Once Beauty bade the God of WitAppease her anger with his songs;Love thought the sacrifice unfit,And cried, "The task to me belongs."Light flow'd 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 disguiseYour charms with spleen's fantastic shade,Insulted Love to Wit applies,And goes like you in masquerade."
Once Beauty bade the God of WitAppease her anger with his songs;Love thought the sacrifice unfit,And cried, "The task to me belongs."
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 flow'd 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.
Light flow'd 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."
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 disguiseYour charms with spleen's fantastic shade,Insulted Love to Wit applies,And goes like you in masquerade."
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."
[1]Life of Bishop Sanderson.
CHAP. X.
The noble mind stands a siege against adversity, while the little spirit capitulates at once.
The noble mind stands a siege against adversity, while the little spirit capitulates at once.
Murphy'sTacitus.
On the morning after he had wisely sent away his precious charge, Dr. Beaumont was visited by Dame Humphreys, 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 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 exercised 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 wrestling-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 manner 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 required by the King to defray the expences of government, though the insupportable 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 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 delinquent, whom he harboured.
The Doctor had spent the night in devotion, 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 inquire for is my nephew, left in my care by his father, and I should certainly protect 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 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 gelding. "He has served me well," said he, "and if you take him from me, I trust you will use him kindly. Arms and ammunition 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 arrived, 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 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 apparel being exempted as a mark of especial mercy[1]. Morgan, who at every turn expected to discover Constantia fainting with terror, or shrieking for mercy, was disappointed at only encountering 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 industry, 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 revered 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 innocent, and have no cause to fear anything. I am sure they shall be welcome to an asylum in my house; and you too, Madam Mellicent, if you would condescend——"
"They are gone, Morgan," said she, suddenly restored to the use of her speech by the supreme pleasure of reproving 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."
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 sequestrators 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 had provided medicine for the sick, and consolation for the afflicted. No bidders appearing to purchase the articles in detail, the whole was put up in one lot. Dame Humphreys presented herself as a purchaser; no one opposed her; 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 substituted for an old and unprofitable one, they now expelled him from the cure of souls and all temporalities thereto belonging, 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, 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 tempers, 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 testimony 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 possession, 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 wherein he had offended the Lord, who, by a visible and affecting providence, had thus mightily punished him.
Dr. Beaumont, meantime, was endeavouring 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 ministerial 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 impurity 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 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 Providence 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 transgressions. 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 deprived of their hereditary right. When a strong arm forces me out of my heritage, 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 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 inquisition 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 instituted 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 seditious tribune, and the Bible a trumpet calling aloud to battle. Remember, the 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 enmity, or to smite down our opponents with the spiritual staff of misapplied scripture. A docile mind alone is wanting to such an understanding of the sacred volume as will make us wise unto salvation; but many are the gifts which a Christian teacher requires, and diligent should be his labour before he attempts to guide others, especially when controversy 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. Beaumont's native dignity and superiority in no wise abated by misfortunes, soon recalled his natural allies, ignorance and insolence, 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 sermon 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 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 restored—as ye value your immortal souls, imprint on your minds this solemn truth, '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; but remember that in discussing them ye are exposed to those great offences, spiritual pride, and a desire of being wise above what is written. Ye will have many and long sermons, but it is well said, 'prayer is the end of preaching,' An excellent form was established in this 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 confound the superstitious observances, which she mis-named good works, with the deeds of righteousness that Scripture requires 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. They depreciated not acts of piety, integrity, and social kindness, but 'masses, dirges, obsequies, rising at midnight, going barefoot, jubilees, invocation of saints, praying to images, vows of celibacy, pardons, indulgences, founding of abbeys'[2], and other supererogatory performances, by which Popery in effect invalidated the true atonement, and pretended 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 anathemas, 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 doctrine. Lamentable are the effects which schism produces. At the very beginning of our divisions the pious Jewell doubted how to address those who preferred contending for trifles to peace. He could not, he said, '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, '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 into dissension, which changes the simplicity of gospel-truth into wordy declamation; 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 heathen 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 uncontrolled mis-rule of diabolical passions, and total misery is the result. In the celestial 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 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 precepts, 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 endured; 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 own wants, and proved its efficacy by imparting the composure of him who bestowed it.
They now crowded round their departing pastor, earnestly entreating him to shelter with them that night; but Dame Humphreys pleaded a prior engagement. "Think not," said she, as she conducted the Doctor and Mrs. Mellicent 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 ministers, and to hear nothing but truth, and not to suffer landlords to oppress poor farmers, and to have no worldly-minded bishops and clergy, but to make every body charitable and do their duty like you and Madam Mellicent."
The good dame's harangue was interrupted 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 difficulty of conducting a small household according to the unerring rule of right, diverted Dame Humphreys from proceeding 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. Beaumont and his sister prepared to depart. The former, with his staff in his hand and Bible under his arm, looked like another Hooker setting out on his painful pilgrimage; but the care of Dame Humphreys had secured for him his own calash, and stored it with the most portable 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 yesterday," 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 Reverence 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 Humphreys, "His Reverence yesterday bade 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 assessments, 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 hear Priggins directly."
"Priggins," said one of the by-standers, "is a fine man, with a good voice, and tolerable action; but he is nothing to the serjeant-major of Sir William 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, "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 dejected but submissive hearts, had taken their silent departure from Ribblesdale.
[1]Many of these circumstances are copied from Bishop Hall's "Hard Measure." He greatly leaned to the Puritans in doctrine; and, in discipline was a noted opposer of Archbishop Laud.
[2]This list is taken out of a much more numerous one cited by Lord Cobham.
CHAP. XI.
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
O piteous spectacle! O bloody times!
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.
Shakspeare.
We left Eustace wakening the echoes with his songs, which, while they expressed the exultation of his heart at emerging from confinement and obscurity, 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 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 circumstance that they belonged to the family of some Loyalist, and were attempting to escape to their friends, he, under pretence of shewing them a nearer way, delivered them into the custody of a foraging party belonging to the garrison.
Eustace discovered that they were betrayed at the moment when retreat was impossible, and resistance of no avail. He now lamented that he had despised the cautions of Williams; 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 up to Eustace, exclaimed, "Madman, whose life are you going to sacrifice?" Eustace turning, beheld Constantia fainting; and, throwing away his pistols, answered, "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 prisoners; 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 cousin, raised her eyes to bless the benevolence which dictated such consolatory expressions, and saw they were uttered by a graceful youth, a little older than her brother, in whose countenance animation was blended with benignity and compassion.
"For Heaven's sake," said she, "if you pity us, let the troopers sheath their broad swords; we will make no resistance; 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," returned the officer, "to fashion his fortunes. 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 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 relieved by seeing Constantia recover, could not resist an invitation to frankness. "I am not," said he, "what my dress imports, but the son of a cavalier and a gentleman; we were going to put ourselves 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?"
They answered in the affirmative. "I must hold no further intercourse with you," continued he; "be of good courage;" 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 suspected 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 from his fair charge; and Williams and he agreed that they would sit up alternately every night, in order to be ready at the first alarm.
"Surely," said Isabel, "you forget my uncle's precept, '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 republicans?" 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 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 suspicions 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 exchanged 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 seen, in the "melting eye of her supposed 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, honourable character, very like her dear father, called forth the mediation of Constance, who, recollecting her own father's precepts, recommended candour and patience. "At least," said she, "whatever befals us, let us not lose the consolation 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 merciless 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 expressions. "Fair maidens," said he, "I 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 escort; and it will be a duty I shall gladly undertake, to render your travel lightsome, and your perils trivial."
"May we," answered Isabel, "request to know to whom we shall be so obliged?"
"You may call me Mr. Barton," replied he, "a minister of the church by the laying on the hands of the presbytery. 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, "teach him craft and falsehood."
"I have still to learn those Satanical 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 promised to serve us. I trusted to his word; and he performs it by rivetting our chains beyond hope of liberation."
"While life endures," returned Barton, "hope and fear successively eclipse each other. Yet a wise man should remember 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 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 pictured."
"I am half inclined to think you do not mean to injure us," said Isabel.
"Beware," cried Eustace, lifting up his finger; "remember your past confidence."
"But this is an old gentleman," resumed Isabel, and pressed Barton's offered hand between both hers; "perhaps he is a father, and feels for two terrified girls, who never were among strangers before. Or, perhaps," returning 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; "I am proof to temptation. What I have undertaken to do I will perform."
"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 the cloudy aspect of 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 thisbadinage, 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.
"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, nor have corresponding habits cherished 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 passionate loyalty. You have been trained to deem passive obedience a duty, while he has learned to think that an English nobleman ought to resist arbitrary power. We thought many of the King's proceedings 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 Falkland's, and in fact the prayer of every honest man among us—Peace, peace on any terms, rather than see England blushing with blood and with crimes!"
Isabel received a very favourable impression of the integrity and benevolence of Barton from this conversation, and formed a sort of undefined hope, respecting the result of their captivity, which induced her strenuously to reject 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 multitude of prisoners he had been overlooked, they forbore to make any inquiries 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. 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 inhabitants were dressed in mourning, thus announcing, that the death of some relation gave them a deep private interest in the public sorrow. The unemployed manufacturers crowded the streets, eagerly 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 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 magazines, 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 augmentation of force by the recruits who joined them, under a certainty of receiving pay and cloathing.
Beside the mortification of thus viewing the strength of a party whom they hoped to find weak, disjointed, and inefficient, our young captives had the misery of hearing the royal cause every where vilified, and the Sovereign's personal 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 together by the private fortunes and influence of loyal noblemen and gentry, many of whom, even members of the house of Peers, served as privates, receiving neither honour nor reward, except 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, the King being compelled to tax the few 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 construed into an exaction. Fearful to indispose 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 imperious wants. For the same reasons discipline 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 risked their lives to support a tottering throne. Yet still they were subject 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 motives to a licentious enjoyment of the present hour. While from these causes such relaxed discipline prevailed in a royal garrison, as generally to indispose the neighbourhood 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 consideration 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 weapons and torn habiliments still more indubitably 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 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, sustained by the compassion of the neighbourhood 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 revolting 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 paintings, carvings, and other splendid decorations with which our ancestors adorned the structures consecrated to the worship of God, were broken and torn away with such unrelenting fury and blind rage of destruction, as in many instances to threaten the safety of the edifice they beautified. The Satanical spirit of fanaticism rioted uncontrolled; and to use the words of a venerable Bishop[1], who saw his own cathedral defaced, "it is no other than tragical to relate the carriage 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 monuments—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 representation in the world but only of the cast of 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 profane procession, all the organ-pipes, vestments, 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 marketplace; a lewd wretch walking along in the train in his cope, trailing in the dirt, with his service-book in his hand, imitating in impious scorn the time, 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 professed how much they longed to see that day. Neither was it any news upon this guild-day to have the cathedral, now open on all sides, to be filled with musketeers, 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[2], who displayed that moderation and liberality 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 good taste, good manners, and good sense. He represented how grossly indecent it was that magistrates should seem, by their presence, to sanction the violation of authority, and the reverence due to antiquity, and he sometimes prevailed upon them to order the rabble to disperse, whom they had previously invited 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 description of the decorations bestowed on the first and second temples, and remarked, that when the Saviour of the 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 principalities 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 maintain 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 paintings and carvings less likely to carnalize our hearts in our halls and banqueting-rooms than in our chapels? Is a golden cup on the Lord's table the accursed spoil of Achan; and doth it become purified by being removed to the buttery and used in a private carousal?"
On one occasion, by an ingenious device, Barton preserved a splendid representation of the twelve apostles in a chancel window. He arrived just at the moment that a drunken glazier had convinced 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 canonization, he at length prevailed upon them to have only the heads taken off, remarking that since the decapitated bodies could not provoke the gazer to commit the idolatry forbidden in the second commandment, they might remain without wounding tender consciences. The proposal was executed under his own superintendance; 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 character in many ways besides protecting the inanimate appendages of the persecuted 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 exaltation) to behold the rebel colours flying over his captive friends. Wherever this happened, Barton uniformly pressed forward, 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 promised 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 rejoined his charge with much apparent agitation in his manner. "We are forbidden," 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 my labours. Among other providences, I have been able to render brotherly kindness 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 narrative. 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, methought, to her situation than the dignified 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. 'Then,' said I, '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 ordination; 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 persuade 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 possessed some collegiate endowments; that he had been assaulted by a band of depredators, beat, bound, and plundered."
Constantia here eagerly interupted Barton; "His name!" exclaimed she;—"O, for mercy tell me, could it be my father, Eusebius Beaumont?"
"The same," returned Barton, melting with pity at her filial anguish. "Set thy kind heart at rest; he was not materially hurt; his property has been restored. 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 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, 'Sir, I am a Loyalist.'"
This faithful description of aunt Mellicent's unswerving decorum diverted the young Evellins, and helped to dissipate Constantia's terrors. Her rapturous acknowledgements 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; of the fortunate combination of circumstances 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 father," continued he, "with many affecting 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 misfortune 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 mercy 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 confidence in boundless compassion."
"O!" said Constantia, "had not my fears anticipated the fact, those sentiments 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 reply, which a momentary reflection whispered was too prompt, and answered, "I am not a wizard, or diviner of things to come; wait, and see what the morrow will bring forth."
"'Tis impossible," replied Isabel, "to reach London to-morrow; but we might get to Oxford."
"True," said Barton, with a grave 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 royal garrison."
"To which you would escape," resumed Barton.—"Have I not told you I am proof to temptation, and will faithfully 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 quarters, and directed their course, so that they might proceed through the associated counties to London.—With her usual alacrity of accommodation, Isabel endeavoured to reconcile her mind to the privations of captivity. "I know," said 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 purchase his life, by wearing the colours of traitors?"
"Yet, remember Barton's goodness to my father," said Constantia; "and forgive his severity to us."
"I honour Barton," replied Eustace; "I honour him even for that severity. His word has been plighted to his employers, and he must deliver us up prisoners. But what think you of Isabel's gallant officer, that resemblance of the noble, ingenuous Evellin. I will never study physiognomy under you, sister."
Isabel was more pained at this reproach than usual. Eustace perceived her droop. "Come, dear girl," said he, "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 Northampton. Barton was reserved and silent, and at length remarked, that in two days their party would reach London.—"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."
"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?"
Baron 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 province to cut off the resources of the enemy? Let us not balance misery against forgiveness. It is childish reasoning 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 inquired if they dared to trust themselves with him. Constantia drew back, and looked alarmed, while Isabel accepted his 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, concealed among brush-wood. Barton whistled, and the countersign, "Banbury," was returned in a voice which they knew to be that of Williams. He ran for their horses, which were fastened at a little distance, while Barton alternately embraced his young friends, and affectionately bade them God-speed.—"Excellent man," said the ardent Eustace, whose over-flowing gratitude now seemed to exceed his former suspicions, "why did you not tell us your design?"
"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 discharged the trust reposed in me."
"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 unarmed 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 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.
[1]Bishop Hall, who cannot be objected to as a favourer of Popery or Arminianism. The inconsistency 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.
[2]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.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
VOLUME II.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAP. XII.