The Speaker was master of an honesty, which though it would bend very much upon most occasions, especially when its warping would prop its reputation, was tough and steady when pushed to an extremity: and he would sometimes see that extremity as soon in trifles as in materials. His disinterestedness[116] was remarkable, and he was fond of exerting it. Popularity was his great aim, impartiality his professed means, universal adulation and partiality to whatever was popular, his real means of acquiring it. He was bigoted to the power of the House of Commons; and, like all zealots, ardent for his own authority, as intimately connected with the interests of his idol. He had much devotion from the House, few friends in it, for he was too pompous to be loved, though too ridiculous to be hated; had too much knowledge not to be regarded; too much dignity in his appearance not to be admired; and was too fond of applause not to miss it. The Speaker was answered in a long deduction by the Attorney-General, and by Charles Yorke, who said, that on the first Regency Bill after the Revolution, ten Judges had given their opinions that the regal power may be both delegated and divided. Lord Strange asked shrewdly, “If it was probable that there would be no dissensions in the Council of Regency, which was to be composed of the present Ministry? Survey them; with what cordiality have they concurred in all measures for some years! May not it happen, that if the Regent should refuse[117] to employ some person recommended by them, the junto may threaten to _resign?_ an insult, such as within my own time I have almost seen offered to a crowned head! We shall see all that repeated scramble for power, that I have two or three times seen acted over. Can the Duke be removed by address of Parliament? I won’t say that he is most likely to do mischief, but certainly he is most capable of doing it. As to the præmunire clause, the person who drew it deserves to incur it.”