power have been traced with precision.

It was thus in our country. The line which bounded the royal
prerogative, though in general sufficiently clear, had not
everywhere been drawn with accuracy and distinctness. There was,
therefore, near the border some debatable ground on which
incursions and reprisals continued to take place, till, after
ages of strife, plain and durable landmarks were at length set
up. It may be instructive to note in what way, and to what
extent, our ancient sovereigns were in the habit of violating the
three great principles by which the liberties of the nation were
protected.

No English King has ever laid claim to the general legislative
power. The most violent and imperious Plantagenet never fancied
himself competent to enact, without the consent of his great
council, that a jury should consist of ten persons instead of
twelve, that a widow's dower should be a fourth part instead of a
third, that perjury should be a felony, or that the custom of
gavelkind should be introduced into Yorkshire.2 But the King had
the power of pardoning offenders; and there is one point at which
the power of pardoning and the power of legislating seem to fade
into each other, and may easily, at least in a simple age, be
confounded. A penal statute is virtually annulled if the
penalties which it imposes are regularly remitted as often as
they are incurred. The sovereign was undoubtedly competent to
remit penalties without limit. He was therefore competent to
annul virtually a penal statute. It might seem that there could
be no serious objection to his doing formally what he might do
virtually. Thus, with the help of subtle and courtly lawyers,