THE eldest son of Sir William Wentworth, of Wentworth Wodehouse, county York, by Anne Atkinson, of Stowel, county Gloucester. Educated at home, and afterwards at Cambridge, where he gained an excellent reputation for conduct and study. His father dying when Thomas was twenty-one, he found himself at that early age the Master of Wentworth, of large estates and property, the husband ‘of a fair wife,’ (the daughter of Francis Earl of Cumberland,) and the guardian of a flock of young relatives, yet he found time not only for the diligent pursuit of study, but for the relaxations of ‘hunting, hawking, and fishing;’ in fact, for all the varied business and pleasures of a country life.
But he was not long allowed to remain in the privacy of Wentworth, being elected member for York, and Custos Rotulorum. This was in the place of Lord Savile, who had been compelled to resign for misconduct. But Sir Thomas had not held the office long before the Duke of Buckingham requested him to retire, that Savile might be reinstated, a proposition which so nettled his high spirit that he couched an indignant refusal in terms that made a lifelong enemy of the haughty favourite.
Sir Thomas was for some time a silent member in the House of Commons, although warmly espousing the Liberal side in politics, and making a vigorous stand against the encroachments of the Court party, a course he pursued after the accession of Charles I. The hatred of Buckingham was not likely to be appeased by such conduct, and through his instrumentality Wentworth had the office of High Sheriff thrust upon him in order to disqualify him from voting, and soon afterwards he was summarily dismissed from the post of Custos Rotulorum. He received the Royal despatch while sitting on the bench of magistrates, and reading it aloud with pardonable indignation, observed, ‘It might easily be believed by what means I could retain my post, but that would cost too dear. Yet I know of no fault in myself, or virtue in my successor, that would justify such a step.’
In the ensuing year he stoutly refused to contribute to a loan levied without the consent of Parliament, and was summoned before the Council, where, while animadverting on the conduct of the ‘Court vermin,’ Wentworth took the opportunity of expressing his devoted loyalty to the person of Charles I., and his desire to serve His Majesty in any manner compatible with his own sense of patriotism. Nevertheless he was sentenced to be imprisoned in the Marshalsea, an act of injustice which did not prejudice him in favour of his persistent enemy the Duke of Buckingham and his party.
On his release Wentworth became a vigorous leader of the opposition, ‘and took the field,’ as it was said, ‘with the Pyms and the Prynnes’ against the King’s Government, supporting with all the eloquence of which he was master, the memorable Petition of Rights to which the King was compelled to give a tardy, but full consent. Then Sir Thomas Wentworth adopted that sudden line of conduct, which has been so differently judged, so differently described, by different historians. He declared his conviction that the nation might now be well content with the concessions made by the Crown, bade adieu ‘to the Pyms, the Prynnes,’ and their policy, walked over to the other side of the House, went through the form of a reconciliation with the Duke of Buckingham, and proffered his services, head, heart, and sword, to the Royal cause. The opposition (above all the ‘Puritan party’) was worked to a pitch of fury, and heaped opprobrium on his name,—‘an apostate, a traitor, a time-server;’ while the Royalists upheld the conduct of a man who chose the moment of impending danger to rally round the unsteady throne and the unpopular Sovereign.
Charles naturally received him with open arms, and the honours which were heaped upon him increased the ire of his enemies. His former ally, Pym, meeting him one day at Greenwich, uttered these ominous words: ‘You are going to leave us, but I will never leave you while you have a head upon your shoulders,’ a promise too cruelly redeemed. The murder of the Duke of Buckingham removed every obstacle to the advancement of Sir Thomas Wentworth; he was raised to the Peerage by the titles of Baron and Viscount Wentworth, and being appointed to the arduous post of Lord Deputy, and Commander-in-chief in Ireland, he sailed for that ‘distracted country’ with a code he had drawn up for his own government in his pocket, from which he never swerved.
Lord Wentworth’s administration of Irish affairs, his transient popularity, his reforms in all matters, civil, military, and religious, his quarrels with the Irish nobles, punctilio in matters of form and etiquette, his hurried voyages to and from England, are all subjects of deep interest, but too lengthy to be discussed here. It would have been well for him if he had taken the advice of his life-long friend and correspondent, Archbishop Laud, and ‘curbed his impetuosity, and avoided prosecutions, and the like.’
The correspondence between these two remarkable men, (whose friendship, in the spirit of their joint motto and watchword, was ‘Thorough’,) although treating, for the most part, of grave and important subjects, was interspersed (more especially on the Prelate’s part) with playful raillery and constant allusions to the sports of the field, in which they both delighted. The Lord Deputy had gained great odium in consequence of a severe sentence passed by him, in a court-martial, upon an Irish Peer, as failing in his duty as an officer, and the cry was so great against him that Wentworth judged it best to go and tell his own tale to the King of England.
On his return to his government a harder task than ever awaited him. Finding that the disaffection of the Scotch to the Crown had produced a baneful influence on the sister country, he set himself to work to counteract that influence, and his prompt and vigorous measures made him (already too well provided with enemies) an object of detestation to the greater part of the Scottish nation. In 1639 he again crossed to England, where he received the long-coveted Earldom of Strafford, was nominated Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, taken into the King’s full confidence, and became for a time virtually Prime Minister. War with Scotland, Parliaments summoned in England and Ireland, and subsidies demanded,—these were some of Strafford’s proposed measures. From his own privy purse he contributed (as an example) £20,000 towards defraying the expenses of the coming campaign.
To make use of a homely proverb, ‘The grass was never allowed to grow under’ Strafford’s feet. He crossed to Ireland, called a Parliament, obtained large subsidies, summoned a council of war, raised a large body of men to serve under his command in Scotland. Then he took a painful farewell of his beloved children,—‘those dear young whelps, God bless them! for the old dog there is less matter,’ and all this in the space of one fortnight.
Borne down as he was by continued ill-health and increasing bodily infirmities, Lord Strafford was so anxious to return to England that he insisted on crossing in a storm which daunted the sailors, and he had nearly died at Chester; yet, in spite of all expostulations, he resolved to proceed to London, and caused himself on his arrival to be carried into the Council-chamber in a litter, to all appearance in an expiring condition.
But too much remained for him to do, and the spirit was victorious over the body. On the dissolution of Parliament, Strafford accepted a military command, (against the Scots,) under the ostensible command of the Earl of Northumberland, who, however, was either too sick, or feigned to be so, to prove efficient, and the real duties fell to Strafford’s share. He came up with the King at York, and found the army in a sad plight—‘hope and spirit fled, and the Royal cause in the dust.’
Unable to walk, scarcely able to sit upright on his saddle, his energy was indomitable. He rallied the troops, upbraided the sluggishness of the leaders, and set a brilliant example to the whole army. But the King stayed his hand, and thwarted the vigorous tactics of his General, the command was in fact taken from him, although Charles was eager in his praises, and gave Strafford the Garter at York. He, moreover, insisted that they should travel together to London—two victims hastening to their doom.
Strafford was averse to the plan, foreseeing the danger which menaced him at the opening of Parliament, and his presentiment was realised, for a few days after the commencement of the session Pym began his long-meditated attack.
The bloodhounds were on the track, the hunt was up!
Lord Strafford was in the House of Lords, when Pym appeared at the bar to impeach him of high treason. He was allowed but a short time to say a few words, and was compelled to listen to the charge on his knees, then given into custody, and lodged in the Tower.
We deeply regret the limited space which forbids us to do more than glance at the circumstances of Strafford’s trial and defence, though in truth it is a well-known tale.
A Scotchman, and an enemy, gives a most graphic description of the noble scene which Westminster Hall presented on the occasion, crowded to the roof—the King, the Queen, the whole Court and nobility of England, ladies of the highest rank, whose tears flowed copiously, and who were unanimous in their verdict in favour of the illustrious prisoner.
It was well said by the elder D’Israeli, ‘that Strafford’s eloquence was so great as to perpetuate the sympathy which it received in the hour of his agony.’ He had, indeed, need of eloquence. Every obstacle was thrown in his way, especially in the matter of summoning witnesses in his favour, while his personal enemies were invited from all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland. His confidence was betrayed, his words perverted; the proceedings were unlawful and unprecedented; but the Solicitor-General overruled such arguments by declaring that for ‘wolves and wild beasts of prey’ no law could be given, and that the prisoner ought to be knocked on the head.
Whereupon with difficulty a bill of attainder was provided, and some members who gave negative votes had their names posted up in the city as ‘Straffordians.’ The two Houses had passages of arms on the subject; but the vultures were hovering round, and would not be disappointed of their prey. Thus Thomas Earl of Strafford was declared guilty of high treason.
We will not dwell on the sad passage in Charles’s sad life. He had pledged his royal word, ‘You shall not suffer in honour, in fortune, or in life.’ Feeble attempts at intercession with the dreaded power of the Parliament, hesitation and delay, and then he signed the death-warrant of his devoted friend, weeping as he did so—yet he signed, laying up for himself hours of deep remorse, during the few years that he survived. The generous captive indeed wrote to his master to absolve him from his promise, but when he learned that he must prepare for death, he raised his eyes to heaven, exclaiming, ‘Put not your trust in princes, or in any child of men.’
During the short interval between the sentence and the execution, the prisoner, ‘resigned and at home with his own fate, experienced in full all that inward strength which had grown up with the unconscious religion of a noble life.’[1]
1. Mozley.
He busied himself with his religious duties, with the settlement of his worldly affairs, and in writing wise, tender, and pathetic letters to his relatives, particularly to his eldest son. He petitioned to be allowed an interview with his well-loved friend and fellow-prisoner, Archbishop Laud, but was cruelly refused, and only permitted to send him a message, asking his prayers, and entreating that he would wave him a blessing as he passed to execution.
Accordingly on the 12th of May 1641, Strafford, on his way to the scaffold, raised his eyes to the window of the cell where Laud was confined, and perceived the Prelate’s aged and trembling hands extended through the bars, in token of a solemn farewell.
So overcome was Laud by grief and emotion, that he fell backwards on the floor of his dungeon in a swoon.
The avenues to the Tower were lined with thousands of eager spectators, and the lieutenant hurried his prisoner into the carriage lest he should be torn in pieces. Strafford smiled, and said ‘it mattered little to him whether he died by the hands of the executioner or by those of the people.’ He had ‘faced death too often to fear it in any shape.’
The mob glared on him as he passed, but offered him no indignity, for he marched, says a spectator, ‘like a general at the head of his army, bowing with lofty courtesy to the gazing crowd.’ His friend Archbishop Usher and his brother Sir George Wentworth were already on the platform when he came, as he said, ‘to pay his last debt to sin, which was death.’ He submitted to the judgment with a contented mind. He affirmed that his whole aim through life had been the joint and individual prosperity of the King, and the people, although it had been his misfortune to be misconstrued: ‘righteous judgment,’ he said, ‘shall be hereafter.’
He stoutly denied the charges of upholding despotism and Popery, asked forgiveness of all men whom he had offended, and prayed that ‘we may all live to meet eternally in heaven, where all tears shall be wiped from our eyes, and sad thoughts from our hearts.’ Then he prayed for some time, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer; bade farewell to those near him, and embracing his brother, delivered the most pathetic messages to different members of his family, to his sister, his wife, with admonitions to his eldest son ‘to fear God, be a good subject to the King, and faithful to the Church of England,’ etc. etc.; forbidding him to harbour any feelings of revenge. ‘Give my blessings also to my daughters, Anne, (‘the sweet little Mistress Nan, his loved companion, the image of her dead mother,’) to Arabella, named after the dear saint, to the little infant who cannot speak for itself—God speak for it. One stroke,’ he said, ‘will make my wife husbandless, my children fatherless, my servants masterless, and separate me from my dear brother and all my friends. But let God be to you, and to them, all in all.’ About to take off his doublet, he thanked God he could do so as cheerfully as ever he did when going to bed. And then he looked round and forgave the executioner and all the world. It was indeed an imposing scene: Strafford apparently restored on that momentous day to all the energy of health and vigour; his tall and symmetrical figure, his regular features, with a complexion ‘pallid, but manly, black, like polished armour that had received many a hack and bruise in the battle of life.’
Once more he knelt in prayer, between the Archbishop of Armagh and the minister, tried the block, and finally having warned the executioner that such would be the sign, he stretched forth his white and beautifully formed hands, those hands which Vandyck has immortalised, which Henrietta Maria, his sworn enemy, had pronounced ‘the finest in the world,’ and one stroke from the cruel axe ended the mortal career of Thomas Earl of Strafford. Yet his name still continues a firebrand, between contending parties, in religion and politics. His faithful and devoted friend, Sir George Radcliffe, pays a most touching tribute to his memory in a well-sketched mental portraiture, and among many noble traits he mentions ‘that my Lord was not angry when told of his weaknesses, though let it be remembered that by nature he was of a hot and hasty spirit, for he was a man and not an angel, yet such a man as made conscience of his ways, and did endeavour to grow in virtue and victory over himself.’
He was thrice married, first, as we have already said, to Lady Margaret Clifford, who died childless; next to the Lady Arabella Holles, daughter to the Earl of Clare, by whom he had one son, his successor; Anne, married to Lord Rockingham, and Arabella, married to the son of my Lord Clancarty.
Of Lord Strafford’s second and best loved wife, Radcliffe writes: ‘She was a lady exceeding comely and beautiful, and yet more lovely in the endowments of her mind.’
There was a mystery attending his third marriage, (which was clandestine,) with Elizabeth, daughter to Sir Godfrey Rhodes. They parted almost immediately after the ceremony, and he was some time before he would acknowledge her openly. Their correspondence was singular, in one letter he promises to be a good husband; in another, he reminds her that she is the successor of two of the noblest ladies of the time. Laud, in writing his congratulations, is rather jocose on the subject, but it does not quite appear whether the doubt existed as to the lady’s character, or to the fitness of her birth and breeding. Her husband’s letters to her during his trial are couched in affectionate terms. She bore him several children, one of whom alone survived him.
Of his connection with that beautiful schemer, Lady Carlisle, the ‘Erinnys of politics’ (born Percy), there can be no doubt, and the undue influence she exercised over him,—she who (says Sir Philip Warwick) changed her gallant from Strafford to Pym, going over to his deadly enemy.
But there were many other names coupled with his, apparently without any reason, save the love of slander.
THE second son of James the First by Anne of Denmark. Married Henrietta Maria of France. Dethroned and beheaded by his subjects.
DAUGHTER of Henry IV., King of France, by Marie de Medicis, and wife of Charles the First, King of England.
SECOND son of James, second Marquis of Hamilton, by Anne, daughter of James Conyngham, seventh Earl of Glencairn. Educated at the University of Glasgow, and afterwards travelled in foreign countries. His brother, who was ten years his senior, was the friend and companion of King Charles I., who raised him to a Dukedom. William, in returning home after his tour, reckoned on his brother’s influence for promotion at Court, and applied for the post of Master of the Horse to the Queen. The refusal he met with, although founded on the plea of a previous promise to another, so angered young Hamilton that he announced his intention of going back to France, and it was with difficulty he was dissuaded from so doing by prospects of speedy advancement. He had not long to wait. In 1639 he was created Baron Polmont and Machanshire, and Earl of Arran and Lanark, and the following year Secretary of State for Scotland, honours which must surely have satisfied this ardent and ambitious spirit, although Scotland was at that moment in such a state of fermentation that the direction of her affairs was far too arduous for a young man totally unacquainted with public business. Lord Lanark therefore looked to his brother as a man of ability and experience for advice and guidance. The mother of the two Hamiltons, a determined and energetic woman, had early instilled into the mind of her first-born the religious tenets in which she had been educated by her father, a staunch Covenanter; and the elder had no difficulty in imparting his views to the younger brother, and the two young men conceived, says Lodge, ‘the impracticable scheme of uniting and reconciling the actual monarchy with a Calvinistic Church.’
For two years Lord Lanark strove, on the one hand, to persuade the King to make all manner of humiliating concessions to the Covenanters, while on the other he used fruitless endeavours to stem the tide of the rebellious outbreak; and naturally he was unsuccessful in both instances. Charles’s partiality for the house of Hamilton was no help to him in his troubles north of the Tweed. In 1642, the Scotch having called a Parliament without the royal sanction, the King wrote,—‘If, notwithstanding our refusal, and the endeavours of our well affected subjects and servants to hinder it, there shall be a Convention of the Estates, we wish all those who are right affected to us should be present at it, but do nothing but only protest against their meeting and actions.’ The Hamiltons accordingly took their seats, but were silent members on most occasions. Their conduct in several instances was most inconsistent, and when the Scotch Parliament, following the example of their English brethren, levied troops in the King’s name to make war on Charles himself, Lanark actually affixed the royal signet to the proclamation for the levy!
Such behaviour naturally incensed all true-hearted Royalists, and the Duke of Montrose especially was so disgusted that he hastened to Oxford, where the Court then was, to denounce the brothers. They on their part, discovering his intention, thought it wisest to follow him, but were arrested and imprisoned on their arrival. Lanark soon found means to escape to London, and afterwards to Scotland, where he recommenced his temporising policy, professing all the while deep attachment to the King, which did not prevent his joining the Covenanters against the Duke of Montrose. So contradictory a proceeding led to the rumour that he acted in obedience to secret orders from the King himself, who soon afterwards received him back into favour, and reinstated him in the Secretaryship of which he had been deprived. Charles’s conduct with regard to the Duke was inexplicable, for when that nobleman, who had been for some time a prisoner in Pendennis Castle, Cornwall, (whence he was released by the chances of war,) joined the King at Newcastle, he was received without the slightest signs of anger. Neither did Charles resent the manner in which Lanark endeavoured to enforce the bitter terms proposed by the Scottish Parliament, although he resolutely refused to submit to such conditions. This was in 1646, when the idea was entertained of delivering up the person of the King to the English Commissioner. Lanark, however, was roused on this occasion, and exclaimed indignantly, ‘As God shall have mercy on my soul at the great day, I would choose rather to have my head struck off at the Market Cross of Edinburgh than give my consent to this vote.’ He was now in constant attendance on the King, who treated him with great confidence. The Duke of Hamilton placed himself at the head of an army of Scottish Royalists, and made an irruption into England, but was defeated by Cromwell’s forces and taken prisoner. His trial and execution followed shortly after that of the King himself; and about the same time, Lanark, being deprived of his public offices and proscribed by the Government, fled to Holland.
It was not, indeed, till his arrival in that country, Clarendon says, ‘that he knew he was Duke Hamilton by the slaughter of his brother;’ Charles II. received the new Duke with affection and sympathy. Lanark had loved his brother with a blind affection, which led to his following him on many occasions against his own views.
He said his condition had been very hard, for having been bred up in the Church of England, for which he had a great reverence, he had been forced to comply with the Covenant, which he perfectly detested. Charles gave him the Garter, and took him in his suite to Scotland, where, not being permitted to enter the capital, he retired to the isle of Arran, whence he was recalled by the King’s orders.
At the commencement of the ensuing year he raised a body of men for His Majesty’s service, and distinguished himself at their head against the English Roundheads in Scotland, and was appointed Lieutenant-General of the Scotch army under orders to cross the Border. Hamilton’s inclination was to march on London, but his wishes were overruled by the King. Cromwell came up with the Royalist troops, and gave them battle at Worcester—a sad day for England’s nobles, when so many fell. Bishop Burnet tells us how devoutly and piously the Duke passed the vigil of his last battle. Stationed at his post at an early hour, he saw with dismay (shortly after the commencement of the action) his own regiment in retreat, and rashly galloped forward to rally the fugitives. A shot in the leg shattered the bone, and the brave General fell into the hands of his enemies. But the wound (though it proved mortal) saved him from the fate that had attended his brother. He only survived eight days, the surgeons quarrelling all the time over the question of amputation. There is a tradition in Worcester that the body of the Duke was buried provisionally, under the hearthstone, in the room of a hospital, (now a Blind School,) called the Commandery, before it was transferred to the Cathedral. Lord Clarendon says of Duke William: ‘He was much to be preferred to his brother, a wiser, but less cunning man, an accomplished person; and though he had been led into some unwarrantable actions, it was evident it was not through his own inclination. In his death he showed a great cheerfulness, that he had the honour to die for the King, and thereby wipe out the memory of his former transgressions, which was odious to himself.’ Burnet says from a child he could never on any temptation be made to lie.
His faults seem to have been greatly owing to a blind adherence to the proceedings and opinions of his brother. The Bishop describes William Duke of Hamilton ‘as of middle stature, complexion black, but very agreeable, and his whole mien noble and sprightful.’ He married in 1638 Lady Elizabeth Maxwell, eldest daughter and co-heir of James Earl of Dirleton, in Scotland, and by her had one son who died an infant, and five daughters.
THE biography of ‘the day-star of the Reformation’ belongs to the history of the world, and we have no space for a notice of the principal events of his life. He was the son of a miner, originally intended for the study of civil law, but being struck by lightning, his mind took a strong religious turn, and he eventually became a priest. It is well known how his indignation was aroused by the sale of indulgences, and other abuses of the Church of Rome, and with what indomitable courage and energy he upheld and promulgated his opinions, enduring persecution, danger, and imprisonment for conscience’ sake. He married Catherine von Bora, who had been a nun, a step which gave great offence in many quarters.
He is one of those men whose name is a history in itself.
HE was the son of Anthony de Bourbon and Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre. Brought up by his mother in the strictest principles of the Protestant faith, whose champion he became, defending it by speech and sword. He was heir to the throne of France, as well as Navarre, in right of descent from Louis IX., called St. Louis. On the death of Henry III. he succeeded him as King, and it was then he embraced the Roman Catholic faith, although he watched over the interests of his former friends as far as was consistent with the policy of his government.
The Edict of Nantes in 1595 was most advantageous to the Huguenots. Henry was for some time involved in foreign warfare, but peace was at length established. Though having at heart the improvement and the well-being of his subjects of all conditions, yet parties ran so high that his life was constantly attempted. It was reserved for the hand of a fanatic, one Ravaillac, (a monk, whose ill conduct had caused him to be expelled from his convent,) to terminate the valuable life of this great and noble Prince. He was twice married, first to Margaret de Valois, sister to Charles IX., the King and Queen-Mother having elected to make the terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew one of the features of rejoicing for these ill-starred nuptials. From her he was divorced, and married as his second wife Marie de Medicis.
HIS father, Henry Duke of Buckingham, was executed in the reign of Richard III., but the titles and estates were restored to his son. Edward accompanied Henry VIII. to France when he went to meet the French King. He was a great favourite with his Sovereign, which caused him to be an object of jealousy at Court, and his downfall was planned by influential foes, amongst whom Wolsey was accounted the chief. Buckingham was the last to occupy the post of Lord High Constable of England, an office of great power and emolument. Accused of high treason, his enemies went so far as to say he aspired to the Crown, it having been prophesied by one Hopkins, a monk, that King Henry would die without male issue. The Duke was found guilty on very insufficient evidence, and beheaded on Tower Hill. His name and memory are endeared to us, through the inspired pages of Shakespeare—the eloquent description of his character given by the King himself, even while he promised him no mercy, and the appeal of Queen Katherine, pathetic, but unavailing, ‘that the Lord Cardinal should deliver all his evidence in charity.’
SIR Thomas Finch, Privy Councillor to Queen Elizabeth, holding many lucrative offices under the Crown, had an only daughter, Elizabeth, by his wife, the daughter of Sir Nicholas Poyntz, of Acton Poyntz, county Gloucester. Sir Thomas left his heiress a very large fortune, and she married Sir Moyle Finch, and was the grandmother of the first Earl of Nottingham of that name. Sir Moyle died in 1614, and his widow was created Viscountess Maidstone in 1623, and in 1628 further advanced to the grade of Countess of Winchilsea. Her fourth son, Heneage, was a celebrated lawyer, Speaker of the House of Commons, and the friend of Bacon. He married the daughter of Sir Edmond Bell of Beaupré, county Suffolk, and their eldest child was the subject of this memoir.
He was born at his father’s beautiful estate of Eastwell in Kent, but passed most of his youth at Kensington, which property, it may here be observed, was purchased by William III. of Finch’s grandson, and has remained in possession of the Crown ever since.
Heneage received a good education at Westminster and Oxford, and went to Christ Church in 1645, where he was steady and studious; but the sudden death of his father, from whom he inherited a large fortune, called him away from the University before he had taken his degree. Rich as he was, it did not suit the young man’s taste to remain without a profession; and he began to study law in the Inner Temple, where he soon gained a name for fluency of speech and readiness of reply, and was called to the bar before the usual time in consideration of his proficiency.
During the Protectorate Finch contented himself with an extensive private practice, and having married Elizabeth Harvey, daughter of a London merchant, lived a happy domestic life with his ‘pretty and dearly-loved wife.’ He came of too loyal a family, and shared their opinions too truly, to be popular with the powers that then were, or to seek their favour.
His kinsman, Sir John Finch, (Speaker of the House of Commons,) had made himself so obnoxious to the Government that he had found it advisable to fly the country, while another cousin was in actual attendance on the King’s person.
At the time of the Restoration, Heneage Finch contrived to ingratiate himself with His Majesty by getting up a memorial, signed by the principal inhabitants of his county, to show forth that none of ‘the men of Kent’ had had any participation in the ‘murder of Charles the Martyr.’ At all events, it was not long after his Restoration that the King summoned him from his retreat, named him Solicitor-General, and gave him a Baronetcy. In return for these honours perhaps it might have been that Sir Heneage pursued the prosecution of the regicides with great violence, and would willingly have brought John Milton to condign punishment on account of his political tendencies.
He served in several Parliaments for Canterbury, Oxford, etc., but never gave up his profession, and as a true Templar he acquired great ‘kudos’ (in 1601) by an eloquent course of lectures, which he delivered, in his capacity of Reader, at the Temple. Surely that time-honoured pile had never witnessed such a brilliant concourse as flocked to listen to the law and learning of the future Lord Chancellor. All the dignitaries of London, in the robes of their respective callings, municipal, clerical, commercial, legal, and the last day of the course many Peers of the realm, members of the royal household, in barges of State, attended by servants in scarlet and white doublets, the King’s own Majesty, accompanied by the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, and numerous grandees. This was but the shadow of coming honours.
Sir Heneage continued in Parliament for some time, now gaining, now losing, popularity with his constituents, for voting as he thought fit on important measures.
In 1670 he became Attorney-General on the death of Sir Jeffrey Palmer, having exercised the duties of the office for some time past. His ambition, however, suffered a temporary disappointment, when, on the removal of Sir Orlando Bridgeman, he saw his rival, Lord Shaftesbury, elevated to the Woolsack in his despite.
But he had not long to wait for his enemy’s downfall. At the end of 1673 the Great Seal of England was consigned to him, and the beginning of the next year saw him Lord Keeper, with the title of Baron Finch of Daventry, in the county of Northampton, and other dignities.
In 1677 he sat as Lord High Steward of England on the trial of Philip Earl of Pembroke, and in 1680 on that of William Howard, Viscount Stafford, where his speech, in which he passed sentence on that unfortunate nobleman, (accused of plotting against the King,) was pronounced a model of eloquence, but scarcely of justice. Burnet, who found great fault with him in many ways, testifies to his probity, yet other writers insinuate that he consulted the royal wishes on many points of law, at least before he had attained to the heights of his ambition.
Be that as it may, he was very firm on all matters where the interests of the Reformed Church were concerned. In his latter days Lord Finch became so great a sufferer from gout that he was for some time incapacitated from attending his duties in public, and he did not long survive the last mark of royal favour, dying within a year after the Earldom of Nottingham had been conferred on him.
This great lawyer, who has been called ‘the Father of Equity,’ and ‘Finch the Silver Tongue,’ died at his house in Queen Street, Covent Garden, and was buried at Ravenstone, near Olney, county Bucks, where a grand monument assigns him every virtue under the sun. He had fourteen children, of whom the eldest son was the ancestor of the present Earl of Winchilsea and Nottingham, and the second of the Earl of Aylesford.
Lord Nottingham was a liberal patron of literary men, and encouraged rising talent. As Bishop Warburton quaintly expresses it, (in a letter to Lady Mansfield, Nottingham’s granddaughter, and wife of the celebrated Judge,) ‘He was elegantly ambitious to give the last polish to his country by patronage of learning and science.’
In the distribution of Church preferment he was very conscientious, and often said, ‘God knows, I would not willingly appoint one unworthy.’ He was by no means of a grasping disposition, and having a good private fortune, gave up of his own accord £4000 a year, which was allowed him in his official capacity for the expenses of the table.
In ‘Absalom and Achitophel,’ Dryden contrasts him, (by the name of Amri,) in most complimentary terms, with Lord Shaftesbury.
Alluding to the English laws, the poet says he had fathomed them all:—
Worth says, that ‘the business, rather than the justice of the Court, flourished exceedingly under Finch.’ Another opinion has it that ‘he was a formalist, and took much pleasure in encouraging and listening to nice distinctions of law, instead of taking a broad view of the equity of each case.’ So do historians differ. It was said he had such fear of thieves stealing his wand of office, that he used to sleep with the mace under his pillow.
A NATIVE of Devonshire. When a youth of seventeen he became involved in some local quarrel, where, says the Biographie Universelle, ‘par excès d’amour filial, il maltraita le sous-Sheriff d’Exeter.’ He was sent to sea, and served at one time under the Duke of Buckingham. In 1629 he entered an English regiment in Holland, where he studied the art of war with great diligence, and was remarkable for his steadiness of conduct, and the discipline he maintained among the soldiers, treating them at the same time with uniform kindness. In 1639 he returned to England; and in Charles I.’s disastrous expedition to Scotland, Monck displayed great skill in command of the artillery, though productive of no good results. He then went to Ireland on promotion, where he did considerable service, and was made Governor of Dublin; but the Parliament intervening, he was suspended from the office; and on the conclusion of a treaty (by the King’s command) with the Irish rebels, he once more returned to England.
On his arrival he found that doubts of his fidelity had been implanted in Charles’s mind, but on joining him at Oxford, he completely cleared himself, was promoted, and ordered to relieve Sandwich, where he was taken prisoner by the Roundheads and sent to the Tower. During the two years of his captivity Monck steadily refused all overtures made to him by the Protector, and occupied his leisure hours in making notes on military and political subjects. Cromwell entertained a high opinion of his soldier-like qualities, and offered him the alternative of prolonged imprisonment or a command to put down the Irish rebels under O’Neill. Monck accepted the latter, but was ill supported by the Government at home, so much so that he was reluctantly compelled to sign a truce with the insurgents. For this he was called to account on his return to England, but he was too useful that Cromwell should afford to quarrel with him again; and so he was despatched to Scotland, where he did much service. The Protector at the time was well aware of the General’s loyal proclivities, and wrote to him shortly before his death: ‘There be those that tell me there is a certain cunning fellow in Scotland called General Monck, who is said to lie in wait there to introduce Charles Stuart. I pray you to use your diligence to apprehend him and send him up to me.’
The share which Monck took in the Restoration is too well known to be repeated here. Charles called him his father, gave him the Garter, created him Baron Monck, Earl of Torrington, and Duke of Albemarle, and appointed him Lieutenant-General of the forces of the United Kingdom, with a large income.
In 1653 he married or acknowledged his marriage with Anne, daughter of John Clarges, who had long resided under his roof,—‘a lady,’ says Guizot, ‘whose manners were more vulgar and less simple than those of her husband, and who was the laughing-stock of a witty and satirical Court.’
The French historian speaks disparagingly of the great General, but in the time of the plague, when the King and Ministers left London, the Duke remained to watch over the necessities of the wretched inhabitants, to save families from pillage, and to alleviate the sufferings of the poor. He was afloat when the fire occurred, and the general cry was: ‘Ah, if old George had been here, this would not have happened.’
He died in his sixty-second year, leaving an enormous fortune to his spendthrift son Christopher, and was buried in Westminster Abbey with great splendour, Charles II. attending the funeral. Guizot says: ‘C’etoit un homme capable de grandes choses, quoiqu’il n’eut pas de grandeur dans l’âme.’ His jealousy of his noble comrade Lord Sandwich seems to bear out the French historian’s opinion in some measure. In his last illness he was much occupied in the arrangement of the alliance of his surviving son Christopher (the death of the elder had been a terrible blow to him) with the heiress of the wealthy Duke of Newcastle. His death was peaceful: he expired in his arm-chair without a groan.