this anxiety for his safety. It was merely, in his judgment, the
anxiety which a hard master feels lest his slaves should become unfit
for their drudgery. The Whigs, he wrote to Portland, were afraid to lose
their tool before they had done their work. "As to their friendship," he
added, "you know what it is worth." His resolution, he told his friend,
was unalterably fixed. Every thing was at stake; and go he must, even
though the Parliament should present an address imploring him to stay,
[565]

He soon learned that such an address would be immediately moved in
both Houses and supported by the whole strength of the Whig party. This
intelligence satisfied him that it was time to take a decisive step.
He would not discard the Whigs but he would give them a lesson of which
they stood much in need. He would break the chain in which they imagined
that they had him fast. He would not let them have the exclusive
possession of power. He would not let them persecute the vanquished
party. In their despite, he would grant an amnesty to his people. In
their despite, he would take the command of his army in Ireland. He
arranged his plan with characteristic prudence, firmness, and secrecy.
A single Englishman it was necessary to trust: for William was not
sufficiently master of our language to address the Houses from the
throne in his own words; and, on very important occasions, his practice
was to write his speech in French, and to employ a translator. It is
certain that to one person, and to one only, the King confided the
momentous resolution which he had taken; and it can hardly be doubted
that this person was Caermarthen.

On the twenty-seventh of January, Black Rod knocked at the door of the
Commons. The Speaker and the members repaired to the House of Lords. The
King was on the throne. He gave his assent to the Supply Bill, thanked
the Houses for it, announced his intention of going to Ireland, and
prorogued the Parliament. None could doubt that a dissolution would
speedily follow. As the concluding words, "I have thought it convenient
now to put an end to this session," were uttered, the Tories, both above
and below the bar, broke forth into a shout of joy. The King meanwhile
surveyed his audience from the throne with that bright eagle eye which
nothing escaped. He might be pardoned if he felt some little vindictive
pleasure in annoying those who had cruelly annoyed him. "I saw," he
wrote to Portland the next day, "faces an