Chapter V: Lincoln's Inn, and the Neighbourhood (2)

The worst thing to be said of Lord Russell (for as to the letters he wrote for pardon, they must be considered as obtained from him by his friends and a tender wife) is, that when Lord Stafford, the victim of a plot charged on the papists, was sentenced to death, Russell opposed the King's privilege of dispensing with a barbarous part of the execution; so unworthy the rest of their character can men be rendered by party feeling, and so little do they foresee what they may themselves require in a day of adversity. When Charles II. was applied to on the same point in behalf of Lord Russell, he is reported to have said, "Lord Russell shall find I am possessed of that prerogative, which in the case of Lord Stafford he thought fit to deny me." The sarcasm (if made--for there is no real authority for it) was cruel; but it is not to be denied, that Lord Stafford, a man old and feeble, whose protestations of innocence called forth tears from the spectators when he was on the scaffold, might have thought Russell's conduct equally so. Let us congratulate ourselves, that the fiery trials which men of all parties have gone through, have enabled us to benefit by their experience, to be grateful for what was noble in them, and to learn (with modesty) how to avoid what was infirm.

Lord Russell, besides the general regard of posterity, has left two glorious testimonies to his honour--his behaviour in his last days, and the inextinguishable grief of one of the best of women. The latter, the celebrated Lady Rachael Russell, the daughter of Charles's best servant, Southampton, threw herself at the King's feet, "and pleaded," says Hume, "with many tears, the merit and loyalty of her father, as an atonement for those errors into which honest, however mistaken, principles had seduced her husband. These supplications were the last instance of female weakness (if they deserve the name) which she betrayed. Finding all applications vain, she collected courage, and not only fortified herself against the fatal blow, but endeavoured by her example to strengthen the resolution of her unfortunate lord."[205]

Echard says, that Charles refused her a reprieve of six weeks. If so, he probably feared some desperate attempt in Russell's favour; which, in fact, was proposed, as we shall see; and it is possible, that remembering what had happened to Charles I., and conscious of his own deserts, he might really have thought that Lord Russell would willingly have seen him put to death; for Rapin tells us that he said, in answer to Lady Rachael, "How can I grant that man six weeks, who, if it had been in his power, would not have granted me six hours?"[206] And Lord Dartmouth in his notes upon Burnet, tells us that when his (Dartmouth's) father represented to the King the obligations which a pardon would lay upon a great family, and the regard that was due to Southampton's daughter and her children, the King answered, "All that is true; but it is as true, that if I do not take his life, he will soon have mine;" "which," says Dartmouth, "would admit of no reply."[207] Some, however, have said, that the King would have granted Russell his life, if he had not been afraid of his brother, the Duke of York; and as an instance of what was thought of the characters of these two princes, whether the story is true or not, it was added, that Charles did not like to hear any discourses about the pardon, because he could not grant it; whereas James would hear anything, though he resolved to grant nothing.

Every other effort was made to save the life of Russell.

"Money," says Burnet, "was offered to the Lady Portsmouth, and
to all that had credit, and that without measure. He was
pressed to send petitions and submissions to the King and to
the Duke; but he left it to his friends to consider how far
these might go, and how they were to be worded. All that he was
brought to was, to offer to live beyond sea, in any place that
the King should name; and never to meddle any more in English
affairs. But all was in vain. Both King and Duke were fixed in
their resolutions; but with this difference, as Lord Rochester
afterwards told me, that the Duke suffered some, among whom he
was one, to argue the point with him, but the King could not
bear the discourse. Some said, that the Duke moved that he
might be executed in Southampton Square before his own house,
but that the King rejected that as indecent. So Lincoln's Inn
Fields was appointed for the place of his execution."[208]

As a last resource Lord Cavendish offered to attack the coach on either side with a troop of horse, and take his friend out of it; but Russell would not consent to bring any one into jeopardy on his behalf.

It has been said that Lincoln's Inn Fields was chosen, in order that the people might witness the triumph of the Court, in seeing him led through the city; but others have reasonably observed upon this, that as he was to be taken from Newgate, the desire of making him a spectacle to the citizens would have been better gratified by his being carried to the old place of execution, the Tower. It is most probable, that Lincoln's Inn Fields was selected, as being the nearest feasible spot to the great town property of the Bedford family; Bloomsbury lying opposite, and Covent garden on one side.

The following is the letter addressed to the King by Russell's father, followed by that of Russell himself, which Burnet has mentioned as being drawn from him by his friends.

"To the King's most Excellent Majesty.
"The humble petition of William, Earl of Bedford:
"Humbly sheweth;

"That could your petitioner have been admitted into your
presence, he would have laid himself at your royal feet, in
behalf of his unfortunate son, himself, and his distressed and
disconsolate family, to implore your royal mercy, which he
never had the presumption to think could be obtained by any
indirect means. But shall think himself, wife, and children,
much happier to be left but with bread and water, than to lose
his dear son for so foul a crime as treason against the best of
princes; for whose life he ever did, and ever shall pray, more
than for his own.

"May God incline your Majesty's heart to the prayers of an
afflicted old father, and not bring grey hairs with sorrow to
my grave.

"BEDFORD."

"To the King's most Excellent Majesty.
"The humble petition of William Russell:
"Most humbly sheweth;

"That your petitioner does once more cast himself at your
Majesty's feet, and implores, with all humility, your mercy and
pardon, still avowing that he never had the least thought
against your Majesty's life, nor any design to change the
government; but humbly and sorrowfully confesses his having
been present at those meetings, which he is convinced were
unlawful, and justly provoking to your Majesty; but being
betrayed by ignorance and inadvertence, he did not decline them
as he ought to have done, for which he is truly and heartily
sorry; and, therefore, humbly offers himself to your Majesty,
to be determined to live in any part of the world which you
shall appoint, and never to meddle any more in the affairs of
England, but as your Majesty shall be pleased to command me.

"May it therefore please your Majesty to extend your royal
favour and mercy to your petitioner, by which he will be for
ever engaged to pray for your Majesty, and to devote his life
to your service.

"WILLIAM RUSSELL."

The third is to the Duke of York. It is certainly to be regretted, that these letters were drawn from a patriot, willing, there is no doubt, to have endured all extremities without compromising the dignity of conscious right: but the reader will bear in mind what has been said of them; and we shall see presently what the writer said of the present one.

"May it please your Highness;

"The opposition I have appeared in to your Highness's interest
has been such, as I have scarce the confidence to be a
petitioner to you, though in order to the saving of my life.
Sir, God knows what I did did not proceed from any personal
ill-will, or animosity to your royal Highness, but merely
because I was of opinion, that it was the best way for
observing the religion established by law, in which, if I was
mistaken, yet I acted sincerely, without any ill end in it. And
as for any base design against your person, I hope your Royal
Highness will be so just to me as not to think me capable of so
vile a thought. But I am now resolved, and do faithfully engage
myself, that if it shall please the King to pardon me, and if
your Royal Highness will interpose in it, I will in no sort
meddle any more, but will be readily determined to live in any
part of the world which his Majesty shall prescribe, and will
never fail in my daily prayers, both for his Majesty's
preservation and honour, and your Royal Highness's happiness,
and will wholly withdraw myself from the affairs of England,
unless called by his Majesty's orders to serve him, which I
shall never be wanting to do, to the uttermost of my power. And
if your Royal Highness will be so gracious to me, as to move on
my account, as it will be an engagement upon me, beyond what I
can in reason expect, so it will make the deepest impressions
on me possible; for no fear of death can work so much with me,
as so great an obligation will for ever do upon me. May it
please your Royal Highness, your Royal Highness's most humble
and most obedient servant,

"W. RUSSELL."
"Newgate, July 16th, 1683."

Burnet says of this last letter, which he tells us was written at the "earnest solicitations" of Lady Rachael, that as Russell was folding it up, he said to him, "This will be printed, and will be selling about the streets as my submission, when I am led out to be hanged."

All efforts failed, and the patriot and husband composed himself to die. The touching particulars of his last days we shall extract from the account of his friend Bishop Burnet. It is one that, as it contains no disputed points, may be safely relied on; and indeed, if we had not wished to show how interested we are in the case of this advancer of public right, and how anxious to spare no proper trouble for our readers, we might safely have copied the whole case from the lively pages of that historian, whose writings, whatever may have been his faults of partizanship and complexion, have risen in value, in proportion as documents come to light. A great modern statesman, equally qualified to judge of it, both as a politician and a man, alludes with interesting emotion to Burnet's account of his last hours. Speaking of the dying behaviour of Russell and Sidney, he says, "In courage they are equal, but the fortitude of Russell, who was connected with the world by private and domestic ties, which Sidney was not, was put to the severer trial; and the story of the last days of this excellent man's life fills the mind with such a mixture of tenderness and admiration, that I know not any scene in history that more powerfully excites our sympathy, or goes more directly to the heart."[209]

"The last week of his life," says Burnet, "he was shut up all
the morning as he himself desired. And about noon I came to
him, and staid with him till night. All the while he expressed
a very Christian temper, without sharpness or resentment,
vanity or affectation. His whole behaviour looked like a
triumph over death. Upon some occasions, as at table, or when
his friends came to see him, he was decently cheerful. I was by
him when the sheriffs came to show him the warrant for his
execution. He read it with indifference; and when they were
gone he told me it was not decent to be merry with such a
matter, otherwise he was near telling Rich (who, though he was
now on the other side, yet had been a member of the House of
Commons, and had voted for the exclusion), that they should
never sit together in that house any more to vote for the bill
of exclusion. The day before his death he fell a bleeding at
the nose; upon that he said to me pleasantly, I shall not now
let blood to divert this: that will be done to-morrow. At night
it rained hard, and he said, such a rain to-morrow will spoil a
great show, which was a dull thing in a rainy day. He said, the
sins of his youth lay heavy upon his mind; but he hoped God had
forgiven them, for he was sure he had forsaken them, and for
many years he had walked before God with a sincere heart. If in
his public actings he had committed errors, they were only the
errors of his understanding; for he had no private ends, nor
ill designs of his own in them; he was still of opinion that
the King was limited by law, and that when he broke through
those limits, his subjects might defend themselves and restrain
him. He thought a violent death was a very desirable way of
ending one's life; it was only the being exposed to be a little
gazed at, and to suffer the pain of one minute, which, he was
confident, was not equal to the pain of drawing a tooth. He
said he felt none of those transports that some good people
felt; but he had a full calm in his mind, no palpitation at
heart, nor trembling at the thoughts of death. He was much
concerned at the cloud that seemed to be now over his country;
but he hoped his death would do more service than his life
could have done.

"This was the substance of the discourse between him and me.
Tillotson was oft with him that last week. We thought the party
had gone too quick in their consultations, and too far; and
that resistance in the condition we were then in was not
lawful. He said he had leisure to enter into discourses of
politics; but he thought a government limited by law was only a
name, if the subjects might not maintain those limitations by
force; otherwise all was at the discretion of the Prince: that
was contrary to all the notions he had lived in of our
government.[210] But, he said, there was nothing among them but
the embryos of things that were never like to have any effect,
and they were now quite dissolved. He thought it was necessary
for him to leave a paper behind him at his death: and, because
he had not been accustomed to draw such papers, he desired me
to give him a scheme of the heads fit to be spoken to, and of
the order in which they should be laid; which I did. And he was
three days employed for some time in the morning to write out
his speech. He ordered four copies to be made of it, all which
he signed; and gave the original with three of the copies to
his lady, and kept the other to give to the sheriffs on the
scaffold. He writ it with great ease, and the passages that
were tender he writ in papers apart, and showed them to his
lady and to myself, before he writ them out fair. He was very
easy when this was ended. He also writ a letter to the King, in
which he asked pardon for every thing he had said or done
contrary to his duty, protesting he was innocent as to all
designs against his person or government, and that his heart
was ever devoted to that which he thought was his Majesty's
true interest. He added that, though he thought he had met with
hard measures, yet he forgave all concerned in it, from the
highest to the lowest; and ended, hoping that his Majesty's
displeasure at him would cease with his own life, and that no
part of it should fall on his wife and children. The day before
his death he received the sacrament from Tillotson with much
devotion: and I preached two short sermons to him, which he
heard with great affection; and we were shut up till towards
the evening. Then he suffered his children that were very
young, and some few of his friends, to take leave of him; in
which he maintained his constancy of temper, though he was a
very fond father. He also parted from his lady with a composed
silence; and as soon as she was gone, he said to me, 'The
bitterness of death is passed;' for he loved and esteemed her
beyond expression, as she well deserved it in all respects. She
had the command of herself so much that at parting she gave him
no disturbance. He went into his chamber about midnight, and I
stayed all night in the outward room. He went not to bed till
about two in the morning, and was fast asleep at four, when,
according to his order, we called him. He was quickly dressed,
but would lose no time in shaving, for, he said, he was not
concerned in his good looks that day."

* * * * *

"Lord Russell," continues Burnet, "seemed to have some
satisfaction to find that there was no truth in the whole
contrivance of the Rye Plot; so that he hoped that infamy,
which now blasted their party, would soon go off. He went into
his chamber six or seven times in the morning, and prayed by
himself, and then came out to Tillotson and me; he drank a
little tea and some sherry. He wound up his watch, and said,
now he had done with time, and was going to eternity. He asked
what he should give the executioner: I told him ten guineas: he
said, with a smile, it was a pretty thing to give a fee to have
his head cut off. When the sheriffs called him about ten
o'clock, Lord Cavendish was waiting below to take leave of him.
They embraced very tenderly. Lord Russell, after he had left
him, upon a sudden thought came back to him, and pressed him
earnestly to apply himself more to religion, and told him what
great comfort and support he felt from it now in his extremity.
Lord Cavendish had very generously offered to manage his
escape, and to stay in prison for him while he should go away
in his clothes; but he would not hearken to the motion. The
Duke of Monmouth had also sent me word to let him know, that if
he thought it could do him any service, he would come in and
run fortunes with him. He answered, it would be of no advantage
to him to have his friends die with him. Tillotson and I went
in the coach with him to the place of execution. Some of the
crowd that filled the streets wept, while others insulted; he
was touched by the tenderness that the one gave him, but did
not seem at all provoked by the other. He was singing psalms a
great part of the way, and said, he hoped to sing better very
soon.[211] As he observed the great crowds of people all the
way, he said to us, 'I hope I shall quickly see a much better
assembly.' When he came to the scaffold, he walked about it
four or five times. Then he turned to the sheriffs, and
delivered his paper. He protested that he had always been far
from any designs against the King's life or government. He
prayed God would preserve both, and the Protestant religion. He
wished all Protestants might love one another, and not make way
for Popery by their animosities."

Of the paper given by Russell to the sheriffs, Burnet has given the following honest abridgment. This testament to patriotism made a great sensation. To posterity, who have so benefited by its spirit, it is surely still of great interest.

"The substance of the paper he gave them," says Burnet, "was,
first, a profession of his religion, and of his sincerity in
it; that he was of the Church of England, but wished all would
unite together against the common enemy; that churchmen would
be less severe, and dissenters less scrupulous. He owned he had
a great zeal against Popery, which he looked on as an
idolatrous and bloody religion; but that, though he was at all
times ready to venture his life for his religion or his
country, yet that would never have carried him to a black or
wicked design. No man ever had the impudence to move to him
anything with relation to the King's life: he prayed heartily
for him, that in his person and government he might be happy,
both in this world and the next. He protested that in the
prosecution of the Popish Plot he had gone on in the sincerity
of his heart, and that he never knew of any practice with the
witnesses. He owned he had been earnest in the matter of the
exclusion, as the best way, in his opinion, to secure both the
King's life and the Protestant religion, and to that he imputed
his present sufferings; but he forgave all concerned in them,
and charged his friends to think of no revenges. He thought his
sentence was hard, upon which he gave an account of all that
had passed at Shepherd's. From the heats that were in choosing
the sheriffs, he concluded that matter would end as it now did,
and he was not much surprised to find it fall upon himself; he
wished it might end in him; killing by forms of law was the
worst sort of murder. He concluded with some very devout
ejaculations.

"After he had delivered this paper, he prayed by himself; then
Tillotson prayed with him. After that he prayed again by
himself, and then undressed himself and laid his head on the
block, without the least change of countenance; and it was cut
off at two strokes."

The following additional particulars are from Burnet's "Journal:"--

"When my lady went, he said he wished she would give over
beating every bush, and running so about for his preservation.
But when he considered that it would be some mitigation of her
sorrow afterwards, that she left nothing undone that could have
given any probable hopes, he acquiesced: and, indeed, I never
saw his heart so near failing him, as when he spake of her.
Sometimes I saw a tear in his eye, and he would turn about and
presently change the discourse.

"At ten o'clock my lady left him. He kissed her four or five
times; and she kept her sorrows so within herself, that she
gave him no disturbance by their parting. After she was gone,
he said, 'Now the bitterness of death is passed,' and ran out a
long discourse concerning her--how great a blessing she had
been to him; and said what a misery it would have been to him,
if she had not had that magnanimity of spirit, joined to her
tenderness, as never to have desired him to do a base thing for
the saving of his life; whereas, otherwise, what a week should
I have passed, if she had been crying on me to turn informer,
and be a Lord Howard; though he then repeated what he often
before said, that he knew of nothing whereby the peace of the
nation was in danger; and that all that ever was, was either
loose discourse, or at most embryos that never came to
anything, so that there was nothing on foot to his knowledge.

"As we came to turn into Little Queen Street, he said, 'I have
often turned to the other hand with great comfort, but now I
turn to this with greater,' and looked towards his own house;
and then, as the Dean of Canterbury, who sat over against him,
told me, he saw a tear or two fall from him.

"When he had lain down, I looked once at him and saw no change
in his looks; and though he was still lifting up his hands,
there was no trembling, though, in the moment in which I
looked, the executioner happened to be laying the axe to his
neck to direct him to take aim. I thought it touched him, but
I am sure he seemed not to mind it."

The widow of Lord Russell, daughter of the Lord Southampton above mentioned, the most honest man ever known to have been in the service of Charles the Second, was grand-daughter of Shakspeare's Southampton, and appears to have united in her person the qualities of both. She was at once a pattern of good sense, and of romantic affection. Nor are the two things incompatible, when either of them exist in the highest degree, as she proved during the remainder of her life; for though she continued a widow all the rest of it, and it was a very long one, and though she never ceased regretting her lord's death, and had great troubles besides, yet the high sense she had of the duties of a human being enabled her to enjoy consolations that ordinary pleasure might have envied; first, in the education of her children, and secondly, in the tranquillity which health and temperance _forced_ upon her. Her letters, with which the public are well acquainted, are not more remarkable for the fidelity they evince to her husband's memory, than for the fine sense they display in all matters upon which the prejudices of education had left her a free judgment, and especially for their delightful candour. It has been thought that the blindness into which she fell in her old age was owing to weeping; but Mr. Howell, the judicious editor of the "State Trials," informs us, upon the authority of "a very learned, skilful, and experienced physiologist," "that a cataract, which seems," he says, "to have been the malady of Lady Rachael's eyes, is by no means likely to be produced by weeping."[212]

We will here insert a few of the most touching passages from the "Letters of Lady Russell" (seventh edition, 1819). On the 30th of September, she writes thus to her friend. Dr Fitzwilliam:--

"I endeavour to make the best use I can of both (a letter and
prayer which the Doctor sent her); but I am so evil and
unworthy a creature, that though I have desires, yet I have no
disposition, or worthiness, towards receiving comfort." And
again:--"I know I have deserved my punishment, and will be
silent under it; but yet secretly my heart mourns, and cannot
be comforted, because I have not the dear companion and sharer
of all my joys and sorrows. I want him to talk with, to walk
with, to eat and sleep with; all these things are irksome to me
now; all company and meals I could avoid, if it might be. Yet
all this is, that I enjoy not the world in my own way, and this
same hinders my comfort. When I see my children before me, I
remember the pleasure he took in them; this makes my heart
shrink."

On the 21st July, 1685, the anniversary of her husband's death, two years after it, she writes thus:--

"My languishing weary spirit rises up slowly to all good; yet I
hope by God's abundant grace, in time, your labours will work
the same effect in my spirits: they will, indeed, in less time
on others better disposed and prepared than I am, who in the
day of affliction seem to have no remembrance with due
thankfulness of prosperity."

In a letter written the 4th October, 1686, she says, speaking of a recovery of one of her children from sickness,--

"I hope this has been a sorrow I shall profit by; I shall, if
God will strengthen my faith, resolve to return him a constant
praise, and make this the season to chase all secret murmurs
from grieving my soul for what is past, letting it rejoice in
what it should rejoice, his favour to me, in the blessings I
have left, which many of my betters want, and yet have lost
their chiefest friend also. But, oh, Doctor! the manner of my
deprivation is yet astonishing."

The following is dated five years after her loss. She is speaking of a letter she wrote once a week to Dr. Fitzwilliam. Her grief had now begun to taste the sweets of patience and temperance; but we see still how real it is:--

"I can't but own there is a sort of secret delight in the
privacy of one of those mournful days; I think, besides a
better reason, one is, that I do not tie myself up as I do on
other days; for, God knows, my eyes are ever ready to pour out
marks of a sorrowful heart, which I shall carry to the grave,
that quiet bed of rest."

In 1692, Lady Russell writes less patiently, but shortly afterwards appears to have regained her composure; and in Letter 134, there is a remark on the blessings of health, and on the comfort of being able to do one's duty, if we aim at it. In 1711, she lost her only son, the Duke of Bedford, in his 31st year; and six months afterwards was deprived of one of her daughters, who died in childbed. It was on this occasion that an affecting anecdote is told. She had another daughter who happened to be in childbed also; and as it was necessary to conceal from her the death of her sister, this admirable woman assumed a cheerful air, and in answer to her daughter's anxious inquiries, said, with an extraordinary colouring of the fact, for which a martyr to truth could have loved her, "I have seen your sister out of bed to-day."

We intended not to omit the following charming passage from her letters, and therefore add it here. It is in the letter last quoted:--

"My friendships have made all the joys and troubles of my life;
and yet who would live and not love? Those who have tried the
insipidness of it would, I believe, never choose it. Mr. Waller
says, 'tis (with singing) all we know they do above! And 'tis
enough; for if there is so charming a delight in the love, and
suitableness in humours, to creatures, what must it be to the
clarified spirits to love in the presence of God!"

The passage from Waller is,--

"What know we of the blest above,
But that they sing and that they love?"

Certainly, if ever there was an angel upon earth this woman was one. Compare the above extracts with a letter from her to her husband, written in the year 1681, and published in the work of Lord John Russell, vol. ii., p. 2. It is a true, loving, happy wife's letter, and renders the contrast inexpressibly affecting.

The present ducal family of Bedford have the honour to be lineally descended from these two excellent persons, and to derive their very dukedom from public virtue--a rare patent. And they have shown that they estimate the honour. What must not Lady Russell have felt when James II., within six years after the destruction of her husband, was forced to give up his throne? And what, above all, must she not have felt, when she heard of the answer given by her aged father-in-law to the same prince, who had the meanness, or want of imagination, to apply to him in his distress? "My Lord," said James to the Earl of Bedford, "you are an honest man, have great credit, and can do me signal service." "Ah, sir," replied the Earl, "I am old and feeble, but I once had a son." The King is said to have been so struck with this reply, that he was silent for some minutes. With this anecdote we may well terminate our account of the patriot Russell.[213]

One remark, however, we must make. It has been asserted, that the great reason why the Whigs of those days wished to keep the Catholics out of power was the dread of losing their estates as well as political influence, and of being obliged to give up the Abbey lands. There may have been a good deal of truth in this, and yet the rest of their feelings have been very sincere. Men may be educated in undue notions of the value of wealth and property, and yet prove their possession of nobler thoughts, when brought to heroical issues of life and death.

The house in this square (Lincoln's Inn,) at the corner of Great Queen Street, with a passage under its side, was once called Newcastle House, and was occupied by the well-known fantastical duke of that name, Minister of George II. Pennant says it was built about the year 1686, "by the Marquis of Powis, and called Powis House, and afterwards sold to the late noble owner." The architect was Captain William Winde. "It is said," he adds, "that government had it once in contemplation to have bought and settled it officially on the great seal. At that time it was inhabited by the lord keeper, Sir Nathan Wright." It is at present occupied by the Society for the diffusion of the Bible.

The Marquis of Powis, here mentioned, had scarcely built his house in the square where Lord Russell was beheaded, when he saw his lordship's destroyer forced to leave his throne. The Marquis followed his fortunes, and was created by him Duke of Powis.

A laughable, and, we believe, true story, connected with the Duke of Newcastle's residence in this house, is told in a curious miscellany intitled the "Lounger's Common-Place Book."

"This nobleman," says the writer, "with many good points, and
described by a popular contemporary poet as almost eaten up by
his zeal for the house of Hanover, was remarkable for being
profuse of his promises on all occasions, and valued himself
particularly on being able to anticipate the words or the wants
of the various persons who attended his levees before they
uttered a word. This sometimes led him into ridiculous
embarrassments; but it was his tendency to lavish promises,
which gave occasion for the anecdote I am going to relate.

"At the election of a certain borough of Cornwall, where the
opposite interests were almost equally poised, a single vote
was of the highest importance; this object, the Duke, by
_well-applied arguments_, and personal application, at length
attained, and the gentleman _he_ recommended gained his
election.

"In the warmth of gratitude, his Grace poured forth
acknowledgments and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate
possessor of the casting vote; called him his best and dearest
friend; protested that he should consider himself as for ever
indebted; that he would serve him by night or by day.

"The Cornish voter, an honest fellow, as things go, and who
would have thought himself sufficiently paid, but for such a
torrent of acknowledgments, thanked the Duke for his kindness,
and told him, 'The supervisor of excise was old and infirm, and
if he would have the goodness to recommend his son-in-law to
the commissioners in case of the old man's death, he should
think himself and his family bound to render Government every
assistance in his power, on any future occasion.'

"'My dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling
employment?' exclaimed his Grace, 'your relation shall have it
at a word's speaking, the moment it is vacant.'--'But how shall
I get admitted to you my Lord? for, in London, I understand, it
is a very difficult business to get a sight of you great folks,
though you are so kind and complaisant to us in the
country.'--'The instant the man dies,' replied the premier,
used to and prepared for the freedom of a contested
election,--'the moment he dies, set out post-haste for London;
drive directly to my house, by night or by day, sleeping or
waking, dead or alive, thunder at the door; I will leave word
with my porter to show you up-stairs directly, and the
employment shall be disposed of according to your wishes.'

"The parties separated; the Duke drove to a friend's house in
the neighbourhood, where he was visiting, without a wish or a
design of seeing his new acquaintance till that day seven
years; but the memory of a Cornish elector, not being loaded
with such a variety of subjects, was more retentive. The
supervisor died a few months after, and the ministerial
partisan relying on the word of a peer, was conveyed to London
post-haste, and ascended with alacrity the steps of a large
house, now divided into three, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, at the
corner of Great Queen Street.

"The reader should be informed that precisely at the moment
when the expectations of a considerable party of a borough in
Cornwall were roused by the death of a supervisor, no less a
person than the King of Spain was expected hourly to depart; an
event in which the Minister of Great Britain was particularly
concerned.

"The Duke of Newcastle, on the very night that the proprietor
of the decisive vote was at his door, had sat up anxiously
expecting despatches from Madrid: wearied by official business
and agitated spirits, he retired to rest, having previously
given particular instructions to his porter not to go to bed,
as he expected every minute a messenger with advices of the
greatest importance, and desired he might be shown up-stairs
the moment of his arrival.

"His Grace was sound asleep; for, with a thousand
singularities, of which the rascals about him did not forget to
take advantage, his worst enemies could not deny him the merit
of good design, that best solace in a solitary hour. The
porter, settled for the night in his chair, had already
commenced a sonorous nap, when the vigorous arm of the Cornish
voter roused him from his slumbers.

"To his first question, 'Is the Duke at home?' the porter
replied, 'Yes; and in bed, but has left particular orders that
come when you will, you are to go up to him directly.'--'God
for ever bless him, a worthy and honest gentleman,' cried our
applier for the vacant post, smiling and nodding with
approbation at a Prime Minister's so accurately keeping his
promise; 'how punctual his Grace is! I knew he would not
deceive me. Let me hear no more of lords and dukes not keeping
their words. I believe, verily, they are as honest and mean as
well as other folks, but I can't always say the same of those
who are about them.' Repeating these words as he ascended the
stairs, the burgess of ---- was ushered into the Duke's
bedchamber.

"'Is he dead?' exclaimed his Grace, rubbing his eyes, and
scarcely awaked from dreaming of the King of Spain, 'Is he
dead?' 'Yes, my lord,' replied the eager expectant, delighted
to find that the election promise, with all its circumstances,
was so fresh in the Minister's memory. 'When did he die?' 'The
day before yesterday, exactly at half-past one o'clock, after
being confined three weeks to his bed, and taking a _power of
doctor's stuff_; and I hope your Grace will be as good as your
word, and let my son-in-law succeed him.'

"The duke, by this time perfectly awake, was staggered at the
impossibility of receiving intelligence from Madrid in so short
a space of time, and perplexed at the absurdity of a king's
messenger applying for his son-in-law to succeed the King of
Spain: 'Is the man drunk or mad; where are your despatches?'
exclaimed his Grace, hastily drawing back his curtain; when,
instead of a royal courier, his eager eye recognised at the
bedside the well-known countenance of his friend in Cornwall,
making low bows, with hat in hand, and 'hoping my lord would
not forget the gracious promise he was so good as to make in
favour of his son-in-law at the last election at ----.'

"Vexed at so untimely a disturbance, and disappointed of news
from Spain, he frowned for a few seconds, but chagrin soon gave
way to mirth at so singular and ridiculous a combination of
opposite circumstances. Yielding to the irritation, he sank on
the bed in a violent fit of laughter, which, like the
electrical fluid, was communicated in a moment to his
attendants."[214]

FOOTNOTES:

[194] Tatler, No. 100.

[195] "Lives and Letters," _ut supra_.

[196] "Worthies of England," _ut supra_.

[197] Gifford's "Works of Ben Jonson," vol. i., p. ix.

[198] Pennant, _ut supra_, p. 176

[199] Diary, _ut supra_, vol. ii., p. 185.

[200] "Memoires of Lady Fanshawe, &c., written by herself." 1729, p. 267.

[201] "Memoires of Lady Fanshawe, &c., written by herself." 1729, p. 298.

[202] "Life of William Lord Russell, with some Account of the Times in which he lived." By Lord John Russell, 3rd edition, 1820, vol. ii., p. 18, &c.

[203] "History of the Reign of James the Second." Introductory Chapter. It is worth while, as a puzzle for the reader, to give here the contested point in the statute, which Lord Russell's enemies thought so clear against him, and his friends so much in his favour. 13 Car. II. "Provided always, that no person be prosecuted for any of the offences in this act mentioned, other than such as are made and declared to be high treason, unless it be by order of the King's Majesty, his heirs or successors, under his or their sign manual, or by order of the Council Table of his Majesty, his heirs or successors, directed unto the attorney-general for the time being: or some other counsel learned to his Majesty, his heirs or successors, for the time being: nor shall any person or persons, by virtue of this present act, incur any of the penalties herein before-mentioned, unless he or they be prosecuted within six months next after the offence committed, and indicted thereupon within three months after such prosecution; anything herein contained to the contrary notwithstanding."

[204] Life, as above, vol. i., p. 121.

[205] Hume's History of England, vol. x. chap. 69.

[206] Rapin's History of England, 1731, vol. xiv., p. 333.

[207] Burnet's History of his Own Times.

[208] Burnet's History of his Own Times, 12mo., 1725, vol. ii., p. 260.

[209] Mr. Fox, in his history above-mentioned.

[210] Burnet and Tillotson thought so too, when James II. afterwards forced the church to declare one way or other.

[211] In his Journal, Burnet says that he often sung "within himself," but that the words were not audible. When his companion asked him what he was singing, he said the beginning of the 119th Psalm. It is stated in the Life by his descendant (who has added some original passages from papers at Woburn), that "just as they were entering Lincoln's Inn Fields, he said, 'This has been to me a place of sinning, and God now makes it the place of my punishment.'" He had lived freely in his youth, though he is not the Russell spoken of in the Memoirs of Grammont, as many are led to believe by the engravings of him inserted in that work. The person there mentioned was a cousin.

[212] For complete reports of all the trials connected with the Rye House Plot, and for several pamphlets written _pro_ and _con_ upon Lord Russell's case, see the "State Trials," vol. ix., beginning at p. 357.

[213] We quote the Earl of Bedford's reply from Granger's Biographical History of England, not being able to refer to Orrery, who we believe is the authority for it. Burnet's Journal is to be found at the end of Lord Russell's Life, by his descendants.

[214] Lounger's Common-Place Book, 1805. 8vo. vol. i., p. 301.