CHAPTER LXII

THE COMMONWEALTH.

{1658.} All the arts of Cromwell's policy had been so often practised,

that they began to lose their effect; and his power, instead of being

confirmed by time and success, seemed every day to become more uncertain

and precarious. His friends the most closely connected with him, and

his counsellors the most trusted, were entering into cabals against his

authority; and with all his penetration into the characters of men, he

could not find any ministers on whom he could rely. Men of probity and

honor, he knew, would not submit to be the instruments of a usurpation

violent and illegal: those who were free from the restraint of

principle, might betray, from interest, that cause in which, from no

better motives, they had enlisted themselves. Even those on whom he

conferred any favor, never deemed the recompense an equivalent for the

sacrifices which they made to obtain it: whoever was refused any demand,

justified his anger by the specious colors of conscience and of duty.

Such difficulties surrounded the protector, that his dying at so

critical a time is esteemed by many the most fortunate circumstance

that ever attended him; and it was thought, that all his courage

and dexterity could not much longer have extended his usurped

administration.

But when that potent hand was removed which conducted the government,

every one expected a sudden dissolution of the unwieldy and ill-jointed

fabric. Richard, a young man of no experience, educated in the country,

accustomed to a retired life, unacquainted with the officers, and

unknown to them, recommended by no military exploits, endeared by no

familiarities, could not long, it was thought, maintain that authority

which his father had acquired by so many valorous achievements and such

signal successes. And when it was observed, that he possessed only the

virtues of private life, which in his situation were so many vices;

that indolence, incapacity, irresolution, attended his facility and good

nature, the various hopes of men were excited by the expectation of

some great event or revolution. For some time, however, the public was

disappointed in this opinion. The council recognized the succession

of Richard: Fleetwood, in whose favor it was supposed, Cromwell

had formerly made a will, renounced all claim or pretension to the

protectorship: Henry, Richard's brother, who governed Ireland with

popularity, insured him the obedience of that kingdom: Monk, whose

authority was well established in Scotland, being much attached to the

family of Cromwell, immediately proclaimed the new protector: the army,

every where, the fleet, acknowledged his title: above ninety addresses,

from the counties and most considerable corporations, congratulated

him on his accession, in all the terms of dutiful allegiance: foreign

ministers were forward in paying him the usual compliments: and Richard,

whose moderate, unambitious character never would have led him to

contend for empire, was tempted to accept of so rich an inheritance,

which seemed to be tendered to him by the consent of all mankind.

It was found necessary to call a parliament, in order to furnish

supplies, both for the ordinary administration, and for fulfilling those

engagements with foreign princes, particularly Sweden, into which the

late protector had entered. In hopes of obtaining greater influence in

elections, the ancient right was restored to all the small boroughs; and

the counties were allowed no more than their usual members.

{1659.} The

house of peers, or the other house, consisted of the same persons that

had been appointed by Oliver.

All the commons, at first, signed without hesitation an engagement not

to alter the present government. They next proceeded to examine the

humble petition and advice; and after great opposition and many vehement

debates, it was at length, with much difficulty, carried by the court

party to confirm it. An acknowledgment, too, of the authority of the

other house, was extorted from them; though it was resolved not to treat

this house of peers with any greater respect than they should return to

the commons. A declaration was also made, that the establishment of the

other house should nowise prejudice the right of such of the ancient

peers as had from the beginning of the war adhered to the parliament.

But in all these proceedings, the opposition among the commons was so

considerable, and the debates were so much prolonged, that all business

was retarded, and great alarm given to the partisans of the young

protector.

But there was another quarter from which greater dangers were justly

apprehended. The most considerable officers of the army, and even

Fleetwood, brother-in-law to the protector, were entering into cabals

against him. No character in human society is more dangerous than that

of the fanatic; because, if attended with weak judgment, he is exposed

to the suggestions of others; if supported by more discernment, he is

entirely governed by his own illusions, which sanctify his most selfish

views and passions. Fleetwood was of the former species; and as he was

extremely addicted to a republic, and even to the fifth monarchy

or dominion of the saints, it was easy for those who had insinuated

themselves into his confidence, to instil disgusts against the dignity

of protector. The whole republican party in the army, which was still

considerable, Fitz, Mason, Moss, Farley, united themselves to that

general. The officers, too, of the same party, whom Cromwell had

discarded, Overton, Ludlow, Rich, Okey, Alured, began to appear, and

to recover that authority which had been only for a time suspended.

A party, likewise, who found themselves eclipsed in Richard's favor,

Sydenham, Kelsey, Berry, Haines, joined the cabal of the others. Even

Desborow, the protector's uncle, lent his authority to that faction.

But above all, the intrigues of Lambert, who was now roused from his

retreat, inflamed all those dangerous humors, and threatened the nation

with some great convulsion. The discontented officers established their

meetings in Fleetwood's apartments; and because he dwelt in Wallingford

House, the party received a denomination from that place.

Richard, who possessed neither resolution nor penetration, was prevailed

on to give an unguarded consent for calling a general council of

officers, who might make him proposals, as they pretended, for the

good of the army. No sooner were they assembled than they voted a

remonstrance. They there lamented, that the good old cause, as they

termed it, that is, the cause for which they had engaged against the

late king, was entirely neglected; and they proposed as a remedy, that

the whole military power should be intrusted to some person in whom

they might all confide. The city militia, influenced by two aldermen,

Tichburn and Ireton, expressed the same resolution of adhering to the

good old cause.

The protector was justly alarmed at those movements among the officers.

The persons in whom he chiefly confided, were all of them, excepting

Broghill, men of civil characters and professions; Fiennes, Thurloe,

Whitlocke, Wolseley, who could only assist him with their advice and

opinion. He possessed none of those arts which were proper to gain an

enthusiastic army. Murmurs being thrown out against some promotions

which he had made, "Would you have me," said he, "prefer none but the

godly? Here is Dick Ingoldsby," continued he, "who can neither pray nor

preach; yet will I trust him before ye all."[*] This imprudence gave

great offence to the pretended saints. The other qualities of the

protector were correspondent to these sentiments: he was of a gentle,

humane, and generous disposition. Some of his party offering to put

an end to those intrigues by the death of Lambert, he declared that he

would not purchase power or dominion by such sanguinary measures.

The parliament was no less alarmed at the military cabals. They voted

that there should be no meeting or general council of officers, except

with the protector's consent, or by his orders. This vote brought

affairs immediately to a rupture. The officers hastened to Richard, and

demanded of him the dissolution of the parliament. Desborow, a man of

a clownish and brutal nature, threatened him, if he should refuse

compliance. The protector wanted the resolution to deny, and possessed

little ability to resist. The parliament was dissolved; and by the same

act, the protector was by every one considered as effectually dethroned.

Soon after, he signed his demission in form.

Henry, the deputy of Ireland, was endowed with the same moderate

disposition as Richard; but as he possessed more vigor and capacity, it

was apprehended that he might make resistance. His popularity in Ireland

was great; and even his personal authority, notwithstanding his youth,

was considerable. Had his ambition been very eager, he had, no doubt,

been able to create disturbance: but being threatened by Sir Hardress

Waller, Colonel John Jones, and other officers, he very quietly resigned

his command, and retired to England. He had once entertained thoughts,

which he had not resolution to execute, of proclaiming the king in

Dublin.[**]

* Ludlow.

** Carte's Collections, vol. ii. p. 243.

Thus fell, suddenly and from an enormous height, but, by a rare fortune,

without any hurt or injury, the family of the Cromwells. Richard

continued to possess an estate, which was moderate, and burdened too

with a large debt, which he had contracted for the interment of his

father. After the restoration, though he remained unmolested, he thought

proper to travel for some years; and at Pezenas, in Languedoc, he was

introduced under a borrowed name to the prince of Conti. That prince,

talking of English affairs, broke out into admiration of Cromwell's

courage and capacity. "But as for that poor, pitiful fellow Richard,"

said he, "what has become of him? How could he be such a blockhead as

to reap no greater benefit from all his father's crimes and successes?"

Richard extended his peaceful and quiet life to an extreme old age, and

died not till the latter end of Queen Anne's reign. His social virtues,

more valuable than the greatest capacity, met with a recompense

more precious than noisy fame, and more suitable--contentment and

tranquillity.

The council of officers, now possessed of supreme authority, deliberated

what form of government they should establish. Many of them seemed

inclined to exercise the power of the sword in the most open manner; but

as it was apprehended, that the people would with great difficulty

be induced to pay taxes levied by arbitrary will and pleasure, it was

agreed to preserve the shadow of civil administration, and to revive

the long parliament, which had been expelled by Cromwell. That assembly

could not be dissolved, it was asserted, but by their own consent; and

violence had interrupted, but was not able to destroy, their right

to government. The officers also expected, that as these members had

sufficiently felt their own weakness, they would be contented to act in

subordination to the military commanders, and would thenceforth allow

all the authority to remain where the power was so visibly vested.

The officers applied to Lenthal, the speaker, and proposed to him, that

the parliament should resume their seats. Lenthal was of a low, timid

spirit; and being uncertain what issue might attend these measures, was

desirous of evading the proposal. He replied, that he could by no means

comply with the desire of the officers; being engaged in a business

of far greater importance to himself, which he could not omit on

any account, because it concerned the salvation of his own soul. The

officers pressed him to tell what it might be. He was preparing, he

said, to participate of the Lord's supper, which he resolved to take

next Sabbath. They insisted, that mercy was preferable to sacrifice; and

that he could not better prepare himself for that great duty, than

by contributing so the public service. All their remonstrances had no

effect.

However, on the appointed day, the speaker, being informed that a quorum

of the house was likely to meet, thought proper, notwithstanding the

salvation of his soul, as Ludlow observes, to join them; and the house

immediately proceeded upon business. The secluded members attempted, but

in vain, to resume their seats among them.

The numbers of this parliament were small, little exceeding seventy

members: the authority in the nation, ever since they had been purged by

the army, was extremely diminished; and, after their expulsion, had been

totally annihilated; but being all of them men of violent ambition, some

of them men of experience and capacity, they were resolved, since they

enjoyed the title of the supreme authority, and observed that some

appearance of a parliament was requisite for the purposes of the army,

not to act a subordinate part to those who acknowledged themselves

their servants. They chose a council, in which they took care that the

officers of Wallingford House should not be the majority: they appointed

Fleetwood lieutenant-general, but inserted in his commission, that it

should only continue during the pleasure of the house: they chose seven

persons, who should nominate to such commands as became vacant; and they

voted, that all commissions should be received from the speaker, and be

signed by him in the name of the house. These precautions, the tendency

of which was visible, gave great disgust to the general officers; and

their discontent would immediately have broken out into some resolution

fatal to the parliament, had it not been checked by the apprehensions of

danger from the common enemy.

The bulk of the nation consisted of royalists and Presbyterians; and

to both these parties the dominion of the pretended parliament had

ever been to the last degree odious. When that assembly was expelled by

Cromwell, contempt had succeeded to hatred; and no reserve had been used

in expressing the utmost derision against the impotent ambition of these

usurpers. Seeing them reinstated in authority, all orders of men

felt the highest indignation; together with apprehensions, lest such

tyrannical rulers should exert their power by taking vengeance upon

their enemies, who had so openly insulted them. A secret reconciliation,

therefore, was made between the rival parties; and it was agreed, that,

burying former enmities in oblivion, all efforts should be used for the

overthrow of the rump; so they called the parliament, in allusion

to that part of the animal body. The Presbyterians, sensible from

experience that their passion for liberty, how ever laudable, had

carried them into unwarrantable excesses were willing to lay aside

ancient jealousies, and at all hazards to restore the royal family.

The nobility, the gentry, bent their passionate endeavors to the same

enterprise, by which alone they could be redeemed from slavery. And no

man was so remote from party, so indifferent to public good, as not to

feel the most ardent wishes for the dissolution of that tyranny, which,

whether the civil or the military part of it were considered, appeared

equally oppressive and ruinous to the nation.

Mordaunt, who had so narrowly escaped on his trial before the high court

of justice, seemed rather animated than daunted with past danger; and

having by his resolute behavior obtained the highest confidence of the

royal party, he was now become the centre of all their conspiracies. In

many counties, a resolution was taken to rise in arms. Lord Willoughby

of Parham and Sir Horatio Townshend undertook to secure Lynne. General

Massey engaged to seize Gloucester: Lord Newport, Littleton, and other

gentlemen, conspired to take possession of Shrewsbury; Sir George

Booth of Chester; Sir Thomas Middleton of North Wales; Arundel, Pollar,

Granville, Trelawney, of Plymouth and Exeter. A day was appointed for

the execution of all these enterprises. And the king, attended by the

duke of York, had secretly arrived at Calais, with a resolution of

putting himself at the head of his loyal subjects. The French court

had promised to supply him with a small body of forces, in order to

countenance the insurrections of the English.

This combination was disconcerted by the infidelity of Sir Richard

Willis. That traitor continued with the parliament the same

correspondence which he had begun with Cromwell. He had engaged to

reveal all conspiracies, so far as to destroy their effect; but reserved

to himself, if he pleased, the power of concealing the conspirators.

He took care never to name any of the old genuine cavaliers, who had

zealously adhered, and were resolved still to adhere, to the royal

cause in every fortune. These men he esteemed; these he even loved. He

betrayed only the new converts among the Presbyterians, or such lukewarm

royalists as, discouraged with their disappointments, were resolved to

expose themselves to no more hazards; a lively proof how impossible

it is, even for the most corrupted minds, to divest themselves of all

regard to morality and social duty.

Many of the conspirators in the different counties were thrown into

prison: others, astonished at such symptoms of secret treachery, left

their houses, or remained quiet: the most tempestuous weather prevailed

during the whole time appointed for the rendezvouses; insomuch that some

found it impossible to join their friends, and others were dismayed

with fear and superstition at an incident so unusual during the summer

season. Of all the projects, the only one which took effect, was that

of Sir George Booth for the seizing of Chester. The earl of Derby,

Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Mr. Lee, Colonel Morgan, entered into this

enterprise. Sir William Middleton joined Booth with some troops from

North Wales; and the malecontents were powerful enough to subdue all in

that neighborhood who ventured to oppose them. In their declaration

they made no mention of the king; they only demanded a free and full

parliament.

The parliament was justly alarmed. How combustible the materials, they

well knew; and the fire was now fallen among them. Booth was of a family

eminently Presbyterian; and his conjunction with the royalists they

regarded as a dangerous symptom. They had many officers whose fidelity

they could more depend on than that of Lambert; but there was no one

in whose vigilance and capacity they reposed such confidence. They

commissioned him to suppress the rebels. He made incredible haste. Booth

imprudently ventured himself out of the walls of Chester, and exposed,

in the open field, his raw troops against these hardy veterans. He was

soon routed and taken prisoner. His whole army was dispersed. And the

parliament had no further occupation than to fill all the jails

with their open or secret enemies. Designs were even entertained of

transporting the loyal families to Barbadoes, Jamaica, and the other

colonies, lest they should propagate in England children of the same

malignant affections with themselves.

This success hastened the ruin of the parliament. Lambert, at the

head of a body of troops, was no less dangerous to them than Booth. A

thousand pounds, which they sent him to buy a jewel, were employed by

him in liberalities to his officers. At his instigation, they drew up a

petition, and transmitted it to Fleetwood, a weak man, and an honest,

if sincerity in folly deserve that honorable name. The import of this

petition was, that Fleetwood should be made commander-in-chief,

Lambert major-general, Desborow lieutenant-general of the horse, Monk

major-general of the foot. To which a demand was added, that no officer

should be dismissed from his command but by a court martial.

The parliament, alarmed at the danger, immediately cashiered Lambert,

Desborow, Berry, Clarke, Barrow, Kelsey, Cobbet. Sir Arthur Hazelrig

proposed the impeachment of Lambert for high treason. Fleetwood's

commission was vacated, and the command of the army was vested in seven

persons, of whom that general was one. The parliament voted, that they

would have no more general officers. And they declared it high treason

to levy any money without consent of parliament.

But these votes were feeble weapons in opposition to the swords of the

soldiery. Lambert drew some troops together, in order to decide the

controversy. Okey, who was leading his regiment to the assistance of

the parliament, was deserted by them. Morley and Moss brought their

regiments into Palace-yard, resolute to oppose the violence of Lambert.

But that artful general knew an easy way of disappointing them. He

placed his soldiers in the streets which led to Westminster Hall. When

the speaker came in his coach, he ordered the horses to be turned, and

very civilly conducted him home. The other members were in like manner

intercepted. And the two regiments in Palace-yard, observing that they

were exposed to derision, peaceably retired to their quarters. A little

before this bold enterprise, a solemn fast had been kept by the army;

and it is remarked, that this ceremony was the usual prelude to every

signal violence which they committed.

The officers found themselves again invested with supreme authority, of

which they intended forever to retain the substance, however they

might bestow on others the empty shadow or appearance. They elected a

committee of twenty-three persons, of whom seven were officers. These

they pretended to invest with sovereign authority; and they called

them a "committee of safety." They spoke every where of summoning a

parliament chosen by the people; but they really took some steps towards

assembling a military parliament, composed of officers elected from

every regiment in the service.[*]

* Ludlow.

Throughout the three kingdoms there prevailed nothing but the

melancholy fears, to the nobility and gentry of a bloody massacre and

extermination; to the rest of the people, of perpetual servitude beneath

those sanctified robbers, whose union and whose divisions would be

equally destructive and who, under pretence of superior illuminations,

would soon extirpate, if possible, all private morality, as they had

already done all public law and justice, from the British dominions.

During the time that England continued in this distracted condition,

the other kingdoms of Europe were hastening towards a composure of those

differences by which they had so long been agitated. The parliament,

while it preserved authority, instead of following the imprudent

politics of Cromwell, and lending assistance to the conquering Swede,

embraced the maxims of the Dutch commonwealth, and resolved, in

conjunction with that state, to mediate by force an accommodation

between the northern crowns. Montague was sent with a squadron to

the Baltic, and carried with him, as ambassador, Algernon Sidney, the

celebrated republican. Sidney found the Swedish monarch employed in the

siege of Copenhagen, the capital of his enemy; and was highly pleased

that, with a Roman arrogance, he could check the progress of royal

victories, and display in so signal a manner the superiority of freedom

above tyranny. With the highest indignation, the ambitious prince was

obliged to submit to the imperious mediation of the two commonwealths.

"It is cruel," said he, "that laws should be prescribed me by parricides

and pedlers." But his whole army was enclosed in an island, and might be

starved by the combined squadrons of England and Holland. He was obliged

therefore to quit his prey, when he had so nearly gotten possession of

it; and having agreed to a pacification with Denmark, he retired into

his own country, where he soon after died.

The wars between France and Spain were also concluded by the treaty of

the Pyrenees. These animosities had long been carried on between the

rival states, even while governed by a sister and brother, who cordially

loved and esteemed each other. But politics, which had so long prevailed

over these friendly affections, now at last yielded to their influence;

and never was the triumph more full and complete. The Spanish Low

Countries, if not every part of that monarchy, lay almost entirely at

the mercy of its enemy. Broken armies, disordered finances, slow

and irresolute counsels by these resources alone were the dispersed

provinces of Spain defended against the vigorous power of France. But

the queen regent, anxious for the fate of her brother, employed

her authority with the cardinal to stop the progress of the French

conquests, and put an end to a quarrel which, being commenced by

ambition, and attended with victory, was at last concluded with

moderation. The young monarch of France, though aspiring and warlike in

his character, was at this time entirely occupied in the pleasures of

love and gallantry, and had passively resigned the reins of empire

into the hands of his politic minister. And he remained an unconcerned

spectator, while an opportunity for conquest was parted with, which he

never was able, during the whole course of his active reign, fully to

retrieve.

The ministers of the two crowns, Mazarine and Don Louis de Haro, met at

the foot of the Pyrenees, in the Isle of Pheasants, a place which was

supposed to belong to neither kingdom. The negotiation being brought

to an issue by frequent conferences between the ministers, the monarchs

themselves agreed to a congress; and these two splendid courts appeared

in their full lustre amidst those savage mountains. Philip brought his

daughter, Mary Therese, along with him; and giving her in marriage to

his nephew Louis, endeavored to cement by this new tie the incompatible

interests of the two monarchies. The French king made a solemn

renunciation of every succession which might accrue to him in right

of his consort; a vain formality, too weak to restrain the ungoverned

ambition of princes.

The affairs of England were in so great disorder, that it was not

possible to comprehend that kingdom in the treaty, or adjust measures

with a power which was in such incessant fluctuation. The king, reduced

to despair by the failure of all enterprises for his restoration, was

resolved to try the weak resource of foreign succors; and he went to the

Pyrenees at the time when the two ministers were in the midst of

their negotiations. Don Louis received him with that generous civility

peculiar to his nation; and expressed great inclination, had the low

condition of Spain allowed him, to give assistance to the distressed

monarch. The cautious Mazarine, pleading the alliance of France with

the English commonwealth, refused even to see him; and though the king

offered to marry the cardinal's niece,[*] he could for the present

obtain nothing but empty profusions of respect and protestations of

services. The condition of that monarch, to all the world, seemed

totally desperate.

* King James's Memoirs.

His friends had been baffled in every attempt for his service: the

scaffold had often streamed with the blood of the more active royalists:

the spirits of many were broken with tedious imprisonments: the estates

of all were burdened by the fines and confiscations which had been

levied upon them: no one durst openly avow himself of that party: and so

small did their number seem to a superficial view, that, even should

the nation recover its liberty, which was deemed nowise probable, it was

judged uncertain what form of government it would embrace. But amidst

all these gloomy prospects, fortune, by a surprising revolution, was now

paving the way for the king to mount, in peace and triumph, the throne

of his ancestors. It was by the prudence and loyalty of General Monk

that this happy change was at last accomplished.

George Monk, to whom the fate was reserved of reëstablishing monarchy,

and finishing the bloody dissensions of three kingdoms, was the second

son of a family in Devonshire, ancient and honorable, but lately, from

too great hospitality and expense, somewhat fallen to decay. He betook

himself in early youth to the profession of arms; and was engaged in the

unfortunate expeditions to Cadiz and the Isle of Rhé. After England had

concluded peace with all her neighbors, he sought military experience in

the Low Countries, the great school of war to all the European nations;

and he rose to the command of a company under Lord Goring. This company

consisted of two hundred men, of whom a hundred were volunteers, often

men of family and fortune, sometimes noblemen, who lived upon their own

income in a splendid manner: such a military turn at that time prevailed

among the English.

When the sound of war was first heard in this island, Monk returned

to England, partly desirous of promotion in his native country, partly

disgusted with some ill usage from the states, of which he found reason

to complain. Upon the Scottish pacification, he was employed by the earl

of Leicester against the Irish rebels; and having obtained a regiment,

was soon taken notice of for his military skill, and for his calm and

deliberate valor. Without ostentation, expense, or caresses, merely by

his humane and equal temper, he gained the good will of the soldiery;

who, with a mixture of familiarity and affection, usually called

him "honest George Monk," an honorable appellation, which they still

continued to him even during his greatest elevation. He was remarkable

for his moderation in party; and while all around him were inflamed

into rage against the opposite faction, he fell under suspicion from the

candor and tranquillity of his behavior. When the Irish army was called

over into England, surmises of this kind had been so far credited, that

he had even been suspended from his command, and ordered to Oxford, that

he might answer the charge laid against him. His established character

for truth and sincerity here stood him in great stead; and upon his

earnest protestations and declarations, he was soon restored to his

regiment, which he joined at the siege of Nantwich. The day after his

arrival, Fairfax attacked and defeated the royalists commanded by Biron,

and took Colonel Monk prisoner. He was sent to the Tower, where he

endured, above two years, all the rigors of poverty and confinement. The

king, however, was so mindful as to send him, notwithstanding his own

difficulties, a present of one hundred guineas; but it was not till

after the royalists were totally subdued that he recovered his liberty.

Monk, however distressed, had always refused the most inviting offers

from the parliament: but Cromwell, sensible of his merit, having

solicited him to engage in the wars against the Irish, who were

considered as rebels both by king and parliament, he was not unwilling

to repair his broken fortunes by accepting a command which, he flattered

himself, was reconcilable to the strictest principles of honor. Having

once engaged with the parliament, he was obliged to obey orders; and

found himself necessitated to fight both against the marquis of Ormond

in Ireland, and against the king himself in Scotland. Upon the reduction

of the latter kingdom, Monk was left with the supreme command; and by

the equality and justice of his administration, he was able to give

contentment to that restless people, now reduced to subjection by a

nation whom they hated. No less acceptable was his authority to the

officers and soldiers; and foreseeing that the good will of the army

under his command might some time be of great service to him, he had

with much care and success cultivated their friendship.

The connections which he had formed with Cromwell, his benefactor,

preserved him faithful to Richard, who had been enjoined by his father

to follow in every thing the directions of General Monk. When the long

parliament was restored, Monk, who was not prepared for opposition,

acknowledged their authority, and was continued in his command, from

which it would not have been safe to attempt dislodging him. After the

army had expelled the parliament, he protested against the violence, and

resolved, as he pretended, to vindicate their invaded privileges. Deeper

designs, either in the king's favor or his own, were from the beginning

suspected to be the motive of his actions.

A rivalship had long subsisted between him and Lambert; and every body

saw the reason why he opposed the elevation of that ambitious general,

by whose success his own authority, he knew, would soon be subverted.

But little friendship had ever subsisted between him and the

parliamentary leaders; and it seemed nowise probable that he intended

to employ his industry, and spend his blood, for the advancement of ene

enemy above another. How early he entertained designs for the king's

restoration, we know not with certainty: it is likely that, as soon

as Richard was deposed, he foresaw that, without such an expedient, it

would be impossible ever to bring the nation to a regular settlement.

His elder and younger brothers were devoted to the royal cause: the

Granvilles, his near relations, and all the rest of his kindred, were

in the same interests: he himself was intoxicated with no fumes of

enthusiasm, and had maintained no connections with any of the fanatical

tribe. His early engagements had been with the king; and he had left

that service without receiving any disgust from the royal family. Since

he had enlisted himself with the opposite party, he had been guilty

of no violence or rigor which might render him obnoxious. His return,

therefore, to loyalty, was easy and open; and nothing could be supposed

to counterbalance his natural propensity to that measure, except the

views of his own elevation, and the prospect of usurping the same

grandeur and authority which had been assumed by Cromwell. But from such

exorbitant, if not impossible projects, the natural tranquillity and

moderation of his temper, the calmness and solidity of his genius, not

to mention his age, now upon the decline, seem to have set him at a

distance. Cromwell himself, he always asserted,[*] could not long have

maintained his usurpation; and any other person, even equal to him in

genius, it was obvious, would now find it more difficult to practise

arts of which every one from experience was sufficiently aware. It is

more agreeable, therefore, to reason as well as candor, to suppose,

that Monk, as soon as he put himself in motion, had entertained views of

effecting the king's restoration; nor ought any objections, derived

from his profound silence even to Charles himself, to be regarded as

considerable. His temper was naturally reserved; his circumstances

required dissimulation; the king, he knew, was surrounded with spies and

traitors; and, upon the whole, it seems hard to interpret that conduct

which ought to exalt our idea of his prudence, as a disparagement of his

probity.

* Gumble's Life of Monk, p. 93.

Sir John Granville, hoping that the general would engage in the king's

service, sent into Scotland his younger brother, a clergyman, Dr. Monk,

who carried him a letter and invitation from the king. When the doctor

arrived, he found that his brother was then holding a council of

officers, and was not to be seen for some hours. In the mean time, he

was received and entertained by Price, the general's chaplain, a man

of probity, as well as a partisan of the king's. The doctor, having an

entire confidence in the chaplain, talked very freely to him about the

object of his journey, and engaged him, if there should be occasion,

to second his applications. At last, the general arrives; the brothers

embrace; and after some preliminary conversation, the doctor opens his

business. Monk interrupted him, to know whether he had ever before to

any body mentioned the subject. "To nobody," replied his brother, "but

to Price, whom I know to be entirely in your confidence." The general,

altering his countenance, turned the discourse; and would enter into

no further confidence with him, but sent him away with the first

opportunity. He would not trust his own brother the moment he knew that

he had disclosed the secret, though to a man whom he himself could have

trusted.[*]

* Lord Lansdowne's Defence of General Monk.

His conduct in all other particulars was full of the same reserve and

prudence; and no less was requisite for effecting the difficult work

which he had undertaken. All the officers in his army of whom he

entertained any suspicion, he immediately cashiered; Cobbet, who had

been sent by the committee of safety, under pretence of communicating

their resolutions to Monk, but really with a view of debauching his

army, he committed to custody: he drew together the several scattered

regiments: he summoned an assembly somewhat resembling a convention of

states; and having communicated to them his resolution of marching into

England, he received a seasonable, though no great supply of money.

Hearing that Lambert was advancing northward with his army, Monk sent

Cloberry and two other commissioners to London, with large professions

of his inclination to peace, and with offers of terms for an

accommodation. His chief aim was to gain time, and relax the

preparations of his enemies. The committee of safety fell into the

snare. A treaty was signed by Monk's commissioners; but he refused

to ratify it, and complained that they had exceeded their powers. He

desired, however, to enter into a new negotiation at Newcastle. The

committee willingly accepted this fallacious offer.

Meanwhile these military sovereigns found themselves surrounded on all

hands with inextricable difficulties. The nation had fallen into total

anarchy; and by refusing the payment of all taxes, reduced the army

to the greatest necessities. While Lambert's forces were assembling

at Newcastle, Hazelrig and Morley took possession of Portsmouth,

and declared for the parliament. A party, sent to suppress them, was

persuaded by their commander to join in the same declaration. The city

apprentices rose in a tumult, and demanded a free parliament. Though

they were suppressed by Colonel Hewson, a man who from the profession

of a cobbler had risen to a high rank in the army, the city still

discovered symptoms of the most dangerous discontent. It even

established a kind of separate government, and assumed the supreme

authority within itself. Admiral Lawson with his squadron came into the

river, and declared for the parliament. Hazelrig and Morley, hearing of

this important event, left Portsmouth, and advanced towards London. The

regiments near that city, being solicited by their old officers, who

had been cashiered by the committee of safety, revolted again to the

parliament. Desborow's regiment, being sent by Lambert to support his

friends, no sooner arrived at St. Albans, than it declared for the same

assembly.

Fleetwood's hand was found too weak and unstable to support this

ill-founded fabric, which every where around him was falling into ruins.

When he received intelligence of any murmurs among the soldiers, he

would prostrate himself in prayer, and could hardly be prevailed with

to join the troops. Even when among them, he would, in the midst of

any discourse, invite them all to prayer, and put himself on his knees

before them. If any of his friends exhorted him to more vigor, they

could get no other answer than, that God had spitten in his face, and

would not hear him. Men now ceased to wonder why Lambert had promoted

him to the office of general, and had contented himself with the second

command in the army.

Lenthal, the speaker, being invited by the officers, again assumed

authority, and summoned together the parliament, which twice before had

been expelled with so much reproach and ignominy. As soon as assembled,

they repealed their act against the payment of excise and customs; they

appointed commissioners for assigning quarters to the army; and, without

taking any notice of Lambert, they sent orders to the forces under his

command immediately to repair to those quarters which were appointed

them.

{1660.} Lambert was now in a very disconsolate condition. Monk, he saw,

had passed the Tweed at Coldstream, and was advancing upon him. His own

soldiers deserted him in great multitudes, and joined the enemy. Lord

Fairfax, too, he heard, had raised forces behind him, and had possessed

himself of York, without declaring his purpose. The last orders of the

parliament so entirely stripped him of his army, that there remained not

with him above a hundred horse: all the rest went to their quarters with

quietness and resignation; and he himself was, some time after, arrested

and committed to the Tower. The other officers, who had formerly been

cashiered by the parliament, and who had resumed their commands that

they might subdue that assembly, were again cashiered and confined to

their houses. Sir Harry Vane and some members who had concurred with

the committee of safety, were ordered into a like confinement. And the

parliament now seemed to be again possessed of more absolute authority

than ever, and to be without any danger of opposition or control.

The republican party was at this time guided by two men, Hazelrig and

Vane, who were of opposite characters, and mortally hated each other.

Hazelrig, who possessed greater authority in the parliament, was

haughty, imperious, precipitate, vainglorious; without civility, without

prudence; qualified only by his noisy, pertinacious obstinacy to

acquire an ascendant in public assemblies. Vane was noted in all civil

transactions for temper, insinuation, address, and a profound judgment;

in all religious speculations, for folly and extravagance. He was a

perfect enthusiast; and fancying that he was certainly favored with

inspiration, he deemed himself, to speak in the language of the times,

to be a _man above ordinances_, and, by reason of his perfection,

to be unlimited and unrestrained by any rules which govern inferior

mortals. These whimseys, mingling with pride, had so corrupted his

excellent understanding, that sometimes he thought himself the

person deputed to reign on earth for a thousand years over the whole

congregation of the faithful.[*]

* Clarendon.

Monk, though informed of the restoration of the parliament, from whom

he received no orders, still advanced with his army, which was near six

thousand men: the scattered forces in England were above five times more

numerous. Fairfax, who had resolved to declare for the king, not being

able to make the general open his intentions, retired to his own house

in Yorkshire. In all counties through which Monk passed, the prime

gentry flocked to him with addresses, expressing their earnest desire

that he would be instrumental in restoring the nation to peace and

tranquillity, and to the enjoyment of those liberties which by law were

their birthright, but of which, during so many years, they had been

fatally bereaved; and that, in order to this salutary purpose, he would

prevail, either for the restoring of those members who had been secluded

before the king's death, or for the election of a new parliament, who

might legally and by general consent again govern the nation. Though

Monk pretended not to favor these addresses, that ray of hope which the

knowledge of his character and situation afforded, mightily animated

all men. The tyranny and the anarchy which now equally oppressed the

kingdom; the experience of past distractions, the dread of future

convulsions, the indignation against military usurpation, against

sanctified hypocrisy; all these motives had united every party, except

the most desperate, into ardent wishes for the king's restoration, the

only remedy for all these fatal evils.

Scot and Robinson were sent as deputies by the parliament, under

pretence of congratulating the general, but in reality to serve as

spies upon him. The city despatched four of their principal citizens to

perform like compliments; and at the same time to confirm the general

in his inclination to a free parliament, the object of all men's

prayers and endeavors. The authority of Monk could scarcely secure the

parliamentary deputies from those insults which the general hatred

and contempt towards their masters drew from men of every rank and

denomination.

Monk continued his march with few interruptions till he reached St.

Albans. He there sent a message to the parliament, desiring them to

remove from London those regiments which, though they now professed to

return to their duty, had so lately offered violence to that assembly.

This message was unexpected, and exceedingly perplexed the house. Their

fate, they found, must still depend on a mercenary army; and they were

as distant as ever from their imaginary sovereignty. However, they found

it necessary to comply. The soldiers made more difficulty. A mutiny

arose among them. One regiment in particular, quartered in Somerset

House, expressly refused to yield their place to the northern army. But

those officers who would gladly on such an occasion have inflamed the

quarrel, were absent or in confinement; and for want of leaders, the

soldiers were at last, with great reluctance, obliged to submit. Monk

with his army took quarters in Westminster.

The general was introduced to the House; and thanks were given him by

Lenthal, for the eminent services which he had done his country. Monk

was a prudent, not an eloquent speaker. He told the house, that the

services which he had been enabled to perform were no more than his

duty, and merited not such praises as those with which they were pleased

to honor him: that among many persons of greater worth who bore their

commission, he had been employed as the instrument of Providence for

effecting their restoration; but he considered this service as a step

only to more important services, which it was their part to render to

the nation: that while on his march, he observed all ranks of men, in

all places, to be in earnest expectation of a settlement, after the

violent convulsions to which they had been exposed; and to have no

prospect of that blessing but from the dissolution of the present

parliament, and from the summoning of a new one, free and full, who,

meeting without oaths or engagements, might finally give contentment to

the nation: that applications had been made to him for that purpose; but

that he, sensible of his duty, had still told the petitioners, that the

parliament itself, which was now free, and would soon be full, was the

best judge of all these measures; and that the whole community ought

to acquiesce in their determination: that though he expressed himself in

this manner to the people, he must now freely inform the house, that the

fewer engagements were exacted, the more comprehensive would their plan

prove, and the more satisfaction would it give to the nation: and that

it was sufficient for public security, if the fanatical party and the

royalists were excluded; since the principles of these factions were

destructive either of government or of liberty.

This speech, containing matter which was both agreeable and disagreeable

to the house, as well as to the nation, still kept every one in

suspense, and upheld that uncertainty in which it seemed the general's

interest to retain the public. But it was impossible for the kingdom

to remain long in this doubtful situation: the people, as well as the

parliament, pushed matters to a decision. During the late convulsions,

the payment of taxes had been interrupted; and though the parliament,

upon their assembling, renewed the ordinances for impositions, yet so

little reverence did the people pay to those legislators, that they gave

very slow and unwilling obedience to their commands. The common council

of London flatly refused to submit to an assessment required of them;

and declared that, till a free and lawful parliament imposed taxes, they

never should deem it their duty to make any payment. This resolution,

if yielded to, would immediately have put an end to the dominion of the

parliament: they were determined, therefore, upon this occasion, to make

at once a full experiment of their own power, and of their general's

obedience.

Monk received orders to march into the city; to seize twelve persons,

the most obnoxious to the parliament; to remove the posts and chains

from all the streets; and to take down and break the portcullises and

gates of the city; and very few hours were allowed him to deliberate

upon the execution of these violent orders. To the great surprise

and consternation of all men, Monk prepared himself for obedience.

Neglecting the entreaties of his friends, the remonstrances of his

officers, the cries of the people, he entered the city in a military

manner; he apprehended as many as he could of the proscribed persons,

whom he sent to the Tower; with all the circumstances of contempt, he

broke the gates and portcullises; and having exposed the city to the

scorn and derision of all who hated it, he returned in triumph to his

quarters in Westminster.

No sooner had the general leisure to reflect, than he found that this

last measure, instead of being a continuation of that cautious ambiguity

which he had hitherto maintained, was taking party without reserve, and

laying himself, as well as the nation, at the mercy of that tyrannical

parliament, whose power and long been odious, as their persons

contemptible, to all men. He resolved, therefore, before it were too

late, to repair the dangerous mistake into which he had been betrayed,

and to show the whole world, still more without reserve, that he

meant no longer to be the minister of violence and usurpation. After

complaining of the odious service in which ha had been employed, he

wrote a letter to the house, reproaching them, as well with the

new cabals which they had formed with Vane and Lambert, as with the

encouragement given to a fanatical petition presented by Praise-God

Barebone; and he required them, in the name of the citizens, soldiers,

and whole commonwealth, to issue writs within a week, for the filling

of their house, and to fix the time for their own dissolution and the

assembling of a new parliament. Having despatched this letter, which

might be regarded, he thought, as an undoubted pledge of his sincerity,

he marched with his army into the city, and desired Allen, the mayor, to

summon a common council at Guildhall. He there made many apologies for

the indignity which two days before he had been obliged to put upon

them; assured them of his perseverance in the measures which he had

adopted; and desired that they might mutually plight their faith for

a strict union between city and army, in every enterprise for the

happiness and settlement of the commonwealth.

It would be difficult to describe the joy and exultation which displayed

itself throughout the city, as soon as intelligence was conveyed of this

happy measure embraced by the general. The prospect of peace, concord,

liberty, justice, broke forth at once from amidst the deepest darkness

in which the nation had ever been involved. The view of past calamities

no longer presented dismal prognostics of the future: it tended only

to enhance the general exultation for those scenes of happiness and

tranquillity which all men now confidently promised themselves. The

royalists, the Presbyterians, forgetting all animosities, mingled in

common joy and transport, and vowed never more to gratify the ambition

of false and factious tyrants by their calamitous divisions. The

populace more outrageous in their festivity, made the air resound with

acclamations, and illuminated every street with signals of jollity and

triumph. Applauses of the general were every where intermingled with

detestation against the parliament The most ridiculous inventions were

adopted, in order to express this latter passion. At every bonfire rumps

were roasted; and where these could no longer be found, pieces of

flesh were cut into that shape; and the funeral of the parliament

(the populace exclaimed) was celebrated by these symbols of hatred and

derision.

The parliament, though in the agonies of despair, made still one effort

for the recovery of their dominion. They sent a committee with offers

to gain the general. He refused to hear them, except in the presence

of some of the secluded members. Though several persons, desperate from

guilt and fanaticism, promised to invest him with the dignity of supreme

magistrate, and to support his government, he would not hearken to such

wild proposals. Having fixed a close correspondence with the city, and

established its militia in hands whose fidelity could be relied on, he

returned with his army to Westminster, and pursued every proper measure

for the settlement of the nation. While he still pretended to

maintain republican principles, he was taking large steps towards the

reëstablishment of the ancient monarchy.

The secluded members, upon the general's invitation, went to the house,

and finding no longer any obstruction, they entered, and immediately

appeared to be the majority: most of the Independents left the place.

The restored members first repealed all the ordinances by which they had

been excluded: they gave Sir George Booth and his party their liberty

and estates: they renewed the general's commission, and enlarged his

powers: they fixed an assessment for the support of the fleet and army:

and having passed these votes for the present composure of the kingdom,

they dissolved themselves, and issued writs for the immediate assembling

of a new parliament. This last measure had been previously concerted

with the general, who knew that all men, however different in

affections, expectations, and designs, united in their detestation of

the long parliament.

A council of state was established, consisting of men of character and

moderation; most of whom, during the civil wars, had made a great figure

among the Presbyterians. The militia of the kingdom was put into such

hands as would promote order and settlement. These, conjoined with

Monk's army, which lay united at London, were esteemed a sufficient

check on the more numerous, though dispersed army, of whose inclinations

there was still much reason to be diffident Monk, however, was every day

removing the more obnoxious officers, and bringing the troops to a state

of discipline and obedience.

Overton, governor of Hull, had declared his resolution to keep

possession of that fortress till the coming of King Jesus, but when

Alured produced the authority of parliament for his delivering the place

to Colonel Fairfax, he thought proper to comply.

Montague, who commanded the fleet in the Baltic, had entered into the

conspiracy with Sir George Booth; and pretending want of provisions, had

sailed from the Sound towards the coast of England, with an intention

of supporting that insurrection of the royalists. On his arrival,

he received the news of Booth's defeat, and the total failure of the

enterprise. The great difficulties to which the parliament was then

reduced, allowed them no leisure to examine strictly the reasons

which he gave for quitting his station; and they allowed him to retire

peaceably to his country house. The council of state now conferred on

him, in conjunction with Monk, the command of the fleet; and secured

the naval, as well as military force, in hands favorable to the public

settlement.

Notwithstanding all these steps which were taking towards the

reëstablishment of monarchy, Monk still maintained the appearance of

zeal for a commonwealth, and hitherto allowed no canal of correspondence

between himself and the king to be opened. To call a free parliament,

and to restore the royal family, were visibly, in the present

disposition of the kingdom, one and the same measure: yet would not the

general declare, otherwise than by his actions, that he had adopted

the king's interests; and nothing but necessity extorted at last the

confession from him. His silence in the commencement of his enterprise

ought to be no objection to his sincerity; since he maintained the same

reserve at a time when, consistent with common sense, he could have

entertained no other purpose.[*] [27]

* See note AA, at the end of the volume.

There was one Morrice, a gentleman of Devonshire, of a sedentary,

studious disposition, nearly related to Monk, and one who had always

maintained the strictest intimacy with him. With this friend alone did

Monk deliberate concerning that great enterprise which he had projected.

Sir John Granville, who had a commission from the king, applied to

Morrice for access to the general; but received for answer, that the

general desired him to communicate his business to Morrice. Granville,

though importunately urged, twice refused to deliver his message to any

but Monk himself; and this cautious politician, finding him now a person

whose secrecy could be safely trusted, admitted him to his presence,

and opened to him his whole intentions. Still he scrupled to commit

any thing to writing: he delivered only a verbal message by Granville

assuring the king of his services, giving advice for his conduct, and

exhorting him instantly to leave the Spanish territories, and retire

into Holland. He was apprehensive lest Spain might detain him as a

pledge for the recovery of Dunkirk and Jamaica. Charles followed these

directions, and very narrowly escaped to Breda. Had he protracted his

journey a few hours, he had certainly, under pretence of honor and

respect, been arrested by the Spaniards.[*]

Lockhart, who was governor of Dunkirk, and nowise averse to the king's

service, was applied to on this occasion. The state of England was

set before him, the certainty of the restoration represented, and the

prospect of great favor displayed, if he would anticipate the vows of

the kingdom, and receive the king into his fortress. Lockhart still

replied, that his commission was derived from an English parliament, and

he would not open his gates but in obedience to the same authority.[**]

This scruple, though in the present emergence it approaches towards

superstition, it is difficult for us entirely to condemn.

* Lansdowne, Clarendon.

** Burnet.

The elections for the new parliament went every where in favor of the

king's party. This was one of those popular torrents, where the most

indifferent, or even the most averse, are transported with the general

passion, and zealously adopt the sentiments of the community to which

they belong. The enthusiasts themselves seemed to be disarmed of their

fury; and, between despair and astonishment, gave way to those measures

which they found it would be impossible for them, by their utmost

efforts, to withstand. The Presbyterians and the royalists, being

united, formed the voice of the nation, which, without noise, but with

infinite ardor, called for the king's restoration. The kingdom was

almost entirely in the hands of the former party; and some zealous

leaders among them began to renew the demand of those conditions which

had been required of the late king in the treaty of Newport: but

the general opinion seemed to condemn all those rigorous and jealous

capitulations with their sovereign. Harassed with convulsions and

disorders, men ardently longed for repose; and were terrified at the

mention of negotiations or delays, which might afford opportunity to

the seditious army still to breed new confusion. The passion too for

liberty, having been carried to such violent extremes, and having

produced such bloody commotions, began, by a natural movement, to give

place to a spirit of loyalty and obedience; and the public was less

zealous in a cause which was become odious, on account of the calamities

which had so long attended it. After the legal concessions made by the

late king, the constitution seemed to be sufficiently secured; and the

additional conditions insisted on, as they had been framed during the

greatest ardor of the contest, amounted rather to annihilation than a

limitation of monarchy. Above all, the general was averse to the mention

of conditions; and resolved, that the crown, which he intended to

restore, should be conferred on the king entirely free and unencumbered.

Without further scruple, therefore, or jealousy, the people gave

their voice in elections for such as they knew to entertain sentiments

favorable to monarchy; and all paid court to a party, which they

foresaw was soon to govern the nation. Though the parliament had voted,

that no one should be elected who had himself, or whose father, had

borne arms for the late king, little regard was any where paid to this

ordinance. The leaders of the Presbyterians, the earl of Manchester,

Lord Fairfax, Lord Robarts, Hollis, Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, Annesley,

Lewis, were determined to atone for past transgressions by their present

zeal for the royal interests; and from former merits, successes, and

sufferings, they had acquired with their party the highest credit and

authority.

The affairs of Ireland were in a condition no less favorable to the

king. As soon as Monk declared against the English army, he despatched

emissaries into Ireland, and engaged the officers in that kingdom

to concur with him in the same measures. Lord Broghill, president of

Munster, and Sir Charles Coote, president of Connaught, went so far

as to enter into a correspondence with the king, and to promise their

assistance for his restoration. In conjunction with Sir Theophilus Jones

and other officers, they took possession of the government, and

excluded Ludlow, who was zealous for the rump parliament, but whom they,

pretended to be in a confederacy with the committee of safety. They kept

themselves in readiness to serve the king; but made no declarations,

till they should see the turn which affairs took in England.

But all these promising views had almost been blasted by an untoward

accident. Upon the admission of the secluded members, the republican

party, particularly the late king's judges, were seized with the justest

despair, and endeavored to infuse the same sentiment into the army. By

themselves or their emissaries, they represented to the soldiers, that

all those brave actions which had been performed during the war, and

which were so meritorious in the eyes of the parliament, would, no

doubt, be regarded as the deepest crimes by the royalists, and would

expose the army to the severest vengeance: that in vain did that

party make professions of moderation and lenity; the king's death, the

execution of so many of the nobility and gentry, the sequestration

and imprisonment of the rest, were in their eyes crimes so deep, and

offences so personal, as must be prosecuted with the most implacable

resentment: that the loss of all arrears, and the cashiering of

every officer and soldier, were the lightest punishment which must

be expected; after the dispersion of the army, no further protection

remained to them, either for life or property, but the clemency of

enraged victors: and that, even if the most perfect security could be

obtained, it were inglorious to be reduced by treachery and deceit to

subjection under a foe, who, in the open field, had so often yielded to

their superior valor.

After these suggestions had been infused into the army, Lambert suddenly

made his escape from the Tower, and threw Monk and the council of state

into great consternation. They knew Lambert's vigor and activity; they

were acquainted with his popularity in the army; they were sensible

that, though the soldiers had lately deserted him, they sufficiently

expressed their remorse, and their detestation of those who, by false

professions, they found had so egregiously deceived them. It seemed

necessary, therefore, to employ the greatest celerity in suppressing so

dangerous a foe: Colonel Ingoldsby, who had been one of the late

king's judges, but who was now entirely engaged in the royal cause,

was despatched after him. He overtook him at Daventry, while he had yet

assembled but four troops of horse. One of them deserted him. Another

quickly followed the example. He himself, endeavoring to make his

escape, was seized by Ingoldsby, to whom he made submissions not

suitable to his former character of spirit and valor. Okey, Axtel,

Cobbet, Crede, and other officers of that party, were taken prisoners

with him. All the roads were full of soldiers hastening to join them. In

a few days, they had been formidable. And it was thought, that it might

prove dangerous for Monk himself to have assembled any considerable body

of his republican army for their suppression: so that nothing could be

more happy than the sudden extinction of this rising flame.

When the parliament met, they chose Sir Harbottle Grimstone speaker, a

man who, though he had for some time concurred with the late parliament,

had long been esteemed affectionate to the king's service. The great

dangers incurred during former usurpations, joined to the extreme

caution of the general, kept every one in awe; and none dared for some

days to make any mention of the king. The members exerted their spirit

chiefly in bitter invectives against the memory of Cromwell, and in

execrations against the inhuman murder of their late sovereign. At

last, the general, having sufficiently sounded their inclinations, gave

directions to Annesley, president of the council, to inform them, that

one Sir John Granville, a servant of the king's, had been sent over by

his majesty, and was now at the door with a letter to the commons. The

loudest acclamations were excited by this intelligence. Granville was

called in; the letter, accompanied with a declaration, greedily

read: without one moment's delay, and without a contradictory vote, a

committee was appointed to prepare an answer: and in order to spread the

same satisfaction throughout the kingdom, it was voted that the letter

and declaration should immediately be published.

The people, freed from the state of suspense in which they had so long

been held, now changed their anxious hope for the unmixed effusions of

joy; and displayed a social triumph and exultation, which no private

prosperity, even the greatest, is ever able fully to inspire. Traditions

remain of men, particularly of Oughtred, the mathematician, who died of

pleasure, when informed of this happy and surprising event. The King's

declaration was well calculated to uphold the satisfaction inspired by

the prospect of public settlement. It offered a general amnesty to all

persons whatsoever: and that without any exceptions but such as should

afterwards be made by parliament: it promised liberty of conscience; and

a concurrence in any act of parliament which, upon mature deliberation,

should be offered, for insuring that indulgence: it submitted to

the arbitration of the same assembly, the inquiry into all grants,

purchases, and alienations; and it assured the soldiers of all their

arrears, and promised them, for the future, the same pay which they then

enjoyed.

The lords, perceiving the spirit by which the kingdom as well as the

commons was animated, hastened to reinstate themselves in their ancient

authority, and to take their share in the settlement of the nation. They

found the doors of their house open; and all were admitted, even such as

had formerly been excluded on account of their pretended delinquency.

The two houses attended; while the king was proclaimed, with great

solemnity, in Palace Yard, at Whitehall, and at Temple Bar. The commons

voted five hundred pounds to buy a jewel for Granville, who had brought

them the king's gracious messages: a present of fifty thousand pounds

was conferred on the king, ten thousand pounds on the duke of York,

five thousand pounds on the duke of Gloucester. A committee of lords

and commons was despatched to invite his majesty to return and take

possession of the government. The rapidity with which all these events

were conducted was marvellous, and discovered the passionate zeal and

entire unanimity of the nation. Such an impatience appeared, and such

an emulation, in lords, and commons, and city, who should make the most

lively expressions of their joy and duty, that, as the noble historian

expresses it, a man could not but wonder where those people dwelt who

had done all the mischief, and kept the king so many years from enjoying

the comfort and support of such excellent subjects. The king himself

said, that it must surely have been his own fault, that he had not

sooner taken possession of the throne; since he found every body so

zealous in promoting his happy restoration.

The respect of foreign powers soon followed the submission of the king's

subjects. Spain invited him to return to the Low Countries, and embark

in some of her maritime towns. France made protestations of affection

and regard, and offered Calais for the same purpose. The states general

sent deputies with a like friendly invitation. The king resolved to

accept of this last offer. The people of the republic bore him a cordial

affection; and politics no longer restrained their magistrates from

promoting and expressing that sentiment. As he passed from Breda to the

Hague, he was attended by numerous crowds, and was received with the

loudest acclamations; as if themselves, not their rivals in power and

commerce, were now restored to peace and security. The states general

in a body, and afterwards the states of Holland apart, performed their

compliments with the greatest solemnity: every person of distinction was

ambitious of being introduced to his majesty; all ambassadors and public

ministers of kings, princes, or states, repaired to him, and professed

the joy of their masters in his behalf; so that one would have thought,

that from the united efforts of Christendom had been derived this

revolution, which diffused every where such universal satisfaction.

The English fleet came in sight of Scheveling. Montague had not waited

for orders from the parliament; but had persuaded the officers of

themselves to tender their duty to his majesty. The duke of York

immediately went on board, and took the command of the fleet as high

admiral.

When the king disembarked at Dover, he was met by the general, whom he

cordially embraced. Never subject in fact, probably in his intentions,

had deserved better of his king and country. In the space of a few

months, without effusion of blood, by his cautious and disinterested

conduct alone, he had bestowed settlement on three kingdoms, which had

long been torn with the most violent convulsions; and having obstinately

refused the most inviting conditions offered him by the king, as well as

by every party in the kingdom, he freely restored his injured master to

the vacant throne. The king entered London on the twenty-ninth of May,

which was also his birthday. The fond imaginations of men interpreted as

a happy omen the concurrence of two such joyful periods.

At this era, it may be proper to stop a moment, and take a general

survey of the age, so far as regards manners, finances, arms, commerce,

arts, and sciences. The chief use of history is, that it affords

materials for disquisitions of this nature; and it seems the duty of an

historian to point out the proper inferences and conclusions.

No people could undergo a change more sudden and entire in their

manners, than did the English nation during this period. From

tranquillity, concord, submission, sobriety, they passed in an instant

to a state of faction, fanaticism, rebellion, and almost frenzy. The

violence of the English parties exceeded any thing which we can now

imagine: had they continued but a little longer, there was just reason

to dread all the horrors of the ancient massacres and proscriptions. The

military usurpers, whose authority was founded on palpable injustice,

and was supported by no national party, would have been impelled by

rage and despair into such sanguinary measures; and if these furious

expedients had been employed on one side, revenge would naturally have

pushed the other party, after a return of power, to retaliate upon their

enemies. No social intercourse was maintained between the parties; no

marriages or alliances contracted. The royalists, though oppressed,

harassed, persecuted, disdained all affinity with their masters. The

more they were reduced to subjection, the greater superiority did

they affect above those usurpers, who, by violence and injustice, had

acquired an ascendant over them.

The manners of the two factions were as opposite as those of the most

distant nations. "Your friends, the cavaliers," said a parliamentarian

to a royalist, "are very dissolute and debauched." "True," replied

the royalist, "they have the infirmities of men; but your friends, the

roundheads, have the vices of devils--tyranny, rebellion, and spiritual

pride."[*] Riot and disorder, it is certain, notwithstanding the good

example set them by Charles I., prevailed very much among his partisans.

Being commonly men of birth and fortune, to whom excesses are less

pernicious than to the vulgar, they were too apt to indulge themselves

in all pleasures, particularly those of the table. Opposition to the

rigid preciseness of their antagonists increased their inclination to

good fellow-ship; and the character of a man of pleasure was affected

among them, as a sure pledge of attachment to the church and monarchy.

Even when ruined by confiscations and sequestrations, they endeavored

to maintain the appearance of a careless and social jollity. "As much as

hope is superior to fear," said a poor and merry cavalier, "so much is

our situation preferable to that of our enemies. We laugh while they

tremble."

* Sir Philip Warwick.

The gloomy enthusiasm which prevailed among the parliamentary party, is

surely the most curious spectacle presented by any history; and the

most instructive, as well as entertaining, to a philosophical mind.

All recreations were in a manner suspended by the rigid severity of

the Presbyterians and Independents. Horse-races and cock-matches were

prohibited as the greatest enormities.[*]

* Killing no Murder

Even bear-baiting was esteemed heathenish and unchristian: the sport

of it, not the inhumanity, gave offence. Colonel Hewson, from his pious

zeal, marched with his regiment into London, and destroyed all the bears

which were kept there for the diversion of the citizens. This adventure

seems to have given birth to the fiction of Hudibras. Though the English

nation be naturally candid and sincere, hypocrisy prevailed among them

beyond any example in ancient or modern times. The religious hypocrisy,

it may be remarked, is of a peculiar nature; and being generally unknown

to the person himself, though more dangerous, it implies less falsehood

than any other species of insincerity. The Old Testament, preferably

to the New, was the favorite of all the sectaries. The Eastern poetical

style of that composition made it more easily susceptible of a turn

which was agreeable to them.

We have had occasion, in the course of this work, to speak of the

many sects which prevailed in England: to enumerate them all would

be impossible. The Quakers, however, are so considerable, at least so

singular, as to merit some attention; and as they renounced by principle

the use of arms, they never made such a figure in public transactions as

to enter into any part of our narrative.

The religion of the Quakers, like most others, began with the lowest

vulgar, and, in its progress, came at last to comprehend people of

better quality and fashion. George Fox, born at Drayton, in Lancashire,

in 1624, was the founder of this sect. He was the son of a weaver, and

was himself bound apprentice to a shoemaker. Feeling a stronger

impulse towards spiritual contemplations than towards that mechanical

profession, he left his master, and went about the country clothed in

a leathern doublet, a dress which he long affected, as well for its

singularity as its cheapness. That he might wean himself from sublunary

objects, he broke off all connections with his friends and family,

and never dwelt a moment in one place; lest habit should beget new

connections, and depress the sublimity of his aerial meditations. He

frequently wandered into the woods, and passed whole days in hollow

trees without company, or any other amusement than his Bible. Having

reached that pitch of perfection as to need no other book, he soon

advanced to another state of spiritual progress, and began to pay

less regard even to that divine composition itself. His own breast, he

imagined, was full of the same inspiration which had guided the prophets

and apostles themselves; and by this inward light must every spiritual

obscurity be cleared, by this living spirit must the dead letter be

animated.

When he had been sufficiently consecrated in his own imagination, he

felt that the fumes of self-applause soon dissipate, if not continually

supplied by the admiration of others; and he began to seek proselytes.

Proselytes were easily gained, at a time when all men's affections were

turned towards religion, and when the most extravagant modes of it were

sure to be most popular. All the forms of ceremony, invented by pride

and ostentation, Fox and his disciples, from a superior pride and

ostentation, carefully rejected: even the ordinary rites of civility

were shunned, as the nourishment of carnal vanity and self-conceit. They

would bestow no titles, of distinction: the name of "friend" was the

only salutation, with which they indiscriminately accosted every one. To

no person would they make a bow, or move their hat, or give any signs

of reverence. Instead of that affected adulation introduced into modern

tongues, of speaking to individuals as if they were a multitude, they

returned to the simplicity of ancient languages; and "thou" and "thee"

were the only expressions which, on any consideration, they could be

brought to employ.

Dress too, a material circumstance, distinguished the members of this

sect. Every superfluity and ornament was carefully retrenched: no plaits

to their coat, no buttons to their sleeves; no lace, no ruffles, no

embroidery. Even a button to the hat, though sometimes useful, yet

not being always so, was universally rejected by them with horror and

detestation.

The violent enthusiasm of this sect, like all high passions, being

too strong for the weak nerves to sustain, threw the preachers into

convulsions, and shakings, and distortions in their limbs; and they

thence receded the appellation of "Quakers." Amidst the great toleration

which was then granted to all sects, and even encouragement given to all

innovations, this sect alone suffered persecution. From the fervor of

their zeal, the Quakers broke into churches, disturbed public worship,

and harassed the minister and audience with railing and reproaches. When

carried before a magistrate, they refused him all reverence, and treated

him with the same familiarity as if he had been their equal. Sometimes

they were thrown into mad-houses, sometimes into prisons; sometimes

whipped, sometimes pilloried. The patience and fortitude with which they

suffered, begat compassion, admiration, esteem.[*] A supernatural spirit

was believed to support them under those sufferings, which the ordinary

state of humanity, freed from the illusions of passion, is unable to

sustain.

* The following story is told by Whitlocke, p. 599. Some

Quakers at Hasington, in Northumberland, coming to the

minister on the Sabbath day, and speaking to him, the people

fell upon the Quakers, and almost killed one or two of them,

who, going out, fell on their knees, and prayed God to

pardon the people, who knew not what they did; and

afterwards speaking to the people, so convinced them of the

evil they had done in beating them, that the country people

fell a quarrelling, and beat one another more than they had

before beaten the Quakers.

The Quakers crept into the army; but as they preached universal peace,

they seduced the military zealots from their profession, and would soon,

had they been suffered, have put an end, without any defeat or calamity,

to the dominion of the saints. These attempts became a fresh ground of

persecution, and a new reason for their progress among the people.

Morals with this sect were carried, or affected to be carried to the

same degree of extravagance as religion. Give a Quaker a blow on one

cheek, he held up the other: ask his cloak, he gave you his coat also;

the greatest interest could not engage him, in any court of judicature,

to swear even to the truth: he never asked more for his wares than

the precise sum which he was determined to accept. This last maxim is

laudable, and continues still to be religiously observed by the sect.

No fanatics ever carried further the hatred to ceremonies forms, orders,

rites, and positive institutions. Even baptism and the Lord's supper,

by all other sects believed to be interwoven with the very vitals of

Christianity, were disdainfully rejected by them. The very Sabbath they

profaned. The holiness of churches they derided; and they would give

to these sacred edifices no other appellation than that of shops or

steeplehouses. No priests were admitted in their sect: every one had

received from immediate illumination a character much superior to the

sacerdotal. When they met for divine worship, each rose up in his place,

and delivered the extemporary inspirations of the Holy Ghost: women

also were admitted to teach the brethren, and were considered as proper

vehicles to convey the dictates of the spirit. Sometimes a great

many preachers were moved to speak at once sometimes a total silence

prevailed in their congregations.

Some Quakers attempted to fast forty days, in imitation of Christ; and

one of them bravely perished in the experiment.[*] A female Quaker

came naked into the church where the protector sat; being moved by the

spirit, as she said, to appeal as a sign to the people. A number of

them fancied, that the renovation of all things had commenced, and that

clothes were to be rejected, together with other superfluities. The

sufferings which followed the practice of this doctrine, were a species

of persecution not well calculated for promoting it.

James Naylor was a Quaker, noted for blasphemy, or rather madness,

in the time of the protectorship. He fancied, that he himself was

transformed into Christ, and was become the real savior of the world;

and in consequence of this frenzy, he endeavored to imitate many actions

of the Messiah related in the evangelists. As he bore a resemblance to

the common pictures of Christ, he allowed his beard to grow in a like

form: he raised a person from the dead:[**] he was ministered unto by

women:[***] he entered Bristol mounted on a horse, (I suppose, from the

difficulty in that place of finding an ass:) his disciples spread their

garments before him, and cried, "Hosanna to the highest; holy, holy is

the Lord God of Sabaoth." When carried before the magistrate, he would

give no other answer to all questions than "Thou hast said it." What

is remarkable, the parliament thought that the matter deserved their

attention. Near ten days they spent in inquiries and debates about

him.[****]

* Whitlocke, p. 624.

** Harleian Miscellany, vol. vi. p. 399. One Dorcas Barberry

made oath before a magistrate, that she had been dead two

days, and that Naylor had brought her to life.

*** Harleian Miscellany, vol. vi. p. 399

**** Thurloe, vol v. p. 708.

They condemned him to be pilloried, whipped, burned in the face, and to

have his tongue bored through with a red-hot iron. All these severities

he bore with the usual patience. So far his delusion supported him.

But the sequel spoiled all. He was sent to Bridewell, confined to hard

labor, fed on bread and water, and debarred from all his disciples,

male and female. His illusions dissipated; and after some time, he

was contented to come out an ordinary man, and return to his usual

occupations.

The chief taxes in England, during the time of the commonwealth, were

the monthly assessments, the excise, and the customs. The assessments

were levied on personal estates as well as on land;[*] and commissioners

were appointed in each county for rating the individuals. The highest

assessment amounted to one hundred and twenty thousand pounds a month

in England; the lowest was thirty-five thousand. The assessments in

Scotland were sometimes ten thousand pounds a month;[**] commonly six

thousand. Those on Ireland nine thousand. At a medium, this tax might

have afforded about a million a year. The excise, during the civil wars,

was levied on bread, flesh-meat, as well as beer, ale, strong waters and

many other commodities. After the king was subdued bread and flesh-meat

were exempted from excise. The customs on exportation were lowered in

1656.[***] In 1650, commissioners were appointed to levy both customs

and excises. Cromwell, in 1657, returned to the old practice of farming.

Eleven hundred thousand pounds were then offered, both for customs

and excise, a greater sum than had ever been levied by the

commissioners:[****] the whole of the taxes during that period might

at a medium amount to above two millions a year; a sum which,

though moderate, much exceeded the revenue of any former king.[v]

Sequestrations, compositions, sale of crown and church lands, and of the

lands of delinquents, yielded also considerable sums, but very

difficult to be estimated. Church lands are said to have been sold for

a million.[v*] None of these were ever valued at above ten or eleven

years' purchase.[v**] The estates of delinquents amounted to above two

hundred thousand pounds a year.[**] Cromwell died more than two millions

in debt;[v***] though the parliament had left him in the treasury above

five hundred thousand pounds; and in stores, the value of seven hundred

thousand pounds.[v****]

* Scobel, p. 419.

** Thurloe, vol. ii. p. 476.

*** Scobel, p. 376.

**** Thurloe, vol. vi. p. 425.

v It appears that the late king's revenue, from 1637 to the

meeting of the long parliament, was only nine hundred

thousand pounds of which two hundred thousand may be

esteemed illegal.

v* Dr Walker, p. 14.

v** Thurloe, vol. i. p. 753.

v*** Thurloe, vol. ii. p. 414.

v**** Thurloe, vol. vii. p. 667.