Chapter XI: Part 11

Sedley sincerely pitied her distress, and, in compliance with her wishes, promised to send the good old Doctor to her to try if he could do any good. A lover sees his mistress in every object. Combining the suspicions of Morgan, the appearance at the mausoleum, and the night-wanderings of Isabel, a sudden apprehension came across Sedley's mind, and determined him to see to what part of the park the sycamore avenue pointed, and he soon found it ended in a coppice, which shaded a ruined church, and a stately sepulchre, inclosed with iron pallisades, that had escaped the general pillage, which, in those times of rapacious sacrilege, spared not the altar of religion nor the silent repositories of the dead.

Sedley examined the modern structure. The gate was closed, and the bolts rusted in the wards. The long withered grass bore no marks of having been recently trodden; every thing appeared in the state in which it might be supposed to have been left, when the vain-glorious unfortunate projector of this monumental trophy of his own greatness augmented the heaps of dead who were interred without religious rite or distinction of rank, after the fatal battle of Marston-Moor ended the efforts of the Royalists in the north of England. The unoccupied tomb stood as a solemn warning against the fond precautions of low cunning and versatile policy. Sedley now proceeded to the church, which was a complete ruin. The roof was broken, and the entrances were blocked up with large stones that had fallen from the walls; yet not so totally, but that a slender person might find admittance into the building from the south-porch. As he looked in, he thought fancy might select this as the scene where the Anglican church, prostrate on her own ruins, mourned her departed glory and her present desolation in undisturbed silence, far from the sympathy of her friends, and the insults of her enemies. He called aloud, but the echo of his own voice reverberating through the aisles was his only answer. Though the wintry sun shone with meridian splendor, and cast his slanting rays through the apertures in the roof, so as to allow him to see the falling monuments and mutilated statues which were intended to commemorate the mighty of past ages, there was such an aweful solitude and petrifying horror in the whole scene, that he thought it impossible for Isabel to make nocturnal visits to such a place, believing his own courage would be scarcely equal to the undertaking, when darkness or the pale splendor of the moon added to its profound melancholy. There was, indeed, a slight appearance of a path to the most practicable entrance, but he could not help thinking it was made by some wild animal, which had chosen one of the vaults for its hiding-place.

Still ruminating on Isabel's concealed adventures as he returned, Sedley perceived a handful of sweet bay lying in the grass, which he recollected seeing her gather the preceding evening, with peculiar attention to the reviving fragrance of the evergreen. Every doubt was now removed. This was the spot which a young and beautiful female visited alone at midnight. No base inclination, no unworthy passion which shunned the light, could stimulate such an enterprize. Piety must bestow the inspiration; and that fortitude which results from conscious rectitude must confirm the trembling knees, and guide the cautious steps of the heroical adventurer.

A more honourable and praise-worthy principle than doubt or curiosity now led Sedley to discover what the treasure was which Isabel thus clandestinely visited. On his return, he mentioned to the family the dreadful situation of Humphreys, and described the spectral appearance to which it was imputed, "Absurd and impossible!" exclaimed Isabel, while a deep crimson flushed her face. Mrs. Mellicent turned very pale, and remarked that she did not entirely disbelieve all accounts of visionary notices of the future world. They might act as warnings to sinners, or as a call to an unbeliever. "True," replied Isabel, "but the contradiction of this is evident. Why should a good angel be connected with the apparition of Sir William Waverly? And, far from tending to reform Humphreys, the impression on his mind has produced distraction." Dr. Beaumont, who had remained silent and meditative during this conversation, now required Isabel to attend him before he went to offer his services to the afflicted farmer.

Sedley embraced the opportunity of their absence to examine more minutely the ruins of Waverly Hall. The thickness of one of the remaining walls struck him as singular; it was an abutment behind the chimney of what had been the banqueting-room, the wainscot of which was left in this place entire. Sedley inspected every pannel, and at last found one which slided, and afforded him an entrance into a small but perfect apartment, lighted from the ceiling, and which had probably served as a secret chamber to conceal the plate and valuables of the family, being so completely concealed by the contrivance of the architecture as not to be discernible on the outside. Was it not strange, that, with so secure and convenient a lodging close at hand, Isabel should chuse to deposit her treasure at such a distance? Had she overlooked this asylum, or avoided the use of it as a lure to deceive the vigilance of Morgan? Sedley proceeded in his search, explored every subterraneous vault and recess; but no signs of recent inhabitation could be found. He returned again to Morgan, commended his zeal for the good cause, but assured him, that though he had discovered many places proper for concealment, not a ghost of a royalist could any where be found.

"You say well, excellently well, my young Lord," replied Morgan, chuckling at the idea of his own superior sagacity; "yet for all that there is a ghost, aye, and he chuses a proper scene for his pranks, but we will lay him to-morrow morning." He then informed Sedley that Priggins had just been with him to say their neighbour Humphreys was troubled in the spirit, and, in a late wrestling with Satan, had been favoured with a vision, in which he had seen the ghost of Sir William Waverly in torment, complaining that there was a royalist in his grave who would not let him rest. "I believe not a word of the business," said he, "and defy the whole tribe of apparitions; but, as Your Lordship must see, it is my duty to search the burying-place, and the old church immediately."

Sedley suppressed his apprehensions, and coolly answered, he had reconnoitred the outside, and believed he had never seen a more desolate and unfrequented spot. "All the better for such a purpose," answered Morgan; "these bloody fugitives would not chuse highways and market-places for their cabals. But I don't like to venture among these terrible fellows without being protected; so I have sent for the Preston horse, and ordered them to bring the blood-hounds; and as Your Lordship has been there, I will thank you to be our guide. But, hark! not a word to the Beaumonts, or the birds will be flown."

Sedley preserved the serenity of his features, promised punctual attendance, and remarked that, to prevent any alarm from suspicion of an intercourse with Morgan, it would be expedient for him to hurry back. His anxiety to rescue the threatened victim was nearly as lively as the assiduity of Isabel; yet not daring again to request the confidence she had so peremptorily refused, he thought his best plan would be to watch the cemetery; and, pretending to retire indisposed to his chamber, as soon as it was evening he hurried, unobserved, down the avenue, entered the church, and concealed himself behind a pillar, from whence he had a full view of a door partially obstructed with rubbish which, he supposed, opened into the mausoleum.

A little before midnight, he heard the sound of feet; the shade was withdrawn from a dark lanthorn; and he discovered Isabel by its feeble light, as she held it up, and with cautious anxiety seemed to explore the ruins, to be assured that all was safe before she ventured on her nocturnal employment. She then approached the door, and whispered to the invisible inhabitant of the sepulchre. Sedley heard a bar fall, and saw her remove a portion of the rubbish, enter the dreary abode, and re-close the door. Listening, he heard voices conversing in low murmurs. Could a lover resist making a further discovery? He determined to open the door sufficiently to steal a view of the object concealed, and afterwards to join Isabel on her return, and apprize her of the necessity of selecting another asylum.

The stolen view was aweful and impressive. The inside of the cemetery was lighted by a lamp that shewed it was furnished with those articles of comfort which rendered it an habitable abode. On a neat pallet lay an aged gentleman, corresponding, in his appearance and infirmities, with one of the fugitives from Pontefract described by Morgan. Isabel had already spread a table, on which were placed the refreshments she had just brought, and a prayer-book. She was at that moment employed in chafing his benumbed limbs, and at the same time looking up at her patient with the tenderest affection, smiling through the tears of anxiety and compassion; while, as he bent over her, shrinking with acute pain from her light and tender touch, a glow of sublime affection illuminated his pale and furrowed features.

It was at this moment that the wind, rushing down the aisles of the church, forced the door out of Sedley's hand, and revealed him to the father and daughter as a witness of their affecting interview. The reader must have anticipated that no motive less potent than filial piety could have stimulated the heroism of Isabel. Surprise extorted from her a loud shriek; and the disabled Evellin snatched a carbine, which stood charged within his reach, and pointed it at the invader of their retreat. Isabel hung upon his arm. "'Tis my preserver! 'Tis my father!" exclaimed she, addressing them alternately. "Oh! Sedley, how durst you disobey me!"

"Young man," said the stern veteran, in a voice which denoted that an unconquered soul still tenanted his decaying body, "instantly tell your motive for this intrusion. My daughter addresses you as a friend, but your name announces a double traitor."

"Then it belies my heart," answered Sedley, "for I come devoted to your service, impatient to assist in the preservation of persecuted worth. The generous bravery of the renowned Colonel Evellin must endear him to every soldier, even if he were not the father of that matchless excellence who kneels beside you, and stays your arm from taking the life of one whose purpose is to preserve yours."

"I have seen too much of the world," answered Evellin, "to trust smooth talkers. Sentiments are easily uttered; they are all the fashion; and the butcher now uses them to the lamb he slaughters. I am a disabled soldier of that King whom regicides are now subjecting to the mockery of a public trial; and I am as ready to follow my Prince to the scaffold as I have been to fly to his banner when thousands were false. Hear me yet further. I am one of the proscribed victims who escaped from Pontefract. The hardships I have endured have deprived me of the use of my limbs; yet I am still dangerous to usurpers. A price is set upon my head; I am hunted from the abodes of man, denied the light of heaven, and, at this rigorous season, compelled to seek the shelter of a tomb, even while alive to anguish and sorrow. Approach, young man; you see my child has disarmed me. I have no other weapon; infirmity chains me to this pallet. I was born to the possession of a princely inheritance, but it was wrested from me by traitors foul as those who have overthrown the glory of England. I have nothing left but an honest heart, and enmity to traitors. Yes!" continued he, folding Isabel in his arms; "I have this weeping girl, who ought to have been a bright gem sparkling in a royal court, instead of a sickly lamp beaming in a monument."

Sedley wept. "You know," said he, "what side I have espoused; yet a mind so magnanimous must be candid; nor will you confound the errors and prejudices of early education with the turpitude of guilt. I was tutored by one who passionately worshipped civil and religious liberty; a man whose heart was generous and sincere as your own, and only mistook the means by which the desired objects were attainable. He now deeply mourns the enormous oppression which has originated from what he deemed perfect theories. Filial duty, joined to the instructions of my preceptor, made me join the Parliamentary army. You are a father. Think what agonies you would feel had your son refused to obey you, and falsified the hopes you had formed of his acting as your associate in what you deemed the career of glory."

"Cease, dearest Sedley," cried Isabel, "his weak frame cannot bear these strong emotions." "I have a son," said the agonized Evellin, "and he refused to obey me. He has falsified the hopes I entertained, that he would be the restorer of my house. Sedley, I would exchange sons with thy father. Come nearer, and I will tell thee what will make thee renounce the traitor who gave thee birth. Hast thou ever heard of thy uncle Allan Neville, the man from whom thy father stole his coronet and lands?"

"I have heard," said Sedley, "that he was unfortunate, very criminal, and long since dead."

"Unfortunate indeed," returned the Colonel, "but neither dead nor criminal. I am Allan Neville, a living witness of thy father's crimes, the least of which is usurpation. I accuse him as the foul slanderer of my fame, as the inhuman villain who betrayed my confidence. He knew my woes, my wants, my dependence on his friendship; nay, that I trusted to him only. He smiled, promised, cajoled, and destroyed me. My daughter has told me that thou art warm, ingenuous, sincere, and affectionate. Such, at thy age, was he that now lies before thee, the victim of thy mother's ambition and thy father's hypocrisy."

Sedley tried to conceal the burning blushes of shame with his hands, while his recollection of past circumstances confirmed his uncle's accusation. Ambition was the crime of both his parents; hypocrisy the means used by the cautious Lord Bellingham in seeking to compass those ends which his bolder consort pursued with the effrontery of determined versatility. Sedley remembered his mother a court-beauty, the favourite of the Queen, and the glass which reflected the smiles and frowns of royalty. He afterwards saw her the idol of the party which opposed government, sung by Waller, flattered by Holland, presiding with all the frivolity and pride of a pretty trifler at the dark divan, while Pym and St. John disclosed their hopes of extending their aggressions to seizing the remaining prerogatives of the alarmed and conceding King. Weak, vain, passionate, and unprincipled, with no determined object but her own aggrandizement--no claim to attention but an attractive person and soft courtliness of manner (which polished insincerity often assumes to disguise a stubborn, wayward, ungoverned temper),--Lady Bellingham supplied by a shew of benevolence her total want of the reality. He had seen her, without even the affectation of compassion, listen to a detail of the measures which were intended to drag Lord Strafford to the block; and though she boasted of that nobleman as her earliest lover, she made no attempt to procure him the respite for which his afflicted master ineffectually solicited. No storm of public calamity, no sympathizing pity for murdered friends, no sentiment of gratitude for her royal benefactors, ever disturbed the suavity of Lady Bellingham's deportment. Nothing could interrupt the dead calm of her unfeeling heart but opposition to her will, or the apprehension of danger to her effects or person. In the former case the gentle beauty was loud and pertinacious; in the latter, terrified to the extreme, and clamorous in her complaints; in both, perfectly regardless of the means she employed to promote her purposes, or insure her safety.

Sedley had long discovered a guarded circumspection in his father's conduct, which, as it exceeded prudence, must be called timidity. His perplexed look and restless manner spoke a soul ill at ease with itself, and more suspicious of persons, and the motives of their actions, than was consistent with fortitude and integrity. From the period of his assuming the title of Bellingham, Sedley could date a gradual increase of domestic misery. Even in his childhood he had been obliged to interfere in the disputes of his parents, each complaining to him of the faults of the other, and of their own injuries. The Earl ever spake of the sacrifices he had made to oblige his wife; the Countess, of the title, fortune, and importance she had bestowed on her husband. Many circumstances led him to fear that mutual guilt was the only bond which kept them from separation, as they often hinted in their quarrels that they were equally in each other's power for some punishable offences; and once, in an ungovernable transport of rage, Lady Bellingham bade her trembling Lord "remember her brother." These recollections made it impossible for Sedley to doubt the criminality of his parents, especially as their accuser was Colonel Evellin, whose gallantry and unquestioned honour had extorted alike the terror and admiration of his enemies. And was the admirable Isabel the victim of their crimes, who now, in all the unaffected loveliness of tender duty, wiped the cold dew from the face of her agonized father, beseeching him to consider his weakness, and forbear convulsing his tortured limbs by these mental throes, still assuring him, that if she could preserve his life, her own would be worth valuing?

Impelled by that homage which virtuous emulation ever pays to acknowledged worth, Sedley knelt by the side of Isabel. "Here," said he, "I devote myself to your service, and abjure your enemies, though my heart recoils when I consider who they are. In this sacred, this aweful abode, I drop all titles but that of your kinsman: now for your dear daughter's sake, listen to the intelligence I come to disclose; you are in the most imminent danger, and prompt measures for your security must be devised. I will never more participate in the guilt of those who wronged you, or partake of those luxuries which proved irresistible temptations to those who caused your ruin. Suffer me to supply the place of your lost Eustace, and to relieve the pious duties of your daughter. You shall then know that my immediate progenitors have not corrupted that pure blood which I, with you, derive from one common stock of eminent ancestors, distinguished alike by fidelity to their friends, their country, and their King."

Isabel scarcely waited for the reconciling embrace, which proved that her generous father knew not his own heart when he thought it capable of eternal enmity to the blood of De Vallance. Her transport at seeing the two dearest objects in the world known and esteemed by each other, was allayed by her eager anxiety to know what Sedley meant by imminent danger. He now disclosed what had passed between him and Morgan, and the discovery himself had made of another and nearer asylum for the brave fugitive. No time was lost in expediting his removal. Incapable of rising from his pallet, the whole family were employed in conveying him to the secret chamber, and in removing from the mausoleum every vestige of its having been inhabited. Rubbish was piled against the door; and, to prevent the path from being traced, the small stock of cattle the Beaumonts possessed were driven into the burying-ground. The rising sun saw their labours completed an hour before Morgan and his soldiers arrived to execute their inhuman inquisition. The care of Williams had frustrated the sagacity of the blood-hounds by a chemical preparation; and a night of inexpressible alarm and emotion was succeeded by a happy day, in which Isabel had the transport of having her dear father lodged close to her own dwelling, in a more comfortable place of concealment, where she could pay a more minute attention to his wants, and have an assistant in the task of ministering to his infirmities; that assistant too the lord of her affections, to whom she was ha longer compelled to wear the air of cold reserve so uncongenial to her ingenuous temper.

The Beaumont family would now have felt happy, and Arthur might have talked of love, assured of a favourable audience, had not every future plan and private feeling been engrossed by the situation of the King, whose mournful tragedy now drew near its final close. Like many others, Arthur de Vallance had been drawn, by the grossest misrepresentations, to oppose a Prince whose real character, bursting through the mists of adversity, now dazzled the eyes of those who had affected to speak of him as a meteorous exhalation, owing its lustre to chance, and destitute of the inherent qualities which constitute true greatness. To a general revolt and disaffection, arising from some actual and many imaginary grievances, succeeded an universal conviction of delusion, disappointment, disgust, and contrition. All parties but that which had the King in their keeping were ready to unite in efforts to save him from those who meant to make his corse a step to his hereditary dignity; and this, no less from a sense of his deserts and injuries, than from feeling experimentally, that destroying the balance of the Constitution annihilated their own liberty, and that the whips used by lawful rulers are, by usurpers, exchanged for scorpions. The rule of a limited monarch was now supplied by the tyranny of many despots--I say many; for though Cromwell had seized the whole administration into his own hands, managing what was called the House of Commons and the army by his creatures, annihilating the aristocratic branch of the legislature, and cajoling his brother-general, while he prepared the scaffold and sharpened the axe for the Monarch whom it was the settled purpose of Fairfax to preserve; yet his government had the feature which constantly characterizes newly-assumed power. He durst not disoblige the supporters of his greatness; and the services of his myrmidons were purchased by a sort of tacit agreement, that they might enrich themselves with the plunder of an oppressed people. Rapacity, therefore, walked triumphant through the land. Loyalty and Episcopacy had already been stripped. The bare carcase of truth and honour afforded no food for the carrion birds who floated round the unfledged antitype of the royal eagle. The adherents to the Rump parliament (as the House of Commons was then called, before Cromwell excluded from it the members who were offensive to his views), the Presbyterians and Republicans, had lately fattened on the miseries of their countrymen. Some of these, repenting their former errors, made efforts to save the King's life; and, for the crime of petitioning to that effect, were exposed to the rigorous punishments of imprisonment and sequestration. The royalists, conscious of their weakness, had suspended all military efforts, and fearing lest, by irritating their enemies, they should precipitate their Master's fate, they confined themselves to supplicatory addresses to him who alone had power to chain the fury of these human tigers. But, in the present instance, it was the will of the Almighty to give a fearful lesson to those who engage in fomenting rebellion and confusion, with an expectation of being able to muzzle the many-headed monster they let loose, and to govern that ignorance and depravity whose irregular appetites and malignant passions they have inflamed. The blow was struck which disgraced the nation, released the royal martyr from his crown of thorns, but had no power to prevent his receiving one of glory. "A dismal, universal groan burst from the thousands who witnessed the horrid scene[2], such as was never before heard! May England never utter such another! The troopers rode among the populace, driving them in all directions, and shewing the multitude, that though nine-tenths of the kingdom abhorred the action, committed in the name of all," the right of the majority was so little respected by these false assertors of liberty of opinion, "that it was now a state offence to express the natural feelings of compunction and pity." Driven to their own houses by the satellites of usurpation, tyranny, and murder, the people then gave vent to their tears and execrations. The contrite prayers of a sinful nation arose from every dwelling; and, like the blood of the Paschal Lamb on the doors of the Israelites, implored Divine Mercy to avert the sword of the destroying angel from them and their families, when he should be sent in wrathful visitation to take vengeance for that detestable regicide.

[1] For a very interesting account of what passed at Pontefract
Castle, and of the adventures of Colonel Morrice; see Clarendon,
vol. iii.

[2] Henry, a pious and eminent Nonconformist divine, gives this
account of the awful sensation generally produced by the King's
murder.

CHAP. XVIII.

Vast confusion waits;
As doth the raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest.

Shakspeare.

I avoid dwelling on the bitter anguish of the Beaumont family at the dreadful catastrophe of the long-imprisoned King. Its pious head added largely to his intercessory prayers, imploring heaven to avert its vengeance from all who had inadvertently been accessary to the fact, to forgive those who repented of the heinous sin, and to soften the hearts of those who still gloried in having murdered their Sovereign. For the English nation, his petitions were most fervent and impressive. The character of the young King had in it some traits which excited his apprehension; he prayed earnestly that they might be found (as many people said they were) merely the exuberance of youth; and that the acknowledged grace and affability of his manners, and the placableness of his temper, might ornament, but not supplant, those christian virtues and noble principles which had so eminently distinguished his father. Considering the provocations the people had committed, the great dissoluteness of one sort, and the wild fanaticism or palpable hypocrisy of the others, added to the furious passions and implacable resentments which were excited, especially by this last desperate deed, he saw little hope that true religion and regular liberty could be speedily restored; he feared, therefore, the sun of England's glory would suffer a long eclipse: yet England was his country, nor could affluence or distinction have tempted him to quit it while he thought his example, his labours, or his prayers could afford assistance to its inhabitants.

The existing Government allowed Dr. Beaumont and his family personal security: in return, he resolved to abstain from plotting its overthrow. The young King wished his friends not to hazard their own safety by rash undertakings; and Dr. Beaumont considered that to labour at the gradual introduction of right principles, the removal of mistakes, and the regulation of false doctrines; and, above all, to lead a life of holiness, universal charity, and meek simplicity, were the most likely means to heal the wounds made by violence, to soften the Divine anger, and to prepare the people for the restoration of legitimate rule. The reformation of individuals must, he knew, precede that of the nation; and he considered that the man, who employed himself diligently at his post, and strove to revive the sentiments of loyalty and piety in a country village, more truly served his God and his King than he who engaged in weak and unweighed efforts against a power which now wielded the energies of the kingdom. He lamented to see such enterprizes successively come to no better issue than that of giving fresh instances of the often-recorded fact, that loyalty and truth can die on the scaffold, or in the field of battle, without bending to their persecutors, or relinquishing the principles interwoven with life.

The situation of Colonel Evellin was very different. He was proscribed, exempted out of every amnesty, and though incapacitated by his infirmities from serving his King, yet forbidden to rest his weary head in secure privacy, till called by nature to hide it in the grave. Arthur De Vallance too, the noble-minded revolter, renouncing the distinctions purchased by the guilt of his parents, was resolved henceforth to devote his life to atone for their crimes, by being the constant attendant, comforter, and protector of his uncle. Yet was he not wholly disinterested in that resolution; the love of Isabel stimulated him to persevere in it, and he looked to her as the companion and reward of his services.

It was now determined to wait the probable effect of the summer heats in relieving the Colonel from the imbecility of extreme decrepitude. Dr. Beaumont was then to join the hands of Arthur and Isabel, and they and their father were to remove to Holland, where every friend of the Royal Martyr was affectionately welcomed by the Princess of Orange, whose only consolation in her deep affliction for him, was to cherish those who suffered in his cause. Arthur possessed a small private fortune independent of his parents, which, when converted into cash, would be adequate to their frugal support; and it was agreed, that while they waited the chance of the Colonel's recovery, no disclosure should be made of the change in his principles. He, therefore, retained the title of Sedley; continued to visit Morgan; talked of the friendship of Cromwell; and pretended that he resided with the Beaumonts, because he still required the assistance of his surgeon, and that he wished to be fully convinced of their inoffensive conduct before he recommended them to the General's favour.

During this time the Sunday assembling of the church in the wilderness was repeated as often as the safety of the congregation would permit. These were Dr. Beaumont's halcyon moments; the refreshing balms which enabled him to support his public and private affliction. The terrible death of Humphreys had made a great impression in the village, the outrageous blasphemies of the self-condemned reprobate in his last moments, and the utter inability of the various teachers of different opinions who gathered around him, to tranquillize his disordered imagination or quiet his alarmed conscience, led the beholders of that heart-rending scene to recollect, that no such occurrence had taken place during the quiet ministry of him who had preached the comfortable doctrine of God's universal acceptance of penitent sinners, and who had ever aimed rather to reform their lives than bewilder their understandings or influence their imaginations. Many of the neighbours who wanted courage to attend his more public services, visited the Doctor by night, and besought his instruction as a preceptor, or his judgment as a casuist. One wished him to talk with his wife, who was so much engrossed with spiritual things, that she thought it sinful to attend to temporal concerns. He said she left him alone in a severe fit of sickness, while in extreme danger, to listen to a favourite preacher; and, when reproved for her inhumanity, she burst into a transporting extacy, and declared herself now sure of salvation, as "she suffered for righteousness-sake," and would bear her cross with patience. He protested he knew not how to act, since, if he treated her with kindness, she was in despair, calling herself a lost soul, applying to her own case the woe denounced on those with whom the world is at peace, and complaining that she had no longer "a thorn in the flesh to buffet her." A disconsolate mother implored Dr. Beaumont to interfere and support her authority with her daughter, who, misunderstanding their preacher's encomiums on the sufficiency of faith, abandoned herself to antinomian licentiousness, asserting, that "it was the law which had created sin," but that the elect were free from the curse of the law. One father was ruined by children, who refused to "labour for the meat that perisheth." Another came in the deepest distress, lamenting that his son was committed to prison for having joined a band of fanatical desperadoes, who publicly plundered their neighbours, declaring that they were now superior to the commandments, and were prophets appointed to set up the empire of King Jesus, and restore those times "when believers had all things in common." In some of these instances Dr. Beaumont was enabled to enlighten the bewildered judgment; but when the errors of the imagination were fortified by licentious passions, or a perverse disposition, he could only give comfort to the afflicted relations by confirming them in a clearer view of divine truth.

But the Doctor's greatest trouble proceeded from those frequent visitors who came to complain to him of the state of their neighbours' souls, and to vaunt their own spiritual gifts and happy security. To these he could be of no use, nor is it any reflection on his learning and abilities, to say he was often posed by a class of disputants, who, wanting a previous acquaintance with those general topics of information which are necessary to a clear and true view of the question, presume to handle the most abstruse and profound topics of theology, while unable to see the force of their opponent's reasonings, or to attend to the development of the false hypothesis on which their notions are founded. These people, being wise in their own conceits, gloried in their errors, mistaking spiritual pride for piety, and censorious curiosity for concern for their neighbours' souls. The spirit of "Stand apart, I am holier and wiser than thou," had such firm possession of their minds, that the mild instructions and persuasive example of Dr. Beaumont had no effect; his refusal to anathematize the darkness of their adversaries, or to admire the splendour of their illumination, sealed their ears against all his counsels. In vain did he admonish them that the test of Christian principles, as given by our Divine Lawgiver, was unity. The promulgation of the Gospel to distant countries was to result from universal good-will. "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another," was the Saviour's definition of his true servants. "I thank God that I am not like this Publican," was the self-gratulation of a much greater sinner. The Apostles enjoined the most guarded temperance of judgment respecting others, and the closest inquisition about ourselves; and the wisest and best men, from well-grounded fears of their own perseverance in well-doing, have declined[1] all superior affectation of sanctity or invidious comparison of the behaviour of others with their own, lest they should afterwards fall into some grievous sin, and thus bring disgrace on religion and virtue. The Catholic church, he said, was a term implying affectionate communion as well as universality; and how could they be said to wish for Christ's reign upon earth, who made knowledge to consist in frivolous cavils, and piety in rancorous misinterpretation of a brother's motives? Were discord, enmity, and censoriousness, fit harbingers of the Prince of peace? His great forerunner preached repentance and reformation. The sins of individuals, not the institutions of civil society, were the mountains which were to be levelled before the rising of the Sun of Righteousness. We might be saved, without knowing if our neighbour was in the road to heaven; we must at the last day be judged for the good we have done, not for the evil others have thought; nor would the mere frequent calling upon the Lord save those who in their deeds rejected the Divine government. In fine, Dr. Beaumont, weary of the obstinacy and determined ignorance of these self-righteous, told them that their pretensions to a larger share of heavenly gifts was presumptuous, since they indulged in offences that spoke a more infernal origin than merely carnal sins; for, so far as human eye can penetrate into concealed mysteries, pride was the crime of the fallen angels. Nor would he admit that Christian humility had any thing to do with general acknowledgments, which rested in the corruption of our common nature. "It is in confession of actual sin that the contrite offender humbles himself before his God. The sentiment arising from an imputation of guilt which we could not avoid, or from the expectation of a punishment of which we are born the inheritors, is not self-abasement, but despair. The penitent, observed Dr. Beaumont, feels like one abashed by the recollection of his misdeeds, and fearful of forfeiting the pardon afforded him by mercy: hence arise kindness and compassion to his fellow-sinners, and newness of life in his own conduct; but he was yet to learn how the feelings of the predestinated elect, who boasted of being brands snatched out of the fire, and privileged favourites of Heaven, improved the morals of mankind."

Had Dr. Beaumont merely consulted his own ease, he could not have taken more effectual methods for clearing his door of those who came to display their own graces; yet his converts were numerous, respectable, and, what is better, shewed in their behaviour the improvement they derived from his labours. A quiet tractable deportment, a due sense of subordination, of duty to superiors, and of contented labour in their own callings, those noble and peculiar distinctions of true disciples of the church of England, which render her so proper an ally to the state, were again visible in the language and manners of those who attended the stolen congregational services I have mentioned, for to this assembling themselves together, the Divine blessing is especially promised. After the solemn and primary duties of confession, prayer, and praise, Dr. Beaumont resumed his old method of instruction, alternately expounding Christian mysteries, and inforcing Christian morals. On some occasions he pursued a course of catechetical lectures; on others, quitting elementary instructions, he proceeded to inforce good works as the test of faith; now recommending the means of grace, by which the heart of man was prepared to co-operate with the Divine Spirit, and then expatiating on the hopes of glory, the goal and reward of diligence and perseverance in well-doing. The service was lengthened by occasional prayers, adapted to the state of the kingdom, and closed with an hymn, except at those times when the centinel or watch indicated there was danger of interruption.

One fine evening of the summer of 1649 they were thus employed, and roused to uncommon fervour by a most pathetic discourse, to which the following hymn, sung by the congregation, was in its purport analogous:

Oh Thou, to whose paternal ear
Affliction never vainly cried!
Whom in prosperity we fear,
On whom in sorrow we confide;
We mourning exiles humbly crave
Thy light to guide--thy power to save.

Proscribed from consecrated ground,
Forbid thy sacred courts to tread,
We know, where contrite hearts are found,
Thy cleansing grace is largely shed.
The church may wander in the wild,
But God still feeds his pilgrim child.

Our canopy the vaulted skies,
Our unction the refreshing dew;
The circling rocks that round us rise,
Conceal us from th' oppressor's view;
Still shall their solemn echoes bear
To thy high courts our praise and prayer.

Not for ourselves (though sore dismay'd
Like hunted doves) we pray alone;
A bleeding people asks thy aid,
A ruin'd church, a prostrate throne,
A land become by woes and crimes,
A beacon to surrounding climes.

Oh, by the sacred ransom paid
For rebel man, rebellion hide;
Where evil spirits now have made
Their den, let thine own Spirit 'bide.
And change our contests and our wrongs
To holy lauds and peaceful songs.

The echoing rocks prolonged the solemn melody, and every heart was filled with sympathetic submission, devout patience, and humble hope, when their attention was recalled to the present scene by a loud Amen, which discovered a till-then-unobserved participator in their devotions. A lame bare-headed beggar stood leaning on his crutch, while the wind blew his hair and tattered garments in every direction. "Heaven bless you, worthy Christians!" said he; "you have prayed for the King, help a wounded soldier who has fought for his Royal Father. 'Tis many a day since I have heard the old church service, and it has done my heart good; I have drunk to her prosperity thousands of times."

Arthur offered him an alms.--"Oh, young gentleman," said he, "this is like throwing diamonds to a dunghill-cock. I cannot buy a loaf in the mountains, and I dare not venture into any town till I can get some other clothes to disguise myself. I was in the last insurrection, as the rebels call it, and so may be hanged without judge or jury, wherever they catch me; and they may hang me if they will, for they can never make any thing of me but a King's trooper, or else a Tom o' Bedlam."

Dr. Beaumont now advanced to see what measures could be adopted to relieve the stranger's necessities, when, to his great surprize, the man limped forward, and, grasping his hand with ecstasy, gave it a hearty shake. "Ah, my good Doctor, is it you?--'Twas so dusky I could not see your face; and your voice is quite broke and hollow to what it used to be. I hoped Your Reverence was safe and well at Oxford, and not preaching here among the goats and sheep in the mountains, while tinkers and tailors are palavering in churches. Don't Your Reverence remember Jobson, whom you tried to get out of that Squire Morgan's clutches, when the cursed covenant came first in fashion. I could not swallow it, you know, nor will I now, though they were to change my torn coat for a major's uniform. Is the Squire still alive? I should like to knock him down with my crutch, and tell him I bought shoes of his father."

It was with unfeigned pleasure that honest Jobson was recognised by his neighbours. Plans were proposed for his immediate relief, and Arthur hoped he could procure him a protection through the interest of Morgan. "Say nothing about it, Sir," answered Jobson; "I tell you I'll owe him nothing but a sound drubbing, and I hope to pay that before I die, in spite of the wound in my knee; he should have it now if I could catch him; and let me tell you, I am sorry to hear such a pretty-spoken gentleman as you, say you have any acquaintance with such a scoundrel. He has made me hate the neighbourhood he lives in; and I only came into it to see if all was true that was said of my wife; and I find she is gone a tramping with one of the new preachers, and her girls are gone after her with some of the rebel troopers. Let them go, I say, if they have no better fancies than that; I'll hop back to Wales, where an old soldier of the King's is sure to find a nook in a cottage-chimney, and a piggin of warm leek porridge; aye, and a warm heart too, that never will betray him."

"It is not in Wales only," answered Dr. Beaumont, "that there are found warm hearts who revere the memory of their martyred Sovereign, and love the brave soldier who has bled in his cause. My situation compels me to be careful of offending the ruling powers, but we can contrive to make some cavern in the mountains a comfortable place of shelter, till you are better able to undertake a long journey; and believe me, it rejoices my soul to see you display the same firmness in adversity as you did in the hour of danger. In the wreck of your little fortune, you have preserved that noblest treasure, an upright heart. Many who now bask in affluence, would give their ill-acquired eminence to call that jewel without price their own."

"True, worthy Doctor," answered Jobson; "yet the knaves often get uppermost in this world, and so won't own themselves to be scoundrels, which is what provokes me. But the times will come when we shall tell them a bit of our minds again; and then I suppose my wife will leave the preacher, and want me to take her in again; but no, no, Madam, says I, there's two words to that bargain. Does Your Reverence know, that though I never rose higher yet than to be an officer's servant, I am to be a yeoman of the guard. His Highness the King, as now ought to be, promised, when he was only Prince of Wales, that when he came to live in Whitehall, he'd make me one of the Beaf-eaters: bless his generous heart! he'd have made me any thing I asked, but I never was ambitious. So, please Your Majesty's Highness sweet Prince, says I, let me be a Beef-eater as long as I live. This was when I was in the boat with him, as he went to Sicily from Pendennis-Castle. 'Twas the last time he set his foot on English ground, said he must think of his word when he comes back with the crown on his head."

By this time Isabel and Constantia had concerted a retreat for Jobson in the mausoleum, which, having been recently searched, was not likely soon to excite the suspicions of the parliamentary committee-men. They therefore lingered by the side of Jobson, and gave him a private intimation of their design, directing him to come to the park-wall at midnight, where they would provide, not only for his support, but attempt to cure his wound, as habit had now made them expert surgeons. Jobson could scarcely be confined to whispering his acknowledgements. "Give me the use of my leg again," said he, "and let the King's colours fly in what part of England they will, Ralph Jobson shall stand by the side of them."

Each party was true to the appointment, and the tender chirurgeons perceived with pleasure, that Jobson's lameness proceeded rather from neglect and unskilful treatment, than from such an injury of the muscles as excluded all hope that their action could be restored. His adventures were told to Colonel Evellin, who insisted that his fellow-sufferer should become an inmate of his apartment. "Soldiers," said he, "can talk over wars and sieges together, and pray for better times. The tedious hours will pass pleasantly, enlivened by that gallant fellow's simplicity; and, if Morgan thinks that it is worth while to let loose his blood-hounds in search of a lame beggar, he may, at the same time, unearth another who has nothing but his life to lose. Calamities like ours level all distinctions; and why is the breath which animates the ruined representative of fallen greatness more valuable than that which inspires the heroism and cheerful patience of an honest trooper. Yet courage, my girl; the blood of Neville is not wholly contaminated; and when I cease to give thee anguish, thou and Arthur shall restore its purity."

The family considered on Colonel Evellin's request, and as none but themselves knew of Jobson's first retreat, they thought the safety of their noble charge would not be hazarded by indulging him with a companion. It was, however, still deemed expedient to conceal his name and connexion with the Beaumonts, and to describe him to Jobson only as a loyal officer, disabled by hard service, who sought concealment till he was sufficiently recovered to leave England. Jobson rejoiced in the change of apartments. The tincture of superstition, which was universal in those times, gave him a great reluctance to being hid in a monument, though he disguised his general apprehension of supernatural beings under the pretence of dislike to Sir William Waverly. "If it had been a loyal gentleman's tomb," said he, "I dare say I could have slept in it all night very well, but I know the Baronet was no better than a rebel in his heart, and the malice of those scoundrels is not cured by knocking their brains out. To say the truth, my teeth chattered in my head, and my legs twitched so about, that I am sure I never should have got well while I staid there."

Jobson's light heart now foreboded that his wound would quickly heal, and that the brave gentleman, who was his companion in affliction, would take him to be his servant, when he should be able to leave England; he, therefore, settled in his own mind, that he would stay in Colonel Evellin's service till the King sent for him to make him a Beef-eater. The concealed Loyalists soon fell into that intimacy which suffering in the same cause naturally inspires. Adversity is a great leveller, not only of artificial distinctions, but also of personal qualities. The dispossessed nobleman, and the village-ploughman, conversed familiarly together of many a hard-fought day. The scene of their warfare lay in different parts of the kingdom; but each listened with painful interest to the details of the other: Evellin ruminating on the errors which had ruined the King's cause, Jobson cursing the knaves who betrayed, and the traitors who beheaded, him.

"I cannot help making free with Your Honour," said Jobson, "though I see by all your ways you are a right true gentleman, and not like the Rump-tinkers and Old Noll's make-believes. You would hardly think, merry as I seem with you, that I am very sad at heart: not about Madge Jobson, my wife as was; no, let her go where she will, for she always was a bad one; but 'tis about that noble family that are so good to us both. And that pretty Mistress Constance, as sighs so when she bandages up my knee; sweet creature! she thinks she hurts me, but I would not cry out if she did; for I have a story I could tell her would make her sigh more, and look paler than she does, though she is now as white as a coward marching up to a charged battery."

Colonel Evellin inquired what story. The remembrance of his son was ever present to his mind; but the indelible shame of his public disgrace had prevented him from alluding to him, or asking Jobson if he had ever met him during the campaign of 1645: and the deep feeling of affectionate grief prevented Jobson from naming the gallant youth to the good gentleman, who seemed, he thought, to want to have his spirits raised, and was too cast down to be diverted with melancholy stories.

Jobson now begged the Colonel to satisfy his doubts whether it was right to make his benefactors unhappy. "As a friend of the family," said he, "and a wise man, I wish to consult you. They don't seem to know what is become of Mr. Eustace Evellin, had I better tell them or not?"

Though long and intimately versed in the discipline of severest misery, Colonel Evellin was forced to turn away his face to conceal his paternal perturbation. "If," said he, "since the public rebuke of Lord Hopton, he has again disgraced his lineage, bury his shame in that oblivion which I hope now covers his body; but, if he lived long enough to redeem his honour, tell me his history."

Jobson gazed with indignant surprise on his agitated companion. "If," answered he, "you had not fought as nobly as you have for the King, I would not bear to hear you talk about Mr. Eustace Evellin's redeeming his honour before he lost it. Why, it was all a mistake of the old Lord's when the cowards and traitors drove him distracted; and so he thought Mr. Eustace one of them, because now and then they tippled together. Aye, he has been sorry enough for it since: but Generals should be careful what they say, for Lord Hopton ruined one of the fairest young gentlemen that ever was born."

The Colonel motioned with his hand that Jobson should proceed with his narrative. "Does Your Honour groan through pain?" inquired the latter; "let me lay you in an easier posture. Did you never hear how Mr. Eustace fought at Pendennis-Castle; when old John Arundel of Terrice thanked him before all the garrison?"

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Evellin, "that was a public honour!"

"Tush! that was nothing," continued Jobson; "every soldier knew already what stuff Mr. Eustace was made of. Old John called him the hero of Lancashire. After the castle had surrendered, I went with him into Wales; and wherever there was a little fighting we were at it: and when there was none, we lived just as we could; for I did not care about Madge Jobson, and Mr. Eustace said he could not go home because his father had cursed him."

"No, no, no," said Evellin; "he never cursed him."

"I wish," cried Jobson, "the poor gentleman had known that; it might have saved his life."

"Is he dead?" exclaimed the father, in an agony that lifted his debilitated frame from its recumbent posture.

"Shot in cold blood after the taking of Pembroke-Castle."

"By whose order?"

"A devil's-born traitor, as bad as those who cut off the King's head; Lord Bellingham they call him."