Chapter C (2)

It was fortunate for Spencer Cowper, who was not allowed the
assistance of counsel, that his legal education, joined to a sense of
conscious innocence, made his defence comparatively easy to him; but
the task, on all accounts, must have been most distasteful and
repugnant to a man of his character and position. He rose with
dignity, and evinced great skill and decision of purpose in the manner
in which he cross-examined the witnesses, and exposed the motives of
sectarian and political animosity, which had been employed to weaken
the interest of Sir William Cowper and his eldest son. So far his
arguments were unhesitating,—he was now to be put to a harder test. He
assured the Court that he deeply deplored the course he was compelled
to take, but four lives were at stake, and he must, however
reluctantly, violate the confidence of the dead. He brought many
witnesses to substantiate the fact of the young Quaker having
cherished a fatal passion for him, although she knew him to be
married. When last in London, she had written to announce her
intention of visiting him at his chambers in the Temple, to prevent
which William Cowper had purposely said in her hearing that Spencer
had gone into the country on business. Disappointed of this
opportunity, Sarah wrote to invite him to stay at her mother’s house
at Hertford during the Spring Assizes, which invitation he declined,
having secured lodgings in the town. He also produced letters in which
the poor girl said, ‘I am glad you have not quite forgotten there is
such a person as myself,’ and, after hinting at what seemed
unkindness, she begs him ‘so to order your affairs as to be here as
soon as you can, which cannot be sooner than you are welcome.’

In another and later letter she was less ambiguous in her expressions:
‘Come life, come death,’ she says desperately, ‘I am resolved never to
desert you.’ He further asserted that the continual rebuffs she
received threw her into a state of melancholy, and that she often
spoke of her intention to destroy herself. The prisoner continued,
that on the first day of the Assizes he went first to his lodgings,
but, unwilling to mortify Sarah, afterwards to her mother’s house, and
stayed dinner; went out, and returned to supper; but when the maid had
gone upstairs, and he was alone with the girl, although he declined
detailing the conversation which ensued between them, he gave the
judge and jury to understand that it was from consideration for her
character that he left the house, which he did alone, and returned to
his lodgings in the Market Place.

The next morning the news of the terrible event reached him. His
brother William and his wife both testified to the state of
despondency into which Sarah had lately fallen, and her frequent
allusions to approaching death. As regarded ‘the accomplices,’ they
gave good reasons for their coming to Hertford, and, for himself, he
had never had any communication with them. The judge summed up in a
vacillating and illogical manner, confessing that he was rather faint,
and was sensible he had omitted many things, but could repeat no more
of the evidence. The half-hour which it took the jury to deliberate
must have seemed interminable to those members of Cowper’s family,
already nearly maddened by suspense—above all, to the brother who sat
near him, and followed the details of the trial with breathless
interest. The jury returned, and, when the foreman answered the awful
question, the prisoner was the one individual in Court who manifested
the least emotion as the words ‘Not guilty’ echoed through the
building, and all but the enemies and slanderers acknowledged the
justice of the verdict. A feeble attempt was made to bring all the
four accused men to a fresh trial, by what was then called an ‘appeal
to murder,’ and there were various hearings on the subject by men of
the highest standing in the law, William Cowper, on these occasions,
being counsel for his brother. The proceedings, however, were quashed.
Some scurrilous writings were published, in hopes of setting the tide
of public opinion against Spencer, but they were soon forgotten. He
pursued his profession, in which he rose to eminence; but it may
easily be conjectured that, when presiding at a trial for murder,
Judge Cowper must have felt, even more than the generality of his
colleagues, the responsibility of his position, from an intimate and
personal sympathy with the feelings of an accused prisoner; and he was
remarked for his merciful tendencies. On the accession of George I.,
he was named Attorney-General to the Prince of Wales, was one of the
managers on the trial of Dr. Sacheverell for high treason, and
successively Chief-Justice of Chester, Chancellor of the Duchy of
Lancaster, Serjeant-at-Law, and Judge of the Court of Common Pleas. He
also sat in Parliament for Truro, and his sister-in-law, Lady Cowper,
tells us that in 1714 the King gave M. Robethon (one of his favourite
German Ministers) the grant of Clerk of the Parliament after the death
of Mr. Johnson, who then held it, for any one he liked to name. ‘M.
Robethon let my brother Cowper have it in reversion for his sons for
£1800.’

By his wife, Pennington, daughter of John Goodere, Esq., Spencer had
three sons,—William, John, and Ashley. The official appointments above
alluded to were held in succession by the family for several years. He
had also a daughter, Judith, known as a poetess, married to
Lieut.-Colonel Madan. Spencer Cowper died at his chambers in Lincoln’s
Inn Fields, in 1728, and was buried at Hertingfordbury, where an
elaborate monument is erected to his memory. He was grandfather to
William Cowper the poet.

------------------

_No. 11._

WILLIAM, FIRST EARL COWPER, FIRST LORD CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.

_Full length. In Chancellor’s robes. Flowing wig. Chair._

BORN 1664, DIED 1723.

BY RICHARDSON.

HE was the eldest son of Sir William Cowper, the second Baronet, by
Sarah, daughter of Sir Samuel Holled, merchant, of London, and was
born at Hertford Castle. He went to school at St. Albans, and seems to
have been of a most docile disposition, to judge by a letter written
to his mother when only eight years old. He says: ‘I thank you for my
bow and arrows, which I shall never use but when my master gives us
leave to play. I shall hereafter take more care of my spelling and
writing, even without ruled lines.’

His childish letters were written in a fair hand, giving promise of
the beautiful writing for which the future Lord Chancellor was famed,
and were addressed with much punctilio, ‘These for my ever honoured
mother, the Lady Cowper, at her house in the Charter-House Yard,
London.’

The boy took great pains, not only with his writing, but with his
style, so much so as to cause a suspicion in his mother’s mind that
one of the epistles was dictated by an usher, an insinuation which the
young student repelled with some asperity. It seems doubtful whether
he ever went to a public school, and certainly he never entered a
University; but at eighteen he became a Templar, giving himself up
rather to pleasure than study in these first years of a London life.
He formed a connection with a Miss Culling of Hertingfordbury, by whom
he had two children. This _liaison_ was much talked of, and by many it
was reported he had married her, a circumstance which caused him much
annoyance at a later period. In 1686 he became attached to one
Mistress Judith Booth, wise and beautiful, but poor withal, in
consequence of which his family opposed the marriage. His father was
in the prime of life, and had other children to provide for; but, in
spite of all opposition, the wedding took place, and the young husband
became studious and steady from the pressure of domestic
responsibility. He writes an amusing letter to his wife, describing
his maiden motion in the Court of King’s Bench, and tells her that he
was blamed for not interweaving enough ‘May it please your Lordships’
and the like urbanities in his speech, adding, ‘but I will amend in
future, and you shall find me begin to practise extraordinary
civilities on your sweet self.’

The precepts and example of Sir William Cowper had instilled
principles of political liberality in the young lawyer’s mind which
made him regard with disapprobation and anger many of Charles II.’s
(public) proceedings, towards the latter part of his reign, and still
more so those of his successor, added to which considerations the
Cowper family were rigid Protestants; and thus it came about that when
the Prince of Orange landed in England, the brothers William and
Spencer hastily raised a small body of volunteers, and set forth, with
more than a score of young gentlemen of the same political tendencies,
to join William.

In a diary he sent to his wife, Cowper gives an amusing description of
how he fell in with the Prince at Wallingford, at a small inn, where
he saw him ‘dine with a great variety of meats, sauces, and
sweetmeats, which, it seems, is part of the fatigue we admire so much
in great generals!’

He travelled with the Prince to Windsor, where they were received with
unfeigned pleasure; and he speaks of the new face of the Court, ‘where
there is nothing of the usual affectation of terror, but extreme
civility to all sorts of people, and country women admitted to see the
Prince dine.’ He does not mention a circumstance which befell in this
journey; but his daughter, Lady Sarah, who had the particulars from
her uncle Spencer, proudly records an instance of her father’s
gallantry:—On the bridge at Oxford, the small regiment of
Hertfordshire volunteers found one of the arches broken down, and an
officer, with three files of musketeers, who presented arms, and asked
who they were for. There was a silence, as the volunteers did not know
to which side their questioners belonged. ‘But my father,’ says Lady
Sarah, ‘was quite unconcerned, and, spurring his horse forward, he
flung up his hat, crying, “The Prince of Orange,” which was answered
by a shout, for they were all of the same mind.’

When the new King no longer required his services, Cowper resumed his
profession with diligence and zeal. He writes to his wife to express
his regret at not being able to stay with her in the country; but, had
he done so, he would throw himself out of the little business he had.

Another time he writes from Kingston, giving an account of his having
achieved a journey through the Sussex ways (which are ruinous beyond
imagination) without hurt. ‘I vow ’tis a melancholy consideration that
mankind should inhabit such a heap of dirt.’

Lord Campbell tells us, writing from Abinger Hall in 1845, ‘that it is
a still common expression in that part of Surrey, that those who live
on the south side of Leith Hill are in the dirt.’ Cowper contrasts the
damp undrained tracts of Sussex with the fine champaign country of
Surrey, dry and dusty, ‘as if you had shifted in a few hours from
winter to mid-summer.’

The lawyer was rising gradually to great estimation in his profession,
and his friend Lord Chancellor Sommers suggested to him to go
into Parliament, believing he would be most serviceable to the Whig
party. When the elections took place in 1695, the Whigs were in the
ascendant, and both Sir William Cowper and his eldest son were
returned for Hertford, the Quakers being their chief supporters.

Young Cowper’s maiden speech gave promise (afterwards well fulfilled)
of his qualifications as a debater. He was in great favour at Court,
and, being raised to the rank of King’s Counsel, distinguished himself
by his eloquence in the prosecution of more than one State prisoner.
During the trial of Lord Mohun, for the murder of Richard Coote,
Cowper received a tribute for the clearness and excellence of his
voice, a quality for which, in after times, he became proverbial.
Several of the Lords, whose patience was being sorely tried by the
confused, indistinct tones in which the Solicitor-General summed up,
moved that some one with a good voice, ‘particularly Mr. Cowper,’
should be heard,—a great compliment to the gentleman, although the
motion was overruled. The Cowper family, and Sir William’s eldest son
in particular, seemed in the good graces of fortune, until the
untoward event occurred which threw all those who bore the name into
distress and perplexity, being, namely, the charge of murder against
Spencer Cowper, as already recorded in our notice of his life. He and
his brother were much attached, were members of the same profession,
and travelled the same Circuit—in fact, were almost inseparable
companions.

The justice of Spencer Cowper’s acquittal was unquestionable, yet the
popular feeling ran so high in the town and neighbourhood, especially
among the community of which the unfortunate girl was a member, that
it was clear to every one that no candidate bearing the name of Cowper
would be successful at the next election. Sir William indeed retired
from Parliamentary life altogether, and his eldest son having failed
in his canvass for Totness, in Devon (for which place he had stood by
the wish and advice of his friend and patron, Lord Sommers), he
was fain to take refuge in the close borough of Berealstone, which he
represented until intrusted with the Great Seal. William III. died,
and Queen Anne reigned in his stead, ascending the throne with
feelings most inimical to the Whig party. Affairs did not look
promising for William Cowper, all the more so as Lord Sommers
had fallen into great disfavour; but he weathered the storm, and when
the general election in 1705 resulted in a majority for the Whigs, the
Great Seal of England was transferred from the hands of Sir Nathan
Wright to those of William Cowper. He had for some time been looked
upon as leader in the House of Commons, where his agreeable manners
and graceful address had made him personally popular. As in the case
of his brother, slander had been busy with his name, and the report
that he had married two wives (of which circumstance hereafter) had
been widely circulated. But he had powerful friends at Court in the
Duchess of Marlborough and Lord Treasurer Godolphin; and her Majesty
listened to their recommendations and her own bias in his favour, and
William Cowper kissed hands at Kensington Palace on his appointment as
Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.

‘The youngest Lord Keeper,’ says his daughter, Lady Sarah (he was in
his forty-first year), ‘on record.’ ‘He looked very young, and wearing
his own hair made him appear more so, which the Queen observing,
obliged him to cut it off, remarking, it would be said she had given
the Seals to a boy.’

It was about this time he contracted his second marriage; he had
sorely mourned for the death of his wife Judith, and her child, but
the charms of a fair client had made a deep impression on his heart.
Mary, daughter of John Clavering, Esq. of Chopwell, county Durham (a
gentleman of Tory principles), was handsome, as we see from Kneller’s
portrait—sensible, and intelligent, as we gather from her charming
diary.

The marriage was at first kept secret, which seems unaccountable, as
the lady was well born, well bred, and of great personal charms. But
she herself gives us a clue to the mystery. The Lord Keeper was still
young, very handsome, in a high position, with every prospect of
advancement, and the eyes of many a Court beauty were turned on him as
a desirable match. We have enlarged on all the intrigues that were
carried on to prevent his union with his ‘dear rogue’ (as he fondly
calls her in one of his letters) in the notice of Lady Cowper; suffice
it to say that the sequel proved how excellent had been his choice.
But he did not allow domestic happiness to interfere with official
duties. He set himself, with the advice of Lord Sommers, to
bring about reforms on many points in the Court of Chancery, and,
above all, he took a step which met with the highest approbation among
all but the few, who aspired to the dignity he had already attained;
he abolished the custom of New Year’s gifts. For many years it had
been expected of every person connected with the Court of Chancery to
present the Lord Keeper or Lord Chancellor with gifts of provisions
and wine. But latterly money had been substituted for these minor
donations, and hundreds, and sometimes thousands, had been presented
to the great official on the 1st of January.

Lady Cowper tells us a laughable story of Lord Chancellor Nottingham
(who spoke with a lisp). He used to stand by his table on New Year’s
Day, for the better reception of the moneys, and every time he laid a
fresh sum on the table he cried aloud, ‘O tyrant cuthtom!’

But before the advent of the year 1706, the Lord Keeper had it
intimated to all those whom it might concern that the practice was
abolished, having first, as (he considered) in duty bound, apprised
the Prime Minister, Lord Godolphin, of his intention. In spite of his
prohibition, some gifts appeared on the day in question, which were
refused. He says in his Diary: ‘New Year’s gifts turned back. I pray
God it do me more good than hurt.’

Now Lord Campbell, while praising the Lord Keeper’s magnanimity,
accuses him of wanting the courage of his opinions; and, finding he
had raised a storm amongst all the heads of all the departments that
had benefited by this ‘tyrant custom’ of present-giving, implied he
had done it in part unintentionally. If this be so, we know at least,
and that from his wife’s diary, that on his second assumption of
office, he adhered to his determination; for,—as to the people who
presented these gifts, ‘it looked like insinuating themselves into the
favour of the Court; and if it was not bribery, it looked too like
it.’

Of the Lord Keeper’s disinterestedness in money matters, and his
liberality, especially where men of talent were concerned, there can
be no doubt. Colley Cibber tells us that when Sir Richard Steele’s
patent as Governor of the Theatre Royal passed the Great Seal, Lord
Cowper steadily refused all fees.

‘Cowper managed the Court of Chancery with impartial justice and great
despatch, and was very useful in the House of Lords in the promotion
of business.’ So far Burnet’s testimony. He was chosen one of the
Lords Commissioners for England on the occasion of the Union with
Scotland, and, being next in rank to the Archbishop of Canterbury (who
did not attend), he occupied a most prominent post at the daily
conferences. Lord Campbell tells us that, by his insight into
character, and his conciliatory manners, he succeeded wonderfully in
soothing Caledonian pride and in quieting Presbyterian jealousy. He
regained his seat at Hertford in spite (as he thought, at least) of
Lord Harley’s machinations; for between him and that Minister there
was no love lost, although Harley had an exalted opinion of the Lord
Keeper’s abilities. He was at this time in the Queen’s confidence, who
sent for him one day to her closet, in order to consult him on the
choice of a Chief Baron for Ireland. ‘I observed it was difficult to
find a fit man; but it was obviously the interest of England to send
over as many magistrates as it was possible from hence, being the best
means to preserve the dependency of that country on England.’ The
Queen said she understood that they had a mind to be independent if
they could, but that they should not. Verily ‘l’histoire se rêpête de
jour en jour.’ He was now raised to the peerage as Baron Cowper of
Wingham, county Kent, and was deputed to offer the thanks of
Parliament to his friend, the Duke of Marlborough, for his late
victory at Ramilies.

The Act of Union appointed there should be one Great Seal for the
United Kingdom, although a Seal should still be kept in Scotland for
things appertaining to private right, and Lord Cowper was declared by
the Queen in Council to be the first Lord Chancellor of Great Britain.

This was in May 1707. In the general election of 1708 the Whigs gained
a decided majority, and Cowper’s enemy, Harley, retired; while his
friend, Lord Sommers, was made President of the Council. Shortly
after the famous trial of Dr. Sacheverell, at which the Lord
Chancellor presided, the Whig Ministry resigned, and the Tories
returned to power. Every endeavour was made by Harley and the Queen
herself to induce Lord Cowper to retain office. He was subjected to
the greatest importunity, in spite of his repeated refusals, and his
repugnance ‘to survive his colleagues.’

He was actually followed down to Cole Green, ‘my place in
Hertfordshire (where I had gone to visit my wife, who had lately lain
in),’ by emissaries of the new Minister, and when he waited on her
Majesty to resign the Seal in person, the Queen persisted in her
refusal to receive it, and forced Lord Cowper to ‘take it away and
think the matter over till the morrow.’ He returned unaltered in his
decision, and Lord Campbell, from whom we quote so largely, says ‘he
withdrew from her presence, carrying with him, what was far more
precious than this badge of office, the consciousness of having acted
honourably.’ Lord Cowper now sought quiet in his country house, but
even here he was assailed by Swift’s abuse, and subjected to stormy
visits from the Duchess of Marlborough, who came there more especially
to vent her spleen by abuse of Queen Anne. Now Lord Cowper had opposed
the Duke of Marlborough on more than one point when he considered his
ambition overweening, but he was sincerely attached both to him and to
his wife, and when the Duke and Duchess were attacked, their faithful
friend raised his voice and pen in behalf of these ex-favourites. Lord
Sommers was growing infirm, and Lord Cowper now led the
Opposition in the House of Lords, where the Queen said she hoped he
would still serve her. He replied he would act in the same manner as
he would have done had he continued in the same office, to which her
kindness had appointed him; and he kept his word.

He strove hard to deter his Royal mistress from what many in that day
considered an unconstitutional proceeding, namely the creation of
Peers for the special purpose of carrying a measure or strengthening a
party—at least, so we gather from the Queen’s remark, ‘He was pleased
to say to me he considered the House of Lords full enough!’ in spite
of which remark twelve new peers of Tory tendencies took their seats a
few days afterwards, who were facetiously asked if they would vote by
their foreman. Lord Cowper never let an opportunity pass of paying a
tribute to his aged friend, Lord Sommers; and we find a
well-timed and two-sided compliment to Sir Isaac Newton, appointed by
that nobleman to the Mastership of the Mint. Lord Cowper thanked the
great philosopher for one of his scientific works written in Latin,
and goes on to say, ‘I find you have taken occasion to do justice to
that truly great man, my Lord Sommers, but give me leave to say
the other parts of the book which do not appear to concern him are a
lasting instance, among many others, to his clear judgment in
recommending the fittest man in the whole kingdom to that employment.’
It was about this time that the feud between Oxford (Harley) and
Bolingbroke (St. John) was at its height, the former still continuing
his overtures to Cowper to coalesce, when the Gordian knot was cut
asunder by the shears of Atropos. The Queen’s dangerous illness was
announced, and the Treasurer’s staff wrested from Oxford’s grasp, and
consigned by the dying sovereign into the hands of the Duke of
Shrewsbury, who burst into the Cabinet while sitting, accompanied by
the Duke of Argyll, with the important news that Oxford was dismissed,
and Bolingbroke called upon to form a Ministry. Great confusion
prevailed; all Privy Councillors were summoned to attend, and Lords
Cowper and Sommers (both fast friends to the Hanoverian
succession) repaired to Kensington Palace to make preparations for the
reception of the new monarch—for Queen Anne had breathed her last.

On the accession of George I. Lords Justices were appointed by the
Regency Act for the administration of the Government till the arrival
of the King. The Whig Lords outnumbered the Tories, and Cowper was
their guiding spirit. Their first measure was to name Joseph Addison
secretary, and respecting this appointment a laughable story is told.
Being directed to draw up an official statement of the death of Queen
Anne, the great author was so deeply impressed with the responsibility
of his situation, and so overwhelmed by a choice of words, that the
Lords Justices lost all patience, and directed a common clerk to do
the business. No change took place in the Government offices till the
arrival of George from Hanover, with the exception of Lord
Bolingbroke, ‘the Pretender’s friend,’ who was summarily dismissed.
Lord Cowper, being one of those intrusted with this duty, and the
recently appointed Treasurer, found the very doors of his office
locked against him.

No sooner did George I. arrive from Hanover than the Whigs returned to
power. Lord Cowper was summoned to the Royal presence, and the Great
Seal once more intrusted to that worthy keeping.

‘The King was pleased to say he was satisfied with the character he
had heard of me, and so I replied that I accepted the post with the
utmost gratitude, and would serve his Majesty faithfully, and, as far
as my health would allow, industriously.’

The Prince of Wales was in the outer room, and very cordial in his
manner to the new Lord Chancellor.

On the 20th October 1714, the King was crowned, and Lord and Lady
Cowper were both present. The lady had translated for the King’s
benefit (seeing he knew no English) a memorial written by her lord,
and entitled _An Impartial History of Parties_, decidedly in favour of
Whig principles, which strengthened his Majesty’s predilection for his
Chancellor; and indeed both husband and wife stood in high favour at
Court, Lady Cowper having just been named Lady of the Bedchamber to
the Princess of Wales. Now the King, although he had long looked
forward to the possession of the English Crown, had never given
himself the trouble to learn English, while Cowper had neither French
nor German,—a circumstance which was productive of some difficulties
in the new Parliament. The King’s ignorance and natural awkwardness
were all the more distasteful to those who had been accustomed (we
quote Lord Campbell’s words) ‘to the late Queen’s graceful delivery,
scarcely excelled by what we ourselves so warmly admire.’

But could the voice of the last Queen-Regnant, though ‘it charmed all
ears,’ rival for one moment those tones—to be heard, alas! so seldom
now—which used to ring, clear and distinct as a silver bell, from one
end of the House to the other, where the loud overstrained accents of
angry men are so often inaudible?

In 1715 the Lord Chancellor acted as High Steward on the trial of the
Jacobite Lords, ‘much,’ says Lady Cowper, ‘to my husband’s vexation
and mine.’

Lord Winton, one of the prisoners, tried the Lord Steward’s patience
so sorely by frivolous delays and impediments to the despatch of
business, that Cowper, forgetting his usual equanimity, answered with
some harshness, upon which Winton cried out, ‘I hope, my Lords, we are
not to have what in my country is called Cowper Justice; that is, hang
a man first, and try him afterwards.’ The Lord Steward was too
dignified to vouchsafe an answer, but the sally caused some unseemly
merriment in Court, and the saying ‘Cowper Justice’ was often quoted
in after days by his enemies. He presided on several State trials,
that of the ex-Minister Harley, Earl of Oxford, and others. About this
period of his career a charge was brought against him of unfairness in
the appointment and dismissal of magistrates, but his faithful
secretary and expounder, Mary Cowper, came once more to his aid by
translating his vindication for the King’s perusal. He writes to her
on the subject—

‘My dear, here is the postscript which I hope may soon be turned into
French. I am glad to hear that you are well, which upon tryall I find
myself too. Dear Rogue, yours ever and always.’

The proceedings were stopped, but the days of Cowper’s public life
were numbered. Many intrigues had been at work among his political
opponents, to induce, worry, or persuade the Lord Chancellor to vacate
the Woolsack, but his wife’s diary lets us completely behind the
scenes. She says, ‘My Lord fell ill again, which occasioned a report
that he was about to resign; some said he had not health to keep in,
others that the Lords of the Cabinet Council were jealous of his great
reputation, which was true, for they had resolved to put Chief-Justice
Parkes in his place.’ The lady goes on to say that her ‘disputes and
arguments were the chief reason of his staying in,’ and how she ‘took
three weeks to prevail on her Lord to remain.’ But the friendship that
existed between the Prince and Princess of Wales and Lord and Lady
Cowper was very disadvantageous to the latter pair, as regarded the
favour of the Sovereign, for at this juncture the Royal father and son
were at daggers drawn, so that it was difficult for any one to keep
friends with both sides. Doubtless worry and perplexity of all kinds
tended to increase the indisposition of the Lord Chancellor, for his
wife now gave up all idea of pressing him to remain in office. She
told him ‘that if it were any pleasure to him she would retire into
the country, and never repent the greatest sacrifice she could make.’
And unquestionably it appeared that it would have been a sacrifice,
for Mary Cowper was eminently fitted for a Court life, although her
patience and forbearance were often sorely tried, as we gather from
her diary. It is almost impossible to avoid occasional repetition, as
the notices of husband and wife are naturally interwoven, though we
have endeavoured to disentangle them.

The Chancellor was beset with importunities to exchange his post for
that of President of the Council. He replied he would resign if they
found a better man to fill his place, but he would never change the
duties of which he could acquit himself with honour for such as he
could not perform at all—a resolution we strongly recommend to the
consideration of more modern statesmen.

Lady Cowper’s Diary.—‘The Prince says, there is no one in whom he has
any confidence but my husband, and the King says Lord Cowper and the
Duke of Devonshire are the only two men he has found trustworthy in
the kingdom!’ But for all that, there seems little doubt that his
Majesty, to whose ear birds of the air carried every matter, was not
best pleased with the constant allusions made in conversation between
the Prince of Wales and the Lord Chancellor to a future time, and all
that was then to be done, when another head would wear the crown. Lord
Cowper, writing to his wife from Hertfordshire, excuses himself for
not attending Court, ‘as my vacations are so short, and the children
require the presence of one parent at least; your sister is prudent,
but they do not stand in awe of her, and there was no living till the
birch was planted in my room.’—_September 1716._ The opposition which
Lord Cowper offered to a proposed Bill, the passing of which would
have made the Prince dependent on his father for income, put the
finishing touch to his unpopularity with George I., although the Lord
Chancellor wrote a letter (in Latin, the only language they understood
in common) to his Majesty, to explain his views.

On the 15th April 1718, Lord Cowper resigned the Great Seal at the
same time that he kissed hands on his elevation to an earldom. We
cannot resist inserting in this place a tribute which was paid the
Minister, though it was not published till after his death: ‘His
resignation was a great grief to the well affected, and to
dispassionate men of both parties, who knew that by his wisdom and
moderation he had gained abundance of friends for the King; brought
the clergy into better temper, and hindered hot, over-zealous spirits
from running things into dangerous extremes.’ This, be it remembered,
was written of one who had gone to his account, of no living patron
who could benefit the writer. He now retired to his house at Cole
Green, and busied himself in improving and beautifying his gardens and
pleasure-grounds. Here he received many congratulations on being (as a
_protégé_ of his, one Hughes, a poet, expresses it) ‘eased of the
fatigue and burthen of office.’

But, though Lord Cowper had felt the strife and contention of parties
to be most irksome, yet he was so accustomed to official life, that he
continued to take a deep interest in all the measures that were
brought before the country. He strenuously supported the Test and
Corporation Acts, and as vigorously opposed Lord Sunderland’s famous
Peerage Bill, which proposed that the existing number of English Peers
should never be increased, with exception in favour of Princes of the
blood-royal, that for every extinction there should be a new creation;
and, instead of sixteen elective Scotch Peers, the King should name
twenty-five to be hereditary. A glance at the works of Sir Bernard
Burke, Ulster King-at-Arms, and his _collaborateurs_, will be the best
proof that Sunderland’s Bill was thrown out. Amongst those who were
the most violent in the denunciation of this measure, were the wives
and daughters of members in the House of Commons, who were supposed to
have been instrumental (as we may believe from more recent experience)
in influencing the votes of their relatives. We mention this
circumstance as bearing in some degree on our subject. In the
beginning of 1722 an incident occurred which was differently construed
by the admirers and detractors of the ex-Chancellor.

On the 3d February, the House of Lords having assembled, the absence
of the reigning Lord Chancellor, as likewise that of the Lord
Chief-Justice, was remarked, and much difficulty arose as to the
proceeding of the House. Lord Cowper, most indignant at the
defalcation of his successor, moved that the Duke of Somerset, the
peer of highest rank present, should occupy the Woolsack, and, on his
refusal, further proposed that course to the Duke of Kingston and Lord
Lechmere; but the discussion was put an end to by the arrival of the
Chancellor, in most undignified and hot haste, full of excuses of
having been detained by his Majesty, and of apologies to their
Lordships for having kept them waiting. Lord Cowper, and several of
his way of thinking, were not so easily appeased, and one of them
moved that the House, to show its indignation, should adjourn till
Monday next without transacting any further business. The motion was
negatived, but Lord Cowper and his friends signed a protest, which
went to say, that the excuses which had been alleged seemed inadequate
to justify the indignity offered to the House,—‘undoubtedly the
greatest council in the kingdom, to which all other councils should
give way, and therefore no other business ought to have detained the
Chancellor,’ etc.; ‘also, we venture to say, the dignity of this House
has not of late years been increasing, so we are unwilling that
anything that we consider to be a gross neglect of it should pass
without some note on our records.’ We cannot help alluding to this
curious circumstance, as it bears so strongly on the state of party
feeling at the time, and of Lord Cowper’s individual feelings in
particular.

The exiled Royal family had on several occasions applied to him for
his support and assistance, and, although he had treated the
communications with neglect and refusal, yet his enemies were
industrious in setting rumours abroad prejudicial to the
ex-Chancellor’s loyalty to the house of Hanover. Layer (afterwards
executed for conspiracy) had brought in his name when examined before
a Committee of the House of Commons, which was, for the most part,
only too ready to listen to any slander against the ex-Minister.

Lord Cowper entered a protest in the Parliamentary Journal, that the
charges brought against him in this matter were false, ‘upon his
honour,’ the usual oath of a Peer. He manfully opposed the Bill for
the banishment of Bishop Atterbury, who was voted guilty of high
treason without a hearing. ‘The alleged culprit,’ he says, ‘stands at
your bar, and has never attempted to fly from justice. If there be
legal evidence against him, let him be legally convicted; without
legal evidence he must be wrongly condemned.’

After much more in the same forcible strain, he continues, ‘I can
guess at no other advantage that the Church can derive from this Bill,
except that it will cause a vacancy in the Deanery of Westminster and
the See of Rochester.’

Lord Campbell quotes a saying of Lord Bathurst on the same debate,
which is worth recording. He ‘could not account for the inveterate
malice which some people bore to the learned and ingenious Bishop,
unless possessed of the infatuation of the wild Indians, who believe
they will not only inherit the spoils but also the abilities of the
enemy they kill.’ But, in spite of eloquence and sarcasm, Bishop
Atterbury was banished. Cowper’s last public act was to vote against
Sir Robert Walpole’s Bill for the imposition of a heavy tax on the
estates of the Roman Catholics. This proposed injustice he strenuously
opposed, one of his chief arguments being as follows: ‘I beg your
Lordships to reflect if you are not yourselves injuring the Protestant
cause, for Protestants might have severe hardships inflicted on them
abroad, by reason of our persecution of Roman Catholics at home.’

The remainder of his life was passed between Cole Green and London. As
we have before observed, he superintended the management of his
estate, presided over the education of his children, and enjoyed the
society of his friends; but his letters go to prove that the interest
he still took in public affairs preponderated over that he felt in the
pursuits of a country life. He was too often deprived of the
consolation of his wife’s presence in his Hertfordshire home, in
consequence of her close attendance on the Princess of Wales. He
writes to her most affectionately, and gives her excellent advice,
such as, ‘If you discern that any at your Court are sowing seeds that
will raise strife, I hope you will do your best to root ‘em out; and
when you have so done your duty, you will have more reason to be
unconcerned at the event, if it should be unfortunate. Though, when
you have done so well, I would not have you so much as hope that there
are not some who will represent you as an intolerable mischief-maker.
I thank you for your endearing and, I depend, very sincere
expressions; but, considering all things, I think it is but reasonable
that you should find something more satisfactory in a Court than you
can in the home of a retired Minister—who, you know, is always a
peevish creature—and so solitary a place. The Attorney-General puts me
in mind of the choice by which they generally try idiots: it is to see
if they will choose an apple before a piece of gold. It is cruel to
tantalise a poor country man with the life of state and pleasure you
describe. I could be content as I am if I did not hear of such fine
doings.’

He thinks the best way, ‘since we neither beat nor fine our servants,
is to make them so content that they will fear being turned away.
John’s drunkenness seems a tertian, having one sober day between two
drunken ones. On Friday it proved quotidian.’ He finds ‘the country
pleasant,’ but it dulls him, and he takes an aversion to all but the
little ones of the place. The last letter he ever wrote to his wife
was dated from London, she being at Cole Green, one week before his
death—the fine handwriting, much impaired. He complains to his dearest
Mary, ‘that man and wife cannot correspond with innocent and proper
freedom, without its being a diversion to a third person,’ and he
signs himself, after promising to be with her soon, ‘yours with
perfect affection.’ He returned home on the day appointed, but he had
caught cold on his journey thither, and was seized with an alarming
illness. Happily his wife was by his bedside to minister to his
necessities, with all the tenderness of devoted affection; his
children, too, whom he so much loved, were with him. When told that he
had not long to live, Lord Cowper listened calmly, and his death was
composed and peaceful. He was buried in the parish church of
Hertingfordbury, but no tablet marks the last resting-place of
William, Earl Cowper, first Lord Chancellor of Great Britain.

Lord Campbell, in the interesting Life from which we have so largely
quoted, speaks of those who praised him and those who maligned him.
Swift, who had no call to be severe in matters of morality, and his
friend Mrs. Manley, had been very instrumental in promulgating the
slander respecting a clandestine marriage between Cowper and the young
lady of whom he was guardian,—a charge which was so often repeated
that it gained credit among some of his political enemies, at least,
who gave him the nickname of ‘Will Bigamy.’

The great Voltaire, in his _Philosophical Dictionary_, does not
disdain to assure his readers that the English Lord Chancellor not
only practised, but wrote a pamphlet in favour of, polygamy! ‘Il est
public en Angleterre, et on voudroit le nier en vain, que le
Chancellier Cowper, épousa deux femmes, qui vécurent ensemble dans sa
maison, avec une concorde singulière, qui fit honneur à tous les
trois.’ This was one of the observations made by the great French
philosopher, when he was so obliging as to come over for the purpose
of studying our manners and customs; but Lord Cowper was rich in
panegyrists both in prose and verse—the latter effusions, to our
taste, too stilted and artificial, for the most part, to be worthy of
insertion; but a passage from a paper in the _Spectator_ is a graceful
and characteristic tribute to his many gifts:—

‘It is Lord Cowper’s good fortune ever to please and to be pleased;
wherever he comes, to be admired, or is absent, to be lamented. His
merit fares like the pictures of Raphael, which are seen with
admiration, or at least no one dare own he has no taste for a
composition which has received so universal an applause. It is below
him to catch the sight by any care of dress; he is always the
principal figure in the room. He first engages your sight, as if there
were stronger light ‘upon him than on any other person. Nothing can
equal the pleasure of hearing him speak but the satisfaction one
receives in the civility and attention he pays to the discourse of
others.’ So far the _Spectator_: his character, drawn in the
_Historical Register_, speaks in the most glowing terms of his
eminence as a lawyer, civilian, and statesman, and winds up with these
words: ‘a manly and flowing eloquence, a clear, sonorous voice, a
gracious aspect, and an easy address; in a word, all that is necessary
to form a complete orator.’

The Duke Wharton, speaking of him in his official capacity, says, ‘He
had scarcely presided in that high station for one year before the
scales became even, with the universal approbation of both parties.’
Lord Chesterfield, although there was a little sting mixed with the
praise, records ‘his purity of style, his charm of elocution, and
gracefulness of action. The ears and eyes gave him up the hearts and
understandings of his audience.’ We would merely add that if to any
reader of these pages such praise should appear in any way
exaggerated, we must remind them they were all written after there was
no more to be hoped from the gratified vanity of Lord Cowper. His
trust and humility as a Christian are testified by an entry in his
Diary, on his appointment as Lord Keeper: ‘During these great honours
done me, I often reflected on the uncertainty of them, and even of
life itself. I searched my heart, and found no pride and self-conceit
in it; and I begged God that He would preserve my mind from relying on
the transient vanity of the world, and teach me to depend only on His
providence, that I should not be lifted up by present success, or
dejected when the reverse should happen. And verily, I believe, I was
helped by His Holy Spirit.’

When the reverse did come, he added, ‘Glory be to God, who has
sustained me in adversity, and carried me through the malice of my
enemies, so that all designed for my hurt turned to my advantage.’ It
is evident that Lord Cowper, although he loved the exercise of those
public offices for which he was so well fitted, knew how to retire
into private life with dignity and composure. One short anecdote, and
we have done. It so happened that Richard Cromwell, in his old age,
had to undergo an examination in Westminster Hall, at a moment when
the name of the ex-Protector’s family was execrated through the
kingdom. The Lord Chancellor treated the fallen dignitary with more
than common respect, and courteously ordered a chair to be placed for
him,—treatment which contrasted with that experienced by Richard when
driven from the door of the House of Lords with insults as one of the
common mob, exclaiming as he went, ‘The last time I was here I sat
upon the throne!’

Lord Cowper had gained the good fortune he deserved; he built a house
at Cole Green, and made a collection of pictures which forms part of
the splendid gallery now at Panshanger. His London houses were
situated in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and Great George Street. He had also
a lodging at Kensington,—‘the roads about that distant spot being,’ we
are assured, ‘so secure, that there was no danger in travelling thence
to London at night.’

------------------

_No. 12._

WILLIAM, SECOND EARL COWPER.

_Blue coat. Red waistcoat._

BORN 1709, DIED 1764.

MARRIED in 1732 Lady Henrietta, daughter and co-heir of Henry de
Nassau d’Auverquerque (Overkirche), Earl of Grantham. She was the sole
surviving descendant of the legitimised offspring of Maurice, Prince
of Orange, Stadtholder. In 1733 Earl Cowper was appointed Lord of the
Bedchamber, a post he afterwards resigned; subsequently Lord
Lieutenant, and _Custos Rotulorum_ of the county of Hertford. He
assumed the prefix of Clavering to that of Cowper, in pursuance of his
uncle’s will. By his first wife Lord Cowper had one son, and one
daughter; by his second wife, Caroline Georgiana, daughter of the Earl
Granville, widow of the Honourable John Spencer, he had no children.
He was buried at Hertingfordbury, and succeeded by his only son.

------------------

_No. 13._

GEORGE, THIRD EARL COWPER.

_Red dress. Light-coloured cap._

BORN 1738, DIED 1789.

BY RAPHAEL MENGS (?).

ELDEST son of the second Earl Cowper by Lady Henrietta, youngest
daughter and co-heir of Henry d’Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham. King
George II., the Duke of Grafton, and Princess Amelia stood in person
as sponsors at his baptism. In 1754 he came into a large fortune on
the death of the aforesaid Earl of Grantham, and in 1759 was elected
M.P. for the town of Hertford. While his father was yet alive, Lord
Fordwich (as he then was) went on his travels, and, arriving at
Florence, fell in love with that beautiful city, and with one of its
beautiful citizens, the Princess Corsi. The lady was married, or the
young lord would doubtless have carried her to England as his wife,
and thus escaped the blame, cast upon him by Horace Walpole, of
disobeying the summons of his dying father in 1764. So delighted was
George, Lord Cowper, with his sojourn in Florence, which he had
originally visited with the intention of passing a short time there,
that he remained within its charmed walls for upwards of thirty years.
He outlived his infatuation for the fair Florentine, and married, in
1775, Anna, daughter of Charles Gore, a gentleman at that time
residing in Florence with his family, who was said to have been the
original of Goethe’s travelled Englishman in _Wilhelm Meister_. Lord
Cowper was most desirous of obtaining permission to add the royal
surname of Nassau to his own patronymic, on the plea that he was one
of the representatives of the Earl of Grantham (an extinct title); but
there were many difficulties in the way, and while the matter was
pending he received a high mark of distinction from the Emperor of
Austria, through the instrumentality of his Imperial Majesty’s
brother, Peter Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany, at whose Court Lord and
Lady Cowper (but especially the latter) stood in high favour. This was
the grant of a patent to Lord Cowper, which bestowed on him the rank
of a Prince of the Holy Roman Empire. That arch-gossip, but most
amusing letter-writer, Horace Walpole, in his correspondence with his
friend Sir Horace Mann, British Envoy at Florence, takes a most
unaccountable interest in the private concerns and aspirations of Lord
Cowper, and thus animadverts on the subject of his foreign names and
titles: ‘There is another hitch in the great Nassau question. The
objection is now started, that he must not bear that name with the
title of Prince. The Emperor thought he had hit on a clever compromise
for his _protégé_, by giving up the name of Nassau, and substituting
that of Auverquerque. But my Lord’s cousins object to that also, so
now he is reduced to plain Prince Cowper, for which honour he has to
pay £500.’

Again: ‘I do not think either the Emperor or Lord Cowper knows what he
is about. Surely an English peer, with substantial dignity in his own
country, is more dignified than a man residing in another country, and
endowed with a nominal principality in a third!’

Again: ‘I believe both Emperor and Prince begin to regret the step.
The Imperial diploma dubs him Highness, but he himself will not allow
any one to address him in any other way than Lord Cowper.’

It was not very long after their marriage that Horace Walpole glances
at the report of a possible separation between Lord and Lady Cowper,
but without assigning any reason. There can be little doubt that the
union was not a happy one, for, whatever other ground of complaint the
husband might have had, Lady Cowper was of a quarrelsome and
unconciliatory disposition, and her sister, who lived with the family
at Florence, seems, by all accounts, to have been far the more amiable
of the two. Miss Berry alludes to a visit she paid her compatriots at
Lord Cowper’s house in Florence, ‘where you have the best of society,
both native and foreign, and where all the English (in particular) are
desirous of obtaining an introduction.’ She goes on to describe the
house as ‘fitted up in a peculiar manner: one room as a museum,
another as a laboratory, a third a workshop; in fact, too many to
enumerate.’ He was evidently a man of very versatile tastes, and one
who had many irons in the fire at the same moment. In 1781 Horace
Walpole, alluding to the fact that the three Cowper boys had been sent
over to England for their education, says, ‘It is astonishing that
neither parent nor child can bring your _principal_ Earl from that
specific spot,—but we are a lunatic nation.’ Another letter speaks of
a vacant green ribbon, and the possibility it might be given to Lord
Cowper, if he were on the spot; ‘but he won’t come. I do allow him a
place in the Tribune at Florence. An English earl, who has never seen
his earldom, and takes root and has fruit at Florence, and is proud of
his pinchbeck principality in a third country, is as great a curiosity
as any in the Tuscan Collection.’