rejoice in the extreme peril, to which I myself was thereby exposed.

But, however that shall happen, I am sure there is another use of this signal providence, which, by God's grace, it is in my own power to make, and, if I do not, I ought to be esteemed as the most ungrateful of men to the heavenly goodness; that is, if I do not render it the chief business of my whole life to return some suitable thanks to Heaven for it.

I hope I may say, without vanity, that, perhaps, it is hard to meet, in some whole ages, with many examples, wherein the divine favour has snatched any private person out of such imminent danger, with a more visible hand, than it has done me out of this.

Why may I not be allowed, in all humility, to say thus much? since it is so manifest, that the destruction, or preservation of me and mine, did depend upon the clerk of the council's turning to the right-hand, or to the left, when he entered to search my house at Bromley.

By God's mercy and direction, he turned to the left; there examined all places so curiously, as to pass by no corner unobserved, yet he found nothing on that side worthy the observation of one that came on such an errand.

Whereas, had he chanced to turn, chanced do I say? I cannot believe, that any thing fell out by chance, in this whole business; but, had God permitted him to turn on the right-hand, the first room he had entered was that very parlour, wherein was deposited the fatal instrument of my death; nor could he have missed it, but must have immediately lighted upon it, considering the punctual instructions, he bad received, to search all the chimnies, and the flower-pots in them.

And, had he once found it, the writing itself, so nearly resembling my own hand, and taken in my dwelling-house, had soon overwhelmed me with supposed guilt, without any farther need of Blackhead's, or Young's assistance.

For, in so great a surprize, a consciousness of my own innocency, whom had I to accuse, or suspect, but only Mr. Dyve and Mr. Knight themselves, for having put the association into the same flower-pot, whence I had seen them take it out? And this, indeed, had been another aggravation of my misfortune, that Í should have been forced to impute so vile a treachery to persons as innocent in this, as I myself was in the association.

Moreover, let my reader but recollect the particular time, when all this happened, and I need mention no other proof, or circumstance of the marvellous greatness of my danger and escape.

It was in the beginning of May last, a time when, perhaps, there was as great a consternation, both in town and country, as was ever known in England; the English fleet was scarce yet out of the river; the Dutch, for the most part, at home; the French in the mouth of the channel, and only kept back by contrary winds; a terrible invasion hourly expected from France; the army beyond

sea, that should have defended us; a real plot and confederacy by many whispered about, by the common people believed; many persons of great quality imprisoned upon that suspicion; all men's minds prepared to hear of some sudden rising, or discovery.

In such a critical time of publick terror and distraction, how very little evidence would have sufficed to ruin any man, that had been accused with the least probability of truth? and how, then, had it been possible for me to have stood the torrent of common fame and passion against so great a notoriety of fact, had that paper of a pretended association been really found in my house?

What tumult and rage had been on all sides of me, upon such a discovery! how fitly had such a story served to inflame the generality of men against me! how long a time inust it have been. before the still voice of innocency could be heard!

Would it not have been said, can he deny it to be his own 'hand? are not the hands of the rest well known? was it not 'found in his house? in so secret a place there? who could have 'laid it there, but himself?" this, certainly, had been the universal clamour.

But, above all, what a mischievous advantage had this given, to the enemies of the church of England, to insult and triumph over it, on my account! and that, in truth, had more sensibly and deeply wounded me, than any thing else, which could have befallen myself.

But God prevented all this, by covering, if I may so say, the hand-writing against me in my chimney, as long as the finding of it there might have been to my destruction; and then, by suffering my accusers to fetch it thence, and produce it in such a time, and in such a way, as could only tend to their own confusion.

To God, therefore, my only deliverer, be the praise: and, as I doubt not, but all good and innocent men, for the common sake of innocency vindicated, will receive this account of my deliverance with kindness and good-will, so I do most solemnly oblige myself, and all mine, to keep the grateful remembrance of it perpetual and sacred.

A

LETTER TO A FRIEND*,

CONCERNING

A FRENCH INVASION,

To restore the late King James to his Throne: and what may be expected from him, should he be successful in it.

London: Printed, and are to be sold by RANDAL TAYLOR, near Amen-Corner, 1692. QUARTO, CONTAINING THIRTY-TWO PAGES.

SIR,

IN your last you seem much concerned about the French invasion and desirous to know what I think may probably be ex

* Vide the 261st Article in the Catalogue of Pamphlets in the Harleian Library.

pected from the late king, should he prove so successful, as to recover his throne? and what English subjects are bound in conscience to do, should he land in England, and demand his right?

The last is a material question, but I wonder how you came to ask the first, as if it could be any question, what the late king will do, if he were restored by power to his crown? for I think it past all doubt, that he will do as he did before, only, in all probability, a great deal worse: and you remember how that was; for arbitrary power and popery are of too great concernment, and have left too frightful an impression behind them, to be so soon forgot; and this will go a great way towards an answer to your second question, unless you think we are bound to take King James, and a French government, and a French popery with him; which I shall not easily be persuaded to; and, I believe, there are not many English protestants will.

But to answer your questions distinctly; as to the first, when we see what the late King James has done, what reason have we to expect, that, should he return with power, he would ever do otherwise? is he more obliged now by his protestant subjects, than he was before? can he make fairer promises, than he did before? is he less zealous for popery, or grown more out of conceit with arbitrary power? or will he be less able to make himself arbitrary, and set up popery, when he returns a conqueror? for I take it for granted, he must conquer first, because King William will not abdicate nor steal away, and the power that conquers will give laws and religion to the conquered.

I know there are two things pretended, as a foundation for better hopes. First, that the late king is now sensible that the English nation will never bear popery, nor arbitrary power, and that he has suffered so much by these attempts already, that he will never venture the like again. Secondly, the great merits of the nonswearing clergy and gentry, which will atone for the church of England, and make him their sure and fast friend, patron, and defender, especially if those, who have been too forward in complying with the late revolution, shall expiate that crime by an early repentance, and a vigorous assistance to restore him to his throne.

First, as for the first, there are too many answers to be given to it, to hinder it from being the least probable ground of hope; though hope itself is Rei incerta nomen, so very uncertain, especially when we guess only at the inclinations of princes, that lives, and fortunes, and liberties, and religion, are not to be ven tured on it, against former experience.

But, to let that pass, pray consider what the true import of this argument is; for it amounts to this, that all men will learn by experience; that men will not venture on those things a second time, which have proved fatal to them once; that princes will certainly for ever after dislike such counsels and measures, as have already shaken their thrones, and made their crowns fall from their heads: Now we may flatter ourselves with such hopes as these, which

VOL. X.

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may, upon some account, be called reasonable hopes, becaus there is great reason it should be so; but yet they so often fail' that there is no reason to rely upon them. The repentance of dying sinners, and of undone prodigals, who return to their old sins again, if they recover their health, or find new treasures to waste, confutes such expectations. Sufferings rarely cure a vehement love and fond passion for any thing, which is the case of old habitual sinners; and no man can be fonder of any vice, than some princes are of unlimited and arbitrary power.

And, when this is joined with a resolved and inflexible temper, which scorns to yield, and had rather be undone a thousand times, than own, retract, or amend a fault: such misfortunes do but whet revenge, and make them swell, as a river does when its current is stopped, which flows with a more rapid and foaming stream, when it has once forced its way.

Especially when superstition is the prevailing ingredient, which fires the spirits, and raises imaginary scenes of glory out of the loss of crowns and kingdoms: and what will such a prince, if he ever recover his throne and power, forfeit the glory of losing his kingdoms again, by deserting the cause for which he lost them before? No man can certainly tell, how superstition will act, nor how it will reason; especially, when the consciences of princes are under such directors, as will veuture their crowns for them over and over, to carry on their own designs, and know how to expound providence to flatter superstition. And then the recovery of his throne may be made a better argument, and a stronger obligation to revive and prosecute his old designs, than the fear of losing it again can be to make him desist.

And, to make this yet more demonstrative, with reference to the late king, we ought to consider, that this is not the first trial he has had, and that this consideration has done him no good.

He saw before what his father King Charles the First suffered, only for some attempts towards arbitrary power, and for mere jealousies and suspicions of his favouring popery. He lost his kingdoms and his life, and his sons suffered a long and hard exile. Charles the second, indeed, took warning by this, and, though possibly he might be big with the same designs, yet would he not venture too far, nor discover himself too openly, for fear of travelling again, as he used to speak. But King James had not patience to conceal his inclinations, till he came to the crown; and that had like to have cost him his crown before he had it; and, yet, this was not sufficient to caution him against those violent methods he afterwards used to advance popery, which were so seasonably defeated by the happy arrival of our present sovereign, whom God long preserve: and those who are so desirous to try him again in England, as they have lately done in Ireland, to their full satisfaction, if they could try only for themselves, should have my free consent to make the experiment.

Have not the poor Irish protestants made it to their cost, even since this very revolution, from whence, and from the wisdom he

must needs have learned by it, this miraculous change in him is now expected? and did they find any such change in him, unless for the worse? And yet, if ever, then he was upon his good behaviour, when he wanted their assistance to secure his possession of that kingdom, and to recover his other dominions, and when, in reason, it might have been expected, that, whatever resentments he had, he would have thought it his interest to have treated protestants with greater tenderness and respect. But, if the necessity of his own affairs could not obtain this from him, what must protestants expect, if he return with power? And, though some protestants here in England seem not to be all affected with this experiment, yet it hath made such an impression upon the protestants in Ireland, that they are for ever cured of their fondness, and have not the least curiosity left to make any further trials.

It is pretended, indeed, in excuse of this, that he was then under the government of French ministers and counsels, and under the power of Irish priests and papists, and so was not at liberty to follow his own inclinations: I should be very glad of a good argument to prove, that he had better inclinations. But however, what comfort is this to protestants, that he has better inclinations, but is not his own master? For, if he must never shew any kindness to protestants, it is no matter what his inclinations are: and can any man imagine, that, if the French king, by force and power, place him on the throne, he will be less under his government than be was in Ireland? The French king, among many other wise maxims, has this, I am sure, for one, never to make a king, without making him his own vassal; and the power, that can make a king, can make him his slave: so that it is to no purpose to enquire what king James will do; but what king Lewis will do, if king James returns?

Secondly, as for the great merits of the non-swearing clergy and laity, I greatly suspect, that neither the late king James, nor king Lewis, will think them so great as they themselves do. Their merit must consist either in their principles, or in their practices. And we will briefly consider both :

Their meritorious principle is this, that the rights of princes, especially of hereditary princes, to their thrones, are so sacred and inviolable, that, as they cannot forfeit them to their own subjects by any male-administration, so neither can they, by any provocations, or by any success of war, forfeit them to any other princes: that, while such a prince, or any legal heir is living, no other prince. can have any right to his throne, nor must his subjects own and submit to any other prince, as their sovereign Lord.

Now, as much as this principle seems to flatter princes, and to make their thrones eternal, I am apt to suspect, that no prince, who considers the just consequence of things, can think it so very meritorious; for it is a very dangerous principle to weak and unfortunate princes, and an intolerable restraint upon the aspiring and ambitious. It is dangerous to the unfortunate, because it lays a necessity upon the conqueror to take away his life, if he can, as