Chapter II: Part 2

Subsequent dispatches from De Vallance heightened his distress. In a moment of extreme irritation, when, by long pondering on his own and the nation's wrongs, passion gained the ascendancy of judgement, Evellin in a confidential letter to Walter had anticipated with hope and exultation the fate that afterwards befell the Duke of Buckingham. A sermon of Dr. Beaumont's afterwards convinced him of the guiltiness of an expression, which, though proceeding from a sudden unweighed suggestion rather than a deliberate purpose, yet, certainly, as our church has well determined, proves "the infection of our nature, and has in it the nature of sin." Convinced that positive evil may not be committed to procure problematical good, and that no uninspired person should presume to think himself God's champion, unless placed in that station which visibly arms him with his authority, Evellin had often lamented this rash letter, as one of his secret faults. He now severely felt it also, as an imprudence, in having given vent to his angry feelings, even in a confidential communication. De Vallance informed him that, through a fatal mistake of his secretary, this very letter had been laid with some other papers, tending to prove him innocent of the death of Saville, and was thus put along with them into the King's hands by the Queen, who had graciously undertaken to plead for the brother of her favourite Lady Eleanor. No expiatory apology could be urged to weaken the effect of sentiments attested by his own writing, and they were obliged to yield him to the storm, as the King now declared that mercy would be compromising blood. Walter was in despair. Lady Eleanor still determined to watch for a favourable moment; they both continued his firm friends, and would punctually remit ample sums for his support, till some change in the state of affairs should again admit of their active interposition.

How dreadful was Evellin's situation! Ruined by his own rashness, and restrained from a step, to which impatience of present suffering had long impelled him, namely to throw himself on the King's mercy, and either regain his birthright or forfeit his life! He was now a husband; he expected to be a father. Isabel must not be deserted in the hour of distress, and her life was bound up in his. She endured the change in her prospects with a cheerful serenity, that seemed as if she felt only the sorrows of her beloved. Nor did Dr. Beaumont betray any feeling which tended to shew that the expectation of stalls and mitres ever withdrew his thoughts from the celestial contemplations in which he loved to expatiate.

"Why should I grieve for those who seem wrapped in measureless content?" said Evellin. "Is this apathy the effect of ignorance of greater good, or the result of a long indulged habit of contemning every exterior advantage?--Isabel, while planning your baby-cloaths, or loitering among your flowers, you seem to forget that life admits of more exalted pleasures and ampler scenes of duty. Have you no desire beyond filling your days with such a series of trivial occupations, which make our years glide away with undistinguishable sameness? Have you no wish to extend your views beyond Ribblesdale? Does the scene of life, exhibited among your native villagers, satisfy your wish of being acquainted with human nature? Do the mountains, which bound your horizon, limit your desire of seeing the wonders of your Creator's hand? When you read the history of the mighty and the good, your countenance expresses your ardour to emulate their actions; yet here you seem to wish to set up your rest, and slumber away your life, content with security, and careless of renown."

"When I am summoned to another station," replied Isabel, "it will be time enough to cherish the feeling which will beseem it. At present, suffer me to think of the advantages of my own. In the hour of danger, and the decline of life, the most courageous spirits long for a quiet harbour. Does not this shew that safety is desirable, and repose a blessing? The difference which even my inexperienced mind discovers, between the inward feeling and the exterior advantages of greatness, abates my wish to wear the gorgeous pall of splendid fortune. Yet, dearest Allan, I am aware, that our present state cannot be permanent. Two alternatives await us, either a restoration to your rank in society, or removal to a plate of greater security. The King will soon visit Scotland, to receive his hereditary crown. He will pass through Ribblesdale, and my brothers duty will call him to attend him; is there a hope that he can plead your cause successfully, after the eloquence of your friend, and the address of your sister have failed?"

Evellin answered, there was no probability.

"Consider then," returned Isabel, "this place lies in a frequented road. Some busy courtier will be eager to beat the covert and start the noble quarry, which the King desires to hunt down. If indeed His Highness's mind is so obscured by anger, as to combine a rash expression and a deliberate plan of murder in the same degree of guilt; to condemn you unheard for one crime, and by implication make you accessary to another, can there be safety or honour in being his servant? Surely, my Allan's loyalty once arrayed his Prince with visionary excellence; or Walter acted like one of those unskilful surgeons, who convert a slight wound into a deep gangrene."

The tone of displeasure, in which Evellin checked every suggestion against the integrity or discretion of his friend, had no other effect on Isabel's mind, than to convince her of her husband's unbounded confidence. Walter's own letters furnished her with many reasons for suspicion; there was in them a studied air of plausibility, a nice arrangement of minutiae, and a wary shifting from important points, which seemed to her strong but artless mind, more like the drapery of design, than the frank simplicity of truth. They were seldom replies to Evellin's statements or requests. The kindness they contained had the flourish of sentiment; there was much ostentatious display of trivial offices of goodwill, and of those every-day assistances, which affection wants memory to record. If Evellin seemed determined to risk all, by a bold appeal to the laws, better prospects were held out, which precipitation would blast; and larger remittances were forwarded. If he affected to be reconciled to obscurity, Walter, by gently censuring, actually confirmed the wise moderation of his choice, describing himself as tired of the court, and reluctantly chained to it by the rooted attachment of Lady Eleanor, who sparkled in the Queen's train, eclipsing all in splendor, and all but her royal mistress in beauty. He subjoined to these complaints of the unsatisfactoriness of a life of pleasure, lamentable statements of the misrule of the King, and the oppression of his government, the arbitrary punishments of the Star-chamber, the illegal fines, loans and projects, by which the royal coffers were filled, and concluded with affirming, that they only were safe and happy, whose contracted wants, and mortified desires, asked but the primeval simplicity of nature. All this time, though the honours of the house of Neville lay in abeyance, the rents were received by De Vallance, and Isabel wondered that so mortified a spirit should encumber itself with the dross which it affected to despise.

Meantime Evellin, partially blinded by a fatal security, and in part deprived of the use of his judgement by his acute feelings, at one time scorned to impute treachery to the friend of his youth; at another fear to trust even himself. One master stroke of policy still remained. Walter wrote to him in great alarm; their correspondence was discovered to the King, and reported to be of a factious tendency. He was in the most imminent danger of being sacrificed to their mutual enemies. He conjured Evellin to fly to some more remote retreat instantly, but first to give up to the confidential agent, whom he named, all their correspondence, that he might instantly destroy it, lest it should fall into the hands of those who would construe it into a disclosure of the King's counsels. The credulous Evellin fell into the snare. He returned all Walter's letters, and retired with his family to a freehold of Isabel's, situated among the mountainous parts of Lancashire, and in his anxiety for Walter's safety, forgot for a time his own troubles. But though their correspondence ceased, the voice of fame was not silent, and its echoes reached even to the Fourness Fells, telling that Walter De Vallance was created Earl of Bellingham, and that all the possessions of the ancient house of Neville were bestowed on Lady Eleanor.

The ocean beats at the bottom of a cliff for ages, and imperceptibly wears its rugged projections to smoothness; but an earthquake overthrows it in an instant. The mind of Evellin, which for a period of seven years had contended with hope and fear, sometimes almost suspecting, and at other times rejecting distrust, was by this proof of his friend's treachery, bereft of all fortitude and patience. Wounded by the neglect of the world, his confidence in Walter had been his preservative from misanthropy; and when vexed at the recollection of his own imprudent frankness and folly, in provoking the resentment of powerful foes, he soothed his galled spirit by considering, that the guileless simplicity of his nature, which had raised those foes, had also secured him a faithful friend. That bright creation of his fancy disappeared, a chaos of duplicity, dark contrivance, and injustice remained: Walter proved false, his sister unnatural, his King a tyrant. So different were these objects from what he once believed them, that he doubted whether life afforded any realities. Did his Isabel really choose him for his own merit, or was latent ambition the spur to her affection? Did the village-pastor seek out and console a stranger from motives of Christian benevolence, or had he discovered his rank and hopes, and on them formed expectation of advancement?

Whatever the most unalterable and entire affection, acting on a noble mind and an active temper, could do, Isabel performed with cheerful tenderness and never-wearied patience. To assist in supporting her family, she took the farm into her own management, and endeavoured to rouse the attention of her much-altered husband, by pointing out the humble, but secure comforts, which husbandry afforded. She dwelt on every example of unhappy greatness; she reminded him, that to be deceived by specious characters, was the common error of superior understandings, who, lightly valuing the goods of fortune, never suspect that to others they will prove irresistible temptations. Her surprise, she said, was not that the artful should impose upon the honourable, or the mean ensnare the magnanimous; but that the former should have the audacity to attempt to cozen those who were every way above them, because, in so doing, they must depend upon the operation of qualities, which their narrow hearts and warped principles could not allow them to estimate. She once went so far as to say, that it was not superior discernment, which enabled her to suspect the perfidiousness of Walter. She did not view him with the partiality of youthful affections; she was ignorant of the many ties which bound him to a brave and grateful heart. Her anxiety for her Allan kept her attention fixed on one object, the progress which his agent made; and when she saw that the cause did not prosper in his hand, she searched for instances of mismanagement, and combined circumstances to his prejudice, which were not likely to strike an affectionate friend, who was too confident in the actor to scrutinize the action. How could she, who loved a brother with the same unquestioning fidelity as Allan did Walter, condemn the errors of overflowing affection? Evellin listened in gloomy silence. Too deeply wounded to endure even this mild censure of his own folly, in the shape of an apology for his weakness, he sternly enjoined her to avoid that theme.

Undismayed by such rebuffs, Isabel attempted other topics. She often assured him she was now more at her ease, than if seated at the head of the Earl's table, in Castle Bellingham. "I should have been embarrassed," said she, "and might, perhaps, have acted wrong through my solicitude to be very right. Our little household is easily catered for; hence we can devote the more time to our darling babes. Was not the husbandman's life preferred by the wisest, the most favoured of mankind? Does it not afford health and peace? Are not our cares innocent, our enjoyments unenvied? We do not anticipate, with aching hearts, the fall or the death of a rival; neither do we, after having distorted our faces with the hilarity of forced merriment in public, meet, in our privacies, with anger and fear; reproaching each other for some neglect, and commenting on the frowns of royalty. We need not study to be expert in ceremony, or adroit in flattery. When nature calls, we take our simple food, we rest when she requires relaxation, and when rest is satiety, innocent and useful labour improves our mental and corporeal functions. How pitiable are they, whom necessity drags to the banquet of ostentation, who secretly yawn through the lengthened vigil of unenjoyed dissipation; who rise from feverish slumbers to tasteless delights; who feel that their present course of life is a captivity; and yet look on that which would bring them freedom as disgrace. Unmolested by creditors, unvexed by the reproachful glances of those who would attribute their undoing to our extravagance, with no open enemies to insult us, no secret sorrows to afflict us, our desires subdued rather than gratified, our domestic union perfect, our minds informed, and our souls expatiating in a still happier world, O my Allan, let us forget the past, and call our lot rare felicity. These mountains, which shut from your view a deceitful treacherous world are now your towers of defence. These clear lakes which reflect the blue skies, dispose us to serene contemplation. When all my household toils are finished, and suspended care sleeps till the morning, I lead my children to their evening sports; I point to the sublime scenes around us, and remind them that the Almighty mind, that formed these wonders, dictated the book which is their daily study. He piled the grey cliffs on each other, some awfully barren, others cloathed with verdure, to shew that fertility and desolation, like joy and grief, are at his disposal. He, through fringed rocks, hollowed a cavern, whence burst the majestic cataract, whose course no mortal hand shall divert or restrain. So should man submit to the dispensations of Omniscient wisdom. While thus meditating, I despise the insignificance of worldly cares, I become almost spiritualized, and am in danger of losing social affections, as well as earthly desires, till my children, fancifully decked with wild flowers, call aloud to point you out, descending from the cliff, loaded with game, and accompanied by your spaniels and falcon. They rush into your embraces. You return safe, uninjured by your exhilarating sports. If, at such a moment, I can fancy that parental transport predominates over sorrow in your aspect, I lift my hands in transport to Heaven, and ask if a mighty Princess ever was so blessed."

The dejected Evellin sometimes listened in silence to these fond breathings of chaste affection, wrung her hand, and pronounced her worthy of a happier lot, calling her a pledge of divine favour and reconciliation to a much-offending man. He never spoke of his wrongs, and she sometimes entertained a hope that they were fading from his remembrance. At least she knew it was the wisest course to avoid dwelling on sorrows, for which patience was the only cure, and being thoroughly practised in the duty of resignation, she wished to impart its comforts to him, whom she so strongly loved.

CHAP. IV.

My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thoughts engage,
These, my sole oracles, inspire my rage.

Pope's Homer.

One evening, while the young Evellins were watching for their father, and fancying they discerned him returning from the mountains, they hastily ran back to their mother to inform her that a strange man lay at the bottom of the glen seemingly much fatigued, who asked the way to Mr. Neville's. Isabel knew that the real name of her husband was known only to herself in that neighbourhood, and suspected a snare of De Vallance's to get him into his power and rob him of all that remained, his life. She anxiously inquired what further passed, little Eustace answered, "We said nobody lived near but our father, whose name was not Neville but Evellin. He asked us if he was tall, with dark hair, and carried himself like a Prince. We had seen no Princes, but I put on my cap as he does, and shewed how he walked, and the poor man caught me in his arms, almost smothered me with kisses, and said he would never stir from that spot till his master came."

"Foolish children," said the mother; "perhaps you have betrayed your father to those who hunt for his life."

"No, indeed," replied Isabel, "he is too weak and ill to hurt any body. He is very hungry still, though I gave him all the cloud-berries I had gathered, and filled his can with water. He blessed us just as you do, and I am sure he never would hurt my father."

"Go round by the coppice, my darling; meet your father and tell him what you have seen; I will go to the stranger."--"And take some cordials with you," said both the children. "He shall want no cordials if he be what he appears," returned Mrs. Evellin; "but, sweet lambs, there are more wolves in the world than true shepherds."

The suspicions of the fond wife were in this instance groundless. The stranger was David Williams, formerly comptroller of the Earl of Bellingham's household, who, discovering that his real master was not dead, as Earl Walter now affirmed, set out with a determination of discovering his retreat. He carried with him the honourable savings of a life of industry; but having been attacked on the road and robbed of his property, he arrived, exhausted and pennyless, among the Fells of Fourness, in appearance a burden to the family he wished to serve.

Yet this faithful old servant, though bare and withering like the scathed oak, was inexpressibly welcome to one who so deeply suffered from the crimes of duplicity. Williams soon recovered his strength under the care of his dear old master; and though the mountain cottage bore no resemblance to the embattled towers of Castle Bellingham, still he was under the roof of a true Neville, and he would not change his service to attend an Emperor. Evellin took a lively interest in the society of his old domestic, who, happy that his recovered health enabled him to serve, in adversity, the noble stock under whose protection he had formerly flourished, followed his dear lord, as he called him, over the mountains, thinking of the days that were past. Sometimes Williams would lead Evellin to talk of former times, when Bellingham Castle blazed with feudal splendor, and the numerous dependents of its mighty owner, marshalled by the sound of the bugle, rode to their sports like the clans of the earlier ages, a gallant troop, to rouse the stag from his lair, or to loose the hawk at the crested pheasant. The heir of that castle, habited as an humble yeoman, sullenly listened to the narrative of his only follower. "Does not the chace," he would say, "now afford us equal pleasure? are not my dogs as swift, and these mountains as replete with game as those which engird my paternal residence." A deep groan contradicted the conclusion to which this inquiry seemed to lead; yet Williams, fancying he amused his master, continued to deepen those agonizing recollections which are most dangerous to poignant sensibility. Nor had Evellin the self-command to forbear making inquiries which must, when answered, aggravate his anguish. He bade Williams freely state what he knew of their old neighbours and dependents. The tale was diffusely told. Evellin listened with deep attention, execrated his own misconduct, enjoined silence, and then, by fresh questions, encouraged repetition. A hope had long clung to his heart, arising from that lofty tone of feeling which is more pained at becoming the tool of falsehood than at being the victim of misfortune. Long-continued moody musings had affected his judgment; and he sometimes actually doubted whether De Vallance was really treacherous, or had been defeated in his friendly efforts by the power of a host of enemies.

"Answer me truly, Williams," said he, while his lip quivered with emotion, and his hand trembled as he affected to stroke his falcon with a careless air: "you see the present and the future are now indifferent to me. You remember the time when Walter's father rescued me, a cradled infant, from Tyrone's rebellious kerns in Ireland, and thus laid the foundation of the friendship between our houses. You remember, Walter himself saving me from the lake when I was nearly drowned. Surely he was then a warm-hearted, generous boy. The tears he shed over my supposed corse could not be dangerous and deceitful drops. At school, at college, and when we crossed the Alps together, ever sharing my bed and table, I saw him in every different situation. Was his life one act of deceit, and mine a long dream of credulity? When, in the fullness of my soul, I told him he was more than worthy my sister's love, he answered that though the noble blood of Devereux ran in his veins, it did not become his humble fortunes to aspire to the Lady Eleanor. After my father's death, he would no longer reside with me, but entered into the service of his cousin, the Lord Essex, saying he would not quarter an expensive retainer on the scanty portion of a younger brother, which needed good husbandry, but that his heart still remained with me, and would be a cheap sojourner. Was not this the language of a noble spirit? You look, Williams, as if you had a mystery to unfold. Come, tell all your tale as you would repeat it to gossips on a wassail night. The world is now forgotten by me, and I am forgotten by the world."

"My noble Lord," Williams began--"Again," said Evellin, "after my strict injunctions, do not insult me with empty titles. Have I not told you that my patent of nobility is cancelled? I am Goodman Evellin of the Fells, husband of the best of women, and father of two wanton prattlers, who know not the misery of having fallen from an eminently glorious station. Mark, Williams, the story of what I was shall die with me, or only survive close shut in the treasured remembrance of my faithful wife. I would not for the universe cloud the laughing features of these happy babes, by awakening desires which I cannot gratify; therefore forget my lapsed greatness."

"Even in our privacies?" inquired Williams.

"Certainly; and habit will make familiarity easy. Sit beside me on the ground, and leave off putting your hand to your bonnet. Do we not look like two smart woodmen, enjoying, over our evening repast, a tale of other times?"

"I must turn my face from your honour," said Williams, "before I can attempt to forget that you was Sir Allan, my old master's favourite son; but it is in vain for you to try to pass for a country yeoman. They who have spent their lives in these mountains, and never seen a noble personage, rudely explain their notions of majesty and dignity by describing you; and, by the grace of Heaven, they shall find they guessed right, when they said the stranger from the south-country was a man of another sort of a world."

"Let us have no more day-dreams, I asked you about Walter de Vallance."

"He is now Earl of Bellingham."

Evellin gnawed his lip, and angrily struck his fawning spaniel. "True," replied he, "the King would have him so. He forced these honours on him; and if is thus, by prejudice and injustice, that he tampers with the loyalty of a brave nation. Canst thou blame De Vallance for catching my coronet before it fell to the ground by a false attainder? Why should the title lie in abeyance? Is it not better worn by one allied to our house than by an alien? Who so fit to sit in the baronial chair of our common ancestor as my sister's son, now I am exscinded as a diseased branch."

"He is a lad of the fairest promise," answered Williams, "but he will never live to be Earl of Bellingham. Grant that no singular judgments fall on the house of usurpation, yet the honourable blood which he inherits from the Nevilles will so strive with the foul current of De Vallance, that the ill-compounded body will not grow to manhood."

Evellin smiled: "Thou thinkest then," said he, "that Walter has played the thief's part, and stolen what he could not honestly acquire."

"'Tis past thinking about," answered Williams; "the blame rests not on the King's Majesty, whom Heaven prosper. He is too much raised above the common intercourse of life to look into the hearts of those who take care to approach him with a fair outside. His days are consumed by cares and perplexities, and those who are apt and courteous in business must needs have his ear. I well know that De Vallance gained the royal favour by appearing to be your devoted friend, and by praising you for those qualities in which it was Heaven's will to leave you somewhat defective. Thus he praised your prudence, and produced your flight in proof of your innocence; yet, in the same breath, gave some instance of your rashness, and shewed that flight was ever the villain's resource. So contrariwise were his pleadings and his praises, that His Grace said one day of him, jestingly, 'Whatever my council may decide about Neville, I must keep De Vallance in my service; for though he is an unapt advocate, he is a right trusty friend.'"

"We are now," returned Evellin, "acting as jurors, deciding upon the better part of a man's possessions, his honour. Let us then be candid and wary. Zeal, like anger, often overshoots the mark. The lively promptitude of feeling hurries our judgment beyond its natural pace. Let us admit that the stern character of that bloody conclave, before whom De Vallance often pleaded my cause, might confuse a man, among whose natural defects I have noted a constitutional timidity, apt to tremble at the frown of a fellow-creature. Before a court constituted like the Star-chamber, armed with unlimited powers to impose fines, imprisonment, sequestration, banishment, nay even the punishment of personal mutilation, no wonder the sole friend and unsupported advocate of a man, whom they were bent to ruin, took improper methods of serving him."

"It is too true," returned Williams, "that this court has of late stretched its originally unconstitutional powers, and has further provoked the unwarrantable licence of the times by trying to restrain it. The King's best friends allow that it has in many instances 'held that for honourable which pleased, and that for just which profited; and being the same persons who composed the council, the same individuals acted in two courts; in one, enjoining the people what was not law, and prohibiting what was not prohibited; and, in the other, censuring disobedience to their own decrees by heavy fines and severe imprisonments. But the tendency of these proceedings has been rather to supply the King's necessities with money, which, since his breach with his parliament he cannot legally obtain, than wantonly to sport with the rights of his people, from which no advantage can be derived to the crown[1].' And truly, those noble persons who compose this assembly are too well aware of the unpopularity and odium of their proceedings to give any needless cause of complaint; nor would they have dared to commit such a foul misdemeanor, as to condemn and sentence a peer of the realm for a capital offence, without giving him a solemn and public trial. Now, my dear master, has your clear understanding been so misled as to make you suppose their misdoings ever reached such atrocity, or that they would unwisely give contention such a handle."

Evellin's judgment had ever contradicted Walter's statements, and the conclusions which remaining affection, and his own unwillingness to own himself a dupe, laboured to draw, he now inquired how his estates came to be confiscated, and his person cast out of the protection of the law.

"On account of your contumacy," answered Williams; "you did not surrender when the royal proclamation called upon you to take your trial, and then a writ of outlawry was required by your prosecutor."

"Was it not Walter's duty to convey that proclamation to me?" said Evellin. Williams replied, it was; he mentioned its date, and Evellin knew it tallied with that of his marriage, at which time Walter more earnestly conjured him to remain in the closest concealment. A heavy groan burst from his heart, he rested his head on his folded hands, and bade Williams proceed.

"Yet though a long term of years had elapsed," continued he, "so unwilling was the King to proceed to extremities, that from term to term the cause stood over, and the hungry vulture who longed to gorge your possessions grew weary of acting the dove's part. I had long seen his base nature. In vain did he dress his face and his person in the solemn hue of mourning, or your false-hearted sister shed Hyaena tears,"--

"Tears! For what did she weep?"

"For your death."

"My death," said Evellin, starting up; "De Vallance knew I was alive."

"Aye, my noble master, and so did I too, or I should never have lived to drag my bones to the banks of Windermere; grief would have killed me ere I had gone half my journey. I caught the villain destroying your letters; I saw the date of one; you were alive at Ribblesdale in November, so could not have died the preceding month at Launceston."

"Who durst affirm that I did?"

"Walter De Vallance.--He claimed an audience of the King, and shewed an attested certificate, stating that Allan Neville had there deceased. An account was subjoined of his person, his way of living, and the time he had resided in that borough, all made to correspond with your likeness and history. I had followed him to the door of the privy-chamber, and waited among the pages. Methinks I see him now screw up his hypocritical face and wink his eyes, as if he wept." "Your Majesty," said he, "will be no more persecuted with my suit for my ill-fated brother-in-law.--Lady Eleanor commends her duty to the Queen.--Alas, I fear the same stroke will leave me friendless and a widower.--Never was such love." He went on, sobbing aloud--"A broken heart brought him to his grave.--One, only error; else the very mirror of honourable faculties." Thus he stood as one beside himself with anguish, holding out the certificate, which a gentleman read to His Highness. And then, my noble master, you might have seen how true pity looks by the side of its vile counterfeit. "I knew Allan Neville well," said the King, "and I once truly loved him. Ill rest the calumniators of those who can no longer justify themselves! His faults die with him. The pardon I meant to have granted to his offences, if he would have sought my mercy, shall turn into favours to those who share his blood." Walter answered, he could scarce be comforted even by such gracious words; but he acted his part ill, for though the King's goodness was too noble to suspect him, the courtiers nicknamed him the merry-mourner.

"Why speaks not my noble master," said Williams, observing the fixed posture and quenched eye of Evellin. At last he exclaimed--"I am not dead;" and bursting into an hysterical laugh, he swore De Vallance should find he was not dead.

"That is the point," replied Williams, "to which I have long wished to urge you. Only appear and prove your identity; nothing more is wanting. But rest on my arm, your whole frame is convulsed. Ah, woe is me, that a base upstart should thus destroy so true a sample of old English worth!"

"I have survived the loss of my patrimony," said Evellin; "I have bowed my aspiring mind to the lowliness of which I was born to be the protector; I have a good King, a good cause, a faithful wife, dear lovely children. De Vallance shall not long triumph. But say, Williams, didst than ever hear of treachery so complicated, so deep, so totally void of even a twinkling ray of common rectitude."

"I know but one character more vile and unnatural," returned Williams, "and that is the Lady Eleanor."

"I pass her by," said Evellin. "Nature cast her mind in its most sordid mould; and her heart is capable only of mean inclinations and low desires; I have, from my youth, reproved her follies, and as she never loved me, she would see no crime in plotting my destruction."

"What--because you strove to render her worthy her lineage," answered Williams. "If a bad nature is an excuse for crimes, may not Satan object to the severity of his sentence. Beauty made her vain, and adulation made her haughty. Yet other ladies on the same personal graces have engrafted the lovelier stock of truly noble virtues. The husband whom she deigned to marry, because she found him a ready slave to her designs, will live to rue the day when he made marriage a ladder to ambition. May Heaven guard our Queen from so dangerous a friend. Never did a falser serpent with a beautiful outside dart its poisons into the ear of Majesty."

Williams went on repeating anecdotes, which proved the degeneracy of the new Countess from the antient stock of noble ladies who were better pleased to act as faithful and provident stewards of the bounty of Heaven, than, like greedy whirlpools, to absorb every thing within their reach. He contrasted their circumspect liberality with her thoughtless waste; the matronly sobriety and tempered magnificence of their attire with her new fangled fickleness and wanton costliness; their modest dignified courtesy with her wayward perverseness; their gravity with her lightness, in acting at court-revels and maskings, familiar with every gallant, and accepting praise from the most polluted sources. He spoke to the winds; the full proof of that perfidy which Evellin had so long struggled to disbelieve, fell like a thundering cataract on his mind, and swept away all power of attention. Long-indulged sorrow had preyed on his mental and corporeal functions, and rendered him ill able to support that severe blow. Williams sincerely repented the circumstantial disclosure he had made. A feverish listlessness seized on the unhappy Evellin, which yielded only to the visitation of a more dreadful calamity. It was not decided insanity, but it dispelled the hopes which had been formed of his being able to reclaim his usurped birth-right. His bodily health was in time restored, and his mental infirmity became a wild humoursome eccentricity, preserving traces of his noble character, but querulously impatient of controul, subject to extravagant transports, and incapable of steady exertion or connected thought. Still magnanimous, independent and honourable, but moody, rash, and intractable, he was the automaton of generous instinct, no longer animated by reason.

Such a situation required constant vigilance to prevent irritation and supply soothing recreations and gratifying objects. Williams was a most useful assistant to Mrs. Evellin. He was practically versed in husbandry, he knew the world, and had a creditable share of literature; he could thus amuse his master, direct the domestic management, and instruct the children. Isabel in all these instances found him a considerable relief to her cares. That excellent woman knew not what immediately hastened her husband's malady. Williams had often stated the possibility of his regaining his rights; but she, dreading every proposal that might agitate his mind, solemnly urged that that topic should be avoided. "In my prayers to Heaven," said she, "I never dared to supplicate for more than that he might ever continue what he was when I first revered and loved him. Reason and judgment are positive advantages; fortune and title, accidents which the possessor may convert into evils. I should have been most thankful, if, during our journey to the vale of years, he had been always able to act as my counsellor and guide. His conversation was 'the daily banquet of my nourished mind.' I hoped ever to feed on the words of wisdom breathed from the lips of kindness. I know not what important contingencies in my eternal existence are connected with my present trial; but this I know, if I sustain it patiently and cheerfully, it must promote much present good. I did not consider marriage merely as a summer voyage. Before I left the quiet harbour of singleness I thought of winter and its future storms. Most happily I did not choose a vessel laden with perishable treasures. While reason and judgment illuminated his mind, my Evellin was the delight and ornament of society; yet still his holier hopes, pursued a good, less transient than the applause of man. If while the faithful servant labours in his vocation a premature night falls upon him and suspends his toil, will the just Master who ordains the privation, be extreme in noting the remissness of infirmity? I once was the happiest of wives, nor can I now be wretched since I still minister comfort to my beloved."

Thus, with a mind naturally firm, and still further supported by principle and undeviating affection through years of trial, Mrs. Evellin persevered in active duty and enduring fortitude. The anxiety which her suffering husband excited, and the attentions he required, slowly undermined a constitution originally delicate, but she made no parade either of her sorrows or her cares. She courted no compassion, and her suppressed anguish would have been known only to her Creator, had she not observed that Evellin, in his wildest aberrations of intellect, felt her sorrows, and was not only tranquillized but restored to a transient recollection by the sight of her distress. She bestowed infinite care on her children, labouring to impart to them a portion of her own cheerful fortitude and active vigilance. The superintendance of her farm added to her employments; she had no leisure for unavailing regret; and till sickness was added to sorrow, her busy days were frequently rewarded by nights of peaceful slumber. The occupied mind, however acute its sensibility, rarely sinks into despondence. The soothing consciousness of usefulness overcomes its regrets, and the habit of exertion creates confidence in its own powers. This sentiment, though criminal when it annihilates religious dependence, is highly commendable when it acts as its ally, inspiring a generous resolution of not adding to the burden of our fellow-pilgrims, who like us toil heavy-laden through the wilderness of life. On the other hand those, who, when visited by irremediable affliction, give up their whole souls to the indulgence of grief, may dignify their passive dejection with the name of finer feelings, and more tender sensibility, but they will at last find, that they have submitted to the bondage of a tyrant who will deprive them of all their remaining comforts. Does gloomy despondence bespeak a higher degree of social virtue? Is melancholy an instance of the soul's reliance on Divine goodness? Do they not rather shew a rebellious disposition to Him from whom affliction proceeds, and a selfish disregard of those whose comforts are all blasted by the depressing influence of indulged despair?

[1] This is Clarendon's account of that famous court.

CHAP. V.

Scripture was not writ to beget pride and disputation, and
opposition to government, but moderation, humility, and
obedience, and peace, and piety, in mankind, of which no good
man ever did or will repent himself on his death-bed.

Hooker.

The subject of my story embraces a long period of eventful years; I must therefore imitate the chroniclers of old, and, leaving the Evellins among their mountain-fastnesses, return to Ribblesdale, and describe the situation of Dr. Beaumont.

This worthy divine continued to exercise his pastoral functions in respectable tranquillity, adorning his station by a happy union of literary accomplishments with Christian graces. In these duties he was assisted by his amiable and beloved wife, who, though endowed with an unusual share of personal beauty, and descended from a noble stock, thought it no degradation to practise the duties which the inspired Apostle requires from the wives of Christian pastors, whom he rightly considers as called to be associates and partners in the ministry. She was indeed "grave, no slanderer, sober, faithful in all things, adorned with a meek and quiet spirit, abounding in good works, and a teacher of good things." Preserving the decorous and just superiority of polished manners and an enlightened mind, blended with the courtesy, humility, and meekness which result from true religious feeling, this amiable woman lived beloved and died lamented. A victim to the pestilence which ravaged England about the year 1630, she fell in the prime of life; a proof that length of days and exemption from sorrow are no sure marks of Divine favour. Her assiduity in ministering to the afflicted, exposed her to the infection which deprived Dr. Beaumont of all his numerous family except one daughter; while the household of Sir William Waverly, closely barricadoed by every contrivance which caution could suggest, enjoyed uninterrupted health. The only share he had in the general distress arose from his fears that some of the convalescent might pass the barrier he had placed round his park, or that infection might be communicated through the medium of the bailiff, who was allowed to sell corn from his granaries to the starving populace, at an exorbitant rate. The Baronet gave himself great credit for this act of generosity and patriotism, often observing that it would be very hard if it should expose him to the danger of falling a victim to his philanthropy, which sentiment was re-echoed by those who had the honour of sitting at his table, now more splendidly furnished by these extra profits, to the great satisfaction of all his humble retainers.

Dr. Beaumont resigned his wife and children to Him who had bestowed them, as intrusted blessings, which he had dearly valued, and now as tenderly regretted. Resolved to pass the rest of his days in widowhood, he made Mrs. Mellicent superintendant of his household and director of his daughter's feminine accomplishments. She also undertook to supply the place of Mrs. Beaumont in the parish, but in the task of managing the humours and improving the inclinations of the lower orders, something beside zeal and activity is necessary, even granting (as was the case in this instance) that they are guided by right principles. There was an unfortunate degree of rigidity and austerity about Mrs. Mellicent that was less connected with her heart than her manner, unless we ascribe it to a latent conviction of her own wisdom and an inclination to govern by its acknowledged superiority rather than by acquired influence. The villagers allowed that the ladies were equally good; but Madam Beaumont smiled them into a persuasion that she was an angel, and they adored her because they thought she loved them; while Madam Mellicent chided them for their faults, traced their misfortunes to their imprudence, and instead of trying to persuade them out of their prejudices, informed them that their capacities and education best fitted them for the duty of obedience. She was a woman of natural shrewdness, but not sufficiently conversant with the world to know the advantage of prudently temporizing, or the usefulness of forbearance. She had not allowed herself to study the temper of the times; she saw not that the bands of subordination were relaxing, and that the populace, leaving the practice of duties, were now busy in ascertaining rights. A change so important and so similar to that to which of late years public opinion has again leaned, will justify a few remarks on its causes, before I describe its effects.

The coercive system of government, which, during the arbitrary reigns of the Tudor family, wore the dignified aspect of prescriptive authority, was submitted to by a people grateful to that popular house, whose accession healed the wounds of a long protracted civil war; but when continued by what England esteemed a race of foreign Kings, it was stigmatized by the name of tyranny. The favours and privileges which Henry the Seventh bestowed on the commons, and the stratagems he employed to reduce the power of those barons who had been the makers and unmakers of Kings, had, during the course of five reigns, created a new order of men, whose power and influence in the commonwealth were yet unknown to the advisers of the crown. The long internal peace of a century and a half, added to the stimulus which commerce had received during the reign of Elizabeth, introduced a vast influx of wealth. The religious disputes, which were the only contests that disturbed this repose, engrafted a sour spirit of theological controversy on the warm devotional feelings that distinguished the age immediately succeeding the reformation. This temper was fomented by the clerical disputants among their respective flocks; the pulpit became a stage for spiritual attack and defence, and the most illiterate congregations were crazed with discussions of metaphysical divinity, or inflamed with rancorous hatred against the opponents of their peculiar preacher, who might be truly said to preach his own doctrine and defend his own cause, and not the doctrine or cause of his master. Thus the great mass of the community had their attention diverted from that important part of the Christian covenant which consists in practice, and were taught to rest their hopes of salvation on speculative points, to the disbelief of which were annexed those dreadful anathemas that entirely destroyed the spirit of Christian charity, and made the professors of the same religion enemies from principle, instead of brothers in love, united "by one faith, one hope, one baptism."

This religious intoxication was increased by those confused, undefined discussions about civil privileges, which, considering the altered circumstances of the community, it would have been wise for the Crown not to have provoked. There would, on the contrary, have been more policy in permitting some claims, not authorized by precedent, to have stolen in by connivance, and a few obnoxious institutions to have silently died away. The parsimonious frugality of Elizabeth was a powerful support to her prerogative, while the prodigal grants of King James to his favourites paved the way to his son's ruin. The disputes between King Charles and his three first parliaments induced him to have recourse to measures for raising supplies which were unconstitutional, and though the sums thus procured did not amount to a moiety of what would have been granted in the shape of taxes, the people murmured at forced loans, ship-money, and other unhappy expedients, when they would cheerfully have paid much larger sums if granted as subsidies. The house of Commons during the reign of Henry the Eighth were frowned and menaced into the most abject subjection; and Elizabeth, with no less authority, but superior address, awed them into non-resistance; but ever since the accession of the house of Stewart they felt their importance, as bearers of the public purse. Their decrees as well as their debates breathed a spirit at once alarming and displeasing to Princes educated in the opinion of their own Divine right, and succeeding a Queen who, though wisely intent on the public good, was as despotic a Sovereign as ever filled the English throne. A want of attention to the change which had rendered his situation different from that of his predecessors, and a too sanguine confidence in the affections of his people, which his virtues and abilities richly deserved, hurled the unhappy Charles from his throne. He wanted those pre-monitory lessons which his own subsequent misfortunes afforded. The eventful scenes which Europe has exhibited these last twenty years have awefully multiplied such warnings: May they act on the minds of Englishmen, and on those of their rulers, till the last great day of general audit which shall terminate the existence of this island with that of the earth!

The same good intentions and mistaken methods that distinguished the administration of the Sovereign, marked Mrs. Mellicent's superintendance of Ribblesdale. She was a politician of the school of Elizabeth, very willing to do good to her inferiors, but positively requiring that they should obey her. Prescription and authority, docility and respect, old principles and old manners, were her favourite topics; and in preaching submission to all superiors from the King to the village constable, precedence and decorum were her constant texts. Her notions were perhaps urged too far, but this was an age of extremes; the minds of the people were kept in a continual ferment, every object was distorted, and the calamities which ensued, in many instances, proceeded more from ill-directed zeal than positive malice; from fanaticism rather than hypocrisy. At least a bewildered imagination seems at first to have actuated the majority of the most eminent commonwealth's men to support what they deemed a righteous cause, though in their subsequent actions party-spirit urged them to do what they knew to be sinful, and to attempt to gloss it with those false colourings which make us now justly combine the names of hypocrite and fanatic, and hold them up as a reproach to the age in which they passed for saint and patriot.

The new lights, as they were termed, had begun to set England in a blaze, and two of their burning torches were greeted in Ribblesdale in the persons of Morgan and Davies, the latter the village-schoolmaster, the former a low-minded money-scrivener, who had amassed a large fortune in "the godly city of Gloucester"; and retired to spend it in his native town, where he purchased an estate, acted as justice of the peace, and styled himself gentleman. Both were illuminated apostles of the new doctrines, but each had a peculiar department in the work of reformation; one wishing to batter down the spiritual abominations of the church, while the other confined his zeal to destroying the bands of tyrannical rulers, and "calling Israel to their tents." Davies laboured under the pressure of poverty. He had displeased Dr. Beaumont by his seditious and impertinent behaviour, and the inhabitants withdrew their children from his school; but as his means of living decreased, his opinion of his own deserts enlarged; he mistook the cravings of want for spiritual illumination, and so perplexed his mind by reading the scurrilous libels of the day, as to be firmly persuaded that the King was the Devil's bairn, and Archbishop Laud the personal antichrist. A description of church ceremonies thrilled him with horror, and in every prosecution of a contumacious minister his ardent fancy saw a revival of the flames of Smithfield, while his confused notions of right and justice convinced him, that if the arm of the spirit failed, that of the flesh must be exerted, to throw down these strong holds. He had long believed himself equal to Dr. Beaumont in learning, and fancied that the unction of gifts and graces, with which he was favoured, gave him a decided preference over man's ordination. He continued to attend the church, but not in the capacity of an humble learner. By coming late, he avoided the zeal-quenching liturgy, which, as it avowedly retained ancient prayers, he considered as Babylonish and idolatrous, and he exercised his Christian liberty of choosing his religion by listening to the sermon, with a design of cavilling at the preacher, whom he soon found to be a mere legal teacher, descanting on the doctrine of works exploded by the new covenant.