University of Virginia Library

LETTER IV.

In the neighbourhood of Richmond, I was attracted by the
appearance of a grand house, which, upon inquiry, I learned
was built by a noted brewer of that village. This monument
of the inveterate beer-drinking propensity of the nation, is one
of the largest private dwellings I have seen in this country.
The story went, that it was finally devised to an Oxfordshire
baronet, who, not dealing in beer, could not afford to keep up
the establishment. He accordingly sold every thing about it
but the walls, and here it stands ready for the next portly
brewer, who shall be smitten with the desire of building up a
name in stone and mortar. The labours and the parsimony of
years are very often employed in this manner, by the rich
tradesmen of London, whose estates, not being in general
entailed, like those of the nobility and gentry, are for the most
part divided in such a manner, that not one of the heirs can
afford to live in the great house. It is therefore either sold
out of the family, or its deserted walls remain as a monument
of ostentatious folly.

I also reconnoitred Osterley house, which attracted my
notice, not so much for its magnificence, as its history. Every
schoolboy has heard of Sir Thomas Gresham, the great merchant,
who built the Royal Exchange, and gave such grand
entertainments to Queen Elizabeth, who loved nothing better
than feasting at the expence of other people. There is an old
story, that Elizabeth, being at a great entertainment at Osterley,
found fault with the court, as being too large, and gave her
opinion, that it would look better divided in two parts. Sir
Thomas, like another Aladdin, but by means of an agent more
powerful even than the genius of the lamp, that very night

caused the alteration to be made, so that next morning the
queen, looking out, saw the court divided according to her
taste. Her majesty, it is said, was exceedingly gratified with
this proof of his gallantry; but passed what was considered
rather a sore joke upon Sir Thomas, saying, “That a house
was much easier divided than united.” Lady Gresham and
Sir Thomas, it seems, were at issue on the point of domestic
supremacy; and Elizabeth, who hated all married women,
was supposed to allude to this matrimonial schism.

In going towards Uxbridge, which is twelve or fifteen miles
from this city, on the road to Oxford, there is a fine old place
called Harefield, where once resided the famous Countess of
Derby, the friend and admirer of that illustrious republican
poet, John Milton. It was here that Milton's Arcades were
represented, and in this neighbourhood the poet resided some
years with his father. It was for the son of this lady he wrote
the richest, the most poetical of all human productions, the
Masque of Comus. Nobility becomes really illustrious when
connected by friendship and benefits with the immortality of
genius. Milton was an inflexible Republican in his political
principles, and sided with the Parliament in its attempts to
resist the tyrannical encroachments of Charles the First. In
this situation he had an opportunity of saving the life of Sir
William Davenant, who was taken up on a charge of being
an emissary of Charles the Second, then in exile. On the
Restoration Milton was excepted from the general amnesty,
but was finally pardoned, as it is said, by the intercession of
Sir William Davenant, who thus repaid his former good offices.
His politics prevented his being a fashionable poet. His
Paradise Lost was sold to the bookseller for one-tenth of the
sum since paid for a dainty song by Tom Moore, set to music;
and the bad taste or servility of the critics suffered it to be
forgotten, till Addison at length did ample justice to its beauties.
Milton is rather in the back-ground at present, being
quite eclipsed by the superior merits of Mr. Croly, Mr. Southey,
Lord Byron, and the “Great Unknown.” The Quarterly
Review will certainly, ere long, convict him either of a want
of genius, or a lack of religion, if it be only on account of
his having been a Republican.

I dined at Uxbridge; and as no experienced English traveller
ever omits making honourable or dishonourable mention
of the inns, I must inform you, for your particular satisfaction,
that those of Uxbridge, although specially noted by Camden,
are none of the best.

Pursuing my route towards Oxford, I again got upon classic
ground, about Stoke Pogeis, in the neighbourhood of which

the poet Gray resided with his mother. He was a frequent
visitor to the noble family there, and wrote his “Long Story”
at the request of the ladies. To me it appears the very worst
thing he ever did write; a very dull and doggrel ditty, with
only one line in it worth preserving. Gray was ashamed of it,
and tried to destroy all the copies; but the industry of editors,
and the cupidity of booksellers, unhappily preserved it for posterity
to wonder at. The Muses used to keep a little court at
different times hereabouts. Milton lived not far off at Horton;
Waller at Beaconsfield; and Pope occasionally in Windsor
Forest. Edmund Burke also once occupied Waller's mansion
at Beaconsfield; and if being under the dominion of imagination
constitutes a poet, may certainly be classed with the
trio. In the neighbourhood of Beaconsfield they shew an old
hollow tree, in which, it is affirmed, Waller wrote many of his
poems. I do not believe much of the story, yet still it is pleasant
to see old hollow trees derive an interest from these associations,
that the residence of monarchs cannot confer upon the
most splendid palaces. In deviating, just as the roads occasionally
offered inducement, I had a view of a fine old palace,
once the property of the Hampdens, a name so well known in
our country for inflexible patriotism, that it is often adopted
with that of Russell and Sydney, by those who advocate the
rights of the people. The family of Hampden was of great
antiquity, of the genuine old Saxon blood, without any mixture
of Norman. The gentry who came over with William
the Conqueror were mere upstarts of the day before yesterday,
compared with the Hampdens. But I was not thinking of their
antiquity. As I contemplated the venerable pile, I was recalling
to mind that noble Englishman, who was the first to put
himself in the breach between an arbitrary king and an abused
people; of the man who dared to appeal to the laws of his
country against the oppression of his sovereign to judges who
betrayed their trust, and sacrificed their conscience at the shrine
of a time-serving interest. Eight out of twelve decided against
Hampden; but though he lost his cause with the judges he
gained it with the people, and the decision became one of the
principal grounds of the revolution that followed. Of such a
man it is of little moment who were his ancestors; the blood
that flowed in his veins was noble of itself without tracing it to
a noble ancestry.—But the name and the race are now no more,
or, beyond doubt, we should see some of them at this moment
foremost in the ranks, resisting the torrent of corruption, venality
and boundless extravagance of this government. The
great John Hampden is acknowledged, even by Hume, the
apologist of the Stuarts, to have been a man of the purest
patriotism; and such was the spotlessness of his character,
that not one of the apologists of kingly pretension has ventured
to impeach his motives or attack his memory. He was
a near kinsman of Cromwell, and fell in action early in the
commencement of the war between the people and the king.
His grandson became involved in the South Sea scheme, and
died by his own hands; he was succeeded by his brother, who
dying without issue, the estates fell to a Trevor, who now bears
the title of Viscount Hampden. To the disgrace of his country,
I believe Hampden's life has never been written—at least,
I have not been able to procure it at any of the booksellers!—
It is said he was one of those who took passage with Cromwell
for New-England, and were stopped by an order of council.
I cannot but regret that he did not reach our country, for
perhaps he might have left there a posterity worthy the soil of
freedom. Hampden was always a friend to our New England
—may we never lose the recollection of his virtues or his
friendship!

It is traditionary of the Hampdens, that they owned vast
possessions in the time of Edward the Third, a considerable
portion of which was forfeited by the heir of the family, (in
consequence of some provocation not exactly known,) for
giving the Black Prince a box on the ear. There is extant a
couplet, which has reference to that circumstance.

You see, brother, the Hampdens were, from the first, gifted
with the spirit of freemen. It is a pity the race is extinct; for
never did England more require such men as Hampden and
Sydney. She has yet a Russell in the person of Lord John,
one of the most respectable and patriotic noblemen in the
kingdom.

Leaving this old nest of the eagles, I returned into the
Oxford road, and pursued my way towards that famous city
of the Muses, that is to say, the Prize Muses; for the Sacred
Nine of Oxford never sing now, except when tempted by a
medal. Palaces and fine seats were sprinkled thickly by the
road-side; but as they contained little else but a collection of
pictures to attract the stranger, I passed them by. Few things,
in this world of trouble, are more intolerable than a visit to
one of these show-places, where one is not only obliged to pay
for opening every door, but, what is still worse, to listen to the
eternal gabble of a cicerone by rote, who will by no means
permit a man to consult his own taste in the selection of objects
of admiration. The only way to silence one of those is to

give him a shilling when he expects half a guinea. He will
never speak more, depend upon it.

The sunset, I remember, was exceedingly unpropitious to
my entrance into Oxford, for it set in a profound English mist.
I had been forewarned and fore-armed of the beauties of the
place, and that I should enter it by one of the finest and
longest streets in the world. It certainly was long enough, for I
thought never to have got to the end of it; but its beauties
were too modest to meet the ardent gaze of a stranger, and retired
quietly behind the fog.

I was ready to be pleased with every thing; and never, I
believe, were the noble fanes of Oxford admired by a more
enthusiastic votary. Learning was, for once in her life, lodged
in palaces, some of which were so lofty and majestic, that I
actually mistook them for poor-houses, which are beyond all
comparison the most sumptuous edifices in this country. I
cannot describe them, nor recollect half that I saw in this
Gothic heaven. I had introductions to some of the jolly
fellows; but they were of very little use to me, owing to a
most untoward matter, which I shall proceed to disclose,
which disturbed the prize muses, and occupied the exclusive
attention of every member of the university, from the vice-chancellor,
in his white band, to the students in their black
caps. To explain it properly, I must furnish you with a few
preliminaries, concerning the peculiar constitution and privileges
of the university, without which it would be difficult
to comprehend the nature of the case.

The University of Oxford is governed by its own peculiar
laws, which are administered, or ought to be, by a great officer,
called the chancellor; but as almost every great office is
executed here by a deputy or sub-deputy, the chancellor nominates
to the university two persons, one to be chosen high
steward, the other vice-chancellor. The high steward assists
the proctors, if required, in the performance of their duties, and
hears and decides all capital cases, arising within the jurisdiction
of the university, when required by the chancellor.
The vice-chancellor is, in almost every other respect, the
deputy of the chancellor; he receives the rents due to the
university, licenses taverns, &c. and, to use the words of an
old author, “he takes care that sermons, lectures, disputations,
and other exercises be performed; that heretics, panders,
bawds, Winchester geese, &c. be expelled the university, and
the converse of the students; that the proctors and other
officers do their duty; that courts be duly called and law-suits
determined, without delay; in a word, that whatever is for the
honour or the profit of the university, or may conduce to the

advantage of good literature, may be carefully obtained.” The
vice-chancellor, at his entrance into office, chooses two provice-chancellors
out of the heads of colleges, to one of whom
he deputes his power during his absence. The high steward is
chosen for life, but the vice-chancellor is nominated annually,
and is always a person in holy orders as well as the head of a
college. Now for the affair which so effectually disturbed the
repose, not to say the profound sleep, of this temple of the
Muses.

It seems a ferocious tailor, not having the fear of the vice-chancellor
before his eyes, had brought a suit against a student
of Brazen-nose, in the court of King's Bench, when the statute
prescribed that he should bring it before the vice-chancellor.
The vice-chancellor, indignant at this contempt of his authority,
hereupon summoned the tailor before him, and addressed him,
as is affirmed, in something like the following, when he found
that the souls of nine stout heroes were domiciled in the body
of this ninth part of a man:

“Ay, ay,” cried this unparalleled tailor; “ay, ay, Mr. Vice,
you may talk Latin as much as you please; but, in plain English,
I must have my money, and, what's more, I will. I
have had enough of dunning; and as for bringing a suit
in your courts here, I recovered one not long ago, and
was almost ruined by it.” The vice-chancellor, it is affirmed,
did not swear: but it was the general opinion he would have
done it, had he not been a clergyman.

The recreant tailor brought the curse of Ernulphus upon him;
he was cursed in all the moods and tenses; in Latin and English;
and would have been cursed in Greek and Hebrew, had
any of the present professors been sufficiently versed in those
tongues. He was formally excommunicated; his shop windows
hermetically sealed, and himself prohibited from labouring

in his vocation for the fiery students of Brazen-nose; his
business was doomed to destruction here, and his soul hereafter.
Still the thrice, and nine times valiant tailor, refused
to take a single back-stitch or herring-bone, either to the right
or to the left; he continued to demur to the jurisdiction of the
vice-chancellor, and to stand by the King's Bench, which,
next to the shopboard, he looked upon to be the purest seat of
justice in the kingdom. “I defy the d—l and all his imps!”
said the tailor, snapping his fingers; which saying was held
to be a reflection upon the vice-chancellor and the scholars.

In this state the matter remained all the time I staid at Oxford,
which was nearly a week. The tailor was the greatest
man of the age; another Caliph Omar, enemy to learning and
orthodoxy. His name was in every body's mouth, and the
Muses, all nine of them, sung in praise of this ninth part of a
man. The Senior Wrangler was deputed to argue with him,
but the tailor got him betwixt the sharp shears of his logic, and
almost cut him in two. A Terræ Filius was next sent; but,
though his speech was bitterly satirical, the tailor remained as
immovable as the sun himself. At prayers, and lectures, the
students could think of nothing but the tailor; the jolly fellows
could not sleep quietly upon the “Pennyless Bench” over
their ale, for thinking of the tailor; the sempstresses, who are
very pretty at Oxford, marked nothing on their linen, but tailor;
the little boys at catechism, answered nothing but “the
tailor” to all questions; and several children, born about this
time, cried for their nurses' thimbles before they were a day
old. Never, in fact, since the days of the furious contests between
the students of the “north and south,” recorded by Anthony
Wood, was the seat of the prize Muses in such a consternation.
I left the place before the matter was settled, with
a determination that if the tailor were ever restored to the use
of his weapons, and I ever had an opportunity, he should make
me a full suit of the cloth called Thunder and Lightning,
which cannot but equal armour of proof, considering his indomitable
and valorous propensities.

Notwithstanding, however, the confusion which I have described,
I gained sufficient opportunity to put my nose into
some of the old rusty remains of antiquity, which abound in
this place. Among these, the Bodleian Library, the Ashmolean
Museum, and the Arundel and Pomfret Marbles, are particularly
curious and interesting. In the libraries are many
notices of the early events which occurred in different ages,
which throw vast light upon the state of manners, and mark
the gradual changes produced by time and circumstances. As
such, they are highly worthy of notice, and if I had possessed

sufficient time or patience, I would have made copious extracts
from them. As it was, I could only copy a few of such as I
considered might contribute to the future instruction or amusement
of my friends. I will select some of these, pretty much
as they occur in my memorandum-book. They are principally
taken from Anthony Wood, whose work is a sort of storehouse
of Oxford antiquities. The nature of his book may be gathered
from Wood's complaint of one John Shirley, Terræ Filius
of Trinity College, in 1673, who said, “That the society of
Merton would not let me live in the college, for fear I should
pluck it down to search after antiquities; that I was so great
a lover of antiquities, that I loved to live in an old cockle-loft,
rather than in a spacious chamber; that I was vir caducus;
that I intended to put into my book pictures of mother Louse
and mother George, two old wives; that I would not let it be
printed, because I would not have it new and common.” This
is the character of Anthony's book, given by a wag, with some
little exaggeration, of course.

The state of learning at Oxford, in the thirteenth century,
may be gathered from the following: “In the year 1284, John
Peckham, Archbishop of Canterbury, came to Oxford, to
visit Osney Abbey; which being finished, he called together the
masters of the University, who appearing before him, he made
a grave speech; then told them of divers erroneous opinions,
which they, not becoming their wisdom, did entertain; and
that neither by reason, nor upon any scholastical ground, but
for the cause of commotion, did impudently affirm and defend,
against the instructions and lessons of the ancient philosophers,
and other wise men.” Among their grammatical errors, it
seems they held “Ego currit,” and “Ego legit,” to be good
Latin.

As late as the beginning of the sixteenth century, the study
of Greek was entirely unknown at Oxford; and, with the exception
of Thomas Linacre, and one or two others, who were
trying to introduce it into the University, the members treated
the study of Greek with contempt. King James the First, with
his Queen, in 1605, visited Oxford, and was entertained there
with speeches, sermons, comedies, mysteries, and tragedies,
for some days. Several regulations were made for their reception,
among which, the most remarkable, are the following:

“The University College, All Soules, and Magdalen College,
do sett up verses at his Majesty's departure, upon such
places where they may be seen as he passeth by.”

“Doctor Parry to preach a Latin sermon three quarters of an
hour long.” It is stated afterwards, that his Majesty “yawned
mightilye,” on this occasion; indeed, he seems to have been

“mightilye” tired of the whole visit, if we may credit the
chronicler, who gives the following account of his behaviour
at a comedy:—

“The Comedy,” quoth he, “began at between nine and ten,
and ended at one; the name of it was Alba, whereof I never
knew the reason; it was a pastoral, much like one I had seen
in King's College, Cambridge.” “There were many rusticall
songes and dances, which made it very tedious, insomuch that
if the chancellors of both University had not entreated his
Majesty earnestly, he would have been gone before half the
comedy had been ended.”

Neither did His Majesty, it seems, relish their tragedy better
than their comedy. The same writer, who, you may depend
upon it, was a Cantab, proceeds to record—“The next
morning and afternoon we passed in hearing sermons and disputations.
The same day after supper, about nine of the clock,
they began to act the tragedy of Ajax Flagellifer, wherein the
stage varied three times; they had all goodly antique apparel,
for all that, it was not acted so well by many degrees as I have
seen it in Cambridge. The King was very weary before he
came thither, and much more wearied by it, and spoke many
words of dislike.”

A comedy called Vertumnus was next day represented, and
though allowed by our Cantab to be much better performed
than the others, “yet the King was so overwearied, that after
a while he distasted it and fell asleep; when he awakened, he
would have him gone, saying, I marvel what they think me to
be, with such other like speeches, shewing his dislike thereof;
yet did he tarry till they had ended it, which was after one
o'clock.” The only thing that pleased his Majesty, was a “discreet
and learned speech by Dr. Warner, dissuading men from
tobacco, by good reasons and apt similes, backed by twenty
syllogisms, which so delighted the great opponent of tobacco,
that he said to the nobles about him, “God keep this fellow in
a right course, he would prove a dangerous heretic; he is the
best disputer I ever heard.”

The poverty of the students at Oxford, in the middle of the
sixteenth century, was such, that many of them were obliged
to get a license from the chancellor to beg, and it appears that
it was at that time common for them to go “a-begging with
bags and wallets, and sing Salve Regina at rich men's dores.”
“The students were about this time (1559) so poor and beggarly,
that many of them were forced to obtain licence under
the commissary's hand to require alms of well-disposed people;
and indeed the want of exhibitions and charity of religious
people, was so much, that their usual saying now was,

The following clerical anecdotes may amuse you, at the
same time that they illustrate the style of preaching, as well as
the charity of the priests of those times:—

“Richard Tavener, Esq., did several times preach at Oxford,
and when he was high sheriff of the county, came into St.
Mary's church, out of pure charity, with a gold chain about
his neck, and a sword, it is said, by his side.” One of his sermons
began as follows:—

“Arriving at the mount of St. Mary's, in the strong stage
(the stone pulpit) where I now stand, I have brought you some
fyne bisketts baked in the oven of charitye, carefully conserved
for the chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, and
the sweet swallows of salvation.” Mr. Sheriff Tavener must
have been another Friar Gerund.

Two itinerant priests coming, says Anthony Wood, towards
night, to a cell of Benedictines near Oxford, where, on a supposition
of their being mimes or minstrels, they gained admittance.
But the cellarer, sacristan, and others of the brethren,
hoping to have been entertained by their buffoonery, and finding
them to be nothing more than two poor priests, who had
nothing but spiritual consolation to offer in return for their
hospitality, disappointed of their mirth, they beat them soundly
and turned them out of the monastery.

The same author gives a character of Sir Walter Raleigh,
who was of Oriel College, which I copied for two reasons.
Raleigh ought ever to be remembered and honoured in our
country, as one of the first who employed his influence and his
fortune in laying the foundation of our western empire. “His
eminent worth,” says Wood, speaking of Raleigh, “both in
domestic polity, foreign expeditions and discoveries, arts and
literature, both practive and contemplative, was such, that
they seemed at once to conquer both example and imitation.
Those that knew him well, esteemed him to be a person born to
that only which he went about, so dexterous was he in all or
most of his undertakings, in court, in camp, by sea, by land,
with sword, with pen.”

There is something, I think, singularly and oddly affecting
in the following notices of the early Protestant martyrs, which
I got out of Strype's Memorials, an old book in the Bodleian:

“I cannot here omit,” he says, “old Father Latimer's habit
at his appearing before the commissioners, which was also his
habit while he remained prisoner at Oxford. He held his hat
in his hand; he had a kerchief on his head, and upon it a
nightcap or two, and a great cap such as townsmen used, with
two broad flaps to button under his chin: an old thread-bare
freez-gown of Bristow, girded to his body with a penny leather

girdle, at which hanged, by a long string of leather, his testament
and his spectacles, without case, hanging about his neck
upon his breast.” What would our modern English bishops,
with their twenty, thirty, aye, fifty thousands a year, say to this
costume of one of the noblest of their tribe? I mean those consistent
ones, who, it has been aptly said,—

“In October,” continues Strype, “Ridley and Latimer
were brought forth to their burning; and passing by Cranmer's
prison, Ridley looked up to have seen him, and to have taken
his last farewell. But he was not then at the window, being
engaged in a dispute with a Spanish friar. But he looked
after them, and devoutly falling on his knees, prayed to God
to strengthen their faith and patience in that their last but
painful passage.”

I will conclude this letter with some curious particulars relating
to the first introduction of newspapers into England,
which took place little more than two hundred years ago.

I am indebted to honest Anthony Wood for the succeeding
list, and the particulars collected with so much industry. The
first paper mentioned by him is, “Mercurius Rusticus, or the
Countrie's Complaint.” It first appeared, he says, the 22d of
August, 1642, in a single quarto sheet, and extended to only
nineteen or twenty numbers. I believe Wood is mistaken here
with regard to this being the first. Cleveland, in giving an
account of the London periodicals and diurnals, states, that
“the original desiner of this kind was Dutch Gallo Belgicus,
the Protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans en Kelders.”
I have somewhere read, that the Mercurius-Gallo-Belgicus
is mentioned in Carew's Survey of Cornwall, first
published in 1602, and by Donne in some verses of the date of
1611. If the Mercurius Rusticus was the first of these diurnals,
there is probably some error in the date as set down by
Wood.

There was a second part of Mercurius Rusticus, giving an
account of some outrages committed on the cathedrals in
various parts of England. These were all collected in a
volume, four or five years after their first publication; but I
believe no copy is extant at this time. It would be an invaluable
accession to the treasures of his Grace of ******,

or my Lord *******. These papers were written by one
Bruno Ryves, a Dorsetshire man, first one of the clerks in
New College, then chaplain to Magdalen, and then “a most
noted and florid preacher” at Stanwell, in the County of Middlesex.
He afterwards became rector of St. Martin's, London,
and chaplain to Charles the First. When the Presbyterians
got the upper hand, they turned him out of his rectory, and he
fared ill enough, until the Restoration, when he enjoyed several
rich benefices, was “sworn scribe” to the order of the garter,
and died in 1677.

Mercurius Aulicus, the next paper of this kind, was begun
at Oxford, where the court then was, in 1642, and continued
to be published once a week, till the latter part of 1645, when it
ceased to appear with any degree of regularity. Wood says,
it had a great deal of wit and buffoonery; and that Nedham,
the writer of Mercurius Britannicus, was no more to be compared
with Aulicus, than a dwarf to a giant. Mercurius
Aulicus, according to Nedham, was the work of several
hands, such as George Digby, Secretary Nicholas, and Birkenhead,
the scribe. He also says, that each college was assessed
both for a weekly contribution of money and wit. But Wood
says, that notwithstanding what this liar affirms, all Oxford
knew, that John Birkenhead began, and continued them, only
that in his absence his place was supplied by Peter Heylin.

Birkenhead was the son of a saddler in Cheshire, and became
amanuensis to Archbishop Laud, who got him elected a fellow
of All Souls. When the king retired to Oxford, on account of
the troubles, Birkenhead began the Mercurius Aulicus, which
so pleased the King, that he got him appointed reader or professor
of Moral Philosophy. Being turned out by the parliamentary
ascendency, he went to London, where he was several
times imprisoned, and lived by his wits, in helping young gentlemen
out at dead lifts, in making poems, songs, and amorous
epistles, to their respective mistresses, &c. On the Restoration
times mended with him. He became successively Doctor of
Civil Law, member of parliament, knight, a Master of Requests
and of the Faculties, and member of the Royal Society. He
died in 1679.

Mercurius Britannicus, Mercurius Pragmaticus, and Mercurius
Politicus, were all written by Marchmont Nedham, a
native of Oxfordshire, who was educated at All Souls college,
and afterwards went to London, where he officiated as a
schoolmaster or usher at Merchant Tailors. He belonged
subsequently to Gray's Inn, where he obtained a comfortable
subsistence, until the commencement of the parliamentary war,
when, soon siding, says the author, with the rout and scum

of the people, he made them weekly sport by railing at all
that was noble and intelligent, in his paper called Mercurius
Britannicus; wherein his aim was to sacrifice some noble
lord, or even the king himself, to the beast with many heads.
This prodigy of editorial consistency, however, was either
bribed or persecuted into loyalty, since he afterwards was introduced
to King Charles, kneeled down, and begged his forgiveness,
and had the honour to kiss his majesty's hand. He
then attacked his old friends, the Presbyterians, in Mercurius
Pragmaticus, for which he was caught, imprisoned in Newgate,
and escaped with his ears, through the interposition of
Lenthall, the Speaker, and Bradshaw, President of the High
Court, which brought Charles to the block. These obtained
his pardon, I suppose, on condition of his once more changing
sides. Accordingly, he commenced a new journal, under the
title of Mercurius Politicus, in which he treated the cavaliers
with as much severity as he had formerly done the Presbyterians.
His writings had great influence on the popular feelings;
for he was a good scholar, a poet, and a great wag,
witty, humorous, and conceited. The royal party pitied him
while he continued on their side, but afterwards, he was so
much hated by them, that, according to our author, there were
many, even in his time, who could not endure to hear Nedham's
name mentioned. He died in 1678.

The Mercurius Britannicus was published once a week, on
Monday, from 1643 to 1647, when the Mercurius Pragmaticus,
for King Charles, was commenced and ended shortly afterwards,
by Nedham again changing sides, and joining his old
friends, the Presbyterians, or people. The next series, the
Mercurius Politicus, it is said, contained many essays against
monarchy, and in support of a free state; so much so, that
the author was more than once stopped by the interference of
the Council of State. Their last order suppressed the paper
for the future, in consequence of which, Muddiman and Dury
began the publication of a semi-weekly paper, called the Parliamentary
Intelligencer. To this succeeded the Mercurius
Publicus, which was continued by Dury till 1663, when Roger
L'Estrange took charge of it, and changed the title successively
to the Public Intelligencer and The News. These continued
till 1665, when L'Estrange gave them up, in consequence
of the publication of other and cheaper semi-weekly
papers. These were the Oxford Gazette, by Henry Muddiman,
afterwards called the London Gazette, when the court
removed to London, and placed under the superintendence of
Williamson, under-secretary of state, who employed Charles
Perrot, A. M. to do the business under him, till the year 1671.

From that time to the period of Wood's writing, they were,
he says, constantly written by the under secretaries of state,
and so continued.

As the progress of intelligence, and the reception of more
free principles prepared the minds of the people to become interested
in the affairs of government, newspapers and periodical
journals continued to multiply, until it became impossible to
keep an account of their successive appearance. Magazines,
reviews, and political, and scientific, and literary, and philosophical
journals, multiplied apace, until the present time, when
our daily opinions can scarcely be said to depend upon any
other basis, than the varying interests and temporary supremacy
of some one or other of these periodical or diurnal
oracles. It is well for us, indeed, that those fundamental
rules, those moral axioms, on which the relative duties of man
to man, and man to society rest, are beyond the reach of the
caprices of fashion, or the schemes of politicians; else we
should be in danger of having no stationary land-marks, no
God Terminus in morals, to designate either our rights or our
duties.

I must not forget to tell you, that there is no place in
all Christendom, where they say their prayers so fast as at
Oxford.