sness and audacity. Being himself
out of danger, he always gave his vote for the most violent and perilous
course, and sneered very complacently at the pusillanimity of men who,
not having taken the infamous precautions on which he relied, were
disposed to think twice before they placed life, and objects dearer than
life, on a single hazard. [329]

As soon as he was in the Low Countries he began to form new projects
against the English government, and found among his fellow emigrants
men ready to listen to his evil counsels. Monmouth, however, stood
obstinately aloof; and, without the help of Monmouth's immense
popularity, it was impossible to effect anything. Yet such was the
impatience and rashness of the exiles that they tried to find another
leader. They sent an embassy to that solitary retreat on the shores of
Lake Leman where Edmund Ludlow, once conspicuous among the chiefs of the
parliamentary army and among the members of the High Court of Justice,
had, during many years, hidden himself from the vengeance of the
restored Stuarts. The stern old regicide, however, refused to quit
his hermitage. His work, he said, was done. If England was still to be
saved, she must be saved by younger men. [330]

The unexpected demise of the crown changed the whole aspect of affairs.
Any hope which the proscribed Whigs might have cherished of returning
peaceably to their native land was extinguished by the death of a
careless and goodnatured prince, and by the accession of a prince
obstinate in all things, and especially obstinate in revenge. Ferguson
was in his element. Destitute of the talents both of a writer and of a
statesman, he had in a high degree the unenviable qualifications of a
tempter; and now, with the malevolent activity and dexterity of an
evil spirit, he ran from outlaw to outlaw, chattered in every ear, and
stirred up in every bosom savage animosities and wild desires.

He no longer despaired of being able to seduce Monmouth. The situation
of that unhappy young man was completely changed. While he was dancing
and skating at the Hague, and expecting every day a summons to London,
he was overwhelmed with misery by the tidings of his father's death and
of his uncle's accession. During the night which followed the arrival of
the news, those who lodged near him could distinctly hear his sobs and
his piercing cries. He quitted the Hague the next day, having solemnly
pledged his word both to the Prince and to the Prin