with our wealth, will, without one uneasy feeling, leave us sunk in bankruptcy, distracted by faction, exposed without defence to invasion.  “A new war,” said one of these orators, “a new war, as long, as bloody, and as costly as the last, would do less mischief than has been done by the introduction of that batch of Dutchmen among the barons of the realm.”  Another was so absurd as to call on the House to declare that whoever should advise a dissolution would be guilty of high treason.  A third gave utterance to a sentiment which it is difficult to understand how any assembly of civilised and Christian men, even in a moment of strong excitement, should have heard without horror.  “They object to tacking; do they?  Let them take care that they do not provoke us to tack in earnest.  How would they like to have bills of supply with bills of attainder tacked to them?” This atrocious threat, worthy of the tribune of the French Convention in the worst days of the Jacobin tyranny, seems to have passed unreprehended.  It was meant—­such at least was the impression at the Dutch embassy—­to intimidate Somers.  He was confined by illness.  He had been unable to take any public part in the proceedings of the Lords; and he had privately blamed them for engaging in a conflict in which he justly thought that they could not be victorious.  Nevertheless, the Tory leaders hoped that they might be able to direct against him the whole force of the storm which they had raised.  Seymour, in particular, encouraged by the wild and almost savage temper of his hearers, harangued with rancorous violence against the wisdom and the virtue which presented the strongest contrast to his own turbulence, insolence, faithlessness, and rapacity.  No doubt, he said, the Lord Chancellor was a man of parts.  Anybody might be glad to have for counsel so acute and eloquent an advocate.  But a very good advocate might be a very bad minister; and, of all the ministers who had brought the kingdom into difficulties, this plausible, fair-spoken person was the most dangerous.  Nor was the old reprobate ashamed to add that he was afraid that his Lordship was no better than a Hobbist in religion.

After a long sitting the members separated; but they reassembled early on the morning of the following day, Tuesday the ninth of April.  A conference was held; and Seymour, as chief manager for the Commons, returned the bill and the amendments to the Peers in the manner which had been prescribed to him.  From the Painted Chamber he went back to the Lower House, and reported what had passed.  “If,” he said, “I may venture to judge by the looks and manner of their Lordships, all will go right.”  But within half an hour evil tidings came through the Court of Requests and the lobbies.  The Lords had divided on the question whether they would adhere to their amendments.  Forty-seven had voted for adhering, and thirty-four for giving way.  The House of Commons broke up with gloomy looks, and in great agitation.  All London looked forward to