cter called the oath of obedience.
Nevertheless, in February 1687, a royal letter was sent to Cambridge
directing that a Benedictine monk, named Alban Francis, should be
admitted a Master of Arts.

The academical functionaries, divided between reverence for the King
and reverence for the law, were in great distress. Messengers were
despatched in all haste to the Duke of Albemarle, who had succeeded
Monmouth as Chancellor of the University. He was requested to represent
the matter properly to the King. Meanwhile the Registrar and Bedells
waited on Francis, and informed him that, if he would take the oaths
according to law, he should be instantly admitted. He refused to
be sworn, remonstrated with the officers of the University on their
disregard of the royal mandate, and, finding them resolute, took horse,
and hastened to relate his grievances at Whitehall.

The heads of the colleges now assembled in council. The best legal
opinions were taken, and were decidedly in favour of the course which
had been pursued. But a second letter from Sunderland, in high and
menacing terms, was already on the road. Albemarle informed the
University, with many expressions of concern, that he had done his best,
but that he had been coldly and ungraciously received by the King. The
academical body, alarmed by the royal displeasure, and conscientiously
desirous to meet the royal wishes, but determined not to violate the
clear law of the land, submitted the humblest and most respectful
explanations, but to no purpose. In a short time came down a summons
citing the Vicechancellor and the Senate to appear before the new
High Commission at Westminster on the twenty-first of April. The
Vicechancellor was to attend in person; the Senate, which consists of
all the Doctors and Masters of the University, was to send deputies.

When the appointed day arrived, a great concourse filled the Council
chamber. Jeffreys sate at the head of the board. Rochester, since the
white staff had been taken from him, was no longer a member. In his
stead appeared the Lord Chamberlain, John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave.
The fate of this nobleman has, in one respect, resembled the fate of his
colleague Sprat. Mulgrave wrote verses which scarcely ever rose above
absolute mediocrity: but, as he was a man of high note in the political
and fashionable world, these verses found admirers. Time dissolved the
charm, but, unfortunately for him, not until his lines had acquired a