hoped that they might be able to direct against him the whole
force of the storm which they had raised. Seymour, in particular,
encouraged by the wild and almost savage temper of his hearers,
harangued with rancorous violence against the wisdom and the
virtue which presented the strongest contrast to his own
turbulence, insolence, faithlessness, and rapacity. No doubt, he
said, the Lord Chancellor was a man of parts. Anybody might be
glad to have for counsel so acute and eloquent an advocate. But
a very good advocate might be a very bad minister; and, of all
the ministers who had brought the kingdom into difficulties, this
plausible, fair-spoken person was the most dangerous. Nor was the
old reprobate ashamed to add that he was afraid that his Lordship
was no better than a Hobbist in religion.

After a long sitting the members separated; but they reassembled
early on the morning of the following day, Tuesday the ninth of
April. A conference was held; and Seymour, as chief manager for
the Commons, returned the bill and the amendments to the Peers in
the manner which had been prescribed to him. From the Painted
Chamber he went back to the Lower House, and reported what had
passed. "If," he said, "I may venture to judge by the looks and
manner of their Lordships, all will go right." But within half an
hour evil tidings came through the Court of Requests and the
lobbies. The Lords had divided on the question whether they would
adhere to their amendments. Forty-seven had voted for adhering,
and thirty-four for giving way. The House of Commons broke up
with gloomy looks, and in great agitation. All London looked
forward to the next day with painful forebodings. The general
feeling was in favour of the bill. It was rumoured that the
majority which had determined to stand by the amendments had been