now known; but most probably over the Roxbury Neck, following the path
taken by Lord Percy when he went to the relief of Lieutenant-Colonel
Smith's ill-starred expedition to seize the military stores at Concord,
on the nineteenth of April, 1775. Of the nature of their errand--whether
peaceful or hostile,--of the subject of their conversation, as they rode
along the King's highway, neither history nor tradition has left any
account. But when they had reached Muddy River, now the beautiful suburb
of Brookline, about two miles from Cambridge, they were met by a young
man riding in the opposite direction, who, as he came against them,
abruptly and without other salutation, said: "God save King James the
Second!" and then rode on. But soon turning his horse towards the
travelers he most inconsequentially completed his sentence by adding,
"But I say, God curse King James!" and this malediction he repeated so
many times and with such vehemence, that the two horsemen at last turned
their horses and riding up to him, told him plainly that he was a rogue.
This expression of their opinion produced, however, only a slight
modification of the young man's sentiments, to this form: "God curse
King James and God bless Duke James!" But a few strokes of their whips
effected his complete conversion, and then, as a loyal subject, he
exclaimed: "God curse Duke James, and God bless King James!"

Such is the unadorned statement of facts as sworn to the next day in the
Council by these riders, and their oath was attested by Edward Randolph,
the "evil genius of New England." I present it in its legal baldness of
detail. The two horsemen are no reminiscence of Mr. James's celebrated
opening, but two substantial citizens of Boston, Captain Peter Bowden
and Dr. Thomas Clarke; and the young man with somewhat original
objurgatory tendencies was one Wiswell, as they called him--presumably
not a son of the excellent Duxbury parson of the same name; and for the
same reason, even less probably, a student of Cambridge University, as