The peace of Utrecht was severely censured in the two houses. Seals had been placed upon the papers of Lord Strafford, the intimate friend of Bolingbroke, and Prior was recalled from Paris. The report spread that the poet had promised to reveal the secrets of the negotiations. The displaced ministers were in danger of arrest. Bolingbroke appeared at a play at Drury Lane, on the 25th of March, 1715. He applauded loudly, and, according to the custom of the time, chose another play for the following evening. The same night, carefully disguised, he fled to Dover, and on the evening of the 27th embarked for Calais. Justly troubled, although his conscience was but rarely scrupulous, he did not dare to confront either the revelations of his agents, or the hatred of his enemies. Lord Anglesea, who was not a Whig, but a Hanoverian Tory, had said to him, the preceding year: "If I discover that there is perfidy, I will pursue the ministers from the foot of the throne to the Tower, and from the Tower to the scaffold." On the 9th of June, 1715, Walpole's report upon the conduct of the deposed ministers was laid before the House of Commons. Bolingbroke was immediately indicted. Lord Coningsby rose: "The honorable president of your committee attacks the hand," said he, "but I accuse the head. He has denounced the clerk. I address myself to the judge; he has accused the servant; I demand that justice be done the master. I accuse Robert, Duke of Oxford, as guilty of high treason." The adroit prudence of the duke served him better than the alarmed remorse of Bolingbroke; he remained at his house, quietly attending to his affairs, without seeming to avoid the threatened prosecution. He was taken to the Tower, where he remained two years before the passions of his accusers were sufficiently appeased to allow him an acquittal. The Dutchess of Marlborough vigorously opposed his release. While in prison, he received a visit from the Duke of Ormond, who was less compromised by the peace of Utrecht, as he had obeyed the orders of his superiors, but was more deeply engaged in the Jacobite intrigues. {139} Ormond was preparing to fly, although at first he exhibited much disdain. He urged Oxford to follow his example, but the latter refused: "Farewell, Oxford without a head," said Ormond.--"Farewell duke without a duchy," responded Harley. Both recalled the adieus of the Prince of Orange and Count Egmont. The Duke of Ormond never saw England again. Like Bolingbroke, he entered the service of the Stuarts; less fortunate than Bolingbroke, he was not disgraced by his new master, but followed him from one attempt to another, and from retreat to retreat, even to that last gloomy residence at Avignon, where he died in 1745. The storm was preparing; less dangerous than was feared, but nevertheless severe, and destined to leave deep traces. In their vengeance, the ministers employed a certain moderation, as the spirit of their party was more violent than their acts. Young