is prison in the name of his innocence and friendlessness. She was now
on her death-bed, dropsical, gloomy, and neglected. It was whispered
that she was disturbed in her reason. She preserved at least sufficient
intelligence to be horrified at the wrong which was being prepared, and
the stain threatened to the memory of her husband's reign. She responded
to Ralegh's petition by an earnest letter to George Villiers. She had,
at Archbishop Abbot's solicitation, recommended Villiers to the favour
of James. He exhibited the most obsequious deference to her as well as
to the King. Her letter, of which the precise date is unknown, is
addressed to 'My kind Dogge.' That was the name by which Villiers
affected to like both of them to call him. She wrote: 'If I have any
power or credit with you, I pray you let me have a trial of it, at this
time, in dealing sincerely and earnestly with the King, that Sir Walter
Ralegh's life may not be called in question.' Her intercession with her
truant Consort through his favourite was not more successful than her
pleadings with himself had been. As vainly young Carew Ralegh prayed,
without date or superscription, for the life of 'my poor father,
sometime honoured with many great places of command by the most worthy
Queen Elizabeth, the possessor whereof she left him at her death, as a
token of her goodwill to his loyalty.' The lad, now about thirteen, or
rather they who dictated his memorial, must have been very simple to
suppose that Elizabeth's favour was a passport to James's compassion. On
his death-bed James Montague, who died in July, 1618, Bishop of
Winchester, and is transformed by Wilson in his journal into the Earl of
Winchester, had previously begged of James one thing, the life of
Ralegh; 'a great offender,' Montague called him, 'who yet was dearly
respected of the late noble Queen.' In his choice of reasons the prelate
seems to have been as injudicious as the boy. As fruitlessly were
solicitations addressed to the King by Lady Ralegh, and by persons
described generally as in great favour and esteem with him. All were
repulsed. James, says Francis Osborn in his _Traditional Memoirs_, 'did
so far participate of the humour of a pusillanimous prince as to pardon
any sooner than those injured by himself.' He was unconscious of any
such malignity. It is pathetic to observe his utter freedom from
suspicion that posterity could help characterizing him as resolute,
wise, and just for his pe