ed unchanged; and he could not doubt
that they were correct. Tenison's exhortations were in milder tone than
those of the Bishops. But he, like them, thought that he should not be
justified in administering the Eucharist to one whose penitence was of
so unsatisfactory a nature. [428]

The hour drew near: all hope was over; and Monmouth had passed from
pusillanimous fear to the apathy of despair. His children were brought
to his room that he might take leave of them, and were followed by his
wife. He spoke to her kindly, but without emotion. Though she was a
woman of great strength of mind, and had little cause to love him, her
misery was such that none of the bystanders could refrain from weeping.
He alone was unmoved. [429]

It was ten o'clock. The coach of the Lieutenant of the Tower was ready.
Monmouth requested his spiritual advisers to accompany him to the place
of execution; and they consented: but they told him that, in their
judgment, he was about to die in a perilous state of mind, and that, if
they attended him it would be their duty to exhort him to the last. As
he passed along the ranks of the guards he saluted them with a smile;
and he mounted the scaffold with a firm tread. Tower Hill was covered
up to the chimney tops with an innumerable multitude of gazers, who, in
awful silence, broken only by sighs and the noise of weeping, listened
for the last accents of the darling of the people. "I shall say little,"
he began. "I come here, not to speak, but to die. I die a Protestant of
the Church of England." The Bishops interrupted him, and told him that,
unless he acknowledged resistance to be sinful, he was no member of
their church He went on to speak of his Henrietta. She was, he said, a
young lady of virtue and honour. He loved her to the last, and he could
not die without giving utterance to his feelings The Bishops again
interfered, and begged him not to use such language. Some altercation
followed. The divines have been accused of dealing harshly with the
dying man. But they appear to have only discharged what, in their view,
was a sacred duty. Monmouth knew their principles, and, if he wished to
avoid their importunity, should have dispensed with their attendance.
Their general arguments against resistance had no effect on him. But
when they reminded him of the ruin which he had brought on his brave and
loving followers, of the blood which had been shed, of the souls which
had been sent unprepared to t