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would be punished for denying. It was the request of the footpad, who politely requests you to present him with your money, but who submits the other alternative, injury to your person. It was no more a Benevolence than a threat of your money or your life is a benevolence. Men had been Star Chambered, imprisoned, sent out of the country, and like Uriah put in the front of battle-for refusing. The evil was so monstrous, the abuse so flagrant and so well known, that a statute had been made as far back as Richard III.'s day, declaring all Benevolences null and void. They were rank impositions all. The consequence was, they fell somewhat into disfavour. Henry VII., with his inordinate avarice, revived them, but only to a limited extent; so did his son, Henry VIII. Once or twice during her reign Elizabeth had had recourse to them. But the dangers to the state were imminent; her needs large; her enemies terrible; and the people gave with willingness.

For it must be confessed, a gift demanded in time of peace, assumes a much more flagrant aspect than one merely asked to meet immediate, urgent, and otherwise overwhelming necessities. James being at peace, calling no parliament, was induced by his advisers,— from the evidence it would seem, at Bacon's own instance -to levy a Benevolence. From end to end of the Kingdom the attempt excited discontent; but, as usual, no man felt inclined to throw himself forward to be the first victim of Royal wrath. As usual, many murmured— and paid. Precisely as in the illegal attempt to levy ship-money by Charles, the burden would have been sustained, but for one man being willing to sacrifice himself

as the victim, and to throw himself into the breach. The political organization of the time was circumscribed. The communication between different towns was difficult and tedious. London was as much removed from Liverpool, or from Bristol, as it is now from the shores of the Mediterranean, or the coast of Spain.

The consequence was, that the woes of one town were no grievance to those of another. In the absence of newspapers, a rising in Taunton was no encouragement to the men of Lincoln, for there was no intercommunication, and consequently little sympathy. Every town was, in consequence, isolated, dependent on its own resources, liable to be attacked and beaten in detail, for any opposition, whether moral or physical, to the throne. This made local political agitation dangerous, while general or national political agitation, was all but impossible. This alone can account for the terrible infractions of liberty attempted by James and Charles, and, for the most part, sustained with impunity. At the same time the very fact of the danger of refusal, made the refusal, when once made, dangerous and serious, for there was no alternative but to go forward-the danger which hindered advance, as effectually prevented return.

At last a patriot was found willing to throw himself into the breach. His name was Oliver St. John *—Black Oliver St. John, Mr. Dixon calls him, because he intends to blacken him. He had been a distinguished member of

*He was, says the Harleian MS., afterwards Lord Grandison, and Lieutenant of Ireland. His trial was the occasion of Raleigh's tract, On the Prerogative of Parliaments,' which no doubt hastened Sir Walter's death, and excited Bacon's animosity, as he is referred to in it.

COURTEOUS LANGUAGE.

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parliament. He was a lawyer, either by profession or as part of his education. He was fully aware of the illegality of the King's act. Thoroughly informed on this point, he rebelled against the exaction. He, if no other, would come forward, would contest it. He wrote a letter to the

Mayor of Marlborough, stating, in very moderate language, the legal reasons why such an imposition was illegal, and as, being illegal, improper. His letter is printed in

the Cabala,' and is copied into the State Trials, and may be inspected there by any person. It commences by stating,

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That this kind of Benevolence is against law, reason, and religion. 1st. The law is in the statute called Magna Charta, 9 Hen. III., cap. 29. That no freeman be anyway destroyed, but by laws of the land. That it is against the statute 25 Ed. I., cap. 5 & 6, that any free grant or aid be taken by the king but by assent of the realm, and for the good of the same. And in the 1st Richard III., cap. 2. That the subjects and Commons in this realm, henceforth shall in no wise be charged by any imposition called a Benevolence; and that such exaction shall be damned and annulled for ever."

This is the tone of the letter, this the nature of the remonstrance. It cannot be declared turbulent; yet Mr. Dixon, bent on misleading his readers, declares him the O'Brien or the O'Conor of his day. St. John simply demurred in temperate manner, to a lawless exaction. But again the Editor of the Athenæum' attempts to heap infamy on the dead; again invents slanders; again creates obscene falsehoods to blacken a virtuous memory. He declares him "the Marlborough Bully," and "an

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PRETTY FICTIONS.

impudent and whining demagogue;" pronounces him “a man of a stormy and yet slavish spirit, who, when the gate of his cell creaks upon its hinges, begins to whine and cry; and as begging, fawning, and groaning to be let out; and declares that those who make an idol of every one barred in the Tower, turn from this pusillanimous and crouching prisoner in disgust."

This is again hyper-historic history. It is, of course, not the fact. It is opposed to the facts. No one that I know of ever turned from him in disgust, for begging, or fawning, or groaning to be let out. Mr. St. John wrote a very penitential letter to the King when he was in jail, and had been fined 5,0007., asking pardon. It was not a whit more abject than many of Francis Bacon's own letters, when in the height of his prosperity and a triumphant man. Oliver St. John was not of that material of which the noblest martyrs are made, certainly. He had sufficiently proved his independence of spirit, by standing up singlehanded against regal oppression. Clapped into prison, on low diet, in fear of torture perchance-for Peacham is being racked near his cell-or of the death which Overbury will soon after meet; deserted by those who should have supported him, it is no wonder that his courage gave way. Many men will fight most resolutely in a good cause, well supported, who are disinclined to encounter a solitary risk where there is much danger, and no chance of profit or honour. He was, doubtless, such a man. He found himself the solitary victim-the scapegoat of the rest. This was a point of honour he did not covet. He was ruined in estate. Possibly he had a wife and children clamouring at his heart. Shall he sacrifice

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all, for those who will sacrifice nothing for him? He has been twelve months, or even more, in prison, and he wishes for release. He does not recant anything he has said. He does not fawn, he does not whine-he petitions. humbly, as prisoners do. There is nothing in history against his fairest fame and honour, except the humble spirit of this letter, the whole of the offence of which is comprised in one sentence, which may arise from error of judgment. Yet Mr. Dixon has not only dared to falsify everything concerning him, but employs the harsh phrases I have indicated, further to blacken him.

While Peacham is in the Tower, this Mr. St. John and Owen, charged with treason, are also awaiting their trial. Sir Francis Bacon has plenty of business on his hands. He writes to the King almost daily. The Chancellor is expected to die. Peacham has to be racked and examined. Witnesses against him obtained. Letters written to his diocesan. Owen to be enmeshed in the toils of the law. Indictments have to be framed; the judges coerced; the King to be informed of progress; Oliver St. John to be punished with some show of law: here, indeed, is occupation worthy of the mind of Bacon. Feb. 7th, Bacon expresses a wish that Peacham were first settled and done with, because "that would make the example upon St. John to stand for all." On the 11th, he writes concerning Owen, and what he has done towards proving it treason. On the 12th, to say, "Your worthy Chancellor, I fear, goeth this day. God hath hitherto used to weed out such servants as grew not fit for your Majesty, but now he hath gathered a true sage out of your garden; but your Majesty's service must not be mortal."