favourable as the other was disastrous to the cause of general liberty.  The catastrophe of De Witt, the wisest, best, and most truly patriotic minister that ever appeared upon the public stage, as it was an act of the most crying injustice and ingratitude, so, likewise, is it the most completely discouraging example that history affords to the lovers of liberty.  If Aristides was banished, he was also recalled; if Dion was repaid for his services to the Syracusans by ingratitude, that ingratitude was more than once repented of; if Sidney and Russell died upon the scaffold, they had not the cruel mortification of falling by the hands of the people; ample justice was done to their memory, and the very sound of their names is still animating to every Englishman attached to their glorious cause.  But with De Witt fell also his cause and his party; and although a name so respected by all who revere virtue and wisdom, when employed in their noblest sphere, the political service of the public, must undoubtedly be doubly dear to his countrymen, yet I do not know that, even to this day, any public honours have been paid by them to his memory.

On the other hand, the circumstances attending the first appearance of the Prince of Orange in public affairs, were, in every respect, most fortunate for himself, for England, for Europe.  Of an age to receive the strongest impressions, and of a character to render such impressions durable, he entered the world in a moment when the calamitous situation of the United Provinces could not but excite in every Dutchman the strongest detestation of the insolent ambition of Louis XIV., and the greatest contempt of an English government, which could so far mistake or betray the interests of the country as to lend itself to his projects.  Accordingly, the circumstances attending his outset seem to have given a lasting bias to his character; and through the whole course of his life the prevailing sentiments of his mind seem to have been those which he imbibed at this early period.  These sentiments were most peculiarly adapted to the positions in which this great man was destined to be placed.  The light in which he viewed Louis rendered him the fittest champion of the independence of Europe; and in England, French influence and arbitrary power were in those times so intimately connected, that he who had not only seen with disapprobation, but had so sensibly felt the baneful effects of Charles’s connection with France, seemed educated, as it were, to be the defender of English liberty.  This prince’s struggles in defence of his country, his success in rescuing it from a situation to all appearance so desperate, and the consequent failure and mortification of Louis XIV., form a scene in history upon which the mind dwells with unceasing delight.  One never can read Louis’s famous declaration against the Hollanders, knowing the event which is to follow, without feeling the heart dilate with exultation, and a kind of triumphant contempt, which, though not quite consonant to the principles of pure philosophy, never fails to give the mind inexpressible satisfaction.  Did the relation of such events form the sole, or even any considerable part of the historian’s task, pleasant indeed would be his labours; but, though far less agreeable, it is not a less useful or necessary part of his business, to relate the triumphs of successful wickedness, and the oppression of truth, justice, and liberty.

The interval from the separate peace between England and the United Provinces, to the peace of Nymwegen, was chiefly employed by Charles in attempts to obtain money from France and other foreign powers, in which he was sometimes more, sometimes less successful; and in various false professions, promises, and other devices to deceive his parliament and his people, in which he uniformly failed.  Though neither the nature and extent of his connection with France, nor his design of introducing popery into England, were known at that time as they now are, yet there were not wanting many indications of the king’s disposition, and of the general tendency of his designs.  Reasonable persons apprehended that the supplies asked were intended to be used, not for the specious purpose of maintaining the balance of Europe, but for that of subduing the parliament and people who should give them; and the great antipathy of the bulk of the nation to popery caused many to be both more clear-sighted in discovering, and more resolute in resisting the designs of the court, than they would probably have shown themselves, if civil liberty alone had been concerned.

When the minds of men were in the disposition which such a state of things was naturally calculated to produce, it is not to be wondered at that a ready, and, perhaps, a too facile belief should have been accorded to the rumour of a popish plot.  But with the largest possible allowance for the just apprehensions which were entertained, and the consequent irritation of the country, it is wholly inconceivable how such a plot as that brought forward by Tongue and Oates could obtain any general belief.  Nor can any stretch of candour make us admit it to be probable, that all who pretended a belief of it did seriously entertain it.  On the other hand, it seems an absurdity, equal almost in degree to the belief of the plot itself, to suppose that it was a story fabricated by the Earl of Shaftesbury and the other leaders of the Whig party; and it would be highly unjust, as well as uncharitable, not to admit that the generality of those who were engaged in the prosecution of it were probably sincere in their belief of it, since it is unquestionable that at the time very many persons, whose political prejudices were of a quite different complexion, were under the same delusion.  The unanimous votes of the two houses of parliament, and the names, as well as the number of those who pronounced Lord Strafford to be guilty, seem to put this beyond a doubt.  Dryden, writing soon after the time, says, in his “Absalom and Achitophel,” that the plot was

“Bad in itself, but represented wore:”

that

“Some truth there was, but dash’d and brew’d with lies:”

and that

“Succeeding times did equal folly call,
Believing nothing, or believing all.”

and Dryden will not, by those who are conversant in the history and works of that immortal writer, be suspected either of party prejudice in favour of Shaftesbury and the Whigs, or of any view to prejudice the country against the Duke of York’s succession to the crown.  The king repeatedly declared his belief of it.  These declarations, if sincere, would have some weight; but if insincere, as may be reasonably suspected, they afford a still stronger testimony to prove that such belief was not exclusively a party opinion, since it cannot be supposed that even the crooked politics of Charles could have led him to countenance fictions of his enemies, which were not adopted by his own party.  Wherefore, if this question were to be decided upon the ground of authority, the reality of the plot would be admitted; and it must be confessed, that, with regard to facts remote, in respect either of time or place, wise men generally diffide in their own judgment, and defer to that of those who have had a nearer view of them.  But there are cases where reason speaks so plainly as to make all argument drawn from authority of no avail, and this is surely one of them.  Not to mention correspondence by post on the subject of regicide, detailed commissions from the pope, silver bullets, &c. &c., and other circumstances equally ridiculous, we need only advert to the part attributed to the Spanish government in this conspiracy, and to the alleged intention of murdering the king, to satisfy ourselves that it was a forgery.

Rapin, who argues the whole of this affair with a degree of weakness as well as disingenuity very unusual to him, seems at last to offer