and some similar ones, especially “The None-Such Charles,” in which it would appear that he had procured materials from the State Paper Office, and for other zealous services to the Parliament, they voted him a grant of 500_l_.  “The Five Years of King James,” which passes under the name of Sir Fulk Greville, the dignified friend of the romantic Sir Philip Sidney, and is frequently referred to by grave writers, is certainly a Presbyterian’s third day’s hash—­for there are parts copied from Arthur Wilson’s “History of James I.,” who was himself the pensioner of a disappointed courtier; yet this writer never attacks the personal character of the king, though charged with having scraped up many tales maliciously false.  Osborne is a misanthropical politician, who cuts with the most corroding pen that ever rottened a man’s name.  James was very negligent in dress; graceful appearances did not come into his studies.  Weldon tells us how the king was trussed on horseback, and fixed there like a pedlar’s pack or a lump of inanimate matter; the truth is, the king had always an infirmity in his legs.  Further, we are told that this ridiculous monarch allowed his hat to remain just as it chanced to be placed on his head.  Osborne once saw this unlucky king “in a green hunting-dress, with a feather in his cap, and a horn, instead of a sword, by his side; how suitable to his age, calling, or person, I leave others to judge from his pictures:”  and this he bitterly calls “leaving him dressed for posterity!” This is the style which passes for history with some readers.  Hume observes that “hunting,” which was James’s sole recreation, necessary for his health, as a sedentary scholar, “is the cheapest a king can indulge;” and, indeed, the empty coffers of this monarch afforded no other.

These pseudo-histories are alluded to by Arthur Wilson as “monstrous satires against the king’s own person, that haunted both court and country,” when, in the wantonness of the times, “every little miscarriage, exuberantly branched, so that evil report did often perch on them.”  Fuller has designated these suspicious scribes as “a generation of the people who, like moths, have lurked under the carpets of the council-table, and even like fleas, have leaped into pillows of the prince’s bed-chamber; and, to enhance the reputation of their knowledge, thence derived that of all things which were, or were not, ever done or thought of.”—­Church History, book x. p. 87.]

Such was the race generated in this court of peace and indolence!  And Hacket, in his “Life of the Lord-Keeper Williams,” without disguising the fact, tells us that the Lord-Keeper “spared not for cost to purchase the most certain intelligence, by his fee’d pensioners, of every hour’s occurrences at court; and was wont to say that no man could be a statesman without a great deal of money.”