mind." In ever-growing numbers many of her best and godliest men left England. In one single year 3000 new colonists reached America, and in the ten or eleven years during which Charles I. ruled without a Parliament 20,000 Englishmen in 200 ships sailed to America. This was the beginning of that great country which we now know as the United States a lover of freedom and equality from the first. But though the Colonists wished to govern themselves as far as their own affairs were concerned, they ever looked with love and gratitude to their mother country, and owned all due obedience to the English king, till in after years sad mistakes broke the tie which bound them to England.

XXXIX.

AN ENGLISH PATRIOT.

1628-1632.

AMONGST those members of Parliament who pointed out the mistakes of the early government of Charles I., and the harm which came to the country from the power of Charles' favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, none was so bold as Sir John Eliot. He had once been a friend of Buckingham's, but he loved his country better than his friend, and when he saw what harm the unwise government of the favourite was doing, his love for his friend was turned into hatred of his country's

foe.

Eliot was a man who had read and studied much, and who had the great gift of speaking so as to force men to listen to him whilst he stirred their hearts by his glowing words.

Charles was always in want of money; so when he asked Parliament to give him some, Eliot made a speech in which he said that before doing anything else, the bad government of the country must be put an end to. Later on he did not fear to name the great Duke of Buckingham as the cause of all the evils that had come upon the country. The anger against Buckingham grew so great that the Commons insisted at last. that he should be impeached-that is, brought to trial before Parliament. He came himself to sit in his place as peer to hear the charges brought against him. As usual he was magnificently dressed and covered with jewels, and on his face was a proud and insolent smile, as if he cared nothing for his judges, but rather despised them. Eliot's wrath burst forth when he saw sitting there, haughty and resplendent in his illgotten wealth, the man whom he honestly considered as the cause of all the evils of his country. In passionate words he described the conduct of the Duke. "What vast treasures he has gotten," he cried; "what infinite sums of money, and what a mass of lands! . . . There needs no search for it; it is too visible. His profuse expenses, his superfluous feasts, his magnificent buildings, his riots, his excesses, what are they but

...

a chronicle of the immensity of his waste of the revenues of the Crown? No wonder, then, our King is now in want, this man abounding so. And as long as he abounds, the King

must still be wanting." Eliot, with his strong feeling for his country's sufferings, accused Buckingham wrongfully in many ways. The Duke was vain and extravagant, and not wise enough either to govern well, or command armies successfully, but he had not wilfully done harm to the country. Still the people who had suffered from his mistakes were only too ready to believe all that Eliot said. Charles, who loved Buckingham more than any one else in the world, was very angry. He came down to the House of Lords himself, and said that Buckingham was innocent of all that he was accused of. He was so angry with Eliot that he ordered him to be taken as a prisoner to the Tower. When the Commons heard this, they refused to go on with their business till Eliot was released. The King found that he could bring no just charges against Eliot, and, after spending a week in prison, he was allowed to go. But prison had not taught him to keep silence in fear. The Commons returned to their attacks upon Buckingham. They would not give the King money when they knew that it would be unwisely spent and foolishly wasted by his favourite. Charles, impatient at their obstinacy, dissolved Parliament, and sent the members away to their own homes in disgust.

Need of money soon forced Charles to call another Parliament. Eliot came back to Westminster as eager as ever to put wrong things right; and before any money was granted Charles was asked to put his name to a paper drawn up by Parliament called the Petition of Right, in which the chief rights and liberties of the English people were stated. Once

more Eliot spoke of all the misfortunes that had come to England from bad government--"What perfect English heart is not almost dissolved into sorrow for the truth?" he said. But when he began to speak about the King's ministers, the Speaker sprang to his feet and said, with tears in his eyes-for it grieved him to do anything which lessened the dignity of the House of Commons-that he had been commanded to interrupt any who should find fault with the ministers. Eliot sat down at once; he would not speak at all if he might not speak freely. But Charles, who could not do without money, was forced to sign the Petition of Right. The Commons showed their delight by shouts of applause, and their joy was shared by the people. The steeples of the London churches rang out peals of joy, and the night was lit up with blazing bonfires.

Not many weeks afterwards, when he was just about to sail for the war in France, Buckingham was struck dead by the dagger of an assassin. Charles wept for a beloved and trusted friend, but the people looked upon the murderer as a hero and martyr, and followed him with cries of "The Lord comfort thee!"

Charles did not get on any better now that Buckingham was gone. He quarrelled with Parliament about religion and about ways of raising money. The quarrel grew so furious that the King thought it would be well to adjourn Parliament for a week, in the hope that feelings might cool down; but Eliot, who feared lest Parliament should be dissolved again, determined to have his say out. When the Speaker,

who was a friend of the King's, wished to adjourn the House, he was held down in his chair. Some of his friends came to help him to get away from those who were holding him, but he could not get out of the House, and was soon forced back into his chair again. Then, when the uproar was a little quieted, Eliot, from a bench at the back of the House, threw down to the Speaker a paper with resolutions, which he called upon him to have read and put to the vote. But the Speaker refused, and once more all was noise and confusion. Then, as some members tried to leave the House, the doors were locked, that no one might get away. Still Eliot could not persuade the Speaker to put his resolutions to the vote, and at last, in a moment of impatience, he threw them into the fire. Holles, a friend who shared his views, blamed him for this, and Eliot answered courteously, "I give that gentleman great thanks for reproving me for the burning of that paper, and of all obligations that have passed between us I hold this for the greatest."

Just then a knocking was heard at the door. It was a message from the King to adjourn the House. Quickly Holles rose to propose the resolutions that had been in the burned paper as well as he could remember them. In these resolutions he condemned the changes in religion and the ways in which the King had raised money without the consent of Parliament. The Commons shouted, "Aye, aye," and then the door was thrown open and they trooped out; it was eleven years before another Parliament met there.

The next day Eliot and eight other members were seized