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 THE 
 
 LOYALISTS: 
 
 AN HISTORICAL NOVEL, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Stralian and Preston, 
 Printers-Street, London
 
 THE 
 
 LOYALISTS: 
 
 AN 
 
 HISTORICAL NOVEL. 
 
 The Author of « LETTERS TO A YOUNG MAN,' 
 " A TALE OF THE TIMES," &c. 
 
 Preserve your Loyalty, maintain your Rights. 
 
 Inscription on a Column at Appleby. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 NHMT&D FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 I ATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 18I2.
 
 SQ5 
 
 Y.l 
 
 THE 
 
 LOYALISTS 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 Abate the edge of Traitors, gracious Lord, 
 That would reduce these bloody days again, 
 And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 nniioj 
 
 ■A- hour 
 
 SE who have but an indifferent 
 banquet to offer, are not usually in- 
 clined to discourage their guests, by a re- 
 pulsive bill of fare ; yet surely, when a 
 public invitation is given, there is honesty, 
 and prudence too, in simply stating the 
 kind of regale we are going to spread, 
 lest a palled and sickly appetite should 
 expect stimulants, or a perverted taste 
 should pine for foreign luxuries and 
 modern cookery, when we have nothing 
 vol. r. n
 
 ( 2 ) 
 
 to set before them but plain old English 
 food. Church and King now look as ob- 
 solete in a publication, as beef and pud- 
 ding would at a gala dinner ; yet let us 
 remember, that as the latter have fed our 
 heroes from the days of Cressy and 
 Agincourt to the present times, so the 
 former have fashioned minds fit to animate 
 these mighty bodies. It is only to those 
 who have a relish for stern virtue and 
 grave reflection, that I would recommend 
 the following pages. 
 
 I have dated this narrative in a pecu- 
 liarly calamitous period, though well 
 aware that virtue, like happiness, is sup- 
 posed to flourish most in times of tran- 
 quillity. Such times afford no subjects 
 for the historian or the bard ; and even 
 the moralist is often led to revert rather 
 to those stormy eras which roused the 
 energies of the human soul, and com- 
 pelled it to assert qualities of which they 
 who have observed only the repose of
 
 ( 3 ) 
 
 domestic life can form no conception. 
 Man, attempting with finite powers to 
 compass the most stupendous designs in 
 spite of physical or moral obstacles ; 
 submitting to every privation, braving 
 danger and death, often even defying 
 omnipotence, and all for the sake of some 
 speculative tenet, some doubtful advantage^ 
 the post of honour burdened by superlative 
 responsibility, or the eminence of power 
 attended with perpetual care, is an object 
 no less interesting to the philosopher, 
 than it is miraculous to the peasant, who 
 places enjoyment in ease and animal in- 
 dulgence. It is on the motives and actions 
 which characterise this self-denial and en- 
 terprise, that the hero and the statesman 
 fix their attention ; forming their models, 
 and drawing their conclusions, not from' 
 the passive inclinations, but from the capa- 
 bilities of our species, not from what man 
 would or ought to prefer, but from what 
 he has achieved when stimulated by hope, 
 
 B 2-
 
 { 4 ) 
 
 goaded by ambition, or instigated by des- 
 peration. 
 
 Under the influence of these passions, 
 how often has one restless spirit disturbed 
 the repose of a prosperous nation, and 
 spread desolation and misery over the 
 fairest portions of the globe. Does God 
 permit this — and is he righteous ? Yes, 
 short-sighted questioner of Omniscience, 
 the Father of the universe is never more 
 conspicuous in his paternal care, than 
 when, by means of temporal afflictions, 
 he draws our regards toward our heavenly 
 country. — Then is death disarmed of 
 the terrors which are planted round the 
 bed of prosperity ; then is the soul 
 freed from that bondage of sensual de- 
 light, which impedes her spiritual exer- 
 tion. The no longer pampered body, 
 subdued to spareness, braced by toil, 
 elastic from exertion, and patient from 
 habit, is not a clog, but a meet compa- 
 nion for its immortal associate. Pros-
 
 C 5 ) 
 
 perky, among many other evils, en- 
 genders religious apathy, and luxurious 
 selfishness. She presents a gorgeous 
 stage, on which the puppets of vanity 
 and petty ambition act their insignificant 
 parts 5 adversity educates and exercises 
 men. 
 
 Nor is the moral harvest a mere 
 gleaning of good deeds* Where misery 
 and wickedness seem most to abound; 
 where desperadoes and plunderers go 
 forth to destroy and pillage ; the passive 
 virtues pray, and endure. Self-devoting 
 generosity then interposes her shield, 
 and magnanimous heroism her sword ; 
 benevolence seeks out and consoles 
 distress ; the confessor intercedes with 
 heaven ; the patriot sacrifices his fortune 
 and his comforts ; the martyr dies on the 
 scaffold, and the hero in the field. 
 England hath often witnessed such pi- 
 teous scenes, and many fear she is now 
 on the verge of similar calamities, which 
 
 B 3
 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 threaten to cloud her glory from the 
 envy and admiration of foreign nations, 
 making her a taunting proverb of re- 
 proach to her enemies, while she points 
 a moral, and adorns a tale, for posterity. 
 May those who govern her wide extended 
 empire, so study the records of our for- 
 mer woes, and shape their political course 
 with such single-hearted observance of 
 the unerring laws of God, as to become, 
 under his Providence, our preservers 
 from danger; and may the governed, 
 remembering the tyranny which origi- 
 nated irom insubordination ; the daring 
 ambition of popular demagogues; the 
 hypocrisy of noisy reformers, and all 
 the certain misery which arises from the 
 pursuit of speculative unattainable per- 
 fection, adhere to those institutions, 
 which have been consecrated with the 
 best blood in England, and proved by 
 the experience of ages to be consistent 
 with as large a portion of national pros-
 
 ( 7 ) 
 
 perity, as any people have ever enjoyed. 
 Yet as our offences may prevail over 
 our prayers, let us prepare our minds 
 for times of trial. The public duties 
 they require, are adapted to the discus- 
 sion of that sex, whose physical and 
 mental powers fit it for active life, and 
 deliberate policy. But the exercise of 
 the milder vitues is imperiously called 
 for in seasons of national alarm. Whe- 
 ther we are to endure the loss of our 
 accustomed wealth and luxury, or to 
 encounter the far heavier trial of do- 
 mestic confusion, there are habits of 
 thinking and acting, which will conduce 
 to individual comfort and improvement. 
 There are sorrows which neither a King 
 nor laws can cause or cure f* enjoy- 
 ments, that no tyrant can withhold ; and 
 blessings, which even the wildest theories 
 of democracy cannot destroy. The asylum 
 where these sacred heritages of a good 
 B 4
 
 ( s ) 
 
 conscience are generally concealed, is 
 the domestic hearth, that circumscribed 
 but important precinct where the female 
 Lares sit as guardians. Is it presumptuous 
 in one, who has long officiated at such 
 an household altar, again to solicit the 
 forbearance and favour, which she has 
 often experienced, by calling public 
 attention to a popular way of communi- 
 cating opinions, not first invented by 
 herself, though she has often had re- 
 course to it. The tale she now chooses 
 as a vehicle, aims at conveying instruc* 
 tion to the present times, under the 
 form of a chronicle of the past. The 
 political and religious motives, which- 
 convulsed England in the middle of the 
 seventeenth century, bear so striking a 
 resemblance to those which are now 
 attempted to be promulgated, that surely 
 it must be salutary to remind the in- 
 considerate, that reformists introduced
 
 ( 9 ) 
 
 first anarchy and then despotism, and 
 that a multitude of new religions gave 
 birth to infidelity. 
 
 Nor let the serious hue which a story 
 must wear that is dated in those times, 
 when the church militant was called to 
 the house of mourning, deter the gay 
 and young from a patient perusal What- 
 ever mere prudential instructors may 
 affirm, worldly prosperity should not be 
 held out as the criterion, or the reward 
 of right conduct. Let us remember St. 
 Augustine's answer to those Pagans, who 
 reproached him with the evils that Chris- 
 tians, in common with themselves, suffered 
 from the then convulsed state of the world. 
 They asked him, " Where is thy God i" 
 But he declined founding the believer's 
 privileges on individual exemptions, or 
 personal providences. " My God," said he, 
 " in all his attributes, different from the 
 false impotent Gods of the Heathen, is to: 
 be found wherever his worshippers are ; — 
 
 » 5
 
 ( io ) 
 
 if I am carried into captivity, his conso- 
 lations shall yet reach me; — if I lose 
 the possessions of this life, my precious 
 faith shall still supply their want ; — and if 
 I die, not as the suffering heathen dies, by 
 his own impious and impatient hand, but 
 in obedience to the will of God, my great 
 reward begins. I shall enter upon a 
 life that will never be taken from me ; 
 and henceforth all tears shall be wiped 
 from my eyes." 
 
 Adversity purifies communities, as 
 well as individuals. If fastidiousness, sel- 
 fishness, pride, and sensuality, conspire to 
 cloud, with imaginary woes, the enjoy- 
 ments of those whom others deem happy 
 and prosperous ; faction, discontent, a 
 querulous appetite for freedom, and an 
 inordinate ambition to acquire sudden 
 pre-eminence, disturb public tranquillity, 
 when a country has long enjoyed the 
 blessings of plenty and repose. Previous 
 to the commencement of that great
 
 ( H ) 
 
 rebellion, which tore the crown and 
 mitre from the degraded shield of Britain, 
 our forefathers, as we are informed by the 
 noble historian of his country's woes 
 and shames*, experienced an unusual 
 share of prosperity. During the early part 
 of the reign of King Charles the First, he 
 tells us, " this nation enjoyed the greatest 
 calm, and the fullest measure of felicity 
 that any people of any age for so long a 
 time together had been blessed with, to 
 the envy and wonder of all the other 
 parts of Christendom." The portrait he 
 draws is so striking, that I must exhibit 
 it in its native colours. " A happiness 
 invidiously set off by this distinction, 
 that every other kingdom, every other 
 state, were entangled and almost destroyed 
 by the fury of arms. The court was 
 in great plenty, or rather (which is the 
 discredit of plenty) excess and luxury, 
 
 * Lord Clarendon. 
 B 6
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 the country rich, and what is more, fully- 
 enjoying the pleasure of its own wealthy 
 and so the more easily corrupted with 
 the pride and wantonness of it. The 
 church flourishing with learned and ex- 
 traordinary men ; trade increased to that 
 degree, that we were the exchange of 
 Christendom ; foreign merchants looking 
 upon nothing so much their own, as 
 what they had laid up in the warehouses 
 of this kingdom ; the royal navy in. 
 number and equipage, very formidable 
 at sea ; lastly, for a complement of all* 
 these blessings, they were enjoyed under 
 the protection of a King of the most 
 harmless disposition ; the most exemplary 
 piety ; the greatest sobriety, chastity, 
 and mercy, that ever Prince had been 
 endowed with : But all these blessings 
 could but enable, not compel, us to be 
 happy. We wanted that sense, acknow- 
 ledgement, and value of our own happi- 
 ness;, which all but we had 3 and we took
 
 C 13 ) 
 
 pains to make, when we could not find 
 ourselves miserable. There was in truth 
 a strange absence of understanding in 
 most, and a strange perverseness of un- 
 derstanding in the rest. The court full 
 of excess, idleness, and luxury ; the 
 country full of pride, mutiny, and dis- 
 content. Every man more troubled and 
 perplexed at what they called the vio- 
 lation of one law, than delighted or 
 pleased with the observance of all the 
 rest of the charter. Never imputing the 
 increase of their receipts, revenue, and 
 plenty, to the wisdom, virtue, and merit 
 of the crown ; but objecting every small 
 imposition to the exorbitancy and ty- 
 ranny of the government. The growth 
 of knowledge and virtue were disre- 
 lished for the infirmities of some learned 
 men, and the increase of grace and favour 
 to- the church was more repined and 
 murmured at than the increase of piety 
 and devotion in it were regarded."
 
 ( 14 ) 
 
 Such was the lowering calm of un- 
 grateful discontent, which ushered in a 
 fearful season of crime and punishment, 
 described at large by one who was an 
 illustrious actor on that eventful stage, 
 and composed his history, " that pos- 
 terity might not be deceived by the pros- 
 perity of wickedness into a belief that 
 nothing less than a general combination 
 of an whole nation, and a universal 
 apostacy from their religion and allegi- 
 ance, could, in so short a time, have 
 produced such a prodigious and total 
 alteration ; and that the memory of 
 those, who out of duty and conscience 
 have opposed that torrent which over- 
 whelmed them, may not lose the recom- 
 pence due to their virtues, but having 
 undergone the injuries and reproaches 
 of that, might find a vindication in a 
 better age." 
 
 In describing the scenes which ensued, 
 " when an infatuated people, ripe and
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 prepared for destruction, plunged by the 
 just judgment of God into all the perverse 
 actions of folly and madness," he reads 
 us such important lessons as must strike 
 an enlightened public, if recalled to their 
 attention. He tells us, by fatal expe- 
 rience, " that the weak contributed to 
 the designs of the wicked, while the 
 latter, out of a conscience of their guilt, 
 grew by desperation worse than they in- 
 tended to be. That the wise were often 
 imposed upon by men of small under- 
 standings. That the innocent were pos- 
 sessed with laziness, and slept in the most 
 visible article of danger, and that the ill- 
 disposed, though of the most different 
 opinions, opposite interests, and distant 
 affections, united in a firm and constant 
 league of mischief, while those whose 
 opinions and interests were the same, di- 
 vided into factions and emulations more 
 pernicious to the public than the treasons 
 of others. Meanwhile the community,
 
 ( *6 > 
 
 under pretence of zeal for religion, law, 
 liberty, and parliament, (words of pre- 
 cious esteem in their just signification,) 
 were furiously hurried into actions intro- 
 ducing atheism, and dissolving all the 
 elements of the Christian religion." 
 
 So great were the miseries incident to 
 civil commotion, so soon did the mafk 
 fall off from those pseudo-patriots, that 
 all parties except the creatures of the am- 
 bitious Cromwel, ardently looked for the 
 restoration of their imprisoned King, as 
 a termination of their own sorrows, as 
 well as of his misfortunes. And when 
 that hope was frustrated cc by the most 
 consummate hypocrisy and atrocious 
 breach of all law and justice/' the iron 
 pressure of those times of pretended li- 
 berty and equality that ensued, led every 
 one, who had not by some unpardonable 
 crime hazarded his own safety, to welcome 
 back the son of the royal victim to the ! 
 constitution and honour of England, with;
 
 ( '7 ) 
 
 such rash exuberance of confiding loyalty, 
 that, by intrusting to his careless hand the 
 full possession of unrestrained power, 
 they laid the foundation of future contests 
 and confusion. Such were the prospec- 
 tive evils with which the Oliverian usur- 
 pation afflicted the s f ate, while in the de- 
 partment of morals, piety was brought 
 into such contempt by the extravagance 
 of fanatics, and the detected cheats of 
 hypocrites, that atheism and profaneness 
 grew popular, as being more open and 
 candid in their avowed profligacy. The 
 oppressive, or as his admirers call it, 
 the vigorous government of Cromwel 
 humbled the proud spirit of Englishmen, 
 who had often revolted at the excessive 
 stretches of prerogative under their legi- 
 timate kings ; and this new habit of sub- 
 mission, added to a deep repentance for 
 their late crime, so struck the independent 
 character of the nation, that a cabal of 
 atheists and libertines persuaded an un-
 
 ( i8 ) 
 
 principled Prince that he might as easily 
 found his throne on what was then 
 deemed the firm basis of despotism, as 
 many of the Continental princes had 
 done. If, as Englishmen, we blush at 
 the disgrace of a King sold to France, and 
 a court and nation abandoned to such 
 licentious contempt of all Christian obli- 
 gations, that even decency is compelled 
 to consign their polite literature to obli- 
 vion, we must seek for the seeds of this 
 twofold degradation in the times of which 
 I propo SS tP exhibit a familiar portrait, 
 illustrated by imaginary characters and 
 events, but carefully compared with war- 
 ranted originals. 
 
 It remains to say something of the 
 conduct of this design. Public events 
 will be stated with fidelity. Historical 
 characters shall be but sparingly com- 
 bined with feigned actions, but, where 
 they are, great care shall be taken that 
 they be neither flattered, calumniated,
 
 ( '9 ) 
 
 nor overcharged ; and, I believe, they may 
 be found to have behaved in much the 
 same manner to others, as I shall represent 
 them to do to the imaginary persons whom 
 I bring on the scene. The long space of 
 years which this narrative embraces, is, I 
 know, a great abatement of its interest. 
 It is a fault which could not be avoided 
 without falsifying chronology at a period 
 familiar to every well-read person, or 
 losing sight of the admonitory lesson which 
 the tale was intended to convey. 
 
 I know that there is no small share of 
 hardihood in my attempt : Bigotry, su- 
 perstitious adherence to existing institu- 
 tions, exclusive partiality to a sect, and 
 pertinacious resistance to the increase of 
 liberal information, are well-sounding epi- 
 thets easily applied, and too grateful to 
 the million to want popularity. Those 
 who write with no higher motive than 
 to please the prevailing taste, must beware 
 of touching upon topics which are likely
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 to rouse the hostile feelings of self-impor- 
 tance, and to disgust would-be statesmen 
 and intuitive divines. Ridicule will never 
 disprove those opinions which were held 
 by the wisest and most illustrious persons 
 that England ever produced. Should I 
 be so unfortunate as to provoke hostility 
 where I look for co-operation ; erroneous 
 or undeserved censure shall not induce 
 me to enter into a controversy with those 
 whom I believe to be sincere champions 
 of religious truth, and to whose labours I 
 3R1 consequently bound to say, " God 
 speed," though they may consider me as 
 a doubtful" ally, if not an enemy. To 
 these I would address the dying words of 
 the celebrated non-juror Archbishop San- 
 croft to his subscribing chaplain, Need- 
 ham — " You and I have gone different 
 ways in these late affairs, but I trust 
 Heaven's gates are wide enough to re- 
 ceive us both. I always took you for 
 an honest man. What I said concern-
 
 ( v. ) 
 
 ing myself was only to let you know that 
 what I have done I have done in the in- 
 tegrity of my heart, indeed in the great 
 integrity of my heart" Thus, only anxi- 
 ous to defend and support constitutional 
 principles, I shall plead guilty to many 
 errors in taste, in the construction of the 
 fable, as well as in the style of the narra- 
 tive, and throw myself on the mercy of 
 the Public with regard to those points.
 
 ( « ) 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 1 will not choose what many men desire, 
 Because I will not jump with common spirits, 
 And rank me with the barb'rous multitudes. 
 
 SlIAKSPEARB. 
 
 A BOUT the commencement of the 
 «*a. reign of King Charles the First, 
 a stranger came to reside in a popu- 
 lous village in Lancashire, under cir- 
 cumstances of considerable interest and 
 mystery. He was young, and elegant 
 in his person ; his language not only 
 evinced the cultivated chasteness of 
 education, but the nicer polish of re- 
 fined society. When drawn into conver- 
 sation (to which he seemed averse), he 
 discovered classical learning enlivened by 
 brilliant wit, and seasoned by deep reflec- 
 tion. He was versed in the history of 
 ii
 
 ( 23 ) 
 
 foreign courts ; and if he forbore to speak 
 of our own, it seemed more from caution 
 than from ignorance. He excelled in 
 fashionable exercises, rode the great horse 
 with a military air, and alarmed the rus- 
 tics by his skill in fencing, as much as he 
 delighted them by the till then unheard 
 tones which he drew from the viol-de- 
 gamba. It was impossible that, with these 
 accomplishments, a sad-coloured cloak 
 and plain beaver could conceal the gentle- 
 man. In vain did he report himself to be 
 a Blackwell-hall factor, whom an unfor- 
 tunate venture had reduced to ruin. — 
 Every one discovered that his manners 
 did not correspond with this description, 
 and they would have at once determined 
 him to be some gay gallant, whose wan- 
 tonness of expense had outstripped his 
 ability, had not his purse contained good 
 store of broad pieces, which his hand libe- 
 rally bestowed, as often as poverty ap- 
 pealed to his benevolence.
 
 ( 2 4 ) 
 
 A Lancashire gentleman in those times 
 had less intercourse with the metropolis 
 of the British empire, than one of the pre- 
 sent day, has with Canton. No London 
 correspondent, therefore, could whisrier 
 the sudden disappearance of a sparkling 
 blade, who, after blazing awhile at White- 
 hall, had unaccountably vanished like a 
 meteor from its horizon; nor had the 
 depredation of swindlers, or the frequent 
 intrusion of impertinent hangers-on com- 
 pelled the owners of manorial houses to 
 shut their doors on uninvited guests. The 
 jovial coarse hospitality of those times de- 
 lighted in a crowded board ; the extensive 
 household daily required ample provi- 
 sion, and refinement was too little ad- 
 vanced from its earliest stage to make 
 nice arrangement or rare delicacies ne- 
 cessary to an esquire's table. Such a 
 guest therefore as Evellin, was eagerly 
 sought and warmly welcomed. He joined 
 with the joyous hunters in the morning.
 
 ( *5 ) 
 
 he relieved the sameness of their re- 
 pasts with his diversified information ; 
 and in the evening he was equally gra- 
 tifying to the ladies, who being then ge- 
 nerally confined to the uniform routine of 
 domestic privacy, loved to hear of what 
 was passing in the great world. He could 
 describe the jewels which bound the hair 
 of the Queen of Bohemia, and he had 
 seen the hood in which Anne of Austria 
 ensnared the aspiring heart of the Duke 
 of Buckingham ; beside, he led off the 
 dance with matchless grace, and to their 
 native hornpipe enabled them to add the 
 travelled accomplishments of the galliard 
 and saraband. What a concentration of 
 agreeable qualities ! It must be owing 
 to the invincible pressure of secret uneasi- 
 ness, and not to a suspicion of the cor- 
 diality with which his entertainers wel- 
 comed him, if Evellin ever passed a day 
 in solitude. 
 
 vol. r. c
 
 ( 26 ) 
 
 Yet he came into society with the air 
 of one who sought it as a temporary re- 
 lief from anxiety, rather than as a source 
 of real enjoyment. A visible dissatisfac- 
 tion, constraint, and unsubdued aversion 
 to the present, arising from regret at the 
 past, sometimes interrupted his graceful 
 courtesy, and oftener made him indifferent 
 to the passing scene, or unconscious of it. 
 This humour increased whenever he re- 
 ceived a dispatch from London, and at 
 one time the mortification which his let- 
 ters excited, threw him into such a men- 
 tal agony, that the cottagers with whom he 
 lodged, recurring to what was then deemed 
 a specific for troubled minds, called in the 
 aid of Dr.Eusebius Beaumont to give him 
 ghostly consolation. I am not going to 
 bring a mortified Franciscan friar on the 
 scene : his reverence was the village pas- 
 tor, happy and respectable as a husband 
 and father, and largely endowed with those 
 graces which have signalized the Church
 
 ( 27 ) 
 
 of England, whenever she has been called 
 to any conspicuous trial. Learning and 
 piety were in him two neighbouring stars 
 that reflected radiance on each other, and 
 were rather brightened than obscured by 
 his humility. His manners and habits of 
 life retained the simplicity of the primitive 
 ages, yet were they so blended with cour- 
 tesy, nobleness of mind, and superiority 
 to every mean selfish consideration, that 
 the most travelled cavalier of the times 
 could not more winningly display the true 
 gentleman. His example shewed that the 
 superiority which distinguishes that cha- 
 racter consists not in adopting the reign- 
 ing mode (that poor ambition of a copyist), 
 but in the refined suavity which defies 
 imitation, and is an inborn sentiment, ra- 
 ther than an assumed costume. The 
 most powerful peer in England had not a 
 more independent mind than Dr. Beau- 
 mont. His fortune was sufficiently ample 
 to supply his modest wants and large be- 
 C 2
 
 ( 28 ) 
 
 nevolence ; they who envied his popu- 
 larity knew not how to weaken it except 
 by imitating the virtues in which it ori- 
 ginated. Placed in that respectable medi- 
 ocrity which was the wish of Agar — too 
 exalted to fear an oppressor or to invite 
 insult ; too humble to make ambition look 
 like virtue, or to fall into that forgetful- 
 nefs of his Maker, which is often the 
 damning sin of prosperity ; accustomed 
 to those habits of wise self-control that 
 fit the mind and body for their respective 
 functions ; and perfectly possessed with 
 a most conscientious resignation and con- 
 fidence respecting future events — he was 
 free from those cares which corrode the 
 temper and contract the understanding. 
 Next to his church, his study was his 
 earthly paradise ; but the same calm prin- 
 ciple of self-discipline attended him there, 
 and regulated his enjoyment of lettered 
 ease. He left his beloved authors with- 
 out a sigh, as often as active duty called
 
 ( *9 ) 
 
 him to attend the sick cottager, to heal 
 contention between his parishioners, to 
 admonish the backsliding, or to defend 
 the cause of the oppressed. 
 
 Such was the man who presented him- 
 self to the agonized Evellin ; nor was the 
 latter surprized at the yisit, or at the se- 
 rious admonition which he received. Pa- 
 rochial care was not then regarded as a 
 novelty, when it extended beyond the altar 
 or the pulpit ; and the graceful stranger 
 felt himself reproved by one who had a 
 right to exercise the functions of spiritual 
 authority. He bowed to the pastor's in- 
 structions, with a respect which charac- 
 terized those times, when the power of 
 the church was supported by superior 
 holiness, and acknowledged even by those 
 who in their lives disobeyed her precepts. 
 His subsequent behaviour made Dr. Beau- 
 mont not only pardon the infirmities of a 
 wounded spirit, but also apply the balm 
 of friendship to them, by giving the
 
 ( 3° ) 
 
 stranger a most cordial invitation to the 
 glebe-house, where he promised him a 
 friendly welcome as often as he was dis- 
 posed to relish the quiet habits of his 
 family. 
 
 It so happened, that after Evellin had 
 twice or thrice passed the little wicket 
 that separated the parson's garden from 
 the village green, he disliked taking any 
 other road. Yet though Mrs. Beaumont's 
 person was of that description which sub- 
 jects Lancashire ladies to the imputation 
 of witchcraft, (a charge too clearly proved 
 against them to be denied,) it was not 
 the fascination of her eyes which drew 
 the loitering step, fixed the unconscious 
 gaze, and almost charmed to repose the 
 stranger's untold sorrows. The wife of 
 his friend excited only the respect and 
 esteem of this antique courtier ; but a 
 young unaffianced Arachne sat spinning 
 by her side, discreet and ingenious as Mi- 
 nerva, rosy and playful as Hebe. This
 
 ( 3' ) 
 
 was Isabel, the younger sister of his re- 
 verence, who, not inwardly displeased 
 that the family party was enlarged by 
 such an agreeable guest, nor wholly un- 
 conscious of the power of her own 
 charms, strove with all the unsuspecting 
 confidence of youth to amuse a visitor 
 whom her honoured brother pronounced 
 worthy of esteem and pity, and willingly 
 exerted her arch vivacity to divert a me- 
 lancholy of which no one knew the cause. 
 Evellin soon discovered that he interested 
 the fair recluse, and though she was not 
 the first lady who viewed him with favour, 
 he was flattered by an attention which he 
 could not impute to extrinsic qualities. 
 " She certainly pities me," observed he, 
 on perceiving an unnoticed tear steal 
 down her cheek, when with unguarded 
 confidence, momentarily excited by the 
 benign manners and calm happiness of 
 his host, he inveighed against the treachery 
 of courts and the weakness of Kings. 
 c 4
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
 " Can she love me?" was his next 
 thought ; " or why this lively interest 
 in my sorrows ?" This doubt, or rather 
 hope, was suggested by hearing Isabel 
 sob aloud while he told I)r. Beaumont 
 not to look for any earthly return for the 
 kindness he shewed him. " Were my 
 fortunes," said he one day to his hospi- 
 table friends, " equal to my birth, you 
 should find me a prodigal in my grati- 
 tude, but my own folly in c believing 
 integrity of manners and innocence of 
 life are a guard strong enough to secure 
 any man in his voyage through the world 
 in what company soever he travelled, and 
 through what ways soever he was to 
 pass *,' furnished my enemies with wea- 
 pons which have been used to my un- 
 doing. For this last year I have suffered 
 alternate hopes and fears. Whether my 
 heart is sick of suspence, or the clouds 
 
 * These, according to Clarendon, were the 
 errors of Archbishop Laud.
 
 ( 33 ) 
 
 of mischance really thicken around me, 
 I can scarcely ascertain, but my medi- 
 tations grow more gloomy, and I be- 
 lieve myself doomed to an obscure life 
 of little usefulness to others, and less 
 enjoyment to myself. Among my priva- 
 tions I must rank that of spending my 
 days in unconnected solitude. Who will 
 willingly share the scant portion of bare 
 sufficiency, or interweave their destiny 
 with the tangled web of my intricate for- 
 tunes? Would you plant a flourishing 
 eglantine under the blasted oak ? Re- 
 move it from such a neighbourhood, or 
 the blessed rain passing through the 
 blighted branches, will affect its verdure 
 with pestilent mildew, instead of cherish- 
 ing it with wholesome shade." 
 
 Some short time after this conversation, 
 Mrs. Beaumont observed to her husband 
 that an extraordinary change had taken 
 place in. Isabel's manners since Evellin 
 had become a frequent visitor. " She 
 
 c 5
 
 ( 34 ) 
 
 very rarely laughs," said she ; " but that 
 I do not wonder at, for the infection of 
 his melancholy has made us all grave \ 
 but she often weeps. Then she is so 
 absent, that she cut out the frieze gowns 
 for the alms-women too short, and 
 spoiled Mrs. Mellicent's eye-water. The 
 tapestry chairs are thrown aside, and 
 she steals from us to the bower in the 
 yew-tree that overlooks the green, where 
 she devotes her mornings to reading 
 Sydney's Arcadia. My dear Eusebius, I 
 see her disease, for I recollect my own 
 behaviour when I was doubtful whether 
 you preferred me ; but surely, if a con- 
 nection with Evellin would involve our 
 dear Isabel in distress, ought I not to 
 warn her of her danger in so disposing of 
 her heart ?" 
 
 " I fear," replied the Doctor, " if 
 your observations are correct, that the 
 caution would new come too late. Isabel 
 is of an age to judge for herself, and if
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 she prefers a partner in whom high de- 
 grees of desert and suffering seem united, 
 ought her friends to interfere? If her 
 own feelings teil her that she considers 
 personal merit as an equipoise to adver- 
 sity, shall we tell her that outward splen- 
 dour constitutes intrinsic greatness ? I mar- 
 vel not that Evellin interests my sister j he 
 engages most of my thoughts, and I have 
 employed myself in collecting instances 
 of good men suffering wrongfully, and 
 of the piety, humility, and patience with 
 which they endured chastening. These 
 may be useful to Evellin ; if not, they 
 will be so to ourselves whenever sorrow 
 visits our abode, as she is sure some time 
 to do while she is travelling to and fro on 
 the earth." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont acquiesced in her hus- 
 band's opinion, and determined that love 
 should take its course, but it met with an 
 opponent in the person of Mrs. Melli- 
 cent Beaumont, who perhaps was not 
 c 6
 
 ( 3« ) 
 
 free from those objections which elder 
 sisters often entertain to the engagements 
 of the younger branches of the family, 
 while they themselves write spinster. 
 She had now, however, a more colour- 
 able plea ; the beauty of Mrs. Isabel had 
 attracted the notice of Sir William Wa- 
 verly, and to see her sister the lady of 
 Waverly Park, roused that desire of pre- 
 eminence which, though absolutely fo- 
 reign to the principles of Dr. Beaumont, 
 was not overlooked by all his family. 
 She thought it became her to lecture 
 Isabel on her preference, and unwittingly 
 confirmed it by exhibiting, in opposition, 
 two men of most dissimilar characters 
 and endowments ; the one, brave, ge- 
 nerous, enlightened, accomplished, but 
 unhappy ; the other, lord of a vast de- 
 mesne, but selfish, ignorant, scant of 
 courtesy, and proud of wealth. " Tell 
 me not of Waverly Park/' said Mrs. 
 Isabel, " I would sooner gather cresses 
 
 12
 
 ( 37 ) 
 
 by his lakes as a beggar, than sail over 
 them under a silken awning with him 
 by my side as my companion for life. 
 His language, his ideas, his manners, 
 differ from those of our meanest rustics 
 in no other way than that theirs is the 
 native simplicity which had no means of 
 improvement, and his the wilful grossness 
 which rejected it when offered, resting 
 satisfied in what he received from his an- 
 cestors, without adding to it attainments 
 that would properly have been his own. 
 I know not what Evellin has been : clouds 
 and storms hover over his future pro- 
 spects. I see him only as he is the chief 
 among ten thousand, and one who suffers 
 no diminution even while conversing with 
 our honoured brother; and I should be 
 prouder of allying him to our house than 
 of changing this silken braid for a golden 
 coronet." Mrs. Mellicent, after some 
 remarks on the inconsiderate obstinacy of 
 three and twenty, and the sure repent-
 
 ( 38 ) 
 
 ance of head-strong people, withdrew 
 her opposition, to be renewed when the 
 event should justify her predictions. 
 
 The lovers did not long rest in that 
 unavowed consciousness which left a 
 shadow of doubt as to their reciprocal 
 attachment. To Evellin's declaration of 
 unalterable love, Isabella answered, that 
 she knew too little of his situation to say 
 whether she ought to be his, but her 
 heart told her she never could be another's. 
 The lover poured forth protestations of 
 gratitude. u No," answered she, " I 
 deserve no thanks ; for, to tell you the 
 truth, I have endeavoured to see you with 
 indifference, but find it is impossible. You 
 have lived in courts, Mr. Evellin, where 
 women are hardly won and quickly lost ; 
 but do not therefore despise a Lancashire 
 girl who dares not play with Cupid's ar- 
 rows, but loves in sad sincerity, or re- 
 jects with steady courtesy; yet if you 
 suspect that you cannot meet my devoted
 
 C 39 ) 
 
 constancy with equal singleness of heart, 
 leave me now, good Evellin, ere yet 
 my life is so bound up in your sincerity, 
 that I shall want strength of mind to 
 dissolve the bond. At present I am so 
 much more disposed to respect you than 
 myself, that I may think what you have 
 said was only meant for gallantry, which 
 my ignorance of the world has miscon- 
 strued. If after this warning you still 
 persist in your suit, you must either be, 
 till death, my faithful lover, or virtually 
 my murderer." 
 
 " My own betrothed Isabel," an- 
 swered Evellin, " to love, pourtrayed 
 with such chaste simplicity, I owe a con- 
 fidence as unbounded as thy own. I will 
 put my life in thy keeping, by disclosing 
 the bosom-secret I have concealed even 
 from thy saint-like brother. 'Tis the 
 pledge of my constancy. Mark me, 
 dearest maiden, though a proscribed wan- 
 derer wooes thy love, thy hand may be 
 9
 
 ( 4° ) 
 
 claimed by a peer of England, and those 
 graces which adorn thy native village 
 may ornament the palace of our King." 
 
 He paused to see if the glow of ambi- 
 tion supplanted the virgin blushes of ac- 
 knowledged love; but Isabel's cheek 
 displayed the same meek roseate hue. 
 No hurried exclamation, no gaspings of 
 concealed delight, no lively flashings of 
 an exulting eye, proclaimed that he was 
 dearer to her now than before he acknow- 
 ledged his high descent. Her objec- 
 tions to a speedy marriage were even 
 confirmed by this discovery. " I must 
 know," said she, " that there is no one 
 who possesses a natural or acquired 
 right to control your choice. People in 
 eminent stations owe many duties to the 
 state, and must not soil their honours by 
 unworthy alliances. Perhaps under your 
 tuition I might so deport myself as not 
 to shame your choice, but I must be well 
 assured that I shall be no obstacle to your
 
 ( 41 ) 
 
 moving in your proper sphere, or I will 
 die Isabel Beaumont, praying that you 
 may be happier than my love could make 
 you." 
 
 Evellin rewarded this generous attach- 
 ment by telling her his assumed name 
 was an anagram of his real one, Allan 
 Neville, presumptive heir to the earldom 
 of Bellingham, the honours of which 
 were now possessed by an elder brother, 
 whose declining state of health made it 
 probable that Allan would soon be called 
 from the obscurity in which he lived, and 
 compelled to clear his slandered fame 
 or sink under the malice of his foes. 
 As a younger brother, he was expected 
 to be the founder of his own fortune. 
 His education, therefore, had been most 
 carefully conducted ; he had had the 
 best tutors in every branch of learning ; 
 and he had travelled under the guidance 
 of an enlightened friend. The pacific 
 character of King James furnifhing no
 
 ( 42 ) 
 
 employment in arms, he had sought the 
 court as his sphere of action ; but while 
 he was displaying the accomplifhments he 
 possessed, and acquiring the knowledge 
 of mankind which is necessary to a 
 statesman, he at once attracted the notice 
 of Princes and the envy of their fa- 
 vourites. That fearless candour, and that 
 self-depending integrity which generally 
 attends the finest qualities and noblest 
 dispositions, rendered him careless of the 
 frowns of those whom he discovered to 
 be rather crafty rivals than generous 
 competitors, and determined him rather 
 to despise opposition than to conciliate 
 esteem. 
 
 The haughty Duke of Buckingham 
 was then in the zenith of his power. By 
 bringing Prince Charles back from Spain 
 he had relieved the national anxiety ; 
 and the short-sighted multitude, forgetting 
 who had endangered the heir-apparent's 
 safety, heaped on him undeserved popu-
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
 larky. Hence his extraordinary good 
 fortune in pleasing all parties so elated 
 him as to make him shew in his conduct 
 that contempt for his benefactor, King 
 James, which he had long secretly enter- 
 tained. By the impeachment of the Earl 
 of Middlesex, a confidential adviser and 
 personal favourite of the King's, from 
 motives of private pique, and by hurrying 
 the nation into a war with Spain, for 
 which the Parliament had not provided 
 resources, he laid the foundation of the 
 pecuniary difficulties, and created those 
 evil precedents which ultimately contri- 
 buted to overthrow the regal authority. 
 These fatal results of his pernicious 
 measures formed an awful lesson to 
 Kings on the mischiefs incident to fa- 
 vouritism, and on the folly of erecting 
 a pile of ill-constructed greatness, which, 
 in its fall, often endangers the stability of 
 the throne.
 
 ( 44 ) 
 
 To this vain, ambitious man, practised 
 in all the smooth graces and insidious 
 arts of a court, the aspiring, but frank 
 and honourable Neville, more enlightened, 
 equally engaging, and animated by purer 
 motives, was an object both of envy and 
 of fear. He scrupled not to lament the 
 indignities which the declining King suf- 
 fered from his former cup-bearer, who had 
 danced himself into the highest honours 
 England could bestow, and now basely 
 turned from the setting orb from which 
 he derived his borrowed splendour, to 
 worship the rising sun ; nay worse, 
 who attempted to alienate the duty of 
 an amiable Prince from his sick and aged 
 father. Neville was earnest in his ex- 
 pressions of disgust at such baseness ; 
 and the minions of the Duke did not 
 suffer these hasty ebullitions of virtue to 
 die unreported. The sarcasms soon 
 reached his ear with magnified severity \
 
 ( 45 ) 
 
 and the ruin, or at least the removal of 
 his growing rival became necessary to his 
 own security. 
 
 Chance favoured the Duke's designs. 
 A gentleman in his suite was assassinated 
 in the streets of London when returning 
 from a masquerade, and the murderer 
 was seen in the act of escaping, not so 
 near the body as that his person could be 
 identified, but plain enough for the be- 
 holders to ascertain that he wore the very 
 dress in which Neville appeared that 
 evening. The implacable enemy he had 
 indiscreetly provoked possessed the royal 
 ear ; and though a jury could not have 
 found in Such a coincidence sufficient 
 grounds to indict Neville, the Duke easily 
 procured a royal warrant for his imme- 
 diate arrest. " My own heart," here 
 observed Allan, " and my confidence in 
 the justice and good sense of my coun- 
 try, prompted me to brave my accusers ; 
 but I had now a convincing proof that
 
 ( 46 ) 
 
 with all my acquirements I still wanted 
 knowledge of the world. I, however, 
 possessed the invaluable blessing of a sin- 
 cere, wise, and prudent friend, one who 
 reads man in his true characters, and 
 deals with him cautiously, instead of be- 
 lieving him to be the ingenuous offspring 
 of simplicity. In early youth this friend 
 saved me from a watery grave, and he is 
 now the guardian of my fame and fortune. 
 In conformity to the advice of the kind 
 Walter de Vallance (for that is his name), 
 I yielded to the storm ; instead of resisting 
 its fury, I chose this retreat ; and since my 
 innocence as well as my guilt admitted 
 not of proof, I offered to submit the du- 
 bious question to the arbitration of the 
 sword, and called on Buckingham to 
 meet me in single combat, or, if he de- 
 clined a personal engagement, to select 
 any one of noble birth and breeding for 
 his proxy, who should accuse me as the 
 author of Saville's death. Walter de
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 Vallance carried my proposal to the 
 young King, who at first yielded to my 
 suit, but, on consulting his chaplains, 
 judged this to be an unlawful manner of 
 deciding disputes in a Christian country. 
 I am now informed that by my flight I 
 have erased those impressions which my 
 former behaviour had made in my favour. 
 Many think I was the murderer ; and the 
 vast power my adversary possesses at 
 court is rendered still more dangerous 
 to my life and fame, by the pains that 
 have been taken to prepossess those who 
 would have to decide upon my fate. But 
 should the death of my declining bro- 
 ther call me to act in the same sphere 
 with my proud oppressor, and put my 
 life into safer guardianship, I will burst 
 from the retreat which I sometimes fear 
 was unadvisedly chosen, and either fall 
 by an unjust sentence, or vindicate my 
 innocence. I will no longer, like the 
 mountain-boar, owe a precarious exist-
 
 ( 48 ) 
 
 «nce to the untrodden wilds in which I 
 hide from my pursuers." 
 
 Even now, when the universal passion 
 for luxury and self-enjoyment renders 
 prosperity so alluring, subdues our na- 
 tive energies, and makes us the puppets 
 and slaves of fortune, there are some 
 lovely young martyrs who immolate 
 prudence on the shrine of love. It may 
 easily be imagined, therefore, that this 
 heroine of a simpler age, instead of being 
 discouraged by the difficulties her Allan 
 had to encounter, loved him with more 
 intense affection. He an assassin ! — the 
 eye that flamed defiance on an ungrateful 
 vicegerent of the King, when every knee 
 but his bent in homage, could never 
 pursue a court-butterfly, or guide a mur- 
 derous dagger to a page's breast, while 
 indignant virtue pointed the sword of jus- 
 tice to a public delinquent. Isabel agreed 
 that it was wrong in Evellin to fly ; but 
 when, on her lonely pillow, she cast her
 
 ( 49 ) 
 
 thoughts on the alternative, and contem- 
 plated her beloved in the hands of him 
 before whom a potent peer had recently 
 fallen ; in the power of a man armed 
 with the confidence of two successive 
 monarchs, and now the idol of the 
 people ; when she saw Evellin arraigned 
 before a packed jury, no evidence to 
 prove him innocent, and scarce an ad- 
 vocate sufficiently courageous to defend 
 him ; female softness shrunk at the image 
 of such perils. She blessed the prudent 
 De Vallance who had snatched him from 
 sure destruction, and rejoiced at an event 
 which afforded her the means of seeing 
 human nature in its most captivating 
 form. 
 
 When Evellin found that her con- 
 stancy was proof to this trial, he unfolded 
 the brighter prospects which the letters 
 he received from De Vallance occasionally 
 afforded. This invaluable friend had, 
 to the great joy of Evellin, allied him- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 C 50 ) 
 
 self to their house by marrying the Lady 
 Eleanor Neville, his only sister. Though 
 Buckingham never stood firmer in the 
 King's favour, he had already experi- 
 enced that popular esteem is a quicksand, 
 fair to the eye, but fallacious and de- 
 structive to all who build their greatness 
 on it. Two parliaments that were called, 
 in succession, to grant the supplies which 
 the favourite's profusion, and the war in 
 which he had unwisely engaged, rendered 
 necessary, had been angrily dissolved 
 for presenting petitions for redress of 
 grievances instead of passing money-bills. 
 The King was still deservedly popular. 
 The odium of these acts, therefore, rested 
 on the minister. He had, besides, a po- 
 tent enemy in the palace, no less a person 
 than the beautiful queen, who com- 
 plained that the Duke, not content with 
 directing state affairs, intruded into the 
 domestic privacies of royalty, and left 
 her without the power* which as a wife 
 2
 
 ( 5' ) 
 
 and Princess she ought to exercise, that 
 of choo6ing her servants and rewarding 
 her friends. Nor did this presumptuous 
 servant rest here. The spotless purity 
 of the King shrunk from conjugal in- 
 fidelity ; but Buckingham found means, 
 during the hours of easy confidence, to 
 insinuate such reflections against the 
 religion, the foreign manners, and the 
 native country of Henrietta Maria, that 
 the affection which once bade fair to 
 cement the union of a virtuous and 
 amiable Prince with the lady of his 
 choice, was weakened by reserve, doubt, 
 distaste, and all the sentiments hostile to 
 conjugal peace. 
 
 The Lady Eleanor De Vallance held a 
 situation in the household of the Queen, 
 and possessed a secure place in her af- 
 fection. She knew the secret discontent 
 of her royal mistress, and the pique she 
 felt against Buckingham, who, she also 
 knew, sought the ruin of the house of 
 
 D 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS
 
 ( 5* ) 
 
 Neville. Evellin did not enlarge on the 
 amiable features of his sister's character. 
 He spoke of her as one who panted for 
 aggrandisement, and possessed the means 
 of attaining her object ; adding also, that 
 she was pledged to the ruin of the fa- 
 vourite by those strong inducements, 
 interest and revenge. He dwelt with 
 pleasure on the valuable and useful qua- 
 lities of her husband, who, he said, 
 united to the talents which generally 
 achieve success, the circumspection and 
 foresight that secure it. While such 
 able assistants advocated his cause, despair 
 would have been weakness. 
 
 Months, nay years, rolled away. Evcl- 
 Kn was liberally supplied with remit- 
 tances, and the hearts of the lovers be- 
 came more firmly united. Dr. Beau- 
 mont, assured that his sister knew the 
 circumstances of her lover, though nei- 
 ther chose to intrust them to him, con- 
 fided implicitly in her discretion and his
 
 ( 53 ) 
 
 honour. As a man, there was little to* 
 blame and much to revere in the charac- 
 ter of Evellin. He was open, impetuous, 
 brave, generous, and placable, with a 
 noble simplicity of soul, untainted by the 
 mean alloy of selfishness. He was a> 
 Christian too. In Dr. Beaumont's eye, 
 that was an indispensable requisite. Yet 
 more, he steadily adhered to the esta- 
 blished church with enlightened affection ; 
 and in an age when the Puritans grew more 
 open and confident in their attempts to 
 overthrow it, love for the most venera- 
 ble support of the protestant cause was 
 a sacred bond of union. Sometimes a 
 deep feeling of his wrongs induced Evel- 
 lin to inveigh against courts and kings 
 with great animosity ; but this was the 
 ebullition of a warm temper, not the 
 cold enmity of a corroded heart. Inv 
 moveable to harsh reproof, he was pliant 
 as the bending ozier to persuasive kind- 
 ness. Looking at the qualities of the 
 
 * 3
 
 ( 54 > 
 
 man, rather than the accidents of his 
 situation, Dr. Beaumont felt proud in 
 thinking that his Isabel deserved the 
 conquest she had gained. 
 
 Evellin deferred his marriage till some 
 event should happen which must hasten 
 the crisis of his fate. The same dis- 
 patch which brought intelligence of the 
 death of his elder brother, announced the 
 fail of his adversary by the hand of 
 Felton. Concealment could now no 
 longer be deemed wisdom j he deter- 
 mined to burst from obscurity, lay claim 
 to his honours, and require to be re- 
 lieved from a long pending accusation 
 contrived by malice and believed by cre- 
 dulity. But could he quit the banks of 
 the Ribble, leaving his Isabel to suffer 
 the pangs of suspense, and to pine under 
 those limes and alders that had sheltered 
 him from persecution ? Her behaviour 
 told him she would conduct herself with 
 propriety in every situation. Her society
 
 C 55 ) 
 
 had been his chief consolation in sorrow, 
 and he saw that her fortitude would sup- 
 port him in the hour of trial, her wisdom 
 guide him in difficulty, and her participa- 
 tion give the fairest colouring to success. 
 Whether he sat in the senate as a peer, 
 or stood at the bar as a criminal, Isabel 
 should be his wedded associate. What 
 pleasure would he feel in presenting to 
 his vain and beautiful sister, the lily he 
 had gathered and placed in his bosom, 
 while he lay concealed in the woodlands! 
 Or, when he embraced Walter as his bro- 
 ther and friend, how would he rejoice to 
 hear the fair Lancastrian, with all the 
 eloquent energy of unsophisticated nature, 
 bless the services which had preserved 
 and restored her husband. 
 
 Isabel entered into all these happy an- 
 ticipations. He thought her worthy to 
 share his fortunes, and though she 
 doubted, she now forbore to urge the 
 plea of insufficiency. Of one point she 
 d 4
 
 ( 5« ) 
 
 was certain, I mean her willingness to 
 suffer with him. She wanted little ; she 
 could endure much ; she had many re- 
 sources iii her own mind ; she con- 
 sidered no evil as insupportable but the 
 unworthiness of those she loved ; and 
 when she looked on Evellin, she did net 
 fear that trial. She smiled and blushed 
 her full consent, and her lover informed 
 Dr. Beaumont, that the time far claim*. 
 ing his sister was arrived. " My affairs,*' 
 continued he, " require my immediate 
 presence in London, and the woman of 
 my heart must accompany me as my wife. 
 You have long placed implicit confidence 
 in my honour. We have now known 
 each other till affection has lost the gloss 
 of novelty ; and instead of depending on 
 hope and imagination, it assumes the 
 fixed character of experience* If I per- 
 ceived the germ of avarice, or lurking 
 yearnings after aggrandizement in your 
 heart, I would point to stalls and mi-
 
 ( 57 ) 
 
 tres ; for such endowments have origi- 
 nated from fortunate alliances. But I 
 will only say to the Christian pastor 
 who is content with feeding his few sheep 
 in a wilderness, that I came not as a ra- 
 venous wolf to steal his favourite lamb. 
 It is from well-weighed preference that 
 I select your sister as the partner of my 
 fortunes. You bestow on me a pure and 
 inestimable pearl, but you give it to one 
 who knows its worth. And rest assured, 
 worthy Beaumont, I will neither burden 
 your generosity nor disgrace your fa- 
 mily." 
 
 When Evellin signed the certificate of 
 
 his marriage, he left a blank after the 
 name of Allan, " Observe me well," 
 said- he to the witnesses of the ceremony; 
 w note the time, place, and every cir- 
 cumstance; this is an important con- 
 tract.' * Mrs. Mellicent, to whom this 
 remark was particularly addressed, un- 
 bent her stiff features from that aspect 
 d 5
 
 ( ) 
 
 of disapprobation with which she had 
 silently condemned her brother's preci- 
 pitation, and saluted the bride with great 
 cordiality, telling her, that dames of 
 quality, like the wives of the Patriarchs* 
 always called their husbands lords. She 
 added, that even those of the younger 
 brothers of peers took place of baronets* 
 ladies.
 
 ( 59 ) 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 .Man may the sterner virtues know , 
 Determhi'd Justice, Truth severe, 
 
 But female hearts with Pity glow, 
 And Woman holds affliction dear. 
 
 Crab 
 
 81 
 
 HpHE bells of Ribblesdale had hardly 
 -** finished the merry peal which an- 
 nounced the joy of the villagers, that 
 their sweet rose-bud, Isabel de Beau- 
 mont, was married to the strange gentle- 
 man, whom they had long thought a 
 prince in disguise, come to make their 
 good Doctor a Bishop, when an unex- 
 pected dispatch from London cast the 
 deepest gloom on the bridegroom's joy. 
 
 In this letter De Vallance conjured his 
 friend to postpone his intended return 
 till his affairs took a brighter aspect. — 
 d 6
 
 ( 6o ) 
 
 The King at first bore the sad tidings of 
 his favourite's death with such apparent 
 tranquillity, that he proceeded unruffled 
 to his devotions ; yet reflecting on the 
 circumstances of the deed, and deeply 
 affected by an interview with the widowed 
 Duchess, who with her orphan children 
 had thrown herself at his feet and im- 
 plored justice, he now cherished such 
 an appetite for revenge that it was sus- 
 pected many lives would scarce be deemed 
 a fit atonement. He discharged the 
 Duke's debts out of his privy purse, he 
 promised to provide for his servants, and 
 frowned on all who had ever been his 
 enemies. Thomas Felton had at first 
 denied having any. accomplice,, and en- 
 thusiastically called himself the champion 
 of an injured people \ yet it was expected 
 that the close interrogatories to which 
 he would be exposed would overawe his 
 firmness, and perhaps prevail on him t.a 
 name some innocent persons as abettors
 
 C * ) 
 
 of the crime. -At alt events Evellin must 
 remain in privacy during the storm of 
 the King's anger, which now agitated 
 him so violently that he would attend 
 to no other business till the Duke's 
 murder was thoroughly investigated. — 
 De Vallance concluded with describing 
 the impatience which both himself and 
 Lady Eleanor felt to restore him to his 
 honours ; and he trusted that the Queen's 
 growing influence would be useful 
 m recalling to- the recollection of the 
 King a person he had once highly fa- 
 voured, while he saw in Buckingham an 
 insolent minister rather than a devoted 
 friend. 
 
 Weary of delay, eager to vindicate his 
 honour, yet at the same time conscious 
 of his own impetuosity, and confiding in 
 the management of his friends, Evellin 
 fretted at his situation, and yielding his 
 mind to irritability, became incapable of 
 cool discrimination or vigorous action* 
 I
 
 ( <"» ) 
 
 He had borne a long banishment with 
 melancholy patience, disdaining to com- 
 plain, and affecting resignation, but he 
 was then an unconnected man, and his 
 fate was of small importance. A gleam 
 of hope, improved by his sanguine tem- 
 per into confident expectation, had en- 
 couraged him to unite himself to a most 
 amiable woman, in whose breast he had 
 excited an expectation of the most ex- 
 alted fortunes. He had given an implicit 
 promise, that he would add to Dr. Beau- 
 mont's power of doing good ; and after 
 this, must he still* continue a nameless 
 exile, poorly content to barter reputation 
 for life ! 
 
 Subsequent dispatches from De Val~ 
 lance heightened his distress. In a 
 moment of extreme irritation, when, by 
 long pondering on his own and the 
 nation's wrongs, passion gamed the 
 ascendancy of judgement, Evellin in a 
 confidential letter to Walter had antici^
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 pated with hope and exultation the fate 
 that afterwards befell the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham. A sermon of Dr. Beaumont's 
 afterwards convinced him of the guilti- 
 ness of an expression* which, though 
 proceeding from a sudden unweighed 
 suggestion rather than a deliberate pur- 
 pose, yet, certainly, as our church has 
 well determined, proves " the infection 
 of our nature, and has in it the nature 
 of sin." Convinced that positive evil 
 may not be committed to procure pro- 
 blematical good, and that no uninspired 
 person should presume to think himself 
 God's champion, unless placed in that 
 station which visibly arms him with his 
 authority, Evellin had often lamented 
 this rash letter, as one of his secret faults. 
 He now severely felt it also, as an im- 
 prudence, in having given vent to his 
 angry feelings, even in a confidential 
 communication. De Vallance informed 
 him that, through a fatal mistake of his
 
 C 64 ) 
 
 secretary, this very letter had been laid 
 with some other papers, tending to prove 
 him innocent of the death of Saville, 
 and was thus put along with them into 
 the King's hands by the Queen, who 
 had graciously undertaken to plead for 
 the brother of her favourite Lady Eleanor. 
 No expiatory apology could be urged to 
 weaken the effect of sentiments attested 
 by his own writing, and they were 
 obliged to yield him to the storm, as 
 the King now declared that mercy would 
 be compromising blood. Walter w r as in 
 despair. Lady Eleanor still determined 
 to watch for a favourable moment; they 
 both continued his firm friends, and 
 would punctually remit ample sums for 
 his support, till some change in the 
 state of affairs should again admit of 
 their active interposition. 
 
 How dreadful was Evellin's situation ! 
 Ruined by his own. rashness, and re- 
 strained from a step, to which impatience
 
 ( «5 ) 
 
 of present suffering had long impelled 
 him, namelv to throw himself on the 
 King's mercy, and either regain his 
 birthright or forfeit his life ! He was 
 now a husband ; he expected to be a 
 father. Isabel must not be deserted in 
 the hour of distress, and her life was 
 bound up in his. She endured the 
 change in her prospects with a cheerful 
 serenity, that seemed as if she felt only 
 the sorrows of her beloved. Nor did 
 Dr. Beaumont betray any feeling which 
 tended to shew that the expectation of 
 stalls and mitres ever withdrew his 
 thoughts from the celestial contempla- 
 tions in which he loved to expatiate. 
 
 " Why should I grieve for those 
 who seem wrapped in measureless con- 
 tent ?" said Evellin. " Is this apathy 
 the effect of ignorance of greater good, 
 or the result of a long indulged habit 
 of contemning every exterior advantage? 
 •— Isabel, while planning your baby-
 
 C 66 ) 
 
 cloaths, or loitering among your flowers, 
 you seem to forget that life admits of 
 more exalted pleasures and ampler scenes 
 of duty. Have you no desire beyond 
 filling your days with such a series of 
 trivial occupations, which make our years 
 glide away with undistinguishable same- 
 ness ? Have you no wish to extend 
 your- views beyond Ribblesdale ? Does 
 the scene of life, exhibited among 
 your native villagers, satisfy your wish 
 of being acquainted with human nature ? 
 Do the mountains, which bound your 
 horizon, limit your desire of seeing the 
 wonders of your Creator's hand ? When 
 you read the history of the mighty and 
 the good, your countenance expresses 
 your ardour to emulate their actions \ 
 yet here you seem to wish to set up your 
 rest, and slumber away your life, con- 
 tent with security, and careless of re- 
 nown." 
 
 " When I am summoned to another
 
 ( 6 7 ) 
 
 station," replied Isabel, " it will be time 
 enough to cherish the feeling which 
 will beseem it. At present, suffer me to 
 think of the advantages of my own. In 
 the hour of danger, and the decline of 
 life, the most courageous spirits long for 
 a quiet harbour. Does not this shew 
 that safety is desirable, and repose a 
 blessing ? The difference which even my 
 inexperienced mind discovers, between 
 the inward feeling and the exterior ad- 
 vantages of greatness, abates my wish to- 
 wear the gorgeous pall of splendid for- 
 tune. Yet, -dearest Allan, I am aware, 
 that our present state cannot be per- 
 manent. Two alternatives await us, 
 either a restoration to your rank in so- 
 ciety, or removal to a place of greater 
 security. The King will soon visit 
 Scotland, to receive his hereditary crown* 
 He will pass through Ribblesdale, and 
 my brother's duty will call him to 
 attend him 5 is there a hope that he can
 
 ( 68 ) 
 
 plead your cause successfully, after the 
 eloquence of your friend, and the address 
 of your sister have failed V* 
 
 Evellin answered, there was no pro- 
 bability. 
 
 " Consider then," returned Isabel, 
 u this place lies in a frequented road. 
 Some busy courtier will be eager to beat 
 the covert and start the noble quarry, 
 which the King desires to hunt down. 
 If indeed His Highness's mind is so ob- 
 scured by anger, as to combine a rash 
 expression and a deliberate plan ef 
 murder in the same degree of guilt j 
 to condemn you unheard for one crime, 
 and by implication make you accessary 
 to another, can there be safety or 
 honour in being his servant ? Surely, 
 my Allan's loyalty once arrayed his 
 Prince with visionary excellence ; or 
 Walter acted like one of those unskilful 
 surgeons, who convert a slight wound 
 into a deep gangrene."
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
 The tone of displeasure, in which 
 Evellin checked every suggestion against 
 the integrity or discretion of his friend, 
 had no other effect on Isabel's mind, 
 than to convince her of her huspand's 
 unbounded confidence. Walter's own 
 letters furnished her with many reasons for 
 suspicion j there was in them a studied 
 air of plausibility, a nice arrangement of 
 minutiae, and a wary shifting from impor- 
 tant points, which seemed to her strong 
 but artless mind, more like the drapery 
 of design, than the frank simplicity of 
 truth. They were seldom replies to 
 Evellin's statements or requests. The 
 kindness they contained had the flourish 
 of sentiment ; there was much ostenta- 
 tious display of trivial offices of good- 
 will, and of those every-day assistances, 
 which affection wants memory to record. 
 If Evellin seemed determined to risk all, 
 by a bold appeal to the laws, better 
 prospects were held out, which precipi-
 
 ( 7o ) 
 
 tation would blast ; and larger remittances 
 were forwarded. If he affected to be 
 reconciled to obscurity, Walter, by 
 gently censuring, actually confirmed the 
 the wise moderation of his choice, de- 
 scribing himself as tired of the court, 
 and reluctantly chained to it by the 
 rooted attachment of Lady Eleanor, who 
 sparkled in the Queen's train, eclipsing 
 all in splendor, and all but her royal 
 mistress in beauty. He subjoined to these 
 complaints of the unsatisfactoriness of a 
 life of pleasure, lamentable statement? 
 of the misrule of the King, and the 
 oppression of his government, the arbi- 
 trary punishments of the Star-chamber, 
 the illegal fines, loans and projects, by 
 which the royal coifers were filled, and 
 concluded with affirming, that they only 
 were safe and happy, whose contracted 
 wants, and mortified desires, asked but 
 the primeval simplicity of nature. All 
 this time, though the honours of the
 
 ( 7i ) 
 
 house of Neville lay in abeyance, the 
 rents were received by De Vallance, and 
 Isabel wondered that so mortified a spirit 
 should encumber itself with the dross 
 which it affected to despise. 
 
 Meantime Evellin, partially blinded by 
 a fatal security, and in part deprived of 
 the use of his judgement by his acute 
 feelings, at one time scorned to impute 
 treachery to the friend of his youth ; at 
 another fear to trust even himself. One 
 master stroke of policy still remained. 
 Walter wrote to him in great alarm j 
 their correspondence was discovered to 
 the King, and reported to be of a fac- 
 tious tendency. He was in the most 
 imminent danger of being sacrificed to 
 their mutual enemies. He conjured 
 Evellin to fly to some more remote 
 retreat instantly, but first to give up to 
 the confidential agent, whom he named, 
 all their correspondence, that he might 
 instantly destroy it, lest it should fall
 
 ( 7* ) 
 
 mto the hands of those who would con« 
 strue it into a disclosure of the King's 
 counsels. The credulous Eveliin fell 
 into the snare. He returned all Walter's 
 letters, and retired with his family to a 
 freehold of Isabel's, situated among the 
 mountainous parts of Lancashire, and in 
 his anxiety for Walter's safety, forgot 
 for a time his own troubles. But 
 though their correspondence ceased, the 
 voice of fame was not silent, and its 
 echoes reached even to the Fourness 
 Fells, telling that Walter De Vallance 
 was created Earl of Bellingham, and 
 that all the possessions of the ancient 
 house of Neville were bestowed on Lady 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The ocean beats at the bottom of a 
 cliff for ages, and imperceptibly wears 
 its rugged projections to smoothness $ 
 but an earthauake overthrows it in an in- 
 
 X 
 
 stant. The mind of Eveliin, which for 
 a period of seven years had contended
 
 ( 73 ) 
 
 with hope and fear, sometimes almost 
 suspecting, and at other times rejecting 
 distrust, was by this proof of his friend'* 
 treachery, bereft of all fortitude and 
 patience. Wounded by the neglect of 
 the world, his confidence in Walter had 
 been his preservative from misanthropy ; 
 and when vexed at the recollection of 
 his own imprudent frankness and folly, 
 in provoking the resentment of powerful 
 foes, he soothed his galled spirit by 
 considering, that the guileless simplicity 
 of his nature, which had raised those 
 foes, had also secured him a faithful 
 friend. That bright creation of his fancy 
 disappeared, a chaos of duplicity, dark 
 contrivance, and injustice remained : 
 Walter proved false, his sister unnatural, 
 his King a tyrant. So different were 
 these objects from what he once believed 
 them, that he doubted whether life 
 afforded any realities. Did his Isabel 
 really choose him for his own merits 
 
 VOL. I. £
 
 ( 74 ) 
 
 or was latent ambition the spur to her 
 affection? Did the village-pastor seek 
 out and console a stranger from motives 
 of Christian benevolence, or had he 
 discovered his rank and hopes, and 
 on them formed expectation of advance- 
 ment ? 
 
 Whatever the most unalterable and en- 
 tire affection, acting on a noble mind and 
 an active temper, could do, Isabel per- 
 formed with cheerful tenderness and ne- 
 ver-wearied patience. To assist in support- 
 ing her family, she took the farm into 
 her own management, and endeavoured 
 to rouse the attention of her much-altered 
 husband, by pointing out the humble, 
 but secure comforts, which husbandry 
 afforded. She dwelt on every example 
 of unhappy greatness; she reminded 
 him, that to be deceived by specious 
 characters, was the common error of 
 superior understandings, who, lightly 
 valuing the goods of fortune, never
 
 ( 75 ) 
 
 suspect that to others they will prove 
 irresistible temptations. Her surprise, 
 she said, was not that the artful should 
 impose upon the honourable, or the 
 mean ensnare the magnanimous j hut 
 that the former should have the audacity 
 to attempt to cozen those who were 
 every way above them, because, in so 
 doing, they must depend upon the 
 operation of qualities, which their narrow 
 hearts and warped principles could not 
 allow them to estimate. She once went 
 so far as to say, that it was not superior 
 discernment, which enabled her to sus- 
 pect the perfidiousness of Walter, She 
 did not view him with the partiality of 
 youthful affections ; she was ignorant of 
 the many ties which bound him to a 
 brave and grateful heart. Her anxiety 
 for her Allan kept her attention fixed 
 on one object, the progress which his 
 agent made ; and when she saw that the 
 cause did not prosper in his hand, she 
 E 2
 
 ( 7* ) 
 
 learched for instances of mismanagement, 
 and combined circumstances to his pre- 
 judice, which were not likely to strike an 
 affectionate friend, who was too confident 
 in the actor to scrutinize the action. 
 How could she, who loved a brother 
 with the same unquestioning fidelity as 
 Allan did Walter, condemn the errors of 
 overflowing affection ? Evellin listened 
 in gloomy silence. Too deeply wounded 
 to endure even this mild censure of his 
 own folly, in the shape of an apology 
 for his weakness, he sternly enjoined 
 her to avoid that theme. 
 
 Undismayed by such rebuffs, Isabel 
 attempted other topics. She often as- 
 sured him she was now more at her 
 ease, than if seated at the head of the 
 Earl's table, in Castle Bellingham. " I 
 should have been embarrassed/ 5 said she, 
 u and might, perhaps, have acted wrong 
 through my solicitude to be very right. 
 Our little household is easily catered
 
 ( 77 ) 
 
 for ; hence we can devote the more time 
 to our darling babes. Was not the 
 husbandman's life preferred by the wisest, 
 the most favoured of mankind ? Does it 
 not afford health and peace? Are not 
 our cares innocent, our enjoyments un- 
 envied ? We do not anticipate, with 
 aching hearts, the fall or the death of 
 a rival ; neither do we, after having dis- 
 torted our faces with the hilarity of 
 forced merriment in public, meet, in our 
 privacies, with anger and fear ; reproach- 
 ing each other for some neglect, and 
 commenting on the frowns of royalty. 
 We need not study to be expert in 
 ceremony, or adroit in flattery. When 
 nature calls, we take our simple food, 
 we rest when she requires relaxation, and 
 when rest is satiety, innocent and useful 
 labour improves our mental and corporeal 
 functions. How pitiable are they, whom 
 necessity drags to the banquet of <>&• 
 E 3
 
 ( 78 ) 
 
 tentation, who secretly yawn through 
 the lengthened vigil of unenjoyed dis- 
 sipation ; who rise from feverish slumbers 
 to tasteless delights; who feel that their 
 present course of life is a captivity y 
 and yet look on that which would bring 
 them freedom as disgrace. Unmolested 
 by creditors, unvexed by the reproachful 
 glances of those who would attribute 
 their undoing to our extravagance, with 
 no open enemies to insult us, no secret 
 sorrows to afflict us, our desires subdued 
 rather than gratified, our domestic union 
 perfect, our minds informed, and our 
 souls expatiating in a still happier world, 
 O my Allan, let us forget the past, and 
 call our lot rare felicity. These moun- 
 tains, which shut from your view a 
 deceitful treacherous world are now your 
 towers of defence. These clear lakes 
 which reflect the blue skies, dispose us to 
 serene contemplation. Wh£n all my
 
 ( 79 ) 
 
 household toils are finished, and sus* 
 pended care sleeps till the morning, 
 I lead my children to their evening 
 sports 5 I point to the sublime scenes 
 around us, and remind them that the 
 Almighty mind, that formed these won- 
 ders, dictated the book which is their 
 daily study. He piled the grey cliffs on 
 each other, some awfully barren, others 
 cloathed with verdure, to shew that 
 fertility and desolation, like joy and grief, 
 are at his disposal. He, through fringed 
 rocks, hollowed a cavern, whence burst 
 the majestic cataract, whose course no 
 mortal hand shall divert or restrain. 
 So should man submit to the dispensations 
 of Omniscient wisdom. While thus me- 
 ditating, I despise the insignificance of 
 worldly cares, I become almost spiritu- 
 alized, and am in danger of losing social 
 affections, as well as earthly desires, till 
 my children, fancifully decked with wild 
 E 4
 
 ( 8o ) 
 
 flowers, call aloud to point you out, 
 descending from the cliff, loaded with 
 game, and accompanied by your spaniels 
 and falcon. They rush into your em- 
 braces. You return safe, uninjured by 
 your exhilarating sports. If, at such a 
 moment, I can fancy that parental trans- 
 port predominates over sorrow in your 
 aspect, I lift my hands in transport to 
 Heaven, and ask if a mighty Princess 
 ever was so blessed. 
 
 The dejected Evellin sometimes lis- 
 tened in silence to these fond breathings 
 of chaste affection, wrung her hand, and 
 pronounced her worthy of a happier lot, 
 calling her a pledge of divine favour 
 and reconciliation to a much-offending 
 man. He never spoke of his wrongs, 
 and she sometimes entertained a hope 
 that they were fading from his remem- 
 brance. At least she knew it was the 
 wisest course to avoid dwelling on sor-
 
 ( 8i ) 
 
 rows, for which patience was the only 
 cure, and being thoroughly practised in 
 the duty of resignation, she wished to 
 impart its comforts to him, whom she 
 so strongly loved. 
 
 * 5
 
 ( 8 2 ) 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thoughts engage, 
 These, my sole oracles, inspire my rage. 
 
 Pope's Homer. 
 
 ONE evening, while the youn$ 
 Evellins were watching for their 
 father, and fancying they discerned him 
 returning from the mountains, they has- 
 tily ran back to their mother to inform 
 her that a strange man lay at the bottom 
 of the glen seemingly much fatigued* 
 who asked the way to Mr. Neville's, 
 Isabel knew that the real name of her 
 husband was known only to herself in 
 that neighbourhood, and suspected a 
 snare of De Vallance's to get him into 
 his power and rob him of all that re- 
 mained, his life. She anxiously inquired
 
 ( «3 ) 
 
 what further passed, little Eustace an- 
 swered, " We said nobody lived near 
 but our father, whose name was not 
 Neville but Evellin. He asked us if he 
 was tall, with dark hair, and carried 
 himself like a Prince. We had seen no 
 Princes, but I put on my cap as he does, 
 and shewed how he walked, and the 
 poor man caught me in his arms, almost 
 1 smothered me with kisses, and said he 
 would never stir from that spot till his 
 master came." 
 
 " Foolish children," said the mother j 
 " perhaps you have betrayed your fa- 
 ther to those who hunt for his life." 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Isabel, " he 
 is too weak and ill to hurt any body. 
 He is very hungry still, though I gave 
 him all the cloud-berries I had gathered, 
 and filled his can with water. He 
 blessed us just as you do, and I am sure 
 he never would hurt my father." 
 e 6
 
 ( 84 ) 
 
 " Go round by the coppice, my dar- 
 ling ; meet your father and tell him what 
 you have seen ; I will go to the stranger." 
 — u And take some cordials with you," 
 said both the children. " He shall want 
 no cordials if he be what he appears," 
 returned Mrs. Evellin ; " but, sweet 
 lambs, there are more wolves in the world 
 than true shepherds." 
 
 The suspicions of the fond wife were 
 in this instance groundless. The stranger 
 was David Williams, formerly comptroller 
 of the Earl of Bellingham's household, 
 who, discovering that his real master was 
 not dead, as Earl Walter now affirmed, 
 set out with a determination of discover- 
 ing his retreat. He carried with him the 
 honourable savings of a life of industry ; 
 but having been attacked on the road 
 and robbed of his property, he arrived, 
 exhausted and pennyless, among the 
 Fells of Fourness, in appearance a burden 
 to the family he wished to serve*
 
 ( 3J ) 
 
 Yet this faithful old servant, though 
 bare and withering like the scathed oak, 
 was inexpressibly welcome to one who 
 so deeply suffered from the crimes of 
 duplicity. Williams soon recovered his 
 strength under the care of his dear old 
 master ; and though the mountain cottage 
 bore no resemblance to the embattled 
 towers of Castle Bellingham, still he was 
 under the roof of a true Neville, and he 
 would not change his service to attend an 
 Emperor. Evellin took a lively interest 
 in the society of his old domestic, who, 
 happy that his recovered health enabled 
 him to serve, in adversity, the noble stock 
 under whose protection he had formerly 
 flourished, followed his dear lord, as he 
 called him, over the mountains, thinking 
 of the days that were past. Sometimes 
 Williams would lead Evellin to talk of 
 former times, when Bellingham Castle 
 blazed with feudal splendor, and the 
 numerous dependents of its mighty owner, 
 9
 
 ( 86 ) 
 
 marshalled by the sound of the bugle, 
 rode to their sports like the clans of the 
 earlier ages, a gallant troop, to rouse the 
 stag from his lair, or to loose the hawk 
 at the crested pheasant. The heir of that 
 castle, habited as an humble yeoman, 
 sullenly listened to the narrative of his 
 only follower. " Does not the chace," 
 he would say, " now afford us equal 
 pleasure ? are not my dogs as swift, and 
 these mountains as replete with game as 
 those which engird my paternal resi- 
 dence." A deep groan contradicted the 
 conclusion to which this inquiry seemed 
 to lead ; yet Williams, fancying he amused 
 his master, continued to deepen those 
 agonizing recollections which are most 
 dangerous to poignant sensibility. Nor 
 had Evellin the self-command to forbear 
 making inquiries which must, when an- 
 swered, aggravate his anguish. He bade 
 Williams freely state what he knew of 
 their old neighbours and dependents.
 
 ( 8 7 ) 
 
 The tale was diffusely told. EvelKn 
 listened with deep attention, execrated 
 his own misconduct, enjoined silence, 
 and then, by fresh questions, encouraged 
 repetition. A hope had long clung to his 
 heart, arising from that lofty tone of feel- 
 ing which is more pained at becoming the 
 tool of falsehood than at being the victim 
 of misfortune. Long-continued moody 
 musings had affected his judgment ; and 
 he sometimes actually doubted whether 
 De Vallance was really treacherous, or 
 had been defeated in his friendly efforts 
 by the power of a host of enemies. 
 
 " Answer me truly, Williams," said 
 he, while his lip quivered with emotion, 
 and his hand trembled as he affected to 
 stroke his falcon with a careless air : 
 " you see the present and the future are 
 now indifferent to me. You remember 
 the time when Walter's father rescued 
 me, a cradled infant, from Tyrone's re- 
 bellious kerns in Ireland^ and thus laid
 
 ( 88 ) 
 
 the foundation of the friendship between 
 our houses. You remember, Walter him- 
 self saving me from the lake when I was 
 nearly drowned. Surely he was then a 
 warm-hearted, generous boy. The tears 
 he shed over my supposed corse could 
 not be dangerous and deceitful drops. 
 At school, at college, and when we 
 crossed the Alps together, ever sharing 
 my bed and table, I saw him in every 
 different situation. Was his life one act 
 of deceit, and mine a long dream of ere- 
 dulity ? When, in the fullness of my 
 soul, 1 told him he was more than worthy 
 my sister's love, he answered that though 
 the noble blood of Devereux ran in his 
 veins, it did not become his humble for- 
 tunes to aspire to the Lady Eleanor. 
 After my father's death, he would no 
 longer reside with me, but entered into 
 the service of his cousin, the Lord Essex, 
 saying he would not quarter an expen- 
 sive retainer on the scanty portion of a
 
 ( 8 9 ) 
 
 younger brother, which needed good 
 husbandry, but that his heart still re- 
 mained with me, and would be a cheap 
 sojourner. Was not this the language of 
 a noble spirit? You look, "Williams, as 
 if you had a mystery to unfold. Come, 
 tell all your tale as you would repeat it 
 to gossips on a wassail night. The world 
 is now forgotten by me, and I am for- 
 gotten by the world." 
 
 " My noble Lord," Williams began 
 — " Again," said Evellin, " after my 
 strict injunctions, do not insult me with 
 empty titles. Have I not told you that 
 my patent of nobility is cancelled ? I am 
 Goodman Evellin of the Fells, husband 
 of the best of women, and father of two 
 wanton prattlers, who know not the misery 
 of having fallen from an eminently glo- 
 rious station. Mark, Williams, the story 
 of what I was shall die with me, or only 
 survive close shut in the treasured re- 
 membrance of my faithful wife. I would
 
 ( 9° ) 
 
 not for the universe cloud the laughing 
 features of these happy babes, by awaken- 
 ing desires which I cannot gratify ; there- 
 fore forget my lapsed greatness." 
 
 " Even in our privacies ?" inquired 
 Williams. 
 
 " Certainly ; and habit will make fa- 
 miliarity easy. Sit beside me on the 
 ground, and leave off putting your hand 
 to your bonnet. Do we not look like 
 two smart woodmen, enjoying, overx>ur 
 evening repast, a tale of other times ?" 
 
 " I must turn my face from your 
 honour," said Williams, " before I can 
 attempt to forget that you was Sir Allan, 
 my old master's favourite son ; but it is 
 in vain for you to try to pass for a coun- 
 try yeoman. They who have spent their 
 lives in these mountains, and never seen 
 a noble personage, rudely explain their 
 notions of majesty and dignity by de- 
 scribing you ; and, by the grace of Hea- 
 ven, they shall find they guessed right,
 
 ( 9i ) 
 
 when they said the stranger from the 
 south-country was a man of another sort 
 of a world." 
 
 " Let us have no more day-dreams, I 
 asked you about Walter de Vallance." 
 
 " He is now Earl of Bellingham." 
 
 Evellin gnawed his lip, and angrily 
 struck his fawning spaniel. " True," 
 replied he, " the King would have him 
 so. He forced these honours on him ; 
 and it is thus, by prejudice and injustice, 
 that he tampers with the loyalty of a 
 brave nation. Canst thou blame De 
 Vallance for catching my coronet before 
 it fell to the ground by a false attainder ? 
 Why should the title lie in abeyance ? 
 Is it not better worn by one allied to our 
 house than by an alien ? Who so fit to 
 sit in the baronial chair of our common 
 ancestor as my sister's son, now I am 
 exscinded cs a diseased branch." 
 
 " He is a lad of the fairest promise," 
 answered Williams, " but he will never
 
 ( 9* ) 
 
 live to be Earl of Bellingham. Grant 
 that no singular judgments fall on the 
 house of usurpation, yet the honourable 
 blood which he inherits from the Nevilles 
 will so strive with the foul current of De 
 Vallance, that the ill-compounded body 
 will not grow to manhood.' ' 
 
 Evellin smiled : " Thou thinkest 
 then," said he, " that Walter has played 
 the thief's part, and stolen what he could 
 not honestly acquire." 
 
 " 'Tis past thinking about," answered 
 Williams ; " the blame rests not on the 
 King's Majesty, whom Heaven prosper. 
 He is too much raised above the common 
 intercourse of life to look into the hearts 
 of those who take care to approach him 
 with a fair outside. His days are con- 
 sumed by cares and perplexities, and those 
 who are apt and courteous in business 
 must needs have his ear. I well know 
 that De Vallance gained the royal favour 
 by appearing to be your devoted friend.
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 and by praising you for those qualities in 
 which it was Heaven's will to leave you 
 somewhat defective. Thus he praised 
 your prudence, and produced your flight 
 in proof of your innocence ; yet, in the 
 same breath, gave some instance of your 
 rashness, and shewed that flight was ever 
 the villain's resource. So contrariwise 
 were his pleadings and his praises, that 
 His Grace said one day of him, jestingly, 
 c Whatever my council may decide about 
 Neville, I must keep De Vallance in my 
 service ; for though he is an unapt ad- 
 vocate, he is a right trusty friend.' " 
 
 " We are now," returned Evellin, 
 " acting as jurors, deciding upon the 
 better part of a man's possessions, his 
 honour. Let us then be candid and wary. 
 Zeal, like anger, often overshoots the 
 mark. The lively promptitude of feeling 
 hurries our judgment beyond its natural 
 pace. Let us admit that the stern cha- 
 racter of that bloody conclave, before
 
 ( 94 ) 
 
 whom De Vallance often pleaded my 
 cause, might confuse a man, among whose 
 natural defects I have noted a consti- 
 tutional timidity, apt to tremble at the 
 frown of a fellow-creature. Before a 
 court constituted like the Star-chamber, 
 armed with unlimited powers to impose 
 fines, imprisonment, sequestration, ba- 
 nishment, nay even the punishment of 
 personal mutilation, no wonder the sole 
 friend and unsupported advocate of a man, 
 whom they were bent to ruin, took im- 
 proper methods of serving him," 
 
 " It is too true," returned Williams, 
 " that this court has of late stretched its 
 originally unconstitutional powers, and 
 has further provoked the unwarrantable 
 licence of the times by trying to restrain 
 it. The King's best friends allow that it 
 has in many instances 6 held that for 
 honourable which pleased, and that for 
 just which profited ; and being the same 
 persons who composed the council, the 
 
 12
 
 ( 95 ) 
 
 same individuals acted in two courts ; in 
 one, enjoining the people what was not 
 law, and prohibiting what was not pro- 
 hibited ; and, in the other, censuring 
 disobedience to their own decrees by 
 heavy fines and severe imprisonments. 
 But the tendency of these proceedings 
 has been rather to supply the King's 
 necessities with money, which, since his 
 breach with his parliament he cannot le- 
 gally obtain, than wantonly to sport with 
 the rights of his people, from which no 
 advantage can be derived to the crown *.' 
 And truly, those noble persons who 
 compose this assembly are too well 
 aware of the unpopularity and odium of 
 their proceedings to give any needless 
 cause of complaint ; nor would they have 
 dared to commit such a foul misdemeanor, 
 as to condemn and sentence a peer of 
 the realm for a capital offence, without 
 
 * This is Clarendon's account of that famous 
 court.
 
 ( 96 ) 
 
 giving him a solemn and public trial. 
 Now, my dear master, has your clear 
 understanding been so misled as to make 
 you suppose their misdoings ever reached 
 such atrocity, or that they would unwisely 
 give contention such a handle." 
 
 Evellin's judgment had ever contra* 
 dieted Walter's statements, and the con- 
 clusions which remaining affection, and 
 his own unwillingness to own himself a 
 dupe, laboured to draw, he now inquired 
 how his estates came to be confiscated, 
 and his person cast out of the protection 
 of the law. 
 
 " On account of your contumacy," 
 answered Williams ; " you did not sur- 
 render when the royal proclamation called 
 upon you to take your trial, and then a 
 writ of outlawry was required by your 
 prosecutor." 
 
 " Was it not Walter's duty to convey 
 that proclamation to me ?" said Evellin. 
 Williams replied, it was \ he mentioned
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 its date, and Evellin knew it tallied with 
 that of his marriage, at which time Wal- 
 ter more earnestly conjured him to re- 
 main in the closest concealment. A heavy 
 groan burst from his heart, he rested his 
 head on his folded hands, and bade Wil- 
 liams proceed. 
 
 " Yet though a long term of years had 
 elapsed," continued he, " so unwilling 
 was the King to proceed to extremities, 
 that from term to term the cause stood 
 over, and the hungry vulture who longed 
 to gorge your possessions grew weary of 
 acting the dove's part. I had long seen 
 his base nature. In vain did he dress 
 his face and his person in the solemn hue 
 of mourning, or your false-hearted sister 
 shed Hyaena tears," — 
 
 " Tears ! For what did she weep ?" 
 
 " For your death." 
 
 " My death," said Evellin, starting 
 up ; " De Vallance knew I was alive," 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 ( 98 ) 
 
 <c Aye, my noble master, and so did 
 I too, or I should never have lived to 
 drag my bones to the banks of Winder- 
 mere ; grief would have killed me ere 
 I had gone half my journey. I caught 
 the villain destroying your letters ; I 
 saw the date of one ; you were alive at 
 Ribblesdale in November, so could not 
 have died the preceding month at Laun- 
 ceston." 
 
 " Who durst affirm that I did ?" 
 cc Walter De Vallance. — He claimed 
 an audience of the King, and shewed an 
 attested certificate, stating that Allan Ne- 
 ville had there deceased. An account 
 was subjoined of his person, his way of 
 living, and the time he had resided in 
 that borough, all made to correspond 
 with your likeness and history. I had 
 followed him to the door of the privy- 
 chamber, and waited among the pages. 
 Methinks I see him now screw up his 
 hypocritical face and wink his eyes, as
 
 ( 99 ) 
 
 if he wept.*' " Your Majesty," said he, 
 " will be no more persecuted with my 
 suit for my ill-fated brother-in-law. — 
 Lady Eleanor commends her duty to the 
 Queen. — Alas, I fear the same stroke 
 will leave me friendless and a widower. 
 — Never was such love." He went on, 
 sobbing aloud — " A broken heart brought 
 him to his grave. — One only error ; 
 else the very mirror of honourable fa- 
 culties." Thus he stood as one beside 
 himself with anguish, holding out the 
 certificate, which a gentleman read to 
 His Highness. And then, my noble 
 master, you might have seen how true 
 pity looks by the side of its vile coun- 
 terfeit. " I knew Allan Neville well," 
 said the King, " and I once truly loved 
 him. Ill rest the calumniators of those 
 who can no longer justify themselves ! 
 His faults die with him. The pardon I 
 meant to have granted to his offences, 
 F 2
 
 ( ioo ) 
 
 if he would have sought my mercy, shall 
 turn into favours to those who share his 
 blood." Walter answered, he could 
 scarce be comforted even by such gra- 
 cious words ; but he acted his part ill, 
 for though the King's goodness was too 
 noble to suspect him, the courtiers nick- 
 named him the merry-mourner. 
 
 ^ Why speaks not my noble master," 
 said Williams, observing the fixed pos- 
 ture and quenched eye of Evellin. At 
 last he exclaimed — " I am not dead ;" 
 and bursting into an hysterical laugh, 
 he swore De Vallance should find he was 
 not dead. 
 
 " That is the point," replied Wil- 
 liams, " to which I have long wished to 
 urge you. Only appear and prove your 
 identity ; nothing more is wanting. But 
 rest on my arm, your whole frame is 
 convulsed. Ah, woe is me, that a base 
 upstart should thus destroy so true a 
 sample of old English worth !"
 
 ( ioi ) 
 
 " I have survived the loss of my pa- 
 trimony ," said Evellin; " I have bowed 
 my aspiring mind to the lowliness of 
 which I was born to be the protector j 
 I have a good King, a good cause, a 
 faithful wife, dear lovely children. De 
 Vallance shall not long triumph. But 
 say, Williams, didst thou ever hear of 
 treachery so complicated, so deep, so 
 totally void of even a twinkling ray of 
 common rectitude." 
 
 " I know but one character more vile 
 and unnatural," returned Williams, " and 
 that is the Lady Eleanor." 
 
 " I pass her by," said Evellin. " Na- 
 ture cast her mind in its most sordid 
 mould ; and her heart is capable only 
 of mean inclinations and low desires ; 
 I have, from my youth, reproved her 
 follies, and as she never loved me, she 
 would see no crime in plotting my de- 
 
 * 3
 
 ( 102 ) 
 
 " What — because you strove to ren- 
 der her worthy her lineage," answered 
 "Williams. " If a bad nature is an ex- 
 cuse for crimes, may not Satan object 
 to the severity of his sentence. Beauty 
 made her vain, and adulation made her 
 haughty. Yet other ladies on the same 
 personal graces have engrafted the love- 
 lier stock of truly noble virtues. The 
 husband whom she deigned to marry, 
 because she found him a ready slave to 
 her designs, will live to rue the day 
 when he made marriage a ladder to 
 ambition. May Heaven guard our Queen 
 from so dangerous a friend. Never did 
 a falser serpent with a beautiful outside 
 dart its poisons into the ear of Majesty." 
 
 Williams went on repeating anecdotes, 
 which proved the degeneracy of the new 
 Countess from the antient stock of noble 
 ladies who were better pleased to act 
 as faiihful and provident stewards of the 
 bounty of Heaven, than, like greedy
 
 ( i°3 ) 
 
 whirlpools, to absorb every thing within 
 their reach. He contrasted their circum- 
 spect liberality with her thoughtless waste; 
 the matronly sobriety and tempered mag- 
 nificence of their attire with her new 
 fangled fickleness and wanton costliness ; 
 their modest dignified courtesy with her 
 wayward perverseness ; their gravity with 
 her lightness, in acting at court-revels 
 and maskings, familiar with every gal- 
 lant, and accepting praise from the most 
 polluted sources. He spoke to the winds ; 
 the full proof of that perfidy which 
 Evellin had so long struggled to dis- 
 believe, fell like a thundering cataract on 
 his mind, and swept away all power of 
 attention. Long-indulged sorrow had 
 preyed on his mental and corporeal 
 functions, and rendered him ill able to 
 support that severe blow. Williams sin- 
 cerely repented the circumstantial disclo- 
 sure he had made. A feverish listless- 
 ness seized on the unhappy Evellin,, 
 F 4
 
 ( 104 ) 
 
 which yielded only to the visitation of 
 a more dreadful calamity. It was not 
 decided insanity, but it dispelled the 
 hopes which had been formed of his 
 being able to reclaim his usurped 
 birth-right. His bodily health was in 
 time restored, and his mental infirmity 
 became a wild humoursome eccentricity, 
 preserving traces of his noble character, 
 but querulously impatient of controul, 
 subject to extravagant transports, and in- 
 capable of steady exertion or connected 
 thought. Still magnanimous, indepen- 
 dent and honourable, but moody, rash, 
 and intractable, he was the automaton of 
 generous instinct, no longer animated by 
 reason. 
 
 Such a situation required constant vi- 
 gilance to prevent irritation and supply 
 soothing recreations and gratifying objects. 
 Williams was a most useful assistant to 
 Mrs. Evellin. He was practically versed 
 in husbandry, he knew the world, and
 
 ( io5 ) 
 
 had a creditable share of literature ; he 
 could thus amuse his master, direct the 
 domestic management, and instruct the 
 children. Isabel in all these instances 
 found him a considerable relief to her 
 cares. That excellent woman knew not 
 what immediately hastened her husband's 
 malady. Williams had often stated the 
 possibility of his regaining his rights ; but 
 she, dreading every proposal that might 
 agitate his mind, solemnly urged that that 
 topic should be avoided. " In my pray- 
 ers to Heaven,' ' said she, " I never dared 
 to supplicate for more than that he might 
 ever continue what he was when I first 
 revered and loved him. Reason and judg- 
 ment are positive advantages ; fortune and 
 title, accidents which the possessor may 
 convert into evils. I should have been 
 most thankful, if, during our journey to 
 the vale of years, he had been always 
 able to act as my counsellor and guide. 
 His conversation was \ the daily banquet of 
 F 5
 
 ( io6 ) 
 
 my nourished mind.' I hoped ever to feed 
 on the words of wisdom breathed from 
 the lips of kindness. I know not what 
 important contingencies in my eternal ex- 
 istence are connected with my present 
 trial ; but this I know, if I sustain it pa- 
 tiently and cheerfully, it must promote 
 much present good. I did not consider 
 marriage merely as a summer voyage* 
 Before I left the quiet harbour of single- 
 ness I thought of winter and its future 
 storms. Most happily I did not choose 
 a vessel laden with perishable treasures. 
 While reason and judgment illuminated 
 his mind, my Evellin was the delight and 
 ornament of society*; yet still his holier 
 hopes pursued a good, less transient than 
 the applause of man. If while the faith- 
 ful servant labours in his vocation a pre-- 
 mature night falls upon him and suspends. 
 his toil, will the just Master who ordains- 
 the privation, be extreme in noting the 
 remissness of infirmity ? I once was the
 
 ( *°7 ) 
 
 happiest of wives, nor can I now be 
 wretched since I still minister comfort to 
 my beloved." 
 
 Thus, with a mind naturally firm, and 
 still further supported by principle and 
 undeviating affection through years of 
 trial, Mrs. Evellin persevered in active 
 duty and enduring fortitude. The anxiety 
 which her suffering husband excited, and 
 the attentions he required, slowly under- 
 mined a constitution originally delicate, 
 but she made no parade either of her sor- 
 rows or her cares. She courted no com- 
 passion, and her suppressed anguish would 
 have been known only to her Creator, had 
 she not observed that Evellin, in his 
 wildest aberrations of intellect, felt her 
 sorrows, and was not only tranquillized, 
 but restored to a transient recollection by 
 the sight of her distress. She bestowed 
 infinite care on her children, labouring 
 to impart to them a portion of her own 
 cheerful fortitude and active vigilance* 
 t 6
 
 ( >o8 ) 
 
 The superintendance of her farm added 
 to her employments ; she had no leisure 
 for unavailing regret ; and till sickness 
 was added to sorrow, her busy days were 
 frequently rewarded by nights of peaceful 
 slumber. The occupied mind, however 
 acute its sensibility, rarely sinks into de- 
 spondence. The soothing consciousness 
 of usefulness overcomes its regrets, and 
 the habit of exertion creates confidence in 
 its own powers. This sentiment, though 
 criminal when it annihilates religious de- 
 pendence, is highly commendable when 
 it acts as its ally, inspiring a generous 
 resolution of not adding to the burden 
 of our fellow-pilgrims, who like us toil 
 heavy-laden through the wilderness of 
 life. On the other hand those, who, 
 when visited by irremediable affliction, 
 give up their whole souls to the indul- 
 gence of grief, may dignify their passive 
 dejection with the name of finer feelings, 
 and more tender sensibility, but they will 
 9
 
 ( I0 9 ) 
 
 at last find, that they have submitted to 
 the bondage of a tyrant who will deprive 
 them of all their remaining comforts. 
 Does gloomy despondence bespeak a 
 higher degree of social virtue ? Is me- 
 lancholy an instance of the souFs re- 
 liance on Divine goodness ? Do they not 
 rather shew a rebellious disposition to 
 Him from whom affliction proceeds, and 
 a selfish disregard of those whose com- 
 forts are all blasted by the depressing 
 influence of indulged despair ?
 
 ( no ) 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Scripture was not writ to beget pride and disputation, and 
 ©pposition to government, but moderation, humility, and 
 obedience, and peace, and piety, in mankind, of which no good 
 man ever did or will repent himself on his death-bed. 
 
 Hooker. 
 
 THE subject of my story embraces a 
 long period of eventful years ; I 
 must therefore imitate the chroniclers of 
 old, and, leaving the Evellins among their 
 mountain-fastnesses, return to Ribbles- 
 dale, and describe the situation of Dr» 
 Beaumont. 
 
 This worthy divine continued to exer- 
 cise his pastoral functions in respectable 
 tranquillity, adorning his station by a 
 happy union of literary accomplishments 
 with Christian graces. In these duties he 
 was assisted by his amiable and beloved 
 wife, who, though endowed with an
 
 ( III ) 
 
 unusual share of personal beauty, and 
 descended from a noble stock, thought 
 it no degradation to practise the duties 
 which the inspired Apostle requires from 
 the wives of Christian pastors, whom he 
 rightly considers as called to be associates 
 and partners in the ministry. She was 
 indeed " grave, no slanderer, sober, faith- 
 ful in all things, adorned with a meek 
 and quiet spirit, abounding in good works, 
 and a teacher of good things." Pre- 
 serving the decorous and just superiority 
 of polished manners and an enlightened 
 mind, blended with the courtesy, humi- 
 lity, and meekness which result from true 
 religious feeling, this amiable womaa 
 lived beloved and died lamented. A 
 victim to the pestilence which ravaged 
 England about the year 1630, she felt 
 in the prime of life ; a proof that length 
 of days and exemption from sorrow are 
 no sure marks of Divine favour. Her as- 
 siduity in ministering to the afflicted, ex-
 
 ( H* ) 
 
 posed her to the infection which deprived 
 Dr. Beaumont of all his numerous family 
 except one daughter; while the house- 
 hold of Sir William Waverly, closely 
 barricadoed by every contrivance which 
 caution could suggest, enjoyed uninter- 
 rupted health. The only share he had 
 in the general distress arose from his fears 
 that some of the convalescent might pass 
 the barrier he had placed round his park, 
 or that infection might be communicated 
 through the medium of the bailiff, who 
 was allowed to sell corn from his grana- 
 ries to the starving populace, at an exor- 
 bitant rate. The Baronet gave himself 
 great credit for this act of generosity and 
 patriotism, often observing that it would 
 be very hard if it should expose him to 
 the danger of falling a victim to his phi- 
 lanthropy, which sentiment was re-echoed 
 by those who had the honour of sitting 
 at his table, now more splendidly fur- 
 nished by these extra profits, to the
 
 ( "3 ) 
 
 great satisfaction of all his humble re- 
 tainers. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont resigned his wife and 
 children to Him who had bellowed them, 
 as intrusted blessings, which he had dearly- 
 valued, and now as tenderly regretted. 
 Resolved to pafs the rest of his days 
 in widowhood, he made Mrs. Mellicent 
 fuperintendant of his houfehold and di- 
 rector of his daughter's feminine accom- 
 plishments. She also undertook to supply 
 the place of Mrs. Beaumont in the parish, 
 but in the task of managing the humours 
 and improving the inclinations of the 
 lower orders, something beside zeal and 
 activity is necessary, even granting (as 
 was the case in this instance) that they 
 are guided by right principles. There 
 was an unfortunate degree of rigidity and 
 austerity about Mrs. Mellicent that was 
 less connected with her heart than her 
 manner, unless we ascribe it to a latent 
 conviction of her own wisdom and an
 
 ( "4 ) 
 
 t 
 
 inclination to govern by its acknowledged 
 superiority rather than by acquired in- 
 fluence. The villagers allowed that the 
 ladies were equally good ; but Madam 
 Beaumont smiled them into a persuasion 
 that she was an angel, and they adored 
 her because they thought she loved them ; 
 while Madam Mellicent chided them for 
 their faults, traced their misfortunes to 
 their imprudence, and instead of trying 
 to persuade them out of their prejudices, 
 informed them that their capacities and 
 education best fitted them for the duty of 
 obedience. She was a woman of natural 
 shrewdness, but not sufficiently conversant 
 with the world to know the advantage of 
 prudently temporizing, or the usefulness 
 of forbearance. She had not allowed 
 herself to study the temper of the times ; 
 she saw not that the bands of subordina- 
 tion were relaxing, and that the popu- 
 lace, leaving the practice of duties, were 
 now busy in ascertaining rights. A change
 
 ( Mf ) 
 
 to important and so similar to that to 
 which of late years public opinion has 
 again leaned, will justify a few remarks 
 on its causes, before I describe its effects. 
 The coercive system of government, 
 which, during the arbitrary reigns of the 
 Tudor family, wore the dignified aspect 
 of prescriptive authority, was submitted 
 to by a people grateful to that popular 
 house, whose accession healed the wounds 
 of a long protracted civil war ; but when 
 continued by what England esteemed a 
 race of foreign Kings, it was stigmatized 
 by the name of tyranny. The favours 
 and privileges which Henry the Seventh 
 bestowed on the commons, and the stra- 
 tagems he employed to reduce the power 
 of those barons who had been the makers 
 and unmakers of Kings, had, during the 
 course of Rye reigns, created a new order 
 of men, whose power and influence in 
 the commonwealth were yet unknown to 
 the advisers of the crown. The long in-
 
 ( "6 ) 
 
 ternal peace of a century and a half, 
 added to the stimulus which commerce 
 had received during the reign of Eliza- 
 beth, introduced a vast influx of wealth. 
 The religious disputes, which were the 
 only contests that disturbed this repose, 
 engrafted a sour spirit of theological con- 
 troversy on the warm devotional feelings 
 that distinguished the age immediately 
 succeeding the reformation. This tem- 
 per was fomented by the clerical dis- 
 putants among their respective flocks 5 
 the pulpit became a stage for spiritual 
 attack and defence, and the most illite- 
 rate congregations were crazed with dis- 
 cussions of metaphysical divinity, or in- 
 flamed with rancorous hatred against the 
 opponents of their peculiar preacher, who 
 might be truly said to preach his own 
 doctrine and defend his own cause, and 
 not the doctrine or cause of his master. 
 Thus the great mass of the community 
 had their attention diverted from that
 
 ( "7 ) 
 
 important part of the Christian covenant 
 which consists in practice, and were taught 
 to rest their hopes of salvation on specu- 
 lative points, to the disbelief of which 
 were annexed those dreadful anathemas 
 that entirely destroyed the spirit of Chris- 
 tian charity, and made the professors of 
 the same religion enemies from principle, 
 instead of brothers in love, united " by 
 one faith, one hope, one baptism.' ' 
 
 This religious intoxication was in- 
 creased by those confused, undefined dis- 
 cussions about civil privileges, which, 
 considering the altered circumstances of 
 the community, it would have been wise 
 for the Crown not to have provoked . There 
 would, on the contrary, have been more 
 policy in permitting some claims, not au- 
 thorized by precedent, to have stolen in 
 by connivance, and a few obnoxious insti- 
 tutions to have silently died away. The 
 parsimonious frugality of Elizabeth was 
 a powerful support to her prerogative*
 
 C »* ) 
 
 while the prodigal grants of King James 
 to his favourites paved the way to his 
 son's ruin. The disputes between King 
 Charles and his three first parliaments in* 
 duced him to have recourse to measures 
 for raising supplies which were uncon- 
 stitutional, and though the sums thus 
 procured did not amount to a moiety of 
 what would have been granted in the 
 shape of taxes, the people murmured at 
 forced loans, ship-money, and other un- 
 happy expedients, when they would 
 cheerfully have paid much larger sums if 
 granted as fubsidies. The house of Com- 
 mons during the reign of Henry the 
 Eighth were frowned and menaced into 
 the most abject subjection ; and Eliza- 
 beth, with no less authority, but superior 
 address, awed them into non-resistance ; 
 but ever since the accession of the house 
 of Stewart they felt their importance, as 
 bearers of the public purse. Their de- 
 crees as well as their debates breathed a 
 I
 
 ( "9 ) 
 
 spirit at once alarming and displeasing to 
 Princes educated in the opinion of their 
 own Divine right, and succeeding a Queen 
 who, though wisely intent on the public 
 good, was as despotic a Sovereign as ever 
 filled the English throne. A want of 
 attention to the change which had ren- 
 dered his situation different from that of 
 his predecessors, and a too sanguine con- 
 fidence in the affections of his people, 
 which his virtues and abilities richly de- 
 served, hurled the unhappy Charles from 
 his throne. He wanted those pre-moni- 
 tory lessons which his own subsequent 
 misfortunes afforded. The eventful scenes 
 which Europe has exhibited these last 
 twenty years have awefully multiplied 
 such warnings : May they act on the 
 minds of Englishmen, and on those of 
 their rulers, till the last great day of ge- 
 neral audit which shall terminate the 
 existence of this island with that of the 
 earth !
 
 ( 120 ) 
 
 The same good intentions and mistaken 
 methods that distinguished the adminis- 
 tration of the Sovereign, marked Mrs. 
 Mellicent's superintendance of Ribbles- 
 dale. She was a politician of the school 
 of Elizabeth, very willing to do good to 
 her inferiors, but positively requiring that 
 they should obey her. Prescription and 
 authority, docility and respect, old prin- 
 ciples and old manners, were her fa- 
 vourite topics ; and in preaching submis- 
 sion to all superiors from the King to the 
 village constable, precedence and de- 
 corum were her constant texts. Her no- 
 tions were perhaps urged too far, but 
 this was an age of extremes ; the minds 
 of the people were kept in a continual fer- 
 ment, every object was distorted, and the 
 calamities which ensued, in many in- 
 stances, proceeded more from ill-directed 
 zeal than positive malice ; from fanati- 
 cism rather than hypocrisy. At least a 
 bewildered imagination seems at first to
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 have actuated the majority of the most 
 eminent commonwealth's men to support 
 what they deemed a righteous cause, 
 though in their subsequent actions party- 
 spirit urged them to do what they knew 
 to be sinful, and to attempt to gloss it 
 with those false colourings which make 
 us now justly combine the names of hypo- 
 crite and fanatic, and hold them up as a 
 reproach to the age in which they passed 
 for saint and patriot. 
 
 The new lights, as they were termed, 
 had begun to set England in a blaze, 
 and two of their burning torches were 
 erected in Ribblesdale in the persons of 
 Morgan and Davies, the latter the village- 
 schoolmaster, the former a low-minded 
 money-scrivener, who had amassed a large 
 fortune in " the godly city of Glouces- 
 ter" ; and retired to spend it in his native 
 town, where he purchased an estate, 
 acted as justice of the peace, and styled 
 himself gentleman. Both were illuminated 
 
 VOL. I. G*
 
 ( 12* ) 
 
 apostles of the new doctrines, but each 
 had a peculiar department in the work of 
 reformation ; one wishing to batter down 
 the spiritual abominations of the church, 
 while the other confined his zeal to 
 destroying the bands of tyrannical rulers, 
 and " calling Israel to their tents." 
 Davies laboured under the pressure of 
 poverty. He had displeased Dr. Beau- 
 mont by his seditious and impertinent 
 behaviour, and the inhabitants withdrew 
 their children from his school ; but as his 
 means of living decreased, his opinion of 
 his own deserts enlarged ; he mistook the 
 cravings of want for spiritual illumination, 
 and so perplexed his mind by reading 
 the scurrilous libels of the day, as to be 
 firmly persuaded that the King was the 
 Devil's bairn, and Archbishop Laud the 
 personal antichrist. A description of 
 church ceremonies thrilled him with 
 horror, and in every prosecution of a 
 contumacious minister his ardent fancy
 
 ( '*3 ) 
 
 saw a revival of the flames of Smithfield, 
 while his confused notions of right and 
 justice convinced him, that if the arm of 
 the spirit failed, that of the flesh must 
 be exerted, to throw down these strong 
 holds. He had long believed himself 
 equal to Dr. Beaumont in learning, and 
 fancied that the unction of gifts and 
 graces, with which he was favoured, gave 
 him a decided preference over man's 
 ordination. He continued to attend the 
 church, but not in the capacity of an 
 humble learner. By coming late, he 
 avoided the zeal-quenching liturgy, which, 
 as it avowedly retained ancient prayers, 
 he considered as Babylonish and idola- 
 trous, and he exercised his Christian liberty 
 of choosing his religion by listening to the 
 sermon, with a design of cavilling at the 
 preacher, whom he soon found to be a mere 
 legal teacher, descanting on the doctrine 
 of works exploded by the new covenant. 
 Morgan had less zeal than Davies, 
 G 2
 
 ( 124 ) 
 
 and more foresight. Though equally 
 anxious to pull down and destroy, he 
 was not so certain that the fragments 
 would re-edify themselves into a ha- 
 bitable fabric ) and as he liked the com- 
 forts he enjoyed in the present state of 
 things, he was not inclined to lay the 
 foundation of a republic, till he was 
 certain of getting a good apartment in it 
 himself. He saw that the aspect of the 
 times forboded extraordinary changes ; 
 but as he could not divine which of the 
 numerous sects that opposed the church 
 would acquire the ascendancy, he left his 
 religion to future contingences. He found 
 Davies an able assistant, and therefore 
 determined to keep him hungry and dis- 
 contented, in order to make him the more 
 active in recommending the sovereign 
 panacea, that was to cure all the national 
 disorders. This recipe was no other 
 than the covenant promulgated in Scot- 
 land, and which was called "a golden
 
 ( "5 ) 
 
 girdle to tie themselves to Heaven, a 
 joining and glueing themselves to the 
 Lord, a binding themselves apprentice 
 to God*." These terms were applied to an 
 agreement which made those that entered 
 into it, if in a public station, break their 
 oath of allegiance, (for the covenanters 
 were bound to overturn the ecclesiastical 
 branch of the constitution,) and which 
 though it affected loyalty by professing 
 deference for the person of the King, 
 yet maintained the independence and 
 paramount power of the parliament, and 
 denounced the King's friends as ma- 
 lignant incendiaries and evil instruments, 
 who prevented his reconciliation with his 
 people. The pretext of separating the 
 royal person from the free exercise of 
 his functions, was too gross to deceive 
 the most short-sighted. Equally palpable 
 was the falsehood of pretending to pro- 
 
 * Several passages in this and the next chapters are 
 extracted from fanatical sermons on public occasions, 
 
 » 3
 
 ( "6 ) 
 
 mote peace and unity by an instrument, 
 which, in the form of a religious sacra- 
 ment, forbade concession, and solemnly 
 denounced eternal enmity to all who 
 held different opinions. Such mockery 
 could be equalled only by that of the 
 popish inquisitors, who intreat the se- 
 cular power to be merciful, even in 
 the warrant by which they virtually 
 consign their victims to the flames. 
 
 These were the pestiferous principles 
 of the intermeddlers, who disturbed the 
 tranquillity of Ribblesdale, and alienated 
 the minds of the people from their good 
 pastor. The doctrine of Davies was 
 most popular, for Morgan cut only the 
 fifth commandment and its dependant 
 duties out of the decalogue, while Davies, 
 by always insisting on the freedom of 
 grace, led his hearers, who were un- 
 skilled in theological subtilties, to think 
 he meant to limit duty to the simple act 
 of belief. From the period of their
 
 ( **7 ) 
 
 opposition to Dr. Beaumont, a marked 
 change was visible in the manners of the 
 villagers ; their time was devoted to 
 contentious disputation, which is in truth 
 the most dangerous sort of idleness, and 
 as they became in their own ideas more 
 enlightened, they became more mise- 
 rable ; a sullen morose gloom usurped 
 the frank hilarity of satisfied rusticity, 
 which formerly animated their coun- 
 tenances. Athletic exercises and cheer- 
 ful sports were renounced as sinful, and 
 the green became the resort of conceited 
 politicians, who, with misapplications of 
 Scripture in their mouths and newspapers 
 and libels in their hands, boasted their 
 renunciation of the sensual vices, yet 
 cherished as graces the baneful passions 
 of pride, malice, and stubbornness, which 
 the Scriptures assure us are most odious 
 in the sight of God. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont was not an inactive spec- 
 tator, while he beheld his parishioners 
 G 4
 
 ( "8 ) 
 
 thus exchanging the infirmities of the 
 flesh for spiritual contumacy ; but the 
 evil had spread beyond the reach of 
 lenient remedies. It is possible to in- 
 struct the ignorant, and reform a con- 
 scious culprit, but who shall teach those 
 who are wise in their own eyes, or 
 convince an offender, who, while he 
 condemns righteousness as filthy rags, 
 boasts of his freedom from the power 
 of sin. The church was deserted, or 
 frequented only by the Doctor's most in- 
 veterate opponents, who came not to re- 
 form their lives, but to impugn the 
 doctrine of one, whom they had previously 
 denounced, as not preaching the gospel, 
 and what with omissions, transpositions, 
 inuendoes, and insertions, they took care 
 so to disguise his discourses in their re- 
 ports, as to make him appear to main- 
 tain what he had uniformly controverted. 
 As his ministerial credentials were 
 thus discredited, even while he stood bv
 
 ( i*9 ) 
 
 the mercy-seat, as priest of the Most 
 High, so when he performed the social 
 part of his pastoral functions, his visits 
 to his flock exposed him to derision 
 and insult. The smile of respectful 
 affection, and the salute of humility and 
 gratitude, no longer greeted His Rever- 
 ence ; his charity was received as a right, 
 and the legal maintenance which the 
 law allowed him was grudgingly paid, 
 or vexatiously withheld from him, being 
 deemed a pledge of servitude to a preach- 
 er whom the people had not chosen, 
 and who fed them with garbage in- 
 stead of wholesome food. Even his own 
 tithe-holder, farmer Humphreys, was 
 led away by the delusion. He was a 
 man of rough manners and gloomy 
 unsocial disposition, but he had hitherto 
 never ventured to rebel, farther than 
 occasionally to absent himself from 
 church, on the Sunday after every 
 c 5
 
 ( *3° ) 
 
 admonition which Dr. Beaumont from 
 time to time privately gave him to ab- 
 stain from too free indulgence at market. 
 He would have thought it sacrilegious as 
 well as impudent to question the lawful 
 endowment of the church, and he re- 
 proved his wife for being piqued at 
 Mrs. Mellicent's blaming her passion 
 for high-crowned hats, ruffs, and far- 
 thingales, which the sage spinster thought 
 indecorous for yeomen's wives, though 
 very suitable to Lady Waverly. He 
 silenced the good dame's remarks on 
 Mrs. Mellicent's interfering disposition, 
 by reminding her of the value of that 
 lady's green ointment, adding that though 
 she was apt to be domineering and out- 
 rageous, she was ever a true friend, and 
 more useful in sickness than the great 
 Doctor at Lancaster. But Humphreys's 
 opinions were totally changed, since he 
 had the honour of joining the club at
 
 ( *3i ) 
 
 Squire Morgan's, and heard the evening 
 lectures which Davies gave in the school- 
 room. He now found that man was 
 born equal and free, that he had a 
 right to choose by whom and how he 
 would be governed or taught, that tithes 
 were a Jewish ordinance, and therefore 
 carnal ; and that as he was nearly as 
 rich as his pastor, it was lording it over 
 the Lord's heritage for Dr. Beaumont to 
 be called Your Reverence, while himself 
 was only Goodman Humphreys. As to 
 the Doctor's superior share of virtue and 
 wisdom, he had reason to doubt whether 
 he really possessed them, because he 
 never heard him say he did, but he knew 
 Squire Morgan was wiser, and Master 
 Davies more godly than other people, for 
 they told him so every day. And they 
 made such fine speeches, and uttered 
 such long prayers, that he knew they 
 wished him well. Some things indeed, 
 that they said about free grace, and 
 g 6
 
 ( *3 2 ) 
 
 agrarian laws he did not quite under- 
 stand, but he believed these dark sayings 
 meant, that when he came to be one of 
 the elect, he should get to Heaven with- 
 out any trouble ; and that if church and 
 King were overthrown, he should occupy 
 the glebe without paying any rent. Be 
 this as it would, the right of choosing 
 his own pastor, which Davies peremp- 
 torily insisted on as the foundation-stone 
 of the reformation, secured him from the 
 mortification of continually hearing Dr. 
 Beaumont insist on duties he had no in- 
 clination to practice, and condemn faults 
 he did not like to renounce. It is no 
 wonder, therefore, that Humphreys 
 wrought himself into a most patriotic 
 resolution, no longer to submit to ty- 
 ranny and priestcraft, and to vow that 
 the next time the Doctor admonished 
 him, he would retort with " Ye 
 take too much upon you, ye sons of 
 Levi."
 
 C '33 ) 
 
 People who resolve to speak their 
 minds, seldom wait long for an oppor- 
 tunity. Farmer Humphreys's zeal for 
 the holy covenant, which he was assured 
 confirmed these privileges, not only in- 
 duced him to take it himself, but to in- 
 sist on his carter, Jobson's, subscribing to 
 it also. Not that he intended the blessed 
 panacea should work a similar change in 
 the situation of Jobson, who, he disco- 
 vered, was predestined to hard work and 
 hard fare ; but, as the good cause might 
 want an arm of flesh in its defence, the 
 muscular strength of the ploughman, like 
 that of the ox, would help to drag the 
 new ark into the sanctuary. For this 
 purpose, he carefully concealed from 
 Jobson the latent privileges and immu- 
 nities that were vested in these caba- 
 listical words, nor did he think it any 
 infringement of his principles to inforce 
 by his own behaviour the abominable 
 doctrine of passive obedience, and to in-
 
 ( *34 ) 
 
 sist that Jobson should either become a 
 covenanter, or quit his service, and forfeit 
 his wages. Jobson had once heard the 
 rigmarole, as he called it, read over, and 
 by a strange perverseness of understand- 
 ing, fancied these indentures of faith and 
 unity, to be no other than binding him- 
 self to the Devil, to pull down the church 
 and curse the King, and he preferred 
 persecution and poverty to such servitude. 
 As he resisted all Davies's attempts to 
 enlighten him, and met his master's 
 threats with a stedfastness which these 
 friends to liberty called contumacy, the 
 alternative was dismissal from his present 
 service, without any remuneration for his 
 past. 
 
 He applied to Justice Morgan for re- 
 dress, who, anxious to disprove the sus- 
 picions that were circulated of his disposi- 
 tion to favour disorganizing principles, en- 
 joined Jobson to obey his master, and 
 reproved him for thinking that his 
 9
 
 ( '35 ) 
 
 soul could be endangered by follow- 
 ing the example of so many great men, 
 who had taken the covenant. It in- 
 opportunely happened, that at this mo- 
 ment Jobson recollected a sermon of Dr. 
 Beaumont's, against the sin of following 
 a multitude to do evil, in which every 
 man's responsibility for his own offences, 
 and the attention of Omniscience to indi- 
 vidual transgressions, were illustrated by 
 proofs drawn from the minute watchful- 
 ness of Providence, which superintends the 
 heedless flight of the sparrow, and adorns 
 the lilies of the field with more than 
 regal magnificence. In reply to Morgan's 
 enumeration of the Dukes, Marquisses, 
 Lords and Squires, Godly Ministers and 
 staunch Common wealth men, who had 
 taken the covenant, Jobson shook his 
 head, and said, none of them would 
 answer for his soul. " I heard," said 
 he, " last Sunday in church, that all the
 
 ( *3fi ) 
 
 Princes of a great nation worshipped a 
 golden image, and three men would not, 
 so every body went against these men, 
 and threw them into a burning furnace. 
 But the men were right after all in the 
 end of the story ; and so y please Your 
 Worship, I'll not sign the Devil's bond 
 for any body." 
 
 Davies, who was present at the ex- 
 amination, now remarked that Jobson 
 had not only forfeited his wages as an 
 hireling, by his disobedience to a be- 
 lieving master, but deserved to be com- 
 mitted for slandering the holy covenant \ 
 and Morgan, though he knew this had 
 not yet been made an offence by statute, 
 yet relying on the temper of the parish, 
 ' the ignorance of the culprit, and the 
 protection he would be sure to meet 
 from a faction, whose violence had driven 
 the King from his capital, and usurped 
 the government, made out a Mittimus*
 
 ( i37 ) 
 
 Sonic remaining sense of justice, and a 
 dislike of oppression when exercised 
 against one of their own rank, induced 
 the peasants to shew their disapprobation. 
 A crowd collected around Morgan's 
 door, determined to exercise their rights 
 and to rescue the prisoner. The tears 
 and cries of his wife and children had 
 just roused them to the assumption of 
 that summary mode of vengeance, so 
 gratifying to an English mob, when the 
 appearance of Dr. Beaumont suspended 
 their fury. The long-formed associations 
 of habitual reverence were not so in- 
 tirely abrogated as to allow them to 
 continue their riotous conduct under the 
 influence of that mild eye, which had 
 often silently reproved their faults, or 
 that benevolent countenance, which had 
 pitied their wants, and confirmed their 
 virtues ; they stood in suspence, inv<> 
 luntarily waiting for his opinion.
 
 ( "38 ) 
 
 Dr. Beaumont severely condemned 
 their misconduct in taking justice into 
 their own hands, and assured them he 
 would use all proper means for the 
 liberation of Jobson. A confused mur- 
 mur arose, as he entered the house. 
 Some wondered if he knew that Morgan 
 was his enemy, supposing that, if he did, 
 he never would have objected to their 
 breaking his windows ; others said that 
 the Doctor and Davies would now 
 have it out. Davies had often said the 
 Doctor was a Babylonish trafficker in 
 works, an Alexander the copper-smith ; 
 and they wondered what names the other 
 would invent. All were amazed how he 
 dared venture among them, as they wanted 
 something on which to accuse him to the 
 new government. 
 
 Personal safety, and a regard to his 
 own peculiar contests, were the last 
 things that suggested themselves to the
 
 ( *39 ) 
 
 mind of Doctor Beaumont. Forgetful of 
 the injuries and insults he had received, 
 he addressed his opponents with graceful 
 manners, and in conciliatory language. 
 He requested to know what was Jobson's 
 offence, expressing a hope that it was of 
 such a nature as to admit of his urging 
 the extenuating plea of his former good 
 conduct. 
 
 Many voices spoke at once. Hum- 
 phreys exclaimed, that he had disobeyed 
 his orders, and was an eye-servant. 
 Davies said, that he had dared to speak 
 slanderously of the holy covenant. Dr. 
 Beaumont declared himself an enemy to 
 slander and disobedience, but in order 
 to afford a pretext for the commitment 
 of Jobson, Humphreys must shew his 
 commands were strictly lawful, and Davies 
 that the covenant was holy. 
 
 Both answered at the same time. The 
 powerful lungs of Humphreys enabled 
 him to thunder out, that the time was now
 
 ( Ho ) 
 
 past when he cared for the Doctor, that 
 he knew he was as good as he, would 
 do as he liked, and ere long meant to 
 shew him he had the best right to the 
 glebe, where he would no longer moil 
 and toil for a caterpillar, that fattened on 
 his labours. The shrill pipe of Davies 
 issuing from his meagre form in a still 
 higher key, insisted that the covenant 
 was our only defence against malignant 
 men, and evil counsellors, Arminians 
 and Jesuits, and that if this godly bond 
 was trampled on, the nation would 
 be overrun with popery and formality. 
 
 When his antagonists, in striving to 
 drown each other's voices, had mutually 
 exhausted their powers of utterance, 
 Dr. Beaumont answered, that since 
 temporal endowment was no essential 
 mark of a true church, but rather an 
 adjunct springing out of a right feel- 
 ing in the public for their spiritual 
 advisers, the depriving him of his
 
 ( W ) 
 
 emoluments by the strong arm of power, 
 would not degrade him from the office 
 to which he had been divinely appointed. 
 " It will, therefore," said he, " friend 
 Humphreys, be always my duty to 
 advise and assist you, and if you vio- 
 lently deprive me of what the most 
 ancient of our laws has made mine, the 
 necessity of my interference to convince 
 you of your fault will become more 
 evident. As for the wonderful efficacy 
 which our neighbour Davies attributes to 
 what I consider as a mere party-engage- 
 ment, I must observe that popery re- 
 ceived a blow from the labours of our 
 first reformers, which would ere now 
 have proved mortal, had not the divisions 
 ind subdivisions, the schisms and sects, 
 that have originated in the importunate 
 spirit of puritanical objectors, afforded 
 leisure and security for the Hydra to 
 heal her deadly wounds. In the early part 
 of the reign of our late Queen of glorious 
 2
 
 ( I4« ) 
 
 memory, the Papists generally attended 
 their several parish-churches, listened to 
 our Liturgy and services with devotion, 
 and seemed in a fair way to be won over 
 by the moderation and decency of our 
 worship. But the intemperance of those 
 who, for the merest trifles, quarrelled 
 with the establishment, who rejected 
 even apostolical usages, because they had 
 been practised by the catholics, who, 
 instead of allowing Rome to be a church 
 in error, denied that its followers could 
 be saved, and thus raised the dark cloud of 
 schism against the sun of the reformation ; 
 their rashness, uncharitableness, and fastidi- 
 ous scruples, in purifying what they owned 
 to be non-essentials, have, I say, imped 
 the dragon's wings, and placed the scarlet 
 abomination, as ye call it, in a tower of 
 strength, which the artillery of your 
 covenant, lighted as it is by the flame of 
 treason and civil commotion, can never 
 overthrow. — The champions of these
 
 ( '43 ) 
 
 sects in the reign of Elizabeth, counte- 
 nanced by that most flagitious courtier 
 and tyrannical governor, the Earl of 
 Leicester, accused Hooker, the great 
 bulwark of the Protestant cause, of lean- 
 ing towards popery, because he refused 
 to consign the souls of our ancestors to 
 perdition ; and a most uncharitable outcry 
 was raised against a Bishop for the same 
 bias, because he trusted that the grand- 
 mother of our good King would expe- 
 rience the mercies of our Saviour, on 
 whose merits, in her last moments, she 
 declared she relied. — Thus did these ill- 
 advised persons, by a breach of that 
 charity and unity, which Scripture every 
 where enjoins, prevent the Protestant 
 church from exhibiting the surest marks 
 of Christian verity. Instead of alluring 
 people to come out of the mystical 
 Babylon, these most lamentable divisions 
 and controversies about trifles have 
 driven thousands into the perilous laby-
 
 ( '44 ) 
 
 rmths of a persuasion, which admits no 
 difference of opinion, or into the yet 
 more dreary dungeons of Atheism, whose 
 most formidable objection to our faith, 
 is the ill blood which it foments, Never 
 have these enemies to God and man 
 made such progress, as since- the time 
 when spiritual pride, turbulence and am- 
 bition, united under the name of perfect 
 reformation, to pluck down an edifice 
 constructed in moderation, defended 
 by the doctrines, beautified by the la- 
 bours, and cemented by the blood of it's 
 founders/ ' 
 
 The fiery zeal of Davies would not 
 permit Dr. Beaumont to finish his 
 harangue, "'And ye planted in your 
 edifice," said he, " a poisonous scion, 
 an abominable branch of the tree of 
 evil ; but our friend Humphreys speaks 
 not unadvisedly, or at peradventure. 
 Your Anti-christian bishops are all sent 
 to prison ; they are caged vultures, jack-
 
 ( U5 ) 
 
 daws stripped of their Babylonish trap- 
 pings, their robes and square caps, their 
 lawn formalities, their hoods and scarfs, 
 and mitres, and crosiers, and thrones, by 
 which these Diotrepheses lorded it over 
 the faithful, and made the land stink 
 with idolatries which Scripture forbids. 
 But the blood of that Popish inquistior, 
 Laud, will soon flow on the scaffold, and 
 be a cleansing stream over a foul gar- 
 ment ; and with him episcopacy shall be 
 coffined up and buried without expectation 
 of a resurrection." 
 
 " It is strange," observed Dr. Beau- 
 mont, " that the Papacy mould rejoice 
 at his degradation, and consider his pre- 
 sent sufferings as a judgment upon him 
 for composing a treatise which exposed 
 their fopperies with a strength of reasoning 
 to which their most able divines know 
 not how to reply." 
 
 Morgan here interposed, and, with a 
 smile of condescension, advised Dr. Beau- 
 
 VOL. I. h
 
 ( h6 ) 
 
 mont to reflect on his own situation, and 
 consider his temporal advantages and per- 
 sonal security. He spoke in praise of 
 his learning, benevolence, and inoffensive 
 conduct, and desired him, by a timely 
 conformity to the prevailing doctrines, to 
 avoid being implicated in the ruin of a 
 felling church. 
 
 <c A true branch of the Catholic 
 church/' replied the Doctor, " may be 
 shaken, but cannot fall, because it has 
 the promise of resisting the attacks of the 
 powers of darkness to the end of the 
 world. But you mistake me, Sir, if you 
 suppose that policy was the schoolmaster 
 who taught me my creed, or that I will 
 desert that Church in adversity who fed 
 me with her bread, and graced me with 
 her ministerial appointments. The pastoral 
 office she intrusted to me may be wrested 
 from my grasp by force ; my body may 
 be imprisoned, my goods confiscated ; 
 you may drag me to the flames, like Rid-
 
 ( *47 ) 
 
 ley, or to the scaffold, like Laud, but you 
 cannot change truth into falsehood, or 
 make that right, which, though success* 
 fill, is intrinsically wrong. Whether the 
 doctrines of the Church of England be 
 branded as those of a declining sect, or 
 set by the throne as a light to guide our 
 hereditary Princes, they must be tried 
 by other criterions than popularity, I 
 mean, by reason, Scripture, and apos- 
 tolical usage. I trust she will ever have 
 sons equal to the task of defending her, 
 men uncorrupted by sensuality when she 
 basks in sunshine, undaunted by danger 
 when tempests threaten her destruction. 
 And with all your boasts of making this 
 land a Zoar and a Zion, I will tell you 
 that you will never make it the Jerusalem 
 which is at unity with itself and there- 
 fore meet for the residence of the Holy 
 One, until it shall please c God to bless 
 the common people with sense to see 
 that there is such a sin as schism, and 
 H 2
 
 ( U8 ) 
 
 that they are not judges what schism is.' 
 Peace is not promoted by yielding to 
 captious objections, but by subduing the 
 spirit, which is more prone to dispute than 
 to obey. Those who dissent from us 
 say they only crave liberty, but when 
 the church is overthrown they will find 
 that it is the spirit of domination which 
 they mistook for zeal in the cause of 
 freedom. This will make every sect 
 strive for pre-eminence, and the hatred 
 they now shew us will, if we are subdued, 
 be diverted from a superior whom they 
 cease to fear, to equals whom they wish 
 to depress ; the anarchy and discord they 
 will then experience will lead the moderate 
 and well-informed to remember with re- 
 gret the mild government of the deposed 
 church." 
 
 " How, Sir ?" said Morgan ; " do you 
 defend a church that has ever been a 
 determined enemy to liberty, an ally to 
 tyrants j a church that has vindicated
 
 ( H9 ) 
 
 forced loans and ship-money, and asserted 
 those popish doctrines, passive obedience 
 in the subject, and infallibility in the so- 
 vereign, dividing mankind into despots 
 and slaves ? All men are born free and 
 equal ; and he, who taxes my fortune, 
 restrains my conscience, or confines my 
 person without my leave, or, which is the 
 same thing, against those laws to which 
 I or my representative have consented, is 
 my enemy and a tyrant, whom I may 
 treat as Jael did Sisera. But you Epis- 
 copalians say, « Oh no, the persons of 
 Kings are sacred, and they can do no 
 wrong;' so it follows that subjects are 
 slaves whom they may crush, and trample, 
 and grind as they please." 
 
 " Part of these doctrines/' replied the 
 Doctor, " are not held merely by the 
 Church, but form a branch of that ancient 
 constitution of the kingdom which no 
 subsequent acts of the whole legislature 
 can change, without, at the same time, 
 
 H J
 
 ( 15° ) 
 
 endangering the safety and property of 
 every individual. Much less can they be 
 legally infringed by a packed junto of 
 men, calling themselves the House of 
 Commons, but in which, according to 
 your own system, not a tenth of the na- 
 tion is nominally represented. As to the 
 inference you draw from what I call the 
 fundamental principles of our govern- 
 ment, prove that the Anglican church 
 holds them, and I will allow her to be 
 an ally of despotism j but you shall bring 
 your proofs from her canons, articles, and 
 liturgy, not from the servants of court- 
 chaplains, or the flatteries of those who 
 forget the priest in the sycophant. Wolves 
 and worldlings creep into every church. 
 The apostolic age had its Demas, and ours 
 has its Williams. Remember it has its 
 Andrews too. But since your principles 
 of freedom will be best exemplified by 
 your practice, I trust you will recollect 
 the case of Jobson. He has neither by
 
 ( W ) 
 
 himself, nor by his representatives, con- 
 sented to the Covenant ; and his equal 
 and free rights allow him to reject it. No 
 ordinance has yet made it law ; and the 
 liberty of conscience you require for 
 yourself will not allow you to force it 
 upon him as gospel, seeing he cannot 
 think it so." 
 
 Davies, whose extravagance had been 
 checked by the admonitory frown of 
 Morgan, took advantage of the dilemma 
 to which Dr. Beaumont's application of 
 his own principles had reduced him, and 
 renewed his deafening declamations, to 
 which (as neither argument nor fact were 
 regarded, and the length of the harangue 
 depended on his bodily strength,) the at- 
 tention of his hearers might be dispensed 
 with. Humphreys endeavoured to im- 
 press his neighbours with an idea of the 
 advantages that would result from sup- 
 porting the Covenant. " It was better 
 than the law," he said, " because if any 
 h 4
 
 ( 15* ) 
 
 one came upon them for taxes they had 
 only to go to a brother-covenanter, and be 
 he a peer or parliament-man, he was bound 
 to support them/* Davies, in the mean 
 time, turning up the whites of his eyes, 
 raved against so carnalizing a spiritual 
 bond as to apply it to the protection of 
 temporal goods. " This," he said, " was 
 making the gospel a post-horse to ride 
 their own errands ; stopping the entrance 
 of an oven with a King's robe royal ; and 
 making a covenant with Heaven a cha- 
 riot and stirrup to mount up to the height 
 of carnal and clay projects. By the 
 Covenant,*' added he, " I am enabled to 
 preach the true gospel in spite of my 
 persecutor in a surplice, who would starve 
 the lambs with formality, and forbid me 
 to feed them. He that opposeth me hath 
 in his dwelling idols of wood and stone, 
 and painted symbols of men and women 
 whom Antichrist made saints, and Pagan 
 books treating of false gods, and moral
 
 C 'S3 ) 
 
 treatises without one word of saving faith 
 in them, and musical instruments, and 
 Jewish contrivances ; and he goes into 
 his study, not to wrestle with the Spirit, 
 but to consult the evil one ; and then he 
 goes into the steeple-house, and, instead 
 of the milk of the word, pours ladles-full 
 of leaden legality among ye, till ye all 
 look like his own dumb idols, instead of 
 faithful souls overflowing with illumi- 
 nation.' ' 
 
 This specimen of Davies's oratory is 
 sufficient. The tumult he excited allowed 
 Morgan to put in practice a safer plan 
 than that of committing Jobson to prison, 
 namely, to remove him privately to Hull, 
 where Sir John Hotham was raising men 
 for the service of Parliament, and he 
 thought the threat of sending him to the 
 plantations would prevail on him to en- 
 list. Affecting, therefore, to be convinced 
 that the liberty of a brother-man should 
 be respected, he tore the warrant for 
 h 5
 
 ( 154 ) 
 
 Jobson's commitment, and ordered that 
 he should be set at liberty. Jobson, 
 however, could not be found. It was 
 suggested that he had probably run away 
 during the confusion ; and Dr. Beaumont 
 returned home, hoping his interference 
 had been of some use.
 
 ( '55 ) 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 He could not bear the slightest mention of the incor- 
 rigible guilt of the nation without dissolving into tears ; efpe- 
 pecially when he happened to advert unto the impudence of 
 that hypocrisy which reconciled goodness and villainy, and 
 made it possible for men to be saints and devils both to- 
 gether; whereby religion became ruinous to itself, and faith 
 became instructed to confute and baffle duty. 
 
 Bishop Fell's Life of Dr. Henry Hammond. 
 
 \/f ORGAN could not soon forgive 
 -L^-*- the insult of being contradicted 
 and confuted when seated on the magis- 
 terial bench ; nor could Davies pardon 
 the attack on the holy Covenant, and the 
 principles on which it was founded. They 
 jointly determined, therefore, to take the 
 first opportunity of exciting the villagers 
 to acts of violence, that might either 
 provoke Dr. Beaumont to ,some step on 
 which an accusation to Parliament might 
 be founded, or drive him away through 
 h 6
 
 ( J56 ) 
 
 fear for his personal safety. A pubic 
 rejoicing was ordained on account of the 
 fleet's declaring against the King ; and 
 Morgan's liberality to the populace spread 
 a general intoxication through the town, 
 which Davies hoped, at such a good time, 
 might be overlooked. 
 
 Since the death of Mrs. Beaumont the 
 Doctor had mixed little with the world, 
 seeking, in his library and clerical func- 
 tions, that calm tranquillity and self* 
 sustained content which constitute all the 
 earthly enjoyment that remains to a heart 
 that has once been happy* The late 
 ungrateful, rebellious behaviour of his 
 flock tended still more to circumscribe his 
 pleasures ; yet though the painful feel* 
 ings of rejected kindness and undeserved 
 contumely made his village-walks and 
 sacerdotal functions a penance instead of 
 a gratification, he considered the proba- 
 bility of disappointment as no apology 
 for relaxing his endeavours to do good.
 
 ( H7 ) 
 
 The morning and evening sacrifices were 
 offered in the temple ; the ignorant were 
 instructed, the bad reproved, and the 
 decent commended with his wonted zeal 
 and meekness, though only his own fa- 
 mily and dependants joined in his orisons, 
 though the foolish and the guilty laughed 
 at his exhortations, and the well-dis- 
 posed could derive no stimulus to perse- 
 verance from his praise. Satisfied with 
 labouring faithfully in his vocation, the 
 good man committed his cause to God, 
 and found, in the refreshing recollections 
 of self-satisfaction, and in the calm re- 
 pose that followed a harassing day, spent 
 in the performance of his manifold duties, 
 a reward which might be termed a fore- 
 taste of heaven. 
 
 He had many true enjoyments of which 
 the malice of his foes could not deprive 
 him ; such were, the steady affection of 
 his sister, the gradual improvement of his 
 daughter, and the philosophical and li-
 
 ( «5« ) 
 
 terary regale which his library afforded. 
 The contests to which he was exposed , 
 when he went out, rather grieved than 
 irritated him ; and he returned to his 
 books and experiments to raise his spirits, 
 not to allay the ferment of his passions. 
 He cared little for exteriors ; he knew 
 his body could subsist without the va- 
 nities and luxuries of the world ; and he 
 depended on the promise, that the 
 righteous should not be utterly forsaken. 
 During his seclusion from society, he had 
 cultivated and improved the powers of 
 that never-dying mind which was des- 
 tined to expatiate for ever amid the 
 unveiled glories of creation, and to enjoy, 
 after its probationary trials in this labo- 
 rious world, a Sabbath of endless rest. 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent often advised him to 
 remove from this disaffected neighbour- 
 hood, and seek the protection of the 
 King's quarters ; but Dr. Beaumont al- 
 ways strenuously insisted, that the period
 
 ( *S9 ) 
 
 of his usefulness on his present station 
 must not be determined by himself. The 
 conversation was renewed on the night 
 appointed for rejoicing, when the riotous 
 exultation of the villagers disturbed the 
 tranquillity which used to reign at the 
 Rector's fire-side. " Fear," said he to 
 to his sister, " magnifies danger. At 
 present, nothing has happened to prevent 
 my continuing where I am now fixed in 
 the cure of souls ; and when my Master 
 prescribes my dismissal, he will send 
 some awakening providence that shall 
 indicate his will. Report magnifies every 
 thing, especially the foul language of our 
 enemies, and often changes dissensiohsinto 
 feuds. I know not how long my residing 
 here may be useful to others, nor whom 
 I may yet be able to reclaim, by shewing 
 that I can bear injury and encounter 
 opposition without renouncing my own 
 principles, or calumniating my opponents j 
 but this I know, I am labouring at my
 
 ( i6° ) 
 
 post like a faithful subject, and had all 
 men done the same, our good King would 
 not now have been seen snatching his 
 meal under a hedge like a common men- 
 dicant, nor would the great seal of Eng- 
 land have had to be secretly carried to 
 him like the booty of a cut-purse. 
 
 " The King's quarters, my dear Mel- 
 licent, will be filled with those court-flies 
 who fed on the goodly vine till they had 
 sucked all its juices, and, now winter is 
 come, care not for its nakedness, but seek 
 some covert where they may skulk till 
 summer returns. You and I should 
 make a notable appearance among those 
 who call splendor, life; and subtlety, 
 knowledge ; we could neither speak their 
 language nor enter into their views. — 
 While we pined with desire to see the 
 beauty of holiness restored, and the King's 
 throne re-erected in judgment, they would 
 be moaning for their masques and revels ; 
 for the royal grants and largesses j for
 
 iheir past enjoyments and present . priva- 
 tions. — Or, perhaps, they would be 
 scheming how they might creep into the 
 confidence of the Parliament, while we 
 wept the desolation of Zion. When the 
 Church reposes in safety, gladdened by 
 the favours of her spiritual bridegroom, 
 let her officials then fear lest a worldly 
 spirit should seize on them unawares, and 
 convert them into hirelings more intent 
 on the wages than on the service. Our 
 enemies say such have been the effects of 
 the long prosperity we have enjoyed ; if 
 so, a purifying fire must go forth among 
 the sons of Levi. The dross will be 
 consumed, but trust me, Mellicent, our 
 venerable mother will rise like a phcenix, 
 not consumed, but renewed and conse- 
 crated by the ordeal of adversity." 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent here reminded him, that 
 he had other ties beside that of a Chris- 
 tian pastor, and she pointed to the young 
 Constantia, who, overcome with watching,
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
 had fallen asleep in the great wicker- chair* 
 " Look at that girl," said she ; " con- 
 sider her warm heart, and melting sensi- 
 bility, her unusual beauty, delicate frame 
 and tender years. Surely, brother, she 
 wants a father, as much as the Church of 
 England a friend." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont turned his head, recol- 
 lected his lost Alicia at that age, and 
 thanked Heaven that she had " safely 
 passed the waves of this troublesome 
 world." " Had Rogers or Taylor, my 
 dear sister," said he, " been drawn to 
 the earth by such a magnet, we should 
 have lost those shining examples of true 
 fortitude, and should have gone on, still 
 stumbling in the darkness of papacy. «— 
 The torch of truth was kindled at the, 
 penal fires which consumed the martyrs, 
 and its light illuminated distant ages and 
 nations. He who bears the sacred cha- 
 racter of ambassador of God should 
 constantly remember that all other titles
 
 ( i«3 ) 
 
 yield to its glorious superiority. It was 
 the boast of the church of Rome, that 
 her clergy acted not as individuals aiming 
 at their own benefit, but as a compacted 
 body actuated by one impulse and to- 
 wards one object, the advantage and su- 
 premacy of the church. For this end 
 they fed the poor at the convent-gates, 
 the monastery was an asylum to the af- 
 flicted, and the middle orders were con- 
 ciliated by that lenient treatment which 
 procured them respect as mild masters 
 and most indulgent landlords. At a time 
 when tyranny and rapacity reigned in the 
 castle, the clergy were' a chain binding 
 the great to their inferiors. We know 
 by what unnatural restraints the Romish 
 clergy were made thus superior to pri- 
 vate interest, but let us not give them 
 cause to say, that celibacy is necessary to 
 prevent the man of God from becoming 
 a man of the world. The ties of nature 
 which he owns in common with others,
 
 ( i«4 ) 
 
 must not supersede those duties which 
 bind him to his congregation. He does 
 not profess, like the priest at mass, to be 
 a mediator between God and man, but 
 he pleads to the rich in behalf of po- 
 verty ; to the powerful for those who 
 require protection. He instructs the in- 
 digent to be grateful ; he stops the arm 
 of oppression ; he curbs avarice, by re- 
 minding it of the state where riches avail 
 not; he comforts affliction, by proving 
 that temporal distress* however great, may 
 be supported. Our calling requires us 
 thus to preach, and shall not our lives 
 be a living comment on our doctrines? 
 Shall our conversation prove that our un- 
 sanctified hearts are devoted to sensuality 
 and aggrandisement, that we hold the 
 censers with unhallowed hands, and in 
 reality love the riches and pleasures 
 which in our pulpits we affect to re-
 
 ( >6 5 ) 
 
 " You have wandered from the sub- 
 ject, my good brother," said Mrs. Mel- 
 licent ; " I was not talking of riches 
 and pleasures, but of preserving a father 
 for a poor girl, who, if any evil be- 
 fall you, will have no protector. It is 
 a long time since we heard from the 
 mountains, and Isabel's last letter gave 
 no hope that poor Evellin would ever be 
 able even to take care of himself. She 
 says that their dwelling is comfortable, 
 their farm equal to their support, and 
 that the disturbers of the world have 
 not got among them. She writes cheer- 
 fully, but her writing is much altered* 
 I was thinking we might take shelter 
 there whenever those awakening provi- 
 dences, which my forebodings tell me 
 are at hand, shall compel you to own 
 that you are discharged from the care 
 of ungrateful Ribblesdale." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by 
 Dame Humphreys, who rushed abruptly
 
 ( 1 66 ) 
 
 into the house, lamenting that things 
 should come to this pass, and conjuring 
 his reverence not to think any of her 
 family were concerned in it. It was 
 with difficulty that her agitation per- 
 mitted her to state, that a mob bent on 
 mischief were coming to the rectory ; 
 whether the house or the life of the 
 pastor was threatened she could not 
 discover, but the purport of her visit 
 was to put them on their guard. A 
 riotous crowd, inflamed alike with liquor 
 and fanaticism, is a formidable object 
 to the most determined courage ; but 
 escape was now impossible, and remon- 
 strance would be utterly unavailing ; 
 there was only time to put up the slight 
 fastenings to the doors and windows, 
 which, as they corresponded to the peace- 
 ful and unsuspecting character of the 
 owner of the mansion, could not long 
 resist the infuriate attack of the besotted 
 populace. 1 1
 
 ( i*1 ) 
 
 But their rage was pointed at another 
 object, the Doctor's library, which was 
 placed in a detached building in the 
 garden, and fell an undefended sacrifice 
 to their rage. The voice of Davies was 
 heard, encouraging the destruction of a 
 treasure which he had long envied, and 
 the flames soon afforded him sufficient 
 light to point out the objects of his par- 
 ticular abhorrence to which his ignorance 
 gave false or exaggerated descriptions. 
 A cast of Apollo destroying Python, he 
 termed Moses and the brazen serpent, 
 and named himself the Hezekiah who 
 would break it in pieces and call it Ne- 
 hushtan. " See, my Christian brethren," 
 said he, " how truly I spake when I 
 called this slumbering watchman, this 
 dumb dog, a worshipper of idols of 
 wood and stone. This is his oratory ; 
 but instead of a godly laboratory which 
 should turn carnal lead into spiritual 
 gold, what see we but provocatives to sin-
 
 ( »6S ) 
 
 ful thoughts. Here are no sackcloth and 
 ashes, camel's hair and leathern girdles ; 
 this prophet's chamber has its silks and 
 sattins, stuffed cushions and curtains, 
 screens and wrapping gowns. The walls 
 are hung with paintings of fair Jezebels, 
 whom he calls Mary and Magdalen, 
 though it is well known, they were 
 godly women, who never braided their 
 hair or put on gorgeous apparel. See 
 you that bust ? It represents Diana of the 
 Ephesians, the very Diana who endan- 
 gered Paul's life ; and did I not rightly 
 call this malignant priest Alexander the 
 copper-smith ? And here are necromanc- 
 ing figures," (taking up the Doctor's 
 mathematical exercises,) " squares and 
 triangles, and the sun, moon and stars, 
 which Job said he never worshipped. — - 
 And here is that unrighteous Baby- 
 lonish instrument, an organ, which 
 proves he is either a Jew or a Papist, 
 as none but the favourers of abomi-
 
 ( '69 ) 
 
 nable superstition make dumb devices 
 speak, when they might chaunt holy 
 psalms and hymns with their own voices. 
 And here are similitudes of Nero and 
 Domitian, bloody persecutors, my bre- 
 thren ; which shews that he loved ty- 
 rants, and would have made us fry a 
 faggot, had not the light of my preach- 
 ing broke in upon his darkness, and made 
 him like a rat with a bell, a scarecrow 
 to the unconverted. Touch not his 
 books, dearly beloved, they will prove 
 the Devil's bird-lime, teaching you to 
 despise my godly ministry ; they will 
 teach you nothing but Pagan fables or 
 Romish ceremonies. Can Aristotle preach 
 the Gospel ? Do those church-histories 
 tell us about saving faith ? I tell you 
 nay; therefore burn them altogether, 
 and break the idols in pieces, and tear 
 away the paintings, and demolish the 
 Jewish instruments that send forth sounds 
 of levity when the player upon them 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 ( *7° ) 
 
 is disposed to provoke his hearers to 
 wanton dances and vain mirth. So let 
 us purify the place with fire, that the 
 slumbering watchman may be awakened 
 to a consideration of his offences and 
 learn to repent," &c. &c, 
 
 An harangue so well adapted to inflame 
 the minds of a drunken mob, produced 
 a destruction as complete as Davies could 
 desire, in whose mind zeal had produced 
 a similar intoxication. At this instant 
 Mr. Morgan arrived with a band of con- 
 stables to protect Dr. Beaumont and his 
 property. As the rescue came too late, 
 the magistrate conceived it to be his duty 
 to reprove the rioters, and dismiss them 
 with an assurance, that if ever they again 
 presumed to let their holy joy at the pro- 
 sperity of the good cause stimulate them 
 to actions which the law did not justify, 
 he must resort to severer measures than 
 censuring their misconduct. He then 
 advised them to go quietly to their own
 
 ( »JM ) 
 
 houses, and as it was their first offence, 
 he would endeavour to soften their beha- 
 viour to the commissioners whom Parlia- 
 ment had appointed conservators of the 
 peace of the county. 
 
 He now inquired after the health of 
 the family, sent in his service to the 
 Doctor, and expressed his intention of 
 coming in to comfort him in his misfor- 
 tunes. Every drop of Mrs. Mellicent's 
 blood rushed into her face at the effron- 
 tery of his proposal, and the familiar terms 
 in which it was couched ; but her brother 
 begged her to consider that since no good 
 could arise from appearing to feel an in- 
 sult which they had not power to punish, 
 the best way would be to seem to regard 
 it in another light ; Morgan therefore 
 was admitted. 
 
 He began with expressing his concern 
 
 for Dr. Beaumont's pecuniary loss, and 
 
 inquired at what sum he valued his books 
 
 and paintings. The Doctor answered, 
 
 I 2
 
 ( »72 ) 
 
 he would endeavour to make out an esti- 
 mate, which he would present at the 
 quarter-sessions, and pray for indemnifi- 
 cation. He added, the severest part of 
 his loss consisted in manuscripts and other 
 valuables, inconceivably precious to him- 
 self, but of which (as money would not 
 replace them) he should say nothing. 
 
 " My mother's picture and letters," 
 said Constantia, lifting her head from 
 Mrs. Mellicent's bosom, where she had 
 sunk, from the extreme languor that suc- 
 ceeded the violent hysterics into which 
 the terrors of this alarming night had 
 thrown her. A more lovely or interest- 
 ing object could scarcely be conceived 
 than this charming girl, just ripening 
 into woman, her mind mature beyond 
 her years, and her heart agitated by the 
 finest feelings of filial distress. Morgan 
 gazed with involuntary approbation, while 
 she threw her glossy ringlets from her 
 face with one hand, and held out the
 
 ( *73 ) 
 
 other to welcome one whom she thought 
 a pitying friend and protector of her 
 father. 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent hastily snatched back 
 the offered hand, and whispered, " Hush! 
 child, you will bring on a return of your 
 fits." 
 
 Morgan distended his broad face with 
 a smile, which looked extremely like a 
 grin, and talked of Dr. Beaumont's hap- 
 piness in possessing what would always 
 put him in mind of his wife. He then 
 enlarged on the crosses and losses people 
 often met with, and on the duties of 
 patience and content. He made a swift 
 transition to his own prosperous situation ; 
 declared when he began business he but 
 just knew how to read and write, and had 
 only a quire of paper and a case of pens ; 
 yet he was now worth ten thousand 
 pounds. He thought the world would 
 be a very good one as soon as a few lord- 
 lings were pulled down, such, for in- 
 
 1 3
 
 ( 174 ) 
 
 stance, as the Earl of Derby, who turned 
 up his nose at people of fortune, and 
 prevented even him from hunting on his 
 manors, though exercise was good for 
 his health, and he was very fond of hare 
 and partridge. He talked of the influence 
 he possessed at the quarter-sessions ; as- 
 sured Dr. Beaumont he would use it in 
 his favour ; then shaking Constantia by 
 the hand, bade her not spoil her pretty 
 face with crying, and thus concluded his 
 friendly visit. 
 
 " A vulgar knave," said Mrs. Melli- 
 cent, pushing-to the door. " Such visi- 
 tors are more provoking than loss of pro- 
 perty. If you are of my mind, brother, 
 you will lose every shilling sooner than 
 owe retribution to the son of your father's 
 shoemaker.' * 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered that since he 
 was intrusted with a delegation of the 
 King's authority, he should, as long as 
 he ostensibly preserved his allegiance,
 
 ( >7S ) 
 
 look at the magistrate instead of the man ; 
 but as to receiving any favour from him, 
 he was perfectly easy on that score, being 
 sure he did not mean to shew him any. 
 " I owe it to my own character, and to 
 my child's interest," continued he, " to 
 apply for redress, but I look upon this 
 as the first of many misfortunes which 
 these convulsed times will bring upon me. 
 When the head suffers grievously, the 
 members must be indisposed. I should 
 blush to be exempt from the misfortunes 
 which weigh down my King." 
 
 A few days restored the Beaumont 
 family to tranquillity ; devotional exer- 
 cises, and the resources of an enlarged 
 mind, preserved the Doctor from sinking 
 into depression. Constantia, ashamed of 
 her want of fortitude, strained every 
 nerve to imitate her father, though in her 
 efforts to amuse him, the involuntary 
 tears which her weakness could not re- 
 strain, excited in his breast more painful 
 i 4
 
 ( 176 ) 
 
 feelings than the malice of his enemies 
 had power to occasion. Mrs. Mellicent 
 was fully occupied by the villagers, many 
 of whom were hurt at the riot, but as 
 they happened to be (according to their 
 own report) all belonging to the harm- 
 less class of lookers-on, her cordial waters, 
 lotions, and plaisters, were in a constant 
 state of requisition ; this, added to the 
 indispensable duty of scolding them for 
 not keeping in their own houses when 
 such mischief was afloat, kept her tongue 
 and hands in continual action. 
 
 One night, as the Doctor was dismissing 
 his household after family-prayers, with 
 his usual exhortation, " to faint not, 
 neither be weary in well-doing ;" the 
 trampling of horses was heard at the gate, 
 and four strangers craved his hospitality. 
 A gentleman muffled in a riding-coat, 
 whose voice and figure recalled indis- 
 tinct recollections, introduced a tall in- 
 genuous-looking youth, a blooming girl*
 
 ( *77 ) 
 
 and a person habited as a servant. " We 
 are of the King's party," said the grace- 
 ful stranger ; " and need no other re- 
 commendation to Dr. Beaumont for a 
 night's lodging. Besides myself, a broken 
 gentleman, here are a poor boy and 
 girl, benumbed with fatigue, and an old- 
 fashioned servant, who will not leave a 
 ruined master." At hearing these words, 
 Mrs. Mellicent rushed to the door, to 
 assure them that the beds were well-aired. 
 Constantia flew to assist in serving up 
 supper ; the Doctor lifted the young 
 people from their horses, and all were 
 in a few minutes assembled in his par* 
 lour. 
 
 " Allow me, Sir, to help off your 
 coat," said Mrs. Mellicent ; " and my 
 dear young lady, draw nearer the fire. 
 — Your face reminds me of some 
 whom I well knew. When the King 
 kept court at Oxford, 1 spent a winter 
 there ; could I have known your me- 
 
 1 5
 
 ( '78 ) 
 
 ther?" — " You knew her well/ 5 said 
 the agonized stranger. " Dear Euse- 
 bius, have you forgot me?" " No, 
 Evellin," replied Dr. Beaumont, folding 
 the man of sorrows to his bosom, 
 " Where is our Isabel ?" — " In Hea- 
 ven!" replied he, " and has left these 
 treasures to the keeping of a crazed wan- 
 derer, who has no other portion than 
 his sword, no relic of his former self 
 but his honour." 
 
 Tears and embraces followed ; even 
 Mrs. Mellicent wept as she alternately 
 clasped Eustace and Isabel to her heart. 
 Her first care was to distinguish who they 
 were like ; and in their blended resem- 
 blance to both parents, she explained the 
 confused ideas of recollection which her 
 niece had excited at her first appearance. 
 She then went out to see that due care 
 was taken of Williams ; nor were the 
 horses forgotten, for they belonged to a 
 gentleman and a Loyalist, and had con-
 
 ( i79 ) 
 
 veyed to her arms the precious offspring 
 of her beatified sister. 
 
 Eustace, Isabel, and Constantia, scarce 
 needed the bond of kindred to ensure 
 affection. Their ages, habits, manners, 
 and principles, so well accorded, that 
 their liking was instantaneous. The only 
 difference was, that the young Evellins, 
 " bred on the mountain's rough side," 
 inured to severer trials, and exercised in 
 a daily course of rigid duty, displayed an 
 energy and self-dependance which agree- 
 ably contrasted the polished sweetness and 
 feminine sensibility of Constantia Beau- 
 mont. Isabel was an admirable herbalist, 
 and expert in supplying all the wants of 
 a secluded family ; robust with health 
 and exercise, yet neither coarse in her per- 
 son, vulgar in her manners, nor sordid in 
 her mind. Constantia was mistress of every 
 elegant accomplishment ; she painted, 
 sung, touched the lute with exquisite 
 sweetness ; melted at every tale of woe ; 
 i 6
 
 ( i8o ) 
 
 loved all the world except her father's 
 enemies, and was willing, as far as her 
 slender frame permitted, to perform the 
 lowest offices that would promote the 
 welfare of others. Eustace was a year 
 older than the girls, and just on the 
 verge of fifteen, tall, and manly in mind 
 and person, panting for enterprize, full 
 of hope that he was able to correct the 
 disorders of the times, and sure that his 
 name would be recorded in the annals of 
 his country, as one who loved his church 
 and his King, and hated the Roundheads 
 and Fanatics. He soon drew the atten- 
 tion of his hearers by wishing he had 
 been at Hibblesdale on the night of the 
 riot, vowing he would have beat the 
 whole party, and tossed Davies into the 
 flames. 
 
 Constantia smiled for a moment, and 
 then shuddered at the idea of the sug- 
 gested torture. " I make no doubt he 
 would," said Isabel, " and then have
 
 ( iSi ) 
 
 rushed in himself to pull the villain out 
 again." 
 
 " But my dear Eustace," inquired 
 Constantia, " what are you to be ?*" 
 
 a A soldier to be sure," replied the 
 boy. " Have you not heard that the 
 King has set up his standard at Notting- 
 ham. My father has parted with our 
 farm, and raised a levy of troops among 
 the mountaineers, and he is going to fol- 
 low them to the King, with all the money 
 he has left, except a little which he leaves 
 for Isabel." 
 
 " I tell you, brother," returned the 
 sister, " we will dispute that point no 
 longer. The King is to have every shil- 
 ling ; for I know how to support myself 
 by my own labour." 
 
 " She shall never do that while we 
 have a house — Shall she, aunt Melli- 
 cent ?" said Constantia. 
 
 " No," returned the good lady ; " ho- 
 nest people are now scarce, so we must
 
 ( «82 ) 
 
 take care of each other. But, Eustaqe, 
 does your father approve of your turning 
 soldier while you are such a child ?" 
 
 " No, dear aunt, and that is the only 
 trouble I ever knew, except the death of 
 our blessed mother. I don't know his 
 reasons, but he wants to place me in 
 safety ; I hate safety, it sounds so wo- 
 manish. As we came along I met several 
 fellows less than myself, who said they 
 were ensigns. I know I could make an 
 ensign ; I could wrap the colours round 
 my body, and die with the staff in my 
 hand." 
 
 Constantia burst into tears, and de- 
 clared Eustace talked so shockingly she 
 could not bear it. 
 
 " My pretty love," said he, " I did 
 not mean to frighten you. No, I intend, 
 instead of being killed myself, to tear 
 down the rebel standards, and send 
 them to you. What would you do with 
 them? ,,
 
 ( i83 ) 
 
 Constantine paused a moment. — 
 " Would they," said she, " make a 
 tent for my dear father to sit and read 
 in ? It goes to my heart to see him 
 out of doors this stormy weather, wan- 
 dering about and Jooking at his burnt 
 library." 
 
 " Could I not put it a little in repair 
 while I stay?" inquired Eustace. " I am a 
 very good mason, and a tolerable carpenter. 
 I built a shed last year for the old poney. 
 Isabel, you can glaze the windows, and 
 white-wash. I think, between us, we 
 might put it into comfortable order." 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent, a little shocked at her 
 niece's avowing her expertness in these 
 handicraft employments, apprehended that 
 her lamented sister had neglected her 
 daughter's education through her solici- 
 tous attention to more important duties. 
 She began therefore to question her about 
 her accomplishments — " Can you work 
 tent-stitch neat, my love ?" was her first
 
 ( 1% ) 
 
 inquiry. w No !" — " Bless me, had you 
 leather hangings to your best apart- 
 ments & Isabel was ignorant what hang- 
 ings meant. Mrs. Mellieent proceeded 
 to examine her skill in confectionery, and 
 found with astonishment it was a science 
 of which she did not know the name, 
 " Can you paint chimney-boards, or cut 
 paper, or work samplers ?" "' Dear 
 aunt," said Isabel, " lam a brown bird 
 of the mountains, as my mother called 
 me. She taught me to sing, because she 
 said it made work go on more merrily, but?' 
 the longest day was short enough for what 
 I had to do ; I was laundress, and semp- 
 stress, and cook, and gardener ; and if 
 Cicely went to look for the sheep, I had to 
 milk and bake, and at night I mended 
 my father's fishing-nets, while I was 
 learning Latin with Eustace. Yet I 
 got through all very well, till my mother 
 fell sick, and then I nursed and dressed, 
 her, as she lay helpless on the pallet.. 
 3
 
 ( is 5 ) 
 
 But if I live with you, I will learn all 
 your employments, for I am never happy 
 when I am idle, and my only wish is to 
 be useful." 
 
 " There is sterling worth in this 
 rustic hoyden," thought Mrs. Mellicent, 
 who, in contriving some occupation for so 
 active a mind, recollected that Mrs. 
 Beaumont's dressing-plate had not been 
 cleaned lately, and undertook to make 
 Isabel expert in furbishing the delicate 
 filigree. She called on Constantia to 
 give up the key, it being considered as 
 her property, who blushed, hesitated, 
 begged not to be questioned on the 
 subject, and at last owned it was 
 gone." 
 
 " Gone ! to. whom ?" " Dear aunt," 
 returned Constantia, stealing a look at the 
 approving eye of Eustace, " I sent it to 
 the King at York, as the only contribu- 
 tion in my power. You must not be 
 angry. My father and you set the-
 
 ( 186 ) 
 
 example, by parting with all the money 
 and valuables you could collect, and I 
 thought it a bad excuse that, because I 
 was under age, I might not send my 
 mite to assist him, so I packed it up 
 with my mother's jewels, and I am happy 
 to say they got safe to His Majesty/' 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent tried to frown. " Foolish 
 girl," said she, " you should have kept 
 the essence-box at least, as an heir- 
 loom. It was a present from Henry the 
 Seventh's Queen to your great grand- 
 mother's aunt, who was her maid of 
 honour. There was the union of the 
 two roses wrought upon it ; the King, 
 standing with a red rose in his hand, 
 and the Queen with a white ; and a 
 Bishop between them, and a large dove 
 at the top, with an olive-branch in his 
 mouth, so beautiful that it fell in festoons 
 all down the side. Well, I am thankful 
 that I took off the pattern in chain-stitch. 
 It will shew what good blood you spring
 
 ( i87 ) ■ 
 
 from when people come to be again 
 valued for their families." Mrs. Mellicent 
 retired to her chamber, secretly pleased 
 with the dispositions of her young charge, 
 and inclined to believe that a parcel of 
 beggarly republicans could not long 
 domineer over such generous and as- 
 piring minds.
 
 ( iS3 ) 
 
 CHAP. VIL 
 
 O War, thou son of Hell, 
 Throw, in the frozen bosoms of our part, 
 Hot coals of vengeance, let no soldier fly; 
 He that is truly dedicate to war 
 Hath no ielf-love. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 r I ^HE Impatience of Evellin to join 
 ■*■ his royal master frustrated the hos- 
 pitable wish of Dr. Beaumont to detain 
 his brother-in-law at Ribblesdale. A 
 few weeks were all he would grant, and 
 even this time was not unemployed, for 
 Williams was sent forward to present 
 the levy and supply of money to the 
 King, to inquire where he would com- 
 mand his services, and to procure arms 
 and accoutrements. 
 
 During this interval, the Doctor found,, 
 with unspeakable pleasure, that the in- 
 tellectual disorder of Evellin, which had
 
 ( i8 9 ) 
 
 been caused by too keen a sense of his 
 wrongs, was composed rather than height- 
 ened by the severe loss he had lately 
 sustained. The death of that faithful 
 partner, who had sacrificed her life in 
 labouring for his benefit, impressed on 
 him the conviction that he must either 
 exert himself, or perish. The tender age 
 of his children peremptorily required 
 his assistance, and to a mind formed 
 like his, a still more awakening consi- 
 deration presented itself in the dangers 
 and difficulties of his King. Was it 
 worthy of the true Earl of Bellingham 
 to wander among wilds and fastnesses, 
 weeping for a dead wife, or raving at a 
 false friend, when England's throne 
 tottered under its legitimate Sovereign, 
 and the lowest of the people, (like owls 
 and satyrs in the capital of Assyria) 
 fixed their habitations in the pleasant 
 palaces where luxury late reigned ! He 
 felt that he had too long behaved like a
 
 ( W ) 
 
 woman, pining in secret when he ought 
 to have acted ; while his faithful consort, 
 with masculine courage, opposed her 
 tender frame to the tempest, and, at 
 length, sunk beneath the added terrors 
 of his imbecility. His weakness in 
 lamenting an irremediable evil, was the 
 fault to which he owed the loss of his 
 invaluable Isabel. He would now shew 
 how truly he deplored that loss, by 
 changing moody reflection into vigorous 
 action, and by becoming a protector and 
 support to the family to which he had 
 hitherto been a burden. To such a 
 state of mind, the situation of the King 
 supplied a powerful impetus, and Dr. 
 Beaumont saw, with pleasure, that loy- 
 alty was likely to give full scope to those 
 fine qualities, which had hitherto, like 
 smothered fire, consumed the fabric in 
 which they were engendered. 
 
 He, however, entreated Evellin not to 
 compromise his own safety by acts of
 
 ( 19' ) 
 
 rashness, which could do his Prince no 
 good, but to wait the return of Williams 
 before he took the field. In raising a 
 band of mountaineers, he had acted 
 under the authority of the King's 
 commission of array, against which 
 Davies had preached, and Morgan had 
 inveighed, not only with vehemence, but 
 with falsehood. They had told the 
 yeomen and peasants, that " some lords 
 about the court said, twenty pounds a 
 year was enough for any peasant to live 
 upon, and, taking advantage of the com- 
 mission being in Latin, they translated 
 it into what English they pleased, per- 
 suading the freeholders, that at least two 
 parts of their estates would be taken 
 from them ; and the poorer sort, that one 
 day's labour in the week would be 
 extorted as a tax to the King *." These 
 
 * This and many of the following extracts 
 are from Lord Clarendon. 
 IO
 
 ( *9 2 ) 
 
 calumnies were not peculiar to Ribbles- 
 dale, but unhappily were diffused over 
 all the nation, in which a vast body of 
 people were grown up, who, like Mor- 
 gan, had acquired wealth, and were 
 ambitious of equal consequence with the 
 hereditary gentry and nobility, by whom 
 they found themselves despised for their 
 ignorance and coarse manners, and there- 
 fore endeavoured to supplant them. 
 Such men were every-where fast friends 
 to the Parliament, and by their freer 
 intercourse with the common people, 
 whose habits and ideas were originally 
 their own, they misrepresented the 
 King's designs, and counteracted the 
 measures of those noble and brave pa- 
 triots, who, notwithstanding their dis- 
 like of some former measures, felt it 
 was their duty now to rally round the 
 throne. " Nor can it be remembered 
 without much horror, that this strange 
 wild-fire among the people was not so
 
 ( «93 ) 
 
 much and so furiously kindled by the 
 breath of the Parliament, as by that of 
 their clergy, who both administered fuel 
 and blowed the coals. These men having 
 crept into and at last driven all learned 
 and orthodox divines from the pulpits, 
 had, from the commencement of this 
 ? memorable Parliament,' under the no- 
 tion of reformation and extirpation of 
 popery, infused seditious inclinations 
 into the hearts of men againft the pre- 
 sent government of the church with 
 many libellous invectives against the state. 
 But now they contained themselves in no 
 bounds, and as freely and without con- 
 troul inveighed against the person of the 
 King, prophanely and blasphemously 
 applying whatever had been spoken by 
 God himself or the Prophets, against 
 the most wicked and impious Kings, to 
 incense and stir up the people against 
 their most gracious Sovereign. Besides 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 ( 194 ) 
 
 licensed divines, preaching and praying 
 was at that time practiced by almost all 
 men in the kingdom except scholars." 
 
 Thus as every parish had its Davies 
 and its Morgan, the unhappy Charles, 
 faultless as a man, and at worst 
 only ill-advised as a Monarch, found 
 himself, after much ineffectual submis- 
 sion, and many unconstitutional abridge- 
 ments of his lawful rights, required to 
 surrender the scanty remains of his 
 prerogative, and consent to be a state- 
 engine, in the hands of his enemies. 
 When, driven from his capital by riots, his 
 fleet, army, militia, garrisons, magazines, 
 revenues, nay, his palaces and person- 
 alities seized, by those who still called 
 themselves his most dutiful subjects, 
 and prefaced their requisitions, that he 
 would virtually surrender as their pri- 
 soner, with the title of an humble pe- 
 tition i when, after all these humiliations
 
 ( '95 ) 
 
 and privations, the King found it neces- 
 cessary to throw himself on the allegi- 
 ance of his faithful subjects, and to 
 appeal to arms by raising the royal 
 standard, only a few hundred, out of 
 the millions he governed, joined him. 
 Discouraged by this apparent defection, 
 some of his friends advised him to treat 
 with the Parliament, or, in other words. 
 to submit unconditionally. In aban- 
 doning his own personal rights, His 
 Majesty had gone as far as his conscience 
 would permit, and he chose rather to 
 suffer banishment or death, than yield 
 to abolish the church he had sworn to 
 defend, as Parliament now required 
 him to do, in the phrase of " casting 
 out an idle, unsound, unprofitable, and 
 scandalous ministry, and providing a 
 sound, godly, profitable, and preaching 
 ministry, in every congregation through 
 the land." Yet he so far conceded as 
 to make an offer of reconciliation, secretly 
 K 2
 
 ( '96 ) 
 
 convinced that the latent insolence with 
 which it would be rejected, though 
 couched in smooth language, would 
 awaken the nation to a sense of duty. 
 The event justified his expectation, and 
 the King was enabled to make a glo- 
 rious, but unsuccessful resistance, dur- 
 ing which, though many excellent per- 
 sons fell (himself among the number), 
 the principles of reciprocal duty between 
 King and subject were defined, and hy- 
 pocrites, fanatics, and republicans, were 
 completely unmafked. 
 
 It was during this lowering aspect of 
 the political horizon, while the clouds, 
 congregating from all quarters, menaced 
 a tremendous storm, that Evellin shel- 
 tered his woe-worn head at Ribblesdale. 
 The time was not lost ; for the well- 
 informed piety of the Doctor succeeded in 
 completely tranquillizing Eveilin's mind, 
 who, admitting him to unbounded confi- 
 dence, told him all his early sorrows, the
 
 ( 1Q 7 ) 
 
 enmity of Buckingham, the falsehood of 
 De Vallance, and the loss of his estate, 
 title, and high connection. When in the 
 sequel of his narrative, he stated that his 
 perfidious friend was at this time Earl of 
 Bellingham, the blood recoiled from Dr. 
 Beaumont's heart, .and he almost fainted 
 with horror. " Do I understand you," 
 said he ; " was De Vallance thus ex- 
 alted by the King? Was his wife the 
 Queen's confidante, the dispenser of her 
 favours and the adviser of her conduct ?" 
 He then shewed Evellin the British Mer- 
 cury, which stated, that this same Bel- 
 lingham had accepted a commission 
 under the Parliament ; that the treache- 
 rous favourite of the unfortunate Hen- 
 rietta Maria had charged her mistress 
 with the design of introducing popery 
 and arbitrary power, as well as of se- 
 cretly fomenting the Irish rebellion, and 
 that she had involved in her slanders the 
 merciful and truly religious King. 
 
 K 3
 
 ( '98 ) 
 
 " This infinitely transcends all," ex- 
 claimed Evellin, " and drives from my 
 remembrance the recollection of my pri- 
 vate wrongs. I consider the infernal pair 
 not merely as my enemies, but as the 
 common foes of man ; I regard them as 
 a tiger and hyaena, whom I ought to 
 hunt down and destroy. They are not 
 depraved human beings, tempted by am- 
 bition to sin greatly ; but demons, who 
 know no moral feelings either of honour., 
 pity, attachment, or gratitude." 
 
 " Restrain your warmth," said Dr. 
 Beaumont ; " this is only the natural 
 progress of inordinate desires unchecked 
 by principle, and gorged, not satiated, 
 by indulgence. She who would betray 
 a brother would never adhere to a fallen 
 benefactress. He who would ruin a 
 confiding friend, would desert his King 
 in adversity. A coronet, a large estate, 
 a magnificent castle, and splendid reti- 
 nue, were the baubles for which these
 
 i *99 ) 
 
 offenders forfeited their immortal souls, 
 The compact once made, cannot (they 
 think) be broken. Habit here becomes 
 fixed as the Ethiop's die or the leopard's 
 spots ; and greater crimes must secure 
 what lesser offences purchased." 
 
 The friends now consulted on their 
 future measures. Evellin was for con- 
 cealing his real self from the King, but 
 Dr. Beaumont advised that though he 
 should retain his borrowed name, as a 
 personal security in case he should fall 
 into the enemy's hands, the King should 
 know him for the injured Allan Neville. 
 " It will add to his distress," said Evel- 
 lin, ct to see a man whom he has 
 wronged, and has now no power to re- 
 dress." " It will console him," returned 
 Beaumont, " to find one generous and 
 loyal enough to forget injuries, when 
 others renounce benefits. Affliction ' is 
 sent by Providence, to teach us to re- 
 collect our ways. My loyalty does not 
 K 4
 
 ( 200 ) 
 
 make me forget that the Xing' is equally 
 subject to one great Master, nor am I 
 so desirous to secure his temporal re- 
 pose as to wish him to lose the advan- 
 tages of adversity. Let him by seeing 
 you be taught to distinguish between 
 flatterers and friends. It will be happy 
 for England if he regains his high sta- 
 tion ; it will do good to his own soul 
 when he comes to give an account of 
 his stewardship, at that tribunal before 
 which the emperor and the slave must 
 one day stand." 
 
 " Beaumont," said Evellin, grasping 
 the Doctor's hand, " you are still that 
 angel of truth who in my' early life led 
 my proud and rebellious thoughts to 
 seek the consolation of religious humi- 
 lity ; but in one circumstance you must 
 give my weakness way. My gallant boy, 
 ignorant of his noble birth, pants for 
 military fame with all that generous ar- 
 dour which during five centuries distin-
 
 ( 201 ) 
 
 guished his ancestors. He is the last 
 hope of an illustrious house. Accuse 
 me not of malice, or of folly, when I 
 own that, (next to the restoration of my 
 King,) I beg of heaven that he may be 
 spared to tear the polluted ermine from 
 the shoulders of this branded rebel, and 
 to purify the coronet of Bellingham from 
 the foul contamination it receives by bind- 
 ing a villain's brow. Toss this storm- 
 beaten carcase into any trench where it 
 may in future serve as a mound against 
 traitors ; but let my young nursling be 
 planted where the tempest that unroots 
 the cedars shall pass over without in- 
 juring his tender growth. You, Beau- 
 mont, are a man of peace, bound by 
 your functions to that bloodless warfare 
 which attacks opinions, not men. Take 
 him with you, wherever you go ; keep 
 him in your sight ; cultivate in him every 
 noble propensity, except his passion for 
 military renown. In all else he is the 
 
 K 5
 
 ( 202 ) 
 
 son of my desires ; and were it not for 
 my peculiar circumstances, he would be 
 so in this also. Consider him as a young 
 avenger destined by heaven to punish 
 the guilty, and never let despair of the 
 royal cause induce you to yield him to 
 his own impetuosity. While a branch 
 of the Stewart stock remains, fear not, 
 though these cursed malcontents cut 
 down the royal tree ; the Scion, wa- 
 tered by a nation's tears, shall still grow, 
 and the soiled regalia of England again 
 look splendid among contemporary king- 
 doms. At that period the descendants 
 of your Isabel shall reclaim the honours 
 to which my services, and perhaps my 
 death, will ensure them a renewed pa- 
 tent." 
 
 The Doctor complied with Evellin's 
 wishes, thinking the youth and extreme 
 impetuosity of Eustace rendered him 
 unfit to take arms for a cause which re- 
 quired coolness and experience; and which
 
 ( 203 ) 
 
 zeal, unrestrained by such adjuncts, was 
 likely to injure. He promised to use 
 every effort to direct the youth's studies 
 and guide his judgment, to consider him 
 as his son, and Isabel as his daughter.'* 
 " She is a worthy singular girl," said 
 Evellin, " but I have little fear for her ; 
 not that I love her less ; but she is one 
 of those safe useful beings whose active 
 and benevolent character always secures 
 friends, and whose self-controul and in- 
 difference to their own ease make them 
 comfortable in every situation." 
 
 It was determined by the gentlemen 
 that the young people should be kept in 
 perfect ignorance of Evellin's rank, but 
 since it seemed prudent to increase the 
 number of living witnesses of his identity, 
 Mrs. Mellicent was admitted into their 
 counsels. Though a woman* and an old 
 maid, she belonged to that extraordinary 
 class of people who can keep a secret ; 
 and I must do her the justice to say* that 
 K 6
 
 ( 204 ) 
 
 she never directly or indirectly betrayed 
 her trust. And whenever she reproved 
 the girls for what she called rompish 
 tricks, which, she insisted, were very un- 
 becoming in young ladies, she constantly 
 endeavoured to look at Constantia as ex- 
 pressively as she did at the c brown bird 
 of the mountains.' 
 
 All that now was wanting was the re- 
 turn of Williams, for which the impati- 
 ence of Evellin increased every hour. — 
 During this period of suspence, the fa- 
 mily were surprised one morning by a 
 visit from Sir William Waverly, who 
 came to inquire after the Doctor's health, 
 and to condole with him on the destruc- 
 tion of his library. He earnestly ad- 
 vised him to apply for indemnification, 
 and offered his services at the ensuing as- 
 sizes. Nothing could be more friendly 
 than Sir William's manner, or more libe- 
 ral than his promises ; but it unluckily 
 happened that Mrs. Mellicent, than whom 
 12
 
 ( 20 5 ) 
 
 n* judge was ever more attentive to facts 
 and dates, as well as to collateral cir- 
 cumstances, discovered that the polite 
 Baronet, ere he paid this visit, had just 
 time to hear of the King's victory at 
 Edgehill, which event she was severe 
 enough to believe, brought to recollec- 
 tion the loss sustained by his worthy 
 pastor three months before. She also 
 thought that the improved aspect of the 
 royal cause had occasioned a hamper of 
 game and venison to arrive at the rec- 
 tory, which the keeper confessed had 
 once been directed to Squire Morgan. 
 It must however be admitted, that Mrs. 
 Mellicent had a decided contempt for all 
 the family of Waver ly, which made her 
 scarcely just to their real deserts. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered the Baronet's 
 expressions of condolence with the firm- 
 ness of a man who shewed himself supe- 
 rior even to the loss of the most rational 
 and innocent delights. He soon changed
 
 ( 206 ) 
 
 the conversation to public affairs, when 
 Sir William, having first commended cau- 
 tion and moderation, observed, that it 
 began to be time for a wise man to choose 
 his party. 
 
 " An honest man must have chosen 
 his long ago," said Eustace, darting his 
 animated eyes from Caesar's Commenta- 
 ries to the countenance of the Baronet. 
 " Was that remark in your book i" in- 
 quired Dr. Beaumont, with a look of 
 calm reproof. " No, uncle," replied 
 the spirited boy, " but I loved my King 
 as soon as I knew I had one, and thought 
 every body did the same." 
 
 «* That is a fine youth," said Sir Wil- 
 liam, smiling ; " may I crave his name." 
 " My sister Isabel's son," replied the 
 Doctor ; " and Colonel Evellin's, I pre- 
 sume," added Sir William, " for it is . 
 now known that His Majesty has con- , 
 ferred on him that dangerous military 
 title,"
 
 ( 2C7 ) 
 
 • Evellin coolly answered, that his life 
 was his country's and his King's, and 
 that those who highly valued safety 
 never ought to buckle on a sword. 
 
 Sir William Waverly warmly repro- 
 bated a cold, selfish, time-serving cha- 
 racter, declaring that, in the opinion of 
 all his friends, his great fault consisted 
 in absolutely disregarding himself, while 
 he was sedulously attempting to benefit 
 mankind. After a few flaming periods 
 of egotism and flattery to a personage 
 whom he held most dear, namely him- 
 self, he reverted to the possibility of du- 
 ties being suspended in an equipoize so 
 nice that a reflecting man could not 
 know how to act between his King and 
 his country. 
 
 Evellin answered, that he thought it - 
 easy to distinguish between the free voice ' 
 of a well-informed people and the pro- 
 ceedings of an aspiring party, who, by 
 misrepresntation, terror, and an appeal 
 8
 
 ( 208 ) 
 
 to the worst passions, had gained an 
 undue influence j a party who, sup- 
 ported by men detesting every species 
 of restraint, and hoping every change 
 will benefit their condition, pass them- 
 selves upon the world as the British na- 
 tion. " As well," said he, " may we 
 venture to call their language to the 
 King loyalty, or their actions law and 
 justice, as to misname the present House 
 of Commons, the representatives of Eng- 
 land ; when every friend to His Majesty 
 or the constitution has been ejected, ba- 
 nished, or imprisoned, by votes passed 
 under the immediate influence of hired 
 mobs of apprentices, prostitutes, and 
 the worst rabble London contains." 
 
 " Quite my opinion," resumed Sir 
 William ; " yet, Sir, though I exces- 
 sively condemn and lament the unfortu- 
 nate length to which Parliament has gone, 
 I must say, that at the beginning there 
 were faults on both sides. His Majesty
 
 ( 20 9 ) 
 
 was wrong, evidently wrong, and then 
 Parliament went too far, and then the 
 King promised and retracted, and then 
 they applied to more coercive measures, 
 till really it becomes doubtful who is 
 most to blame." 
 
 " When," said Evellin, " you can 
 find in the King's actions any violation 
 of the constitution as flagrant as either 
 the legal assassination of Lord Strafford, 
 in which all forms and usages of Parlia- 
 ment were violated ; the accusation of 
 Laud, that eminent defender of the Pro- 
 testant faith, for Popery ; the imprison- 
 ment of the bishops for claiming their 
 ancient privileges ; or, lastly, a dependent 
 and elective body voting itself supreme 
 and permanent, and in that state levying 
 war upon the King, by whose writs they 
 were first summoned and consolidated ; 
 when you can find, I say, in the arbitrary 
 proceedings of the Star Chamber, or of 
 the High Commission courts,' actions as
 
 ( 210 ) 
 
 repugnant to our fundamental laws as 
 these, I will then agree with you, Sir 
 William Waverly, and admit that a wise 
 and considerate man would doubt what 
 party to choose, as not knowing which 
 was most to blame." 
 
 Sir William protested that there was 
 not a man in England who lamented, 
 more bitterly than himself, the excess 
 which had brought the popular cause into 
 disrepute ; yet he thought candour re- 
 quired us to make allowances for the 
 heat of debate, and the ebullition of pas- 
 sion incident to deliberative assemblies, 
 which made the members often push 
 matters further than they intended ; and 
 he extremely regretted that the King, by 
 some ill-advised steps, such as that of 
 violating the freedom of Parliament, by 
 personally demanding five members to. 
 be given up to his vengeance, had fo- 
 mented a spirit of animosity which mild 
 counsels might have subdued*
 
 ( 211 ) 
 
 These qualifying remarks irritated 
 Evellin. " After a series of not merely 
 passive, but submissive actions," said he, 
 " after yielding one member of the 
 Council to the Tower, and another to the 
 block, from which even a King's prayer, 
 for a friend and servant, could not pro- 
 cure unhappy Wentworth a day's re- 
 spite, His Majesty did, I must own, 
 adopt rash counsels. But it is not their 
 illegality so much as his weakness in 
 threatening when he wanted strength to 
 punish, that I condemn. If your objec- 
 tion to the royal cause be founded on the 
 distraction and imbecility that have marked 
 the measures by which it has been sup- 
 ported, I must cease to rouse your dor- 
 mant loyalty. It is not in the defenceless 
 tents of our Prince that we must seek 
 for safety ; we must leave him to his fate, 
 on the same principle that we abandon 
 a naked child to the attacks of a man 
 clad in complete armour/'
 
 ( 2'2 ) 
 
 Dr. Beaumont now took part in the 
 debate. " If," said he, " we look back 
 to the original pretences of those who 
 set out as reformers, I think we shall 
 be able to form a clear decision as to 
 the part we ourselves should act, where 
 the confusion they labour to excite has 
 actually commenced. They first unsettle 
 our obedience by discovering what they 
 call the iniquity of our governors ; and 
 indeed it is not difficult for those who 
 look with a malignant eye on their con- 
 duct to perceive such errors, or, if you 
 will, vices, as an artful and censorious 
 temper may dress up into glaring enor- 
 mities, especially if it deals in thofe exag- 
 gerations which people, who give up their 
 understandings to the views of a party, 
 call true representations. The man of 
 dullest intellect can discover faults in 
 extensive complicated systems, and the 
 more he confines his view, the more 
 must he see matters in detail, and not in
 
 ( 2i 3 ) 
 
 their general tendency. Yet these illi- 
 beral censors are sure to be regarded, 
 because in all countries the majority of 
 the people (I mean such as are unin- 
 formed) wish for nothing so much as to 
 be their own masters, which they suppose 
 will be the immediate consequence of 
 overthrowing the existing system. A 
 reformer thus sets off with every possible 
 advantage, with an auditory predisposed 
 to listen, and a fair field for censure, in 
 which malice and ingenuity have space 
 to expatiate ; nor can his own pretensions 
 to purity and wisdom at first be ques- 
 tioned, for as he generally rises from an 
 obscure station, his former conduct is 
 not known, and the glibness of his ora- 
 tory, and the popularity of his topics, 
 gain him ample credence for all the 
 excellent qualities to which he lays claim. 
 'Tis true, when he has gained the as- 
 cendancy he aims at, his behaviour ge- 
 nerally shews him to be not only frail
 
 ( 2i 4 ) 
 
 and faulty, but a worse knave than any 
 he has exposed ; but before he thus dis- 
 covers himself, he has gained a hold 
 either of the affections or the fears of the 
 multitude, which, added to their reluc- 
 tance to owning their own mistake, main- 
 tains his popularity till a rival incendiary 
 rises to dispossess him. In the mean 
 time, candour, who was pushed behind 
 the scenes, when she came to plead for 
 our lawful governors, is brought into 
 play, and made to utter fine declamations 
 on the impossibility of always acting right, 
 and on the distinction between public and 
 private virtue, bespeaking that indulgence 
 for usurpers or factious demagogues 
 which was denied to the lapses of lawful 
 rulers, whose inclinations at least must 
 be on the side of an upright and wise 
 administration, because they have a per- 
 manent interest in the welfare of the 
 nation. The delusions of which I speak 
 seldom last long j an enlightened people
 
 ( **5 ) 
 
 perceives the cheat ; but it is lamentable 
 that the tricks of these political puritans 
 should never grow stele by practice, and 
 that as often as a pseudo-reformer starts 
 up with pretensions to great honesty and 
 great wisdom, England should forget how 
 often she has been deceived, and allow 
 him to excite a tumult which wiser heads 
 and better hearts cannot allay." 
 
 Sir William found no difficulty in re- 
 plying to the Doctor. He had only to 
 admit that his remarks were very just ; 
 but, at the same time, he must say, that, 
 if pushed to their full extent, they would 
 tend to establish abuses ; since, who 
 would dare to arrest the strong arm of 
 tyranny, if liable to the odium which 
 was thus cast on all promoters of re- 
 formation ? 
 
 " 1 spake not of reformers truly so 
 called," said Dr. Beaumont, " but of 
 those factious persons who, to promote 
 their own ends, tamper with the inflam.
 
 ( "6 ) 
 
 mable passions of the populace, and, 
 instead of amending errors, snarl at 
 restraints. A true patriot points out 
 defects with a view to have them re- 
 moved, and brings himself into as little 
 notice as possible. We may as well 
 pretend that WicklifFe and Jack Cade 
 were moved by the same spirit, as say, 
 that we cannot discern between those 
 who seek to do good, and those who 
 would breed distractions. Yet, as the 
 mass of mankind are either too ignorant 
 or too much occupied to discover the 
 sophistry by which, for a time, falsehood 
 passes for truth, \ it is an ill sign of the 
 situation of a kingdom when controversy 
 gets among the ignorant, the illiberal, 
 or the ill-designing, or even when it 
 descends to those who should practise, 
 being too unskilful to debate, and too 
 violent to differ, without breach of cha- 
 rity.' I have fortified my opinion by 
 the words of an able, uncorrupt states-
 
 ( **7 ) 
 
 man, who, though he shared the grace 
 and favour of many mighty Kings, died 
 in honest poverty, knowing the weak- 
 ness of mankind, but scorning to apply 
 it to his own emolument — I mean Sir 
 Henry Wootton. And his sentiments are 
 confirmed by the son of Sirach, whose 
 reflections have been thought worthy of 
 being annexed to the volume of inspira- 
 tion. After observing that c the wisdom 
 of the wise man cometh by opportunity 
 of leisure,' and that they whose time 
 is occupied in husbandry or handicraft- 
 work, are devoted to those necessary but 
 humble employments which render them- 
 selves respectable, and benefit the pub- 
 lic, he asserts, c they shall not be sought 
 for in public councils, nor sit high in 
 the congregation. They cannot declare 
 justice and judgment, and they shall not 
 be found where dark parables are spo- 
 ken.' Yet, Sir, these are the men who, ia 
 VOL* h &
 
 . ( 218 ) 
 
 our disastrous times, have menaced and 
 governed the popular branch of our le- 
 gislature, till they have drawn away all 
 but their own partizans, and denied their 
 King the rights of conscience, while they 
 claim for themselves unbounded licence. 
 These men are now virtually our rulers ; 
 nor will they be content with dethron- 
 ing the King and annihilating the nobles, 
 for they will not rest till they have le- 
 velled every gentleman who pretends to 
 hereditary distinctions of rank, fortune, 
 or privilege, and torn down every symbol 
 of greatness which offends their ambitious 
 littleness. So then, every one who has 
 any thing valuable to lose, ought, in 
 policy, as well as in conscience, to sup- 
 port the throne, with whose rights his 
 own are inseparably blended." 
 
 Sir William answered, that though, 
 from the great mildness of his temper, 
 he seldom expressed himself with warmth,
 
 ( 2i 9 ) 
 
 he always acted with decision. He had 
 that morning issued orders to raise a regi- 
 ment among his own tenantry. 
 
 " And you will march them to join 
 the King V* said Eustace. 
 
 " A very fine precipitate youth !" re- 
 turned the Baronet, smiling ; "no, brave 
 young man, your good uncle has taught 
 me another lesson, and I trust you will 
 also allow him to restrain your ardour. 
 He has himself set us the example of 
 staying at his post in the hour of dan- 
 ger. The peace of our own county is 
 of the first consequence. I shall there- 
 fore train my force, and keep it ready 
 to call out, in case any disturbance 
 should arise in our own neighbour- 
 hood." 
 
 " Aye," replied Eustace, " protect 
 Waverly Park ; 'twere a pity it should 
 be despoiled and plundered." 
 
 " No good could accrue to the King 
 
 L 2
 
 ( 220 ) 
 
 from the ruin of a loyal subject," said 
 Sir William. 
 
 *' But," observed Eustace, " you have 
 a son who has just attained full majority, 
 do you not find it difficult to keep him 
 out of action? Surely his heart beats 
 high to join the noble Stanley, to whom 
 the King has intrusted the whole County 
 Palatine." 
 
 " You know not," returned Sir Wil- 
 liam, " how you distress me by this in- 
 quiry. Heaven forbid I should insinuate 
 any thing against so brave a gentleman 
 and so loyal a subject as the Earl of 
 Derby ; but he has lived so little with 
 his equals that he knows not how to treat 
 his inferiors ; and, unhappily, the stateli- 
 ness of his manners has so indisposed 
 this county, that people of no name, and 
 contemned interest, have snatched it out 
 of his hands, the disaffected being moved, 
 not, so much by dislike to the King or r fa-
 
 ( 221 ) 
 
 your to Parliament, as by impatience of 
 the Earl's humour, and a resolution not 
 to be subject to his commands." 
 
 Sir William then expatiated on the 
 impolicy of oppressive haughty de- 
 meanor in people in eminent stations* 
 especially when the times were so big 
 with peril. His remarks had been wise 
 and instructive, had he not tried to illus- 
 trate them by the popularity and li- 
 berality of his own conduct ; yet, as it 
 may be said he was the only evidence of 
 his own urbanity, which must have been 
 lost to posterity had he not recorded it, 
 he now pleaded it in extenuation of the 
 blameable sensibility of his son, who, 
 educated in these liberal notions, had felt 
 so hurt by the negligence of the Earl of 
 Derby at Preston fair, that he had been 
 provoked by it to offer his services to- 
 Parliament, from whom he had received 
 a commission, and was now serving in 
 the army of Lord Essex. 
 
 L 3
 
 ( 222 ) 
 
 Mrs. Mellicent, who saw in this osten- 
 tibly-lamented defection a scheme to 
 secure Waverly-hall and its dependencies, 
 whichever party finally predominated, 
 remarked that it was a very prudent ar- 
 rangement. 
 
 " So my friends suggest,' ' returned 
 Sir William, " to console me ; but my 
 regret, that any of the name of Waverly 
 should be seen, in what severe people 
 will call actual rebellion, is too acute for 
 such soothing consolation. I have only 
 to take care that the rectitude of my own 
 behaviour shall refute every suspicion 
 that I am conniving at, or even apologiz- 
 ing for Henry's errors. And though I 
 know the poor fellow's feelings were too 
 keen for his peace, and though, in my 
 own exquisite susceptibility of kindness, 
 I could find motives to mitigate his fault, 
 I will leave his conduct to the mercy of 
 candid people. I will now end my per- 
 haps tedious visit, lamenting that my
 
 ( 223 ) 
 
 corps was not raised when Dr. Beau- 
 mont's library was destroyed by that 
 infuriate rabble. I extremely regret the 
 loss of the precious museum and valuable 
 manuscripts, which his taste, learning, 
 science, and piety had collected, and 
 with a request that you will consider me 
 as ycur friend and protector, should any 
 further disturbances arise, I sincerely bid 
 you farewell." 
 
 " I trust," said Eustace, after he was 
 gone, " my uncle will never apply to 
 that man for redress ; he is no better than 
 a rebel in his heart." 
 
 " Not so," replied Mrs. Mellicent, 
 " and for the best of reasons — he has 
 no heart at all." 
 
 " You forget," observed the Doctor, 
 " that when he was the admirer of our 
 beloved Isabel, he shewed by his warmth 
 and assiduity, that he was capable of 
 loving something beside himself." 
 L 4
 
 ( 224 ) 
 
 " And never," said Mrs. Mellicenv, 
 <c brother, had I so much cause to 
 think meanly of my own judgment, and 
 own the superiority of dear Isabel's pe- 
 netration, as when she rejected my ad- 
 vice, and refused that vacillating time- 
 server ; shewing that she needed not the 
 light of prosperity to discover the de- 
 serving." 
 
 Her eye glanced on Evellm, who, 
 overpowered by these allusions to his 
 beloved wife, left the room without lis- 
 tening to the compliment paid to himself* 
 His impetuous son stormed with fury, 
 that such a man should even pretend to 
 have felt the power of his mother's 
 charms. " Had he been my father,** 
 said he, " I would have fled my country, 
 and disowned my name. But why did 
 you not, dear uncle, convince him it is 
 not loyalty but self-preservation which 
 makes him arm his tenants."
 
 ( 225 ) 
 
 " And why do you not convert that 
 cricket-ball, which you are pressing with 
 so much vehemence, into a pure and solid 
 gem? I never attempt impossibilities. 
 One reason why admonitions are so little 
 attended to, is, that mentors think too 
 little of the dispositions of those they re- 
 prove, and so seek to work a miracle, 
 not to perform a cure. Talk to a selfish 
 person about being disinterested, and he 
 will utter a few fine sentences till you 
 fancy his heart is enlarged, when, in 
 fact, he is but more wedded to the idol 
 he worships, by recollecting that he has 
 spoken liberally : but shew him ' honesty 
 is the best policy,' and that he is most 
 likely to succeed by keeping straight 
 courses, and he will quit his crooked 
 paths through policy, which is something 
 gained on the side of integrity ; and per- 
 haps acting right, may, in time, induce 
 him to change his motives too. I have 
 looked on all sorts of offenders, and there 
 l 5
 
 ( (126 ) 
 
 is no violator of scriptural holiness of 
 whom I have so little hope as the self- 
 idolator, for so I deem him who is not 
 only wise in his own conceit, but who 
 sees no other object worthy the favour or 
 attention of God or man. Such a one 
 considers misfortune not as a chastisement 
 but as a wrong ; nor can he be grateful 
 for mercies, because he esteems the 
 greatest to be merely his due. Yet of 
 all men he is the most pitiable, for his 
 overflowing vanity makes him betray his 
 self-conceit ; so that though he is sur- 
 rounded by flatterers, he has no friend ; 
 no one dare tell him of his faults, but all 
 seek to profit by his follies. I am no 
 pretender to prophecy ; I know my own 
 house totters in this storm, and I have 
 more need to prop and secure it than to 
 concern myself as to what will befall my 
 neighbours. Sir William Waverly and I 
 have chosen two different methods of 
 steering our barks ; probably both may
 
 ( 22/ ) 
 
 end in shipwreck, but my eyes are fixed 
 on the pole-star in the heavens, while he 
 has attended to deceitful charts and trea- 
 cherous pilots. We will now close the 
 subject of his faults with inferences for 
 our own improvement. Let us be care- 
 ful not to think too much of ourselves, 
 and too little of others. It is an excellent 
 way of subduing the acute sense of afflic- 
 tion, to employ our minds in assuaging 
 the miseries of our fellow-creatures ; and 
 prosperity is never so well enjoyed as 
 when we call in the stranger and the 
 destitute, as well as our friends and kin- 
 dred, to share in its blessings. Let us 
 ever consider ourselves as responsible ser- 
 vants in one large family, and we shall 
 never grow vain or self-devoted/' 
 
 " My dear uncle," said Eustace, " can 
 you think it possible we should any of us 
 become the creature we so ubhor r" 
 
 " Remember Hazael's- answer to 
 Elisha," replied the Doctor ; " nor think it 
 l 6
 
 ( 228 ) 
 
 is needless vigilance to make a strict inquiry 
 how you approximate to the vices you 
 seem most to detest. I have heard you say 
 Eustace, that for a thousand worlds you 
 would not grieve your father. Yet you 
 have just said, were you young Waverly, 
 you would renounce parental authority, 
 and abjure your name. This shews that 
 there is an innate principle in your com- 
 position at enmity with filial obedience; 
 touch but the chord that moves it, and 
 duty is exposed to instant danger." 
 
 " My father," answered Eustace, " will 
 never suffer me to despise him. His 
 honour, his afflictions, are alike my secu* 
 rity. If tempted to disobedience I will 
 recal to my mind his woe-worn majestic 
 form, and ere I dare to grave another 
 furrow on his brow, or whiten one more 
 hair, the dying injunctions of my mother 
 will rush to my mind, and I shall re- 
 member that when she could no longer 
 minister relief to \ his afflictions, she con- 
 signed him to my care,"
 
 ( 229 ) 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Out of your proof you speak ; we, poor, unfledg'd, 
 Have never wing'd from view o'the nest, nor know 
 What air's from home. Haply this life is best, 
 If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you, 
 That have a sharper known : to us it is 
 A cell of ignorance. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 TP\R. Beaumont's admonitions to Eu- 
 ■*-^ stace were not uttered at random. 
 Evellin was determined immediately to 
 put in force the commission he had re* 
 ceived, by joining the Marquis of New- 
 castle. His Majesty was very desirous of 
 securing the northern coast to facilitate 
 the introduction of the succours he ex- 
 pected from Holland with the Queen. 
 Ever since the arrival of arms and accou- 
 trements, the passion of Eustace for mi- 
 litary fame had become more decided and 
 
 7
 
 ( 2 3 ) 
 
 uncontrolable ; he poised his father's 
 sword, put on his helmet, and talked of 
 the best method of killing all the rebel 
 generals. The plans he laid for ter- 
 minating the contest appeared so feasible 
 to Constantia, that at length (though not 
 without tears) she consented that he should 
 enter on the Herculean labour of destroy- 
 ing the many-headed monster, Rebellion. 
 Isabel thought that her father and uncle 
 were likely to know what was best to be 
 done, but as often as she ventured to 
 hint that he might be too sanguine, 
 Eustace reminded her, that girls knew 
 nothing about war and politics, and di- 
 rected his observations to Constantia, who 
 had at least the feminine merit of ac- 
 quiescing in his opinions. 
 
 The evening previous to Colonel Evel- 
 lin's departure was destined to the severe 
 task of bending Eustace to obedience. 
 The father began by putting into his son's 
 hands the miniature of his mother, com-
 
 ( 2 3 I ) 
 
 manding him constantly to wear it, and 
 part with it only with his life. Eustace 
 wept, pressed it to his lips, and asked if 
 that was the only mark of devoted affec- 
 tion which he could shew to her memory. 
 The Colonel pointed to Isabel. " She 
 lives in your sister," said he ; " duty calls 
 me from her ; you must be her pro- 
 tector." " Oh, my father!" replied 
 Eustace, throwing himself at his feet ; 
 " how better can I protect my sister, 
 than by combating her enemies." 
 
 The Colonel answered, — "My age, 
 my experience, my expertness in mili- 
 tary studies and exercises, impose that 
 task on me. The King, whom I served 
 in my youth, was a gracious master, and 
 I feel confident that I can render him 
 assistance. My duty to him, and I will 
 add to you too, required the tender of 
 my services. They have been accepted ; 
 I set out for York to-morrow, to be em-
 
 ( *3* ) 
 
 ployed as my immediate commander, the 
 Marquis of Newcastle, shall determine." 
 
 " And when shall I follow you," in- 
 quired Eustace, who read in his father's 
 eye a prohibition which restrained him 
 from urging his wish to accompany him. 
 
 u As soon," replied Evellin, " as your 
 services can either benefit the King or 
 yourself." 
 
 " I know," said Eustace, " you da 
 not doubt my courage or fidelity ; it must 
 therefore be from the opinion you have 
 formed of my inability, that you insist 
 upon my spending more of my life in 
 what must now be called shameful inac- 
 tivity. I look three years older than I 
 am, and my strength and ability are as 
 premature as my appearance. Ever since 
 the war broke out I have been studying 
 histories of battles and sieges, and I can 
 ride, fence, and fire at a target with dex- 
 terity. If at first I were to commit some
 
 ( 233 ) 
 
 mistakes, actual service would improve 
 me. Oh, best and kindest of fathers, 
 blast not the dearest hopes of your only 
 boy. Fix no stigma upon him, as if 
 he were a tall puppet fit only to trifle, 
 nor let him be regarded as a coward, 
 glad to use any excuse that shall purchase 
 safety. My dying mother bade me supply 
 her place to you. How better can I 
 obey her than by shielding your head in 
 the day of battle, smoothing your pillow 
 when you retire to your tent, participating 
 in all your dangers and sorrows, relieving 
 your anxieties, and lightening your la- 
 bours. If I may not go with you, or 
 speedily to follow you, the life your 
 kindness would preserve from the sword 
 will be consumed by grief.' ' 
 
 The Colonel turned away his face to 
 eonceal the emotion which his son's eager- 
 ness for action occasioned. " I have 
 promised," said he, " that I will send 
 for you as foon as you can serve the
 
 ( 234 ) 
 
 King or yourself. You have mentioned 
 your mother — resemble her in this ; she 
 never attempted to shake my settled pur- 
 poses, but conformed to the opinion 
 which she doubted not was founded on 
 full deliberation. As a boy, you are all 
 I wish ; but there must be much improve- 
 ment to realise a fond father's hopes of 
 you as a man. Employ the years of pro- 
 bation wisely. Submit to your excellent 
 uncle as to the representative of both your 
 parents ; form yourself by his instruc- 
 tions, and when you are called into 
 action I shall glory in you." 
 
 " But you have named years of pro- 
 bation ; must I for years be confined to 
 Ribblesdale ? Will no zeal, no diligence 
 on my part shorten this period, and enable 
 me to rejoin you ?" 
 
 " In these disturbed times," said the 
 Colonel, " we can form no guesses of the 
 future. When we shall meet, or whe- 
 ther ever more in this world, are chances
 
 ( 2 35 ) 
 
 on which I cannot calculate. Bear in 
 mind this parting interview ; and if you 
 sometimes, in your heart, accuse me of 
 harshness, soften your opposition to my 
 will by reflecting, that I may have motives 
 for my determination which cannot now 
 be disclosed to you, and that a dutiful 
 obedience will render you worthy the 
 entire confidence of one who has seen 
 too much of man to confide in mere pro- 
 fessions of desert and ability." 
 
 The swelling heart of Eustace ill brooked 
 these restrictions. He flew to his con- 
 fidante, Constantia, to complain of the 
 cruelty of his father's injunctions. In the 
 warmth of his expostulations, he uttered 
 something expressive of distaste for the 
 life he led, which moved the gentle girl 
 to lament, that what made them so happy 
 should make him wretched. " If you 
 loved us," said she, " as we do you, it 
 would reconcile your mind to passing 
 your whole life with us." Eustace smiled
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
 on the lovely moderator, and answered, 
 " I think it is impossible you can love 
 me as much as I do you, but you must 
 agree, that a life of inactivity is now 
 disgraceful; and even my pretty Con- 
 stance would despise me, if she saw me 
 loitering about, idling away my best days, 
 when all the kingdom is in arms." " I 
 never can despise a dutiful son," an- 
 swered she ; and Eustace found in that 
 avowal such an unanswerable argument 
 on the side of filial obedience, that he 
 was able, not only to see the Colonel de- 
 part without impatience, but also to sup- 
 port his weeping sister. 
 
 It was some weeks before his repug- 
 nance to a life of inactivity returned ; 
 but as the fiery ardour of his character 
 was only smothered, not quenched, it 
 burst out again at the time that Dr. 
 Beaumont took his daughter and sister 
 with him to Lancaster assizes, whither 
 he went to obtain redress for his in-
 
 ( 237 ) 
 
 juries. He had diligently employed the 
 time since Evellin's departure in confirm- 
 ing his authority over his young charge. 
 Isabel was all cheerful duty and smiling 
 diligence. Eustace was occasionally im- 
 petuous and refractory, but overflowing 
 with sensibility, and more apt to repent 
 than to offend. The Doctor judged it 
 would not be inexpedient to try the tem- 
 per of his pupils by leaving them a little 
 time to themselves. 
 
 Eustace resolved to employ this period 
 of liberty in executing a project he had 
 formed, and in which he meant Isabel 
 should be his coadjutrix. He began with 
 observing, " he feared their dear Con- 
 stance was not quite happy. She so 
 often regrets her father's library," said 
 he, " that I know she will never be easy 
 till it is restored. I have examined the 
 luins, and calculated what repairs it will 
 want ; there are stones and timber lying 
 about, and I can work it up myself if
 
 ( 2 3 8 ) 
 
 you will help me." As far as her strength 
 could go Isabel was perfectly willing, and 
 Eustace promised her the light jobs, re- 
 minding her that she fixed up the pewter- 
 shelves in their own cottage very well 
 under his directions. 
 
 " But," said Isabel, " of what use 
 will the room be when the books are 
 all destroyed ?" — "I have thought of 
 that too," answered Eustace, " and 
 have contrived accordingly. You know 
 we left three hampers of books in 
 the mountains; they are safe enough I 
 dare say, because those we gave them 
 to, as keep-sakes, cannot read, and I 
 dare say will let us have them back if we 
 say we want thern. Now if we work 
 very hard, we shall have two nights and 
 a day to spare, and I can trot the poney 
 with the market- cart over the fells, and 
 fetch them. To be sure they may not 
 be just the books my uncle lost, but 
 books are books you know, and I am
 
 ( 2 39 ) 
 
 sure Constance will look so happy when 
 she sees the shelves filled again, and all 
 in order." 
 
 Isabel was delighted with the project, 
 and promised to assist, though at the 
 peril of incurring her aunt's displeasure, 
 for not finishing, ere she returned, a 
 representation of the garden of Eden 
 in satin-stitch, according to her order. 
 Eustace looked at the plan, and finding 
 it would save time, they agreed that plain 
 grass would look as well on a fire- 
 screen, as all the crocodiles and elephants 
 which with literal deference to natural 
 history Mrs. Mellicent had drawn up 
 rank and file, on each side Adam and 
 Eve. The young architects anticipated 
 the departure of their friends with 
 eagerness, and set about their scheme 
 the moment the calash drove off. The 
 business was got through with great 
 alacrity, and though there were a few 
 10
 
 ( *40 ) 
 
 mistakes, and certainly no nice finish 
 as a whole, it was creditable to their 
 mechanical skill, as well as to their kind 
 intentions. 
 
 Determining that the poney knew 
 the road, and hoping to get a little 
 sleep in the cart, Eustace set off imme- 
 diately on his mountain-expedition, and 
 Isabel busied herself in putting all things 
 in order, and preparing plumb-porridge, 
 and sack-posset, as a festive regale to 
 celebrate the re-assembling of the family- 
 party, who, she determined, should sup 
 merrily in the new library. 
 
 Eustace arrived first, in high spirits, 
 but with his cloaths torn, and his face 
 bloody. Isabel was alarmed. " Nothing 
 but a few scratches," answered he, 
 ct which I can cure with vinegar while 
 you mend my coat. I will tell you how I 
 got them presently ; but do you unpack 
 the books, while I take care of the poney*
 
 ( Hi ) 
 
 Stop a moment ; there is something in the 
 cart you must not meddle with." Isabel 
 inquired what it was. " Women are so 
 inquisitive," continued Eustace. " Well 
 then, it is a lute; Constance's own lute, 
 which she lost the night of the fire." 
 Isabel inquired how he recovered it. 
 " Fought for it," answered he ; "I see 
 you will not be easy, so I must tell you 
 all about it." 
 
 " The people of Fourness were very 
 glad to see me, calling me Mr. Random, 
 and a great many more kind names ; so 
 we packed up the books, and they sent 
 some cheese for my uncle, and apples for 
 Constance." " And nothing for me ?" 
 said Isabel. " Pshaw," returned Eustace, 
 " how you interrupt me; I believe the 
 apples are for you. So I came driving 
 back very merrily, and within a few 
 miles of this village, I met a fellow 
 carrying a box, which I could perceive 
 held a lute. I had plenty of money, for 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 { 2 4 2 > 
 
 the mountaineers would not let me spend 
 it ; so I thought if I can get this lute, 
 Constance will like the new library as 
 w r ell as she did the old one, and I very 
 civilly told the man I would buy it, and 
 give him all he asked for it. — But in 
 your life you never saw such a sharp bad 
 visage as the fellow's, and he put himself 
 into the most ridiculous posture, rolling 
 his goggle eyes, and smiting his breast, 
 and at last roared out, * O vain youth, 
 covet not musical devices, but tune thy 
 heart to praise, and thy lips to spiritual 
 songs.' — * Tune thy own lips to civi* 
 lity/ said I ; 6 and you shall too before 
 you pass/ c I can use the arm of flesh 
 as well as the sword of the spirit,' said 
 he; so to it we fell, and he scratched 
 and pulled my hair, and tore my coat, 
 just as you girls do, but I gave him 
 enough to teach him good manners, and 
 at last made him own he took the lute 
 from my uncle's, the night of the foe,
 
 C 243 ) 
 
 and that Squire Morgan was to have it. 
 60 I threw him a shilling just to mend 
 his broken head, and have brought the 
 lute to its own home again." 
 
 Isabel could not but rejoice that 
 the affray ended in a victory, but ex- 
 pressed her fears that he might be 
 accused of taking the spoil by violence. 
 " Who stole it first ?" said Eustace ; 
 " we may take our own wherever we 
 find it. And to own the truth of my 
 heart, I am glad of this opportunity of 
 mortifying Squire Morgan, for if there 
 is a person I hate in the world, it is 
 he." 
 
 " There," said Isabel, " you are both 
 indiscreet and ungrateful, for you know 
 he and Sir William Waver ly have 
 promised to assist my uncle in his 
 cause." 
 
 " I would not give a rush for the 
 friendship of either," returned Eustace, 
 m 2
 
 ( 244 ) 
 
 a A good victory on the King's side 
 is the only way of fixing Sir William, 
 and as to Morgan, I know it is not love 
 for my uncle brings him to the rectory. 
 I see that fellow's heart ; and I could 
 scarce keep myself from pushing him out 
 of the room, When he kissed Constance 
 •the other day, and called her his little 
 wife ; but she looked so distressed at the. 
 instant, that I thought I had better not 
 seem to observe it." 
 
 " I have heard you call her little 
 wife a hundred times," said Isabel, 
 " and it never seems to affront her." 
 
 " One may take liberties with one's 
 relations," replied Eustace, " but I tell 
 you, young girls should never let men 
 call them wife, especially such .an old, 
 ugly, foolish, fat, vulgar, round-head, 
 as Morgan ; and I had rather my uncle 
 had^ no restitution, than owe any favour 
 to him."
 
 ( 245 ) 
 
 Anxious to draw her brother- from a 
 topic, on which he always was un- 
 governable, Isabel begged him to describe 
 the present state of their mountain-resi- 
 dence. " Is our garden quite destroyed ?" 
 said she. " Are the primroses I planted 
 on the south bank in blow ?" — "I ob- 
 served something more interesting," 
 answered he ; " my mother's grave is 
 kept quite neat by the villagers, and the 
 roses we set there are twined all over it. 
 Nay, Isabel, if you weep so, I cannot 
 repeat to you the verses I made yesterday, 
 just as I caught sight of our old cottage." 
 Isabel promised to be composed, and 
 Eustace proceeded — 
 
 The sun has roll'd round Skiddaw's breast 
 Of floating clouds a golden veil, 
 
 The heath-cock has forsook his nest, 
 And mounted on the morning gale j 
 
 While bursting on my raptured eyes* 
 
 Lakes, hills, and woods, distinctly rise. 
 
 If 3
 
 ( 246 ) 
 
 And there in mountain-privacy 
 My father's rustic cot appears, 
 
 The haunts of happy infancy, 
 
 The fields my childish sport endears; 
 
 Where victor of each game I stood, 
 
 And climb'd the tree, or stemm'd the floods 
 
 And there, beside the village-spire, 
 My mother's honour'd ashes sleep, 
 
 Who bade my noble hopes aspire, 
 Who also taught me first to weep, 
 
 When, with a kiss so cold and mild, 
 
 She whispcr'd, ' I must die, my child.* 
 
 Oh! fitted for a world more pure, 
 
 Sweet spirit, who would wish thy stay, 
 
 To witness woes thou could'st not cure, 
 And dimm'd with clouds thy evening ray 5 
 
 To see thy ardent boy denied 
 
 To combat by his father's side ? 
 
 Yet, what is death ? As seen in thee, 
 *Twas a mild summons to the grave 5 
 
 'Tis the sure zeal of loyalty 
 
 And honour's guerdon to the brave. 
 
 How are the soldier's requiems kept i 
 
 By glory sung, by beauty wept.
 
 ( M7 ) 
 
 " My dearest Eustace," said Isabel, 
 " I wish I could send these lines to 
 my father, yet perhaps they would over- 
 come him as they have done me." She 
 twined her arms around the neck of 
 Eustace, sobbed for some moments, and 
 then observed, " I know what suggested 
 the last stanza ; it was Constantia's 
 weeping for the fate of brave Lord 
 Lindsay." 
 
 Eustace blushed. " You are a Lan- 
 cashire witch in more senses than one, 
 Isabel ; but, hush ! the calash has just 
 drove up. Say not a word of my verses 
 to my uncle." " Why V* " I do not 
 wish he should know I am unhappy." 
 Keep your own counsel," returned Isa- 
 bel, " and* I am sure your looks will 
 never betray you." 
 
 The return of the party relieved Eu- 
 stace from all fear of owing an obligation 
 to Morgan. An ordinance from Parlia- 
 M 4
 
 ( *48 ) 
 
 inent had interrupted the regular returns 
 of public justice, and notwithstanding the 
 King's command, that there should be no 
 suspension of judicial proceedings, with 
 respect either to criminal or civil causes, 
 and his grant of safe-conduct through 
 his quarters to all persons attending the 
 courts of law, the Parliament had for- 
 bidden the judges to appoint their cir- 
 cuits. In one instance a troop of horse 
 tore a judge from the bench, who had 
 ventured to disobey their edicts. Except 
 therefore in the few phces that were at 
 the King's devotion, all legal proceedings 
 of importance were suspended, and the 
 little business which was transacted was 
 managed by a cabal devoted to the pre- 
 dominant party. From sucfi men Dr. 
 Beaumont could look for no favour. 
 Ample indemnification was indeed pro- 
 mised, but it was upon a condition that 
 he could not brook, namely, subscription
 
 ( *49 ) 
 
 to the covenant. As to his two friends, 
 Sir William Waverly and Morgan, the 
 former was detained at home by an ap- 
 prehension that he might take cold ; and 
 the latter, though he argued on the jus* 
 tice and policy of remuneration, by 
 which the party would gain credit, yet 
 on being questioned about his pastor's 
 principles, confessed he thought him a 
 malignant of the deepest die, and posi- 
 tively refused to be responsible for his 
 peaceable behaviour. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont had formed no hopes of 
 redress, therefore felt no disappointment. 
 He was now so accustomed to the 
 temper of the times, that he was only 
 slightly hurt at being thought capable 
 of compromising his conscience, by sub- 
 scribing an instrument he had evef 
 denounced as illegal, treasonable, and 
 wicked. The dutiful attentions of his 
 nephew and neice soon changed vexa- 
 tion into pleasure. Mrs. Mellicent over- 
 m 5
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 looked the omissions of her crocodiles 
 and elephants, and Constance touched 
 the strings of her beloved instrument 
 with a smile, sweet as the strain she 
 drew from its according wires, till 
 Eustace forgot all his labours and bruises 
 in exulting transport*
 
 C 25' ) 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 These things, indeed, you have articulated, 
 
 Prodaim'd at market-tables, read at churches, 
 
 To face the garment of rebellion 
 
 With some fine colour that may please the eye 
 
 Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 
 
 Which gape and rub the elbows at the news 
 
 Of hurly burly innovation ; 
 
 And never yet did Insurrection want 
 
 Such water-colours to im paint his cause. 
 
 HP HE summer of 1643 °pened with 
 *■ favourable omens to the royal 
 cause. Evellin sent intelligence to Rib- 
 blesdaie of the successes of the Marquis 
 of Newcastle against Fairfax, the safe 
 arrival of the Queen with military stores, 
 and his own expectation of being joined 
 to her escort, which would enable him 
 to have an interview with the King at 
 Oxford. This intelligence, added to 
 M 6
 
 ( 2 5 2 ; 
 
 that of the advantages gained over Sir 
 William Waller in the west, revived the 
 drooping hopes of the loyalists, and 
 terrified the enthusiastic Eustace with 
 apprehensions lest the contest should be 
 decided before he could measure swords 
 with one round-head. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont took a more compre- 
 hensive view; he saw how little had 
 been done, and how much loyal blood 
 had been shed. The King's cause was 
 supported by the death or ruin of his 
 best friends, but his victories, instead of 
 intimidating, hardened his opponents. 
 They were bound together by a dread 
 of danger, and a belief that they had 
 sinned beyond all hopes of pardon, and 
 therefore must depend for safety entirely 
 on the success of the rebellion they had 
 fomented. 
 
 To insure that success, the Parliament 
 had long since employed the most po-
 
 ( *53 ) 
 
 tent stimulant of human action, religion ; 
 and, by embodying their favourite teach- 
 ers under the title of the Assembly of 
 Divines, contrived to give that species 
 of state-establishment to their own the- 
 ological scheme which they had ob- 
 jected to, as one of the crying sins of 
 episcopacy. This memorable body of 
 auxiliaries was created at the time of 
 their beginning to levy war upon the 
 King, by seizing his military resources, 
 and refusing him admission into his own 
 garrison. A fact which may serve to 
 convince the reflecting mind of the close 
 union which subsists between monarchical 
 and episcopal principles is, that their next 
 step to that of employing the forces and 
 revenues of the crown against the person 
 of the Sovereign, was a declaration " that 
 they intended a necessary and due re- 
 formation of the Liturgy and govern- 
 ment of the church, and that they 
 would consult godly and learned divines, 
 
 7
 
 t 254 ) 
 
 and use their utmost endeavours to 
 establish learned and preaching ministers, 
 with a good and sufficient maintenance 
 throughout the whole kingdom, where 
 many dark corners were miserably des- 
 titute of the means of salvation, and 
 many poor ministers wanted necessary 
 provision." 
 
 " Though wise men saw the design 
 of this carefully-worded declaration, yet 
 indolent, or quiet men, who were willing 
 to hope, caught at its designing mode- 
 ration, believed that Parliament only 
 meant to reform abuses, and that its 
 designs were not so very bad. This 
 very declaration, which a year before 
 would have terrified the people, in whom 
 there was then a general submission to 
 the 'church-government, and a singular 
 reverence of the Liturgy, now when 
 there was a general expectation of a 
 total subversion of the one, and abolition 
 of the other, they thought only re-
 
 C *5S 5 
 
 moving what was offensive, unnecessary, 
 or burthensome, an easy composition. 
 Thus the well-meaning were, by degrees, 
 prevailed on, towards ends they extremely 
 abhorred, and what, at first, seemed 
 prophane and impious to them, in a 
 little time appeared only inconvenient." 
 
 But infinite is the danger of tamper- 
 ing with national feeling in its most im- 
 portant point. The mildly-worded de- 
 cree above cited, cherished those princi- 
 ples of mutability, which overthrew the 
 church of England, while new forms of 
 doctrine sprang from every portion of 
 her ruins, all contending for mastery, 
 and each insisting on the individual right 
 of choosing, and the uncontrolable liberty 
 of exercising what they pleased to term 
 religion. The first of these tenets is as 
 inadmissible in argument, as it is despe- 
 rate in practice, for if every man has a 
 right to choose, it must follow that he 
 has an equal right to abstain from choos- 
 8
 
 ( 256 ) 
 
 ing, and thus universal atheism is sanc- 
 tioned by the over-strained indulgence 
 of civil liberty, confounding what our 
 perverse natures will do with what they 
 properly may. And if we found this 
 opinion on the ground of human free- 
 will, it may be asserted that a man 
 has a right to choose whether he will 
 be veracious, temperate, chaste, and con- 
 scientious ; whether he will be a good 
 father, husband, citizen, or the re- 
 verse j and thus every moral offence of 
 which human laws do not take cogni- 
 zance, may be justified by the same plea, 
 that in this land of liberty people have a 
 right to act as they think proper. By 
 these means that finer system of morals, 
 which extends virtue and goodness to 
 points which the mere letter of the law 
 cannot reach, is at once annihilated ; 
 and the peculiar excellence of the 
 Gospel, as a religion of motives, is 
 superseded by the licence allowed to
 
 ( *S7 ) 
 
 rebellious wills, and the darkness of 
 perverse understandings. 
 
 The proposition of the Parliament to 
 consult " godly and learned divines' ' 
 was exemplified, by their ordering the 
 individuals of which the House of Com- 
 mons was now composed, to name such 
 men as they thought fit for their pur- 
 pose. Every known friend to the King 
 had been already banished, either by the 
 clamour of the London mobs, or their 
 own votes. " Of one hundred and 
 twenty, who composed the assembly of 
 Divines, though by the recommendation 
 of some members of the Commons, 
 whom they were not willing to displease, 
 and by the authority of the Lords, some 
 very reverend and worthy names were 
 inserted, there were not above twenty, 
 who were not declared and avowed 
 enemies of the church, some of them 
 very infamous in their lives and con- 
 versations, most of them of very mean
 
 ( 2 S 8 ) 
 
 parts in learning, if not of scandalous 
 ignorance, and of no other reputation 
 than malice to the church of England." 
 
 Of this ignorance and incapacity for 
 every thing but the work of destruc- 
 tion, their own party made the most 
 angry complaints. Yet were those men 
 the fittest to act as Spiritual prompters 
 to an aspiring faction, bent on overturn- 
 ing existing institutions, and establishing, 
 their own power. The general ground 
 of quarrel of all the sects with the 
 establishment, was its retaining ceremo* 
 nies, prayers, and a mode of discipline, 
 which, though bearing close affinity to 
 the apostolical age, were rejected by 
 violent reformers , because our church 
 received them through that of Rome # 
 The answer of Bishop Ridley to the 
 Papists, " That he would be willing to 
 admit any trifling ceremony or thing 
 indifferent for the sake of peace," 
 suited not the taste of those who saw
 
 ( 259 ) 
 
 Anti-christ in a square cap or a surplice, 
 and in a written creed or doxology 
 (though agreeing in substance with their 
 own opinions) an infringement of the 
 liberty of a true Protestant. Such as 
 these cared not what confusion or 
 infidelity prevailed, nor how Popery 
 itself triumphed, while they were busy 
 in overthrowing the strongest bulwark 
 that human wisdom had erected against 
 it. The people were inflamed against 
 the court and the church by the charge 
 of Jesuitical designs, the palaces of the 
 deposed bishops were converted into 
 prisons, crouded with the champions of 
 the protestant cause ; the truly " pious, 
 godly, and learned ministry' ' were driven 
 from the flocks to which they had been 
 appointed by their spiritual superiors, 
 and supplanted by these champions of 
 the rights of private judgment and un- 
 bounded liberty, who made their respec- 
 tive congregations not only judges of
 
 ( 26o ) 
 
 theological points, but teachers of every 
 opinion, except those which derived sup- 
 port from sound learning, constitutional 
 authority, beneficial experience, general 
 acceptation among Christians, or a clear 
 consistent view of the word of God. 
 Me ) sought celebrity by inventing modes 
 of faith ; and sacred truths were not 
 established by an appeal to antiquity, 
 but by the singular ordeal of novelty, 
 as if, after a lapse of seventeen ages, it 
 was reserved for ignorance and fanaticism 
 to make fresh discoveries in the sacred 
 writings. 
 
 The ordinance of sequestration, which 
 annihilated all church-dignitaries, and 
 exposed every parochial minister to the 
 malice of any informer who should report 
 him for his loyalty, passed in the year 
 1643, and was justified by complaints of 
 the supposed scandalous lives of the epis- 
 copal clergy. Doubtless, in a numerous 
 body, some might be found guilty of
 
 ( ffl ) 
 
 gross vices, secular in their pursuits, 
 negligent of their high duties, and looking 
 more to the " scramble at the shearers' 
 feast," than to feeding and guiding the 
 •flock through the wilderness. No true 
 lover of the church will defend clerical 
 debauchees or canonical worldlings, es- 
 pecially when she appears beleaguered 
 round with enemies, and when her surest 
 earthly supports are the zeal, the learning, 
 and the pious simplicity of her officials. 
 Persuaded that our national establishment 
 grows from that root which can never de- 
 cay, we may always, when a very general 
 corruption of the clergy is apparent, ex- 
 pect a fearful tempest to arise, which will 
 clear the tree of its unsound branches, 
 and enable it to put forth vigorous and 
 healthy shoots. But while that rotten- 
 ness is not total but partial, while some 
 green boughs are still seen to extend a 
 lovely and refreshing shade, what impious
 
 ( 20*2 ) 
 
 hand shall dare to assail the venerable 
 queen of the forest, whose magnitude de^ 
 fends the saplings, which, ambitiously 
 springing under its protection, require 
 the room it occupies ? At the time of the 
 great rebellion, the Church of England 
 boasted an unusual number of, not 
 merely learned, but apostolical men, es- 
 pecially among the bishops and the royal 
 chaplains, whose pious labours have ex- 
 cited the gratitude and admiration of 
 posterity, as much as their lives and suf- 
 ferings did the wonder and commiseration 
 of their own times. Beside those who 
 have been thus immortalized, there were 
 vast numbers who " took their silent way 
 along the humble vale of life," unknown 
 to fame either for their virtues or their 
 hardships, yet still living in the memory 
 of their descendants. These submitted 
 in silence to poverty, reproach, and in- 
 justice; and, like Bishop Sanderson,
 
 { 26 3 ) 
 
 *' blessed God that he had not with- 
 drawn food or raiment from them and 
 their poor families, nor suffered them, in 
 time of trial, to violate their conscience." 
 The long-continued persecution of the 
 ruling powers proves that such men 
 formed the majority of the episcopal 
 clergy. Their place was occupied by 
 those who were willing to receive wages 
 from the hand of usurpation, and to see 
 the lawful owner in extremest need, 
 while they enjoyed ill-acquired affluence. 
 These men soon won over the populace 
 by the most false and dangerous views 
 of religion, stating, " that men might be 
 religious first, and then just and merci- 
 ful ; that they might sell their conscience, 
 and yet have something worth keeping ; 
 and that they might be sure they were 
 elected, though their lives were visibly 
 scandalous ; that to be cunning was to 
 be wise ; that to be rich was to be 
 happy j and that to speak evil of govern-
 
 ( 264 ) 
 
 ments was no sin V Plain, instructive, 
 practical discourses, sound and temperate 
 explanations of the great mysteries of 
 Christianity, connected views of the 
 whole body of gospel doctrines and pre- 
 cepts, were cast aside as legal formalities. 
 Extemporary harangues, unmethodical 
 and tautological at best, sometimes pro- 
 fane, often absurd and perplexing, never 
 instructive, became universal. One of 
 the worst features of these sermons was 
 their tendency to torture scripture to the 
 purposes of faction, and represent the 
 Almighty as personally concerned in the 
 success of rebels. " The Lord was in- 
 vited to take a chair and sit among the 
 House of Peers," whenever that House 
 opposed the furious proceedings of the 
 Commons ; and if the King gained a 
 victory, the preacher expostulated in these 
 irreverent terms : <; Lord, thou hast said 
 
 * Life of Bishop Sanderson.
 
 ( 265 ) 
 
 he is worse than an infidel that provides 
 not for his own family. Give us not 
 reason to say this of thee, for we are 
 thine own family, and have lately been 
 scurvily provided for." 
 
 In a work intended to familiarize the 
 conduct and principles of loyalists to the 
 general reader, this vindication of the 
 episcopal clergy, and appeal to their li- 
 terary remains, and to the doctrines 
 delivered by their opponents on public 
 occasions, cannot be deemed irrelative. 
 1 now proceed with my narrative. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont was not long permitted 
 to repose at Ribblesdale after his ene- 
 mies were armed with power for his 
 expulsion. A visit from Morgan was 
 the signal of bad tidings. He required 
 a private interview. The Doctor silently 
 besought Heaven to give him fortitude, 
 and admitted him. 
 
 He began with enumerating his own 
 kind offices, and anxiety to preserve him 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ( 166 ) 
 
 m his cure, believing him to be very well- 
 meaning, though mistaken in his politics. 
 He reminded him that he had ever re- 
 commended temperate counsels, and la- 
 mented that, in the present disturbed 
 state of things, he or his family should, 
 by any indiscreet act, give occasion to his 
 enemies to precipitate his ruin. He then 
 pulled out a long string of charges 
 against the Doctor, the first of which was 
 his affording shelter to, and correspond- 
 ing with, one Allan Evellin, calling him- 
 self Colonel Evellin, by virtue of a 
 pretended commission from the King, a 
 most dangerous delinquent and malig- 
 nant, now in arms against Parliament, 
 and seen, in the late attack on Sir Tho- 
 mas Fairfax's army, to make a desperate 
 charge, and murder many valiant troopers 
 who were asserting the good old cause. 
 Dr. Beaumont acknowledged that he 
 had afforded his brother-in-law the rights 
 of hospitality j and he put Morgan upon
 
 ( *6 7 ) 
 
 proof that the King's commission was 
 not a sufficient justification of the alleged 
 murders, which, he presumed, were not 
 committed basely, dr in cold blood, but 
 in the heat and contention of battle, and 
 might therefore be justified by the rule of 
 self-defence, as well as by the King's 
 authority. 
 
 Morgan said the ordinance of Parlia- 
 ment made it treason to fight for the 
 King; but this assertion sounded so 
 oddly, that he hurried to the next count, 
 which was, his dissuading Ralph Jobsort 
 from taking the Covenant. 
 
 The Doctor acknowledged this fact, 
 alledging also, that as he considered the 
 Covenant to be sinful, he was bound in 
 duty, as the spiritual guide of Jobson, 
 to advise him not to bind his soul by 
 any ill-understood, ensnaring obligation, 
 being already bound, by his baptismal 
 and eucharistical oaths, to all that was re- 
 quired of Christians in an humble station. 
 
 N 2
 
 ( 26S ) 
 
 To Dr. Beaumont's vindication of him- 
 self from these and similar crimes, Morgan 
 could only answer that the ordinances of 
 Parliament made them offences. In these 
 unhappy times those decrees were not 
 supplemental to, but ab rogatory of, law 
 and gospel. But there was another charge, 
 founded on the violation of the grand out- 
 lines of morality, which could be brought 
 home to one of the Doctor's household. 
 Morgan drew up triumphantly, as he 
 read the accusation, namely, " That 
 Eustace Evellin, son of the above ma- 
 lignant cavalier, did, on the 17th day of 
 March last past, assault and wound Hold- 
 thy-Faith Priggins, and by force take 
 from his possession a box containing his 
 property, and that he did carry off the 
 same, leaving the said Priggins bleeding 
 on the high road." The Doctor was 
 startled ; he knew this was the time of 
 his nephew's mountain-expedition, but 
 was entirely ignorant of its being sig-
 
 t 269 ) 
 
 nalized by any act of Quixotic chivalry. 
 He disclaimed all knowledge of the bu- 
 siness, and begged to know who Hold- 
 thy -Faith Priggins was. " I know," 
 said he, " a John Priggins, a fellow of 
 most infamous and depraved, conduct, 
 but this other is quite a. new name in this 
 neighbourhood." 
 
 Morgan denied" all personal acquaint- 
 ance with the man, previous to the day 
 when he came to lodge his complaint 
 against Eustace, and at the same time 
 announced his design of exercising the 
 gift of preaching, to which he just dis- 
 covered he had a call. He however ad- 
 mitted that he believed this same Priggins 
 was the Doctor's old acquaintance, he 
 having acknowledged that previous to 
 his conversion he had been guilty of every 
 sin except murder. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont imagined such a con- 
 fession would justify a magistrate in re- 
 fusing to permit even the meanest part of 
 n 3
 
 ( 270 ) 
 
 the sacerdotal functions to be assumed by 
 one who mistook glorying in his iniquities 
 for regeneration \ but Morgan replied, 
 that it would be contrary to those prin- 
 ciples of civil liberty which his conscience 
 and office required him to support, to 
 make any investigation into the past, or 
 to require any pledge for the future con- 
 duct of the convert. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont could not help observ- 
 ing that, in kindness to his friend Davies, 
 Morgan should have been careful of open- 
 ing the mouth of one who might perhaps 
 introduce schism into the new-founded 
 congregation. 
 
 Morgan smiled. " I perceive, my 
 good Doctor," said he, " you are quite 
 in the dark in these matters ; you must 
 know, the Parliament's ordinance has 
 been acted upon in many parishes, and 
 the sequestrators have taken such note of 
 your life and conversation as to resolve 
 to eject you from your living, and institute
 
 ( 2/1 ) 
 
 Master Davies in your place \ though my 
 influence has hitherto suspended the ac- 
 tual execution of this design. Now, as 
 I hate all monopolies, and think every 
 person's talents should have fair play, 
 during your ministry I countenanced 
 Davies against you, and if Davies is put 
 in your place I shall sit under Priggins 
 rather than Davies, for that is the best 
 way of keeping him sharp to his duty, 
 and one gets at truth best by hearing 
 from all preachers what they have to 
 say for themselves.' * 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered, that though 
 assured the exercise of his sacerdotal 
 functions depended on his pleasure, he 
 could not, while he was permitted to 
 perform it, so far desert his duty as to 
 allow one of his parishioners to utter 
 wrong opinions without respectfully shew- 
 ing their fallacy. He was proceeding to 
 the undoubtedly-fruitless labour of trying 
 to correct determined error, when Mor- 
 N 4
 
 \ 
 
 ( 272 ) 
 
 gan stopped his argument by shewing 
 him the order he had received to eject 
 him from his rectory. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered, that being 
 humbly persuaded his ministry had been 
 beneficial, he wished to be allowed to 
 continue in the quiet exercise of his spi- 
 ritual functions. His office was not be- 
 stowed upon him either by Parliament or 
 by the assembly of Divines, neither could 
 the votes of the one, nor the opinion of 
 the other, lawfully degrade him from it. 
 
 Morgan replied, that whatever fancies 
 he might entertain respecting the dura- 
 bility of his right to the rectory, and the 
 unalienable nature of ordination, he must 
 know, from numerous instances, that 
 they had a way now of cutting this sort 
 of disputes very short, by expelling those 
 who would not walk out of doors quietly. 
 Some indeed suffered their prudence to 
 get the better of their obstinacy, and were 
 comfortably re-settled in their benefices*
 
 ( *73 3 
 
 One method of reconciliation which he 
 would advise Dr. Beaumont to attend to, 
 was, to volunteer his subscription to the 
 engagement which had just been taken 
 by Parliament and the City of London, 
 on the discovery of a most horrid plot 
 formed by papists and malignants, to put 
 the King in possession of the Tower ; to 
 admit the popish army into the city ; to 
 seize the godly Parliament, and put an 
 end to all those hopes of reformation 
 which the nation now entertained. He 
 shewed the Doctor a copy of the oath, 
 and remarked, that as nothing was said 
 in it about ecclesiastical changes, he could 
 not object to swearing to preserve the 
 true Protestant religion against the in- 
 fluence of a popish party, headed by the 
 Queen, whom the House in its wisdom 
 had impeached of high-treason. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont said, the crime laid to 
 Her Majesty's charge, which had induced 
 the Parliament to take that extraordinary. 
 n 5
 
 ( *74 ) 
 
 step, was the bringing arms and ammu- 
 nition into the kingdom to assist her 
 Sovereign and husband, and not her being 
 a Catholic, nor any plot or contrivance 
 to murder and imprison true Protestants, 
 In the vow tendered to him, he saw him- 
 self required to attest various matters 
 which he disbelieved. He knew of no 
 Popish army raised and countenanced by 
 the King ; he knew of no treacherous 
 and horrid design to surprise the Parlia- 
 ment and the city of London. He could 
 not give God thanks for the discovery of 
 what he really believed was one of those 
 fabrications intended to strengthen the 
 ruling party, which always follow a de- 
 tected conspiracy. He denied that the 
 armies raised by the two Houses were for 
 their just defence, or for the liberty 
 of the subject ; and he would never pro- 
 mise to oppose those who assisted the 
 King, nor bind himself in a league with: 
 his enemies* 
 
 3
 
 ( *75 ) 
 
 " My sacred function," continued the 
 Doctor, *• is that of a minister of peace* 
 I will never have recourse to arms except 
 to guard my own family from assassins ; 
 nor will I ever engage not to assist my 
 King with my purse or my counsels, or 
 shut my gates on any loyal refugee who 
 seeks the shelter of my roof. I have 
 few personal reasons for being attached 
 to Ribblesdale, but I hold myself bound 
 to it by a spiritual contract, and will 
 abide here till I am forced from it, dili- 
 gently, conscientiously, and meekly doing 
 my duty among ye, without partiality or 
 respect of persons. My counsel, my 
 assistance* my purse,, my prayers, are at 
 the service of all my parishioners ; if, 
 therefore, the residence of a quiet man, 
 who, though he will not sacrifice his own 
 conscience, imposes no restraints on others,, 
 be not inconsistent with the duty you say 
 you owe to these new authorities, suffer 
 me to die in my parish. I am ready to- 
 n 6
 
 ( ^ ) 
 
 promise that I will never engage in plots 
 or conspiracies for your destruction ; and 
 since the scale of war is still suspended, 
 and we know not who will be the ascend- 
 ing party, I will also promise, that in 
 case the royal cause ultimately triumphs, 
 I will use my influence with the King in 
 favour of my neighbours." 
 
 " You speak like a man of sense and 
 moderation/' answered Morgan. ' c Why 
 should hatred and animosity prevail be- 
 tween us ? Why should we not imitate 
 the liberality of Sir William Waver ly ? 
 General Waverly has just been to see 
 him. The worthy Baronet at first rated him 
 a little, telling him he had made a most 
 unhappy choice ;. but they were friends 
 in a few minutes, and he asked Master 
 Davie? and me to dine with them \ wished 
 the King better advisers ; drank prospe- 
 rity to the Parliament ; and paid his 
 weekly assessment cheerfully. I think it 
 is the best plan for all parties to hold
 
 ( 277 ) 
 
 neighbourly intercourse with each other, 
 and even to form alliances which may- 
 some time turn to account; and this leads 
 me to my other proposition. . I believe I 
 may persuade the honourable sequestrators 
 that you are not a dangerous delinquent, 
 nor wholly unprofitable in the ministry ; 
 but this must be on condition that you* 
 suffer justice to take its course with your 
 nephew, and ally yourself to some per- 
 son of staunch principles by marriage." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered, he was very 
 very willing that the charge against 
 Eustace should be investigated, but as to 
 intermarriage with any family, he had 
 long since devoted the remainder of his 
 life to widowhood. 
 
 " But you have ladies in your house," 
 said Morgan, drawing his chair closer to 
 the Doctor, and pursing his features 
 into an enamoured grin. The idea of a 
 quondam scrivener making love to Mrs. 
 Mellicent (for on this occasion he thought
 
 ( *7* ) 
 
 only of her), and the contrast between 
 her dignity and Morgan's square figure 
 and vulgar coarseness, provoked a smile, 
 notwithstanding the seriousness of his own 
 situation : Morgan ' thought this a good 
 omen, and went on. 
 
 " You see me here, Master Doctor, 
 a hale man, under fifty, pretty warm and 
 comfortable in circumstances ; I once said 
 I never would encumber myself with a 
 wife and family, but things are now going 
 on so well, that all will be settled before 
 my children are grown up ; and I do not 
 see why I should not try to make my old 
 age comfortable, now I have done so 
 much for the public. — That's a very 
 pretty, modest, well-behaved daughter of 
 yours, and I think would make me a 
 good wife ; a little too young, perhaps, 
 but she will mend of that fault every- 
 day." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont was struck dumb with' 
 surprise. Morgan continued — " And.
 
 ( *79 ) 
 
 if the young maid is willing, I shall not 
 mind shewing favour to that hot-headed 
 cousin of hers, for her sake* He wants 
 to be a soldier I find ; I could get him a 
 commission under Lord Essex, who is a 
 fine spirited commander, and will give 
 him fighting enough. You know it will 
 be doing just as the Waverly family do. 
 Come, I see you hesitate — fuppose we 
 call in the young people, and hear what 
 they say ?'* 
 
 " Eustace shall immediately answer to 
 the charge laid against him," said the 
 Doctor, rising to summon him. " And 
 let Mrs. Constantia come too ; I wish 
 that business decided first, 1 ' continued 
 Morgan. 
 
 " That business is already deter- 
 mined," answered the Doctor. " Eustace, 
 I have called you to answer to a charge laid 
 against you, of assaulting a peaceable 
 passenger whom you met in your return 
 from the mountains 2 and taking from
 
 C 2S0 ) 
 
 Mm a box which was his property. Did you 
 or did you not commit this outrage ?" 
 
 " Aye ! — answer without fear or eva- 
 sion, young man," said Morgan. 
 
 " I know neither fear nor evasion," 
 replied Eustace, darting on the Justice a 
 look which could not have been more 
 contemptuous had he heard of his offer 
 to Constantia ; — " I certainly did beat a 
 saucy knave who insulted me." 
 
 " And stole his goods !" said Morgan, 
 " I took from him something ; — let 
 him name what." 
 
 " A box or case, his property, are the 
 words of his affidavit." 
 
 " Again," said Eustace, " I require 
 him to state what was in that box ?" 
 
 Morgan coloured — " The forms of 
 law," said he, " must be adhered to. 
 He only swears to a box or case, as his 
 property. Did you or did you not take: 
 it from him ?" 
 
 " I did." 1-
 
 C *%! ) 
 
 Dr. Beaumont turned on his nephew a 
 look of angry expostulation, which stung 
 him to the soul. He threw himself on 
 the ground, and clasped his knees in 
 anguish. " My dearest uncle," said he, 
 " I can bear any thing but your displea- 
 sure. I took a box containing stolen 
 goods from a thief, who was carrying it 
 to an accomplice." 
 
 Morgan was thunder-struck ; for, in 
 describing the assault, Priggins had 
 omitted mentioning that he had been 
 cuffed into a full discovery of his theft, 
 and had owned that Morgan had agreed 
 to accept a part of Dr. Beaumont's spoil 
 as a reward for giving indemnity to the 
 rioters. He tried to recollect himself, 
 and told Eustace, better language to a 
 magistrate would become his situation. 
 
 " Who touches the hem of your 
 magisterial robe ?" said the fiery boy. 
 " Have I said that the villain who 
 stole my cousin's lute, was carrying it
 
 ( 282 ) 
 
 to you when I took it from him, and 
 restored it to the right owner. My 
 dear and worthy protector, the only fault 
 I have committed, was in saying I found 
 it, when you asked me how it was re- 
 covered. Let him who accuses me of 
 the theft be brought face to face, and 
 I will soon make him own who are the 
 knaves in this business." 
 
 Morgan's confusion at being drawn 
 into an implied self-accusation prevented 
 him from pressing the business further. 
 He endeavoured to be civil, said that 
 Priggins must have mistaken the person 
 of Eustace, or have given him a false 
 account. He believed him to be a 
 worthless liar, and holding out his hand 
 to Eustace, hoped it would cause no iH 
 blood between them. 
 
 " No," said the latter, holding up 
 his arm in a posture of defiance ; " there 
 may be a concert between thieves and 
 the receivers of atolen goods j but we
 
 ( 283 ) 
 
 know too much of each other to shake 
 hands, and so remember Master Morgan 
 I hate dissimulation, and now think of 
 you just as I used to do." 
 
 When they were alone the Doctor 
 reproved Eustace for his peremptory 
 behaviour, and required an impartial 
 statement of the whole affair. The 
 interview ended with full pardon for his 
 past precipitation, and an earnest admo- 
 nition, as he tendered the preservation of 
 them all, to be guarded in future. Eustace 
 could not but perceive that he had in- 
 creased his uncle's difficulties, and pro- 
 mised great prudence, with a full inten- 
 tion of keeping his word. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont then proceeded to con- 
 sult the faithful partner of all his for- 
 mer trials on his present situation. It 
 was to Mrs. Mellicent only that he dis- 
 closed all that had passed in his inter- 
 view with Morgan, who, making the 
 same misapplication of Morgan's arao~
 
 ( 23 4 ) 
 
 rous tender, drew up her stiff figure 
 into full stateliness. " Leave the knave 
 to me, brother," said she ; " I desire 
 no better jest than to hear him make 
 me a proposal ; I that have had a Serjeant 
 at law in his coif, and the sheriff of 
 the county in his coach and six, come 
 to make love to me, to be at last thought 
 of by the son of a shoe-maker !" 
 
 Her brother here interposing, relieved 
 her mind from the terrifying idea of 
 having the laurels of her early days- 
 blasted by this degrading conquest, but 
 he only changed indignation into distress* 
 <c What! our lovely, dutiful, modest, inge- 
 nuous Constantia, to marry that lump 
 of sedition ; that bag of cozening vul- 
 garity ; that rolling tumbril, laden with 
 all the off-scourings of his own detesable 
 party ! — Brother, take my advice, and; 
 send the dear creature instantly to the 
 King's quarters ; there is no safety for 
 her within Morgan's reach. — These re-
 
 ( *8 5 ) 
 
 publicans stop at nothing; I question 
 whether my years and prudence will 
 protect me, but I will run all risks, and 
 remain with you at Ribblesdale. But 
 let the young people be immediately 
 removed, under the care of Williams. — 
 Morgan will never pardon the affront he 
 received from Eustace. The hint he 
 gave about Essex, makes me apprehend 
 that a project will be laid to entrap the 
 boy. I know he would sooner die than 
 accept any terms from traitors ; ' let me 
 therefore intreat you to send them all to 
 York, and place them under the Earl 
 of Bellingham's protection." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont approved the plan, but 
 cautioned her how she spoke of the 
 Earl of Bellingham-. Mrs. Mellicent as- 
 sured him she was very wary. " But," 
 said she, " as we are forced to hear and 
 say so much that is painful, let us in 
 our privacies indulge ourselves with an-
 
 ( 286 ) 
 
 ticipating brighter scenes. I am fully 
 persuaded that the children will outlive 
 these sorrows. I had a most consoling 
 dream last night. — I saw Eustace in 
 Castle-Bellingham, just as I have heard 
 Williams describe it in the old Earl's 
 days, attended by a train of gallant 
 gentlemen, knights, esquires, chaplains, 
 pages, and all the proper retinue of 
 nobility. I saw Constance too, our own 
 sweet Constance, dressed in black- velvet 
 covered with jewels ; and she was smiling 
 upon Eustace, and giving orders just as 
 a countess ought to do in the open 
 gallery, as the servants were going about 
 from the hall to the buttery ; 1 see it 
 all now before my eyes, and I tell you, 
 brother, whatever you learned men may 
 say about it, dreams often are true prog- 
 nostics, and warnings too. In one point, 
 I believe we are both agreed, Constance 
 shall marry none but Eustace."
 
 ( 23; ) 
 
 " It is more necessary," replied Dr. 
 Beaumont, " to preserve the children 
 from present violence, than to lay plans 
 for their future aggrandisement. Pre- 
 pare then with all possible speed for 
 their removal, and I will advise them 
 of its absolute necessity." 
 
 This precaution was indeed truly pru- 
 dent. The rancorous heart of Morgan 
 could not forgive the insinuated accusation 
 of Eustace, nor the cold hauteur with 
 which the Doctor hurried over his offer 
 of an alliance, which, in the proposer's 
 estimation, promised safety, wealth, and 
 honour. He immediately sent infor- 
 mation to an officer, who was recruiting 
 for the Parliament, of a young desp- 
 rate malignant, whom he wished to have 
 pressed into the service, as a mild pu- 
 nishment for contumacy and outrage, 
 and he did not doubt that the appearance 
 of the sequestrators, armed with full 
 powers for immediate dispossession, would
 
 ( 288 ) 
 
 terrify Constantia into acquiescence with 
 his wishes, on condition that he would 
 protect her father. 
 
 The young party left Ribblesdale at 
 midnight, under the escort of Williams. 
 The separation was marked with many 
 tears and many anxious wishes, that 
 they might soon be followed by their 
 faithful guardians. The young ladies 
 felt all .the alarm and anxiety of leaving 
 their quiet homes, which is incident to 
 their sex and years ; they were terrified 
 at the thought of sleeping at an inn, 
 and seeing none but strangers ; "if 
 they should discover who we are," 
 said Constantia, " and deliver us into 
 the power of Morgan !" — Eustace begged 
 her not to be frightened, for he would 
 die sooner than see her exposed to any 
 insult. " You are always so ready to 
 die !" observed Isabel ; " what good 
 would it do us to have you killed ? 
 But indeed I have no fear of being
 
 ( 28 9 ) 
 
 discovered, for we are so muffled up in 
 our camlet riding-hoods, that we shall 
 pass for country-girls going to market. 
 Courage ! dear Constance, Come, whip 
 your horse on with spirit, and talk to 
 me about eggs and poultry." 
 
 " Your brown face and red arms will 
 pass well enough," said Eustace ; e f but 
 they must be blind idiots, who mistake 
 our pretty Constance for a market girl. 
 u I will bind up my face as if I had the 
 tooth-ache," said she ; " and talk broad 
 Lancashire, till I come to the Marquis's 
 quarters." Williams observed that their 
 danger would then begin. 
 
 The girls started, saying, they hoped 
 they should then be in safety. " You 
 know not, my dear mistresses," said 
 Williams, " the habits of camps, nor 
 the licence of gay, dissipated cavaliers, 
 conscious of conferring obligations on 
 their King, and claiming from their 
 occasional hardships a right to indulgence^ 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 ( 2 9 ) 
 
 It is a bad situation for handsome young 
 women, but I have it in charge, in case 
 I cannot deliver you into the care of my 
 old master, to take you on to Oxford, and 
 place you with an old college-friend of 
 Dr. Beaumont's." 
 
 Eustace, whose heart had exulted at 
 the idea of being fixed in the scene of 
 action, and of being permitted to en- 
 deavour to remove the prohibition of 
 his taking arms, strenuously opposed the 
 plan of an Oxford residence, as still more 
 improper for young ladies, protesting 
 that the flatteries of a court and a uni- 
 versity were more dangerous than the 
 free licence of military manners. He 
 then began to caution Constantia, assur- 
 ing her she must not believe all that 
 would be told her about the power of 
 her eyes to make men miserable, and 
 about Venus and Hebe, and a great many 
 more nonsensical comparisons. " If I 
 do," returned she, " it will do me no
 
 ( 2 9 l ) 
 
 harm. A woman is not more beloved 
 for being handsome. There is our dear 
 aunt Mellicent ; her face, you know, is 
 the colour of a cowslip, and all seamed 
 and puckered, yet we could not love her 
 better than we do, if she were ever so 
 beautiful." 
 
 Eustace allowed that she was a very 
 good woman, though he could well spare 
 her putting him to rights, as she called 
 it, quite so often. He fancied, too, he 
 knew some people more agreeable. — 
 Isabel thought when women were young, 
 they always liked to be called handsome, 
 and recollected she often heard her aunt 
 say, that before she had the small-pox, 
 she was thought very comely, and had 
 many lovers. Eustace burst into a loud 
 laugh, and said so many provoking things 
 on the misfortune of old maids being 
 reduced to record their own victories, 
 that his companions protested they would 
 be very angry, and not speak to him 
 
 O 2
 
 ( *9* ) 
 
 till he sung them a song of his own 
 composition, by way of penance. He 
 submitted cheerfully to the punishment, 
 and caroled the following canzonet, as 
 they proceeded in safety to the borders 
 of Yorkshire : — 
 
 Once Beauty bade the God of Wit 
 Appease her anger with his songs ; 
 
 Love thought the sacrifice unfit, 
 
 And cried, " The task to me belongs." 
 
 Light flowM the strain of wayward smiles, 
 Of blushes and of tears he sung, 
 
 Of mournful swains arrang'd in files, 
 And hearts on eye-shot arrows hung. 
 
 But Beauty frown'd ; " This lay from thee ! 
 
 Proud rebel, dost thou break thy chain ? 
 Wit may devise a sportive glee, 
 
 But Love should languish and complain." 
 
 To whom the God : " When you disguise 
 Your charms with spleen's fantastic shade, 
 
 Insulted Love to Wit applies, 
 And goes like you in masquerade."
 
 C 293 ) 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 The noble mind stands a siege against adversity, while the 
 little spirit capitulates at once. 
 
 Murphy's Tacitus. 
 
 /"~\N the morning after he had wisely 
 K^ sent away his precious charge, Dr, 
 Beaumont was visited by Dame Hum- 
 phreys, who was now grown sincerely 
 penitent for all the insolent demeanour 
 of herself and family, and desirous to 
 make what reparation was in her power. 
 A revolution had also taken place in her 
 husband's mind. He had espoused the 
 parliamentary cause, in the hope of 
 being his own master, and of paying no 
 more taxes ; but he now found that the 
 power assumed by the commissioners, to 
 whom the Parliament had committed the 
 
 3
 
 ( 294 ) 
 
 execution of the ordinance, respecting the 
 array of the different counties, was far 
 more insupportable (as being the tyranny 
 of many) than the feudal rights and 
 aristocratic superiority heretofore exer- 
 cised by the noble family of Stanley. 
 Those new men, exercising the powers 
 granted them by the conservators of 
 public freedom, had, on his refusing 
 voluntary contribution, seized his best 
 cart-horse, three of his fat bullocks, 
 and the silver-tankard he won at a wrest- 
 ling-match, for which (after entering 
 them at half their original value) they 
 gave him a memorandum, certifying 
 that he was a public creditor, " to be 
 repaid at such a time, and in such a man- 
 ner as Parliament should agree." Besides 
 this, the tax-gatherers, a race of beings 
 whom he abominated, took their circular 
 range to collect the weekly assessment, 
 which Humphreys found would amount 
 to nearly five times the original sum
 
 ( *95 ) 
 
 required by the King to defray the ex- 
 pences of government, though the in- 
 supportable burden of his demands was 
 urged as the greatest public grievance. 
 The obstinate temper of Humphreys 
 would not indeed permit him to make so 
 frank a confession of his errors as his 
 wife did, but he charged her to say, that, 
 when turned out of his own house, Dr. 
 Beaumont should be welcome to the use 
 of his, as long as the King and the 
 taxing-men left him one to live in. 
 
 Dame Humphreys had another motive 
 for her visit. Like all the villagers, she 
 was passionately fond of Eustace: she 
 had seen a recruiting party enter the 
 town, and heard them inquire for the 
 young man whom the Justice meant to 
 impress. In her eagerness to defend 
 him, she excited a mob of women to 
 scold and insult the party, while she flew 
 to the rectory to give him notice to 
 o 4
 
 ( 296 ) 
 
 escape. But for the precautions taken 
 during the night, her kindness would have 
 been ineffectual ; for the soldiers speedily 
 dispersed their feeble assailants, and drew 
 themselves up in order before the rectory. 
 The lieutenant who commanded them, 
 required to speak with Dr. Beaumont ; 
 and, in a tone of authorised insolence, 
 bade him give up the son of the delin- 
 quent, whom he harboured. 
 
 The Doctor had spent the night in de- 
 votion, and came from his oratory clad 
 in that celestial panoply which is proof 
 against the terrors of military array. Calm 
 as a Christian hero who felt himself called 
 to sustain the character of a soldier of 
 truth, he answered, " The youth you in- 
 quire for is my nephew, left in my care 
 by his father, and I should certainly pro- 
 tect him with my life if he were now in 
 my house, but he has left it." 
 
 " On what errand ? which road ?" Dr. 
 Beaumont was silent. It was proposed
 
 ( 297 ) 
 
 by some of the party to break into the 
 house. 
 
 " That will be unnecessary," returned 
 the lieutenant. " Their Honours, the 
 sequestrators, will speedily be here. Draw 
 up round the house, and see that none 
 escape. Our duty further extends to 
 taking away all the horses, arms, and 
 ammunition, of which I now require an 
 account." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont pointed to his old geld- 
 ing. " He has served me well," said he, 
 " and if you take him from me, I trust 
 you will use him kindly. Arms and am- 
 munition I have none. I lived in this 
 parish as a parent among his children, 
 obeying the laws of my country, and 
 fearing no violence." 
 
 At this instant the sequestrators ar- 
 rived, headed by Morgan. He lamented 
 that the painful duty had fallen upon 
 him, but assured the Doctor that he had 
 delayed it as long as his own safety 
 
 ° 5
 
 C 298 ) 
 
 would permit, and that all possible 
 gentleness should be used. They then 
 shewed their authority, and required 
 admission. The door was immediately 
 opened, and they proceeded from room 
 to room, accompanied by Dr. Beaumont, 
 who, with unruffled fortitude, saw them 
 take an inventory of his property, even to 
 the most minute article, his wearing ap- 
 parel being exempted as a mark of 
 especial mercy *. Morgan, who at every 
 turn expected to discover Constantia 
 fainting with terror, or shrieking for 
 mercy, was disappointed at only en- 
 countering the steady heroism of her 
 father, and the iron rigidity and proud 
 contempt of her aunt, whose regret at 
 seeing the hoarded treasures of her in- 
 
 * Many of these circumstances are copied from 
 Bishop Hall's " Hard Measure." He greatly- 
 leaned to the Puritans in doctrine ; and, in dis- 
 cipline, was a noted opposer of Archbishop Laud. 
 
 lO
 
 ( 299 ) 
 
 dustry, and the idols of her cleanly 
 notability, exposed to the hands and eyes 
 of the profane vulgar, was subdued by 
 her detestation of the meanness and 
 baseness of those from whom her re- 
 vered brother suffered this indignity and 
 spoliation. 
 
 " And where/' said Morgan, " are 
 the pretty maids ? Hid in some corner, 
 I doubt not. Poor lambs ! they are in- 
 nocent, and have no cause to fear any 
 thing. I am sure they shall be welcome 
 to an asylum in my house ; and you too, 
 Madam Mellicent, if you would con- 
 tuse end " 
 
 " They are gone, Morgan," said she, 
 suddenly restored to the use of her 
 speech by the supreme pleasure of re- 
 proving a villain ; " they are gone with 
 Eustace to the Marquis of Newcastle, 
 out of thy power or that of thy wicked 
 masters, and their unjust ordinances." 
 o 6
 
 ( 3°o ) 
 
 Morgan (as in his altercation with 
 Eustace) perceived that the more he 
 personally interfered, the greater hazard 
 he ran of exposure. He therefore 
 slightly lamented that such harmless 
 children should apprehend any danger 
 from him, and withdrew, while the se- 
 questrators proceeded to sell the goods 
 by public auction. Not a bidder stepped 
 forward. The parishioners were dissolved 
 in tears, and every article exposed to sale 
 excited some associated recollections of 
 the goodness of the owner or his family ; 
 they saw the chairs on which they had 
 sat while he mildly pointed out their best 
 interests ; the tables at which they had 
 been liberally, though plainly, regaled; 
 the beds which had afforded repose to 
 the traveller ; the vessels which had fed 
 the hungry and refreshed the weary ; 
 the wheels which produced clothing for 
 the naked ; the chemical apparatus which 
 ii
 
 ( 3° J ) 
 
 had provided medicine for the sick, and 
 consolation for the afflicted. No bidders 
 appearing to purchase the articles in de- 
 tail, the whole was put up in one lot. 
 Dame Humphreys presented herself as 
 a purchaser ; no one opposed her j and 
 she was declared to be the possessor of 
 the Doctor's property. 
 
 The sequestrators then demanded an 
 account of all rents and sums due to 
 the late Rector, and having noted them 
 down for the observation of parliament, 
 they informed Dr. Beaumont that, as a 
 new and godly ministry was to be sub- 
 stituted for an old and unprofitable one, 
 they now expelled him from the cure of 
 souls and all temporalities thereto be- 
 longing, and instituted and inducted Joab 
 Davies into his rectory. His conduct 
 had, they said, been so refractory as 
 would justify arresting and sending him 
 prisoner to London, where multitudes of 
 proud high-priests were now confined,
 
 ( 3° 2 ) 
 
 either on board hulks in the river, or 
 in the palaces, as they were disloyally 
 named, of the deposed anti-christian 
 bishops ; but so merciful were their tem- 
 pers, that they would allow him to depart 
 and shift for himself, only remembering 
 that he was a marked character, and on 
 his next offence must expect some severe 
 punishment. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont answered, that the tes- 
 timony of a clear conscience had enabled 
 many to take joyfully the spoiling of 
 their goods ; and he doubted not he 
 should experience similar consolation. 
 He then required a pass for himself and 
 his sister. The sequestrators granted one, 
 and left him. 
 
 Their place was immediately supplied 
 by Davies, to whom they had given pos- 
 session, and who said he was moved by 
 bowels of mercy to comfort a backsliding 
 brother in his tribulation, and to exhort 
 him to consider his ways, and examine
 
 ( 3^3 ) 
 
 wherein he had offended the Lord, who, 
 by a visible and affecting providence, had 
 thus mightily punished him. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont, meantime, was endea- 
 vouring to collect his thoughts for a 
 parting address to his parishioners. He 
 remembered that impertinent comforters 
 constituted one of the trials of Job ; and 
 he entreated Heaven to enable him also 
 to sustain meekly this further conflict. 
 " Master Davies," said he, " I learned 
 from the book in which I studied my mi- 
 nisterial duties, that afflictions are not only 
 judgments and corrections to offenders, 
 but awakening conflicts and purifying 
 trials to those whom the Father of the 
 universe loves, and considers as his dear 
 children. Far be it from me to justify 
 myself in the sight of Him who sees im- 
 purity in the heavens, and imperfection 
 in the best deeds of his most exalted 
 creatures ; but it is a manifest consolation 
 to me, in this day of my calamity, that
 
 ( 304 ) 
 
 my conscience does not reproach me with 
 any wilful violation of my holy function, 
 and therefore, though my pastoral staff 
 is taken from me, and my flock given 
 to one who has leaped into the fold, I 
 see in all this, rather the hand of Provi- 
 dence smiting a guilty nation for its 
 provocations, than a judgment pointed 
 peculiarly at me, further than as a sinner 
 who adds to the general burden of trans- 
 gressions. The powers to whom you pay 
 obedience I never did acknowledge to be 
 my lawful rulers. On the contrary, I 
 have ever strove against them in defence 
 of those who, I think, were unjustly de- 
 prived of their hereditary right. When 
 a strong arm forces me out of my heri- 
 tage, resistance would only endanger my 
 life. I yield, therefore, possession to you, 
 not willingly, nor from respect to your 
 claim as a just one, but by constraint and 
 with a solemn protest against the hard 
 measure I have met with. By taking on
 
 ( 3°S ) 
 
 yourself the office of which I am unjustly 
 deprived, you have, in my judgment, 
 committed a great sin. Use the power 
 you are allowed to exercise with such 
 temperance as may mitigate the awful in- 
 quisition which will one day be made 
 into the means by which you acquired 
 it. While you act as a pastor to this 
 parish, remember you are not a shepherd 
 to your own party and a wolf to mine. 
 Deny not the blessed sacraments insti- 
 tuted by our common Saviour, to those 
 whose only crime it is to reject the 
 ordinances and covenants which a faction 
 in one branch of the legislature attempt 
 to impose, notwithstanding the protests 
 they have made against what they call 
 human institutions, though sanctioned by 
 all the legal authorities in the kingdom. 
 Endeavour to allay the ferment of men's 
 minds instead of making the pulpit a se- 
 ditious tribune, and the Bible a trumpet 
 calling aloud to battle. Remember, the
 
 ( 3°6 ) 
 
 latter is a rule of conduct to Christians 
 in all ages and all conditions of the world, 
 and that its prophecies are not of private 
 interpretation, nor its texts designed to 
 be bandied about as the watch-words of 
 party, to inflame disagreement into en- 
 mity, or to smite down our opponents 
 with the spiritual staff of misapplied scrip- 
 ture. A docile mind alone is wanting 
 to such an understanding of the sacred 
 volume as will make us wise unto sal- 
 vation ; but many are the gifts which a 
 Christian teacher requires, and diligent 
 should be his labour before he attempts 
 to guide others, especially when contro- 
 versy pushes morality from the pulpit, 
 and the auditory are made judges of 
 metaphysical theology, not hearers of the 
 commandments." 
 
 Davies, who was at first silenced by 
 his astonishment at perceiving Dr. Beau- 
 mont's native dignity and superiority in 
 no wise abated by misfortunes, soon re-
 
 ( 307 ) 
 
 called his natural allies, ignorance and in- 
 solence, to interrupt these admonitions, 
 plainly telling him, that since he did not 
 know his offences, he would inform him 
 that he had too much neglected the 
 duty of preaching, giving but one ser- 
 mon on the Sabbath, and starving his 
 flock by the formalities of written prayers 
 and verbal catechisms. He had also in 
 his sermons confined himself to legal 
 preaching, not sufficiently attending to 
 the inner man, and sometimes not telling 
 how we were to be saved. Moreover, he 
 had spoken too favourably of the Papists, 
 contenting himself with calling them 
 erring brethren, whereas he ought, as a 
 good Protestant, to have delivered all the 
 bloody race to Tophet, whose children 
 they were. He further held gross errors, 
 such as that salvation was offered to all 
 mankind, that it was possible for the 
 elect to sin, and that we were not mere 
 machines acted on by grace, but possessed
 
 ( 3o8 ) 
 
 the liberty of free-will, by which we 
 might resist or co-operate with the Spirit. 
 " My Brethren and Friends," said Dr. 
 Beaumont, turning to his parishioners, 
 who listened in ignorant astonishment 
 to these charges, " Dear charge, from 
 whom violence now separates me, but 
 to whom I will hope to be again re- 
 stored — as ye value your immortal souls, 
 imprint on your minds this solemn 
 truth, c Not the hearers but the doers 
 of the law shall be justified.' Ye will 
 now probably have your attention fixed 
 on needless, difficult, and unedifying 
 questions, which our limited faculties 
 cannot in this life clearly understand y 
 but remember that in discussing them ye 
 are exposed to those great offences, spi- 
 ritual pride, and a desire of being wise 
 above what is written. Ye will have 
 many and long sermons, but it is well 
 said, c prayer is the end of preaching/ 
 An excellent form was established in this
 
 ( 3°9 ) 
 
 kingdom, which made devotion uniform ; 
 but now, alas ! by using extemporary 
 prayers, even in worshipping God ye 
 must be listeners to your minister, not 
 petitioners for spiritual graces. Avoid 
 consigning those generations who are 
 passed away, to perdition, by supposing 
 these new lights alone can shew you the 
 way to be saved. Ask not if they who 
 differ from you must be accursed. To 
 scrutinize the spiritual estate of others 
 will neither promote your holiness nor 
 your security. Think not the further 
 you go from the church of Rome, the 
 nearer ye approach to God ; nor con- 
 found the superstitious observances, which 
 she mis-named good works, with the 
 deeds of righteousness that Scripture re- 
 quires you to perform, not as bestowing 
 a right to eternal life, but as your part 
 of the covenant of grace to which you 
 have been admitted. Be not misled by 
 the quoted opinions of early reformers.
 
 ( 3«° ) 
 
 They depreciated not acts of piety, in- 
 tegrity, and social kindness, but c masses, 
 dirges, obsequies, rising at midnight, 
 going barefoot, jubilees, invocation of 
 saints, praying to images, vows of celi- 
 bacy, pardons, indulgences, founding of 
 abbeys' # , and other supererogatory per- 
 formances, by which Popery in effect 
 invalidated the true atonement, and pre- 
 tended that sinners might merit heaven. 
 Against these vain devices of men our 
 glorious martyrs lifted up their voices ; 
 these were the good works they decried ; 
 but when ye misapply their just anathe- 
 mas, to condemn the fruits of faith acting 
 by love, ye belie their memory, and tear 
 asunder those strong pillars of belief and 
 practice which support the Christian doc- 
 trine. Lamentable are the effects which 
 schism produces. At the very beginning 
 
 * This list is taken out of a much more nu> 
 merous one cited by Lord Cobham.
 
 ( m ) 
 
 of our divisions the pious Jewell doubted 
 ho.w to address those who preferred con- 
 tending for trifles to peace. He could 
 not, he said, c call them brethren, for 
 then they would agree as brethren ; nor 
 Christians, for then they would love as 
 Christians.' And now, when the miseries 
 he saw at a distance have overwhelmed 
 us, how shall our woes be healed? 
 Even by promoting, as far as in us lies, 
 that mild and candid spirit, which, when 
 it becomes universal, will terminate our 
 sorrows. Let us conduct our disputes 
 with the temper of pious Hooker ; and 
 when we say to our adversaries, i you 
 err in your opinions,' add also, ' but be 
 of good comfort, you have to do with a 
 merciful God, who will make the best 
 of that little which you hold well, and not 
 with a captious sophister, who gathers 
 the worst out of every thing in which you 
 are mistaken.' It is this captious sophistry 
 which fans disagreement till it blazes
 
 ( 3 12 ) 
 
 into dissension, which changes the sim- 
 plicity of gospel-truth into wordy decla- 
 mation ; and, in zeal for the phylacteries 
 of religion, rends its substance, which is 
 peace. Thus is Christendom convulsed 
 with tempests which obscure the Sun of 
 Righteousness, and prevent its beams 
 from warming the cold regions of hea- 
 then darkness. 
 
 " My Friends, ye are called to times 
 of trial, and your brother Man is the 
 agent whom Providence uses to correct 
 you. Remember that he is only the 
 agent. In the abode of condemned 
 spirits the Almighty permits an uncon- 
 trolled mis-rule of diabolical passions, and 
 total misery is the result. In the ce- 
 lestial regions, the will of the Creator is 
 understood and obeyed ; and there dwells 
 eternal peace. In this mixed state the 
 best err, from frailty and ignorance ; but 
 the wrath of the wicked is over-ruled by 
 Divine mercy, and made to produce the
 
 ( 3*3 ) 
 
 good it labours to prevent. Let us, in 
 the words of the Church, pray that earth 
 may more resemble heaven ; and let us 
 also remember that our prayers are pre- 
 cepts, teaching us to promote in our lives 
 what we request in our supplications." 
 
 Dr. Beaumont here knelt down, and, 
 with devout energy, repeated several 
 collects from the Liturgy, commending 
 the oppressed church to the mercy of 
 its Divine Founder, and imploring peace 
 and resignation for its suffering members. 
 The wind gently waved his silvered locks, 
 the setting sun cast a beam on his pale 
 countenance, his eyes were occasionally 
 moistened with tears, and his faultering 
 voice discovered how much the man en- 
 dured ; but when he rose to give his 
 parting blessing, the patient and dignified 
 confessor, suffering in a glorious cause, 
 triumphed over the weakness of human 
 sensibility. Each individual seemed to 
 feel that the benediction applied to his 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 C 3'4 ) 
 
 own wants, and proved its efficacy by 
 imparting the composure of him who 
 bestowed it. 
 
 They now crowded round their de- 
 parting pastor, earnestly entreating him 
 to shelter with them that night; but 
 Dame Humphreys pleaded a prior en- 
 gagement. " Think not," said she, as 
 she conducted the Doctor and Mrs. Mel- 
 licent to her house, " that I have bought 
 Your Reverence's goods, with a view of 
 turning them to my own profit. They 
 shall all be carefully stored, and not a 
 trencher touched till you come back 
 again. I only wish you safe with the 
 King ; for I am sure if he had such 
 honest men always with him, things 
 would never have been brought to this 
 pass. I hope you will tell His Majesty 
 to choose only good men for his minis- 
 ters, and to hear nothing but truth, and 
 not to suffer landlords to oppress poor 
 farmers, and to have no worldly-minded
 
 ( 3*5 ) 
 
 bishops and clergy, but to make every 
 body charitable and do their duty like you 
 and Madam Mellicent. 
 
 The good dame's harangue was inter- 
 rupted by discovering that, during her 
 absence from home, her maid Susan had 
 neglected her dairy to indulge in a 
 flirtation with the plough-boy, and had 
 been detected in the fact of conveying 
 to him a stolen can of ale. The diffi- 
 culty of conducting a small household 
 according to the unerring rule of right, 
 diverted Dame Humphreys from pro- 
 ceeding in her plan of reforming state- 
 abuses ; and her complaints of the tricks 
 and evasions of servants, furnished Dr. 
 Beaumont with a good opportunity of 
 hinting how impossible it was for Kings 
 to find ability and integrity in all the 
 agents they were compelled to employ. 
 
 Early the ensuing morning, Dr. Beau- 
 mont and his sister prepared to depart. 
 The former, with his staff in his hand 
 p 2
 
 C 3«« ) 
 
 and Bible under his arm, looked like 
 another Hooker setting out on his pain- 
 ful pilgrimage ; but the care of Dame 
 Humphreys had secured for him his own 
 calash, and stored it with the most port- 
 able and valuable of his goods. The 
 farmer himself fastened to it the sure- 
 footed old horse, which had been for 
 years the faithful companion of their 
 journeys. " They gave him to me yester- 
 day," said Humphreys, " instead of my 
 cart-horse, which they took away. But 
 Jowler was worth twice as much ; yet 
 that's neither here nor there. Your Re- 
 verence has a right to old Dobbin, and 
 nobody else shall have him. And as 
 to your rents, as you never was a bad 
 landlord in the main, I'll try if I can't 
 now and then send you a trifle; for I 
 don't see that these new people have any 
 right to what they take." 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Dame Hum- 
 phreys, " His Reverence yesterday bads
 
 ( 3 l 7 ) 
 
 us behave well, and do our duty to every 
 body." 
 
 " So I will," returned Humphreys ; 
 " but I hate your new laws, and your 
 taxing men, and your arrays and as- 
 sessments, which take your horses out of 
 your team, and your money out of your 
 pocket, and nobody knows what for. I 
 believe Master Davies is no better than 
 a worldling, for he talked yesterday about 
 raising my rent, and if that's his humour, 
 I'll be even with him ; for I'll go and 
 
 " Priggins," said one of the bye- 
 standers, " is a fine man, with a good 
 voice, and tolerable action ; but he is 
 nothing to the serjeant-major of Sir Wil- 
 liam Brureton's rangers, who preached at 
 the drum-head at Bolton, and made the 
 whole town declare against Lord Derby." 
 
 " Tell me of no serjeants-majors nor 
 Prigginses," said Dame Humphreys, 
 
 ■* 3
 
 ( 3'8 ) 
 
 " we shall never edify under any body as 
 we did under the good old Doctor.' * 
 
 This conversation passed among the 
 villagers, after the Beaumonts, with de- 
 jected but submissive hearts, had taken 
 their silent departure from Ribblesdale.
 
 ( 3»9 ) 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ! 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 
 
 Shakspeare* 
 
 Tyf 7E left Eustace wakening the echoes 
 * * with his songs, which, while they 
 expressed the exultation of his heart at 
 emerging from confinement and obscu- 
 rity, and launching into a busy scene of 
 action, were also intended to divert the 
 alarm of his fair companions. Williams 
 recommended caution and silence to no 
 purpose ; Eustace was sure they were 
 going on safe. They were still at a great 
 distance from the Parliament's garrison 
 at Halifax, when they were joined by a 
 person in the dress of a countryman, but 
 in reality a scout belonging to the army 
 p 4
 
 ( 3 20 ) 
 
 of Fairfax. He drew the incautious Eustace 
 into conversation, and soon perceived that 
 the affected vulgarity of his language ill 
 accorded with the polished accents he 
 had overheard. Guessing from this cir- 
 cumstance that they belonged to the fa- 
 mily of some Loyalist, and were attempting 
 to escape to their friends, he, under pre- 
 tence of shewing them a nearer way, 
 delivered them into the custody of a fo- 
 raging party belonging to the garrison. 
 
 Eustace discovered that they were be- 
 trayed at the iaumeiit when retreat was 
 impossible, and resistance of no avail. He 
 now lamented that he had despised the 
 cautions of Williams j and, as he was 
 furnished with arms, determined to sell 
 his life as dear as possible. The shrieks 
 of the ladies in a moment arrested his 
 arm, and also drew the attention of the 
 cornet who commanded the party which 
 had surprised them. He ordered his 
 troop to retire a few paces, and, riding
 
 ( 3* 1 ) 
 
 up to Eustace, exclaimed, " Madman, 
 whose life are you going to sacrifice ?" 
 Eustace turning, beheld Constantia faint- 
 ing ; and, throwing away his pistols, an- 
 swered, " One dearer than my own. If 
 republicans can shew mercy, spare her." 
 " You shall find," returned the officer, 
 " that they have mercy and honour too. 
 Let me conjure the ladies to moderate 
 their terrors. They are indeed my pri- 
 soners ; but they shall be treated with 
 all the respect which their sex, and, if 
 I guess aright, their quality, deserve." 
 
 Isabel, who supported her lifeless cou- 
 sin, raised her eyes to bless the bene- 
 volence which dictated such consolatory 
 expressions, and saw they were uttered 
 by a graceful youth, a little older than 
 her brother, in whose countenance ani- 
 mation was blended with benignity and 
 compassion. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," said she, " if 
 you pity us, let the troopers sheath their 
 
 p 5
 
 ( 322 ) 
 
 broad swords ; we will make no resist- 
 ance ; alas ! the alarm has killed dear 
 Constantia." 
 
 The cornet leaped from his horse, 
 and assisted to raise her. " Her pulses 
 beat," said he, " and she recovers fast. 
 But why, Madam, are you not equally 
 alarmed ?" 
 
 " I have been used to sorrows and 
 difficulties from my infancy," returned 
 Isabel ; " but Constantia has never known 
 any thing but care and tenderness." 
 
 " Are you her sister ?" 
 
 " No } I have only that brother. He 
 is rash, but brave and good. Do not 
 hurt him, for his death would kill my 
 father." 
 
 " It shall be in his own power," re- 
 turned the officer, " to fashion his for- 
 tunes. I wish, Sir, not to be thought 
 your enemy otherwise than as my duty 
 enjoins. You see I am in the service of 
 the Parliament. Tell me, frankly, who
 
 ( 3*3 ) 
 
 you are. It is possible I may befriend 
 you ; at least I know I can the ladies who 
 are under your care." 
 
 Eustace, whose attention was now re- 
 lieved by seeing Constantia recover, could 
 not resist an invitation to frankness. " I 
 am not," said he, " what my dress im- 
 ports, but the son of a cavalier and a 
 gentleman ; we were going to put our- 
 selves under his protection. Allow us to 
 proceed to Colonel Evellin's quarters, and 
 I will ever esteem you as my friend, even 
 if we should meet on opposite parts, in 
 some bloody conflict." 
 
 " I will befriend you," answered the 
 cornet ; " but the success of my efforts 
 must depend on their being conducted 
 with secrecy. Colonel Evellin is not 
 now in the north. He was attached 
 to the escort who conducted the Queen 
 to Oxford. Is it your wish to follow 
 him ?" 
 
 p 6
 
 ( 3*4 ) 
 
 They answered in the affirmative. " 1 
 must hold no further intercourse with 
 you," continued he ; " be of good cou- 
 rage ;*' then kissing his hand, with a smile 
 to Isabel, he ordered Williams to follow 
 with them, and rejoined his troopers. 
 
 " Surely," observed Isabel, " he cannot 
 be a round-head. I thought they were 
 all like old Morgan ; and this is a true 
 gentleman." Constantia acquiesced in 
 this opinion, and supposed he might be 
 a loyalist, taken prisoner, and compelled 
 to join the rebel army. Eustace, in an 
 equal degree unwilling to allow any good 
 qualities to a person who was in arms 
 against the King, declared that he sus- 
 pected the apparent urbanity of the 
 stranger to be only a prelude to some 
 base design. He resolved, that while 
 they continued prisoners, nothing should 
 separate him for his fair charge \ and 
 Williams and he agreed that they would 
 ii
 
 ( 3*5 ) 
 
 sit up alternately every night, in order to 
 be ready at the first alarm. 
 
 " Surely," said Isabel, " you forget 
 my uncle's precept, c Be moderate/ Just 
 now you were all confidence that the 
 false guide would shew us a road to avoid 
 Halifax ; and now you are, without cause, 
 suspecting that this gentleman will use us 
 cruelly." 
 
 " Are they not both rebels and re- 
 publicans . ?> ' rejoined Eustace. " The only 
 difference is, that one was an ugly vulgar 
 knave, and this a handsome courtly one." 
 Isabel blushed and gave up the argument, 
 thinking it useless to contend with one 
 who was never subdued by opposition. 
 
 On their arrival at Halifax, they were 
 provided with comfortable apartments. A 
 guard was placed at the door ; but they 
 were informed that every indulgence 
 should be allowed them, except that of 
 being at liberty. Williams was ordered 
 to attend the council of officers, to be
 
 ( ^6 ) 
 
 examined as to their name and designs ; 
 and the captives waited his return with 
 the impatience natural to those whose fate 
 is about to be decided. 
 
 The account which he gave of his 
 examination seemed to confirm the sus- 
 picions entertained by Eustace of the 
 sinister designs of the cornet, who had 
 anticipated the deposition of Williams, 
 by describing the party as the children 
 and niece of a cavalier, now an active 
 officer in the popish army, advising that 
 they should be sent, with some other 
 prisoners, to London, there to be kept 
 in safe durance till they could be ex- 
 changed for some other party who had 
 fallen into the hands of the Royalists. 
 Williams was not suffered to speak. The 
 proposal was adopted ; and orders were 
 given that the escort should set off next 
 morning. 
 
 The indignant ravings of Eustace, and 
 the mortification of poor Isabel, who had
 
 ( 327 ) 
 
 seen, in the " melting eye of her sup* 
 posed protector, a soft heart and too 
 brave a soul to offer injuries, and too 
 much a Christian not to pardon them in 
 others," in fine, a generous, open, ho* 
 nourable character, very like her dear 
 father, called forth the mediation of Con* 
 stance, who, recollecting her own father's 
 precepts, recommended candour and pa- 
 tience. " At least," said she, " what- 
 ever befals us, let us not lose the conso- 
 lation of fellowship in affliction. We 
 have yet the comfort of being together ; 
 and perhaps we may not find captivity 
 so dreadful, nor our enemies so merci- 
 less as we expect. If they do not take 
 you from us, dearest Eustace, we cannot 
 be quite miserable." 
 
 They were now joined by an elderly 
 man in the dress of a clergyman, who, 
 though somewhat precise in his habit, 
 and quaint in his address, was venerable 
 and benevolent in his aspect and expres- 
 
 9
 
 ( 3^8 ) 
 
 sions. " Fair maidens," said he, " 1 
 come to inquire if you are content with 
 your present accommodations, and willing 
 to begin your journey towards London 
 to-morrow morning. The governor of 
 this garrison has joined me to your es- 
 cort ; and it will be a duty I shall gladly 
 undertake, to render your travel light- 
 some, and your perils triviaL ,, 
 
 " May we/' answered Isabel, " request 
 to know to whom we shall be so ob- 
 liged ?" 
 
 " You may call me Mr. Barton," re- 
 plied he, " a minister of the church by 
 the laying on the hands of the presby- 
 tery. My immediate call among these 
 men in arms, arises from my being tutor 
 to the young officer to whom you are 
 surrendered prisoners." 
 
 " And did you," said the indignant 
 Eustace, among other things, <c teach 
 him craft and falsehood." 
 
 " I have still to learn those Satanical
 
 C 329 ) 
 
 arts," returned Barton, " and therefore 
 could not teach them." 
 
 " Were they then," resumed Eustace, 
 " innate properties in his mind ? Though 
 little more than my own age, he is a 
 master in the science of dissimulation. 
 He practised upon my fears ; I mean, my 
 fears for these dear girls, and wormed 
 from my confiding folly a disclosure of 
 my parentage, and my wishes. He pro- 
 mised to serve us. I trusted to his word j 
 and he performs if by^xivetting our chains 
 beyond hope of liberation. ,, 
 
 " While life endures," returned Bar- 
 ton, " hope and fear successively eclipse 
 each other. Yet a wise man should re- 
 member both are casualties, which may 
 give colour to his future fortunes. We 
 must allow the enraged lion to chafe, 
 but lest his roarings should terrify these 
 tender lambs, and drive them out 'among 
 beasts of prey, an old watch-dog will 
 crouch beside them, and assuage their
 
 C 33° ) 
 
 alarms. I fancy, pretty maids, you never 
 were in company with a real round-head 
 before; come, tell me truly, is he as 
 terrible a creature as your fears pic- 
 tured." 
 
 " I am half inclined to think you do 
 not mean to injure us/' said Isabel. 
 
 " Beware, 5 ' cried Eustace, lifting up 
 his finger \ " remember your past con- 
 fidence." 
 
 " But this is an old gentleman," re- 
 sumed Isabel, and; a pressed Barton's 
 offered hand between both hers ; " per- 
 haps he is a father, and feels for two 
 terrified girls, who never were among 
 strangers before. Or, perhaps," return- 
 ing the benevolent smile of Barton 
 with one of playful archness, " he may 
 find us such a troublesome charge, that 
 he will be glad to get rid of us before we 
 reach London." 
 
 " My pretty Eve," returned Barton ; 
 c< I am proof to temptation. What
 
 ( 33* ) 
 
 1 have undertaken to do I will per- 
 form." 
 
 " Yet possibly," said she, " you 
 would just allow me to speak once more 
 to that officer, your pupil. I only wish 
 to remind him of his past promises." 
 
 " Rather," replied Barton, " to move 
 him to make more, or perchance make 
 him your prisoner. No, fair lady, I see 
 too much of your puissance, to trust my 
 noble pupil in your presence. Yet I 
 would have you think as well of him as 
 tne cloudy aspect ot present appearances 
 will admit, for man oweth man candour ; 
 it is the current coin of social life, and 
 they who do not traffic with it, must not 
 expect a supply for their own wants." 
 
 Eustace fretted at this badinage, and 
 thought Barton a miserable jester. He 
 caught at the epithet " Noble," and asked 
 if any one, lawfully entitled to it, would 
 be so degenerate as to rebel against his 
 King."
 
 ( 33* ) 
 
 u I am one of those stern teachers," 
 said Barton, " who see nobility only in 
 virtuous actions and high attainments, 
 but even in your sense of the word, 
 my pupil has a right to the name, being 
 lineally descended from those mighty 
 Barons, who in early times enforced 
 Kings to yield, and gave us the right 
 we now enjoy of sitting under our own vine 
 and eating the fruit of our own fig-tree. 
 And remember, young cavalier, that all 
 men's minds are not shaped in one mould, 
 
 in them the same associations. We have 
 all two characters ; our friends look at 
 the white side, and see our virtues ; our 
 foes at the black, and discern nothing but 
 our faults. The same action of the King's 
 may be so coloured by report, as to 
 justify my pupil's enmity and your pas- 
 sionate loyalty. You have been trained 
 to deem passive obedience a duty, while 
 he has learned to think that an English
 
 ( 333 ) 
 
 nobleman ought to resist arbitrary power. 
 We thought many of the King's pro- 
 ceedings were contrary to the laws of the 
 realm ; and, therefore, joined those who 
 sought to abridge his prerogative. And 
 now that we have buckled on armour, 
 retreat is difficult ; it is dangerous too ; 
 party is a high-mettled steed, when we 
 are mounted we must hold out the whole 
 race it pleases to run. But before we part 
 for the night, I will propose one toast ; 
 it is your brave and virtuous Lord Falk- 
 land's, and in fact the prayer of every 
 honest man among us — Peace, peace on 
 any terms, rather than see England blush- 
 ing with blood and with crimes !" 
 
 Isabel received a very favourable im- 
 pression of the integrity and benevolence 
 of Barton from this conversation, and 
 formed a sort of undefined hope, res- 
 pecting the result of their captivity, 
 which induced her strenuously to reject
 
 ( 334 ) 
 
 all the plans which Eustace repeatedly 
 formed for their emancipation. The 
 most disheartening circumstance was, 
 that they saw no more of Williams. 
 They sometimes flattered themselves 
 that he had regained his liberty, and 
 would carry an account of their situation 
 to Colonel Evellin. They observed, 
 that Barton took no notice of his absence, 
 and hoping that in the confusion which 
 commonly occurs in conveying a mul- 
 titude of prisoners he had been over- 
 looked, they forbore to make any inqui- 
 ries that might endanger his safety. 
 
 The country through which they passed 
 in their journey toward London, afforded 
 them a full view of the miseries and 
 crimes incident to civil war. The fields, 
 in many places, were without any trace 
 of culture ; in others, the harvest had 
 been prematurely seized or purposely 
 wasted, to cut off the enemy's resources.
 
 ( 335 ) 
 
 They saw beautiful woods wantonly 
 felled ; towns and villages partially burnt ; 
 the youthful part of the population either 
 enrolled in one or other of the hostile 
 armies, or secreting themselves to avoid 
 being pressed into military service. The 
 few labourers to be seen in the fields 
 consisted of the aged, the sick, or those 
 who were disabled ; and these no longer 
 exhibited the cheerful aspect of happy 
 industry, but shewed sorrow in their 
 faces, and wretchedness in their garb. 
 In towns, the more respectable inhabit- 
 ants were dressed in mourning, thus 
 announcing, that the death of some re- 
 lation gave them a deep private interest 
 in the public sorrow. The unemployed 
 manufacturers crowded the streets, ea- 
 gerly perusing libellous pamphlets, or 
 diurnal chronicles, disputing furiously on 
 points which none could clearly explain 
 or indeed comprehend, asking for news 
 as if it were bread, and shewing by the
 
 ( 336 ) 
 
 lean ferocity of their faces, and the 
 squalid negligence of their attire, that 
 from unpitied poverty sprung all the 
 virulent passions of rage, envy, revenge, 
 and disobedience. By such as these, the 
 detachment that escorted the prisoners 
 were received with transport as friends 
 and deliverers, who, when their glorious 
 toils were completed, would transform 
 the present season of woe into a golden 
 age of luxurious enjoyment and unvaried 
 ease ; and as the rebel troops were well 
 furnished with money, and supplied with 
 every necessary out of the royal maga- 
 zines, which were seized in the beginning 
 of the contest, they were enabled to pay 
 for all the articles of subsistence, and thus 
 acquired a popularity which the strict 
 discipline preserved by their officers tended 
 to increase. Hence at every town they 
 passed through, they were not only hailed 
 with acclamations, but received an aug- 
 mentation of force by the recruits who
 
 ( 337 ) 
 
 joined them, under a certainty of receive 
 ing pay and cloathing. 
 
 Beside the mortification of thus view- 
 ing the strength of a party whom they 
 hoped to find weak, disjointed, and in- 
 efficient, our young captives had the 
 misery of hearing the royal cause every 
 where vilified, and the Sovereign's per- 
 sonal character traduced. Among the 
 King's misfortunes his inability to pay his 
 army, or to supply it with necessaries, 
 was most injurious to his success. His 
 forces were chiefly raised and kept to- 
 gether by the private fortunes and in- 
 fluence of loyal noblemen and gentry, 
 many of whom, even members of the 
 house of Peers, served as privates, re- 
 ceiving neither honour nor reward, ex- 
 cept the generous satisfaction of conscious 
 duty. The situation of those who ranged 
 themselves on this side without funds for 
 their own support, was most precarious, 
 ike King being compelled to tax the few 
 
 YOL. I. Q
 
 ( 338 ) 
 
 places which preserved their allegiance 
 with their entire maintenance. The 
 weekly assessment laid upon the nation 
 by the house of Commons being granted 
 by the constitutional purse-bearer, took 
 the name of a lawful impost ; but every 
 demand of His Majesty might be con- 
 strued into an exaction. Fearful to in- 
 dispose the minds of subjects, pecuniary 
 levies were cautiously resorted to ; hence 
 the officers were compelled to connive at 
 plunder, and the destitute soldier often 
 had no other means to supply his impe- 
 rious wants. For the same reasons dis- 
 cipline was relaxed ; every man who had 
 largely contributed to the King's cause 
 felt himself independent of his authority. 
 Obliged beyond all probable power of 
 remuneration, the Prince saw himself 
 surrounded by men who had forfeited 
 their estates, renounced their comforts, 
 and rifked their lives to support a totter- 
 ing throne. Yet still they were subject
 
 ( 339 ) 
 
 to human passions, and liable to have 
 those passions heightened by the free 
 manners of camps, while the unhappy 
 circumstances of the cause for which they 
 fought exonerated them from those strict 
 restraints that are so peculiarly necessary 
 in an army, where right must always be 
 less respected than power, and where 
 severe privations, and the frail tenure by 
 which life is held, are ever urged as mo- 
 tives to a licentious enjoyment of the pre- 
 sent hour. While from these causes such 
 relaxed discipline prevailed in a royal gar» 
 rison, as generally to indispose the neigh- 
 bourhood to its politics, the parliamentary 
 officers felt bound to each other by the 
 common fears of guilt, knowing that 
 success alone could preserve them from 
 the penalties of treason. Their soldiers 
 being well supplied with every thing, had 
 no excuse for plundering ; and all acts 
 of violence were punished with severity 
 by those who, though of small considera- 
 Q 2
 
 ( 340 ) 
 
 tion in their original situations compared 
 with the King's officers, yet still held a 
 natural command over the lowest vulgar, 
 of whom the parliamentary rank and file 
 were composed. * 
 
 To return to the woes which our young 
 captives witnessed in their melancholy 
 tour through the seat of civil war. — The 
 houses of the nobility and gentry were 
 either abandoned or converted into places 
 of strength, fortified for the defence of 
 the inhabitants. Occasionally they passed 
 over what had recently been a field of 
 battle. The newly-formed hillocks pointed 
 out the number of the slain ; broken wea- 
 pons and torn habiliments still more indu- 
 bitably identified the mournful history ; or 
 flocks of ravens and other carrion birds 
 hovering over the slightly-covered relics 
 of a noble war-horse, which had been 
 unearthed by foxes, presented a more 
 savage picture of carnage. Sometimes a 
 pale wounded soldier, whose inability to
 
 C 341 ) 
 
 Serve prevented his being secured as a 
 prisoner, or removed by his friends, was 
 seen lingering upon the spot that had 
 proved fatal to his hopes of glory, sus* 
 tained by the compassion of the neigh- 
 bourhood or asking alms of the traveller 
 with whom he crept over the graves of 
 his comrades, shewing where the charge 
 was first made, pointing to the spot 
 where the leader fell, and telling what 
 decided the fortune of the day. 
 
 Scenes very different, yet equally re- 
 volting to the feelings of Eustace and his 
 companions, were frequently exhibited 
 by the fury of fanatic mobs, employed 
 in what they called reforming the churches 
 and cleansing them from idolatry. The 
 exquisite remains of antient art, the paint- 
 ings, carvings, and other splendid deco- 
 rations with which our ancestors adorned 
 the structures consecrated to the worship 
 of God, were broken and torn away 
 with such unrelenting fury and blind 
 
 <* 3
 
 ( 342 ) 
 
 rage of destruction, as in many instances 
 to threaten the safety of the edifice they 
 beautified. The Satanical spirit of fa- 
 naticism rioted uncontrolled ; and to use 
 the words of a venerable Bishop*, who 
 saw his own cathedral defaced, " it is 
 no other than tragical to relate the car- 
 riage of that furious sacrilege, whereof 
 our eyes and ears were the sad witnesses, 
 under the authority and presence of the 
 sheriff. Lord! what work was here — 
 what clattering of glasses — what beating 
 down of walls — what tearing up of mo- 
 numents — - what pulling up of seats — 
 what wresting out of iron and brass from 
 the windows and graves — what defacing 
 of arms — what demolishing of curious 
 stone-work, that had not any representa- 
 tion in the world but only of the cast of 
 
 * Bishop Hall, who cannot be objected to as a 
 favourer of Popery or Arminianism. The incon- 
 sistency of the Fanatics was exemplified by their 
 destroying, as a popish relic, Paul's Cross, so 
 celebrated for sounding forth the doctrines of the 
 Reformation.
 
 ( 343 ) 
 
 the founder, and the skill of the mason — 
 what tooting and piping upon the destroyed 
 organ-pipes, and what a hideous triumph 
 on the market-day before all the country, 
 when, in a kind of sacrilegious and pro- 
 fane procession, all the organ-pipes, vest- 
 ments, copes and surplices, together 
 with the leaden cross which had been 
 newly sawn down from over the green- 
 yard pulpit, and the service-books and 
 singing-books that could be had, were 
 carried to the fire in the public market- 
 place ; a lewd wretch walking along in 
 the train in his cope, trailing in the dirt, 
 with his service-book in his hand, imi- 
 tating in impious scorn the tune, and 
 usurping the words of the Litany used 
 formerly in the church. Near the public 
 cross all these monuments of idolatry must 
 be sacrificed to the fire, not without much 
 ostentation of a zealous joy in discharging 
 ordnance, to the cost of some who pro- 
 fessed how much they longed to see that 
 Q 4
 
 ( 344 ) 
 
 day. Neither was it any news upon this 
 guild-day to have the cathedral, now 
 open on all sides, to be filled with mus- 
 keteers, waiting for the mayor's return, 
 drinking and tobaccoing as freely as if it 
 had turned ale-house." 
 
 At these sad spectacles (of which almost 
 every ornamented church they passed 
 supplied an instance, Isabel contemplated 
 with pleasure the character of Barton*, 
 who displayed that moderation and libe- 
 rality which justified her predilection for 
 him, and her hopes for themselves. He 
 reproved the conduct of the mob with 
 severity, and even hazarded his own 
 safety by opposing their outrages. He 
 exhorted the police to prevent what he 
 termed an Anti-christian triumph over 
 
 * This portrait of Barton is justified by the* 
 conduct of many truly respectable men, whose 
 principles led them, for a time, to countenance 
 the impracticable theories of republicanism. I 
 could name Dr. Owen, General Fairfax, Lord 
 Manchester and others.
 
 ( 345 ) 
 
 good taste, good manners, and good 
 sense. He represented how grossly in- 
 decent it was that magistrates should 
 seem, by their presence, to sanction the 
 violation of authority, and the reverence 
 due to antiquity, and he sometimes pre- 
 vailed upon them to order the rabble to 
 disperse, whom they had previously in- 
 vited to the task of spoliation. He spoke 
 to the better-informed, of the degradation 
 which England would suffer in the eyes of 
 surrounding nations, by thus wantonly 
 " sweeping the land with the besom of 
 destruction," and annihilating all those 
 records of her own pre-eminence, which 
 other countries, had they possessed them, 
 would have been so solicitous to preserve. 
 He distinguished between excitements to 
 devotion and objects of worship, and he 
 read from his little pocket-bible a de- 
 scription of the decorations bestowed on 
 the first and second temples, and re- 
 marked, that when the Saviour of the 
 
 <* 5
 
 ( 346 ) 
 
 world predicted the ruin of the latter, he 
 threw no censure on the munificence of 
 those who had adorned it. He shewed, 
 that the plainness and poverty which of 
 necessity attached to an afflicted church 
 in its infancy, destined to make its way, 
 not by the usual assistances of worldly 
 wisdom, but in opposition to principali- 
 ties and powers, were no rule for her 
 government in future ages, when she was 
 to be brought to her heavenly spouse " in 
 glorious attire, with joy and gladness," 
 and instead of wandering among caves 
 and deserts, was to " enter into Kings' 
 palaces/' " If," said he, " you main- 
 tain that the overthrow of episcopacy is 
 to involve the ruin of every thing rich, 
 venerable, and beautiful, you furnish its 
 defenders with the best of arguments. 
 How are curious craftsmen to flourish, if 
 there are no purchasers of their handy- 
 works ; and if we admit these into our 
 houses, why not into the places where 
 we hold our religious assemblies ? Are
 
 ( 347 ) 
 
 paintings and carvings less likely to car- 
 nalize our hearts in our halls and ban- 
 queting-rooms than in our chapels ? Is a 
 golden cup on the Lord's table the ac- 
 cursed spoil of Achan ; and doth it be- 
 come purified by being removed to the 
 buttery and used in a private carousal ?" 
 
 On one occasion, by an ingenious de- 
 vice, Barton preserved a splendid repre- 
 sentation of the twelve apostles in a chan- 
 cel window. He arrived just at the mo- 
 ment that a drunken glazier had con- 
 vinced the mob that they were made 
 saints by the Babylonish harlot, and that 
 therefore their similitudes, as popish rags, 
 ought to be destroyed. After in vain 
 endeavouring to persuade the populace 
 that the Pope had no hand in their ca- 
 nonization, he at length prevailed upon 
 them to have only the heads taken off, 
 remarking that since the decapitated bo- 
 dies could not provoke the gazer to com- 
 mit the idolatry forbidden in the second 
 Q 6
 
 ( 348 ) 
 
 commandment, they might remain with- 
 out wounding tender consciences. The 
 proposal was executed under his own su* 
 perintendance j and at a period of less 
 irritation, Mr. Barton, having preserved 
 the heads, had the pleasure of restoring 
 the mutilated figures to their original 
 perfection. 
 
 But Barton shewed his conciliatory cha- 
 racter in many ways besides protecting 
 the inanimate appendages of the perse- 
 cuted church. The journey afforded him 
 frequent opportunities of assisting its 
 living members, either by rescuing them 
 from the requisitions of the troopers who 
 escorted the prisoners, or by shielding 
 them from the virulence of their infuriated 
 neighbours. Often in the towns they 
 passed through, was a degraded pastor 
 dragged from the lowly cottage in which 
 he sought to shelter his misfortunes, and 
 compelled (with barbarous exultation) to 
 behold the rebel colours flying over his-
 
 ( 349 ; 
 
 captive friends. Wherever this hap- 
 pened, Barton uniformly pressed for- 
 ward, assured the dejected confessor that 
 every possible attention was paid to the 
 comfort of the prisoners ; inquired into 
 his own situation, not with impertinent 
 curiosity but with kindness, and pro- 
 mised his assistance to procure him a 
 regular payment of the pittance which 
 Parliament allowed to ejected incumbents 
 out of their sequestered rents, if (as it 
 too frequently happened) he found it had 
 been embezzled by the commissioners 
 employed in the work of re-modelling the 
 ecclesiastical system. 
 
 They had proceeded very far in their 
 journey, when one evening Barton re- 
 joined his., charge with much apparent 
 agitation in his manner. " We are for- 
 bidden," said he, " to let our left hand 
 know the good deeds our right doth, yet 
 cannot I refrain from telling you, young 
 maidens, that I am this day satisfied with 
 
 \2
 
 ( 35° ) 
 
 my labours. Among other providences, 
 I have been able to render brotherly kind- 
 ness to an episcopal minister whom I 
 found in a lamentable state, for he had 
 fallen among thieves, who robbed him 
 of his property and tore his pass for safe 
 conduct. Our van-guard found him by 
 the way-side, and judging by his venerable 
 aspect, and some superfluous decorations 
 in his attire, that he was a deposed 
 bishop flying to the King, they seized 
 him without paying attention to his nar- 
 rative. When I heard that a person in 
 distress was taken prisoner, I spurred on 
 my horse to see if I could be of use. The 
 placid benignity of the sufferer's aspect 
 moved my commiseration ; he stood 
 calm and collected among the musketeers, 
 supporting a woman about his own age, 
 who I trow was his wife. To do her 
 justice she shewed no signs of terror, 
 though she rolled her eyes on those around 
 her with a look of disdain, less suited,
 
 ( 35i ) 
 
 methought, to her situation than the dig- 
 nified patience of her companion. I asked 
 him if he had been a bishop, and he 
 answered, No ; but was still a minister 
 of the Christian church. c Then/ said 
 I, c perhaps in your affliction you will 
 not refuse the service, or reject the hand 
 of one who calls himself by the same 
 title.' ' Sir,' said he, ' this is no time 
 to dispute the validity of your ordina- 
 tion ; let your actions shew that it has 
 had a due efficacy on your heart. As 
 men, if not as clergymen, we are brothers 
 by our common faith and nature. I beg 
 you to listen to the statement of facts, 
 which I have vainly endeavoured to per- 
 suade your soldiers to attend to.' He 
 then told me he was travelling from a 
 living in Lancashire, from whence he had 
 been expelled, to Oxford, where he pos- 
 sessed some collegiate endowments ; that 
 he had been assaulted by a band of de- 
 predators, beat, bound, and plundered." 
 ii
 
 C 3.5* ) 
 
 Constantia here eagerly inter upted Bar- 
 ton ; " His name !" exclaimed she ; — 
 " O, for mercy tell me, could it be my 
 father, Eusebius Beaumont ?" 
 
 " The same," returned Barton, melt- 
 ing with pity at her filial anguish. " Set 
 thy kind heart at rest ; he was not ma- 
 terially hurt ; his property has been re- 
 stored. He is now at liberty, pursuing 
 his journey, and the robbers are secured. 
 But why, dear maid, didst thou conceal 
 thy name ? Had I known thou wast his 
 daughter, thou shouldst even now have 
 been in his arms." 
 
 " O better, far not ; for then he would 
 have been a prisoner. But his companion, 
 my excellent aunt?" 
 
 " At liberty too ; I handed her into 
 their own calash, and saw them drive off 
 with a pass of safe conduct. But, pretty 
 trembler, if she is so excellent, I will 
 make you her proxy, to give me the 
 reward she refused to my services. I
 
 ( 353 ) 
 
 did but ask for the kiss of peace at our 
 parting, when she drew back her head 
 as if she were an empress, and stiffly 
 answered, c Sir, I am a Loyalist/ 
 
 This faithful description of aunt Mel- 
 licent's unswerving decorum diverted the 
 young Evellins, and helped to dissipate 
 Constantia's terrors. Her rapturous ac- 
 knowledgements of the humane Barton 
 largely repaid him for his services to her 
 father. She listened to a circumstantial 
 detail of the difficulties with which he 
 had contended against the obstinacy and 
 prejudices of the magistrates, to whom 
 he had applied for a fresh passport 5 
 of the fortunate combination of circum- 
 stances which had led to the pursuit and 
 detection of the thieves, with the original 
 instrument in their possession, and of their 
 confession, commitment, and discovery 
 of the place where they had deposited 
 their booty. " I parted from your fa- 
 ther," continued he, " with many affect-
 
 ( 354 ) 
 
 ing testimonies of mutual good-will, and 
 I think aunt Mellicent, as you call her, 
 would almost have smiled upon me, had 
 not my vain heart indulged in too much 
 joyous self-gratulation at the success of 
 my endeavours, and thus brought on 
 that just rebuke of my presumption. I 
 did not ask your father to shew like 
 mercy, whenever he should find one of 
 us in like affliction, for his eyes told me 
 that his conscience would be a better 
 remembrancer than my tongue. I said, 
 however, that I trusted we should meet 
 in a world, where slight discrepancies of 
 opinion would be no preventatives of 
 friendship, though in this life they kindled 
 the animosities which it was our misfor- 
 tune to witness and deplore." " Sir," 
 said he, pressing my hand, " let our 
 contest be, who shall most truly serve 
 God and our fellow-creatures, and then 
 we may hope for that pardon, which 
 ensures endless blessedness. On mercv
 
 ( 355 ) 
 
 the best of us must depend, though we 
 too often withhold it from our fellow- 
 sinners, by whose side we must one day 
 kneel, and like them place all our con- 
 fidence in boundless cor passion." 
 
 " O !" said Constantia, " had not my 
 fears anticipated the fact, those senti- 
 ments would have convinced me you had 
 met my father." 
 
 " And when you next; meet him," 
 said Barton, " tell him that while there 
 is a Carolus in my purse, he never shall 
 feel penury." 
 
 " Say," returned she ; " shall I ever 
 see him again ?" — Barton checked a re- 
 ply, which a momentary reflection whis- 
 pered was too prompt, and answered, 
 " I am not a wizard, or diviner of things 
 to come ; wait, and see what the mor- 
 row will bring forth." 
 
 " 'Tis impossible," replied Isabel, 
 " to reach London to morrow j but we 
 might get to Oxford."
 
 ( 35& ) 
 
 " True/' said Barton, with a grav£ 
 air; " but since we now draw near 
 the King's quarters, I must redouble my 
 precautions, and I now recollect 'tis my 
 duty to attend the council of officers." 
 
 " At Banbury," continued she, 
 attempting to detain him, " there is a 
 xoyal garrison." 
 
 " To which you would escape," re- 
 sumed Barton. — " Have I not told you 
 I am proof to temptation, and will faith- 
 fully discharge the trust reposed in me 
 by my employer." 
 
 The next day seemed to give the 
 death-blow to Isabel's hopes. They now 
 turned out of the direct road, in order 
 that they might avoid the King's quar- 
 ters, and directed their course, so that 
 they might proceed through the associated 
 counties to London. — With her usual 
 alacrity of accommodation, Isabel en- 
 deavoured to reconcile her mind to the 
 privations of captivity. " I know," said
 
 ( 357 ) 
 
 she, " I can not only earn my own living, 
 but work also for Constantia. They 
 will soon relax in the care of us girls, 
 and it will be very easy for us to walk 
 from London to Oxford. But, dear 
 Eustace, I do indeed regret that I hindered 
 you from attempting to escape. It was 
 so selfish in me to keep you with us, as 
 I fear they will require you to enlist in 
 their army." 
 
 " I will be hewn into a thousand 
 pieces first," returned he. " Have we 
 not seen enough of those vile republicans, 
 to determine an honest man never to pur- 
 chase his life, by wearing the colours of 
 traitors ?" 
 
 " Yet, remember Barton's goodness to 
 my father," said Constantia ; " and for- 
 give his severity to us." 
 
 " I honour Barton," replied Eustace ; 
 " I honour him even for that severity* 
 His word has been plighted to his em- 
 ployers, and he must deliver us up
 
 C 358 ) 
 
 prisoners. But what think you of Isa- 
 bel's gallant officer, that resemblance 
 of the noble, ingenuous Evellin. I will 
 never study physiognomy under you, 
 sister." 
 
 Isabel was more pained at this re- 
 proach than usual. Eustace perceived 
 her droop. " Come, dear girl,", said he, 
 ce we will talk of him no more. You 
 shall never want a faithful protector 
 while I live, and ardently as I pant to 
 break these bonds and to be in action, I 
 will make no attempt at freedom, unless 
 I can also liberate you." 
 
 They stopped that night at Nor- 
 thampton. Barton was reserved and 
 silent, and at length remarked, that in 
 two days their party would reach Lon- 
 don. — "I have never seen London," 
 said Isabel. " Come, describe it to us, 
 and say where shall we be confined. I 
 suppose we shall meet with only warm, 
 steady, common-wealth's men."
 
 ( 359 ) 
 
 cc It is the seat of discord," answered 
 Barton ; " there are as many factions as 
 there are orators, all striving for mastery ; 
 yet all united against the King, by a 
 persuasion of his insincerity, and by 
 apprehensions that he would sacrifice 
 them to his vengeance, in case he were 
 reconciled to the Parliament.' * 
 
 " Can it be supposed," said Eustace, 
 " that after the wrongs and iniquities 
 he has endured, he ever can forgive ! 
 Where is the oblivious draught that can 
 drown the recollection of a nation rising 
 in arms against its Sovereign ?" 
 
 Barton answered — " The nation and 
 the King must both forgive, or war must 
 be eternal. You have seen its aspect ; 
 what think you ? Is this great quarrel 
 like the mere abstract question which is 
 cooly discussed in the cabinet of Princes, 
 when they talk of risking ten thousand 
 lives for a victory, and laying waste a
 
 ( 3<5° ) 
 
 province to cut off the resources of the 
 enemy ? Let us not balance misery 
 against forgiveness. It is childish rea- 
 soning to keep ourselves in torment, 
 because we will not forget the injuries 
 we have suffered. Peace only can heal 
 our putrifying wounds, and peace can 
 never be bought too dear, unless the 
 price is conscience or safety." 
 
 They now separated for the evening ; 
 anxious thoughts kept the captives awake. 
 But after all was silent in the inn, Isabel 
 heard a gentle tap at the chamber- door. 
 In a state of agitation, every sound is 
 alarming. She listened, and heard Barton 
 whisper, " Arise." Before she could 
 open the door, the watchful Eustace had 
 flown to their protection. Barton was 
 closely muffled in his cloak, and in- 
 quired if they dared to trust themselves 
 with him. Constantia drew back, and 
 looked alarmed, while Isabel accepted his
 
 ( 36« ) 
 
 offered arm. " The night is dark," 
 said Eustace, " and would conceal evil 
 designs." — " Peradventure," replied 
 Barton, " it will also prosper good ones; 
 I speak but three words — speed, silence, 
 liberty." 
 
 Encouraged by these animating sounds, 
 Eustace cheered the trembling Constance, 
 and following their guide, they hurried 
 along by the street which led to the 
 castle. As the avenues to the King's 
 quarters were more vigilantly watched, 
 their danger was here most imminent; 
 but Barton had secured a friend, who 
 suffered them to pass through his garden, 
 and by close unfrequented passages they 
 gained the fields. The rising moon now 
 discovered some indefinite objects, con- 
 cealed among brush-wood. Barton 
 whistled, and the countersign, " Ban- 
 bury," was returned in a voice which 
 they knew to be that of Williams, He 
 
 VOL. J. R
 
 ( 362 ) 
 
 ran for their horses, which were fastened 
 at a little distance, while Barton alter- 
 nately embraced his young friends, and 
 affectionately bade them God-speed. — 
 V Excellent man," said the ardent Eu- 
 stace, whose over-flowing gratitude now 
 seemed to exceed his former suspicions, 
 " why did you not tell us your de- 
 sign ?" 
 
 " Because," replied he, " I saw not in 
 you that property of discretion, which 
 would allow me to trust you with your 
 own safety." 
 
 " Yet," resumed Eustace, " if I am 
 rash, I am not base, nor will I accept 
 freedom if it endangers your safety or 
 wounds your conscience." 
 
 " I trust," replied Barton, " I shall 
 be back to my quarters before I am 
 missed, and as to my conscience, that 
 sleeps on a soft pillow. I have dis- 
 charged the trust reposed in me,"
 
 ( 3*3 ) 
 
 " The Cornet then," said Isabel, "is 
 not a villain." 
 
 Barton smiled, and replied, " Artless 
 maiden, think not too much of the agent 
 whom Providence employed to send you 
 safely through a tract of country you 
 could not otherwise have passed." 
 
 " O, tell me his name," said Eustace, 
 " that I may join it to yours, when I 
 pray for my benefactors." 
 
 " I must not compromise his safety," 
 answered Barton ; " his generosity, if 
 known, would endanger his life." 
 
 " But how shall I know him, as to 
 repay his kindness." 
 
 " Think you see him in every un- 
 armed enemy you meet, and deal by 
 them as he has dealt by you." 
 
 " But if we should meet him in 
 battle?" 
 
 " Even in battle," answered Barton, 
 " if there is time for reflection, remember 
 6
 
 ( 364 ) 
 
 thy enemy is a man, and thy brother." 
 With these words they parted. Barton 
 regained his quarters undiscovered, and 
 the young people, blessing his goodness, 
 performed the rest of their journey in 
 safety. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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