ing in the truth of his royal
word, and the manifold declarations of favour and amicableness to the
church, which he from time to time put forth. But AEsopus hath it, when
bulls fight in a marsh the frogs are crushed to death. It was on the
tenth day of February, in the year of our Lord 1685, I was busy with my
dear friends, the youths under my charge, in the Campus Martius, (which
was a level space of ground in one of the glebe fields by the side of
the river, whereon we performed our exercises of running, jumping,
wrestling, and other athletic exercitations,) when we were startled by
the hearing the sound of many horses galloping up the hill above the
village; and looking over the hedge on to the road, we saw a cavalier
going very fast on a fine black horse, which had fire in its eyes and
nostrils, as the poet says, followed by a goodly train of serving-men,
all well mounted, and proceeding at the same rate. We went on with our
games for an hour or two, when all at once I was peremptorily sent for
to go to my house without delay; and accordingly I hurried homewards,
much marvelling what the summons could portend. I went into my study,
and sitting in my arm-chair I saw the great Lady Mallerden; but she was
so deep in thought, that for some minutes she kept me standing, and
waiting her commands. At last she started to herself, and ordered me to
be seated, and in her rapid glancing manner began to speak--

"I have been visited by my son, who rode post haste from London to tell
me the king was dead. He has been dead four days."

I was astonished and much saddened at the news.

"Sorry--yes--but there is no time for sorrow," said the noble lady; "we
must be up and doing. We are betrayed."

"Did your son, the noble Viscount Mallerden, tell you this?"

"He is one of the betrayers--know you not what manner of man he
is?--Then I will tell you." And here a strange light flashed from her
eyes, and her lips became compressed till all the colour
disappeared--"He is a viper that stung me once--and would sting me
again if I took him to my bosom, and laid it open for his poisonous
tooth. I tell you the Lord Mallerden is a godless, hopeless, faithless,
man--bound hand and foot to the footstool of the despotic, cruel
monster--the Jesuit who has now his foot upon the English throne. He is
a Papist, fiercer, bitterer, crueller, because he has no belief neither
in priest nor pope--but he is ambitious, reckless, base, a courtier. He
pr