took his measures. Fletcher, a Scotch gentleman of great parts, and many virtues, but a most violent republican, and extravagantly passionate, did not like Argyle's scheme: so he resolved to run fortunes with the duke of Monmouth. He told me, that all the English among them were still pressing the duke of Monmouth to venture. They said, all the west of England would come about him, as soon as he appeared, as they had done five or six years ago. They reckoned there would be no fighting, but that the guards, and others who adhered to the king, would melt to nothing before him. They fancied the city of London would be in such a disposition to revolt, that, if he should land in the west, the king would be in great perplexity. He could not have two armies; and his fear of tumults near his person would oblige him to keep such a force about him, that he would not be able to send any against him. So they reckoned he would have time to form an army, and in a little while be in a condition to seek out the king, and fight him on equal terms.

This appeared a mad and desperate undertaking to the duke of Monmouth himself. He knew what a weak body a rabble was, and how unable to deal with troops long trained. He had neither money, nor officers, and no encouragement from the men of estates and interest in the country. It seemed too early yet to venture. It was the throwing away all his hopes in one day. Fletcher, how vehemently soever he was set on the design in general, yet saw nothing in this scheme that gave any hopes: so he argued much against it. And he said to me, that the duke of Monmouth was pushed on to it against his own sense and reason: but he could not refuse to hazard his person, when others were so forward. Lord Grey said, that Henry the seventh landed with a smaller number, and succeeded. Fletcher answered, he was sure of several of the nobility, who were little princes in those days. Ferguson in his enthusiastical way said, it was a good cause, and that God would not leave them unless they left him. And though the duke of Monmouth's course of life gave him no great reason to hope that God would appear signally for him, yet even he came to talk enthusiastically on the subject. But Argyle's going, and the promise he had made of coming to England with all possible haste, had so fixed him, that, all further deliberations being laid aside, he pawned a parcel of jewels, and bought up arms; and they were put aboard a ship freighted for Spain. King James was so intent upon the pomp of his coronation, that for some weeks more important matters were not thought on. Both Argyle's and Monmouth's people were so true to them, that nothing was discovered by any of them. Yet some days after Argyle had sailed, the king knew of it: for the night before I left London, the earl of Arran came to me, and told me, the king had an advertisement of it that very day. I saw it was fit for me to make haste; otherwise I might have been seized on, if it had been only to put the affront on me, of being suspected of holding correspondence with traitors.

Argyle had a very prosperous voyage. He sent out a boat at Orkney to get intelligence, and to take prisoners. This had no other effect, but that it gave intelligence where he was: and the wind chopping, he was obliged to sail away, and leave his men to mercy. The winds were very favourable, and turned as his occasions required: so that in a very few days he arrived in Argyleshire. The misunderstandings between him and Hume grew very high; for he carried all things with an air of authority, that was not easy to those who were setting up for liberty. At his landing he found, that the early notice the council had of his designs had spoiled his whole scheme; for they had brought in all the gentlemen of his country to Edinburgh, which saved them, though it helped on his ruin. Yet he got above five-and-twenty hundred men to come to him. If with these he had immediately gone over to the western counties of Ayr and Renfrew, he might have given the government much trouble. But he lingered too long, hoping still to have brought more of his Highlanders together. He reckoned these were sure to him, and would obey him blindfold: whereas if he had gone out of his own country with a small force, those who might have come in to his assistance might also have disputed his authority: and he could not bear contradiction. Much time was by this means lost: and all the country was summoned to come out against him. At last he crossed an arm of the sea, and landed in the isle of Bute; where he spent twelve days more, till he had eat up that island, pretending still, that he hoped to be joined by more of his Highlanders.

He had left his arms in a castle, with such a guard as he could spare; but they were

routed by a party of the king's forces: and with this he lost both heart and hope. And then, apprehending that all was gone, he put himself in a disguise, and had almost escaped; but he was taken. A body of gentlemen that had followed him stood better to it, and forced their way through; so that the greater part of them escaped. Some of these were taken : the chief of them were sir John Cochran, Ayloffe, and Rumbold. These two last were Englishmen but I knew not upon what motive it was, that they chose rather to run fortunes with Argyle, than with the duke of Monmouth. Thus was this rebellion brought to a speedy end, with the effusion of very little blood. Nor was there much shed in the way of justice; for it was considered, that the Highlanders were under such ties by their tenures, that it was somewhat excusable in them to follow their lord. Most of the gentlemen were brought in by order of council to Edinburgh, which preserved them. One of those that were with Argyle, by a great presence of mind, got to Carlisle, where he called for post horses; and said, he was sent by the general to carry the good news by word of mouth to the king. And so he got to London, and there he found a way to get beyond sea.

Argyle was brought into Edinburgh: he expressed even a cheerful calm under all his misfortunes. He justified all he had done; for, he said, he was unjustly attainted: that had dissolved his allegiance: so it was justice to himself and his family, to endeavour to recover what was so wrongfully taken from him. He also thought, that no allegiance was due to the king, till he had taken the oath which the law prescribed to be taken by our kings at their coronation, or the receipt of their princely dignity. He desired that Mr. Charteris might be ordered to attend upon him; which was granted. When he came to him, he told him he was satisfied in conscience with the lawfulness of what he had done, and therefore desired he would not disturb him with any discourse on that subject. The other, after he had told him his sense of the matter, complied easily with this. So all that remained was to prepare him to die, in which he expressed an unshaken firmness. The duke of Queensbury examined him in private. He said, he had not laid his business with any in Scotland: he had only found credit with a person that lent him money; upon which he had trusted, perhaps too much, to the dispositions of the people, sharpened by their administration. When the day of his execution came, Mr. Charteris happened to come to him as he was ending dinner: he said to him pleasantly, "serò venientibus ossa." He prayed often with him, and by himself, and went to the scaffold with great serenity. He had complained of the duke of Monmouth much, for delaying his coming so long after him, and for assuming the name of king; both which, he said, were contrary to their agreement at parting. Thus he died, pitied by all. His death, being pursuant to the sentence passed three years before, of which mention was made, was looked on as no better than murder. But his conduct in this matter was made up of so many errors, that it appeared he was not made for designs of this kind. Ayloffe had a mind to prevent the course of justice, and having got a penknife into his hands gave himself several stabs; and thinking he was certainly a dead man, he cried out, and said, now he defied his enemies. Yet he had not pierced his guts; so his wounds were not mortal and it being believed that he could make great discoveries, he was brought up to London.

Rumbold was he that dwelt in Rye-house, where it was pretended the plot was laid for murdering the late and the present king. He denied the truth of that conspiracy. He owned, he thought the prince was as much tied to the people, as the people were to the prince; and that, when a king departed from the legal measures of government, the people had a right to assert their liberties, and to restrain him. He did not deny but that he had heard many propositions at West's chambers about killing the two brothers; and upon that he had said, it could have been easily executed near his house; upon which some discourse had followed, how it might have been managed. But, he said, it was only talk, and that nothing was either laid, or so much as resolved on. He said, he was not for a commonwealth, but for kingly government, according to the laws of England; but he did not think that the king had his authority by any divine right, which he expressed in rough, but significant words. He said, he did not believe that God had made the greater part of mankind with saddles on their backs and bridles in their mouths, and some few booted and spurred to ride the rest.

Cochran had a rich father, the earl of Dundonald; and he offered the priests 5,000l. to save his son. They wanted a stock of money for managing their designs; so they interposed so effectually, that the bargain was made. But, to cover it, Cochran petitioned the council that he might be sent to the king; for he had some secrets of great importance, which were not fit to be communicated to any but to the king himself. He was upon that brought up to London; and, after he had been for some time in private with the king, the matters he had discovered were said to be of such importance, that in consideration of that the king pardoned him. It was said, he had discovered all their negociations with the elector of Brandenburg, and the prince of Orange. But this was a pretence only given out to conceal the bargain; for the prince told me, he had never once seen him. The secret of this came to be known soon after.

When Ayloffe was brought up to London, the king examined him, but could draw nothing from him, but one severe repartee. He being sullen, and refusing to discover any thing, the king said to him; "Mr. Ayloffe, you know it is in my power to pardon you, therefore say that which may deserve it." It was said that he answered, that though it was in his power, yet it was not in his nature to pardon. He was nephew to the old earl of Clarendon by marriage; for Ayloffe's aunt was his first wife, but she had no children. It was thought, that the nearness of his relation to the king's children might have moved him to pardon him, which would have been the most effectual confutation of his bold repartee: but he suffered with the rest.

Immediately after Argyle's execution, a parliament was held in Scotland. Upon king Charles's death, the marquis of Queensbury, soon after made a duke, and the earl of Perth, came to court. The duke of Queensbury told the king, that if he had any thoughts of changing the established religion, he could not make any one step with him in that matter. The king seemed to receive this very kindly from him; and assured him, he had no such intention, but that he would have a parliament called, to which he should go his commissioner, and give all possible assurances in the matter of religion, and get the revenue to be settled, and such other laws to be passed as might be necessary for the common safety. The duke of Queensbury pressed the earl of Perth to speak in the same strain to the king. But, though he pretended to be still a protestant, yet he could not prevail on him to speak in so positive a style. I had not then left London; so the duke sent me word of this, and seemed so fully satisfied with it, that he thought all would be safe. So he prepared instructions by which both the revenue and the king's authority were to be carried very high. He has often since that time told me, that the king made those promises to him in so frank and hearty a manner, that he concluded it was impossible for him to be acting a part. Therefore he always believed that the priests gave him leave to promise every thing, and that he did it very sincerely; but that afterwards they pretended they had a power to dissolve the obligation of all oaths and promises; since nothing could be more open and free than his way of expressing himself was, though afterwards he had no sort of regard to any of the promises he then made. The Test had been the king's own act while he was in Scotland. So he thought the putting that on all persons would be the most acceptable method, as well as the most effectual, for securing the protestant religion. Therefore he proposed an instruction obliging all people to take the Test, not only to qualify them for public employments, but that all those to whom the council should tender it should be bound to take it, under the pain of treason: and this was granted. He also projected many other severe laws, that left an arbitrary power in the privy council. And, as he was naturally violent and imperious in his own temper, so he saw the king's inclinations to those methods, and hoped to have recommended himself effectually, by being instrumental in setting up an absolute and despotic form of government. But he found afterwards how he had deceived himself, in thinking that any thing, but the delivering up his religion, could be acceptable long. And he saw, after he had prepared a cruel scheme of government, other men were entrusted with the management of it: and it had almost proved fatal to himself.

The parliament of Scotland sat not long. No opposition was made. The duke of Queensbury gave very full assurances in the point of religion, that the king would never alter it, but would maintain it, as it was established by law. And in confirmation of them he

proposed that act enjoining the Test, which was passed, and was looked on as a full security; though it was very probable, that all the use that the council would make of this discretional power lodged with them, would be only to tender the Test to those that might scruple it on other accounts, but that it would be offered to none of the church of Rome. In return for this the parliament gave the king for life, all the revenue that had been given to his brother; and with that some additional taxes were given.

Other severe laws were also passed. By one of these an inquisition was upon the matter set up. All persons were required, under the pain of treason, to answer to all such questions as should be put to them by the privy council. This put all men under great apprehensions, since upon this act an inquisition might have been grafted, as soon as the king pleased. Another act was only in one particular case; but it was a crying one, and so deserves to be remembered.

When Carstairs was put to the torture, and came to capitulate in order to the making a discovery, he got a promise from the council, that no use should be made of his deposition against any person whatsoever. He in his deposition said somewhat that brought sir Hugh Campbell and his son under the guilt of treason, who had been taken up in London two years before, and were kept in prison all this while. The earl of Melfort got the promise of his estate, which was about 1,000l. a year, as soon as he should be convicted of high treason. So an act was brought in, which was to last only six weeks; and enacted, that if within that time any of the privy council would depose that any man was proved to be guilty of high treason, he should upon such a proof be attainted. Upon which, as soon as the act was passed, four of the privy council stood up, and affirmed that the Campbells were proved by Carstairs's deposition to be guilty. Upon this both father and son were brought to the bar, to see what they had to say, why the sentence should not be executed. The old gentleman, then near eighty, seeing the ruin of his family was determined, and that he was condemned in so unusual a manner, took courage, and said, the oppression they had been under had driven them to despair, and made them think how they might secure their lives and fortunes upon this he went to London, and had some meetings with Baillie, and others: that one was sent to Scotland to hinder all risings: that an oath of secresy was indeed offered, but was never taken upon all this. So it was pretended he had confessed the crime, and by a shew of mercy they were pardoned: but the earl of Melfort possessed himself of their estate. The old gentleman died soon after And very probably his death was hastened by his long and rigorous imprisonment, and this unexampled conclusion of it; which was so universally condemned, that when the news of it was written to foreign parts, it was not easy to make people believe it possible.

But now the sitting of the parliament of England came on. And, as a preparation to it, Oates was convicted of perjury, upon the evidence of the witnesses from St. Omer's, who had been brought over before to discredit his testimony. Now juries were so prepared, as to believe more easily than formerly. So he was condemned to have his priestly habit taken from him, to be a prisoner for life, to be set on the pillory in all the public places of the city, and ever after that to be set on the pillory four times a year, and to be whipped by the common hangman from Aldgate to Newgate one day, and the next from Newgate to Tyburn; which was executed with so much rigour, that his back seemed to be all over flayed. This was thought too little if he was guilty, and too much if innocent, and was illegal in all the parts of it for as the secular court could not order the ecclesiastical habit to be taken from him, so to condemn a man to a perpetual imprisonment was not in the power of the court: and the extreme rigour of such whipping was without a precedent. Yet he, who was an original in all things, bore this with a constancy that amazed all those who saw it. So that this treatment did rather raise his reputation, than sink it.

And, that I may join things of the same sort together, though they were transacted at some distance of time, Dangerfield, another of the witnesses in the popish plot, was also found guilty of perjury, and had the same punishment: but it had a more terrible conclusion; for a brutal student of the law, who had no private quarrel with him, but was only transported with the heat of that time, struck him over the head with his cane, as he got his last lash. This hit him so fatally, that he died of it immediately. The person was apprehended,

and the king left him to the law: and, though great intercession was made for him, the king would not interpose. So he was hanged for it *.

At last the parliament met. The king in his speech repeated that, which he had said to the council upon his first accession to the throne. He told them, some might think the keeping him low would be the surest way to have frequent parliaments: but they should find the contrary, that the using him well would be the best argument to persuade him to meet them often. This was put in to prevent a motion, which was a little talked of abroad, but none would venture on it within doors, that it was safest to grant the revenue only for a term of years.

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The revenue was granted for life, and every thing else that was asked, with such a profusion, that the house was more forward to give, than the king was to ask to which the king thought fit to put a stop by a message, intimating that he desired no more money that session. And yet this forwardness to give in such a reign, was set on by Musgrave and others, who pretended afterwards, when money was asked for just and necessary ends, to be frugal patriots, and to be careful managers of the public treasure.

As for religion, some began to propose a new and firmer security to it. But all the courtiers ran out into eloquent harangues on that subject; and pressed a vote, that they took the king's word in that matter, and would trust to it; and that this should be signified in an address to him. This would bind the king in point of honour, and gain his heart so entirely, that it would be a tie above all laws whatsoever. And the tide ran so strong that way, that the house went into it without opposition.

The lord Preston, who had been for some years envoy in France, was brought over, and set up to be a manager in the house of commons. He told them the reputation of the nation was beginning to rise very high all Europe over, under a prince whose name spread terror everywhere. And if this was confirmed by the entire confidence of his parliament, even in the tenderest matters, it would give such a turn to the affairs of Europe, that England would again hold the balance, and their king would be the arbiter of Europe. This was seconded by all the court flatterers. So in their address to the king, thanking him for his speech, they told him they trusted to him so entirely, that they relied on his word, and thought themselves and their religion safe, since he had promised it to them.

When this was settled, the petitions concerning the elections were presented. Upon those Seymour spoke very high, and with much weight. He said, the complaints of the irregularities in elections were so great, that many doubted whether this was a true representative of the nation or not. He said, little equity was expected upon petitions, where so many were too guilty to judge justly and impartially. He said it concerned them to look to these; for if the nation saw no justice was to be expected from them, other methods would be found, in which they might come to suffer that justice which they would not do. He was a haughty man, and would not communicate his design in making this motion to any; so all were surprised with it, but none seconded it. This had no effect, not so much as to draw on a debate.

The courtiers were projecting many laws to ruin all who opposed their designs. The most important of these was an act declaring treasons during that reign, by which words were to be made treason. And the clause was so drawn, that anything said to disparage the king's person or government was made treason: within which everything said to the dishonour of the king's religion would have been comprehended, as judges and juries were then modelled. This was chiefly opposed by serjeant Maynard, who, in a very grave speech, laid open the

* Burnet is not quite accurate in the account of this melancholy catastrophe; for there is reason to believe that the unfeeling law student alluded to, was punished to allay the popular discontent, rather than because his offence merited the penalty of death. It seems at the worst to have been only manslaughter. Mr. Francis, a Gray's-Inn student, asked Dangerfield, after his flogging, "how he liked his morning's heat ?" Dangerfield, in return, spat in his face, which Francis as hastily resented by thrusting at him with a small cane he held in his hand;

the end unfortunately pierced the sufferer's eye. Death was not the immediate consequence, but he lived so long afterwards in Newgate as to raise a doubt with the surgeons who attended the coroner's inquest, whether the flogging was not the cause of his death. Francis was tried and condemned to be executed : intercessions for his life would perhaps have succeeded, if Jeffreys had not declared that "Francis must die, for the rabble was thoroughly heated."-Higgons' Remarks on Burnet, 444; Woolrych's Life of Jeffreys, 262.