Philip Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.

Photo etching after the painting by Vandyke.

His hawks and hounds were all his care,
For them he made his daily pray'r,
And scarce would lose a hunting season,
Even for the sake of darling treason.
Had you but heard what thunderclaps
Broke out of his and Oldsworth's chaps,
Of oaths and horrid execration,

Oft with, but oftener without passion,
You'd think these senators were sent
From hell to sit in Parliament."

This Goth was actually selected by the Parliament to reform the University of Oxford. The speech which he delivered to the Senate of the University on this occasion was admirably ridiculed in a contemporary pasquinade, of which we cannot refrain from giving an extract. It is just the sort of composition which one would have expected from so silly a man, while it particularly reflects on an inveterate habit of swearing, which is known to have formed another offensive trait in his character:

"MY VISITORS:-I am glad to see this day; I hope it will never end, for I am your chancellor. Some say I am not your chancellor, but dam me, they lye, for my brother was so before me, and none but rascals would rob me of my birthright. They think the Marquis of Hertford is Chancellor of Oxford, because, forsooth, the University chose him. 'Sdeath, I sit here by ordinance of Parliament, and judge ye, gentlemen, whether he or I

look like a chancellor. I'll prove he is a party, for he himself is a scholar; he has Greek and Latin, but all the world knows I can scarce write or read; dam me, this writing and reading hath caused all this blood. I thank God, and I thank you; I thank God I am come at last, and I thank you for giving me a gilded bible: you could not give me a better book, dam me, I think so; I love the bible, though I seldom use it; I say I love it, and a man's affection is the best member about him; I can love it though I cannot read it, as you, Dr. Wilkinson, love preaching, though you never preach."

If this extract be not sufficient, the reader may turn to the posthumous works of Samuel Butler, the author of "Hudibras," who has made himself very merry with the earl's fantastic oratory. Indeed, so absurd were his speeches, both in the House of Lords and elsewhere, that they became a common joke at the period, and agreeably employed the wits in turning them into lampoons and ridicule.

Instead of reforming others, the time was approaching when the earl might, with more propriety, have thought of reforming himself. He died on the 23d of January, 1650, not quite a year after the master whom he had deserted. He is said to have indulged in a pursuit almost as ridiculous as himself; he collected a vast number