mouth, a
fact which was not, and could not be, in evidence. But it was not in
the power of Jeffreys to overawe a synod of peers as he had been in
the habit of overawing common juries. The evidence for the crown would
probably have been thought amply sufficient on the Western Circuit or
at the City Sessions, but could not for a moment impose on such men
as Rochester, Godolphin, and Churchill; nor were they, with all their
faults, depraved enough to condemn a fellow creature to death against
the plainest rules of justice. Grey, Wade, and Goodenough were produced,
but could only repeat what they had heard said by Monmouth and by
Wildman's emissaries. The principal witness for the prosecution, a
miscreant named Saxton, who had been concerned in the rebellion, and
was now labouring to earn his pardon by swearing against all who were
obnoxious to the government, who proved by overwhelming evidence to
have told a series of falsehoods. All the Triers, from Churchill who,
as junior baron, spoke first, up to the Treasurer, pronounced, on their
honour, that Delamere was not guilty. The gravity and pomp of the whole
proceeding made a deep impression even on the Nuncio, accustomed as
he was to the ceremonies of Rome, ceremonies which, in solemnity and
splendour, exceed all that the rest of the world can show. [42]
The King, who was present, and was unable to complain of a decision
evidently just, went into a rage with Saxton, and vowed that the wretch
should first be pilloried before Westminster Hall for perjury, and then
sent down to the West to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for treason.
[43]

The public joy at the acquittal of Delamere was great. The reign
of terror was over. The innocent began to breathe freely, and false
accusers to tremble. One letter written on this occasion is scarcely to
be read without tears. The widow of Russell, in her retirement, learned
the good news with mingled feelings. "I do bless God," she wrote, "that
he has caused some stop to be put to the shedding of blood in this poor
land. Yet when I should rejoice with them that do rejoice, I seek a
corner to weep in. I find I am capable of no more gladness; but every
new circumstance, the very comparing my night of sorrow after such a
day, with theirs of joy, does, from a reflection of one kind or another,
rack my uneasy mind. Though I am far from wishing the close of theirs
like mine, yet I cannot refrain giving some time to lament mine was not
like the