a man—for, besides being naturally favorable
to the King's cause, he had great abilities—
made him first a Baron, and then a Viscount,
and gave him high employment, and won him
most completely.

A Parliament, however, was still in existence,
and was not to be won. On the twentieth
of January, one thousand six hundred and
twenty-nine, Sir JOHN ELIOT, a great man
who had been active in the Petition of Right,
brought forward other strong resolutions
against the King's chief instruments, and
called upon the Speaker to put them to the
vote. To this the Speaker answered, "he
was commanded otherwise by the King," and
got up to leave the chair—which, according to
the rules of the House of Commons, would
have obliged it to adjourn without doing
anything more—when two members, named Mr.
HOLLIS and Mr. VALENTINE, held him down.
A scene of great confusion arose among the
members, and while many swords were drawn
and flashing about, the King, who was kept
informed of all that was going on, told the
captain of his guard to go down to the House
and force the doors. The resolutions were
by that time, however, voted, and the House
adjourned. Sir John Eliot and those two
members who had held the Speaker down,
were quickly summoned before the council.
As they claimed it to be their privilege not
to answer out of Parliament for anything
they had said in it, they were committed to
the Tower. The King then went down and
dissolved the Parliament, in a speech wherein
he made mention of these gentlemen as
"Vipers"—which did not do him much good
that ever I have heard of.

As they refused to gain their liberty by
saying they were sorry for what they had done,
the King, always remarkably unforgiving,
never overlooked their offence. When they
demanded to be brought up before the Court
of King's Bench, he even resorted to the
meanness of having them moved about from
prison to prison, so that the writs issued for
that purpose should not legally find them.
At last they came before the court and were
sentenced to heavy fines, and to be imprisoned
during the King's pleasure. When Sir John
Eliot's health had quite given way, and he so
longed for change of air and scene as to
petition for his release, the King sent back the
answer (worthy of his Sowship himself) that
the petition was not humble enough. When
he sent another petition by his young son, in
which he pathetically offered to go back to
prison when his health was restored, if he might
be released for its recovery, the King still
disregarded it. When he died in the Tower,
and his children petitioned to be allowed to
take his body down to Cornwall, there to
lay it among the ashes of his forefathers, the
King returned for answer, "Let Sir John
Eliot's body be buried in the church of that
parish where he died." All this was like a
very little King indeed, I think.

And now, for twelve long years, steadily
pursuing his design of setting himself up and
putting the people down, the King called no
Parliament, but ruled without one. If twelve
thousand volumes were written in his praise
(as a good many have been) it would still
remain a fact, impossible to be denied, that
for twelve years King Charles the First
reigned in England unlawfully and despotically,
seized upon his subjects' goods and
money at his pleasure, and punished, according
to his unbridled will, all who ventured to
oppose him. It is a fashion with some people
to think that this King's career was cut
short; but I must say myself that I think he
ran a pretty long one.

WILLIAM LAUD, Archbishop of Canterbury,
was the King's right-hand man in the
religious part of the putting down of the people's
liberties. Laud, who was a sincere man of
large learning but small sense—for the two
things sometimes go together in very different
quantities—though a Protestant held opinions
so near those of the Catholics, that the Pope
wanted to make a Cardinal of him, if he
would have accepted that favour. He looked
upon vows, robes, lighted candles, images, and
so forth, as amazingly important in religious
ceremonies; and he brought in an immensity
of bowing and candle-snuffing. He also
regarded archbishops and bishops as a sort of
miraculous persons, and was inveterate in
the last degree against any who thought
otherwise. Accordingly, he offered up
thanks to Heaven, and was in a state of
much pious pleasure, when a Scotch clergyman
named LEIGHTON, was pilloried, whipped,
branded in the cheek, and had one of his ears
cut off, and one of his nostrils slit, for calling
bishops trumpery and the inventions of men.
He originated on a Sunday morning the
prosecution of WILLIAM PRYNNE, a barrister,
who was of similar opinions, and who was
fined a thousand pounds, who was pilloried,
who had his ears cut off on two occasions—
one ear at a time—and who was imprisoned for
life. He highly approved of the punishment
of DOCTOR BASTWICK, a physician, who was
also fined a thousand pounds, and who
afterwards had his ears cut off, and was imprisoned
for life. These were gentle methods of
persuasion, some will tell you: still, I think they
were rather calculated to be alarming to the
people.

In the money part of the putting down of
the people's liberties, the King was equally
gentle, as some will tell you: stiil, as I think,
equally alarming. He levied those duties of
tonnage and poundage, and increased them
as he thought fit. He granted monopolies to
companies of merchants on their paying him
for them, notwithstanding the great
complaints that had, for years and years, been
made on the subject of monopolies. He fined
the people for disobeying proclamations issued
by his Sowship in direct violation of the law.
He revived the detested Forest laws, and took