grievances in a parliamentary way, and who promised full redress. It was necessary that the prince should examine his new position, and determine on a new line of ac tion. No course was open to him which was altogether free from objections, no course which would place him in a situation so advantageous as that which he had occupied a few hours before. Yet something might be done. The king's first attempt to escape had failed. What was now most to be desired was that he should make a second attempt with better success. He must be at once frightened and enticed. The liberality with which he had been treated in the negotiation at Hungerford, and which he had requited by a breach of faith, would now be out of No terms of accommodation must be proposed to him. If he should propose terms he must be coldly answered. No violence must be used toward him, or even threatened. Yet it might not be impossible, without ei ther using or threatening violence, to make so weak a man uneasy about his personal safety. He would soon be ea ger to fly. All facilities for flight must then be placed within his reach; and care must be taken that he should not again be stopped by any officious blunderer.

season.

Feversham ar-
The messenger

Such was William's plan; and the ability and determination with which he carried it into effect present a strange contrast to the folly and cowardice with which he had to deal. He soon had an excellent opportunity of commencing his system of intimidation. rived at Windsor with James's letter. had not been very judiciously selected. It was he who had disbanded the royal army. To him primarily were to be imputed the confusion and terror of the Irish night. His conduct was loudly blamed by the public. William had been provoked into muttering a few words of menace; and a few words of menace from William's lips generally meant something. Feversham was asked for his safe-conduct. He had none. By coming without one into the midst of a hostile camp, he had, according to the laws of war, made himself liable to be treated with the

utmost severity. William refused to see him, and ordered him to be put under arrest.* Zulestein was instantly dispatched to inform James that the prince declined the proposed conference, and desired that his majesty would remain at Rochester.

But it was too late. James was already in London. He had hesitated about the journey, and had, at one time determined to make another attempt to reach the Conti nent. But at length he yielded to the urgency of friends who were wiser than himself, and set out for Whitehall. He arrived there on the afternoon of Sunday, the sixteenth of December. He had been apprehensive that the common people, who, during his absence, had given so many proofs of their aversion to popery, would offer him some affront. But the very violence of the recent out. break had produced a remission. The storm had spent itself. Good humor and pity had succeeded to fury. In no quarter was any disposition shown to insult the king. Some cheers were raised as his coach passed through the city. The bells of some churches were rung, and a few bonfires were lighted in honor of his return.† His feeble mind, which had just before been sunk in despondency, was extravagantly elated by these unexpected signs of good will and compassion. He entered his dwelling in high spirits. It speedily resumed its old aspect. Roman Catholic priests, who had, during the preceding week, been glad to hide themselves from the rage of the multitude in vaults and cocklofts, now came forth from their lurking

* Clarendon's Diary, Dec. 16, 1688; Burnet, i., 800.

t Clarke's Life of James, ii., 262, Orig. Mem.; Burnet, i., 799. In the
History of the Desertion (1689), it is affirmed that the shouts on this occa-
Biou were uttered merely by some idle boys, and that the great body of the
people looked on in silence. Oldmixon, who was in the crowd, says the
same; and Ralph tells us that the information which he had received from
a respectable eye-witness was to the same effect. The truth probably is,
that the signs of joy were in themselves slight, but seemed extraordinary
because a violent explosion of public indignation had been expected. Baril
lon mentious that there had been acclamations and some bonfires, but adds,
"Le peuple dans le fond est pour le Prince d'Orange."-Dec. 17, 1688.

places, and demanded possession of their old apartments in the palace. Grace was said at the royal table by a Jesuit. The Irish brogue, then the most hateful of all sounds to English ears, was heard every where in the courts and galleries. The king himself had resumed all his old haughtiness. He held a council, his last council, and, even in that extremity, summoned to the board persons not legally qualified to sit there. He expressed high displeasure at the conduct of those lords who, during his absence, had dared to take the administration on themselves. It was their duty, he conceived, to let society be dissolved, to let the houses of embassadors be pulled down, to let London be set on fire, rather than assume the functions which he had thought fit to abandon. Among those whom he thus censured were some nobles and prelates who, in spite of all his errors, had been constantly true to him, and who, even after this provocation, never could be induced by hope or fear to transfer their allegiance from him to any other sovereign.*

But his courage was soon cast down. Scarcely had he entered his palace when Zulestein was announced. William's cold and stern message was delivered. The king still pressed for a personal conference with his nephew "I would not have left Rochester," he said, "if I had known that he wished me not to do so; but, since I am here, I hope that he will come to Saint James's." "I must plainly tell your majesty," said Zulestein, "that his highness will not come to London while there are any troops here which are not under his orders." The king, confounded by this answer, remained silent. Zulestein retired; and soon a gentleman entered the bed-chamber with the news that Feversham had been put under arrest. James was greatly disturbed. Yet the recollection of the applause with which he had been greeted still buoyed up his spirits. A wild hope rose in his mind. He

* London Gazette, Dec. 16, 1688; Mulgrave's Account of the Revolution; History of the Desertion; Burnet, i., 799; Evelyn's Diary, Dec. 13, 17, 1688. + Clarke's History of James, ii., 262, Orig. Mem.

fancied that London, so long the stronghold of Protestantism and Whiggism, was ready to take arms in his defense. He sent to ask the common council whether, if he took up his residence in the city, they would engage to defend him against the prince. But the common council had not forgotten the seizure of the charter and the judicial murder of Cornish, and refused to give the pledge which was demanded. Then the king's heart again sank within him. Where, he asked, was he to look for protection? He might as well have Dutch troops about him as his own Life Guards. As to the citizens, he now understood what their huzzas and bonfires were worth. Nothing remained but flight; and yet, he said, he knew that there was nothing which his enemies so much desired as that he would fly.*

While he was in this state of trepidation, his fate was the subject of a grave deliberation at Windsor. The court of William was now crowded to overflowing with eminent men of all parties. Most of the chiefs of the northern insurrection had joined him. Several of the lords, who had, during the anarchy of the preceding week, taken upon themselves to act as a provisional government, had, as soon as the king returned, quitted London for the Dutch head-quarters. One of these was Halifax. William had welcomed him with great satisfaction, but had not been able to suppress a sarcastic smile at seeing the ingenious and accomplished politician, who had aspired to be the umpire in that great contention, forced to abandon the middle course and to take a side. Among those who, at this conjuncture, repaired to Windsor, were some men who had purchased the favor of James by ignominious services, and who were now impatient to atone, by betraying their master, for the crime of having betrayed their country. Such a man was Titus, who had sat at the council board in defiance of law, and who had labored to unite the Puritans with the Jesuits in a league against the Constitution. Such a man was Williams, who had been convert

* Barillon, Dec. 17, 1688; Clarke's Life of James, ii., 271.

1

ed by interest from a demagogue into a champion of prerogative, and who was now ready for a second apostasy. These men the prince, with just contempt, suffered to wait at the door of his apartment in vain expectation of an audience.*

On Monday, the seventeenth of December, all the peers who were at Windsor were summoned to a solemn consultation at the castle. The subject proposed for delib eration was what should be done with the king. William did not think it advisable to be present during the discusHe retired, and Halifax was called to the chair.

sion.

On one point the lords were agreed. The king could not be suffered to remain where he was. That one prince should fortify himself in Whitehall and the other in Saint James's, that there should be two hostile garrisons within an area of a hundred acres, was universally felt to be inexpedient. Such an arrangement could scarcely fail to produce suspicions, insults, and bickerings which might end in blood. The assembled lords, therefore, thought it advisable that James should be sent out of London. Ham, which had been built and decorated by Lauderdale, on the banks of the Thames, out of the plunder of Scotland and the bribes of France, and which was regarded as the most luxurious of villas, was proposed as a convenient retreat. When the lords had come to this conclusion, they requested the prince to join them. Their opinion was then communicated to him by Halifax. William listened and approved. A short message to the king was drawn up. "Whom," said William, "shall we send with it?" "Ought it not," said Halifax, "to be conveyed by one of your highness's officers?" "Nay, my lord," answered the prince; "by your favor, it is sent by the advice of your lordships, and some of you ought to carry it." Then, without pausing to give time for remonstrance, he appointed Halifax, Shrewsbury, and Delamere to be the messengers.†

Mulgrave's Account of the Revolution; Clarendon's Diary, Dec. 16, 1688 ↑ Burnet, i., 800; Clarendon's Diary, Dec. 17, 1688; Citters, Dec. 1, 1688