proclaimed. The design became known to the Duke of Orleans,
regent of France, who was on terms of friendship with the House
of Hanover. He put the English government on its guard. Some of
the chief malecontents were committed to prison; and among them
was Atterbury. No bishop of the Church of England had been taken
into custody since that memorable day when the applauses and
prayers of all London had followed the seven bishops to the gate
of the Tower. The Opposition entertained some hope that it might
be possible to excite among the people an enthusiasm resembling
that of their fathers, who rushed into the waters of the Thames
to implore the blessing of Sancroft. Pictures of the heroic
confessor in his cell were exhibited at the shop windows. Verses
in his praise were sung about the streets. The restraints by
which he was prevented from communicating with his accomplices
were represented as cruelties worthy of the dungeons of the
Inquisition. Strong appeals were made to the priesthood. Would
they tamely permit so gross an insult to be offered to their
cloth? Would they suffer the ablest, the most eloquent member of
their profession, the man who had so often stood up for their
rights against the civil power, to be treated like the vilest of
mankind? There was considerable excitement; but it was allayed
by a temperate and artful letter to the clergy, the work, in all
probability, of Bishop Gibson, who stood high in the favour of
Walpole, and shortly after became minister for ecclesiastical
affairs.

Atterbury remained in close confinement during some months. He
had carried on his correspondence with the exiled family so
cautiously that the circumstantial proofs of his guilt, though
sufficient to produce entire moral conviction, were not