being their committal to the Tower.  From all parts of the country came the report that other prelates had signed similar petitions and that very few of the clergy throughout the land had obeyed the king.  The public excitement in London was intense.  While the bishops were before the Council a great multitude filled the region all round Whitehall, and when the Seven came forth under a guard, thousands fell on their knees and prayed aloud for the men who had confronted a tyrant inflamed with the bigotry of Mary.

The king learned with indignation that the soldiers were drinking the health of the prelates, and his officers told him that this could not be prevented.  Before the day of trial the agitation spread to the furthest corners of the island.  Scotland sent letters assuring the bishops of the sympathy of the Presbyterians, hostile though they were to prelacy.  The people of Cornwall were greatly moved by the danger of Bishop Trelawney, and the peasants chanted a ballad of which the burden is still remembered: 

    “And shall Trelawney die, and shall Trelawney die? 
    Then thirty thousand Cornish boys will know the reason why.”

The miners from their caverns re-echoed the song with a variation: 

    “Then twenty thousand underground will know the reason why.”

The bishops were charged with having published a false, malicious, and seditious libel.  But the case for the prosecution speedily broke down in the hands of the crown lawyers.  They were vehemently hissed by the audience.  The jury gave the verdict of “Not Guilty.”  As the news spread all London broke out into acclamation.  The bishops were greeted with cries of “God bless you; you have saved us all to-day.”  The king was greatly disturbed at the news of the acquittal, and exclaimed in French, “So much the worse for them.”  He was at that moment in the camp at Hounslow, where he had been reviewing the troops.  Hearing a great shout behind him, he asked what the uproar meant.  “Nothing,” was the answer; “the soldiers are glad that the bishops are acquitted.”  “Do you call that nothing?” exclaimed the king.  And then he repeated, “So much the worse for them.”  He might well be out of temper.  His defeat had been complete and most humiliating.

The Prince of Orange

In May, 1688, while it was still uncertain whether the Declaration would or would not be read in the churches, Edward Russell had repaired to the Hague, where he strongly represented to the Prince of Orange, husband of Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I., the state of the public mind, and had advised His Highness to appear in England with a strong body of troops, and to call the people to arms.  William had seen at a glance the whole importance of the crisis.  “Now or never,” he exclaimed in Latin.  He quickly received numerous assurances of support from England.  Preparations were rapidly made, and on November I, 1688, he set sail with his fleet,