AND INTERVIEW WITH THE RELENTLESS KING. 33

"In the mean while, the Queen Dowager, who seems to have behaved with a uniformity of kindness towards her husband's son that does her great honour, urgently pressed the King to admit his nephew to an audience. Importuned therefore by entreaties, and instigated by the curiosity which Monmouth's mysterious expressions, and Sheldon's story had excited, he consented, though with a fixed determination to show no mercy. James was not of the number of those, in whom the want of an extensive understanding is compensated by a delicacy of sentiment, or by those right feelings which are often found to be better guides for the conduct, than the most accurate reasoning. His nature did not revolt, his blood did not run cold, at the thoughts of beholding the son of a brother whom he had loved, embracing his knees, petitioning, and petitioning in vain, for life!-of interchanging words and looks with a nephew on whom he was inexorably determined, within forty-eight short hours, to inflict an ignominious death. "In Macpherson's extract from King James's Memoirs, it is confessed that the King ought not to have seen, if he was not disposed to pardon the culprit; but whether the observation is made by the exiled prince himself, or by him who gives the extract, is in this, as in many other passages of those Memoirs, difficult to determine. Surely, if the King had made this reflection before Monmouth's execution, it must have occurred to that monarch, that if he had inadvertently done that which he ought not to have done without an intention to pardon, the only remedy was to correct that part of his conduct which was still in his power; and, since he could not recall the interview, to grant the pardon."-p. 258, 259.

Being sentenced to die in two days, he made a humble application to the King for some little respite; but met with a positive and stern refusal. The most remarkable thing in the history of his last hours, is the persecution which he suffered from the bishops who had been sent to comfort him. Those reverend persons, it appears, spent the greater part of the time in urging him to profess the orthodox doctrines of passive obedience and non-resistance; without which, they said, he could not be an upright member of the church, nor attain to a proper state of repentance! It must never be forgotten, indeed, as Mr. Fox has remarked, if we would understand the history of this period, "that the orthodox members of the church regarded monarchy, not as a human, but as a divine institution; and passive obedience and non-resistance, not as political measures, but as articles of religion."

The following account of the dying scene of this misguided and unhappy youth, is very striking and pathetic;

34

FOX-PATHETIC ACCOUNT OF

though a certain tone of sarcasm towards the reverend assistants does not, to our feelings, harmonize entirely with the more tender traits of the picture.

"At ten o'clock on the 15th, Monmouth proceeded, in a carriage of the Lieutenant of the Tower, to Tower Hill, the place destined for his execution. Two bishops were in the carriage with him; and one of them took that opportunity of informing him, that their controversial altercations were not yet at an end; and that upon the scaffold, he would again be pressed for more explicit and satisfactory declarations of repentance. When arrived at the bar, which had been put up for the purpose of keeping out the multitude, Monmouth descended from the carriage, and mounted the scaffold with a firm step, attended by his spiritual assistants. The sheriffs and executioners were already there. The concourse of spectators was innumerable, and, if we are to credit traditional accounts, never was the general compassion more affectingly expressed. The tears, sighs, and groans, which the first sight of this heart-rending spectacle produced, were soon succeeded by an universal and awful silence; a respectful attention, and affectionate anxiety, to hear every syllable that should pass the lips of the sufferer. The Duke began by saying he should speak little; he came to die; and he should die a Protestant of the Church of England. Here he was interrupted by the assistants, and told, that, if he was of the Church of England, he must acknowledge the doctrine of Non-resistance to be true. In vain did he reply, that, if he acknowledged the doctrine of the church in general, it included all: they insisted he should own that doctrine particularly with respect to his case, and urged much more concerning their favourite point; upon which, however, they obtained nothing but a repetition, in substance, of former answers."-p. 265, 266.

After making a public profession of his attachment to his beloved Lady Harriet Wentworth, and his persuasion that their connexion was innocent in the sight of God, he made reference to a paper he had signed in the morning, confessing the illegitimacy of his birth, and declaring that the title of King had been forced on him by his followers, much against his own inclination.

"The bishop, however, said, that there was nothing in that paper about resistance; nor, though Monmouth, quite worn out with their importunities, said to one of them in a most affecting manner, 'I am to die!-pray my lord! I refer to my paper,' would these men think it consistent with their duty to desist. There were only a few words they desired on one point. The substance of these applications on one hand, and answers on the other, was repeated, over and over again, in a manner that could not be believed, if the facts were not attested by the signature of the persons principally concerned. If the Duke, in declaring his sorrow for what had passed, used the word invasion, give it the true name,' said they, and call it rebellion.' 'What name you please,' replied the mild-tempered Monmouth! He

6

MONMOUTH'S LAST MOMENTS.

35

was sure he was going to everlasting happiness, and considered the serenity of his mind, in his present circumstances, as a certain earnest of the favour of his Creator. His repentance, he said, must be true, for he had no fear of dying; he should die like a lamb! Much may come from natural courage,' was the unfeeling and stupid reply of one of the assistants. Monmouth, with that modesty inseparable from true bravery, denied that he was in general less fearful than other men, maintaining that his present courage was owing to his consciousness that God had forgiven him his past transgressions, of all which generally he repented, with all his soul.

"At last the reverend assistants consented to join with him in prayer; but no sooner were they risen from their kneeling posture, than they returned to their charge. Not satisfied with what had passed, they exhorted him to a true and thorough repentance. Would he not pray for the King? and send a dutiful message to his majesty, to recommend the duchess and his children? 'As you please;' was the reply, 'I pray for him and for all men.' He now spoke to the executioner, desiring that he might have no cap over his eyes, and began undressing. One would have thought that in this last sad ceremony, the poor prisoner might have been unmolested, and that the divines would have been satisfied, that prayer was the only part of their function for which their duty now called upon them. They judged differently; and one of them had the fortitude to request the Duke, even in this stage of the business, that he would address himself to the soldiers then present, to tell them he stood a sad example of rebellion, and entreat the people to be loyal and obedient to the King. ‘I have said I will make no speeches,' repeated Monmouth, in a tone more peremptory than he had before been provoked to; 'I will make no speeches! I come to die.' 'My lord, ten words will be enough,' said the persevering divine; to which the Duke made no answer, but turning to the executioner, expressed a hope that he would do his work better now than in the case of Lord Russell. He then felt the axe, which he apprehended was not sharp enough, but being assured that it was of proper sharpness and weight, he laid down his head. In the mean time, many fervent ejaculations were used by the reverend assistants, who, it must be observed, even in these moments of horror, showed themselves not unmindful of the points upon which they had been disputing; praying God to accept his imperfect and general repentance.

"The executioner now struck the blow; but so feebly or unskilfully, that Monmouth, being but slightly wounded, lifted up his head, and looked him in the face as if to upbraid him; but said nothing. The two following strokes were as ineffectual as the first, and the headsman, in a fit of horror, declared he could not finish his work. The sheriffs threatened him; he was forced again to make a further trial; and in two more strokes separated the head from the body." p. 267-269.

With the character of Monmouth, the second chapter of the history closes; and nothing seems to have been

36

FOX'S HISTORY - - REMARKS ON ITS STYLE

written for the third, but a few detached observations, occupying but two pages. The Appendix is rather longer than was necessary. The greater part of the diplomacy which it contains, had been previously published by Macpherson and Dalrymple; and the other articles are of little importance.

We have now only to add a few words as to the style and taste of composition which belongs to this work. We cannot say that we vehemently admire it. It is a diffuse, and somewhat heavy style, clear and manly, indeed, for the most part, but sometimes deficient in force, and almost always in vivacity. In its general structure, it resembles the style of the age of which it treats, more than the balanced periods of the succeeding century though the diction is scrupulously purified from the long and Latin words which defaced the compositions of Milton and Harrington. In his antipathy to every thing that might be supposed to look like pedantry or affected loftiness, it appears to us, indeed, that the illustrious author has sometimes fallen into an opposite error, and admitted a variety of words and phrases rather more homely and familiar than should find place in a grave composition. Thus, it is said in p. 12., that "the King made no point of adhering to his concessions." In p. 20., we hear of men, "swearing away the lives" of their accomplices; and are afterwards told of "the style of thinking" of the country — of "the crying injustice" of certain proceedings-and of persons who were "fond of ill-treating and insulting" other persons. These, we think, are phrases too colloquial for regular history, and which the author has probably been induced to admit into this composition, from his long familiarity with spoken, rather than with written language. What is merely lively and natural in a speech, however, will often appear low and vapid in writing. The following is a still more striking illustration. In speaking of the Oxford Decree, which declared the doctrine of an original contract, the lawfulness of changing the succession, &c. to be impious as well as seditious, and leading to atheism as well as rebellion,

AND GENERAL MERITS.

37

Mr. Fox is pleased to observe -"If Much Ado about Nothing had been published in those days, the townclerk's declaration, that receiving a thousand ducats for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully, was "flat burglary," might be supposed to be a satire upon this decree; yet Shakespeare, well as he knew human nature, not only as to its general course, but in all its eccentric deviations, could never dream that, in the persons of Dogberry, Verges, and their followers, he was representing the vice-chancellors and doctors of our learned University." It would require all the credit of a wellestablished speaker, to have passed this comparison, with any success, upon the House of Commons; but even the high name of Mr. Fox, we believe, will be insufficient to conceal its impropriety in a serious passage of a history, written in imitation of Livy and Thucydides.

Occupied, indeed, as we conceive all the readers of Mr. Fox ought to be with the sentiments and the facts which he lays before them, we should scarcely have thought of noticing those verbal blemishes at all, had we not read so much in the preface, of the fastidious diligence with which the diction of this work was purified, and its style elaborated by the author. To this praise we cannnot say we think it entitled; but, to praise of a far higher description, its claim, we think, is indisputable. Independent of its singular value as a memorial of the virtues and talents of the great statesman whose name it bears, we have no hesitation in saying, that it is written more truly in the spirit of constitutional freedom, and of temperate and practical patriotism, than any history of which the public is yet in posses

sion.