me to his throne until the conclusion
of a long war against the King of France who lived in Versailles. The
"Defender of the Faith" was just now making convenient arrangements that
his mistresses should follow him as speedily as possible when he should
have to take his unwilling way to his new dominions.

On August 3d Bolingbroke wrote a letter to Dean Swift, in which he says,
"The Earl of Oxford was removed on Tuesday; the Queen died on Sunday.
What a world this is, and how does fortune banter us!" In other {48}
words, Bolingbroke tells Swift that full success seemed within his grasp
on Tuesday, and was suddenly torn away from him on Sunday. But the most
characteristic part of the letter is a passage which throws a very blaze
of light over the unconquerable levity of the man. "I have lost all by
the death of the Queen but my spirit; and, I protest to you, I feel that
increase upon me. The Whigs are a pack of Jacobites; that shall be the
cry in a month, if you please." No sooner is one web of intrigue swept
away than Bolingbroke sets to work to weave a new one on a different
plan. Nothing can subdue those high animal spirits; nothing can physic
that selfishness; nothing can fix that levity to a recognition of the
realities of things. Bolingbroke has not a word now about the cause of
the Stuarts; for the moment he cannot think of that. His new scheme is
to make out that his enemies were, after all, the true Jacobites; he will
checkmate them that way--"in a month, if you please." On the very same
day Mr. John Barber, the printer of some of Swift's pamphlets, afterwards
an Alderman and Lord Mayor, writes to Swift and tells him, speaking of
Bolingbroke, that "when my lord gave me the letter" (to be enclosed to
Swift) "he said he hoped you would come up and help to save the
constitution, which, with a little good management, might be kept in Tory
hands." The chill, clear common-sense of Swift's answer might have
impressed even Bolingbroke, but did not.

[Sidenote: 1714--Simon Harcourt]

One among the Tories, indeed, would have had the courage to forestall the
Whigs and their proclamation. This one man was a priest, and not a
soldier. Atterbury, the eloquent Bishop of Rochester, came to
Bolingbroke, and urged him to proclaim King James at Charing Cross,
offering himself to head a procession in his lawn sleeves if Bolingbroke
would only act on his advice. But for the moment Bolingbroke could only
complain of fo