a suspension of this order. But the earl of Ormonde, with a magnanimous disregard of the secret and base underworking of a low faction, took no further care to guard against the designs of his enemies;-the faction went on, and gathered influence and weight. The same charges continued to be repeated, without meeting any answer; and the factious workings of those who made them increased into a state of popular turbulence, which it was impossible for one so involved as the earl of Ormonde to resist. His recall, therefore, became a matter of expediency not to be averted.

He was, accordingly, recalled, and lord Talbot sent over with seven hundred men. His arrival was greeted with clamour and insurrection. The English barons were leagued with the Irish chiefs in opposition to his government, thus affording, if it were necessary, the best vindication of the innocence and integrity of Ormonde's administration. Talbot commenced with vigour and efficiency, and quickly repressed or reduced the factious barons and rebellious chiefs-seizing on many, and putting some, especially of the Birminghams, to death.

His government was not, however, conducted on the most judicious or salutary principles. He kept the peace thus restored, by throwing himself into the hands of the popular faction, by which the earl of Ormonde had been persecuted; a faction which, more than any other cause in its own time, tended to precipitate the ruin of Ireland-the main disorders and sufferings of which, then, as well as before and since, have been mainly the result of a factious resistance to the operation of those principles on which civil order and national prosperity depend. If we admit that much evil has also arisen from causes of an opposite nature, we must at the same time insist, that such causes were the necessary result of those to which we have adverted. One extreme is resisted by another. There is mostly no other available resource.

At his return to England, Talbot had so far adopted the passions or prejudices of the party with which he acted, that he accused Ormonde of treason. The accusation was re-echoed with virulent animosity. The archbishop of Dublin seconded the representations of his brother, with a treatise on the maleadministration of Ormonde. The prior of Kilmainham added his voice, and challenged him to the combat. But Ormonde's character was unaffected by this clamour of malignity and envy: the clamour of faction had little weight against him, beyond the sphere of its own sound and fury. The king of England interposed, and for the time rescued the earl from an unworthy persecution: to this, historians attribute the attachment of the family of Butler to the Lancasterian race.

The great and celebrated dissensions between the houses of York and Lancaster were, at this time, in their beginning. They had been long anticipated in their causes by the fears and the wisdom of all who were capable of political observation. Their effect on Ireland was considerable and pernicious, and they occupy the attention of our historians, as fully as that of the writers of English history. They are, however, too well understood and known, to require that we should here enter into any detail; it will be enough to mark, as we pass along, the influence of the political occurrences of England on the state of Ireland. The same apprehensions which occasioned the

commission of the earl of Marche were still in force, but with added weight and justice. The feeble monarch who sat upon the British throne was surrounded with much increased difficulties and dangers; there was no vigour in his character or government to repress the animosity and ambitious restlessness of contested claims to the succession. The eagerness of party was already anticipating the vacancy of the throne; and intrigue was busy in spreading disaffection and complaint. The rights of the earl of Marche had devolved upon his cousin Richard, whose abilities made him formidable, while his worth and amiability made him the object of general regard. He had been sent to succeed the duke of Bedford in the government of France, where he had gained credit by the prudence and efficiency of his administration of affairs. His return to England was hailed by the wishes of his friends, and the fears of the rival house; and the contest, so soon to stain the country with its best blood, was loudly and openly carried on by clamour and intrigue.

The complaints of Ireland suggested the prudent measure of sending him over as governor. The measure had specious advantages according with the views of either side. It was an apparent advantage to the Lancasterian party, to occupy his ambition, and deprive his party of their head. But the appointment was accompanied with powers which, if dexterously used, might become dangerous. A considerable revenue, the power of raising a military force on full authority, sufficient pretext, and beyond the reach of immediate observation, were the amount of this prince's stipulations; to which was added the privilege of naming a deputy, and returning at pleasure.*

His first reception was doubtful, but the weight of his pretensions, and the splendour of his appointments, quickly turned the feather scale of public feeling in his favour. The advances of every party he received with frank and conciliatory affability, and ready kindness of manner. His Irish dependents crowded round him from his ample estates in Meath; and the Irish chiefs were agreeably surprised and captivated by attentions which they were unaccustomed to meet. He studied to receive and address them in accordance with their notions of their own rank and importance; and all parties were soon united in zeal and affection for his person. His deportment to the lords was also governed by a politic impartiality. Ormonde, who was known to be the political adherent of the house of Lancaster, was treated with kindness; and Desmond, whose overgrown power was maintained by a barbarous independence, yielded to the attractions of his manner and address. He had a son born in Dublin, afterwards the unfortunate George, duke of Clarence, to whom these rival barons were invited to stand sponsors, an honour correctly appreciated by the courtly experience of Ormonde, but which excited the pride of the ruder Desmond, whose inexperience attached to the selection a high dignity and notions of exalted trust and honour. Historians seem to imply, that the effect of this excitement led to increased insolence and oppression in the south. Cox, whose chronology is a little confused on the point, mentions a petition from the inhabitants of Cork, complaining of

• Cox.

grievances, which he attributes mainly to the tyranny of Desmond. He gives this petition at length,* observing, that historians assign a later period, but infers from its direction to the earl of Rutland and Cork, that it must have been at the present. The petitioners complain of the absence of the great proprietors, of the mischiefs accruing from their private wars, and of the want of protection from the robberies of the surrounding natives. They entreat for inquiry-for leaders and offer to rise against their enemies, if properly countenanced and assisted. Cox connects this petition with certain laws enacted in the first parliament held by the duke, of which he specifies the provisions; but we cannot perceive the application, as, however usefully conceived, they are quite inadequate, and without any specific direction to the causes of complaint. One provision is mentioned, the general operation of which, might go to remedy the evil: by this the land was charged with the furnishing and maintenance of its proportion of military force for the defence of the pale. A clause, also, forbidding the maintenance of retainers to an extent that required to be supported by exaction, must also, in its operation, have materially contributed to lessen the evil.‡

One occurrence in this parliament is more strictly within the scope of this notice. Notwithstanding the absence of all present factious motives in his favour, by which an interested display of respect might be elicited in favour of Ormonde, an address of thanks was voted to the king for having supported him against the injustice and malice of his enemies. The current of party was, at the moment, running high in the opposite direction, and we cannot help regarding this incident as an extraordinary tribute to the worth and uprightness of Ormonde.

A still more remarkable proof of this respect occurred shortly after. The intrigues of the duke's faction in England appear to have hit upon a curious expedient, not altogether singular, however, in its nature, to test the state of public feeling, and rally the efforts of his friends. An Irishman named Cade, was induced to assume the name of Mortimer, and set up pretensions to the crown. Suspicion fell on the duke of York, and thus afforded him a fair pretext for appearing in person on the scene. He left Ormonde deputy, thus either manifesting his confidence, or paying an honourable deference to the public weight of his character. This selection was shortly after confirmed by the title of lord lieutenant, by the king's appointment. Ormonde's presence in England became necessary, and he appointed John Mey, the archbishop of Armagh, as his deputy,§ in the year 1451.

In the following year, he may be obscurely traced among the petty wars of this island. His death took place on his return from an expedition against an obscure chief of the name of O'Mulrian. He was buried in St Mary's abbey, near Dublin.||

He was remarkable for his attainments, and the knightly polish of his manners. He cultivated history, more especially in that peculiar department connected with antiquities. He endowed the college of Heralds with lands, and was prayed for at their meetings, until the Leland. Cox. Davis. $ Cox. Leland. Lodge.

* Cox, 162. + Ib.

reformation.* By his first wife, who was daughter to Gerald, the fifth earl of Kildare, he left three sons, who were in succession earls of Ormonde.

John Cade.

DIED A. D. 1450.

JOHN CADE, known in English history by the more familiar name of Jack Cade, is said to have been an Irishman. He offers an extreme instance of an occurrence, common enough in the history of every age, of an obscure person, without any natural qualification to distinguish him from the ignoble multitude, raised by accident, his own uncalculating folly, and the unprincipled artifice of party, into a short-lived notoriety, a bloody death, and an ignominious recollection in history. His story, though connected with events which we are obliged to notice, more properly belongs to English history; it is too familiar to detain us. Set up by the Yorkists to gauge the current of party feeling, the mock representative of royal claims, he was exposed to the deadly animosity of the opposite party, without any protection from his own. His story is so far instructive, as it exhibits an instance of the facility with which notoriety can be gained, and mischief done, under the pretence of reform of abuses and the redress of public grievances.

Under the name of Mortimer, this ancient reformer withdrew into Kent, and collected together multitudes under the pretence of redressing public grievances, and easing the people of their burthens. The king sent to inquire into the cause of the tumultuary proceedings of the people; and two petitions were presently sent to the parliament, which show clearly how little reasonable cause of complaint existed in that period. The result was the levy of fifteen thousand men, which the king himself led against the rebels. Cade retreated in seeming alarm, but waited in ambush at a wood near Sevenoak, under the hope that Henry would fall into the snare. The king, quite content with the glory of "having found no foe to fight withal," turned back to London, and sent a detachment commanded by Sir Humphrey Stafford, in pursuit of Cade. This force fell into the ambush, and was, with its leader, cut off to a man.

Cade, elated by his success, marched towards London; and was joined by a multitude on the way. London opened her gates, and Cade entered in triumph. He repaid the complaisance of the citizens by giving orders against the outrages which were to be apprehendedfrom the ragged regiments at his command. Hearing that lord Say was in town, he ordered him to be seized and beheaded. To quiet the fears of the Londoners, he removed to a post without the city, on the Surrey side of the Thames, from which he regularly entered every morning. But some of his rabble having committed disorders in the city, the citizens availed themselves of the excuse, and one morning Cade found himself shut out. A violent battle ensued, which lasted

till night without decided advantage on either side-a truce till morning was agreed on. But the archbishops of Canterbury and York, who had taken refuge in the town, having obtained intelligence that the rebels were beginning to show signs of wavering and of being wearied with the adventure, drew up and published a general pardon, by proclamation, in Southwark. The effect was instantaneous on every man who heard it: the mighty rabble, glad to be relieved from the fears which were beginning to seize upon them, melted away, and when morning came, the unfortunate Cade found himself alone. He fled into Sussex-a reward of a thousand marks was set upon his head-he wandered into Kent, and was found by a gentleman of that county, lurking in his garden. This gentleman's name was Alexander Iden. Shakespeare has seized upon the incident, and, as he has always done with historical incidents, adhered as closely as possible to the facts. Iden, on questioning the unknown trespasser, soon ascertained his name and character. It is probable that Cade was not aware of the reward, and that he freely revealed his name, and urged his claim to commiseration and relief. Iden's loyalty was, however, better informed. He slew Cade, and brought his body to London, where his head was exhibited on London bridge.

He was called captain Mend-all by the mob. So far as any general moral can be attached to the incident of a name expressive of feelings and objects, it seems to convey the common impulse of the uninformed crowd of all times, to imagine that all the evils to which their lot is liable, can be mended by the instrumentality of brute violence; and to place their implicit reliance on any one who will appeal to their own prejudices, assert wrongs, and promise redress. Such promises, and such persons, will ever have weight, until the people shall arrive at sufficient intelligence fully to comprehend a very superficial truth: that the numerical strength of a country, though, so far as God permits, it can pull down and destroy, it can build up nothing; it can cast down rights, but it can secure none for itself. The evils of which the multitude mostly complain, are seldom those under which they suffer; and will ever arise in aggravated forms from the remedies they would adopt. The peasant who simply imagines, that, by the result of some violent change, he will convert the little precarious tenure of his few roods into an absolute possession, is wholly ignorant of the objects and powers of his leaders, and the real character of popular faction, the infallible produce of which is despotism. Before the golden dream of his much abused simplicity can be realized by any possible turn of human affairs, the inequalities of human intellect and ambition must cease. There must be no craft, no falsehood, no triply woven web of ambition, perfidy, and specious pretension. The power of fraud and eloquence, the illusion of prejudices, the inordinate desires that wait on influence, the profound ignorance and simplicity of the moreable surface of society, must all come to an end; and then the and desires of the people, becoming limited to their real conwill cease to betray them into the sacrifice of the comforts they re, if they did not fling them away in looking for unattainable