 
 cumstance as that her husband's eloquence had moved the 
 hearts of the soldiers to mutiny, and compelled their com- 
 mander to take upon himself the revolting office of an 
 executioner, \vould be absurd. Nor is this all. We find the 
 circumstances of his death narrated with the utmost particu- 
 larity, no doubt by the widow herself, and there is not from 
 beginning to end a hint that the soldiers shrank from exe- 
 cuting the commands of their ofiicer. But when we come to 
 the adjuncts of the story, to the conversation, to the particular 
 expressions supposed to have been used by Claverhouse, to his 
 imputed " obduracy and profanity," his " seared conscience 
 and adamantine heart," the question assumes a very difierent 
 aspect. 
 
 The poetical power of Walker's mind was of no mean order. 
 As Sir Walter Scott observes, his " simple but affecting narra- 
 tive," and his " imitation of Scriptural style, produces in some 
 passages an effect not unlike what we feel in reading the 
 beautiful Book of Eutli." ^ The narrative constantly runs into 
 the form of dialogue. Every one knows, and none better than 
 those who have read Lord Macaiday's Historj' with care, how 
 dangerous the dramatic talent is to a historian. In the major- 
 ity of instances, even in Lord Macaulay's own History, when 
 we have had occasion to test the accuracy of passages which 
 he has enclosed between inverted commas, as being the very 
 
 ' Old Mditility, chap. vi. ^ Minstrelsy, App. A.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 
 
 117 
 
 Lord Macaulay, 
 " 'I would rather,' he said, 'carry 
 a musket in a respectable regiment, 
 than be captain of such a gang qf 
 thieves.' " — Macaulay, iii. 340. 
 
 words of the speaker, we have found them incoirectly quoted.^ 
 It seems ia the highest degree improbable that an illiterate 
 
 ^ The following are a few instances, taken almost at random : — 
 
 OuiGINAL. 
 
 "He [i.e., Claverhouse] told Kep- 
 
 poch, in the presence of all the officers 
 
 of his small army, that he would much 
 
 rather choose to serve as a common 
 
 soldier amongst disciplined troops, 
 
 than command such men as he, M'ho 
 
 seemed to make it his business to 
 
 draw the odium of the country upon 
 
 him. . . . He begged that he 
 
 would immediately begone with his 
 
 men, that he might not hereafter have 
 
 an opportunity of affronting the 
 
 general at his pleasure, or of making 
 
 him and the better-disposed troops a 
 
 cover to his robberies." — Memoirs of 
 
 Locheil, 243. 
 " When it was objected that he 
 
 [i. €., Glengarry] would not be able to 
 
 make it good, since his followers were 
 
 not near etjual to Locheil's in numbers, 
 
 he answered that the courage of his 
 
 men would make up that defect." — 
 
 Memoirs of Locheil, 254. 
 
 "The Lords replied, 'Nay, wc all 
 
 well remember you particularly men- 
 tioned the flower -pots."' — Spratt's 
 Narrative, 70. 
 
 *'Lord President. — 'Young, thou 
 art the strangest creature that ever I 
 did hear of. Dost thou think we 
 could imagine that the Bishop of Koch- 
 pstcr would combine,' " «&c. — Spratt's 
 Narrative, 71. 
 
 "I left him praying God to give 
 him grace to repent ; and only add- 
 ing that else he was more in danger of 
 his own damnation than I of his accu- 
 sation in Parliament." — Ibid., second 
 part, p. 3. 
 
 "When he was reminded that 
 Locheil's followers were in number 
 nearly double of the Gleugarrj' men — 
 'No matter,' he cried, 'one M 'Donald 
 is worth two Camerons. ' " — Macaulay, 
 iii. 341. 
 
 "Then the ichole board broke forth, 
 ' How dare you sa)' so ? We all re- 
 member it.'" — Macaulay, iv. 252. 
 
 " ' Man / ^ cried Carmartficu, 
 ' wouldst thou have us believe that the 
 bishop combined,' " &c. 
 
 " 'Godgive you repentance, 'a/wwercfi 
 tJic bisho2>: 'for, depend upon it, you 
 are in much more danger of being 
 damned, than I of being impeached.' " 
 — Macaulay, iv. 253. 
 
 The actual meaning may not be much altered in these examples, but it is 
 not Claverhouse, Glengarry, Carmarthon, or Spratt that speaks, but Lord 
 Macaulay, and a slight change of phrascolog}- converts a dignified remonstrance 
 into a brutal insult, and a pious exhortation into something very like a vulgar 
 oath, and that, too, put into tin: mouth of a bishop ! Lord Macaulay's inverted 
 commas are always to bo regarded with extreme caution.
 
 118 Tin; NKW " examp:n. 
 
 woman, sucli as Marion Brown, should bo able, after many 
 years, accurately to repeat the particular words which passed 
 during such a scene oi" horror as, under any circumstances, the 
 death of John Brown must have been. There are, besides, 
 inconsistencies and mistakes in the narrative which are easily 
 detected : Thus, the neighbour who visits the widow in her 
 atHiction, is, in one copy of the ' Life,' Elizabeth Menzies, and 
 in another, Jean Brown, whilst she is still represented as 
 the mother of Thomas Weir and David .Steel, the latter of 
 whom is said to have been " suddenly slwt vjlun taken." We 
 know, however, that so far from this being the fact, David 
 Steel was neither taken nor shot, but fell beneath the broad- 
 swords of the dragoons in a fray, during which they attempted 
 to capture him." ^ 
 
 We may therefore fairly take Walker's account as trust- 
 worthy for the fact that John Brown fell by the carbines of 
 the soldiers acting under the orders of Claverhouse ; but for 
 anything beyond that fact, his testimony must be received 
 with caution. INIilitary executions are, under any circum- 
 stances, sufficiently homble : they are peculiarly so when 
 they take place during a civil war. But, before we come to 
 any conclusion upon the conduct of Claverhouse in tliis in- 
 stance, we must inquire, first, what was the temper of the 
 times, and what manner of men he had to deal with ; and, 
 secondly, what were the particular circumstances of the indi- 
 vidual case. With regard to the first, we will content our- 
 selves with three instances, and they shall all be of the most 
 notorious kind, and proved by the most unexceptionable evi- 
 dence. 
 
 On the 3d of May 1679, David Hackston of Eathillet, John 
 Balfour of Kinloch, and seven othei-s, some of whom were 
 gentlemen of good family, set forth, mounted and armed, for 
 the purpose of waylaying and murdering one Carmichael, 
 sheriff-depute of the county of Fife,- who was obnoxious to 
 the Covenanters, and M-liom they expected to find hunting in 
 the neighbourhood of Scotstarbet. Carmichael was, however, 
 warned of his danger by a shepherd, and escaped. After 
 ' Crightou's Mcmoii-s. ' WoJrow, ii. 21.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 119 
 
 spending the greater part of the morning in a fruitless search, 
 Itathillet and his party were about to disperse, when a boy 
 came up and informed them that the Archbishop's coach was 
 in a neighbouring village, and that he would soon pass near 
 the spot where they then were. Disappointed of their in- 
 tended victim, chance thus threw in their way one who was 
 even more the object of their hatred. It was true that there 
 was no recent or immediate cause for exasperation against 
 Sharpe, but he was an apostate, — he had abandoned Presby- 
 terianism for Episcopacy seventeen years before, — he was an 
 archbishop, — he had already once narrowly escaped the pistol 
 of an assassin, the shot which was intended for him having 
 taken effect upon his friend, the Bishop of Orkney, — he was 
 known to have shown little mercy towards those who had 
 shown none to him, — he was old, unarmed, utterly defence- 
 less, accompanied by no one but his daughter and some do- 
 mestic servants, who were wholly unable to offer any effectual 
 resistance to nine men well armed and mounted. The temp- 
 tation was too strong to be resisted. Rathillet and his party 
 had come out expressly to commit murder. Their appetite for 
 crime was sharpened by disappointment, when the victim 
 they had least hoped, but most desired to immolate, presented 
 himself ready for slaughter. Their resolution was immediately 
 taken ; the pistols M'hich had been loaded, and the swords 
 which had been sharpened for the murder of Carmichael, were 
 turned against the Archbishop, and they spurred their horses 
 to their utmost speed after the carriage. The coachman, 
 alarmed at their pursuit, quickened his pace, and the Arch- 
 bishop, looking out, and seeing armed men approaching, turned 
 to his daughter and exclaimed, " Lord have mercy upon me, 
 my poor child, for I am gone ! " He had scarcely spoken 
 when three or four pistols were fired at the coach, and the 
 best mounted of the pursuers, riding up to the postilion, struck 
 him over the face with his sword, and shot and hamstrung his 
 horse. The coach being thus stopped, the assailants again 
 fired into it upon the Archbishop and his daughter, and this 
 time with more effect, for the former was wounded. The 
 Archbishop opened the door, came out of the coach, and
 
 1*J() THK NEW "EXAMEN. 
 
 bp^'ged the assailants to spare his life. "There is no mercy," 
 thry replied, "for a Judas, an enemy and traitor to the cause 
 of Christ." lie then b(!g<,'ed for mercy for his child. The de- 
 tails of the butchery which followed are too revolting to be 
 repeated.^ One of the murderers even exclaimed in horror 
 to his comrades, to " spare those gi'ey hairs." The daughter 
 threw herself before her father, and received two wounds in a 
 fruitless attempt to save him. When their bloody work was 
 done, the murderers remounted their horses, and left her on 
 the moor with the mutilated body of her father.^ 
 
 Such was the murder of Archbishop Sharpe. It is recorded 
 by Shields, who, we are told by Wodrow, was "a minister 
 of extraordinary talents and usefulness, well seen in most 
 branches of valuable learning ; of a most quick and piercing 
 wit, full of zeal and public spirit ; of shining and solid piety ; 
 a successful, serious, and solid preacher, and useful minister in 
 the Church, moved with love to souls, and somewhat of the old 
 apostolic sjnrit," ^ in the following words : " That truculent 
 traitor, James Sharpe, the Archprelate, &c., received the just 
 demerit of his perfidy, apostasy, sorceries, villanies, and mur- 
 ders — sharp arrows of the mighty and coals of juniper. For, 
 upon the 3d of May 1679, several worthy gentlemen, ivith some 
 other men of courage and zeal for the cause of God and the good 
 of the country, executed righteous judgment upon him in ^Magus 
 Muir, near St Andrews." * At the same time, Hackston of 
 
 ' James Russell, one of the murderers, gives the following account of the 
 final act of the tragedy: "Falling upon his knees, he said, 'For God's sake, 
 save my life ! ' his daughter falling upon her knees, begged his life also. . . . 
 John Balfour stroke him on the face, and Andrew Henderson stroke him 
 on the hand, and cut it, and John Balfour rode him down ; whereupon, he 
 lying upon his face as if he had been dead, and James Russell, hearing his 
 daughter say to Wallace [the Archbishop's servant] that there was life in him 
 yet, in the time James was disarming the rest of the Bishop's men, went 
 presently to him, and cast off his hat, for it would not cut at first, and hacked 
 his head in pieces. Having done this, his daughter came to him and cursed 
 him, and called him a bloody murderer ; and James answered, they were not 
 murderers, for they were sent to execute God's vengence on him." — James 
 Russell's Account of the Murder of Archbishop Sharpe ; Kirkton, 41S. 
 
 - See State Trials, x. 791 ; Wodrow ; Russell's Narrative, Kirkton ; Sir Wm. 
 Shjirp's Letter, Kirkton, App. 
 
 » Wodrow, iv. 233. ■» Hind Let Loose.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. ' 121 
 
 Eathillet is commemorated as a "wortliy gentleman who suf- 
 fered at Edinburgh, on the 30th of July 1680," one of a "cloud 
 of witnesses for the royal prerogatives of Jesus Christ ! " Such 
 is the language in which the fact that this infamous mur- 
 derer was hanged is recorded by the historians of the Covenant! 
 Something of the same spirit seems still to survive. A recent 
 historian of the Church of Scotland says, after giving an 
 account of the Archbishop's murder, " It was such a deed 
 as Greece celebrated with loudest praises in the case of liar- 
 modius and Aristogiton, and Eome extolled when done by 
 Cassius and Brutus."^ 
 
 The skirmish at Dj-uniclog, immortalised in ' Old IMortality,' 
 took place on the 1st of June 1679, within a month after the 
 Archbishop's murder. The insurgents were commanded by 
 Robert Hamilton, a near connection and pupil of Bishop Bur- 
 net. Following the example of the Covenanters at Tipper- 
 muir, whose watchword was " Jesus, and no quarter ! " he gave, 
 as he himself informs us, strict orders that " no quarter should 
 be given." ^ These orders were, however, disobeyed during 
 his absence, and five prisoners were spared. Hamilton, return- 
 ing from the pursuit of Claverhouse, found his followers de- 
 bating whether mercy should be shown to a sixth, when he 
 put an end to the argument by slaughtering the unhappy 
 prisoner in cold blood, with his own hand. Seven years after- 
 wards, we find him exulting in the act. " None could blame 
 me," he says, " to decide the controversy, and I bless the Lord for 
 it to this day!" This was the man whom Lord Macaulay has 
 truly designated as "the oracle of the extreme Covenanters," 
 and justly denounced as a " bloodthirsty ruffian." That his 
 conduct met with the sympathy and approval of his followers, 
 is shown by the fact that we find him still in command of the 
 insurgent forces under the title of General Hamilton, at the 
 battle of Bothwoll Brig, in conjunction with Hackston of 
 liathillet, the murderer of the Archbishop. The banner which 
 floated over their heads is still in existence,^ and, after the 
 
 ^ Hetherington's History of the rinm h of Scotland, 94, as toSliarpc'sniuuIcr. 
 '^ Hamilton's I.cttcr to the Sectaries, Dec. 7, 1685. 
 3 Nap., Memoirs of Dundee, 2'28.
 
 1L>'J TIFK NKW "KXAMKN. 
 
 desecrated motto, "For Christ aiid His Truths!" bears, in 
 l)lo()(l-r('(l letters, the words, " No Quarter for tlie Active 
 Eucniics of the Covenant." lleckoninf^ upon certain victory, 
 these champions of the Prince of Peace had erected upon the 
 battle-field a hi^di gallows, and ])repared a cart-load of new 
 ropes, in order that there might be no more such " stoppings 
 aside " as had occurred when the five prisoners were spared at 
 Prumclog.^ It is somewhat inconsistent with the supposed 
 ferocity of the commanders of the royalist troops that these 
 preparations were not turned against the insurgents upon their 
 defeat." 
 
 Such were the leaders of the Covenanters — men of rank, 
 station, and education. As may well be supposed, their ex- 
 ample was not thrown away upon their more humble and 
 ignorant followers. Of the numberless outrages committed by 
 them, we will select one only, and narrate the facts as they 
 came from the mouths of the perpetrators of the crime. 
 
 Peter Peirson, the curate of Carsphairn, was a bold and 
 determined man, and had the courage to reside alone, without 
 even a servant, in the solitary manse belonging to that parish. 
 His offence consisted in being suspected of favouring " Popery, 
 Papists, and purgatory," and in having been heard to declare 
 that " he feared none of the Whigs, nor anything else, but rats 
 and mice." On this provocation, James M'Michael and three 
 others, one night in the middle of November 168-4, went to 
 the manse, knocked at the door, and upon its being opened by 
 Mr Peirson, immediately shot him dead on his OAvn threshold.^ 
 
 Instances of the most cold - l)looded murder might be 
 multiplied by hundreds.* But we must now consider the 
 
 ' Tlic mercy shown to tlic five prisoners at Druniclog was a continual source 
 of self-reproach to the Covenanters, who lamented that, "so they had brought 
 themselves under that curse, of doing the work of the Lord deceitfully, by 
 withholding the sword from shedding of their blood." — See the 'Brief Rehearsal 
 of our Defections,' by the famous Mr Walter Smith, who got the crown of mar- 
 tyrdom, July 27, 1681; Bio. Pres., vol. ii. 
 
 - Crighton's Memoirs. ^ Wodrow, ii. 467. 
 
 * Sir Walter Scott, writing to Southey, says : " I admit that he [Claver- 
 honse] was taut soit pcu savage, but he was a noble savage ; and the beastly 
 Covenanters against whonx ho acted hardly had an claim to be called men, 
 unless what was founded upon their walking upon tlieir hind feet. You can
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 123 
 
 second question, and inquire, what were the circumstances, 
 and what the conduct, of Claverhouse in the particular case of 
 John Brown. Lord Macaulay's assertion that he was sen- 
 tenced to death because he was " convicted of nonconformity " 
 is pure invention. Neither Wodrow nor Walker assign any 
 cause; the former, indeed, expressly says, — "Wlielher he 
 [Claverhouse] liad got any information of John's piety and 
 nonconformity, / cannot tell ; " and we shall presently see 
 that Lord Macaulay might just as truly have said that John 
 Thurtel was hanged for reading ' Bell's Life in London.' 
 
 John Brown was a " fugitated rebel." His name appears a 
 year before in a list appended to a proclamation of those who 
 had been cited as rebels in arms, or rather of rebels who had 
 not appeared.^ Sir Walter Scott says, with perfect truth, 
 " While we read this dismal story, we must remember Brown's 
 situation was that of an avowed and deternmied rebel, liable as 
 such to military cxemttion." What then does Lord IMacaulay 
 mean by asserting -that " he was blameless in life, and so 
 peaceable that the tyrants could find no offence in him, 
 except that he absented himself from the public worship of 
 the Episcopalians " ? That he was blameless and peaceable 
 in the eyes of those who regarded Hackston of Bathillet as 
 " one of Sion's precious mourners and faithful witnesses of 
 Christ, a valiant and much-honoured gentleman," — who shouted 
 " Jesus, and no quarter ! " at Tippermuir — who felt that they 
 had forfeited the favour of God because they had abstained 
 from " dashing the brains of the brats of Babel against the 
 stones " at Drumclog — who fought under the " bluidy banner," 
 and prepared the gibbet and the new ropes at Bothwell Brig, 
 — we can readily understand. But that any historian should 
 be found, in the middle of the nineteenth century, dcli]:)erately 
 to adopt such a statement, we confess, fills us with surprise. 
 
 Yet such, unhappily, is the fact. Year after year, and 
 edition after edition. Lord jMaeaulay has given the trash of 
 
 lianlly cont'eivc the perfidy, cnielty, and stupidity of these people, according 
 to tlio accounts they have thonisclves preserved." — Scott to Southcy ; Lockhart's 
 Life of Scott, ii. 135, 
 
 ' Wodrow, Apii., ii. 110, The entry is as follows: " Muirkirl; John 
 Brown of I'l iestlield, for Jksd."
 
 1LM THK NKVV "KXAMEN. 
 
 AVodrow to llic jtulilic, backed by his own high authority. It 
 was in vain that rrofessor Aytoiiii laid hoforo him the 
 evidence which proved, in the most conclusive manner, that 
 Wodrow was contradicted by contemporary authorities — that 
 even by his own party liis ' History ' was denounced as a col- 
 lection of " lies and groundless stories." It was in vain tliat 
 his attention was directed to the fact that Sir Walter Scott, 
 though himself adopting a view by no means favourable of 
 the character of Glaverhouse, rejected the story told by 
 Wodrow, and adopted that told by Walker, and had distinctly 
 pointed out the fact that John Brown was an avowed rebel, 
 amenable to the law, such as it then was ; that the assertion 
 that he was " convicted of nonconformity," and had " com- 
 mitted no oflence except that he absented himself from the 
 public worship of the Episcopalians," was not only unsup- 
 ported by any evidence whatever, but betrayed a want of 
 knowledge of the state of Scotland at the time. Still the 
 story of the Christian Carrier appeared over and over again 
 without even a note or a hint from which the reader could sur- 
 mise that its authenticity had ever been even questioned. It 
 appeared as the chief evidence on which Lord Macaulay 
 relied for painting Claverhouse with the features of a fiend, 
 and bestowing upon him the nickname of " The Chief of 
 Tophet ! " 
 
 So the matter stood at the time of the appearance of the 
 last edition of Lord Macaulay's History. Within the last 
 year, however, a valuable addition has been made to the 
 materials previously before the world for the histoiy of that 
 period of Scottish annals. The Queensberry Papers, preserved 
 among the archives of the Buccleuch famOy, have been 
 examined, and amongst the extracts from those valuable 
 documents which have been recently published by Mr Mark 
 Napier, in his ' Memoirs of Dundee,' is the original despatch 
 which Claverhouse sent to the Duke of Queensberry, then the 
 High Treasurer of Scotland and head of the Government, on 
 the 3d of May 1685, giving an account of the execution of 
 John Brown only two days after the event. One might 
 almost fancy that the spirit of the hero had been awakened
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 125 
 
 from its slumbers by tlie sound of the only voice whose slan- 
 ders he deigned to answer : — 
 
 " May it please your Grace, 
 " On Friday last, among the hills betwixt Douglas and the 
 Ploughlands, we pursued two fellows a great way through the 
 mosses, and in the end seized them. They had no arms about 
 them, and denied they had any. But being asked if they 
 would take the abjuration, the eldest of the tiro, called John 
 Broiun, refused it; nor luoidd he swear not to rise in arms 
 against the King, but said he knew no king. Upon which, and 
 there being found hdlefs and match in his house, and treason- 
 able papei's, I caused shoot him dead ; which he suffered very 
 unconcernedly. The other, a young fellow and his nephew, 
 called John Brownen, offered to take the oath ; but would not 
 swear that he had not been at Newmills in arms, at rescuing 
 the prisoners. So I did not know what to do with him ; I 
 was convinced that he was guilty, but saw not how to proceed 
 against him. Wherefore, after he had said his prayers, and 
 carabines presented to shoot him, I offered to him, that if he 
 would make an ingenuous confession, and make a discovery 
 that might be of any importance for the King's service, I 
 should delay putting him to death, and plead for him. Upon 
 which he confessed that he was at that attack of Newmills, 
 and that he had come straight to this house of his uncle's on 
 Sunday morning. In the time he was making this confession 
 the soldiers found out a house in the hill, binder ground, that 
 could hold a dozen of men, and there were swords and jnstols in 
 it : and this fellow declared that they belonged to his iLuele, and 
 that he had lurked in that place ever since Bothwell, where he 
 luas in arms. He confessed that he had a hall)ert, and ti^ld 
 who gave it him about a month ago, and we have the fellow 
 prisoner. ... I have acquitted myself when I have told 
 your Grace the case. He has been but a month or two with 
 his halbert ; and if your Grace thinks he deserves no mercy, 
 justice will pass on him : for I, having no commission of justi- 
 ciary myself, have delivered him up to the Lieutenant-General, 
 to be disposed of as he pleases.
 
 12(1 TIIK Ni:W " EXAMEN." 
 
 " I am, my Lord, your Grace's most humble servant, 
 
 "J. Gkaiiame."' 
 
 It must not be supposed tliat the Abjuration Oatli here 
 referred to had anything whatever to do with the religious 
 lont'ts of the person to whom it was administered. As mis- 
 conception upon this point is not uncommon, and as that mis- 
 conception may possibly have led to Lord MacaiUay's assertion 
 that Brown was " convicted of nonconformity," it may be well 
 to examine what the Oath of Abjuration was, and to inquire 
 into its history. 
 
 On the 28th of October 1684, a declaration was published 
 by the Covenanters, and affixed very generally upon the 
 church -doors and other public places, "disowning the 
 authority of Chas. Stuart, and all authority depending upon 
 him ; ^ declaring war against him and liis accomplices, such 
 as lay out themselves to promote his wicked and hellish 
 designs " — denouncing all bloody counsellors, justiciaries, 
 generals, captains, all in civil or military power, bloody 
 militiamen, malicious troopers, soldiers, and dragoons, viperous 
 and malicious bishops and curates, and all witnesses who 
 should appear in any courts, as enemies to God, to be 
 punished as such. This was met by the Government by 
 a proclamation denouncing the penalty of death against 
 all who should not renounce the declaration, and pre- 
 scribing the following form of oath to be taken by all 
 persons who should be required to do so by any lawful 
 authority : — 
 
 " I, A. B., do hereby abhor, renounce, and disown, in the 
 presence of the Almighty God, the pretended declaration of 
 war lately affixed at several parish churches, in so far as it 
 declares a war against his sacred Majesty, and asserts that it 
 is lawful to kill such as serve his Majesty, in Church, State, 
 army, or country." ^ 
 
 This oath being taken, a certificate was to be delivered to 
 
 > Napier's Memoirs of Dundee, 141. ^ Wodrow, ii., App., 137. 
 
 * Wodrow, ii., App., 158. See also the Life and Deatli of Mr James 
 Uenwit'k, 68 ; Bio. Pres., ii.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 127 
 
 the party taking it, which \vas to operate as a free pass and 
 protection. Of the treasonable nature of the declaration it 
 is impossible to entertain a doubt, and the refusal to take the 
 Oath of Abjuration was, in fact, precisely equivalent to a plea 
 of guilty to an indictment for high treason. The proceeding, 
 it is true, was summary and liable to abuse. The law was 
 harsh ; but the country was in open rebellion ; and Claver- 
 house was no more censurable for carrying the laws into 
 execution, than a judge would be who should sentence to 
 death a person who pleaded guilty at the bar of the Old 
 Bailey. Here, then, we arrive at last at the true history of 
 John Brown, the Christian Carrier — the man represented by 
 Lord Macaulay as of " singular piety, versed in divine things, 
 blameless in life, and so peaceable that even the tyrants could 
 find no fault with him, except that he absented himself from 
 the public worship of the Episcopalians." His peaceableness 
 was shown by his being in arms at Bothwell ; his piety by 
 shouting, "No quarter for the enemies of the Covenant !" — 
 by rallying round the gibbet and the ropes prepared for the 
 " bloody militiamen and malignant troopers," over whom the 
 Lord would have given His chosen people an easy victory, 
 but for their " stepping aside " in sparing the five " brats of 
 Babel " at Drumclog — and by providing a secure hiding-place 
 for men and arms, to be used for future slaughter. 
 
 Eebellion is a dangerous and desperate game, which, as has 
 often been remarked, requires success to justify it. 
 
 The Christian Carrier played and lost. If he had won, he 
 and his comrades would have hanged Claverhouse and his 
 dragoons in cold blood, and gloried in the act ; and it is rather 
 unfair to canonise him because he met a more merciful death 
 at the hands of those for whom he had prepared a gibbet and 
 a halter. 
 
 It may perhaps be urged that the despatch of Claverhouse 
 does not in terms negative the account given by Walker and 
 Wodrow of the conversation between Claverhouse and the 
 widow of John Brown. This is true ; but it appears highly 
 improbable that Claverhouse should have detailed with so 
 much particularity what look place, and have noticed the
 
 128 TIIIO NKW "EXAMEN." 
 
 uiu:onccrnc(l manner in wliicli iJrown met his fate, and yet 
 have omitted all notice of so remarkable a scene, if it liad, in 
 fact, taken place. It is impossible that he could have passed 
 over without observation any symptoms of mutiny, or even 
 of unwillingness to execute his orders, on the part of his 
 troops. Here, then, is a distinct contradiction to the most 
 important part of Wodrow's story ; and tlie total suppression 
 by both Wodrow and Walker of all that relates to John 
 Brownen, the nephew, to the discovery of the " bullets, match, 
 and treasonable papers" in tlie house of John Jjrown, and of 
 the place of concealment and arms in the " house in the hill, 
 under ground," throws the greatest possible suspicion on the 
 rest of both narratives. The simple account given by Claver- 
 house, therefore, disposes at once of the absurd story of the 
 drag(5ons having refused to obey orders, and renders the 
 poetical and fanciful additions of both those very apocryphal 
 writers, to say the least, highly improbable. The death of 
 John Brown was simply a military execution. He might be 
 sincere and honest — so was Tliistlewood ; he might be bold, 
 and meet death unconcernedly — so did Brunt. John Brown 
 was a fanatic of the same class. His courage was upheld l)y 
 religious and political enthusiasm. He was one of thousands 
 who in those days were equally prepared to commit the most 
 savage atrocities or to endure the most terrible extremities, 
 secure, as they thought, of the approbation of the God of mercy, 
 of the crown of martyrdom, and the joys of Paradise. 
 
 Whether the oppressions of the Government justified the 
 rebellion of the Covenanters, or whether the outrages com- 
 mitted by the Covenanters justified the severities of the 
 Government, are matters which we are not now called upon 
 to discuss. They in no degi'ee affect the question as regards 
 the character of Claverhouse. It would be as reasonable to 
 hold Sir John Moore or Massena answerable for the justice 
 and morality of their respective sides in the war of the Penin- 
 sula, as to hold Claverhouse responsible for the policy of the 
 Government he served. 
 
 We have bestowed so much space upon an examination of 
 this particular charge, that we have none left to follow Clavcr-
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 129 
 
 house through his gallant career to its brilliant close. "We 
 must content ourselves with one or two instances of his con- 
 duct during his command in the west which seem to us 
 wholly to disprove the view of his character taken by Lord 
 Macaulay, and to remove the dark stains which Sir Walter 
 Scott supposed to have existed. 
 
 In the early part of the year 1679, Claverhouse was sta- 
 tioned at Dumfries. Not Wellington himself could be more 
 sedulous in suppressing outrage and maintaining discipline 
 amongst his troops than we find this " chief of Tophet " to 
 have been. 
 
 On the 6th of January he thus writes to the commander-in- 
 chief : — 
 
 " On Saturday night when I came back here, the sergeant 
 who commands the dragoons in the castle came to me ; and 
 while he was here, they came and told me there was a horse 
 killed just by upon tlie street, by a shot from the castle. I 
 went immediately and examined the guard, who denied point- 
 blank that there had been any shot from thence. I went and 
 heard the bailie take depositions of men that were looking 
 on, who declared upon oath that they saw the shot from the 
 guard-hall, and the horse immediately fall. I caused also 
 searcli for the bullet in the liorse's head, which was found to 
 be of their calibre. After that I found it so clear, I caused 
 seize upon him who was ordered by the sergeant in his 
 absence to command the guard, and keep him prisoner till he 
 iiiid out the man, which I suppose will be found himself. His 
 name is James Ramsay, an Angus man, who has formerly been 
 a lieutenant of horse, as I am informed. It is an ugly busi- 
 ness ; for, besides the wrong the poor man has got in losing 
 his horse, it is extremely against military discipline to fire 
 out of a guard. I have appointed tlic poor man to he here to- 
 morrow, and bring with him some Tieighhours to declare the 
 worth of the horse; and have assured, him to safis/i/ him, if 
 tlie cap)tain, ivho is to he here also to-morrow, refuse to do it." ^ 
 
 Again, he hears complaints that, before his command had 
 commenced, some of the dragoons had taken free quarters in 
 
 ' Napier's Mcmoii-s of Dundee. 
 I
 
 VM) TMK Ni;\V " KXAMEN. 
 
 tli(! iiciglibourhood of Moffat ; this, he remarks, was no charge 
 against liini, as the facts had occurred before he came into 
 that i)art of tlic country, but he immediately institutes an 
 inquiry. " I begged them," he says, " to forbear till the captain 
 and 1 should come there, when tliey should he redressed in every- 
 thing. Your lordship will be pleased not to take any notice 
 of this till I have informed myself upon the place." ^ It is a 
 curious illustration of the perversion of language and of di- 
 versity of character, that at the very time when that " worthy 
 gentleman," Hackston of llathillet, inspired by " zeal for the 
 cause of God," was butchering the Archbishop on Magus 
 INIuir, " Bloody Claver'se " was delaying the march of his 
 prisoners in consideration of the illness of one of them, a 
 conventicle preacher of the name of Irwin. He thus writes 
 to the commander-in-chief on the 21st April 1679 : " I was 
 going to have sent in the other prisoners, but amongst them 
 there is one Mr Francis Irwin, an old infirm man, who is 
 extremely troubled with the gravel, so that I will be forced to 
 delay for five or six days." He again apologises for the delay 
 on the same ground on the 6th of May, three days after the 
 murder of the Archbishop. This man, so considerate of the 
 sufferings of his prisoners, Lord IMacaulay would fain have his 
 readers believe to have been a " chief of Tophet, of violent 
 temper, and of obdurate luart!' The kindliness of his disposi- 
 tion breaks out repeatedly in his correspondence. With the 
 murder of Magus JNIuir, the slaughter of Drumclog, and the 
 high gallows and new ropes of BothweU fresh in his memory, 
 he can yet write, — " I am as sorry to see a man die, even a 
 Whig, as any of themselves ; but when one dies justly, and 
 for his own faidts, and may save a hundred to fall in the like, 
 I have 'no scruple." 
 
 Again, in 1682, he writes : — 
 
 " The first thing I mind to do, is to fall to work with all 
 that have been in the rebellion, or accessory thereto by giving 
 men, money, or arms ; and next, resetters ; and after that, 
 field conventicles. For what remains of the laws against the 
 fanatics, / will threaten much, hut forbear severe execution for a 
 
 * Napier, 122.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 131 
 
 while ; for fear people should grow desperate, and increase too 
 much the number of our enemies." 
 
 On the 1st of March 1682, commenting upon what was 
 occurring in other parts of the country, he says : — 
 
 " The way that 1 see taken in other places is to put laws 
 severely against great and small in execution, which is very 
 just ; hut ivhat effects does that produce hut to exasperate and 
 alienate the hearts of the ivhole p)cople ? For it renders three 
 desperate where it gains one ; and your lordship knows that 
 in the greatest crimes it is thought wisest to pardon the mul- 
 titude and punish the ringleaders, where the number of the 
 guilty is great, as in this case of whole countries. Wherefore 
 I have taken another course here." ^ 
 
 Writing at the end of the same year, and giving an account 
 of his stewardship to the Privy Council, he thus reports the 
 success of his just and merciful experiment : — 
 
 " It may now be said that Galloway is not only as peace- 
 able but as regular as any part of the country on this side Tay. 
 And the rebels are reduced without Hood, and the country 
 brought to obedience and conformity to the Church govern- 
 ment unthoiU severity or extortion; few heritors being fined, 
 and that but gently, and under that none is or are to be lined 
 but two or three in a parish ; and the authority of the Church 
 is restored in that country, and the ministers in safety. If 
 there were bonds once taken of them for regularity hereafter, 
 and some few were put in garrison, which may all be done in 
 a few months, that country may be secure a long time both to 
 King and Church." - 
 
 The biographer of Locheil has a passage which it would 
 have been well if Lord Macaulay had considered before hazard- 
 ing the charge of profanity against Claverhouse. Speaking of 
 tbe high sense of honour and fidelity to liis word by which 
 Dundee was distinguished, he says — 
 
 " That it proceeded from a principle of religion, whereof he 
 
 was strictly observant ; for besides family worshij), performed 
 
 regularly evening and morning in his house, he retired to his 
 
 closet at certain hours, and employed himself in that duty. 
 
 ' NapuT, 130. - Il.id., 13G.
 
 132 THK NKW "EXAMEN." 
 
 This I allinn upon the testimony of several that lived in liis 
 neij^hbourhood in Edinburgh, where his office of privy coun- 
 cillor often obliged him to be ; and particularly from a 
 Prt'sbyterian laily, who lived long in the story or house im- 
 mediately below his lordship's, and who was otherways so 
 rigid in her opinions, that she could not believe a good thing 
 of any person of his persuasion till his conduct rectified her 
 mistake. . . . His lordship continued the same course in 
 the army ; and though somewhat warai upon occasions in his 
 temper, yet he never was heard to swear." ^ 
 
 The same writer thus sums up the character of Dundee : — 
 
 " He seemed formed by heaven for great undertakings, and 
 was, in an eminent degree, possessed of all those qualities that 
 accomplish the gentleman, the statesman, and the soldier. 
 He was, in his private life, rather parsimonious 
 than profuse, and observed an exact economy in his family. 
 But in the King's service he was liberal and generous to eveiy 
 person but himself, and freely bestowed his own money in 
 buying provisions to his array : and to sum up his character 
 in two words, he was a good Christian, an indulgent husband, 
 an accomplislicd gentleman, an honest statesman, and a brave 
 soldier." ^ 
 
 Such is the portrait of Dundee, painted by the grandson 
 and biographer of the heroic Cameron of Locheil, a ^v^iter con- 
 temporary with Wodrow,3 and to whom Lord Macaulay makes 
 frequent reference. How happens it that he has overlooked 
 the testimony of what he himself justly calls these "singu- 
 larly interesting memoirs?"* 
 
 "We are compelled, by want of further space, to terminate 
 our remarks. We quit the subject with regret. The character 
 of Dundee is one over which we would fain linger. 
 
 1 Memoirs of Locheil, 278, 27^. It is a remarkable confirmation of this 
 somewhat peculiar characteristic of Claverhouse, that Crookshank, who reconis 
 the oaths of Westerraw, Lagg, and others, with peculiar gusto, never, as far as 
 wc have observed, attributes such expressions to Claverhouse, 
 
 - Memoirs of Locheil, 273-279. 
 
 ' Wodrow's History was published in 1722. The ileraoirs of Locheil were 
 written sume time before 1737. The exact date cannot be ascertained. — See 
 Preface, p. xlix. 
 
 * Mac, iii. 321.
 
 VISCOUNT DUNDEE. 133 
 
 In days notorious for profligacy there was no stain on liis 
 domestic morality — in an age infamous for the almost uni- 
 versal treachery of its public men, his fidelity was pure and 
 inviolate. His worst enemies have never denied him the 
 possession of the most undaunted courage and military genius 
 of the highest order. He was generous, brave, and gentle, — 
 a cavalier " sans peur et sans reproche ; " and so long as the 
 summer sun shall pour his evening ray through the dancing 
 birch-trees and thick copsewood down to those dark pools 
 where the clear brown waters of the Garry whirl in deep 
 eddies round the footstool of Ben Vrackie, will every noble 
 heart swell at the recollection of him whose spirit fled, as 
 the fading beam shone on the last victory of " Ian dhu nan 
 Cath," — of him who died the death which the God of Battles 
 reserves for His best and most favoured sons, alike on sea 
 or mountain, on the blue wave of Trafalgar or the purple 
 heather of Killiecraukie,
 
 liU 
 
 V. 
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 " Rival nations and hostile sects have agreed in canonising 
 him — England is proud of his name. A great commonwealth 
 beyond the Atlantic regards him with a reverence similar to 
 that which the Athenians felt for Theseus, and the Romans for 
 Quirinus, The respectable society of which he was a member 
 honours him as an apostle. By pious men of other persua- 
 sions he is generally regarded as a bright pattern of Christian 
 virtue. Meanwhile admirers of a very different sort have 
 sounded his praises. The French philosophers of the eighteenth 
 century pardoned what they regarded as his superstitious fan- 
 cies, in consideration of his contempt for priests, and of his 
 cosmopolitan benevolence, impartially extended to all races 
 and all creeds. His name has thus become, throughout all 
 civilised countries, a synonym for probity and philanthropy." 
 
 Such is tlie verdict of posterity upon the character of 
 William Penn, recorded in the glowing words of Lord Mac- 
 aulay.^ Such is the judgment which Lord IMacaulay seeks 
 to reverse ; — to show instead that this same William Penn 
 prostituted himself to the meanest wishes of a cruel and pro- 
 fligate court '-—gloated with delight on the horrors of the scaf- 
 fold and the stake ^ — was the willing tool of a bloodthirsty and 
 treacherous tjTant ^ — a trafficker in simony and suborner of 
 perjury^ — a conspirator, seeking to deluge his country in blood^ 
 — a sycophant, a traitor,^ and a liar.s 
 
 1 Vol. i. 506. s Vol. i. 656. 3 Vo]. i. 665. 
 
 * Vol. ii. 230. 5 Vol. ii. 298, 299. « Vol. iv, 20, 31. 
 
 7 Vol. iii. 587. » Vol. iii. 599.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 135 
 
 Such are the charges scattered through Lord INIacaulay's 
 pages ; and in support of them he relies on the part taken by 
 Peun on the following occasions : — 
 
 I. His conduct with regard to the Maids of Taunton.— Vol. i. 655. 
 II. His presence at the executions of Cornish and of Gaunt. — VuL i. 
 
 665. 
 IIL His conduct in the affair of Kiffin.— Vol. ii. 230. 
 IV. The transactions relating to Magdalen College. — Vol. ii. 298. 
 V. His supposed communication with James II. whilst in Ireland. — 
 Vol. iii. 587. 
 VI. His alleged falsehood in a supposed interview with William III. — 
 
 Vol. iii. 599. 
 VII. His alleged share in Preston's plot. — Vol. iv. 20. 
 VIII. His interview with Sidney. — Vol. iv. 30. 
 IX. His alleged communications with James whilst the latter was at St 
 Germains. — Vol. iv. 3L 
 
 I purpose to examine the evidence relating to each of these 
 charges, confining myself as much as possible to original and 
 unquestionable documents, and indicating in every case the 
 evidence on which I rely, and the most easy mode in which 
 the reader, if so disposed, may verify my statements if tme, or 
 detect their inaccuracy if I have fallen into error. On most 
 points the evidence is abundant and easily to be obtained. 
 Lord Macaulay calls Peun " rather a mythical than an histor- 
 ical person." ^ Never was a less appropriate epithet. Penn 
 lived much in public. During his wliole life he was in contest 
 with some one or other. His birth, education, and position, 
 were such as to expose him to constant observation. He was 
 a prolific writer — a copious correspondent. The personal friend 
 of Algernon Sidney, John Locke, and Archbishop Tillotson — 
 of King James the Second, and of George Fox — probably no 
 man ever lived who was the connecting link between men so 
 diverse and so hostile. A courtier, a scholar, and a soldier, he 
 resigned every worldly advantage, and left the gayest Court in 
 Europe to take up his cross amongst the humblest and most 
 peaceful of the followers of his Kedeemer. Such a man was 
 certain to be the object of calumny in his own day ; and 
 accordingly, we find that there was hardly an act of Penn's life 
 
 > Vol. i. 506.
 
 13G THK NKW " EX AM EN. 
 
 which was not tlie subject of hostile comment. To speak of 
 him as a "niytliical rather than an historical j)erson," is there- 
 fore simply absurd. 
 
 I. 
 
 The First in order on the black list of Lord Macaulay's 
 charges, relates to the conduct of William Penn with regard 
 to the " Maids of Taunton." 
 
 Upon the entry of Monmouth into that town, and on the 
 occasion of his declaring himself heir to the throne, proclaim- 
 ing himself King, setting a price on the head of the reigning 
 monarch, and denouncing the Parliament then sitting as an 
 unlawful assembly,^ he was received by a procession of the 
 daughters of the principal inhabitants of the place, headed by 
 their schoolmistress, bearing the emblems of royalty, who pre- 
 sented him with standards worked by their own hands.^ That 
 every person concerned in this proceeding incurred thereby the 
 penalties of high treason, there can be no doubt. But it does 
 not appear ever to have been contemplated by James, or even 
 by Jeffreys, to enforce the rigour of the law against girls, some 
 of whom were not more than ten years of age. In those days, 
 however, mercy was not given, but sold. A pardon for the 
 prisoner w'ho had been tried in the morning, is said to have 
 been tossed by the judge who condemned him to the com- 
 panion of his evening debauch, who the next day made the 
 best bargain he could with the culprit or his friends.^ From 
 the highest to the lowest the infamous traffic prevailed. The 
 Court and the Bench shared in the corruption, and, as might 
 be expected, a swarm of inferior agents and dealers in iniquity 
 sprang up. The names of some of these have been preserved, 
 and appear in the registers of the Privy Council, in the Secret 
 Service Book of Charles and James the Second, and in the 
 records of those families whose members were the victims of 
 
 ^ Maciiulay, i. 5S8. 
 
 » Macuiilay, i. 5S4-5S6 ; Toiilmin's Hist, of Taunton, 4to, 1791, 13G. 
 
 ' Macaulav, i. 653.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 137 
 
 their rapacity. Eobert Brent occupies the most prominent 
 place. His name occurs repeatedly. After the Eevolution, a 
 proclamation was issued for his apprehension.^ 
 
 After Brent comes George Penne, whose name has been pre- 
 served in consequence of his having been employed to negotiate 
 the pardon of Azariah Pinney, a member of a Somersetshire 
 family who had been involved in Monmouth's rebellion.^ 
 
 George Penne's infamous trade appears not to have pros- 
 pered. Probably his business became less lucrative when the 
 wholesale slaughter consequent on the suppression of Mon- 
 mouth's rebellion ceased. We find him some time afterwards 
 an applicant to the Crown for the grant of a patent office for 
 the establishment of a lottery and licensing gaming-tables in 
 America. 
 
 His petition for this purpose was presented to the Privy 
 Council during the time when Sunderland was President ; and 
 Sunderland attended in person the meeting at which it was 
 discussed.^ It is not stated whether he was successful in his 
 application ; but he disappears from history, and his name 
 would probably have been utterly forgotten by this time had 
 it not been preserved to be the occasion of an unfortunate mis- 
 take, consequent upon its similarity to that borne by the 
 celebrated founder of Pennsylvania. But for this, George 
 Penne would have shared the fate of the obscure crowd of 
 his fellow-workers in iniquity who have passed into utter 
 oblivion. 
 
 When it had been resolved that the lives of the " ]\raids of 
 Taunton" (as these school children have been called) should 
 be spared, the King "gave their fines to the INIaids of 
 
 1 Pii. Co. Reg., 27th Fub. 1G8«. 
 
 2 "Bristol, SfptenilxT 1685. — Mr John Pinney is debitor to money pd Geo. 
 Penne, Hs(iuirc, for the ransom of my Bror Aza. August 1685. £G5." Entiy 
 in the casli-book preserved at Somerton Erlegh House, cited in Dixon's Life of 
 Penn — edit. 1851, 445; ed. 1856, xix. Azariali Pinney of Battiscomb was 
 a son of tlie Reverend John Pinney of Broad Windsor, Rector of Norton-sub- 
 Haraden, near Yeovil. Azariah Pinney was sentenced to death and pardoned, 
 and "given to Jerome Nipho, Ks(|uire." His destination was tlie islan<l of 
 Nevis, but he was redeemed, and Mr Nipho received through George Penne 
 the sum of £65 as his ransom. — See Roberts's Life of Monmouth, ii. 243. 
 
 3 Pri. Co. Reg. J. R., 540.
 
 138 THE NF:W ** EXAMEN. 
 
 IfiiiKiiir." ' In (itlicr words, lie pcrmittecl the Maids of Hon- 
 our to extort as iiiucli money from tlio fears and affections of 
 the parents and relations of these nnhappy children as they 
 coidd. The Maids of Honour applied to the Duke of Somerset 
 (the Lord Lieutenant of the county), and he had recourse to 
 Sir Francis Warre, colonel of the Taunton Regiment, who had 
 repeatedly sat in Parliament for that town, and who then 
 resided at Hestercombe, in the immediate neighbourhood. To 
 him the Duke addressed the following letter : — 
 
 " I do here send you a list of the Taunton Maydes. You 
 living soe near to Taunton makes me think that you know 
 some of them, therefore pray send me word by the first opor- 
 tunity whether any of these are in custody, and whoe they 
 are ; and if any one of these are not in custody, lett them be 
 secured, especially the schoolemistress, and likewise send me 
 word if you know any one of these, because there are some 
 friends of mine that I believe upon easy termes might get 
 theire pardon of the King. Pray send me an answer by the 
 first opportunity, and in so doing this you will oblige your 
 humble servant, Somebset.- 
 
 " London, Dec. 12, 1685." 
 
 Sir Francis Warre's reply has not been preserved ; but it 
 would seem that, between the date of this letter — viz., 12th of 
 December 1685 — and the end of the year, some person of the 
 name of Birde,^ who is stated by Lord Macaulay to have been 
 town-clerk of Bridgewater,* had interfered in the transaction ; 
 for, on the 14th of January 1685-6, the Duke of Somerset 
 again writes as follows : — 
 
 " I have acquainted the Maydes of Honour with this buise- 
 ness of Mr Birde, and. they do all say that he never had any 
 authority from them to proceede in this matter, and that they 
 
 ^ Letter of Sunderlaud, post. 
 
 ■ Toulmin's Hist, of Tiumton, 163, 4to, 1791. 
 
 ' Mac., edit. 1858, ii. 239, note. 
 
 * Querj-— of Tauuton ?— See Toulmin, Hist, of Taunton, 163.
 
 WILLIAM PEXN. 139 
 
 have this post writ to him not to trouble himself any more in 
 this affaire ; soe that if you will proceede on this matter ac- 
 cording to my former letter, you will infinitely oblige your 
 humble servant, Somerset. 
 
 "/art. 14, 1C85. 
 
 " If you can secure any of them, pray doe, and let me have 
 
 account of this letter as soon as you can. 
 
 " For Sir Fiancisse Warre, Bart. To be left at the posthouse in Tauntou, 
 Somersets." 
 
 The next letter that has been preserved is also from the 
 Duke of Somerset to Sir Francis Warre, and is dated within a 
 week of the one last quoted. 
 
 "We have here thought fitt that things would be better 
 managed if there was a letter of Atturney given to somebody 
 (that you should think fit and capable of) for to ayde and 
 assist you in it, that there may be noe other to transact this 
 businesse but yourselfe, and another of your recommending, 
 that should bussle and stir about to ease you. If that you 
 know of any such man that you can trust, pray let me know 
 it by the first oportunity, that the IMaydes of Honour may 
 signe his letter of Atturney. Pray let them know that if they 
 doe thus put it off from time to time that the Maydes of Hon- 
 our are resolved to sue them to an Outlawry, so that pray do 
 you advise them to comply with what is reasonable (which I 
 think 7000 is) for them. 
 
 " I must beg a thousand times over your pardone for giving 
 you this trouble, and will never omit anything wherein I can 
 serve you, sir. — I am your very humble servant, Somerset. 
 
 "London, Jan. 21, 1G85-6. 
 
 " For Sir Francissc Warre, Bart. To be left at the posthouse in Tauuton, 
 Somersetts." 
 
 Immediately after this suggestion, that Sir Francis Warre 
 should name some subordinate agent to " bustle and stir about," 
 and that the IMaids of Honour should send a letter of attorney 
 for that purpose, comes the following letter frum the Earl of
 
 MO TIIK NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 Sundoilaiiil, of ^vlli(;ll a copy is preserved amongst a very mis- 
 collaiK'ous collection entitled " Domestic — Various," in the 
 State-Paper Oflice : — 
 
 " WiiiTKnALL, Feb. 13, 1685-6. 
 
 " Mr Penne, — Her Majesty's Maids of Honour having ac- 
 quainted me that they design to employ you and Mr Waldcn 
 in making a composition with the relations of the Maids of 
 Taunton for the high misdemeanour they have been guilty of, 
 I do, at their request, hereby let you know, that His Majesty 
 has been pleased to give their fines to the said Maids of Hon- 
 our, and therefore recommend it to Mr Walden and you to 
 make the most advantageous composition you can in their 
 behalfe. — I am, sir, your humble servant, Sunderland." 
 
 Here ends the whole of what can properly be called evi- 
 dence upon the subject. We shall presently have to examine 
 the accounts given by different historians of the transaction, 
 to consider what reliance is to be placed on the narratives of 
 some, and what inferences are fairly to be drawn from the 
 silence of others. But here, resting upon this affirmative testi- 
 mony alone, it may fairly be asked, Can any reasonable doubt 
 exist that the Mr Penne to whom the letter of Sunderland is 
 addressed was the same George Penne who, at the same time 
 and in the same county, was employed in negotiating a similar 
 transaction in the case of Azariah Pinncy ? 
 
 Lord IMacaulay,^ however, declares his conviction, unaltered 
 and unalterable, that this curt missive of Sunderland, though 
 addressed to " jNfr Penne " — though written immediately upon 
 the suggestion that " somebody " should be named, to " bustle 
 and stir about," and to " ease and assist " Sir Francis Warre, 
 to whom the Duke of Somerset was so profuse in his apologies 
 for " the trouble he gave him " — though " George Penne " was 
 exactly such a person, and was engaged at this very time upon 
 precisely similar business in the same county, and therefore 
 most likely to be known both to Warre and Somerset — and 
 although no allusion to any other person of the name of 
 ^Mac, edit. 1858, ii. 236, note.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 141 
 
 " Penne " or " Penn," except George Penne, is to be found in 
 the transaction, — yet that this letter was addressed, not to him, 
 but to William Penn, the Lord Proprietor of the province of 
 Pennsylvania, the friend of Algernon Sidney and John Locke, 
 the ward and intimate associate of the King — M-ith whom 
 James was in the habit of conferring for hours, whilst the 
 first nobles of the kingdom were kept waiting in the ante- 
 chamber ^ — whose house was crowded by hundreds of suitors ^ 
 — who occupied at that moment a social position far higher 
 than that of Sir Francis Warre — with whom Sunderland had 
 been intimate from boyhood — whose associate and companion 
 he had been at college — and with whom he must at this very 
 time have been in almost daily intercourse. 
 
 It may be asked. Upon what evidence does Lord Macaulay 
 ground this supposition? The answer is, Simply upon none. 
 It is fair, however, to state that he is not the originator of the 
 calumny; and before discussing the reasons which in his 
 opinion justify him in repeating and giving it currency and 
 authority, it will be well to trace the origin of the charge. 
 We have seen the whole of the evidence — we now come to the 
 history. 
 
 No contemporary historian that I have been able to discover 
 mentions either William Penn or George Penne as having 
 had anything whatever to do with the transaction. 
 
 Oldmixon asserts that Brent and a person of the name of 
 Crane were employed.^ Ealph says that the Maids of Honour 
 
 I Mac, edit. 1858, ii. 82, note. ' Ibid. 
 
 ^ "This money" [i. e., the sums paid for the pardons], "and a {^reat deal 
 more, was said to be for the Maids of Honour ; whose af:jent Brent, the Topish 
 lawyer, liad an under-agent, one Crane of Bridgewater, and 'tis supposed that 
 both of them paid themselves very bountifully out of the money which was 
 raised by this means; sonie imtances of which arc within my knoicleifgc." — 
 Oldmixon, ii. 708. Lord Macaulay says that Oldmixon is, of all our his- 
 torians, "the least trustworthy;" that he "asserts nothing positively;" 
 that ho " goes no further than ' it was said,' and ' it was reported,' " and that 
 even "his most positive assertion" wuuhl in this case be of "no value." 
 Lord Macaulay seems to have overlooked the statement winch Oldmixon 
 makes that some of the instances were within his own knowledge. One thing 
 is certain — namely, that had Oldmixon ever heard that William Penn had any 
 share in the transaction, he would have recorded it with exultation. Lord 
 Macaulay appears also to have forgotten that he had himself cited Oldmixon
 
 142 TIIK NKW "KXAMEN. 
 
 "sent down an agent," but does not say who that agent 
 was.* 
 
 Other contemporary historians are silent. The only inference 
 to be drawn from them, therefore, is derived from the extreme 
 improbability that they would have been silent if a man so 
 eminent and so obnoxious to many of them as William Penn 
 had been concerned in the transaction. That they should 
 pass over, or be entirely ignorant of, the doings of the obscure 
 George Penne, is by no means unlikely. Sir Francis Wane's 
 part of the correspondence with the Duke of Somerset has 
 unfortunately been lost ; but it will be observed that there is 
 nothing in the Duke's letters from which it can be inferred 
 that Sir Francis Warre was reluctant to be employed, or con- 
 sidered such employment in any way disgraceful. With the 
 lapse of time, however, the matter came to be regarded from a 
 very dififerent point of view ; and when Dr Toulmin applied, 
 at the close of the last century, to the descendant of Sir 
 Francis Warre, who supplied him with the letters from the 
 Duke to his ancestor, he was informed that " Sir Francis 
 Warre, unwilling to be concerned in the business, represented 
 to the Duke that the schoolmistress was a woman of mean 
 birth, and that the scholars worked the banner by her orders, 
 without knowing of any offence. On this, further proceedings 
 were dropped, but not until the sums of £100 and £50 had 
 been gained from the parents of some of them." ^ 
 
 no less than seventeen times as an authority for his narrative of the events 
 connected with Monmouth's insurrection — that lie had three times drawn 
 attention to the fact that " Oldmixon, when a boy, lived near the scene of 
 these events " — that he was, iirobably, an eyewitness of some of tlu-m, and that 
 he passed a great part of his life at Bridge water. That such was the confidence 
 to be placed in him, that his silence on the subject was sufficient to negative 
 the truth of a well-known and horrible anecdote popularlj' believed of the 
 monster Kirke. Such is the mode in which the authority of Oldmixon is 
 treated by Lord Macaulay, when Kirke — who added to, or, as Lord Macaulay 
 ajtpcars to think, atoned for, his enormities by treachery to the master in whose 
 ser\-ice he had committed them — is to be vindicated. When Penn is to be tra- 
 duced, Oldmixion becomes the "least trustworthy" of "all our historians," 
 and his most positive assertion of no value ! — Vol. i. 5S1, 604, 613, 636, edit 
 1S49 ; vol. iii. 226, IS.'io ; vol. iii. 244, 256, edition 1S58. 
 
 • Ralph, i. S93. 
 
 = Toulmins History of Taunton. Svo, 533; 4to, 1791, 163.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 143 
 
 By the time that Dr Toulmin wrote his History,^ the trans- 
 action had come to be considered as by no means reputable ; 
 and we need not be surprised that the family tradition should 
 be that Sir Francis Warre was unwilling to be concerned in 
 it ; but had he handed it over to a man so eminent as William 
 Penn, it can hardly be supposed that so important a fact 
 could have been forgotten ; yet we find no trace of it. 
 
 "We now come to the origin of the calumny. 
 
 Nearly one hundred and fifty years after the events had 
 taken place, Sir James Mackintosh happened to meet with 
 the letter from Sunderland to Penne which has been already 
 quoted. He appears not to have accurately examined the 
 previous correspondence between Somerset and Warre, and 
 he was certainly in ignorance of the existence of any such 
 person as George Penne. With unfortunate haste, he jumped 
 to the conclusion that the person to whom this letter was 
 addressed must have been William Penn ; and even in citing 
 the letter, he commits the mistake of stating that it was 
 addressed to William Penn, — the fact being that no Christian 
 name at all is used in the original, and that it is addressed, 
 not to William Penn, but to Mr Penne.^ 
 
 The passage in Mackintosh is as follows : " It must be 
 added with regret that William Penn, sacrificing other objects 
 to the hope of obtaining the toleration of his religion from 
 the King's favour, was appointed an agent for the Maids of 
 Honour, and submitted to receive instructions to make the 
 most advantageous composition he could in their behalf." ^ 
 The continuer of IMackintosh adopts the statement, and adds, 
 that Penn went down to Taunton ; ■* in support of which asser- 
 tion he cites Ealph, who, as we have seen, never mentions Penn 
 in the matter, but says that the Maids of Honour sent down 
 " an agent." That Lord INIacaulay should, in the first instance, 
 have followed Mackintosh without inquiry, should hardly ex- 
 cite surprise ; but after liaving had his attention drawn to tlie 
 
 1 Pul-lished 1791. 
 
 ^ Sir James Mackintosh citc8 it thus : " Lord Sunderland to "William Penn, 
 13th Fob. 1686 ; State-Paper Onice." Prol.al.ly he did not examine the 
 original, and tru.sted to some careless transcriber. 
 
 * Mack., 32, 4to. ■• Wallace's Continuation of Mackintosli, viii.
 
 144 TIIK NEW "EXAMEN. 
 
 evidence, vvliicli was not in the possession of Mackintosh, and 
 the origin of tlie mistake pointed out,^ he declares his dett^r- 
 niination to adhere to liis orif,anal statement, and justifies that 
 (li'terinination at great length in a note to tlie edition of his 
 History recently published,^ upon the following grounds : — 
 
 First, That Sir James Mackintosh had no doubt about the 
 matter.^ 
 
 Tlie authority of Sir James Mackintosh is unquestionably 
 high. But Sir James Mackintosh would have been the first 
 to admit the possibility that he might be led into error by 
 deficient information or by the mistake of a transcriber, and 
 the first to correct that error. Lord Macaulay is put into 
 possession of the evidence which Sir James Mackintosh had 
 not, and the mistake of the transcriber is pointed out. Sir 
 James Mackintosh is dead, and cannot correct the error ; Lord 
 J\Lacaulay is living, and will not.^ The argument derived from 
 the authority of Sir James Mackintosh, under these circum- 
 stances, must go for as much as it is worth. 
 
 Secondly, That the names "Penn" and "Penne" are the 
 same. Lord JNIacaulay admits that both William Penn and 
 his father the Admiral invarially spelt the name Penn, but 
 lu-ges that other people sometimes spelt it Pen and Penne : 
 that Hide is sometimes Hyde ; Jeffries, Jefferies, Jeffereys, 
 and Jeffreys : that Somers is Sommers, and Summers ; Wright 
 is Wrighte ; and Cowper, Cooper. 
 
 The letter of Sunderland is addressed to " ]Mr Penne ; " and 
 
 ' Dixon's Life of Penn, Supplementary Chapter. 
 
 2 Edit. 1858, p. 236. ^ Mac, edit. 1858, ii. 236, note. 
 
 * Yet there are cases in which Lord Macauhiy has shown more candour and 
 a juster spirit. In the first edition, i. 561, describing the execution of Argyle, 
 he says, " the troops who attended the procession were put under the command 
 of Claverhouse, the fiercest and stoutest of the race of Graham." Thus it stood 
 in five editions. Mr Aytoun pointed out the error,* and in 1858 Lord ILic- 
 aulay admits that he had confused the Town Guard with the dragoons of Dun- 
 dec, and Graham their captain with Gnihame of Claverliouse. Etiit. of 1858, 
 ii. 139. "When Lord Macauhiy penned this correction, did his conscience 
 recall to him the bitter scorn with which he once held up a brother essayist to 
 contempt for referring to the axe instead of the halter, as the instrument by 
 which Montrose nut his death ? 
 
 ' L,iys of the C.iv.aliers, .\iipenilix. 34S.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 145 
 
 every one except Lord Macaulay will allow that, primd facie, 
 a letter is intended for the person whose name is correctly 
 given on its address, and not for a person whose name is not 
 correctly given. 
 
 On the other hand, it must be admitted that, in the great 
 majority of cases. Lord Macaulay's argument is correct, and 
 that much reliance ought not to be placed on this fact if 
 it stood alone. There are, however, peculiar circumstances 
 attending the case. In the very same books in the State- 
 Paper and Privy Council Offices in which the name of George 
 Penne occurs, the name of William Penn also occurs re- 
 peatedly; and there is not a single instance in which it is 
 spelt otherwise than Penn. It is admitted by Lord Macaulay 
 that William Penn and his father the Admiral invariably 
 spelt the name Penn. Is it likely that Sunderland, who had 
 known and been intimate with William Penn from his boy- 
 hood, who must have been in constant intercourse with him 
 at this very time, should have deviated from this well-known 
 orthography in this single instance ? 
 
 If there ever was a case in which reliance should be placed 
 on such a fact, surely it is this. 
 
 Thirdly, Lord Macaulay urges that it is improbable that the 
 Maids of Honour would have employed such an agent as 
 George Penne ; that Sir Francis Warre was a man of high 
 rank and consideration, and therefore it is unlikely that so 
 low a fellow as George Penne should be employed in the 
 transaction. 
 
 It is exactly because he was a low fellow that he was em- 
 ployed. He was the agent to " bustle and stir about " ^ 
 amongst the relatives of the girls, and wring the uttermost 
 farthing from tliem. If an agent had been required to com- 
 municate with the King, and to obtain their pardon, William 
 Penn might possibly have been applied to ; but tliis liad been 
 already done. The pardon was obtained, and all that remained 
 was to make the best bargain with the relatives of the chil- 
 dren. For this George Penne, not AVilliam Penn, was the 
 fitting agent. 
 
 ^ Duko of Somerset's Letter to Wane, anti'. 
 E
 
 146 Tin-: nhw "examen. 
 
 Fovrthly, Lord Macaulay says that no inference should be 
 drawn from the abrupt and uncourtcous style of the note, or 
 the conjunction of the obscure Mr Walden with the King's 
 porsoiKil friend and tlie lord-proprietor of a province, because 
 the IMarquess of Wellesley, when Governor of India, ad- 
 dressed his brother General AVellesley, in official communi- 
 cations, with the formality of " Sir." 
 
 It would have been well, if, before using this argument. 
 Lord ^[acaulay had observed the tone of the Duke of Somer- 
 set's letters to Sir Francis Warre, and asked himself whether 
 those of Lord Sunderland to William Penn were likely to be 
 less courteous ? Let the reader picture to himself the terms 
 in which Lord Sunderland would have announced to the Duke 
 of Somerset, and to Sir Francis Warre, that the King's per- 
 sonal and confidential friend had condescended to take upon 
 himself to " bustle and stir about," to " ease and assist " the 
 Somersetshire Baronet, and the profuse expressions of grati- 
 tude which he would have been charged to express on the 
 part of the Maids of Honour, and then let him turn to the 
 letter to " Mr Penne," and ask himself whether the language 
 is most adapted to William Penn or to George Penne ? 
 
 Fifthly, Lord Macaulay has one argument left, and one 
 only. 
 
 It is, that such is his opinion, and such shall be his opinion. 
 This is an argument which it is impossible to answer. It is 
 the same reasoning which was considered by Lord Peter to 
 be conclusive in the great debate between himself and his 
 brothers, ^Martin and Jack, when they respectfully submitted 
 that his brown loaf was not mutton. " Look ye, gentlemen, 
 cries Peter in a rage, to convince you what a couple of blind, 
 positive, ignorant, wilful puppies you are, I will use but this 
 plain argument : By G — , it is good true natural mutton as 
 any in Leadenhall market, and confound you both eternally if 
 you offer to believe otherwise." ^ 
 
 1 Tale of a Tub, 120.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 14/ 
 
 II. 
 
 The Seconcl charge brought by Lord Macaulay against 
 William Penn is of a nature singularly revolting. 
 
 Of the many judicial murders which disgraced that period 
 of our history, none were more infamous or more cruel than 
 those of which Cornish and Gaunt were the victims. The 
 former was executed with all the detailed horrors of the sen- 
 tence in cases of high treason, and the latter was burnt alive. 
 The executions took place on the same day. William Penn 
 was present at both. Lord Macaulay says : " William Penn, 
 for wliom exhibitions, vjhich humane men generally avoid, seem 
 to have had a strong attraction, hastened from Cheapside, 
 where he had seen Cornish hanged, to Tyburn, in order to see 
 Elizabeth Gaunt burned." ^ 
 
 This insinuation against Penn's well-known character for 
 humanity would deserve nothing but contempt, did it come 
 from any one less eminent than Lord Macaulay. It was by 
 the constancy of Penn when the nerve of Calamy had failed, 
 and he had refused to accompany Cornish to the scaffold,^ 
 that his memory was rescued from the slander that he died 
 mad or drunk.^ It is from Penn that we know the meek 
 courage with which Elizabeth Gaunt submitted to her cruel 
 martyrdom^ — Juxon stood by Charles the First at Whitehall — 
 
 » Vol, i. 665, edit. 1849 ; vol. ii. 249, edit. 1858. 
 
 2 " He often visited him in Newgato, and, being earnestly pressed to go 
 along with him to the place of execution, was not able to do it, but freely told 
 him ' he would as well die with him as bear the sight of his death in such cir- 
 cumstances as he was in.'" — Life of Calamy, i. 61. 
 
 It may be observed that the nephew of Calamy, afterwards the celebrated 
 Nonconformist divine, was present at the execution of Cornish as well as Penn, 
 and has left an account of it. — Life of Calamy, ub. supra. 
 
 ' "He wa.s drunk, they said, or out of his mind, when he was turned off." 
 —Macaulay, ii. 247, 1858. 
 
 " Cornish at his death asserted his innocence with great vehemence, and 
 with some acrimony complained of the methods taken to destroy him ; ami so 
 they gave it out that ho died in a fit of fury. Rut Pen, who saw the execution, 
 said to me, there appeared nothing but ii ju-st indignation that innocence 
 niiglit very naturally give." — P<urnet, iii. 61, 
 
 * She died with a constancy, even to cheerfulness, that struck all tliat saw
 
 148 Till-: NKW "ex AMEN. 
 
 Tillutrioii and JUuiicl received tlie last words of Lord liussell 
 on the scaflbld in Lincoln's Inn Fields.^ History, sacred and 
 profane, affords other instances of fidelity even to the foot of 
 the Cross. Were all these moved only by " the strong attrac- 
 tions of exhibitions which humane men generally avoid" ? If 
 not, what ri^dit has Lord Macaulay to cast so foul an aspersion 
 upon a man whose memory has been honoured for humanity 
 — who would not shed blood even in a lawful quarrel — whose 
 long life is unstained by any act of cruelty — and who, in 
 countless instances, interposed to rescue the innocent victims 
 of a tyrannical Government ? 
 
 III. 
 
 On the 4th of April 1687, the King issued his "Declaration 
 for Liberty of Conscience;" or, as Lord Macaulay prefers to 
 call it, " The Memorable Declaration of Indulgence." 
 
 This celebrated State Paper well deserves a careful perusal. 
 
 it. She said, charity was a part of her religion as well as faith. This, at 
 worst, was the feeding an enemy ; so she hoped she had her reward with Him 
 for whose sake she did this service, how unworthy soever the person was that 
 made so ill a return for it. She rejoiced that God had honoured her to be the 
 first that suffered by fire in this reign, and that her suffering was a martyrdom 
 for that religion which was all love. Pen the Quaker told me he saw her die. 
 She laid the straw about her for burning her speedily, and behaved herself in 
 such a manner that all the spectators melted in tears." — Burnet, iii. 58. 
 
 " There is daily imjuisitiou for those engaged in the late plots ; some die 
 denying, as Alderman Cornish — others confessing, but justifying. 
 
 " Cornish died last sixth day in Cheapside, for being at the meeting that 
 Lord Eussell died for, but denied it most vehemently to the last. A woman, 
 one Gaunt of Wapping, of Dr Moore's acquaintance, was burned the same day 
 at Tyburn for the high treason of hiding one of Monmouth's anny ; and the 
 man saved came in [as witness] against her. She died composedly and fear- 
 less, interpreting the cause of her death God's cause. Many more to be hanged 
 — great and small. It is a day to be wise — I long to be with you, but the 
 eternal God do as He pleases. Oh, be watchful ! fear and sanctify the Lord in 
 your hearts." — Penn to Harrison, Oct. 1685 ; quoted in .Tanney's Life of Penn. 
 
 1 Burnet, ii. 377. The reluctance with which Buniet performed this duty — 
 his meanness, falsehood, and cowardice, and the abject manner in which he 
 deprecated the displeasure of the King — are shown in a striking manner in a 
 letter which he wrote at this time to Mr Brisbvine, recently published in Mr 
 Napier's Memoirs of Dundee, i. 46.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 149 
 
 It sets forth concisely the great principle " that conscience 
 ought not to be constrained, nor people forced in matters of 
 mere religion ;" that all attempts to that end are contrary to 
 the intent of Government — destroy trade — depopulate the 
 countries in which they are practised — " and, finally, never 
 obtain the end to which they are employed." 
 
 That " after all the frequent and pressing endeavours used 
 in eacli of the last four reigns to reduce this kingdom to an 
 exact conformity in religion, it was visible the success had not 
 answered the design, and that the difficulty was invincible." 
 
 These are sentences which might have come from the pen 
 of Locke, and the truth of which was tardily acknowledged 
 nearly a century and a half afterwards, in tlie repeal of the 
 Test and Corporation Acts, and of the Catholic disabilities. 
 The King then proceeds to grant his free pardon to all persons 
 convicted and under sentence for " all crimes and things by 
 them committed contrary to the penal laws formerly made 
 relating to religion, and the profession or exercise tliereof" 
 So far the Declaration was not only wise and just, but it was 
 strictly in accordance with law. The power of the Crown to 
 pardon such offences has never been disputed. But James 
 went further ; he added the following fatal words : " We do 
 likewise declare, That it is our royal will and pleasure that 
 from henceforth the execution of all and all manner of penal 
 laws in matters ecclesiastical, for not coming to church, or not 
 receiving the Sacrament, or for any other nonconformity to 
 the Religion Established, or for or by reason of the exercise of 
 religion, in any manner whatsoever, be immediately suspended: 
 and the further execution of the said penal laws, and every of 
 them, is hereby suspended." 
 .. It might be wise to repeal these laws, but the King had no 
 power to suspend them. The Crown may pardon a murderer, 
 but cannot, without the assent of Parliament, declare that 
 death shall not in future be awarded to him wlio shall be 
 guilty of the crime of murder. The line Mhicli divides the 
 power of pardoning an act when done, from the power of 
 authorising the doing of that act, is, however, by no means so 
 strongly defined as to occasion any surprise that it should be
 
 ino THE NEW "EXAMEN. 
 
 overlooked l»y lioiicsl luid oven clear-sighted men. It was 
 not, however, overlooked by Penn.^ He opposed this uncon- 
 stitutional act in private and in public. In the address of the 
 (Quakers presented by Penn to the King, the necessity of olj- 
 taining the concurrence of Parliament is distinctly pointed 
 out and insisted upon.- Lord INIacaulay suppresses these facts, 
 and speaks contemptuously of the address as " adulatory," and 
 the speech of Penn as "more adulatory still." ^ It would be 
 diflicult to find either an address or a speech to a crowned 
 head to which the term was less applicable ; a reference to the 
 documents will show the extent to which Lrord Macaulay mis- 
 represents the character of both.^ 
 
 The Dissenters were divided as to the mode in which the 
 Declaration should be received. 
 
 One party braved the distant terrors of Popery, and gi'ate- 
 fully accepted the freedom offered by the Iving. For this Lord 
 Macaulay heaps upon them every vituperative epithet of the 
 English language.® The other adopted the Church of England 
 as their protectress, and regarded their present state of subjec- 
 tion, degradation, and incapacity, as a less evil than the more 
 active persecution which they dreaded if Popery were to obtain 
 even toleration. To them Lord Macaulay awards the meed of 
 virtue, wisdom, and moderation.^ 
 
 At this moment the Dissenters held the balance. " Then," 
 says Lord Macaulay, " followed an auction the strangest that 
 
 ^ "As we came from Eaton to "Windsor, I freely, amongst other things, tokl 
 Mr Penn that, though I was for liberty of conscience, I thought the King ill 
 advised to put out his Declaration of Indulgence upon the dispensing power ; 
 to which Mr I'enn made no answer then : but many years after (upon what 
 occasion I shall tell more at large before I have done) I came to know the reason 
 of his silence, icldch icas because Mr Penn had been hvnself against putting it out 
 upon so unpojnilar a prcroyative." — Lawton's Memoir ; Janney's Life of Penn, 
 300. 
 
 - " "We hope the good effects thereof" [i.e., of the Declaration for Liberty of 
 Conscience], " for the peace, trade, and prosperity of the kingdom, will pro- 
 duce such a concurrence from, the Parlinmrnf as may secure it to our posteritj' 
 in after-times." — Seethe Address in full. Life of Penn, by Besse; folio, i. 
 130, 131. 
 
 3 Vol. ii. 488, 1858. 
 
 * See the "Declaration," "Address," and "Speech" at length ; Appendix. 
 
 ^ Vol. il 223; 432, 1858. « Vol. ii. 225 ; 484, 1858.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 151 
 
 history has recorded. On one side the King, on the other the 
 Church, began to bid eagerly against each other for the favours 
 of those whom, up to that time, the King and the Church had 
 combined to oppress." ^ 
 
 The Baptists, who then numbered in their ranks the cele- 
 brated John Bunyan, were a powerful and important sect, well 
 worth conciliating. Of this sect, William Kiffin, whose grand- 
 sons, the Hewlings, had fallen victims to Jeffreys, was the 
 most influential member, " Great," says Lord Macaulay, " as 
 was the authority of Bunyan over the Baptists, that of William 
 Kiffin was still greater. . . . The heartless and venal 
 sycophants of Whitehall, judging by themselves, thought that 
 the old man would be easily propitiated by an alderman's 
 gown, and by some compensation in money for the property 
 which his grandsons had forfeited. Penn was employed in the 
 work of seduction, but to no purpose." ^ 
 
 Was Penn employed in the work of seduction ? Lord Mac- 
 aulay asserts that he was. Kiffin himself, on the other hand, 
 distinctly says that Penn's interference in the matter was at 
 his instance, and with a view to his being excused the honour 
 which it was sought to force on him. Two statements more 
 diametrically opposed to each other cannot be conceived. 
 Kiffin was the person principally concerned in the transaction, 
 and is the only witness with regard to it. His account of the 
 matter is in the following words : " In a little after, a great 
 temptation attended me, which was a commission from the 
 King, to be one of the aldermen of the city of London ; which, 
 as soon as I heard of it, I used all the means I could to be 
 excused, both by some lords near the King, and also by Sir 
 Nicholas Butler and Mr Penn. But it was all in vain ; I was 
 told that they knew I had an interest that might serve the 
 King ; and although they knew my sufferings were great, in 
 cutting off my two grandchildren, and losing their estates, yet it 
 should be made up to me both in their estates, and also in what 
 honour or advantage I could reasonably desire for myself." ^ 
 
 » Mac. ii. 216; 471, 1858. » Vol. ii. 488, edit. 1858. 
 
 ' Ornip, Life of Kifliii, 85. Exactly traiiscribcd from tlu' copy in the 
 British Museum. — J. P.
 
 152 THE NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 Killiii says he applied to Sir Nicholas Butler and Penn to be 
 excused. He says not one word of Penn applying to him. 
 Lord Macaulay asserts^ that the latter jjart of the passage 
 " fully bears out" all that he has said, and complains that Mr 
 Hepworth Dixon acts luifairly by terminating his quotation 
 at the words, " but it was all in vain." ^ And what does Lord 
 Macaulay do ? To make the passage suit his purpose, he alters 
 it! He says, "The remainder of the sentence, which fully 
 bears out all I have said, is carefully suppressed. Kiffin 
 proceeds thus : ' I was told that they (Nicholas and Penn) 
 knew I had an interest that might serve the I^ng,' &c. 
 &c." 
 
 Tlie words " Nicholas and Penn " are not used in this place 
 by Kiffin : they are interpolated by Macaulay ! And this in 
 the very sentence in which he is complaining that a quotation 
 has stopped short at a semicolon instead of a full stop ! The 
 words " they knew " may grammatically mean that Nicholas 
 and Penn knew ; but they by no means necessarily bear that 
 meaning. The context shows that Kiffin used them in the 
 sense of "on savait," or, "it was known." Kiffin employed 
 Penn and his other friends to intercede with the King and 
 his advisers. His application was unsuccessful ; and he is 
 told the reason. By what means can this be tortured into the 
 employment of Penn in " the work of seduction " 1 Lord 
 Macaulay must have felt that the interpolation he has made 
 was necessary to give even a colour of possibility to such a 
 construction.'* 
 
 Lord Macaulay has given his readers a measure of what he 
 considers honesty. In the character which he has drawn of 
 
 1 Macaulay, ii. (1858) 488, note. 
 
 2 Dixon's Life of Peun, 21, edit. 1856. 
 
 * It may perhaps be said that these words are in a parenthesis. So they 
 would be if used by Kiffin. "When words are introduced which are not used 
 by the author quoted, there are two ways of marking the fact, either by revers- 
 ing the inverted commas, which is the most usual and correct mode, or by 
 placing the passage in hooks, thus : [Nicholas and Penn]. Marks of paren- 
 thesis always mean that the parenthesis occurs in the original passage quoted; 
 were it otherwise, it would be impossible to indicate correctly the quotation of 
 a passage containing a parenthesis.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 153 
 
 his great prototype, Burnet,^ there is no virtue upon which 
 he insists more strongly than his honesty. " He was," he 
 
 * " Bishop Burnet was a man of tlio most extensive knowledge I ever met 
 with ; had read and seen a great deal, with a prodigious memory and a very 
 indifferent judgment. He was extremely partial, and readily took everything 
 for granted that he heard to the prejudice of those he did not like, which made 
 him pass for a man of less truth than he really was. I do not think he 
 designedly published anything he believed to be false. 
 
 " He had a boisterous, vehement manner of expressing himself, which often 
 made him ridiculous, especially in the House of I^ords, when what he said 
 would not have been thought so, delivered in a lower voice and a calmer 
 behaviour. His vast knowledge occasioned his frequently rambling from the 
 point he was speaking to, which ran him into discourses of so universal a 
 nature, that there was no end to be expected but from a failure of his strength 
 and spirits, of both which he had a larger share than most men, which were 
 accompanied with a most invincible assurance." — Lord Dartmouth's Character 
 of Burnet, Preface, 5. 
 
 Lord Alacaulay quotes a few words from this note as the testimonj' of an ad- 
 verse witness to Burnet's truthfulness ;* but he omits to state that at the 
 commencement of the second volume of the original cdition,+ Lord Dartmouth 
 inserted the following note : " I wrote, in the first volume of this book, that 
 I did not believe the Bishop designedly published anything he believed to be 
 false ; therefore think myself obliged to write in this, that I am fully satisfied 
 that he published many things that he knew to be so ; " and at the conclusion 
 of the History he says, t " Thus piously ends the most partial and malicious 
 heap of scandal and misrepresentation that ever was collected for tlie laudable 
 design of giving a false impression of persons and things to all future ages." 
 Lord Macaulay also garbles the testimony of Swift. He says : " Even Swift 
 had the justice to say, 'After all, he [i. e., Burnet] was a man of generosity 
 and good-nature.' " There Lord Macaulay inserts a full stop ; in the original 
 it is a comma, and the sentence proceeds as follows: "and very communi- 
 cative ; but in his last ten years was absolutely party-mad, and fancied he saw 
 Popery under every bush."§ 
 
 Next to honesty, humanity is the virtue which Lord llacaulay most delights 
 to claim for Burnet ; and to maintain his character for it, he suppresses the 
 disgraceful part which Burnet took in the attainder of Fenwick. 
 
 That attainder was worthy of the worst days of the Stewarts. Lord Mac- 
 aulay asserts that William entertained a personal hatred of Fenwick, because 
 six years before he had failed to uncover and bow as the Queen passed when 
 she held royal authority in William's absence. " But long after her death," 
 Bays Lord Macaulay, " a day came when he had reason to wish that he had re- 
 strained his insolence. He found, by terrible proof, that of all the Jacobites, 
 the most desperate assassins not excei)ted, he was the only one for whom Wil- 
 liam felt an intense personal aversion." || 
 
 That day was come. Fenwick had been guilty of treason, but the law 
 could not reach him, as there was but one witness of his guilt, and the stiitute 
 required that there should bo two. It was dctennined to immolate him, and a 
 
 • Vol. ii. 177. t Vol. iv. 1, OxfoRl oililion. J Vol. vi. 168. 
 
 § Swift's Works, xv. 215; R«raarks ou Uisliop Buruut's Uislory. || VoL iv. 33.
 
 151 TinO NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 says, " oniplmtically an honest man." ' In a subsequent part 
 of liis History,- wlicn Lord Macaulay comes to rclato the 
 circumstances which attended upon the dismissal from ollice 
 of Marlborough in January 1692, he adds in a note the fol- 
 lowing words: "About tlie dismission of Marl borougli, Bur- 
 net wrote at the same time,^ ' The King said to myself upon 
 it that he had very good reason to believe that he had made 
 
 bill of attainder was resorted to. Burnet, departing from the usual rule 
 which restrains hishops from taking a part in the affairs of blood, led the 
 attack.* The bill passed the Lords by a narrow majority. Of a hundred and 
 twenty-eight Pcors, fifty-five voted against the second reading, and of those 
 forty-nine protested. The? third reading was carried by a majority of seven 
 only, the numbers being C8 to 61.t 
 
 Fcnwick petitioned the House of Lords to intercede with the King for a re- 
 prieve of two days, that he might prepare to die. The House readily granted 
 this very moderate request, and ordered the Bishops of London and^Salisbury 
 (Burnet) to present the address to the* King. The "humane" Burnet 
 refused. "Their lordships," he said, "might send him to the Tower, but 
 they had no right to send him to Kensington." The indignation of the House 
 at this inhuman refusal was universal. Rochester proposed that liumet 
 should bo taken at his word, and sent to the Tower for refusing to obey the 
 orders of the House ; but Lord Scarborough said he " hoped they would not 
 insist upon doing a hardship to the only man in the House who would think 
 it one ; " and begged that he might himself be permitted to accompany the 
 Bishop of London. This was agreed to, " with the utmost contempt for the 
 reverend prelate." — Note by Lord Dartmouth, who was present. Burnet, 
 iv. 341. 
 
 Lord Macaulay, who affects to give a detailed account of these transactions, 
 wholly omits any allusion to this incident, and makes no reference to Lord 
 Dartmouth's note. — See vol. iv. 768.+ If it be true, as Lord Macaulay 
 implies, that William closed his ears to the cries for mercy which rose around 
 him from feelings of " intense personal aversion "§ — that he added to this the 
 hj-pocrisy of pretending to consider that " the matter was one of public con- 
 cern, and that he must deliberate with his ministers " before he decided on the 
 petition which the wife of Fenwick offered at his feet || — that the last bill of 
 attainder by which any person has suftered death in England,^ was passed in 
 order that he might gratify the feelings of revenge which he entertained for a 
 trifling slight olTered si.\ years previously, by bringing to the block, by means 
 of an ex jmst facto law, a man who could not be reached by the arm of justice ; 
 — if this be true, the world has seen no instance of more fiendish malignity. If 
 it be false, no fouler slander ever issued from the press. True or false, what 
 must we think of the moral sense of the historian who passes it over without 
 reprobation, without comment, almost, it would seem, with approval ? 
 
 1 Vol. ii. 177, edit, of 1849 ; vol. ii. 433, edit, of 1858. » VoL iv. 166. 
 
 3 Sec the Burnet MS., Harl. 6584, cited by Lord Macaulay, iv. 166, note. 
 
 * Mac. iv. 75S, 75!). t Vol. iv. 761. t VoL \i\. 402, 1S5S. 
 
 § Vol. iv. 34. II Vol. iv. 766. U Vol. iv. 769.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 155 
 
 his peace witli King James, and was engaged in a correspond- 
 ence with France. It is certain he was doing all he could to 
 set on a faction in the army and the nation against the 
 Dutch.' " Lord Macaulay then proceeds as follows : " It is 
 curious to compare this plain tale, told while the facts were 
 recent, with the slmffliny narrative ichich Burnet prepared for 
 the public eye many years later, when Marlborough v)as closely 
 united to the Whigs, and was rendering great and splendid ser- 
 vices to the country." ^ The " shuffling narrative," as Lord 
 Macaulay justly calls it, asserts that the original cause of his 
 disgrace arose from a quarrel about the settlement of an 
 income on the Princess Anne ; Burnet deliberately prepared 
 this posthumous falsehood in 1705.^ 
 
 It might have been supposed that when Lord Macaulay 
 discovered this proof of the Bishop's disregard of truth, lie 
 would have taken the earliest opportunity to modify his 
 estimate of Burnet's character ; yet he has permitted it to 
 remain unaltered in every successive edition. We are there- 
 fore driven unavoidably, however reluctantly, to the conclu- 
 sion that, in Lord IMacaiday's opinion, there may be circum- 
 stances under which it is consistent with " emf)hatic honesty " 
 to prepare a deliberately false account of a transaction the 
 truth of which is within the knowledge of the writer, and to 
 give that false account to the public under the form of 
 history ! This estimate of what a historian owes to his party 
 may account for some passages in Lord Macaulay's History 
 which otherwise might surprise the reader. Penn was the 
 object of bitter hatred and persecution on the part of those 
 whom Lord Macaulay seeks to extol. He was faithful in 
 misfortune to those whom Lord Macaulay seeks to degrade. 
 Those simple facts may perhaps account for Lord Macaulay's 
 determination to blacken his character. The passage just 
 cited shows the means which Lord ]\Lacaulay thinks may be 
 used consistently with " emphatic honesty." 
 
 1 Vol. iv. 167. '^ See IJunut, iv. I, I,")7 ; Oxloid edit.
 
 15(5 THE NKW "EXAMEN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Truth and fiction are so strangely interwoven in the account 
 wliich Lord ^Macaulay gives of the transactions relating to 
 ]\Iagdalen College, that the only mode in which they can be 
 disentangled is by a short narrative of the facts and dates, and 
 a reference to the authorities.^ In the month of March 1C87, 
 the Presidentship of ^Magdalen College became vacant by the 
 death of Dr Clark. The right of election was vested in the 
 Fellows, but no one was eligible under the statutes who had 
 not been a Fellow either of Magdalen or New College. The 
 election was fixed for the 13th of April. 
 
 On the 5th of that month the King issued his mandate, 
 requiring the Fellows to elect one Anthony Farmer to the 
 place of President. A more unfit selection could hardly have 
 been made. Farmer was not a Fellow of either Magdalen or 
 New College, and was therefore clearly ineligible by the stat- 
 utes. He was, moreover, a man of dissolute life and lax 
 opinions ; some ten years before he had been admonished by 
 the authorities of Trinity College, Cambridge — to which he 
 then belonged — for attending a dancing-school, and had con- 
 fessed the crime. He then committed the graver offence of 
 becoming usher to Mr Benjamin Flower, a Noncoufonnist 
 preacher, who kept a school at Chippingham, without licence 
 from the Bishop. He was subsequently entered of St Mary 
 Magdalen Hall, where he was esteemed to be of a "trouble- 
 some and unpeaceable humour." Leaving the Hall, he got 
 himself admitted into Magdalen College, and was observed by 
 the porter to enter the College late at night, his gait and speech 
 both betraying symptoms unbefitting the known sobriety of 
 the university. He was said (this, however, was supported 
 by nothing that could be considered as legal evidence) to have 
 shared with a profligate gentleman commoner of the name of 
 Bambrigg, and his companions, whose names have not been 
 preserved, and probably would not be worth recording, and 
 even to have encouraged them in certain dissolute proceedings 
 
 ^ state Trials, xii. 1.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 157 
 
 in London. ^Vlien or where these transactions took place 
 does not appear, nor does it seem that the worst charges were 
 supported by more than mere hearsay, or that Mt Farmer ever 
 had the opportunity of answering them. He appears, how- 
 ever, on one occasion to have spent a whole day at the Lobster 
 in Abingdon with Mr Clerk, Mr Graveuor, and Mr Jenny far, 
 when he sat up till one in the morning. The next day he 
 went to the Bush Tavern in the same company, and added the 
 enormity of having a quarter of a lamb for supper. On his 
 return to the Lobster he kissed Mrs Martha INTortimer, the 
 landlady, with gross rudeness, and she, like a discreet dame, 
 " immediately went out of his company, and would not come 
 nigh him any more." But the climax of his iniquities was 
 attained on a fatal night when, in company of William Hop- 
 kins of Abingdon and some others, he did, " in a frolick and 
 at an unreasonable time of night, take away the town stocks 
 from the place where they constantly stood, and carried them 
 in a cart a considerable way, and threw them into a pool, 
 commonly called Mad Hall's Pool." He was certainly unfit, 
 as well as disqualified, to be President of jNIagdalen College.^ 
 The town stocks, which he treated so contumeliously, would 
 have been a fitter place for him. Whether he deserves the 
 eloquent execration with which Lord Macaulay has denounced 
 him, may be doubted.^ History unhappily records blacker 
 iniquities than any that have been charged against Anthony 
 Farmer ; and abundant as Lord Macaulay's stores of abuse are, 
 there are limits even to the foul epithets of the English lan- 
 guage. It is reckless prodigality to waste so much vitupera- 
 tion on so insignificant an object. There is another and more 
 serious evil. The impetuous torrent of abuse sweeps the 
 offence out of sight. It is impossible to remember that a man 
 is a criminal when one sees him broken on the wheel. When 
 Lord Macaulay describes the " frolick " at Abingdon in the 
 following words, " He was celebrated for having headed a dis- 
 
 1 Any one who is curious as to the particulars of tlie nusdciils of this very 
 worthless person, will find them recorded in the 12th vol. of the State Trials, 
 11 to 15. 
 
 "Vol. ii. 290; iii. 21 ; 1S58.
 
 158 THE NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 graceful riot at Abingdon," ' ono is tempted to ask how long it 
 is since the days of Tom and Jerry ? whether Greenwicli fair 
 still exists? and whether sedate men, well deserving of the 
 highest honours that Oxford or Cambridge can bestow, have 
 always frowned so severely on such proceedings? whether, 
 after all, one would not rather like to throw the parish 
 stocks (if such a movable could be found) into Mad Hall's 
 Pool one's self? Nothing is so destructive of sound and 
 healthy morality as visiting petty offences with the punish- 
 ment due to great crimes. Lord Macaulay almost leads us 
 to forget how contemptible a person Anthony Farmer really 
 was. The Fellows of IMagdalen acted more wisely : they re- 
 lied on his ineligibility.^ They represented to the King that, 
 not being of the foundation, he was incapable according to the 
 founder's statutes; and they prayed his Majesty "either to 
 leave them to the discharge of their duties and consciences, 
 according to his IMajesty's late most gracious toleration and 
 their founder's statutes, or to recommend such a person who 
 might be more serviceable to his Majesty and to the College." ^ 
 The only reply they received, after postponing the election to 
 the last moment at which it could be legally held, was that 
 "the King expected to be obeyed." The FelloAvs took the 
 bold course, adhered to their statutes, disobeyed the man- 
 date of the King, and elected Dr Hough as their President. 
 He was sworn and admitted. The choice of the Fellows was 
 as judicious as that of the King had been otherwise. Hough 
 was a man of character, learning, ability, and courage, well 
 qualified for the coming struggle. 
 
 On the 6th of June following, the Vice-President and Fel- 
 lows were cited to appear at "Whitehall before " His Majesty's 
 Commissioners for Ecclesiastical Causes, &c.," to answer for 
 their disobedience to the King's mandate ; and on the 22d of 
 the same month the Commissioners declared the election of 
 Hough void.* 
 
 No further step was taken to force Farmer upon the Col- 
 lege ; but on the 14th of August the King issued a fresh man- 
 
 1 Vol. iii. 21, 1858. " State Trials, xii. 10. 
 
 3 stjitp Trials, xii. 6. •• State Trials, xii, 9, 16.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 159 
 
 date, requiring the Fellows to elect Parker, Bishop of Oxford, 
 to the place of President. 
 
 On the evening of Saturday, the 3d of September,^ the King, 
 in the course of his Progress, arrived at Oxford, and on the 
 following day required the attendance of the Fellows. Of this 
 interview the following curious contemporary record is pre- 
 served in the State-Paper Office : — 
 
 " September y 9th /87. 
 
 " The Lord Sunderland sent order to the Fellows of jMa^- 
 dalene College to attend the King on Sunday last at 11 o'clock, 
 or at 3 in the afternoon, 
 
 " They attended accordingly, Dr Pudsey speaker. 
 
 " K. ' WTiat's your name ? Are you Dr Pudsey ? ' 
 
 " Dr P. ' Yes, may it please your Majesty.' 
 
 " K. * Did you receive my letter ? * 
 
 " Dr P. ' Yes, sir, we did.' 
 
 " K. ' Then you have not dealt with me like gentlemen. 
 You have done very uncivilly by me, and undutifully.' Tlien 
 they all kneeled down, and Dr Pudsey offered a petition con- 
 taining the reasons of their proceedings, which his Majesty 
 refused to receive, and said : ' You have been a stubborn and 
 turbulent College ; I have known you to be so this twenty- 
 six years ; you have affronted me in this. Is this your Church 
 of England loyalty? One would wonder to find so many 
 Church of England men in such a business. Goe back, and 
 show yourselves good members of the Church of England — gett 
 ye gone ; know I am your King, and command you to be 
 gone ; goe, and admit the Bishop of Oxford head, principal — 
 what do you call it, of your College ? ' One standing by said, 
 ' President.' 
 
 " K. 'I mean President of your College. Let him know 
 that refuses it. — Looke to't ; they shall find the weight of their 
 sovereign's displeasure.' 
 
 "The Fellows went away, and, being gone out, were re- 
 called. 
 
 *Ath. Oxon. Life of Wood, i. 275, od. 1.S48; Ellis's Corrcsiiondence, i. 
 337.
 
 160 TIfK NKW EXAMKN. 
 
 " K. ' 1 liear you have admitted a Fellow of your College 
 since you received my inhibition ; is this true? Have you 
 admitted Mr Iloldeu Fellow ? ' 
 
 "Dr P. 'I think he was admitted Fellow, but wc con- 
 ceive ' 
 
 " The Doctor hesitating, another said, ' May it please your 
 Majesty, there was no new election or admission since your 
 Majesty's inhibition ; but only the consummation of a former 
 election. We always elect to our year's jirobation, then the 
 person elected is received or rejected for ever.' 
 
 " K. ' The consummation of a former election ; 'twas down- 
 right disobedience, and 'tis a fresh aggravation. Get ye gone 
 home, and immediately repair to your chappell and elect the 
 Bishop of Oxford, or else you must expect to feel the heavy 
 hand of an angry King.' 
 
 " The Fellows offered their petition again on their knees. 
 
 " K. ' Gett ye gone ; I w^ill receive nothing from — till you 
 have obeyed me, and elected the Bishop of Oxford.' 
 
 " Upon which they went directly to their chappell, and Dr 
 Pudsey proposing whether they would obey the King and 
 elect the Bishop, they answered, every one in his order, they 
 were all very willing to obey his Majesty in all things that 
 lay in their power as any of the rest of his INIajesty's subjects ; 
 but the electing of the Bishop of Oxford being directly con- 
 trary to their statutes, and to the positive oath they had 
 taken, they could not apprehend it in their power to obey him 
 in this matter ; only ]\Ir Dol)son (who had publicly prayed 
 for Dr Hough, the undoubted President) answered doubtingly, 
 he was ready to obey in everything he could ; and Mr Char- 
 rocke, a Papist, that he was for obeying in that." ^ 
 
 At this point begin the charges brought by Lord ^lacaulay 
 against Penn with regard to this transaction. 
 
 Penn had been with the King at Chester, and had accom- 
 panied him to Oxford. On the same day on which the augrj' 
 interview between the King and the Fellows took place, Penn 
 dined in company with Creech, one of the Fellows, who took 
 the opportunity to have a long conversation with him regard- 
 ^ State-Paper Office, Domestic, James II., 1687, No. 4.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 161 
 
 ing the affairs of the College. This appears from a letter 
 written by Creech to Charlett, another Fellow, dated the Gth 
 of September. For anything that appears to the contrary, this 
 was the first occasion on which the affairs of the College were 
 brought to the notice of Penn, who subsequently expressed to 
 Houfrh his reeret that he had not concerned himself about 
 them at an earlier period ; ^ and it was unquestionably at the 
 instance of the Fellows, and in the character of a mediator 
 with the King, that he acted ; for, on the following day (Mon- 
 day, the 5th of September), he went to the College, and, after 
 hearing from the Fellows a statement of their case, he wrote 
 to the King, remonstrating with him in bold language, and 
 representing the inconsistency of his conduct with the pro- 
 fessions of his Declaration of Indulgence. 
 
 Lord Macaulay delights to sneer at Penn as a " courtly 
 Quaker." Who but Penn would have been bold enough to 
 face James in the very moment of his wrath, and to tell him 
 unpalatable truths ? With regard to this part of the trans- 
 action the evidence is abundant and unexceptionable. The 
 following passages, which occur in letters addressed at the 
 time by Creech and Sykes, two of the Fellows, to Charlett, who 
 was absent, are conclusive. The originals are preserved in Dr 
 Ballard's collection of Letters at Oxford, and they have been 
 printed in the ' Athenajum Magazine ' for April and May 1809. 
 
 " On ]\Ionday morning, Mr Penn, the Quaker (with whom 
 I dined the day before, and had a long discourse concerning 
 the College), wrote a letter to the King in their behalf, inti- 
 mating that such mandates were a forQe on conscience, and 
 not very agreeable to his other gracious indulgences." — Creech 
 to Charlett, September 6, 1687. 
 
 " On Monday morning Mr Penn rode down to ^Magdalen 
 College just before he left this place, and after some discourse 
 with some of the Fellows, wrote a short letter, directed to tlie 
 King. In it, in short, he wrote to this purpose, that their case 
 was hard, and that in their circumstances they could not yield 
 * Hough's Letter, 2>ost. 
 L
 
 162 THK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 obedience without a breach of tlieir oaths ; which letter was 
 delivered to the King. I cannot learn whether he did this 
 \\\)nn his own free motion, or by command or intercession of 
 any other." — Sykos to Charlett, September 7, 1G87. 
 
 " The discourse that Penn had with some of the Fellows of 
 Magdalen College, and the letter mentioned in my last, pro- 
 duced a petition, which was subscribed by all the Fellows, 
 and given t<3 my Lord Sunderland, who promised to present it 
 to the King." — Same to Same, September 9, 1G87. 
 
 Such is the account given by the Fellows of Magdalen them- 
 selves in the freedom and confidence of correspondence with 
 each other. It is clear that they regarded Penn in the light of 
 a mediator with the King ; that it was at their instance he 
 interfered in the matter ; that his letter to the King was writ- 
 ten at their request, and with their full knowledge, sanction, 
 and approval ; and that their petition was founded upon it. 
 Here the evidence as to the transaction during Penn's stay at 
 Oxford ends. He left the city immediately after writing his 
 letter to the King. 
 
 We now come to Lord Macaula/s account of the same 
 transaction. 
 
 "The king, greatly incensed and mortified by his defeat, quitted Oxford, 
 and rejoined the Queen at Bath. His obstinacy andx-iolence had brought 
 him into an embarrassing position. He had trusted too much to the eflfect 
 of his frowns and angry .tones, and had rashly staked, not merely the credit 
 of his administration, but his personal dignity, on the issue of the contest. 
 Could he yield to subjects whom ho had menaced ^\^th raised voice and 
 fiu'ious gestures i Yet eould he venture to eject in one daj' a crowd of 
 respectable clergymen from their homes, because they had dischai-ged 
 Avhat the whole nation regarded as a sacred duty. Perhaps there might 
 be an escape from the dilemma ; perhaps the College might still bo terri- 
 fied, caressed, or bribed into submission. TJie agency of Penn was em- 
 ployed." ^ 
 
 This is the first of the several distinct perversions of the 
 facts in the narrative given by Lord Macaulay of this trans- 
 action. 
 
 > Vol. ii. 298 ; iii. 29, edit. 1858.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 163 
 
 It is painful to be compelled to use expressions so strong, 
 but the English language contains none less severe by 
 which the statements of Lord ]\Iacaulay can be truly de- 
 signated. 
 
 The memorandum in the State-Paper Office fixes the inter- 
 view between the King and the Fellows as having taken 
 place on the Sunday before the 9th of September 1G87 — i.e., 
 Sunday the 4th of September, Creech's letter to Charlett is 
 dated the Gth September. He speaks of Penn's letter of 
 remonstrance to the King on behalf of the Fellows as having 
 been written " on Monday morning." Sykes, writing on the 
 7t]i of September, uses the same expression, and says that it 
 was written " just before he ^ left " Oxford, and " after some 
 discussion with the Fellows." This letter produced, he says, 
 the petition to the King, which was signed by all the Fellows. 
 The sequence of events is tlius proved to have been as fol- 
 lows : On Saturday the 3d September, the King came to 
 Oxford ; ^ on Sunday the 4th, he sent for the Fellows of 
 Magdalen, and had the angry interview with them.'^ On the 
 afternoon of the same day Creech dined with Penn, " had a 
 long discourse concerning the College," and no doubt solicited 
 his good offices on its behalf.* On IMonday the 5th,^ Penn 
 went to the College, had a conversation with the Fellows, and 
 wrote a letter on their behalf to the King, remonstrating with 
 him on the injustice of his proceedings, and the inconsistency 
 of his conduct with his declaration for liberty of conscience. 
 On the afternoon of the same day Penn left Oxford.* 
 
 "With tliese plain facts and dates — with this conclusive proof 
 that Penn acted not as the agent of the King, but on behalf of 
 the College and at the request of the Fellows before him — 
 Lord Macaulay yet ventures to assert that Penn was employed 
 by the King to " terrify, caress, or bribe " the Fellows into 
 submission, and to represent this as having taken place after 
 the King had " quitted Oxford and rejoined the Queen at 
 Bath," and in consequence of the reilections induced by the 
 " embarrassing position " in which he found himself. As may 
 
 1 /. c, Penn. - Ante, 159, =• ylntc, 159. 
 
 ■• ytntc, 1(51. » Anlr, 161. « Ante, 1C2.
 
 164 TIN', NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 well 1)0 supposed, Lord Macaulay .suppresses the fact of Penn's 
 having written his letter of remonstrance to the King, and care- 
 fully avoids the citation of any authority. The tiling chiefly 
 to be wondered at is, that he should have ventured upon a 
 statement so easily and so conclusively shown to be unfounded. 
 Lord Macaulay then proceeds : — 
 
 "He" [i.e., Penn] "had too much good feeling to approve of the 
 violent and unjust proceedings of the Government, and even ventured to 
 express part of what lie thought. James as usual was obstinate in the 
 wrong. The courtly Quaker therefore did his hest to seduce the College 
 from the path of right. He first tried intimidation. Ruin, he said, im- 
 pended over tlie society. The King was highly incensed. The ca.se might 
 be a hard one ; most people thought it so ; but every child knew that his 
 Majesty loved to have his own way, and could not bear to be thwarted. 
 Penn therefore exhorted the Fellows not to rely upon the goodness of 
 their cause, but to submit, or at least to temporise." * 
 
 At this point Lord Macaulay inserts his sole attempt to 
 produce evidence in support of his charge against Penn ; and 
 of what does it consist ? An anonymous letter ! At the latter 
 end of September or beginning of October 1687, Dr Baily, 
 one of the Fellows of Magdalen, received an anonymous letter, 
 which, " from its charitable purpose," ^ he conjectured might 
 come from Penn. Baily, as it turned out, was wrong in 
 his conjecture, for, upon inquiry, Penn declared that it was 
 not his.^ 
 
 Lord Macaulay asserts that " the evidence which proves the 
 letter to be his is irresistible." * 
 
 It may with far more truth be said that there is not one 
 particle of evidence to that effect. Lord Macaulay asserts that 
 Penn did not deny that it was liis. Penn did deny that it was 
 his, and his denial is recorded by those to whom it was made, 
 and whose interests it concerned.^ This fact, though brought 
 
 1 Vol. ii. 298, edit. 1858 ; iii. 30. 
 
 2 Baily's Letter, xii. State Trials, 22. 
 
 3 Hunt. MS., fo. 45, Mag. Col., Oxford; cited Dixon's Life of Penn, edit 
 1856, xxvii. 
 
 * Edit. 1858, iii. 30. 
 
 ^ " The contemporary account of these proceedings has written in Hunt's 
 hand, in the margin of this letter, the words, ' this letter Mr Penn disowned.' " 
 — Dixon's Life of Penn, edition 1851, 455, citing the Hunt MSS. in Magdalen 
 College. Hunt was one of the Fellows at the time.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 165 
 
 expressly to Lord Macaulay's knowledge, he fails to notice, and 
 relies as evidence (!) on the circumstance that after years had 
 elapsed — after Penn had left England for America, and returned, 
 his mind filled with political anxieties, and his heart torn by 
 domestic afflictions — he either did not know that this letter 
 had been attributed to him in two or three publications, or 
 did not think it worth while to contradict the misstatement. 
 This Lord Macaulay calls " irresistible " evidence to prove the 
 letter his ! 
 
 Not only is there no evidence to show that Penn wrote this 
 letter, but it is impossible to suggest any motive which could 
 induce him to write anonymously. If he wished to produce 
 any effect, he was certainly more likely to do so by using liis 
 name than by suppressing it. Even supposing the letter were 
 written by Penn, it in no way supports Lord Macaulay's 
 statement ; nor does it in any way refer to the inteiTiew at 
 Oxford.i 
 
 After some comment on the counsel which Penn certainly 
 did not give, Lord Macaulay proceeds : — 
 
 " Then Penn tried a f,'entler tone. He had an intenaew with some of 
 the Fellows, and, after many professions of sympathy and friendship, 
 began to hint at a compromise. The King could not bear to he crossed ; 
 the College must give way ; Parker must be admitted ; but he was in 
 very bad health ; all his preferments would soon be vacant. ' Dr Hough,' 
 said Penn, ' may then be Bishop of 0.\ford. How should you like that, 
 gentlemen ? ' Penn had passed his life in declaiming against a hireling 
 ministry. He held that he was bound to refuse the payment of tithes, 
 and this even when he had bought land chargeable with tithes, and had 
 been allowed the value of the tithes in the purchase money. According 
 to his own principles, he would have committed a great sin if he had 
 interfered for the purpose of obtaining a benefice on the most honourable 
 terms for the most pious divine. Yet to such a degree had his manners 
 
 * The anonymous letter will be found printed at length in the 12tli vcl. of 
 the State Trials, 2L After sonic complimentary expressions with re;,'ard to 
 Dr 15aily, to whom it was addressed, and an assurance of his goodwill to the 
 College, the writer j)rocceds to mgc a compliance with the wishes of the King, 
 or that some expedient should be devised to avert his anger, and avoid the 
 ruin which was impending over the College, the overthrow of which " would 
 bo a fair beginning of so nuich aimed at reformation, first of the University, 
 then of the Church, and administer such an opportunity to the enemy as may 
 not perhaps occur in his Majesty's reign."
 
 1G6 THH NI':W " KXAMKN. 
 
 I)i'i'ii conuplcd l>y evil ((jmiminiciiliou, ami \i\n iiiiilc-rHtanditig oljHcurwl 
 hy iiKinlinatu zwil for n Kin<,'li; oUjiict, that lie <li(l not Hcruple to become 
 a brokir in simony of a peculiarly discreditable kind, and to nue u 
 bishopric as a bait to tempt a divine to ])erjnry. Hou^'h replied, with 
 civil contempt, that he wanted notliing from the Crown but common 
 justice. * We stand,' he said, ' upon our statutes and our oaths ; but even 
 settinj^ aside our statutes and our oaths, we feel we have a religion to 
 defend.' * The Papists have robbed us of University College; they have 
 robbed us of Christ Church. The fight is now for Magdalen. They will 
 soon have all the rest.' Penn was foolish enough to answer that he 
 really believed that the Papists would now be content. * Uiuversity,' he 
 said, 'is a i)lcasant College; Christ Church is a noble place; Magdalen 
 is a fine building ; the situation is convenient ; the walks by the river 
 are deliglitful. If the Roman Catholics are reasonable, they will be satis- 
 lied with these.' This absurd avowal would alone have made it impos- 
 sible for Hough and his brethren to yield. The negotiation was broken 
 oil', and the King hastened to make the disobedient know, as he had 
 threatened, what it was to incur his displea.sure." ' 
 
 Stripped of Lord Macaulay's eloquent vituperation, the 
 substance of this charge against Penn is, that he attempted to 
 bribe Hough, by the offer of a bishopric, to desert the cause of 
 the College, and to betray those who had intrusted him to 
 defend their rights. 
 
 This is a serious accusation, and deserves a careful examin- 
 ation. It is necessary, in the first place, to clear away a little 
 confusion occasioned by Lord Macaulay's avoidance of dates, 
 and the mode in which he mixes up the conversations which 
 Penn held at different times with the Fellows with the con- 
 tents of the anonymous letter addressed to Baily. 
 
 There were two interviews between Penn and the Fellows. 
 The first took place at IMagdalen on the 5th of September, 
 and the second at Windsor on the 9th of October. 
 
 "With regard to the first, we have tlie evidence of Creech 
 and Sykes, before cited, that nothing took place that can give 
 the slightest colour to Lord IMacaulay's charge, and that it 
 terminated in a vigorous remonstrance addressed by Penn to 
 the King on behalf of the College. We may therefore con- 
 fine our attention to the interview of the 9tli of October. At 
 this interview, besides Penn and Hough, four of the Fellows 
 of the College — namely, Hammond, Hunt, Craddock, and 
 
 1 Mac. edit. ISoS, iii. 31-33.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 167 
 
 Young — were present. Hough, on the evening of the same 
 day, wrote an account of what took place to his cousin. This 
 letter is as follows : — 
 
 "October the 9th, at night. 
 
 " Dear Cousin, — I gave you a short account of what 
 passed at Windsor this morning ; but having the convenience 
 of sending this by Mr Charlett, I fancy you will be well 
 enough satisfied to hear our discourse ^vdth Mr Penn more at 
 large. 
 
 " He was, in all, about three hours in our company, and, at 
 his first coming in, he began with the great concern he had 
 for the welfare of our College, the many efi'orts he had made 
 to reconcile us to the King, and the great sincerity of his in- 
 tentions and actions ; that he thought nothing in this world 
 was worth a trick, or anything sufficient to justify collusion 
 or deceitful artifice ; and this he insisted so long upon, that I 
 easily perceived he expected something of a compliment by 
 way of assent should be returned ; and therefore, though I 
 had much ado to bring it out, I told him that, whatever others 
 might conceive of him, he might be assured we depended 
 upon his sincerity, otherwise we would never have given our- 
 selves the trouble to come thither to meet him. 
 
 " He then gave an historical account in short of his ac- 
 quaintance with the King ; assured us it was not Popery, but 
 property, that first began it ; that, however people were 
 pleased to call him Papist, he declared to us that he was a 
 dissenting Protestant ; that he dissented from Papists in 
 almost all those points wherein we differ from them, and 
 many wherein we and they are agreed. 
 
 "After this we came to the College again. He wished with 
 all his heart he had sooner concerned liimself in it, but lie was 
 afraid that he now came too late ; however, he woidd use his 
 endeavours, and if they were unsuccessful, we must refer it to 
 want of power, not of goodwill to serve us. I told him 1 
 thought the most effectual way would be, to give his Majesty 
 a true state of the case, which I had reason to suspect he had 
 never yet received ; and therefore I offered him some papers
 
 1G8 TIIK NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 lor his instruction, whereof one was a copy of our first petition 
 hefbro the election ; another was our letter to the Duke of 
 Orniond, and the state of our case ; a third was that petition 
 which our Society had offered to his Majesty here at Oxford ; 
 and a fourth was that sent after the King to Bath. He 
 seemed to read them very attentively, and, after many objec- 
 tions (to which he owned I gave him satisfactory answers), 
 he promised faithfully to read every word to the King, unless 
 he was peremptorily commanded to forbear. He was very 
 solicitous to clear Lord Sunderland, and throw the odium upon 
 the Chancellor ; which I think I told you in the morning, 
 and which makes me think there is little good to be hoped for 
 from him. 
 
 " He said the measures now resolved upon were such as the 
 King thought would take effect ; but he said he knew nothing 
 in particular, nor did he give the least light, or let fall any- 
 thing whereon we might so much as ground a conjecture, nor 
 did he so much as hint at the letter which was sent to him. 
 
 " I thank God he did not so much as offer at any proposal 
 by way of accommodation, which was the thing I most dreaded; 
 only once, upon the mention of the Bishop of Oxford's in- 
 disposition, he said, smiling, ' If the Bishop of Oxford die, Dr 
 Hough may be made bishop. What think you of that, gentle- 
 men ? ' Mr Craddock ausw^ered, they should be heartily glad 
 of it, for it would do very well M'ith the presidentship. But I 
 told him seriously ' I had no ambition above the post in which 
 I was ; and that having never been conscious to myself of any 
 disloyalty towards my prince, I could not but wonder what it 
 was should make me so much more incapable of serving His 
 Majesty in it than those whom he had been pleased to 
 recommend.' He said, ' Majesty did not love to be thwarted ; 
 and after so long a dispute, we could not expect to be restored 
 to the King's favour without making some concessions.' I 
 told him ' that we were ready to make all that were consistent 
 with honesty and conscience.' But many things might have 
 been said upon that subject which I did not then think proper 
 to mention. ' However,' said I, ' Mr Penn, in this I will be 
 plain with you ; we have our statutes and oaths to justify us in
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 1G9 
 
 all we have clone hitlierto : but, setting this aside, we have a 
 religion to defend ; and I suppose yourself would think us 
 knaves if we should tamely give it up. The Papists have 
 already gotten Christ Church and University; the present 
 struggle is for Magdalen ; and in a short time, they threaten 
 us, they will have the rest.' He replied with vehemence, 
 ' That they shall never have, assure yourselves. If they once 
 proceed so far, they will quickly find themselves destitute of 
 their present assistance. For my part, I have always declared 
 my opinion that the preferments of the Church should not 
 be put into any other hands but such as they are at present 
 in ; but I hope you would not have the two Universities siTch 
 invincible bulwarks for the Church of England that none but 
 they must be capable of giving their children a learned educa- 
 tion. I suppose two or three Colleges will content the Papists. 
 Christ Church is a noble structure. University is a pleasant 
 place, and Magdalen College is a comely building. The walks 
 are pleasant, and it is conveniently situated, just at the 
 entrance of the town,' &c. &c. When I heard him talk at this 
 rate, I concluded he was either off his guard, or had a mind to 
 be droll upon us. ' However,' I replied, ' when they had ours, 
 they would take the rest, as they and the present possessors 
 could never agree.' In short, I see it is resolved that the 
 Papists must have our College ; and I think all we have to do 
 is to let the world see that they take it from us, and that we 
 do not GIVE it up. 
 
 " I count it great good fortune that so many were present at 
 this discourse (whereof I have not told you a sixth part, but I 
 think the most considerable) ; for otherwise I doubt this last 
 passage would have been suspected, as if to heighten their 
 courage through despair. But there was not a word said in 
 private — Mr Hammond, Mr Hunt, Mr Craddock, and ^Mr 
 Young, being present all the time. 
 
 " Give my most humble service to Sir Thomas Powell and 
 Mrs I'owell. 
 
 " I am, dear sir, your very affectionate and faithful servant, 
 
 " J. H." 1 
 
 ' Life ol" lIouj,'h, 25.
 
 IVO THE NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 Here \vv. lifivc the whole; of the evidence upon tlie subject. 
 It is runiurkablc that the very sentence upon wliich Lord 
 Macaulay relies to support the charge, contains the most dis- 
 tinct negative of it that language can convey — " I thank God 
 he did not so much as ofler at any proposal by way of accom- 
 modation, which was the tiling 1 most dreaded." Hough's sus- 
 picions were awake; he was ready to take alarm. He feared 
 a compromise, and he rejoiced that no offer towards one was 
 made. There can be no doubt that, though Hough and the 
 Fellows gladly availed themselves of the assistance of Penn, 
 it was a bitter mortification to their pride to be compelled to 
 seek the favour of a Papist through the mediation of a Quaker. 
 They were all on the watch, and had anything passed which 
 they understood as an offer at accommodation, or still more, 
 if they had suspected that any attempt was being made by 
 Penn to seduce their chosen champion, Hough, from the per- 
 formance of his duty, it would have been found distinctly 
 stated, and indignantly denounced, in this letter. Under such 
 circumstances, is it possible to suppose that if Penn desired to 
 corrupt Hough, he would have offered the bribe in the pre- 
 sence of the very men he wished him to betray ? Yet Hough 
 tells us that " there was not a word said in private — Mr Ham- 
 mond, Mr Hunt, Mr Craddock, and Mr Young, being present 
 all the time." 
 
 Lord ]\Iacaulay argues that " the latter part of the sentence " 
 [in Hough's letter] " limits the general assertion contained in 
 the former part ;" ^ and cites Genesis, vii. 23 ; xlvii. 20, 22, as 
 an authority to prove the unquestionable proposition that the 
 latter part of a sentence may limit the former. But, applied 
 to the case in question, Lord Macaulay's argument involves 
 the absurdity that Hough must be supposed to have made 
 the most solemn and emphatic assertion of a fact, only for the 
 purpose of directly contradicting himseK in the next line — 
 to have in the most distinct language stated that " the thing 
 he most dreaded " had not happened, only for the purpose of 
 immediately afterwards saying it had happened ! To sup- 
 pose that a man of Hough's intelligence should do this, 
 
 1 Vol. iii. 32, noto, 185S.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. iVl 
 
 shows to what straits Lord Macaulay is reduced to support 
 his statement. 
 
 Nothing can be clearer than that neither Hough nor any oi" 
 those who were present at the interview ever suspected Penn 
 to be a " broker in simony," or that he was using a " bishopric 
 as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury." It was left for Lord 
 Macaulay, more than a century and a half after the events 
 had taken place, to discover his villany, when neither Hough, 
 nor Hammond, nor Hunt, nor Craddock, nor Young, who had 
 their wits sharpened by the sense of wrong, by tlieir aversion 
 to a Quaker, and their hatred of a Papist — nor any other per- 
 son who had anything to do with the transaction at the time — 
 ever so much as suspected it. 
 
 It may be admitted that it is difficult, if not impossible, at 
 this distance of time, to say with certainty what was the in- 
 tention of Penn in alluding to the possible death of Parker, 
 and consequent vacancy of the See of Oxford. One thing, 
 however, is clear — namely, that Hough never understood Penn's 
 words in the sense which Lord Macaulay attributes to them. 
 Had he done so, even supposing that policy had induced him 
 to suppress any expression of indignation in the presence of 
 Penn, it is impossible to suppose that, in narrating the inter- 
 view, he would have been silent upon the baseness of the at- 
 tempt that had been made to corrupt him, and upon his own 
 fidelity to the interests of the College, 
 
 This alone is sufficient for the exculpation of Penn, and it 
 is unnecessary to go farther to clear him from Lord Macaulay's 
 charge. It seems, however, not improbable that Penn's de- 
 sign might be to test the earnestness of the men he was deal- 
 ing with before imperilling himself further by his advocacy of 
 their cause. It is easy to sujjpose how difficult a part Penn had 
 to play, how much skill and corn-age was required, aud how much 
 danger was incurred, in stepping between James and the ob- 
 jects of liis wrath. He might well be indisposed to incur 
 more of the King's displeasure, without satisfying himself that 
 he was acting for men really influenced by honest and con- 
 scientious motives. Hough, however, who has made it per- 
 fectly clear that Penn " did not so much as ofl'er at any [tro-
 
 172 rill'] Ni:W " KXAMEN. 
 
 posal l)y way of accommodation," lias left this latter part (jf 
 the conversation involved in considerable obscurity ; and as 
 Hou^^di's letter is the only evidence on the subject, there it must 
 be left. The case against Penn as to the transactions relating to 
 Magdalen College may be summed up in a very few words : — 
 
 1. With regard to his conduct at Oxford in September, it is 
 proved by the letters of Creech and Sykes, before cited, that 
 he interfered at the request of the Fellows, with their know- 
 ledge, and on their behalf, 
 
 2. There is no evidence that the anonymous letter to Baily 
 was written by Penn, and there is evidence that it was not. 
 
 3. All that remains, therefore, is the ambiguous sentence in 
 Hough's letter. It is on this alone that Lord ISracauJay's 
 charges against Penn as to this matter must rest, and against 
 it must be set the unambiguous declaration of Hough, that 
 Penn made no offer of accommodation. It is curious how very 
 small a residuum of fact is left after the charge has been sub- 
 jected to examination. But such is history in the hands of 
 Lord Macaulay ! 
 
 V. 
 
 We shall now have to regard Penn from a different point of 
 view. 
 
 Hitherto he has appeared as the personal friend of the King. 
 Whilst peers and privy councillors stood in the anteroom, he 
 was admitted to the privacy of the royal closet. He was the 
 messenger of pardon and mercy ; his word opened the prison 
 doors ; his abode was thronged by suppliants ; aud his steps 
 were followed by blessings. He had obtained for Locke (" the 
 most illustrious and most grossly injured man amongst the 
 British exiles " ^) permission to return to his native laud,- and 
 even had influence sufhcient to recall from banishment a 
 man so obnoxious as Trenchard.^ He had established a 
 Commonwealth across the Atlantic, on the basis of perfect 
 
 ^ Mac, ii. 122, 1858. 
 
 ' Dixon's Life of Penn, 292, edit. 1851, and the authorities there cited. 
 
 3 Ibid., 322. Mac, iv. 372 ; Lawtou's Memoir ; Jauney's Life of Penn, 301.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 173 
 
 religious freedom, and had urged the adoption of the same 
 principle at home. He had remonstrated against the uncon- 
 stitutional powers assumed by the King in his declaration for 
 freedom of conscience. He had opposed the proceedings 
 against the bishops, and urged the King to avail himself of 
 the occasion of the birth of the Prince of Wales to set them at 
 liberty.^ His was the only tongue bold enough to tell unwel- 
 come truths to his sovereign ; and it is some satisfaction to 
 find, that among the many dark blots which stain the charac- 
 ter of James, he appears never to have visited this brave and 
 faithful servant with his displeasure. Such was the position 
 of William Penn at the close of the year 1688. But the day 
 was rapidly approaching when all this was to change. For the 
 next three years he was to find himself the object of the most 
 unrelenting and vexatious persecution. 
 
 On the morning of the 11th December 1688, the King fled 
 from London.^ 
 
 Penn, walking in Whitehall, was immediately arrested, and 
 brought before the Lords of the Council, who were then sit- 
 ting ; ^ but no charge was made, and he was set at liberty on 
 giving bail to the amount of £0000 for his appearance. He 
 was not, however, allowed to remain long at peace ; for, on the 
 27th of February following, a warrant was issued for his 
 arrest.* Penn immediately wrote to Lord Shrewsbury ^ as 
 follows : — 
 
 " I thought it would look rather foolish than innocent to 
 take any notice of popular fame ; but so soon as I could inform 
 myself that a warrant was out against me (which I knew not 
 till this morning), it seemed to me a respect due to the Govern- 
 ment, as well as a justice to myself, to make this address, tliat 
 so my silence miglit neither look like fear nor contempt ; for 
 as my conscience forbids the one, the sense I have of my duty 
 will not let me be guilty of the other. 
 
 ' See Lawton'.s Memoir; Janney's Life of Penn, 307. 
 
 2 Ellis Cor., ii. 345. ^ Besse, 139; Ellis Cor. ii. 356, Dec. 13, 1GS8. 
 
 * Pri. Co. Reg., Feb. 27, 1G88-9. 
 
 '' Penn to Lord Shrewsbury, Mar. (1st mo.) 1(389 ; Janney's Life of Penn, 
 353.
 
 174 TIIK NF'-W " HXAMKN. 
 
 " That which I have hunilily to ofler is this : I do pro- 
 fess soleiunly, in tlic presence of God, I have no hand or 
 share in any conspiracy against the King or Government, nor 
 do I know any tliat have ; and this I can afhrm without 
 directing my intention equivocally. And though I liave the 
 unliappiness of Iteing very much misunderstood in my prin- 
 ciples and inclinations by some people, I thought I had some 
 reason to hope this King would not easily take me for a 
 plotter, to whom the last Government always thought me too 
 partial. In the next place, as I have behaved myself peace- 
 ably, I intend, by the help of God, to continue to live so ; but 
 being already under an excessive bail (when no order or 
 matter appeared against me), and having, as is well known to 
 divers persons of good credit, affairs of great importance to 
 me and my family now in hand, that require to be despatched 
 for America, I hope it will not be thought a crime that I do not 
 yield up myself an unbailable prisoner ; and pray the King 
 will please to give me leave to continue to follow my concerns 
 at my house in the country ; which favour, as I seek it by the 
 Lord Shrewsbury's mediation, so I shall take care to use it 
 with discretion and thankfulness. 
 
 " I am his affectionate friend to serve hira, 
 
 "AVm. Penn." 
 
 "We now come to Lord Macaulay's Fifth charge. It is con- 
 tained in the following passage : — 
 
 " The conduct of Penn was scarcely less scandalous ; he was a zealous 
 and busy Jacobite ; and his new way of lite was even more unfavourable 
 than his late way of life had been to moral purity. It was hai'dly pos- 
 sible to be at once a consistent Quaker and a couitier ; but it was utterly 
 impossible to be at once a consistent Quaker and a conspirator. It is 
 melancholy to relate that Penn, while professing to consider even defen- 
 sive war as sinful, did everything in his power to bring a foreign army 
 into the heart of his own country. He wrote to infomi James that the 
 adherents of the Prince of Orange dreaded nothing so much as an appeal 
 to the sword ; and that if England were now invaded from France or 
 from Ireland, the number of royalists would appear to be greater than 
 ever. Avaux thought this letter so important that he sent a translation 
 of it to Louis. A good effect, the shrewd ambiissador wrote, had been 
 produced by this and similar communications on the mind of King James :
 
 WILLIAM PENN. l75 
 
 his Majesty was at last convinced that he could recover his dominions 
 only sword in hand. It is a curious fact that it should have been re- 
 served for the great preacher of peace to produce this conviction in the 
 mind of the old tyrant." ^ 
 
 This virulent attack Lord jNIacaulay attempts to justify by 
 quoting a letter written by Avaux to Louis on the 5th of June 
 1689. It is the sole authority for the passage. Lord Mac- 
 aulay observes that, "of the difference between right and 
 wrong, Avaux had no more notion than a brute." - liut even 
 this very questionable witness does not say what Lord Mac- 
 aulay puts into his mouth, nor anything approaching it. 
 
 Tlie licence of translation which Lord Macaulay allows 
 himself is something marvellous.^ 
 
 Avaux, writing on the 5th of June 1689, from Dublin, where 
 James was then holding his Court, informs Louis that import- 
 ant news had arrived from England and Scotland. He then 
 proceeds : " Le commencement des nouvelles datees d'Angle- 
 terre est la copie d'une lettre de M. Pen que J'ay veue on 
 original." Avaux, be it observed, says not one word from 
 which it can be inferred that Penn's letter was addressed to 
 James : it might or might not be addressed to him. "We now 
 come to the "Memoire" which accompanied the letter of 
 Avaux. It begins with the following words, which Lord 
 Macaulay asserts " must have been part of Penn's letter : " '' 
 " Le Prince d'Orange commence d'etre fort degoutte de I'hum- 
 eur des Anglais ; et la face des choses change bien viste selon 
 la nature des insulaires ; et sa sante est fort mauvaise." Here 
 ends everything which, on the widest construction, can be 
 
 > Mac. ii. 587 ; v. 218 ; 1858. 2 Vol. iii. 168. 
 
 ^ An amusing instance is to be found, p. 27, vol, iii., edition 1858. Barilloii, 
 writing on September 6-16, 1687, says, referring to what was taking place in 
 Ireland, " II reste encore beaucoup do choses h, faire en ce pays \bk jtour rdircr 
 Ics hicns injustinenl 6t6s aux Catholiques; mais cclla ne pent s'cxecuter (|u'avec 
 lo terns et dans I'assemblde d'un parlement en Irelande." Lord ilaeaiilay 
 parapliraaes tlii.s p.assage as follows : — "The English colonists liad already been 
 stripped of all political power. Ndthing remained but to strip them of their 
 property ; and this last outrage was deferred oidy until the co-operation of an 
 Irisli Parliament sliould have been secured." So that, in Lord Macaulay's 
 opinion, restoring to a Catholic what ho liad been unjustly robbed of, neces- 
 .sarily involves the stripping a rmtcstant of liis property ! 
 
 •» Vol. iii. 587 ; v. 218 ; 1858.
 
 I7f) THE NICW " KXAMEN." 
 
 attributed to rcnn.' Tho remainder of the paper relates to 
 affiiirs in Scotland (where Dundee was in arms at the head of 
 the clans ^, the state of the navy and mercantile marine, and 
 other matters, with which Penn had notliing whatever to do. 
 But can even these words be, as Lord ^Macaulay asserts, " part 
 of Penn's letter?" Did one Englishman, writing to another, 
 ever use such a phrase as " selon la nature des insulaires," or 
 any equivalent for it ? At most it is but the representation of 
 Avaux (who was employing every argument in his power to 
 induce Louis to send men and money to Ireland) of the sub- 
 stance of Penn's communication. But assume that every 
 word of the statement that is made by Avaux is true — admit 
 that Penn wrote to some one that the Prince of Orange was 
 disgusted with the temper of the English — that the appearance 
 of affairs was changing, and that his health was bad : every 
 word of this was true — every word was notorious ; and why 
 should not Penn write it ? What is there " scandalous " or 
 " morally impure " ? What is there to justify the charge of 
 being a " conspirator," or of doing " everything in his power 
 to bring a foreign army into the heart of his country " ? 
 Why should Penn be held up to execration for his attachment 
 to James, when we regard Sarsfield as a hero, and look with 
 admiration on the faithful and chivalrous Dundee ? But the 
 fact is, that it was not Penn, but Dundee, that was writing for 
 troops. At this very time, in the months of May and June 
 1689, we find, from Lord Macaulay's own account, that Dundee 
 ■was sending to Dublin " a succession of letters earnestly im- 
 ploring assistance. If sis thousand, four thousand, three 
 thousand regular soldiers were now sent to Lochaber, he 
 trusted that his Majesty would soon hold a Court at Holy- 
 rood."^ It is in reference to this circumstance that Avaux 
 says, in this same letter, to Louis : " Le Eoy d'Angleterre a 
 resolu de faire partir incessamment un secour de niille ou 
 douze cens hommes qu'il a dessein il y a d(5jii quelque temps 
 d'envoyer en Ecosse."* This Lord Macaulay omits. It was 
 
 ^ The Letter of Avaux, and the "M^nioire" accompanying it, are given at 
 length in Dixon's Life of Penn, ed. 1856, p. xxxviii. 
 
 ' Mac, iii. 342. ^ Mac, iii. 342. * Letter of Avaux to Louis.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. lV7 
 
 Dundee, not Penn, tliat was " doing everything in his power 
 to bring a foreign army in the heart of his country." It was 
 by Dundee, not by Penn, that James was " convinced that lie 
 could recover his dominions only sword in hand." It was not, 
 as Lord JNIacaulay asserts, " reserved for the gi-eat Preacher of 
 Peace," but for the terrible Graham of Claverhouse, " to pro- 
 duce this conviction on the mind of the old Tyrant." Nothing 
 is so easy for an historian as to attribute to one man the acts 
 and words of another — to put the counsels of Dundee into the 
 mouth of Penn — to omit the document he refers to — and to 
 leave his readers to accept the narrative without examination 
 of the authorities — to receive his eloquent fiction as history — 
 and to content themselves with marvelling at the inconsist- 
 ency, and pitying the weakness, of human nature.^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Sixth charge is contained in the following passage : - — 
 
 " Among the letters which the Government had intercepted was one 
 from James to Penn. That letter, indeed, was not legal evidence to prove 
 tliat the person to whom it was addressed had been guilty of high treason ; 
 but it raised su-s^picions, which are now known to have been well founded. 
 Penn was broiiglit before the Privy Council and interrogated. He said, 
 very truly, that he could not prevent peoi)le from writing to him, and 
 that he was not accountable for what they might write to him. He ac- 
 knowledged that he was bound to the late King by ties of gratitude and 
 affection, which no change of fortune could dissolve. ' I should be glad 
 to do him any service in his private affairs ; but I owe a sacred duty to 
 my country, and therefore I never was so wicked as ever to think of en- 
 deavouring to bring him l)ack.' This was a falsehood, and William was 
 
 1 After all, it is, to say the least, doubtful whether this letter was written 
 by William Penn at all. It appears more probable that the writer was Nevill 
 Penn, "one of the most adroit and resolute agents of the exiled family."* 
 His name is spelt inilill'erently Penn, Pain, and Payne. It must be remem- 
 bered that the whole charge rests on a Frenchman's orthogra]>liy of an English 
 surname. Nevill Penn was the unhappy man who was so barbarously tortured 
 in Scotland the following year. Sec Appendix IV., Letter of the Earl of 
 Craufurd. 
 
 ^Macaulay, iii. 599; v. 231; 1858. 
 
 • Mac, iii. CS2. 
 
 M
 
 178 TITK NKW " EX AMEN." 
 
 prolmbly aware tliat it was ho. lie wa« unwilling, however, to deal 
 harshly with a man who liail many titles to respect, and who was not 
 likely to he a very rormiilalile plotter. He therefore dechired himself 
 satislied, and jiroposed to discharge the prisoner. Some of the Privy Coun- 
 cillors, however, remonstrated, and Penn was re(juired to j^ive hail." 
 
 Lord ]\Tacaulay cites " Gerard Croese " as his authority, but 
 without giving page or date, or any guide whatever to the part 
 of Croese, on which he relies. The only passage which I have 
 been able to discover in Croese bearing any resemblance to 
 Lord Macaulay's naiTative, is the following : — 
 
 " While public affairs were thus changed, W. Penn was not 
 so regarded and respected by King and Court as he was for- 
 merly by King James, partly because of his intimacy witli 
 King James, and partly for adhering to his old opinion con- 
 cerning the Oath of Fidelity, which was now mitigated, but 
 not abrogated. Besides this, it was suspected that Penn cor- 
 responded with the late King, now lurking in France under 
 the umbrage and protection of the French King, an enemy 
 justly equally odious to the British King and the United Pro- 
 vinces, 'twixt whom there was now an inveterate war. Tliis 
 suspicion was followed, and also increased, by a letter inter- 
 cepted from King James to Penn, desiring Penn to come to 
 his assistance in the present state and condition he was in, 
 and express the resentments of his favour and benevolence. 
 Upon this, Penn, being cited to appear, was asked why King 
 James wrote unto him. He answered, he could not hinder 
 such a thing. Being further questioned what resentments 
 there were which the late King seemed to desire of him, he 
 answered, he knew not ; but said he supposed King James 
 would have him to endeavour his restitution, and that, though 
 he could not decline the suspicion, yet he could avoid the guilt. 
 And since he had loved King James in his prosperity, he should 
 not hate him in his adversity ; yea, he loved him as yet for 
 many favours he had conferred on him, though he would not 
 join with him in what concerned the state of the kingdom. He 
 owned he had been much obliged to King James, and that he 
 would reward his kindness by any private office as far as he 
 could, observing inviolably and entirely that duty to the pub-
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 179 
 
 lick and Government which was equally incumbent on all sub- 
 jects, and therefore that he had never the vanity to think of 
 endeavouring to restore him that crown which was fallen from 
 his head ; so that nothing in that letter could at all serve to 
 fix guilt upon him," ^ 
 
 It will be observed that the passage in Croese materially 
 differs from that in Lord jMacaulay. It was probably cited 
 from memory, and it would appear that the narrative of Clark- 
 son,2 who seems to have derived his information from Besse,^ 
 was what was present to Lord ]\Iacaulay's mind. But it is 
 unnecessary to go at length into this inquiry, for a little atten- 
 tion to dates and unquestionable documents will show that, 
 though this interview between the King and Penn has been 
 repeated by all the biogi-aphers of Penn, from Besse downwards, 
 it is altogether apocryphal. 
 
 Lord Macaulay places this supposed interview in the spring 
 or summer of 1690, immediately before the King's departure 
 for Ireland, which took place on the 4th of June.'* Clarkson 
 also places it amongst the events of that year.^ ]\Ir DLxon 
 states that it occurred " in the spring of 1690, before the King 
 set out for Ireland."*"' Janney says it took place in 1690.'^ 
 Besse also assigns the same date to this very remarkable inter- 
 view.^ Thus we find all who narrate this conversation be- 
 tween the King and Penn agree as to the time when it took 
 place. We shall find, however, evidence of the strongest kind 
 to show that it could not have occurred as alleged. Burnet, 
 of whose intimate acquaintance with the transactions of that 
 period there can be no more doubt than of the eagerness with 
 which he would have recorded any circumstance derogatory to 
 Penn, is not only silent, but has this remarkable passage : — 
 
 1 Croese, book ii. 112— oUl tmnslation ; London, 1696. Croeso, it will be 
 observed, is .silent as to William having' had any part iu this transaction. He 
 ajuiears to have taken his account from a monthly newspajKjr published at the 
 Hague, which contains a similar narrative. Sec ' Tiie General History of 
 Europe, contained in the monthly mercuries, &c., from the original, published 
 at the Hague.' 
 
 2 Vol. ii. 59. » Vol. i. 110. 
 •* Evelyn's Diary, iii. 294 ; Mac, iii. 600 ; Gazette, .Tune 4. 
 
 ^ Vol. ii. 60. « Life of Penn, 293, edit, of 1856. ' p. 359. s p j^q
 
 180 Till-: NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 " Many discoveries were made of the practices from St Ger- 
 main's and Ireland : but few were taken up upon them ; and 
 tliose who were too inconsiderable to know more than that 
 many were provided with arms and ammunition, and that a 
 method was projected for bringing men together upon a call.^ 
 It is impossil)le that Burnet could have written thus, had a 
 man so important as Penn been in custody and examined by 
 the King in person. But there is even stronger evidence than 
 this. The registers of the Privy Council show that the pro- 
 clamation for the arrest of Penn was not issued until the 24th 
 of June,^ nearly three weeks after the King had left London. 
 After a careful searcli, I have not been able to discover any 
 mention whatever of Penn in those registers during any earlier 
 part of the year 1090. The proclamation was not published 
 in the Gazette until the 17th of July ; and on the 31st of the 
 same month Penn wrote as follows to the Earl of Notting- 
 ham : 3 — 
 
 " My Noble Friend, — As soon as I heard my name was in 
 the proclamation, I offered to surrender myself, with those re- 
 gards to a broken health which I owe to myself and my family; 
 for it is now six weeks that I have laboured under the effect 
 of a surfeit and relapse, which was long before I knew of this 
 mark of the Government's displeasure. It is not three days 
 ago that I was fitter for a bed than a surrender and a prison. 
 I shall not take up time about the hardships I am under. . . . 
 But since the Government does not think fit to trust me, I 
 shall trust it, and submit my conveniency to the State's 
 security and satisfaction. And therefore I humbly beg to 
 know when and where I shall wait upon thee. — Thy faithful 
 friend, "NVm. Penn." 
 
 It is clear, therefore, that Penn was not in custody until 
 August. On the 15th of that month he was brought up and 
 discharged from custody.* 
 
 » Vol. iv, 83, 1690. - Privy Council Reg., 2ith Juue 1G90. 
 
 ^ Cited in Dixon's Life of Penn, 1851, 344. 
 •» Privy Council Reg., 15th August 1690.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 181 
 
 William, as we have seen, went to Ireland in June. He did 
 not return to England until September.^ 
 
 It is unnecessary, therefore, to inquire how far the disgusting 
 charge of falsehood (a charge which Lord Macaulay appears to 
 have a remarkable aptitude for bringing) is supported by his 
 narrative of a conversation which certainly did not take place." 
 
 VII. AND VIII. 
 
 We now come to the transactions of the year 1691. 
 
 At the commencement of that year. Lord Preston and Ash- 
 ton were tried and convicted for their well-known plot. Ash- 
 ton was executed. Preston, urged by the terrors of death, and 
 allured by the hopes of pardon, was induced to make a confes- 
 sion. Amongst others, he named Penn as having been con- 
 cerned in his plot. There is not one particle of evidence to 
 support this charge ; but Lord Macaulay, without pausing to 
 consider how infamous was the character of Preston, or the 
 grave doubt thrown upon his confession by the mode in wliich 
 it was obtained, assumes that it was true. 
 
 A proclamation was issued for the arrest of Penn, the Bishop 
 
 ' Mac. iii. 677. "On the 6th of September, the King, after a voyage of 
 twenty-four hours, landed at Bristol; thence he travelled to London, stopping 
 at the mansions of some great lords. William arrived at Kensington about 
 4 P.M. on the 10th of September." — See Gazette. 
 
 2 But though this has become a needless inquiry, it is interesting to compare 
 the different views taken by Lord JIacaulay and by Mr Clarkson of the supposed 
 conduct of Penn and the imaginary thoughts of William. 
 
 Clark.son. Macaulay. 
 
 "This defence, which was at once "This was a falsehood, and Wil- 
 
 manly, open, and explicit, had its liam was probably aware that it was 
 
 weight with the King, so that he felt so. Ho was, however, unwilling to 
 
 himself inclined to dismiss him as an deal harshly with a man who had 
 
 innocent person ; but some of the many titles to respect, and who was 
 
 Council interfering, ho, to please not likely to be a verj- formidablo 
 
 them, ordered him to give bail to plotter. He therefore declared him- 
 
 appear at the next Trinity term. self sati."- tied, and proposed to discharge 
 
 After this, he was permitted to go the prisoner. Sonieof the I'rivy Coun- 
 
 at large as heretofore." — Vol. ii. cillors, however, remonstrated, and 
 
 60. Penn was re([uired to give bail." — 
 
 Vol. iii. 599.
 
 182 THK NKW " EXAMEN. 
 
 of Ely, and others.^ Lord Macaulay, again following the errors 
 of the biographers of Penn, introduces a picturesque description 
 of the attendance of Penn at the funeral of George Fox — of liis 
 conspicuous " appearance among the disciples who committed 
 the venerable coipse to the earth ; " — tells how, when the cere- 
 mony was scarcely finished, he heard that warrants were out 
 against him — "how he instantly took flight;" — how "he lay 
 hid in London during some months," and then " stole down to 
 the coast of Sussex, " and made his escape to France/"'^ There 
 is about as much foundation for this stirring narrative as for 
 the incidents of an Adelphi melodrama.^ 
 
 1 Tr. Co. Reg., Feb. 5, 1690-91. = Vol. iv. 30, 31 ; vi. 31, 32 ; 1858. 
 
 ^ Lord Macaulaj''s taste for the picturesque occasionally leads him into errors, 
 which, if committed by another, he might designate by a more severe and 
 shorter word. Schomberg fell at the Boyne, and Lord Macaulay tlius records 
 the honours paid to his corpse : — 
 
 "The loss of the conquerors did not exceed 500 men; but amongst them 
 was the first captain in Europe. To his corpse every honour was paid. The 
 only cemetery in which so illustrious a warrior, slain in arms for the liberties 
 and religion of England, could properly bo laid, was that venerable abbey, hal- 
 lowed by the dust of many generations of princes, heroes, and poets. It was 
 announced that the brave veteran sliould have a public fimeral at Westminster. 
 In the mean time his corpse was embalmed with such skill as could be found 
 in the camp, and was deposited in a leaden coffin." * 
 
 The fact is, that Schomberg was buried, not in Westminster Abbey, but in 
 St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. So far from " every honour being paid to liis 
 corpse," William left the grave of "the first captain in Europe" unmarked 
 even by a single line, and so it remained for forty years. 
 
 In 1728, Swift, writing to Lord Carteret, says : " The great Duke of Schom- 
 berg is buried under the altar in my cathedral. ... I desire you will tell 
 Lord F., that if he will not send fifty pounds to make a monument for the old 
 Duke, I and the Chapter will erect a small one ourselves for ten pounds ; 
 whereon it shall be expressed that the posterity of the Duke, naming particu- 
 larly Lady Holderuess and Mr Mildmay, not having the generosity to erect a 
 monument, we have done it of ourselves ; and if for an excuse they pretend 
 they will send for his body, let them know it is mine ; and rather than send 
 it, I will take up the bones and make of it a skeleton, and put it in my Regis- 
 try Office to be a memorial of their baseness to all posterit5\" t 
 
 Swift's application was in vain, and in 1731 he carried part of his threat into 
 execution, and recorded the filial impiety of the posterity of the great Duke on 
 a small momiment,+ which he placed over his grave, not far from that on which 
 a few years later he inscribed the burning words that tell of the indignation at 
 the baseness and ingratitude of mankind which consimied his own heart. 
 
 Had the fortune of the war been different — had James regained his thi-one, 
 
 - Mac, iii. 63S, 1855 ; v. 271, 1S58. 
 + Swift to Lord Carteret, May 10, 1728— vol. xvi. liL\ { Swift's Works, vii. 382.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 183 
 
 Fox was buried on the 16th of January.^ Penn, giving au 
 account of the funeral some months after, describes the large 
 concourse of people who were present, says that he felt himself 
 easy and under no alarm, and " was never more public than 
 that day." He appears when he wrote this letter to have been 
 under the impression that the warrants had been issued earlier 
 than they really were, and to have supposed that he had " very 
 providentially" escaped a danger of which he had been uncon- 
 scious, and to which in reality he had never been exposed.^ 
 The proclamation for the arrest of Penn was not issued until 
 the 5th February,^ He did not take to flight; he never "stole 
 down to the coast of Sussex," nor did he " escape to France." 
 
 The conduct of Penn was precisely what might be expected 
 from a bold, honest, but prudent man. As on a former occa- 
 sion he wrote to Lord Nottingham, so he now addressed himself 
 to Henry Sidney.'* 
 
 Henry Sidney was the younger brother of Penn's friend 
 Algernon Sidney, but shared little of his character. Penn had 
 known him from boyhood. He stood high in the favour of 
 William.^ To him Penn wrote, earnestly denying any partici- 
 pation in the plot, or knowledge of the designs of the con- 
 spirators. 
 
 "Let it be enough, I say, and that truly, I know of no 
 invasions or insurrections — men, money, or arms for them — or 
 any juncto, or consult for advice, or corresponding in order to 
 it ; nor have I ever met with those named as the members of 
 this conspiracy, ov prepared any measures with them. . . . 
 Noble friend, suff'er not the King to be abused by lies to my 
 ruin. My enemies are none of his friends. I plainly see the 
 design of the guilty is to make me so ; and the most guilty 
 thinking dirt will best stick on me, to which old grutches, as 
 well as personal conveniences to others, help not a little." '^ 
 
 and Sarsficld filled tliu <^rave of Schomberg — with what j,'lowinf,' clo<|Ueucc 
 would liord Maciinlay have (U'liounccd the ingr.ititudc of the Tyrant ! 
 
 1 Journal of 0. Fox, hy Arniisted, Ajip, 3;?G. 
 
 ^ Penn to Lloyd, 14th of 4th nio. (i.e., June, Penn making use of the old 
 style) 1691. — lanney's I>ife of Penn, 3(>9. 
 
 » Privy Council Keg., 5th Fehruary lG'JO-91. •» Jlac, iv. 30. 
 
 ° Burnet, iv. 8. '^ Penn to Henry Sidney, Janney'.s Life of Penn, 369.
 
 184 TIIK NKVV "EXAMEN. 
 
 Nor <li«l I '•■nil confine himself to writing; he sought a per- 
 sonal inteiview with Sidney, at which he repeated his assur- 
 ance of his having no share in any plot or conspiracy. Lord 
 Macaulay calls Penn's application to Sidney a " strange cora- 
 niuiiication." ^ 
 
 What there was strange in it does not appear very clearly ; 
 and certainly Sidney felt, or at any rate expressed, no surprise. 
 It will be seen from the following letter that Sidney must have 
 received this communication from Penn within less than a fort- 
 night after the issue of the proclamation. 
 
 Sidney's letter, addressed to William, who was then at the 
 Hague, is as follows : — 
 
 "Feh. 21, 1690-1. 
 " SiiJ, — About ten days ago, Mr Penn sent his brother-in-law, 
 Mr Lowther, to me, to let me know that he would be very 
 glad to see me if I would give him leave, and promise hiiu to 
 let him return without being molested. I sent him word I 
 would, if the Queeu would permit it. He then desired me not 
 to mention it to any one but the Queen. I said I would not. 
 On Monday he sent to me to know what time I would appoint. 
 I named Wednesday, in the evening ; and accordingly I went 
 to the place at the time, where I found him, just as he used to 
 be, not at all disguised, but in the same clothes and the same 
 humour I formerly have seen him in. It would be too long 
 for your Majesty to. read a full account of all our discourse ; 
 but, in short, it was this, that he was a true and faithful ser- 
 vant to King AVilliam and Queen Mary, and if he knew any- 
 thing that was prejudicial to them or their Government, he 
 would readily discover it. He protested, in the presence of 
 God, that he knew of no plot ; nor did he believe there was 
 any one in Europe but what King Lewis hath laid ; and he 
 was of opinion that King James knew the bottom of this plot 
 as little as other people. He saith he knows your Majesty 
 hath a great many enemies ; and some that came over with 
 you, and some that joined you soon after your amval, he was 
 sure were more inveterate and more dangerous than the Jac- 
 1 Mac, iv. 30 ; vi. 31 ; 1858.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 185 
 
 obites; for he saith there is not one man among them tliat 
 hath common understanding. 
 
 " To the letters that were found with my Lord Preston, and 
 the paper of the conference, he would not give any positive 
 answer, but said if he could have the honour to see the King, 
 and that he would be pleased to believe the sincerity of what 
 he saith, and pardon the ingenuity of what he confessed, he 
 would freely tell everything he knew of himself, and other 
 things that would be much for liis ]\Iajesty's service and 
 interest to know ; but if he cannot obtain this favour, he must 
 be obliged to quit the kingdom, which he is very unwilling to 
 do. He saith he might have gone away twenty times if he 
 had pleased, but he is so confident of giving your Majesty 
 satisfaction if you would hear him, that he has resolved to 
 expect your return before he took any sort of measures. 
 What he intends to do is all he can do for your service, for he 
 can't be a witness if he would, it being, as he saith, against 
 his conscience and his principles to take an oath. This is the 
 sum of our conference. I am sure your Majesty will judge as 
 you ought to do of it, without any of my reflections." ^ 
 
 Such is Sidney's letter. Now for Lord IMacaulay's para- 
 phrase : — 
 
 "A short time after his disappearance, Sidney received from him a 
 strange communication. Penn begged for an interview, but insisted on 
 a promise that he should be suffered to return unmolested to his hiding- 
 place. Sidney obtained the royal [)ermission to make an appointment on 
 these terms. Penn came to the rendezvous, and spoke at length in his 
 own defence. He declared that he was a faithful subject of King Wil- 
 liam and Queen Mary, and that if he knew of any design against them lie 
 would discover it. Departing from his Yea and Nay, he protested, as in 
 the presence of God, that he knew of no plot, and that he did not believe 
 that there was any plot, unless the ambitious projects of the French 
 Government might be called plots. Sidney, amazed jn-obably by liearing 
 a person who had such an abhorrence of lies that he would not use the 
 common forms of civility, and such an al)horrence of oaths that he would 
 not kiss the book in a court of justice, tidl something very like a lie, and 
 confirm it by something very like an oath — asked how, if there were 
 really no plot, the letters ami minutes which had been found ujxm Ash- 
 ton were to be explained. This (piestion Penn evailed. ' If,' he said, ' I 
 could only see the King, I wouhl confess everything to him freely. I 
 
 I Dal., ii. App. 183.
 
 180 THE NEW " EXAMEN. 
 
 woulil tell liiiii iiiurli tli.'il it would be important for liim to know. It is 
 Diily in that way tliat I can 1)0 of Bcrvicc to him. A witncsH for the 
 ( 'lown J cannot he, for my conscience will not suffer me to be sworn.' lie 
 assured Sidney tliat the most formidable enemies of the Governmtmt were 
 the discontented Whif^'s. 'The Jacobites are not dangerous. There is 
 not a man amonfrst tiiem who has common understanding. Some per- 
 sons who came over from Holland with the King are much more to be 
 dreaded.' Jt dues not appear that Penn mentioned any names. lie was 
 suU'ered to depart in safety. No active search was made for him. He 
 lay hid in Loudon during some months, and then stole down to the coast 
 of Sussex, and made his escape to France." ^ 
 
 Here we find the liand of the accomplished artist. One of 
 the most able of the political caricatures of Gilray, entitled 
 Douhlures of Character, contains portraits of Fox, Sheridan, 
 and several other leading Whigs. Beside each head is a re- 
 petition so slightly altered that the change is hardly percep- 
 tible, yet so skilfully and so completely that Fox is converted 
 into the arch-fiend, Sheridan into Judas Iscariot, Sir Francis 
 Burdett into Sixteen-string Jack, the Duke of Norfolk into 
 Silenus, and Lord Derby into a baboon. Such is Lord Macau- 
 lay's treatment of Sidney's letter. Sidney expresses no amaze- 
 ment ; he never intimates that he considered Penn's statement 
 to be " something very like a lie." Lord Macaulay asserts that 
 Penn said, " If I could only see the King, I would confess 
 everything to him freely." Sidney's statement is that Penn 
 said, " if he could have the honour to see the King, and that 
 he would be pleased to believe the sincerity of what he said, 
 and pardon the ingenuity [ingenuousness] of what he confessed, 
 he would freely tell everything he knew of himself, and other 
 things that would be much for his Majesty's service and 
 interest to know." 
 
 The two statements are widely different. Lord Macaulay 's 
 implies that Penn had some crime to confess ; Sidney's 
 amounts to no more than that Penn would give all infonna- 
 tion in his power, if he could be allowed to do so directly to 
 the King. And without going the length of Swift, who de- 
 scribes Henry Sidney as " an idle, drunken, ignorant rake, 
 without sense, truth, or honour," ^ it may weU be that Penn 
 did not choose to make him the channel of communication for 
 
 > Mac, iv. 30 ; vi. 32 ; 1853. " Burnet, iii. 2(34, note.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 187 
 
 all that he might he disposed to trust to the King himself. In 
 his account of this interview, Lord IMacaiilay marks two 
 passages with inverted commas, as if they formed part of the 
 document he is quoting. The passages which occur in Sid- 
 ney's letter are widely different, as will be seen by a compari- 
 son of the two. Does Lord jNIacaulay consider this " emphati- 
 cally honest " ? No one knows better than he does that not 
 one in ten thousand of his readers will refer to Dahyniple's 
 Appendix to test his accuracy, or suspect him of passing off 
 his own paraphrase as the copy of an original document. 
 
 Lord Macaulay proceeds : " He lay hid in London during 
 some months, and then stole down to the coast of Sussex, and 
 made his escape to France." 
 
 For tills assertion Lord Macaulay cites Luttrell's Diary, 
 September 1691. Luttrell is a favourite authority with Lord 
 Macaulay, who cites his Diary as if it deserved similar credit 
 with those of Evelyn and Clarendon. At the time of the 
 publication of Lord Macaulay's History, Luttrell's Diaiy re- 
 mained in manuscript, and a certain mysterious value was 
 attached to it. It has since been published, and a mass of 
 duller and more contemptible rubbish never appeared in six 
 handsome octavo volumes. Of Luttrell himself little is known, 
 except that he was a book-collector, and died in 1732 ; that 
 he was rich, sordid, and churlish ; and that his collection (as 
 described by Scott ^) " contained the earliest editions of many 
 of our most excellent poems, bound up according to the order 
 of time, with the lowest trash of Grub Street." He was an 
 enthusiastic believer in Titus Gates. His journal is a record 
 of every canard of the day. He ponders gravely on the singu- 
 lar coincidence of the names of Green, Berry, and Hill, the 
 three unhappy men who were hanged for the murder of Sir Ed- 
 mondbury Godfrey, with the old designation of Primrose Hill, 
 where Godfrey's body was discovered, and which went formerly 
 by the name of Greenberry Hill. He relates the appearance 
 of the ghost of Godfrey with as much confidence and as much 
 truth as the disappearance of Penn.'- He records the ominous 
 
 ^ Scott's Drj'dcn, i. iv. 
 
 2 " 1678-79, Fcbnuiiy. About tlic iiiiiUllc of this month, on a Sunday,
 
 188 THE NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 fall <.r llic sceptre from tlic liaiid of tlic statue of Queen Mary 
 at the Exchange.' He asserts tliat I'enn was appointed " Su- 
 pervisor of the P^xcise and hearth - money." ^ This was a 
 " sliani " of some " coflFee-house scribblers that skulked within 
 the rules of Gray's Inn and elsewhere."^ He says that "the 
 Topish scholars and Fellows of Magdalene College have been 
 found since the turning out to have much embezzled the plate 
 belonging to the College." * Dr Smith, one of the Protestant 
 Fellows, on the other hand, says : "Upon a subsequent search 
 and inspection we found our writings and muniments safe — 
 the old gold in the Tower, which we counted, untouched and 
 entire — the plate left as we left it — and nothing, as I remem- 
 ber, missing." ^ He hears that a French ship has been taken, 
 in which has been found a chest, containing " a strange sort of 
 knife, about two feet long, with the back to chop, and the 
 point turning inwards to rip ; " in other words, a common 
 hedger's bill ; and he apprehends that it is " for the destruc- 
 tion of Protestants ! " ^ These are fair- samples of the " Diary." 
 No lie was too monstrous, no story too absurd, to find accept- 
 ance with Luttrell, provided only it was a Protestant lie or a 
 Protestant story. It is only necessary to refer to any narra- 
 tive of Penn's life, from Croese and Besse dow^n to Dixon and 
 Janney, to find how he was employed during his retirement 
 from public life. He remained at his usual residence ; he 
 watched over his d3^ing wife ; and he gave to the M'orld some 
 of his best known writings. Croese says : " From that time 
 Peuu withdrew himself more and more from business, and at 
 length, at London, in his own house, confined himself, as it 
 were, to a voluntary exile from the converse, fellowship, and 
 
 about eleven in the morning, a prodigious darkness overspread the face of the 
 sky — the like was never known — and continued about half an liour. The 
 darkness was so great that in several churches they could riOt proceed in divine 
 service without candles ; and 'tis said during that time the figure of Sir E. 
 Godfrey appeared in the Queen's Chappie at Somerset House whilst service 
 was saying." — Vol. i. 8. 
 
 1 November 1688. ^ Lutt. Diary, Aug. 8, 16S8— vol. i. 453. 
 
 ^ Ellis Cor., ii. 210, 211. "Another of these shams is that Mr Penn is 
 made Controller of Excise arising in tea and cotfee, which is also false, though 
 one might think they might be better informed on matters relating to their 
 own trade." See also Penn's letter to Popple, 24th October 1688. 
 
 * Vol. i. 469. * St. Tr., .\ii. 79. « December 1688.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 180 
 
 conference of others, employing himself only in his domestic 
 affairs, that he might be devoted more to meditation and 
 spiritual exercises." ^ Besse, in his quaint and simple lan- 
 guage, gives a more detailed account of the mode in \vhich 
 Penn employed what Lord jNIacaulay calls these " three years 
 of wandering and lurking." ^ " He had hitherto," says Besse, 
 " defended himself before the King and Council, but now 
 thought it rather advisable to retire for a time tlian hazard the 
 sacrificing his innocence to the oaths of a profligate villain ; 
 and accordingly, he appeared but little in public for two or 
 three years. During this recess he applied himself to writing ; 
 and flrst, lest his own friends the Quakers should entertain 
 any sinister thought of him, he sent the following epistle to 
 their yearly meeting in London." Of this communication, 
 which Besse gives at length, it is unnecessary to transcribe 
 more than the following solemn words : " My privacy is not 
 because men have sworn truly, but falsely, against me ; for 
 wicked men have laid in wait for me, and false witnesses have 
 laid to my charge things that I knew not." A fate that has 
 pursued him beyond the grave. His biographer then pro- 
 ceeds : " His excellent Preface to Eobert Barclay's works, and 
 another to those of John Burnyeat, both printed this year, 
 were further fruits of his retirement ; as was also a small 
 treatise, entitled ' Just JNIeasures, in an Epistle of Peace and 
 Love to such Professors as are under any Dissatisfaction about 
 the present Order practised in the Church of Christ.' ' A Key 
 opening the Way to every common Understanding, &c. &c.; ' 
 a book so generally accepted that it has been reprinted even 
 to the twelfth edition. * An Essay towards the present Peace 
 of Europe : ' a work so adapted to the unsettled condition of 
 the times, and so well received, that it was reprinted the same 
 year." " ' Keflections and Maxims relating to the Conduct of 
 Human Life ' — an useful little book, which has also passed 
 many impressions. 
 
 " Having thus improved the times of his retirement to his 
 own comfort and the common good, it pleased Cod to dissipate 
 that cloud, and open Ids way again to a publick service ; for in 
 
 iBook ii. p. 102 ; 1G96. "■'Mac, iv. 31 ; vi. 32; 1858.
 
 10(1 TMK NKW " HXAMKN. 
 
 llic l;ill(!r (11(1 of tliu year 1G93, through the mcdiatuju ol his 
 fiiciKls, the Lord lianolagh, Lord Somers, Duke of Bucking- 
 liuiii, and Sir John Trciichard, or some of them, he was 
 a(hiiittcd to appear before the King and Council, where he so 
 pleaded his inuocency that he was acquitted. 
 
 " In the 12th month 1G93 departed this life his beloved wife, 
 GulicliiKi Maria, with whom he had lived in all the endear- 
 ments of that nearest relation about twenty-one years. The 
 loss of her was a veiy great exercise — such himself said — as 
 all his other troubles were nothing in comparison. Her char- 
 acter, dying expressions, and pious end were related by him- 
 self in an account he published, and wliich is inserted in the 
 appendix." ^ 
 
 Such is the testimony of contemporaries — such were the 
 employments, such the afllictions of Penn during the three 
 years which Lord Macaulay would induce his readers to believe 
 were passed in wandering, lurking, and plotting ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Ninth and concluding charge brought by Lord Macaulay 
 against Penn is in the following passage : ^ — 
 
 " After about three years of wandering and lurking, he, by the media- 
 tion of some eminent men, who overlooked his faults for the sake of his 
 good qualities, made his peace with the Government, and again ventured 
 to resume his ministration. The return which he made for the lenity 
 with which he had been treated, does not much raise his character. 
 Scarcely had he begun to harangue in public about the unlawfulness of 
 war, when he sent a message, earnestly exhorting James to make an im- 
 mediate descent on England with thirty thousand men." 
 
 Lord Macaulay forgets to state that, amongst the eminent 
 men who made his peace with the Government were Locke 
 and Somers.^ The attachment of such men weighs more in 
 favour of the character of Penn than the animosity of Lord 
 Macaiday against it. 
 
 The charge of " exhorting James to make an immediate 
 
 ' Bosse's Life of renn, 140, 141 ; 1726. » Vol. iv. 31 ; vi. 32 ; 1858. 
 
 ' Dixon's Life of Peun, 351, 356, 292.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 191 
 
 descent on England with thirty thousand men," rests upon 
 evidence which will not bear a moment's scrutiny. 
 
 In Macpherson's ' State Papers/ vol. i. p. 465, is preserved 
 a translation of a rough draught, professing to contain infor- 
 mation collected in England by one Captain "Williamson, wiio 
 appears to have been employed as a spy on behalf of James. 
 The value of the captain's information may be judged of by 
 the fact that, professing to be trusted with the secret thouglits 
 of Lord Montgomery, the Earl of Aylesbury, the Earl of Yar- 
 mouth, the Earl of Arran, Sir Theophilus Oglethorp, Sir John 
 Friend, Mr Lowton, Mr Strode, Mr Ferguson, Mr Penn, and 
 Colonel Graham, he finds that each of them severally has 
 come to the conclusion that thirty thousand men is the exact 
 number required to replace King James on the throne, with 
 the addition, in one instance, of a " Black Brigade," of a 
 peculiar character ; for one of the persons whose sentiments 
 he professes to speak, promises that " he will join to his regi- 
 ment a company of clergymen of the Church of England, who 
 are disposed to serve as volunteers in this expedition — as are, 
 in fact the majority of the clergy who have not taken the 
 oaths, and also many of them who have taken them." This is 
 testimony which Lord ]\Iacaulay would reject with scorn, were 
 he not reduced to the necessity of adopting it to support his 
 determination to blacken the character of William Penn. 
 
 There is nothing to show that Williamson had even the 
 slightest acquaintance with Penn ; and there is nothing what- 
 ever but this contemptible trash to support Lord Macaulay's 
 assertion. 
 
 This brings us to tlie end of the definite charges brought 
 by Lord Macaulay against William Penn. 
 
 I have not noticed the error with regard to Penn's visit to 
 the Hague, because liord Macaulay has omitted it from the 
 last edition of his History, though without pointing out to his 
 readers the mistake into which he had fallen, or acknow- 
 ledging his obligation to Mr Hepworth Dixon for correcting 
 it.^ It is not my intention to follow the sneers or insinuations 
 
 1 Compare Mac, 8vo edit., 1848, ii. 231, and edit. 1858, ii. 493 ; Dixon's 
 Lifeof reun, 1851, p. 448.
 
 192 TIIK NM:W " ICXAMEN. 
 
 wliicli L<»r(l Marauliiy has scattered tlirou^jh his vohimes, or 
 to spcciiliito ui)()n the motives, public or private, wliicli liave 
 instigated his conduct. It is enough for me if I give tlie 
 reader what lie will certainly not find in the pages of Lord 
 ISIacaulay — namely, the means of testing for himself the tioith 
 of each substantial charge.^ Another i)assage, however, re- 
 quires notice, not that it in any way affects the character of 
 IVnn, but because it has considerable bearing on the degree of 
 accuracy with which Lord IMacaulay has investigated the 
 evidence before hazarding very positive assertion. Besse, the 
 earliest biographer of I'enn, states that one of the accusations 
 against Penn was " backed by the oath of one William Fuller, 
 a wretch afterwards by Parliament declared a cheat and im- 
 postor." 2 Lord Macanlay says that this account is " certainly 
 false ;"^ that Fuller was not the informer.^ It is not very 
 material who was the informer, when the accusations brought 
 were of such a nature that, notwithstanding the strong disposi- 
 
 1 Lord Macaulay's habit of citing a number of authorities, frequently with- 
 out specifying dates or pages, at the end of a long history, without giving any 
 clue by wliicli the reader can discover for what facts he considers each to be an 
 authority, renders it a work of great labour to follow him, so as to test his 
 accuracy. 
 
 2 Besse, p. 140. 3 ;Mji(._ jy. 30, note. 
 
 * Lord Macaulay thus commences his account of Fuller : "Of these double 
 traitors, the most remarkable was William Fuller. This man has himself told 
 \is, that when he was very young, he fell in with a pamphlet vhich contained 
 an account of the flagitious life and horrible death of Dangcrfield. The boy's 
 imagination was set on fire : he devoured the book — he almost got it by heart ; 
 and he was soon seized, and ever after haunted, by a strange presentiment that 
 his fate would resemble that of the wretched adventurer whose history he had 
 so eagerly read. It might have been supposed that the prospect of dying in 
 Newgate, with a back flayed and an eye knocked out, would not have seemed 
 very attractive. But experience proves that there are some distempered minds, 
 for which notoriety, even when accompanied with pain and shame, has an 
 irresistible fascination. Animated by this loathsome ambition, Fuller equalled, 
 and perhaps surpassed, his model." * 
 
 The book referred to by Fuller as having excited his bopsh imagination 
 contains no account whatever of the " horrible death of Dangerfield ;" nor 
 could it, for it was published in 1680, and Dangerfield's death did not take 
 place until 1685. t Nor can it properly be said to contain any "account of 
 Ins tlagitious life." It is an avowed fiction, entitled 'Don Tomazo, or the 
 Juvenile Eambles of Thomas Dangerfield,' written in imitation of ' The 
 Cheats and Cunning Contrivances of Guzman and Lazarillo de Tormes.' The 
 - M.nc, iii. 590 : v. 221 : 1S5S. t Evoljii's Diary, 2d July 1685.
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 193 
 
 tion 1 to proceed to extremities against Peiin, no case could be 
 discovered upon which to found any charge that woukl bear 
 
 hero of the story is Dangerfield, and it leaves liiiii, where history takes him 
 uji, at the period of his introduction to Mrs Cellier.* Fuller refers to this 
 book by the short title of * Dangerfield's Rambles,' which is used as a heading 
 to the pages. He states that he met with it whilst staying with his stepfather 
 during the summer preceding that in which he would be of age to choose a 
 guardian for himself (i.e., fourteen) ; and as Fuller was born in September 
 1670,t this must have occurred in the summer of 1683. Dangerfield's death 
 took place in the summer of 1685 ; so that, according to Lord Macaulay, 
 Fuller's imagination was inllamed by an event two years before it happened ! 
 The circumstances of Dangerfield's death are well known. As he was return- 
 ing through Holborn after the execution of part of his horrible sentence, a 
 gentleman of Gray's Inn, of the name of Francis, who was accidentally walking 
 along the street, accompanied by his wife, attracted by curiosity, looked in at 
 the window of the coach in which the prisoner was, and carried away by the 
 feelings of detestation w'hich the sight of Dangerfield naturally inspired, ad- 
 dressed some taunting words to him, which, considering tlie miserable condi- 
 tion of the wretched man, might well have been spared. Dangerfield replied 
 with still greater insolence. Francis, losing all self-command, struck him on 
 the head with a small cane. The blow injured his eye, and shortly afterwards 
 Dangerfield died — his death, it was said, being attributable to the blow. " The 
 appearance of Dangerfield's body," says Lord Macaulay, " wliich had been fright- 
 fully lacerated with the whip, inclined many to believe that his death was chiefiy, 
 if not wholly, caused by the stripes he had received. The Government and the 
 Chief Justice thought it convenient to lay the whole blame on Francis, who, 
 though he seems to have been at worst guilty only of aggravated manslaughter, 
 was tried and executed for nnuder."t So far Lord Macaulay is accurate, but 
 Francis was a "Tory ;" and Lord Macaulay proceeds as follows : " His dying 
 speech is one of the most curious monuments of that age. The savage >s-jiirU 
 which had brought him to the gallows remained with him to the last. Boasts of 
 his loyalty, and abuse of the Whigs, were mingled with the parting ejaculations 
 in which he commended his soul to the Divine mercy. An idle rumour had 
 been circulated that his wife was in love with Dangerfield, who was eminently 
 handsome, and renowned for gallantry. The fatal blow, it was s;iid, had been 
 promi)ted by jealousy. The dying husband, ivith an earnestness half ridicu- 
 lous, half pathetic, vindicated the lady's character ; she was, he said, a vir- 
 tuous woman ; .she came of a loyal stock ; and if she had been inclined to 
 brtiak her marriage vow, vjould at least luivc selected a Tory and a Churcliman 
 for her 2)Cirainotcr."§ 
 
 Where Lord Mai'aulay finds either the " savage spirit," or the "abuse of the 
 Whigs," or even the " parting ejaculations," it is difficult to say. The dying 
 speech of Francis was a written p.aper, carefully prepared, and delivered to tlu' 
 Ordinary at the place of execution, with a dircition that it should be published. 
 
 ' Burnet, ii. 235. t Fuller's Life, 2, 4. 
 
 I Miic, i. 4H9 : ii. 64 ; 1858. § Mac, i. 40n. 
 
 ^ See the Letters of Lord ('arni:irthi n and Lord Nottingham, Dai. Ajip, 
 ii. 187. 
 
 N
 
 194 THE NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 investigation in a, court of justice, even such as courts were in 
 ilioso (lays. ]*»ut if I'enn himself can be supposed, notwith- 
 standing Lord Macaulay's assertion, to liave known anything 
 
 It is almost wholly devoted to clearing liim of the suspicion of having acted 
 with design or prcincditation in the unliajiiiy allair to which his life was about to 
 1)0 sacrificed, or of having borne any personal malice against Dangerfield. Noth- 
 ing can be clearer than that he suHVred death most unjustly. In no view could 
 his ofTcnco be held to amount to murder. Even admitting that Dangerfield's 
 death was caused by the blow he received from Francis, of which there is great 
 doubt, that blow was struck in a sudden gust of passion, upon an accidental 
 occasion, without premeditation, and with a weapon (a small cane) very un- 
 likely to produce a fatal result. 
 
 rerhai)S Lord Macaulay discovers "abuse of the Whigs" in the prayer 
 which Francis offered up to " God Almighty to preserve and bless " King 
 James, who had refused mercy to him, and was about to sacrifice him to the 
 outcry of a "faction." Perhaps he discovers a "savage xplrit" in the reflec- 
 tion which Francis makes, almost in the words which Shakespeare has placed 
 in the mouth of Wolsey. " If I had been as zealous in the service of God as my 
 prince, He would not have left me so much to myself as to have pennitted me 
 to have fallen into this unexpected extremity." 
 
 Besides clearing himself of suspicion of the guilt of murder, he vindicates 
 the character of his wife, which had been assailed by base and cowardly slan- 
 derers. He blesses the Lord that he has lived so as "not to be ashamed to 
 live or afraid to die." "But," he saj's, "that which most sensibly afflicts me, 
 and is worse to me than death, is, that I cannot sufler alone, but that thej* 
 have not only raised scandals upon me in particular preparatory to it, but 
 upon my poor innocent v.nfc, as if my jealousy of her had been the reason of my 
 animosity to Dangerfield, when I am morallj'' certain she never saw him in her 
 whole life save that fatal moment ; and no couple (as hundreds can witness) 
 have lived in better correspondence ; and besides that, she is as virtuous a 
 woman as lives, and born of so good and loyal * a family, that, if she had been 
 so inclined, she would have scorned to have prostituted herself to such a profli- 
 gate person ; but, on the contrary (God is my witness), I never had any such 
 thoughts of her, and do as verily believe, as there is a God in heaven, I never 
 had any reason, she having always been the most indulgent, kind, and loving 
 wife that ever man had, and in my conscience one of the best of women."t 
 
 What Lord Macaulay finds "ridiculous " in this vindication of his slandered 
 wife bj- a man on the brink of eternity, I am at a loss to discover. The non- 
 .sense about " seledlni) a Tory ami a Churchman for her paramour," is Lonl 
 Macaulay's own. Nothing of the kind can be traced in the speech of Francis 
 which will be found at length in the Appendix. It is worth perusal, in order 
 to see what Lord Macaulay considers to be " one of the most curious monu- 
 ments of that age ;" though the reader will probably be as much puzzled to 
 discover how it is entitled to that distinction as to find either the " savage 
 
 * Loyal ; 1, Obedient ; 2, Faithful in love. 
 " Hail, wedded love ! by thee 
 Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure." — Milton. 
 
 Johnson's Dirtinniiry. 
 t 11 State Trials, 509.
 
 WILLIAM! PENN. 195 
 
 about the matter, it is " certainly true " that Fuller was one of 
 the informers. Besse may have fallen into some inaccuracy 
 as to the date or the particular occasion, but the following 
 letter is conclusive as to the main fact : — 
 
 " I have been above these three years hunted up and down, 
 and could never be allowed to live quietly in city or country, 
 even then when there was hardly a pretence against me, so 
 that I have not only been unprotected, but persecuted by the 
 Government. And before the date of this business which is 
 laid to my charge, I was indicted for high treason in Ireland, 
 before the Grand Jury of Dublin, and a Bill found upon the 
 oaths of three scandalous men. Fuller, one Fisher, and an 
 Irishman, whom I knew not ; and the last has not been in 
 
 spirit" which Lord Macaulay discerns, or the "abuse of the Wliigs," which is 
 so capital an offence in his eyes. 
 
 In the first volume of Lord Jlacaulay's history, p. 488,* there is the follow- 
 ing note with regard to Dangerficld : "According to Roger North, the judges 
 decided that Dangerficld, having been previously convicted of perjury, was 
 incompetent to be a witness of the plot. But this is one among many i7istances 
 of Roger's inaccuracy. It apjiears from the report of the trial of Lord Civstle- 
 mainc, in Juno 1680, that, after much altercation between counsel, and much 
 consultation among the judges of the different courts in Westminster Hall, 
 Dangerfield was sworn and suffered to tell his story ; but the jury very pro- 
 perly refused to believe him." This is one of the many inaccuracies, not of 
 Roger North, but of Lord Macaulay. North refers not to Lord Castlemaine's 
 trial, but to that of Mrs Cellier, 7 State Trials, 1043, where Dangerfield was 
 tendered as a witness and rejected. It is the more singular that Lord Mac- 
 aulay should have fallen into this error, and grounded upon it his sneer at 
 North, inasmuch as the rejection of Dangerfield is made the subject of remark 
 in Mr Hargreave's learned argument on the efl'ect of the King's pardon of per- 
 jury ; and the debate of the judges on the question of admissibility, is reported 
 by Sir T. Raymond, p. 3G8, who states that they were divided in opinion, the 
 majority Icing for rejecting the testimony, whieh was accordingly done. The 
 passage in North's ' Kxamen' is as follows : "But then as soon as Dangerficld 
 advanced, the woman " [i. e,, Cellier] "charged with fuiy upon him with an 
 whole battery of records, being convictions, outlawries, and judgments, with 
 arser de main, pillory, prison breach, and what not of villany, and almost 
 every species of crime ; then by proof showed so many ill things of him, as the 
 court woAs soon satisjied to reject him as a wltni'ss. , . . In fine, the fellow 
 was exploded with ignominy, and sent home to Newgate again, and the pri- 
 soner was acquitted. "t 
 
 * Vol. ii. 63, 1853. 
 
 t Exaiiien, 263 ; 7 Stato Trials, 105S, Ilargrenvc'.s note : Sir T. Rayinond'a Reports, 869, n 
 note of the ejusc. The Cliief Justice Rnynioml, and Niehol.s, were for rejceting, Jones find 
 Dolltcn for niliiiitlint; him ; ho wa.s consciinciitly u'jerted. Mrs Cellicr's trial took jilace on 
 the lUh .luiii' 1080; on the ICth l)ant;ortlelil wa.s disrharged, havin;; obtained his jiardon ; 
 and on the 23d he was examined on Lord Ca.stlemaine's trial. See Lutf. Diaiy, i. 47, 'IS.
 
 lOr, TIIK NKW " KXAMEN. 
 
 Kuj^laiul since the Eevolution, nor I in Iicliiud tlicse twenty 
 years, nor do I so much as know him by name ; and all 
 their evidence upon hearsay too. It may be that it is the 
 most extraordinary case that has been known ; . . .' that 
 an Englishman in England, walking about the streets, should 
 have a bill of high treason found against him in Ireland 
 for a fact pretended to be committed in England, when 
 a man cannot legally be tried in one county in England for 
 a crime committed in another. And the others are at ease 
 that were accused for the same fault, and that Fuller is wi- 
 tionally staged and censured for an impostor that was the chief 
 of »n/ accusers: my estate in Ireland is, notwithstanding, 
 lately put up among the estates of outlaws, to be leased for the 
 Crown, and the collector of the hundred where it lies ordered 
 to seize my rents, and lease it in the name of the Government, 
 and yet though I am not convicted or outlawed. . . . 
 
 "I know mine enemies, and their true character and history, 
 and their intrinsic value to this or other Governments. I com- 
 mit them to time wuth my own conduct and afflictions." ^ 
 
 I commenced these remarks with Lord Macaulay's own 
 record of the judgment of posterity on the character of 
 William Penn — I conclude them with the echo of that judg- 
 ment which comes back clear and distinct over the broad 
 waves of the Atlantic. 
 
 " There is nothing in the history of the human race like the 
 confidence which the simple virtues and institutions of William 
 Penn inspired. . . . 
 
 " After more than a century, the laws which he reproved 
 began gradually to be repealed, and the principle which he 
 developed, secure of immortality is slowly but firmly, assert- 
 ing its power over the Legislature of Great Britain. . . . 
 Every charge of hypocrisy, of selfishness, of vanity, of dissimu- 
 lation, of credulous confidence — every form of reproach, from 
 virulent abuse to cold apology — every ill name, from Tory 
 and Jesuit to blasphemer and infidel, has been used against 
 Penn — but the candour of his character always triumphed 
 over calumny. 
 
 » Penn's Letter to , 1693 ; Jauney's Life of Penn, .S79.
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 197 
 
 "His name was safely cherished as a household word in 
 the cottages of Wales and Ireland, and among the peasantry 
 of Germany ; and not a tenant of a wigwam, from the sea to 
 the Susquehanna, doubted his integrity. 
 
 " Ilis fame is now wide in the world : he is one of the few 
 who have gained abiding glory/' ^ 
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 His Majesty's gracious Declaration to all his loving Subjects 
 for Liberty of Conscience. 
 
 James li. 
 
 It having pleased Almighty God not only to bring us 
 to tho imperial crown of theso kingdoms through the greatest 
 difficulties, but to preserve us by a more than ordinary providence 
 upon the throne of our royal ancestors, there is nothing now that 
 we so earnestly desire as to establish our Government on such a 
 foundation as may make our subjects happy, and unite them to us 
 by inclination as well as duty, which we think may be done by no 
 means so ellectually as by granting to them the free exercise of their 
 religion for the time to come ; and add that to the perfect enjoy- 
 ment of their property, which has never been in any case invaded 
 by us since our coming to the crown — which being the two things 
 men value most, shall ever be preserved in these kingdoms, during 
 our reign over them, as the truest methods of their peace and our 
 glory. \Ve cannot but heartily wish, as it will easily be believed, 
 that all the people of our dominions were members of the Cathohck 
 Church ; yet we humbly thank Almighty God it is, and hath of 
 long time been our constant desire and opinion (which, upon diverse 
 occasions wo have declared), that conscience ought not to be con- 
 strained, nor people forced in mattcM-s of mere religion. It has ever 
 
 ' Bancroft's Histoiy U. S., ii. 381, 400 ; .Inmicy, Life of rciin, 507.
 
 11)8 THE NEW " EXAM EN. 
 
 1)(5cn (lirootly contrary to our inclination, a« wc tliink it in to tho 
 iiiliTcst of (lovcrnmcnt, whicli it destroys by spoilin;,' tradcj, do- 
 poiiidating countries, ami discouraging strangers; and finally, that 
 it never obtained the end for wliich it was employed. And in tliia 
 wo are tho more confirmed l)y the reflections we have ma^lc upon 
 tlio conduct of the four last reigns ; for after all the frequent and 
 pressing endeavours that were used in each of them to reduce this 
 kingdom to an exact conformity in religion, it is visildc the success 
 lias not answered the design, and that the difficulty is invincible. 
 Wo therefore, out of our princely care and affection unto all our 
 loving subjects, that they may live at ease and quiet, and for the 
 increase of trade and encouragement of strangers, have thought fit, 
 by virtue of our royal prerogative, to issue forth this our royal 
 Declaration of Indulgence, making no doubt of the concurrence of 
 our two Houses of Parliament, when we shall think it convenient 
 for them to meet. 
 
 In the first place, we do declare that we shall protect and main- 
 tain our archbishops, bishops, and clergy, and all other our subjects 
 of tho Church of England, in the free exercise of their religion as 
 by law established, and in the quiet and full enjoyment of all their 
 possessions, without any molestation or disturbance whatsoever. 
 
 We do likewise declare, that it is our royal will and pleasure 
 that from henceforth the execution of all and all manner of penal 
 laws in matters ecclesiastical, for not coming to Church, or not 
 receiving the Sacrament, or for any other nonconformity to the 
 religion established, or for or by reason of the exercise of religion 
 in any manner whatsoever, be immediately suspended : and the 
 further execution of the said penal laws, and every of them, is 
 hereby suspended. 
 
 And to the end that by the liberty hereby granted, the peace 
 and security of our Government in the practice thereof may not bo 
 endangered, we have thought fit, and do hereby strictly charge and 
 command all our loving subjects, that, as we do freely give them 
 leave to meet and serve God after their o^\'n way and manner, be it 
 in private houses or in places purposely hired or built for that use, 
 so that they may take especial care that nothing be preached or 
 taught among them which may any ways tend to alienate the 
 hearts of our people from us or our Government ; and that their 
 meetings and assemblies be peaceably, openly, and publicly held, 
 and all persons freely admitted to them : and that they do signify 
 and make known to some one or more of tho next justices of the 
 peace what place or places they set apart for those uses.
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 19'J 
 
 And that all our subjects may enjoy such their religious assem- 
 blies with greater assurance and protection, we have thought it 
 requisite, and do hereby command, that no disturbance of any kind 
 be made or given to them, under pain of our displeasure, and to be 
 further proceeded against with the utmost severity. And foras- 
 much as we are desirous to have the benefit of the service of all our 
 loving subjects, which, by the law of nature is inseparably annexed 
 to, and inherent in our royal person, and that none of our subjects 
 may for the future be under any discouragement or disability (who 
 are otherwise well inclined and fit to serve us), by reason of some 
 oaths or tests that have been usually administered on such occa- 
 sions, we do hereby further declare that it is our royal will and 
 pleasure that the oaths commonly called the Oaths of Supremacy 
 and Allegiance, and also the several tests and declarations men- 
 tioned in the Acts of Parhament made in the twenty-fifth and 
 thirtieth years of the reign of our late royal brother, King Charles 
 the Second, shall not at any time hereafter be required to be taken, 
 declared, or subscribed by any person or persons whatsoever, who 
 is or shall be employed in any ofiice or place of trust, either civil 
 or military, under us or in our Government. And we do further 
 declare it to be our pleasure and intention, from time to time here- 
 after, to grant our royal dispensations under our Great Seal to all 
 our loving subjects so to be employed who shall not take the said 
 oaths, or subscribe or declare the said tests, or declarations in the 
 above-mentioned Acts, and every of them. 
 
 And to the end that all oui- loving subjects may derive and enjoy 
 the full benefit and advantage of our gracious indidgence hereby 
 intended, and may be acquitted and discharged from all pains, 
 penalties, forfeitures, and disabilities by them, or any of them, 
 incurred or forfeited, or which they shall or may at any time here- 
 after be liable to, for or by reason of their nonconformity, or the 
 exercise of their religion, and from all suits, troubles, or disturbances 
 for the same ; we do hereby give our free and ample pardon unto 
 all Nonconformists, Kecusants, and other our loving subjects, for 
 all crimes and things by them committed, contrary to the penal 
 laws formerly made relating to religion, and the profession or exer- 
 cise thereof, hereby dcclaiing that this our royal pardon and 
 indemnity shall be as good and ellectual to all intents and jnirposes, 
 as if every individual person had Iwen therein particularly named, 
 or had particular pardons under our Great Seal ; which we do 
 likewise declare shall from time to time bo granted unto any person 
 or i)ersons desiring the same; wiDing and requiring our judges,
 
 200 TirK Ni:\V " KXAMKN. 
 
 juaticoH, and (itlicr officers, to take notice of, and <jl)ey our royal 
 will and jdfasiirf* Imrcin-bcforo dcclanid. 
 
 And although tlie freedom and assurance wc have hereby given 
 in relation to religion antl property might be sufficient to remove 
 from tlio minds of oiu loving subjects all fears and jf^alousies in 
 relation to cither, yet we have thought fit further to declare, that 
 we will maintain them in all their properties and possessions, as 
 well of (Jhurch and Abbey lands as in any other their lands and 
 properties whatsoever. 
 
 Given at our Coijtft at Whitehall, the fourth day of April 1G87, 
 in the third year of our reign. By his Majesty's special 
 command. 
 
 No. IT. 
 
 "William Penn's Speech to the King upon delivering the 
 Quakers' Address. 
 
 May it please the King, — 
 
 It was the saying of our blessed Lord to the captious Jews in 
 the case of tribute, " Eender to Caesar the things that are Ccesar's, 
 and to God the things that are God's." As this distinction ought 
 to be observed by all men in the conduct of their lives, so the King 
 has given us an illustrious example in his own person that excites 
 us to it ; for Avhilc he was a subject he gave Csesar his tribute, and 
 now he is a Caesar, gives God his due — viz. the sovereignty over 
 conscience. It were a great shame then for any Englishman (that 
 professes Christianity) not to give God his due. By this grace he 
 hath relieved his distressed subjects from their cruel sufferings, and 
 raised to himseK a new and lasting empire by adding their affections 
 to their duty. And we pray God to continue the King in this 
 noble resolution ; for he is now upon a principle that has good- 
 nature, Cliristianity, and the good of civil society, on its side — a 
 security to him beyond the little arts of Government. 
 
 I would not that any should think that we came hither with 
 design to fill the ' Gazette ' with our thanks ; but as our sufferings 
 would have moved stones to compassion, so we should be harder if 
 we were not moved to gratitude. 
 
 Xow since the King's mercy and goodness have reached to us 
 throughout the Kingdom of England and Principality of Wales, 
 our General Assembly from all those parts met at London about our
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 201 
 
 Church affairs, has appointed us to wait upon the King with our 
 humble thanks, and me to deliver them, wliicli I do by this Ad- 
 dress with all the ailection and respect of a dutiful subject. 
 
 The Address. 
 
 To King Jamks the Second, over England, &c., the humble and 
 grateful Acknowledgment of his peaceable subjects, called 
 Quakers, in this kingdom, from their usual yearly fleeting in 
 London, the nineteenth day of the third month, vulgarly called 
 May, 1687;— 
 
 We cannot but bless and praise the name of Almighty God, who 
 hath the hearts of princes in his hand, that he hath inclined the 
 King to hear the cries of his suffering subjects for conscience' sake ; 
 and we rejoice that, instead of troubling him with complaints of our 
 sufferings, he hath given us so eminent an occasion to present him 
 with our thanks. And since it hath pleased the King, out of his 
 great compassion, thus to commiserate our afflicted condition, which 
 hath so particularly appeared by his gracious proclamation and war- 
 rants last year, wherehi/ hcelve hundred jmsrmers tcerc released from, 
 their imprisonments, and many others from spoil and ruin in their 
 estates and properties ; and his princely speech in Council and 
 Christian Declaration for Liberty of Conscience, in which he doth 
 not only express his aversion to all force upon conscience, and grant 
 his Dissenting subjects an ample liberty to Avorship God in the way 
 they are persuaded is most agreeable to His will, but gives them his 
 kingly word the same shall continue during his reign ; — we do (as 
 our friends of this city have already done) render the King our 
 huiuble. Christian, and tluudcful acknowledgments, not only in be- 
 half of ourselves, but with respect to our friends throughout Eng- 
 land and "Wales ; and i)ray God with all our hearts to bless and pre- 
 serve thee, King, and those under thee, in so good a work. And 
 as wo can assure the King it is well accepted in the several counties 
 from whence we came, so we hope the good effects thereof, for the 
 peace, trade, and prosperity of the kingdom, will proditce such a 
 concurrence from the Parliament as may secure it to our posterity 
 in after times. And wliilo we live, it shall be our endeavour 
 (through God's grace) to demean ourselves as in conscience to God 
 and duty to the King we are obliged. 
 
 His pcaceabk', loving, ami faithful Subjects.
 
 2()j TiiK m;\v " i:xamen. 
 
 Tin: Kino's Answer. 
 
 (iKNTLEMEN, — I tliank you licartily for your Address. Some of 
 you know (I am sure you do, Mr I'enii) that it was always my prin- 
 ciple that conscience ought not to bo forced, and that all men ought 
 to have the liberty of their consciences ; and what I have promised 
 in my Declaration, I will continue to perform as long as I live ; and 
 I hope, before I die, to settle it so that after-ages shall have no 
 reason to alter it. 
 
 No. III. 
 
 The Dying Speech of Robert Francis, of Gray's Inn, Esq., JiUy 
 24, 1685, delivered by his own hand to the Ordinary at the 
 place of Execution, desiring the same might be published. 
 
 I am here, by the divine permission and providence of God, be- 
 come a spectacle to God, angels, and men, for a rash, extravagant, 
 and imprudent act, wherein I do confess I have not only offended 
 against the Government and courts of justice, but against Christi- 
 anity, and even the rules of morality itself. Nevertheless (I hope), 
 not only the Court, but all unbiassed men, from the several circum- 
 stances of the fact, are satisfied that I had no malicious intent of 
 doing Avhat fcU out, nor had any grudge or personal prejudice to 
 him upon any account whatsoever, more than what all honest and 
 good men could not but have that love the King and the Govern- 
 ment. The solemn truth of all which I have declared, not only 
 upon the holy sacrament I received from ^Ir Master, but also that 
 I never knew nor saw him before that unhappy moment, save once 
 at a distance in the pillory at Westminster, and do now, as a dying 
 man, solemnly avow and protest the same. I therefore, I hope, 
 I may boldly say, I am not conscious of any gudt before God as to 
 the malice. However, God in Ilis great wisdom has been pleased 
 to suffer this great calamity to fall upon me, and I hope this His 
 severe chastisement is in order to bring me to Himself, when softer 
 means had not sufficiently done it. All them that know me (I am 
 sure) will do me that justice as to believe I am far from having 
 done it cither wilfully or mercenarily (as most untndy is reported).
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 203 
 
 And that these honourahle persons are above the thoughts of such 
 unworthy things, for which they have been as niaHciously as falsely 
 traduced upon my score ; I beg their pardon for the scandal I have 
 unhappily been the occasion of, and desire this acknowledgment 
 may be by them accepted as a reparation, since to disown it at this 
 time of my death is all the satisfaction I am able to make them. 
 As to my religion (however I have been represented), there are 
 people that knew me at the university, and since that can be my 
 witnesses, how obedient and zealous a son of the Church of Eng- 
 land (by law established) I have been. And these worthy divines 
 that did me the favour to visit me in affliction, will give the world 
 an account (as occasion serves) of my integrity therein ; and if I had 
 been as zealous in the service of God as my prince. He would not 
 have left me so much to myself as to have permitted me to have 
 fallen into this unexpected extremity. And as for my morals, the 
 honourable Society of Gray's Inn will answer for me, that in above 
 these twelve years' time I have had the honour of being admitted a 
 member of that Society, I never had any quarrel or controversy 
 with any member thereof ; and all persons with whom I have had 
 conversation, I question not, will give a good character of my inno- 
 cent and peaceable behaviour. I pray God Almighty preserve and 
 bless his most sacred Majesty, his royal consort (^ueen ^lary, 
 Catherine the Queeu-Dowager, their royal highnesses, and all the 
 royal family ; and grant that there may never want one of that 
 royal lino to sway the sceptre of these kingdoms as long as sun 
 and moon endure. In the union and love of his subjects, strengthen 
 him that he may vanquish and overcome aU his enemies, which I 
 am glad to have seen so much prospect of, and am only sorry I am 
 cut oir from seeing my so-much-desired satisfaction of those happy 
 days all his good subjects will enjoy under his auspicious govern- 
 ment. I pray God forgive mo my sins that have made mo un- 
 worthy of that blessing. Blessed be the Lord that I have lived so 
 as not to be ashamed to live, or afraid to die ; though I cannot but 
 regret my being made a sacrifice to the faction who, I am satisfied, 
 are the only people that will rejoice in my ruin ; for there is no 
 man that loves his prince, but will lament that nothing less than 
 the blood of an inolfcnsive man (save in this single extravagance) 
 can satisfy them for the sudden intemperate transport of zeal and 
 passion against one so notoriously wicked and infamous ; for I do 
 protest, before Almighty God (before whom I shall immediately ap- 
 pear), that when I went to the coach-side I did not intend so much 
 as to speak to him, or believe I could have had opportunity of so
 
 201 THIO NKW " JOXAMEN. 
 
 doing, much less of doing liiin any lirirm. Neither is it probahlc I 
 shdiild, with a small hamhoo-canf, no bigger than a man's little finger, 
 without any inm upon it, much less a dart in it, as it was most 
 industriously spread abroad to prejudice me in the opinion of tho 
 world ; for if I had had such a wicked design intentionally, I had a 
 little short sword by my side much more proper for such a purpose. 
 And further, if I had believed or known that I had done any harm 
 to him, I had opportunity enough of escaping afterwards, which I 
 never endeavoured. Now, all these things being duly weighed with 
 their several circumstances, I leave my sad case to the considera- 
 tion of all sober and charitaldc men. However, I would not have 
 this to be interpreted as a rcllection upon the Court, who, I doubt 
 not, are by this time satisfied (and Mr Recorder did in open Court 
 declare) that in their consciences they did not believe I maliciously 
 designed him the mischief that happened, but that it was purely 
 accidental. But in the strict construction of law, I was found guilty 
 of murder. But that which most sensibly alllicts me, and is worse 
 to me than death, that I cannot sutler alone, but that they have not 
 only raised scandals upon me in particular preparatory to it, but 
 upon my poor innocent wife, as if my jealousy of her had been tlie 
 reason of my animosity to Dangerfield, when I am moraUy certain 
 she never saw him in her whole life, save that fatal moment, and 
 no couple (as hundreds can witness) have lived in better correspon- 
 dence. And besides that, she is as virtuous a woman as lives, and 
 born of so good and loyal a family, that if she had been so inclined, 
 she would have scorned to have prostituted herself to such a profli- 
 gate person ; but, on the contrary (God is my witness), I never had 
 any such thoughts of her, and do as verily believe, as there is a God 
 in heaven, I never had any reason, she having always been the most 
 indulgent, kind, and loving wife that ever man had, and, in my con- 
 science, one of the best of women ; nay, I am so far from suspecting 
 her virtue, that she is the only loss I regret on earth, and can freely 
 part with everything else here below without repining, which in all 
 my trouble I have owned before all people, and pai-ticularly ]Mr 
 IMaster, ^Mr Ordinary, and Mr Smithies of Cripplcgate, who can all 
 testify those tears and endeared expressions that have passed be- 
 tween us when any of them did me the kindness to visit me in my 
 distress. And I do, from the bottom of my heart, freely forgive the 
 witnesses that swore against me those words I never spoke ; for, as 
 I shall answer at the great tribunal, I said no other or more words 
 than these : How now, friend? have you had your heat this morn- 
 ing ] For all the ill they have done me, give them repentance, good
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 20o 
 
 God ! Even for those that have contributed to the shedding of iiiy 
 blood, I pray Thee shed Tliy bowels of mercy ! 
 
 I do heartily thank those noble and honourable persons, and all 
 other my friends that have so charitably interposed with his 
 Majesty on my behalf (though it hath proved unsuccessful). I 
 pray God, nevertheless, to return their kind endeavours a thousand- 
 fold into their own bosoms ! Lord, return it to them and theirs ! 
 Lord Jesus, receive my soul ! Thy will be done on earth, as it is 
 in heaven. Amen, Amen, Amen. 
 
 Egbert Francis. 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 At the time when the following letters were written, Mary 
 held supreme authority during William's absence in Ireland. Sir 
 William Lockart was resident in London for " Scots afl'air.s," ^ and 
 is referred to by Mary in an autograph letter to the Earl of Melvill 
 as the channel of confidential communications.'^ Melvill was "the 
 regular organ of communication between Kensington ami the autho- 
 rities at Edinburg." ^ 
 
 "The Queen is of opinion now ther should be nothing said of 
 this conspiracie, because that pople may fly out, if they have anay 
 force to goe too ; therefor, all that must be said is, that Annandall 
 is bailed upon his surrender, ther being no evidance against him. 
 Pray yonr Grace cause talc (jrat cair of Navell Pain." * 
 
 The kind of care that was to be taken of Pain appears by the 
 following letter, written during the same month by Lockart to 
 Melvill :— 
 
 " I shold wish to have some meaths to tak niesurs be, and tliat 
 your Grace wold lett me know if you have anay considerable pre- 
 sumptions against pople lieir ; thers no dout you may have them 
 from Navaill Pain, who all men knous to knou so much of Ferguson 
 and thos hear as may hang a thousand ; but except you j'nf hhn to 
 the tortur, he u-ill sham you all. Pray you 2)^(1 him in such hands 
 as will have no pitie on him ; for in the opinion of all men he is a 
 desperat cowardlie fallou." ^ 
 
 ' Aug. 1690. Leveu and Melvill Papcr-s, 505. 
 
 " Levcn and Melvill Papers, 459. ^ Jlacaulay, iii. 297. 
 
 * Leven and Melvill Pa|icrs, .fJlG ; Lockart to Melvill, Au^'. KiJIO. 
 ■' P. 503. Levcn and Melvill Papers ; Sir W. Lockart to the E. of Melvill. 
 London, 30tli Aug. 1G90.
 
 20r» TIIR NKW " KXAMEN." 
 
 Williiim, wlio resumed his authority on his return from Ireland 
 in Si!i>ltiiil)< r, showed no more mercy tlian Mary was disposed t<j 
 (U). On tliu lULh of J)ecemher tlie following,' h'ttt^r, direet from the 
 King to the Council sitting at Edinhurgli, was read, and ordered to 
 1)0 recorded : • — 
 
 " W. R. 
 
 " I{l(iirr TRUSTY AND ENTIRELY BeLOVED, ETC., — 
 
 " Wlicreas we have full assurance, upon undeniable evidence, of a 
 horrid plot and conspiracy against our Government, and the whole 
 settlement of that, our ancient kingdom, for introducing the autho- 
 ritio of the late King James and Popery in these kingdoms, and 
 setting up an entire new fonne of government, whereof there has 
 been several contrivers and managers ; and Navill Pain, now prisoner 
 in our castle of Edinburgh, hath lykways been an instrument in 
 that conspiracie, who, having neither relation nor business in Scot- 
 land, went thither on purpose to maintain a correspondence, and to 
 }iegotiat and promott the plott. And it being necessary, for the 
 security of our Government, and the peace and satisfaction of our 
 good subjects, that these foul designs be discovered : Therefore we 
 doe require you to make all legal inquirie into this matter ; and we 
 have transmitted several papers and documents for your information, 
 some whereof have been read amongst you ; and particularly wee 
 doe reqiure you to examine Navill Penn strictly : and 171 case he 
 prove obstinate or disengenions, that yoti proceed against him to 
 torture, with all the rigour that the law alloys in such caises ; and 
 not doubting your ready and vigorous applications for the furder 
 discovery of what so much concerns the public safety, we bid you 
 heartily ftirewell. — Given at our Court at Kensingtone, the 18th 
 day of Xovember (1G90), and of our reign the second year, by his 
 ^Majesty's command. 
 
 (Sic sub.) " Melville." - 
 
 The Council lost no time in carrying into effect the commands of 
 the King, and how faithfully they obeyed his wishes appears from 
 the following letter from the President, the Earl of Crawfurd, to 
 the Earl of Melville, written on the very day on which the torture 
 Avas inflicted, and whilst, as he says, his " stomach was out of tune," 
 from the horrors he had been compelled to witness : — 
 
 ' 10 State Trials, 754. - Ibid.
 
 APPENDIX TO WILLIAM PENN. 207 
 
 Earl of Crafurd to the Earl of ^fELViLL, 
 11 th December IGiiO. 
 My Lord, 
 
 Yesterday, in the afternoon, Nevill Penn (after near 
 an hour's discourse I had with him in name of the Council, and in 
 their presence, thouj^h at several times, hy turning him out, and 
 tlien calling him in again) was questioned upon some things that 
 were not of the deepest concern,. and had but gentle torture given 
 him, being resolved to repeat it tliis day, which accordingly, about 
 six in the evening, we inflicted on both thumbs and one of his 
 leggs, with all the severity that was consistent Avith humanity, even 
 unto that pitch that we could not preserve life and have gone 
 further, but without the least success ; for his answers to our whole 
 interrogators that were of any import were negatives. Yea, he was 
 so manly and resolute under his suffering, that such of the Council 
 as were not acquainted with all the evidences, were brangled, and 
 began to give him charitie that he might be innocent. It was sur- 
 prising to me and others that flesh and blood could, without faint- 
 ing, and in contradiction to the grounds we had insinuat of our 
 knowledge of his accession in matters, endure the heavy penance 
 he was in for two houres ; nor can I suggest any other reason than 
 this, that by his religion and its dictates, he did conceive he was 
 acting a thing not only generous towards his friends and accom- 
 plices, but likewise so meritorious that he would thereby save his 
 soule, and be canonised among their saints. My stomach is truly 
 so far out of tune by being a witness to an act so farr cross to my 
 natural temper, that I am fitter for rest than anything ells ; nor 
 could any less than the danger from such conspirators to the person 
 of our incomparable King, and the safety of his government, pre- 
 vailed over me to have in the Council's name been the prompter of 
 the executioner to increase the torture to so high a pitch. I leave 
 it to other hands to acquaint your Lop. how severals of our number 
 were shie to consent to the torture, and left the Board when by a 
 vote they were overruled in this. I shal not deny them my charitie, 
 that this was an effect of the gentleness of their nature, though 
 some others of a more jealous temper than I am put truly another 
 construction upon it. Penn does now crave banishment for a year 
 to Holland, iinder a deep pcnaltic. I think he would willingly 
 stoop to it that it were under the pain of death ; but I am no agent 
 for him, and only speaks out his own words, which, after liis torture,
 
 20S TIIK N'KW " KXAMKN." 
 
 he (Icsinil I iiiiL;lit rcpn^smt to my iii.istcr, for the .sake of Gfxl, 
 which 1 no M'.iy ciij,'a}.;(;il for; and only actiuaints your Lop. that 
 you havo the outmost information in tliis matter that can be given 
 you by, my dear Lord, your Lops, ever faithfull and affectionate 
 humble servant, 
 
 Crafurd.* 
 
 Mary was certainly as responsible for these atrocities as her father 
 was for those committed by Jeffreys in the west ; and William, as 
 we have seen, .t,'ave distinct and particular orders for their perjjetra- 
 tion. In addition to the stain of Glencoe, he bears the double brand 
 of being the last monarch of Great Britain in whose reign torture 
 was employed to obtain evidence of treason, and who brought a 
 subject to the block by means of a Bill of Attainder.- 
 
 Those who wish to form an estimate of the degree of fairness 
 with which Lord !Macaiday holds the balance, and awards the judg- 
 ment of history, cannot do better than study the account he gives 
 of these transactions, and observe his total suppression of the part 
 played by William and Mary, and his denunciation of the conduct 
 of their agent Crawfurd, who at least felt disgust at the share he 
 was compelled to take.^ 
 
 1 Leven and Melvill Papers, 582— Baniiatyne Club Puhlications. 
 
 2 Macaulay, iv. 7C9. 3 jj,;,]^ jj; 700.
 
 209 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 When 'The New Exameu' first appeared in the year 1861, 
 it was immediately made the subject of a hostile criticism in 
 the pages of the ' Edinburgh Review.' 
 
 Had the writer of tKe article referred to pointed out a single 
 case in which I had made an assertion without giving an 
 authority, — had he shown that I had been guilty of any mis- 
 take or inaccuracy with regard to any one of those authorities 
 — had he produced one scrap of new evidence, or thrown one 
 ray of light on that which is already before the public, — he 
 would have done good service to his readers, and have given 
 me an opportunity, of which I should gratefully and gladly 
 have availed myself, of correcting any errors into which I 
 might have fallen. As, instead of this, he merely filled the 
 pages of the ' Review ' with charges of ignorance, self-suffi- 
 ciency, carelessness, and bad faith, against myself, in a tone of 
 virulence and personality which, I am happy to say, is rarely 
 to be found in that periodical, I did not think it worth while 
 to reply on matters which could be of no general interest, 
 or avail anything in the minds of readers who think for 
 themselves — or to enter the arena against a champion who 
 wielded weapons of which I would on no account avail myself, 
 and in the use of wliich he would unquestionably prove my 
 sujierior. 
 
 I am content to rely on that " pettifogging intimacy with 
 dates, names, and trifling matters of fact" which Sir Arthur 
 Wardour found so troublesome in liis controversies with i\Ir 
 

 
 210 TIIK NEW " KXAMEN." 
 
 .Ii)ii;i(li;iii OMhiick, and wliicli appears to havo liad tlio samo 
 ell'cct on the temiici' of the reviewer as it had on that ot" tlie 
 irritahlo Baronet. 
 
 I liav(i gone carefully through the foregoing pages many 
 times, and have not found it necessary to alter a single ma- 
 terial word. 
 
 J. P. 
 
 December 1873.
 
 VINDICATIONS 
 
 I. NELSON AND CAEACCIOLO 
 II. LADY HAMILTON 
 
 III. THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS 
 
 IV. RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON 
 
 V. LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS
 
 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO.^ 
 
 In an article upon Mr Euskin's ' Elements of Drawing ' in our 
 January Number,^ we had occasion to refer to the transactions 
 that took place in the Bay of Naples in the year 1799, upon 
 which Mr Kuskin had grounded a malignant insinuation 
 against the character of Nelson. We expressed the surprise 
 we undoubtedly felt, and still feel, that any one should be found 
 to repeat the slanders we allude to since the publication of Sir 
 Harris Nicolas's 'Nelson Despatches.' It appears, however, 
 that we had assumed too much. A highly respectable journal 
 challenges us to proof of the grounds of our belief, and assures 
 us that " those slanders " are " still regarded by many as in- 
 disputable truths, — amongst others, by the editor of Eose's 
 * Diaries and Correspondence.' " ^ 
 
 We feel obliged to the ' Spectator ' for having directed our 
 attention to this passage in so recent a work. It contains a 
 rdchiiuffd of all the exploded calumnies against Nelson, proving 
 both that the writer is in utter ignorance of such a book as the 
 ' Nelson Despatches ' ever having issued from the press, and 
 that the roots of the calumny have struck deeper than we had 
 supposed. The reverend editor of the Correspondence is not 
 nice as to liis language. He sums up half-a-dozen pages of 
 
 ^ Blackwood's Magazine, March 1860. ' &qk post, "Essays on Art," No. 1. 
 3 Spectator, January 7, 1860.
 
 214 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 I Pharisaical slip-slop with the following words: "On his re- 
 turn to Naples, Nelson dishonoured his character and sullied 
 his f,dory by listening to the violent counsels of a woman 
 whose passionate zeal for her friends overleaped all the boun- 
 daries not only of discretion but of justice. lie became her 
 accoitiplice in iwrfidy and murder." ^ 
 
 Peufidy and Murder ! — " By my troth, captain, these are 
 very bitter words." If true, Nelson should have been hanged 
 at the yard-arm of his own ship ; and instead of feeling a thrill 
 of pride and exultation, we ought to bow our heads in deep 
 abasement when his name is mentioned. If false, every man 
 who repeats the slander incurs a deep responsibility. The 
 character of her heroes is the most precious heritage of a 
 nation ; and of all the sons of England, not one is so dear to 
 noble and generous spirits as he who fell at Trafalgar. The 
 glory of Wellington may command a deeper reverence, the 
 genius of Marlborough a more profound admiration, but our 
 hearts are given to Nelson. We therefore readily adopt the 
 suggestion of the wTiter in the 'Spectator,' that we should 
 " devote a special paper to the establishment of a fact which 
 all Englishmen would so gladly believe if they could;" and as 
 the only sure ground for such belief, we shall proceed to lay 
 before our readers as concise a statement as possible of the 
 facts of the case, and of the position of affairs in the Bay of 
 Naples in the month of June 1799. 
 
 The King had fled to Palermo. It is hardly possible to say 
 that any Government at all existed at Naples. The French 
 had evacuated the city. The Piepublican insurgents had been 
 defeated. The castles of St Elmo, Uovo, and Xuovo were, how- 
 ever, still garrisoned by the French, and many of the principal 
 Neapolitan insurgents had taken refuge within their walls. 
 The EoyaUst forces, under the command of Cardinal Euflb, 
 ivhose orders from the King loere express Twt to treat with reheh^^ 
 were engaged in an attempt to reduce those castles. Nelson, 
 with the English squadron, was at sea on the look-out for the 
 French fleet. One frigate (the Seahorse) and a bomb were left 
 
 * Vol. i. 218. 
 
 2 Nelson Despatches, iii. 493. Clarke ami M'Artliur, ii. 175— 4to, 1809.
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 215 
 
 in the Bay of Naples under the command of Captain Foote, 
 with orders to co-operate with the land forces. ^ On the 19th 
 of June, Captain Foote, to his great surprise, received a letter 
 from Cardinal Euflb, requesting him to suspend hostilities 
 against the castles, as a negotiation had taken place. After 
 some remonstrance on the part of Captain Foote, and^ corre- 
 spondence with Cardinal Euffo, whose fidelity was, to say the 
 least, gravely suspected, Captain Foote received from the Car- 
 dinal the plan of a capitulation already signed by him, with a 
 request to the Captain that he would also affix his name. This 
 he did, returning it to the Cardinal with a protest." A formal 
 capitulation was signed in a similar manner on the 23d.^ It 
 was in direct contravention of the orders Cardinal liuffo had 
 received. It provided, in substance, that the garrisons should 
 march out with all the honours of war ; and that all persons in 
 the forts, and all prisoners taken by the King's troops, should 
 remain unmolested at Naples, or, if they preferred it, should 
 be freely conveyed in vessels, to be provided by the King, to 
 Toulon, and there landed and set at liberty. It was also pro- 
 vided expressly that the evacuation of the forts " should not 
 take place until the moment of embarkation."'* 
 
 On the next day, the 24th, hcforc any strj) had been taken 
 to carry the capitulation into effect,^ Nelson, with a powerful 
 squadron, entered the bay. He instantly signalled the Sea- 
 horse to haul doAvn the flag of truce.^ On the following day, 
 the 25th, Nelson sent the following declaration to the gar- 
 risons of the two castles : — 
 
 " Rear- Admiral Lord Nelson, K.B,, connnander of his Bri- 
 tannic INIajesty's fleet in the Bay of Naples, acquaints the re- 
 bellious subjects of his Sicilian Majesty in the castles of Uovo 
 and Nuovo, that he will not permit them to embark or quit 
 those places. They must surrender themselves to his IMajesty's 
 royal mercy. Nelson." 
 
 On the 26th Nelson took possession of the castles of Uovo 
 
 1 Nelson Di'siatilu's, iii. Ap].. C. =' Ibid., iii. 179. 
 
 Mbia.,4SU. Mbiil., 487. Mbi.l., 495. Mbid., 494.
 
 2ir. VINDICATIONS. 
 
 aiul Nuovu, " tlic gai'risons and otJier persmus quittinr/ tJum with 
 full knoirlalge that the terms of the cfipilulation vovld not he 
 carried into cxenUion " ^ They were detained as prisoners un- 
 til the arrival of the King on the 10th of July, when they were 
 given up to tlie Neapolitan Government, 
 
 Such are the facts with regard to the surrender of the castles 
 of Uovo and Nuovo — the transaction on which the charge of 
 " perfidy " against Nelson has been grounded. Upon these facts 
 two questions arise — 
 
 1. Was Nelson justified by the laws of war and nations in 
 annulling the capitulation entered into by liullb, and signed 
 by Captain Foote ? 
 
 2. Assuming that he was entitled by law to set that capitu- 
 lation aside, was he justified in honour and morality in doing so ? 
 
 Nelson cannot be acquitted of blame, unless both these 
 questions are answered in the affirmative. 
 
 The first is purely technical, and must be decided by the 
 authority of jurists, and by the precedents that have been 
 acted upon in other cases. " Capitulations," says ^Martens, 
 " are obligatory, unless the party by whom they are executed 
 has exceeded the limits of the power with which he was in- 
 trusted." - Klliber says — " Capitulations are obligatory with- 
 out acceptance or ratification by the respective sovereigns, 
 provided that the commanding officers by whom they are 
 signed have acted hona fide, and not exceeded their instruc- 
 tions, or acted beyond their powers." ^ 
 
 Nothing can be plainer than the rule thus laid down, and 
 we shall see that it has been repeatedly acted upon. After 
 the battle of Leipzig, Marshal Gouvion Saint-Cyr was blockaded 
 in Dresden by forces under the command of Count Klenau. 
 After an unsuccessful attempt to cut his way through the 
 enemy, a capitulation was signed, under which the French 
 garrison of Dresden laid down their arms, and set out on their 
 way to France, on parole not to serve against the allies for 
 
 ^ Nelson Despatches, iii. 497. 
 
 ^ Prdcis du droit des gens, liv. ii. C. ii. sec. 4S ; cited Nelson Despatches, 
 iii. 496. 
 
 ' Droit des gens moJerne de I'Europe, ii. 75, sec. 276; Nelson Despatches, 
 iii. 96.
 
 NELSON AND CAEACCIOLO. 217 
 
 six months. After proceeding on their route as far as Alten- 
 burg, the Marshal was informed that Prince Schwarzenberg 
 refused to Tatify the capitulation, because General Klcnau had 
 no authority to f/rant conditions so unfavourable to the allies. 
 " In such a case/' says the historian, " the law of nations re- 
 quires that everything should be restored to the state in which 
 it was at the time of the signature of the capitulation." An 
 oiler was consequently made to the JMarshal to replace him 
 with liis troops, arms, and munitions of war, in Dresden ; but 
 he preferred to surrender the advantageous stipulations he 
 had obtained under the capitulation, and to remain with his 
 army prisoners of war.^ A similar instance occurred in the 
 year 1813, at the blockade of Dantzig, 
 
 Here, then, we find distinct authority that Nelson was jus- 
 tified by the law of nations in the course he had adopted. 
 Ruffo, if not a traitor to the cause of his sovereign, which there 
 is much reason to believe, and which Nelson certainly sus- 
 pected, had unquestionably exceeded his authority, liis in- 
 structions were express not to treat with rebels.^ Nelson, 
 therefore, who held at this time supreme command, was fully 
 justified by law in setting the capitulation aside. The case 
 of Dresden goes much further than is necessary for his justifi- 
 cation. There, the capitulation had been acted upon. Here, 
 before any step whatever had been taken towards carrying it 
 into effect — before the status quo had been in any way dis- 
 turbed — it was notified to the garrison that the capitulation 
 was annulled. They surrendered with full knowledge that it 
 would not be carried into execution. 
 
 We may therefore confidently answer the first question in 
 the affirmative. 
 
 We now come to the consideration of the second question ; 
 and to form a correct judgment, we must keep in mind what 
 the precise position of Nelson was. It was not for him to 
 determine whether the course adopted by the Government at 
 home was wise or not. To him the French wore enemies, and 
 
 ^ Ilistoire al)iig6c lU'S Traitos ile Taix, par Kocli, i.x. 310 ; Nelson De- 
 spatclics, iii. 497. 
 
 2 Nelson Despatches, iii. 193.
 
 218 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 tilt! insurgent Neapolitans traitors and rebels. The King was 
 an ally to he laillirully served — a guest to be loyally protected. 
 The Queen was the sister of the murdered Marie Antoinette, to 
 whose service he was bound by all the laws of chivalry and 
 lionour. With these feelings, can we be surprised that when lie 
 learned that Iluffo, in direct violation of the orders of his sov- 
 ereign, had granted favourable terms to the traitors with whom 
 he was expressly forbidden to treat, and that a British officer 
 had unwillingly affixed his name to what he felt to be an 
 " infamous " capitulation, he instantly exercised his powers as 
 commander-in-chief and annulled the disgraceful instrument ? 
 It unhappily suited the purposes of a party at home to make 
 these occurrences the occasion of attacks upon the Govern- 
 ment of the day. On the 3d of February 1800, Fox, during 
 the debate on the Address, brought charges of the foulest de- 
 scription, not against Nelson by name, but against the officers 
 of the British fleet generally. Immediately upon the news of 
 this attack reaching Nelson, he wrote the following letter, ad- 
 dressed to Mr Davison : — 
 
 " Malta, May 9th, 1800. 
 
 "My dear Sir, — Mr Fox having, in the House of Com- 
 mons, in February, made an accusation against somebody, for 
 what he calls a breach of a treaty with rebels, which had been 
 entered into by a British officer, and having used language un- 
 becoming either the wisdom of a senator or the politeness of a 
 gentleman, or an Englishman, who ought ever to suppose that 
 his Majesty's officers would always act with honour and open- 
 ness in all their transactions ; and as the whole affairs of the 
 kingdom of Naples were at the time alluded to absolutely 
 placed in my hands, it is I who am called upon to explain my 
 conduct, and therefore send you my obsen'ations on the in- 
 famous armistice entered into by the Cardinal ; and on his 
 refusal to send in a joint declaration to the French and rebels, 
 I sent in my note, and on which the rebels came out of the 
 castles, as they ought, and as I hope all those who are false to 
 their king and country will, to be hanged, or otherwise dis- 
 posed of, as their sovereign thought proper. The to'ms granted 
 hy Captain Footc, of the Seahorse, at Cast el-d-M arc, vxre all
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 219 
 
 strictly complied with — the rebels having surrendered before my 
 arrival. There has been iKjthing promised by a British officer 
 that his Sicilian Majesty has not complied with, even in dis- 
 obedience to his orders to the Cardinal. — I am, &c., 
 
 "Bkonte Nelson of the Nile." 
 
 " Show these papers to Mr Eose, or some other, and if 
 thought right, you will put them in the papers." 
 
 This letter was immediately communicated by Mr Davison 
 to the Ministry.^ 
 
 There is one — and, as far as we know, one only — other letter 
 from Nelson himself, with regard to these transactions. It is 
 addressed to Mr Alexander Stephens, author of ' The History 
 of the Wars of the French Eevolution,' in reply to his applica- 
 tion for information. 
 
 " 23 Piccadilly, Fch. 10, 1803. 
 
 " Sir, — By your letter I believe you wish to be correct in 
 your History, and therefore wish to be informed of a trans- 
 action relative to Naples. I cannot enter at large into the 
 subject to which you allude. I shall briefly say that neither 
 Cardinal llutib, or Captain Foote, or any other person, had any 
 power to enter into any treaty with the rebels — that even the 
 paper vjhich they signed v:as not acted upon, as I very happily 
 arrived at Naples, and prevented such an infamous transaction 
 from taking place ; therefore, when the rebels surrendered, 
 they came out of the castles as they ought, without any 
 honours of war, and trusting to the judgment of their sove- 
 reign. / ^??(< aside, and sent them notice of it, the infamous 
 treat)/ — and the rebels surrendered, as I have before said. 
 K you attend to that Mrs Williams's book, I can assure 
 you that nearly all relative to Na[)lcs is either destitute of 
 foundation or falsely represented. — 1 am, sir, &c., 
 
 "Nelson." 
 
 Those two short letters contain, we believe, all that exists 
 from the pen of Nelson on the subject. They are highly char- 
 
 1 Clarke and il 'Arthur, ii. 182, note.
 
 220 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 actcristic of liis mind. We see how manfully he assumes the 
 whole responsibility of the act ; how indi^mantly ho repels 
 the imputation upon the honour of the British flag; with 
 what clearness he seizes at once on the real and important 
 points. 
 
 Kuffo and Foote had exceeded their authority ; he there- 
 fore was entitled to annul their act. But that was not enough 
 to satisfy Nelson. Had the capitulation been acted upon before 
 his arrival, he would have felt himself bound by it, as he did 
 in the case of the surrender of Castel-iVMare. He therefore 
 states the only fact necessary for his justification — namely, 
 that no step whatever had been taken towards carrying the 
 capitulation into effect, when he amved in the bay and an- 
 nulled it. This is, no doubt, the important point : happily it 
 is one on which the evidence is conclusive. 
 
 Upon the copy of the capitulation, which is printed in ^liss 
 Williams's very apocryphal ' Sketches,' Nelson wrote, " Never 
 executed, and therefore no capitulation." ^ In the two letters 
 we have just cited, written at considerable intervals, he ex- 
 pressly asserts the fact ; and, as if to put the seal of confirma- 
 tion upon it, he refers to his observance of similar terms at 
 Castel-a-Mare, whera he arrived too late to prevent the incep- 
 tion of the execution of the capitulation. If proof of Nelson's 
 good faith were needed, it would be furnished in the most 
 conclusive way by this fact. 
 
 The capitulation was signed by Captain Foote on the 23d of 
 June.- It was not, however, complete until it had been ap- 
 proved by the Commandant of Fort St Elmo, who, it appears, 
 did not affix his signature until the following day, the same 
 day that Nelson entered the bay. The flag of truce, M'hich 
 had been flying on the Seahorse, was iustautly hauled down, 
 and this, even without the formal notification which immedi- 
 ately followed, was sufficient intimation to the garrisons of 
 the forts that the treaty was at an end. The statement fur- 
 nished by Captain Foote to Lord Nelson shows that nothing 
 had been done previously to the 24th ; for, writing on the 
 
 ' Nelson Despatches, iii. 495. 
 
 ^ Sec his letter to Chcv. Micheroux — Nelson Despatches, iii. 4S6.
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 221 
 
 morning of that day, he speaks of sending the polacres, which 
 were to receive the garrison, as an act which was to be per- 
 formed at a future time. This was prevented by Nelson 
 entering the bay. The forts were not surrendered until the 
 2Gth,^ the day after Nelson's formal notification that the 
 capitulation was annulled, and two days after tlie Hag of truce 
 had been hauled down. 
 
 It is difficult to say how the groundless charge that the 
 garrisons had been induced to quit the forts under the suppo- 
 sition that the capitulation was still in force first arose, but 
 unquestionably it owed the general currency which it has 
 obtained to Southey. The author of the most popular bio- 
 graphy of Nelson, instead of investigating the truth of the 
 facts he was narrating, unhappily contented himself with the 
 far easier task of composing eloquent and indignant moral 
 reflections. Still more unhappily, the wide popularity of the 
 book, and the reputation of its author for learning and re- 
 search, have induced successive historians and biographers 
 to adopt the statement without inquiry, until, by constant 
 repetition, it became almost an article of popular belief. Hap- 
 pily the facts are now fully before the world in the AppendLx 
 to the third volume of Sir Harris Nicolas's ' Nelson De- 
 spatches ; ' and we shall truly rejoice if we are the means of 
 directing the attention of our readers to the valuable and 
 conclusive evidence which they will there find, that the 
 conduct of Nelson in regard to the capitulation of the castles 
 of Uovo and Nuovo was in keeping with the rest of his noble 
 and humane character. 
 
 We now come to the second part of the charge — namely, 
 that which relates to the death of Caracciolo. 
 
 In 1801 a book appeared, entitled ' Sketches of the State of 
 Manners, &c., in the French Eepublic,' in which the principles 
 of a " poissarde " are set forth with the rancour of an old 
 maid, and in the style of the ^linerva press. One of the 
 heroes of the authoress is Prince Caracciolo, and her attempts 
 to excite sympathy with, and compassion for, that very worth- 
 less person, have, unhajipily f(ir the cause of truth, been but 
 
 ' Log of the Scahorai!— Nelson Despatches, iii. 491.
 
 222 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 too successful. Caracciolo has consequently been very gene- 
 nilly considered an object, if not of respect and admiration, at 
 liny rate of pity. A very few facts will show that he was 
 neither the one nor the other, and that few men who have 
 passed under the hands of the hangman ever better deserved 
 that fate. 
 
 Caracciolo was a cadet of a noble family ; he held a com- 
 mission as Commodore in the Neapolitan navy, and had 
 served with credit against the French ; he thus became ac- 
 quainted with Nelson and other officers of the English fleet. 
 In December 1798, when the royal family left Naples, Car- 
 acciolo commanded one of the vessels which conveyed their 
 suite to Palermo,^ and remained there in the service of the 
 King, and holding his commission as Commodore, until the 
 new Parthenopian Eepublic published an edict that the 
 estates of all such persons as did not return to Naples should 
 be forfeited : upon this Caracciolo solicited, and obtained, the 
 King's permission to return, for the purpose of avoiding the 
 confiscation of his property. Inmiediately upon his amval 
 at Naples, he committed the treason to which his life was 
 ultimately forfeited. His eulogist. Miss Williams, narrates 
 this infamous act in the following words : — 
 
 " The Kepublic, proud of so illustrious an adherent, named 
 him at once general and chief of the Neapolitan marine when 
 it should be established. Religiously tenacious of the sacred 
 ohligcdions lie had contracted tvith his country, he rejected with 
 disdain the offers made him by the Court of Naples, and was 
 one of those who oj^poscd vHth the most success the English arms. 
 This was principally the pretended crime which led him to 
 the gallows. Of exemplary courage through the whole of his 
 life, he died like a hero, after having tinged with shame the 
 countenances of his military judges before whom he pleaded 
 his own cause with all the calm a?nd dignity of vii-tue." ^ 
 
 This kind of language, applied to as gross a case of treachery 
 as can be found in history, reminds one of Canning's celebrated 
 sonnet on Eliza Brownrigg : — 
 
 * Pettigrew's Memoirs of Nelson, i. 185. ' Sketches, &c., i. 211.
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 223 
 
 " Dost thou ask her crime ? 
 She whipped two female 'prentices to death, 
 And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind 
 Shaped strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes. 
 Such as Lycurgus taught . . ; 
 For this act 
 Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws I but time shall come 
 When France shall reign, and laws be all repealed." 
 
 Trowbridge, who was the very soul of truth, honour, and 
 fideUty, refused for a long time to believe that one with whom 
 he had served could be guilty of such baseness. He clung to 
 the belief that Caracciolo was acting under compulsion ; but 
 even Trowbridge was compelled at last to give up this sup- 
 position. On the 1st of May he writes : " Caracciolo, I am 
 now satisfied, is a Jacobin. He came in the gunboats to 
 Castel-a-Mare himself, and spirited up the Jacobins." ^ Captain 
 Foote, on the 26th of May, says, — " Caracciolo threatens a 
 second attack, with a considerable addition of force ; " ^ and 
 on the 11th June he says, — " Caracciolo's gunboats have for 
 some time been firing at the town of Annunciata and the 
 adjacent houses."^ Of the guilt of Caracciolo no impartial 
 person can entertain a douljt. His crime was one wliich the 
 laws of all civilised nations visit with death. But, however 
 well desei'ved his fate might be, we are bound to see that the 
 execution of the sentence which was passed upon him was no 
 act of wild or irregular justice, but was sanctioned by the 
 solemnities of law. We must therefore inquire how the 
 traitor was brought to trial, by whom he was judged, and by 
 what authority he was executed. 
 
 Upon the advance of the Eoyalist troops towards Naples, 
 Caracciolo took refuge in one of the castles, Uovo or Nuovo, 
 but quitted it and fled to the mountains before the suiTender. 
 Here he foimd himself exposed to a double danger. On the 
 one hand, his life was in immediate peril from the brigands ; 
 and, on the other, he could expect little mercy from tlie master 
 whom he had betrayed. A reward was offered for his appre- 
 hension. His retreat, a cave amongst the mountains of 
 Calabria,* was discovered, and on the 29th of June he was 
 
 ' Nelson Despatches, iii. 358. = ll)id., 499. » Ibid., 499. 
 
 * Par-sons' Nelsouian Reminiscences, 2.
 
 224 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 brought a prisoner on board the Foudroyant. He Avas placed 
 under charge of the late Lieutenant Parsons, who was at that 
 time signal-mate to Nelson, who describes him as "a short 
 thickset man, of apparent strength, but haggard with miserj' 
 and want." ^ Captain Hardy, who was on deck at the time, 
 immediately ordered his arms to be unbound, and food to ]ye 
 offered to him. As soon as Nelson was informed of his 
 apprehension, he issued the following order, addressed — 
 
 " To Count Thurn, Commodore and Commander of his 
 Sicilian IMajesty's frigate La Minerva : 
 
 " Whereas Francisco Caracciolo, a Commodore in the ser- 
 vice of his Sicilian Majesty, has been taken, and stands 
 accused of rebellion against his lawful sovereign, and for 
 firing at his colours hoisted on board his frigate the Minerva, 
 nnder your command ; — 
 
 " You are therefore hereby required and directed to as- 
 semble five of the senior officers under your command, your- 
 self presiding, and proceed to inquire whether the crime with 
 which the said Francisco Caracciolo stands charged can be 
 proved against him ; and if the charge is proved, you are to 
 report to rae what punishment he ought to suffer. 
 
 " Given on board the Foudroyant, Naples Bay, the 29th 
 June 1799. Nelson." 
 
 The court met forthwith on board the Foudroyant, There 
 is nothing to show that the trial was not conducted with 
 perfect faii-ness. There are two accounts of the defence 
 attempted by the prisoner, which are inconsistent with each 
 other, but both of which admit his guilt. According to 
 Clarke and M'Arthur, he insisted that " he had been com- 
 pelled to perform the duty of a common soldier for a con- 
 siderable time, when he was offered the command of the 
 Eepublican Neapolitan navy, which necessity alone had at 
 length compelled him to accept." ^ 
 
 * Parsons' Nelsonian Eeminiscences, 2. 
 
 * Nelson Despatches, iii. 50.3.
 
 ^ NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 225 
 
 It is also stated by the same authority, that it was clearly 
 proved that he had repeated opportunities of escaping, of 
 none of which had he attempted to avail himself. 
 
 Lieutenant I'arsons states that his defence consisted of a 
 recriminatory attack upon the king, and that he excused 
 himself on the ground that, had he not succumbed to the 
 ruling powers, his patrimonial possessions would have been 
 forfeited, and his children reduced to beggar}'.^ It was im- 
 possible for the court to come to any conclusion but that the 
 crime was proved. The sentence followed, of course. Carac- 
 ciolo was condemned to die the death of a traitor. The court 
 reported their decision to Nelson ; and by him, as superior in 
 command, the sentence w^as confirmed, and orders given that 
 it should be carried into immediate execution. 
 
 Such are the simple and indisputable facts of the case; 
 and upon these facts it is difiicidt to see how Nelson could 
 have acted otherwise than he did, without a gross dereliction 
 of duty. 
 
 If the treachery and desertion of an officer, followed by 
 active hostility against the sovereign whose commission he 
 liolds, is not an offence deserving of the most severe punish- 
 ment that the laws of war allow, it appears impossible to say 
 what crime can be so. 
 
 That Caracciolo had been guilty of this offence does not 
 admit of a doubt. It has been urged with some inconsis- 
 tency, that he ought not to have been tried by Sicilian 
 officers, and that the court should not have been held on 
 board an English ship. To the first objection it may be 
 answered, that a court of officers of his own service is the only 
 tribunal provided by law for the trial of such a charge ; and it 
 may be asked, What would have been said had Caracciolo been 
 tried and condemned by a court composed of English officers ? 
 As to the second objection, the circumstance that the trial 
 took place on board an English ship, if material at all, couUl 
 only be favourable to the prisoner. That the condemnation 
 to an ignominious death of a man whom he had known and 
 respected in other days, was an act of stern duty, which 
 ' I'arsoiis' Nelsonian lleminisceuccs, 3. 
 
 r
 
 22G VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Nelson only porfoimed aftin- a painful struggle, is abundantly 
 proved. Unt on this as on all other occasions, the principle 
 of duty which is linked eternally with the life and death 
 of Nelson prevailed. To the officer who was the bearer of 
 the wretched prisoner's supplications, if not for life, at any 
 rate that he might di'e a death fitted not to his crimes, but to 
 his rank and profession, Nelson, after much agitation, replied : 
 " Caracciolo has been fairly tried by the officers of his own 
 country ; I cannot interfere : go, sir, and attend to your 
 duty." ^ Caracciolo was hanged at the yard-arm of the Nea- 
 politan ship, the Minerva — the ship he had himself com- 
 manded, the ship he had treacherously fired upon when his 
 sovereign's colours were flying at her mast-head. To l)estow 
 upon this wretched traitor the name of a patriot, a hero, an 
 "honoured shade," and illustrious martyr of liberty,"^ is a 
 gross and ridiculous perversion of language. The best that 
 can be said of him is, that he was no worse than the rest of 
 his countrymen. He was but one of a nation in wliich the 
 court was profligate and corrupt, the nobility licentious and 
 treacherous, and the people debased, slavish, and bloodthirsty. 
 Such are the simple and plain facts ; such are the grounds 
 upon wdiich we feel ourselves entitled to denounce the charges 
 brought against Nelson in respect to the transactions which 
 took place in the Bay of Naples in the year 1799, as infamous 
 and groimdless calumnies. "We have confined ourselves to 
 the plainest and simplest statement of facts. Those of our 
 readers who may wish to pursue the subject further, will find 
 a mass of evidence of the most conclusive kind in the Appendix 
 to the third volume of Sir Harris Nicolas's ' Nelson Despatches.' 
 This valuable publication has now been before the public for 
 fifteen years, and it is the duty of every one who desires to 
 write or speak truly of the character and acts of Nelson, to 
 make himself acquainted with its contents. 
 
 Some of our readers will no doubt be surprised to find no 
 allusion to Lady Hamilton in the narrative we have given of 
 these transactions. The simple fact is, that notwithstanding all 
 the obloquy which has been heaped upon her name, she had no 
 
 1 Nelson Despatches, iii. 503. •= Sketches, &c., i. 222.
 
 NELSON AND CARACCIOLO. 227 
 
 share whatever in the trial or execution of Caracciolo, and the 
 only part she took in the affair of the Castles of Uovo and 
 Nuovo consisted in the assistance she gave to Sir "William 
 Hamilton by interpreting between Euffo and Nelson, whose 
 knowledge of the Italian language was very imperfect. Our 
 present limits are far too short to permit us to enter upon the 
 history of one of the most extraordinary women that the 
 world has produced. We reserve this for a future paper. 
 
 It was long the fashion to palliate what was supposed to be 
 the guilt of Nelson, by urging that he acted under the fatal 
 fascination of Lady Hamilton, and the English language was 
 ransacked for the foulest terms of abuse, which were showered 
 in abundance on her head. Nelson needs no such excuse. 
 He acted as his duty to his country, to her allies, and to him- 
 self, required liim to do.
 
 228 
 
 11. 
 
 LADY HAMILTON.' 
 
 On the 2Gtli of April 1764, at Preston in Lancashire, a girl 
 was born of poor parents, of the name of Lyons. If a fairy 
 liad sat by the cradle of that child and promised her matchless 
 beauty and mental endowments of the highest order — had told 
 her that all that wealth could purchase should be lavished 
 upon her ; that princes and nobles, poets and painters, should 
 hang upon the tones of her voice and the smiles that played 
 round her lips ; that she should go forth to the fairest of lands, 
 whose queen should select her for her most intimate and 
 cherished friend ; that she should reign absolute in the heart 
 of one whose name filled all tongues, and that upon her the 
 destinies of the world should depend ; — and if another voice 
 had then whispered, " All this shall be so unto thee, but thy 
 fame shall be blasted ; thy name shall be spoken with bated 
 breath as a word of shame ; foul crimes shall be falsely charged 
 agaiust thee, and, for thy sake, against him who shall love thee 
 as only hearts as great and generous as his can love ; obloquy 
 shall be heaped upon thy head, and thou shalt die an outcast 
 in a foreign land, lonely, forlorn, and deserted ;" — such a pro- 
 phecy would not have equalled in strangeness the real events 
 of the life of that child. 
 
 If we desired to write a thesis upon the trite obseiTation, 
 how much stranger truth is than fiction, or a moral essay on 
 the mutability of Fortune, we could not select a more appro- 
 priate theme than the name of Emma Lyons. "We have, how- 
 ever, neither the wish nor the intention to moralise. The task 
 we propose to ourselves is the humbler but more difficult one of 
 
 * Blackwood's Magazine, April 1860.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 229 
 
 examiDing the evidence upon which certain well-known stories, 
 once current merely as matter of popular scandal, have gradu- 
 ally been woven into the web of histor}^ ; of separating what 
 we may fairly accept as facts from what we are entitled to 
 reject as fiction ; of gathering up the scattered fragments of 
 truth, and freeing them as far as we are able from the false- 
 hoods in which they have been obscured. 
 
 The father of Emma Lyons died whilst she was an infant, 
 and upon his death her mother removed from Preston to the 
 village of Hawarden in Flintshire. Here, at a very early age, 
 she was engaged as a nurserymaid in the family of a Mr 
 Thomas who resided in that village, and who was brother-in- 
 law to the well-known Alderman Boydell. Her next engage- 
 ment was in a similar capacity in the family of Dr Budd, one 
 of the physicians to St Bartholomew's Hospital, who resided 
 in Chatham Place, Blackfriars. This fact is mentioned by Dr 
 Pettigrew in his ' Memoirs of Lord Nelson ; ' and as he was per- 
 sonally acquainted with Dr Budd, the correctness of his infor- 
 mation may, no doubt, be relied upon.^ She passed fi'om his 
 service into that of a tradesman in St James's Market ; and 
 afterwards seems to have resided some time as a kind of 
 humble companion with a lady of fashion, whose attention 
 had been accidentally attracted by her remarkable beauty. It 
 was during her residence with this lady that she appears to 
 have first had the opportunity of acquiring the rudiments of 
 those accomplishments for which she afterwards became so 
 remarkable. 
 
 Up to this period Emma Lyons maintained a spotless repu- 
 tation. Accident and her own kindness of heart now, however, 
 occasioned her introduction to Captain, afterwards Admiral 
 Payne, a distinguished officer.^ A relation or acquaintance, a 
 native of Wales, had been impressed in the Thames, and to 
 
 ^ Pcttigrew's Memoirs of Nelson, ii. 594. 
 
 ^ Admiral Piiyno represented Huntingdon in Parliament. He was intimate 
 with the Prince of Wales, and ai)]iointed comptroller of liis liousehold. He 
 commanded the squadron which, in 1795, hrought the Princess Caroline of 
 P)runswick to Englantl. After distinguished services under Collingwood, I^rd 
 Howe, and Lord Bridport, he was appointed Treasurer of Greenwich Hospital, 
 where he died on the 17th November 1802.
 
 2;;0 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Captain I'ayne she applied for lii.s release. The Captain be- 
 came enamoured, pressed his suit, and prevailed. She became 
 his mistress, and retreat in such a path being next to impos- 
 sible, she subsequently formed a similar connection with Sir 
 Harry Featherstonehaugh of Up Park in Sussex.^ Few who 
 consider what were the temptations to which she must have 
 been exposed, the lax manners of the day, her youth, her 
 wonderful beauty, and the delight which a girl of her mental 
 capacity must have felt in the society of men of intellect 
 and education, will be disposed to pass a severe judgment 
 upon her. 
 
 It has been confidently asserted that at this time she be- 
 came- connected with the infamous empiric Dr Graham ; that 
 she was the woman who, under the name of " Hebe Vestina," 
 bore a part in his exhibition ; ^ and that it was to this cir- 
 cumstance that she owed her introduction to liomney, and her 
 employment as a model by Reynolds, Hopner, and other cele- 
 brated artists. 
 
 The first trace we can find of this stoiy is just thirty-five 
 years after the events are supposed to have occurred. In 1815, 
 immediately after the death of Lady Hamilton, an infamous 
 book professing to contain her memoirs appeared. After nar- 
 rating the story, the anonjTuous biographer concludes as fol- 
 lows : " While the fact of this exhibition itself stands uncon- 
 tradicted, the friends of the female who figured in it have 
 persevered in denying her connection with the same. But 
 their zeal is more gratifying to the feelings than satisfac- 
 tory to the judgment. Such a circvmstance could not have been 
 related vnthout some foundation, and the writer of this had the 
 whole history from a person of the highest literary character 
 twenty-five years ago."^ 
 
 A story which rests on the assertion, after the death of the 
 accused person, by the anonymous author of an infamous and 
 scandalous publication, on the pretended authority of another 
 
 • Sir Harry Featherstonehaugh died on the 24th October 1846, at the {i^eat 
 age of ninety-two years. He married late in life, but left no issue. The title 
 is now extinct. — Annual Register, LxxxviiL 298 ; Lxvii. 206. 
 
 » Kay's Original Portraits, i. 36. ^ Memoirs of Lady Hamilton, 43.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 231 
 
 anonymous " literary character," five-and-twenty years before, 
 and five-and-tliirty after the supposed event, would hardly 
 deserve notice, had it not obtained very general belief and wide 
 circulation. It is not uncommon to find, when that is the 
 case, that the very illogical course is adopted of requiring the 
 negative to be proved, and, instead of asking on what founda- 
 tion the story rests, it is insisted that it should be proved to 
 be false. 
 
 It is seldom, of course, that this can be done, but in the 
 present case we find about as good negative proof as can well 
 be conceived. 
 
 Graham's exhibition began in 1780, and finally closed in 
 1784.^ In 1783 this infamous quack made his appearance, 
 and attempted to introduce his exhibition in Edinburgh, where 
 he was most properly committed to the Tolbooth.- The same 
 work which contains the charge contains also the statement 
 that Emma Lyons was sixteen at the time she arrived in Lon- 
 don." Pettigrew's statement that she was born in 1764 is con- 
 firmed by the official entry of her death in the records at Calais, 
 in which she is stated to have been fifty-one years of age in 
 1815. It follows that 1780 was the date of her employment 
 as a nursemaid in the family of Dr Budd. How long she re- 
 mained in that employment is not known, but she subsequently 
 entered the service of a tradesman at the west end of the town ; 
 then, as we have seen, became a companion to a lady ; after 
 which she lived successively with Captain Payne and Sir 
 Harry Featherstonehaugh, during her residence with the latter 
 of whom she attained great celebrity for her skill as a horse- 
 woman and her courage in the hunting-field. This is an art 
 not very rapidly acquired, and the fact implies a residence of 
 one winter, at the very least, at Up Park. In the beginning 
 of 1782* she was brought by the Hon. C. F. Greville, with whom 
 she was then residing, and introduced by him to Eonincy, who 
 then painted the very beautiful portrait (perhaps the most 
 
 1 See Anchenholtz, Tableau il'Angletcrre, i. 104 ; ami Dr Gialiam's own 
 aboiniiiable pamphlets. 
 
 - Gentleman's Maj,Mzinc, liii. 711. •' Memoirs of Lady Hamilton, '21. 
 
 •• Life of Komuey, by J. Ivomney, ISO.
 
 2;{2 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 lovely el' all liis works), entitled "Nature," wliicli is imw in 
 tlio possession of Mr Fawkes of Farnely. Tliis leaves a period 
 of barely two years between her first coming to London, wlien 
 she entered the service of Dr Budd, and her being under the 
 protection of Mr Greville,' — a period short even for the events 
 we have narrated, and which appears to exclude the possibility 
 of tliere being any foundation for the popular story of her 
 having been reduced to a state of abject misery, to escape 
 from which she is supposed to have acceded to Dr Graham's 
 proposals. "We have here, too, the true account of her intro- 
 duction to Ptomney ; and coupling this positive evidence of 
 the falsehood of the part of the story with the extreme im- 
 probability of the rest, arising from the shoiiness of the 
 time, and the total absence of any evidence whatever in sup- 
 port of it, we consider ourselves entitled to reject the whole 
 as a fabrication. 
 
 It is with her introduction to Romney that the public in- 
 terest of Lady Hamilton's life commences. It is impossible to 
 gaze on the face so familiar to every one, and which owes its 
 immortality to his pencil, without feelings of deep emotion. 
 The charm consists not in beauty of feature, marvellous though 
 that beauty is. There beams in those eyes, and plays around 
 those lips, the power of fascination which, a few years later, 
 brought princes, statesmen, and heroes to worship at her feet. 
 
 jNlarvellous and inscrutable are the ways by which " Provi- 
 dence doth shape our ends " ! Had that face been less beauti- 
 ful, had the heart of its possessor been less brave and faithful, 
 had she lacked courage or promptitude — or, strange as it may 
 sound, had she been less frail, had she possessed fewer virtues 
 or fewer faults — the whole course of Idstory might have been 
 changed, and the Nile, and even Trafalgar, have had no place 
 in the annals of England. 
 
 It has been repeatedly asserted that Emma Harte (for such 
 was the name by which at this time she was known) was the 
 servant, the model, and the mistress of Pomney. This story 
 will be found, on investigation, just as groundless as the grosser 
 one of her connection with the quack Graham. At the time 
 ' Mr Grevillc died at Taddington in the mouth of May 1809.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 233 
 
 of her introrluction to Eomney, Emma Haite was living with 
 the Honourable C. Greville, a young man of high family and 
 position ; she resided with him for six or seven 3^ears — his wife 
 in everything except in legal title to the name ; and his letters 
 show that, long after the termination of that connection, he 
 retained feelings of warm and respectful affection for her. 
 Komney was, at this time, long past middle life. That he, like 
 his friend Hayley, the biographer of Cowper, conceived a ro- 
 mantic attachment to the beautiful subject of his pencil, is 
 abundantly shown by his letters. The morbid tendencies of 
 Eomney's mind, which a few years later developed themselves 
 into evident insanity, are well known. " The divine lady," as 
 he calls her, was the object of sentimental and distant adora- 
 tion, and never did devout worshipper pay more precious 
 homage at the shrine of bis idol. He painted as many as 
 twenty-three pictures of her. There is but one of these pic- 
 tures that even borders upon passing the bounds of modesty, 
 and of that one, the head only was painted from Lady Plamil- 
 ton. It is the picture of a Bacchante leading a goat, and is 
 now in the collection at Petworth. The engraving is lying by 
 us as we write, and gazes upon us with looks of inexpressible 
 loveliness. I\Iany would say that it savoured of pruder}-^ when 
 we describe this picture as voluptuous. We notice it for the 
 sake of recording the fact, that the face alone was painted from 
 Lady Hamilton. She was his model in the sense that it was 
 her surpassing beauty that inspired his genius, incorporating 
 itself with his very being, so that he could paint nothing but 
 her; and, present or absent, her features arc to be traced through 
 all his works.^ 
 
 ^ The following ia a list of tlie iiicdurcs painted hy rioniney from Lad}' Ham- 
 ilton, and {^iven in J. Komiiey's Life of the painter : 1. " Nature," 1782 — now 
 in the possession of Mr Fawkes ; engraved by Meyer, ll^ in. by Oj, and b<dter 
 by J. K. Smith, 94 in. by 8, both mezzo ; 2. Ciree, painted about the same 
 time — unfinished; 3. Iphigenia ; 4. St Cecilia (Keating, stipple) ; 5. IJaeehante, 
 sent to Sir Wm. Hamilton at Naples, and lost at sea ; 6. Alope (Earlom, stip- 
 ple); 7. Tlie Spinstress (Cheesman, stipple) ; 8. Cassandra — Hoydell's Shake- 
 speare Gallery (Legatt, line); 9. Three-quarters, straw-hat, "Knima" — Mr 
 Crawford (Jones, stipple) ; 10. Hacehante — Sir J. Leicester, now at Petworth 
 (Knight, stipple) — iigurc painted in afterwards ; 1 L Half-length, sent to Naples ; 
 12. Do., given to her mother; 13 and 14. Calypso and Magdalcu — I'rinec of
 
 2:51 VINDICATKJN.S. 
 
 I'm lore we Iciive tliis part of the subject, it may be as well 
 to notice (thou<,'h rather out of place in point of time) another 
 circumstance whicli has given rise to many erroneous impres- 
 sions. During lier residence in Italy, a work was published 
 entitled ' Lady Hamilton's Attitudes.' This gave occasion to a 
 malicious insinuation in one of Gilray's caricatures. The cari- 
 cature was far more popular than the original work. The 
 slander survived the circumstances that gave rise to it. The 
 book has become scarce, and is of very little intrinsic value ; 
 we have, however, seen a copy, and we can assure our readers 
 that it does not contain a single figure which might not be re- 
 presented with prefect propriety by the most decorous matron 
 in Edinburgh. The iigures are absolutely encumbered with 
 drapery. Lady Hamilton's remarkable skill in arranging which, 
 gave occasion to the work, wliich was published by the desire 
 of Sir William Hamilton. 
 
 From 1782 till 1789, Emma Harte continued to reside under 
 the protection of Mr Greville. In that year he was compelled 
 to break up his establishment, and to make arrangements with 
 his creditors. Sir William Hamilton prevailed upon Emma 
 Harte to accompany him to Naples, where he had long resided 
 as British ambassador. There she remained for two years, and 
 in 1791 returned to London with Sir William Hamilton. The 
 accomplishments whicli she had sedulously cultivated during 
 her residence with jNIr Greville had been brought to perfection 
 during her stay in Italy. In August 1791 Eomney writes : 
 " She performed in my house last week, singing and acting 
 before some of the nobility with the most astonishing powers ; 
 
 Wales — (I believe these pictures to be those which are now at Kagley; they 
 are extremely fiue, and, as far as I know, have never been engraved) ; 15, 16, 
 17. Joan of Arc, Pythian Priestess, and Cassandra — unfinished •,\IS. Half (full) 
 length, reading — light reflected on ^the face — Hayley (Jones, stipple) ; 19. 
 Three-quarters, 1792 ; 20, 21, 22. Three-quarters, side face. Two other un- 
 finished heads. 
 
 In addition to this list, there is a very beautiful figure called " The Seam- 
 stress," which, we believe, was painted from Lady Hamilton, engraved by 
 Knight. At Ragley there is also a portrait nearly full-length by Hamilton, en- 
 graved in line by Morghen. She was also the original of Reynolds's celebrated 
 " Bacchante " — J. R. Smith, mezzo. There is a magnificent full-length, by Law- 
 rence, in the National Gallery of Scotland ; and a very lovely chalk head by the 
 same artist, signed " Emma," in the British Museum— engraved by Knight.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 235 
 
 she is the talk of the whole town, and really surpasses 
 everything, both in singing and acting, that ever appeared. 
 Galliui offered her two thousand pounds a-year and two benefits 
 if she would engage with him ; on which Sir William said, 
 pleasantly, that he had engaged her for life." ^ 
 
 On the Gth of September 1791, within a fortnight of the 
 party at Eomuey's house, Emma Harte became Lady Hamilton, 
 and thus acquired a legal title to the name by which she will 
 be known as long as the history of England lasts. - 
 
 This terminates what may be called the first part of her 
 career. It is that over which most doubt and obscurity pre- 
 vails. We consider, however, that we are entitled, for the 
 reason we have given, to reject altogether, as fabrications, the 
 story of her being reduced "to the extremity of want and 
 misery ; " of her having been " a mere outcast in the metro- 
 polis ;" ^ of her connection with Graham ; and of her supposed 
 improper intimacy with Romney. These slanders originate 
 in the abominable pages of an infamous and anonymous pub- 
 lication ; they' are not supported by one tittle of evidence ; 
 the dates show that it was next to impossible that the sup- 
 posed facts could have occurred ; and the charges are met 
 by negative evidence, as far as the circumstances admit of 
 such proof. 
 
 ^ Hayley's Life of Romney, 165. 
 
 ^ The marriage is announced in the Gentleman's Magazine for September 
 1791 as follows: "Sir W. Hamilton, K.C. B., Envoy Extraordinary and 
 Minister Plenipotentiaiy to the Court of Naples, to Miss Harte, a lady much 
 celebrated for her elegant accomplishments and great musical abilities." It is 
 stated in Pettigrew's Memoirs of Nelson, that the marriage was solemnised at 
 St George's, Hanover Square. This is a mistake. We have searched the 
 register of that parish without finding any trace of it. The St James's Chronicle 
 mentions the marriage as having taken place at Marybone Church. On ex- 
 amining the register of that parish, wc found the entry of the marriage. It is 
 somewhat singular that though the name of Harte is used in the Annual 
 Register, the Gentleman's Magazine, and the newspai>crs of the day, the name 
 in the register, and by which Lady Hamilton signed that document, is "Amy 
 Lyons," the surname having been originally written " Lions," and the "i" 
 subseipicntly alteretl into a "y." The Christian name " Amy " is distinctly 
 written. We are not aware of any other instance in whidi she used any 
 Christian name but that of Emma. The witnesses to the marriage were the 
 ^laniupss of Abercorn and the IJcv. I^. Dutcns. 
 
 •^ Memoirs of Lady Hamilton, 39.
 
 230 \ INKICA'IIONS, 
 
 hiiiiKMliiitoly after tlic inarriago, Sir William and Lady 
 iliuiiiltcm started fur Naples. A letter from the unliaiipy 
 Afarie Antoinette (said to have been the last she addressed to 
 her sister) secured her an introduction to the queen, who soon 
 admitted her to the closest intimacy and most complete confi- 
 dence. We find from Lord St Vincent's letters that she em- 
 ployed the influence she thus acquired to promote the interests 
 of Great Britain. He distin^^niishes her by the title of the 
 " Patroness of the Navy." The letters of Troubridge and Ball, 
 and others of that gallant band who shared the glory of Nelson, 
 show that they entertained a similar feeling. It was not long 
 before she was enabled to perform an important service. The 
 King of Naples had received from the King of Spain a private 
 letter, communicating his determination to desert the cause of 
 the Allies, and to join France against England. Of this letter 
 the queen obtained possession, and communicated its contents 
 to Lady Hamilton. Sir William was dangerously ill, and 
 unable to attend to his duties ; but Lady Hamilton imme- 
 diately despatched a copy of the letter to Lord Gren\alle, 
 taking the necessary means for insuring its safety — a precau- 
 tion which was attended with the expense of about £400, 
 which she paid out of her private purse.^ The INIinistry im- 
 mediately acted upon this information, and sent orders to Sir 
 John Jervis to take hostile steps, if opportunity should offer, 
 against Spain.^ 
 
 Many services were performed for the English navy by Lady 
 Hamilton during this difficult period, when French influence 
 was so powerful at Naples as to render it dangerous for the 
 British Minister even to appear at Court. 
 
 It was in the month of June 1798, however, that Lady 
 Hamilton performed the act which entitles her to the lasting 
 gratitude of all who feel pride in the glory of the British navy. 
 
 Naples was at peace with France. One of the stipulations 
 of the treaty was, that no more than two English ships of war 
 should enter into any of the Neapolitan or Sicilian ports. 
 Nelson was in pursuit of the French fleet, but in urgent want 
 of provisions and water. He despatched Troubridge to Sir 
 1 Tettigrcw's Life of Nelson, ii. 610. - Ibid., 518.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 237 
 
 William Hamilton, urging upon him to procure permission for 
 the fleet to enter Naples or one of the Sicilian ports, as other- 
 wise he should be compelled to run to Gibraltar for supplies, 
 and to give over all further pursuit of the French fleet. Trou- 
 bridge arrived at Naples about six o'clock in the morning, and 
 instantly called up Sir William Hamilton. They went to the 
 Neapolitan minister, Acton. A council was summoned, at 
 which the feeble and vacillating king presided. Their deliber- 
 ations lasted for an hour and a half, and ended in disappoint- 
 ment. The king dared not break with France. The application 
 was refused. But in the mean time a more powerful agent 
 than Sir William Hamilton had been at work, and a more 
 vigorous and bolder mind than that of the king had come to 
 an opposite determination. The little barefooted girl of the 
 Welsh village and the daughter of jVIaria Theresa -of Austria 
 had met. The time which Sir William Hamilton, Troubridue. 
 and Acton had vainly spent in attempting to move the king, 
 had been passed by Lady Hamilton with the queen, who, 
 having given birth to a son, was by the laws of Naples entitled 
 to a voice in the State Council.^ By the most vehement en- 
 treaties and arguments, she obtained her signature to an order 
 addressed " to all governors of the Two Sicilies, to receive with 
 hospitality the British fleet, to water, victual, and aid them." 
 As Lady Hamilton placed this order in the hands of Trou- 
 bridge, he exclaimed that it would " cheer Nelson to ecstasy ! " 
 She begged " that the queen might be as little committed in 
 the use of it as the glory and service of the country would 
 admit of." Nelson, on receiving it, wrote : — 
 
 " My Dear Lady Hamilton, — I have kissed the queen's 
 letter. Pray, say I hope for the honour of kissing her hand 
 when no fears will intervene. Assure her majesty that no 
 ])erson has her felicity more at heart than myself, and that 
 the sufferings of her family will be a tower of strength in tlie 
 day of battle. Fear not the event. God is with us. God 
 bless you and Sir William. Pray, say I cannot stay to answer 
 his letter. — Ever yours faithfully, Hoiiatio Nf.lson." 
 
 ' I'cttigrcw, G93.
 
 238 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Aniicil with this uutliority, Nelson entered the port of 
 Syracuse, victuulled and watered liis fU-et, and Ibuglit and 
 won the battle of the Nile. 
 
 Few months elapsed before Lady Hamilton was again 
 engaged in an enterprise requiring courage and discretion of 
 the highest order. 
 
 The royal family of Naples were in extreme peril Tlie 
 army had been defeated, though, as Nelson observed, " the 
 Neapolitan officers did not lose much honour, for, God knows, 
 thoy had not much to lose ; but they lost all they had." ^ The 
 Court was filled with traitors, the city with ruffians and assas- 
 sins. " The mind of man could not fancy things worse than 
 they were." ^ It was resolved by Nelson, Sir William and 
 Lady Hamilton, and the queen, that the only place of safety 
 for the royal family was to be found in Nelson's ship, and 
 that a retreat to Palermo was necessary. Had this design 
 been discovered, it would have involved all concerned in 
 certain and immediate destruction. Nelson and Sir William 
 Hamilton kept away from Court. 
 
 " The whole correspondence" (says Nelson in his letter to Lord 
 St Vincent) " relative to this important business was carried on 
 with the greatest address by Lady Hamilton and the queen ; 
 who being constantly in the habit of correspondence, no one 
 could suspect. It would have been highly imprudent either 
 in Sir William Hamilton or myself to have gone to Court, as 
 we knew that all our movements were watched, and that even 
 an idea was entertained by the Jacobins of arresting our per- 
 sons as a hostage — as they foolishly imagined — against the 
 attack of Naples, should the French get possession of it." ^ 
 
 A subterraneous passage led from the queen's apartments to 
 the shore. This was explored by Nelson and Lady Hanulton, 
 and through this passage, for several nights, the jewels and 
 treasure of the royal family were conveyed. On the 21st of 
 
 ^ Lord Nelson to Lord Spencer, lltli December; Harrison, i. 378. 
 
 "- Ibid. 
 
 ' Nelson to Lord St Vincent, 26th December 1798. The private property of 
 Sir William Jlaniilton, amonnting to between £30,000 and £40,000, was 
 sacrificed to secure secrecy and prevent the alarm which mit^lit have been 
 occasioned by its removal. — Pettigrcw, ii. 618.'
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 239 
 
 December, at half-past eight o'clock iii the evening, three 
 barges, with Nelson and Captain Hope on board, landed at a 
 corner of the arsenal. Leaving Captain Hope in charge of the 
 boats, Nelson went to the palace, brought out the whole of 
 the royal family, placed them in the boats, and witliin an 
 hour they were in safety on the deck of the Vanguard.^ 
 
 Lady Hamilton was their only attendant. But even here, 
 though in safety, their distresses did not cease. On the 24th, 
 says Nelson, " it blew harder than I ever experienced since I 
 have been at sea." The next day, shortly after their arrival 
 at Palermo, the youngest child of the queen, a boy of seven 
 years of age, died in Lady Hamilton's arms.^ 
 
 We now come to those events with regard to which obloquy 
 has been thrown most abundantly, and most unjustly, upon 
 the memory of Lady Hamilton. 
 
 In our last Number we showed what the true character of 
 the occurrences which took place in the Bay of Naples in tlie 
 month of June 1799 was. With those events, however, what- 
 ever judgment may be formed upon them, Lady Hamilton had 
 nothing whatever to do. The vitality of a lie is wonderful. 
 Let the most improbable tale be but told with suflicient confi- 
 dence, and instead of inquiring whether there is any evidence 
 
 ^ The following nicniorandum of the order for this proceeding is interesting : 
 the original remained in the possession of Captain Hope, the words in italics 
 being in Nelson's own handwriting : — 
 
 "Most secret. 
 
 "Naples, Dec. 20, 1798. 
 
 "Tlirec barges and the small cutter of the Alcmena armed with cutlasses 
 only, to be at the Victoria at half-past seven o'clock precisely. Only one 
 barge to be at the wharf, the others to lay on their oars at the outside of the 
 rocks— the small barge of the Vanguard to be at the wharf. The above boats 
 to be on board the Alcmena before seven o'clock, under the direction of Cap- 
 tain Hope. Orapneh to be in (he boats. 
 
 "All the other boats of the Vanguard and Alcmena to be armed with cut- 
 lasses, and the launches with carronades, to assemble on board the Vanguard, 
 under the direction of Captain Hardy, and to put off from her at lialf-jiast 
 eight o'clock precincli/, to row halficuy fovards the Mala Fiylio. These boats to 
 have 4 or G soldiers in them. In case assisttincc is wanted by mc, false fira will 
 be bicrnt. Nki.son. 
 
 " Tli£ Alcmena to be ready to slip in the night if necessary." 
 — Nelson Despatches, iii. 20G. 
 
 - Ilanisou's Life of Nelson, i. 384 — Nulsou to lA)rd St A'inccnt.
 
 210 VINDICATKJNS. 
 
 to .siij)])ort it, nine 111011 out of ten will begin to account for it 
 oil .some favourite hypothesis. Nelson, the most faithful and 
 most humane of men, is charged witli perfidy and murder; and 
 thereupon every one, from Dr Southey to Lord Brougham, 
 without the slightest inquiry into the evidence, which would 
 liave disproved the charge at once, accepts the position, and 
 begins to account for it. We must refer our readers to a 
 ft)riner paper for a narrative of the facts with regard to those 
 transactions. The most definite, the most malignant, and the 
 falsest account will be found in Captain I'renton's ' Naval 
 History.' Accusing Nelson of the foulest and basest of crimes 
 ("treachery and murder" are the words freely Itandied about 
 among the various slanderers), he charges Lady Hamilton with 
 having been the instigator of his conduct. After describing 
 the execution of Caracciolo, he says : " At the last fatal scene 
 she was present, and seems to have enjoyed the sight. ^Miile 
 the body was yet hanging at the yard-arm of the frigate, ' Come,' 
 said she — ' come, Bronte, let us take the barge and have 
 another look at poor Caracciolo ! ' The barge was manned, 
 and they rowed round the frigate, and satiated their eyes with 
 the appalling spectacle." ^ 
 
 In his attempt to be circumstantial. Captain Brentou has 
 betrayed himself. Nelson was not Duke of Bronte until the 
 13th of August following.^ 
 
 But apart from this, the whole story is proved, by the most 
 conclusive evidence, to be a fabrication. 
 
 Immediately upon the appearance of Captain Brenton's 
 work, the scene of rowing round the Minerva was solemnly 
 and indignantly denied by one of the survivors of Nelson's 
 seamates, of the name of John !Mitford, in a letter which he 
 addressed to the ' ^Morning Post.' 
 
 Captain Brenton attempts, in his second edition, to discredit 
 this man's assertion, upon no better ground than that he 
 " lodged over a coal-shed in some obscure street near Leicester 
 Square." AVhat there maybe in that circumstance that should 
 disentitle him to credit we must leave Captain Brenton to 
 explain. Many a brave fellow has been reduced to a greater 
 
 Brenton's Naval History, i. 483. - Nelson Despatches, iiL 493.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 241 
 
 extremity, who can still feel his heart swell \Yith indignation 
 at the groundless slanders which have been vented against the 
 hero who led him in the path to glory. I'ut this matter is 
 now set at rest for ever. Commodore Sir Francis Augustus 
 Collier, a most distinguished officer, who was on board the 
 Foudroyant at the time, has in manly and emphatic words 
 denounced the whole story as " an arrant falsehood!' ^ 
 
 As Caracciolo was hanged on the Minerva, and Lady 
 Hamilton remained on board the Foudroyant, v/e never could 
 understand very clearly what was meant by the assertion, 
 wliich has been so often repeated, that she was " present at the 
 execution," ^ Whatever was meant by this statement, we arc 
 happy to have it in our power to contradict it on the best pos- 
 sible authority. The late Lord Northwick, who was in the Bay 
 of Naples at the time in question, told Mr Mulready that he 
 distinctly remembered being at dinner in company with Lady 
 Hamilton in Nelson's cabin, when they heard the gun fired 
 which announced the execution of Caracciolo. We have the 
 authority of Mr IMulready for this anecdote, and we thus 
 destroy the last shred of the calumny. 
 
 There does not appear to be the slightest foundation for the 
 assertion, so often repeated, that the queen and Lady Hamilton 
 entertained feelings of personal hostility against Caracciolo. 
 The queen, writing to her a few days after the execution, 
 says: "I have seen also the sad and merited end of the 
 unfortunate and mad-brained Caracciolo. / am sensible how 
 much your excellent Jieart must have suffered." ^ These are 
 not the expressions of hatred, malignity, or exultation. Nor 
 are we aware of one particle of evidence to show that Lady 
 Hamilton ever used her influence except on the side of 
 Immanity and mercy. 
 
 We may therefore leave the malignant slanders of Captain 
 Brenton to the contempt which they deserve. The vai)i(l 
 moralities and turgid periods with which Lord l>rougham 
 winds up his sketch of Nelson are unworthy of him. Lord 
 Holland, whose own moral sense was so singularly constituted 
 that he considered adultery committed by a queen " neitlier 
 
 ^ Nelson De-siuUlu-s, iii. .^22. » .Southcy, 201. Muly 2, 179i». 
 
 Q
 
 242 VTNDTOATTONS. 
 
 scandiilnus nor dcrrradinf,' !" ^ lias tlio following passajje upon 
 tlic coltlness with wliich it is said Kelson was received at 
 Court: "His amour with Lady Hamilton, if amour it was, 
 shocked the king's morality; and though the 'perfidies ami 
 nmnJem to which it led were perpetrated in the cause of 
 royalty, they" [i.e., the perfidies and mtirders /] "could not 
 wash away the original sin of indecoi-um in the eye of his 
 majesty." - 
 
 Sheridan's fancy never soared so high as this. He would 
 not have dared to put such a sentence into the mouth even of 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite. The "original sin" of indecorum 
 washed away hy tlie baptism of "perfidy and murder" ! But 
 wo need not waste time upon these daiing metaphors. The 
 brilliant coterie of Holland House is among the things of th»; 
 past ; and it would have been better if the reputation of its 
 owner had been allowed to rest upon its traditions. 
 
 It has been the custom to speak of Lady Hamilton as an 
 " artful" woman. We can find nothing to justify the epithet. 
 On the contrary, we believe that she owed much of the in- 
 fluence she acquired over the minds of such men as Nelson, 
 St Vincent, Troubridge, and Ball, to the very opposite qualities. 
 It was her generous and impulsive nature that charmed them, 
 fully as much as her beauty or her talents. 
 
 The nature of her intimacy with Nelson will probably re- 
 main for ever an enigma. The more closely the evidence is 
 examined, the more perplexing does the inquiry become. Con- 
 fident assertion in this, as in most other cases, is confined 
 almost exclusively to those who know least of the subject. 
 
 There cannot be a stronger proof of this difficulty than that 
 which is derived from the fact, that the two latest biographers 
 of Nelson, both of whom have devoted infinite labour to the 
 inquiry, have arrived at diametrically opposite conclusions. 
 Dr Pettigrew is convinced that Horatia was the daughter of 
 
 * "She [Madame Canipau] was, in fact, the confederate of Marie Antoi- 
 nette's amours. Those amours were not numerous, scandalous, or degrading, 
 but they it'crt: rt??ioio's" — Lord Holland's Foreign Keminisccnccs, 18; the /«<■/ 
 Knug, that there were no amours at all. 
 
 " Jlomnirs of the Whig Tarty, ii. 30 ; Roso's Diary, i. 219.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 243 
 
 Lady Hamilton,^ and Sir Harris Nicolas is equally convinced 
 that she was not,"^ Those who were most likely to be well ^ 
 informed upon the subject — Lord St Vincent, Hardy, Dr Scott, 
 his confidential friend and professional adviser i^Ir Haslewood, 
 and, we may add, the several members of his own family — seem i 
 to have considered Nelson's attachment to Lady Hamilton I 
 purely Platonic. The evidence in support of this view of the f 
 case is collected in the seventh volume of the ' Nelson De- 
 spatches,' p. 369 to 396. We confess that, notwithstanding 
 this formidable mass of evidence, and the highly respectable 
 opinions by which it is supported, we feel ourselves compelled 
 reluctantly to express our own opinion that Horatia was the 
 daughter not only of Nelson, of which there appears to be little 
 or no doubt, but of Lady Hamilton also. It is somewhat 
 singular that in this case it is the maternity of the child that 
 is disputed, whilst the paternity seems to be admitted on all 
 hands. 
 
 We would willingly pass over this portion of the histor}^ 
 avoiding equally, on the one hand, the error of palliating a de- 
 parture from the strict rules of morality ; and, on the other, 
 tlie assumption of a rigid censorship. 
 
 Tlie gentle philosophy of Burns teaches us the truest charit}'. 
 
 " Wlio made the heart, 'tis lie aloue 
 Decidedly can tiy us ; 
 He knows each chord — its various tone ; 
 Each spring — its various bias. 
 
 " Then at the balance let's be mute, 
 We never can adjust it. 
 What's done we partly may compute, 
 But never what's resisted." 
 
 We must pass on to the fatal and glorious day when Nelson, 
 with the strange presentiment which dictated his farewell to 
 CJaptain Blackwood, retired from the deck of the Victory to 
 commune in silence with his own heart. Not alone — for One, 
 whose " good and faithful servant" he had been, was with him. 
 To Him he poured out his heart, and the prayer of the hero 
 was answered. 
 
 " May the great God whom I worship grant to my country, 
 1 Vol. ii. G55. = Nelson Dispatclies, vii. 369, 393.
 
 2.\/\ VINDICATIONS. 
 
 illHl 1(11 
 
 it he liciicfit of Kiirn].(' ill freiicral, a {,'rcat and glorious vic- 
 tory ; iiiid may no misconduct in any on(! tarnisli it; and may 
 liumanity alter victory bo the predominant feature in tiie 
 liritish fleet. For myself, individually, I commit my life to 
 Him who made mc, and may Ilis hlcssing light upon my en- 
 deavours for serving my country faithfully. To llim I resign 
 m)'self and the joint cause which is intrusted to me to de- 
 fend. — Amen, amen, amen." 
 
 Fitting words for one who felt the dark shadow of death 
 drawing closer and closer to him, and becoming more and more 
 distinct in the brilliant light of victory. 
 
 In that memorable hour he wrote the following codicil to 
 his will : — 
 
 " Victory, Octuher the 2\st, 1805, then in sight of the com- 
 bined fleets of France and Spain, distant about ten 
 miles. 
 
 " Whereas the eminent services of Emma Hamilton, widow 
 of the Plight Hon. Sir Wm. Hamilton, have been of the verj' 
 greatest service to our King and country, and, to my know- 
 ledge, without receiving any reward from either our King or 
 country : 
 
 " First, that she obtained the King of Spain's letter in 1796 
 to his brother the King of Naples, acquainting him of his in- 
 tention to declare war against England, and from which letter 
 the Ministry sent out orders to the then Sir John Jervls to 
 strike a stroke, if opportunity offered, either against the ar- 
 senals of Spain or her fleets : that neither of them was done 
 is not the fault of Lady Hamilton — the opportunity might 
 have been offered. 
 
 " Secondly, The British fleet under my command would 
 never have returned a second time to Egypt, had not Lady 
 Hamilton's influence with the Queen of Naples caused letters 
 to be wrote to the Governor of Syracuse that he was to en- 
 courage the fleet being supplied with everything, should they 
 put into that port in Sicily. We put into Syracuse, and re- 
 ceived every supply, went to Egypt and destroyed the French 
 fleet. Could I have rewarded those services, I would not mnc
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 245 
 
 call upon my countiy ; but as that has not been in my power, 
 I leave Emma Lady Hamilton, theief(jre, a legacy to my King 
 and country, that they will give an ample provision to main- 
 tain her rank in life. 
 
 " I also leave to the beneficence of my country my adopted 
 daughter, Horatia Nelson Thompson ; and I desire she will use 
 in future the name of Nelson only. These are the only favours 
 I ask of my King and country, at this moment when I am 
 going to figlit their battle. 
 
 " May God bless my King and country, and all those who I 
 love dear. IMy relatives it is needless to mention ; they will, 
 of course, be amply provided for. 
 
 " Nelson & Bronte. 
 
 " Witness — Henry Blackwood. 
 T. U. Hardy." 
 
 When the victory was won, and the victor was dying, the 
 last words he spoke were — 
 
 " Hemembcr that I leave Lady Hamilton and my daughter 
 Horatia as a legacy to my country. Never forget Horatia." 
 He became inarticulate. But the one great abiding principle 
 which had dictated the signal which flew from ship to ship on 
 that morning was still there. With much effort he distinctly 
 said — " TiiAXK God, I have done uy duty." He closed his 
 eyes — once more opened them — and the mighty and victorious 
 spirit was fled.^ 
 
 How England has responded to that appeal is but too well 
 known. 
 
 The codicil was faithfully delivered by Captain Blackwood 
 to the Kev. William Nelson, who, with his wife and family 
 (one of them a daughter, who had been under her exclusive 
 care for six years,), was residing with Lady HamiltoiL He 
 suppressed it until the day when £120,000 was voted in Par- 
 liament to uphold the name and title of the hero, wlien, dining 
 at Lady Hamilton's table, he produced it ; and, throwing it to 
 her, coarsely said, she miglit now do with it as slie pleased. 
 Lady Hamilton had it registered in Doctors' Commons tlie 
 next day. 
 
 ' Nelson Despatches, vii. 251.
 
 w 
 
 246 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 It is tlilVicult to find words to express the meanness of Nel- 
 son's brother. He fawned, he crawled, he grovelled ; no flattery 
 was too fulsome, no adulation too abject, to express his devotion 
 to Lady ITaniilton so long as she was powerful and prosperous, 
 lie intrusted his daughter, from her earliest youtF, to be her 
 habitual companion. He sought preferment in the Churcli 
 through her influence. Writing to her in 1801, he says : " I 
 am told there are two or three very old lives, prebends of Can- 
 terbury, in the Minister's gift — near six hundred pounds a-year, 
 5 and good houses. The Deans of Hereford, Exeter, Lichfield 
 I and Coventry, York and "Winchester, are old men." 
 
 But soon afterwards his ambition rose above prebendal stalls 
 and deaneries. In the same year he writes : " Now we have 
 secured the peerage, we have only oyic thing to ask, and that 
 is, my promotion in the Church, handsomely and honourably, 
 such as becomes Lord Nelson's brother and heir-apparent to 
 the title. iVo ind-off with small heggarly stalls. Mr Adding- 
 ton must be kept steady to that point. I am sure~Nelson is 
 doing everything for him. But a word is enough for your good 
 sensible heart." 
 
 No sooner had he secured for himself the wealth and honours 
 earned by Nelson, than he was the first to betray and desert her. 
 
 An avenging Nemesis awaited him. He lived to old age, 
 and saw his only son perish before him. 
 
 " For BaiKiuo's issue had he filed his mind." 
 
 No drop of the blood of that degenerate brother flows in the 
 veins of the present inheritor of Nelson's honours. 
 
 We altogether repudiate the doctrine that there is to be one 
 rule of morality for one man, and a different rule for another. 
 But in forming a judgment upon character, we must take the 
 whole character into account. A man is not poor because his 
 debts are large. His wealth is determined not by the amount 
 of items on the debit side of his account, but by the balance 
 at the end of it. When ^Ir Peter Perkins abandons his mid- 
 dle-aged, uninteresting, and not very good-tempered wife for 
 society more agreeable to his taste, he becomes banknipt in 
 morality. He owed to society an observance of its rules, but
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 24*7 
 
 society owed nothing to him. When some dashing " Lorutte " 
 tcnniuates her disreputable career by marrying a foolish young 
 man of" fortune or a superannuated millionaire, the world pities 
 the young simpleton, or despises the old one, and troubles itself 
 no more about them. If Lady Hamilton's career had termi- 
 nated with her marriage, we should by this time only have 
 regarded her with the same kind of interest which induces us 
 to ask, as we gaze on the canvas of llcynolds, who was "Nelly 
 O'lhien or Emily Bertie ? But with her marriage Ijcgins the 
 other side of the account. What does the world owe to Lady 
 Hamilton ? England owes her the victory of the Nile. That 
 one item is so large that it leads one to forget the other acts 
 which earned her the gratitude, not of Nelson alone, but of St 
 Vincent, Troubridge, and the other " lions of the deep " who 
 shared his glory. The world owes to her that the sister of 
 Marie Antoinette did not share her horrible fate — that another 
 head, as fair as that which fell into the basket of sawdust in 
 front of the Tuileries on the 16th of October 1793, did not roll 
 on the scaffold at Naples in 1799. When we come to take the 
 account, as it stood between the world and Lady H;imilton 
 when it finally closed in 1815, we find it strangely changed 
 since 1791. The balance has turned. It is the world, it is 
 humanity, that is the debtor. It is England that is bankrupt, 
 and repudiates her debt. 
 
 We know few characters of which it is so difficult to form a 
 just and impartial estimate as that of Lady Hamilton. Hap- 
 pily it is not our duty to mete out reward or punishment. 
 Few, if any, have ever been exposed to such dangers and such 
 temptations. The most precious gifts of Providence, bodily 
 and mental, which were lavished upon her in profusion, were 
 but so many additional snares in her path. "With all her 
 faults," says one who was by no means disposed to extenuate 
 those faults, " her goodness of heart is undeiiialjle. She was 
 the frequent intercessor with Nelson for oflendiiig sailors ; and 
 in every vicissitude of her fortune she manifested the warmest 
 alh'ction for her mother, and showed the greatest kindness to 
 a host of discreditable relations." ^ Her husband, with his 
 1 Nelson Despatches, vii. 390.
 
 248 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 dyin^' hiciitli, bore witness tluil, during " the ten yf-ars ol' their 
 hiippy iuii()ii,Hhe liad never, in thoiiglil, word, or deed, oHended 
 liim." 
 
 Of her virtues, unliapi)ily, prudence was not one. After tlie 
 death of Nelson, and the disj^racelul disregard of her claims by 
 the Government, her affairs became greatly embarrassed. Those 
 who owed wealth and honour to Nelson, and who had sunned 
 themselves in her prosperity, shrank away from her. In her 
 distress she wrote a most touching letter to one who had 
 courted her smiles in other days, the Duke of Queensberry, 
 imploring him to buy the little estate at Merton, which had 
 l)een left to her by Nelson, and thus to relieve her from her 
 most pressing embarrassments. The cold-hearted old profli- 
 gate turned a deaf ear to the request. In 1813, Emma Hamil- 
 ton was a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench. Deserted by 
 the great, the noble, and the wealthy, abandoned by the heir 
 of his title and the recipient of his hard-earned rewards, she, 
 whom Nelson had left as a legacy to his country, might have 
 died in a jail. From this fate she was saved by one whose 
 name is not to be found in the brilliant circle who surrounded 
 her but a few short years before. Alderman Joshua Jonathan 
 Smith (let all honour be paid to his most plebeian name) 
 redeemed his share of his country's debt, and obtained her re- 
 lease. She iled to Calais, and, soon after her aiTival, vrrote the 
 following letter to the Eight Hon. Geo. Eose, who, most hon- 
 ourably to himself, had been unremitting, though unsuccessful, 
 in his attempts to enforce her claims upon the Government. 
 
 " Hotel Dessix, Calais, July 4, 1813. 
 
 "We arrived here safe, my dear sir, after three days' sick- 
 ness at sea — as, for precaution, we embarked at the Tower. 
 ]Mr Smith got me the discharge from Lord Ellenborough. 
 
 " I then begged Mr Smith to withdraw his bail, for I would 
 have died in prison sooner than that good man should have 
 suffered for me ; and I managed so well with Horatia alone, 
 that I was at Calais before any new writs could be issued out 
 against me. I feel so much better from change of climate, 
 food, air, large rooms, and liberty, that there is a chance I may
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 249 
 
 live to see my dear Iloratia biouglit up. 1 am looking out for 
 a lodging. I have au excellent Frenclnvoman, who is good at 
 everything ; for Iloratia and myself, and my old dame who is 
 coming, will be my establishment. Near me is an English 
 lady, who has resided here for twenty-five years ; who has a 
 day-school, but not for eating or sleeping. At eight in the 
 morning I take Horatia; fetch her at one; at three we dine; and 
 then in the evening we walk. She learns everything : piano, 
 harp, languages grammatically. She knows French and Italian 
 well, but she will still improve. Not any girls but those of 
 the first families go there. Last evening we walked two miles 
 to a feU champetre 2)our les hourgeois. Everybody is pleased 
 with Horatia. The General and his good old wife are veiy 
 good to us ; but our little world of happiness is in ourselves. 
 If, my dear sir, Lord Sidmouth would do something for dear 
 Horatia, so that I can be enabled to give her an education, and 
 also for her dress, it would ease me, and make me very happy. 
 Surely he owes this to Nelson. For God's sake do try for me, 
 for you do not know how limited I am. I have left every- 
 thing to be sold for the creditors, who do not deserve any- 
 thing ; for I have been the victim of artful mercenary wretches, 
 and my too great liberality and open heart has been the dupe 
 of villains. To you, sir, I trust, for my dearest Horatia, to 
 exert yourself for her, and that will be an easy passport for 
 me."^ 
 
 This letter, it will be observed, is dated the 4th of July 
 1813. In eighteen months more the strange eventful life of 
 Emma Hamilton was over. She died in a house, now No. Ill 
 Kue rran9aise, a street running parallel with the southern 
 rampart of the town. Calumny has been busy even with her 
 deathbed. It was said that imaginary phantoms haunted 
 her ; that Caracciolo was ever before her eyes ; that she 
 uttered agonising screams of repentance ; - that she could not 
 endure to be in the dark;^ and other cahunnies in whicli 
 there is not one word of truth."* Dr Pettigrew, speaking 
 from information communicated to him by Mi-s Hunter of 
 
 1 Diary of Kij^lit lion. Geo. Hose, i. '271. - Breiilon's Nav. Hist., i. 481. 
 ^ Memoirs of Lady Hamilton, 31)3. * Nelson Dispatches, iii. 522.
 
 250 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 15ri;^'htoii, says : " This excellent lady tells me, that at the 
 time Liuly lliimilton was at Calais, she was also there super- 
 iuteiiding the education of lier sou at the academy of Mr 
 Mills. She resided in the ' Grande Place,* and became ac- 
 quainted with Mons. de Kheims, the English interpreter, who 
 persuaded Mrs Hunter to take up her residence with him 
 in his chateau, which was visited by many English. When 
 Lady Hamilton fled to Calais, ^Tons. de lilieims gave her one of 
 his small houses to live in. It was very badly furnished. Mrs 
 Hunter was in the habit of ordering meat daily at a butcher's 
 for a favourite little dog, and on one of these occasions was 
 met by ^lons, de Rheims, who followed her, exclaiming, 
 ' Ah, Madame ! ah, Madame ! I know you to be good to the 
 English ; there is a lady here that would be glad of the worst 
 bit of meat you provide for your dog.' When questioned as 
 to who the lady was, and promising that she should not want 
 for anything, he declined telling, saying that she was too 
 proud to see any one ; besides, he had promised her secrecy. 
 Mrs Hunter begged him to provide her with everything she 
 required, wine, &c., as if coming from himself, and she would 
 pay for it. This he did for some time, until she became veiy 
 ill, when he pressed her to see the lady who had been so kind 
 to her ; and upon hearing that her benefactress was not a person 
 of title, she consented, saw her, thanked her, and blessed her. 
 A few days after sheceased to live. This lady describes her 
 to me as exceedingly beautiful even in death. She was 
 anxious to have her inteiTed according to English custom, for 
 which, however, she was only laughed at, and poor Emma 
 was put into a deal box without any inscription. All that 
 this good lady states she was permitted to do, was to make a 
 kind of pall out of her black silk petticoat, stitched on a white 
 curtain." ^ 
 
 Not a Protestant clergyman was to be found in Calais, and 
 the solemn service for the dead was read over her grave by an 
 Irish half-pay officer. Emma Hamilton sleeps in what was 
 once the pleasure-garden of a woman almost equally famous 
 for her personal charms and her strange adventures — the 
 ' Pettigrew, ii. 635.
 
 LADY HAMILTON. 251 
 
 beautiful Elizabeth Chudleigh, better known as Duchess of 
 Kingstown. It was consecrated and used as a cemetery until 
 1816. It was afterwards converted into a timber-yard, and 
 no trace remains of the grave of her whom Nelson, with his 
 dying voice, bequeathed to the gratitude of his country ! 
 
 In the office of the Juge de Paix is an inventory of the 
 effects of which she died possessed. They are estimated as of 
 the value of two hundred and twenty-eight francs — about 
 nine pounds sterling. Besides this there were some dupli- 
 cates for articles of plate and trinkets, which had been 
 pawned at the Mont de Piete. 
 
 The Eev. Earl Nelson came over to demand this property ! 
 but he declined to pay any expenses that had been incurred.^ 
 These were discharged by Alderman Smith and j\Ir Cadogan, 
 by the latter of whom Horatia was taken to Nelson's sister, 
 Mrs ^Matcham. 
 
 In the Records of the Municipality of Calais is the follow- 
 ing entry: " a.d. 1815, Janvier ]5. — Dame Emma Lyons, 
 agee de 51 ans, nee a Lancashire en Angleterre ; domiciliee a 
 Calais, fille de Henry Lyons, et de Marie Kidd ; Veuve de 
 William Llamilton, est decede le 15 Janvier, 1815, a une 
 heure aprcs midi au domicile du Sieur Damy, line Frau- 
 ^aise." ^ 
 
 1 Pettigvcw, ii. G3G. ^ Gallon's Auuals of Calais, 1S2.
 
 252 
 
 III. 
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYES.i 
 (principal TULLOCII iVND MK MARK NAPIER.) 
 
 In a ibrmer Number (August 1860) we had occasion to refer 
 to the execution of two women, named Margaret M'Lachlan 
 and Margaret Wilson, who have been generally supposed to 
 have suffered death by drowning in the year 1 685. 
 
 It was sufficient for the purposes of the inquiry we were 
 then pursuing to show that Claverhouse had no share what- 
 ever in that transaction ; and that Lord ^Macaulay's assertion, 
 or, to speak more correctly, his insinuation, to the contrary, 
 was based, if indeed it had any foundation at all, on a confu- 
 sion between the celebrated Colonel John Grahame of Claver- 
 house, and the obscure Colonel David Grahame, his brother. 
 It had not, indeed, occurred to us to question a fact which 
 had been repeated by every historian of those times from 
 Wodrow downwards ; and we are indebted to the industry of 
 Mr Mark Napier ^ for the production of evidence which, to say 
 the least, raises a grave doubt wliether this story, so often 
 repeated, is worthy of any belief. The question has been 
 debated with great zeal and equal ability by Mr Napier on 
 the one side, and by Principal Tulloch on the other, the 
 powers of advocacy of each having been sharpened by precon- 
 ceived opinions and cherished predilections. The one is 
 eager to wipe away a stain from a dynasty and a party to 
 which he is attached by political opinion and sympathy ; the 
 other is reluctant to surrender his belief in a martyrdom 
 
 * Blackwood's Magazine, December 1863. 
 
 ^Memoirs of Dundee, ii. 43; iii. 6SG. Ciise for the Crown in re the 
 Wigtown Martyrs, [xissim.
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 253 
 
 filling a pathetic page in the liistory of a Cliurch famous for 
 the struggles it has come through, and of which he is himself 
 a learned and accomplished ornament. These feelings are 
 not to be wondered at ; but they do not qualify either for 
 discharging impartially the functions of a judge ; and we think 
 that we shall be rendering an acceptable sei-vice if we place 
 before the reader the evidence on the question in a succinct 
 form, and enable him to deliver such verdict as may appear 
 most consonant with facts proved. We may well hesitate 
 before we arrive at a conclusion at variance with that of the 
 historian of ' Tlie Leaders of the Eeformation ; ' but the 
 biographer of those great pioneers in the cause of truth and 
 freedom of opinion will, we know, be one of the first to rejoice 
 if a stain can be wiped away from the history of his country. 
 Lord Macaulay's version of the tale is as folloAvs : — 
 
 " On the same day (i.e., the 11th of May 1685), two women, 
 Margaret M'Lachlan and IMargaret Wilson, the former an 
 aged widow, the latter a maiden of eighteen, suffered death 
 for their religion in Wigtownshire. They were ofiered their 
 lives if they would consent to abjure the cause of the insurgent 
 Covenanters, and to attend the Episcopal worship. They re- 
 fused, and they were sentenced to be drowned. They were 
 carried to a spot were the Solway overflows twice a-day, and 
 fastened to stakes fixed in the sand between high and low 
 water mark. The older sufferer was placed near to the ad- 
 vancing flood, in the hope that her last agonies might terrify 
 the younger into submission. The sight was dreadful. But 
 the courage of the survivor was sustained by an enthusiasm 
 as lofty as any that is recorded in martyrology. She saw the 
 sea draw nearer and nearer, but gave no sign of alarm. She 
 prayed and sang verses of psalms till the waves clicked her 
 voice. When slie had tasted the bitterness of death, she was, 
 by a cruel mercy, unbound and restored to life. When she 
 came to herself, pitying friends and neighbours implored her 
 to yield. 'Dear ^Margaret, only say God save the king 1' The 
 poor girl, true to her stern theology, gasped out ' May God 
 save him, if it be God's will !' Her friends crowded round the 
 presiding officer. 'She has said it; indeed, sir, she has said
 
 2r)4 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 it.' ' Will she tako tlu> abjuration ?' lie demanded. 'Never!' 
 slie exclaimed ; ' I am Clirist's ; let me go !' And the waters 
 closed over her for tlit! last tinie."^ 
 
 There is cue point whicli it will be well to dispose of before 
 entering upon the question as to how far this story, so elo- 
 ([iiently told, deserves a place in history. Much sympathy 
 has been claimed for these women, on the supposition that 
 they were the victims of a novel and unusual mode of death. 
 All capital punishments must be revolting ; new and strange 
 modes of death are peculiarly so. The mob which gathers 
 round the gallows at Newgate would be horror-struck if a 
 criminal were to be guillotined, instead of being subjected to the 
 slower and severer, but more orthodox, process of hanging. 
 A soldier shrinks with horror from the felon's death ; a Hindoo 
 dreads above all things the most humane and painless mode 
 of extinction that has ever been devised, that of being blown 
 from a gun, yet hears with indifference the sentence which 
 condemns him to a more lingering death. In 1685, drowning 
 was the ordinary mode of executing capital sentences upon 
 females in Scotland, hanging being reserved for cases of 
 special atrocity, as a more ignominious mode of death ; 2 the 
 comparative amount of physical suffering attendant upon 
 each we have no means of ascertaining. Probably there 
 is not much difference between suffocation by water and 
 suffocation by tlie rope ; and it must be remembered that 
 in England the penalty for the crime of which these two 
 women were convicted was the far more terrible and cruel 
 death by fire at the stake.^ Neither the Government nor its 
 agents can therefore be justly held answerable for the mode 
 of execution ; and the attendant horrors, the prolonged agony, 
 the wanton recall to life, we shall find at any rate to be but 
 fabulous additions to the story. We may dismiss this matter 
 from our minds, and proceed to the inquiry whether there is 
 good ground for believing that any execution in fact took 
 
 ' Macaulay, i. 501. 
 
 * Sec the cases of the " Egiptians," Pitcairn Crim. Tri., iii. 559, 560; of 
 Isabel Alison and Marion Harvey, hanged as accessories to the murder of 
 Archbishop Sharpe in 1681 ; and of the infamous Jane Weir. 
 
 3 Case of Elizabeth Gannt, Oct. 1685.
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 255 
 
 place. Principal Tulloch, \vitli very judicious candour, admits 
 that the touching incidents depicted with such pathetic power 
 by Lord Macaulay — " the picturesque adjuncts suiTOunding 
 the young sufferer, the ' maiden of eighteen ' — are plainly 
 touched by the imaginative pathos that grows naturally out of 
 any such trial of Christian suffering and persecution ; " that 
 they are, in fact, mere " embellishments " — " natural develop- 
 ments," as he calls them, with which " the Covenanting imagi- 
 nation pictured, in lively and affecting colours, beyond the 
 reality, the martyr scene. Wodrow's stories," he says (and he 
 might have added with equal truth. Lord IVIacaulay's), " every- 
 where bear the stamp of this imaginary development." ^ Like 
 a skilful advocate he thus casts away the burden of proving 
 an almost impossible issue. These embellishments are, he 
 argues, the natural incrustations of time ; beautiful as they 
 are, they must yet be sacrificed to a stern love of truth ; remove 
 them with a bold and unsparing hand, and a solid foundation 
 of fact will be found underneath. Such is Principal Tulloch's 
 argument. We admit that it is strictly logical. The issue 
 thus raised is narrowed to a very plain and simple point — 
 Were or were not Margaret M'Lachlan and Margaret Wilson 
 drowned in the waters of the lilednoch, near Wigtown, in the 
 year 1G85 ? That they were tried, convicted, and condemned 
 to die for high treason, is admitted on all hands. Lord 
 Macaulay's assertion that they " suffered death for their rc- 
 lifjion " ~ is expressly contradicted by his own authority, AVod- 
 row.^ But we are not now inquiring into the nature of the 
 offence of which they were convicted, or the justice of the 
 sentence. The simple question is, Was that sentence carried 
 into execution ? Principal Tulloch justly observes : " To this 
 question, viewed without prejudice or passion, and with no 
 other aim than to find the truth, no one, not even the stoutest 
 
 ' The Wif,'to\vn Martyrs— Macmilhui'.s Magazine, Dec. 18G2, 149-151. 
 
 2 Vol. i. .'■.01. 
 
 •' " Brought to tlit'ir trial before the Laird of La<;, Colonel David CJrahainc, 
 Sheriff ; Major Windraiii, Captain Stnuhan, and Provost Cultrain, who gavi- 
 all three [a third prisoner was ineludtd in tlio indictment] an indictment for 
 RehcU'ion, BothwcU Bridge, Alr'a Muss, and Ixinj: present nt twentj- field-eon- 
 venticles." — Wodrow, hook ill. <-. ix. MG.
 
 2.^)0 VFNIUCATIONH. 
 
 Covenanter — il" any sucli siuviv(! — is entitled to object. Ilis- 
 toiy can only be benefited by the most thorough sifting of any 
 such talc. As a mere historical ])roblem the issue is both 
 interesting and significant." 
 
 The commission under which these women were tried bears 
 (lat(^ the 27th of March 1685. The trial took place on the 
 13th of April. 1 The prisoners were reprieved on the 30th of 
 the same month. The petition of one of them has been pre- 
 served, and is given at length by Mr Napier.- As the reprieve 
 extends to both, there appears to be no reason to doubt that 
 both petitioned. The reprieve is gi-anted at a "sederunt" of 
 the Privy Council, at which eighteen members attended ; and 
 it is very material to observe, for reasons which will presently 
 be stated, that the name of the King's Advocate, Sir George 
 INIackenzie, appears amongst those who were present.* It 
 would seem that the prisoners, after their comdction, had been 
 removed from Wigtown to Edinburgh, as the reprieve is ad- 
 dressed to the magistrates of the latter place, who are thereby 
 discharged from " putting of the said sentence to execution." 
 It is also important to observe, that the reprieve contains a 
 recommendation by the Privy Council that an absolute pardon 
 should be granted. Now, if these %vomen were in fact drowned, 
 either the Crown refused to comply with the recommendation 
 of the Privy Council (a most unusual and improbable course 
 in the case of two obscure and unimportant criminals, and of 
 which not only is there no shadow of proof, but, as we shall 
 presently see, the strongest evidence to the contrary), or the 
 Laird of Lagg and INIajor Winram must by some means have 
 got possession of them after their liberation, and in defiance 
 of the order of the Privy Council, and of the Government 
 under which they held their commission, in open day, in the 
 presence of the constituted authorities of the county and burgh 
 of Wigtown, and of hundreds, if not thousands, of shuddering 
 spectators, have murdered them in the most deliberate and 
 brutal manner. 
 
 Those who maintain the affirmative — viz., that these women 
 
 ' Sec petition of Margaret Lauclilaiii ; Memoirs of Dundee, ii. SO. 
 - Hn.l. Mind., 7 S.
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 257 
 
 were dro\vned — may fairly be put to tlieir election, whether 
 the execution was consequent upon the conviction, or whether 
 it was the unauthorised act of Grierson of Lagg, Major Winram, 
 and their associates. It could not be both. Each hypothesis 
 is, as we shall see, attended by its peculiar difficulties ; and ac- 
 cordingly, as those difficulties present themselves, we find the 
 advocates for the martyrdom shifting their ground, at one mo- 
 ment denouncing the Government as responsible for the act, 
 and the next treating it as an outrage for which the individual 
 actors were answerable. Lord Macaulay adopts the first alter- 
 native : he misstates the charge on which the women were 
 convicted; he takes no notice of the reprieve, though- it was 
 lying before him on the page of Wodrow to which he refers ; 
 he does not mention the name of a single actor in the scene, 
 though he leads his reader, in a paragraph immediately pre- 
 ceding that which we have quoted, to imagine that one of those 
 actors was Claverhouse ; and he sums up the story with these 
 words : " Thus was Scotland governed by that prince, whom 
 ignorant men have represented as a friend of religious liberty, 
 whose misfortune it was to be too wise and too good for the 
 age in which he lived." ^ 
 
 Principal Tulloch admits that he cannot "pretend to be able to 
 give a satisfactory answer " to the fact of the existence of the 
 reprieve, and adds, " Wodrow's suggestion is probably as good 
 as any other — that the officials at Wigtown, with Major 
 Winram at their head, carried out the sentence notwithstand- 
 ing the reprieve." ^ A recent writer, who unfortunately does 
 not possess either the skill of Lord ]\Iacaulay in avoiding 
 difficulties, or the candour of Principal Tulloch in admitting 
 them, after wandering in a bewildered manner through a fog of 
 conjectures, is at last driven to the avowal that it was " likeliest 
 of all that the Secretaries of State never made tlic aj^pUcation for 
 a 2}fiTdon," ^ which they were directed to do by the Privy Coun- 
 cil, with the High Commissioner at their head ! We will not 
 ]iay our readers so ill a compliment as to occupy their time 
 
 1 Sec retitioii of Mm-fjiarct Lauclilain ; Mciiuiirs of Dinidoc, i. .'i02. 
 * Macniillan's Maj,'ii/inc, Decciiibcr 1SC2, 1.^2. 
 3 K.liiilmrgh Kovicw, July 1803, 21. 
 
 n
 
 2nR VINDrcATTONS. 
 
 with iiiiy ((tiniiH'iil \ii)C)ii tliis suf^'^cstioii. Wc ])refer to pro- 
 ce(!(l Jit once to an investigation of tlie evidence. 
 
 The first notice wliicli we find (and liere we accept the 
 statement of the advocates for the martyrdom) is in an anony- 
 mous pamphlet printed in 1G90, and is in the following 
 words : " Item, The said Colonel or Lieutenant-General 
 James Douglas, together with the Laird of Lagg and Captain 
 Winram, most illegally condemned, and most inhumanly 
 drowned at stakes, within the sea-mark, two women at Wig- 
 town — viz., Margaret Lauchlanc^ upwards of sixty years, and 
 Margaret Wilson, about twenty years of age, the foresaid 
 fatal year 1G85." This pamphlet (the statement in which is 
 repeated almost vcrhatini in another anonymous pamphlet two 
 years afterwards) is said to have been prepared for the pur- 
 pose of being laid before the Prince of Orange — a purjjose 
 which was afterwards abandoned. Being avowedly a " me- 
 morial of the grievances, past and present, of the Presbyte- 
 rians," the charge, as might be expected, shapes itself against 
 the Government. But in another anonymous pamphlet wliich 
 appeared in the following year, entitled ' A Second Vindica- 
 tion of the Church of Scotland,' the charge assumes a totally 
 different form. " Some gentlemen {ivliosc names, out of rcqied 
 to them, I forhear to mention) took two women, Margaret 
 Lauchland and Margaret Wilson, the one of sixty, the other 
 of twenty years, and caused them to be tied to a stake within 
 the sea-mark at Wigtown, and left them there till the tide over- 
 flowed them and drowned them ; and this was done without any 
 legal trials Here we find the charge specifically made, against 
 persons whom the author is too polite to mention, of a deliberate 
 murder without even the forms of law. What reliance can 
 we place on anonymous testimony so vague and so contradic- 
 tory ? Yet this is all that, upon the widest construction of 
 the words, can be considered as contemporary evidence in sup- 
 port of the martyrdom. The next year, however, we come 
 upon a piece of evidence which we cannot but consider 
 of the greatest value. One of the most remarkable men of 
 that time was undoubtedly Sir George Mackenzie of Eose- 
 haugh. He was appointed King's Advocate in September
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 259 
 
 1G77 ; but after discharging the duties of that office with 
 singular ability for more than ten years, he was found not 
 sufficiently pliant to the wishes of the Government, and was 
 dismissed in ]\Iay 168G. After a retirement of nearly two years, 
 he was restored to his office, in which he continued up to the 
 time of the Eevolution. After that cA^ent he resided first in 
 Oxford, and afterwards in London, until his death.^ In 1G91 
 his well-known ' Vindication ' was published. He there says : 
 "There were indeed two women executed, and hit Uoo, in 
 both these reigns {i.e., Charles II. and James II.), and they 
 were punished for the most heinous crimes, which no sex 
 should defend. Their crimes were that they recepted and 
 entertained for many months together the murderers of Arch- 
 bishop Sharpe,' &c. The women here referred to were 
 named Marion Harvie and Isabel Alison, and they sufi'ered 
 as accessories after the fact to one of the most cruel and 
 cowardly nnirders that history records.^ It will be remem- 
 bered that Sir George Mackenzie, then King's Advocate, was 
 present at the meeting of the Privy Council at which the 
 reprieve was granted to the Wigtown women, and by w'hich 
 their pardon was recommended. It is impossible to suppose 
 that these women could have been executed without the fact 
 having come to his knowledge ; and it is equally impossible 
 to suppose that he could have been guilty of a deliberate 
 falsehood, certain as he must have been of immediate detec- 
 tion and exposure. Accordingly, we find that the ' Vindica- 
 tion ' was answered in the following year, yet no mention 
 is made of either Margaret M'Lachlan or INIargaret Wilson 
 by his anonymous opponent. The fact of the reprieve, fol- 
 lowed by this simple, plain, and uncontradicted assertion of 
 Sir George Mackenzie, would, even if it stood alone, be 
 sufficient, in our opinion, to outweigh any statements of 
 anonymous and self-contradicting pamphleteers. 
 
 It appears to us conclusive that the drowning, if it ever 
 took place at all, must have been in violation, and not in 
 execution, of the law. 
 
 iPountainhall, i. 171; ii. 723, 855. 
 
 - Sir Geo. Mnckcnzic's Works, ii. 348 ; Niiiticr's Case for tlie Crown, 48.
 
 200 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Tills, indeed, Principal Tullocli in substance admits. 
 
 Lot us, then, sec how far the evidence supports this second 
 liypotliosis — viz., that the women were murdered, in defiance 
 of hiw, l>y Winrani, Lagg, and tlieir associates, the agents of 
 the law. 
 
 TJie scene is laid in 1G85. The Revolution was accom- 
 plished, Episcopacy abolished, and the Presbyterian Church 
 triumphant in 1G89.^ The " rabbling " of the Episcopal 
 clergy took place in the same year. How does it happen that 
 the only contemporary notice of a martyrdom so illustrious, 
 so public, so calculated to awaken sympathy, is to be found in 
 the vague and contradictory pages of the anonymous pamph- 
 lets which M'e have already quoted ? Not more than four years 
 at most had passed. Was there no zealot of the triumphant 
 Church eager to denounce the criminals to the ready ears of 
 the Government ? Did no friend or relative of either of the 
 victims thirst for vengeance upon "bloody Lagg"? How is 
 it that a profound silence reigns over the whole matter for 
 more than a quarter of a century ? 
 
 The difficulty of proving a negative is almost proverbial. 
 The only mode in which it can be done is by the denial of 
 persons who must have known the fact if true, and the silence 
 of those records where, in the ordinary course of events, it 
 would have been mentioned. Here both these kinds of proof 
 concur. Sir George Mackenzie, who must have known the 
 fact if it ever took place, expressly denies it. That indus- 
 trious chronicler. Sir John Lauder of Fountainhall, who cer- 
 tainly would not have been restrained by any friendly feeling 
 towards the CTOvernment, makes no allusion to it. The re- 
 cords of the burgh of Wigtown, minute enough as to con- 
 temporaneous matters, and in which the expenses of the 
 execution must have appeared, are silent.- One of the sup- 
 posed actors. Colonel Douglas, is shown to have been other- 
 wise employed, and at a different place, on the very day (the 
 1 1th of May.-^ Another, Provost Cultrain, is proved to have 
 been absent from Wigtown from the middle of April until the 
 latter end of June following. '» We have a minute account of 
 
 ' M.ic, iii. 278. - Cn.se fortho Crown. \^. ^ Ibi.l., m. ^ IImcI, ll.';.
 
 THE WIGTOWN MAKTYES. 261 
 
 the misdeeds of Sir Robert Griersoii of Lagg, a tliird partici- 
 pator in the atrocity, how he slaughtered six meu at Lockerbie, 
 and five at Kiikconnel, just before, and a couple more just 
 after, the date of the martyrdom,^ and yet no notice of this 
 far more remarkable event ; and this silence is with regard to 
 an act supposed to have been done not on a lonely hillside, or 
 on a desolate moor, but in the presence of hundreds of sym- 
 pathising spectators, and in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 the burgh of "Wigtown, and is preserved for five-and-twenty 
 years at a time when the party to which the victims belonged 
 had just achieved a triumph over their oppressors, when 
 religious zeal and political animosity, outraged humanity and 
 personal affection, would alike have cried aloud for vengeance ! 
 And what have we to set against this evidence ? Simply the 
 assertion of two anonymous pamphleteers, who contradict 
 each other ! 
 
 We think it may be safely left to any impartial mind to 
 say to which side the balance of proof inclines. 
 
 But it may be fairly asked, how then did the story, in one 
 form or other, find its place in history ? With regard to the 
 pamphleteers, we reply that the sentence was sufficient. They 
 either assumed or fabricated the execution. We are little con- 
 cerned with the evidence of witnesses of such character. We 
 believe Lord Macaulay's denunciation of the pamphleteers of 
 the time of the Eevolution, as " habitual liars," to be perfectly 
 correct, and equally applicable to those of all parties. 
 
 But having disposed of the evidence, we must now deal 
 with the tradition, and to do this we must pass over a quarter 
 of a century, during which we hear nothing whatever either 
 of Margaret M'Lachlan or Margaret Wilson. 
 
 In the year 1711 (twenty-six years after the supposed event) 
 the General Assembly recommended the Presbyteries to cause 
 an exact account of " the sufferings " for adherence to the 
 covenanted work of Reformation in opposition to the late 
 Erastiaii prelacy to be made in each i)arish. The date is 
 material. It was the very year when the I'resbyterian Church 
 of Scotland was roused to the utmost activity by the pru^iosed 
 
 1 Ibid., OS.
 
 202 VLNDICA'I'IONS, 
 
 hill lor the toleration of tin; Episcopal clergy. The old spirit 
 of the West awoke, mobs assembled, and outrages were com- 
 mitted upon those who were suspected of worshipping their 
 Creator in a form displeasing to the disciples of Cameron and 
 Kenwick, and the admirers of Hackston of Rathillet and 
 Kobert Hamilton.^ Such was the time when the kirk-session 
 of Penninghame assembled to obey the orders of tlie General 
 Assembly. On the 25th of February 1711 we find the legend 
 of the Wigtown Martyrs inscribed in the minutes of the kirk- 
 session almost in the words in which it has been repeated by 
 Lord I\Iacaulay in our own day. It was one note of the 
 trumpet-call which summoned the trooper's of the Covenant 
 to the coming fight. Under such circumstances, to look for 
 historic truth would be absurd. A song of battle was wanted, 
 and there were plenty of bards to frame a stirring lay. The 
 note was echoed from the neighbouring parish of Kirkinner, 
 where, oddly enough, no mention is made of Margaret Wilson, 
 and the strain is repeated in a wilder and more vigorous tone 
 by Patrick Walker the Packman. 
 
 The minute of the kirk-session of Penninghame, which is 
 too long to be transcribed here, will be found, in extenso, at p. 
 102 of Mr Napier's ' Case for the Crown.' It bears all the 
 marks of a fabrication. The false coin betrays itself by re- 
 taining too sharp an impress of the mould. The incidents of 
 the stoiy are too distinct and fresh to be true. The skilful 
 hand of the modern historian has effaced these marks before 
 issuing his version to the world. The workmen at Abbeville 
 who impose upon antiquarians with sham stone hatchets, 
 smear them with dirt before they offer them for sale ; the 
 guides at Waterloo bury the Birmingham eagles before they 
 attempt to palm them off upon the traveller. But the kirk- 
 session of Penninghame dealt with customers who were willing 
 to " ask no questions." Wodrow greedily accepted the story, 
 the evidence of the falsehood of which he had iii his hands, 
 and guarded liimself with the cowardly salvo that " the Jaco- 
 bites" had what he terms the "impudence" to deny its truth. 
 This admission, which Wodrow, no doubt, inserts to protect 
 
 * Buitou's History of Scotland, clxiv.
 
 THE WIGTOWN MARTYRS. 263 
 
 himself against the detection which he may naturally have 
 apprehended, has become important as evidence of the fact 
 that the truth of the story was then denied — a most important 
 admission. If the story were true it must have been notorious 
 — so notorious that denial would have been impossible. Yet 
 both Wodrow and Walker guard themselves in the same 
 manner. The reason is obvious : — both of them knew that 
 the story had no foundation in truth ; and both were desirous 
 to secure a loophole against a conviction for deliberate false- 
 hood. 
 
 The arguments derived from the inscription in "\Vigt(jwn 
 Churchyard hardly deserve even a passing notice. There is 
 not a particle of evidence of the antiquity of the stone. The 
 epitaph is just as likely to have been copied from the ' Cloud 
 of Witnesses ' on to the stone, as from the stone into the book. 
 Still less can we waste time in answering an argument based 
 on the assumption that, if Margaret AVilson was not drowned 
 in 1685, she must have been alive in 1711, and must have 
 been then residing at Wigtown, and must have walked over 
 her own grave and read her own epitaph. Still more puerile 
 is the attempt to answer the inference drawn from the silence 
 of Fountainhall by the argument (if it can be so called) that 
 one would not be led to doubt that Palmer was hanged, merely 
 because a gentleman residing at Edinburgh had not noted that 
 iact down in his journal. The conclusion at which we arrive 
 is, that Mr Napier has made out his case — that he has sat- 
 isfactorily established that there is no reason whatever for 
 believing that these women ever were drowned at all. This 
 conclusion is one which ought to be satisfactory to everybody. 
 We will not commit such an injustice to Principal TuUucli as 
 to suspect that his zeal can so far cloud his Christianity as to 
 prevent him from sincerely rejoicing at the proof that a great 
 crime was not committed.
 
 204 
 
 IV. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON.^ 
 
 One; of the most beautiful of the songs of Beranger is that 
 addressed to Ids Lisette, in which he pictures her in old age 
 narrating to a younger generation the loves of their youtli, 
 decking liis portrait with flowers at each returning spring, and 
 reciting the verses tliat liad been inspired by her vanished 
 charms : — 
 
 " Lorsque les yeiix chercheront sous vos rides 
 liCS traits charmants qui m'auront inspire, 
 Des doux rdcits les jeunes gens avides 
 Diront : Quel fut cet ami taut pleurd ? 
 De mon amour pcigncz, s'il est possible, 
 L'ardeur, I'ivresse, et mfinie les soup^ons, 
 Et bonne vieille, au coin d'un feu paisible 
 De votre ami rdpdtez les chansons. 
 
 On vous dira : Savait-il fitrc airaable ? 
 Et sans rougir vous direz : Je I'aimais. 
 D'un trait mediant se montra-t-il capable ? 
 Avec orgueil vous repondrez : Jamais ! " 
 
 This charming picture has been realised in the case of a 
 poet greater than Beranger, and by a mistress more famous 
 than Lisette. The Countess Guiccioli has at length given to 
 the world her ' Eecollections of Lord Byron.' The book first 
 appeared in France under the title of ' Lord Byron juge par 
 les Teraoius de sa Vie,' without the name of the Countess. A 
 more unfortunate designation could hardly have been selected. 
 The " witnesses of his life " told us nothino; but what had been 
 told before over and over again ; and the uniform and exag- 
 gerated tone of eulogy which pervaded the whole book was 
 
 ' Recollections of Lord Byron ; with those of the Eyewitnesses of his Life. 
 By the Countess Guiccioli. R. Beutley, London. (Blackwood's Magazine, 
 July 1869.)
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 265 
 
 fatal to any claim on the part of the writer to be considered 
 an impartial judge of the wonderfully mixed character of 
 Byron. When, however, the book is regarded as the avowed 
 production of the Countess Guiccioli, it derives value and 
 interest from its very faults. There is something inexpressibly 
 touching in the picture of the old lady calling up the phan- 
 toms of half a century ago — not faded and stricken by the 
 hand of time, but brilliant and gorgeous as they were when 
 Byron, in his manly prime of genius and beauty, first flashed 
 upon her enraptured sight, and she gave her whole soul up to 
 an absorbing passion, the embers of which still glow in her 
 heart. 
 
 To her there has been no change, no decay. The god whom 
 she worshipped with all the ardour of her Italian nature at 
 seventeen, is still the " Pythian of the age " to her at seventy. 
 To try such a book by the ordinary canons of criticism would 
 be as absurd as to arraign the authoress before a jury of British 
 matrons, or to prefer a bill of indictment against the Sultan 
 for bigamy to a Middlesex grand jury. 
 
 The Countess Guiccioli was the daughter of an impoverished 
 noble. At the age of sixteen she was taken from a convent 
 and sold as third wife to the Count Guiccioli, who was old, 
 rich, and profligate. A fouler prostitution never profaned the 
 name of marriage. A short time afterwards she accidentally 
 met Lord Byron. Outraged and rebellious nature vindicated 
 itself in the deep and devoted passion with which he inspired 
 her. With the full assent of husband, father, and brother, 
 and in compliance with the usages of Italian society, he was 
 shortly afterwards installed in the ofhce, and invested with 
 all the privileges of her cavalier servente. 
 
 This arrangement, with some interruptions — occasioned 
 partly by the attempts of the husband to make money of his 
 disgrace, and partly by the impetuous attachment of the lady, 
 which revolted against the restraints imposed by Italian eti- 
 quette — continued until Lord Byron's departure for Greece, 
 whither he went, accompanied by the brother of the Count- 
 ess, the younger Count Gamba, in the month of July 1823. 
 
 Probably the first chapter of the book to which the majority
 
 2GG VINDICATIONS. 
 
 of reiidei-s will tma is lliiit wliich trciits of " Lord liyroii's iii.'ir- 
 r'w^v iiiid its consequences." They will be disappointed in the 
 expectation of finding any new light thrown on that mysteri- 
 ous subject. Anecdotes from IMedwin, reilections not veiy 
 profound from Moore, and one of the most eloquent, just, and 
 manly passages that ever fell from the pen of ^Macaulay, con- 
 stitute all that will reward their cuiiosity. No clue whatever 
 is afforded by which to unravel tlie mystery in whicli the 
 separation is yet shrouded ; and we see no reason why it may 
 not remain for ever one of those enigmas which perpetually 
 arouse the curiosity of generation after generation only to dis-' 
 appoint it. 
 
 We have no taste for the inquiries which take place before 
 Lord Penzance, still less for prying into those unhappy matri- 
 monial diflferences which never reach the tribunal over which 
 he presides. It is told of a late learned judge that, when 
 asked by his clerk if he had any objection to his mairying, he 
 replied, " Objection ? I have no objection ; only, if you marry, 
 when you repent — as you probably will, — and hang yourself — 
 as you possibly may, — do not hang yourself in my chambers, as 
 your predecessor did." 
 
 In nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, 
 people may marry, quarrel, part, meet again, and hang them- 
 selves or not as they please, and the world at large, in whose 
 chambers they do not perform the last melancholy act, not care 
 one jot about the matter. 
 
 But Lord Byron's was an exceptional case. It is not too 
 much to say that, had his marriage been a happy one, the 
 course of events of the present century might have been ma- 
 terially changed ; that the genius which poured itself forth in 
 ' Don Juan ' and ' Cain ' might have flowed in far different 
 channels ; that the ardent love of freedom which sent him 
 to perish at six-and-thirty at Missolonghi might have inspired 
 a long career at home ; and that we might at this moment 
 have been appealing to the counsels of liis experience and 
 wisdom at an age not exceeding that which was attained by 
 AVcllington, Lyndhurst, and Brougham. 
 
 Whether the wmld would have been a gainer or a loser by the
 
 RECOLLECTrONS OF LOKD BYKON. 26*7 
 
 exchange, is a question which every man must answer for him- 
 self, according to his own tastes and opinions ; hut tlie possi- 
 bility of such a change in the course of events warrants us in 
 treating what would otherwise be a strictly private matter as 
 one of public interest. 
 
 More than half a century has elapsed, the actors have de- 
 parted from the stage, tlie curtain has fallen, and whether it 
 will ever again be raised so as to reveal the real facts of the 
 drama may, as we have already observed, be well doubted. 
 But the time has arrived when we may fairly gather up the 
 fragments of evidence, clear them as far as possible from the 
 incrustations of passion, prc^judice, and malice, and place them 
 in such order as, if possible, to enable us to arrive at some 
 probable conjecture as to what the skeleton of tlie drama ori- 
 ginally was. We need not follow those who have discussed 
 the unnecessary question, why Lord Byron married Miss ]\Iil- 
 banke ; or the equally useless one, why Miss IMilbanke married 
 Lord Byron. There were abundant motives for the marriage 
 on both sides ; and had it not turned out unhappily (as the 
 most promising marriages sometimes will), it would have ap- 
 peared to everybody the most natural, reasonable, and proper 
 union in the world — with rank, youth, beauty, and fame 
 enough to fill the head of the most romantic school-girl, and 
 just sufficient worldly prudence to satisfy older heads and 
 colder hearts. 
 
 The marriage was solemnised on the 2d January 1815 ; and 
 the "happy pair," as the newspapers have it, went first to 
 Halnaby, a house belonging to Sir lialph Milbanke, from 
 whence Lord Byron wrote to Moore, announcing his mar- 
 riage : — 
 
 "Halnauy, Jan. 10, 1815. 
 
 " I was married this day week. The parson has pronounced 
 it — Perry has announced it — and the 'Morning Post' also, 
 under the head of 'Lord P>yron's maiTiage' — as if it were a 
 fabrication or the puff-direct of a new staymaker ! . . . 
 
 " P.aV. — Lady liyron is vastly well. How are ^Irs Moore and 
 Joe Atkinson's 'Graces'? We must i)ie.senl our women to 
 one another."
 
 208 VINDICATIONS, 
 
 A lew tlays ;ini!r, Lord iiinl Lady IJyron moved to Kiikby, in 
 Leicestershire, IVuiii which pUice he aj,'aiii wrote : — 
 
 "Jan. 19, 1815. 
 
 " So you want to know ahout luihxdy and me ? I>ut let me 
 not, as Roderick iJandom says, 'prolane tlie cliaste mysteries 
 of Hymen ; ' d — n the word ! I had nearly spelt it with a small 
 h. I like Bell as well as you do (or did, you villain) Bessy, 
 and that is (or was) saying a great deal. 
 
 " Address your next to Seaham, Stockton-on-Tees, where we 
 are going on Saturday (a bore, by the way) to see father-in-law 
 Sir Jacob, and my lady's lady mother." 
 
 To Seaham, accordingly, Lord and Lady Byron went, and 
 from thence, on the 2d February, he again wrote to Moore : — 
 
 " Since I wrote last I have been transferred to' my father-in- 
 law's, with my lady and my lady's maid, &c. &c. &c., and the 
 treacle-moon is over, and I am awake and find myself married. 
 My spouse and I agree to — and in — admiration. Swift says 
 ' no ivisc man ever married,' but for a fool I think it is the 
 most ambrosial of all future states. I still think one ought to 
 marry upon lease ; but am very sure I should renew mine at 
 the expiration, though next term was for ninety-aud-nine 
 years." 
 
 lie adds, in a letter written a day or two after : " Bell de- 
 sires me to say all kinds of civilities, and assure you of her 
 recognition and high consideration. I will tell you of our 
 movements south, which may be in about three weeks from 
 this present ■writing." 
 
 Accordingly, on the 8tli of March he says : — 
 
 " We leave this place to-morrow, and shall stop on our way 
 to town (in the interval of taking a house there) at Col. 
 Leigh's,^ near Newmarket, where any epistle of yours will find 
 its welcome way. 
 
 ^ The Imsbaml of his half-sister.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 269 
 
 " I have been very comfortable here, listening to that d — d 
 monologue which elderly gentlemen call conversation, and in 
 which my pious father-in-law repeats himself every evening 
 save one, when he played upon the fiddle. However, they 
 have been very kind and hospitable, and I like them and the 
 place vastly, and hope they will live many happy months. 
 Bell is in health, and unvaried good-humour and behaviour. 
 But we are in the agonies of packing and parting, and I sup- 
 pose by this time to-morrow I shall be stuck in the cliariot, 
 with my chin upon a bandbox. I have prepared, however, 
 another carriage for the abigail and all the trumpery M'hich 
 our wives drag along witli them." 
 
 On the 17th March he writes, apparently from Colonel 
 Leigh's, in reply to some inquiries which jNIoore, as an old and 
 intimate friend, had felt himself entitled to make as to the 
 probability of an heir to the Byron honours : — 
 
 " To your question I can only answer that there have been 
 some symptoms which look a little gestatory. It is a subject 
 upon which I am not particularly anxious, except that I think 
 it would please her uncle (Lord Weutworth) and her father 
 and mother. The former (Lord W.) is now in town, and in 
 very indifferent health. You perhaps know that his property, 
 amounting to seven or eight thousand a-year, will eventually 
 devolve upon Bell. But the old gentleman has been so very 
 kind to her and me that I hardly know how to wish him in 
 heaven, if he can be comfortable on earth. Her father is still 
 in the country. 
 
 "We mean to metropolise to-morrow, and you will aildrcss 
 your next to Piccadilly." 
 
 A few weeks after this letter was written Lcud Wcntworth 
 died, and by his will the greater \y.\yt of his property was en- 
 tailed on Lady IMilbanke and Lady liyron; and in June Lend 
 Byron again writes : — 
 
 " Lady B. is better than Iln'e(> months advanced in her ]iro-
 
 270 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 press towards matcinity, find we hope likely to go well throu^di 
 witli it. We have been very little out this season, as I wish 
 to keep her quiet in her present situation. Her father and 
 muther have changed their names to Noel, in compliance witli 
 Lord Wentworth's will, and in complaisance to the property 
 bequeathed by him." 
 
 As time passes on he speaks of a plan that Lady Byron 
 should go to Scaham for her confinement ; but this projected 
 journey was abandoned, and on the 28th of October he writes: 
 " All the world are out of it" (London) "except us, who re- 
 main to lie in — in December, or perhaps earlier. Lady B. is 
 very ponderous and prosperous apparently, and I wish it well 
 over." 
 
 The event took place at the time anticipated, and on the 
 r)th of January Lord Byron writes as follows : " The little 
 girl was born on the 10th of December last ; her name is 
 Augusta Ada (the second a very antique family name — I 
 believe not used since the reign of King John). She was, and 
 is, very nourishing and fat, and reckoned very large for her 
 days — squalls and sucks incessantly, Ai-e you answered? 
 Her mother is doing very well, and up again." 
 
 At the time that Lord Byron was writing this letter there 
 was an execution in the house. As soon as her health was 
 sufficiently re-established to enable her to travel, Lady Byron 
 left London for Kirkby, in Leicestershire, then the residence 
 of Sir Ealph and Lady Noel. Either on her journey, or 
 immediately after her arrival at Kirkby, Lady Byron wrote to 
 her husband a letter, which is described by ^loore as " full of 
 playfulness and affection ; " by Leigh Hunt as " written in a 
 spirit of good-humour, and even fondness, which, though con- 
 taining nothing but what a wife ought to write, and is the better 
 for writing, was, I thought, almost too good to show;"^ and 
 
 ^ Leigh Hunt, i. 8. He says it was signed with a playful name (Pippin 
 Face), by wliich Lady Byron was in the habit of calling herself. Captain 
 Medwin adds that it began "Dear Duck," and that Shelley used to amuse 
 himself by translating the appellation into Italian, "Anitra Carissinia." — 
 Medwin, p. 41.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD PA'RON. 271 
 
 by Lady Byron herself as written in a " kind and cheerful 
 tone." This letter was accompanied or immediately followed 
 by one from Lady Noel, "inviting him to Kirkby Mallory ;"^ 
 and the next communication received by Lord Byron was a 
 letter from his father-in-law, Sir Ralph Noel, commencing 
 " My lord," and announcing to him that his wife had left him 
 for ever. 
 
 Here we pause. Up to this point there can be no di.=ipute 
 as to facts, beyond it we have to feel our way tli rough a 
 labyrinth of inconsistencies and contradictions. 
 
 Owing to the fortunate accident of Moore's absence, and to 
 Lord Byron's singular frankness, we have a picture of his first 
 and only year of married life, far more vivid and more trust- 
 worthy than any we could have possessed by other means. 
 It may be left to speak for itself. His letters are the spon- 
 taneous reflection of his feelings. There was no cloud in the 
 sky indicating the storm that was about to burst on his head. 
 There miglit be ebullitions of temper and hasty vrords amply 
 sufficient to account for tlie generous admission of error, 
 which was afterwards so cruelly tortured into a confession of 
 guilt ; and who can say truly that such has not been his own 
 experience ? But with these letters before us, we say confi- 
 dently that it is impossible that, during the period from their 
 marriage up to Lady Byron's departure from London on tlie 
 15th January 1816, anything could have occurred to afford 
 reasonable cause to prevent her return. 
 
 As soon as it became known that a separation liad taken 
 place between Lord and Lady Byron, the British public, in 
 profound ignorance of all the circumstances, was seized with 
 a hot fit of that moral ague under which John Bull becomes 
 the maddest and most absiird of beasts. Not a crime pro- 
 liil)ited in the Decalogue, not an abomination recorded in Holy 
 Writ or heathen mythology, but some one was found to assert, 
 and some one else to believe, that Lord I'yron had committed, 
 nay, was in the constant habit of committing it. Even tlie 
 purest and tenderest affections of nature were turned to poison, 
 into which the shafts of slander were dipped, and all this for 
 
 ' Lady Bj'ron's Rtatcinont ; Moore's Life of l^ymn, AiiiKiulix IL
 
 272 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 no otlicr vcason tliaii thai his wife did not choose to live with 
 him, and would not say why. It was of no avail tliat a small 
 hand of faithful and tried friends stood hy liiin, that women 
 (two or three, to their honour he it spoken) had the courage to 
 face the storm of obloquy which awaited all those who did not 
 join in the howl of execration. 
 
 " The herilcil wolves, bold only to pursue ; 
 The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead ; 
 The vultures to the contjueror's banner true. 
 Who feed where desolation first has fed. 
 And whose wings rain contagion " 
 
 All tliat was base, mean, envious, and revengeful, was banded 
 together; and in April 181G — one year and three months after 
 his marriage — Lord Byron was hunted out of England, never 
 again to set his foot on her soil. Lord jNIacaulay has drawn a 
 vivid picture of this outburst of idiotic frenzy : — 
 
 " The case of Lord Byron was harder. True Jedwood justice 
 was dealt out to him. First came the execution, then the in- 
 vestigation, and last of all, or rather not at all, the accusation. 
 The public, without knowing anything whatever about the 
 transactions in his family, flew into a violent passion with 
 him, and proceeded to invent stories which might justify its 
 anger. Ten or twenty different accounts of the separation, 
 inconsistent with each other, with themselves, and with com- 
 mon-sense, circulated at the same time. What evidence there 
 might be for any one of these, the virtuous people who 
 repeated them neither knew nor cared. For, in fact, these 
 stories were not the causes but the effects of public indigna- 
 tion. They resembled those loathsome slanders which Lewis, 
 Goldsmith, and other abject libellers of the same class, were in 
 the habit of publishing about Bonaparte ; such as, that he 
 poisoned a girl with arsenic when he was at the military 
 school — that he hired a grenadier to shoot Dessaix at Marengo 
 — that he filled St Cloud with all the pollutions of Caprete. 
 There was a time wdien anecdotes like these obtained some 
 credence from persons who, hating the French Emperor with- 
 out knowing why, were eager to believe anything that might 
 justify their hatred. Lord Byron fared in the same way. His
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 273 
 
 countrymen were in a bad humour with him ; his writings and 
 his character had lost the charm of novelty ; he had been 
 guilty of the offence which, of all offences, is punished most 
 severely ; he had been overpraised ; he had excited too 
 warm an interest ; and the public, with its usual justice, 
 chastised him for its own folly. . . . The obloquy 
 which Byron had to endure was such as might have shaken 
 a more constant mind. The newspapers were filled with 
 lampoons. The theatres shook with execrations. He was 
 excluded from circles where he had been the observed of 
 all observers. All those creeping things that riot on the decay 
 of noble natures hastened to their repast ; and they were right: 
 they did after their kind. It is not every day that the savage 
 envy of aspiring dunces is gratified by the agonies of such a 
 spirit and the degradation of such a name." ^ 
 
 Whilst all this was going on, Lady Byron maintained an 
 absolute and rigid silence. She, at any rate, must have known 
 the utter falsehood of at least ninety-nine out of a hundred of 
 the slanders that were circulated against the husband she had 
 sworn to love, and the father of the child that was hanging at 
 her breast ; yet no word escaped her — thus, by her silence, 
 giving sanction and authority to the vilest of these vile fabri- 
 cations. 
 
 Lord Byron erred almost equally in the opposite direction. 
 He was generous to excess, and his generosity was turned 
 against him. On the 8th of INIarch he wrote to Moore : " I 
 must set you right on one point, however. The fault was not 
 — no, nor even the misfortune — in my ' choice ' (unless in 
 choosinfj at all) ; for I do not believe — and I must say it in 
 the very dregs of this bitter business — that there ever was a 
 better, or even a brighter, a kinder, or a more amiable and agree- 
 able being than Lady Byron. I never had nor can have any 
 reproach to make her, while with me. Where there is blame, it 
 belongs to myself; and if I cannot redeem it, I must bear it." 
 On the 25th of the same month he wrote t(i Uogers : " You 
 are one of the few persons witli whom I liavc livi'd in what is 
 called intimacy, and have heard me at times conversing on the 
 ' Lord JNIacaulay's Essays ; Moore's Life of Byron, 1831. 
 S
 
 274 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 uiilowunl toi)i{; of my recent family disquietudes. Will you 
 have the goodness to say to me at once, whether you ever 
 heard me speak of her with disrespect, with unkindncss, or 
 defending myself at licr expense by any serious imputation 
 of any description against her ? Did you never hear me say 
 that where there was a right or a wrong, she had the rifjht ? 
 The reason I put these questions to you or others of my friends 
 is, because I am said by her and hers to have resorted to such 
 means of exculpation." ^ 
 
 To what extent Lord liyron was justified in attributing Lady 
 Byron's conduct to the influence exercised over her by her 
 mother, Lady Noel, we shall probably never know. It is clear 
 that he readily adopted any hj^^othesis that would exonerate 
 Lady Byron from blame, and it is by no means improbable 
 that he cast on the mother (between whom and himself there 
 was a natural antipathy) the responsibility of acts for which 
 the daughter was really answerable. 
 
 Lord Macaulay said tnily that the accusation never came at 
 all. Not only did the public condemn Lord Byron without 
 knowing with what offence he was charged, but his nearest 
 friends were as equally in the dark ; and even he himself went 
 to his grave in total ignorance why he had been sent into the 
 wilderness with all the iniquities, transgressions, and sins of 
 the children of Israel on liis head. 
 
 Lady Blessington says : " In all his conversations relative 
 to Lady Byron, and they are frequent, he declares that he is 
 totally unconscious of the cause of her leaving him, but sus- 
 pects that the ill-natured interposition of iMrs Cbarlmout led 
 to it." 2 
 
 To Murray he wrote, " No one can more desire a public in- 
 vestigation of that affair than I do." ^ 
 
 Nor was the challenge for investigation confined to per- 
 sonal conversation and correspondence. In August 1819 an 
 article appeared •* (erroneously attributed to Professor TVilsou) 
 containing some passages to which Lord Byron replied in 
 
 * Lord Macaulay's Essays ; Moore's Life of Byron, 1831. 
 
 » Lady Blessington, 22. » Life. 431. 
 
 ■• " Reniiuks on Don .Tuan," Blackwood's Magazine, v. 512.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 275 
 
 n. pamphlet which was sent to iSIinray lor publication aud 
 put to press, though it did not appear until some time 
 afterwards. In reference to a passage relating to his sepa- 
 ration from Lady Byron, lie says : " Wlien I am told that I 
 cannot ' in any way justify my own behaviour in that affair,' 
 I acquiesce, because no man can 'justify' himself until he 
 knows of what he is accused ; and I never have had — and 
 (Jod knows my whole desire has ever been to obtain it — any 
 specific charge, in a tangible shape, subndtted to me by the 
 adversary, or by others, unless the atrocities of public nmiour 
 and the mysterious silence of the lady's legal advisers may be 
 deemed such." 
 
 Again he says : " Of me or of mine they [the public] knew 
 little, except that 1 had written what is called poetry, was 
 a nobleman, had married, become a father, and was involved 
 in differences with my wife and her relations — no one knew 
 why, because the persons complaining refused to state their 
 grievances. ... I shall say nothing of the usual complaints 
 of being ' prejudged,' 'condemned unheard,' ' unfairness,' 'par- 
 tiality,' and so forth, the usual changes rung by parties who 
 have had or are to have a trial ; but I was a little surprised 
 to find myself condemned without being favoured with the 
 act of accusation — aud to perceive, in the absence of this por- 
 tentous charge or charges, whatever it or they were to be, that 
 every possible or impossible crime was rumoured to supply its 
 place, and taken for granted." 
 
 This cruel silence was persevered in until Byron was in liis 
 
 grave. 
 
 " Treason had done its worst — nor steel nor i)oisoii, 
 Malice domestic, foreif^n levy, notliiii;^ 
 CouM touch him furtlier." 
 
 Then, and not till then, was it broken. On the appear- 
 ance of Moore's ' Life of Lord Byron,' Lady Byron printed and 
 circulated a pamphlet entitled ' liemarks occasioned by Mr 
 Moore's Notices of Lord Byron's Life,' dated lOtli Feb. 1830. 
 In the April following, tliese Bemarks, accompanied by a com- 
 mentary, which, we regret to say, has the signature of Thomas 
 Campbell, appeared in the 'New Monllily Mai^azinc' 0( tlic
 
 270 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 comincntary it is painrul to speak. 'J'he most merciful coii- 
 clu.siou is, that it was written uikU'i- the influence of stimulants, 
 which for the time had deprived the illustrious author of 
 " llohenliudeu " alike of ju(l<,fment and taste.' 
 
 The liemarks we shall examine with more care, as they 
 afford the only authentic utterance that has jiroceeded from 
 the pen or lips of Lady ]jyron. 
 
 " The facts " stated by Lady Byron are : — 
 
 1st, That on the Gth January Lord IJyron sij^niified his abso- 
 lute desire that she should leave London on the earliest day 
 that she could conveniently fix. 
 
 2d, That previously to her departure it had been impressed 
 on her mind, by communications made " by his nearest rela- 
 tives and personal attendant," that Lord Byron was under 
 " the iniluence of insanity," and " was in danger of destroying 
 himself." 
 
 3d, That on the 8th January, " with the concurrence of his 
 family," she consulted Dr Baillie respecting this supposed 
 malady. 
 
 4th, That Dr Baillie never saw Lord Byron, and did not 
 pronounce a positive opinion. 
 
 5th, That on the day of her departure from London, on 
 the 15th January, and again on her arrival at Kirk by on 
 the IGth, she wrote to Lord Byron "in a kind and cheerful 
 tone." 
 
 Gth, That up to the time of her arrival at Kirkby her parents 
 were " unacquainted with the existence of any causes likely 
 to destroy her prospects of happiness." 
 
 7th, That on the 17th Lady Noel " wrote to Lord Byron, 
 inviting him to Kirkby," and that both Lady Noel and Sir 
 lialph " assured those relations who were with him in London " 
 that " they would devote their whole care and attention to the 
 alleviation of his malady." 
 
 Before proceeding further we would ask, \Yho were the 
 
 ^ It is but justice to state that the writer of this article knows that Campbell 
 disavowed any intention to convey the imputation commonly understood to 
 have been implied by his observations, and expressed surprise tliat such a 
 construction should have been put upon them.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 277 
 
 persons here alluded to as the " nearest relatives," who made 
 the communications from which Lady Byron came to the 
 conclusion that her husband was mad, and who are again 
 alluded to as "his family," and as concurnny in her consulting 
 Dr Baillie ; and further on, as "those relations who were with 
 him in London," and on whom Lady Byron throws a part " of 
 the responsibility of her acts " ? The only person who can 
 properly be held to come within the designation of " family " 
 was his half-sister, Mrs Leigh ; and not only is no trace to be 
 found of her participation in these proceedings, but her subse- 
 quent conduct negatives in the strongest manner the sugges- 
 tion that she could be any party to them. " Relations" might, 
 no doubt, include his cousins — one of whom succeeded to the 
 title — but we have not been able to trace their presence, after 
 a careful examination of the correspondence which took place 
 at the time. To whom, then, does Lady Byron allude ? 
 
 The next paragraph we shall transcribe in the ij^sissima 
 verba of Lady Byron : — 
 
 " The accounts given me, after I left Lord Byron, hi/ the 
 persons in constant intercourse with him, added to those doubts 
 which had before transiently occurred to my mind as to the 
 reality of the alleged disease, and the reports of his medical 
 attendant, were far from establishing the existence of any- 
 thing like lunacy. Under this uncertainty I deemed it right 
 to communicate to my parents, that if I were to consider 
 Lord Byron's past conduct as that of a person of sound mind, 
 nothing could induce me to return to him. It therefore 
 appeared expedient, both to them and myself, to consult the 
 ablest advisers. For that object, and also to obtain still 
 further information respecting the appearances which seemed 
 to indicate mental derangement, my mother determined to go 
 to liondon. She was empowered by me to take legal opinion 
 on a written statement of mine, though I had then reasons for 
 reserving a part of the case from the knowledge even of my 
 father and mother." 
 
 "We now come to the most important part of the laMiiark.s. 
 The " legal opinion " alluded to was tliat of Dr Lusliington. 
 
 "\Vc have been so long accustomed to con.sider the name of
 
 278 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 the sulu survivor of tliiit l)iilliiuit array ol' iorenaic talent 
 wliicli appeared at tlie bar of tlie House of Lords when a 
 ({ueen of EngUuid stood upon her trial, as the representative 
 of all that is venerable in the administration of the law, that 
 it is difficult to realise the fact, that in the year 181tj l)r 
 Lushington was simply a rising advocate of about five-and- 
 thirty years of age. To him Lady IJyron, in January 1 830, 
 applied for a statement of his recollection of what had oc- 
 curred in 1816, just fourteen years previously, and here is his 
 reply :— 
 
 " My dear Lady Byron, — 1 can rely upon the accuracy 
 of my memory for the following statement : — 
 
 " I was originally consulted by Lady Noel on your behalf 
 whilst you were in the country. The circumstances detailed 
 by her were such as justified a separation, but they were 
 not of that aggravated description as to render such a 
 measure indispensable. On Lady Noel's representation, I 
 deemed a reconciliation with Lord Byron practicable, and felt, 
 most sincerely, a wish to aid in effecting it. There was not, 
 on Lady Noel's part, any exaggeration of the facts, nor, so far 
 as I could perceive, any determination to prevent a return to 
 Lord Byron : certainly none was expressed when I spoke of a 
 reconciliation. When you came to town — in about a fort- 
 night, or perhaps more, after my first interview with Lady 
 Noel — I was for the first time informed by you of facts 
 utterly unknown, as I have no doubt, to Sir Ralph and Lady 
 Noel. On receiving this additional information, my opinion 
 was entirely changed ; I considered a reconciliation impos- 
 sible. I declared my opinion, and added that, if such an idea 
 should be entertained, I could not, either professionally or 
 otherwise, take any part towards effecting it. — Believe me 
 very faithfully yours, Stephen Lushington. 
 
 Great George Street, 
 "January 31, 1830." 
 
 Let us now look back and see what, upon Jwr own showing, 
 was the conduct of Lady Byron.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 279 
 
 She lives with her husband for more thau a year without 
 communicating to her own parents, or to any one else, any 
 cause for discomfort. She leaves him without the slightest 
 indication of her displeasure. She tries to prove him mad ; 
 failing that, she declares her determination never to return to 
 him. Through her mother she lays before Dr Lushing^ton a 
 statement of her case. He (no doubt very wisely) advises a 
 reconciliation ; failing with Dr Lushington, as slie had with 
 Dr Baillie, she seeks a personal interview, and then, in the 
 secrecy of his chambers, under the seal of a confidence stricter 
 thafa that of the confessional, she imparts to him somdliing 
 which he was bound to assume on her sole assurance to be 
 true — which he was, without investigation or inquiry, to accept 
 as the basis of his opinion — which he was, under no circum- 
 stances whatever, without her express authority (an authority 
 which death has now put it out of her power to give), to 
 divulge, — upon which she obtains his opinion that are concilia- 
 tion was impossible. What that something was we shall 
 probably never know ; but, save in the case of the victims who 
 were sent to the guillotine on suspicion of being suspected, we 
 know no condemnation so monstrous, so revolting to every 
 principle of justice and common-sense, as that which has 
 been passed on Lord Byron. 
 
 We would deal tenderly with the memory of Lady Byron. 
 Few women have been juster objects of compassion. It 
 would seem as if nature and fortune had vied with each other 
 which should be most lavish of her gifts, and yet that some 
 malignant power had rendered all their bounty of no etiect. 
 Rank, beauty, wealth, and mental powers of no common order 
 were hers, yet they were of no avail to secure her happiness. 
 The spoilt child of seclusion, restraint, and parental idolatry 
 — a fate alike evil for both — cast her into the arms of the 
 spoilt cliild of genius, passion, and the world. What real or 
 fancied Nvi'ongs she suffered we may never knr)w, but those 
 which she inllicted arc sulliciently apparent. 
 
 It is said that there are some poisons so subtle that they 
 will destroy life and yet leave no trace of their action. The 
 murderer who uses them may escape the vengeance of the
 
 280 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 l;i\v, hut lu; is unl the h's.s ^niilty. So tin; shinderer wiiu 
 iiiiikos no charge — vvlio duals in hints and insinuations — vrho 
 knows nicKanclioly facts lie would not willingly divulge, things 
 too painful to state — who forbears, expresses pity, sometimes 
 even ullection, for his victim, shrugs his shoulders, looks with 
 
 " Tlic significant pye, 
 Which learns to lie with silence," — 
 
 is I'ar more guilty than he who tells the bold falsehood which 
 may be met and answered, and who braves the punishment 
 which must follow upon detection. 
 Lady Byron has been called 
 
 " The moral Clyteranestra of her lonl." 
 
 The moral " Brinvilliers " would have been a truer designa- 
 tion. 
 
 We have always regarded the destruction of Lord Byron's 
 Memoirs as a crime, committed, as crimes often are, from 
 honourable motives. We fully acquit IMoore of the charge 
 which was brought against him of having been actuated by 
 pecuniaiy considerations, and Lord Broughton was a man 
 utterly incapable of a dishonourable act. Nevertheless, we 
 think that each committed a most lamentable error. With 
 regard to the Memoir itself, Lord Byron, writing to Murray in 
 December 1819, says: — 
 
 " I sent home by Moore {for Moore only, who has my 
 Journal) my Memoir, written up to 1816, and I gave him 
 leave to show it to whom he pleased, but not to publish on 
 any account. You may read it, and you may let Wilson read 
 it if he likes — not for his public opinion, but his private, for I 
 like the man, and care very little about his ^Magazine. And / 
 should wish Lady Byron herself to read it, that she may have it 
 in her 'power to mark anything mistaken or misstated, as it wiU 
 probably appear after my extinction, and it would be but fair 
 that she should see it — that is to say, herself willing." ^ 
 
 Tliis offer to let Professor Wilson read his Memoirs was 
 made, be it observed, at the very time Lord Byron was smart- 
 ing under the strictures upon ' Don Juan ' before referred 
 
 1 Life, 431.
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON. 281 
 
 to, which he erroneously attributed to the I'rofessor. He 
 offers to lay his " Confessions," as they have been called, 
 open before the man whom he believed to be the most severe 
 and hostile critic of his life and morals. If still stronger 
 proof were wanted of his good faith, it is to be found in the 
 wish he expresses that the ^lemoirs should be shown to Lady 
 Byron herself. This offer was rejected in the following letter : — 
 
 . " KiuKBY Mallouy, March 10, 1820. 
 
 " I received your letter of January 1, offering to my perusal 
 a Memoir of part of your life. I decline to inspect it. 1 con- 
 sider the publication or circulation of such a composition at 
 any time as prejudicial to Ada's future happiness. For my own 
 sake, I have no reason to shrink from publication ; but not- 
 withstanding the injuries which I have suffered, I should 
 lament some of the consequences. A. Byron. 
 
 "To Lord Byron." 
 
 To this Lord Byron replied : — 
 
 "Ravenna, April ii, 1820. 
 
 " I received yesterday your answer dated INIarch 10. My 
 offer was an honest one, and surely could only be construed 
 as such, even by the most malignant casuistry. I could an- 
 swer you, but it is too late, and it is not worth while. To the 
 mysterious menace of the last sentence, whatever its import 
 may be — and I cannot pretend to unriddle it — I could hardly 
 be very sensible even if I understood it, as, before it can take 
 place, I shall be where ' nothing can touch him further.' . . . 
 I advise you, however, to anticipate the period of your inten- 
 tion, for be assured, no power of figures can avail beyond the 
 j)resent ; and if it could, I would answer with the Florentine, — 
 
 " * Ed io, clie posto son con loro in croce 
 
 c certo 
 La fiera nioglic, piii cli'altro, mi nuocc' 
 
 " ]'>YKON. 
 " To Lady Byron." ^ 
 
 Lamentable as we consider the destruction of the Memoirs 
 to have been, we regret their loss more as having destroyed 
 
 ' Life of Moore, iii. 115.
 
 282 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Ilic ])ru(ir of what \\n:y iHil not, tluiii Iroiii anything tliat we 
 think it probahltt they did, contain. 
 
 With regard to the question, wlietlier tliey would have 
 thrown any light upon the causes of the separation, we think 
 it is in the highest degree improbable that they could have 
 done so. If Lord Byron was sincere (as we believe him to 
 have been) in his repeated declaration that he was in ignor- 
 ance of what was laid to his charge, it is manifest that they 
 could contain no such information ; if he was not, it can hardly 
 be supposed that he would have submitted to the perusal of 
 any one to whom Moore might choose to show the manuscript, 
 and expressly to Professor Wilson and to Lady Byron, the 
 conclusive proof of his own duplicity. 
 
 We are disposed, therefore, to acquiesce in the judgment 
 pronounced by Lord Bussell, who, after detailing the circum- 
 stances attending its destruction, says : " As to the manu- 
 script itself, having read the greater part, if not the whole, I 
 should say that three or four pages of it were too gross and 
 indelicate for publication ; that the rest, with few exceptions, 
 contained little traces of Lord Byron's genius, and no interest- 
 ing details of his life. His early youth in Greece, and his 
 sensibility to the scenes around him, when resting on a rock 
 in the swimming excursions he took from the Piraeus, were 
 strikingly described. But on the whole, the world is no loser 
 by the sacrifice made of the IMemoirs of this great poet." ' 
 
 We have thus laid before the reader everything connected 
 with this subject that deserves the name of evidence. 
 
 The conclusion at which we arrive is, that there is no proof 
 whatever that Lord Byron was guilty of any act that need 
 have caused a separation or prevented a reunion, and that the 
 imputations upon him rest upon the vaguest conjecture. 
 
 That whatever real or fancied wrongs Lady Byron may have 
 endured are shrouded in an impenetrable mist of her own 
 creation — a poisonous miasma in which she enveloped the 
 character of her husband — raised by her breath, and which her 
 breath only could have dispersed. 
 
 " She dies, and makes no sign — God, forgive her ! " 
 * Lord Russell, Life of Moore, iv. 192.
 
 283 
 
 V. 
 
 LOUD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS.^ 
 
 In July last we laid before our readers all that was then 
 publicly known with regard to the unhappy circumstances 
 which led to the separation of Lord and Lady Byron, and 
 expressed a doubt whether the cause of that separation might 
 not remain for ever " one of those enigmas which perpetually 
 arouse the curiosity of generation after generation, only to 
 disappoint it ; " and we concluded our remarks with the 
 observation, " that whatever real or fancied wrongs Lady Dyron 
 might have endured were shrouded in an impenetrable mist 
 of her own creation — a poisonous miasma in which she 
 had enveloped the character of her husband — raised by her 
 breath, and which her breath only could have dispersed." 
 That mist has now been suddenly and completely dispelled. 
 For three months every newspaper has been filled, and every 
 household in the kingdom inundated, with discussions on 
 matters which one portion, at any rate, of our families never 
 heard or read of, except when they occurred in the lesson 
 for the day, or were met with in the history of Lot or of 
 Amnon. 
 
 Mrs Beecher Stowe, the well-known American novelist, has 
 told what she calls the " True Story of Lady Byron's Life ; " 
 and we may as well say in the outset, that we see no reason 
 to doubt either that Mrs Stowe received this -story from the 
 lips of Lady Ijyron, or that she believes it to be true. Our 
 reasons for this will appear hereafter ; and as we may have 
 to comment somewhat severely on Mrs Stowe's conduct in the 
 
 ' Blackwood's Ma;;azine, Januiirv 1870.
 
 284 NIXDICATIONS. 
 
 matter, it is Imt, just tlial wo should say at once tliat we do 
 not accuse lier of Uh; iiii([uity of fabricating tlie revolting tale 
 which she has published to the world, or of circulating it, 
 knowing it to be false. 
 
 We enter upon the subject with reluctance ; but justice to 
 the memory of Lord Byron, still more to that of Mrs I^igh, 
 and most of all to the feelings of English society, which have 
 been so deeply outraged, force the unwelcome task upon us. 
 We have no more right to shrink from the investigation of 
 Mrs Stowe's disgusting story than a surgeon has from the 
 examination of a foul disease. 
 
 Stripped of the flowery verbiage of the professional novelist 
 (which is peculiarly out of place in bringing a charge which 
 if made at all, ought to be couched in the simplest and plain- 
 est terms), Mrs Stowe's " Story," in its naked hideousness, is 
 as follows : — 
 
 That Lord Byron, upon being refused by Miss IVIilbanke, 
 " fell into the depths of a secret adulterous intrigue " (' Mac- 
 niillan,' ^ p. 385) with his sister, who was a married woman 
 many years older than himself, with a husband and several 
 children. That, " being filled with remorse and anguish, and 
 an insane dread of detection " (p. 385), he renewed his pro- 
 posals to Miss Milbanke, and married her with the expec- 
 tation that she would " be the cloak and accomplice of this 
 infamy " (p. 387). That " the moment the carriage - doors 
 were shut upon the bridegroom and bride" (p. 386), he told 
 her she had " married a dcinl " (p. 386, sic). That " with all the 
 sophistries of his powerful mind " (p. 387), he tried to per- 
 suade her that there was no harm in incest ; but that she, 
 " having the soul not only of an angelic woman, but of a strong 
 reasoning man " (p. 388), refused to be convinced. 
 
 That from the first hour of her married life until the day 
 they parted,^ Lady Byron was " struggling in a series of pas- 
 sionate convulsions to bring her husband back to his better 
 
 1 No. 119, September 1869. 
 
 - Mrs Stowe says "two j'ears." As Lord ami Lady Byron lived togetlier 
 only one year and thirteen days, the "passionate convulsions" must have 
 extended over the whole period.
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 285 
 
 self" (p. 389). That during the wliole of this time Lord 
 Byron was, with the knowledge of his wile, who sliared bed 
 and board with him, carrying on an incestuous intercourse 
 with his sister, at whose house tliey visited, and who was a 
 frequent guest at theirs. That two children were born — one 
 the legitimate offspring of the marriage, tlie otlier tlie spurious 
 fruit of the intrigue — over botli of whom Lady Lyron "watched 
 with a mother's tenderness " (p. 393). 
 
 That after " many nameless injuries and cruelties, by which 
 lie expressed his hatred of her " (p. 389), he determined to 
 " rid himself of her altogether," and " drove her from him, that 
 he might follow out the guilty infatuation that was consuming 
 him, without being tortured by her imploring face, and by the 
 silent power of her presence and her prayers in his house " 
 (p. 390). 
 
 That she left him in company with the " partner of his sins," 
 expressing a devout trust that all three would "meet in 
 heaven " (p. 390), and never saw him more. 
 
 Such is the story told by Lady Byron to ^Irs Stowe in the 
 year 185G, at an interview which " had almost the solemnity 
 of a deathbed avowal" (p. 395), and when her pliysicians 
 " had warned her that she had very little time to live " (by the 
 way, she survived the interview for four years). ^Mrs Stowe 
 adds, that Lady Byron, after thus charging her husband with 
 guilt for which no damnation could be too deep, expressed the 
 fullest confidence in " his salvation ;" and tells us that, " while 
 speaking on the subject, the pale ethereal face became luminous 
 ivith a hcavcrdi/ radiance" (p. 396). 
 
 Whether IMrs Stowe means to assert that Lady Byron's 
 communication to her was miraculously attested by one of tin; 
 signs that accompanied the delivery of the Law on Mount 
 Sinai, or whether this is merely one of those blasphemous 
 familiarities with sacred subjects in which the " unco gude 
 and rigidly righteous " are wont to indulge to the disgust of 
 all sober-minded people, we must leave the read(>r to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 In the first place, we wouhl ask. Has JNFrs Stowe ever con- 
 sidered the effect which her story, if believed, must have upon
 
 280 VINDKJATIONM. 
 
 till! reputation, imt only of tlio.sc; wlioiu bIk; intcMitioniilly 
 maligna, but on that of Lady liyron lierself, whose cliampion 
 slie ])rofcsses to ha ? 
 
 Wo do not know liow i'ar tho doctrines with relation to 
 the sexes, which are said to be entertained by a small knot 
 of obscure elderly females in this country may prevail in 
 America ; but we can assure Mrs Stowe that a woman who 
 lived for two years with a husband, who to her knowledge was 
 carrying on an incestuous intercourse with his sister, who did 
 not, on the first intimation of such guilt, avoid his touch as 
 the foulest pollution, who did not fly to those whom nature 
 pointed out to her as her protectors, and denounce the monster 
 who had thus profaned the laws of God and polluted the holi- 
 est of human tics, would in England be held to be a participant 
 in his crime, and if she sought protection from the law, would 
 be told that she had no right to seek redress for an offence 
 she had condoned ; and if, in addition to this, it turned out 
 that she had maintained the outward appearance of the ut- 
 most cordiality to the partner of her husband's guilt, that she 
 had received her as a guest, that she had named her child 
 after her, that she had addressed letters to her couched in 
 language of the fondest affection, — we say distinctly that a 
 woman whose moral sense was so perverted would be held in 
 contempt and abhorrence by every one of her own sex who 
 had not sunk into a state of degradation lower than that of 
 the lowest prostitute that ever haunted the night-houses of the 
 Haymarket. The details of our police-courts show that there 
 are such households as Mrs Stowe would fain persuade us 
 Lady Byron's was ; but they show us, also, that they excite 
 disgust even in the wretched and vicious neighbourhoods in 
 which they exist. 
 
 We shall not trouble ourselves with the question w'hether 
 Mrs Stowe has been guilty of treachery towards Lady Byron. 
 We are not casuists. Happily the broad lines of duty are 
 sufficiently defined for our guidance in all the ordinary affairs 
 of life. There is, however, one case which sometimes arises, 
 upon which men of the most honourable feelings will not 
 unfrequcntly come to opposite conclusions. Wo mean the
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 287 
 
 question how far the obligation of secrecy with regard to a 
 confidential communication is binding. 
 
 We presume that no one will dispute that if a native of the 
 sister iyle were, in the strictest confidence, to impart to us his 
 intention, from the most patriotic motives, to accelerate the 
 transfer of the land of his country to the inliabitants thereof, 
 by shooting his landlord, it would be our duty not only to 
 warn the intended victim of his danger, but to give informa- 
 tion at the nearest police-station, and to do all in our power 
 to bring our confiding friend to the gallows ; yet if tliat same 
 man had accomplished his purpose, and, when placed on his 
 trial, were to make to his counsel a full avowal of his crime, 
 that counsel would be guilty of the grossest treachery if he 
 betrayed his confession or failed to strain every nerve to obtain 
 his acquittal. Between these plain extremes there are, how- 
 ever, an infinity of cases which melt into one another like the 
 delicate and imperceptible gradations of an evening sky, and 
 with regard to which it will be difficult to find any two per- 
 sons who will agree as to the precise line of duty. We think 
 that the error of those — and they have not been few — to whom 
 Lady Byron has at various times told this revolting story, lias 
 been in ever permitting themselves to be the recipients of such 
 a confidence. The language they should have held to Lady 
 Byron ought to have been, "What ground have you for mak- 
 ing this charge ? What are your proofs ? Have you ever 
 given the persons you accuse the opportunity of answering ? 
 Do they even know that such imputations have been made 
 against them by any one ? Have not you yourself acted to- 
 wards one or both of them in a manner inconsistent with the 
 truth of what you now say ? " If these questions could not 
 be satisfactorily answered, either the confidence should have 
 been distinctly repudiated, and the accused parties warned of 
 the calumnies, and put on their guard against the danger to 
 which they were exposed, or the statement should liave been 
 treated as the raving of a lunatic. 
 
 But whatever difference of opinion may exist as to the 
 question of how far Mrs Stowc has been guilty of a breach 
 of confidence towards Lady Byron, we presume there can be
 
 288 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 none as to tlu; crime against society which she lias committed, 
 or th(! (l(iep culpability of any one who gives such a storj' 
 to the world without first not only being fully satisfied of 
 its truth, but being prepared with conclusive evidence to 
 prove it. The person who repeats such a tale incurs a 
 responsibility hardly second to that of the inventor. The 
 vendor of poison is equally guilty with the compounder. 
 Now, what precaution has Mrs Stowe taken to ascertain, 
 before publishing it to the world, whether the horrible 
 tale of which she has become the confidant was a tme 
 story, a malignant falsehood, or the phantasm of a diseased 
 brain ? Simply — none. It does not appear from her narra- 
 tive that she ever addressed a single question to her informant, 
 or made any inquiry whatever from any person, before she 
 published a story which must, as she well knew, inflict inde- 
 scribable agony on the hearts of the living, defile the grave of 
 the dead, and pollute every household in England and America 
 with its abominations. 
 
 One would have supposed that a tale so monstrous, so im- 
 probable, so contradictory to all the rules that govern the 
 actions of human beings, unsupported by a single tittle of 
 evidence, would at once have refuted itself, and would not 
 have found a single listener to give it a moment's credence. 
 Such, however, strange to say, is not the case. Some persons 
 have accepted the story ; and a duty is thus cast on every man 
 who has a heart to feel indignation at the monstrous wicked- 
 ness of the calumny, not only on one of England's greatest 
 poets, but still more on the memory of a woman who lived 
 honoured and beloved, and round whose grave affectionate 
 memories have gathered for many years, to come forward and 
 denounce the falsehood w^ith tongue and pen. 
 
 It may seem strange that we should have to remind our 
 readers of some of the most elementary principles that govern 
 all inquiries into the truth of facts, whether such inquiries are 
 judicial, historical, or philosophical. Yet the prejudices and 
 passions which have attended upon the subject now under 
 discussion render this necessary. 
 
 The first of these principles is, that it is incumbent on the
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 289 
 
 party asserting a fact to prove it, and not on the party denying 
 that fact to disprove it ; in other words, the onus 'prohandi lies 
 on the prosecutor. 
 
 Secondly, In all criminal cases the presumption is in favour 
 of innocence. 
 
 Tliirdly, Wlien a witness gives two accounts of the same 
 transaction inconsistent with or contradictory to each other, 
 his evidence goes for nothing ; for both cannot be true, though 
 both may be false, and there is no preponderance of testimony 
 in favour of either. 
 
 Fourthly, If a vi^itness depones falsely as to the main facts, 
 his evidence is unworthy of belief as to the minor circum- 
 stances of the case. 
 
 We shall have to apply these principles to the present case, 
 and we beg the reader to keep them in mind. 
 
 AVe have, in the article before alluded to, given our reasons 
 for holding the character of Lord Byron to be a matter of 
 public interest. We cannot agree with those who maintain 
 that the poet may be considered as a separate entity from 
 the man. It would be matter for shame and sorrow were it 
 to be proved that Milton was a time-server, that Cowper was 
 a profligate, that Burns was cold-hearted and ungenerous, or 
 that Scott was not equally remarkable for the virtues of his 
 life as for the brilliancy and extent of his genius. But there 
 is a still deeper interest at stake in this inquiry. The crime 
 alleged necessarily involves the guilt of two persons. It is 
 impossible to sever the charge. Convict Byron, and you 
 equally convict his .sister. Acquit one, and you acquit botlin 
 The accusation brought against Mrs Leigh concerns ever} 
 woman who would guard her grave from insult and her 
 memory from slander, when perhaps every tongue that couhl 
 vindicate her reputation may be cold and silent as her own. 
 
 If this kind of treason to society is tolerated, there is uo 
 knowing when it will stop. An attempt was once made to 
 soil the fair fame of Martha Blount, and tlie offender was de- 
 servedly "made manure of for the tt)p of Parnassus" by Byron 
 himself We may, perhaps, some day be told that Mary Un- 
 win's atfeclion for Cowper was sensual, or that Cliarles Lamb's 
 
 T
 
 200 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 life-long devotion to his unhappy sister was criminal, and his 
 heroic self-sacrifice prompted by the foulest motives. 
 
 Before enterintf upon the examination of how far Mrs Stowe 
 may have substantiated her charge, we would remind the 
 reader that the fact of this accusation being the one selected 
 by Lady Byron, conclusively disposes of all the nameless 
 suspicions, even more revolting, which, from her silence, have 
 attached for more than half a century to the name of her hus- 
 band. We are no longer fighting shadows, which change their 
 form at every moment, like the malignant 'Efrect of the 
 ' Arabian Nights,' who was now a scorpion, then an eagle, 
 afterwards a black cat, and, defeated in every shape, was at 
 last reduced to a heap of filthy ashes. We have emerged into 
 daylight, and have a specific charge to meet. That which 
 Lady Byron denied to the earnest and repeated entreaties of 
 her husband has been granted to us ; though the circum- 
 stances M'hich attended and motives which prompted it, pre- 
 clude us from feeling any gratitude for the disclosure. 
 
 Some of our readers may perhaps not know accurately who 
 Mrs Leigh was. She \vas the only child of Captain John 
 Byron (the father of Lord Byron) by his first wife, Baroness 
 Conyers in her own right. After the death of Lady Conyers 
 in 1784, Captain Byron married Miss Catherine Gordon, a 
 relation of the Earl of Huntly, the only child of this second 
 marriage being the celebrated Lord Byron, who was born 
 on the 22d January 1788. As joeerages are too polite to 
 record the age of ladies, we are unable to give the precise date 
 of Mrs Leigh's birth ; but as her parents were married in 
 1770, and her mother died in January 1784, she must have 
 been born some time between those two dates. She could not 
 be less than four, and we believe was as much as eight, years 
 older than Lord Byron. In August 1807 the Hon. !Miss Byi-on 
 married Colonel Leigh of the 10th Hussars. Seven children, 
 born at various intervals between 1808 and 1820, were the 
 fruit of this marriage. Colonel Leigh died in May 1850, 
 and Mrs Leigh survived him little more than a year, her 
 death taking place in October 1851, after forty-four years of 
 married life, checkered by the sorrows which are the lot of
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 291 
 
 humanity, and of which a more than common number fell to 
 her share. The constant, unvarying, and mutual affection 
 which existed between herself and her husband was known to 
 all her family and friends, and is attested by those who still 
 survive, and whose memory extends to what is now so distant a 
 period. She numbered amongst her friends women eminent 
 alike for their virtues and theii' rank, amongst the most inti- 
 mate of whom were the late Countess of Chichester, the vener- 
 able Duchess-Dowager of Norfolk, and Lady Gertinde Sloane 
 Stanley. She was cheered through life by the sympathy and 
 affection, and followed to the grave by the respect, of all who 
 knew her. Tn\o of her own children are still living. She was 
 a second mother to those of a friend whose wife died young. 
 In their minds all the holiest associations of childhood are 
 blended with her memory. The accents of her voice and the 
 expression of her countenance, as they lisped their evening 
 prayer at her knee, still come back to their memory with a 
 pure and holy light through the mists and vicissitudes of more 
 than half a century. Is it no crime to have wrung these hearts 
 by proclaiming this loathsome lie of one they loved so weU ? 
 Is Mrs Stowe so utterly devoid of justice, truth, mercy, and 
 charity, that she greedily swallowed this filthy tale without 
 one word of inquiry — without doubt or hesitation — without 
 seeking one particle of evidence in its support, and then basely 
 sold it for " thirty pieces of silver " ? 
 
 Mrs Stowe might perhaps fancy that the lapse of more than 
 half a century, the death of nearly every one of those illus- 
 trious men whose friendship for Byron is matter of history, 
 would secure her foul calumny from challenge. Happily this 
 is not so. The age of chivalry is not past. The blood that 
 beat high on the held of Cre(jy, and that was freely, and, alas ! 
 fatally, poured out at the Alma, brooks no concealment, seeks 
 no shield under a nom de 2)lume. Mr Delme IvadclifTe, in a 
 letter which he has addressed to the editor of the ' Daily Tele- 
 graph,' and which does him the highest honour, at once de- 
 nounced the " True Story " as a " lie — an odious damned lie : 
 upon my soul, a lie — a wicked lie." Such, he says, " is the 
 burst of indignation with which iMnilia repudiates the foul
 
 21)2 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 aspersion of la^'o on tlu; spotless fame of the gentle Desde- 
 nioua. Such is the reply to Mrs Stowe on the lips of all to 
 whom the memory of Mrs Lei^'h is dear; and dear must it be 
 to all who knew her as I did." Nurtured " under her wing, 
 and having from childhood throughout her lifetime occupied 
 a position little less than that of a son in her family." 
 
 Mrs Stowe has assumed the character, and taken upon her- 
 self the duties and responsibilities, of a public prosecutor. 
 
 She deliberately arraigns Lord Byron and his sister, Mrs 
 Leigh, at the bar of public opinion, and charges them with the 
 commission of a revolting crime in 1816. 
 
 How does she prove her charge ? In what mode does she 
 satisfy the first requirement which casts tlie onus prohnndi 
 upon her ? 
 
 She says simply that Lady Byron told her so in the year 
 1856. In the whole of Mrs Stowe's " True Story," which ex- 
 tends over twenty-nine octavo pages, there is not to be found 
 one single fact confirmatory of this assertion. That Mrs Stowe 
 is not the first person to whom Lady Pyron has made this 
 astounding statement we well know ; that she has repeated it 
 at various times during a period extending over many years, 
 and to several people, cannot be disputed : but Mrs Stowe is 
 the first, as far as we know, that has undertaken the respon- 
 sibility of publishing the charge in such a form as that it 
 could be met and answered, and its falsehood demonstrated. 
 
 We distinctly challenge any one of Lady Byron's advocates 
 to produce the slightest particle of evidence in support of her 
 assertion. 
 
 Lady Byron, therefore, being the sole witness (if witness she 
 can be called, when her testimony consists of nothing but 
 accusation), let us see how far her conduct has been consistent 
 with her statement. 
 
 "We must go back to the period of Lady Byron's man-iage in 
 January 1815 — and we would here refer our readers to the 
 article which appeared in our July number last year for the 
 events until the month of INIarch following, when Lord and 
 Lady Byron were the guests of Colonel and INIrs Leigh in 
 Cambridgeshire.^ Whether this -svas the commencement of the 
 
 1 Ante, p. 264.
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 293 
 
 intimacy between Lady Byron and Mrs Leigh, or whether their 
 acquaintance began at an earlier period, we are unable to say ; 
 but in the autumn of the same year Lady Byron selected Mrs 
 Leigh as a friend and companion, to be with her during her 
 approaching confinement. It is impossible to suggest stronger 
 evidence than is afforded by this fact, that at that time no sus- 
 picion unfavourable to Mrs Leigh could have crossed the mind 
 of Lady Ijyron. Lady Noel being unavoidably prevented from 
 joining Mrs Leigh in the discharge of this duty, Mrs Clermont 
 (the original of ' The Sketch ') was sent to supply her place. 
 Lady Byron was confined on the 10th of December. The child 
 was christened shortly afterwards, Mrs Leigh being her god- 
 mother. 
 
 Whether Lord Byron was right or not in his suspicions of 
 Mrs Clermont, whether she availed herself of the opportunity 
 atforded by Lady Byron's confinement 
 
 " To instil 
 The iiu'^ry essence uf her deadly will," 
 
 it is impossible to say ; l3ut that something had occurred to 
 disturb Lady Byron's peace of mind, and tliat, whatever that 
 something was, it did not afiect her feelings or conduct to- 
 wards Mrs Leigh, is conclusively shown by the following 
 mysterious letter, which was addressed by Lady Byron to INIrs 
 Leigh in the early part of January, whilst they were both in 
 the same house together : ^ 
 
 " You will think me very foolish ; but I have tried two or 
 three times, and cannot talk to you of your departure witli a 
 decent visage — so let me say one word in this way, to spare 
 my i)hilosophy. With the expectations which I liavc, I never 
 will nor can ask you to stay one moment longer than you are 
 
 * As an attempt lias been made to cast doulits on the ^ennineness of these 
 letters, which lirst appeared in an article in the ' (^>uarterly Review ' of la.st 
 November, we are {,'lad to have this opportunity of statin;,', as we arc antlio- 
 rised to do, that the first, second, third, and last of the series are vouched for 
 liy the Earl of Chiclieater. The other three letters are derived from a source 
 eiinally unimpeachable ; but as we have not obtained a distinct authority to 
 mention whence they come, we must request the reader for the present to trust 
 to their authenticity on the credit of the well-known writer of that article, of 
 the editor and publisher of tlie 'Quarterly Review,' and of ourselves.
 
 294 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 inclined to do. It would \]h-\ tliu worst return for all 1 
 ever received from you. JUil in tins at least 1 am 'truth 
 itself,' when I say that whatever the situation may be, there 
 is no one whose society is dearer to me, or can contribute 
 more to my happiness. These feelings will not change under 
 any circumstances, and I should l)e grieved if you did not 
 understand them. Shoidd you hereafter condemn me, I shall 
 not love you less. I will say no more. Judge for yourself 
 about going or staying. I wish you to consider yourself, if 
 you could be wise enough to do that for the first time in your 
 life.— Thine, A. I. B." 
 
 Addressed on the cover " To the Hon. Mrs Leigh." 
 
 Lady Byron left London on the 15th of January, and imme- 
 diately afterwards sent to her husband what is now generally 
 known as the " Dear Duck " letter, contemporaneously with 
 which she wrote to Mrs Leigh as follows : — 
 
 " KiRKBY Mallouy, Jail. 16, 1816. 
 (The day after she left London.) 
 " My deaeest A., — It is my great comfort that you are in 
 riccadilly." 
 
 A week afterwards she writes : — 
 
 " KiRKBY Mallory, Jan. 23, 1816. 
 
 " Dearest A., — I know you feel for me as I do for you, and 
 perhaps I am better understood than I think. You have been, 
 ever since I knew you, my best comforter, and will so remain, 
 unless you grow tired of the office, which may well be." 
 
 And then in rapid succession came the following letters : — 
 
 "Jan. 25, 1S16. 
 
 " My dearest Augusta, — Shall I still be your sister ? I 
 must resign my rights to be so considered ; but I don't think 
 that will make any difference in the kindness I have so 
 uniformly experienced from you." 
 
 "KiRKBY Mallory, Feb. 3, 1S16. 
 " ]\Iy dearest Augusta, — You are desired by your brother
 
 LORD BYRON AND IIIS CALUMNIATORS. 295 
 
 to ask if my father has acted with my concurrence in pro- 
 posing a separation. He has. It cannot be supposed tliat, in 
 my present distressing situation, I am capable of stating in a 
 detailed manner the reasons which will not only justify this 
 measure, but compel me to take it ; and it never can be my 
 wish to remember unnecessarily [sic\ those injuries for which, 
 however deep, I feel no resentment. I will now only recall 
 to Lord Byron's mind his avowed and insurmountable aver- 
 sion to the married state, and the desire and determination he 
 has expressed ever since its commencement to free himself 
 from that bondage, as finding it quite insupportable, though 
 candidly acloiowledging that no effort of duty or affection 
 has been wanting on my part. He has too painfully convinced 
 me that all these attempts to contribute towards his happiness 
 were wholly useless, and most unwelcome to him. I enclose 
 this letter to my father, wishing it to receive his sanction. — 
 Ever yoiu's most affectionately, A. I. Byron." 
 
 " Feb. 4, 1816. 
 " I hope, my dear A., that you would on no account with- 
 hold from your brother the letter which I sent yesterday, in 
 answer to yours written by his desire ; particularly as one 
 which I have received from himself to-day renders it still 
 more important that he should know the contents of that 
 addressed to you. — I am, in haste, and not very well, yours 
 most afiectionately, A. I. Byron." 
 
 " KiiiKHY Mallory, Fib. 14, ISIG. 
 " The present sufferings of all may yet be repaid in bles- 
 sings. Do not despair absolutely, dearest ; and leave me but 
 enough of your interest to afford you any consolation by par- 
 taking of that sorrow which I am most unha})py to cause 
 thus unintentionally. You will be of my opinion hereafter, 
 and at present your bitterest reproach would be forgiven ; 
 though Heaven knows you have considered me more than a 
 thousand would have done — more than anything but my 
 affection for B., one most dear to you, could deserve. I must 
 not remember these feelings. Farewell ! God bless you, from 
 the bottom of my heart. A. 1. B."
 
 29G VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Mrs Lciyh leniaincd with hur biolliei in riccadilly until 
 lifter tlie lir.st week in March, when she removed to the rooms 
 in St James's Palace, wliicli she lield as one of tlie ladies 
 attached to the Court of Queen Charlotte. Preparations were 
 being then made for the approaching marriage of the Piiucess 
 Charlotte. Lord Byron left England about the middle of 
 April. From the day that Lady Byron left her husband under 
 the same roof with his sister, until the day he left his country 
 for ever — a period of niore than three months — Lady Byron 
 kept up an uninterrupted intercourse of the most all'ectionate 
 kind with Mrs Leigh, not only in the correspondence of which 
 we have given some specimens, but in repeated personal in- 
 terviews ; and subsequently to Lord Byron's departure, the 
 the same kind of intercourse, both by letter and personally in 
 London and during visits in the country, continued up to the 
 time of Lord Byron's death, which occun'ed in 1824. About 
 two years after that event, Lady Byron introduced a near 
 relative, the present ^lajor Noel, then a young man just going 
 up to Cambridge, to Mrs Leigh, who was living in St James's 
 Palace, and who gave him introductions to her Cambridgeshire 
 friends. We have Major Noel's authority for this anecdote. 
 
 "We now turn to the statement made by Lady Byron to 
 Lady Anne Barnard — at what period it does not very clearly 
 appear, but certainly within two years after the separation, 
 and communicated by Lord Lindsay to the ' Times ' in a letter 
 dated 3d September — and what do we find ? A totally dif- 
 ferent charge — not only utterly inconsistent with Mrs Stowe's 
 story, but contradictory to it. The charge made to Lady Anne 
 Barnard was that Lord Byron was in the habit of spending his 
 evenings in " the haunts of vice." Everybody knows w^hat 
 that means. Lady Byron told Lady Anne Barnard that she 
 " kept his sister " (the very sister against whom tliis revolting 
 charge is now made) " as much with him as possible," evi- 
 dently meaning that she did so as a check upon her husband's 
 prolligacy. She expressed astonishment at his avowals of 
 remorse for these alleged transgressions being made " tlwv.gh 
 his sister was present." It is impossible to read Lady Anne 
 Barnard's narrative without seeing that Lady Byron nt that
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 297 
 
 time represented Mrs Leigh as exercising a purifying and 
 restraining influence over her brother. 
 
 We will not insult the intellect of our readers by adding 
 one word to this conclusive evidence. It is morally impos- 
 sible that these letters could have been addressed and this line 
 of conduct pursued by Lady r>yron towards a woman whom 
 she believed to be carrying on an incestuous intercourse with 
 her husband. 
 
 ])r Lushington's letter has always been the chief card in the 
 hands of Lady Byron's advocates. It has been supposed that 
 Dr Lushington knew all the circumstances, and by this letter 
 gave his sanction to the whole of Lady Byron's conduct in the 
 affair of the separation. It will be well, therefore, to examine 
 what ground there is for this assumption, what part Dr Lush- 
 ington played in the transaction, and what his letter really 
 was. 
 
 Dr Lushington was Lady Byron's counsel. He was first 
 consulted after Lady Byron had left London in January 181 G. 
 lie says, " I was originally consulted by Lady Noel on your 
 behalf whilst you were in the country." ^ 
 
 Lady Byron states that she had empowered her ujotlicr 
 to take legal opinions on a written statement drawn w\) by 
 herself.^ 
 
 Lady Noel upon this consulted Dr Lushington, then a young 
 advocate rising into practice. We do not know the exact age 
 of the venerable lawyer ; but as these events occurred fifty- 
 three years ago, and he still happily survives, we may fairly 
 reckon that he was not at this time much above five-and-thirly 
 years of age, which at the bar is considered young.^ The advice 
 which he gave was that a reconciliation was practicable, and 
 tins was accompanied by an offer of his assistance towards 
 
 • Life of Byron, 662. In a note to " Don Juan," canto i. st. .\xvii., n par- 
 enthesis is filled up with the name of Dr Lushington where Lord Byron liad 
 evidently merely said "a hnvyi-r." It is but justice to Dr Lushin<cton to point 
 out the error coniniitttil in attrilmting to him the very uni)rof(s.sional act tliero 
 alluded to. Dr Lushington's own letter is conclusive that he was not the per- 
 son who so misconducted himself. 
 
 - Lady Hyron's Remarks ; Life of Byron, 6G'2. 
 
 a He was in fact thirty-four, l.aving hccii horn in 17S2.
 
 298 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 effecting that object. Lady Nod left, having rec(!iv(j(l this 
 very judicious advice. A fortuiglit passed, and then Lady 
 Dyron in jierson sought an interview with iJr Lushington. 
 Then says l)r Lushington : " I was for the first time informed 
 by you of facts utterly unknown, as 1 have no doubt, to Sir 
 TJiili)h and Lady Noel. On receiving this information, my 
 oi)inion was entirely changed ; I considered a reconciliation 
 impossible. I declared my opinion, and added that, if such an 
 idea should be entertained, I could not, either professionally or 
 otherwise, take any part towards effecting it." Such are Dr 
 Lushingtou's Avords in a letter written in 1830, in reply to a 
 request from Lady Byron that he would state what he recollected 
 of the circumstances attending her consultation with him. 
 
 It is a trite saying, that the opinion is worth nothing 
 without the case. Till we know what Lady Byron told Dr 
 Lushington, it is imi^ossible that we should estimate the value 
 of the advice she received. As to this, Dr Lushington has 
 hitherto observed the most profound silence. No rumour has 
 ever reached the outer world as to what tliis secret communi- 
 cation was that could be traced to him. Whether he will 
 consider that the chain of professional confidence still binds 
 his tongue we know not, but until he gives utterance we are 
 driven to an analysis of such facts as are in our possession to 
 assist us in arriving at a conclusion as to what that communi- 
 cation was. Lady Byron, at various times, and ultimately to 
 ^Irs Stowe, has unquestionably asserted that incest with his 
 sister was the cause of her separation from her husband. Did 
 she state this, or some other reason, to Dr Lushington in 1816 
 as the ground of her determination to separate from her hus- 
 band ? If she stated that this was the cause, her letters 
 written to ]\Irs Leigh at the very same time, her statement 
 made to Lady Anne Barnard immediately afterwards, and her 
 whole course of conduct subsequently, prove, incontestably, 
 either that she was stating to Dr Lushington what she knew 
 to be false, or that she was guilty of an amount of duplicity 
 which is not only wholly incredible, but which, if it could be 
 believed, would deprive her of all right to be treated as a 
 witness worthy of belief.
 
 LORD BYKON AND HIS CALUMNIATOKS. 299 
 
 On tho other hand, if she assigned a difibient cause to Dr 
 Lushington, she either spoke falsely to him, or she has spoken 
 falsely to Mrs Stowe and her other confidants. From one 
 horn or the other of this dilemma escape is impossible. Each 
 is equally destructive of all reliance on Lady Byron's testi- 
 mony. Which is most disgraceful it is difficult to say. 
 Mistake in this case is impossible. Mrs Stowe may have 
 embellished Lady Byron's narrative ; but that incest committed 
 with ;Mrs Leigli during the period of Lady Byron's coluil)ita- 
 tion with her husband, known at that period to Lady Byron 
 to have been so committed, was asserted by Lady Byron to 
 have been the cause and justification of the separation, there 
 can be no doubt. 
 
 Lady Byron has unquestionably told this story to other 
 persons besides Mrs Stowe, though at what period she began 
 to do so we are unable to state with accuracy ; and we see no 
 valid ground for supposing that she told any other to Dr 
 Lushington. It is amply sufficient to account for his change 
 of opinion ; and that being so, we think we should not be 
 justified on mere conjecture in suspecting Lady Byron of the 
 complicated and improbable guilt of having given birth to 
 another fabrication e([ually as monstrous as that with which 
 Mrs Stowe has disgusted the world. 
 
 We do not assert with confidence that this is so. In tread- 
 ing on a soil so fertile in mendacity, we may easily lose 
 our way in a thicket of falsehoods, but the most simple solu- 
 tion seems to us to be the following : — 
 
 Lady Byron, we doubt not, told her mother that her hus- 
 band had been guilty of infidelity, and told her no more. Dr 
 Lushington, upon receiving this statement from Lady Noel, gave 
 the advice which any one but a pettifogging lawyer who sought 
 to infiame a quarrel would give under such circumstances. 
 
 Lady Byron, then, relying, as the result has proved she 
 might safely rely, on Dr Lushington's secrecy, makes tlio 
 damning addition that the partner of his guilt was liis sister. 
 It may naturally occur to the reader to ask, Why did not Dr 
 Lushington require proof of the truth of Lady liyron's state- 
 ment before giving his opinion on it ? Tlic answer is obvious
 
 ;3()() VINDMATIONH. 
 
 to any prulcssiniiiil iiiiiii. ])r Lushiii^ftoii was asked for his 
 opinion on a ,t,Mven statement of facts. Lady Byron was re- 
 sponsible for the truth of tliose facts, not l)r Lusliinfftcjn. He 
 was not asked, Are such and sucli circunjstances sulhcient to 
 warrant me in coming to the conclusion tliat my husband lias 
 been guilty of such a crime ? but, Assuming tliat he has com- 
 mitted it, am I required any longer to continue cohabitation 
 with him ? Dr Lushington, as Lady Byron's counsel, was 
 bound to receive her statement, and miglit well believe that 
 she would not make so revolting a charge without conclusive 
 proofs to support it, into which it was not his duty to inquire. 
 
 Who could suppose that at the very time that Lady Byron 
 was making tliis liorrible charge against Mrs Leigh in the 
 secrecy of Dr Lushiugton's chambers, she was addressing her 
 as her " dearest Augusta," telling her that it was her " great 
 comfort " that she was in Piccadilly with her brother, implor- 
 ing her still to consider her " as a sister," and " blessing her 
 from the bottom of her heart " ! ! Yet such is the fact. Hav- 
 ing attained her object, she preserved the most obdurate silence 
 for a time. When Lord Byron was dead, when his ^lemoirs 
 were burned, she began to whisper into willing and credulous 
 ears the malignant calumny which has been crawling about 
 the world for years, like some loathsome reptile, until at last 
 it has blundered into daylight only to be crushed. 
 
 Tliis appears to us to be the hypothesis most consistent 
 with all the known facts of the case. We do not deny that 
 it is possible that the same mind which produced this wicked 
 fabrication may have given birth to another as foul and im- 
 natural ; but until Dr Lushington breaks silence, or we liave 
 something more in support of such a suggestion than tlie 
 vaguest conjecture, we shall adhere to the belief that Lady 
 Byron told Dr Lushington in 1816 the same story in its main 
 facts that she told Mrs Stowe in 1856. 
 
 It has been frequently urged that Lord Byron's repeated 
 assertion, that he was ignorant of what was imputed to him, 
 must have been false ; and it is argued that, had he not been 
 conscious of some deep criminality, he would have sought to 
 compel Lady Byron's return to his bed by instituting a suit
 
 LORD BYRON AND ills (JALU.MNIATOKS. 301 
 
 for the restoration of conjugal rights. Tliere are two answers 
 to this argument. In the first place, the enforcement of the 
 legal rights of a husband upon the person of a reluctant wife 
 by the strong arm of the law, is a proceeding revolting to the 
 mind of every man who has risen aljove the rank of a savage. 
 The suggestion even of a resort to such a course is worthy 
 of a Hottentot. Secondly, it is not impossible that ]')yron 
 might be conscious of such irregularities as would have barred 
 such a suit ; and it must be remembered that any transgres- 
 sion of this kind, though it might be such as even the stern 
 moralist Johnson declared it was a wife's duty to forgive, 
 would have been sufficient for that purpose. 
 
 The present discussion has happily brought to light two 
 pieces of evidence which put the question of Lord Byron's sin- 
 cerity beyond the possibility of doubt. At the time of the 
 separation, Lord Broughton, then Mr Hobhouse, acted as Lord 
 Byron's friend ; Mr Wilmot Horton, and, if we are not mis- 
 taken, the late Sir Francis Doyle, acting for Lady Byron. The 
 following memorandum from a lady, of a conversation with 
 Lord Broughton, has been furnished by Lord Lindsay, who 
 thus makes himself responsible for its genuineness, to the 
 'Times':— 
 
 " Six or seven years ago, when Lord Broughton's remarkable 
 memory was as good as ever, he said to me most earnestly, 
 
 ' Mrs , when I was appointed (or desired) by Byron to 
 
 examine matters with Lady Byron's friends, I wrote down 
 every vice, and sin, and crime, and horror, in short, of whicli a 
 human being can be capable ; and I said, " Now I shall not 
 stir in this business till you tell me whether you accuse him 
 of any of these things, and which of them it is." And the 
 answer wa.s, " It is none of these things." Then I said, " Wliat 
 is it ? " But they never would say.' 
 
 " After a pause. Lord Broughton continued : ' I said to By- 
 ron, " Byron ! what is it?" He said, " I give you my word I 
 don't know (or, I know no more tiian you do)." I said, " Have 
 you ever been unkind or harsh to her?" He said, "Only 
 once, and I'll tell you about it. One day in the middle of my
 
 302 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 troultlc " (' iiioucy trouble he meant,' said Lord I irougliton), " I 
 came into the room and went up to the fire. She was standing 
 bufVue it, and said, ' Am I in your way?' I answered, ' Yes, 
 you arc ! ' with emphasis. She burst into tears and lel't the 
 room. I hopped up-stairs as quickly as I could " (' Poor fel- 
 low !' said Lord Broughton, 'you know how lame he was') 
 " and begged her pardon most humbly ; and that was the only 
 time I spoke really harshly to her." ' 
 
 " Lord Broughton laid great stress on the words ' most hum- 
 bly.' He spoke of Lord Byron with pity and tenderness, and 
 evidently believed in what he told him." 
 
 We have ourselves received the same account, in all its ma- 
 terial facts, from Lord Broughton, through a channel of the 
 highest and most unimpeachable character. Indeed he made 
 no secret either of his own inability to obtain any specific 
 charge, or of his perfect belief in Lord Byron's sincerity. But 
 the evidence does not stop here. Mr Murray, the son and suc- 
 cessor of Lord Byron's friend and publisher, has given to the 
 public a more formal and absolutely conclusive testimony to 
 the fact. 
 
 " The following document is printed as a contribution to 
 literary histoiy. It was drawn up by Lord Byron in August 
 1817, while Mr Hobhouse was staying with him at La Mira, 
 near Venice, and given to JMr Matthew Gregory Lewis for 
 circulation among friends in England. It Mas found amongst 
 IVIr Lewis's papers after his death, and is now in the possession 
 of Mr Murray. 
 
 " The document speaks for itself sufficiently to need no com- 
 ment on our part. 
 
 " It has been intimated to me, that the persons understood to 
 he the legal advisers of Lady Byron have declared ' their lips to 
 he scaled up ' on the cause of the sejMratimi hetween her and my- 
 self. If their lips arc sealed up, they arc not scaled up by vie, 
 and the greatest favour they can confer upon me will he to open 
 them. From the first hour in which I was apprised of the in- 
 tentions of the Noel family, to the last communication hetween
 
 LORD BYRON AND IIIS CALUMNIATORS. 303 
 
 Lady Byron and myself in the character of wife and husband 
 {a period of some montlis), I called rejicatedly and in vain for 
 a statement of their or her charycs ; and it teas chvfly in conse- 
 quence of Lady Byron s claiminy {in a letter still existing) a 
 jrromise on my part to consent to a separation if such xcas really 
 lier U'ish, that I consented at all. This claim, and the exasperai- 
 ing and incxpiahle manner in which their object was pursued, 
 which rendered it neo:t to an impossibility that two persons so 
 divided could ever be reunited, induced me reluctantly then, and 
 repientantly still, to sign the deed, which I shcdl be happy — most 
 happy — to cancel, and go before any tribunal which may discuss 
 the business in the most public manner. 
 
 "Mr Uobhouse made this proposition on my part — viz., to 
 abrogate all prior intentions, and go into Court — the veinj day 
 before the sejjaration was signed, and it was declined by the other 
 p)arty, as also the jJublication of the correspondence during the 
 irrevious discussion. Those propositions I beg here to repeat, 
 and to call upon her and hers to say their worst, pledging my- 
 self to meet their allegations — whatever they may be — and 
 only too happy to be informed at last of their real nature. 
 
 (Signed) " Byron. 
 
 " August 0, 1817. 
 
 " P.S. — I have been, and am noio, utterly ignorant of what 
 descrijJtion her cdlegations, charges, or whatever name they may 
 have assumed, are; and am as little aware for rvhat jJurpose 
 they have been kept back — sinless it vxis to sanction the most 
 infamous calumnies by silence. 
 
 (Signed) " Byron. 
 
 " La Mira, near Venice." ^ 
 
 The attempts that have been made to obtain conrmnation 
 of Mrs Stowe's story by identifying Lord liyron with Manfred, 
 are too childish to deserve a serious answer. Did anybody ever 
 charge on Massinger the crimes of Mallefort, or on Otway the 
 abominations of Polydore ? It may be well for the memory of 
 Shakespeare that his wife survived him, and that the critics 
 have been left to contend amongst themselves whether his 
 
 ' Aeadcmy, No. L
 
 304 \ INDICATIONS. 
 
 bequest to her ul' liis " .seeoiul-be.st Ijed " was a studied insult, 
 implying that some one else had shared the best, or whether 
 it was an indication of tender aflection, that particular piece 
 of furniture being endeared to him by the recollection of the 
 chaste loves of their early life ; otherwise some wiseacres 
 might have identified him with Othello, with just as good 
 ground as it is now sought to identify ]>yron with Manfred. 
 
 It remains to say a few words on the culpable recklessness 
 that ]\Irs Stowe has shown in making assertions which a 
 reference to the most ordinary authority would have shown her 
 were altogether erroneous. 
 
 We will select a few examples : — 
 
 At p. 389 she speaks of Lady Byron's manied life as extend- 
 ing over a period of " two years." 
 
 The marriage took place on the 2d January 1815 ; Lady 
 Byron left her home on the 15th January 181G — exactly one 
 year and thirteen days after her marriage. 
 
 At page 394 she speaks of the " few years " after Lord By- 
 ron's death, during which "the life of tliis frail delicate creature" 
 (Lady Byron) " upon earth was a miracle of mingled weakness 
 and strength." 
 
 Lord B}Ton died in 1824, and Lady Byron in 1860, so that 
 the " few years " of her widowhood were thiity-six — exactly 
 equal to the whole life of her husband ! 
 
 At page 393 Mrs Stowe asserts that Lady Byron's daughter 
 " married a man of fashion, and ran a brilliant course as a gay 
 woman of fashion." The husband of Lady Byron's daughter is 
 well known as a man of extensive reading, fond of literary 
 and scientific inquiries, and of the society of men eminent in 
 such pursuits. He would probably smile at finding a character 
 ascribed to him which he has certainly never publicly shown 
 any ambition of assuming. Perhaps a similarity of name may 
 have led Mrs Stowe to confound the Earl of Lovelace with the 
 hero of Eichardson's famous novel ! 
 
 At page 389 Mrs Stowe says that " iMoore tells us that about 
 this time " {i. e., shortly before the separation) " Byron was often 
 drunk day after day wdth Sheridan." 
 
 Moore tells us nothing of the kind. The only shadow of
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 305 
 
 foundatiuii for this reckless assertion is a letter from Byi'on to 
 Moore, dated Oct. 31, 1815, in which he gives an account of a 
 party at which Sheridan got drunk, and DougLas Kinnaird and 
 Byron had to conduct him " doM'n a d d corkscrew stair- 
 case, which had certainly been constructed before the discovery 
 of fermented liquors, and to which no legs, however crooked, 
 could possibly accommodate themselves." "We deposited him," 
 says Lord Byron, " safe at home, where his man, evidently used 
 to the business, waited to receive him in the hall." Pretty 
 good proof that, though Sheridan vjas, Byron was not drunk, 
 even though he " carried away much wine," and " his last hour 
 or so was all hiccup and happiness." 
 
 The slightest care, or reference to the commonest authorities, 
 would have prevented these misstatements, had there been any 
 desire on the part of Mrs Stowe to obsei-ve truth or accuracy. 
 But far worse is the garbling of the account of the deathbed of 
 Lord Byron, and of his last words to his faithful servant, Flet- 
 cher. Mrs Stowe must have had the only authentic account 
 (that given by Parry, and printed in Moore's ' Life of Byron ') 
 before her ; and it seems impossible that the suggcstio falsi, 
 no less than the suppressio vcri, of which she has been guilty, 
 should be otherwise than wilful and deliberate. 
 
 We now come to the consideration of the second count of 
 Mrs Stowe's indictment. 
 
 The charge now shapes itself as follows : That having mar- 
 ried Miss Milbanke, in the hope that she would be " the cloak 
 and accomplice " of an abominable crime, Lord Byron forth- 
 with, even between the solemnisation and the consummation of 
 their union, began to treat her with the vulgar brutality of a 
 drunken costermonger, and continued that course of conduct 
 up to the time of their separation. 
 
 Here again Lady Byron is the only witness. What is her 
 testimony worth ? First, let us apply the fourth principle 
 which we have laid down. AVe have shown conclusively that 
 her evidence is utterly unworthy of belief as to the i)rincipal 
 charge. It follows that it is equally worthless to establish the 
 minor oll'oncc. It is not to be expected that after the lapse of 
 fifty-three years, living testimony should be at hand to show on 
 
 U
 
 3()() VINDICATIONS. 
 
 what terms a particular married couple lived with eacli other ; 
 yet it does happen that in this case there is even at this period 
 sufficient to sliow the absurdity of the charge.^ 
 
 The marriage took place on the 2d January. After spending 
 about three weeks at Halnaby, Lord and Lady Byron returned 
 to Seaham, where they remained until the 9th of March with 
 Sir Ifalph and Lady Noel. It was during tliis time that Lord 
 Byi'on wrote the letters whicli we quoted in a former article,^ 
 which negative in the clearest manner the idea of any dis- 
 comfort having existed at that time. We distinctly challenge 
 the advocates of Lady Byron to produce a single particle of 
 contemporaneous evidence from her correspondence to the con- 
 trary. The ridiculous story whicli Mrs Stowe quotes from 
 another scandalous female pen, of Lady Byron having alighted 
 from the carriage on her wedding-day " with a countenance and 
 frame agonised and listless with evident horror and despair," 
 has been distinctly negatived by her own maid, who was with 
 her, who is still living, and who, though she certainly entertains 
 no friendly feeling towards Lord Byron, states that she saw the 
 bride alight from the carriage " buoyant and happy as a bride 
 should be." 3 
 
 Thackeray has often remarked on the ordeal which a man has 
 to undergo from the inquisitor who stands behind his chair at 
 dinner, and the jury w^ho sit upon his character in the servants' 
 hall. Mrs Stowe's "True Story" has aroused one of these 
 keen observers to denounce its falsehood. Mr William Child, 
 who has addressed a letter to the editor of the ' Daily Tele- 
 graph,' was a servant at Newstead, where his aunt was house- 
 keeper from the year 1800 until Lord Byron sold the estate, 
 when he continued in the service of Colonel Wildman as game- 
 keeper. He has exchanged the perilous duty of maintaining 
 nightly combats with the poachers of Nottingham, in the wilds 
 of Sherwood Forest, for the more peaceful occupation of repre- 
 senting the majesty of the law, and striking terror into the 
 souls of unruly urchins in Golden Square, where he enjoys an 
 old age which is " like a lusty winter, frosty but kindly." 
 
 1 See Postscript, p. 311. - Ante, p. 267. 
 
 ^ See Statement of Mrs Minns, Newcastle Chronicle, 1869.
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 307 
 
 We have ourselves conversed with this " honest chronicler," 
 and can bear witness to the indignation witli which he repu- 
 diates the slanders on his master, and the warmth and earnest- 
 ness with which he expatiates on his generosity and kindness 
 to every one around him (including the dumb animals which 
 formed a part of his establishment), and every quality the very 
 reverse of what Mrs Stowe would have us believe constituted 
 his character. It is well worthy of note also, as confirming the 
 peculiar weakness of Byi-on (a weakness which he shared with 
 many, and amongst them with one of the best men and best 
 judges that ever adorned the English bench) to indulge in the 
 "fanfaronnade des vices qu'il n'avait pas," that he utterly denies 
 the debaucheries of which Newstead is supposed to have been 
 the scene, and which are so vividly portrayed in the opening 
 stanzas of " Childe Harold," but which he declares had no ex- 
 istence except in the imagination of the poet. 
 
 When Dr Ireland, the Dean of Westminster, and annotator 
 of Massinger, refused to admit the statue of Byron, which now 
 adorns the library of Trinity College, to the sanctuary of the 
 Abbey, on the ground that the poet was too impure and pro- 
 fane to be fit company for Dryden and Congreve ; and when 
 the Bishop of London backed the intolerance of the Dean in 
 defiance of the protest of hundreds, amongst whom were men 
 eminent no less for their spotless character than for their bril- 
 liant abilities and high position — of Scott, of Peel, of Rogers, 
 Campbell, Moore, Brougham, Denman, ]\Iacintosh, Jeffrey, Lock- 
 hart, the Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire, and many more — 
 the late Lord Broughton, then Sir John Cam Hobhouse, in a 
 few eloquent and indignant pages, gave expression to the feel- 
 ings of indignation which such a display of narrowness and 
 bigotry was well calculated to excite. Now if any man was 
 qualified to judge fairly of the character of Lord Byron, Lord 
 Broughton was that man. He was the chosen comrade of his 
 youth, the companion of his early travel, tlic associate of his 
 short and l)rilliant career of popularity, and his steadfast friend 
 when the tide turned and the unreasoning world sought to over- 
 whelm him with obloquy. Upon Lord Broughton's own char- 
 acter, public or private, no breath of shuider has ever rested.
 
 308 VIN'IUCAIIONS. 
 
 lie, w'.is a keen and experienced ob8ei*vei ol men. He writes, 
 not in the fervour of youtli or under the impulse of feelings 
 excited by a recent event, but at the mature age of fifty-eight, 
 and when twenty years had passed since the death of Lord 
 Byron, and, be it remembered, with a full knowledge of the 
 contents of the suppressed Memoirs ; and here is his testimony 
 to what he was : — 
 
 " Lord Byron had hard measure dealt to him in his lifetime, 
 but he did not die without leaving behind him friends — 
 deeply and affectionately attached friends — whom the bishop 
 himself would despise if they suffered this attack to pass 
 unnoticed. Those friends, however, do not prefer their late 
 much-loved associate to truth — they would not sacrifice the 
 best interests of society at the shrine even of his surpassing 
 fame. They were not blind to the defects of his character, 
 nor of his writings, but they know that some of the gravest 
 accusations levelled against him had no foundation in fact ; 
 and perhaps the time may come when justice may be done to 
 the dead without injury to the feelings of the living. Even 
 now it may be permitted to say something of him, and it 
 will be said by one who perhaps knew him as well as he was 
 known by any human being. 
 
 " Lord Byron had failings — many failings, certainly — but 
 ho was untainted with any of the baser vices ; and his virtues 
 — his good qualities — were all of the higher order. He was 
 honourable and open in all his dealings ; he was generous, and 
 he was kind. He was affected by the distress, and, rarer still, 
 he was pleased with the prosperity of others. Tender-hearted 
 he was to a degree not usual with our sex, and he shrank with 
 feminine sensibility from the sight of cruelty. He was tnie- 
 spoken — he was affectionate — he was very brave, if that be 
 any praise ; but his courage was not the effect of physical 
 coolness or indifference to danger ; on the contrary, he enter- 
 tained apprehensions and adopted precautious, of which he 
 made no secret and was by no means ashamed. His calmness 
 and presence of mind in the hour of peril were the offspring of 
 reflection, and of a fixed resolution to act becomingly and well.
 
 LORD BYRON AND HIS CALUMNIATORS. 309 
 
 He was aKve to every indication of good feeeling in others ; a 
 generous or noble sentiment, a trait of tenderness or devotion, 
 not only in real but in imaginary characters, affected him 
 deeply — even to tears. He was, both by his habits and his 
 nature, incapable of any mean compliance, any undue submis- 
 sion towards those who command reverence and exact tlattery 
 from men of the highest genius ; and it will be the eternal 
 praise of his writings, as it was one of the merits of his con- 
 versation, that he threw no lustre on any exploit however 
 brilliant, any character however exalted, which had not con- 
 tributed to the happiness or welfare of mankind. 
 
 " Lord Byron was totally free from envy and from jealousy, 
 and both in public and in private, spoke of the literary merits 
 of his contemporaries in terms which did justice to them and 
 Jionour to himself. He was well aware of his own great 
 reputation ; but he was neither vainglorious nor overbearing, 
 nor attached to his productions even that value which was 
 universally granted to them, and which they will probably for 
 ever maintain. 
 
 " Of his lesser qualities very little need be said, because his 
 most inveterate detractors have done justice to his powers of 
 pleasing, and to the irresistible charm of his general deport- 
 ment. There was indeed something about him not to be 
 definitely described, but almost universally felt, which cap- 
 tivated those around him, and impressed them, in spite of 
 occasional distrust, witli an attachment not only friendly, but 
 fixed. Part of this fascination may doubtless be ascribed to 
 the entire self-abandonment, the incautious, it may be said the 
 dangerous, sincerity of his private conversation ; but his very 
 weaknesses were amiable, and, as has been said of a portion of 
 his virtues, were of a feminine character — so that the affection 
 felt for him was as that fur a ffivourite and sometimes froward 
 sister. 
 
 " In mixed society Lord Byron was not talkative, neither 
 did he attempt to surprise by pointed or by liumorous re- 
 marks ; but in all companies lie held his own, and that, too, 
 without unbecoming rivalry with liis seniors in ago and 
 reputation, and without any offensive condescension towards
 
 310 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 his inferior associates. In more familiar intercourse he was a 
 gay companion and a free, but never trasgressed the bounds 
 of good-breeding even for a moment. Indeed he was, in the 
 best sense of the word, a gentleman." — ' liemarks on tlie 
 Exclusion of Lord Byron's Monument from Westminster 
 Abbey/ 42. 
 
 To add to this testimony would be but to weaken its effect. 
 Such was Lord Byron. The time (anticipated by Lord 
 Broughton) when justice could be done to the dead has 
 arrived, though in a mode that could little be expected. The 
 attempt to give form and substance to the foul calumnies 
 which have for half a century been floating about the world 
 against Lord Byron has ended in their complete and trium- 
 phant refutation. The character of ^Irs Leigh stands forth 
 pure and unsullied. As to IMrs Stowe, one universal cry of 
 indignation has arisen on both sides of the Atlantic. All who 
 glory in the fame of Byron — all who revere the memory of 
 Mrs Leigh — all, and they were not few, who were attached by 
 the ties of friendship to Lady Byron herself — all who would 
 guard the purity of home from pollution, and the sanctity of the 
 grave from outrage — have joined in one unanimous chorus of 
 condemnation. With regard to Lady Byron, who shall read the 
 riddle which her conduct now presents ? Did she believe the 
 hideous tale she told ? Was she the ^vilful fabricator of the 
 monstrous calumny, or was she herself the victim of insane 
 delusions ? Is her memory to be regarded with the deepest 
 abhorrence or the most profound compassion? These are 
 questions to which it is impossible at present to give a satis- 
 factory answer. It may be that the reply is to be found 
 amongst the papers left behind by herself. Whether those to 
 whom they are intrusted will make them public we know not. 
 Till then, though the questions most interesting to the public 
 are set at rest for ever, the " Byron mystery " is not com- 
 pletely solved.
 
 311 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Since the publication of the foregoing pages, a valuable 
 addition has been made to the materials for estimating the 
 character of Lord Byron, by the appearance of ' The Literary 
 Life of the Piev. William Harness, Vicar of All Saints, Knights- 
 bridge,' and Prebendary of St Paul's. 1871.' 
 
 Mr Harness was born in the year 1790, being thus two 
 years younger than Lord Byron. Their intimacy and mutual 
 affection commenced when they were schoolfellows at Harrow, 
 and continued uninterrupted, except by a short boyish mis- 
 understanding, until Lord Byron left England in 181G. 
 
 When Harness arrived at Harrow, he was recovering from 
 an attack of fever, and he was lame in consequence of an 
 accident which happened in his early childhood, and from the 
 effects of which he never entirely recovered. He says : " This 
 dilapidated condition of mine — perhaps my lameness more 
 than anything else — seems to have touched Byron's sympa- 
 thies. He saw me a stranger in a crowd ; the veiy person 
 likely to tempt the oppression of a bully, as I was utterly 
 incapable of resisting it ; and in all the kindness of his gene- 
 rous nature, he took me under his charge. The first words he 
 ever spoke to me, as far as I can recollect them, were : ' If 
 any fellow bullies you, tell me, and I'll thrash him if I can.' 
 His protection was not long needed ; I was soon strong again, 
 and able to maintain my own ; but as long as his help was 
 wanted, he never failed to render it." ^ 
 
 Such was the commencement of the friendship between two 
 men whose dispositions and whose careers in life were singu- 
 larly dissimilar. 
 
 ' r. 4.
 
 312 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 Mr Harness took orders, discharged the duties c>l a parish 
 clergyman, first in a remote part of tlie country, and lattorly 
 in a populous London district, in a most exemplary manner. 
 lie acquired some literary distinction, enjoyed a social reputa- 
 tion of a high class, and died in the year 18G9, within a few 
 months of the age of eighty, after a long, peaceful, and un- 
 eventful life, the object of respect and affection to every one 
 who knew him. Mr Harness's attachment to Lord Byron was 
 personal: it arose from aff'ection for his character, not from 
 admiration for his genius. He belonged to a different school, 
 and did not scruple to speak with considerable severity on 
 what he considered the pernicious tendency of the works of 
 tlie 2>oet, but his affection for the man never waned. He says: 
 " Wliatever faults Lord Byron might have had towards others, 
 to myself he was always uniformly affectionate. I have many 
 slights and neglects towards him to reproach myself with ; 
 but on his part I cannot call to mind, during the whole course 
 of our intimacy, a single instance of caprice or unkindness." 
 Mr Harness was a visitor at Newstead during Lord Byron's 
 residence there. He says : " Many tales are related or fabled of 
 the orgies which, in the poet's early youth, had made clamorous 
 those ancient halls of the Byrons. I can only say that nothing 
 in the shape of riot or excess occurred when I was there." ^ 
 
 When Byron " awoke and found himself famous," Harness 
 was residing at a country curacy ; but they kept up a constant 
 correspondence by letters, and, during Mr Harness's visits to 
 London, passed much time in each other's society. " All that 
 I saw or heard of his career was bright and prosperous — kind- 
 ness and poetry at home, smiles and adulation abroad. But 
 then came his marriage ; and then the rupture with liis wife ; 
 and then his final departure from England. He became a 
 victim of that revolution of popular feeling which is ever inci- 
 dent to the spoUt children of society, when envy and malice 
 attain a temporary ascendancy, and succeed in knocking down 
 and trampling any idol of the day beneath tlieir feet, who may 
 be wanting in the moral courage required to face and outbrave 
 them." - 
 
 ' p. 12. ^ r. 21.
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 313 
 
 The following very just remarks arc added at a subsequent 
 page : " His whole course of conduct at this crisis of his life 
 was an inconsiderate mistake. He should have remained to 
 learn what the accusations against him really were ; to expose 
 the exaggeration, if not the falsehood, of the grounds they 
 rested on ; or at all events to have abided the time when the 
 London world should have become wearied of repeating its 
 vapid scandals, and returned to its senses respecting him." 
 The picture which Mr Harness draws of Lady Byron previous 
 to her marriage is curious and interesting. He says : " I was 
 acquainted with Lady Byron as Miss Milbanke. The parties 
 of Lady Milbanke, her mother, were frequent and agreeable, 
 and composed of that mixture of fashion, literature, science. 
 and art, than which there is no better society. The daughter 
 was not without a certain amount of prettiness or cleverness ; 
 but her manner was stiff and formal, and gave one the idea of 
 her being self-willed and self-opinionated. She was almost 
 the only young, pretty, well-dressed girl we ever saw who 
 carried no cheerfulness along with her. I seem to see her 
 now, moving slowly along her mother's drawing-rooms talk- 
 ing to scientific men and literary women, without a tone of 
 emotion in her voice, or the faintest glimpse of a smile upon 
 her countenance." Mr Harness adds, that the impression 
 she produced on the majority of her acquaintance was unfa- 
 vourable. " They looked upon her " (he says) " as a reserved 
 and frigid sort of being whom one would rather cross the 
 room to avoid than be brought into conversation with unne- 
 cessarily." ^ 
 
 She appears, notwithstanding, to have possessed some 
 strange power of fascination over Lord Byron. " At the begin- 
 ning of their married life, when first they returned to London 
 society together, one seldom saw two young persons who ap- 
 peared to be more devoted to one another than they were. 
 At parties he would be seen hanging over the back of her 
 chair scarcely talking to any one else, eagerly introducing his 
 friends to her ; and, if they did not go away together, himself 
 handing her to her carriage." ' 
 
 » r. 22. - P. 24.
 
 314 VINDICATIONS. 
 
 To the generosity of liyron, his kindness to his dependants 
 (there was one " hideous old woman " who had nursed him 
 in his lodgings, and wliom " few would have cared to retain 
 about them longer than her services were required," who 
 appeared after his marriage "gorgeous in black silk at his 
 house in Piccadilly. She had done him a service, and he 
 could not forget it"),^ and his fidelity to his friends, Mr 
 "Harness bears ample testimony. Speaking of the other side 
 of his character, he says : " Byron had one pre-eminent 
 fault. ... He had a morbid love of a bad reputation. 
 There was hardly an offence of which he would not with 
 perfect indifference accuse himself." — " Except this love of 
 an ill name — this tendency to malign himself, this hypocrisy 
 reversed — I have no personal knowledge whatever of any 
 evil act or evil disposition of Lord Byron's. I once said this 
 to a gentleman (the Eev. Henry Drury) who was well ac- 
 quainted with Lord Byron's London life. He expressed him- 
 self astonished at w^hat I said. ' Well,' I replied, * do you 
 know any harm of him but what he has told you himself ? ' 
 ' Oh yes, a hundred things ! ' 'I don't want you to tell me a 
 hundred things ; I shall be content with one.' Here the con- 
 versation was interrupted. We were at dinner ; there was a 
 large party, and the subject was again renewed at table. But 
 afterwards, in the drawing-room, ]\Ir Drury came up to me 
 and said : ' I have been thinking of what you were say- 
 ing at dinner. I do not know any harm of Byi'on but what he 
 has told me himself.' " - 
 
 Bitter was the penalty which Lord Byron paid for this im- 
 fortunate affectation. When dark insinuations and foul rumoure 
 were circulated by the malice of Lady Byron and her friends, 
 the public thought, and even some who ought from their ac- 
 quaintance with liis character to have known better, feared, 
 that there might be some foundation for the accusation against 
 a man who had so freely maligned liimseK. 
 
 1 r. 29. « P. 34.
 
 JUDICIAL PUZZLES 
 
 I. ELIZABETH CANNING 
 II. THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 III. THE ANNESLEY CASE 
 
 IV. ELIZA PENNING 
 
 V. SrENCER COWPERS' CASE
 
 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 I. 
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING.^ 
 
 Every one has heard of the case of Elizabeth Canning. It 
 is constantly quoted, constantly relied upon as an authority 
 for propositions the most diverse and even contradictory. There 
 is a general vague idea that an ingenious fraud was by some 
 marvellous agency detected, that innocence was rescued from 
 imminent peril, and truth vindicated ; but by what means or 
 \inder what circumstances this took place, who was innocent 
 and who was guilty, very few of those in whose mouths the 
 name of the case is most familiar would be able to say. T(j 
 any one who has taken the pains to make himself master of 
 the case, this hazy condition of mind will be anything but sur- 
 prising. It is, in truth, perhaps, the most complete and most 
 inexplicable Judicial Puzzle on record ; and after reading four 
 hundred and twenty-nine pages of close bad print, in the 10th 
 volume of the ' State Trials,' a candid man will find himself 
 equally amazed at the zeal, the industry, the ingenuity, with 
 which it was sought to discover where the truth really lay; and 
 the way in which, notwithstanding the fullest and most pa- 
 tient inquiry, that truth, though apparently close at hand, still 
 eluded its pursuers. 
 
 Elizabeth Canning was a servant-girl in the family of a man 
 of the name of Edward Lyon, a carpenter in Aldermanbury. 
 
 ^ Blaikwood's Magaziue, May 1S60.
 
 318 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 At the time in question (1753) she was about eighteen years 
 of ago. Her father had during his lifetime been also in the 
 employment of Mv Lyon ; her mother resided in the immediate 
 neighbourliood. She had previously been in the service of 
 another neighbour of the name of Wintlebury for nearly two 
 years : there was every opportunity and every motive for tlie 
 strictest examination of her character, and it bore the investi- 
 gation without the slightest stain being detected. On the 1st 
 of January 1753, her mistress gave Elizabeth Canning permis- 
 sion to spend the day with an uncle of the name of Colley, 
 who lived at Saltpetre-Bank, now known as Dock Street, near 
 Well-Close Square, and immediately behind the London 
 Dock. In the evening Colley and his wife accompanied her 
 on her way back to her master's in Aldermanbury as far as 
 Houndsditch, where they parted from her soon after nine 
 o'clock. At this point she was lost sight of. She did not re- 
 turn to her master's, nor to her mother. The surprise, alarm, 
 and anxiety of her friends were extreme. Advertisements were 
 repeatedly inserted in the papers, offering rewards for her dis- 
 covery. It was said that a shriek had been heard, as of some 
 female in distress, in a hackney-coach in Bishopsgate Street, 
 and attempts were made to find the driver, but in vain. No 
 trace of the lost girl could be discovered. On the 29th of Jan- 
 uary, about a quarter after ten o'clock in the evening, just as 
 they were preparing to fasten up the house, and to go to bed, 
 the latch of her mother's door was lifted, and a figure entered, 
 pale, tottering, emaciated, livid, bent almost double, with no 
 clothes but her shift, a ^^Tetched petticoat, and a filthy bed- 
 gown, a rag tied over her head, bloody from a wound on her 
 ear. Such was the condition in which Elizabeth Carming re- 
 turned after an absence of four weeks. Where had she been ? 
 what had happened to her during those weeks ? 
 
 The first question which presents itself is, What was the 
 account given by the girl herself ? Then follows the inquiry 
 how far that accoimt is supported, or in what respects is it 
 contradicted, by evidence subsequently produced ? As we pro- 
 ceed, we shall find ourselves involved in a most perplexing and 
 difficult investigation, but for the present we may confine our
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 319 
 
 attention to Canning's own account. It was given in the pre- 
 sence of many witnesses, without apparent preparation or con- 
 cert with any one — indeed there was no time for this, as, 
 immediately upon her arrival, the neighbours flocked in to 
 express their sympathy and satisfy their curiosity. Few 
 minutes had elapsed before the house was full. 
 
 Her former master, Mr Wintlebury (who seems to have had 
 a very kindly feeling towards her, and who gave her the 
 highest character), was among them ; another neighbour, of 
 the name of Robert Scarratt, was also there, and many 
 more. The statement made by Canning in reply to their in- 
 quiries was, that as she passed through Moorfields, after part- 
 ing from her uncle and aunt, she was attacked by two men, 
 who robbed her of what money she had about her, stripped off 
 her gown, and struck her a blow which rendered her insen- 
 sible. That when she came to herself, she found that she Mas 
 being dragged along a road ; that about four o'clock in the 
 morning they arrived at a house, into which she was carried 
 by these two men ; " when she came in, there was an elderly 
 woman and two young ones : the old woman took hold of her 
 arm and asked if she would go their way ? and she said No. 
 Then she went and took a knife out of a drawer, and cut the 
 lacing of her stays and took them off, and gave her a great slap 
 in the face, and told her she should suffer in the flesh, and 
 opened a door, and shoved her up a pair of stairs into a room." ^ 
 This room she described as a "lougish, darkish room,"- in 
 which there was some hay,^ a pitcher of water, some pieces of 
 bread, — about as much as would be equal in quantity to a 
 quartern loaf ; that there was a fireplace and a grate, out of 
 which she took the bedgown she had on, and the rag which 
 was tied over her head ; that there was a cask, a saddle, a 
 pewter basin, and a few other articles, which she specified, in 
 the room ; that the house was ten or eleven mUes from London 
 on the Hertfordshire road ; that there was a staircase near the 
 room, up and down which she heard persons passing during 
 the night ; and that she had heard " the name of Mother WUls 
 
 1 Eviilciice of Mary Myers, 10 State Trials, 504. 
 
 2 Scarrutt, 490-5U1. ^ Myers, 505.
 
 320 JUDICIAL IMIZZLKH. 
 
 or Mother Wells mentioned." Wlietlicr tliis last statement 
 as to the name of Wells was made in reply to a suggestion or 
 not, is, however, doubtful, — Scarratt stating that it was in rejily 
 to an expression used by him when he heard she had been on 
 the Hertfordshire road, that he would " lay a guinea to a far- 
 thing she had been at Mother Wells's ; " ''' whilst Mary Myers 
 states that Canning had mentioned the name of Wells to her 
 before Scarratt spoke, and that if Scarratt had spoken previously 
 she must have heard him.^ She certainly said she had been 
 confined in a room on the Hertfordshire road before any sug- 
 gestion had been made to her ; '' and when asked " how she 
 knew that ? " accounted for it by saying that she had seen, 
 through the crevices of the boards which were nailed over the 
 window, a coachman, to whom she had been accustomed to 
 carry parcels for her master addressed to Hertford, and by 
 whose coach her mistress had been in the habit of travelling, 
 drive past the house. She said, that after remaining confined 
 in this room, with no other food than the bread and water, and 
 a minced pie which she happened to have in her pocket, from 
 the 1st of January till the 29th, she escaped out at the win- 
 dow by pulling some of the boards down, and in doing so tore 
 her ear.^ She described the woman who robbed her of her 
 stays as a " tall, black, swarthy woman." '^ Scarratt, whose 
 suspicions had, as we have seen, pointed at Wells, immediately 
 observed that " that description did not answer to her." ^ She 
 then described very particularly the course she took tlirough 
 the fields, past a tanyard and over a little bridge into the high- 
 road, after making her escape through the window. This des- 
 cription was, however, given in reply to leading questions put 
 by Scarratt ; but it is worthy of remark that she said she met 
 a man, and asked her road to London,^ — a fact which, as we 
 shall presently see, was subsequently confirmed by the evi- 
 dence of a witness of the name of Bennett.^ 
 
 Such in substance was the account given by Elizabeth Can- 
 
 1 Jlyers, 505. ^ Scarratt, 495. 
 3 Myers, 505 ; Wintlebury, 510. 
 
 * "Woodward, 507 ; Wiiitlebmy, 510. ^ Myere, 505. 
 
 6 Woodward, 508 ; Scarratt, 496. ^ Scarratt, 496. 
 
 8 Scarratt, 496. » Bennett, 527.
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 321 
 
 ning on the evening of the 29th of January. Is it matter of 
 surprise that such a story, told by a young girl at the moment 
 of her restoration to her family, spoken in the starts and 
 snatches of extreme debility and exhaustion, attested by her 
 emaciated form, her pallid cheek, her numb and withered 
 limbs, should find deep sympathy and ready belief from those 
 wlio had known her from childhood, wlio had listened day by 
 day, for four weeks, to the lamentations of her mother, and 
 who had felt, as every day passed, their hopes grow fainter, 
 and their fears assume more and more the aspect of certainty ? 
 And after all, is there such improbability on the face of the 
 story as should induce us even now to reject it as incredible ? 
 The robbery in Moorfields was the ujost probable of occur- 
 rences. It is impossible to take up a newspaper of tliat 
 period without finding similar outrages recorded. It is true 
 that it is difficult to assign any motive that could induce 
 the robbers to encumber themselves with the strongest proof 
 of their crime, by carrying her off ; but it is equally difficult 
 to suggest any cause other than that which she herself assigned 
 for the condition to which she was reduced. An attempt was 
 made during the proceedings to show a connection to have 
 existed between Elizabeth Canning and the witness Scarratt, 
 but the attempt utterly failed. Scarratt swore (and he would 
 have been easily contradicted had he sworn falsely) that he 
 had no acquaintance with the girl ; and although he resided 
 in the neighbourhood, he believed he had never even seen her 
 until the night of her return to her mother's house. It was 
 upon her saying that she had been on the Hertfordshire road 
 that his suspicions pointed to Wells's house, which he had 
 before known as one of evil repute, as the place of her confine- 
 ment ; but his good fuitli is shown by his admission that he 
 mentioned the name of Wells to her first, and the description 
 which Canning gave of the room could not have been suggested 
 by his questions, as he had never been in it.^ The description 
 which she gave of the woman who cut off her stays is also 
 conclusive that she was nut prompted by Scarratt, who, when 
 
 » Scarratt, 493. 
 X
 
 322 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 lie heard it, immediately said that it did not answer to Wells, 
 who was the person he suspected. 
 
 On the day but one after, the 31st of January, Canninj^ 
 repeated her story to Alderman Chitty, who was the sitting 
 alderman at the time, and who thereupon issued his warrant for 
 the apprehension of Mother Wells. 
 
 On the 1st of February, Canning, accompanied by her mother 
 and her friends, went with the officer who had charge of the 
 warrant to Enfield Wash. 
 
 The house of Mother Wells still stands a little beyond the 
 tenth milestone on the Hertford road. It is on the right 
 hand, at the corner of the lane leading down to the Ordnance 
 Factory Station of the Eastern Counties Eaihvay. The shell 
 has been but little altered, and the rooms still remain nearly 
 the same as they appear on the plan which was published in 
 the ' Gentleman's Magazine ' for 1753. If the truth of Eliza- 
 beth Canning's story was to be proved in the same way as 
 Jack Cade's royal descent, "the bricks are alive to this day to 
 testify it." The window through which she escaped still com- 
 mands a view of the road to Hertford. Chingford Hill might 
 still, but for the cottages which have sprung up in conse- 
 quence of the railway station, be seen, as she described, from 
 the other window. The pantUes of the roof stUl remain un- 
 pointed, and everything bears testimony to the truth of her 
 description. But instead of Mother Wells and her gang of 
 tramps and gypsies, we found, on our visit to Enfield Wash, a 
 comely matron presiding at a table surrounded by bonny lasses 
 and chubby boys from sixteen downwards, whose laughing 
 blue eyes and clear rosy complexions formed as strong and 
 agreeable a contrast to poor Elizabeth Canning as the bright 
 furniture, cheerful hearth, and blazing fire did to the desola- 
 tion, filth, and discomfort which formerly prevailed in that 
 now comfortable dwelling. Assuredly fate seems to have 
 mingled a very fair allowance of sugar and nutmeg in the cup 
 of ]\Ir Negus — for such is the jolly name of the present occu- 
 pant of the house, who seems to be, and we ti'ust is, driving a 
 prosperous trade as a baker. 
 
 Canning was carried from room to room, and at last into
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 323 
 
 the loft. She immediately said, " This is the room I was in, 
 but there is more hay in it than there was when I was here ;"^ 
 and she pushed some of the hay aside with her foot, and 
 showed two holes in the floor which she had observed. She 
 pointed out the cask, the saddle, the pitcher, the tobacco- 
 mould, and the pewter basin,^ which she had mentioned on 
 her arrival at her mother's ; and she correctly described the 
 view which might be seen from each of the windows. On 
 examination, the boards which closed up the window at which 
 she said she had escaped, were found to have been only fastened 
 there very recently, as "the wood was fresh split with driving 
 a great nail through it, and the crack seemed as fresh as could 
 be." 3 
 
 Could there be stronger confirmation of the truth of her 
 story ? By what means could Canning have acquired this 
 accurate knowledge ? It has been said that the room did not 
 agree with Canning's description. A careful examination of 
 the evidence shows, however, that it coincided with that de- 
 scription in the most remarkable manner. There were, no 
 doubt, some discrepancies — for instance. Canning had men- 
 tioned a grate, and there proved to be none. She had spoken 
 of a saddle, and three were found. She had spoken of being 
 locked in, whilst in fact the door was fastened only with a 
 button or bolt. There were some other trifling inaccuracies. 
 
 Suspicion had pointed at Wells as the person who had com- 
 mitted the outrage ; but when Canning was brought into the 
 room in which all the inmates of the house were collected, 
 contradicting the expectation of her friends, she passed Wells 
 by unnoticed, and, pointing to an old gypsy woman of the 
 name of Mary Squires, who was sitting by the fire, said, " That 
 old woman in the corner was the woman that robbed me." 
 The gypsy rose from her seat, drew aside the cloak in which 
 she was partially muflled, and displayed a face such as, once 
 seen, could not easily be forgotten. She was, as Canning had 
 described her, " tall, dark, and swarthy." She looked stead- 
 fastly at Canning, and exclaimed, " ^le rob you ! I never saw 
 you in my life before. For God Almighty's sake do not swear 
 
 1 Myers, .^.OG. - .'^carratt, 497 ; Myers, TOG, •' Adanison, 517.
 
 324 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 my life away ! Pray, madam, l<;ok at this face ; if yoii have 
 once seen it before, you must have remembered it : for God 
 Almighty, I think, never made such anotlier. Pray, madam, 
 when do you say I robbed you ? " Canning said it was on 
 the first day of the new year. " Lord bless me ! " exclaimed 
 the gypsy, " I was a hundred and twenty miles from this place 
 then ! " George Squires, the gypsy's son, immediately added, 
 " We were in Dorsetshire at that time, at a place called Abbots- 
 bury ; we went there to keep our Christmas." Here we arrive 
 at the beginning of what makes tliis case so remarkable. We 
 have insisted on the importance of the first account given by 
 Canning. The gypsy and her son are entitled to a like con- 
 sideration. Tliis prompt and ready alibi, asserted without 
 hesitation, specifying time and place with undoubting accu- 
 racy, and thus affording means for testing its truth, gave 
 occasion to the very remarkable conflict of testimony which 
 followed, and which entitles this case to its rank as one of the 
 most interesting on record. An alibi is, as has often been 
 remarked, the best or the worst of defences. It often depends 
 upon a few miles or even a few yards of distance, or upon a 
 clock being a few minutes fast or slow. No such nicety arises 
 in this case. The robbery was committed early on the morn- 
 ing of the 1st of January — New- Year's Day — a date easily 
 fixed. Abbotsbury is a hundred and fifty miles, as the crow 
 flies, from Enfield: the gypsy understated the distance. It 
 also often involves difficult questions of personal identity. 
 None such arise here. The gypsy spoke truly when she said 
 that " God Almighty never made such another face as hers." 
 She was not only singularly hideous, but deeply marked with 
 the scars of disease ; and the witnesses who were examined 
 had many of them been long familiar with her appearance. 
 Tliese circumstances seem to exclude the possibility of mistake 
 on the part of the witnesses. Must we then resort to the con- 
 clusion that one side or the other is guilty of perjury ? This 
 hypothesis, though easy and simple enough at first sight, will 
 be found on investigation to be attended with nearly as 
 many difficulties as any other. We must, however, go back to 
 Elizabeth Canning, wliom we left in Mother Wells's kitchen,
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 325 
 
 confronted by the gypsy and her sou. In the house, besides 
 the gypsy and her family, was a man of the singular name of 
 Fortune Natus and his wife, and a young woman named Virtue 
 Hall. The whole party were forthwith taken to the residence 
 of the nearest magistrate, Mr Teshmaker, of Ford's Grove, by 
 whom all were discharged with the exception of the gypsy and 
 Mother Wells, who were committed to prison to take their 
 trial, the one for stealing Canning's stays, and the other as 
 accessory to the felony. 
 
 A new actor now comes on the stage, and a curious insight 
 is afforded into the mode in which inquiries of this nature 
 were conducted in the metropolis a hundred years ago. 
 
 Henry Fielding, the celebrated novelist, was then a police 
 magistrate of London. 
 
 To tell a tale told by Fielding in any words but his own 
 would indeed be presumption. 
 
 " Upon the 6th of February," he says,^ " as I was sitting in 
 my room, Counsellor Bladen being then with me, my clerk 
 delivered me a case, which was thus, as I remember, indorsed 
 at the top : ' The case of Elizabeth Canning, for Mr Fielding's 
 opinion ;' and at the bottom, ' Salt, Sol"".' Upon the receipt of 
 this case, with my fee, I bid my clerk give my service to Mr 
 Salt, and tell him that I would take the case with me into 
 the country, whitlier I intended to go the next day, and 
 desired he would call for it on the Friday morning afterwards ; 
 after which, without looking into it, I delivered it to my wife, 
 who was then drinking tea with us, and who laid it by. The 
 reader will pardon my being so particular in these circum- 
 stances, as they seem, however trifling they may be in them- 
 selves, to show the true nature of this whole transaction, 
 which hath been so basely misrepresented, and as they will 
 all be attested by a gentleman of fashion, and of as much 
 honour as any in the nation. My clerk presently returned 
 up-stairs, and brought Mr Salt with him, who, when he came 
 into the room, told me that he believed the question would be 
 
 ' A Clear State of tho Case of Elizabeth Caiiuhig, l>y Henry Fielding, Esq., 
 1753, V. 30.
 
 326 JIJDICIAI, I'lZZI.KS. 
 
 of little (lifliculty, ami begged me earnestly to read it over 
 then, and give him my opinion, as it was a matter of some 
 haste, being of a criminal nature, and he feared the parties 
 would make their escape. Upon this, I desired him to sit 
 down ; and when the tea was ended, I ordered my wife to 
 fetch me back the case, which I then read over, and found it 
 to contain a very full and clear state of the whole affair relat- 
 ing to the usage of this girl, with a query what methods 
 might be proper to take to bring the offenders to justice ; 
 which query I answered in the best manner I was able. ^Ir 
 Salt then desired that Elizabeth Canning might swear to her 
 information before me ; and added that it was the very par- 
 ticular desire of several gentlemen of that end of the town, 
 that Virtue Hall might be examined by me relating to her 
 knowledge of this affair. This business I at first declined, 
 partly as it was a transaction which had happened at a dis- 
 tant part of the country, as it had been examined already by 
 a gentleman with whom I have the pleasure of some acquain- 
 tance, and of whose worth and integrity I have, with all, I 
 believe, who know him, a very high opinion ; but princi- 
 pally, indeed, for that I had been almost fatigued to death 
 with several tedious examinations at that time, and had in- 
 tended to refresh myself with a day or two's interval in the 
 country, where I had not been, unless on a Sunday, for a long 
 time. I yielded, however, at last to the importunities of Mr 
 Salt ; and my only motives for so doing were, besides those 
 importunities, some curiosity, occasioned by the extraordinary 
 nature of the case, and a great compassion for the dread- 
 ful condition of the girl, as it was represented to me by Mr 
 Salt. 
 
 " The next day Elizabeth Canning was brought in a chair 
 to my house, and being led up-stairs between two, the follow- 
 ing information, which I had never before seen, was read over 
 to her, when she swore to the truth, and set her mark to it." 
 
 Here foUows Canning's information, somewhat expanded 
 from the one made before Alderman Chitty, but in the main 
 the same.
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 327 
 
 " Upon this information," continues Fielding, " I issued a 
 warrant against all who should be found resident in the house 
 of the said "Wells, as idle and disorderly persons, and persons 
 of evil name, that they miglit appear before me, and give 
 security for their good behaviour ; upon which warrant, Virtue 
 Hall and one Judith Natus were seized and brohght before 
 me, both being found at Mother Wells's. Jhey were in my 
 house above an hour or more before I was at leisure to see 
 them, during which time, and before I had ever seen Virtue 
 Hall, I was informed that she would confess the whole matter. 
 When she came before me she appeared in tears, and seemed 
 all over in a trembling condition, upon which I endeavoured 
 to soothe and comfort her. The words I first spoke to her, as 
 well as I can remember, were these : ' Child, you need not be 
 under this fear and apprehension ; if you will tell us the 
 whole truth of this affair, I give you my word and honour, as 
 far as it is in my power to protect you, you shall come to no 
 manner of harm.' She answered that she would tell the whole 
 truth, but desired to have some time given her to recover from 
 her fright. Upon this, I ordered a chair to be brought her, and 
 desired her to sit down ; and then, after some minutes, began 
 to examine her, which I continued doing in the softest lan- 
 guage and kindest manner I was able, for a considerable time, 
 till she had been guilty of so many prevarications and contra- 
 dictions that I told her I would examine her no longer, but 
 would commit her to prison, and leave her to stand or fall by 
 the evidence against her ; and at the same time advised Mr 
 Salt to prosecute her as a felon, together with the gypsy 
 woman. Upon this she begged I would hear her once more, 
 and said that she would tell the whole truth, and accounted 
 for her unwillingness to do it from her fears of the gypsy 
 woman and Wells. I then asked her a few questions, which 
 she answered with more appearance of truth than she had 
 done before ; after which I recommended to Mr Salt to go with 
 her, and take her information in writing ; and at her parting 
 from me, I bid her be a good girl, and be sure to say neither 
 more nor less than the whole truth. During this whole time 
 there were no less than ten or a dozen persons of credit
 
 328 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 present, who will, I suppose, testify the truth' of this whi»l<'. 
 transaction as it is here related. Virtue Hall then went 
 from mc, and returned in about two hours ; wlien tlie follow- 
 ing information, which was, as she said, taken from her mouth, 
 was read over to her, and signed witli her mark." 
 
 The information of Virtue Hall, as might be expected from 
 the circumstances under which it was taken, is a mere echo 
 to that of Canning. 
 
 What should we think at the present day of a magistrate 
 who received a fee and instructions from a prosecuting solici- 
 tor, who hesitated to investigate a charge of felony because 
 he wanted a day or two of relaxation in the country, who 
 alternately coaxed and threatened a prisoner who had been 
 brought before him on his own warrant, until he had obtained 
 a confession, and who then aUo\ved that prisoner to be closeted 
 in private with the attorney for the prosecution, and to be 
 sworn to an information procured from her by the attorney 
 during that interview, and produced ready cut and dried ! 
 The naJiveU with which Fielding tells the story is amusing. 
 He was clearly unconscious that he was doing anything wrong 
 or even irregular, and no doubt such a proceeding was by no 
 means unusual. But the evidence of Virtue Hall is under 
 these circumstances utterly worthless. We need feel no sur- 
 prise that she afterwards, when the pressure came from the other 
 side, retracted every word she had sworn, and her testimony 
 may be cast out of the case altogether.^ We still get no 
 further than the evidence of Elizabeth Canning herself. 
 
 On the 21st of February 1753, ^lary Squires and Susannah 
 Wells were placed at the bar of the Old Bailey. Canning 
 told her story ; Virtue Hall coiToborated it point by point. 
 The condition in which she returned home, and the circum- 
 stances attending the capture of Squires and Wells, were 
 proved as we have narrated them. Squires was then called 
 upon for her defence. She said nothing, but called three 
 witnesses. John Gibbons, who kept a pubKc-house at Abbots- 
 
 1 state Trials, .\ix. 455, 275 ; Gascoyne's Report ; Dr Hill's pamphlet. 
 See " A full and authentic Account," &c., i>. 06.
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 329 
 
 Ijury, near Dorchester, swore that Squires was at his house 
 from the 1st of January to the 9tli. William Clarke cor- 
 roborated this statement. Thomas Greville of Coombe, near 
 Salisbury, deponed that she was at his house on the 14th of 
 January. To meet this evidence a man of the name of Iniser 
 was called on behalf of the prosecution to prove that he had 
 seen Squires in the neighbourhood of Enfield about the time 
 in question — namely, the first week in January. Wells, on 
 being called upon, admitted that her character would not bear 
 investigation. She was what was called in the slang of the 
 day (rendered classic by Mr Harrison Ainsworth and the 
 Newgate - Calendar school of novelists) a "hempen widow." 
 Her husband had been " unfortunate." It is curious to watch 
 the changes of language. A word which then meant that a 
 scoundrel had been hanged, now only implies that he has 
 obtained a second - class certificate from a commissioner of 
 bankruptcy. Both were convicted. On the last day of the ses- 
 sion they were called up for sentence. Squires then said that 
 she was at Greville's house at Coombe on New-Year's Day, on 
 the next day at Stopage, on the Thursday in New- Year's week 
 at Basingstoke, on Friday at Bagshot, on Saturday at Old 
 Brentford, where she remained on Sunday and INEouday ; and 
 that she came to Enfield on the Tuesday following. This 
 account, being inconsistent with that given by Gibbons, who 
 had sworn that from the 1st to the 9th of January she was at 
 his house at Abbotsbury, was considered to be conclusive of the 
 falsehood of her defence. It seems to liave been overlooked 
 that the gypsy reckoned by the old style, which reconciles the 
 two statements within two days — no very serious discrepancy 
 when made by an ignorant and illiterate woman. Squires 
 was sentenced to death ; Wells was condenmcd to be branded 
 on the hand, and imprisoned for six months. The first part 
 of this sentence was immediately executed ; and as the poor 
 wretch's hand hissed under the glowing iron, and she writhed 
 and screamed in agony, a yell of delight burst from the brutal 
 mob who crowded the session-house. 
 
 There was, however, happily one man present, of sense and 
 humanity. Sir Cris[)e Gascoyne, who presided over the court
 
 3o0 JUDICIAL rrzzLKs. 
 
 Ly virtuo of his oflicc as Lord Mayor, doubted tlic correctness 
 of the venlict. lie instituted a close and careful inquiiy. He 
 found the evidence of the Abbotsbury men confirmed by tlieir 
 neighbours. Virtue Hall retracted her evidence.^ These facts 
 lie laid before the Crown on making his report of the convicts. 
 They were referred to the law-ofTicers. Squires was respited. 
 The Attorney and Solicitor General reported that the weight 
 of tlie evidence was in the convict's favour, and upon this she 
 received a free pardon. 
 
 A war of pamphlets now commenced ; as many as thirty- 
 six were published. Fielding on the one side, and Kamsay 
 the painter on the other, became respectively the champions of 
 Canning and the gypsy. The newspapers were filled with the 
 controversy. Portraits of Canning and of the gypsy (the latter 
 of which fully bear out the report of her ugliness) were dis- 
 played in the shop-windows, together with plans and views of 
 AVells's house, and terrific representations of the principal 
 incidents of the story. Grub Street thrived. To its hungiy 
 inhabitants 
 
 " Betty Canning was at least, 
 "With Gascoyne's help, a six months' ft-ast.''^ 
 
 The town was divided into Egyptians and Canningites. 
 Families were split up into factions. Old friends who took 
 different sides quarrelled. Mobs paraded the streets, blockaded 
 the entrances to the courts, and attacked Sir Crispe Gascoyne 
 in his coach. Never, probably, has a case which involved no 
 public question created so much interest and excitement. 
 
 This state of things continued for fourteen months. At 
 length, on the 29th of April 1754, Canning was placed at the 
 same bar at which Squires had formerly stood, to take her trial 
 for wilful and corrupt perjury. Her trial lasted several days. 
 The attention of the prosecution was directed principally to 
 two points : first, to prove the alibi of the gypsy ; and, se- 
 condly, to contradict Canning's story by the evidence of persons 
 who had been in the room during the time she professed to 
 have been confined there. 
 
 > Keport, State Trials, xix. 275. = Churchill Ghost, 1S2.
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 331 
 
 111 support of the first of these issues they called as many as 
 thirty-six witnesses; and certainly, if numbers, positiveness, 
 and particularity could prove an issue, this was proved. But 
 when the evidence conies to be examined, much of it is open 
 to grave suspicion. George Squires, the gypsy's son, gave the 
 most minute account of where he and his mother and sister 
 were, and what they did during the month of January. He 
 traced their course day by day, and from place to place. But 
 when he was asked with regard to the rest of his journey, 
 which he stated began about jNIichaelmas, he was totally un- 
 able to answer. His sister, wlio was in court the whole time, 
 and who had accompanied George and his mother in their 
 travels, was never examined at all, nor was the gypsy herself 
 placed in the witness-box. It was obvious that the counsel for 
 the prosecution feared that they would give inconsistent or 
 contradictory accounts. 
 
 Upon the second issue, the principal witnesses were Fortune 
 Natus and his wife, who swore that they slept in the loft every 
 night during the month of January. If this was true, of course 
 there is an end of the question. But it must be remembered 
 that, long before they were examined, Virtue Hall had sworn 
 that the hay in which they had slept in the kitchen was re- 
 moved into the loft, and that they slept there after Canning's 
 escape, on purpose to give colour to this very story. It may 
 also be asked, why was not this tale told on the trial of 
 Squires ? If true, the very first thing that would have been 
 said, when Canning stated that she had been confined in that 
 room, would have been, " That cannot be, for Natus and his 
 wife slept there the whole of the time." Yet Natus and liis 
 wife were present when Canning was first brought down to 
 Enfield ; they were taken before Justice Teshmaker ; they 
 were present during tlie trial of Squires, when they were not 
 examined, and this fact, conclusive, if true, is never heard of 
 until fourteen montlis afterwards ! Is it possible to place any 
 reliance upon evidence given under such circumstances ? 
 
 The argument most strongly relied upon as invalidating 
 Canning's story, arises from tlie absence of motive on the part 
 of any one to carry her off and shut her up as she described.
 
 :5;;2 judicial tuzzlks. 
 
 Canniiijf swore that she understood tlic f^ypsy's question, 
 wlicthcr she " wouhl f,'o tlieir way ?" to imply that she sliouM 
 lead a life of prostitution. This was tlie interpretation popu- 
 larly adopted; and much of the sympathy which Canning ob- 
 tained was given on the supposition that she was a girl whose 
 virtue had been proof against Loth temptation and terror. But 
 this hypothesis will not hear a moment's investigation. There 
 is not one particle of evidence that she was exposed to any 
 solicitations wliatever of this kind. Nor, though it was the 
 resort of tramps, gypsies, and other disreputable characters, 
 does it appear that ^Mother Wells's was what is commonly 
 understood by a house of ill-fame. But, does the absence of 
 assignable motive justify us in rejecting the stoiy as untrue? 
 Those who are familiar with criminal courts know well how 
 slight and insignificant are the motives which often impel men 
 to the most tenible crimes. Gleeson Wilson entered the house 
 of Mrs Heurickson, at Liverpool, apparently with no other in- 
 tention but that of pilfering such small articles as he might 
 have an opportunity of purloining as a lodger ; but before he 
 left it the next morning, he had committed four of the most 
 atrocious murders on record. It is not more than three or four 
 years since two boys returning home from their work, in broad 
 daylight, in the middle of London, were met by an apparently 
 respectable man driving a Whitechapel cart, who inquired his 
 way to some place in the neighbourhood. One of the boys 
 began to give him directions, when he asked the little fellow 
 to get into the cart, and show him the road. Eejoicing in the 
 certainty of a ride, and the hope of a sixpence, the poor boy 
 got into the cart, and his companion went home to tea. He 
 was never again seen alive. About six weeks afterwards, his 
 body, naked, in a state of the most extreme emaciation, was 
 found in a ditch near Acton. There was no external violence. 
 He had hcen starved to death. The police exhausted every 
 means that ingenuity could suggest, but in vain. Xo traces 
 have ever been discovered how, why, or by whom this appal- 
 ling crime was committed ; nor has any motive for its com- 
 mission been, so far as we are aware, even suggested. Had 
 Elizabeth Canning died in the house of Mother Wells, and her
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 333 
 
 body been thrown into a ditch in Enfield marsh, an equally 
 impenetrable mystery would probably have shrouded her fate. 
 
 Highly improbable every one must admit Canning's story 
 to be, and we must therefore look with the most critical cau- 
 tion upon the confirmatory evidence, before we permit our- 
 selves to admit its truth. That confirmatory evidence divides 
 itself into two classes. The first we may call the circumstan- 
 tial confirmation, derived from its coincidence with existing 
 facts. Such is the coincidence between her description of the 
 room and its contents given on the 29th of January, with the 
 condition of the room actually found on the 1st of February. 
 Such, too, is the coincidence of the description previously 
 given by Canning of the appearance of the woman who cut 
 off her stays with the gypsy. This confirmation is of course 
 weaker or stronger in proportion as it is tainted by or free 
 from previous suggestions from other persons. Thus her de- 
 scription of the room, which was independent of, and her de- 
 scription of the gypsy, which was contradictory to, Scarratt's 
 suggestions, are worthy of much consideration ; whilst her de- 
 scription of the fields through which she passed, of the tan- 
 yard and the bridge, given in reply to his suggestive questions, 
 is of little or no value. This we have already considered. 
 The second class is the extrinsic confirmation derived from 
 tlie testimony of witnesses, and this is again divided into that 
 which supports Canning's story, and that which contradicts 
 the alibi set up by Squires. 
 
 As to the first of these subdivisions, the evidence is scanty, 
 but valuable as far as it goes. The keeper of the turnpike 
 gate on Stamford Hill, about three miles from Moorfields, do- 
 posed that, one evening early in January, between ten and 
 eleven o'clock, he heard " something of a sobbing crying 
 voice," coming towards the gate from the direction of London. 
 The night was still and dark, but as the noise approached, he 
 saw two men dragging a young woman along. They lifted lier 
 over the stile by the gate, and one of the men laughed and 
 said with an oath, " How drunk she is ! " Supposing this to 
 be the case, and that the woman was the wife or sister of one 
 of the men, liesides considering that he was single-handed, he
 
 334 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 (lid 111)1 interforc, and thoy passed on in tlm diioction of En- 
 field. III! (lid not profess to identify Canning, nor to fix the 
 time with any greater certainty than that it was the beginning 
 ol" Jannary. 
 
 It will be remembered that, on her arrival at home, Canning 
 said, that soon after escaping from Mother Willis's, she asked 
 her road to London. Thomas Bennett deponed, that on the 
 afternoon of the 29th of January he met a girl, in the mo.st 
 wretched and pitiable condition, and whose description exactly 
 answered to Canning, about a quarter of a mile on the London 
 side of Mother Wells's House ; that she asked him the way to 
 London, and he directed her. He fixed the date by other cir- 
 cumstances, and said that when, a day or two afterwards, he 
 heard of Canning's escape, he exclaimed, " I'll be hanged if I 
 did not meet the young woman near this place, and told her 
 the way to London." 
 
 Daniel Dyer and Mary Cobb gave similar evidence as to 
 having met a miserable-looking girl about the same time and 
 place, and the former spoke with some confidence to Canning 
 as being that girl. It will be observed that the other wit- 
 nesses merely speak to general similarity. But this, though at 
 first sight it appears to detract from the value of their testi- 
 mony, in fact adds to its weight. Had they not been giving 
 truthful evidence, they would have made little scruple in 
 swearing positively to Canning as being the person they saw. 
 
 Is it then likel}' that another girl, so closely answering the 
 description both as to person and circumstances (both being 
 so remarkable), should have been dragged by two men along 
 that road towards Enfield, at the same hour of the night, at 
 the beginning of January, and have returned on the afternoon 
 of the 29th ? Such a coincidence appears almost beyond the 
 bounds of possibility. 
 
 Here the evidence with regard to Canning ends. 
 
 To meet the alibi proved by the thirtj^-six xVbbotsbury wit- 
 nesses, twenty-six Enfield witnesses were called, who swore 
 that they had seen ^lary Squires at Enfield and in the neigh- 
 bourhood at various times during the latter end of December 
 and boixinniiig of Januarv. Thev swore to the identitv of
 
 ELIZABETH CANNING. 335 
 
 Squires, whom many of them had loug known, with the ut- 
 most certainty ; they gave their reasons, some good and some 
 bad, for remembering the time with the greatest accuracy. 
 Their testimony seems to be in all respects equal, and in some 
 superior, to that of the witnesses M'ho had proved the alibi. 
 
 Here, then, we find the extraordinary fact of thirty-six wit- 
 nesses positively swearing that a particular person, whom they 
 well knew, was in Dorsetshire at a certain time, and twenty- 
 six other witnesses swearing that the same person, whom they 
 knew equally well, was at tlie same time- a hundred and fifty 
 miles oflf, in Middlesex ! What are we to make of this ? AVe 
 have turned it over and over, looked at it this way and that 
 way, read it backwards and forwards and upside down, and 
 there it remains, puzzling us like a horrid incubus or incom- 
 prehensible nightmare. Is any faith to be placed in human 
 testimony ? Eead the evidence on one side, and it is impossi- 
 ble to refuse our assent to it. Eead that on the other, and it 
 is equally conclusive. The alibi and the ibi are each sup- 
 ported by a train of evidence which appears irresistible. 
 
 The Recorder told the jury that if they believed the Enfield 
 witnesses, the Abbotsbury witnesses must be wilfully per- 
 jured ; but he forgot to add, that if they believed the Abbots- 
 bury witnesses, an equally unpleasant consequence followed as 
 to the Enfield witnesses. 
 
 The verdict of the jury was of a piece with the rest of the 
 case. They found that Canning was " guilty of perjury, but 
 not vnlful and corrupt." 
 
 This verdict was of course an acquittal, but the Recorder re- 
 fused to receive it ; whereupon the jury " turned their backs 
 upon themselves," and having first declared on their oaths that 
 she was not guilty of wilful and corrupt perjury, declared on 
 the same oaths that she vms. And to complete the mass of 
 absurdity and contradiction, some of the jury afterwards made 
 an affidavit that they believed Canning's story in the main, 
 but found her guilty because they thought there was some 
 discrepancy as to the day on which she had exhausted Iier 
 pitcher of water. 
 
 Of the court, which, as llicn ronstilulod, consist ed of a mixed
 
 330 JUDICFAI. I'l ZZLES. 
 
 Ixxly of jud^'os and city magistrates, uiiio members were for 
 conduinniii^f the ])risoner to transportation for seven years, and 
 eight for inflicting only a sliort period of imprisonment, 
 so evenly were opinions divided. She was accordingly trans- 
 ported. The sym])athy and compassion which had been ex- 
 cited by her case did not cease. A considerable sum of money 
 was collected for her. After the termination of her sentence 
 she returned to England, and the last notice we find of her is 
 the following, which is contained in the 'Annual Register' for 
 1761, p. 179 : " Elizabeth Canning is arrived in England, and 
 received a legacy of £500, left her three years ago by an old 
 lady of Newington Green." Wells returned to Enfield, where 
 she died, as appears by the parish register, on tlie oth of Oc- 
 tober 1763. AVhat became of the gypsy we know not. Thus 
 ends the case of Elizabeth Canning — a case eminently fitted 
 to give occasion to the warmest, most eager, and most confi- 
 dent partisanship, inasmuch as it is almost impossible, after 
 the coolest and most deliberate examination, to say to which 
 side the balance of evidence inclines.
 
 837 
 
 II. 
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER.^ 
 
 The little market-town of Chipping-Campden lies on the verge 
 of the Cotswold Hills. It is a quaint old place, formed of one 
 straggling street of low-gabled houses, with an ancient market- 
 house in the middle. The ruins of Campden House, built in 
 the year 1612 by Sir Baptist Hickes (the princely merchanl 
 who erected Hickes's Hall, and gave it to the county of Mid- 
 dlesex), remain a monument of the loyalty of his grandson, 
 Baptist Lord Noel, who burnt his magnificent mansion to pre- 
 vent it from falling into the hands of the Parliament troops. 
 
 Eailroads have only lately traversed this out-of-the-way part 
 of England. It is not on the highroad to anywhere, and though 
 the country around possesses beauties peculiarly its own, it has 
 never been frequented by tourists. It is best known by the 
 love which Shakespeare evidently bore to it. There can be no 
 doubt that it was the haunt of his boyhood. When Slender 
 taunts Master Page by telling him that he hears his " fallow 
 greyhound was outrun on Cotswold," we may be sure that many 
 a course on those wide and then open downs must have risen 
 to Shakespeare's recollection. It is here, too, that he places 
 tliat pleasant arbour in Justice Shallow's orchard, where he ate 
 "a last year's pippen of his own grafhng with a dish of carra- 
 ways, and so forth," with Falstaff and his " cousin Silence." It 
 was " a goodly dwelling and a rich." Cousin Silence was, we 
 have no doubt, a Campden man, and trolled out his fragments 
 of carols at the little bowling-green there. Shakespeare tells 
 us that he was a townsman. " Is old Double of your town liv- 
 ing yet ?" Old Double, who is immortal because he died. " See, 
 
 ' Blackwood's jMagazine, Tiily ISGO.
 
 338 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 sec ! — he drew a good l)ow. And dead ! — he shot a fine shoot. 
 Jolin of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his 
 head. Dead ! How a score of good cwcs now? And is old 
 Double dead ?" 
 
 He probably acquired the skill as an archer, which endeared 
 him to "John of Gaunt," at those games on Dover's Hill, in the 
 immediate neighbourhood, which were celebrated by Ben Jon- 
 son, and which were held there annually until a few years ago. 
 " Will Squele," too, was a " Cotswold man." Shakespeare must 
 liave loved the place, or he never would have coined so endear- 
 ing a name. Who has not a kindly feeling towards Will Squele ? 
 The commentators have puzzled themselves greatly after their 
 usual fashion, and have devised ingenious and improbable rea- 
 sons why Falstaff's tailor should be one " Master Dombledon." 
 They have sought for abstruse meanings in the name, stupidly 
 fancying that it was originally w^ritten Doubledone, and implied 
 a double charge. It is simply the name of a hill a few miles 
 beyond Campden, and the use of it affords an additional proof 
 of Shakespeare's familiarity with the country. 
 
 This little town was, in the year 1660, the scene of a tragedy 
 so extraordinary that it is still remembered by the name of 
 " The Campden Wonder." 
 
 On the 16th of August in that year, an old man of the name 
 of William Harrison, who was steward to Lady Campden, and 
 resided in the part of Campden House which still remained 
 habitable, went on foot to Charringworth, a village about two 
 miles distant, to receive some rents. He did not return so soon 
 as was expected, and his wife, feeling some alarm at his ab- 
 sence, sent his servant, John Perry, to meet him about eight 
 or nine o'clock. Neither Peny nor his master returning that 
 night, the son of the latter set out early in the morning in 
 search of his father. On his way towards Charringworth he 
 met Perry, who told him that his father was not at that place, 
 and they went together in search of him to Ebriugton (a village 
 between Campden and Charringworth), where they were in- 
 formed that Harrison had called the evening before at the 
 house of a man of the name of Daniel, on his return from 
 Charringworth, but had almost immediately proceeded on his
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 339 
 
 way towards Campden. This was the last they could hear of 
 the old man. But in the mean time a hat and comb, much 
 hacked and cut, and a band stained M'itli blood, which was 
 recognised as having been worn by him on tliat night, were 
 found in a wild spot, near a large furze brake, between Ebring- 
 ton and Campden. The report immediately, and very natu- 
 rally, arose that Mr Harrison had been waylaid, robbed, and 
 murdered, and the whole population of the town turned out to 
 search for his body. Their search was in vain : no trace of it 
 could be discovered. Suspicion fell upon John Perry. The 
 spot where the hat was found was just where he would have 
 been likely to have met him on his return. He knew that he 
 was going to receive a considerable sum of money. His mas- 
 ter had left Ebrington safe. Perry's absence during the whole 
 of the night was suspicious. The natural thing would have 
 been, had he failed to meet his master, that he should have 
 returned at once to Campden. He was taken into custody, 
 and the next day was brought before a justice of peace. The 
 account he gave was, that he had started on his way towards 
 Charringworth, immediately upon receiving his mistress's or- 
 ders to do so : that after going a short distance, he met a man 
 of the name of Reed, and, feeling afraid to go on in the dark, 
 had returned with him to Campden : that he had started again 
 with one Pearce, and, after going a short distance, had again 
 returned. That he then went into the hen-roost, where he re- 
 mained till about twelve o'clock, when, the moon having risen, 
 he took courage and again set out ; but a mist rising, he lost 
 his way, and lay under a hedge till morning, when he went on 
 to Charringworth, and inquired for his master of one Edward 
 Plaisterer, who told him that he had paid him twenty-three 
 pounds the afternoon previous. That he made further inqui- 
 ries, but without success ; and on his return home about five 
 o'clock in the morning, met his master's son. This account, 
 which was confirmed by the three men he referred to, was not 
 considered satisfactory, and, after remaining in custody about 
 a week, Perry expressed a desire to be'taken before the justice, 
 to whom he said he would disclose what he would discover to 
 no one else.
 
 340 .IUDICIA[> PnzZF.ES. 
 
 lie tlica siiid that, ever since lie had Ijeen in lii.s master's 
 sciTicc, his mother and his brothel' had been urging him to 
 join them in robbing him. That their scheme was to waylay 
 him on his return from receiving the rents. That he had 
 accordingly informed his brother, on the morning of the day 
 when Mr Harrison went to Charringworth, of the errand upon 
 which he had gone. That on the same evening, immediately 
 after he had received his mistress's orders, he met his brother, 
 and they went together towards Charring^Avorth. That he 
 watched his master, on his return, go into a field called the 
 Conygree, through which a private path, which lie was in the 
 habit of using, led to his house. That he told his brother that 
 " if he followed him he might have his money, and he in the 
 mean time would walk a turn in the fields." That soon after- 
 wards following his brother, he found his master on the ground 
 in the middle of the • field, his brother upon him, and his 
 mother standing by. That his master was not then dead, for 
 he exclaimed, " Ah, rogues ! will you kill me ? " That he 
 begged his brother not to kill him ; but he replied, " Peace, 
 peace ! you are a fool," — and strangled him. That liis brother 
 took a bag of money out of his master's pocket, and threw it 
 into his mother's lap ; that they then carried the body into 
 the garden, intending to throw it into a large sink ; that he 
 left it in the garden and went to watch and listen, whilst, as 
 he believed, his mother and brother put the body into the 
 sink ; but whether they did so or not, he could not positively 
 say. That going back into the town he met Pearce, and went 
 with him towards Charringworth, as he had before stated. 
 That he then returned to the hen-roost, and taking his master's 
 hat, band, and comb, he cut them with his knife, and threw 
 them in the road where they were found. 
 
 Upon this, strict search was made for the body, not only 
 in the place which Perry had mentioned, but in all ponds 
 in the neighbourhood, and amongst the ruins of Campden 
 House, — but in vain. Joan and Eichard Perry, the mother and 
 brother of John, were taken into custody. They vehemently 
 protested their innocence, and upbraided John for his false- 
 hood. He still, however, stuck to his story, and retorted upon
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 341 
 
 them with bitter reproaches for having urged him to the com- 
 mission of so horrible a crime — affirming that he had spokeu 
 nothing but the truth, and declaring that he was ready to 
 justify it to his death. 
 
 Immediately after the examination of the prisoners before 
 the magistrate, a very remarkable circumstance occurred. 
 They were removed separately, and of course in custody, John 
 being some distance in advance of Eichard. The latter, " pull- 
 ing a clout out of his pocket, dropped a ball of inkle, which 
 one of his guard taking up, he desired him to restore, saying 
 it was only his wife's hair-lace." The constable finding a 
 noose at the end of it, and feeling some suspicion, took it to 
 John and asked him if he knew anything of it, on which John 
 shook his head and said, " Yea, to his sorrow ; for that was the 
 string his brother strangled his master with." 
 
 Unfortunately, the only narrative which exists of this singu- 
 lar case diverges at this point into matters irrelevant to the 
 main issue ; but at the spring assizes following, after an inter- 
 val of something more than six months, the three Perrys were 
 tried for the murder. Up to this time John Terry had per- 
 sisted in his story. On the trial, however, he, like his mother 
 and brother, pleaded not guilty, and when his confession was 
 proved, alleged that he was " then mad, and knew nut what he 
 said." 
 
 We are left in ignorance what evidence, beyond the confes- 
 sion of John, was produced at the trial. That there must have 
 been some is clear, as that confession, though evidence against 
 John, was none against his mother or Eicliard. All three 
 were convicted, and a few days afterwards hanged, on Broad- 
 way Hill, within sight of the town of Campden. 
 
 As Joan Perry was suspected to be a witch, and was sup- 
 posed to have bewitched her sons so as to prevent them from 
 confessing, she was hanged first. " After which Pilchard, being 
 upon the ladder, professed, as he had done all along, that he 
 was wholly innocent of the fact for which lie was then to die ; 
 and that he knew nothing of Mr Harrison's death, nor what 
 was become of him ; and did with great earnestness beg and 
 beseech his brother (for the satisfaction uf the whole world
 
 342 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 and liis own conscience) to declare what lie knew concerning 
 him ; but he, with a dogged and surly carriage, told the i)eople 
 ho was not obliged to confess to them ; yet immediately before 
 his death he said, he knew notliing of his master's death, nor 
 what was become of him, but they might hereafter possibly 
 hear." 
 
 John Perry was hanged in chains upon a gibbet jjaced on 
 the Broadway Hill. 
 
 Some years afterwards Mr Harrison returned to Campden. 
 The account he gave of the cause of his disappearance, and of 
 his adventures during the period of his absence, in a letter to 
 Sir Thomas Overbury of Bourton (the nephew and heir of 
 the unhappy victim of the infamous Countess of Somerset), is 
 so curious that we give it entire.^ 
 
 " Honoured Sik, — In obedience to your commands, I give 
 you this true account of my being carried away beyond the 
 seas, my coutinuance there, and return home. Ou a Tlmrsday, 
 in the afternoon, in the time of harvest, I went to Charring- 
 worth to demand rents, due to my Lady Campden ; at which 
 time the tenants were busy in the fields, and late ere they 
 came home, which occasioned my stay there till the close of 
 the evening. I expected a considerable sum, but received 
 only three-and-twenty pounds, and no more. In my return 
 home (in the narrow passage, amongst Ebrington fui'zes), there 
 met me one horseman, and said, ' Art thou there ? ' and I, fear- 
 ing that he would have rid over me, struck his horse over the 
 nose ; whereupon he struck at me with his sword several 
 blows, and ran it into my side, while I (with my little cane) 
 made my defence as well as I could. At last another came 
 behind me, nm me into the thigh, laid hold on the collar of 
 my doublet, and drew me to a hedge near to the place ; then 
 came in another. They did not take my money, but mounted 
 me beliind one of them, drew my arms about his middle, and 
 fastened my wrists together with something that had a spring- 
 lock to it, as I conceived, by hearing it give a snap as they 
 put it on ; then they threw a great cloak over me, and con- 
 
 ' 14 State Trials, 1313^uote to the case of Captain Green.
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 343 
 
 veyed me away. In the night they alighted at a hay-rick 
 which stood near unto a stone pit by a wall-side, where they 
 took away my money. About two hours before day (as I 
 heard one of them tell the other he thought it to be then), 
 they tumbled me into the stone pit. They stayed (as I thought) 
 about an hour at the hay-rick, when they took horse a^ain. 
 One of them bade me come out of the pit ; I answered they 
 had my money already, and asked what they would do with 
 me ; whereupon he struck me again, drew me out, and jjut a 
 great quantity of money into my pockets, and mounted me 
 again after the same manner ; and on the Friday, about sun- 
 setting, they brought me to a lone house upon a heath (by a 
 thicket of bushes), where they took me down almost dead, 
 being sorely bruised with the carriage of the money. When 
 the woman of the house saw that I could neither stand nor 
 speak, she asked them whether or no they had brought a dead 
 man ? They answered No, but a friend that was hurt, and 
 they were carrying him to a chirurgeon. She answered if they 
 did not make haste, their friend would be dead before they 
 could bring him to one. Then they laid me on cushions, and 
 suffered none to come into the room but a little girl. There 
 we stayed all night, they giving me some broth and strong 
 waters ; and in the morning, very early, they mounted me 
 as before, and on Saturday night they brought me to a place 
 where were two or three houses, in one of which I lay all night 
 on cushions by their bedside. On Sunday morning they carried 
 me from thence, and about three or four o'clock they brought 
 me to a place by the sea-side, called Deal, where they laid me 
 down on the ground ; and one of them staying by me, the 
 other two walked a little off to meet a man, with wliom they 
 talked, and in their discourse I heard them mention seven 
 pounds ; after which they went away togetlier, and about half 
 an hour after returned. The man (whose name, as I after 
 heard, was Wrenshaw) said he feared I would die before he 
 could get me on board. Then presently they put me into a 
 boat, and carried me on shipboard, where my wounds were 
 dressed. I remained in the ship (as near as I could reckon) 
 about six weeks, in which time I was indiirercntly recovered
 
 344 JUDICIAL ruzzLKs. 
 
 of my wimnds and weakness. Then llie master of llie ship 
 eanu! iuul tohl nic (and the rest wlio were in tlie same condi- 
 tion) that he discovered three Turkish ships. We all oflercd 
 to fight in the defence of the ship and ourselves, but he com- 
 manded us to keep close, and said he would deal with them 
 well enough. A little while after he called us up, and when 
 we came on the deck we saw two Turkish ships close by us ; 
 into one of them we were put, and placed in a dark hole, 
 wliere, how long we continued before we landed, I know not. 
 Wlicn we were landed they led us two days' journey, and put 
 us into a great house or prison, where we remained four days 
 and a half ; and then came to us eight men to view us, who 
 seemed to be officers ; they called us, and examined us of our 
 trades and callings, which every one answered. One said he 
 was a chirurgeon, another that he was a broadcloth weaver, 
 and I (after two or three demands) said I had some skill in 
 physic. We three were sot by, and taken by three of those 
 eight men that came to view us. It was my chance to be 
 chosen by a grave physician of eighty-seven years of age, who 
 lived near Smirna, who had formerly been in England, and 
 knew Crowland in Lincolnshire, which he preferred before all 
 other places in England. He employed me to keep his still- 
 house, and gave me a silver bowl, double gilt, to drink in. My 
 business was most in that place ; but once he set me to gather 
 cotton wool, which I not doing to his mind, he struck me 
 down to the ground, and after drew his stiletto to stab me ; 
 but I, holding up my hands to him, he gave a stamp, and 
 turned from me, for which I render thanks to my Lord and 
 Saviour Jesus Christ, who stayed his hand and presen'ed me. 
 I was there about a year and three-quarters, and then my 
 master fell sick on a Thursday, and sent for me, and calling 
 me, as he used, by the name of Boll, told me he should die, 
 and bade me shift for myself. He died on Saturday follow- 
 ing, and I presently hastened with my bowl to a port almost a 
 day's journey distant, the way to which place I knew, having 
 been twice there, employed by my master about the carriage 
 of his cotton wool. When I came thither, I addressed myself 
 to two men who came out of a ship of Hamborough, which (as
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDEK. 345 
 
 they said) was bound for Portugal within three or four days. 
 I inquired of them for an English ship ; they answered there 
 was none. I intreated them to take me into their ship ; they 
 answered, they durst not, for fear of Leing discovered by the 
 searchers, which might occasion the forfeiture, not only of 
 their goods, but also of their lives. I was very importunate 
 with them, but could not prevail ; they left me to wait on 
 Providence, which at length brought another out of the same 
 ship, to whom I made known my condition, craving his assist- 
 ance for my transportation : he made me the like answer as 
 the former, and was as stiff in his denial, till the sight of my 
 bowl put him to a pause. He returned to the ship, and after 
 half an hour's space he came back again, accompanied with 
 another seaman, and for my bowl undertook to transport me ; 
 but told me I must be contented to lie down in the keel, and 
 endure much hardship, which I was content to do, to gain my 
 liberty. So they took me aboard, and placed me below in the 
 vessel, in a very uneasy place, and obscured me with boards 
 and other things, where I lay undiscovered, notwithstanding 
 the strict searcli that was made in the vessel. ^ly two chap- 
 men, who had my bowl, honestly furnished me with victuals 
 daily until we arrived at Lisbon, in Portugal, where (as soon 
 as the master liad left the ship, and was gone into the city) 
 they set me on shore, moneyless, to shift for myself I knew 
 not what course to take, but, as Providence led me, I went up 
 into the city, and came into a fair street ; and being weary, I 
 turned my back to a wall, and leaned upon my staff. Over 
 against me were four gentlemen discoursing together : after a 
 while, one of them came to me, and sjmke to me in a language 
 that I understood not. I told him I was an Englishman, and 
 understood not what he spake. He answered me in plain 
 English, that he understood me, and was himself born near 
 Wisbech, in Lincolnshire : then I related to him my sad con- 
 dition ; and he, taking compassion on me, took me with him, 
 provided for me lodging and diet, and by his interest with a 
 master of a ship bound for England, procured my passage ; and 
 bringing me on shipboard, he bestowed wine and strong waters 
 on nio, and, at his return, gave me eight stivers, and com-
 
 34G JUDIC'IAI. IM'ZZLES. 
 
 mended mc to the care of tlu; master of the ship, who landed 
 me safe at Dover, from whence 1 made sliift to get to I^jiidon, 
 where, being furnislied with necessaries, I came into the 
 country. 
 
 " Thus, lionoured sir, I have given you a true account of my 
 sufferings, and happy deliverance by the mercy and goodness 
 of God, my most gracious Father in Jesus Christ, my Saviour 
 and lledeemer, to whose name be ascribed all honour, praise, 
 and glory. I conclude, and rest, your worships, in all dutiful 
 respect, William Harrison." 
 
 It is dillicult to say what amount of credence should be given 
 to this extraordinary narrative. On the one hand it appears 
 impossible to assign a sufficient motive for kidnapping the 
 old man. The persons who attacked him would have been 
 exposed to far less danger of detection had they either mur- 
 dered him at once, or left him to take his chance of life in the 
 stone pit after the robbery ; and much profit was not likely to 
 accrue from the sale of the old man as a slave. On the other 
 hand, it must be remembered that the country \vas at that 
 time in a disturbed staie, and that the risk of detection must 
 not be estimated by what it would be at the present day ; that 
 kidnapping was not an uncommon crime ; and that no other 
 mode of accounting for Harrison's disappearance has ever been 
 suggested. But be this story true or not, the fact that he had 
 not been murdered is unquestionable. The innocence of the 
 Perrys of the crime for w'hich they had suflered death was 
 established beyond the possibility of doubt ; and we have to 
 deal wdth the fact, a startling one certainly, that John Perry 
 not only sacrificed the lives of two persons with whom he was 
 closely connected, but his own also, to a falsehood which he 
 had no motive whatever for committing. 
 
 This opens one of the darkest and strangest pages in the liis- 
 tory of human nature. There can be no doubt that he was a 
 victim of that remarkable form of mental disease which in- 
 duces the sufferer to charge himself and others with imaginaiy 
 crimes — a malady far more common than ordinary observers 
 suppose. From the earliest periods as to which we have any
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDEK. 347 
 
 records down to the present day, this terrible disease has from 
 time to time presented itself under various forms. The purest 
 minds and the highest intellects have suffered from it no less 
 than the ignorant and the degraded. Indeed, it would seem 
 as if those minds which are most delicately strung, and tuned 
 to the most refined sensibility, are peculiarly liable to its attack. 
 Few men probably have led so pure and innocent a life, or one 
 which afforded so little ground for self-reproval, as the poet 
 Cowper ; yet he has told us that " the sense of sin and the ex- 
 pectation of punishment," the " feeling that he had committed 
 a crime " — he knew not what — was ever present to his mind. 
 
 There is one incident of this disease, with regard to wdiich 
 those who (as has been the case with ourselves in more in- 
 stances than one) are brought into contact with the sufferer 
 should be especially upon their guard. So thoroughly is he 
 convinced of the trutli of his story, he narrates it with such 
 earnestness and simplicity, that unless some circumstance has 
 occurred to put the listener upon liis guard, it is next to im- 
 possible for him to refuse his assent to its truth. As one, who 
 has left a record of the impressions produced on his own mind 
 during the prevalence of delusion, has told us, " of the two, 
 the apj)earance of the bed, w^alls, and furniture of his room was 
 false, 710 1 his preternatural impressions," ^ it follows, from this 
 strong internal conviction, that nothing surprises or startles 
 the sufferers. When John Perry was shown the cord which 
 fell from his brother's pocket, had he been fabricating a story 
 he would have paused to consider what he should say, and 
 would very probably have been betrayed into a contradiction 
 or an inconsistency. But his diseased imagination at once 
 seized upon the circumstance as food for the delusion willi 
 which his mind was impressed, and wove it into the narrative 
 in a manner which bore the closest possible resemblance to 
 actual truth, because to his mind it was truth. 
 
 A case which, in some of its features, bore a striking resem- 
 blance to that of the Perrys, is recorded as having happened 
 in the neighbourhood of Calais, nearly a century earlier. 
 
 A woman disappeared, and suspicion arose that she had 
 
 ^ Narrative of the Treatment of a Gentleman tlurin<' Deraii'rement, 03. 1838.
 
 348 JUDK lAI. I'UZZLES. 
 
 IxHMi iiuulc iiway willi. A man was found liiikiii^' in a wood 
 in the neighbourhood, and, betraying symptoms of fear and 
 apprehension, lie was arrested on suspicion of having mur- 
 dered lier, confessed tlie crime, and was executed. In two 
 years the woman returned. The heir of the unhapjjy sufferer 
 sued the judge who had condemned him for damages. Tliey 
 ought not, it was argued, to have condemned any one for the 
 murder until the body had been found, or its absence satisfac- 
 torily accounted for ; in other words until the corpus delicti 
 had been proved^ — a principle well known to our law, and 
 acted upon, in the first instance, in the case of the Perrys, 
 whom Sir Christopher Turner refused to try at the assizes im- 
 mediately following their apprehension, on this very ground. 
 How the difficulty was got over afterwards does not appear. 
 
 It is like calling up spirits from the dead to open the stained 
 and faded pages of the old reporters of the proceedings in the 
 Parliament of Paris, or the equally interesting records of trials 
 in our own country, and to read the harangues of forgotten 
 advocates upon interests long gone by, passions long burnt 
 out, and superstitions which the world has outgrown. Nothing 
 is more curious and interesting than to note how, through each 
 change of circumstance and opinion, the human mind remains 
 the same, and to observe the mode in which its delusions shape 
 and accommodate themselves to the prevailing belief of the 
 day, or the particular circumstances by which the patient is 
 surrounded. 
 
 In tlie year 1662, the parish of Aulderne, about midway 
 between Cawdor and Forres (the scene of ]Macbeth's inter- 
 view with the witches), witnessed a very remarkable display 
 of the former kind. " Master Ilarie Forbes " the minister of 
 the parish, "William Dallas the Sheriff-Depute, and the other 
 magnates of the neigbourhood, assembled to receive the full 
 and voluntary confession of Isabell Gowdie. This confession 
 is perhaps the most curious document that is to be foimd 
 relating to the history of witchcraft. We certainly know of 
 none that is so comprehensive. It is a compendium of the 
 learning on that very curious subject, and it is especially valu- 
 
 ^ Auu£cus Roliertus, lib. 1, c. iv.
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 349 
 
 aLle for the internal evidence which it contains, tliat it was 
 vohmtaiy and sincere : so minute, particular, and earnest is it, 
 that even now it is difficult to keep in mind that it was merely 
 the creation of a diseased brain. 
 
 Isabell first met the devil accidentally between the farmlands 
 of Drumdewin and the sea-shore, but he prevailed upon her to 
 give him an assignation at night in the kirk of Alderne. There 
 they met, Isabell being accompanied by a confidant, one Mar- 
 garet Brodie. The devil mounted the reader's desk with a 
 black book in his hand. Isabell renounced her baptism, and 
 putting one hand on the top of her head, and the otlier on tlu^ 
 sole of her foot, made over all between them to the arch- 
 enemy, who thereupon baptised her afresh in his own name. 
 Nothing more occurred at this interview, but it was not long 
 before a second took place, the details of which we must pass 
 over. Isabell was now wholly given up to the devil, and slie 
 and her neighbours were employed by him in the commission of 
 crimes of different kinds, up to murder itself. She enumerates 
 those who constituted her company or "covin," to use the 
 technical name ; and, curiously enough, the truth of her con- 
 fessions is confirmed by one at least of her supposed accom- 
 plices. There is a wild and picturesque imagination about 
 Isabell Gowdie's confessions, which is not often found in such 
 details. When she describes the mode that was adopted to 
 take away the fruit of the land, she rivals the grotesque power 
 of Callot. 
 
 "Before Candlemas," she says, " we went by East Kinloss, 
 and then we yoked a plewghe of paddokis.^ The divill held 
 the plewghe, and John Younge in Mebestone, our officer, did 
 drywe the plewghe. Paddokis did draw the plewghe as oxen ; 
 quickens ^ were somes ; ^ a riglan's •* home was a cowter ; and 
 a piece of a riglan's horn was a sok. We went two several 
 times about ; and all we of the covin went still u]) and downe 
 with the plewghe praying to the divill for tlie fruit of tliat 
 land, and that thistles and briers might gi-ow tliere." 
 
 She visited Fairyland, like Thomas the Rhymer. The 
 Queen of Faerie was "brawli clothed in whyte linens," and the 
 
 ' Frogs. '^ Twitch, coudiginsH. ^ Tracts. < A ridgd ram.
 
 350 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 King of Faerie was a " Lraw man, weill-favoured and broad- 
 faced," l)ut she was " adVijrhted by the elf bulls, which went 
 up and downe thair rowtting and skoylling ;" and her infor- 
 mation as to that terra incognita is but scanty. 
 
 Isabcll's confession occupied four days : she gives at length 
 the uncouth rhymes by means of which tempests were raised, 
 which enabled her to lly through the air on storms, to change her 
 form for that of a bird, a cat, a hare, or any other animal at will. 
 Her amours with the devil she details with marvellous parti- 
 cularity, and recounts one by one the murders she had com- 
 mitted at his instigation, when she breaks out into this pas- 
 sionate exclamation : " Alace ! I deserve not to be sitting liier, 
 for I have done so manie evill deedis, especially killing of men, 
 I deserve to be rievin upon irin harrowes, and worse if it could 
 be devisit ! " To the horror of " Master Harie Forbes," he was 
 himself the subject of these terrible incantations. His life 
 was attempted several times. 
 
 " Margaret Brodie shot at INIr Harie Forbes at the standing- 
 stanes, bot she missed, and speirit ' if she should shoot again ? ' 
 And the devil said, * Not ! for we wold nocht get his lyfe at 
 that tyme.' We intentit several tymes for him quhan he was 
 seik. Bessie Hay, Jean Martin the maiden, Bessie Wilson, 
 Margaret Brodie, Elspeth Neshie, and I myself, met in Bessie 
 Wilsones hows, and maid an bag against him. The bag was 
 maid of the flesh, guttis, and gallis of toadis, the liewer of an 
 hear, pickles of corn, and pairingis of naillis of fingers and 
 toes. We steepit all night among water. The divill learned 
 us to saye the wordis following at the making of the bag : — 
 
 " * He is lying on his bedd, and he is seik and sair, 
 
 Let him ly iiitil that hcdd monethes two and dayes thric mair. 
 
 He sal ly intill his bedd, he sal be seik and sair, 
 
 He sal Ij* intill his bedd monethes two and days thrie niair. ' 
 
 And quhan we haid said thes wordis, we wer al on our kneyis, 
 our hair abowt our shoulderis and eyes, holding up our handis 
 to the divill that it might destroy the said Mr Harie. It was 
 intendit that we, coming into his chalmer in the night-tym, 
 sould swing it on him. And becaus we prevailed not at that 
 tym, Bessie Hay undertook and cam into his chalmer to wisit
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 351 
 
 him, being werie intimat with him, and she brouglit in of the 
 bag in her handis full of the oil thereof, to have swowng and 
 casten droppis of it on him ; bot there were some uther worthie 
 persons with him at the tym, by qiihich God prevented Bessie 
 Hay that she gat no harm don to him, bot swang a litl of it on 
 the bed quhair he lay." ^ 
 
 The confessions conclude with a minute account of making 
 the image of a child of clay : " It wanted no mark of the imag 
 of a bairn, eyes, nose, mouth, litle lippes, and the hands of it 
 folded down by its sydis." 
 
 Whilst the clay which formed the image was kneaded, the 
 devil sat on a black " kist," and IsabeU and her companions 
 chanted the following rhyme : — 
 
 " We put this water among this raeall, 
 For long dwyning and ill heall ; 
 We put it in intill the fyr, 
 To burn thern up both stik and stour, 
 That he burnt with our will, 
 As onie stikill on an kill." 
 
 This image represented the child of the Laird of Parkis, 
 " As it was rosted eche other day at the fyr, som tymes on 
 pairt of it, somtymes another, the bairn would be burnt and 
 rosten, even as it was." — " Each day we wold water it, and 
 then rost and bak it, and turn it at the fyr, each other day, 
 till that bairn died, and then lay it up, and steired it not un- 
 till the next bairn was borne ; and then within half an yeir 
 efter that bairne was borne, we would take it out of the cradle, 
 and bak it and rost it at the f}T, until that bairn died also.- 
 
 " All this and a great manie mor terrible thingis the said 
 witnesses and notar heard the said Isabell confes, and most 
 willingly and penitently speak furth of her own mouth." 
 
 The record is imperfect, but there seems no reason to doubt 
 that Isabell Gowdie and Janet Breadheid sufiered at tlie stake. 
 
 The conviction of guilt was impressed upon their minds as 
 vividly as it was upon that of John Perry, nor can we wonder 
 at the eagerness with which blaster Harie Forbes and his con- 
 
 ' Isabell Gowdie's fourth confession. 
 
 2 Confession of Janet Breadheid. — See Pitcairn's Criminal Tri.ils, iii. app.
 
 352 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 ftiderate.^ pursued those uuhaj)py women to tlie death. Sir 
 George Mackenzie observes, that in these cases " the accusers 
 arc masters or neighbours wlio had tlicir children (h;ad, and 
 are engaged by grief to suspect these i)oor creatures. I knew " 
 (lie says) " one burnt because a lady was jealous of her with 
 her husband ; and the crime is so odious that they are never 
 assisted or defended by their relations. The witnesses and 
 assizes are afraid that if they escape they will die for it, and 
 therefore they take an unwarrantable latitude. And I have 
 observed that scarce ever any who were accused before a coun- 
 try assize of neighbours did escape that trial." ^ 
 
 We are past the age for belief in witchcraft, but the diseased 
 imagination which formerly manifested itself in the wild de- 
 lusions of poor Isabell Gowdie, now forms for itself a creation 
 far more dangerous, because its phantoms are reconcilable with 
 the ordinary experience of the world. Within the last two 
 years the courts at Westminster were occupied for many days 
 in the investigation of a charge of a most serious nature, 
 brought against a physician by the husband of one of his 
 patients.^ The lady kept a journal, in which she noted down 
 with the utmost minuteness the rise, progress, and entire his- 
 tory of an overwhelming and passionate attachment between 
 herself and the doctor. This journal came to the husband's 
 hands. The explosion may be imagined. The husband verj- 
 naturally instituted proceedings for a divorce. When the trial 
 came on, the journal, consisting of three bulky volumes, and 
 extending over a period of five years, was produced. Nothing 
 could be clearer, more explicit, or more astounding, than the 
 disclosures it contained. But there was not a particle of con- 
 firmatory evidence to support any one of them ; and it was 
 established beyond a doubt that the lady, though apparently 
 conducting herself like other people, and giving no external 
 sign of disordered intellect, was upon this particular subject 
 altogether insane ; that the doctor was innocent throughout 
 the aftair, and wholly unconscious that he had for yeai'S been 
 
 * Mackenzie's Works, ii. 87. 
 
 - Robinson v. llobinson and Lane ; Divorce Court, Tune It, 1858, to March 
 2, 18r>9.— See Times, July 6, 185S.
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 353 
 
 made the hero of a romance rivalling the adventures of Faublas. 
 This disease sometimes assumes a form even more danf^crous 
 than that of self-accusation. A crime is committed, or sup- 
 posed to liave been committed. The details of an inquiry of 
 an exciting nature fill the columns of the press. Presently 
 the imagination fastens upon the circumstances as they are 
 gradually revealed, and the unfortunate patient fancies that he 
 has been a witness of the whole transaction, comes forward 
 believing that he is discharging an imperative duty, and with 
 all the clearness, coolness, and certainty which characterise 
 truth, dej)ones to the creation of his heated brain. A case of 
 this kind occurred at the winter assizes at Stafford, in the 
 year 1857. 
 
 The body of a girl named Elizabeth Hopley was found in 
 the canal at Bradley, early on the morning of the 30th of 
 April. There were no marks of violence. About ten o'clock 
 on the previous evening she liad left the house of her aunt for 
 the purpose of going to the place where a young man, to whom 
 she was engaged to be married, was in the habit of work- 
 ing. Her road led past the place where her body was found, 
 and it was supposed that, dazzled by the light of some coke- 
 fires, she liad missed her way, and fallen over the low wall by 
 which the canal was at that spot very insufficiently guarded. 
 About three weeks, however, after the girl's death, a neighbour 
 of the name of Samuel Wall declared that Elizabeth liopley 
 had been murdered, and that he had been present when tlie 
 crime was committed. A day or two afterwards he was sum- 
 moned before the magistrates, A\hen he told the following story. 
 He said that on tlie night of the 29th of April he was on duty 
 as a private watchman on some premises near a bridge which 
 crossed the railway ; that he saw two persons, a man and a 
 woman, on the bridge, and heard a woman's voice say, " I'hilip, 
 don't kill me ! You said you would kill me before ! " That 
 the man then raised his hand and struck the woman a violent 
 blow on the head, whicli knocked her down. Upon this he 
 went up, and instantly recognised the man as one Thilip Clare, 
 whom he well knew. He exclaimed, " riiilip, you'll have to 
 sudor fur this ! " Clare turned round and replied, " If you 
 
 Z
 
 354 .lUDICIAI. ITZZLES. 
 
 speak, I'll serve you the same ! " Clare then lifted the young 
 woman up from the ground, and, followed by Wall, carried her 
 over tlic railway bridge, and down a road past some cottages, 
 until ho came to the canal. Here he paused, and turning 
 round again upon Wall, said, " Now, if you speak or tell any 
 one, I will kill you. I will serve you the same way as I served 
 her, and set some one else to watch instead." He then, in 
 Wall's presence, plunged the woman, who still seemed help- 
 less and insensible, into the canal, close to the spot where, 
 the next morning, her body was discovered. 
 
 Wall fixed the time when this occurred as twenty minutes 
 after midnight ; and it must be remarked that he was employed 
 as a watchman, and was likely to be habitually observant of 
 time. 
 
 He said that he returned to his employer's premises, being 
 prevented by his fear of Clare from giving any alarm ; that 
 after about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, Clare came to 
 him and renewed his threats, when, terrified by the apprehen- 
 sion of immediate violence, he locked himself up in the engine- 
 house until daylight. 
 
 Upon this statement, Clare was taken into custody, and com- 
 mitted for trial. At his trial Wall repeated the storj' he had 
 told the magistrates. There was a total absence of confirmation. 
 It was met by proof that the body showed no sign of having re- 
 ceived any blow of the kind described by Wall ; that there had 
 been men at work pumping water during the whole night in the 
 immediate neighbourhood, who must, in all probability, have 
 heard something, had the affair taken place as Wall described. 
 It was shown, moreover, that from half-past six until about 
 eleven p.m., Clare had been in a public-house at Bilston, which 
 he left, in company with four other men, one of whom accom- 
 panied him till within half a mile of his own house. Another 
 witness, a neighbour, proved that about twelve o'clock he met 
 Clare, and entered into conversation with him near his own 
 door ; that they remained together until two o'clock the next 
 morning. There could not be the slightest doubt of Clare's inno- 
 cence, and the jury, of course, at once acquitted him. Nor could 
 there be any doubt that Wall believed the story he told. The
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 355 
 
 minuteness, the particularity, the graphic details, the conver- 
 sation, all bear the stamp of that subjective truth, which our 
 language has no word to distinguish from objective truth. It 
 is curious to observe in how many respects this case resem- 
 bles that of John Perry. In both there was a period of in- 
 cubation, during which the mind brooded in silence over its 
 creations ; in both the accuser professed to have been present, 
 and thus a participant, though in different degrees, in the 
 crime. In both the conversations with the supposed mur- 
 derer are minutely detailed ; in both the tale is solemnly re- 
 peated, consistently, and without variation, at considerable in- 
 tervals of time, and subject to the test of judicial examination. 
 
 A case even more remarkable occurred shortly before the 
 one we have just referred to. 
 
 A gentleman of high social position instituted proceedings 
 against liis wife with the view of obtaining a divorce. 
 
 The innocence of the lady was strongly asserted and firmly 
 believed. Counter-charges of conspiracy and perjury were 
 brought against the husband and his witnesses. The lady 
 herself was in a state of disordered intellect, produced, as was 
 asserted, by the conduct of the husband, which precluded her 
 from taking any part, or affording any assistance towards her 
 own defence, which, however, was vigorously maintained by 
 friends who were firmly convinced that she was wholly inno- 
 cent. The inquiry lasted for nearly four years, and at length 
 reached the House of Lords, where the case on behalf of the 
 husband had just terminated when Parliauient rose for the 
 Easter recess. 
 
 On the House reassembling, there appeared at the bar an 
 elderly and respectable-looking clergyman — who, to the sur- 
 prise of every one, deposed upon oath that six or seven years 
 before — namely, in the month of IMay or Juno, in the year 
 1849 or '50, he could not say which — he had been an actual 
 eyewitness of the guilt of the lady. He swore that he had never 
 mentioned the circumstance during the six or seven years that 
 had elapsed but to one person, and tluit person was dead. He 
 had permitted his daughters and liis sister to continue on 
 terms of intimacy with the lady whom he accused. He was
 
 350 JUDICIAF. PUZZLES. 
 
 unable to fix the time of the occurrence, even as to the year 
 ill which it took place, or to state who was the partner in her 
 guilt. Every avenue for contradiction was thus cut off, and 
 the story was left to stand or fall, according as the respectable 
 character and social position of the witness, and the apparent 
 conviction with which he told his story, or the improbable 
 nature of that story itself, coupled with the fact that during a 
 most searching investigation, carried on by adverse parties 
 with the utmost eagerness for a period of between four and 
 five years, no circumstance which in the slighest degree corro- 
 borated that story had ever come to light, might be considered 
 to be entitled to the greater weight. It was not long, how- 
 ever, before the diiliculty was solved. Within a few months, 
 the witness who had given this extraordinary history gave 
 himself up to justice, declaring with every expression of con- 
 trition that he had been guilty of forging certain bills of 
 exchange, that they had nearly reached maturity, that he had 
 no means of providing for them, that detection was inevitable, 
 and that he wished to anticipate the blow, and make such 
 reparation as was in his power by a full acknowledgment of 
 his guilt. Upon investigation, it turned out that there was 
 not the slightest foundation for this story ; no forgery had 
 been committed — no such bills of exchange had ever been in 
 existence. His delusion as to his own guilt was as complete 
 as his delusion as to that of the lady against whom he had 
 given evidence, over whose strange history he had no doubt 
 brooded for years, until the thick-coming fancies of his brain 
 assumed the form and appearance of substantive creations. 
 
 Doctor Southwood Smith, in his ' Lectures on Forensic Medi- 
 cine,' after observing how common false self-inculpative evi- 
 dence is, gives some remarkable instances in which it has 
 occurred. Of these the following is perhaps the most strik- 
 ing : " In the war of the French Pie volution the Hermione 
 frigate was commanded by Captain Pigot, a harsh man and a 
 severe commander. His crew mutinied, and earned the ship 
 into an enemy's port, having murdered the captain and many 
 of the officers under circumstances of extreme barbarity. One 
 midshipman escai)ed, by whom many of the criminals, who
 
 THE CAMPDEN WONDER. 357 
 
 were afterwards taken and delivered over to justice one by 
 one, were identified. Mr Finlaison, the Government actuary, 
 who at that time held an official situation at the Admiralty, 
 states : ' In my own experience I have known, on separate 
 occasions, more than six sailors who voluntarily confessed to 
 having struck the first blow at Captain Pigot. These men 
 detailed all the horrid circumstances of the mutiny w4tli ex- 
 treme minuteness and perfect accuracy ; nevertheless, not one 
 of them had ever been in the ship, nor had so much as seen 
 Captain Pigot in their lives. They had obtained, by tradition, 
 from their messmates, the particulars of the story. When long 
 on a foreign station, hungering and thirsting for home, their 
 minds became enfeebled ; at length they actually believed 
 themselves guilty of the crime over which they had so long 
 brooded, and submitted with a gloomy pleasure to being sent 
 to England in irons for judgment. At the Admiralty we were 
 always able to detect and establish their innocence in defiance 
 of their own solemn asseverations.' " ^ 
 
 We are exhausting our space, though not the number of 
 instances of a similar description which lie before us, and 
 must content ourselves with one more. 
 
 A magistrate of one of the northern counties of England, 
 well known for his active benevolence, during the discharge 
 of his duty as one of the visiting justices of the County 
 Lunatic Asylum, entered into conversation with one of the 
 patients, and was much struck with his rational demeanour 
 and sensible remarks. The man expressed himself grateful 
 for the kindness with which he was treated, and said that he 
 was well aware that it was necessary that he should be under 
 restraint ; that although he was perfectly well at that time, he 
 knew that he was at any moment liable to a return of the 
 insanity, during an attack of which he had some years before 
 murdered his wife ; and that it would be unsafe to permit him 
 to go at large. lie then expressed the deepest contrition for 
 his crime ; and after some further conversation the magistrate 
 left him, not doubting the truth uf his story. Peicrring to the 
 case in conversation with tlie master of the asylum, he ex- 
 
 * London Medical Gazette, Jan. 1838.
 
 358 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 pressed much interest, and referred to the patient as " that 
 iinliappy criminal lunatic who had murdered his wife ; " when, 
 to his astoiiisliment, ho was informed that the wife was alive 
 and well, and had been to visit her hushand only the day 
 before ! 
 
 AVe cannot conclude our observations on this interesting:,' 
 subject better than in the words of the old jurist Heinec- 
 cius : ^ " Confession is sometimes the voice of conscience. 
 Experience, however, teaches us that it is frequently far other- 
 wise. There sometimes lurks, under the shadow of an ap- 
 parent tranquillity, an insanity which impels men readily to 
 accuse themselves of all kinds of iniquity. Some, deluded by 
 their imaginations, suspect themselves of crimes which they 
 have never committed. A melancholy temperament, the 
 tcedium vitce, and an unaccountable propensity to their own 
 destruction, urges some to the most false confessions ; whilst 
 they were extracted from others by the dread of torture, or the 
 tedious misery of the dungeon. So far is it from being the 
 fact that all confessions are to be attributed to the stings of 
 conscience, that it has been well said by Calphurnius Flac- 
 cus, 'Even a voluntary confession is to be regarded with 
 suspicion;' and by Quintilian, 'a suspicion of insanity is 
 inherent in the nature of all confessions.' " 
 
 1 E.vei-. 18, § 6.
 
 359 
 
 III. 
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE.^ 
 
 When the Captain of the Great Britain ran that unfortunate 
 vessel on to the sands of Dundrum Bay, it was urged in his 
 excuse, that so many marvellous tales are told about Ireland, 
 that he was justified in concluding that no obstacle lay in his 
 road from the Isle of Man to New York ; that Dublin was as 
 fabulous as Blefuscu ; and that the INIourne mountains had no 
 more real existence than the loadstone hill which proved latal 
 to the ship of Sindbad. The story we are about to tell might 
 almost justify such incredulity ; yet it is only one of many 
 equally strange and equally well authenticated. 
 
 In the year 1706, Arthur Lord Altham, a needy and disso- 
 lute Irish peer, married IMary Sheffield, an illegitimate daugh- 
 ter of the Duke of Buckingham. They lived together for three 
 years; but in 1709 Lord Altham went to Ireland, leaving his 
 wife in England, where she remained until 1713, when she 
 joined her husband in Dublin. From that time until 1716, 
 they resided together, principally at Dunmaine, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Ross, in the county of Wexford. In 1716 they 
 separated, under circumstances which we shall presently have 
 occasion to notice more minutely, and never met again. In 
 1727 Lord Altham died, and was succeeded in liis title and 
 estates by his brother Kichard Annesley, who remained in un- 
 disturbed possession of both for a period of thirteen years. 
 Lady Altham survived her husband for about two years, which 
 were passed in sickness and poverty, but does not appear ever 
 to have taken any step to prevent IJichard Anncsloy's assump- 
 tion of the character of heir to hcv husband, to which, of 
 ' I'l;ickwood's Magazine, November 1S60.
 
 300 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 course, ho would liavu had iin title if she had a son living at 
 the time of Lord Althani's death. In the year 1739, however, 
 a young man of about four-and-twcnty years of age made his 
 appearance in the fleet which, under the command of Admiial 
 Vernon, was lying off Porto-liello. lie called himself James 
 Annesley, stated that he was the son of Lord Altham, that he 
 had been educated and acknowledged as such son until he was 
 nine or ten years of age ; that upon the death of his father he 
 had been kidnapped and sold for a slave in America ; that he 
 had passed tlurteen years in servitude, and at last (after a 
 series of romantic and not very credible adventures, which 
 have notliing to do with our present subject) had effected liis 
 escape. Admiral Vernon furnished liim with the means of 
 proceeding to England, where he arrived shortly afterwards. 
 
 On his arrival in England he went to lodge at Staines, in 
 the neighbourhood of Windsor, and here a circumstance 
 occurred which had no doubt a considerable effect on the sub- 
 sequent proceedings. One of his associates, a man of the name 
 of Redding, was gamekeeper to Sir John Dolbin, the lord of 
 the manor. One morning James Annesley was out with a gun 
 shootiiig small birds, when Eedding called him to assist in 
 capturing a net with which a man of the name of Egglestone 
 was fishing in the river ; Annesley's gun unfortunately went 
 off in the scuffle, and mortally wounded Egglestone. There 
 could be little doubt that the discharge of the gun was purely 
 accidental ; but Lord Anglesea (for Eichard, Lord Altham, had 
 in the mean time succeeded to that title also) seized the oppor- 
 tunity to destroy, as he tliought, the claimant of his title and 
 estates. He instituted a prosecution against James Annesley 
 for murder ; he was prodigal of money and promises amongst 
 the witnesses ; and he declared that he would willingly give 
 ten thousand pounds to get him hanged. The jury at the Old 
 Bailey acquitted Annesley, and Lord Anglesea's machinations 
 recoiled upon himself; for there can be no doubt that they 
 greatly influenced both the court and jury against him on the 
 subsequent trial. 
 
 On the nth of November 1743, the trial for the recovery of 
 the estates came on in the Court of Exchequer in Dublin. It
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 3C1 
 
 lasted fifteen days, and above ninety witnesses were examined. 
 The issue between the parties was of the simplest and boldest 
 character. On the one hand, it was asserted that, in the 
 spring of the year 1715, Lady Altham had been delivered at 
 Duumaine of a son and heir ; that all the customary solem- 
 nities and rejoicings had taken place ; that the child was uni- 
 formly acknowledged and treated both by Lord and Lady 
 Altham as their son ; that he was shown and spoken of as 
 such to visitors and friends ; that when the separation between 
 his parents took place, the mother passionately entreated that 
 she might be permitted to take the child with her, which tlie 
 father refused, keeping the boy and educating him as the heir 
 to his title and estates. On the other hand, it was denied that 
 Lady Altham ever had a child at all. It was asserted that 
 the very ground of the separation between herself and her 
 husband was the discomfort and disappointment occasioned by 
 her bearing no heir ; that it was known to every relation and 
 visitor, to every servant in the house, that Lady Altham never 
 had a child ; that the servant who had attended her from her 
 arrival in Dublin to the hour of her death, who had dressed 
 and undressed her every morning and evening, and had never 
 been absent for more than one single week during the whole of 
 that period, was living, and would prove, not only that no 
 child ever was born, but that there never was the slightest 
 chance or probability that Lady Altham w^ould have a child. 
 It is impossible to conceive a simpler issue, or one which 
 might be supposed to be easier for conclusive proof one way 
 or the other; yet two juries came to diametrically opposite 
 conclusions, and so positive is the testimony on each side, tliat 
 it seems even now, after carefully reading the contradictory 
 evidence which is preserved in upwards of five hundred 
 columns of the State Trials, to be imj^ssible to arrive at any 
 satisfactory result. 
 
 It is to be observed that the question raised by this issue was 
 not one of personation or disputed identity. If Lady Altliam 
 ever had a son, it was virtually admitted that James Annesley 
 was that son. Nor was the case one of concealed or doubtful 
 marriage, or obscure birth, such as luivo frequently occupied the
 
 3G2 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 courts. From the arrival of Lady Altliam in Ireland until her 
 
 .sei)aratiou from lier liusband, a period of about tlirce years, 
 they resided publicly together, kept a large establishment of 
 servants, and visited and associated with persons of the most 
 various rank and position in the neighbourhood. It seems in- 
 credible that any dispute sliould ever have arisen upon a point 
 so easy of proof as whether persons of their rank, and so circum- 
 stanced, had or had not a cliild ; and as we read the evidence 
 adduced, the testimony on the one side seems absolutely con- 
 clusive, until it is met by contradictory evidence, to all ap- 
 pearance equally conclusive, on the other. 
 
 The household at Dunmaine was large and disorderly, con- 
 sisting of sixteen or seventeen sen^ants, from the English 
 housekeeper, who was " sent over by my lady," and who re- 
 joiced in the appropriate name of " Mrs Settright," down to 
 " Smutty the dog-boy, who was very ugly." Poor Smutty ! 
 immortalised by his ugliness. He shows his ill-favoured 
 countenance for a moment, and disappears into utter obscurity. 
 Lord Altham had about him, also, a number of hangers-on 
 and humble companions; but, besides these, he associated 
 with gentlemen of his own rank and position ; and one of the 
 first witnesses called on behalf of the claimant was a IMajor 
 Eichard Fitzgerald. 
 
 Tlie Major deposed that in the 3'^ear 1715 he was in the town 
 of Ptoss, having had occasion to go there on account of some 
 business arising from the deatli of his uncle, a ^Mr Pigott, who 
 lived in the county of Wexford. In Boss he met Lord Altham, 
 who invited him to dinner. The j\Iajor excused himself, as he 
 was engaged to dine with some brother officers; "but Lord 
 Altham said deponent must dine with him, and come to 
 drink some groaning drink, for that his wife was in labour. 
 Deponent told him that was a reason he ought not to go ; but 
 Lord Altham would not take an excuse, and sent the deponent 
 word the next day to Poss, that his tuifc was hronght to bed of 
 a son ; and the deponent went to Dunmaine and dined there, 
 and had some discourse about the cliild, and Lord Altham 
 swore that the deponent should see his son, and accordingly 
 the nurse brought the child to deponent, and deponent kissed
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 3G3 
 
 the child, aud gave half-a-guinea to the nurse ; and some of 
 the company toasted the heir-apparent to Lord Anglesea at 
 dinner. That this was the day after the child was born : and 
 deponent says that he left the country the next day, and went 
 to the county of Waterford, to his own house at Prospect Hall. 
 Says deponent saw the Avonian to whom he gave tlie half- 
 guinea, tliis day of his examination ; that he remembers her 
 well, because he took notice of her when he gave her the half- 
 guinea, that she was very handsome ; that he did not stay at 
 Dunmaine that night, but came to Ross at nightfall, and was 
 attacked in the road by robbers ; that he crossed the ferry on 
 his return home ; remembers that Lord Altham was in high 
 spirits with the thoughts of having a son and heir." ^ 
 
 It seems impossible to add to the force of this testimony. 
 No attempt was made to impeach the character or credibility 
 of the witness. Everything concurred to fix the time and cir- 
 cumstances in his mind ; mistake appears impossible ; and no 
 motive is assignable for wilful falsehood. Nor is the evidence 
 given by the next witness less conclusive. John Turner was 
 seneschal to Lord Anglesea. He had lived at Dunmaine for 
 ten years ; he had visited Lord Altham ; and soon after his 
 own marriage, which took place in December 1714, he observed 
 appearance of pregnancy in Lady Altham. He says that the 
 next time he saw Lady Altham she told him she had a son ; 
 that he afterwards saw the boy, and had him in his arms at 
 Dunmaine when he was about a year and half old ; that Lady 
 Altham led the child across the parlour, and Lord Altham 
 kissed him and called him " Jemmy ; " that he saw the chihl 
 subsequently at Eoss, and afterwards at Kinnay and Carriclc- 
 duflF, after the separation between Lord and Lady Altham, when 
 he was treated by his father in all respects as his legitimate 
 son ; that in the year 1722, meeting Lord Altham at a tavern 
 in Dublin, the boy was sent for, and Lord Altham said to de- 
 ponent, "You were seneschal to Earl Arthur and Earl Jolin, 
 and you may be seneschal to the child." - 
 
 During the eight-and-twenty years that had elapsed between 
 the birth of the child in 1715 and the trial in 1743, it was to 
 
 > state Trials, xvii. 11.'53. = Ibid., xvii. ll.'vt.
 
 3G4 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 bo expected that many of tliosc whose evidence would have 
 Ix'cu most valuable sliould have died ; amongst them were 
 those who stood sponsors for the child at its baptism ; Mr 
 Colcloiigh, Mr Cliff, and Mrs Pigott, members of families still 
 holding higli positions in tlie county of Wexford ; ])ut the fact 
 of the christening, the rejoicings that took place, the bonfires 
 and festivities, were proved by servants who lived in the house 
 at the time, and proved repeatedly and consistently. 
 
 It is impossible within the narrow limits of an article to give 
 even an outline of the evidence of the fifty witnesses who were 
 called to substantiate the claimant's case. It would seem 
 almost needless to strengthen the evidence of Major Fitzgerald 
 and John Turner. Every conceivable confirmation, however, 
 was given. Friends of Lord Altham swore to conversations 
 with him, in which he had spoken in the most open manner of 
 his son, and of the disappointment of his brother's expecta- 
 tions of being his heir. "Witnesses were produced who had 
 lieen present and assisting at the birth of the child ; and it 
 is very remarkable tliat, although these witnesses were drawn 
 from every rank of life, no successful attempt was made to im- 
 peach the credibility of any of them, nor was any inconsistency 
 to be discovered in their testimony further than might be satis- 
 factorily accounted for by the long period that had elapsed 
 between the events to which they spoke and the time w^hen 
 they gave their evidence. We now come, however, to the most 
 remarkable conflict of testimony which occurs in the whole 
 case. A w^oman of the name of Joan Lafian was called. She 
 deposed that she entered Lord ^Vltham's service in 1715 ; that 
 she was employed as nursemaid to attend on the child as soon 
 as he came from the wet-nurse ; that he was at that time three 
 or four months old, and was in her charge for about a year and 
 a half; that he was treated in all respects as their child by 
 both Lord and Lady Altham, who showed great fondness for 
 him, and into whose bedroom she was in the habit of bringing 
 the child in the morning. 
 
 She then gave an account of the separation between Lord 
 and Lady Altham. " It was," she said, " on account of Tom 
 Palliser." " My lord had laid a plot against him, and on one
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 365 
 
 Sunday morning pretended to my lady that he was obliged to 
 go out to dinner. That ]\Ir Palliser breakfasted with my lord, 
 and they had a bottle of mulled wine for breakfast. As soon 
 as my lord was gone out, Mr Palliser went into my lady's 
 room, and, the plot having been laid before, a signal was made 
 that brought my lord back ; that my lord ran up with his 
 sword, and had him brought out of the room, and the groom 
 came to Palliser and said to him, * Is this the way you keep 
 my lady company ? ' and took out a case-knife in order to cut 
 liis nose, but he was ordered only to cut his ear. That depo- 
 nent ivas standing hy in the room, and she had the child in her 
 hand, and he showed her the blood out of Palliser' s car ; it was 
 the soft imrt of the car that was cut, and the child pointed at the 
 blood that came out of the ear." ^ The same witness deposed that 
 " she was present when my lord and lady parted ; that she saw 
 my lady at the door ivith the child in her arms; that my lord 
 came out of the house in a great rage, and asked where his 
 child was, and upon being told that he was with his mother, 
 he ran up to her and snatched the child out of her arms ; that 
 my lady begged very hard she might take the child along with 
 her, but my lord sioore he would not part with the child upon 
 any consideration ; that my lady, finding she could not prevail, 
 burst out a-crying, and begged she might at least give the child 
 one parting kiss ; that my lord, with some difficulty, consented, 
 and then my lady drove away to Iloss." ^ 
 
 Such is Joan Laffan's story, and we must keep in mind tliat 
 at a subsequent period it was confirmed by another witness ; ^ 
 but in the mean time, let us turn to Palliser's account of the 
 same transaction. 
 
 He stated that when he was very young he spent nnich of 
 his time at Dunmaine, which was within about three miles of 
 his father's residence, and used to ride Lord Altham's horses 
 hunting. That one day as they were returning home. Lord 
 Altham told liim that he was determined to part with his lady; 
 and upon deponent's asking liini his reasons, my lonl replied, 
 " I find Lord Anglesea will not be in friendship with me while 
 I live with this woman, and since I have no child by her I will 
 1 State Trials, xvii. 1280. Mbid., xvii. 11G8, 1170. 3 n^ij^ g^
 
 3CG JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 yart vH/h her." I'alliscr then gives an account, in all material 
 cirnunistanccs tlic same as Joan Laffan's, of his being entra]»])ed 
 by Lord Altham into his wife's room, and falsely accused oi 
 being there for an improper purpose ; he takes off his wig and 
 shows the jury where his ear was cut, solemnly asseverates the 
 innocence of Lady Altham, and declares not only that no child 
 was present upon that occasion, but that he " never saw a child 
 in the house." Upon this the Court, " apprehending that there 
 was some contradiction between the evidence of Palliser and 
 that of Joan Laffan," as indeed they well might, ordered Laf- 
 fan to be recalled, and tlie two witnesses to be confronted. 
 Each repeated the story, eacli was equally clear, distinct, and 
 positive. We have said that Joan Laffan's evidence was sub- 
 sequently confirmed by another witness, who deponed to hav- 
 ing been present at the parting of Lady Altham and her child. 
 The same is, however, the case with the testimony of Palliser, 
 which was confirmed by Mary Heath, Lady Altham's woman, 
 who went with her in the carriage to Koss, and who swore, 
 most positively, that no such child ever was in existence. It 
 is to be observed that Palliser and Laffan agree that the charge 
 against Lady Altham w^as false ; that Laffan attributes the plot 
 to the revenge of the servants, on account of some mischievous 
 boyish tricks which had been played upon them by Palliser ; 
 whilst Palliser himself attributes it to the deeper and more 
 probable motive of a determination on the part of Lord Al- 
 tham to get rid of a wife from whom he hoped for no heir — a 
 motive which we have seen give rise to some of the darkest 
 domestic tragedies that have disgraced humanity. The case, 
 however, is beset with difficulties on all sides ; for if we are to 
 accept the evidence of Palliser as true, the inevitable conse- 
 quence follows, that we must hold, not only Joan Laffan, but 
 Major Fitzgerald, Turner, and many, indeed most, of the fifty 
 witnesses called on behalf of the claimant, and who swore pos- 
 itively to the existence of the child, to have been deliberately 
 perjured. 
 
 After the separation Lady Altham went to reside at Eoss, 
 and subsequently removed to Dublin. Her circumstances 
 were extremely narrow, and her health bad, but she was faith-
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 3G7 
 
 fully attended until her death, which took place in October 
 1729, by Mary Heath. From her first arrival in Ireland, in 
 1713, a period of sixteen years, with the exception of a single 
 week this woman was never absent from her. "Whilst she 
 resided at Dunmaine, Heath dressed her every morning, and 
 undressed her every night ; and this witness swore in the 
 most distinct and positive manner that she never had a child. 
 It seems to be enough to shake one's confidence in all human 
 testimony to find evidence so clear, distinct, and unimpeach- 
 able, on each side ; to be compelled to admit that on one side or 
 the other there must be the most wilful and deliberate perjury, 
 and yet to feel it impossible to say on which side perjury exists. 
 
 Lord Altham removed, shortly after his separation from his 
 wife, to a place called Kinnay, in the county of Kildare, and 
 the issue now assumes a different aspect. It is admitted that 
 there was a child at Kinnay, that he was put to school by 
 Lord Altham and treated as part of his family ; but it is con- 
 tended that he was the illegitimate child of Lord Altham, by 
 a woman of the name of Joan Landy, who had been a servant 
 in the house at Dunmaine, and that he had been brought to 
 the house subsequently to Lady Altham's daparture. 
 
 In the earlier part of the case the claimant is met with the 
 general denial — Lady Altham never had a son. Prove that 
 she had, and we will admit you to be that son. In the latter 
 part, the defendant says in substance, I admit that, during 
 Lord Altham's residence at Kiumay, there was a boy who 
 passed as his son. I admit that you are that boy ; but you 
 are not the heir of Lord Altham, but his illegitimate son by 
 Joan Landy. 
 
 The whole of the evidence, therefore, changes its character : 
 when Mary Heath swears that her mistress never had a child, 
 whilst Eleanor Murphy swears that both she and Heath were 
 present at the birth, one or the other must be perjured. Lut 
 Lord Altham might use expressions as to "little Jemmy" 
 which one witness miglit understand as being a distinct 
 declaration of liis legitimacy, and anotlier might think only 
 conveyed the expression of liis alfcction for his natural cliikl. 
 
 During the first period the existence of the child is denied ;
 
 368 J I- DILI A L IM ZZIJOS. 
 
 (lurinj^ tlio second it is admitted ; and we shall now jtroce(,'d 
 to follow the fortunes of tlie boy, waiving for the present the 
 question of who was his mother. 
 
 Lord Altham, after his separation iVom his wife, formed a 
 connection with one Miss Gregory, who seems to have exer- 
 cised an unbounded influence over him. After a short time 
 poor " Jemmy " was turned out to wander in rags aljout the 
 streets of Dublin. Here, however, he met with friends : a 
 good-natured student in Trinity College, of the name of Bush, 
 clothed and fed him, and employed him to run of errands, 
 till his grandfather told him it was not fit he should have 
 a lord for his servant, when he was turned out upon the 
 world again. He was next taken charge of by an honest 
 butcher named Purcell, who took him home and brought 
 liim up with his own son. Purcell tells the Court that whilst 
 " the boy was in his house, a gentleman (who was then called 
 Eichard Annesley, and is the now defendant, the Earl of 
 Anglesea) came to deponent's house and asked if one Purcell 
 did not live there, and said he supposed they sold liquors ; 
 that the gentleman had a gun in his hand, and sat down, and 
 having called for a pot of beer, asked deponent if he had a boy 
 in his house called James Annesley ? To which deponent 
 answered that there was such a boy in the house, and called 
 his wife and told her that a gentleman wanted to see the boy ; 
 says that the child was sitting by the fireside, and immediately 
 saw Mv Pdchard Annesley, though he could not see the child 
 by reason of the situation where he sat ; says the child trem- 
 bled and cried, and was greatly affrighted, saying, ' That is my 
 uncle Dick ; ' says that when the child was shown to the 
 defendant, he said to Jemmy, ' How do you do ? ' That the 
 child made his bow, and replied, 'Thank God, very well,' 
 That the defendant then said, 'Don't you know me?' 'Yes,' 
 said the child, ' you are my uncle Annesley.' That thereupon 
 the defendant told the deponent that the child was the sou of 
 Lord Altham, who lived at Inchcore ; to which deponent re- 
 plied, ' I wish, sir, you would speak to his father to do some- 
 thing for him.' " ^ 
 
 ^ statu Trials, xvii, 1'201.
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 3G9 
 
 The child's fear of liis uncle was not without good cause. 
 About three weeks after Lord Altham's death, Richard Annes- 
 ley came a second time to seek for the child, and desired it 
 should be sent to one Jones's in the market. Purcell suspected 
 mischief. The honest butcher shall tell his story in his own 
 words : " Then deponent took a cudgel in one hand, and the 
 child in the other, and went to the said Jones's house, when 
 he saw the present Earl of Anglesea (who was then in mourn- 
 ing), with a constable and two or three other odd-looking fel- 
 lows attending about the door; that deponent took off his 
 hat, and saluted my lord, which he did not think proper to 
 return ; but as soon as he saw the child in the deponent's 
 hands, he called to a fellow that stood behind deponent's back, 
 and said to him, ' Take up that thieving son of a (mean- 
 ing the child), and carry him to the place I bid you,' After 
 some more language of the same kind from his lordship, the 
 deponent said, ' My lord, he is no thief ; you shall not take 
 him from me ; whoever ofiFers to take him from me I'll knock 
 his brains out ; ' then deponent took the child (who was trem- 
 bling with fear) and put him between his legs." ^ 
 
 Some high words passed, but the butcher was true to his 
 trust ; the lord and the constable sneaked off, and the child 
 was carried back in safety. He was not long so fortunate. 
 Tear of a repetition of the attempt to capture him induced 
 him, very foolishly, to leave his friend the butcher. He then 
 took refuge in the house of a Mr Tigh ; but it was not long 
 before the emissaries of his uncle discovered his retreat, forced 
 him into a boat, and on board a ship bound for Philadelphia, 
 which sailed on April 1728. His uncle himself placed him in 
 the ship, and returned to Dublin, thinking, no doubt, that he 
 had heard the last of him. All the details of this nefarious 
 transaction are given with the utmost minuteness, and with- 
 out shame or hesitation, by the very agents who were em- 
 ployed in it. The share which Lord Anglesea took in the 
 abduction of his brother's child is hardly disputed. The con- 
 tention is confined to the point that tlie child was illegitimate. 
 The villany of the act seems never to have struck any of the 
 
 ' state Trials, xvii. 1202. 
 2 A
 
 370 JUDICIAL VVZ7A.EH. 
 
 parties concerned. J5iit this act ai)pcars to us to turn tlie 
 wavering balance of evidence against Lord Anglesea. If tlii.s 
 boy were really the son of Joan Landy, it could not be dillicult 
 for Lord Anglesea to procure proof of that fact whilst tlie 
 events were so recent, whilst Lady Altham was still living, 
 and when he had himself, by common consent, been admitted 
 to the title and estates of his l)rother. If, on the other liand, 
 he knew that the boy was his brother's legitimat(i son, he 
 had the strongest interest to remove liim out of the way before 
 any inquiries could be made, and whilst he was in the ob- 
 scurity into which his father had permitted him to fall. 
 
 Yet a suspicion, almost equally strong, against the truth of 
 the claimant's case would seem to arise from the I'act, that 
 Joan Landy was living, and yet was never called. 
 
 The claimant's story was, that this woman was his nurse ; 
 that her own child, which was a few months older than him- 
 self, had died, when he was four or five years old, of small- 
 pox. Who could be so valuable a witness for the claimant 
 as this woman ? Yet she was never examined, nor ^vas her 
 absence ever satisfactorily accoimted for. If it is argued that 
 she might have been called by either side — that it was equally 
 open to the defendant to produce her to negative, as to the 
 claimant to produce her to support the story — it may be 
 answered, that she could hardly be expected to come forward 
 to denounce her own son as an impostor. The non-production 
 of a witness, who must have important evidence in her power, 
 who was naturally the witness of the claimant, and whose 
 absence is not satisfactorily accounted for, throws the gravest 
 suspicion upon his whole case. To what conclusion, then, can 
 we come? The jury, after a consultation of about two hours, 
 found for the claimant. They must therefore have considered 
 Heath, Palliser, Rolph, and the other witnesses who swore to 
 the non-existence of the child, to have perjured themselves. 
 The plaintiff appears to have been disposed to follow up his 
 victory, for an indictment for perjury was at once preferred 
 against Mary Heath. The same evidence was repeated ; Joan 
 Lafian was again examined. But the jury found her " Not 
 guilty." They must therefore have considered that Laffan,
 
 THE ANNESLEY CASE. 37l 
 
 and all those who swore to Lady Altliam having had a child, 
 had been guilty of the crime of which they acquitted Heath, 
 James Annesley does not appear to have taken any further 
 steps to obtain possession of the estates and honours to which 
 the decision of the jury had established his title. He died at 
 Blackheath on the 2d of January 17G0. His uncle Eicliard 
 Annesley, Lord Anglesea, closed liis career of profligacy and 
 cruelty twelve short months afterwards. James Annesley left 
 a son, who died an infant, and a daughter, who married, and 
 whose cliildren died young. Thus his line became extinct, 
 and his rights, whatever they were, reverted to his uncle. 
 Such was the termination of the " Annesley Case," memor- 
 able for the dark mystery in which it must for ever remain 
 shrouded, and for the curious picture which it affords of the 
 manners and habits of life that prevailed little more than a 
 hundred years before our own day.
 
 372 
 
 IV. 
 
 ELIZA FEXNINO.^ 
 
 Immediately adjoining to High Ilolborn, and parallel willi 
 the southern side of Red Lion Square, runs a long, narrow, 
 gloomy lane, called Eagle Street. Sickly children dabble in 
 the gutters, and gaze wistfully at the sugar-plums and hard- 
 bake, painfully suggestive of plaster-of- Paris and cobbler's 
 wax, wliich are displayed in the windows of the better class 
 of shops, in company with farthing prints of theatrical char- 
 acters, pegtops, battledores, and other objects of attraction to 
 the youth of London. Vendors of tripe and cats'-meat, rag and 
 bottle dealers, marine-store keepers ; merchants who hold out 
 temptations in prose and verse, adorned with apoplectic nu- 
 merals, to cooks and housemaids to purloin dripping, kitchen- 
 stuff, and old wearing apparel ; barbers who " shave well for a 
 halfpenny," shoe-vampers, fried-fish sellers, a coal and potato 
 dealer, and a bird-stuffer, — share the rest of the street, with 
 lodging-houses of the filthiest description. 
 
 In the month of July 1815 a remarkable scene was wit- 
 nessed in this lane. In a back-room of the house Xo. 14? 
 (since pulled down to make way for Day & ^Martin's blacking 
 manufactory), the body of a young woman, who had a few 
 days before been executed at Newgate for poisoning the 
 family, in which she was cook, with arsenic, was exhibited by 
 her parents to all comers. The street was filled with crowds 
 of compassionate or inquisitive gazers. Money was freely 
 given and readily received. This extraordinary exliibition 
 continued for five days. On the 31st of July, a funeral pro- 
 cession wound its way up Lamb's Conduit Street, to the burial- 
 
 ^ Black wood's Magazine, February 1861.
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 373 
 
 ground at the back of the Foundling Hospital. The pall was 
 borne by six young women, robed in white. Thousands of 
 spectators (it is stated, in the papers of the day, as many as 
 ten thousand) followed the coiiiu to the grave, and crowded 
 round as it was lowered into the earth. It bore upon its lid 
 these words — "Elizabeth Penning, died July 26, 1815, aged 
 22 years." From that day to this, the case of Eliza Fenning 
 has been cited as one in which an innocent person fell a 
 victim to the hasty judgment of a prejudiced and incompetent 
 tribunal. Nor must it be supposed that this feeling has been 
 confined to an ignorant or angry populace. Sir Samuel 
 Romilly recorded his belief in her innocence. Curran was 
 in the habit of declaiming in glowing words on the injustice 
 of her fate ; and even recently an able and kind-hearted man, 
 whose experience of criminal inquiries was most extensive, 
 and certainly not of a kind to induce him lightly to assume 
 the innocence of a convicted felon, has told the story of Eliza 
 Fenning, and concludes his narrative in the following words : 
 " Poor Eliza Fenning ! So young, so fair, so innocent, so sacri- 
 ficed ! Cut down even in thy morning, witli all life's brightness 
 only in its dawn ! Little did it profit thee that a city mourned 
 over thy early grave, and that the most eloquent of men did 
 justice to thy memory." ^ 
 
 On the other hand, it nmst be remembered that Fenning 
 was defended by able couiisel; that after her conviction the 
 case was again investigated by the law advisers of the Crown ; 
 that the trial took place on the 11th of April, and the exe- 
 cution was delayed until the 2Gth of July — a period of more 
 than three months, during which time every opportunity was 
 afforded for bringing forward any circumstance that might tell 
 in the prisoner's favour ; that the result of this inquiry, the 
 patience and impartiality of which there seems to be no reason- 
 able ground to doubt, was a confirmation of the verdict of the 
 jury. Here, then, we find the remarkable fact, that in a case 
 unattended by any of those circumstances which would be 
 likely to excite popular sympathy on the one hand, or to 
 pervert the judgment of the ordinary tribunals on the other, 
 * Vacation Thouglits on Capital runisluucnts, by Cliarks I'hillips ; p. 102.
 
 374 JUDICIAL IMIZZl.KS. 
 
 there is a distinct issue between the decision of the law and 
 the verdict of public opinion. It speaks well both for the 
 people and for the tribunals by which justice is administered, 
 that such a case is of extreme rarity ; and it is an interesting 
 and curious inquiry to examine the facts from which it arises. 
 
 Eliza Penning was cook in the family of a Mr Iiobert Gregson 
 Turner, a law stationer in Chancery Lane. Tlie family con- 
 sisted of Turner, his wife, two apprentices named Gadsden and 
 King — youths of seventeen or eighteen years of age, who lived 
 in the house — a housemaid of the name of Sarah Peer, and the 
 prisoner. Turner's father, Mr Orlibar Turner, was a partner 
 in the business, but resided at Lambeth. On Tuesday the 
 21st of March, Orlibar Turner dined with his son and his 
 daughter-in-law. Part of the dinner consisted of some yeast 
 dumplings, of which all three partook. They had hardly done 
 so, when they were attacked by violent pain, accompanied 
 by the symptoms of arsenical poisoning. Soon afterwards 
 Gadsden, one of the apprentices, who had dined at an earlier 
 hour, came into the kitchen, and finding the remains of the 
 dumplings, which had been brought down from the parlour, 
 ate a small piece, when he was attacked by similar symptoms. 
 The next sufferer was Eliza Penning herself, who was taken 
 ill in a like manner, later in the afternoon. Sarah Peer, and 
 King, the other apprentice, who had dined earlier and did not 
 eat any part of the dumpling, escaped. 
 
 The first inquiry is, In what medium was the poison con- 
 veyed ? 
 
 All the persons who had partaken of the dumplings were 
 attacked in a greater or less degree. The Hour from wliich 
 they were made was examined, but no poison found ; and Pen- 
 ning, Peer, and King, had dined on a pie, the crust of which 
 was made of the same floiu-, without any ill effects. The 
 poison, therefore, was not in the flour. Some sauce had been 
 served in a boat separate from the dumplings, and of this 
 sauce IMr Orlibar Turner did not partake, yet he was one of 
 the sufferers. The poison, therefore, was not in the sauce ; 
 nor was it in the yeast, the remains of which were also ex- 
 amined. There was what would now be considered a most
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 375 
 
 unaccountable amount of carelessness in tlie examination of 
 the dumplings themselves ; but the remains of the dough left 
 in the pan in which they were prepared was examined, and 
 unquestionably contained arsenic. Indeed, no reasonable 
 ground has ever been suggested for doubting that the poison 
 was contained in the dumplings, and that it was placed there 
 by some one during their preparation. 
 
 The next inquiry is, How was the poison procured ? 
 
 Mr Turner had been in the habit of using arsenic for the 
 destruction of rats and mice, with which his house was in- 
 fested ; and the poison was kept with the most culpable 
 negligence. It lay in an open drawer in the office, unlocked, 
 and in which waste paper was kept. It was urged that 
 Penning was in the habit of taking paper from the drawer for 
 the purpose of lighting the fire, and an inference was sought 
 to be drawn from that circumstance unfavourable to her. It 
 is manifest that nothing could be more groundless. Tlie 
 arsenic was no doubt obtained from the drawer — the packet 
 in which it was kept having been missed a few days before ; 
 but there was not one particle of evidence, with regard to the 
 abstraction of the arsenic, affecting Penning more than any 
 other member of the family ; for to that drawer all the persons 
 in the house had easy access. 
 
 Fenning had been in the service about seven weeks. Soon 
 after she entered it, her mistress observed some levity of con- 
 duct on her part towards the apprentices, and reproved her 
 severely for it, threatening to discharge her ; but this passed 
 over ; and, with this exception, she does not appear to have 
 had any discomfort or ground of ill-will against her mistress, 
 or any others of the family. We look in vain, therefore, for 
 any adequate motive for so horrible a crime. We nnist now 
 trace the few circumstances, and they are very few, which the 
 jury considered sufficient to lead them to the conclusion of the 
 guilt of the prisoner. 
 
 On the morning of the 20th of ISIarch some yeast was 
 brought to the house by the brewer's man, which had been 
 ordered by Fenning, without the knowledge of her mistress, a 
 day or two before. The yeast was received by Sarah Peer the
 
 37G JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 liouscmaid, wlio poured it into a white basin, and gave it to 
 Feiiniii^f. The remains of tlie yeast was afterwards examined, 
 and found to be perfeetly ])ure. On Tuesday' morning, the 
 21st Mareh, Mrs Turner went into the kitelien and gave 
 lVnnin_<,r directions as to preparing the dumplings. Fenning 
 kneaded the dough, made the dumplings, was in the kitchen 
 the whole time until they were served up to table, and during 
 the greater part of that time was there alone — Mrs Turner 
 having left her soon after giving her orders, and Sarah Teer, 
 the housemaid, being engaged on her duties in other rooms. 
 Fenning tlierefore had ample opportunity to mix the poison 
 with the dumplings ; and it is diflicult to suppose that any 
 other person could have meddled with them without her being 
 aware of the fact. Indeed, she herself stated that no other 
 person had anything to do with the dumplings.^ On the 
 renuiins of the dinner brought down into the kitchen, Gadsden, 
 as we have before stated, came in, and seeing one of the 
 dumplings, took up a knife and fork and was going to eat it, 
 when Fenning exclaimed, " Gadsden, do not eat that : it is 
 cold and heavy; it will do you no good." Gadsden, in his 
 evidence, adds : " I ate a piece aliout as big as a walnut, or 
 bigger. There was a small quantity of sauce in the boat : I 
 took a bit of bread and sopped it in it, and ate that." ^ Gadsden 
 was taken ill about ten minutes afterwards. He was not, 
 however, too ill to be sent for the elder Turner's wife, jVIrs 
 Margaret Turner. On her arrival, she found her husband, 
 son, and daughter-in-law extremely iU ; and very soon after- 
 wards Eliza Fenning herself was attacked with similar 
 symptoms. Here, then, we find this curious fact— all the 
 persons who have partaken of the dumplings at dinner are 
 ill : Gadsden is warned by Fenning not to eat them ; he 
 neglects the warning, and is almost inmiediately taken ill 
 in the same manner; he is sent to Lambeth to fetch Mrs 
 INIargaret Turner ; and Fenning is not taken iU until after her 
 arrival. Considering the distance from Chancery Lane to 
 Lambeth, this must have been a considerable interval. As 
 the effects of the poison (even when taken in so small a quan- 
 
 ^ 7lst Q. 2 shoit-haud copy of the Trial, S^ Q.
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 377 
 
 tity as by Gadsden) were almost immediate, it follows that 
 Fenning did not take it until some time after these symptoms 
 were apparent in the others, and subsequent to the warning 
 she gave Gadsden. This seems to dispose of the arguments in 
 favour of her innocence, which have been founded on the fact 
 of her having been herself a sufferer from the poison. AVliat 
 miglit be her motive is a matter involved in great obscurity ; 
 but there seems to be no doubt that she took it, for some 
 reason or other, after she had seen its effects, and after she 
 had seen cause to warn Gadsden against the dumplings. 
 
 This very slender evidence is all that exists apart from that 
 which is derived from Fenning's own statements, which we 
 shall consider presently. 
 
 It amounts to little more than proof that Fenning might 
 easily have committed the crime, and that it is difficult to 
 suppose that any other person could. The poison was un- 
 questionably in the dumplings ; it was unquestionably placed 
 there during their preparation. "Who but Fenning could have 
 done this ? But we now come to the consideration of what 
 appears to us to be by far the most important evidence in the 
 case — namely, the statements made by Eliza Fenning herself 
 
 ]\Irs Turner the elder arrived at the house, as we have seen, 
 in the afternoon. She is asked whether she had any conver- 
 sation with Fenning on the subject : — 
 
 " 90th Q. — Did you say anything to her while you were 
 there that day respecting the dumplings ? 
 
 " A. — I exclaimed to her, ' Oh, these devilish dumplings ! ' 
 supposing they had done the mischief. She said, ' Not the 
 diLHiplings, hut the milk, madam.' I asked her, ' "What milk ? ' 
 she said, ' The halfpenny-worth of milk tliat Sally had fetched 
 to make the sauce.' 
 
 " 9\st Q. — Did she say who had made the sauce ? 
 
 " A. — My daughter. I said, ' That cannot be ; it could not 
 be the sauce.' She said, ' Yes ; Gadsden ate a very little bit 
 of dumpling, not bigger than a nut, but licked up three parts 
 of a boat of sauce with a bit of bread.' " 
 
 During the whole of the next day, Fenning, in reply to re- 
 peated inquiries, persisted tliat the poi-son was in the milk wliich
 
 .S78 .Ii;i)[(I.\L I'UZZLES. 
 
 was futdied by Sarah Peer, and used for the sauce; that it 
 was not in the duniplinj,fs ; and that no one had mixed any- 
 thing' in the dumplings, or liad anytliing to do with them but 
 herself. {Q. GO, 70, 71.) 
 
 We have already adverted to the fact that Mv Turner, who 
 did not partake of the sauce (OAth Q.), was as ill as any of the 
 others. This is of course conclusive of the fact that the poison 
 was not in the sauce, or at any rate not in the sauce alone. 
 
 The arguments in favour of the innocence of Fenning have 
 been almost entirely based on the fact that she herself par- 
 took of the poisoned dumplings. As we have already seen, 
 she did not do this until after the effects had been produced 
 upon all the other sufferers, and after she had warned Gadsden 
 that the dumpling was " cold and heavy, and would do him 
 no good." Now, in order to support the hj'pothesis of her 
 innocence, it must be supposed that, feeling certain that she 
 had mixed no deleterious article in the dumplings, that no 
 other person could have done so, she eats a portion of them to 
 prove her conviction of that fact ; otherwise, why, when she 
 had dined a short time before on beefsteak-pie, should she 
 eat the " cold and heavy " dumpling which she had warned 
 Gadsden not to meddle with ? She is then immediately taken 
 ill. Supposing she were innocent, her first exclamation 
 would have been one of surprise. "The dumplings are 
 poisoned! who has done this?" Instead of this, she seeks 
 to divert suspicion from the dumplings, and to cast it upon 
 the milk which had been fetched by Sarah Peer. 
 
 This ready falsehood, and attempt to divert the suspicion 
 which was pointing at her towards an innocent person, ap- 
 pears to us to afford strong evidence of her guilt ; and this 
 evidence is strengthened by the fact that even in her false- 
 hood she was not consistent. The next day, when she was 
 taken into custody, she changed her story. We find no more 
 about the milk. She tells the constable that she thiidvs the 
 poison was in the yeast, that she saw a red settlement in it. 
 We have already stated that the remains of the yeast was 
 examined, and nothing whatever of a deleterious nature dis- 
 covered. On her trial she abandoned both these stories, and
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 379 
 
 confined herself to a general assertion of her innocence, in 
 which she persisted on the scaffold. 
 
 Such, then, are the facts proved in evidence in the case of 
 Eliza Fcnning. We have purposely abstained from alluding 
 to the utterly irrelevant matter with which the papers of the 
 day were filled. On the one side, Eliza Fenniiig was repre- 
 sented as a paragon of beauty and virtue ; on the other, as a 
 monster of depravity and vice. There is not one particle of 
 reason for believing either one statement or the other. Until 
 she was charged with the crime for which she suflered, she 
 seems to have been very much like any other commonplace 
 servant of a somewhat low class. Is there, then, evidence 
 sufficient to lead us, after a dispassionate consideration, to a 
 conclusion either one way or the other ? We confess that we 
 think there is ; and the conclusion at which we arrive is, that 
 Fenning was guilty. 
 
 By a process of exhaustion we arrive at the fact, that it was 
 hardly possible that any person but Fenning could have in- 
 troduced the arsenic into the dumplings. This, alone, would 
 perhaps not justify us in coming to a positive conclusion ; but 
 her own conduct, her false and contradictory statements, her 
 warning Gadsden, and her eagerness to throw the blame on a 
 person who was undoubtedly innocent, leave in our minds no 
 doubt of her own guilt. 
 
 We arc met, however, by two difficulties. First, the absence 
 of any adequate motive for the crime ; and, secondly, the fact 
 that she herself partook of the poisoned dumplings. 
 
 With regard to the first, all persons who have any practical 
 experience of criminal courts know how slight and insignifi- 
 cant are the motives which sometimes impel to the commis- 
 sion of the most appalling crimes. The poisoning even of 
 children by their own parents, to obtain the paltry allowance 
 made by burial-clubs on their deaths, became so common a 
 few years ago, as to occasion the express interference of the 
 Legislature. AVe were ourselves present at the trial of Betty 
 Eccles. That wretched woman had contracted a habit of 
 poisoning. If a neighbour's child cried, it was quieted with 
 a dose of arsenic. One poor little victim, not suspecting the
 
 380 .JUDICIAL IM/ZLES. 
 
 cause of licr ajjony, besought the murderess to take her to the 
 ])uiiip to get a drink of water, to allay the burning thirst with 
 whicli she was tormented ; " Thee mayest lie where thee art," 
 was the reply ; " thee won't want water long." When incen- 
 diary fires were rife, many instances occun'ed in which tlierc 
 seemed to be no assignable motive at all beyond the mere 
 desire to see a blaze and to cause an excitement. 
 
 The genius of Scott was never displayed in greater vigour 
 than in the scene where Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot discloses 
 to Lord Glenallan the conspiracy which resulted in the death 
 of Eveline Neville ; nor is his knowledge of the human heaii 
 more completely shown by anything, than the trivial cause 
 which he assigns for Elspeth's bitter hatred and deep revenge : 
 " I hated Miss Eveline Neville for her ain sake. I brought her 
 frae England, and during our whole journey she gecked and 
 scorned at my northern speech and habit, as her southland 
 leddies and kimmers had done at the boarding-school, as 
 they ca'd it." Most of our readers, we fear, if they look 
 honestly back through their own experience, will be able to 
 recall some domestic tragedy which has originated in as 
 trivial a cause. It is equally true of crime as of other things, 
 moral and physical, that the most monstrous growth often 
 springs from the most minute seed. 
 
 With regard to the second argument, it must be owned that, 
 if the dumplings had been prepared for the dinner of which 
 Eenning was to partake, it would liave been one of consider- 
 able force. But this was not so. Fenning had prepared the 
 dinner for herself, her fellow-servant, Gadsden, and the other 
 aj)prentice. She made the crust of the pie from the same flour 
 which was used for the dumplings, but no one suffered from 
 sharing that meal. She ate the dumpling after the ill effects 
 had been experienced — after she had cautioned Gadsden. 
 Whether she ran the risk for the sake of concealing her crime, 
 or whether she desired to destroy her own life, it is impossible 
 to say. It has been asserted that, after the execution of Fen- 
 ning, some person confessed that he had been the murderer. 
 This rests on mere rumour. We have reason to believe that 
 there is more groimd for the statement which has also been
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 381 
 
 made, that though Eliza Fenning persisted in the assertion of 
 her innocence in public and to the Ordinary of Newgate, yet 
 that she confessed her guilt to another person. Neither of 
 these reports, however, have ever assumed a tangible form, or 
 one which would enable them to be submitted to that kind of 
 scrutiny which alone could give them value. We have there- 
 fore disregarded them altogether in considering the case, and 
 confined our attention to legitimate evidence alone. We attach 
 but little value to Fenning's assertion of her innocence on the 
 scaffold. Few weeks have passed since Mullins was executed, 
 making similar protestations ; yet we presume that no doubt 
 exists in the mind of any sane man that he was the murderer 
 of Mrs Emsley. Gleeson Wilson, the murderer of Mrs llend- 
 rickson and her children, persisted to the last in asseverations 
 of his innocence. 
 
 We have said that it is rarely that public opinion fails to 
 confirm the decisions of our criziiinal courts. We attribute 
 this most happy circumstance mainly to three things : the 
 publicity of all judicial proceedings ; the placing all issues of 
 fact in the hands of the jury; and the freedom of the judge 
 from any part in the conduct of the trial. But we shall pro- 
 bably startle many of our readers when we say that, in one 
 most important particular, we think that one of the oldest and 
 best-established rules of our criminal law might be consider- 
 ably modified with advantage to the ends of justice. We 
 allude to the rule which, under all circumstances, prohibits 
 the examination of a person charged with crime, and the cor- 
 relative or complementary rule which precludes him from 
 giving evidence in his own behalf. No rule is more strictly 
 observed in English jurisprudence. From the moment that a 
 man is charged with a crime until he is placed at the bar for 
 trial, he is hedged round with precautions to prevent him from 
 criminating himself. Upon his trial he cannot be asked to 
 explain a doubtful or suspicious circumstance. Wliether he 
 will or not, his mouth is closed, except for the purpose of cross- 
 examining the witnesses, until all the evidence has been heard 
 against him, and then he addresses the jury with tlie disadvan- 
 tage (and, supposing him to be innocent, it is a very serious
 
 382 JUDICIAf. FMZZI.KH. 
 
 (lisiidvantagc) that even the jury or the judf,'C cannot \)\it any 
 qestion to him which might enable him to clear up what was 
 obscure, or to explain what might appear to be suspicious in 
 liis conduct. The armour with which the law thus shields the 
 guilty becomes an encumbrance upon the innocent. 
 
 The rule originates, no doubt, in a love of fair play. Every 
 man is entitled to be considered innocent until he is proved 
 to be guilty. You must not make a man criminate himself. 
 These are aphorisms in which we fully agree. But it is equally 
 true that you ought to give every man the utmost freedom to 
 prove that he is innocent, and to exculpate himself. 
 
 We are fully aware of the evils that arise from the system 
 pursued in the French courts, where the judge interrogates the 
 culprit (we use the word in its legal sense of an acaiscd per- 
 son, not in its popular meaning of a guilty one), where the 
 grave judicial inquiry degenerates into a "keen encounter of 
 their wits," and the hand which ought to hold the balance 
 steady, wields, instead, the sword of the combatant. We know, 
 too, the still greater evils that attend the system of secret 
 examination by the judge, which prevails in other Continental 
 States, and with which the readers of Feuerbach are familiar ; 
 and we would far rather retain the imperfections of our own 
 system than adopt the infinitely worse mischiefs which are 
 attendant upon either. Still, the reverse of wrong is not neces- 
 sarily right ; and our own course of proceeding might, we think, 
 be modified with advantage. 
 
 In the present state of the law this curious anomaly exists, 
 that in the very same state of facts, it depends upon whether 
 the proceeding is civil or criminal whether the mouth of the 
 accused person is closed or not. A and his wife, walking home 
 at night, are met by B and his wife, when B knocks A down. 
 A indicts B for the assault, and this being a criminal proceed- 
 ing, A and his wife give their evidence upon oath, whilst 
 neither B nor his wife can be examined at all. But suppose 
 that, instead of indicting B, A had brought an action against 
 him, the whole case is changed. Now A and B, and their 
 respective wives, can all be examined and cross-examined. 
 Can there be a doubt which course is most conducive to the
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 383 
 
 elucidation of the truth ; and can a grosser absurdity be con- 
 ceived than that the same court should adopt modes of pro- 
 cedure so inconsistent in an inquiry into the same facts, before 
 the same judge and the same jury, and practically between the 
 same parties ? 
 
 A case occurred last summer which excited great interest, 
 and which forcibly illustrates the evil we complain of. 
 
 A clergyman of the name of Hatch was indicted for a gross 
 offence alleged to have been committed upon a child of tender 
 years, who had been intrusted to his care as a pupil. The 
 charge rested almost solely on the evidence of the child, a girl 
 of the name of Eugenia Plummer. Neither Hatch nor his wife 
 could be examined, and, as theirs was the only testimony by 
 which, from the nature of the case, the charge could be re- 
 butted. Hatch was convicted. Under the circumstances, it was 
 hardly possible that the jury could come to any other conclu- 
 sion. A few weeks elapsed, and Eugenia Plummer was placed 
 at the same bar, charged with perjury. Then the tables were 
 turned. Hatch and his wife were examined: the child's mouth 
 was closed. The jury convicted Eugenia Plummer of perjuiy. 
 On the evidence before the jury no other result could reason- 
 ably have been expected. Both the juries discharged their 
 duties with honesty and intelligence. Both were assisted in 
 their deliberations by judges of the highest character and the 
 greatest experience and ability, yet one jury or the other con- 
 victed an innocent person. If Plummer was guilty. Hatch was 
 innocent ; if Hatch was guilty, Plummer was herself the double 
 victim of his brutality and his perjury. We express no opin- 
 ion whatever as to wliich jury was right, but it is manifest 
 that both could not be. It must, we think, be clear to every 
 one, that tlic only way in which a case of this kind could be 
 satisfactorily tried must be by confronting and examining both 
 the parties. To attempt to try such issues separately is like 
 trying to cut a knot with the two disunited halves of a pair of 
 scissors. 
 
 If, upon one trial, both could have been examined, the 
 inquiry would very possibly have terminated in the acquittal 
 of both. In other words;, the jury miglit liavo found tlie ovi-
 
 384 JUDICIAL rrzzLK.s. 
 
 dencc of both so unsatisfactory that they could not found any 
 decision upon it. Such a result, certainly, would not liave 
 been desirable, yet it would have been far less objectionable 
 than what has actually taken place. The conviction of P^ufi;enia 
 Plummer for perjury has operated as a virtual acquittal of 
 Hatch. But eveiy one must feel that that acquittal having 
 been obtained when the mouth of the only material witness 
 against him was closed, is far less satisfactory than it would 
 have been if it had resulted from the decision of a jury who 
 had heard the evidence of Plummer. 
 
 The case of Elizabeth Canning, which we examined at length 
 in a former number, was of the same description. Squires 
 was convicted of felony on the evidence of Canning, and Can- 
 ning was subsequently convicted of perjury committed in that 
 very evidence. On the first trial Squires coidd not be ex- 
 amined ; on the second, Canning was silenced, and both the 
 accused persons were convicted. Such cases are of frequent 
 occurrence, and they are always attended by this evil, that, 
 whether rightly or not, public opinion will unavoidably be 
 divided as to the result. The conviction of Canning hardly 
 diminished either the number or the zeal of those who had 
 espoused her cause ; and it would probably be found that the 
 juries who came to conflicting decisions in the cases of Hatch 
 and Eugenia Plummer, represent, not unfairly, the diversities 
 of public opinion. 
 
 The remedy we would suggest is, that in all cases a culprit 
 should be permitted to tender himself for examination, "NVe 
 think that to allow the prosecutor to call the culprit, and to 
 examine him whether he would or no, woidd be attended with 
 evils greater than any advantage to be derived from such a 
 course — evils less in degree, though the same in kind, as those 
 which make us shrink with horror from the idea of extracting 
 even truth by the means of torture — means which have never 
 been used in our courts since they were adopted by the express 
 command of that queen whom Lord Macaulay has held up to 
 us as the pattern of every gentle and feminine virtue, and her 
 ruthless husband. If an accused person choose to remain 
 silent, or to make his statement to the jury without the sane-
 
 ELIZA PENNING. 385 
 
 tion of an oath, and without submitting its truth to the test of 
 cross-examination, he should be fully at liberty to do so, sub- 
 ject, of course, to the unfavourable effect which sucli a proceed- 
 ing would unavoidably have on the minds of the jury. That 
 this would be the line taken by the guilty would no doubt 
 frequently be the case ; but every innocent man would, we 
 believe, gladly adopt the other course. We have heard it 
 urged that the ignorant, the stupid, or the timid man woidd 
 be thus placed at a disadvantage when exposed to the cross- 
 examination of an experienced, acute, and possibly not very 
 scrupulous counsel. We believe, on the contrary, that such 
 a person is the veiy one to whom (supposing him to be inno- 
 cent) the course we suggest would be of the greatest advan- 
 tage. What is the position of such a man now ? He is left 
 to blunder his story out as best he may, casting it before the 
 jury in a confused unintelligible mass, with, very possibly, the 
 most material parts wholly omitted. If our suggestion were 
 adopted, the thread of his narrative would be drawn from the 
 tangled skein by the hand of an experienced advocate — its 
 consistency and its truth would be tested by cross-examina- 
 tion, and confirmed by re-examination. A greater boon to the 
 ignorant or timid man falsely accused of crime, than such a 
 mode of exculpating himself, we can hardly conceive. 
 
 The ultimate object of all criminal jurisprudence is the 
 safety of society. When a crime is committed, especially if it 
 is one of a nature to excite extreme horror and detestation, the 
 first and most natural impulse is, to fix the guilt upon some one. 
 Outraged humanity and public indignation demand a victim. 
 In the case of the Road murder, we have seen persons who, 
 from their position and education, ought to know better, call- 
 ing out for the abandonment of the established forms of law 
 and justice, and the adoption of some new and inquisitorial 
 mode of proceeding. We have seen a magistrate holding a 
 sort of extrajudicial court, listening to, and even asking for, 
 the most absurd and irrelevant gossip, and exposing the gravest 
 and most serious inquiry to ridicule. 
 
 To attempt to supply a defect by adopting an exceptional 
 course of proceeding in an individual case, would only be to 
 
 2 B
 
 38G JUDICIAL rr/zij:s. 
 
 introduce a mischief of fur greater magnitude. It is far 
 better tliat an individual crime, however horrible, sliould re- 
 main unpnnislicd, tlian that rules established for the purposes 
 of justice should be strained or set aside. But it is well that 
 we sliould consider carefully whether those rules rest on a 
 sound foundation. We have, with great advantage, abandoned 
 the rule which formerly excluded the parties to civil suits 
 from giving evidence. We believe that nothing but good 
 would result from the removal of the anomaly which still ex- 
 ists in our criminal courts when the accuser is sworn, and gives 
 his evidence on oath, whilst the accused is refused the same 
 sanction to his denial of the charge.
 
 387 
 
 V. 
 
 SPENCER COWPERS CASE 
 
 At the summer assizes at Hertford, on the 16th of July 1699, a 
 young barrister, rising into eminence in his profession, the son 
 of a baronet of ancient family, who was one of the representa- 
 tives, and the brother of a King's Counsel, who was the other 
 representative of the town in Parliament, held up his hand at 
 the bar to answer a charge of murder. It was not for blood, 
 shed in an angry brawl — it was not for vindicating his honour 
 by his sword in defiance of the law, that Spencer Cowper was 
 arraigned. He was accused of having deliberately murdered a 
 woman, whose only fault was having loved him too devotedly, 
 and trusted him too implicitly. He was called upon to i)lead 
 to a charge which, if proved, would not only consign his body 
 to the gibbet, but his name to eternal infamy. 
 
 Sarah Stout was the only daughter of a Quaker maltster in 
 the town of Hertford. Her father was an active and inlhien- 
 tial supporter of the Cowpers at the elections, and the kind 
 of intimacy which ordinarily takes place under such circum- 
 stances arose between the families. Attentions, highly Ihitter- 
 ing no doubt to their vanity, were paid to the wife and daugh- 
 ter of the tradesman by the ladies of the baronet's family ; and 
 an intimacy arose between Spencer Cowper and Sarah, wliich 
 did not cease when she was left an orphan upon the deatli of 
 her father, and he became the husband of another woman. 
 He managed the little fortune which had been bequeathed to 
 her; he occasionally took up his abode (wlietlier as a guest or 
 a lodger docs not appeav) at her motlier's house, when busi- 
 ' Blackwood's Magazine, July 18G1.
 
 388 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 noss called hiia to Hertford; and he unhappily inspired her 
 with a violent, and, as the event proved, a fatal passion. 
 
 Never did the truth of the proverb, " Cucullus non facit 
 inonacliuni," or rather, in this case, monachaiyi, receive a 
 stronger confirmation than from the story of poor Sarah Stout. 
 Stormy passions beat under the dove-coloured bodice, and 
 flashed from the eyes which were shaded by the close white 
 cap and poke bonnet of the Quakeress. Her whole heart and 
 soul were given to Spencer Cowper. A man of sense and 
 honour would, under such circumstances, at once have broken 
 off" the connection, and saved the girl, at the cost of some pre- 
 sent suffering, from future guilt and misery, A man of weak 
 determination and kind feelings might have got hopelessly in- 
 volved in attempting to avoid inflicting pain. Cowper did 
 neither. Ho carried on a clandestine correspondence with her 
 under feigned names, and received letters from her breathing the 
 most ardent passion, which he displayed amongst his profli- 
 gate associates. He introduced a friend to her as a suitor, 
 and then betrayed to that friend the secrets which, above all 
 others, a man of honour is bound to guard with the strictest 
 fidelity. He behaved as ill as a man could do under the cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 On the morning of Monday the 13th of March, the first day 
 of the spring assizes of 1699, Spencer Cowper arrived in Hert- 
 ford, travelling (as was then the custom of the bar) on horse- 
 back. He went direct to the house of Mrs Stout, where he 
 was expected, in consequence of a letter which had been 
 written, announcing his intended visit. He was asked to 
 alight, but declined to do so, as he wished to show himself in 
 the town. He promised, however, to send his horse, and to 
 come himself to dinner. This promise he kept, and having 
 dined with Mrs Stout and her daughter, he left the house 
 about four o'clock, saying that he had business in the town, 
 but that he would return in the evening. At nine he returned, 
 asked for pen, ink, and paper to write to his wife, and had his 
 supper. Mrs Stout, the mother, went to bed, leaving Spencer 
 Cowper and her daughter together, orders having been given 
 to make a fire in his room. Between ten and eleven o'clock
 
 SPENCER COWPEr's CASE, 389 
 
 Sarah called the servant-girl, and, in Cowper's hearing, desired 
 her to warm his bed. She went up-stairs for that purpose, 
 leaving Spencer Cowper and Sarah alone in the parlour to- 
 gether. As she went up-stairs she heard the house- clock 
 (which was half an hour too fast) strike eleven. In about a 
 quarter of an hour afterwards she heard the house-door shut 
 to, and, supposing that Cowper had gone to post his letter, she 
 remained warming his bed for a quarter of an hour longer. 
 She then went down -stairs, and found that both Spencer 
 Cowper and her young mistress were gone. 
 
 The mother could not be examined upon the trial as she was 
 a Quaker, and could not take an oath. The account of the trans- 
 actions of that day, therefore, rests solely upon the evidence of 
 Sarah Walker, the servant, who deponed as follows : — 
 
 " May it please you, my lord, on Friday before the last as- 
 sizes, Mr Cowper's wife sent a letter to Mrs Stout, that she 
 might expect Mr Cowper at the assize-time ; and therefore we 
 expected Mr Cowper at that time, and accordingly provided ; 
 and as he came in with the judges, she asked him if he would 
 alight? lie said, 'No; by reason I came in later than usual, 
 I will go into the town and show myself,' but he would send 
 his horse presently. She asked him how long it would be be- 
 fore he would come, because they would stay for him ? Ho 
 said he could not tell, but he would send her word ; and she 
 thought he had forgot, and sent me down to know whether he 
 would please to come ? He said he had business, and he 
 could not come just then ; but he came in less than a quarter 
 of an hour after, and dined there, and he went away at four 
 o'clock ; and then my mistress asked him if he would lie 
 there? And he answered yes, and he came at night about 
 nine ; and he sat talking about half an hour, and thou callcil 
 for pen, ink, and paper, for that, as he said, he wa.s to write 
 to his wife; which was brought him, and he wrote a letter; 
 and then my mistress went and asked him what he would 
 have for supper ? He said milk, by reason he had made a 
 good dinner ; and I got him his su])]ier, aiul he eat it ; after 
 she called me in again, and they were talking together, and 
 then she bid me make a fire in his chamber ; and when I had
 
 390 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 done 80, I cainc and told liini of it, and ho looked at nic, and 
 made niG no answer ; then she bid me warm the bed, which 
 accordingly I went np to do as the clock struck eleven ; and 
 in about a quarter of an hour I heard the door shut, and I 
 thought he was gone to convey the letter, and stayed about a 
 quarter of an hour longer, and came down, and he was gone 
 and she ; and Mrs Stout the U) other asked me the reason why 
 he went out when I was warming his bed ? And' she asked 
 me for my mistress, and I told her I left her with Mr Cowper ; 
 and I never saw her after that, nor did Mr Cowper return to 
 the house." ^ 
 
 Cowper, who defended himself with great ability, asked the 
 witness in cross-examination — 
 
 " When you came down and missed your mistress, did you 
 inquire after her all that night ? 
 
 " A. — No, sir, I did not go out of the doors ; I thought you 
 were with her, and so I thought she would come to no harm. 
 
 " Mr Coiopcr. — Here is a whole night she gives no account 
 of. Pray, mistress, why did you not go after her ? 
 
 "^. — My mistress would not let me. 
 
 " Mr Cotcpcr. — Why would she not let'you ? 
 
 " A. — I said I would seek for her. ' No,' says she, ' by reason 
 if you go and seek for her, and do not find her, it will make 
 an alarm over the town, and there may be no occasion.'" ^ 
 
 ^laternal solicitude could not be veiy strong in the breast 
 of Mrs Stout, or she was disposed to place a more than ordi- 
 nary degree of confidence in the discretion of her daughter 
 and young Cowper. Sarah Stout was never again seen alive. 
 The next morning her body was found in a mill-dam some- 
 thing less than a mile distant. CoAvper never returned to Mrs 
 Stout's ; he was seen at an inn in the town at eleven, and 
 arrived at other lodgings, which he had hired in the town, at 
 a quarter past. Here the evidence ends. A vast amount of 
 testimony was given at the trial, as to whether the body of the 
 girl floated or not; as to whether a body thrown into the 
 water after death would float or sink ; but it came to nothing. 
 The coroner's inquest had been hurried over, and no examina- 
 
 ^ 13 state Trials, 1112. " Ibid., 1114.
 
 SPENCER COWPER'S CASE. 391 
 
 tion of the body had taken place until long after decomposi- 
 tion had proceeded too far to allow of any satisfactory result 
 being arrived at. 
 
 In a former number^ we observed on the effect of the rule of 
 law which excludes a prisoner not only from giving evidence 
 on his own behalf, but also from tendering himself for 
 cross-examination. If Cowper was innocent, that rule bore 
 hardly upon him in the present case. We will, however, give 
 him the full benefit of his own account of the matter. lie 
 said^ — and in this he was confirmed by the evidence of his 
 brother — that having received a pressing invitation to take up 
 his quarters during the assizes at Mrs Stout's, he had resolved 
 to do so, his object being to save the expense of other lodgings 
 at the house of a person of the name of Barefoot, where he 
 had been in the habit of staying with his brother. Finding 
 that his brother would be detained in London by his parlia- 
 mentary duties, he requested him to write and countermand 
 the lodgings at Barefoot's. This he neglected to do, and on 
 Spencer Cowper's arrival at Hertford he found them prepared 
 for him. Finding that he should have at any rate to pay for 
 these lodgings, which were nearer to the court-house and more 
 commodious than ]\Irs Stout's, he determined to occupy them. 
 His account is as follows : — 
 
 " My lord, as to my coming to this town on Monday, it was 
 the first day of the assizes, and that was the reason that 
 brought me hither : before I came out of town, I confess, I 
 had a design to take a lodging at this gentlewoman's house, 
 having been invited by letter so to do ; and the reason why 
 I did not was this : my brother, when he went the circuit, 
 always favoured me with the offer of a part of his lodgings, 
 which, out of good husbandry, I always accepted. The last 
 circuit was in Parliament-tiuie, and my brother, being in the 
 money-chair, could not attend the circuit as he used to do : he 
 had very good lodgings, I tliink one of the best in this town, 
 where I used to be with liim ; these were always kept for liim, 
 unless notice was given to the contrary. The Friday before I 
 came down to the assizes 1 happened to be in company with 
 
 1 Ante, Eliza Finning's Case. ■ 13 State Trials, 1149.
 
 302 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 my brother and another gentleman, and tlun I showed tlieni 
 the letter by which I was earnestly invited down to lie at the 
 house of this gentlewoman during the assizes [it is dated the 
 9th of March last] ; and designing to comply with the invita- 
 tion, I thereupon desired my brother to write to ^Ir Barefoot, 
 our landlord, and get him, if he could, to dispose of the lodg- 
 ings ; for, said I, if he keeps them, they must be paid for, and 
 then I cannot well avoid lying there. My brother did say he 
 would write, if he could think on it ; and thus, if ^Mr Barefoot 
 disposed of the lodgings, I own I intended to lie at the de- 
 ceased's house ; but if not, I looked on myself obliged to lie at 
 Mr Barefoot's. Accordingly I shall prove, as soon as ever I 
 came to this town, in the morning of the first day of the as- 
 sizes, I went directly to Mr Barefoot's [the maid and all agreed 
 in this], and the reason was, I had not seen my brother after 
 he said he would write, before I went out to London; and 
 therefore it was proper for me to go first to Mr Barefoot's to 
 know wdiether my brother had wrote to him, and whether he 
 had disposed of his lodgings or not. As soon as I came to Mr 
 Barefoot's, I asked his wife and maid-servant, one after another, 
 if they had received a letter from my brother to unbespeak the 
 lodgings ; they told me no, that the room was kept for us ; and 
 I think they had made a fire, and that the sheets were airing. 
 I w'as a little concerned he had not writ ; but being satisfied 
 that no letter had been received, I said immediately, as I shall 
 prove by several witnesses, if it be so, I must stay with you ; 
 I will take up my lodging here. Thereupon I alighted, and 
 sent for my bag to the coftee-house, and lodged all my things 
 at Barefoot's, and thus I took up my lodging there as usual. 
 I had no sooner done this, but Sarah Walker came to me from 
 her mistress to invite me to dinner, and accordingly I went 
 and dined there ; and when I went away, it may be tnie that, 
 being asked, I said I would come again at night ; but that I 
 said I would lie there, I do positively deny; and knowing I could 
 not lie there, it is unlikely I should say so. My lord, at 
 night I did come again, and paid her some money that I re- 
 ceived from j\Ir Loftus, who is the mortgager, for interest of 
 the £200 I before mentioned [it was £G, odd money, in guineas
 
 SPENCER COWPER's CASE. 393 
 
 and half-guineas] : I writ a receipt, but she declined the sign- 
 ing of it, pressing me to stay there that night ; which I refused, 
 as engaged to lie at Mr Barefoot's, and took my leave of her ; 
 and that very money which I paid her was found in her 
 pocket, as I have heard, after she was drowned." ^ 
 
 When Cowper recurs, at a later period of the trial, to tho 
 events of that night, he says — " Now, if your lordship pleases, 
 I would explain that part of Sarah Walker the maid's evidence, 
 when she says her mistress ordered her to warm the l)ed, and 
 I never contradicted it." And after calling the attention of 
 the court to the warm expressions contained in the letter he 
 had received from the girl, he goes on — 
 
 " I had rather leave it to be observed than make the obser- 
 vation myself, what might be the dispute between us at the 
 time the maid speaks of. I think it was not necessary she 
 should be present at the debate ; and therefore I might not 
 interrupt her mistress or the orders she gave ; but as soon as 
 the maid was gone I made use of these objections ; and I told 
 Mrs Stout by what accident I was obliged to take up my 
 lodging at Mr Barefoot's, and that the family was sitting up 
 for me ; that my staying at her house, under these circum- 
 stances, would in all probability provoke the censure of the 
 town and country, and that therefore I coidd not stay, what- 
 ever my inclination otherwise might be ; but, my lord, my 
 reasons not prevailing, I was forced to decide the controversy 
 by going to my lodging; so that the maid may swear true 
 when she says I did not contradict her orders." ^ 
 
 It will be observed that Cowper first puts his change of 
 intention as to staying at Mrs Stout's solely on the gi-ound of 
 having other lodgings on his hands. He says that until he 
 found those lodgings were engaged, he had determined to take 
 up his abode at ]\lrs Stout's. The question was simply one of 
 the cost of the lodgings. When, however, he has to account 
 for the servant- girl's evidence as to his consent to the prepara- 
 tions for his passing the night there, orders for which were 
 given in his presence, then, for the first time, he begins to talk 
 of "provoking the censure of the town and country."^ Jt is 
 1 13 State Triuls, 1150. ' Ibid., 1170. ^ ^.i^j^ n'-j^
 
 394 .JUDKIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 impossible to know what took place after the servant-girl left 
 the room. Cowpcr liimsclf leaves it unexplained whether he 
 left Sarah Stout in the house, or whether she quitted it at tlic 
 same time that he did. The latter would seem to be the more 
 probable conjecture, from the fact that the door was only heard 
 to shut once, and it was proved that it was not easy to shut 
 the door without being heard. If Cowper had been entitled 
 to submit himself to cross-examination, these facts might have 
 been, and probably would have been, explained. 
 
 Here not only the evidence but the whole substance of 
 Cowper's defence ends. The trial was prolonged by an enor- 
 mous mass of testimony, partly from men of the highest emi- 
 nence in the medical profession, and partly from persons who 
 had seen great numbers of bodies, some of which had been 
 thrown into the sea after death, and others of which had been 
 drowned in naval engagements and shipwrecks, as to whether 
 the fact of a body floating afforded any evidence that life was 
 extinct before it had been thrown into the water. On this 
 point the evidence was, as might be anticipated, contra- 
 dictory, but had it been otherwise, it would have been of no 
 value ; for the question, whether Sarah Stout's body floated or 
 sank was not proved either one way or the other. It was 
 found entangled among some stakes in the mill-dam, in a 
 manner which rendered it impossible to say whether it was 
 supported or kept down. ^ Tliere was therefore no basis on 
 
 ^ See the evidence of Berry, Yeuabli>s, Dell, Ulfe, Dew, Edmunds, Page, 
 How, and Meager, 13 State Trials, 1116 to 1122. All these witnesses, who 
 were present when the bodj' was found in the mill-dam, agree in asserthig 
 that the body "floated," and they no doubt believed what they said, their 
 evidence affording an example of how far a preconceived idea will affect belief ; 
 they describe the body as lying on the right side, the head and right arm being 
 driven between the stakes, which were something less than a foot apart, by the 
 stream. Robert Dew and Young, who were called on behalf of the prisoner, 
 and who were also present when the body was taken out of the water, assert 
 equally positively that the body sa?;/;— see p. 1151. These two witnesses de- 
 scribe the mode in which the bodj' was entangled in the stakes with more par- 
 ticularity than the witnesses for the prosecution. The judge, in his charge to 
 the jury, treated this evidence like a man of sense. "I shall not undertake," 
 he said, "to give you the particulars of their evidence ; but they tell you she 
 lay on her right side, the one arm up even with tlie surface of the water, and 
 her body under the water ; but some of her clothes were above the water ; par-
 
 SPENCER COWPER's CASE. 395 
 
 which to found the scientific evidence, and the case against 
 Cowper rested upon a very few facts, and may be summed up 
 in very few words. He was the last person in Sarah Stout's 
 company. His conduct on leaving the house was mysterious 
 and unexplained. When he left, instead of going direct to his 
 lodgings, he went to the Glove and Dolphin Inn to pay a small 
 bill for horse-keep. This had somewhat the appearance of a 
 desire to secure evidence of an alibi. He was, on his own 
 showing, embarrassed by Sarah Stout's pertinacious attach- 
 ment, and had a stronger motive to get rid of her than has 
 sometimes been found sufficient to prompt men to the most re- 
 volting crimes. On the other hand, it must be remembered that 
 Cowper was not, like Tawell, a man who prided himself on his 
 reputation for the respectabilities of life, but, as well as his 
 more celebrated brother — a man of known libertinism, not 
 likely to commit a crime of the deepest dye for the purpose 
 of concealing a disreputable intrigue. To have convicted 
 Cowper of murder upon this evidence would have been, of 
 course, impossible. But the case must ever remain shrouded 
 in the darkest mystery. If not guilty of what the law defines 
 as murder, there can be no doubt that Cowper's conduct was 
 the immediate cause of the death of the unhappy girl. "When 
 the servant left the room they were on the most amicable 
 terms. This is fixed by the evidence, as nearly as possible, 
 at half-past ten by the town-clock. As the clock struck 
 eleven, Cowper entered the Glove and Dolphin Inn.^ In that 
 short half-hour he had either incurred the guilt of murder, or 
 by his imkindness had driven a woman, who loved him with 
 the most devoted affection, to rush uncalled into tlie pre- 
 sence of her IVIaker. Cowper, if not a murderer, which we 
 think he was not, must, at any rate, have been a man of a 
 singularly cold and unfeeling disposition. According to his 
 own version of the story, the girl, whom he had left only a few 
 
 ticularly, one says, the niflflos of her loft arm were above the water. You have 
 heard, also, what the doctors and snrf,'eons said, on tlie one side and tlio other, 
 concerning the swimming and sinking of dead bodies in the water; but I am 
 fiiul no ceiUiinty in it; and 1 leave it to your consideration."— 13 Stite Trials, 
 118S. 
 
 ^ Evidence of P^lizabeth Siuirr, 13 .State Tri.ils, 1177.
 
 ;39G JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 moments before, immediately upon his quitting her, sought a 
 rcfiig(^ iVoiu her love, Iier sorrows, and her shame, under the 
 cold waters of the l*riory river. On the next morning he heard 
 of her fate, and the first thing he did was to send the ostler 
 from the inn to her mother's house for his horse, fearing lest, 
 if the coroner's jury should bring in a verdict of felo de sc, the 
 animal might, being found in her stable, be claimed as for- 
 feited to the lord of the manor. From first to last there is 
 not one word of tenderness or regret. He never went near 
 the bereaved mother, but he attended the coroner's inquest, 
 gave his evidence with the utmost coolness, and the next 
 day proceeded on circuit as if nothing unusual had taken 
 place. Three other persons were indicted along witli Cowper 
 as the accomplices of his crime, but against them there was 
 not even the shadow of a case. The jury, after deliberating 
 for about half an hour, acquitted all the prisoners. 
 
 The relatives of Sarah Stout attempted to bring Cowper to a 
 second trial by means of a proceeding now abolished, entitled 
 " The Appeal of Murder." The attempt failed through the 
 influence of the Cowpers, who tampered with the sheriff, and 
 procured the destruction of the writs. The sheriff was fined 
 and imprisoned for his misconduct, Holt, the Chief Justice, 
 severely animadverting on the foul play which had been em- 
 ployed to impede the course of justice.^ Cowper continued to 
 practise at the bar, and was at last raised to the bench of the 
 Court of Common Pleas, a remarkable instance of a man who 
 had held up his hand on an arraignment for murder trying others 
 for the same offence. He is said to have learned a lesson of 
 caution and mercy from his own experience, and to have been 
 remarkable for both those qualities. 
 
 One might have supposed that poor Sarah Stout woidd have 
 been allowed to sleep in peace without having her name revived, 
 and her sad story made famous more than a century and a half 
 after her death. But such was not to be her fate. The oppor- 
 tunity of a double fling at Quakers and Tories has been too 
 great a temptation for Lord IMacaulay. It was a right-and-left 
 shot at the game he loved best. Accordingly, in the fifth and 
 
 ' Lord Eaymond, i. 575, R. v. Toler— 13 State Trials, 1199.
 
 SPENCER COWPEr's CASE. 397 
 
 concluding volume of his History, in that part which we are 
 told by the editor he had left " fairly transcribed and revised," 
 we find four pages devoted to the case of that unhappy girl. 
 The whole passage is so eloquent, so picturesque, so ingenious 
 in insinuation, so daring in the misrepresentation of facts, and 
 the distortion of evidence, and affords so good an epitome of 
 the best and the worst qualities of the author, that we give it 
 entire. 
 
 " One mournful tale, which called forth the strongest feelings of the 
 contending factions, is still remembered as a ciuious part of the history 
 of oiu jurLsprudence, and especially of the history of our medical juris- 
 prudence. No Whig member of the Lower House, with the single excep- 
 tion of Montague, filled a larger space in the public eye than William 
 Cowper. In the art of conciliating an audience, Cowper was pre-eminent. 
 His graceful and engaging eloquence cast a spell on juries ; and the 
 Commons, even in those stormy moments when no other defender of the 
 administration could obtain a hearing, would always listen to him. He 
 represented Hertford, a borough in which his family had considerable 
 influence ; but there was a strong Tory minority among the electoi-s ; and 
 he had not won liis seat without a hard fight, wliich hud left behind it 
 many bitter recollections. His younger Ijrother, Spencer, a man of parts 
 and learning, was fust lising into practice as a barrister on the home 
 circuit. 
 
 "At Hertford resided an opulent Quaker family named Stout. A 
 pretty yovmg woman of this family had lately sunk into a melancholy, of 
 a kind not very unusual in girls of strong sensibility and lively imagina- 
 tion, who are subject to the restraints of austere religious societies. Her 
 dress, her looks, her gestures, indicated the disturbance of her mind. She 
 sometimes hinted her dislike of the sect to which she belonged. Slie 
 comidained that a canting waterman, who was one of the brotherhood, 
 had held forth against her at a meeting. She threatened to go beyond 
 sea, to throw herself out of the window, to drown herself. To two or 
 three of her associates she owned that she wivs in love ; and on one 
 occasion she plainly said that the man whom she loved was one whom 
 she never could marry. In fact, the object of her fondness was Spencer 
 Cowper, who was already married. She at length wrote to him in lan- 
 guage which she never would have used if her intellect had not been 
 disordered. He, like an honest man, took no advantage of her unhajipy 
 stiite of mind, and did his best to avoid her. His prudence mortified lier 
 to such a degree that on one occasion she went into fits. It was nece.ssjiry, 
 however, that he should see her when he came to Hertford at the spring 
 assizes of 1G99, for he had been intrusted with some money whicli was due 
 to her on mortgage. He called on her for this purpose late one evening, 
 and delivered a bag of gold to her. She pressed him to be the guest of
 
 308 jiTDiriAL przzLKS. 
 
 Jkt rainily, Juit lie excused himflelt imd retinal. The nc^xt morning she 
 wiiH iouiid fk'ixd anion^,' the Htakcs of a niill-ilain on the; Htrtjani called the 
 I'riory river. That hIic had destroyed herself there coidd Ix; no reason- 
 able doubt. The coroner's inc|uest found that slic liad drowned hcrf?<df 
 while in n state of nnental <leranf,'ement. But the family was unwillin{» 
 to admit that she had shortened her own life, and lookeil about for some- 
 body who mip^lit be accused of munlering her. The last person who 
 could be proved to have been in her company wa.s Spencer Cowper. It 
 chanced that two attorneys and a scrivener, who had come down from 
 town to the Hertford assizes, had Ijeen overheard, on that unhappy night, 
 talking over their wine a])out the charms and flirtations of the handsome 
 (Quaker girl, in the light way in which such subjects are sometimes dis- 
 cussed even at the circuit tables and mess tables of our more refined 
 generation. Some wld words, susceptible of a double meaning, were used 
 about the way in which she had jilted one lover, and the way in which 
 another lover woulil punish her for her coquetry. On no better grounds 
 than these, her relations imagined that Spencer Cowper had, with the 
 assistance of these three retainers of the law, strangled her, and thrown 
 her corpse into the water. There was absolutely no evidence of the 
 crime. There was no evidence that any one of the accused had any 
 motive to commit such a crime ; there was no evidence that Spencer 
 Cowper had any connection \vith the persons who were said to be his 
 accomplices. One of those persons, indeed, he had never seen. But no 
 story is too absurd to be imposed on minds blinded by religions and 
 political fanaticism. 
 
 " The Quakers and the Tories joined to raise a formidable clamour. 
 The Quakers had, in those days, no scruples about capital piinishments. 
 They would, indeed, as Spencer Cowper said bitterly, but too truly, 
 rather send four innocent men to the gallows than let it be believed that 
 one who had their light within her had committed suicide. The Tories 
 exulted in the prospect of winning two seats from the WTiigs. The whole 
 kingdom was divided between Stouts and Cowpers. At the summer 
 assizes Hertford was crowded with anxious faces from London, and from 
 parts of England more distant thfm London. The prosecution was con- 
 ducted wnth a malignity and unfairness which to us seem almost incre- 
 dible ; and, unfortunately, the dullest and most ignorant judge of the 
 twelve was on the bench. Cowper defended hijnself and those who were 
 said to be his accomplices with admirable ability and self-possession. 
 His brother, much more distressed than himself, sate near him through 
 the long agony of that day. The case against the prisoners rested chiefly 
 on the vulgar error that a humiin body found, as this girl's body had been 
 found, floating in water, must have been thrown into the water while 
 still alive. To prove this doctrine, the counsel for the Crown called 
 medical practitioners, of whom notliing is now known except that some 
 of them had lieen active against the "NMiigs at Hertford elections. To 
 confirm the evidence of these gentlemen, two or three sailors were put 
 into the witness-box. On the other side appeared an array of men of
 
 SPENCER COWPER's CASE. 399 
 
 science whose names are still remembered. Among them was William 
 Cowper, — not a kinsman of the defendant, but the most celebrated ana- 
 tomist that England had then produced. He was, indeed, the founder of 
 a dynasty illustrious in the history of science ; for he was the teacher of 
 William Cheselden, and William Cheselden was the teacher of John 
 Himter. On the same side appeared Samuel Garth, who, among the 
 physicians of the capital, had no rival except Radcliffe, and Hans Sloanc, 
 the founder of the magnificent museimi which is one of the glories of our 
 country. The attempt of the i^rosecutors to make the superstitions of 
 the forecastle evidence for the purpose of taking away the lives of men, 
 was treated by these philosophers with just disdain. The stupid judge 
 asked Garth what he could say in answer to the testimony of the seamen. 
 ' My lord,' replied Garth, * I say that they are mistaken. I will find sea- 
 men in abundance to swear that they have known whistling raise the 
 wind.' The jury found the prisoners Not Guilty, and the report carried 
 back to London by persons who had been present at the trial was, that 
 everybody applauded the verdict, and that even the Stouts seemed to be 
 convinced of their error. It is certain, however, that the malevolence of 
 the defeated party soon revived in all its energy. The lives of the four 
 men who had just been absolved were again attacked by means of the 
 most absurd and odious proceeding known to our old law, the appeal of 
 murder. This attack too failed. Every artifice of chicane was at length 
 exhausted ; and nothing was left to the disappointed sect and the disai>- 
 poiiited faction except to calumniate those whom it had been found inii)os- 
 sible to murder. In a succession of libels, Spencer Cowper was held up to 
 the execration of the public. But the public did him justice. lie rose to 
 high eminence in his profession ; he at length took his seat, with general 
 applause, on the judicial bench, and there distinguished himself by the 
 humanity which he never failed to show to unhappy men who stood, as 
 he had stood, at the bar. Many who seldom trouble themselves about 
 pedigrees may be interested by learning that he was the grandfather of 
 that excellent man and excellent poet, William Cowper, whose writings 
 have long been peculiarly loved and prized by the membei"sof the religious 
 community which, under a strong delusion, sought to slay his innocent 
 progenitor.^ 
 
 " Though Spencer Cowper had escaped with life and honour, tlie Tories 
 had carried their point. They had secured against the next election the 
 support of the Quakers of Hertford ; and the consequence was, that the 
 borough was lost to the family and to the party which had lately predo- 
 minated there." 
 
 ' " It is curious that all Cowper'a biographers Mith whom I .1111 aoqiiaintcd 
 — Ilayley, Southey, (Jrimshawc, Chalmers — mention the judgi', tho common 
 ancestor of the poet, of his tirst love, Thoodora Cowper, and of Lady Ilcs- 
 keth, but that none of these Ijiographcrs makes tho faintest allusion to the 
 Ifertford trial, the most remarkahle event in the history of the family; nor 
 do I believe that any allusion to that trial can Ik* found in any of tho poet's 
 numerous letters."
 
 400 JUDICIAL rizzi.F.s. 
 
 NotwithstaiKlin^' tlif luct lluit I^ord Macaulay has given so 
 liirg(3 a space to this case, he has read it with more tlian ordinary 
 carelessness, lie says, — " Tlie case against the prisoner rested 
 chielly on the vulgar eiTor tliat a human body found, as this poor 
 girl's body had been found, floating in the water, must have been 
 thrown into the water while still alive." ^ The argument was 
 exactly the reverse. It was urged that the fact of her body 
 floating proved that she was thrown into the water after she 
 ivas dead ; and it was sought to be inferred that she had been 
 strangled — that if, as was argued on behalf of the prisoner, she 
 had drowned herself, her body would have been filled with 
 water, and would have sunk. The evidence as to whether the 
 body did in fact float or sink, was, as we have seen, contradic- 
 tory. The post-mortem examination was delayed so long that 
 the medical testimony had really no foundation of facts to rest 
 upon. At the trial an attempt was made, on the part of the 
 prisoner, to establish the insanity of the girl ; but nothing 
 more was proved than might be easily shown to have occurred 
 in the case of any love-sick girl who was, or fancied herself, 
 the victim of an unrequited passion. Lord Macaulay 's treat- 
 ment of this evidence is amusing. Three of the circumstances 
 on which he relies to prove her insanity are — 1st, That " she 
 sometimes hinted a dislike of the sect to which she belonged," 
 which is rather an odd proof of insanity in the mouth of Lord 
 Macaulay) ; 2d, That " she complained that a canting waterman, 
 who was one of the brethren, had held forth against her at a 
 meeting" (which happened to be true, and seems to be a toler- 
 ably reasonable ground of annoyance); and, 3d, That "to two or 
 three of her associates she owned she was in love," (Alas for 
 all young ladies from sixteen upwards, in white satin, and their 
 confidantes in white linen, if this is to be taken as a proof of 
 insanity !) But w^hen Lord IMacaulay comes to the facts con- 
 nected with Cowper's writing to announce his intention of stay- 
 ing at the house, his dining there, his return in the evening, 
 and his mysterious disappearance at night simultaneously with 
 the girl, he condenses them into the following words : " He, 
 like an honest mem, took no advantage of her unhappy state of 
 
 1 Vol. V. 238.
 
 SPENCER COWPER's CASE. 401 
 
 mind, and did his best to avoid her " (it was, to say the least, 
 an odd mode of avoiding her that he adopted), " It was ne- 
 cessary, however, that he sliould see her when he came to Hert- 
 ford at the spring assizes of 1699, for he had been intrusted 
 with some money which was due to her on mortgage. He 
 called on her, /or this purpose^ late one evening, and delivered 
 a bag of gold to lier." (The " bag " exists only in Lord Macau- 
 lay's imagination — the " gold" was the petty sum of six pounds 
 and a few odd shillings, which Cowper had received for her as 
 interest on a sum of £200 which he had placed out on mort- 
 gage on her behalf, and the payment of which certainly did not 
 make it necessary that he should be with her from two till four, 
 and again from nine till half-past ten at night.) " She pressed 
 him," adds Lord Macaulay, " to be the guest of the famOy, but 
 he excused himself and retired." 
 
 It is worth while, as a matter of philological curiosity, to 
 enumerate over again the facts which one of the greatest 
 masters of the English language can compress into the 
 phrase — "he excused himself and retired." Cowper went to 
 the house on his arrival in the town, dined there with the 
 family, left at four, returned at nine, supped, wrote his letters, 
 was present whilst his bed and his bedroom fire were ordered 
 and the maid was sent up to warm his bed ; sat alone until 
 half-past ten o'clock at night with a girl who he knew was 
 violently in love with him, who had been in the habit of 
 addressing the most passionate letters to him under a feigned 
 name, and then — " abiit — excessit — evasit — erupit." His de- 
 parture only announced by the slamming-to of the street-door. 
 This is Lord Macaulay 's notion of "excusing himself and 
 retiring." He and the girl disappeared together. In the 
 morning he is at other lodgings in the town, and she a corpse 
 in the mill-dam. 
 
 For the charge that Lord Macaulay makes that " the pro- 
 secution was conducted with a malignity ami unfairness which 
 to us seem almost incredible," we cannot discover the slightest 
 ground. Certainly none is to be found in the very ample and 
 detailed report in the ' State Trials.' Indeed, a far greater 
 latitude was allowed to the prisoner in his defence than would 
 
 2 C
 
 402 JUDICIAL IMZZr.ES. 
 
 be permitted at tlic present day. What authority Lord 
 Macauhiy may have had for describing Ilatscll, who presided 
 at the trial, as " the dullest and most ignorant judge of the 
 twelve," we know not. lie seems to have tried the case with 
 strict impartiality and very fair ability, and his charge to the 
 jury was decidedly in favour of the prisoners. 
 
 We have frequently had occasion to remark upon the 
 caution which ought to be observed before relying upon Lord 
 Macaulay's marks of quotation. An amusing instance of 
 this occurs in the passage we have just cited. A sailor of 
 the name of Clement deponed that he had frequently observed 
 that when a corpse was thrown into the sea it floated ; whereas, 
 if a man fell into the water and was drowned, his body 
 sank as soon as life was extinct. In confirmation of this, he 
 cited his own experience at the fight off Beachy Head, where 
 the bodies of the men who were killed floated about ; and at 
 a shipwreck, where between five and six hundred men were 
 drowned, whose bodies sank. This evidence was curious, 
 and if it had been proved whether Sarah Stout's body floated 
 or sank, would have been valuable. The judge felt, no doubt, 
 that it was so ; and when Garth swore that " it was impossible 
 the body should have floated," and boldly stated his belief 
 that " all dead bodies fall to the bottom unless they be pre- 
 vented by some extraordinary tumour,"^ he directed his atten- 
 tion to the evidence \vhich had been given, and asked him 
 "what he said as to the sinking of dead bodies in water?" 
 Garth replied that, " if a strangled body be thrown into the 
 water, the lungs being filled with air, and a cord left about 
 the neck, it was possible it might float, because of the included 
 air, as a bladder would." Upon this the judge recalled his 
 attention to the question as follows : — 
 
 " Baron Hatsell. — But you do not observe my question : the 
 seaman said that those that die at sea and are thrown over- 
 board, if you do not tie a weight to them, they will not sink — 
 what do you say to that ? 
 
 " Dr Garth — My lord, no doubt in this thing they are 
 mistaken. The seamen are a superstitious people : they fancy 
 
 1 13 state Trials, 1157.
 
 SPENCER COWPERS CASE. 403 
 
 that whistling at sea will occasion a tempest. / must confess 
 I have never seen anybody thrown overboard ; but I have tried 
 some experiments on other dead animals, and they will cer- 
 tainly sink: we have tried them since we came hither."^ 
 
 Now in this, we confess, it seems to us that the judge 
 appears to greater advantage than the physician. Garth was 
 evidently desirous to evade the question, and he attempted to 
 do so by a sneer. The superstition of the sailors had nothing 
 to do with the question whether a man killed in battle and 
 falling into the water floats or sinks. Garth was compelled to 
 admit he had no experience on the subject. He said, and said 
 truly, that " the object of tying weights to a body is to prevent 
 it from floating at all, which otherwise would happen in some 
 few days."^ The well-known instance of the floating of the 
 body of Caracciolo, notwithstanding the weights which were 
 attached to his feet, will occur at once to the mind of the 
 reader. The inquiry of the judge was pertinent to the evidence, 
 and the reply might have been material to the question of the 
 guilt or innocence of the prisoner. Lord IMacaulay disposes 
 of both question and answer in the following words :^" The 
 stupid judge asked Garth what he could say in answer to the 
 testimony of the seamen. ' My lord,' replied Garth, ' I say 
 that they are mistaken. I will find seamen in abundance 
 to swear that they have known whistling raise the wind." 
 There was no stupidity that we can discover in the question, 
 and the answer is misquoted. 
 
 Lord Macaulay, however, does not trouble himself with the 
 facts of the case. He finds for once the Quakers and the 
 Tories united (or rather, we ought to say, he assumes their 
 union ; for from first to last in tlie trial there is not a particle 
 of evidence that political feeling intervened), and he infers 
 that they could only be united for the purpose of committing 
 a judicial murder ; that the object of the Quakers was to " send 
 four innocent men to the gallows rather than let it be believed 
 that one who had their light within her had conmiittcd 
 suicide,"^ and that the Tories were urged on to the same 
 atrocity by "the prospect of winning two seats from the 
 1 Sfcitc Trials, 1158. « Il.i.l., 1158. =• Vol. v. 237.
 
 404 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 Whigs." Lord Macaulay makes no account of the feelings 
 that would be wakened amongst relations, friends, and neigh- 
 bours by the sudden and violent death of a young and beauti- 
 ful girl, who, whether murdered or not, had unquestionably 
 been cruelly trifled with by a man who, if not directly, was at 
 any rate indirectly the cause of her death. " Keligious and 
 political fanaticism" are motives the j)Ower of which Lord 
 Macaulay was certainly not likely to underrate. Yet it might 
 have been supposed that the religion of Sarah Stout was one 
 which he would have been disposed to treat, if not with 
 respect, at least with tenderness, however mistaken his more 
 mature convictions miglit lead him to consider it to be. 
 
 We have ourselves little sympathy with the peculiar tenets 
 and habits of the Quakers. It is difficult for any one to write 
 with perfect justice about that very singular sect. A body of 
 Christians who make it part of their religion to observe the 
 strictest rules of grammar in the use of the singular and 
 plural of the personal pronouns, whilst thoy habitually violate 
 them as to the nominative and the accusative ; whose con- 
 sciences are tender as to buttons ; who hold gay colours to be 
 "unfriendly," whilst they delight in the richest and most 
 costly fabrics ; who shrink from the hypocrisy of addressing a 
 stranger as " Dear Sir," whilst they have no scruple in calling 
 the man they most despise " Respected Friend," merely commit 
 amusing eccentricities. The evil is much more serious when 
 they proscribe all those arts which tend most to brighten our 
 course through life. Literature, except of the most dreary 
 kind, is prohibited to strict Friends. We once made a passing 
 allusion to Mr Jonathan Oldbuck, in conversation with one of 
 the most eminent Quakers of the day, a member of a learned 
 profession, and discovered, to our astonishment, that he was in 
 total ignorance of the ' Waverley Novels.' Another venerable 
 and strict Friend, seeing a volume lettered 'Horatii Opera' 
 on the table of one of his laxer brethren, shook his head 
 gravely, and said, "Thou knowest, friend, that we have a tes- 
 timony against all operas." Nothing can be conceived more 
 desolate than a pure Quaker library : Barclay's ' Apology ' and 
 Baxter's ' Saint's Best,' Penn's ' No Cross, no Crown,' and
 
 SPENCER COWPEPt'S CASE. 405 
 
 George Fox's ' Journal ' — perhaps, by extraordinary good for- 
 tune, ' Paradise Lost ' and ' The Task ' — all excellent in their 
 way, but not exactly the books to wile away a tedious hour ; 
 and one looks in vain for Sliakespeare and Scott, for Pope or 
 Fielding. Painting and music share the same fate. Now and 
 then, however, happily, the old Adam is too strong, and such 
 arts are cultivated either " clandecently," as Mawworm says, 
 or in open defiance of the yearly meeting. Gastronomy is the 
 only one of the liberal arts that flourishes unrestrained. The 
 Quakers are a hospitable j)eople ; their dinners are excellent, 
 and their wines super-excellent. The whitest linen, the most 
 brilliant silver, and the most sparkling glass, are to be found 
 at their tables. They indulge, not to excess, but silently and 
 thankfully, in these good things, and a certain serious rotundity 
 has in consequence become hereditary amongst tliem. The 
 late Lord Macaulay himself inherited something of this forma- 
 tion, modified, however, by the admixture which his blood 
 had received from the lean and liungiy Celts to whom he 
 owed his Highland name. This formation is no doubt un- 
 favourable to great personal activity ; but personal activity is 
 of little import to a Quaker. Field-sports, and their attendant 
 festivities of all kinds, are prohibited. A Quaker thinks of a 
 hunt-ball as if it were a war-dance of wild Indians. But here 
 again nature will sometimes assert her rights. We have 
 known a Quaker to be an excellent judge of a horse, and some 
 of the best heavy-weights across the Pytchly and Wanvick- 
 shire countries have been of pure Quaker blood. We once 
 lieard of a Quaker horse-dealer. But of all strange sights a 
 Quaker child is the strangest. To find a little curly-licaded 
 darling of four or five years old, who, instead of climbing on 
 one's knee, and insisting vociferously on a game at romps or 
 a fairy story before it will go to bed, walks off demurely with 
 a " Fare thee well, friend," is enough to make one's hair stand 
 on end. 
 
 Early as this discipline begins, it is pleasant to find that 
 nature is sometimes too strong for it. We have lately met 
 with a narrative (published within the last six months) of a 
 Quaker journey in America, writ by one William Tallack, a
 
 400 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 Friend, who, if we are to judge of him by his book, must be 
 dry liiiou^di to satisfy the most nervous dread of any approach 
 to tliat humidity which constitutes a " wet Quaker " — a being 
 peculiarly abhorrent to consistent Friends. After devoting 
 many pages to bonnets with round crowns, and bonnets with 
 square crowns, buttons and straps, knee shorts, and " slit col- 
 lars," and those still more execrable abominations, " turned- 
 down collars with slits in them " (though, we confess, without 
 making it by any means clear to one of the profane what con- 
 stitutes a slit collar) ; after recording how one Elias Hicks 
 " felt that his conscience required the relinquishment of un- 
 necessary buttons to his coat," and compelled him to " turn up 
 a cushion in the meeting, and to seat himself on the hard 
 board," ^ he gives some extracts from the records of the Quakers' 
 meeting, amongst which it is really refreshing to meet the 
 passions and the foibles of poor human nature. 
 
 Here is the confession of a warm-tempered Friend, who 
 probably would have been all the better for the cooling disci- 
 pline he administered to liis neighbour, even at the risk of the 
 dreaded consequence of becoming " wet." 
 
 " Whereas I contended with my neighbour, W. S., for what 
 I apprehended to be my right, by endeavouring to turn a cer- 
 tain stream of water into its natural course, till it arose to a 
 personal difference, in which dispute I gave w^ay to warmth of 
 temper so far as to put my friend W. into the pond ; for which 
 action of mine, being contrary to the good order of Friends, I 
 am sorry, and desire, through divine assistance, to live in unity 
 with him for the future." - 
 
 But it is not to wrath alone that Friends sometimes give 
 way. A gentler passion occasionally hurries them beyond 
 the bounds of what is strictly " friendly." 
 
 " Whereas I was too forward and hasty in making suit to a 
 young woman after the death of my wife, having made some 
 
 ^ It is to hoped that Elias Hicks never became subject to the inconvenient 
 delusion recorded by Melauder of an unhappy man, " qui opinatus est, ex \itro 
 sibi constatas clunes, sic ut omnia sua negotia atque actiones stando perficcret, 
 metuens, ne, si in sedile se inclinaret, nates confringeret, ac vitri fragmenta 
 hinc inde dissilirent. " — Melan., Joco-Srria, 433. 
 
 2 Friendly Sketchesin America, by William Tallack.
 
 SPENCER COWPER's CASE. 407 
 
 proceedings that way in less than four months, which I am 
 now sensible was wrong. As witness my hand, R. H." ^ 
 
 Even that peaceful union which we are bound to suppose a 
 Quaker marriage to be (by the way, what a very odd proceed- 
 ing a Quaker courtship must be ! — how do they get married at 
 all ?) is sometimes disturbed by the sinful passions of humanity. 
 Thus we find that the " Concord preparation-meeting com- 
 plains of J. P. S. for breach of his marriage covenants in 
 refusing to live with his wife, as a faithful husband ought 
 to do." 
 
 Nor does the traveller fail to observe the hospitality which 
 we have already noticed as so commendable amongst friends, 
 but which is sometimes carried to an inconvenient excess. 
 
 " At meals," he says, " there is generally several times the 
 quantity of food placed upon the table which could possibly be 
 eaten by the heartiest appetites of those present, and plates are 
 piled with so much that they are seldom empty at the end of 
 the meal. ... It is usual to help a visitor to two or 
 three slices of pie at a time." 
 
 Times have certainly changed amongst the Quakers since 
 
 " Brother Green was feasted 
 With a spiritual collation 
 By our frugal mayor, 
 Who can <line with a praj'er. 
 And sup with an exhortation. " 
 
 Still it must be admitted by all candid men that Quakerism 
 has its estimable as well as its ridiculous side, and that a sect 
 which can number amongst its followers such men as William 
 Penn, Ell wood the friend of Milton, Barclay, Clarkson, Rey- 
 nolds the philanthropist, and Dalton the philosopher, desen'es 
 a treatment far different from that which it has received from 
 Lord Macaulay. To assert, witliout one particle of evidence 
 to support the statement, that the Quakers deliberately planned 
 a judicial murder to conceal the fact that one of tlioir body had 
 committed suicide, is just as monstrous as to inii)uti' to the 
 Tories that they were accomplices in the crime. Tliis unscru- 
 pulous treatment of facts, and equally unscrupulous suggestion 
 
 ' Friendly Sketches in America, 195.
 
 408 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 of motives, is one of the most dangerous weapons a combatant 
 can wield. No instrument of attack is so easily turned against 
 the party making use of it. If a hi.storian could be found 
 equally unscrupulous as Lord Macaulay, and as deeply imbued 
 with opposite prejudices, nothing would be easier than to para- 
 })hrase his account of Spencer Cowper's trial almost in his own 
 words, and with far less departure from the facts. The narra- 
 tive would then assume something of the following form : " At 
 Hertford resided a respectable Quaker family named Stout. 
 One daughter, a beautiful girl of strong sensibility and lively 
 imagination, formed a deep attachment to Spencer Cowper. 
 lie trifled with her affections, took every advantage of her un- 
 happy state of mind, and then cast her off and married another 
 woman. Her almost frantic attachment still continued. She 
 wrote letters to him breathing the deepest passion. He par- 
 aded them before his brother (who was a man of notoriously 
 loose habits) and his other profligate associates. When he 
 came to the Hertford spring assizes in 1699, he went direct to 
 her mother's house. He dined and supped there ; he spent 
 the evening in affectionate conversation with the girl he had 
 betrayed. His bed was prepared in the house, and the servant- 
 girl was sent up to warm it. Spencer Cowper and Sarah Stout 
 were left together in the parlour — from that moment she was 
 never seen alive. They left the house together at half-past ten 
 at night, and in the morning her corpse was discovered in the 
 mill-dam. It would perhaps be going too far to assert that 
 Cowper was certainly her murderer, but the case was one of the 
 darkest suspicion. He was placed upon his trial for murder, 
 but to anticipate a conviction would have been absurd. The 
 law closed the mouth of the principal witness, the mother of 
 the girl, for she was a Quaker, and could not take an oath. 
 The judge, a friend of the Cowpers, indulged the prisoner in a 
 degree of licence in his defence which in the present day would 
 not be tolerated. The Cowpers were powerful in Hertford, 
 which was represented in Parliament by the father and the 
 brother of the prisoner. Every artifice that could influence the 
 minds of the jury against Quakers and Tories was resorted to. 
 Every prejudice of religious or political fanaticism against an
 
 SPENCER COWPERS CASE. 409 
 
 unpopular sect and an obnoxious party was appealed to. The 
 consequence was that Cowper was acquitted. An attempt was 
 made to place him on his trial a second time by means of an 
 ' appeal of murder,' a proceeding which Lord Holt, in this very 
 case, designated as ' a noble badge of the liberties of an English- 
 man.' But here again the influence of the powerful family of 
 the Cowpers paralysed tlie arm of justice. The sheriff was 
 tampered with and the writ destroyed. The sheriff paid the 
 penalty ©f his misconduct by imprisonment and fine, and was 
 subjected to a severe reljuke from Lord Holt. The Cuwpers 
 triumphed, but their exultation was short. Outraged human- 
 ity vindicated its rights. The press teemed with indignant 
 pamphlets, and at the next election both the Cowpers were 
 ignominiously ejected from the representation of their native 
 town." ^ 
 
 Such is the mode in which this subject may be treated, 
 when, as in the old fable, the lion turns sculptor. It is far 
 nearer the truth than Lord Macaulay's own. To gratify 
 his political and family aversions. Lord Macaulay has raked 
 up the ashes of poor Sarah Stout, and has revived a very 
 discreditable incident in the history of a very eminent family. 
 He expresses surprise that none of the biographers of the 
 poet Cowper should have alluded to this adventure of his 
 grandfather. An old proverb might have told him that 
 there are certain families amongst whom it is a breach of 
 good manners to make any mention of " hemp." "We think 
 it was Quin who once introduced Foote to a company as " a 
 gentleman whose father was hanged for murdering his uncle." 
 Polite and pious biographers such as Hayley and Southey 
 generally avoid all allusion to such disagreeable subjects. 
 ■Lord Macaulay is puzzled by what appears to liim unnecessary 
 delicacy, and has made the whole scandalous story (for scan- 
 
 > " It is hanlly necessary to remind any stuiliiit of Engli.sh history that Spencer 
 Cowper anil Sarah Stout are the Mosco ami Zara of 'The New Atlantis.' Seo 
 vol. i. 166, 174, for a very full account of this unhai)py tran.saition. Lord Mac- 
 aulay, who luis drawn largely ui>on the storu.s of this work in other instances, 
 appears to have overlooked the fact that this narrative was to he found in the 
 pages of a contemporary historian, whose character for acLurucy is second only 
 to his own."
 
 410 JUDICIAL PUZZLES. 
 
 dalous it must remain, even taking the most favourable view) 
 as notorious as possilde. Where one reader dives into tlie 
 ' State Trials,' a thousand will read Lord Macaulay's fifth vol- 
 ume ; and all the world now has the advantage of knowing 
 that the grandfather of "that excellent man, and excellent 
 poet," as Lord IMacaulay justly calls William Cowper, behaved 
 extremely ill to a pretty Quaker girl, and had a narrow escape 
 of being hanged for murdering her.
 
 ESSAYS ON ART 
 
 I. EUSKIN'S ELEMENTS OF DRAWING 
 II. A DAY AT ANTWERP (RUBENS AND RUSKIN) 
 
 III. GEORGE CRUIKSIIANK 
 
 IV. JOHN LEECH
 
 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING.^ 
 
 Mr Ruskin has been before the workl for some years as the 
 most voluminous, the most confident, and ILe most dogmatic 
 of art-critics. He has astonished his readers no less by liis 
 platitudes than by his paradoxes. lie has revealed the 
 astounding fact that Titian and Velasquez could paint, and 
 has made the no less surprising discovery that Eaphael could 
 not ; that Eembrandt's chiaroscuro is " always forced, generally 
 false, "and wholly vulgar;"'- that Murillo, Salvator, Claude> 
 Poussin, Teniers, and " such others," ^ are base and corrupt ; 
 that it is the duty of every one who happens to possess the 
 principal works of Strange, Morghen, Longhi, and tlie other 
 great line-engravers, forthwith to consign them to the flames ; 
 and that' the horrors of the French Eevolution were attril)ut- 
 able to the Eenaissance school of architecture.'* These kind 
 of assertions, conveyed in a light, confident, and flippant style, 
 are amusing enough, and, as long as Mr Euskin's audience is 
 confined to those who have some real knowledge of the sub- 
 jects of which he treats, do no harm, but pass off as the fan- 
 faronnadc of some clever half-craz}- talker d(jes at the dinner- 
 table, when no one thinks his amusing absurdities worth a 
 
 1 The Elements of Drawing, liy Jolin Ruskin, Author of ' Modem Painters,' 
 &c. (Blackwood'.s Mofjazine, January 1860.) 
 
 2 Notes, 1859, y. 52. ' Elcniciita of Drawiny, \\>y., j.. 3-lG. 
 ^ Lectures, 138.
 
 414 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 serious answer, and he is tolerated as an oddity until he 
 becomes intolerable as a bore. 
 
 Mr Ruskin has, however, of late appeared as a lecturer to 
 the working classes, and a teacher of drawing to beginners in 
 the art ; and in this character he assumes, upon what ground 
 we do not exactly know, a kind of semi-ofhcial authority. 
 
 Now he may be a perfectly safe and harmless companion 
 for the young ladies who draw at the Kensington Museum, but 
 he is a dangerous guide for those who do not possess consider- 
 ably more knowledge than himself : those who do, may follow 
 his vagaries so long as they find them amusing, and quit them 
 when they please, without much harm being done. But the 
 persons to whom Mr Ruskin specially addresses himself, in 
 his ' Letters to Beginners,' will, we are convinced, derive 
 nothing but mischief from his teachings. We have read these 
 Letters with attention, and we can discover no reason why Mr 
 Ruskin should not follow up the ' Elements of Drawing ' with 
 elements of naval tactics, horsemanship, engineering, dog- 
 breaking, political economy, rat-catching, domestic cookery, 
 moral philosophy, and the rights of women, — upon any or all 
 of which subjects he is fully as well qualified to teach as he 
 is to instruct beginners in the elements of drawing. 
 
 Even so early as his Preface, Mr Ruskin makes a display 
 of ignorance which is perfectly astounding. He tells his 
 pupil that " perspective is not of the slightest use except in 
 rudimentary work ; " ^ that " no great painters ever trouble 
 themselves about perspective, and very few of them know its 
 laws ; " that " Turner, though he was Professor of Perspective 
 to the Royal Academy, did not know what he professed, and 
 never drew a single bmlding in perspective in his life ; " and 
 that " Prout also knew nothing of perspective," and twisted 
 his buildings, as Turner did, into whatever shapes he liked. 
 This is precisely equivalent to sajdng that a knowledge of 
 anatomy is not of the slightest use to the surgeon, that no 
 great operator ever troubled himself about it, and that Sir 
 Astley Cooper and Mr Liston were utterly ignorant of the 
 science they professed to teach. 
 
 ^ Preface, x^•iii.
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 415 
 
 Drawing consists in the art of representing on a plane sur- 
 face the varieties of appearance presented by natural objects 
 as they recede from the eye. Perspective is the science 
 which teaches the artist how to do this correctly ; and when 
 Mr Euskin says that " you can draw the rounding line of a 
 table in perspective, but you cannot draw the sweep of a sea- 
 bay ; you can foreshorten a log of wood by it, but cannot 
 foreshorten an arm," ^ he simply displays his own ignorance 
 of the terms he uses. 
 
 The principles which govern the foreshortening of a beam 
 and the foreshortening of a limb are identical. It is true that 
 the application of those principles is more difficult in the latter 
 than in the former case, because the object to which they are 
 applied is more complex and varied in form. Nor is the acquir- 
 ing of such knowledge of perspective as is requisite for a be- 
 ginner by any means so difficult a task as Mr Euskin represents. 
 Let the student keep steadily in view the fact, that the impres- 
 sion upon liis eye is produced by a ray of light reflected straight 
 from the object he wishes to represent ; let him consider his 
 paper as a transparent vertical plane placed between his eye 
 and the object, and then let him observe at what point sucli a 
 ray would pass through that plane ; let him think this over, 
 and practise it by observing how the lines of any simple object 
 fall on a vertical sheet of glass (the pane of a window for in- 
 stance), and tracing them with a little Chinese white, as Mr 
 Euskin himself has described in a following page, and he will 
 find his difficulties as to the principles of perspective will dis- 
 appear more rapidly than he would expect. But never let the 
 student fall into the fatal error of supposing that he can safely 
 neglect the acquirement of a knowledge of perspective. How 
 he is to acquire that knowledge is another matter. We do not 
 say that he must necessarily learn it from treatises. If he 
 learns it from his own observation of nature, so much the bet- 
 ter. But learn it he must, or he will fall into errors as gross 
 as those which we shall show ]Mr Euskin has himself committed, 
 when we come to consider the " illustrations, drawn by tlu^ 
 author," with which he has adorned liis pages. Having told 
 
 ' Preface, xviii.
 
 416 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 his pupil what he is not to do, Mr Ruskin next proceeds to tell 
 liiiu what he is to do ; and since the days when Michael Scott 
 set his troublesome demon to make ropes of sand, we have 
 known no task so wearisome, so hopeless, and so unprofitable. 
 He is to cover small i)ieces of smooth paper with a uniform 
 grey tint by means of an infinitude of scratches made with 
 black ink and an extremely fine steel pen. Having accomplished 
 the uniform tint, he is then, with the same materials, and the 
 same instrument, and by the same means, to produce a tint 
 graduated from perfect black to an imperceptible grey. If the 
 ingenuity of man were employed to produce a scheme to dull 
 the intellect and cramp the hand of a student, it would be im- 
 possible to devise one more calculated to effect those objects. 
 To hope to draw, however imperfectly, without the devotion of 
 time and labour, is folly ; but time and labour are too valuable 
 to be cast away — we will not say with no result, but with 
 what is far worse, with the result of damping energy, extin- 
 guishing hope, degrading the intellect, and crippling the hand 
 of the labourer. Such would be the inevitable consequence of 
 a faithful adherence to Mr Ruskin's teachings. His first lesson 
 is to reject what is valuable ; his second, to acquire, at the cost 
 of infinite pains, what is worse than worthless. 
 
 As he advances, the student is to exchange his square bits 
 of paper for the capital letters of the alphabet — literally to go 
 to his A, B, C ! Here he might, in a very imperfect way, by 
 copying the forms of the letters, acquire some accuracy of eye 
 and some command of the pencil ; but no — even this is denied 
 him by his inexorable taskmaster ; the forms of the letters are 
 to be set out by ruler and compasses ! 
 
 We trust that few students will follow INIr Euskin's instruc- 
 tions beyond this point. If they do they will find themselves 
 involved in an inextricable labyrinth of confusion, and directed 
 to attempt the most useless and impossible things. For ex- 
 ample, they will find that they are desired to copy photo- 
 graphs. Now a photograph is a valuable subject for study. It 
 enables one to refer from time to time, at leisure and whilst 
 one is at work, to an accurate transcript of a great part of the 
 work of nature. But it is a part only; and the very excellence
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 417 
 
 of the photograph iu that part, the minuteness and accuracy 
 with which it records what it does contain, renders it unfit for 
 the purpose of being copied from, hy reason of the impossiljility 
 of following it accurately. At the same time, the omissions 
 and variations which are inherent in the nature of the process, 
 make it equally unfit, for reasons the very reverse. I'hoto- 
 graphs are necessarily affected by the local colour of the objects, 
 — thus yellows print off darker, and blues lighter than in na- 
 ture ; and as colour is universal in all natural objects, this ren- 
 ders them not merely useless but mischievous to the student, 
 and requires that they should be used with caution even by 
 the accomplished artist, who may derive considerable service 
 from them as memoranda by which to fill up the details of his 
 sketches, or supply the defects of his memory. 
 
 Our limits will not permit us to go step by step with the 
 student through the maze which Mr Ruskin has prepared for 
 him, or to point out the quagmires and sloughs of despond 
 which await him on his journey ; we must hasten from Mr 
 Euskin's teaching to his practice. 
 
 In the third volume of his ' Modern Painters,' j\Ir liuskin has 
 given us as a frontispiece his exposition of " Lake, Cloud, and 
 Sky," drawn by himself, and very beautifully engraved by 'Mv 
 Armytage. "We do not intend to subject this work to criticism, 
 such as might fairly be applied to the production of any pro- 
 fessional artist ; we shall handle it gently ; but ^h Euskin is 
 a teacher, and we may therefore fairly require that his work 
 should at least be free from such errors as a moderately intel- 
 ligent pupil, who had received half-a-dozen lessons from an 
 ordinary drawing-master, ought to be ashamed of committing. 
 
 The scene which Mr Euskin has selected as the subject for 
 his pencil is in the neighbourhood of Como. The sun, sinking 
 behind a distant mountain, pours a Hood of light along a val- 
 ley rich with woodland and meadow, through which a glitter- 
 ing stream winds its peaceful way past towers and trees, and 
 beneath the arches of picturus(pie bridges; whilst the eye of tlie 
 spectator (who is supposed to be at an elevation of about eight 
 hundred feet) is sheltered from his rays by a group of fantast it- 
 clouds, under which they are showered down upon the land- 
 
 2 1)
 
 418 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 scape and the lake beneath his feet. The subject is simple as 
 well as beautiful, and we shall proceed presently to examine 
 how ]\Ir liuskin has treated it. Before we do so, however, we 
 nmst (at the risk of telling the reader what he is already very 
 i)ossibly ac(iuainted with) remind him of one of the simplest 
 rules of Mr liuskin's despised science of Perspective. 
 
 The rays of the sun, being parallel to each other, it follows 
 that the shadows of vertical objects cast upon a horizontal 
 plane are also parallel to each other. When such shadows are 
 to be represented in a drawing, it is necessary, in order to give 
 the effect produced upon the eye correctly, that they should be 
 drawn so that if their lines were prolonged they would all meet 
 in one common focus, on some point level with the eye of the 
 spectator, which point is called the vanishing-point. 
 
 When, therefore, the position and direction of any one such 
 shadow is determined (which, of course, must depend upon the 
 relative position of the sun, the object that casts the shadow, 
 and the spectator), the position and direction of all the rest 
 may be found by means of lines drawn from the vanishing- 
 point of that shadow past the base of the objects which cast 
 the others. We will now apply this rule to iSIv liuskin's 
 drawing. 
 
 The eye of the spectator, he tells us, is about eight hundred 
 feet above the lake ; the horizon (as it is technically called), 
 or line opposite to the eye, is therefore considerably above the 
 top of the tower on the right-hand side of the picture — prob- 
 ably about level with the line of mist that crosses the distant 
 mountain. 
 
 Now on the margin of the lake there are a number of trees, 
 standing on a Hat alluvial plain, all of which cast very distinct 
 and clearly-defined shadows. If these shadows were correctly 
 drawn, they would all converge at some one point on the hori- 
 zon. Let the reader find the vanishing-points of these shadows. 
 He will discover that, instead of converging to one point, they 
 fall, some to the extreme right, others to the extreme left of the 
 picture, some out of the picture altogether, some in one place, 
 and some in another, apparently not by rule or observation, but 
 by mere haphazard, and, strange to say, all wrong. 
 
 We can explain in a few words why we say all wrong.
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 419 
 
 The sun, it will be observed, is as nearly as possible oppo- 
 site to the eye of the spectator ; the shadow of the large tree 
 directly below the sun would therefore be projected towards 
 the spectator. Instead of this, it is represented as falling to- 
 wards his right hand. 
 
 The vanishing-point of this shadow ought to be in the cen- 
 tre between the two sides of the picture, and about half-way 
 up the distant mountain: towards this point all the shadows 
 ought to converge. It wiU be found, however, that not one of 
 them even approaches that direction, but all fall wider of the 
 murk than the balls of an awkward squad on their first day's 
 practice at the target. 
 
 If any reader doubts our correctness, let him take the print 
 to the top of Arthur's Seat any bright afternoon, when the sun 
 is sinking towards the Pentlands, and observe the shadows of 
 the trees in the neighbourhood of Newington and Salisbury 
 Green, and compare the workmanship of nature with the work- 
 manship of Mr Euskin. 
 
 As may be supposed, this is only one of many blundei-s. 
 They are about as numerous in this pretty print as in the 
 famous old Willow Pattern dinner-plate. For example, Mr 
 Euskin has introduced two bridges in parallel planes ; one he 
 throws into dark shadow, whilst the under side of the arch 
 is brilliantly illuminated ; the other — by way of variety, we 
 suppose, and in defiance of all the laws of optics — has its side 
 in bright light, whilst under the arches all is darkness. In 
 regard to both, the spectator is supposed to be gifted wilh 
 organs of vision endued with the powers of Sir Boyle Eoche's 
 celebrated gun ; for though 800 feet above the bridges, he sees 
 under botli of them, wliilst not a particle of the roadway oviT 
 either of them is viSil)le ! Such is the work of one who as- 
 sumes to teach the " Elements of Drawing " ! ^ 
 
 At page 14G of tliis latter book, Mr Euskin gives his pupils 
 an example of his capacity for instructing them in the laws 
 which govern light and shade, so ingenious in combining lh(> 
 greatest possible number of obvious errors within tlie .smallest 
 
 ^ Errors equally obvious will be found in Mr Ktiskin's other iksigiis, v. 
 Plates 7G, 79, 84.
 
 4l'() ESaAYM ON AJ:T. 
 
 possible space, tliat we examined it carefully, read over and 
 over again every word relating to it, and found it re^Kiatcd 
 four times before we could convince ourselves that it wa.s not 
 intended as an example in the same sense in which a drunkard 
 suffering under delirium tremens, or a pickpocket on the tread- 
 wlieel, is spoken of as an example — to wit, a shocking example. 
 The subject here is even more simple, consisting of a foot- 
 bridge thrown across a small mountain-ravine and guarded by 
 a hand-rail. The bridge is represented as supported by struts 
 fixed into the bank on each side of the bridge, and the light 
 ialls from the right-hand side of the picture. 
 
 Now we will assume that some one of the shadows is cor- 
 rectly given, and we will take the plainest and most obvious — 
 namely, the sliadow thrown by the strut nearest to the right- 
 hand side of the sketch. The light (falling, as we have said, 
 from the right hand) throws the lower side of this strut into 
 shade, casting also a distinct, well-defined shadow down the 
 bank to the left. So far so good. But will Mr Kuskiu tell us 
 how it happens that the fellow-strut which supports the other 
 side of the bridge, and which cannot by possibility receive a 
 single ray of direct light, conies to be in bright sunshine also ? 
 Will he explain how it happens that the roadway of the bridge 
 stands shadowless as Peter Schlemihl himself; or whence comes 
 the long shadow which wanders down the bank at its own free 
 will, with no substance whatever to account for it — an inde- 
 pendent, strong-minded shadow, living on a separate main- 
 tenance, and bidding defiance to all laws of optics ? And 
 above all, will he tell us whether his experience of Alpine 
 bridges is that it is common to find black curtains suspended 
 from them ? or if not, how it happens that the eye of the spec- 
 tator, which wanders freely into distance over the bridge, is 
 denied the satisfaction of seeing anything whatever i/.nder it, 
 where in nature either the opposite side of the ravine, clothed 
 in its lovely garment of heather, fern, or moss, or a landscape 
 of some sort near or distant, must have presented itself, in- 
 stead of the triangular black patch with which he has filled up 
 the space ? 
 
 It is impossible to comprehend to their full extent the ab-
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DK AWING. 421 
 
 surdities comprised in this sketch without careful exaniinatiou 
 of the cut itself ; but they are so obvious, that any eye with 
 the slightest practice will detect them at once ; and it is mar- 
 vellous how' any one who has seen so many drawings as Mr 
 Kuskin must have done, should be capable of putting sucli a 
 design upon paper without being startled and shocked at liis own 
 performance. It adds one to the many instances which prove 
 how confidently a man may talk, and how much paper he may 
 cover with ink, upon a subject of the very rudiments of which 
 he may remain to the last profoundly ignorant. 
 
 We shall content ourselves with these two examples of the 
 success with which JNIr Ruskin, when he has trusted himself 
 with the pencil, has shown his contempt for perspective and 
 optics, and shall proceed to examine an instance of equal dar- 
 ing in the use of the pen. In the first volume of ' Modern 
 Painters,' Mr Ruskin lays down the law upon the subject 
 of the effect of shadow on water in the following words : 
 " Water receives no shadow. . . . There is no shadow on 
 clean water. If it have rich colouring-matter suspended in it, 
 or a dusty surface, it will take shadow ; and when it has itself 
 a positive colour, as in the sea, it will take something like 
 shadows in the distant efi'ect, but never near. . . . The 
 horizontal lines cast by clouds on the sea are 7iot shadows, but 
 reflections." 
 
 Then follows Mr Ruskin's usual assertion — " These rules are 
 universal and incontrovertible." ^ 
 
 It is difficult to say whether this passage is more remarkable 
 for error of fact, confidence of assertion, or confusion of lan- 
 guage. Mr Ruskin appears not to know what shadow is. 
 AVherever the rays of the sun are intercepted by an opaque 
 substance, all objects beyond that substance would be in lotal 
 darkness, were it not that they become partially illuminated 
 by means of the rays reflected upon them by other surroinid- 
 ing ol)jects. Shadow, therefore, is simi)ly a dein-ivation of the 
 direct rays of the sun ; and to assert that water receives no 
 shadow, is either an absurdity or a confusion of terms. If a 
 cloud, a rock, or the hull of a ship, is interposed between the 
 
 » Moaeiu raiiitiis, ;530.
 
 422 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 SUM aiitl tlic snrfiico of tlic wator, the water receives the 
 shadow ; or, to speak with more accuracy, it does not receive 
 tlie dircci rays of tlic sun, or if tlic intervening body be semi- 
 transparent, receives them partially. Now let us examine what 
 effect is produced upon the eye of the spectator by this dei)riva- 
 tioii of light on the surface of the water. If the water were as 
 transparent as the air on its surface, the eye would be uncon- 
 scious of its existence — the ray of light which defines the edge 
 of the shadow would pass through the water as it passes through 
 the air, and the shadow of the object would be seen at the 
 bottom, in the same way (allowance being made for refraction) 
 as if there were no water at all. 
 
 Such absolute transparency is, however, never found in 
 nature, and even an approach to it is extremely rare. Tliere 
 is always practically some shadow on the surface of the 
 water, the degree of intensity of that shadow being depen- 
 dent on several circumstances, but mainly on the degree of 
 transparency of the water. The reader may test this for 
 himself by a very simple experiment. Let him take a wash- 
 hand basin, half filled with clear water, and place it in bright 
 sunshine ; then let him hold a pencil or brush so that the 
 shadow shall fall partly on the side of the basin above the 
 water, and partly on the water, he will see the shadow on the 
 bottom of the basin refracted at the point where it impinges 
 on the water ; but he will hardly be able to detect any percep- 
 tible shadow on the surface of the water. Then let him darken 
 the water with a little sepia ; he will now see at the edge of 
 the water two shadows, one on the surface of the water and the 
 other on the basin, seen imperfectly through the semi-ti^ans- 
 parent water. As these shadows approach the centre of the 
 basin where the water is deeper, he will find the one on the 
 basin gradually disappear, and the one on the surface of the 
 water become deeper and more distinct. 
 
 "What Mr Euskin means by saying that the water of the sea 
 "has itself a positive colour," and that, therefore, it will take 
 " something like shadows," but which we suppose are not 
 shadows, it is utterly impossible to say. The nearest approach 
 to absolute transparency that we have ever seen in water, is
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 423 
 
 in deep sea. Mr Euskin's notions of the positive colour of 
 sea-water may perhaps be taken from Brighton, where the sea 
 generally looks as if Neptune had been shaving himself, and 
 had thrown the soap-suds into it. 
 
 To any one who watches with care the ever-varying ap- 
 pearance of the ocean, or of any large body of water under 
 the influence of sunlight, clouds, and wind, it will be ap- 
 parent that the effects which delight his eye are produced by 
 the action of shadow falling on the constantly changing sur- 
 face, combined w^ith the reflection of the forms of objects more 
 or less disturbed by the irregularities of that surface. He will 
 easily discern how much is due to one cause, and how much 
 to the other, by keeping in mind that the reflection of any 
 object must always be in a direct line between that object and 
 his own eye, w^hilst the position of the shadow cast by the 
 same object depends altogether upon its position in relation to 
 the sun. Thus the shadow cast by a cloud falls upon that 
 part of the sea between which and the sun the cloud is inter- 
 posed, whilst the reflection of the same cloud is upon that part 
 of the sea which appears to the eye to be in a direct line below 
 the cloud. So, too, in regard to the effect of ripple upon the 
 water ; the side of each tiny wave which is presented towards 
 the sun is in light, whilst the opposite side is in shadow. The 
 same is true of all waves. It must, however, be ahvays borne 
 in mind, that the appearance presented to the eye by water de- 
 pends greatly upon the angle at which it is seen; and also that, 
 owing to its highly-polished surface, it sends back, even in its 
 shaded part, a far greater portion of the reflected light wliich it 
 derives from the atmosphere and from surrounding objects 
 than land does, and these circumstances produce an infinite 
 variety of effects.^ 
 
 We have said enough to put the student upon his guard 
 against supposing that he can deprive any benefit from the 
 
 1 It is liut fair to Jlr Knskin to state, that in a Liter edition of tlio Modem 
 Painters lie apitcirs to have arrived at a certain dim and confused conscious- 
 ness that the rules which lie had so rcnfidcntly laid down as " univers-il and 
 incontrovertible" were not to ho nlicd upon, tliou^h he has not had the can- 
 dour to point out the errors into which his dogmatical assertions must have 
 led readers who placed reliance on his authority.
 
 424 ESSAY8 ON ART. 
 
 teachings of Mr Fiuskiii. When he has acquired some know- 
 ledge and proficiency in his art, he may, if he likes, read Mr 
 liuskin's book to see what ought not to be tauglit. The rule 
 of contrary is almost a safe one in this case. Before we quit 
 tills part of the subject, however, we must give the student 
 a few words of advice as to what he safely may do, keeping in 
 mind that we are addressing ourselves to those who follow art 
 not as a professional study, but as a means of useful and de- 
 lightful self-instruction. To acquire accuracy of eye and cor- 
 rectness of hand, he cannot do better than copy carefully, first 
 in pencil and afterwards in pen-and-ink, Eetsch's outlines, 
 ilhistrative of "Faust," "The Song of the Bell," and "The 
 Fight with the Dragon." The illustrations of Shakespeare's 
 Plays are very inferior. This practice will teach him accuracy 
 and delicacy of execution. He should draw the hands, feet, 
 and faces with extreme care, which will prepare him for after- 
 wards drawing from the round, or from the living model. 
 Pinelli's etchings are also excellent practice. He should study, 
 and, when more advanced, may, with great advantage, copy 
 the fac-simile engravings from the sketches of the old masters 
 by Bartolozzi and others. Here, however, he must be upon 
 his guard, as these etchings are full of the "pentimenti" or 
 corrections of the artist ; things invaluable, as showing how 
 great men worked, and how sedulously they corrected any 
 errors into which they might happen to fall, but not to be imi- 
 tated. The student may rely upon it that he will make abun- 
 dance of mistakes of his own without copying those of other 
 men. In landscape, he will be fortunate if he can procure a 
 copy of David Coxe's ' Young Artist's Companion,' and wise if 
 he will work diligently through it. Failing this, Harding's 
 ' Elementary Art ' is a safe and useful guide. Let him study 
 woodcuts, but not copy any except such as have been drawn 
 expressly for that purpose. The reason for this advice is, that 
 the process of woodcutting is precisely the reverse of that of 
 drawing with the pencil or pen. In woodcutting, the stroke 
 of the graver produces a white ; in drawing, the pencil — in etch- 
 ing or engraving, the needle or graver — produces a dark stroke. 
 This reversal of the process renders the Moodcut, which has its
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 425 
 
 own peculiar advantages in the rendering of sparkling effects 
 (especially observable in the exquisite works of Bewick, and 
 also in the cuts from ^Mr Birket Foster's designs), unfit for a 
 student to copy. If possible, copy drawings, not lithographs. 
 In the lithograph the action of the hand is unavoidably re- 
 versed ; and the best way of copying them, therefore, is to 
 place them before a glass and to copy the reliection. Always 
 remember that the eye requires more education than the hand : 
 and that the most important knowledge to be acquired is to 
 know accurately what you see. To one who does not pursue 
 art as a profession, this is the principal advantage of practising 
 it. Even a moderate proficiency is almost equivalent to a new 
 sense ; and a man who does not draw may almost be said not 
 to see. The student will soon feel that he hardly sees any 
 object thoroughly until he has drawn it, or at least looked 
 at it with the view of doing so. Do not meddle witli colour 
 until you have acquired some facility in representing form 
 accurately. Seize every opportunity of seeing and carefully 
 examining the sketches and studies of first-rate artists — of men 
 who can draw. Whatever Mr Euskin may say to the contrary, 
 you will be fortunate if you are able to possess yourself of the 
 works which he directs you to throw into the fire — the works 
 of the great line-engravers ! It is the only way in which a 
 familiarity with the greatest works of art can be acquired by 
 the vast majority of peoj)le. A journey to Eome or Florence, 
 or even to Paris or Antwerp, is not possible to all men ; and 
 even when possible, it is but a very small portion of a man's 
 life that he can afford to spend in picture-galleries. lUit the 
 engraving may be always with us. It is a liouseliold friend ; 
 an armchair-and-slipper companion. "We go to it from the 
 turmoils, disappointments, and vexations of life, sure of a wel- 
 come. We have at this moment lying on the table beside us, 
 Doo's admirable engi-aving from Etty's great picture of "The 
 Combat ; Woman interceding for the Vanquished." What 
 glorious images crowd on our brain as we gaze u}>on it ! Let 
 us enter the portals of that temple where the original is en- 
 shrined — our own National Gallery of Scotland. What associa- 
 tions of gcniub and heroism greet us on the very tln-eshold '.
 
 426 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 Them tlu! matchless beauty which inspired Pteynolds and 
 lioiniicy — wliicli speeded Nelson to victory, and shared his 
 thoughts with his ungrateful country in the hour of his crown- 
 ing glory and death — still glows on the canvas of Lawrence. 
 That lithe agile boy, who stands ready to vault into his sad- 
 dle, is one whose " lion port and awe-commanding face," in 
 days when genius had shed its full effulgence on his brow, 
 and linked the name of Wilson in kindred immortality with 
 those of Burns and Scott, was again stamped in undying 
 colours by the pencil of Watson Gordon. There Gainsborough 
 tells us how lovely, in all the charm of perfect womanhood, 
 was the earthly fonu of her whose spirit hovered over Graham 
 on the bloody field of Barossa ; and here, surrounded by noble 
 works of Tintoretto, Vandyke, and Velasquez, by the sweet 
 fiincies of Noel Baton, and the glens and moors in which Tliom- 
 son of Duddingston delighted, stand five grand pictures by 
 Etty. In three of them he tells how Judith, the daughter of 
 ISIerari, clothed in holiness and chastity, went forth to deliver 
 the people of God from the might of Holofernes, the general of 
 the Assyrians ; how she put from her the garments of widow- 
 hood, and put on her the garments of joy ; how she anointed 
 her face with ointment, and tied together her locks with a 
 crown ; how her sandals ravished his eyes, and her beauty 
 made his soul captive ; how the Lord struck the invader by 
 the hand of a woman, and the angel of the Lord kept her both 
 going and abiding, and did not suffer his handmaid to be 
 defiled, but called her back unpolluted to the people she had 
 saved. Next he tells how Beuaiah, the son of Jehoiada, who 
 killed the lion in the pit on a snowy day, and plucked the 
 spear that was like a weaver's beam out of the hand of the 
 Eg)^tian, slew two lion-like men of j\Ioab. And last, greatest 
 and most lovely of his w^orks, he shows how ^lercy, clothed in 
 the garb of the most perfect work of God, arrests the uplifted 
 arm of the victor, and tells him that vengeance is not his. 
 INIr Baiskin says that Etty is "gone to the grave, a lost mind"! 
 Let him quicken his steps, and hurry stealthily past the taber- 
 nacle of Holofernes, lest the flashing sword of Judith should 
 fall upon his head !
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 427 
 
 A "lost mind" indeed ! Let the student of art read dili- 
 gently the stoiy of that mind. Let him note the patience, the 
 courage, the undaunted determination with whicli, thruugli po- 
 verty, neglect, obscurity, and disease, Etty worked his way to 
 fame ; then let him listen to the tales that are told by men now 
 great in art of how the kind word, the wise atlvice, the gener- 
 ous encouragement, which he had never received, fell from his 
 lips amongst the youths with whom he sat labouring in age at 
 the task he had loved with a life-long constancy. 
 
 But wc must tear ourselves away from these associations, 
 with all that is lovely, and all that is noble, to go back to ^Ir 
 Euskin and his book. 
 
 We have still a heavy task before us, and one which our 
 limits will by no means permit us to do full justice to. Not 
 content with art, Mr Euskin extends his teaching to History, 
 Religion, Metaphysics, Political Economy, and about every 
 cognate and correlative branch of study. His views on most 
 of these subjects, when tliey happen to be intelligible (which is 
 not always the case), have at least the charm of novelty. Wc 
 can, however, only notice one or two salient points wliiili 
 appear to us, to adopt Mr Ruskin's language, to be " very 
 precious." 
 
 The history of the world, according to Mr Ruskin, is to bo 
 divided into three great periods: the Classical, extending to 
 the fall of the Roman Empire ; the ^Medieval, extending from 
 that fall to the close of the fifteenth century; and the Modern, 
 thenceforward to our own days.^ 
 
 The first was the age of pagan faith, when men believed in 
 the gods of their country, such as they were ; the second was 
 the age that confessed Christ ; and tlie tliird (our own wicked 
 days, and our own wicked selves inclusive) is the age that de- 
 nies Christ. Of course we need not say that tlie second age, 
 which culminated in burning John Huss as a heretic, and Joan 
 of Arc as a witch, is the age which, according to Mr Ruskin, 
 has comprised all the little virtue ever to be found in the 
 world. The change to " Modernism," wliich took place just at 
 the time of the Reformation, when, under the teacliiiigs of the 
 
 > Li'ctuic iv., 19i.
 
 428 ESSAYH ON Airr. 
 
 Icadcis of Unit laliil luovcinciit, we l)Cf,Mn to "deny Clirist," 
 was Ji cliango from better to worse, a clian^'e })ackwards from 
 tlie Ijutterlly to the f,'rub ; or, as Mr Kuskin ratlier irreverently 
 expresses it, " like Adam's new arrangement of his nature." 
 
 The great and fatal act which inaugurated the opening of this 
 unhappy era, in the sloughs of which we are still sticking, was 
 tlie invitation of Raphael to Rome to decorate the Vatican for 
 Pope Julius II., when " he wrote upon its walls the Meyie Te- 
 kd Upharsin of the arts of Christianity." ^ " And from that 
 spot and that hour, the intellect and the art of Italy date their 
 degradation ; " and so going on from worse to worse, not only in 
 Italy, but wherever " Modernism " has prevailed, the world has 
 been becoming more corrupt, more cruel, more ignorant, more 
 foul and abominable in every way, until at last, principally, as 
 it would seem, from the general prevalence of the " accursed " 
 Renaissance school of architecture — "Where from his fair 
 Gothic chapel beside the Seine, the King St Louis had gone 
 forth, followed by his thousands, in the cause of Christ, another 
 king was dragged forth from the gates of his Renaissance palace 
 to die by the hands of the thousands of his people gathered in 
 anotlier crusade, or what shall it be called ? whose sign was not 
 the cross, but the guillotine." "^ 
 
 Now, this rabid nonsense was actually addressed to tlie 
 people of Edinburgh in the form of lectures. Is it mere mid- 
 summer madness ? — the simple raving of a lunatic ? Does Mr 
 liuskin write from a cell in Bedlam, or is he to be considered 
 still ameual)le to the treatment and arguments applicable to 
 sane men ? That we may not be supposed to have exaggerated 
 or misrepresented anything, we give one passage, out of many 
 on the subject, word for word : — 
 
 "And in examining into the spirit of these three epochs, ob- 
 serve I don't mean to compare their bad men. I don't mean 
 to take Tiberius as a type of Classicalism, nor Ezzelin as a 
 type of iMedievalism, nor Robespierre as a type of Modernism. 
 Bad men are like each other in all epochs ; and in the Roman, 
 the Paduan, or the Parisian, sensuality and cruelty admit of 
 little distinction in the manners of their manifestation. But 
 1 Lecture, p. 213. » Lecture, p. 138.
 
 THE ELExMENTS OF DRAWING, 429 
 
 among men comparatively viituous, it is important to study the 
 phases of cliaracter ; and it is into these only that it is neces- 
 sary for us to inquire. Consider therefore, fii-st, the essential 
 difference in character between three of the most dcvuted mili- 
 tary heroes whom the three great epochs of the world have 
 produced,— all three devoted to the service of their country, all 
 of them dying therein. I mean Leonidas in the Classical pe- 
 riod ; St Louis in the Medieval period ; and Lord Nelson in tlie 
 Modern period. 
 
 " Leonidas liad the most rigid sense of duty, and died with 
 the most perfect faith in the gods of his country, fulfilling the 
 accepted prophecy of his death. St Louis had the most rigid 
 sense of duty, and the most perfect faith in Christ. Nelson 
 
 had the most rigid sense of duty, and 
 
 " You must supply my pause icith your charity^ ^ 
 Now, if this passage has any meaning at all, it means that 
 Leonidas was a better man, and St Louis a better Christian, 
 than Nelson ; that the age of Leonidas was more heroic, and 
 the age of Louis IX. more Christian, than the present century. 
 The death of Leonidas is the hackneyed theme of every school- 
 boy ; so familiar, indeed, as the standard instance of heroic 
 self-immolation at the shrine of honour and patriotism, that it 
 requires a moment's thought to recall the fact that the point 
 of honour was mistaken, and that patriotism would have been 
 better served by his preserving his life than by his throwing it 
 away. We need only refer to the story, as told in ]\Ir Grote's 
 History,^ to be reminded of this. So long as he repelled the 
 Persians from the Pass of Tliermopyla3 — so long as he stood as 
 a barrier between the invader and his country, Leonidas and 
 his Ijand deserve the same rank in history (and a higher one 
 cannot be awarded) as that Mhich was earned ])y tlu; brigade 
 of Guards who held Ilouguemont on the day wlien the fate of 
 Europe hung upon the issue of Waterloo. But when liis flank 
 was turned — when resistance became impossible, rational duty 
 and rational honour would have rec^uired Leonidas to reserve 
 the lives of his men for future combats, and his own fur the 
 future service of his country. TIk; Spartan sense of duty, the 
 » Li-ctnio iv., VM. • Vc.l. v., 120.
 
 430 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 Spartan jxiiiit of liononr, required him to offer up both — a 
 worse tluiii useless sacrifiee on the altar of patriotism. He 
 flung them away, not recklessly, not wantonly, but coolly and 
 deliberately, with high and devoted heroism. Posterity lias 
 justly awarded to him high honour, but honour not so high as 
 that with which a future posterity will encircle the names of 
 llavelock and Neill, of Clyde, Outram, and Inglis, of the 
 heroes who held the lines at Balaklava, and the heroes who 
 rescued the garrison of Lucknow — warriors of the age that 
 has given birth to Florence Nightingale ! — the age which ^Ir 
 Ruskin tells us denies Christ ! 
 
 Mr Ituskin says that Leonidas, St Louis, and Nelson, all 
 died in the service of their country. As to one of the 
 three, he is manifestly wrong. St Louis died in an attempt 
 to baptise the King of Tunis against his will ; an object 
 about as legitimate as if the Sultan were to besiege Paris 
 for the purpose of circumcising the Emperor of the French. 
 His sanctity displayed itself in " pursuing with blind and 
 cruel zeal the enemies of the faith." France was exhausted 
 of men and treasures. The flower of her troops panted 
 and died on the burning sands of Africa, and he closed 
 the last of the crusades by an inglorious death, wliich was 
 immediately followed by the ignominious retreat of the re- 
 mains of an army of six-and-thirty thousand men, whom he 
 had lured on to destruction by the hope of plunder.^ This is 
 Mr Iluskin's idea of dying in the service of his country. St 
 Louis's sole argument in favour of Christianity consisted, to 
 use his own language, in thrusting his sword as far as it would 
 go into the belly of any disputant who might happen to be 
 opposed to him ! ^ This is Mr Ruskin's idea of the most rigid 
 sense of duty, and most perfect faith — the type of an age 
 which confessed Christ. 
 
 We almost fear to approach the example which Mr Ruskin 
 has given as the type of an age denying Christ. Our affec- 
 
 ^ Gibbon's Decline and Fall, chap. 59. 
 
 - " L'omme lay quanti il ot medirc de la loy Crestiennc, ne doit pas dcffendre 
 la loy Crestienne ne niais qiie de I'esji^e, dequoi il doit donner parmi h ventre 
 dedens tant comme elle y pent entrer." — Joinvillc, p. 12; cited by Gibbon, 
 Decline aiul Fall, chap. 59.
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 431 
 
 tion for the memory of Nelson is so deep, our disgust at the 
 malignant insinuation lurking under the mask of charity so 
 intense, that we can hardly trust ourselves with words to 
 express it. We shall, however, as far as possible suppress 
 these feelings, and proceed to supply Mr Ifuskin's pause, not 
 witli charity — for Nelson needs, and Mr liuskin deserves none 
 — but with a few words of simple truth. 
 
 No doubt Mr Euskin intended to awaken in the minds of 
 liis hearers a recollection of the char<(es once so rife against 
 Nelson, and now so fully proved to be groundless, with regard 
 to the execution of Caracciolo, Party spirit long perverted, 
 and the carelessness of successive biographers obscured the 
 truth. But since Sir Harris Nicolas's publication of the 
 ' Nelson Despatches,' we should have supposed it to be im- 
 possible for any one to repeat these slanders.^ 
 
 The facts are few and simple. Caracciolo was a coinmodi)re 
 in the service of the King of Naples, and commanded a ship 
 called the Tancredi with credit. He accompanied the king 
 in his flight to Palermo, By the permission of the king he 
 returned to Naples, to avoid the confiscation of his estates by 
 the Piepublican government. He deserted the cause of the 
 master whose commission he held, and accepted the command 
 of the Kepublican marine. He took an active part in tlie war, 
 and fired upon the flag of the king and his allies the English. 
 He was captured, and brouglit to the Foudroyant, then the 
 flagship of Nelson, who was lligli Admiral of the allied navy. 
 From Hardy, and the other gallant men who served under 
 Nelson, and who had known Caracciolo in former days, lie 
 received far more compassion and consideration tlian he de- 
 served. Nelson had but one duty to perform, anil lie i)er- 
 formed it as he did every duty that lie owed to liis country. 
 He ordered a court-martial, composed of ollicer.s in the Nea- 
 politan service, to be inmiediately held. Caracciolo was tried, 
 convicted, sentenced, and hanged. He died, as he deserved, 
 the ignominious death of a deserter and a traitor. Had 
 Nelson shrunk from the performance of this act of justice, he 
 would have been false to his country, to her allies, and to 
 
 1 Despatches and Letters of Lord Nelson, iii. 39S ; App. (', p. -lOl*.
 
 432 ESSAYS ON Airr. 
 
 himself. The story of his liaving acted uuder tlie iiifhience of 
 Lady iramilton luis been refuted over and over a<,'ain. It was 
 ill silence and in solitude that he performed liis stern and 
 painful duty. He communicated with no one but his oflBcers, 
 and to them his commands were given in the fewest possible 
 words. There is not one particle of evidence that Lady 
 Hamilton took any part whatever in the transaction. The 
 ignorant blunders of Miss Williams, the spiteful insinuations 
 of Lord Holland, the malignant calumnies of Captain Bren- 
 ton, and the revengeful slanders of Captain Foote, have been 
 repeatedly disproved. Yet Mr Euskin has the insolent au- 
 dacity to crave " charity "(!) for one who was perhaps the 
 most perfect realisation of the ideal of a hero that the world 
 has seen. 
 
 There is nothing more painful in j\Ir Ruskin's writings than 
 the total want of reverence for things divine or human that 
 pervades them. The treasures of ancient art, from wliich 
 successive ages have dmnk deep draughts of inspiration, are 
 to him nothing but stumbling-blocks in a dark valley of ruin.^ 
 He sees nothing but " a faded concoction of fringes, muscular 
 arms, and curly heads " ^ in Eaphael's impersonation of the 
 lledeemer and his apostles ; and a " pleasant piece of furni- 
 ture for the corner of a boudoir" in the Virgin mother of 
 our Lord. 
 
 The same unhappy tone of mind shows itself wherever 
 sacred subjects are referred to. It is painful to find a person 
 of Mr Euskin's education adopting, when he has occasion to 
 speak of the high and solemn mysteries of religion, a tone of 
 familiarity which has hitherto been confined to the lowest and 
 most ignorant sectaries. Still more offensive is his habit of 
 dealing damnation around on all who disagree with him. 
 Thus Mr Corbould paints an " Iphigenia " and a " Daughter 
 of Jephthah," in a manner not accordant with ]\Ir Ruskin's 
 taste, and forthwith INIr Corboidd " believes in no Deity " ! ^ 
 Now we must confess that Mr Corbould's " Dream of Fair 
 Women" did not quite realise our ideas with regard to the 
 
 ' Lectures, p. 219. ^ Jlotlern Pointers, iii. 54. 
 
 3 Notes, No. v., 1859, p. 41.
 
 THE ELEMENTS <iF DIIAWIXC. 4?>?> 
 
 half-dozen women most celebrated for beauty recorded in 
 history, sacred or profane. We believe, however, that Mr 
 Corbould M'as only in part answerable for this slioilcoininp. 
 The principal figure, we have been told, was a portrait ; and 
 we believe that what we cannot help considering the some- 
 what questionable taste of representing that lady, whoever 
 she may be, as the centre of a group of what Mr Thaeki-ray 
 calls " Clipstone Street nymphs " — ladies who assume for tlie 
 nonce the character of Cleopatra or Meg Merrilees, Joan of 
 Arc or Fair Eosamond — is not chargeable on Mr Corbould. 
 Hut be this as it may, what absurd insolence to ground upon 
 it a charge of atheism against the artist ! 1S\y Corbould may, 
 however, console himself. He only shares the common fate 
 of the whole nation. We have all (except, of course, Mr 
 liuskin) " wholly rejected all these heathenish, Jewish, and 
 other, such beliefs, and have accepted for things worshipful, 
 absolutely nothing but pairs of ourselves ; taking for idols, 
 gods, or objects of veneration, the infinitesimal points of 
 humanity, Mr and Mrs P., and the ]\Iisscs and Master P's." ' 
 
 Now of this we can only say to Mr Iluskin, like Sir Andrew 
 Aguecheek, " In sooth thou wast in very gracious fooling last 
 night when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, and of the Vapians 
 passing the equinoxtial of Quebus ; 'twas very good, i' faith." 
 
 Mr Piuskin has become powerless for blame. Mr Mulready 
 and Mr Maclise may be well content to share his condem- 
 nation with Raphael and Murillo. Mr Creswick and Mr 
 David Roberts will not consider themselves in bad comi>any 
 with Claude, Salvator, Poussin, and Canaletto. P.ut his i)raise 
 is not so harmless. 
 
 " Of all mad creatures, if the lenmcd arc right, 
 It is the slaver kills, and not the bite." 
 
 His fulsome adulation of Turner is simply ridiculous. 
 Turner's fame owes just as nnich to Mr Ihiskin as Shake- 
 speare's does to Mr Charles Kean. We mean no disresiH'ct 
 to that gentleman. We simply use tlic illustration, bconu.se 
 those who would not have known the merits of Slmkc.si)eftre 
 but for the scenic representations at tlio Princess's Theatre 
 »Not.s, IS.''.?, p. 42. 
 2 E
 
 434 ESSAYS ON AIIT. 
 
 arc just .about upon a par, as to literary knowledge, with 
 those who would not have known the merits of Turner hut 
 lor Mr liuskin's writings, in art-knowledge. 
 
 But upon some artists of real ability his commendation lias 
 had a most mischievous effect. Mr Wallis, Mr lirott, and Mr 
 Windus, have been perhaps the principal sufferers. We men- 
 tion their names with sincere respect for their talents, and a 
 hope that they may shake themselves free from the incubus 
 that has had so pernicious an effect upon their genius. There 
 is another artist, with higher and longer established claims to 
 admiration, to whom we must address a few words of respect- 
 ful admonition. 
 
 Mr Noel Paton early proved how richly he was endowed by 
 nature with the gift of playful fancy. His " Oberon and Ti- 
 tania," to which we have already referred, is a living witness 
 of this. His picture of " Home " established his right to the 
 highest place as a master of all that is pathetic in art, of all 
 that can touch the deepest sympathies of human nature ; and 
 in addition to this, it proved that he thoroughly knew how to 
 make every detail of a picture contribute to the main object 
 and main interest, still retaining its subordinate place, and 
 not obtruding its faultless execution on the eye. His " Dante 
 and Beatrice " (a picture which, as far as we know, was never 
 exhibited, but which we once had the good fortune to see) was 
 a chaste and poetic embodiment of the creation of the great 
 Florentine \f orthy of the original conception, and admirable in 
 drawing and execution. With these gifts of genius, what 
 malign influence has induced ^Mr Baton to stoop to the cata- 
 leptic contortions, the crude colour, and the microscopic nig- 
 gling of " The Bluidy Tryste," and, still worse, to the accumu- 
 lated horrors of " In Memoriam " ? We make this remon- 
 strance with feelings of respect and admiration for the artist, 
 and gratitude for the delight we have received from his works. 
 We implore him to retrace his steps ; and we can suggest to 
 him no safer guide, no better teacher, and, in the present day, 
 we may add, no higher example, than his former self.^ 
 
 ^ This passage was written thirteen years ago. I leave it as it stands, for I 
 cannot lionestly alter it. I have great pleasure in bearing testimouj- to the
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING. 435 
 
 We have heard a good deal, from time to time, of the powers 
 of Mr Euskin's eloquence ; and we must admit that hen- and 
 there we have met with passages which induced us to say 
 with Lorenzo, that he 
 
 " hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words." 
 
 But, upon examination, we have invarialjly found that those 
 grandiloquent sentences were like the little boy's india-rubber 
 ball immortalised by the pencil of Leech and the pen of 
 ' Punch ' :— 
 
 " Scientific Governess, loq. — ' My dear, if you puncture this 
 ball, it will collapse. Do you understand me ? ' 
 
 " Little Boy. — ' yes ! You mean, if I prick it, it will go 
 squash.' " 
 
 So, when we pricked Mr Euskin's rotund periods with the 
 smallest possible point of common-sense, we have invariably 
 found that they " go squash." 
 
 We were for some time puzzled as to the source from which 
 this peculiar style of eloquence is derived, but we have at last 
 discovered it. Apropos of Mr Hook's very clever picture 
 " Luff, Boy," Mr Euskin breaks forth with the following rhap- 
 sody on things in general: "War with France? It maybe. 
 And they say good ships are building at Cherbourg. War with 
 Eussia ? That also is conceivable ; and the Eussians invent 
 machines that explode under water by means of knobs. War 
 with the fiend in ourselves ? That may not so easily come to 
 pass, he and we being in close treaty hitherto — yet perhaps in 
 good time may be looked for. And against eneniii.'s foreign or 
 international, French, Sclavonic, or demoniac, what arms have 
 we to count upon ? I hear of good artillery-practice at Wool- 
 wich ; of new methods of sharpening sabres, invented by 
 Sikhs; of a modern condition of tlie blood of Nessus, wliich 
 sets sails on fire, and makes an end of Herculean ships like 
 Phoenixes. All which may perhaps be vrcll, or i)erhaps ill, 
 for us." ^ 
 
 power and beauty, the grace and inmginatioii, which adorn the works which 
 since that time have lu'cn produced by this great artist.— August 1873. 
 » Notes, 1859, p. 20.
 
 /inn ESSAYM ON ART. 
 
 Now it came into our liciul wlicn wo read this oracular pas- 
 sa{,'fi, tliat, like Mr Sneer in the ' Critic,' we had "heard some- 
 thing like it before;" and after slight search we found the 
 great archetype of all Mr liuskin's elo(iuence in the captain of 
 the " Cautious Clara." 
 
 " My name's Jack Bunsby ! And what 1 says I stands to ; 
 whereby — why not? If so, what odds? can any 'man say 
 otherwise ? No. Awast, then." 
 
 Our readers see that Jack Bunsby was no less infallilde 
 tlian John Uuskin. We shall soon find that he was fully as 
 oracular : — 
 
 " Do I believe that this here son and heir's gone down, 
 my lads? Mayhap. Do I say so? Which? If a .skipi»('r 
 stands out by Sin' George's Channel, makin' for the Downs, 
 what's right ahead of him ? The Goodwins. lie isn't forced 
 to run upon the Goodwins, but he may. The bearings of this 
 observation lays in the application on it. That an't no part of 
 my duty. Awast, then. Keep a bright look-out for'ard, and 
 good-luck to you." 
 
 Mystery and unintelligibility have in all ages imposed upon 
 the gullibility of the world, and we have no doubt that there 
 are many whose confidence in !Mr Euskin will rival that of 
 Captain Cuttle in Jack Bunsby, and who wall continue to 
 think that, however he " got his opinions," " there an't nothing 
 like 'em afloat or ashore."
 
 437 
 
 II. 
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — RUBENS AND RUSKIN.^ 
 
 It was on a mellow evening towards the close of last September 
 that I entered Antwerp for the second time, after the lapse of 
 many yearsT There is always a feeling of sadness attendant 
 upon revisiting a place which has been the scene of much past 
 enjoyment, and I was in no humour for jingling into the vener- 
 able city with half-a-dozen other passengers in a railway omni- 
 bus.- I preferred strolling quietly over the old drawbridges 
 which span the ditches of those memorable fortifications, whose 
 green banks were reflected with marvellous precision in their 
 sluggish waters. There was some fete in the outskirts of tlie 
 town, to which meny groups of gaily-dressed women and chil- 
 dren were hastening. The old familiar carillon rung gaily out 
 from the cathedral, the netM'ork of whose pinnacles stood 
 bathed in light against the evening sky. I turned to the right 
 out of the Place du Mier, crossed the site of the ruined Bourse, 
 and soon found myself on the Place Veile (which autunui was 
 already beginning to strew with " lyart leaves "), innnediatdy 
 opposite the cathedral. It may seem paradoxical, yet I believe 
 it is true, that one charm of the most glorious monuments of 
 Gothic art consists in their incom])k't<.'n('SS. That truncated 
 tower, patched with rude brick-work amidst its rich ami gor- 
 geous ornament, appeals more powerfully to our sympathies 
 than its finished and perfect neighbour. It tells of asjiimtions 
 unfulfilled, of the schemes of ambition crumbling into dust, of 
 the struggle, the defeat, and tlie disapi)ointm«'ut which arc 
 incident to humanity. But it is not my intention to monUise; 
 
 ' Blackwood's Magaziiu", Stptcnilxr ISCl.
 
 438 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 1 seek only to cull iij) |)l('a,s<'iiit iiiuinorie.s of tlic past in my 
 own mind, and to awaken similar recollections in those who 
 have shared like pleasures in bygone years. The old cities of 
 Belgium, with their historic associations, their gorgeous archi- 
 tecture, and their rich treasures of art, are enchanted ground. 
 The wealth of Bruges has departed. Her streets are deserted, 
 and her quays are desolate. But the gratitude of a crippled 
 soldier has endowed her with riches that pass not away with 
 the vicissitudes of fickle commerce, and the name of Memling 
 survives, whilst those of her merchant princes are forgotten. 
 Mechlin and Ghent are rich in priceless treasures ; but queen 
 over all is Antwerp. The carillon has again rung out. The 
 shadow is deepening over the grave of Quentin Matsys, and 
 there, close beside it, stands his most fitting monument — that 
 iron canopy over the well by the grand portail of the cathedral, 
 which has been a crown of glory to him for four centuries. 
 How simple the design ! how exquisite the workmanship ! 
 Four slender columns, meeting in a Gothic arch of beautiful 
 proportion, support the figure of a pigmy warrior, who hurls 
 down his gage of defiance, alike against the tyranny of Philip 
 and the cruelty of Alva — the insensate rage of the iconoclasts 
 who profaned the fair temple of God, which he seems to guard, 
 and the fouler bigotry which defaced His image in the fairer 
 temple which He had Himself created. Eound the pillars, 
 branches of holly, green and immortal through ages of misery 
 and bloodshed, intertwine themselves in fantastic ^vreaths, 
 graceful as that " pleached bower " in which Beatrice hid to 
 listen to her cousin Hero ; and their young and vigorous shoots 
 point upwards, appealing to Heaven from the oppression of 
 man. Such is the legend worked by the prophetic hand of 
 Quentin Matsys, a quarter of a centuiy before the Emperor 
 Charles V. was born ; and there it stands to this hour, clear 
 and sharp as on the day when he hammered out the iron on 
 his anvil. 
 
 In this countiy Quentin Matsys is little known, except by 
 his picture of " The Misers " in the royal collection at Windsor, 
 and the legend, always told to visitors, that he was a black- 
 smith, who was inspired by his love for a painter's daughter
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — RUBENS AND RUSKIN. 439 
 
 to become an artist. To call Matsys a " blacksmith " is just 
 as inappropriate as it would be to call Flaxmau a stone-mason. 
 He was a poet who gave the exquisite creations of his fancy 
 to the world in iron, as Peter Vischer did in bronze, and Cellini 
 in silver. That love made him a painter is a legend we would 
 not willingly lose, and its truth is confirmed by the inscription 
 on his tomb, " Connubialis amor de mulcibre fecit Apellem ; " 
 but that he was an artist of a high order lung before he ever 
 handled a brush, is proved by this most beautiful work. After 
 Rubens, his name is greatest amongst the artists of Antwerp. 
 But Eubens has filled Antwerp so full of his glory that one is 
 hardly conscious of any presence but his. It is here only that 
 he can be seen. To judge of Eubens by his pictures in the 
 Louvre, is like judging Shakespeare by " Julius Caesar " and 
 " All's Well that Ends Well," without having read " Hamlet " 
 and " As you Like it." I confess that the pictures in tlie cathe- 
 dral, " The Descent from the Cross " and " The Elevation of 
 the Cross," do not impress me so much as some of those which 
 are now deposited in the Museum. This may very probably 
 arise from a defect in my own capacity for appreciation. In 
 examining the works of most painters, we can sit down and 
 quietly analyse our own feelings ; we can ask ourselves whence 
 arises the pleasure which we experience ; we can select beau- 
 ties for admiration, and defects for criticism; but before a 
 great work of Eubens we are carried away by the torrent 
 of his genius ; we feel our own nothingness in the presence 
 of a power mighty as the ocean, solemn as the mountain 
 solitude, terrible as the storm. Bind the wave — bow down 
 the moimtain — note in musical division the voice of the 
 thunder- cloud, and then you may be fit to criticise the 
 works of Eubens. 
 
 A school of art has, within tlie last few years, arisen amongst 
 us, whose principles are diametrically opposed to those of 
 Rubens, which holds that the duty of tlie painter is to repre- 
 sent with the utmost attainable historical accuracy tlie event 
 which he depicts ; that all deviations into the realm of imagi- 
 nation are wrong, not merely artistically, but morally; that 
 the picture should approach as nearly as possible to the fidelity
 
 440 KSSAYS ON ART. 
 
 of tho plioio^'rapli ; lliut the archetyjio of Um; ])iiiiit('r is not 
 tlui jHx't, l»ut ilu! slioit-liiuid writer. That this is no exa^'g«;i- 
 ation will at once be apparent to any one who will he at the 
 pains to refer to Mr Kuskin's observations upon the cartoons 
 of Rajdiael, to ^Fr Millais's picture of "The Carpcnitcr's Shop," 
 and Mr llohnan Hunt's of " Christ Disputing with the Doctors 
 in the Temple." At the opposite pole may be placed " The 
 Adoration of the Magi," by Rubens, in the first room as you 
 enter the Museum at Antwerp. When the Saviour of the 
 world " took upon Himself to deliver man," He entered upon 
 His earthly career in a home of the humblest poverty, and He 
 terminated it by an ignominious death, reserved for the vilest 
 and most odious malefactors. All divines agree that these 
 events were necessarily part of the great scheme of redemption. 
 They have naturally become familiar subjects for the painter. 
 With regard to the first, the information vouchsafed to us is 
 confined to a few verses in two of the Gospels.^ We know 
 that a humble handicraftsman, journeying with his wife, 
 sought shelter in her utmost need in a crowded inn — that it 
 was denied — that they took refuge in a stable — and there, 
 without human aid, with no other accommodation than that 
 provided for beasts of burden or draught, a child was born, 
 and laid by its exhausted mother in the manger of the cattle. 
 Here our information ends. It would probably be difficult to 
 find any pre-Eaphaelite daring enough to act up to his own 
 principles in the representation of this scene, with all its acces- 
 sories. If he did, he would produce a picture which might 
 possibly be hung up in the board-room of a lying-in hospital 
 to move the feelings of the charitable, but which few would 
 recognise as the nativity of our Lord, and those who did, if a 
 particle of religious feeling remained in their minds, would 
 turn away from with loathing and disgust. 
 
 Now, how^ has Rubens dealt with this subject ? — To regard 
 his '* Adoration of the ^Magi" as the representation of anything 
 that ever did, or ever could take place, would be simply absurd. 
 Assuming that the wise men's offering, recorded in the second 
 chapter of the Gospel of St Matthew, was the fulfilment of the 
 ^ Matt. ii. 1 ; Luke ii. 4-7.
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — RUBENS AND RUSKIN. 4-il 
 
 prophecy contained in the 72d Psalm, a question \vhich must 
 be left to scholars and theologians, linbens has set at defiance 
 the chronology of Scripture. The " kings of Tarshish and of 
 the isles, of Sheba and Seba," did not commence their journey 
 until the appearance of the star in the east, which announced 
 that the birth of our Lord had taken place.^ They journeyed 
 to Judea ; they sought and obtained an interview with Herod: 
 time must have been consumed in making inquiries. All these 
 facts are distinctly recorded in Holy Writ. It is therefore clear 
 that a considerable period must have elapsed before they could 
 find themselves in the presence of our Lord and His virgin 
 motlier. The language of St Matthew negatives the supposi- 
 tion that this interview took place in the stable. " When 
 they were come into the house, they saw the young child with 
 ISIary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him : and 
 when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto 
 him gifts ; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh." ^ Yet Eubens 
 places the scene in the stable, and introduces the head of an 
 ox into the corner of the picture. He is right in doing so, 
 though in violation of historic accuracy. The humility, the 
 peacefulness of Christianity, the lowly origin which the 
 Saviour of the world had selected for Himself, all the circum- 
 stances that appeal to the gentlest feelings of humanity, are 
 thus called up by the genius of the painter ; whilst the gor- 
 geous apparel of the aged monarch, who offers gold and frank- 
 incense — tlie stately presence and lingering doubts which still 
 lurk in the countenance of the dusky Abyssinian prince — the 
 deep devotion of the younger king, who waves a censer as he 
 prostrates himself before the cliild, wliich lies in tlie lap of its 
 mother, all tlie ponip and circumstance which attend upon 
 them, — shadow forth the march of the religion of the lowly 
 Jesus over thrones and palaces, over powers and principalities, 
 till from the corniptions of Rome and the cruelties of Spain 
 a second birth almost as lowly took place, and kings might 
 again bow their heads before the humble Christianity of the 
 crowded city and lonely glen. This is the story, as told by 
 Rubens the poet. Gazing upon his canvas, we lose all con- 
 
 1 Matt. ii. 2. » Matt. ii. 11.
 
 442 EHSAYS ON AJt'l'. 
 
 sciousness of the marvellous skill of the painter in our admira- 
 tion of the still liit^'her g(!nius which claims kindred with that 
 •which glows upon the page of Milton and of Dante. 
 
 It is to be regretted that the good old Scotch word " mak- 
 kar " has become obsolete. " Poet " has lost the signification 
 wliich properly belongs to it. It is no longer the maker, the 
 creator, unless the creation is in verse. A poet may be any- 
 thing from Dryden to Edgar Poe. A painter may paint any- 
 thing from the " Transfiguration " to the " Scape-Goat." "We 
 want some word which shall designate the quality of mind 
 which creates a world of its own, be those creations in words 
 or in colours, in marble or in metal — the link which unites 
 Burns with Eembrandt, Dante with ^Michael Angelo, Cellini 
 with Quentin Matsys, and all with each throughout the great 
 brotherhood of genius. Of this power it is almost impossible 
 to overestimate the share which Kubens possessed. Turn 
 from the picture we have just been contemplating, and look at 
 the one which hangs immediately opposite — the last act of the 
 same sacred drama — a picture too awful to criticise, almost too 
 terrible to gaze upon. Yet there, in the midst of that scene of 
 horror, Rubens, with true poetic feeling, has introduced the 
 loveliest of female heads — the Magdalen kissing the feet of 
 Christ, — love and beauty mingling with agony and death — 
 Cordelia w-eeping over Lear. 
 
 There is, however, in one respect a marked distinction be- 
 tween the nature of the genius of Eubens and that of the great 
 men with whom we have been comparing him. He has, as far 
 as I know, given no indication of the possession of, or indeed 
 of any relish for, wit or humour. His world was a world of 
 grandeur, awe, terror, beauty, and love. His was a grave and 
 stately nature, more akin to Milton than to Shakespeare or 
 Dante. Look at his " St Teresa interceding for Souls in Pur- 
 gatory," and after gazing on the terrors of the souls " con- 
 demned to fast in fires," observe the cool green landscape, the 
 hill and valley, and silver waters reminding one of the love- 
 liest reaches of the Thames, where Collins sung his requiem to 
 the shade of Thomson, and then say if the mind of Rubens was
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — EUBENS AND IIUSKIN. 443 
 
 not akin to that which produced "Comus" and "11 Pense- 
 roso," as well as " Paradise Lost." 
 
 There is stateliness and grandeur in every step of the genius 
 of Rubens ; his landscapes are rich with wood and water, and 
 palaces glowing in golden sunshine; his horses might have 
 been yoked to the chariot of Apollo; his lions and his eagles 
 are the very forms that Jove himself might liave assumed ; his 
 children are young demi-gods; his women are as nearly divine 
 as they can be without ceasing to be human, though gentlemen 
 of delicate constitution and pre-Eaphaelitic taste for scragginess 
 may call them coarse. 
 
 ■ Mr Ptuskin has devoted a chapter of his last volume to give 
 to the world his mature views upon llubens, and one or two 
 other men whom most people have been in the habit of con- 
 sidering painters of some note. He begins by a discussion of 
 the Peformation, and its effects upon the religious aspect of 
 the world. The Reformation, he tells us, was a failure. Pro- 
 testantism is but " a half-built religion, daubed with untem- 
 pered mortar." " Palsied Catholicism " is but a " falling ruin 
 of outworn religion, lizard-crannied and ivy-grown." The 
 " mind of modern Europe is faithless and materialised." Reli- 
 gion in England is "polite formalism;" in Germany, "ration- 
 alism;" in France, "careless blasphemy;" in Italy, "help- 
 less sensuality." What this universal damnation of everybody 
 and everything has to do with Rubens, it may be difficult to 
 say; but Mr Ruskin informs us that "the whole body of 
 painters (Rubens, of course, amongst them) fell into a rational- 
 istic chasm" whatever that may mean. They had " no belief 
 in spiritual existence, no interest or affections beyond the 
 grave." This is puzzling enough; but to make it still more 
 obscure, Mr Ruskin appends a note upon belief and knowledge, 
 in which he upsets all preconceived notions as to both. j\[ost 
 people entertain some respect for old proverbs, and the excep- 
 tional "wisdom of the child that knows its own father" has 
 certainly become proverbial. i\lr Ruskin denies the truth of 
 this venerable saying altogether — nay more, he expresses his 
 surprise that it should ever have obtained credence; he says —
 
 444 ESSAYS ON AKT. 
 
 " It never seems to strike any of our rcli*,nous toacliers, tliat if 
 a cliild lias a father livinrj, it eitlicr hnmvs it has a father, or it 
 does not: it does not 'believe ' it has a father. We should l)e 
 surprised to see an intelligent cliild standing at its garden- 
 gate, crying out to passers-by, * I believe in my father because 
 he built this house,' as logical people proclaim that they be- 
 lieve in God because He must have made the world." ^ Now 
 we should be both surprised and sorry to see any intelligent 
 child annoying the passers-by in the way suggested, and it 
 ought certainly to be taught Ijetter manners by its supposed 
 father. But if the child cried out to the passers-by, " Here is 
 a house which must have been built by somebody, and there- 
 fore I believe in the existence of a bricklayer," he might be a 
 disagreeable little prig, but he would be a not inapt disciple 
 of Paley. Mr Ruskin appears not to see that the building of 
 the house has nothing to do with the paternity of the child, 
 whilst an intelligent First Cause may be as logically infeiTed 
 from the creation of the universe, as the existence of a brick- 
 layer from the building of the house. This is certainly rather 
 strange reasoning in a graduate of Oxford. If a child were to 
 assert very positively, " Mr Euskin is my papa — I himo that 
 Mr liuskin is my papa," we might take him on our knee and 
 say, " My dear, how do you know that Mr Euskin is your 
 papa ? " And if the little urchin replied, " I know Mr Euskin 
 is my papa, because he is very kind to me, and gives me food, 
 and clothes, and great big books full of very pretty pictures, 
 which I like very much, and I try to read them because he 
 tells me I ought, but I can't understand them, and don't be- 
 lieve I ever shall," — we might pat his head and say, " My dear 
 little boy, what you say is a very good reason for hclicving that 
 IVIr Euskin is your papa, but you cannot hiov that he is ; and 
 when you are a little older we will read what ^Mr Euskin says 
 about ' knowledge,' and about ' belief,' and about ' Trt'cTTts ' and 
 'TreWofxai' and 'TnaTevcoJ and about 'fides' and ' fio,' and 
 ' confido ' and ' credo,' and we will try and understand it ; and 
 perhaps we shall find that Mr Euskin's ' fides' has nothing to 
 
 1 Vol. V. 255, note.
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — RUBENS AND RUSKIN. 445 
 
 do with either ' fio ' or ' coiifido,' but is ' closely connected ' with 
 a 'fiddlestick.'" 
 
 Mr Euskiu has put some of his choicest morsels into his 
 notes. There is one " very precious " at page 325. He tells 
 us, as a final conclusion from all that he has written before, 
 that " colours generally, but chic fly tJce scarlet, used with the 
 hyssop in the Levitical law, is the great sanctifying clement 
 of visible beauty, inseparably connected with purity and life." 
 Now, if this means that ]>aron Rotlischild, in a scarlet coat, 
 riding after his stag-hounds, is a more beautiful object, and 
 engaged in a pursuit more conducive to purity and life than 
 the same Baron Rothschild in a black coat, negotiating a loan, 
 or canvassing the " down-shore freemen " of the city of Lon- 
 don, I quite agree with Mr Euskin. But is a colonel of the 
 Life Guards holier than a colonel of the Blues ? Is a man 
 with red hair better than a man with black ? Are red noses 
 " sanctifying elements of visible beauty, inseparably connected 
 with purity and life " ? and, above all, is the Scarlet Lady a 
 type of purity ? The attempt to connect moral excellence 
 with external colour is like determining how far it is from 
 London Bridge to Ladyday, or resolving the relationship be- 
 tween a bulldog and a window-shutter. But Mr liuskin dives 
 into still deeper mysteries : he tells us that colour is less im- 
 portant than form, because on form depends existence — on 
 colour only purity. " Under the Levitical law neither scarlet 
 nor hyssop could purify the deformed : so, under the natural 
 law, there must be rightly-shaped members first, then sanctify- 
 ing colour and fire within." Now, what does this mean ? Is 
 it a mystical allusion to the uniform of the red Zouaves, or the 
 stockings of the cardinals in St I'eter's ? INIr Ifuskin then 
 branches off into a discussion on Love (!), of which he says 
 colour is the type, in " all its modes of operation," whether 
 " true," " faithful," "well fi.xed," "sexual," "shallow," "f:iilh- 
 less," "misdirected," "corrupting," "degrading," "base," "lofty," 
 "rash," "coarse," "untrue," "reverend," " irreverend," "in- 
 tense," " dark," " sensual," " .statuesque," or " grave," into which 
 he plunges in di'fiance of Mrs Grundy, and forgetfulness of the 
 Consistory Court. Into this labyrinth, however, I dare not
 
 446 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 follow him, but must go back to the love oi' Rubens, which 
 Wii.s ii love lor his own wife, or coiiju;^'.'il love — oddly enough, 
 the only kind of love not specifically named in Mr Ruskin's 
 catalogue. It is not, however, altogether neglected; for lie 
 steps out of his way to express i)eculiar contempt for a mani- 
 festation of that passion in Rembrandt. 
 
 " Rembrandt," he says, " has also painted (it is, on the whole, 
 his greatest picture, so far as I have seen) himself and his wife 
 in a state of ideal happiness. He sits at supper with his wife 
 on his knees, flourishing a glass of champagne, with a roast 
 peacock on the table !"^ Now I devoutly trust that the 
 happiness of the glorious Dutchman was not ideal, but real. 
 It is a noble picture. The broad, jolly, honest face of the 
 miller's son turns round, and as he raises his glass, full, not of 
 frothy champagne, but of the generous juice of the rich vine- 
 yards of his own Rhine, one might fancy him to carol forth 
 the jocund song of a kindred spirit — 
 
 " I've a wife o' my ain, 
 I'll gae shares wi' naebody ; " 
 
 whilst his proud happy wife (no dainty shy damsel) seems to 
 say, " This the man who shall make me and himself inmiortal. 
 He is my own husband ; I love him dearly, and am not 
 ashamed of it." " This picture," says Mr Ruskin, with a 
 sneer, " not inaptly represents the Faith and Hope of the 
 seventeenth century." Not a bad Faith or Hope either. Faith 
 in love, and Hope in immortality. 
 
 A still more glorious picture is that in which Rubens has 
 immortalised the purest and noblest of the domestic affections, 
 and which Mr Ruskin selects for especial reprobation and con- 
 tempt. It stands the most fitting memorial over his own tomb 
 in the Church of St Jacques. The principal figure is the wife 
 of his youth, Isabel Brandt, in the full glow of her majestic 
 beauty — 
 
 " Love in iwW length, and life, not love ideal, 
 No, nor ideal beautj', that fine name, 
 But something better still, so veiy real. 
 That the sweet model must have been the same." 
 
 * Vol. v. 258. The picture is in the gallery at Dresden.
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP— RUBENS AND RUSKIN. 447 
 
 Dark-haired, dark-eyed, radiant with wifely and motherly 
 affection — the harvest of love, in all its golden rijjeness. ll\i- 
 bens painted this picture when he was considerably above fifty 
 years of age, and long after the death of Isabel Brandt, but 
 time had not dimmed the glow of his early passion. To her, 
 first in his heart, he gives the first place in immortality. Close 
 beside her stands Helena Fourmeut, the girl-wife of his declin- 
 ing age. There is no mean jealousy in that gentle breast. Her 
 soft eyes seem to turn fondly from her own child towards her 
 who had gathered the first full vintage of lier husband's love. 
 She it was who placed this picture over his grave. Behind 
 tliem is Eubens himself, in full armour, waving the banner of 
 St George. How proudly, how grandly he speaks the con- 
 sciousness of power ! Furl thy triumphant banner, great, 
 glorious Peter Paul Eubens ; thy victory is won. Put off thy 
 gorgeous armour ; thy battle is over. Lay that noble head 
 down in the dust by the wife of thy youth ; thy immortality 
 is secured. Pilgrims shall come and bow at thy shrine, fitting 
 worshippers. From the banks of the Tamar shall come one 
 whose soul was instinct with grace and beauty. From beside 
 a river sluggish as the Scheldt — from beneath the shadow of a 
 cathedral magnificent as thy own, shall come one on whose 
 sickly frame and heavy brow genius had shed a ray whose 
 brightness is not dimmed even beside thine. Nor shall anotlier 
 pilgrim be wanting. Where Eeynolds and Etty bowed in 
 reverend worship, Euskin shall stand and scoff ! 
 
 I had been looking for some time at " The Communion of 
 St Francis," in the IMusee, when, as I turned away, I observed 
 a young man engaged in copying Valentino's " Le Brelan." 
 There was something peculiar about him which attracted my 
 attention, and when I came nearer I discovered that he was 
 painting, not with his hands, but with his feet. A short 
 cloak or cape hung over his shoulders and concealed his want 
 of arms ; he held his brush between the first and second toes 
 of his riglit foot ; his palette, maul - stick, and a sheaf of 
 spare brushes, were held not ungracefully in tlic h'l't, and he 
 worked rapidly, easily, and well. "When the clock struck 
 twelve and announced the liour at which the pictures in the
 
 448 ESSAYS ON AltT. 
 
 catliedral arc open for exhibition, he laid down Ijis brush, 
 cleaned his palette, packed up his colours and brunlies (all 
 with his feet), and then put on his shoes and walked out of 
 the Museum. A quarter of an hour afterwards 1 found him 
 again seated in the cathedral busily engaged on a copy of 
 " The Descent from the Cross." One of the stones of the floor 
 under his stool had slightly sunk, making his seat unsteady, 
 and as he was obliged to balance himself without any assist- 
 ance from his feet, which were engaged upon his picture, tin's 
 of course required immediate remedy, lie took out his hand- 
 kerchief, folded it into a little compact bundle, and tucked it 
 under the leg of his stool, and then resumed his work. An 
 accidental circumstance now gave me an opportunity of enter- 
 in*^ into conversation with him : his manner was easy and 
 gentlemanly, and his remarks those of a cultivated and intelli- 
 gent man. There was neither embarrassment from any con- 
 sciousness of his misfortune, nor display of the marvellous 
 skill which enabled him to overcome it. He used his feet in 
 every way as most men use their hands, and it seemed as 
 natural and easy to him to do so. Yet, what struck me as 
 very remarkable, though painting with great delicacy and skill, 
 his foot looked all the time just as awkward an instrument as 
 one's own. After some conversation he offered me his card, 
 put his foot in his pocket, took out one of those little wal- 
 lets which everybody now carries, slipped the elastic band off 
 with his toe, selected a card from several, placed it on the back 
 of the case, put his foot again into his pocket, took out a 
 pencil, and in a far better hand than the compositor has to 
 decipher before this article can go to press, added the address, 
 " Anvers, 5^ Section, 126 Eue des Images," to the name of 
 " Charles Felu, Artiste Peintre." So completely had he over- 
 come all appearance of awkwardness, that a lady whom I 
 happened to sit next to at the table d'hSte told me that she 
 had conversed with him for a considerable time without 
 discovering that his legs were not arms. I have no doubt he 
 shaves himself, for, contrary to the prevailing custom amongst 
 artists, 
 
 " His rhiii, now reaped, 
 Showinl like a stultMt'-fioltl at harvest-home ; "
 
 A DAY AT ANTWERP — RUBENS ANT) RUSKTN. 440 
 
 a light moustache being the only evidence of beard that was 
 allowed to remain on an intelligent, pensive, and rather hand- 
 some face. 
 
 My day at Antwerp ended in the comfortable hutclric of 
 St Antoine, to whose courtyard I was welcomed by the gam- 
 bols of three little white Spitz dogs who might have known 
 that their grandmamma, little iNIadame lUanche, used to coax 
 me, years ago, out of the greater portion of the sugar which 
 was destined for my cafe noir, and who were quite ready to 
 pay me the same disinterested attention themselves. As I sat 
 in the old courtyard and watched the smoke of my cigar curl- 
 ing up amongst the leaves of the orange-trees, I determined 
 to ask the readers of Maga to sympathise with the pleasure I 
 had enjoyed during my day in Antwerp. 
 
 2 F
 
 450 
 
 III. 
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.^ 
 
 When Pepys recorded in cipher the daily events of his life, 
 he was iinconscious that his private diary would one day be 
 esteemed by far the most valuable part of his bequestto Mag- 
 dalen College ; that we should owe to it the truest and most 
 vivid picture we possess of the times of the two last monarchs 
 of the Stuart dynasty. In like manner, James Gilray, George 
 Cruikshank, and John Doyle, as they recorded pas^g events 
 on the copperplate, the wood-block, or the lithographic stone, 
 were little aware that they were accumulating treasures for 
 posterity, the value of which can hardly be estimated until 
 some future Macaulay shall spread his canvas before the eyes 
 of our grandchildren, and own how much, not only of the 
 brilliancy, but of the truth, of his glowing word-picture, is due 
 to the labours of these three men. 
 
 What would be our delight if, in some unexplored corner of 
 the State-Paper Office or the British ^luseum, or amongst the 
 hoards of some private antiquary, we were to come upon a 
 packet containing contemporaneous sketches of the House of 
 Commons when Hollis and Valentine held the Speaker down 
 in his chair whilst Elliot read his remonstrance ; when Pym 
 rose to impeach Strafford ; or when the cry of " Privilege ! 
 Privilege ! " rang its fatal warning in the ear of Charles ! 
 What would we give for such a record of the living aspect of 
 Vane and Hampden, of Strafford and Cromwell, as Gilray has 
 given us of Sheridan and Bm-ke, of Pitt and Fox ! '" 
 
 James Gilray was the father of English political caricature. 
 Before his time, it is true that political prints exisTed", but 
 
 1 Blackwood's Magazine, August 1S63.
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 451 
 
 they were for the most part obscure allegories, like Hogarth's 
 " Times," requiring verbal keys in their own day, and utferly 
 nninteTlTgible in ours. With Gilray a new era commenced, 
 during which he has presented us, in an uninterrupted series, 
 with a chronicle of political events, a moving panorama of 
 social manners, and a gallery of portraits of the principal 
 actors, so far as England is concerned, in the great events of 
 the world. The political series of his caricatures commences 
 in the year 1782, shortly before the coalition between Fox and 
 Lord North, and continues until 1810. It comprises not less 
 than four hundred plates,^ giving an average of about fourteen 
 for each year. 
 
 When, it is remembered that this period commences with 
 the recognition of the independence of the United States ; that 
 it extends over the whole of the French Eevolution and a con- 
 siderable portion of the Empire ; that it comprises the careei-s 
 of Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Wyndham, Erskine, and Lord 
 Thurlow, and comBs down to the times of Castlereagh, Can- 
 ning, Lord Grey, and Sir Francis Burdett, and that the aspect 
 of every actor who played any conspicuous part during that 
 period is faithfully preserved " in his habit as he lived," his 
 gesture and demeanour, his gait, his mode of sitting and walk- 
 ing, his action in speaking — all, except the tone of his voice, 
 presented to us as if we gazed through a glass at the men of 
 former times, — we shall feel that we owe no small debt to the 
 memory of James Gilray. 
 
 Nor is this all. He has given us with equal fidelity the 
 portraits of those actors who fill up the scene, who sustain the 
 underplot of the comedy of life, but have only a secondaiy 
 share, if any, in the main action of the drama. Nor was he 
 simply a caricaturist. That ho possessed the higher qualities 
 of genius — imagination, fancy, and considerable tragic jiower 
 — is abundantly shown by many of his larger and more im- 
 portant etchings; whilst a small figure of the unhappy Duchess 
 
 1 The republication, a few years ago, contains three hnndreil and sixty-six ; 
 but many arc omitted from this collection, owing, no doulit, to the jdatcs hav- 
 ing been destroyud, or the engraving rubbed down in order that the copiHir 
 
 might be used for some otlier subject.
 
 4r)2 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 of Yi)rk, pultlislicil in 1702, iiuder tho feigned signature of 
 Charlotte Zetliin, gives i)roof that lie was not wanting in ten- 
 derness or grace. 
 
 Of those who appear in the etchings of Gilray, the last has 
 passed away from amongst us within a year of the present time. 
 The figure of an old man, somewhat below the middle height, 
 the most remarkahle feature in whose face consisted of his 
 dark overhanging eyebrows, habited in a loose blue coat with 
 metal buttons, grey trousers, white stockings, and a tliick pair 
 of shoes, walking leisurely along I'all Mall or St James's 
 Street, was familiar to many of our readers. The Marquess of 
 Lansdowne (then Lord Henry Petty) appears for the first time 
 in Gilray's prints in the year 1805 ; and it is not difficult to 
 trace a resemblance between the youthful Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer of more than half a century ago, and the Nestor of 
 the Whigs, who survived more than three generations of poli- 
 ticians. The personal history of Gilray was a melancholy one. 
 In 1809 his penciFshowed no want of vigour, but lifs intellect 
 shortly afterwards gave way under the effect of intemperate 
 habits. The last of his works was " A Barber's Shop in Assize 
 Tinie/' etched from a drawing by Harry Buubury in 1811. Tn 
 four years more — years of misery and madness — he slept in 
 the churchyard of St James's, Piccadilly. A flat stone marks 
 the resting-place, and records the genius of " IMr James Gilray, 
 the caricaturist, who departed this life 1st June 1815, aged 58 
 years." 
 
 At the time of the death of Gilray, George Cruikshank was 
 a young" man of about five -and -twenty ytars 'of age. Sir 
 Francis Burdett was a prominent figure in many of Gilray's 
 latest caricatures in 1809. One of the earliest of George 
 Cruil^shank's represents the arrest of the Baronet under the 
 warrant of the Speaker in 1810. The series is thus taken up 
 without the omission of even a single link. 
 
 The earlier caricatures of George Cruikshank bear strong 
 marks of the influence exercised by the genius of Gilray. In 
 some it is even difficult to distinguish the work of the two 
 masters, and here and there a head or figure may be found in 
 the works of the latter, of which almost the exact prototype
 
 GEORGE CUUIKSHANK. 453 
 
 will be discovered in those of the earlier artist. But iu that 
 which stamps most value ou the works of Gilray, Cruikshauk 
 followed with a less vigorous step. A glance at the etcliings 
 entitled " Preparing John Bull fur the General Congress, 1813 ;" 
 "National Frenzy, or John Bull and his Doctors;" "State of 
 Politics at the close of the year 1815;" and "The lloyal 
 Shambles, 1816;" and a comparison with the well-known 
 series of Gilray comprising the events connected with the 
 French Ilevolution, will show what we mean. 
 
 The great power of George Cruikshank lies in a diflerent 
 direction. Tn his o\vn department he is as far superior to 
 Gilray as he falls short of him in the walk of art in which no 
 man before or since has ever equalled the great ^Master of 
 Political Caricature. In another, requiring more refined, more 
 subtle, more intellectual qualities of mind, George Cruikshank 
 stands pre-eminent, not only above Gilray, but, witli the single 
 exception of Hogarth, above all other artists. He is the most 
 perfect master of individual expression that ever handled a 
 pencil or an etching-needle. This talent is equally shown in 
 his earliest as in his latest works. Of the former, one of the 
 finest examples is the first cut of the ""Queen's Matrimonial 
 Ladder," entitled, " Qualification." The attitude was probably 
 suggested by Gilray's plate of the same illustrious personage, as 
 "A Voluptuary Suflfering from the Horrors of Indigestion." But 
 here the superiority of Cruikshank over Gilray in this particular 
 quality is at once apparent. Gilray's is a finished copperplate 
 engraving, Cruikshank's a slight woodcut, but there is not a line 
 that docs not tell its story. Down to the very tips of Tiis fingers 
 the unhappy debauchee is " fuddled." The exact stage of drun- 
 kenness is marked and noted down in the corners of the mouth 
 and eyes, and the impotent elevation of the eyebrow. George 
 Cruikshauk was a severe anatomist of the vice long before'ahy 
 idea of his celebrated " Bottle " could have crossed Tiis miii<l. In 
 the next cut "Declaration," the indignant expression thrown 
 by one or two lines into the countenunce of the old King is 
 e(iually fine, equally true, and c(jually marvellous. The whole 
 series of this little hrorJiin-c, including the si/Jioix/tes cm "The 
 Toy " (a little cardboard ladder which accompanied the original
 
 454 ESSAYS ON AKT. 
 
 ]>u1)lic:ili()n, and wliicli lias become extremely scarce), convince 
 ns, pcrliaps more than any other work, of the wonderful vi^'our 
 and inventiveness of the genius of George Cruik.shank. More 
 than forty years have passed since the appearance of these 
 works ; and if we were asked who, through that period, has 
 been the most faithful cln'onicler of the ways, customs, and 
 habits of the middle and lower classes of England, we should 
 answer without hesitation, George Cruikshank. In his i»ic- 
 tures of society there is no depth which he has not sounded. 
 From the "murderer's cell to the pauper's deatKbed there is no 
 phase of crime and misery which has not served him to point 
 a moral. But his sympathies are never perverted, or his sense 
 of right and wrong dimmed, by the atmosphere in which he 
 moves. He is a stern though kindly moralist. In his hands 
 vice is vice — a foe with wliom no terms are to be kept. Yet, 
 with what true feeling, what consummate skill, does he dis- 
 criminate the shades of character, the ranks and degrees of 
 crime, the extent and limits of moral corruption ! In none of 
 his works is this so apparent as in what we are inclined to 
 rank as the most refined and complete of all — namely, the 
 illustrations to ' Oliver Twist.' Charles Dickens and George 
 Oruiksliaiik worked cordially hand in hand in the production 
 of this admirable work, and neither will grudge to the other 
 his share in the fame which has justly attended their joint 
 labours. The characters are not more skilfully developed, as 
 the story unfolds itself, by the pen of Dickens, than by the 
 pencil of his colleague. Every time we turn over this wonder- 
 ful series, we are more and more impressed with the genius 
 that created, and the close observation of human nature which 
 developed, the characteristics of Oliver through every varying 
 phase of his career, from the memorable day when he " asked 
 for more ; " — of Sikes, the housebreaker (compare his face in 
 the frontispiece of the first volume, where he has just brought 
 Oliver back to the Jew, with that at p. 216 of the third 
 volume, where he is attempting to destroy his dog); of Fagin 
 — from the " merry old gentleman " frying sausages, to the 
 ghastly picture of abject terror which he presents in the con- 
 demned cell ; of Noah Claypole — mark him as he lies cower-
 
 GEORGE CKUIKSHANK. 455 
 
 ing under the dresser in Mr Sowerberry's kitchen, M'itli little 
 Oliver standing triumphant over him with flashing eye and 
 dUated nostril, and again behold him lolling in the arm-chair 
 whilst Charlotte feeds his gluttonous appetite with oysters ; of 
 Charlotte herself, of Mrs Corney, of the workhouse master, the 
 paupers, the boy-thieves, jMessrs Blathers and Dufl' the police- 
 ofificers, and the immortal Mr Bumble — a character which has 
 furnished new terms to our vocabulary, and the glory of pro- 
 ducing which may be fairly divided between the author and 
 the artist. Nor is the portraiture of jSIrs Bedwin the house- 
 keeper, who only appears once, but by that single appearance 
 makes us familiar with her whole history and character, less 
 admirably conceived and executed. The same may be said of 
 Mr Brownlow and Mr Losborne. Nor is this perfection the 
 result of a hicky hit or happy accident, by which a far inferior 
 artist may sometimes succeed in producing what is acknow- 
 ledged by the eye as the impersonation of the impression pro- 
 duced on the mind by the art of the novelist or the poet. It 
 is the result of deep study and profound sympathy with all 
 the varied action of the human heart. It is genius, the twin- 
 brother of that which inspired Garrick and Kean, and which, 
 in its rarest and most refined developments, brings before our 
 eyes even now new beauties latent in the characters of Hamlet 
 and of Rosalind. "We say this in no spirit of exaggeration, 
 but with a profound conviction that no hand coidd have pro- 
 duced such works as those of George Cruikshank, which was 
 not the index and the organ of a heart deeply imbued with 
 the finest sympathies of humanity, and an intellect highly 
 endowed with power of the keenest perception and the subtlest 
 analysis. 
 
 In the contemporary society which he portrays, Cruikshank 
 seldom wanders higher than the middle rank ; and, like 
 Dickens, he is most successful within the limit to which he 
 seems voluntarily to have restricted himself ^Ir Brownlow 
 is one of Nature's nobles, but he lives at Pentonvillo, and 
 would be out of his element in Grosvenor Square, or even in 
 Pindico or Tyburnia. Every raniification of society lu-neath 
 this rank has been accurately observed and traced out by the
 
 450 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 l)encil of George Cruiksliank ; from the gaiTct to the cellar, 
 there in not an inhabitant with whom he has not made us 
 familiar. The boarding-house, the school, the tea-garden, the 
 chop-house, the police-office, the coach-stand, the market, the 
 workhouse, and the prison — every scene, in short, where 
 human life is telling its strange and varied tale — calls forth 
 his sympathies, and affords matter for his genial pencil The 
 mere enumeration of the works which he has drawn from 
 these sources would fill a volume. The one which, in recent 
 times has excited most notice, is the series of designs called 
 " The Bottle." Many artists have attempted to convey a moral 
 truth"T5y" Means of a story told in pictures. With the one 
 illustrious exception of Hogarth, all have failed in their 
 object. The reason is obvious. It is the same which has 
 been fatal to the success of religious novels and moral tales. 
 The conclusion fails to impress the reader, because he has 
 always present to his mind that the characters and the inci- 
 dents are moidded to suit the object of the writer. Mrs 
 Hannah More sought to convince the world that no safety 
 was to be found out of the verge of the Clapham sect, and her 
 novels and her dramas are forgotten ; IMr TroUope's eagerness 
 to make the virtues of High Church divines prominent, and 
 the foibles of the Evangelical clergy conspicuous, is the main 
 defect of his very clever novels. Mr Cruiksliank has embraced 
 the doctrines of teetotalism with the zeal natural to his genius, 
 and is devoting all his energies to the propagation of his 
 favourite tenets. The result is the production of two veiy 
 remarkable works — " The Bottle," and its sequel, " The Drunk- 
 ard's Children " — each consisting of a series of eight elcTiiugs. 
 TheHrsT plate shows a comfortable household. A young man, 
 whom we may suppose to be a respectable mechanic of the 
 higher class, is seated at table with every comfort around him 
 — clean, tidy, healthy children, an active, good-looking, good- 
 tempered wife. The room and its furniture betoken provident 
 industrious habits. He is one of the men who form the bone 
 and sinew of the country. His past life can be looked back 
 upon with pride and satisfaction ; his present is bright, and 
 liis future cheerful. This man is the hero of the story ; and
 
 GEORGE CllUlKSHANK. 457 
 
 Mr Cruiksliank would fain persuade us tliat such a man goes 
 post-haste to the devil, because on an unlucky day he drank a 
 glass of whisky. If we could believe this, we shoidd be com- 
 pelled to give up the axioms of morality in which we have 
 confided all our lives. The status of the man is the result of 
 a formed character, of long habits of self-denial. If such a 
 character is to be destroyed, and such habits to be upset so 
 easily, what becomes of our trust in our fellow-men ? In his 
 eagerness to impress the moral he has so much at heart, Mr 
 Cruiksliank has overlooked the fact that he is striking at the 
 root of other virtues as important as those he would inculcate. 
 If we are to accept his view of human nature, we must 
 abandon all trust in the axiom that a character once fonned 
 for good or for evil is not upset save under the most excep- 
 tional circumstances — circumstances so exceptional that they 
 cannot fairly enter into the calculation of the moralist. If 
 this be so, training and education are of no avail ; we are the 
 mere victims of chance ; and our moral constitutions are so 
 feeble that they wither away in hopeless consumption on the 
 slightest exposure to the free air of the world. Such a doc- 
 trine is fatal to all self-reliance, and all confidence in others — 
 qualities essential to manliness and virtue. Having entered 
 this protest against the conception and tendency of the work, 
 we may, with a safe conscience, give ourselves up to the feel- 
 ings of admiration which its wonderful execution excites. As 
 in ' Gulliver's Travels ' and Defoe's novels, when the mind has 
 once accepted a state of facts wholly monstrous and repugnant 
 to all experience, the details are worked out with such con- 
 summate skill that it is impossible to refuse our assent to 
 their truth. In this way tlie kingdom of Lilliput is an ac- 
 cepted fact, and Moll Flanders and her numerous husbands are 
 admitted amongst our personal acquaintances, and become as 
 real as people we meet eveiy day. No words can do justice to 
 the manner in which the etiect of drink is traced upon the 
 features of the man through the various steps of his career. 
 We see him as the besotted drunkard, with his children starv- 
 ing around him ; as the nmrderer of his wife ; and, finally, as 
 the hopeless criminal lunatic. The story of his children is
 
 458 KSSAYS ON A III'. 
 
 more true to human nature, for they are initiated into vice 
 wliilst younf;. Tlie hoy dies a convict in the liulks ; the fprl 
 tenninates lier life on the streets Ijy tlirowing herself over 
 the parapet of London Bridge. This concluding plate is the 
 culminating point of the tragedy, and few works have ever 
 exceeded it in intensity of expression and terrihle reality. 
 It is the same story that Hood has told in his "Bridge of 
 Sighs : " 
 
 " The bleak wind of March 
 Made her tremble and shiver, 
 But not the dark arch 
 Or the black flowing river ; 
 Mad from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery, 
 Swift to be hurled — 
 Anywhere, anywhere 
 Out of the world." 
 
 All the subordinate characters — the drunkard's wife, the 
 wretched children, the depraved associates — are delineated 
 with equal skill ; perhaps the finest of all is the head of the 
 keeper of the "threepenny lodging-house," who lights the 
 policeman into the room in which they find the boy-felon. 
 The stolid, stupid, half-drunk, half-asleep, no-expression of his 
 face, betokens a genius surpassed only by Hogarth himself. 
 
 Hitherto we have been considering Cruikshank as a deline- 
 ator of contemporaneous character and manners. But it would 
 be a mistake to regard his genius as confined within these 
 limits. He steps witli an easy stride from the busy thorough- 
 fare or the crowded court into the realms of fairyland. It 
 seems as if the bonds with which he had compressed his genius 
 down to the routine of daily events and commonplace charac- 
 ters had burst, and his spirit bounds forth with irrepressible 
 glee, and indulges in the wildest fancies, the most grotesque 
 vagaries, and the most riotous mirth. Cinderella and her train 
 glitter before our eyes in fairy gold ; the bean-stalk springs 
 up under our feet, and Jack climbs exulting to the top ; 
 Jack o' Lantern peeps through the sedges, and laughs at 
 the deluded traveller ; Hop-o'-my-Thumb strides along in 
 liis seven-leagued boots, in a way which we are convinced
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 450 
 
 not only that he might have done, but tliat he actually 
 did; the mysterious gentleman doubles up Peter Schleniihl's 
 shadow, and packs it away as easily as we fold up our trousers 
 and deposit them in a portmanteau. When once he gives the 
 reins to his imagination, there are no bounds to its sportive- 
 ness. A pair of bellows would not appear to be a hopeful 
 subject for the display of fancy, but, in the hands of George 
 Cruikshank, it inflates itself with the breath of life. Its valve 
 becomes a heart, and its nozzle a nostril ; it is endowed with 
 liuman passions and human affections. It sings, it dances, it 
 falls in love. It does everything that it was least likely that 
 such a solemn and flatulent piece of household furniture should 
 do. It would require a volume merely to enumerate the titles 
 of the works which at various times George Cruikshank has 
 produced. The catalogue, in the most comjoressed form, of 
 what is merely a selection from his works, which has been 
 exhibited at Exeter Hall during the present summer, extends 
 over twenty-two closely printed octavo pages. This collection 
 contains above a thousand works ; and, as many are altogether 
 omitted from it, and selections only given from others, we feel 
 little doubt that a complete collection would amount to at least 
 double that number. It is in vain to attempt to direct the 
 attention of the reader to a tithe even of those which are actu- 
 ally on the walls of the gallery. The ' Omnibus,' the ' Sketch- 
 book,' the ' Comic Almanac,' the series of plates connected 
 with the Great Exhibition of 1851, 'Punch and Judy,' the 
 ' Life of Sir John Falstaff,' ' Greenwich Hospital ; ' and hun- 
 dreds more rise up in our memory, claiming grateful notice, 
 which the want of space compels us to refuse. 
 
 There is a middle ground between Fleet Street and Fairy- 
 hind, in which George Cruikshank has displayed extraordinary 
 skill. The historical romances and Newgate Calendar n(»vels 
 of Harrison Ainsworth have given an occasion for the display 
 of his genius in a direction as distinct from the everyday scenes 
 of commonplace life, as it is widely separated from the graceful 
 fancies of our own nursery stories, or the grotesque vagaries of 
 the iinjis and genii of German demonology. The illustrations 
 of ' Rookwood ' and ' Jack She])pard ' are full of talent ; a few
 
 460 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 of the jdatos in tlic latter — "Jack visiting his ^lolhcr in Bed- 
 hini," "The Il(jl)bcry at Dollis Hill," and "Tiic Funeral at Willes- 
 den Churchyard," for example — possess a merit approaching, 
 though not equalling, the unrivalled series of ' Oliver Twist;' 
 whilst the small etchings showing the various steps of Jack's 
 escape from Newgate, and his procession to Tyburn, are marvels 
 of skill for minute delicacy of execution, and for the vigour 
 which the artist has contrived to compress within so narrow a 
 space. Of the illustrations of ' Guy Fawkes/ ' The Tower of 
 London,' ' The Miser's Daughter,' and other works of a similar 
 class, it is impossible to speak in terms of too high commenda- 
 tion. In these it is true that the individual character and 
 expression which delighted us in other works that we have 
 referred to are less vigorously displayed ; but, on the other 
 hand, we have the most vivid realisation and picturesque ren- 
 dering of the scene. All the aids that are to be derived from 
 the historical accessories of place and costume are taken ad- 
 vantage of, and the power and mystery of the most daring 
 chiaroscuro are invoked to give effect to the representation. 
 Let any one who doubts the power of George Cruikshank as a 
 painter of the historical-picturesque, study carefully " Queen 
 Jane and Lord Guildford Dudley brought back prisoners to 
 the Tower through Traitors' Gate," and he will renounce his 
 heresy. 
 
 George Crvdkshank is still among us. The same hand 
 whichjljefore the commencement of this century, had twined 
 its infant fingers round the ebony shaft of the etching-needle, 
 claiming as its own, with the sure instinct of genius, the sceptre 
 of its future sway, the rod which was to bend spirits to its 
 command, is now busily plying its skill to reproduce on copper 
 the great protest wherein its owner has recorded his undjnng 
 declaration of war against the demon " Drink." If the title of 
 a man to the gratitude of his race, to rank as a philanthropist 
 and a benefactor, depends on the amount of happiness and 
 innocent pleasure which he has bestowed upon others, the 
 name of George Cruikshank is entitled to a high place amongst 
 the worthies of the nineteenth century. Of the millions who,
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 4G1 
 
 since his labours began, have been born into the world, fretted 
 their hour, and passed away ; or who, like the writer of these 
 pages, still remain when their sun has far passed its meridian 
 — of those who, day by day, are rising into manhood, and of 
 the numbers greater yet who will arise when that active brain 
 is at rest and that busy hand is still, — how many have reason 
 to bless the name of George Cruikshank ! How many peals 
 of infant laughter must ring their sweet music in his ears — 
 how many beds of pain and sickness has he cheered — how 
 many hearths has he brightened ! Well do we remember, in 
 the days of our own boyhood, how one gentle spirit, which lias, 
 long, long years ago, taken its flight to heaven, would linger 
 with delight which made it forgetful of pain over the creations 
 of his fancy, and trace, with hands almost transparent in their 
 whiteness and their slenderness, the frolics of the elves and 
 imps of German fairy story. Long may George Cruikshank 
 enjoy the well-earned pride of looking back over half a century 
 gladdened by his genius, and the satisfaction which he may 
 honestly feel from the conviction, tliat no thought which the 
 sternest moralist could condemn has ever been awakened l)y 
 his pencil ! 
 
 John Doyle (or, to adopt his more familiar nomrne dc guerre, 
 H. B.) is essentially distinct in his mode, as well of conception 
 as of execution, from both Gilray and Cruikshank. lie ran 
 hardly with propriety be called a " caricaturist." The Italian 
 origin of that word, which has been so recently introduced 
 into our language that it does not appear either in Bailey or 
 Johnson, implies — overloading, exaggeration, H. B.'s sketches 
 are not exaggerated. They are simply faitliful renderings of 
 the men with whom our recollections of the last thirty years 
 have made us familiar. These portraits are grouped round 
 some familiar event of the day. A conversation in the House 
 of Commons, a current anecdote, a popular hoii mot, is repro- 
 duced by his faithful and rapid pencil For the story of his 
 sketches, H. B. was almost invariably indebted to some source 
 of this kind. He possessed no great powere of invention ; his 
 satire was always playful ; he had but little sarcastic, and no
 
 462 ESSAYS ON AUT. 
 
 tragic i)0\ver ; but in tlio art of producing a likeness he has 
 never been excelled, and wo nmcli doubt if he has ev(!r be(''n 
 equalled. We have no means of judging of the fidelity of Gil- 
 ray, save by comparison with the works of Reynolds, Hoppner, 
 Romney, and other contemporary portrait-painters ; and tbese 
 bear high testimony to his truthfulness. But our own memory 
 enables us to bear witness to the marvellous accuracy of almost 
 every portrait that H. B. has impressed on the lithographic 
 stone. His sketches commence in the year 1829. One of the 
 earliest represents the Ghost of Canning startling a Cabinet 
 Council of the Duke of Wellington's Administration, in the 
 midst of their consultation on the Catholic Relief BilL The 
 latest was published in March 1851, and contains a portrait of 
 Lord John Russell in the character of " Hudibras setting out on 
 his Crusade against Mummeries," with the celebrated Durham 
 letter stuck in his girdle. This sketch is numbered 917, 
 which gives an average of about one sketch per week over a 
 period of twenty-two years. When we consider that during 
 the later part of this period the sketches made their appear- 
 ance at long intervals, the fecundity during the earlier years 
 becomes still more astonishing. This \vas partly owing, no 
 doubt, to the medium of which H. B. availed himself. The 
 fatal facility of the lithographic stone gave a temptation to 
 hurried and careless execution, which the sterner discipline of 
 the copperplate would have repressed. H. B. would have been 
 a greater artist had he worked on the same material and with 
 the same tools as Gilray and Cruikshank ; but we should pro- 
 bably not have possessed so complete a gallery of portraits, 
 comprising all the men of note who took part in political affairs 
 from before the passing of the Catholic Relief Bill until after 
 the repeal of the Corn Law (a period more eventful than any 
 of a similar length since the Revolution of 1688), and of many 
 whose reputation was but ephemeral. To criticise the works 
 of H. B. would be to write the history of a quarter of a century. 
 To omit any notice of his works in this paper would have been 
 an act of ingratitude to an accomplished artist to whom every 
 student of the history of his native country owes a debt which
 
 GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 4G3 
 
 he will gladly acknowledge. Nor can we conclude these re- 
 marks without a passing word to one, the very variety and 
 fertility of whose genius precludes us from more at the present 
 time. Some future day we promise ourselves the pleasure of 
 spending an hour mth the hearty old gentlemen, the gallant 
 boys, the prodigious " swells," and, above all, the charming 
 sisters, cousins, and sweethearts and wives to whom we have 
 been introduced by John Leech.
 
 4CA 
 
 IV. 
 
 JOHN 
 
 The year which has just passed opened sadly \M'tli the death 
 of William Makepeace Thackeray ; bef(;ie it closed, John 
 Leech was laid by the side of his schoolfellow, his friend, and 
 his fellow-labourer. There was hardly a household in the 
 United Kingdom over which a gloom was not cast by the 
 tidings of his death — a Christmas hearth round which he was 
 not mourned, or whose brightness was not dimmed by his loss. 
 It was as if an old familiar face were missed, a friendly voice 
 hushed. The kindliest of moralists, the gentlest of satirists, 
 was no more ; but the spirit that had so lately fled seemed still 
 to linger round the Christmas-tree, to mingle in the sports it 
 had loved so well, to wreathe itself in the smiles and float on 
 the sweet laughter of childhood, and to hover lovingly over 
 the scenes it had so often rendered immortal. 
 
 All that the world has a right to ask of the personal history 
 of John Leech has been already told. That he was originally 
 destined for the medical profession ; that in obedience to the 
 strong promptings of genius he early abandoned it ; that his 
 life was pure and noble ; that he was beloved by friends, and 
 those nearer and dearer than friends, — this is all we are entitled 
 to know, and it is enough. 
 
 As has been the case with almost all great humorists, there was 
 a vein of melancholy in the character of Leech. " Our sweetest 
 songs are those that tell of saddest thought ;" and this tone of 
 mind seems to be as inseparable from genius as the plaintive 
 strains are from that music " which wakes our tears ere smiles 
 have left us." 
 
 1 Blackwood's M.igazinc, April 1865.
 
 ■JOHN LEECH. 465 
 
 The lines in which the character of a lamented statesman 
 has been so vividly drawn in these pages might with truth 
 liave been applied to the artist : — 
 
 " His mirth, though genial, came by fits and starts ; 
 The man was mournful in his heart of hearts. 
 Oft would he sit or wander forth alone, 
 Sad, — why I know not, — was it ever known ? 
 Tears came with ease to those ingenuous eyes ; 
 A verse, if noble, bade them nobly rise. 
 Hear him discourse, you'd think he hardly felt ; 
 No heart more facile to arouse or melt, — 
 High as a knight's in some Castilian lay. 
 And tender as a sailor's in a play." 
 
 Silent, gentle, forbearing, his indignation flashed forth in 
 eloquence when roused by anything mean or ungenerous. 
 !Manly in all his thoughts, tastes, and habits, there was about 
 him an almost feminine tenderness. He would sit by the bed- 
 side and smooth the piUow of a sick child with the gentleness 
 of a woman. No wonder he was the idol of those around him ; 
 but it is the happiness of such a life that there is so little to 
 be told of it. 
 
 In an article upon the Public Schools of London, which 
 appeared about four years ago in the pages of ' Once a Week,' 
 the following passage occurs in the description of the Charter- 
 house : — 
 
 " We strolled out into the green again, which is so large that 
 one portion of it forms an excellent cricket-ground. It is sur- 
 rounded by high walls, and is overlooked from the upper 
 windows of the houses in the adjacent streets. J. mentioned 
 to me a story of a young Carthusian's motlier, which was, I 
 thought, touching enough. She had sent her little boy, then 
 a mere child, to this huge school. It had cost her many a 
 pang to part with him ; but, as she was a lady of good sense 
 as well as of gentle heart, slie resolved to abstain from visiting 
 him at his boarding-house. She knew it ^^•as right that he 
 should be left to take his chance with the others, and she had 
 sufficient strength of mind not to sacrifice his future welfare 
 to the indulgence of her own affection. See him, however, she 
 would, but in such a way that the child could not see her. 
 She therefore hired a room in one of the houses which com- 
 
 2 G
 
 466 ESSAYS ON AKT. 
 
 mantled a view of the Carthusian playing-ground ; and here 
 she wouhl sit beliind a l^lind, (hiy after day, happy and con- 
 tent so that she could get a glimpse of her child. Sometimes 
 she would see him strolling about with his arm round the neck 
 of one of his little companions, as the way of schoolboys is ; 
 sometimes he was playing and jumping about with childish 
 glee ; but still the mother kept her watch. You may see the 
 place where she did it. Look yonder, that upper window, just 
 beside the goldbeater's arm." 
 
 The boy in this story was John Leech. How much of the 
 mingled firmness and tenderness of his character may he have 
 inherited from such a mother ? 
 
 His success came early. Tliere is no tale to be told of the 
 struggles and heartburnings of unacknowledged genius. Be- 
 fore he was five-and-twenty years of age he was celebrated, 
 and to the very hour of his death his popularity steadily and 
 constantly increased. His life was short when measured by 
 years; but if we take the truer measure of sensation, it ex- 
 tended far beyond the ordinary limit of humanity. His brain 
 was never idle, and his hand rarely at rest. The amount of 
 intellectual labour he must have gone through is prodigious; 
 and it is wonderful that an organ so finely constituted, an in- 
 strument so delicately tuned, as his brain must have been, did 
 not give way sooner. 
 
 This delicate power of perception, tremblingly alive to the 
 finest and most evanescent characteristics of every object that 
 presented itself to his notice, is perhaps the most distinctive 
 feature of the genius of Leech. No truer record of the man- 
 ners and habits of society in the middle of the nineteenth cen- 
 tuiy can be conceived than that which is found in the produc- 
 tions of his pencil. His po\vers of satire were rather refined 
 than deep. Had he worked with the pen instead of the pencil, 
 he might have written the " Prccieuses Eidicules," or the " Eape 
 of the Lock;" but could hardly have produced the " Misan- 
 thrope," or the " Moral Essays." He preferred laugliing at 
 follies to lashing vices. The pretensions of a " snob," or the 
 vulgarities of a " gent," were the favourite objects of his satire; 
 like Touchstone, it was " meat and drink to him to see a fool."
 
 JOHN LEECH. 407 
 
 Yet the kindliness of his disposition shows itself in the mode 
 in which he treats even his victim. One of the most popular 
 and successful of his creations is " Old Briggs." How the 
 character grows and develops under his hand from the fortu- 
 nate day when " the cook says she thinks there's a loose slate 
 on the roof, and ^Mr Briggs replies that the sooner it is set 
 to rights the better, and he will see about it," through all the 
 various phases of house-keeping and horse-keeping, of fox- 
 hunting, fishing, pheasant-shooting, and deer-stalking. And 
 here we may observe the delicate gradations by which the 
 artist has marked the progress of Mr Briggs in his sporting 
 education. On his first introduction he is essentially a town 
 man. He has probably spent his life, until past fifty years of 
 age, in a warehouse, or behind a desk or a counter. But the 
 strong sporting instinct has only lain dormant within him till 
 awakened by accident, and, when once aroused, breaks forth 
 in full vigour. Briggs is a totally different character from the 
 Cockney sportsman who was the butt of Gilray or of Seymour. 
 It is impossible not to feel sympathy and respect for the per- 
 severance and resolution with which he pursues his object, or 
 affection for the good-humour with which he meets repeated 
 disappointment. Wlio can help rejoicing heartily with him 
 when at last he catches that marvellous salmon ? 
 
 Little Tom Noddy is another admirable creation. How ex- 
 quisitely ludicrous is the whole series of liis sporting adven- 
 tures ! Yet the little man never loses his hoki on our affec- 
 tions. Here, too, we find a remarkable proof of the fertility of 
 genius and acute observation of the artist. Briggs and Tom 
 Noddy pass through the same scenes, but the ideas are always 
 new, and each character is stamped with its own distmctive 
 idiosyncrasies. They are as different from each other as Mas- 
 ter Slender is from Froth, or Touchstone from the Fool in ' Lear.' 
 
 As a political caricaturist. Leech holds a position midway 
 between Gilray and Cmikshank on the one hand, and H. B. 
 on the other. His satire was not so keen, nor was his pencil 
 so vigorous, as that of the two former artists; but it must be 
 remembered that times have changed, and that the weapons 
 with which Gilray assailed I'itt and Fox, and those wliich
 
 4G8 ESSAYS ON AUT. 
 
 Cruikshank wieldcfl against Castlereagh and Sidmoiith, would 
 not be t'(iually fitted for the days of Peel and Lord John Kus- 
 sull, of Lord Palnierston and Mr Disraeli. 
 
 Leech possessed the finest eye for all objects of natural 
 beauty. A keen sense of the beautiful distinguishes him from 
 almost. all other caricaturists. It is to be found occasionally, 
 though rarely, in the earlier works of Gilray, and more fre- 
 quently in those of Eowlandson, but disappears almost en- 
 tirely from the later productions of both. In Cruikshank it 
 finds its chief manifestation when he disports himself amongst 
 the creations of fairyland ; and it is well worthy of remark, 
 that, unlike his predecessors, this sense of beauty seems to 
 have strengthened instead of diminishing as time has mellowed 
 the genius of that great master. Over Leech it has from the 
 first exercised an abiding influence, and there is hardly a pro- 
 duction of his pencil in which some touch does not appear 
 to bear testimony to his devotion. His power of expressing 
 beauty by a few lines strengthened with years, but with in- 
 creasing facility of hand came in some degree the defect of 
 mannerism. One type of beauty took possession of his heart, 
 and he too often contented himself with reproducing it. Tliere 
 are other artists of kindred genius to whose works we might 
 refer as examples of a similar habit; and when it is remem- 
 bered how rapid and unceasing the call upon his creative 
 power was — that, week by week, for a period of twenty years, 
 he produced designs which, for the amount of thought and 
 invention they required, were equal to pictures — our surprise 
 will be at the variety which he introduced in the character and 
 expression of the actors in the scenes of liis comedy. Leech's 
 type of beauty is thoroughly English and domestic — the gay, 
 modest, good-tempered girl who is the sunbeam on her father's 
 hearth, the beloved of her brothers and sisters, the adored of 
 her cousins, who passes by natural transitions into the faith- 
 ful wife and fond mother, who bears around her through life 
 a halo of purity and innocence, is the muse that inspires his 
 pencil. This purity is a constant characteristic of Leech's 
 beauties. Constance, who drives her private hansom — Miss 
 Selina Hardman, who asks poor Robinson to "give her a lead"
 
 JOHN LEECH. 469 
 
 over a five-barred gate— Diana, who slips off at an ngly fence, 
 leaving the skirt of her habit on the pommel of her saddle, — 
 have not the most remote affinity to the objectionable young 
 ladies of the present day who ape the graces of Anonyma as 
 she flaunts in the park, are rather proud to be taken for 
 " pretty horse-breakers," and expose themselves to the ridicule 
 and contempt of tlieir partners by talking of persons and 
 places of the mere knowledge of whose names they ought to be 
 ashamed. It is difficult to say whether the hunting-field, tlie 
 park, the croquet-lawn, the ball-room, or the sea-side has fur- 
 nished the richer field for the display of this phase of the 
 genius of Leech ; but we are disposed to think that all these 
 must yield to his indoor scenes of domestic life. He revels 
 in the society of children. Baby is a constant source of de- 
 light to him; the sports, the loves, the joys, and the sorrows 
 of childhood awaken his warmest sympathy. We know of 
 nothing more perfect than some of his representations of 
 children's parties — with what kindly satire he smiles at the 
 affectation of the little premature men and women; and when 
 he takes them out to dabble on the sea-shore, or mounts the 
 boys on rough ponies and starts them for a ride over the downs, 
 how the joyous shout and laugh ring in our ears ! 
 
 There was in Leech all the material of a gi-eat landscape- 
 painter. If we were to select one artist from whose works we 
 should seek to give a foreigner a correct idea of English 
 scenery, it is to his sketches we should have recourse. His 
 backgrounds are marvels of truth and expression. The south 
 coast of England, the peaceful valleys of tlie Tliames, the 
 brawling streams of Derbysliire, tlie broad undulating turf of 
 our midland counties, the brown moors of Yorkshire, the High- 
 lands of Scotland, and the strange, wild, weird scenes of Gal- 
 way and Mayo, arc all rendered with equal fidelity by his 
 pencil, and each takes its appropriate place, as his drama shifts 
 with the season from yachting and bathing to trout-fishing, 
 deer-stalking, shooting, and fox-hunting. With Leech nothing 
 was conventional. Every accessory that he introduced showed 
 his perfect knowledge of the scene he portrayed. 
 
 The backgrounds alone of the " Ih-iggs" series will repay
 
 470 ESSAYS ON ART. 
 
 l»ours of slndy ; and wv. liuvc no hesitation in expressing our 
 confident oj)ini()n tliat in future years tliese slight and ap- 
 parently subordinate works will take a high place in the 
 estimation of those who make landscape art their study. We 
 know no better advice for a student than that he should look 
 at nature with his own eyes, and then study carefully how she 
 presented herself to those of Leech. His memory must have 
 been extraordinary, for, from the conditions under which he 
 worked, most of these designs must have been produced in the 
 studio ; but the slight memoranda in his pocket-books show 
 that he never missed an opportunity of noting down even the 
 most evanescent aspects of nature, the curl of a wave or the 
 toss of the branches of a tree. All his designs are full of 
 movement and action. His horses especially are alive, and 
 almost as full of character as his men. Each is characteristic 
 of its owner. Briggs's horse is as distinct from Tom Noddy's 
 "playful mare," as their respective masters are from each 
 other. His studies of horses began early, and in a school 
 which was probably unique. 
 
 Leech was a boy at the Charter-house in the palmy days of 
 coach-travelling. In those days the north mails, after leaving 
 the Post-Office, passed along Goswell Street, close by the wall 
 which bounds the playground of the Carthusians. It was a 
 glorious procession, such as our sons will never see and can 
 hardly fancy. How the light, compact, neatly - appointed 
 vehicles wound their rapid way along the crowded street 
 behind their well-bred, high-conditioned teams ! how gaily 
 the evening sun glittered on the bright harness and glossy 
 coats of the horses, and the royal uniform of the men ! how 
 cheerily the " yard of tin " rung out its shrill summons ! Here 
 and there a fast night-coach as well horsed and appointed 
 mingled in the procession, and "All the blue bonnets," or 
 " The Swiss boy " — forgotten melodies — were carolled forth by 
 that obsolete instrument the key-bugle. Pleasant are the 
 memories of " the road." In the days of our boyhood the box 
 of a fast coach was a throne of delight. The young Carthu- 
 sians were far too ingenious to permit the wall of their play- 
 ground to shut them out from so glorious a sight. They cut
 
 JOHN LEECH. 47l 
 
 notches and drove spikes in the trunks of a row of trees from 
 the higher branches of which they could obtain a view into 
 Goswell Street, and there they rigged up a kind of crows' 
 nests where they could sit at ease and watch coach after coach 
 as it passed. This was young Leech's study, and he has left 
 a charming sketch of a boy sitting in such a " coach-tree," as 
 it was called, with an expression of calm and thoughtful de- 
 light as he gazes on the spectacle below. The trees are gone, 
 their successors are just beginning to show their leading shoots 
 above the wall, but no future generation will ever climb their 
 branches to feast their eyes on such a sight as delighted those 
 of Thackeray and Leech in their boyhood. 
 
 There was no less justice than generosity in the remark of 
 Mr Millais, when, in his evidence before the Commission on 
 the Eoyal Academy, he mentioned Leecli as a striking instance 
 of an artist worthy of the highest honours which the Academy 
 could bestow, but who was excluded by the narrow rule which 
 restricts those honours to artists who work in one peculiar 
 medium. Had this remark proceeded from one whose opinion 
 carried less authority, it might, perhaps, have been met by a 
 sneer; but, coming from one who had himself acquired the 
 highest of those honours, who had been trained in the schools 
 of the Academy, and who had at a singularly early age been 
 marked out for the success he subsequently achieved, it com- 
 manded respect and won assent. Any one may understand 
 and relish the infinite humour and truth of Leech, but only 
 one who was a great artist himself could fully know how great 
 an artist he was. When Opie was asked what lie mixed liis 
 colom'S with, the surly Cornishinan growled out, '^ Drains, sir !" 
 When a lady once asked Turner what was lii> si ( ret, he re- 
 plied, " I have no secret, madam, but hard work." Tlic fer- 
 tility of the soil was apparent to every one, but the laborious 
 husbandry which enabled it to yield so rich a crop was known 
 to but few. The lal)Our was no doubt rendered more severe 
 by the want of professional education. The early training 
 which makes the hand the prompt and obedient slave of the 
 brain, and which enabled Gihay to draw at once on the copper, 
 was wanting to Leech, and he supplied its place by the closest
 
 472 ESSAYS ON ART, 
 
 and most accuralu sUuly. Nut only did Ik; nolo down in 
 small sketch-books each ohjcct as it was presented to liis eye, 
 but he made careful pencil-drawings of every one of his de- 
 signs before he transferred them to the copper or the wood- 
 block. These drawings have most fortunately been carefully 
 preserved ; and we would strongly impress upon the Trustees 
 of the British Museum, or some other public body, the inijjort- 
 ance of securing for the nation, at any rate, the political series. 
 It is hardly possible to overrate their importance and value to 
 the historian, the antiquary, or the artist. There is not one 
 that does not illustrate some historical event, or that does not 
 contain the living portrait of some man of note. If once dis- 
 persed they can never be reunited. We give thousands for a 
 doubtful antique or a mutilated bronze. Surely we shall not 
 permit such a record of contemporary history as these drawings 
 afford to be broken up into fragments and distributed amongst 
 the portfolios of private amateur collectors, its utility destroyed, 
 and its beauty concealed for ever. 
 
 The world is a hard task-master to those who cater for its 
 amusement. Moliere died on the stage with the words of one 
 of his own immortal comedies on his lips. The pencil fell 
 from the hand of Leech upon an unfinished wood-block which 
 he was preparing for Punch's Almanac. The same continuous 
 labour, the same tax on the brain which stilled the tongue 
 of " Mellifluous Follett," was fatal to him. Eest might have 
 saved him, but for him there was no rest. The weekly call 
 must be answered, be it at what cost it may. "The ordinary 
 symptoms of an overtaxed brain began to show themselves, 
 his nervousness and sensibility became extreme, and that 
 generous heart which had only felt too warmly, and prompted 
 too open a hand for the relief of others, gave one agonising 
 throb, and then ceased to beat for ever. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.