In our time such a trial would be fatal to the character of a public man； but in that age the standard of morality among the great was so low， and party spirit was so violent， that Grey still continued to have considerable influence， though the Puritans， who formed a strong section of the Whig party， looked somewhat coldly on him.325One part of the character， or rather， it may be， of the fortune， of Grey deserves notice. It was admitted that everywhere， except on the field of battle， he showed a high degree of courage. More than once， in embarrassing circumstances， when his life and liberty were at stake， the dignity of his deportment and his perfect command of all his faculties extorted praise from those who neither loved nor esteemed him. But as a soldier he incurred， less perhaps by his fault than by mischance， the degrading imputation of personal cowardice.
In this respect he differed widely from his friend the Duke of Monmouth. Ardent and intrepid on the field of battle， Monmouth was everywhere else effeminate and irresolute. The accident of his birth， his personal courage， and his superficial graces， had placed him in a post for which he was altogether unfitted. After witnessing the ruin of the party of which he had been the nominal head， he had retired to Holland. The Prince and Princess of Orange had now ceased to regard him as a rival. They received him most hospitably； for they hoped that， by treating， him with kindness， they should establish a claim to the gratitude of his father. They knew that paternal affection was not yet wearied out， that letters and supplies of money still came secretly from Whitehall to Monmouth's retreat， and that Charles frowned on those who sought to pay their court to him by speaking ill of his banished son. The Duke had been encouraged to expect that， in a very short time， if he gave no new cause of displeasure， he would be recalled to his native land， and restored to all his high honours and commands. Animated by such expectations he had been the life of the Hague during the late winter. He had been the most conspicuous figure at a succession of balls in that splendid Orange Hall， which blazes on every side with the most ostentatious colouring of Jord鎛s and Hondthorst.326 He had taught the English country dance to the Dutch ladies， and had in his turn learned from them to skate on the canals. The Princess had accompanied him in his expeditions on the ice； and the figure which she made there， poised on one leg， and clad in petticoats shorter than are generally worn by ladies so strictly decorous， had caused some wonder and mirth to the foreign ministers. The sullen gravity which had been characteristic of the Stadtholder's court seemed to have vanished before the influence of the fascinating Englishman. Even the stern and pensive William relaxed into good humour when his brilliant guest appeared.327Monmouth meanwhile carefully avoided all that could give offence in the quarter to which he looked for protection. He saw little of any Whigs， and nothing of those violent men who had been concerned in the worst part of the Whig plot. He was therefore loudly accused， by his old associates， of fickleness and ingratitude.328By none of the exiles was this accusation urged with more vehemence and bitterness than by Robert Ferguson， the Judas of Dryden's great satire. Ferguson was by birth a Scot； but England had long been his residence. At the time of the Restoration， indeed， he had held a living in Kent. He had been bred a Presbyterian； but the Presbyterians had cast him out， and he had become an Independent. He had been master of an academy which the Dissenters had set up at Islington as a rival to Westminster School and the Charter House； and he had preached to large congregations at a meeting house in Moorfields. He had also published some theological treatises which may still be found in the dusty recesses of a few old libraries； but， though texts of Scripture were always on his lips， those who had pecuniary transactions with him soon found him to be a mere swindler.
At length he turned his attention almost entirely from theology to the worst part of politics. He belonged to the class whose office it is to render in troubled times to exasperated parties those services from which honest men shrink in disgust and prudent men in fear， the class of fanatical knaves. Violent， malignant， regardless of truth， insensible to shame， insatiable of notoriety， delighting in intrigue， in tumult， in mischief for its own sake， he toiled during many years in the darkest mines of faction. He lived among libellers and false witnesses. He was the keeper of a secret purse from which agents too vile to be acknowledged received hire， and the director of a secret press whence pamphlets， bearing no name， were daily issued. He boasted that he had contrived to scatter lampoons about the terrace of Windsor， and even to lay them under the royal pillow. In this way of life he was put to many shifts， was forced to assume many names， and at one time had four different lodgings in different corners of London. He was deeply engaged in the Rye House plot.