In those days the transmission of intelligence to the provinces could not be otherwise than slow, and when it had reached its destination it often proved inaccurate. The broad-wheeled coach, or the horse laden with saddle-bags, could only, with measured pace, convey the London citizen to the house of a country friend. The news which he related at the supper-table, or which he conveyed in some quaintly-written epistle, would then be stale indeed, according to the judgment of such as are familiar with telegrams. The cumbrous stage-waggon, more heavily laden, would be slower still in its movements, and by the time it reached the rural inn, the newspapers it carried would be far advanced in age. Altogether the _Mercuries_ were tardy in their flight, and the _Public Intelligencers_ were addicted to garbling reports, and falsifying stories. What had been done in the Session would, therefore, not be known in distant counties until some time afterwards; and then, probably, in some instances, reports would be circulated through a town or a village in erroneous form. [Sidenote: STATE OF FEELING.] Tidings of the new Bill, in confused fashion, struggled down to Worthenbury, seven miles from Wrexham, where lived the eminently pious Philip Henry. Just before the Bill passed its last stage in the Lower House, he received news from London of speedy severity intended against Nonconformists. In daily doubt of what was to happen, he, on the 7th of July recorded, that "In despite of enemies the Lord hath granted the liberty of one Sabbath more." Next day he received a letter from Dr. Bridgeman (the restored Rector), informing him that if he did not speedily conform, he, Dr. Bridgeman, could no longer protect him. Henry wrote a "dilatory answer," to the Episcopalian clergyman, hoping that time might bring some deliverance. The old Incumbent acted kindly, and showed no sympathy with the ruling powers. On the 24th, news of the progress of the Bill reached the Flintshire rectory, and shaped itself into a report, that the Bill had passed both Houses, and now only waited His Majesty's assent. "Lord, his heart is in Thy hand," ejaculated the devout Puritan; "if it be Thy will, turn it; if otherwise, fit Thy people to suffer, and cut short the work in righteousness."[270] Means were not wanting for the annoyance of Nonconformist ministers by those who wished to restore the surplice and the Liturgy; and on Sunday, the 25th of August, 1661, just a year before the legal enforcement of Uniformity, Oliver Heywood had the Prayer Book publicly presented to him in his Church, with a demand that he would use it in the devotions of the day. It was laid on the pulpit cushion. He quietly took it down, and placed it on the reading-desk, and then went on with the service in the accustomed Presbyterian fashion, being "wonderfully assisted," as he remarks, "that day, in praying and preaching." [Sidenote: 1661.]