"On Tuesday, the 3d of June," says Rushworth, "the king's answer to the petition of right was read in the house of commons, and seemed too scant. Whereupon sir John Eliot stood up, and made a long speech, wherein he gave forth so full and lively a representation of all grievances, both general and particular, as if they had never before been mentioned."1 But observe with what consummate policy. It was not a representation of the grievances alone, such as had been urged some months before: it was a pursuit of them to their poisonous spring and source; it was an exhibition beside them of their hideous origin; it was a direction of the wrath of the people against one oppressor, whose rank was not beyond its reach; it was, in one word, a fatal blow at Charles through that quarter where alone he seemed to be vulnerable-it was, in its aim and result, a philippic against the duke of Buckingham. Demosthenes never delivered one, more clear, plain, convincing, irresistible. It calls to mind that greatest of orators. Eliot's general style was more immediately cast in the manner of Cicero, but here he rose beyond it, into the piercing region of the Greek. Demosthenic strength and closeness of reasoning, clearness of detail, and appalling earnestness of style, are all observable in the naked outline I now present. What may have been the grandeur and the strength of its complete proportions? I recollect a remark of Mr. Hazlitt's, that the author of this speech might have originated the "dogged style" of one of our celebrated political writers. "There is no affectation of wit in it," he continued, "no studied ornament, no display of fancied superiority. The speaker's whole heart and soul are in his subject; he is full of it; his mind seems, as it were, to surround and penetrate every part of it;" nothing diverts him from his purpose, or interrupts the course of his reasoning for a moment. No thought of the personal loss, then frightfully incurred, no fear of the dangers that were sure to follow. His argument rose paramount, for it was the life of the nation's liberties.1

"Mr. Speaker," Eliot began, " we sit here as the great council of the king, and, in that capacity, it is OUR DUTY to take into consideration the present state and affairs of the kingdom. In this consideration, I confess, many a sad thought hath affrighted me; and that not only in respect of our dangers from abroad, which yet I know are great, as they have been often in this place prest and dilated to us, but in respect of our disorders here at home, which do inforce those dangers, and by which they are occasioned. For, I believe, I shall make it cleare unto you, that, as at first the cause of these dangers were our disorders, so our disorders now are yet our greatest dangers. It is not so much the potency of our enemies, as the weakness of ourselves, that threatens us. That saying of the father may be assumed by us: Non tam potentia sua, quam negligentia nostra. Our want of true devotion to heaven, our insincerity and doubling in religion, our want of councils, our precipitate actions, the insufficiency or unfaithfulness of our generals abroad, the ignorance or corruptions of our ministers at home, the impoverishing of the sovereign, the oppression and depression of the subject, the exhausting of our treasures, the waste of our provisions, consumption of our ships, destruction of our men these make the advantage to our enemies, not the reputation of their arms. And if in these there be not reformation, we need no foes abroad. Time itself will ruin us!"

It is a saying of May, 'the historian, in reference to this and other speeches, that "the freedom that sir John Eliot used in parliament, was by the people applauded, though much taxed by the courtiers, and censured by some of a more politique reserve (considering the times) among his own party, in that kind that Tacitus censures Thraseas Pœtus, as thinking such freedom a needlesse, and therefore a foolish thing, where no cure could be hoped by it. Sibi periculum, nec aliis libertatem." This is the old reproach of the timid and indifferent. I am about to show, in the present instance, that he incurred the danger, which soon after fell upon his life, in no spirit of idle forwardness, but for the achievement of a great practical purpose, which he did achieve.

A slight interruption from the ministers here appears to have given Eliot a moment's pause. With admirable address he appealed to the house. "You will all hold it necessary that what I am about to urge seems not an aspersion on the state, or imputation on the government, as I have known such motions misinterpreted. Far is this from me to propose, who have none but clear thoughts of the excellency of the king, nor can have other ends than the advancement of his majesty's glory. I shall desire," he continued, "a little of your patience extraordinary to open the particulars, which I shall do with what brevity I may, answerable to the importance of the cause, and the necessity now upon us, yet with such respect and observation to the time, as I hope it shall not be thought troublesome."

He then proceeded to open up the question of " insincerity and doubling in religion." He pursued it through many strong and terrible examples. "Will you have authority of books?" he asked, furnishing them with a series of the most striking passages from the recent collections of the committee that had been sitting on religious affairs. "Will you have proofs of men?" he continued. "Witness the hopes, witness the presumptions, witness the reports of all the papists generally. Observe the dispositions of commanders, the trust of officers, the confidence in secretaries to employments in this kingdom, in Ireland, and elsewhere! These all will show it hath too great a certainty; and to this add but the incontrovertible evidence of that all-powerful hand, which we have felt so sorely. For if the heavens oppose themselves to us for our impiety, it is we that first opposed the heavens."

Eliot next handled the "want of councils." "This," he said, "is that great disorder in a state, with which there cannot be stability. If effects may show their causes, as they are often a perfect demonstration of them, our misfortunes, our disasters, serve to prove it, and the consequences they draw with them. If reason be allowed in this dark age, the judgment of dependencies and foresight of contingencies in affairs do confirm it. For, if we view ourselves at home, are we in strength, are we in reputation, equal to our ancestors ? If we view ourselves abroad, are our friends as many, are our enemies no more? Do our friends retain their safety and possessions? Do not our enemies enlarge themselves, and gain from them and us? To what counsel owe we the loss of the Palatinate, where we sacrificed both our honour and our men, obstructing those greater powers appointed for that service, by which it might have been defensible? What counsel gave direction to the late action, whose wounds are yet bleeding I mean the expedition to Rhée, of which there is yet so sad a memory in all men? What design for us, or advantage to our state, could that import ? You know the wisdom of our ancestors, and the practice of their times; how they preserved their safeties! We all know, and have as much cause to doubt as they had, the greatness and ambition of that kingdom, WHICH THE OLD WORLD COULD NOT SATISFY.1 Against this greatness and ambition we likewise know the proceedings of that princess, that never-to-be-forgotten, excellent queen, Elizabeth, whose name, without admiration, falls not into mention even with her enemies! You know how she advanced herself, and how she advanced this nation in glory and in state; how she depressed her enemies, and how she upheld her friends; how she enjoyed a full security, and made them then our scorn, who now are made our terror!"

The principles of that policy by which Elizabeth had effected all this, Eliot now developed to the house, exhibiting beside them the singularly opposite and pitiful contrast of the prevailing policy. The passage is remarkable for its subtlety, no less than for its exactest truth. "Some of the principles she built on were these; and, if I mistake, let reason and our statesmen contradict me. - First, to maintain, in what she might, an unity in France, that that kingdom, being at peace within itself, might be a bulwark to keep back the power of Spain by land. Next, to preserve an amity and league between that state and us, that so we might come in aid of the Low Countries, and by that means receive their ships and help them by sea. This TREBLE CORD, so working between France, the States, and England, might enable us, as occasion should require, to give assistance unto others. It was by this means, the experience of that time doth tell us, that we were not only free from those fears that now possess and trouble us, but our names were also fearful to our enemies. See now what correspondency our actions have with this; square them by these rules. They have induced, as a necessary consequence, a division in France between the protestants and their king, of which we have had too woful and lamentable experience. They have made an absolute breach between that state and us, and so entertain us against France, and France in preparation against us, that we have nothing to promise to our neighbours hardly to ourselves! Nay, observe the time in which they were attempted, and you shall find it not only varying from those principles, but directly contrary and opposite, ex diametro, to those ends! and such as, from the issue and success, rather might be thought a conception of Spain, than begotten here with us!"

Every word was now falling with tremendous effect upon Buckingham, and the ministers could endure it no longer. Sir Humphry May, the chancellor of the duchy, and one of the privy council, started from his seat, "expressing," as Rushworth states it, "a dislike. But the house ordered sir John Eliot to go on. Whereupon he proceeded thus : - ' Mr. Speaker, I am sorry for this interruption, but much more sorry if there hath been occasion; - wherein, as I shall submit myself wholly to your judgment, to receive what censure you should give me, if I have offended; so, in the integrity of my intentions and clearness of my thoughts, I must still retain this confidence, - that no greatness shall deter