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Lockhart was kept waiting more than a fortnight for the interview. During the whole of that time, he was ordered to keep himself shut up in his house. Imagining he was to be put off, he boldly wrote to Walpole that he might be sent back to Rotterdam. 'Whereupon, he sent for me next day, and introduced me to King George in his closet. After a little speech of thanks, he told me with some heat in his looks that I had been long in a bad way, and he'd judge, how far I deserved the favour he had now shown me, by my future conduct. I made a bow and went off and determined never to trust to his mercy, which did not seem to abound.'

George Lockhart admired neither the English people nor their representatives in the House of Commons. Both he considered equally ignorant of the nature of true liberty and the principle of honest government. Speaking at one time of the members in Parliament assembled, he observes,--'Though all of them are vested with equal powers, a very few, of the most active and pragmatical, by persuading the rest that nothing is done without them, do lead them by the nose and make mere tools of them, to serve their own ends. And this, I suppose, is owing to the manner and way of electing the members; for, being entirely in the hands of the populace, they, for the most part, choose those who pay best; so that many are elected who very seldom attend the House, give themselves no trouble in business and have no design in being chosen, even at a great expense, but to have the honour of being called Parliament men. On the other hand, a great many are likewise elected who have no concern for the interest of their country, and, being either poor or avaricious, aim at nothing but enriching themselves; and hence it is that no assembly under Heaven produces so many fools and knaves. The House of Commons is represented as a wise and august Assembly; what it was long ago I shall not say, but in our days, it is full of disorder and confusion. The members that are capable and mindful of business are few in number, and the rest mind nothing at all. When there is a party job to be done, they'll attend, and make a hideous noise, like Bedlamites; but if the House is to enter on business, such as the giving of money or making of public laws, they converse so loud with one another in private knots, that nobody can know what is doing, except a very few who, for that purpose, sit near the clerks' table; or they leave the House and the Men of Business, as they call them, to mind such matters.'

In 1728, royalty continued to exhibit itself in a manner which, now, seems rather unedifying. On Sundays and Thursdays, in the summer, the city sent curious multitudes to Hampton Court, to see their Majesties dine in public. The sight-seers went freely into the gallery, where a strong barrier divided them from the royalties at table. On all occasions, the pressure against this barrier was immense; on one, it gave way, when scores of ladies and gentlemen were sent sprawling at the foot of the king's table. Away went perukes and hats; for which there was a furious scramble, with much misappropriation, more or less accidental. While it lasted, king and queen held their sides and laughed aloud, regardless of etiquette, or indeed, of becomingness; but there was provocation to hilarity, when the worshippers were rolling and screaming at the feet of the national idols.

In the king's speech, on opening the Session in January, 1729, there was no reference to the Pretender. The king, however, attributed certain delays at the Courts of Vienna and Madrid to 'hopes given from hence of creating discontents and division' among his subjects; but if this hope encouraged these foreign Courts, 'I am persuaded,' said the king, 'that your known affection for me, and a just regard for your own honour, and the interest and security of the nation, will determine you effectually to discourage the unnatural and injurious practices of some few who suggest the means of distressing their country, and afterwards clamour at the inconveniences which they themselves have occasioned.' In the usual reply, the Lords lamented that the lenity of the constitution was daily abused, and that the basest and meanest of mankind 'escape the infamous punishment due by the laws of the land to such crimes.' The Commons, after some debate, employed terms equally strong. ?? The Heir Apparent used the opportunity to illustrate his fidelity to the Protestant succession. Prince Frederick, to convince all good people of his Protestant orthodoxy, went a round of the London churches. He was accompanied by a group of young lords and gentlemen of good character, and, at this time, his reputation did not suffer by his being judged according to the company he kept. On the occasion of his dissipated church-going, the prince and his noble followers took the Sacrament in public: the doors of the church, whichever it might be, were set wide open, and the church itself was packed by a mob of street Whigs and Tories, who made their own comments on the spectacle, which was not so edifying and impressive as it was intended to be. Fog's Jacobite paper hinted that a family not a hundred miles from St. James's was split up with petty domestic quarrelling. The family, indeed, dined together twice a week in public; but people were reminded that outward appearances were exceedingly deceptive,--and sacramental partakings proved nothing.

The papers of the year bear witness to the wickedness and barbarity of all classes of people, of both sexes. Half the highwaymen and footpads were members of his Majesty's own guards. There was not a street or suburb of London that was free from their violence and villany. Small offences being as much a hanging matter as the most horrible crimes, lawless men found it as cheap to be murderers as petty-larcenists; and all looked to Tyburn as the last scene, in which they must necessarily figure. Three or four of these fellows, behind old Buckingham House, stopped the carriage of the Bishop of Ossory, who was on his way to Chelsea with his son. They took from the prelate's finger his episcopal ring , and from his hand what seemed to be a pocket book, but which was a Book of Common Prayer. When the highwayman who held it saw that it was a Prayer Book, he handed it back to the bishop. 'Had you not better keep it?' said the prelate. 'Thank you, no!' rejoined the Pimlico Macheath, 'we have no occasion for it at present, whatever may be the case at some time hereafter.' The time alluded to was the hour of 'hanging Wednesday,' at Tyburn, when each patient was provided with a Prayer Book, which he often flung at someone in the crowd of spectators before he was pinioned. There was always a great variety of company at the triple tree in Tyburn field, built to accommodate a score. At a push a couple of dozen could be disposed of on a very busy hanging morning. The sufferers ranged,--from the most brutal murderers, men and women, down to timid pickpockets and shy shoplifters, boys and girls, to all of whom the bloody code of the time awarded the same measure of vengeance. The London mob were almost satiated with Tyburn holidays. It was an agreeable change for them to witness the public military funeral of old Mary Davis, who had served, both as sutler and soldier, in our wars in Flanders. In her later years, Mary kept a tavern in King Street, Westminster, bearing the curious sign of 'Man's worst ills.' The crowd there, and about St. Margaret's, where she was buried, was as great as at their Majesties' coronation.

The press prosecutions of this year were few. A vendor of some reprints of former very offensive numbers of Mist's Journal lost his liberty for a while; and a poor servant girl, for delivering to a caller an obnoxious pamphlet, was sentenced to imprisonment in Bridewell, there to receive 'the correction of the house,'--which meant a severe whipping.

No better proof of Atterbury's sympathy with Mist and the enemies of the established Government can be given than in the following passage, from a letter written at Montpellier, in March, 1729-30. It is addressed to Sempill, who was a favoured resident at the Chevalier's Court, but really a spy in the service of the Court in London.--'I shall be concerned if so honest a man as Mr. Mist should have any just cause of uneasiness. His sufferings, that were intended to distress and disgrace him, ought to render him in the eyes of those for whom he suffered, more valuable; and I hope it will prove so that others may not be discouraged.'

During the next ten years Jacobitisin in the capital made no manifestation, but the Whig poets were rather ostentatious in their loyalty; and the royal family patronised them accordingly. For instance, on the last day of February, 1730, Thomson produced at Drury Lane his tragedy, illustrating the virtue of patriotism, namely, 'Sophonisba.' The queen herself had attended the full-dress rehearsals, at which crowded audiences were not so much delighted as they were told they ought to be. However, the notice the queen condescended to take of this essay to keep alive the virtue of patriotism, led the author to dedicate it to Caroline. In that dedication the poet informed both Whigs and Jacobites that the queen 'commands the hearts of a people more powerful at sea than Carthage, more flourishing in commerce than those first merchants, more secure against conquest, and under a monarchy more free than a commonwealth itself.' In the prologue it was said of Britain,--

When freedom is the cause, 'tis her's to fight, And her's, when freedom is the theme, to write.

'Well,' said Apollo, 'still 'tis mine, To give the real laurel, For that, my Pope, my son Divine, Of rivals end the quarrel. But, guessing who should have the luck To be the Birth-day fibber, I thought of Dennis, Tibbald, Duck, But never dreamed of Cibber.'

The year was one fruitful in plays; but it was observed that when nuts are plentiful, they are generally of poor quality; so it was with the plays of 1730. They are all clean forgotten, including 'Sophonisba' itself,--the epilogue to which tragedy had this advice to ladies who patronised foreign productions:--

There was much meanness in the ill feeling of the Jacobites at even the little mischances that happened to the royal family. On a dark evening in November, the king and queen were returning from Kew to St. James's, their footmen and grooms carrying torches. A storm of wind blew out the torches, and at Parson's Green the carriage and its royal freight was overturned. Lord Peterborough's people came to the rescue, with flambeaux, and the royal pair went on to town with nothing worse than an assortment of bruises. Such accidents were kindly attributed to the drunkenness of servants, but that bitter Jacobite Hearne thought that the mistress, if not the master, could be as drunk as they. Here is a sample of both thought and expression.--'The present Duchess of Brunswick, commonly called Queen Caroline,' says Hearne, in his 'Reliquiae,' 'is a very proud woman, and pretends to great subtlety and cunning. She drinks so hard that her spirits are continually inflamed, and she is often drunk. The last summer, she went away from Orkney House, near Maidenhead , so drunk that she was sick in the coach all her journey, as she went along;--a thing much noted.'

To decline to take the oath of abjuration was still a very serious matter, involving not merely temporary loss, but life-long professional ruin. Pope had a nephew, Robert Rackett, whose position affords a striking illustration of these Jacobite times. The story is thus told by Pope himself, in a letter to Lord Oxford, Nov. 16, 1730: 'It happens that a nephew of mine, who, for his parents' sins and not his own, was born a papist, is just coming, after nine or ten years' study and hard service under an attorney, to practise in the law. Upon this depends his whole well-being and fortune in the world, and the hopes of his parents in his education, all which must inevitably be frustrated by the severity of a late opinion of the judges, who, for the major part, have agreed to admit no attorney to be sworn the usual oath which qualifies them to practise, unless they also give them the oaths of allegiance and supremacy. ?? This has been occasioned solely by the care they take to enforce an Act of Parliament, in the last session but one, against fraudulent practices of attornies, and to prevent men not duly qualified as attornies from practising as such. It is very evident that the intent of the Act is in no way levelled at papists, nor in any way demands their being excluded from practising more than they were formerly. Therefore, I hope the favour of a judge may be procured, so far as to admit him to take the usual attorney's oath, without requiring the religious one.' Pope hopes one of the judges will be good-natured enough to do this, and he suggests Judge Price for Lord Oxford's manipulation. 'In one word the poor lad will be utterly undone in this case, if this contrivance cannot be obtained in his behalf.' Lord Oxford applied, not to Price, but to 'Baron C.' . This judge, says Pope , 'showed him what possible regard he could, and lamented his inability to admit any in that circumstance, as it really is a case of compassion.' Ultimately the obstacle seems to have been surmounted. Within a few months of half a century later, Pope's nephew died in Devonshire Street, London, where he had 'clerks' in his employment. 'He had, therefore,' says Mr. Elwin in a note to the letter from which the above extract is taken, 'managed to make his way in some line of business.'

In the year 1731 died a popular and political writer, in the announcement of whose death neither his popular works nor his provocating agency in the service of Government is referred to. The event is thus recorded in Read's 'Weekly,' for May 1st, 1731: 'A few days ago died Mr. Defoe Sen., a person well known for his numerous and various writings. He had a great natural genius and understood very well the Trade and Interest of this Kingdom. His Knowledge of Men, especially of those in High Life, with whom he was formerly very conversant, had weakened his Attachment to any Party, but in the Main, he was in the Interest of Civil and Religious Liberty, in behalf of which he appeared on several remarkable Occasions.'

This matter passed over. A press war sprang up in another direction.

The royal family proceeded to show that there was no prejudice on their part against the noble art of printing. A printing press and cases were put up at St. James's House , and the noble art of printing was exhibited before their majesties. The future victor of Culloden, the Duke of Cumberland, worked at one of the cases. He set up in type a little book, of which he was the author, called 'The Laws of Dodge Hare.' The duke, at this time, also took lessons in ivory-turning, which was considered to be a 'most healthful exercise.' Generally on Sunday, while the king and queen were in the Chapel Royal, one of the Bishop of London's chaplains preached to the young Duke and the Princesses Mary and Louisa in his royal highness's apartment! As his royal highness had recently stood godfather, in person, to the son and heir of Lord Archibald Hamilton, he was supposed to be of importance enough to be thus preached to. The young princesses were thrown in to make up a juvenile congregation.

Very much seems to have been made of the young duke this year, as if he had a mission to perform. A little establishment was set up for him, and he became a 'personage.' The papers solemnly proclaimed how the Duke of Cumberland appeared in public, for the first time, with his own coach and livery servants. He paid a visit to Sir Robert Walpole, in Arlington Street, and went afterwards to Major Foubert's Riding House , and there received his first lesson in riding.

Among the miscellaneous chronicling of the year, there is one made by most of the Saturday papers to this effect: 'Yesterday, Friday, August 19th, the Lord Derwentwater arrived at his house in Poland Street, from France.' This was John, the late earl's only son. He came to London to consult Chiselden, the great physician. He was hopelessly ill of dropsy; and a double sympathy attracted crowds of Jacobites to resort to Poland Street to manifest their respect for the suffering son of one of the martyrs to the cause of the Stuarts.

When in 1732 the National Defences became a serious matter for consideration, the Jacobites affected to think that an army of 12,000 men would suffice for the protection of the realm. The Whigs insisted that at least 17,000 would be required for its defence. The London Whig papers asserted that 4,000 men would have all their work to do in keeping Scotland quiet. The fortified towns of England would require 2,000 men. The remainder would not be sufficiently strong in numbers, for sudden emergencies, if the total was only to be 12,000. Such insufficiencies would leave many places without defence. This would encourage Risings. Open insurrection would lead to foreign invasion, with the Pretender at the head of it. The wind that would bring over his hostile fleet would shut up our own in our harbours. Why had Jacobitism increased tenfold in the last four years of Queen Anne? Because the High Priests had been unmuzzled, and the necessary forces had been disbanded. The Preston Rebellion, as the outbreak of 1715 was contemptuously called, would never have happened at all if we had had 17,000 men under arms. As it was, it was crushed not by the bravery or ability of our troops and officers, but by the incapacity and timidity of the rebels themselves. So ran Whig comments in Parliament.

Observance of the solemn anniversary of the 30th of January used to be considered as a protest that all parties might make against 'the sin of rebellion.' However this may be, reverence for the Royal Martyr seems to have suffered some diminution in the year 1732.

When Dr. Hare, Bishop of Chichester, preached before the House of Lords, in the Abbey, on the 30th of January, the only peers present were the Lord Chancellor, Lord Onslow, and the Bishops of Peterborough, Lincoln, Lichfield and Coventry, St. David's, and Rochester. The sermon was thoroughly political. The text was from Proverbs xxiv. 21, 'My son, fear thou the Lord and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change.' The sermon was described as 'most extraordinary; the preacher vindicated the King's honour and sincerity in his concessions to the Parliament;' and he insisted strongly on the uses of 'keeping up the day.'

Later, the Jacobites found some little satisfaction in the smart reprimand delivered by the Speaker of the House of Commons to Sir John Eyles, for directing the secretary of the Commissioners for the sale of forfeited estates to set his name to an order for the disposal of the Earl of Derwentwater's estates, in the sale of which, great frauds were discovered. But where was fraud not found at that time? From the benches of Parliament to the council-room of the Charity Commissioners, rogues abounded; the country was sold by the Senate, and the poor were plundered by their trustees. Yet, these things caused less emotion in the London coffee-houses than the report which came of the death of Bishop Atterbury at Paris, in February. The event was simply recorded in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' in these uncompromising words:--

Pope, in a letter to Lord Oxford, referred to Atterbury's death in these terms: 'The trouble which I have received from abroad, on the news of the death of that much-injured man, could only be mitigated by the reflection your Lordship suggests to me--his own happiness, and return into his best country, where only honesty and virtue were sure of their reward.' Pope could not have thought the ex-bishop innocent of the treason, of which he was undoubtedly guilty; for the poet had knowledge of the treachery before the Jacobite prelate's death. Samuel Wesley must have known it too, but he ignored all but his patron's virtues in a very long elegy on Atterbury's decease, written in very strong language, of which these lines are a sample:--

Should miscreants base their impious malice shed, To insult the great, the venerable, dead; Let truth resistless blast their guilty eyes!

--which is a sort of malediction that is now quite discarded by moral and by fashionable poets.

The 'Craftsman' of May 6th announces the arrival of Mr. Morrice, the High Bailiff of Westminster, at Deal. On landing he was taken into custody and sent up prisoner to London, where, after being rigorously examined by one of the Secretaries of State, he was admitted to bail. The corpse of the ex-bishop was arrested as it came up the river. It was taken to the Custom House, where, the coffin being examined for papers, and nothing compromising being found, the body, according to the facetious 'Craftsman,' was discharged without bail. Great opposition was made to a request for burial in the Abbey; and when this was granted, the 'Craftsman' was 'not certain as to the usual Church ceremony being read over the corpse.'

The public were, at all events, kept in the dark, lest Jacobite mobs should make riotous demonstrations at the ceremony. 'On Friday, May 12th,' says Sylvanus Urban, 'the Corpse of Bishop Atterbury was privately interred in his Vault in Westminster Abbey. On the Urn which contained his Bowels, &c., was inscribed: "In hac Urn? depositi sunt cineres Francisci Atterburi Episcopi Roffensis." Among his papers brought over by Mr. Morrice was "Harmonia Evangelica," in a new and clearer Method than any yet publish'd. 'Tis also said he translated Virgil's "Georgics," which he sent to a friend with the following Lines prefix'd,

Haec ego lusi Ad Sequanae ripas, Tamesino a flumine longe Jam senior, fractusque, sed ipsa morte meorum Quos colui, patriaeque memor, neque degener usquam.'

They who were of the prelate's way of thinking made him, in one sense, speak, or be felt, even in his grave. The body of the Jacobite Bishop of Rochester had scarcely been deposited at the west end of the south aisle of Westminster Abbey, of which he had been the Dean, when copies of an epigrammatic epitaph were circulating from hand to hand, and were being read with hilarity or censure in the various London coffee-houses and taverns. It ran to another tune than that made upon him by Prior, namely:--

His foes, when dead great Atterbury lay, Shrunk at his corse, and trembled at his clay. Ten thousand dangers to their eyes appear, Great as their guilt and certain as their fear! T' insult a deathless corse, alas! is vain; Well for themselves, and well employ'd their pain, Could they secure him,--not to rise again!

The printsellers reaped a harvest by selling the Bishop's portrait. The most popular was sold by Cholmondely in Holborn, but he was had up before the Secretary of State, and was terrified by that official into suppressing the sale.

All London, that is, what Chesterfield called 'the Quality,' went seaward in August. The cream of them settled on the Scarborough sands. 'Bathing in the sea,' says Chesterfield, 'is become the general practice of both sexes.' He gives an amusing account of how 'the Quality' from London looked, at Scarborough, and he jokes, in his peculiar fashion, upon plots, Jacobites, and ministers. He writes to the Countess of Suffolk: 'The ladies here are innumerable, and I really believe they all come for their healths, for they look very ill. The men of pleasure are Lord Carmichael, Colonel Ligonier, and the celebrated Tom Paget, who attend upon the Duke of Argyle all day, and dance with the pretty ladies at night. Here are, besides, hundreds of Yorkshire beaux, who play the inferior parts and, as it were, only tumble, while those three dance upon the high ropes of gallantry. The grave people are mostly malignants or, in ministerial language, "notorious Jacobites," such as Lord Stair, Marchmont, Anglesea, and myself, not to mention many of the House of Commons of equal disaffection. Moreover, Pulteney and Lord Cartaret are expected here soon; so that if the Ministry do not make a plot of this meeting, it is plain they do not want one for this year.'

In the meantime a voice here and there from the metropolitan pulpits ventured to hope the king would be kept by divine guidance, in a safe groove. The future hero of Culloden was taking lessons in philosophy from Whiston, and in mathematics from Hawksbee; and, at a funeral more public than Atterbury's, the Jacobites assembled in Poland Street, to pay a last mark of respect to the 'Earl of Derwentwater,' the patient whom great Cheselden could not save, and whose

corpse was carried to Brussels to be deposited by the side of that of his mother, Anne Webb. The so-called 'Earl' John, son of the attainted and beheaded peer, as a sick man, was left unmolested, though he called himself by a title unrecognised by the Government.

The royal speech on opening Parliament was of a peaceful character. The Lords re-echoed it in their address, but in the Commons, both Sir John Barnard and Shippen moved amendments to the address, from that House. The speech had recommended an avoidance of all heats and animosities. The theme of Barnard and Shippen was that the liberties and the trade of the nation were probably menaced; that a general terror was spreading of something being about to be introduced, perilous, nay destructive, to both. Men of all parties being subject to this terror, 'they cannot,' said Shippen, 'be branded with the name of Jacobites or Republicans, nor can it be said that this opposition is made by Jacobites or Republicans. No, the whole people of England seem to be united in this spirit of jealousy and opposition.' The address, of course, was carried. But a storm was approaching.

This year, 1733, was the year of the famous debates on the motions for a permanent increase of the army, and on the Excise question introduced by Walpole, who proposed to transfer the duties on wine and tobacco from the Customs to the Excise. The two propositions set the country in a flame. The universal cry was that they were two deadly blows at trade and liberty. The first proposal was carried; Walpole, under pressure of large minorities against him in the House, and larger adverse majorities out of it, withdrew the Excise measure. All his opponents were branded by his partisans as Jacobites and something more. This gave opportunity to the Jacobites in Parliament, and increased the vigour of their opposition. It was against the motion for increasing the number of the Land Forces, that the 'Patriot' Sir William Wyndham spoke with almost fierce sarcasm. 'As for the Pretender, he did not believe there was any considerable party for him in this nation. That pretence had always been a ministerial device made use of only for accomplishing their own ends; but it was a mere bugbear, a raw head and bloody bones fit only to frighten children; for he was very well convinced his Majesty reigned in the hearts and affections of his people, upon that his Majesty's security depended; and if it did not depend on that, the illustrious family now on the throne could have little security in the present number, or in any number, of the standing forces.'

The fear of the 'Pretender,' the recruiting in back parts of London for 'foreign service,' and the relations of England with Continental powers, kept up a troubled spirit among those who wished to live at home, at ease. One of the most remarkable debates of the session occurred in the House of Lords. The king had exercised, and wished to continue to exercise, a right of dismissing officers from the army, without a court martial. The Duke of Marlborough brought in a Bill to prevent such summary expulsion, at the king's pleasure. In the course of the debate the figure of the Pretender was brought forward. The Duke of Newcastle warmly supported the king's 'prerogative.' There would be no safety, he said, unless the king held that right. 'There is,' he remarked, 'at present a Pretender to the Crown of these realms, and we may conclude that there will always be plots and contrivances in this kingdom against the person in possession of the throne. While there is a Pretender, he may have his agents in the army as well as he has everywhere else.' Officers might be led away from their duty, and he held it to be unjust to the king to deprive him of the right to dismiss officers suspected of Jacobitism, or known to be disloyal, on evidence which a court martial might not think sufficient for cashiering them. The Bill was lost, and to the king was left the power of doing wrong.

In a portion of the Duke of Newcastle's speech he asserted that the right claimed for the king was indispensable, on the ground that not only were private soldiers being recruited in London for 'foreign service,' but that officers might be tampered with, and that there was no real security that a general-in-chief might not be seduced into the enemy's camp. This spread some alarm. The debates, indeed, were supposed to be delivered in private, but what was called 'the impudence of some fellows' gave all that was essential to the public. For defence of the nation, however, every precaution had been taken. Early in the spring, a fleet of twenty sail of the line was sent to the Downs. Eight regiments were brought from Ireland to England. It is certain that these precautions preserved the public tranquility of the kingdom. ?? Young Prince Charles Edward was serving 'with particular marks of distinction' in the army of Don Carlos; and the boy gave no obscure hints that he would, whenever it was in his power, favour the pretensions of his family. An exclamation of Sergeant Cotton, at a review in Hyde Park, that he would shoot the king; and the fact that the sergeant's musket was loaded with ball, and that he had a couple of bullets in his pocket which had no right to be there, seemed to imply that Cotton was ready to favour the Stuart family's pretensions.

'I suppose you have heard of the Suffolk-street Expedition on the Thirtieth of January, and who the blades were; they went and bespoke a dinner of calves' heads at the Golden Eagle, and afterwards ordered a bonfire at the door, then came all to the window with handkerchiefs dipt in blood, and shook them out, and dress'd up a calf's head in a nightcap and had it thrown into the bonfire. The mob gather'd about the door and were exceedingly inraged, so that they broke ye door open and broke all the windows, and threw fire into the house. The gentlemen were forc'd to take sanctuary in the garret, and had not the Guards been sent for the house would have been pull'd down and the actors, no doubt, pull'd to pieces.

'Feb. 5, 1734-5.'

'The list of the British worthies I formerly sent you an account of are as follows:--Lord Middlesex, Lord Harcourt, Lord Boyne, and Lord Middleton--Irish; Lord John Murray, Sir James Grey, Mr. Smith, Mr. Stroud, and, some say, Mr. Shirley. Lord A. Hamilton dined with them, but, I am told, went away before the riot began.

'Feb. 16, 1734-5.'

Another account states that 'at his chapel there was a confluence of persons of every rank, station, and quality; wits, freethinkers, and numbers of the regular clergy who, while they gratified their curiosity, had their prepossessions shaken and their prejudices loosened.'

The queen's favourite painter, Anniconi, was more of a courtier than blunt Richardson. To that artist who, for a season, drew the 'Quality' to Great Marlborough Street, she gave an order to paint a picture, which was designed as a gift to the young Duke of Cumberland's tutor, Mr. Poyntz. It was an allegorical composition, in which the queen herself was to be seen delivering her royal son to the Goddess of Wisdom,--who bore the features of Mrs. Poyntz.

The year 1736 may be said to have opened merrily, with Chesterfield's paper in 'Fog's Journal,' on 'An Army in Wax Work.' In the course of this lively essay, the writer argues that since the English army had not been of the slightest active use during many years, in time of war,--a waxen army would be cheap and sufficient in time of peace. He then alludes to the Government cry against all who opposed it. 'Let nobody put the "Jacobite" upon me, and say that I am paving the way for the Pretender, by disbanding the army. That argument is worn threadbare; besides, let those take the "Jacobite" to themselves who would exchange the affections of the people for the fallacious security of an unpopular standing army.'

In 1738, when the Opposition proposed a reduction of the army, the Government manifested an almost craven spirit. They believed that if the number of armed men were diminished, the king would not be secure from assault in St. James's, nor the country safe from foreign invasion.

In the Commons, Sir Robert Walpole spoke as follows, on the Jacobites, their views, and their dealings at that period:--'There is one thing I am still afraid of, and it is indeed I think the only thing at present we have to fear. Whether it be proper to mention it on this occasion, I do not know; I do not know if I ought to mention it in such an Assembly as this. I am sure there is no necessity for mentioning it, because I am convinced that every gentleman that hears me is as much afraid of it as I am. The fear I mean is that of the Pretender. Everyone knows there is still a Pretender to his Majesty's crown and dignity. There is still a person who pretends to be lawful and rightful sovereign of these kingdoms; and what makes the misfortune much the more considerable, there is still a great number of persons in these kingdoms so deluded by his abettors, as to think in the same way. These are the only persons who can properly be called disaffected, and they are still so numerous that though this government had not a foreign enemy under the sun, the danger we are in from the Pretender and the disaffected part of our own subjects, is a danger which every true Briton ought to fear; a danger which every man who has a due regard for our present happy establishment, will certainly endeavour to provide against as much as he can.

Walpole went on to say that he hoped Jacobitism would die out. He was sure the Jacobites were daily decreasing; but if such a mad step were taken as that of reducing the army--'I should expect to hear of the Pretender's standards being set up in several parts of the island, perhaps in every part of the three kingdoms.'

Wyndham ridiculed the idea that the army must not be reduced, because 'a certain gentleman was afraid of the Pretender.' Lord Polwarth went further. He could scarcely see the use of an army at all, and did not believe that there were Jacobites to be afraid of. 'I am sure his Majesty, and all the rest of the Royal Family, might remain in St. James's Palace, or in any other part of the kingdom, in the utmost safety, though neither of them had any such thing as that now called a soldier to attend them. Of this now we have a glaring proof every day before our eyes. His royal highness the Prince of Wales has now no guards to attend him. He passes every day to and fro in the streets of London, and travels everywhere about London without so much as one soldier to guard him. Nay, he has not so much as one sentry upon his house in St. James's Square, and yet his Royal Highness lives, I believe, in as great security, at his house in St. James's Square, without one sentry to guard him, as his Majesty can be supposed to do in St. James's Palace with all the guards about him.'

The debate in the Lords was of much the same quality as that in the Commons. Farewell to liberty if there be a standing army. On the other side:--Freedom will perish if the king cannot back his will by force of bayonets. The Government, of course, succeeded.

The debates encouraged the Jacobites to hope. They were evidently feared, and opportunity might yet serve them. The wise men at Westminster had declared it. Meanwhile, the stage recommended them to consider the difficulties of Government, and to make the best of the one under which they lived. Thomson put his tragedy 'Agamemnon' under the protection of the Princess of Wales, trusting she would 'condescend to accept of it.' In the tragedy itself, in which there is much blank verse that is only honest prose in that aspiring form, there are few political allusions; but the following passage was undoubtedly meant as incense for Caesar, and instruction for his people--Whigs and Jacobites.

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