the realm whose private income equaled Sunderland's of ficial income.

What chance was there that, in a new order of things, a man so deeply implicated in illegal and unpopular acts, a member of the High Commission, a renegade whom the multitude, in places of general resort, pursued with the cry of popish dog, would be greater and richer? What chance that he would even be able to escape condign punishment?

He had undoubtedly been long in the habit of looking forward to the time when William and Mary might be, in the regular course of nature and law, at the head of the English government, and had probably attempted to make for himself an interest in their favor, by promises and services which, if discovered, would not have raised his credit at Whitehall. But it may with confidence be affirmed that he had no wish to see them raised to power by a revolution, and that he did not at all foresee such a revolution when, toward the close of June, 1688, he solemnly joined the communion of the Church of Rome.

Scarcely, however, had he, by that inexpiable crime, made himself an object of hatred and contempt to the whole nation, when he learned that the civil and ecclesiastical polity of England would shortly be vindicated by foreign and domestic arms. From that moment all his plans seem to have undergone a change. Fear bowed down his whole soul, and was so written in his face that all who saw him could read.* It could hardly be doubted that, if there were a revolution, the evil counselors who surrounded the throne would be called to a strict account; and among those counselors he stood in the foremost rank. The loss of his places, his salaries, his pensions, was the least that he had to dread. His patrimonial mansion and woods at Althorpe might be confiscated. He might lie many years in a prison. He might end his days in a foreign land, a pensioner on the bounty of France Even this was not the worst. Visions of an innumerable

Adda says that Sunderland's terror was visible.

Oct. 96

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crowd covering Tower Hill and shouting with savage joy
at the sight of the apostate, of a scaffold hung with black,
of Burnet reading the prayer for the departing, and of
Ketch leaning on the ax with which Russell and Mon-
mouth had been mangled in so butcherly a fashion, be-
gan to haunt the unhappy statesman. There was yet
one way in which he might escape, a way more terrible
to a noble spirit than a prison or a scaffold.
He might

still, by a well-timed and useful treason, earn his pardon
from the foes of the government. It was in his power to
render to them at this conjuncture services beyond all
price; for he had the royal ear; he had great influence
over the Jesuitical cabal; and he was blindly trusted by
the French embassador. A channel of communication
was not wanting, a channel worthy of the purpose which
it was to serve. The Countess of Sunderland was an
artful woman, who, under a show of devotion which im-
posed on some grave men, carried on, with great activity,
both amorous and political intrigues.* The handsome
and dissolute Henry Sidney had long been her favorite
lover. Her husband was well pleased to see her thus con-
nected with the court of the Hague. Whenever he wished
to transmit a secret message to Holland, he spoke to his
wife she wrote to Sidney, and Sidney communicated
her letter to William. One of her communications was
intercepted and carried to James. She vehemently pro-
tested that it was a forgery. Her husband, with charac-
teristic ingenuity, defended himself by representing that
it was quite impossible for any man to be so base as to
do what he was in the habit of doing. "Even if this is
Lady Sunderland's hand," he said, "that is no affair of
mine. Your majesty knows my domestic misfortunes.
The footing on which my wife and Mr. Sidney are is but
too public. Who can believe that I would make a confi-
dant of the man who has injured my honor in the tender-
est point of the man whom, of all others, I ought most to

Compare Evelyn's account of her with what the Princess of Denmark wrote about her to the Hague, and with her own letters to Henry Sidney.

hate?" This defense was thought satisfactory; and secret intelligence was still transmitted from the wittol to the adulteress, from the adulteress to the gallant, and from the gallant to the enemies of James.

It is highly probable that the first decisive assurances of Sunderland's support were conveyed orally by Sidney to William about the middle of August. It is certain that, from that time till the expedition was ready to sail, a most significant correspondence was kept up between the countess and her lover. A few of her letters, partly written in cipher, are still extant. They contain professions of good will and promises of service mingled with earnest entreaties for protection. The writer intimates that her husband will do all that his friends at the Hague can wish; she supposes that it will be necessary for him to go into temporary exile; but she hopes that his banishment will not be perpetual, and that his patrimonial estate will be spared; and she earnestly begs to be informed in what place it will be best for him to take refuge till the first fury of the storm is over.†

The help of Sunderland was most welcome; for, as the time of striking the great blow drew near, the anxiety of William became intense. From common eyes his feelings were concealed by the icy tranquillity of his demeanor; but his whole heart was open to Bentinck. The preparations were not quite complete. The design was already suspected, and could not long be concealed. The King of France or the city of Amsterdam might still frustrate the whole plan. If Louis were to send a great force into Brabant, if the faction which hated the stadtholder were to raise its head, all was over. "My sufferings, my disquiet," the prince wrote, "are dreadful. I hardly see my way. Never in my life did I so much feel the need

Bonrepaux to Seignelay, July 11, 1688.

† See her letters in the Sidney Diary and Correspondence lately published. Mr. Fox, in his copy of Barillon's dispatches, marked the 30th of August, N.S., 1688, as the date from which it was quite certain that Sunderland was play. ing false.

of God's guidance."*
Bentinck's wife was at this time
dangerously ill, and both the friends were painfully anx-
ious about her. "God support you," William wrote,
"and enable you to bear your part in a work on which,
as far as human beings can see, the welfare of his Church
depends."†

It was indeed impossible that a design so vast as that which had been formed against the King of England should remain during many weeks a secret. No art could prevent intelligent men from perceiving that William was making great military and naval preparations, and from suspecting the object with which those preparations were made. Early in August, hints that some great event was approaching were whispered up and down London. The weak and corrupt Albeville was then on a visit to England, and was, or affected to be, certain that the Dutch government entertained no design unfriendly to James; but, during the absence of Albeville from his post, Avaux performed, with eminent skill, the duties both of French and English embassador to the States, and supplied Barillon as well as Louis with ample intelligence. Avaux was satisfied that a descent on England was in contemplation, and succeeded in convincing his master of the truth. Every courier who arrived at Westminster, either from the Hague or from Versailles, brought earnest warnings.‡ But James was under a delusion which appears to have been artfully encouraged by Sunderland. The Prince of Orange, said the cunning minister, would never dare to engage in an expedition beyond sea, leaving Holland defenseless. The States, remembering what they had suffered and what they had been in danger of suffering during the great agony of 1672, would never incur the risk of again seeing an invading army encamped on the plain between Utrecht and Amsterdam. There was doubtless much discontent in England; but the interval was

immense between discontent and rebellion.

Men of rank and fortune were not disposed lightly to hazard their hon ors, their estates, and their lives. How many eminent Whigs had held high language when Monmouth was in the Netherlands! and yet, when he set up his standard, what eminent men had joined it? It was easy to understand why Louis affected to give credit to these idle rumors. He doubtless hoped to frighten the King of England into taking the French side in the dispute about Cologne. By such reasoning James was easily lulled into stupid security. The alarm and indignation of Louis increased daily. The style of his letters became sharp and vehement.† He could not understand, he wrote, this lethargy on the eve of a terrible crisis. Was the king bewitched? Were his ministers blind? Was it possible that nobody at Whitehall was aware of what was passing in England and on the Continent? Such foolhardy se curity could scarcely be the effect of mere improvidence. There must be foul play. James was evidently in bad hands. Barillon was earnestly cautioned not to repose implicit confidence in the English ministers; but he was cautioned in vain. On him, as on James, Sunderland had cast a spell which no exhortation could break.

Louis bestirred himself vigorously. Bonrepaux, who was far superior to Barillon in shrewdness, and who had always disliked and distrusted Sunderland, was dispatched to London with an offer of naval assistance. Avaux was at the same time ordered to declare to the States-General that France had taken James under her protection. A large body of troops was held in readiness to march toward the Dutch frontier. This bold attempt to save the infatuated tyrant in his own despite was made with the full concurrence of Skelton, who was now envoy from England to the court of Versailles.