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    Ch. 35 - James the Second

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    Chapter 35
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    KING JAMES THE SECOND was a man so very disagreeable, that even the
    best of historians has favoured his brother Charles, as becoming,
    by comparison, quite a pleasant character. The one object of his
    short reign was to re-establish the Catholic religion in England;
    and this he doggedly pursued with such a stupid obstinacy, that his
    career very soon came to a close.

    The first thing he did, was, to assure his council that he would
    make it his endeavour to preserve the Government, both in Church
    and State, as it was by law established; and that he would always
    take care to defend and support the Church. Great public
    acclamations were raised over this fair speech, and a great deal
    was said, from the pulpits and elsewhere, about the word of a King
    which was never broken, by credulous people who little supposed
    that he had formed a secret council for Catholic affairs, of which
    a mischievous Jesuit, called FATHER PETRE, was one of the chief
    members. With tears of joy in his eyes, he received, as the
    beginning of HIS pension from the King of France, five hundred
    thousand livres; yet, with a mixture of meanness and arrogance that
    belonged to his contemptible character, he was always jealous of
    making some show of being independent of the King of France, while
    he pocketed his money. As - notwithstanding his publishing two
    papers in favour of Popery (and not likely to do it much service, I
    should think) written by the King, his brother, and found in his
    strong-box; and his open display of himself attending mass - the
    Parliament was very obsequious, and granted him a large sum of
    money, he began his reign with a belief that he could do what he
    pleased, and with a determination to do it.

    Before we proceed to its principal events, let us dispose of Titus
    Oates. He was tried for perjury, a fortnight after the coronation,
    and besides being very heavily fined, was sentenced to stand twice
    in the pillory, to be whipped from Aldgate to Newgate one day, and
    from Newgate to Tyburn two days afterwards, and to stand in the
    pillory five times a year as long as he lived. This fearful
    sentence was actually inflicted on the rascal. Being unable to
    stand after his first flogging, he was dragged on a sledge from
    Newgate to Tyburn, and flogged as he was drawn along. He was so
    strong a villain that he did not die under the torture, but lived
    to be afterwards pardoned and rewarded, though not to be ever
    believed in any more. Dangerfield, the only other one of that crew
    left alive, was not so fortunate. He was almost killed by a
    whipping from Newgate to Tyburn, and, as if that were not
    punishment enough, a ferocious barrister of Gray's Inn gave him a
    poke in the eye with his cane, which caused his death; for which
    the ferocious barrister was deservedly tried and executed.

    As soon as James was on the throne, Argyle and Monmouth went from
    Brussels to Rotterdam, and attended a meeting of Scottish exiles
    held there, to concert measures for a rising in England. It was
    agreed that Argyle should effect a landing in Scotland, and
    Monmouth in England; and that two Englishmen should be sent with
    Argyle to be in his confidence, and two Scotchmen with the Duke of

    Argyle was the first to act upon this contract. But, two of his
    men being taken prisoners at the Orkney Islands, the Government
    became aware of his intention, and was able to act against him with
    such vigour as to prevent his raising more than two or three
    thousand Highlanders, although he sent a fiery cross, by trusty
    messengers, from clan to clan and from glen to glen, as the custom
    then was when those wild people were to be excited by their chiefs.
    As he was moving towards Glasgow with his small force, he was
    betrayed by some of his followers, taken, and carried, with his
    hands tied behind his back, to his old prison in Edinburgh Castle.
    James ordered him to be executed, on his old shamefully unjust
    sentence, within three days; and he appears to have been anxious
    that his legs should have been pounded with his old favourite the
    boot. However, the boot was not applied; he was simply beheaded,
    and his head was set upon the top of Edinburgh Jail. One of those
    Englishmen who had been assigned to him was that old soldier
    Rumbold, the master of the Rye House. He was sorely wounded, and
    within a week after Argyle had suffered with great courage, was
    brought up for trial, lest he should die and disappoint the King.
    He, too, was executed, after defending himself with great spirit,
    and saying that he did not believe that God had made the greater
    part of mankind to carry saddles on their backs and bridles in
    their mouths, and to be ridden by a few, booted and spurred for the
    purpose - in which I thoroughly agree with Rumbold.

    The Duke of Monmouth, partly through being detained and partly
    through idling his time away, was five or six weeks behind his
    friend when he landed at Lyme, in Dorset: having at his right hand
    an unlucky nobleman called LORD GREY OF WERK, who of himself would
    have ruined a far more promising expedition. He immediately set up
    his standard in the market-place, and proclaimed the King a tyrant,
    and a Popish usurper, and I know not what else; charging him, not
    only with what he had done, which was bad enough, but with what
    neither he nor anybody else had done, such as setting fire to
    London, and poisoning the late King. Raising some four thousand
    men by these means, he marched on to Taunton, where there were many
    Protestant dissenters who were strongly opposed to the Catholics.
    Here, both the rich and poor turned out to receive him, ladies
    waved a welcome to him from all the windows as he passed along the
    streets, flowers were strewn in his way, and every compliment and
    honour that could be devised was showered upon him. Among the
    rest, twenty young ladies came forward, in their best clothes, and
    in their brightest beauty, and gave him a Bible ornamented with
    their own fair hands, together with other presents.

    Encouraged by this homage, he proclaimed himself King, and went on
    to Bridgewater. But, here the Government troops, under the EARL OF
    FEVERSHAM, were close at hand; and he was so dispirited at finding
    that he made but few powerful friends after all, that it was a
    question whether he should disband his army and endeavour to
    escape. It was resolved, at the instance of that unlucky Lord
    Grey, to make a night attack on the King's army, as it lay encamped
    on the edge of a morass called Sedgemoor. The horsemen were
    commanded by the same unlucky lord, who was not a brave man. He
    gave up the battle almost at the first obstacle - which was a deep
    drain; and although the poor countrymen, who had turned out for
    Monmouth, fought bravely with scythes, poles, pitchforks, and such
    poor weapons as they had, they were soon dispersed by the trained
    soldiers, and fled in all directions. When the Duke of Monmouth
    himself fled, was not known in the confusion; but the unlucky Lord
    Grey was taken early next day, and then another of the party was
    taken, who confessed that he had parted from the Duke only four
    hours before. Strict search being made, he was found disguised as
    a peasant, hidden in a ditch under fern and nettles, with a few
    peas in his pocket which he had gathered in the fields to eat. The
    only other articles he had upon him were a few papers and little
    books: one of the latter being a strange jumble, in his own
    writing, of charms, songs, recipes, and prayers. He was completely
    broken. He wrote a miserable letter to the King, beseeching and
    entreating to be allowed to see him. When he was taken to London,
    and conveyed bound into the King's presence, he crawled to him on
    his knees, and made a most degrading exhibition. As James never
    forgave or relented towards anybody, he was not likely to soften
    towards the issuer of the Lyme proclamation, so he told the
    suppliant to prepare for death.

    On the fifteenth of July, one thousand six hundred and eighty-five,
    this unfortunate favourite of the people was brought out to die on
    Tower Hill. The crowd was immense, and the tops of all the houses
    were covered with gazers. He had seen his wife, the daughter of
    the Duke of Buccleuch, in the Tower, and had talked much of a lady
    whom he loved far better - the LADY HARRIET WENTWORTH - who was one
    of the last persons he remembered in this life. Before laying down
    his head upon the block he felt the edge of the axe, and told the
    executioner that he feared it was not sharp enough, and that the
    axe was not heavy enough. On the executioner replying that it was
    of the proper kind, the Duke said, 'I pray you have a care, and do
    not use me so awkwardly as you used my Lord Russell.' The
    executioner, made nervous by this, and trembling, struck once and
    merely gashed him in the neck. Upon this, the Duke of Monmouth
    raised his head and looked the man reproachfully in the face. Then
    he struck twice, and then thrice, and then threw down the axe, and
    cried out in a voice of horror that he could not finish that work.
    The sheriffs, however, threatening him with what should be done to
    himself if he did not, he took it up again and struck a fourth time
    and a fifth time. Then the wretched head at last fell off, and
    James, Duke of Monmouth, was dead, in the thirty-sixth year of his
    age. He was a showy, graceful man, with many popular qualities,
    and had found much favour in the open hearts of the English.

    The atrocities, committed by the Government, which followed this
    Monmouth rebellion, form the blackest and most lamentable page in
    English history. The poor peasants, having been dispersed with
    great loss, and their leaders having been taken, one would think
    that the implacable King might have been satisfied. But no; he let
    loose upon them, among other intolerable monsters, a COLONEL KIRK,
    who had served against the Moors, and whose soldiers - called by
    the people Kirk's lambs, because they bore a lamb upon their flag,
    as the emblem of Christianity - were worthy of their leader. The
    atrocities committed by these demons in human shape are far too
    horrible to be related here. It is enough to say, that besides
    most ruthlessly murdering and robbing them, and ruining them by
    making them buy their pardons at the price of all they possessed,
    it was one of Kirk's favourite amusements, as he and his officers
    sat drinking after dinner, and toasting the King, to have batches
    of prisoners hanged outside the windows for the company's
    diversion; and that when their feet quivered in the convulsions of
    death, he used to swear that they should have music to their
    dancing, and would order the drums to beat and the trumpets to
    play. The detestable King informed him, as an acknowledgment of
    these services, that he was 'very well satisfied with his
    proceedings.' But the King's great delight was in the proceedings
    of Jeffreys, now a peer, who went down into the west, with four
    other judges, to try persons accused of having had any share in the
    rebellion. The King pleasantly called this 'Jeffreys's campaign.'
    The people down in that part of the country remember it to this day
    as The Bloody Assize.

    It began at Winchester, where a poor deaf old lady, MRS. ALICIA
    LISLE, the widow of one of the judges of Charles the First (who had
    been murdered abroad by some Royalist assassins), was charged with
    having given shelter in her house to two fugitives from Sedgemoor.
    Three times the jury refused to find her guilty, until Jeffreys
    bullied and frightened them into that false verdict. When he had
    extorted it from them, he said, 'Gentlemen, if I had been one of
    you, and she had been my own mother, I would have found her
    guilty;' - as I dare say he would. He sentenced her to be burned
    alive, that very afternoon. The clergy of the cathedral and some
    others interfered in her favour, and she was beheaded within a
    week. As a high mark of his approbation, the King made Jeffreys
    Lord Chancellor; and he then went on to Dorchester, to Exeter, to
    Taunton, and to Wells. It is astonishing, when we read of the
    enormous injustice and barbarity of this beast, to know that no one
    struck him dead on the judgment-seat. It was enough for any man or
    woman to be accused by an enemy, before Jeffreys, to be found
    guilty of high treason. One man who pleaded not guilty, he ordered
    to be taken out of court upon the instant, and hanged; and this so
    terrified the prisoners in general that they mostly pleaded guilty
    at once. At Dorchester alone, in the course of a few days,
    Jeffreys hanged eighty people; besides whipping, transporting,
    imprisoning, and selling as slaves, great numbers. He executed, in
    all, two hundred and fifty, or three hundred.

    These executions took place, among the neighbours and friends of
    the sentenced, in thirty-six towns and villages. Their bodies were
    mangled, steeped in caldrons of boiling pitch and tar, and hung up
    by the roadsides, in the streets, over the very churches. The
    sight and smell of heads and limbs, the hissing and bubbling of the
    infernal caldrons, and the tears and terrors of the people, were
    dreadful beyond all description. One rustic, who was forced to
    steep the remains in the black pot, was ever afterwards called 'Tom
    Boilman.' The hangman has ever since been called Jack Ketch,
    because a man of that name went hanging and hanging, all day long,
    in the train of Jeffreys. You will hear much of the horrors of the
    great French Revolution. Many and terrible they were, there is no
    doubt; but I know of nothing worse, done by the maddened people of
    France in that awful time, than was done by the highest judge in
    England, with the express approval of the King of England, in The
    Bloody Assize.

    Nor was even this all. Jeffreys was as fond of money for himself
    as of misery for others, and he sold pardons wholesale to fill his
    pockets. The King ordered, at one time, a thousand prisoners to be
    given to certain of his favourites, in order that they might
    bargain with them for their pardons. The young ladies of Taunton
    who had presented the Bible, were bestowed upon the maids of honour
    at court; and those precious ladies made very hard bargains with
    them indeed. When The Bloody Assize was at its most dismal height,
    the King was diverting himself with horse-races in the very place
    where Mrs. Lisle had been executed. When Jeffreys had done his
    worst, and came home again, he was particularly complimented in the
    Royal Gazette; and when the King heard that through drunkenness and
    raging he was very ill, his odious Majesty remarked that such
    another man could not easily be found in England. Besides all
    this, a former sheriff of London, named CORNISH, was hanged within
    sight of his own house, after an abominably conducted trial, for
    having had a share in the Rye House Plot, on evidence given by
    Rumsey, which that villain was obliged to confess was directly
    opposed to the evidence he had given on the trial of Lord Russell.
    And on the very same day, a worthy widow, named ELIZABETH GAUNT,
    was burned alive at Tyburn, for having sheltered a wretch who
    himself gave evidence against her. She settled the fuel about
    herself with her own hands, so that the flames should reach her
    quickly: and nobly said, with her last breath, that she had obeyed
    the sacred command of God, to give refuge to the outcast, and not
    to betray the wanderer.

    After all this hanging, beheading, burning, boiling, mutilating,
    exposing, robbing, transporting, and selling into slavery, of his
    unhappy subjects, the King not unnaturally thought that he could do
    whatever he would. So, he went to work to change the religion of
    the country with all possible speed; and what he did was this.

    He first of all tried to get rid of what was called the Test Act -
    which prevented the Catholics from holding public employments - by
    his own power of dispensing with the penalties. He tried it in one
    case, and, eleven of the twelve judges deciding in his favour, he
    exercised it in three others, being those of three dignitaries of
    University College, Oxford, who had become Papists, and whom he
    kept in their places and sanctioned. He revived the hated
    Ecclesiastical Commission, to get rid of COMPTON, Bishop of London,
    who manfully opposed him. He solicited the Pope to favour England
    with an ambassador, which the Pope (who was a sensible man then)
    rather unwillingly did. He flourished Father Petre before the eyes
    of the people on all possible occasions. He favoured the
    establishment of convents in several parts of London. He was
    delighted to have the streets, and even the court itself, filled
    with Monks and Friars in the habits of their orders. He constantly
    endeavoured to make Catholics of the Protestants about him. He
    held private interviews, which he called 'closetings,' with those
    Members of Parliament who held offices, to persuade them to consent
    to the design he had in view. When they did not consent, they were
    removed, or resigned of themselves, and their places were given to
    Catholics. He displaced Protestant officers from the army, by
    every means in his power, and got Catholics into their places too.
    He tried the same thing with the corporations, and also (though not
    so successfully) with the Lord Lieutenants of counties. To terrify
    the people into the endurance of all these measures, he kept an
    army of fifteen thousand men encamped on Hounslow Heath, where mass
    was openly performed in the General's tent, and where priests went
    among the soldiers endeavouring to persuade them to become
    Catholics. For circulating a paper among those men advising them
    to be true to their religion, a Protestant clergyman, named
    JOHNSON, the chaplain of the late Lord Russell, was actually
    sentenced to stand three times in the pillory, and was actually
    whipped from Newgate to Tyburn. He dismissed his own brother-in-
    law from his Council because he was a Protestant, and made a Privy
    Councillor of the before-mentioned Father Petre. He handed Ireland
    over to RICHARD TALBOT, EARL OF TYRCONNELL, a worthless, dissolute
    knave, who played the same game there for his master, and who
    played the deeper game for himself of one day putting it under the
    protection of the French King. In going to these extremities,
    every man of sense and judgment among the Catholics, from the Pope
    to a porter, knew that the King was a mere bigoted fool, who would
    undo himself and the cause he sought to advance; but he was deaf to
    all reason, and, happily for England ever afterwards, went tumbling
    off his throne in his own blind way.

    A spirit began to arise in the country, which the besotted
    blunderer little expected. He first found it out in the University
    of Cambridge. Having made a Catholic a dean at Oxford without any
    opposition, he tried to make a monk a master of arts at Cambridge:
    which attempt the University resisted, and defeated him. He then
    went back to his favourite Oxford. On the death of the President
    of Magdalen College, he commanded that there should be elected to
    succeed him, one MR. ANTHONY FARMER, whose only recommendation was,
    that he was of the King's religion. The University plucked up
    courage at last, and refused. The King substituted another man,
    and it still refused, resolving to stand by its own election of a
    MR. HOUGH. The dull tyrant, upon this, punished Mr. Hough, and
    five-and-twenty more, by causing them to be expelled and declared
    incapable of holding any church preferment; then he proceeded to
    what he supposed to be his highest step, but to what was, in fact,
    his last plunge head-foremost in his tumble off his throne.

    He had issued a declaration that there should be no religious tests
    or penal laws, in order to let in the Catholics more easily; but
    the Protestant dissenters, unmindful of themselves, had gallantly
    joined the regular church in opposing it tooth and nail. The King
    and Father Petre now resolved to have this read, on a certain
    Sunday, in all the churches, and to order it to be circulated for
    that purpose by the bishops. The latter took counsel with the
    Archbishop of Canterbury, who was in disgrace; and they resolved
    that the declaration should not be read, and that they would
    petition the King against it. The Archbishop himself wrote out the
    petition, and six bishops went into the King's bedchamber the same
    night to present it, to his infinite astonishment. Next day was
    the Sunday fixed for the reading, and it was only read by two
    hundred clergymen out of ten thousand. The King resolved against
    all advice to prosecute the bishops in the Court of King's Bench,
    and within three weeks they were summoned before the Privy Council,
    and committed to the Tower. As the six bishops were taken to that
    dismal place, by water, the people who were assembled in immense
    numbers fell upon their knees, and wept for them, and prayed for
    them. When they got to the Tower, the officers and soldiers on
    guard besought them for their blessing. While they were confined
    there, the soldiers every day drank to their release with loud
    shouts. When they were brought up to the Court of King's Bench for
    their trial, which the Attorney-General said was for the high
    offence of censuring the Government, and giving their opinion about
    affairs of state, they were attended by similar multitudes, and
    surrounded by a throng of noblemen and gentlemen. When the jury
    went out at seven o'clock at night to consider of their verdict,
    everybody (except the King) knew that they would rather starve than
    yield to the King's brewer, who was one of them, and wanted a
    verdict for his customer. When they came into court next morning,
    after resisting the brewer all night, and gave a verdict of not
    guilty, such a shout rose up in Westminster Hall as it had never
    heard before; and it was passed on among the people away to Temple
    Bar, and away again to the Tower. It did not pass only to the
    east, but passed to the west too, until it reached the camp at
    Hounslow, where the fifteen thousand soldiers took it up and echoed
    it. And still, when the dull King, who was then with Lord
    Feversham, heard the mighty roar, asked in alarm what it was, and
    was told that it was 'nothing but the acquittal of the bishops,' he
    said, in his dogged way, 'Call you that nothing? It is so much the
    worse for them.'

    Between the petition and the trial, the Queen had given birth to a
    son, which Father Petre rather thought was owing to Saint Winifred.
    But I doubt if Saint Winifred had much to do with it as the King's
    friend, inasmuch as the entirely new prospect of a Catholic
    successor (for both the King's daughters were Protestants)
    to invite the Prince of Orange over to England. The Royal Mole,
    seeing his danger at last, made, in his fright, many great
    concessions, besides raising an army of forty thousand men; but the
    Prince of Orange was not a man for James the Second to cope with.
    His preparations were extraordinarily vigorous, and his mind was

    For a fortnight after the Prince was ready to sail for England, a
    great wind from the west prevented the departure of his fleet.
    Even when the wind lulled, and it did sail, it was dispersed by a
    storm, and was obliged to put back to refit. At last, on the first
    of November, one thousand six hundred and eighty-eight, the
    Protestant east wind, as it was long called, began to blow; and on
    the third, the people of Dover and the people of Calais saw a fleet
    twenty miles long sailing gallantly by, between the two places. On
    Monday, the fifth, it anchored at Torbay in Devonshire, and the
    Prince, with a splendid retinue of officers and men, marched into
    Exeter. But the people in that western part of the country had
    suffered so much in The Bloody Assize, that they had lost heart.
    Few people joined him; and he began to think of returning, and
    publishing the invitation he had received from those lords, as his
    justification for having come at all. At this crisis, some of the
    gentry joined him; the Royal army began to falter; an engagement
    was signed, by which all who set their hand to it declared that
    they would support one another in defence of the laws and liberties
    of the three Kingdoms, of the Protestant religion, and of the
    Prince of Orange. From that time, the cause received no check; the
    greatest towns in England began, one after another, to declare for
    the Prince; and he knew that it was all safe with him when the
    University of Oxford offered to melt down its plate, if he wanted
    any money.

    By this time the King was running about in a pitiable way, touching
    people for the King's evil in one place, reviewing his troops in
    another, and bleeding from the nose in a third. The young Prince
    was sent to Portsmouth, Father Petre went off like a shot to
    France, and there was a general and swift dispersal of all the
    priests and friars. One after another, the King's most important
    officers and friends deserted him and went over to the Prince. In
    the night, his daughter Anne fled from Whitehall Palace; and the
    Bishop of London, who had once been a soldier, rode before her with
    a drawn sword in his hand, and pistols at his saddle. 'God help
    me,' cried the miserable King: 'my very children have forsaken
    me!' In his wildness, after debating with such lords as were in
    London, whether he should or should not call a Parliament, and
    after naming three of them to negotiate with the Prince, he
    resolved to fly to France. He had the little Prince of Wales
    brought back from Portsmouth; and the child and the Queen crossed
    the river to Lambeth in an open boat, on a miserable wet night, and
    got safely away. This was on the night of the ninth of December.

    At one o'clock on the morning of the eleventh, the King, who had,
    in the meantime, received a letter from the Prince of Orange,
    stating his objects, got out of bed, told LORD NORTHUMBERLAND who
    lay in his room not to open the door until the usual hour in the
    morning, and went down the back stairs (the same, I suppose, by
    which the priest in the wig and gown had come up to his brother)
    and crossed the river in a small boat: sinking the great seal of
    England by the way. Horses having been provided, he rode,
    accompanied by SIR EDWARD HALES, to Feversham, where he embarked in
    a Custom House Hoy. The master of this Hoy, wanting more ballast,
    ran into the Isle of Sheppy to get it, where the fishermen and
    smugglers crowded about the boat, and informed the King of their
    suspicions that he was a 'hatchet-faced Jesuit.' As they took his
    money and would not let him go, he told them who he was, and that
    the Prince of Orange wanted to take his life; and he began to
    scream for a boat - and then to cry, because he had lost a piece of
    wood on his ride which he called a fragment of Our Saviour's cross.
    He put himself into the hands of the Lord Lieutenant of the county,
    and his detention was made known to the Prince of Orange at Windsor
    - who, only wanting to get rid of him, and not caring where he
    went, so that he went away, was very much disconcerted that they
    did not let him go. However, there was nothing for it but to have
    him brought back, with some state in the way of Life Guards, to
    Whitehall. And as soon as he got there, in his infatuation, he
    heard mass, and set a Jesuit to say grace at his public dinner.

    The people had been thrown into the strangest state of confusion by
    his flight, and had taken it into their heads that the Irish part
    of the army were going to murder the Protestants. Therefore, they
    set the bells a ringing, and lighted watch-fires, and burned
    Catholic Chapels, and looked about in all directions for Father
    Petre and the Jesuits, while the Pope's ambassador was running away
    in the dress of a footman. They found no Jesuits; but a man, who
    had once been a frightened witness before Jeffreys in court, saw a
    swollen, drunken face looking through a window down at Wapping,
    which he well remembered. The face was in a sailor's dress, but he
    knew it to be the face of that accursed judge, and he seized him.
    The people, to their lasting honour, did not tear him to pieces.
    After knocking him about a little, they took him, in the basest
    agonies of terror, to the Lord Mayor, who sent him, at his own
    shrieking petition, to the Tower for safety. There, he died.

    Their bewilderment continuing, the people now lighted bonfires and
    made rejoicings, as if they had any reason to be glad to have the
    King back again. But, his stay was very short, for the English
    guards were removed from Whitehall, Dutch guards were marched up to
    it, and he was told by one of his late ministers that the Prince
    would enter London, next day, and he had better go to Ham. He
    said, Ham was a cold, damp place, and he would rather go to
    Rochester. He thought himself very cunning in this, as he meant to
    escape from Rochester to France. The Prince of Orange and his
    friends knew that, perfectly well, and desired nothing more. So,
    he went to Gravesend, in his royal barge, attended by certain
    lords, and watched by Dutch troops, and pitied by the generous
    people, who were far more forgiving than he had ever been, when
    they saw him in his humiliation. On the night of the twenty-third
    of December, not even then understanding that everybody wanted to
    get rid of him, he went out, absurdly, through his Rochester
    garden, down to the Medway, and got away to France, where he
    rejoined the Queen.

    There had been a council in his absence, of the lords, and the
    authorities of London. When the Prince came, on the day after the
    King's departure, he summoned the Lords to meet him, and soon
    afterwards, all those who had served in any of the Parliaments of
    King Charles the Second. It was finally resolved by these
    authorities that the throne was vacant by the conduct of King James
    the Second; that it was inconsistent with the safety and welfare of
    this Protestant kingdom, to be governed by a Popish prince; that
    the Prince and Princess of Orange should be King and Queen during
    their lives and the life of the survivor of them; and that their
    children should succeed them, if they had any. That if they had
    none, the Princess Anne and her children should succeed; that if
    she had none, the heirs of the Prince of Orange should succeed.

    On the thirteenth of January, one thousand six hundred and eighty-
    nine, the Prince and Princess, sitting on a throne in Whitehall,
    bound themselves to these conditions. The Protestant religion was
    established in England, and England's great and glorious Revolution
    was complete.
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