against all events. I asked if she was at home, and they answered me that she expected me and had another Duchess with her; I refused to go up stairs as she had company with her, and I was not in a condition to see any other company. I begged to be shewn into a chamber below stairs, and that they would have the goodness to send her Grace's maid to me, having something to say to her. I had discharged the chair lest I might be pursued and watched. When the maid came in, I desired her to present my most humble respects to her Grace, who they told me had company with her, and to acquaint her that this was my only reason for not coming up stairs; I also charged her with my sincerest thanks for her kind offer to accompany me when I went to present my petition; I added, that she might spare herself any farther trouble, as it was now judged more desirable to present one general petition in the name of all: however, that I should never be unmindful of my particular obligations to her Grace, which I would return very soon to acknowledge in person. I then desired one of the servants to callachair, and went to the Duchess of Montrose, who had always borne a part in my distresses. When I arrived she left her company, to deny herself, not being able to see me under the affliction she judged me to be in. However I was admitted, so there was no remedy; she came to me, and, as my heart was in an ecstasy of joy, I expressed it on my countenance; as she entered the room I ran up to her in the transport of my joy. She appeared extremely shocked and frightened, and has since expressed to me that she apprehended my troubles had thrown me out of myself, till I communicated my happiness to her. She then advised me to retire to some place of safety, for that the King, (George I.) was highly displeased, and even enraged, at the petition I had presented to him, and had complained of it severely. I sent for another chair, for I always discharged them immediately lest I might be pursued. Her Grace said she would go to court to see how the news of my Lord's escape was received. When the news was brought to the King, he flew into an excessive passion, and said he was betrayed, for it could not have been done without some confederacy. He instantly sent two men to the Tower, to see that the other prisoners were well secured, lest they should follow the example. Some threw the blame on one, and some on another; the Duchess was the only one at court who knew it. When I left the Duchess, I went to a house which Evans had found out for me, and where she promised to acquaint me where my Lord was. She got thither a few minutes after me, and told me, that when she had seen him secure, she went in search of Mills, who by this time had recovered from his astonishment; that he had returned to his house, where she had fouad him, and that he had removed my Lord, from the first place where she bad desired him to wait, to the house of a poor woman directly opposite the guard-house; she had but one small room, up one pair of stairs, and a very small bed in it. We threw ourselves upon the bed, that we might not be heard walking up and down; she left us a bottle of wine and some bread, Mrs. Mills brought us some more in her pocket the next day. We subsisted upon this provision from Thursday till Saturday night, when Mrs. Mills came and conducted my Lord to the Venetian Ambassador's. We did not communicate the affair to his Excellency, but one of the servants concealed him in his own room till Wednesday, on which day the Ambassador's coach and six was to go down to Dover to meet his brother. My Lord put on a livery and went down in the retinue, without the least suspicion, to Dover, where Mr. Mickle, which was the name of the Ambassador's servant, hired a small vessel and immediately set sail for Calais. The passage was so remarkably short, that the captain threw out the reflection, that the wind could not have served better if his passengers had been flying for their lives, little thinking it to be really the case. Mr. Mickle might have easily returned without being suspected of being concerned in my Lord's escape, but my Lord seemed inclined to have him continue with him, which he did, and has at present a good place under our young master, the Pretender. This is as exact and full an account of this affair, and the persons concerned in it, as I could possibly give you; to the best of my memory you may depend on the truth of it. For my part I absconded to the house of a very honest man in Drury lane, where I remained till I was as sured of my Lord's safe art on the continent. I then went to the Duchess of Buccleugh's, (every body thought till then that I was gone off with my Lord,) to tell her that I understood I was suspected of having contrived my Lord's escape, as was very natural to suppose, that if I could have been happy enough to have done it, I should have been flattered to have the merit of it attributed to me; but that a bare suspicion, without proof, would never be sufficient ground for my being pun ished for a supposed offence, though it might be motive for me to provide a place of security; so I entreated her to procure leave for me to go with safety about my business: so far from granting my request, they were resolved to secure me if possible. After several debates, Mr. Solicitor General, who was an utter stranger to me, had the humanity to say, that since I shewed so much respect to the government as not to appear in public, it would be cruel to search after me. On which it was decided, that if I remained concealed, no farther search should be made, but that if I appeared either in England or Scotland I should be secured. But this was not sufficient for me, unless I could submit to expose my son to beggary. My Lord sent for me up to town in such haste, that I had no time to settle any thing before I left Scotland. I had in my hands all the family papers and dared not trust them to any body. My house might have been searched without warning, consequently they were far from being secure there. In this distress I had the precaution to bury them under ground, and nobody but the gardener and myself knew where they were; I did the same with the other things of value. The event proved that I acted prudently, for after my departure they searched the house, and God knows what might have transpired from those papers. All these circumstances rendered my presence absolutely necessary, otherwise they might have been lost, for though they retained the highest preservation after one very severe winter, (for when I took them up they were as dry as if they came from the fireside,) yet they could not possibly have remained so much longer without prejudice. In short, as I had once exposed my life for the safety of the father, I could not do less than hazard it once more for the fortune of the son. I had never travelled on horseback but from York to Loudon, as I told you, but the difficulty did not now arise from the severity of the season, but fear of being known and arrested. To avoid this I bought three saddlehorses, and set off with my dear Evans and a very trusty servant, whom brought with me out of Scotland. We put up at all the smallest inus on the road that could take in a few horses, and where I thought I was not known, for I was thoroughly known at all the considerable inns on the north road. Thus I arrived safe at Traguaine, where I thought myself secure, for the Lieutenant of the county being a friend of mine would not permit any search to be made for me, without sending me previous notice to abscond. Here I had the assurance to rest myself for two whole days, pretending that I was going to my own house with the leave of the government. I sent no notice to my own house, lest the magistrates of Dumfries might make too narrow inquiries about me. So they were ignorant of my arrival in the country till I was at home, where I still feigned to have permission to remain. To carry on the deceit the better, I sent to all my neighbours and invited them to come to my house. I took up my papers at night and sent them to Traguaine. It was a peculiar stroke of Providence that I made the dispatch I did, for they soon suspected me, and by a very favourable accident one of them was overheard to say to the magistrates of Dumfries, that the next day they would insist on seeing my leave from government. This was bruited about, and when I was told of it, I expressed my surprise that they had been so backward in coming to pay their respects; but I said better late than never; be sure to tell them that they shall be welcome whenever they choose to come. This was after dinner, but I lost no time to put every thing to readiness with all possible secresy, and the next morning before day-break I set off again for London, with the same attendants, and, as before, I put up at the smallest inns, and arrived safe once more. On my arrival the report was still fresh of my journey to Scotland, in defiance of their prohibition. A lady informed me that the king was extremely incensed at the news, and had issued orders to have me arrested, adding, that I did whatever I pleased, in despite of all his designs, and that I had given him more trouble and anxiety than all the other women in Europe. For which reason I kept myself as closely concealed as possible, till the heat of this rumour had abated. In the mean while I had the opinion of a very famous lawyer, a man of the strictest probity, he advised me to go off as soon as they had ceased searching for me. I followed his advice, and in about a fortnight after I escaped without any accident whatever. The reason he alleged for his opinion was, that though in other circumstances a wife cannot be prosecuted for saving her husband's life, yet in cases of high treason, according to the rigour of the law, the head of the wife is responsible for that of her husband; and as the King was so highly incensed, there could be no answering for the consequences. He therefore intreated me to leave the kingdom. The King's resentment was greatly augmented by the petition which I had presented, contrary to his express orders. But my Lord was very anxious that the petition might be presented, hoping that it would be serviceable to me. I was in my own mind convinced that it would answer no purpose, but as I wished to please my Lord, I desired him to have it drawn up, and I undertook to make it come to the King's hands, notwithstanding all the precautions he had taken to avoid it. So the first day that I heard that the King was to go to the drawing room, I dressed myself in black, as if I had been in mourning. I seut for Mrs. Morgan, the same who accompanied me to the Tower, because as I did not know his Majesty personally, I might have mistaken some other person for him. She staid by me and told me when he was coming. I had also another lady with me, and we three remained in a room between the King's apartment and the drawing room, so that he was obliged to go through it, and as there were three windows in it, we sat in the middle one, that I might have time enough to meet him before he could pass. I threw myself at his feet, and told him, in French, that I was the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale, that he might not pretend to be ignorant of my person. But perceiv ing that he wanted to go off without receiving my petition, I caught hold of the skirt of his coat, that he might stop and hear me. He endeavoured to escape out of my hands, but I kept such strong hold, that he dragged me upon my knees from the middle of the room to the very door of the drawing room. At last one of the blue ribbons which attended his majesty took me round the waist, while another wrested the coat out of my hand. The petition which I had endeavoured to thrust into his pocket, fell down in the scuffle, and I almost fainted away through grief and disappointment. One of the gentlemen in waiting picked up the petition, and, as I knew it ought to have been given to the Lord of the bed-chamber, who was then in waiting, I entreated him to do me the favour to read the petition, which I had the honour to present, to his Majesty. Fortunately for me it happend to be Lord Dorset, with whom Mrs. Morgan was very intimate; accordingly she went into the drawing room, and delivered him the letter, which he received very graciously. He could not read it then for he was at cards with the prince, but as soon as the game was over, he read it, and behaved, as I afterwards learnt, with the warmest zeal for my interest, and was seconded by the Duke of Montrose, who had seen me in the anti-chamber and wanted to speak to me, but I made him a sign not to come near me, lest his acquaintance should thwart my design. They read over the petition several times, but without any success, but it became the topic of their conversation the rest of the evening, and the harshness with which I had been treated soon spread abroad, not much to the honour of the King. Many reflected, that they had themselves presented petitions to the late King, and that he never rejected any, even the most indigent object, but that this behaviour to a person of my quality, was a strong instance of brutality. These reflections, which circulated about, raised the King to the highest pitch of hatred and indignation against my person, as he has since allowed; for when all the ladies whose husbands had been concerned presented their petitions for dowers, mine was presented among them, but the King said I was not entitled to the same privilege, and in fact I was excluded; and it was remarkable, that he would never suffer my name to be mentioned. For these reasons every body judged it prudent for me to leave the kingdom, for so long as the hatred of the King subsisted, it was not probable that I could ib escape from falling into his hands. I accordingly went abroad. This is the full narrative of what you desired, and of all the transactions relative to the affair. Nobody living beside yourself could have obtained it from me; but the obligatious I owe you, threw me under the necessity of refusing you nothing that lies in my power to do. As this is for yourself alone, your indulgence will excuse all the faults, which must occur in this long recital. The truth you may depend upon, attend to that and overlook all deficiences. Love, &c. WINIFRED NITHSDALE. MISCELLANEOUS COMMUNICATIONS. Book-Worm. No. XXIV. Hill's Vindication of the Fathers against Bishop Burnet. SIR, Judgment of the Church Universal, the Arch-Bishops and Bishops of the Church of England, the two famous Universities of Oxon and Cambridge, and the next Session of the Convoca I cannot fail to bring into question tion. when those who maintain it, with sincerity and information apparently equal, are yet unable to explain themselves to each other's satisfaction, or rather when their definitions are completely at variance. Such, however, has been eminently the case respecting a fundamental dogma of all established Churches, Papal or Protestant, for the Souths and Sherlocks among learned Trinitarians will be found, on inquiry, to have been far more numerous than the professed believers in a holy and undivided Trinity would, probably, allow. I was led to make this reflection by having met, very lately, with an old book, quite new to me, written, with no small rancour, against Bishop Burnet. The author, a brother church-man, accuses the Bishop of betraying their common faith by an insufficient, or rather an insidious defence, and, at the same time, depreciating the Fathers, whose authority has constituted, in establishments especially, a main support of modern orthodoxy. The book to which I refer has the following title: "A Vindication of the Primitive Fathers against the Imputations of Gilbert, Lord Bishop of Sarum, in his Discourse on the Divinity and Death of Christ, referred to the Sense and By Samuel Hill, Rector of Kilmington in the Diocese of Bath and Wells." 8vo. Pp. 190. London, 1695. The title page is also adorned with a Greek quotation from Athanasius, recommending an adherence to the opinions of the Fathers, as enlightened teachers of Gospel doctrine. Of this author, who was an Oxonian, Wood has given the following account: "Samuel Hill, son of William Hill, of South Petherton, in Somerset, became a Servitor of Lincoln College, in the latter end of 1662, aged 14 years, transferred himself afterwards to St. Mary's Hall, and as a Member thereof, was admitted Bachelor of Arts on 15th Nov 1666, which was the highest degree which he took here. Afterwards returning to his native country, became at length Rector of Kilmington there, and much esteemed for 'his learning and zeal for the Church of England. A. O. 2nd Ed. ii. 1000." This zeal for the Church, and especially for her "authority in controversies of faith," according to the 20th Article, has appeared on my author's title-page, where he bespeaks a censure from the next Session of the Convocation." The Lower House of Convocation in 1701 did indeed assail the Bishop, but they had a higher object than the Discourse-even his "Exposition of the Articles," which, according to Burnet's History, under that year, they censured because "it allowed a diversity of opinions, which the Articles were framed to avoid, and contained many passages contrary to their true meaning." Whatever unworthy design or antichristian spirit actuated the Convocation, au attentive reader of the work can scarcely judge their censure to have been wholly misapplied. The management of a work, designed, not so much to encourage inquiry after divine truth as to justify submission to human authority, must indeed have often been irksome to its author. In 1685, as his son relates, he had “represented to the clergy at Geneva," with apparent success, "the folly and ill consequence of such subscriptions" as their Consensus, "whereby the honestest and worthiest men were frequently reduced to the necessity of quitting their native country, and seeking a subsistence elsewhere, whilst others of less virtue were induced to submit, and comply against their consciences, and even begin their ministry with mental equivocation." O. T. Fol. ii. 692. The malignity of Atterbury and his high-church partizans, Burnet might despise, but unless right and wrong have different senses in Geneva and England, he could scarcely have avoided to say of subscription, as his friend Tillotson wrote of the Athanasian Creed, I wish we were well rid of it. Id. p. 719. But I must return to the subject of the Vindication. Bishop Burnet's son has thus described his father's sedulous attention to the duties of his office: "He every summer took a tour, for six weeks or two months, through some district of his bishopric, daily preaching and confirming from church to church, so as, in the compass of three years, (besides his formal triennial visitation,) to go through all the principal livings in his diocese. The clergy near the places he passed through, generally attended on him; therefore, to avoid being burdensome in these circuits, he entertained them all at his own charge. He likewise for many years entered into conferences with them, upon the chief heads of divinity: one of which he usually opened at their meeting, in a discourse that lasted near two hours; and then encouraged those present to start such questions or difficulties upon it as occurred to them." Id. ii. 706. The author of the Vindication, a priest of the adjoining diocese, attended one of these conferences to satisfy his doubts of the Bishop's orthodoxy. He relates the object and result of this attendance in the following passage of his preface: "His Lordship had been well assured by some of his most dutiful clergy, that the integrity of his faith was under a commou suspicion, for causes which I shall think fit to suppress. And this did so sensibly affect him, that thenceforward all his advices and discourses seem'd pointed against Deism and Socinianism, to work off the jealousie of his clergy. And truly this seemed to be, not only a designcd, but an effectual essay hereunto, which he offered in the oral discourse on the divinity and death of Christ, of which I myself was an auditor at Warminster, in the year 1693, being led thither by a strong desire to know the senses of so great a prelate, on those points which have employ'd my theories for above twenty-seven years. "And truly, as it was then delivered, it gave a general joy and satisfaction to the whole corona of the clergy, and to my self also; for though there were some little failures, I attributed those to the inevitable looseness of a present effusion, since all the substance seemed even heartily Orthodox and Chris. tian, without any indecencies toward the Fathers, or flouts at the received notions or forms; and with most passionate concern against the Socinian impieties. For though, indeed, he commended the foreign Socinians for their morals, yet ours he severely condemned for a rout of profligate and irreligious villains." It is difficult not to reply mentiris impudentissime to this bold assertion; nor can any one acquainted with the Bishop's character and associations believe that he could thus calumniate the English Unitarians. discourse was, however, put to the press in 1693, being the second of This oral Four Discourses to the Clergy of his Diocese." It was animadverted upon by an anonymous Unitarian writer, in a pamphlet, printed in 1694, in 4to. entitled Considerations on the Ex |