s remarkable that, at this election as at the preceding election,
John Hampden failed to obtain a seat. He had, since he ceased to be a
member of Parliament, been brooding over his evil fate and his indelible
shame, and occasionally venting his spleen in bitter pamphlets against
the government. When the Whigs had become predominant at the Court and
in the House of Commons, when Nottingham had retired, when Caermarthen
had been impeached, Hampden, it should seem, again conceived the hope
that he might play a great part in public life. But the leaders of
his party, apparently, did not wish for an ally of so acrimonious and
turbulent a spirit. He found himself still excluded from the House of
Commons. He led, during a few months, a miserable life, sometimes trying
to forget his cares among the wellbred gamblers and frail beauties who
filled the drawingroom of the Duchess of Mazarine, and sometimes sunk
in religious melancholy. The thought of suicide often rose in his mind.
Soon there was a vacancy in the representation of Buckinghamshire,
the county which had repeatedly sent himself and his progenitors to
Parliament; and he expected that he should, by the help of Wharton,
whose dominion over the Buckinghamshire Whigs was absolute, be returned
without difficulty. Wharton, however, gave his interest to another
candidate. This was a final blow. The town was agitated by the news that
John Hampden had cut his throat, that he had survived his wound a few
hours, that he had professed deep penitence for his sins, had requested
the prayers of Burnet, and had sent a solemn warning to the Duchess of
Mazarine. A coroner's jury found a verdict of insanity. The wretched man
had entered on life with the fairest prospects. He bore a name which was
more than noble. He was heir to an ample estate and to a patrimony much
more precious, the confidence and attachment of hundreds of thousands
of his countrymen. His own abilities were considerable, and had been
carefully cultivated. Unhappily ambition and party spirit impelled
him to place himself in a situation full of danger. To that danger his
fortitude proved unequal. He stooped to supplications which saved him
and dishonoured him. From that moment, he never knew peace of mind.
His temper became perverse; and his understanding was perverted by
his temper. He tried to find relief in devotion and in revenge, in
fashionable dissipation and in political turmoil. But the dark shade
never passed awa