he owed his crown. He therefore contented himself with directing Jeffreys to consider what course ought to be taken. It was announced at one time that a proceeding would be instituted in the King's Bench, at another that the Ecclesiastical Commission would take up the case; but these threats gradually died away.*

The summer was now far advanced, and the king set out on a progress, the longest and the most splendid that had been known for many years. From Windsor he went on the sixteenth of August to Portsmouth, walked round the fortifications, touched some scrofulous people, and then proceeded in one of his yachts to Southampton. From Southampton he traveled to Bath, where he remained a few days, and where he left the queen. When he departed, he was attended by the high sheriff of Somersetshire and by a large body of gentlemen to the frontier of the county, where the high sheriff of Gloucestershire, with a not less splendid retinue, was in attendance. The Duke of Beaufort soon met the royal coaches, and conducted them to Badminton, where a banquet worthy of the fame which his splendid housekeeping had won for him was prepared. In the afternoon the cavalcade proceeded to Gloucester. It was greeted two miles from the city by the bishop and clergy. At the South Gate the mayor waited with the keys. The bells rang and the conduits flowed with wine as the king passed through the streets to the close which encircles the venerable cathedral. He lay that night at

the deanery, and on the following morning set out for Worcester. From Worcester he went to Ludlow, Shrewsbury, and Chester, and was every where received with outward signs of joy and respect, which he was weak enough to consider as proofs that the discontent excited by his measures had subsided, and that an easy victory was before him. Barillon, more sagacious, informed Louis that the King of England was under a delusion, that the progress had done no real good, and that those very gentlemen of Worcestershire and Shropshire who had thought it their

* A Relation of the Proceedings at the Charter House, 1689.

duty to receive their sovereign and their guest with every mark of honor, would be found as refractory as ever when the question of the test should come on.*

On the road the royal train was joined by two courtiers who in temper and opinions differed widely from each other. Penn was at Chester on a pastoral tour. His popularity and authority among his brethren had greatly declined since he had become a tool of the king and of the Jesuits. He was, however, most graciously received by James, who even condescended to go to the Quaker meeting, and to listen with decency to his friend's melodious eloquence.† Tyrconnel had crossed the sea from Dublin to give an account of his administration. All the most respectable English Catholics looked coldly on him, as on an enemy of their race and a scandal to their religion; but he was cordially welcomed by his master, and dismissed with assurances of undiminished confidence and steady support.. James expressed his delight at learning that in a short time the whole government of Ireland would be in Roman Catholic hands. The English colonists had already been stripped of all political power. Nothing remained but to strip them of their property; and this last outrage was deferred only till the co-operation of an Irish Parliament should have been secured.‡

From Cheshire the king turned southward, and, in the

* See the London Gazette, from August 18 to September 1, 1687; Barillon, September

+ Clarkson's Life of Penn. "Penn, chef des Quakers, qu'on sait être dans les intérêts du Roi d'Angleterre, est si fort décrié parmi ceux de son parti qu'ils n'ont plus aucune confiance en lui."--Bonrepaux to Seignelay, Sept. 12, 1687.

London Gazette, Sept. 5; Sheridan MS.; Barillon, Sept. 1687. "Le Roi son maître," says Barillon, "a témoigné une grande satisfaction des mesures qu'il a prises, et a autorisé ce qu'il a fait en faveur des Catholiques. Il les établit dans les emplois et les charges, en sorte que l'autorité se trouvera bientôt entre leurs mains. Il reste encore beaucoup de choses à faire en ce pays là pour retirer les biens injustement ôtés aux Catholiques. Mais cela ne peut s'exécuter qu'avec le tems et dans l'assemblée d'un Parlement en Irlande."

full belief that the fellows of Magdalene College, however mutinous they might be, would not dare to disobey a command uttered by his own lips, directed his course toward Oxford. By the way he made some little excursions to places which peculiarly interested him as a king, a brother, and a son. He visited the hospitable roof of Boscobel, and the remains of the oak so conspicuous in the history of his house. He rode over the field of Edgehill, where the Cavaliers first crossed swords with the soldiers of the Parliament. On the third of September he dined with great state at the palace of Woodstock, an ancient and renowned mansion of which not a stone is now to be seen, but of which the site is still marked on the turf of Blenheim Park by two sycamores which grow near the stately bridge. In the evening he reached Oxford. He was received with the wonted honors. The students in their academical garb were ranged to welcome him on the right hand and on the left, from the entrance of the city to the great gate of Christ Church. He lodged at the deanery, where, among other accommodations, he found a chapel fitted up for the celebration of the mass. On the day after his arrival, the fellows of Magdalene College were ordered to attend him. When they appeared before him, he treated them with an insolence such as had never been shown to their predecessors by the Puritan visitors. "You have not dealt with me like gentlemen," he exclaimed. "You have been unmannerly as well as undutiful." They fell on their knees and tendered a petition. He would not look at it. "Is this your Church of England loyalty? I could not have believed that so many clergymen of the Church of England would have been concerned in such a business. Go home. Get you gone. I am king. I will be obeyed. Go to your chapel this instant, and admit the Bishop of Oxford. Let those who refuse look to it. They shall feel the whole weight of my hand. They shall know what it is to incur the displeasure of their sovereign." The fellows, still kneeling before him, again offered him their pe* London Gazette of Sept. 5 and Sept. 8, 1687.

tition.

He angrily flung it down. "Get you gone, I tell you. I will receive nothing from you till you have admitted the bishop."

They retired, and instantly assembled in the chapel. The question was propounded whether they would comply with his majesty's command. Smith was absent. Charnock alone answered in the affirmative. The other fellows who were at the meeting declared that in all things lawful they were ready to obey their king, but that they would not violate their statutes and their oaths.

The king, greatly incensed and mortified by his defeat, quitted Oxford, and rejoined the queen at Bath. His obstinacy and violence had brought him into an embarrassing position. He had trusted too much to the effect of his frowns and angry tones, and had rashly staked, not merely the credit of his administration, but his personal dignity, on the issue of the contest. Could he yield to subjects whom he had menaced with raised voice and furious gestures? Yet could he venture to eject in one day a crowd of respectable clergymen from their homes because they had discharged what the whole nation regarded as a sacred duty? Perhaps there might be an escape from this dilemma. Perhaps the college might still be terrified, caressed, or bribed into submission. The agency of Penn was employed. He had too much good feeling to approve of the violent and unjust proceedings of the government, and even ventured to express part of what he thought. James was, as usual, obstinate in the wrong. The courtly Quaker, therefore, did his best to seduce the college from the path of right. He first tried intimidation. Ruin, he said, impended over the society. The king was highly incensed. The case might be a hard one. Most people thought it so. But every child knew that his majesty loved to have his own way, and could not bear to be thwarted. Penn therefore exhorted the fellows not to rely on the goodness of their cause, but to submit, or at least to temporize. Such counsel came strangely from one who had himself been expelled from the university for

raising a riot about the surplice, who had run the risk of being disinherited rather than take off his hat to the princes of the blood, and who had been sent to prison for haranguing in conventicles. He did not succeed in frightening the Magdalene men. In answer to his alarming hints, he was reminded that in the last generation thirtyfour out of the forty fellows had cheerfully left their beloved cloisters and gardens, their hall and their chapel, and had gone forth, not knowing where they should find a meal. or a bed, rather than violate the oath of allegiance. The king now wished them to violate another oath. He should find that the old spirit was not extinct.

But

Then Penn tried a gentler tone. He had an interview with Hough and with some of the fellows, and, after many professions of sympathy and friendship, began to hint at a compromise. The king could not bear to be crossed. The college must give way. Parker must be admitted. he was in very bad health. All his preferments would soon be vacant. "How should you like," said Penn, "to see Doctor Hough Bishop of Oxford ?" Penn had passed his life in declaiming against a hireling ministry. He held that he was bound to refuse the payment of tithes, and this even when he had bought land chargeable with tithes, and had been allowed the value of the tithes in the purchase money. According to his own principles, he would have committed a great sin if he had interfered for the purpose of obtaining a benefice on the most honorable terms for the most pious divine. Yet to such a degree had his manners been corrupted by evil communications, and his understanding obscured by inordinate zeal for a single object, that he did not scruple to become a broker in simony of a peculiarly discreditable kind, and to use a bishopric as a bait to tempt a divine to perjury. Hough replied with civil contempt that he wanted nothing from the crown but common justice. "We stand," he said, "on our statutes and our oaths; but, even setting aside our statutes and oaths, we feel that we have our religion to defend. The papists have robbed us of University Col