Chapter V: Part 5

"I would not give a rush for the friendship of either," returned Eustace. "A good victory on the King's side is the only way of fixing Sir William, and as to Morgan, I know it is not love for my uncle brings him to the rectory. I see that fellow's heart; and I could scarce keep myself from pushing him out of the room, when he kissed Constance the other day, and called her his little wife; but she looked so distressed at the instant, that I thought I had better not seem to observe it."

"I have heard you call her little wife a hundred times," said Isabel, "and it never seems to affront her."

"One may take liberties with one's relations," replied Eustace, "but I tell you, young girls should never let men call them wife, especially such an old, ugly, foolish, fat, vulgar, round-head, as Morgan; and I had rather my uncle had no restitution, than owe any favour to him."

Anxious to draw her brother from a topic, on which he always was ungovernable, Isabel begged him to describe the present state of their mountain-residence. "Is our garden quite destroyed?" said she, "Are the primroses I planted on the south bank in blow?"--"I observed something more interesting," answered, he; "my mother's grave is kept quite neat by the villagers, and the roses we set there are twined all over it. Nay, Isabel, if you weep so, I cannot repeat to you the verses I made yesterday, just as I caught sight of our old cottage." Isabel promised to be composed, and Eustace proceeded--

The sun has roll'd round Skiddaw's breast
Of floating clouds a golden veil,
The heath-cock has forsook his nest,
And mounted on the morning gale;
While bursting on my raptured eyes,
Lakes, hills, and woods, distinctly rise.

And there in mountain-privacy
My father's rustic cot appears,
The haunts of happy infancy,
The fields my childish sport endears;
Where victor of each game I stood,
And climb'd the tree, or stemm'd the flood:

And there, beside the village-spire,
My mother's honour'd ashes sleep,
Who bade my noble hopes aspire,
Who also taught me first to weep,
When, with a kiss so cold and mild,
She whisper'd, 'I must die, my child.'

Oh! fitted for a world more pure,
Sweet spirit, who would wish thy stay,
To witness woes thou could'st not cure,
And dimm'd with clouds thy evening ray;
To see thy ardent boy denied
To combat by his father's side?

Yet, what is death? As seen in thee,
'Twas a mild summons to the grave;
'Tis the sure zeal of loyalty
And honour's guerdon to the brave.
How are the soldier's requiems kept!
By glory sung, by beauty wept.

"My dearest Eustace," said Isabel, "I wish I could send these lines to my father, yet perhaps they would overcome him as they have done me." She twined her arms around the neck of Eustace, sobbed for some moments, and then observed, "I know what suggested the last stanza; it was Constantia's weeping for the fate of brave Lord Lindsay."

Eustace blushed. "You are a Lancashire witch in more senses than one, Isabel; but, hush! the calash has just drove up. Say not a word of my verses to my uncle." "Why?" "I do not wish he would know I am unhappy." "Keep your own counsel," returned Isabel, "and I am sure your looks will never betray you."

The return of the party relieved Eustace from all fear of owing an obligation to Morgan. An ordinance from Parliament had interrupted the regular returns of public justice, and notwithstanding the King's command, that there should be no suspension of judicial proceedings, with respect either to criminal or civil causes, and his grant of safe-conduct through his quarters to all persons attending the courts of law, the Parliament had forbidden the judges to appoint their circuits. In one instance a troop of horse tore a judge from the bench, who had ventured to disobey their edicts. Except therefore in the few places that were at the King's devotion, all legal proceedings of importance were suspended, and the little business which was transacted was managed by a cabal devoted to the predominant party. From such men Dr. Beaumont could look for no favour. Ample indemnification was indeed promised, but it was upon a condition that he could not brook, namely, subscription to the covenant. As to his two friends, Sir William Waverly and Morgan, the former was detained at home by an apprehension that he might take cold; and the latter, though he argued on the justice and policy of remuneration, by which the party would gain credit, yet on being questioned about his pastor's principles, confessed he thought him a malignant of the deepest die, and positively refused to be responsible for his peaceable behaviour.

Dr. Beaumont had formed no hopes of redress, therefore felt no disappointment. He was now so accustomed to the temper of the times, that he was only slightly hurt at being thought capable of compromising his conscience, by subscribing an instrument he had ever denounced as illegal, treasonable, and wicked. The dutiful attentions of his nephew and niece soon changed vexation into pleasure. Mrs. Mellicent' overlooked the omissions of her crocodiles and elephants, and Constance touched the strings of her beloved instrument with a smile, sweet as the strain she drew from its according wires, till Eustace forgot all his labours and bruises in exulting transport.

CHAP. IX.

These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at market-tables, read at churches,
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
Which gape and rub the elbows at the news
Of hurly burly innovation;
And never yet did Insurrection want
Such water-colours to impaint his cause.

Shakspeare.

The summer of 1643 opened with favourable omens to the royal cause. Evellin sent intelligence to Ribblesdale of the successes of the Marquis of Newcastle against Fairfax, the safe arrival of the Queen with military stores, and his own expectation of being joined to her escort, which would enable him to have an interview with the King at Oxford. This intelligence, added to that of the advantages gained over Sir William Waller in the west, revived the drooping hopes of the loyalists, and terrified the enthusiastic Eustace with apprehensions lest the contest should be decided before he could measure swords with one round-head.

Dr. Beaumont took a more comprehensive view; he saw how little had been done, and how much loyal blood had been shed. The King's cause was supported by the death or ruin of his best friends, but his victories, instead of intimidating, hardened his opponents. They were bound together by a dread of danger, and a belief that they had sinned beyond all hopes of pardon, and therefore must depend for safety entirely on the success of the rebellion they had fomented.

To insure that success, the Parliament had long since employed the most potent stimulant of human action, religion; and, by embodying their favourite teachers under the title of the Assembly of Divines, contrived to give that species of state-establishment to their own theological scheme which they had objected to, as one of the crying sins of episcopacy. This memorable body of auxiliaries was created at the time of their beginning to levy war upon the King, by seizing his military resources, and refusing him admission into his own garrison. A fact which may serve to convince the reflecting mind of the close union which subsists between monarchical and episcopal principles is, that their next step to that of employing the forces and revenues of the crown against the person of the Sovereign, was a declaration "that they intended a necessary and due reformation of the Liturgy and government of the church, and that they would consult godly and learned divines, and use their utmost endeavours to establish learned and preaching ministers, with a good and sufficient maintenance throughout the whole kingdom, where many dark corners were miserably destitute of the means of salvation, and many poor ministers wanted necessary provision."

Though wise men saw the design of this carefully-worded declaration, yet indolent, or quiet men, who were willing to hope, caught at its designing moderation, believed that Parliament only meant to reform abuses, and that its designs were not so very bad. This very declaration, which a year before would have terrified the people, in whom there was then a general submission to the church-government, and a singular reverence of the Liturgy, now when there was a general expectation of a total subversion of the one, and abolition of the other, they thought only removing what was offensive, unnecessary, or burthensome, an easy composition. Thus the well-meaning were, by degrees, prevailed on, towards ends they extremely abhorred, and what, at first, seemed prophane and impious to them, in a little time appeared only inconvenient.

But infinite is the danger of tampering with national feeling in its most important point. The mildly-worded decree above cited, cherished those principles of mutability, which overthrew the church of England, while new forms of doctrine sprang from every portion of her ruins, all contending for mastery, and each insisting on the individual right of choosing, and the uncontrolable liberty of exercising what they pleased to term religion. The first of these tenets is as inadmissible in argument, as it is desperate in practice, for if every man has a right to choose, it must follow that he has an equal right to abstain from choosing, and thus universal atheism is sanctioned by the over-strained indulgence of civil liberty, confounding what our perverse natures will do with what they properly may. And if we found this opinion on the ground of human free-will, it may be asserted that a man has a right to choose whether he will be veracious, temperate, chaste, and conscientious; whether he will be a good father, husband, citizen, or the reverse; and thus every moral offence of which human laws do not take cognizance, may be justified by the same plea, that in this land of liberty people have a right to act as they think proper. By these means that finer system of morals, which extends virtue and goodness to points which the mere letter of the law cannot reach, is at once annihilated; and the peculiar excellence, of the Gospel, as a religion of motives, is superseded by the licence allowed to rebellious wills, and the darkness of perverse understandings.

The proposition of the Parliament to consult "godly and learned divines" was exemplified, by their ordering the individuals of which the House of Commons was now composed, to name such men as they thought fit for their purpose. Every known friend to the King had been already banished, either by the clamour of the London mobs, or their own votes. "Of one hundred and twenty, who composed the assembly of Divines, though by the recommendation of some members of the Commons, whom they were not willing to displease, and by the authority of the Lords, some very reverend and worthy names were inserted, there were not above twenty, who were not declared and avowed enemies of the church, some of them very infamous in their lives and conversations, most of them of very mean parts in learning, if not of scandalous ignorance, and of no other reputation than malice to the church of England."

Of this ignorance and incapacity for every thing but the work of destruction, their own party made the most angry complaints. Yet were those men the fittest to act as Spiritual prompters to an aspiring faction, bent on overturning existing institutions, and establishing their own power. The general ground of quarrel of all the sects with the establishment, was its retaining ceremonies, prayers, and a mode of discipline, which, though bearing close affinity to the apostolical age, were rejected by violent reformers, because our church received them through that of Rome. The answer of Bishop Ridley to the Papists, "That he would be willing to admit any trifling ceremony or thing indifferent for the sake of peace," suited not the taste of those who saw Anti-christ in a square cap or a surplice, and in a written creed or doxology (though agreeing in substance with their own opinions) an infringement of the liberty of a true Protestant. Such as these cared not what confusion or infidelity prevailed, nor how Popery itself triumphed, while they were busy in overthrowing the strongest bulwark that human wisdom had erected against it. The people were inflamed against the court and the church by the charge of jesuitical designs, the palaces of the deposed bishops were converted into prisons, crowded with the champions of the protestant cause; the truly "pious, godly, and learned ministry" were driven from the flocks to which they had been appointed by their spiritual superiors, and supplanted by these champions of the rights of private judgment and unbounded liberty, who made their respective congregations not only judges of theological points, but teachers of every opinion, except those which derived support from sound learning, constitutional authority, beneficial experience, general acceptation among Christians, or a clear consistent view of the word of God. Men sought celebrity by inventing modes of faith; and sacred truths were not established by an appeal to antiquity, but by the singular ordeal of novelty, as if, after a lapse of seventeen ages, it was reserved for ignorance and fanaticism to make fresh discoveries in the sacred writings.

The ordinance of sequestration, which annihilated all church-dignitaries, and exposed every parochial minister to the malice of any informer who should report him for his loyalty, passed in the year 1643, and was justified by complaints of the supposed scandalous lives of the episcopal clergy. Doubtless, in a numerous body, some might be found guilty of gross vices, secular in their pursuits, negligent of their high duties, and looking more to the "scramble at the shearers' feast," than to feeding and guiding the flock through the wilderness. No true lover of the church will defend clerical debauchees or canonical worldlings, especially when she appears beleaguered round with enemies, and when her surest earthly supports are the zeal, the learning, and the pious simplicity of her officials. Persuaded that our national establishment grows from that root which can never decay, we may always, when a very general corruption of the clergy is apparent, expect a fearful tempest to arise, which will clear the tree of its unsound branches, and enable it to put forth vigorous and healthy shoots. But while that rottenness is not total but partial, while some green boughs are still seen to extend a lovely and refreshing shade, what impious hand shall dare to assail the venerable queen of the forest, whose magnitude defends the saplings, which, ambitiously springing under its protection, require the room it occupies? At the time of the great rebellion, the Church of England boasted an unusual number of, not merely learned, but apostolical men, especially among the bishops and the royal chaplains, whose pious labours have excited the gratitude and admiration of posterity, as much as their lives and sufferings did the wonder and commiseration of their own times. Beside those who have been thus immortalized, there were vast numbers who "took their silent way along the humble vale of life," unknown to fame either for their virtues or their hardships, yet still living in the memory of their descendants. These submitted in silence to poverty, reproach, and injustice; and, like Bishop Sanderson, "blessed God that he had not withdrawn food or raiment from them and their poor families, nor suffered them, in time of trial, to violate their conscience." The long-continued persecution of the ruling powers proves that such men formed the majority of the episcopal clergy. Their place was occupied by those who were willing to receive wages from the hand of usurpation, and to see the lawful owner in extremest need, while they enjoyed ill-acquired affluence. These men soon won over the populace by the most false and dangerous views of religion, stating, "that men might be religious first, and then just and merciful; that they might sell their conscience, and yet have something worth keeping; and that they might be sure they were elected, though their lives were visibly scandalous; that to be cunning was to be wise; that to be rich was to be happy; and that to speak evil of governments was no sin[1]." Plain, instructive, practical discourses, sound and temperate explanations of the great mysteries of Christianity, connected views of the whole body of gospel doctrines and precepts, were cast aside as legal formalities. Extemporary harangues, immethodical and tautological at best, sometimes profane, often absurd and perplexing, never instructive, became universal. One of the worst features of these sermons was their tendency to torture scripture to the purposes of faction, and represent the Almighty as personally concerned in the success of rebels. "The Lord was invited to take a chair and sit among the House of Peers," whenever that House opposed the furious proceedings of the Commons; and if the King gained a victory, the preacher expostulated in these irreverent terms: "Lord, thou hast said he is worse than an infidel that provides not for his own family. Give us not reason to say this of thee, for we are thine own family, and have lately been scurvily provided for."

In a work intended to familiarize the conduct and principles of loyalists to the general reader, this vindication of the episcopal clergy, and appeal to their literary remains, and to the doctrines delivered by their opponents on public occasions, cannot be deemed irrelative. I now proceed with my narrative.

Dr. Beaumont was not long permitted to repose at Ribblesdale after his enemies were armed with power for his expulsion. A visit from Morgan was the signal of bad tidings. He required a private interview. The Doctor silently besought Heaven to give him fortitude, and admitted him.

He began with enumerating his own kind offices, and anxiety to preserve him in his cure, believing him to be very well-meaning, though mistaken in his politics. He reminded him that he had ever recommended temperate counsels, and lamented that, in the present disturbed state of things, he or his family should, by any indiscreet act, give occasion to his enemies to precipitate his ruin. He then pulled out a long string of charges against the Doctor, the first of which was his affording shelter to, and corresponding with, one Allan Evellin, calling himself Colonel Evellin, by virtue of a pretended commission from the King, a most dangerous delinquent and malignant, now in arms against Parliament, and seen, in the late attack on Sir Thomas Fairfax's army, to make a desperate charge, and murder many valiant troopers who were asserting the good old cause. Dr. Beaumont acknowledged that he had afforded his brother-in-law the rights of hospitality; and he put Morgan upon proof that the King's commission was not a sufficient justification of the alleged murders, which, he presumed, were not committed basely, or in cold blood, but in the heat and contention of battle, and might therefore be justified by the rule of self-defence, as well as by the King's authority.

Morgan said the ordinance of Parliament made it treason to fight for the King; but this assertion sounded so oddly, that he hurried to the next count, which was, his dissuading Ralph Jobson from taking the Covenant.

The Doctor acknowledged this fact, alledging also, that as he considered the Covenant to be sinful, he was bound in duty, as the spiritual guide of Jobson, to advise him not to bind his soul by any ill-understood, ensnaring obligation, being already bound, by his baptismal and eucharistical oaths, to all that was required of Christians in an humble station.

To Dr. Beaumont's vindication of himself from these and similar crimes, Morgan could only answer that the ordinances of Parliament made them offences. In these unhappy times those decrees were not supplemental to, but abrogatory of, law and gospel. But there was another charge founded on the violation of the grand outlines of morality, which could be brought home to one of the Doctor's household. Morgan drew up triumphantly, as he read the accusation, namely, "That Eustace Evellin, son of the above malignant cavalier, did, on the 17th day of March last past, assault and wound Hold-thy-Faith Priggins, and by force take from his possession a box containing his property, and that he did carry off the same, leaving the said Priggins bleeding on the high road." The Doctor was startled; he knew this was the time of his nephew's mountain-expedition, but was entirely ignorant of its being signalized by any act of Quixotic chivalry. He disclaimed all knowledge of the business, and begged to know who Hold-thy-Faith Priggins was. "I know," said he, "a John Priggins, a fellow of most infamous and depraved conduct, but this other is quite a new name in this neighbourhood."

Morgan denied all personal acquaintance with the man, previous to the day when he came to lodge his complaint against Eustace, and at the same time announced his design of exercising the gift of preaching, to which he just discovered he had a call. He however admitted that he believed this same Priggins was the Doctor's old acquaintance, he having acknowledged that previous to his conversion he had been guilty of every sin except murder.

Dr. Beaumont imagined such a confession would justify a magistrate in refusing to permit even the meanest part of the sacerdotal functions to be assumed by one who mistook glorying in his iniquities for regeneration; but Morgan replied, that it would be contrary to those principles of civil liberty which his conscience and office required him to support, to make any investigation into the past, or to require any pledge for the future conduct of the convert.

Dr. Beaumont could not help observing that, in kindness to his friend Davies, Morgan should have been careful of opening the mouth of one who might perhaps introduce schism into the new-founded congregation.

Morgan smiled. "I perceive, my good Doctor," said he, "you are quite in the dark in these matters; you must know, the Parliament's ordinance has been acted upon in many parishes, and the sequestrators have taken such note of your life and conversation as to resolve to eject you from your living, and institute Master Davies in your place; though my influence has hitherto suspended the actual execution of this design. Now, as I hate all monopolies, and think every person's talents should have fair play, during your ministry I countenanced Davies against you, and if Davies is put in your place I shall sit under Priggins rather than Davies, for that is the best way of keeping him sharp to his duty, and one gets at truth best by hearing from all preachers what they have to say for themselves."

Dr. Beaumont answered, that though assured the exercise of his sacerdotal functions depended on his pleasure, he could not, while he was permitted to perform it, so far desert his duty as to allow one of his parishioners to utter wrong opinions without respectfully shewing their fallacy. He was proceeding to the undoubtedly-fruitless labour of trying to correct determined error, when Morgan stopped his argument by shewing him the order he had received to eject him from his rectory.

Dr. Beaumont answered, that being humbly persuaded his ministry had been beneficial, he wished to be allowed to continue in the quiet exercise of his spiritual functions. His office was not bestowed upon him either by Parliament or by the assembly of Divines, neither could the votes of the one, nor the opinion of the other, lawfully degrade him from it.

Morgan replied, that whatever fancies he might entertain respecting the durability of his right to the rectory, and the unalienable nature of ordination, he must know, from numerous instances, that they had a way now of cutting this sort of disputes very short, by expelling those who would not walk out of doors quietly. Some indeed suffered their prudence to get the better of their obstinacy, and were comfortably re-settled in their benefices. One method of reconciliation which he would advise Dr. Beaumont to attend to, was, to volunteer his subscription to the engagement which had just been taken by Parliament and the City of London, on the discovery of a most horrid plot formed by papists and malignants, to put the King in possession of the Tower; to admit the popish army into the city; to seize the godly Parliament, and put an end to all those hopes of reformation which the nation now entertained. He shewed the Doctor a copy of the oath, and remarked, that as nothing was said in it about ecclesiastical changes, he could not object to swearing to preserve the true Protestant religion against the influence of a popish party, headed by the Queen, whom the House in its wisdom had impeached of high-treason.

Dr. Beaumont said, the crime laid to Her Majesty's charge, which had induced the Parliament to take that extraordinary step, was the bringing arms and ammunition into the kingdom to assist her Sovereign and husband, and not her being a Catholic, nor any plot or contrivance to murder and imprison true Protestants. In the vow tendered to him, he saw himself required to attest various matters which he disbelieved. He knew of no Popish army raised and countenanced by the King; he knew of no treacherous and horrid design to surprise the Parliament and the city of London. He could not give God thanks for the discovery of what he really believed was one of those fabrications intended to strengthen the ruling party, which always follow a detected conspiracy. He denied that the armies raised by the two Houses were for their just defence, or for the liberty of the subject; and he would never promise to oppose those who assisted the King, nor bind himself in a league with his enemies.

"My sacred function," continued the Doctor, "is that of a minister of peace. I will never have recourse to arms except to guard my own family from assassins; nor will I ever engage not to assist my King with my purse or my counsels, or shut my gates on any loyal refugee who seeks the shelter of my roof. I have few personal reasons for being attached to Ribblesdale, but I hold myself bound to it by a spiritual contract, and will abide here till I am forced from it, diligently, conscientiously, and meekly doing my duty among ye, without partiality or respect of persons. My counsel, my assistance, my purse, my prayers, are at the service of all my parishioners; if, therefore, the residence of a quiet man, who, though he will not sacrifice his own conscience, imposes no restraints on others, be not inconsistent with the duty you say you owe to these new authorities, suffer me to die in my parish. I am ready to promise that I will never engage in plots or conspiracies for your destruction; and since the scale of war is still suspended, and we know not who will be the ascending party, I will also promise, that in case the royal cause ultimately triumphs, I will use my influence with the King in favour of my neighbours."

"You speak like a man of sense and moderation," answered Morgan. "Why should hatred and animosity prevail between us? Why should we not imitate the liberality of Sir William Waverly? General Waverly has just been to see him. The worthy Baronet at first rated him a little, telling him he had made a most unhappy choice; but they were friends in a few minutes, and he asked Master Davies and me to dine with them; wished the King better advisers; drank prosperity to the Parliament; and paid his weekly assessment cheerfully. I think it is the best plan for all parties to hold neighbourly intercourse with each other, and even to form alliances which may some time turn to account; and this leads me to my other proposition. I believe I may persuade the honourable sequestrators that you are not a dangerous delinquent, nor wholly unprofitable in the ministry; but this must be on condition that you suffer justice to take its course with your nephew, and ally yourself to some person of staunch principles by marriage."

Dr. Beaumont answered, he was very willing that the charge against Eustace should be investigated, but as to intermarriage with any family, he had long since devoted the remainder of his life to widowhood.

"But you have ladies in your house," said Morgan, drawing his chair closer to the Doctor, and pursing his features into an enamoured grin. The idea of a quondam scrivener making love to Mrs. Mellicent (for on this occasion he thought only of her), and the contrast between her dignity and Morgan's square figure and vulgar coarseness, provoked a smile, notwithstanding the seriousness of his own situation: Morgan thought this a good omen, and went on.

"You see me here, Master Doctor, a hale man, under fifty, pretty warm and comfortable in circumstances; I once said I never would encumber myself with a wife and family, but things are now going on so well, that all will be settled before my children are grown up; and I do not see why I should not try to make my old age comfortable, now I have done so much for the public.--That's a very pretty, modest, well-behaved daughter of yours, and I think would make me a good wife; a little too young, perhaps, but she will mend of that fault every day."

Dr. Beaumont was struck dumb with surprise. Morgan continued--"And if the young maid is willing, I shall not mind shewing favour to that hot-headed cousin of hers, for her sake. He wants to be a soldier I find; I could get him a commission under Lord Essex, who is a fine spirited commander, and will give him fighting enough. You know it will be doing just as the Waverly family do. Come, I see you hesitate--suppose we call in the young people, and hear what they say?"

"Eustace shall immediately answer to the charge laid against him," said the Doctor, rising to summon him. "And let Mrs. Constantia come too; I wish that business decided first," continued Morgan.

"That business is already determined," answered the Doctor. "Eustace, I have called you to answer to a charge laid against you, of assaulting a peaceable passenger whom you met in your return from the mountains, and taking from him a box which was his property. Did you or did you not commit this outrage?"

"Aye!--answer without fear or evasion, young man," said Morgan.

"I know neither fear nor evasion," replied Eustace, darting on the Justice a look which could not have been more contemptuous had he heard of his offer to Constantia;--"I certainly did beat a saucy knave who insulted me."

"And stole his goods!" said Morgan.

"I took from him something;--let him name what."

"A box or case, his property, are the words of his affidavit."

"Again," said Eustace, "I require him to state what was in that box?"

Morgan coloured--"The forms of law," said he, "must be adhered to. He only swears to a box or case, as his property. Did you or did you not take it from him?"

"I did."

Dr. Beaumont turned on his nephew a look of angry expostulation, which stung him to the soul. He threw himself on the ground, and clasped his knees in anguish. "My dearest uncle," said he, "I can bear any thing but your displeasure. I took a box containing stolen goods from a thief, who was carrying it to an accomplice."

Morgan was thunder-struck; for, in describing the assault, Priggins had omitted mentioning that he had been cuffed into a full discovery of his theft, and had owned that Morgan had agreed to accept a part of Dr. Beaumont's spoil as a reward for giving indemnity to the rioters. He tried to recollect himself, and told Eustace, better language to a magistrate would become his situation.

"Who touches the hem of your magisterial robe?" said the fiery boy. "Have I said that the villain who stole my cousin's lute, was carrying it to you when I took it from him, and restored it to the right owner. My dear and worthy protector, the only fault I have committed, was in saying I found it, when you asked me how it was recovered. Let him who accuses me of the theft be brought face to face, and I will soon make him own who are the knaves in this business."

Morgan's confusion at being drawn into an implied self-accusation prevented him from pressing the business further. He endeavoured to be civil, said that Priggins must have mistaken the person of Eustace, or have given him a false account. He believed him to be a worthless liar, and holding out his hand to Eustace, hoped it would cause no ill blood between them.

"No," said the latter, holding up his arm in a posture of defiance; "there may be a concert between thieves and the receivers of stolen goods; but we know too much of each other to shake hands, and so remember Master Morgan I hate dissimulation, and now think of you just as I used to do."

When they were alone the Doctor reproved Eustace for his peremptory behaviour, and required an impartial statement of the whole affair. The interview ended with full pardon for his past precipitation, and an earnest admonition, as he tendered the preservation of them all, to be guarded in future. Eustace could not but perceive that he had increased his uncle's difficulties, and promised great prudence, with a full intention of keeping his word.

Dr. Beaumont then proceeded to consult the faithful partner of all his former trials on his present situation. It was to Mrs. Mellicent only that he disclosed all that had passed in his interview with Morgan, who, making the same misapplication of Morgan's amorous tender, drew up her stiff figure into full stateliness. "Leave the knave to me, brother," said she; "I desire no better jest than to hear him make me a proposal; I that have had a serjeant at law in his coif, and the sheriff of the county in his coach and six, come to make love to me, to be at last thought of by the son of a shoe-maker!"

Her brother here interposing, relieved her mind from the terrifying idea of having the laurels of her early days blasted by this degrading conquest, but he only changed indignation into distress. "What! our lovely, dutiful, modest, ingenuous Constantia, to marry that lump of sedition; that bag of cozening vulgarity; that rolling tumbril, laden with all the off-scourings of his own detestable party!--Brother, take my advice, and send the dear creature instantly to the King's quarters; there is no safety for her within Morgan's reach.--These republicans stop at nothing; I question whether my years and prudence will protect me, but I will run all risks, and remain with you at Ribblesdale. But let the young people be immediately removed, under the care of Williams.--Morgan will never pardon the affront he received from Eustace. The hint he gave about Essex, makes me apprehend that a project will be laid to entrap the boy. I know he would sooner die than accept any terms from traitors; let me therefore intreat you to send them all to York, and place them under the Earl of Bellingham's protection."

Dr. Beaumont approved the plan, but cautioned her how she spoke of the Earl of Bellingham. Mrs. Mellicent assured him she was very wary. "But," said she, "as we are forced to hear and say so much that is painful, let us in our privacies indulge ourselves with anticipating brighter scenes. I am fully persuaded that the children will outlive these sorrows. I had a most consoling dream last night.--I saw Eustace in Castle-Bellingham, just as I have heard Williams describe it in the old Earl's days, attended by a train of gallant gentlemen, knights, esquires, chaplains, pages, and all the proper retinue of nobility. I saw Constance too, our own sweet Constance, dressed in black-velvet covered with jewels; and she was smiling upon Eustace, and giving orders just as a countess ought to do in the open gallery, as the servants were going about from the hall to the buttery; I see it all now before my eyes, and I tell you, brother, whatever you learned men may say about it, dreams often are true prognostics, and warnings too. In one point, I believe we are both agreed, Constance shall marry none but Eustace."

"It is more necessary," replied Dr. Beaumont, "to preserve the children from present violence, than to lay plans for their future aggrandisement. Prepare then with all possible speed for their removal, and I will advise them of its absolute necessity."

This precaution was indeed truly prudent. The rancorous heart of Morgan could not forgive the insinuated accusation of Eustace, nor the cold hauteur with which the Doctor hurried over his offer of an alliance, which, in the proposer's estimation, promised safety, wealth, and honour. He immediately sent information to an officer, who was recruiting for the Parliament, of a young desperate malignant, whom he wished to have pressed into the service, as a mild punishment for contumacy and outrage, and he did not doubt that the appearance of the sequestrators, armed with full powers for immediate dispossession, would terrify Constantia into acquiescence with his wishes, on condition that he would protect her father.

The young party left Ribblesdale at midnight, under the escort of Williams. The separation was marked with many tears and many anxious wishes, that they might soon be followed by their faithful guardians. The young ladies felt all the alarm and anxiety of leaving their quiet homes, which is incident to their sex and years; they were terrified at the thought of sleeping at an inn, and seeing none but strangers; "if they should discover who we are," said Constantia, "and deliver us into the power of Morgan!"--Eustace begged her not to be frightened, for he would die sooner than see her exposed to any insult. "You are always so ready to die!" observed Isabel; "what good would it do us to have you killed? But indeed I have no fear of being discovered, for we are so muffled up in our camlet riding-hoods, that we shall pass for country-girls going to market. Courage! dear Constance. Come, whip your horse on with spirit, and talk to me about eggs and poultry."

"Your brown face and red arms will pass well enough," said Eustace; "but they must be blind idiots, who mistake our pretty Constance for a market girl." "I will bind up my face as if I had the tooth-ache," said she; "and talk broad Lancashire, till I come to the Marquis's quarters." Williams observed that their danger would then begin.

The girls started, saying, they hoped they should then be in safety. "You know not, my dear mistresses," said Williams, "the habits of camps, nor the licence of gay, dissipated cavaliers, conscious of conferring obligations on their King, and claiming from their occasional hardships a right to indulgence. It is a bad situation for handsome young women, but I have it in charge, in case I cannot deliver you into the care of my old master, to take you on to Oxford, and place you with an old college-friend of Dr. Beaumont's."

Eustace, whose heart had exulted at the idea of being fixed in the scene of action, and of being permitted to endeavour to remove the prohibition of his taking arms, strenuously opposed the plan of an Oxford residence, as still more improper for young ladies, protesting that the flatteries of a court and a university were more dangerous than the free licence of military manners. He then began to caution Constantia, assuring her she must not believe all that would be told her about the power of her eyes to make men miserable, and about Venus and Hebe, and a great many more nonsensical comparisons. "If I do," returned she, "it will do me no harm. A woman is not more beloved for being handsome. There is our dear aunt Mellicent; her face, you know, is the colour of a cowslip, and all seamed and puckered, yet we could not love her better than we do, if she were ever so beautiful."

Eustace allowed that she was a very good woman, though he could well spare her putting him to rights, as she called it, quite so often. He fancied, too, he knew some people more agreeable.--Isabel thought when women were young, they always liked to be called handsome, and recollected she often heard her aunt say, that before she had the small-pox, she was thought very comely, and had many lovers. Eustace burst into a loud laugh, and said so many provoking things on the misfortune of old maids being reduced to record their own victories, that his companions protested they would be very angry, and not speak to him till he sung them a song of his own composition, by way of penance. He submitted cheerfully to the punishment, and caroled the following canzonet, as they proceeded in safety to the borders of Yorkshire:--

Once Beauty bade the God of Wit
Appease her anger with his songs;
Love thought the sacrifice unfit,
And cried, "The task to me belongs."

Light flow'd the strain of wayward smiles.
Of blushes and of tears he sung,
Of mournful swains arrang'd in files,
And hearts on eye-shot arrows hung.

But Beauty frown'd; "This lay from thee!
Proud rebel, dost thou break thy chain?
Wit may devise a sportive glee,
But Love should languish and complain."

To whom the God: "When you disguise
Your charms with spleen's fantastic shade,
Insulted Love to Wit applies,
And goes like you in masquerade."

[1] Life of Bishop Sanderson.

CHAP. X.

The noble mind stands a siege against adversity, while the little
spirit capitulates at once.

Murphy's Tacitus.

On the morning after he had wisely sent away his precious charge, Dr. Beaumont was visited by Dame Humphreys, who was now grown sincerely penitent for all the insolent demeanour of herself and family, and desirous to make what reparation was in her power. A revolution had also taken place in her husband's mind. He had espoused the parliamentary cause, in the hope of being his own master, and of paying no more taxes; but he now found that the power assumed by the commissioners, to whom the Parliament had committed the execution of the ordinance, respecting the array of the different counties, was far more insupportable (as being the tyranny of many) than the feudal rights and aristocratic superiority heretofore exercised by the noble family of Stanley. Those new men, exercising the powers granted them by the conservators of public freedom, had, on his refusing voluntary contribution, seized his best cart-horse, three of his fat bullocks, and the silver-tankard he won at a wrestling-match, for which (after entering them at half their original value) they gave him a memorandum, certifying that he was a public creditor, "to be repaid at such a time, and in such a manner as Parliament should agree." Besides this, the tax-gatherers, a race of beings whom he abominated, took their circular range to collect the weekly assessment, which Humphreys found would amount to nearly five times the original sum required by the King to defray the expences of government, though the insupportable burden of his demands was urged as the greatest public grievance. The obstinate temper of Humphreys would not indeed permit him to make so frank a confession of his errors as his wife did, but he charged her to say, that, when turned out of his own house, Dr. Beaumont should be welcome to the use of his, as long as the King and the taxing-men left him one to live in.

Dame Humphreys had another motive for her visit. Like all the villagers, she was passionately fond of Eustace: she had seen a recruiting party enter the town, and heard them inquire for the young man whom the Justice meant to impress. In her eagerness to defend him, she excited a mob of women to scold and insult the party, while she flew to the rectory to give him notice to escape. But for the precautions taken during the night, her kindness would have been ineffectual; for the soldiers speedily dispersed their feeble assailants, and drew themselves up in order before the rectory. The lieutenant who commanded them, required to speak with Dr. Beaumont; and, in a tone of authorised insolence, bade him give up the son of the delinquent, whom he harboured.

The Doctor had spent the night in devotion, and came from his oratory clad in that celestial panoply which is proof against the terrors of military array. Calm as a Christian hero who felt himself called to sustain the character of a soldier of truth, he answered, "The youth you inquire for is my nephew, left in my care by his father, and I should certainly protect him with my life if he were now in my house, but he has left it."

"On what errand? which road?" Dr. Beaumont was silent. It was proposed by some of the party to break into the house.

"That will be unnecessary," returned the lieutenant. "Their Honours, the sequestrators, will speedily be here. Draw up round the house, and see that none escape. Our duty further extends to taking away all the horses, arms, and ammunition, of which I now require an account."

Dr. Beaumont pointed to his old gelding. "He has served me well," said he, "and if you take him from me, I trust you will use him kindly. Arms and ammunition I have none. I lived in this parish as a parent among his children, obeying the laws of my country, and fearing no violence."

At this instant the sequestrators arrived, headed by Morgan. He lamented that the painful duty had fallen upon him, but assured the Doctor that he had delayed it as long as his own safety would permit, and that all possible gentleness should be used. They then shewed their authority, and required admission. The door was immediately opened, and they proceeded from room to room, accompanied by Dr. Beaumont, who, with unruffled fortitude, saw them take an inventory of his property, even to the most minute article, his wearing apparel being exempted as a mark of especial mercy[1]. Morgan, who at every turn expected to discover Constantia fainting with terror, or shrieking for mercy, was disappointed at only encountering the steady heroism of her father, and the iron rigidity and proud contempt of her aunt, whose regret at seeing the hoarded treasures of her industry, and the idols of her cleanly notability, exposed to the hands and eyes of the profane vulgar, was subdued by her detestation of the meanness and baseness of those from whom her revered brother suffered this indignity and spoliation.

"And where," said Morgan, "are the pretty maids? Hid in some corner, I doubt not. Poor lambs! they are innocent, and have no cause to fear anything. I am sure they shall be welcome to an asylum in my house; and you too, Madam Mellicent, if you would condescend----"

"They are gone, Morgan," said she, suddenly restored to the use of her speech by the supreme pleasure of reproving a villain; "they are gone with Eustace to the Marquis of Newcastle, out of thy power or that of thy wicked masters, and their unjust ordinances."

Morgan (as in his altercation with Eustace) perceived that the more he personally interfered, the greater hazard he ran of exposure. He therefore slightly lamented that such harmless children should apprehend any danger from him, and withdrew, while the sequestrators proceeded to sell the goods by public auction. Not a bidder stepped forward. The parishioners were dissolved in tears, and every article exposed to sale excited some associated recollections of the goodness of the owner or his family; they saw the chairs on which they had sat while he mildly pointed out their best interests; the tables at which they had been liberally, though plainly, regaled; the beds which had afforded repose to the traveller; the vessels which had fed the hungry and refreshed the weary; the wheels which produced clothing for the naked; the chemical apparatus which had provided medicine for the sick, and consolation for the afflicted. No bidders appearing to purchase the articles in detail, the whole was put up in one lot. Dame Humphreys presented herself as a purchaser; no one opposed her; and she was declared to be the possessor of the Doctor's property.

The sequestrators then demanded an account of all rents and sums due to the late Rector, and having noted them down for the observation of parliament, they informed Dr. Beaumont that, as a new and godly ministry was to be substituted for an old and unprofitable one, they now expelled him from the cure of souls and all temporalities thereto belonging, and instituted and inducted Joab Davies into his rectory. His conduct had, they said, been so refractory as would justify arresting and sending him prisoner to London, where multitudes of proud high-priests were now confined, either on board hulks in the river, or in the palaces, as they were disloyally named, of the deposed anti-christian bishops; but so merciful were their tempers, that they would allow him to depart and shift for himself, only remembering that he was a marked character, and on his next offence must expect some severe punishment.

Dr. Beaumont answered, that the testimony of a clear conscience had enabled many to take joyfully the spoiling of their goods; and he doubted not he should experience similar consolation. He then required a pass for himself and his sister. The sequestrators granted one, and left him.

Their place was immediately supplied by Davies, to whom they had given possession, and who said he was moved by bowels of mercy to comfort a backsliding brother in his tribulation, and to exhort him to consider his ways, and examine wherein he had offended the Lord, who, by a visible and affecting providence, had thus mightily punished him.