He could not bear the slightest mention of the incorrigible guilt
of the nation without dissolving into tears; especially when he
happened to advert unto the impudence of that hypocrisy which
reconciled goodness and villainy, and made it possible for men to
be saints and devils both together; whereby religion became ruinous
to itself, and faith became instructed to confute and baffle duty.
Bishop Fell's Life of Dr. Henry Hammond.
Morgan could not soon forgive the insult of being contradicted and
confuted when seated on the magisterial bench; nor could Davies pardon
the attack on the holy Covenant, and the principles on which it was
founded. They jointly determined, therefore, to take the first
opportunity of exciting the villagers to acts of violence, that might
either provoke Dr. Beaumont to some step on which an accusation to
Parliament might be founded, or drive him away through fear for his
personal safety. A public rejoicing was ordained on account of the
fleet's declaring against the King; and Morgan's liberality to the
populace spread a general intoxication through the town, which Davies
hoped, at such a good time, might be overlooked.
Since the death of Mrs. Beaumont the Doctor had mixed little with the
world, seeking, in his library and clerical functions, that calm
tranquillity and self-sustained content which constitute all the earthly
enjoyment that remains to a heart that has once been happy. The late
ungrateful, rebellious behaviour of his flock tended still more to
circumscribe his pleasures; yet though the painful feelings of rejected
kindness and undeserved contumely made his village walks and sacerdotal
functions a penance instead of a gratification, he considered the
probability of disappointment as no apology for relaxing his endeavours
to do good. The morning and evening sacrifices were offered in the
temple; the ignorant were instructed, the bad reproved, and the decent
commended with his wonted zeal and meekness, though only his own family
and dependants joined in his orisons, though the foolish and the guilty
laughed at his exhortations, and the well-disposed could derive no
stimulus to perseverance from his praise. Satisfied with labouring
faithfully in his vocation, the good man committed his cause to God, and
found, in the refreshing recollections of self-satisfaction, and in the
calm repose that followed a harassing day, spent in the performance of
his manifold duties, a reward which might be termed a foretaste of
heaven.
He had many true enjoyments of which the malice of his foes could not
deprive him; such were, the steady affection of his sister, the gradual
improvement of his daughter, and the philosophical and literary regale
which his library afforded. The contests to which he was exposed, when
he went out, rather grieved than irritated him; and he returned to his
books and experiments to raise his spirits, not to allay the ferment of
his passions. He cared little for exteriors; he knew his body could
subsist without the vanities and luxuries of the world; and he depended
on the promise, that the righteous should not be utterly forsaken.
During his seclusion from society, he had cultivated and improved the
powers of that never-dying mind which was destined to expatiate for ever
amid the unveiled glories of creation, and to enjoy, after its
probationary trials in this laborious world, a Sabbath of endless rest.
Mrs. Mellicent often advised him to remove from this disaffected
neighbourhood, and seek the protection of the King's quarters; but Dr.
Beaumont always strenuously insisted, that the period of his usefulness
on his present station must not be determined by himself. The
conversation was renewed on the night appointed for rejoicing, when the
riotous exultation of the villagers disturbed the tranquillity which
used to reign at the Rector's fire-side. "Fear," said he to his sister,
"magnifies danger. At present, nothing has happened to prevent my
continuing where I am now fixed in the cure of souls; and when my Master
prescribes my dismissal, he will send some awakening providence that
shall indicate his will. Report magnifies every thing, especially the
foul language of our enemies, and often changes dissensions into feuds.
I know not how long my residing here may be useful to others, nor whom I
may yet be able to reclaim, by shewing that I can bear injury and
encounter opposition without renouncing my own principles, or
calumniating my opponents; but this I know, I am labouring at my post
like a faithful subject, and had all men done the same, our good King
would not now have been seen snatching his meal under a hedge like a
common mendicant, nor would the great seal of England have had to be
secretly carried to him like the booty of a cut-purse.
"The King's quarters, my dear Mellicent, will be filled with those
court-flies who fed on the goodly vine till they had sucked all its
juices, and, now winter is come, care not for its nakedness, but seek
some covert where they may skulk till summer returns. You and I should
make a notable appearance among those who call splendor, life; and
subtlety, knowledge; we could neither speak their language nor enter
into their views.--While we pined with desire to see the beauty of
holiness restored, and the King's throne re-erected in judgment, they
would be moaning for their masques and revels; for the royal grants and
largesses; for their past enjoyments and present privations.--Or,
perhaps, they would be scheming how they might creep into the confidence
of the Parliament, while we wept the desolation of Zion. When the Church
reposes in safety, gladdened by the favours of her spiritual bridegroom,
let her officials then fear lest a worldly spirit should seize on them
unawares, and convert them into hirelings more intent on the wages than
on the service. Our enemies say such have been the effects of the long
prosperity we have enjoyed; if so, a purifying fire must go forth among
the sons of Levi. The dross will be consumed, but trust me, Mellicent,
our venerable mother will rise like a phoenix, not consumed, but
renewed and consecrated by the ordeal of adversity."
Mrs. Mellicent here reminded him, that he had other ties beside that of
a Christian pastor, and she pointed to the young Constantia, who,
overcome with watching, had fallen asleep in the great wicker-chair.
"Look at that girl," said she; "consider her warm heart, and melting
sensibility, her unusual beauty, delicate frame and tender years.
Surely, brother, she wants a father, as much as the Church of England a
friend."
Dr. Beaumont turned his head, recollected his lost Alicia at that age,
and thanked Heaven that she had "safely passed the waves of this
troublesome world." "Had Rogers or Taylor, my dear sister," said he,
"been drawn to the earth by such a magnet, we should have lost those
shining examples of true fortitude, and should have gone on, still
stumbling in the darkness of papacy.--The torch of truth was kindled at
the penal fires which consumed the martyrs, and its light illuminated
distant ages and nations. He who bears the sacred character of
ambassador of God should constantly remember that all other titles yield
to its glorious superiority. It was the boast of the church of Rome,
that her clergy acted not as individuals aiming at their own benefit,
but as a compacted body actuated by one impulse and towards one object,
the advantage and supremacy of the church. For this end they fed the
poor at the convent-gates, the monastery was an asylum to the afflicted,
and the middle orders were conciliated by that lenient treatment which
procured them respect as mild masters and most indulgent landlords. At a
time when tyranny and rapacity reigned in the castle, the clergy were a
chain binding the great to their inferiors. We know by what unnatural
restraints the Romish clergy were made thus superior to private
interest, but let us not give them cause to say, that celibacy is
necessary to prevent the man of God from becoming a man of the world.
The ties of nature which he owns in common with others, must not
supersede those duties which bind him to his congregation. He does not
profess, like the priest at mass, to be a mediator between God and man,
but he pleads to the rich in behalf of poverty; to the powerful for
those who require protection. He instructs the indigent to be grateful;
he stops the arm of oppression; he curbs avarice, by reminding it of the
state where riches avail not; he comforts affliction, by proving that
temporal distress, however great, may be supported. Our calling requires
us thus to preach, and shall not our lives be a living comment on our
doctrines? Shall our conversation prove that our unsanctified hearts are
devoted to sensuality and aggrandisement, that we hold the censers with
unhallowed hands, and in reality love the riches and pleasures which in
our pulpits we affect to renounce."
"You have wandered from the subject, my good brother," said Mrs.
Mellicent; "I was not talking of riches and pleasures, but of preserving
a father for a poor girl, who, if any evil befall you, will have no
protector. It is a long time since we heard from the mountains, and
Isabel's last letter gave no hope that poor Evellin would ever be able
even to take care of himself. She says that their dwelling is
comfortable, their farm equal to their support, and that the disturbers
of the world have not got among them. She writes cheerfully, but her
writing is much altered. I was thinking we might take shelter there
whenever those awakening providences, which my forebodings tell me are
at hand, shall compel you to own that you are discharged from the care
of ungrateful Ribblesdale."
The conversation was interrupted by Dame Humphreys, who rushed abruptly
into the house, lamenting that things should come to this pass, and
conjuring his reverence not to think any of her family were concerned in
it. It was with difficulty that her agitation permitted her to state,
that a mob bent on mischief were coming to the rectory; whether the
house or the life of the pastor was threatened she could not discover,
but the purport of her visit was to put them on their guard. A riotous
crowd, inflamed alike with liquor and fanaticism, is a formidable object
to the most determined courage; but escape was now impossible, and
remonstrance would be utterly unavailing; there was only time to put up
the slight fastenings to the doors and windows, which, as they
corresponded to the peaceful and unsuspecting character of the owner of
the mansion, could not long resist the infuriate attack of the besotted
populace.
But their rage was pointed at another object, the Doctor's library,
which was placed in a detached building in the garden, and fell an
undefended sacrifice to their rage. The voice of Davies was heard,
encouraging the destruction of a treasure which he had long envied, and
the flames soon afforded him sufficient light to point out the objects
of his particular abhorrence to which his ignorance gave false or
exaggerated descriptions. A cast of Apollo destroying Python, he termed
Moses and the brazen serpent, and named himself the Hezekiah who would
break it in pieces and call it Nehushtan. "See, my Christian brethren,"
said he, "how truly I spake when I called this slumbering watchman, this
dumb dog, a worshipper of idols of wood and stone. This is his oratory;
but instead of a godly laboratory which should turn carnal lead into
spiritual gold, what see we but provocatives to sinful thoughts. Here
are no sackcloth and ashes, camel's hair and leathern girdles; this
prophet's chamber has its silks and sattins, stuffed cushions and
curtains, screens and wrapping gowns. The walls are hung with paintings
of fair Jezebels, whom he calls Mary and Magdalen, though it is well
known, they were godly women, who never braided their hair or put on
gorgeous apparel. See you that bust? It represents Diana of the
Ephesians, the very Diana who endangered Paul's life; and did I not
rightly call this malignant priest Alexander the copper-smith? And here
are necromancing figures," (taking up the Doctor's mathematical
exercises,) "squares and triangles, and the sun, moon and stars, which
Job said he never worshipped.--And here is that unrighteous Babylonish
instrument, an organ, which proves he is either a Jew or a Papist, as
none but the favourers of abominable superstition make dumb devices
speak, when they might chaunt holy psalms and hymns with their own
voices. And here are similitudes of Nero and Domitian, bloody
persecutors, my brethren; which shews that he loved tyrants, and would
have made us fry a faggot, had not the light of my preaching broke in
upon his darkness, and made him like a rat with a bell, a scarecrow to
the unconverted. Touch not his books, dearly beloved, they will prove
the Devil's bird-lime, teaching you to despise my godly ministry; they
will teach you nothing but Pagan fables or Romish ceremonies. Can
Aristotle preach the Gospel? Do those church-histories tell us about
saving faith? I tell you nay; therefore burn them altogether, and break
the idols in pieces, and tear away the paintings, and demolish the
Jewish instruments that send forth sounds of levity when the player upon
them is disposed to provoke his hearers to wanton dances and vain mirth.
So let us purify the place with fire, that the slumbering watchman may
be awakened to a consideration of his offences and learn to repent," &c.
&c.
An harangue so well adapted to inflame the minds of a drunken mob,
produced a destruction as complete as Davies could desire, in whose mind
zeal had produced a similar intoxication. At this instant Mr. Morgan
arrived with a band of constables to protect Dr. Beaumont and his
property. As the rescue came too late, the magistrate conceived it to be
his duty to reprove the rioters, and dismiss them with an assurance,
that if ever they again presumed to let their holy joy at the prosperity
of the good cause stimulate them to actions which the law did not
justify, he must resort to severer measures than censuring their
misconduct. He then advised them to go quietly to their own houses, and
as it was their first offence, he would endeavour to soften their
behaviour to the commissioners whom Parliament had appointed
conservators of the peace of the county.
He now inquired after the health of the family, sent in his service to
the Doctor, and expressed his intention of coming in to comfort him in
his misfortunes. Every drop of Mrs. Mellicent's blood rushed into her
face at the effrontery of his proposal, and the familiar terms in which
it was couched; but her brother begged her to consider that since no
good could arise from appearing to feel an insult which they had not
power to punish, the best way would be to seem to regard it in another
light; Morgan therefore was admitted.
He began with expressing his concern for Dr. Beaumont's pecuniary loss,
and inquired at what sum he valued his books and paintings. The Doctor
answered, he would endeavour to make out an estimate, which he would
present at the quarter-sessions, and pray for indemnification. He added,
the severest part of his loss consisted in manuscripts and other
valuables, inconceivably precious to himself, but of which (as money
would not replace them) he should say nothing.
"My mother's picture and letters," said Constantia, lifting her head
from Mrs. Mellicent's bosom, where she had sunk, from the extreme
languor that succeeded the violent hysterics into which the terrors of
this alarming night had thrown her. A more lovely or interesting object
could scarcely be conceived than this charming girl, just ripening into
woman, her mind mature beyond her years, and her heart agitated by the
finest feelings of filial distress. Morgan gazed with involuntary
approbation, while she threw her glossy ringlets from her face with one
hand, and held out the other to welcome one whom she thought a pitying
friend and protector of her father.
Mrs. Mellicent hastily snatched back the offered hand, and whispered,
"Hush! child, you will bring on a return of your fits."
Morgan distended his broad face with a smile, which looked extremely
like a grin, and talked of Dr. Beaumont's happiness in possessing what
would always put him in mind of his wife. He then enlarged on the
crosses and losses people often met with, and on the duties of patience
and content. He made a swift transition to his own prosperous situation;
declared when he began business he but just knew how to read and write,
and had only a quire of paper and a case of pens; yet he was now worth
ten thousand pounds. He thought the world would be a very good one as
soon as a few lordlings were pulled down, such, for instance, as the
Earl of Derby, who turned up his nose at people of fortune, and
prevented even him from hunting on his manors, though exercise was good
for his health, and he was very fond of hare and partridge. He talked of
the influence he possessed at the quarter-sessions; assured Dr. Beaumont
he would use it in his favour; then shaking Constantia by the hand, bade
her not spoil her pretty face with crying, and thus concluded his
_friendly_ visit.
"A vulgar knave," said Mrs. Mellicent, pushing-to the door. "Such
visitors are more provoking than loss of property. If you are of my
mind, brother, you will lose every shilling sooner than owe retribution
to the son of your father's shoemaker."
Dr. Beaumont answered that since he was intrusted with a delegation of
the King's authority, he should, as long as he ostensibly preserved his
allegiance, look at the magistrate instead of the man; but as to
receiving any favour from him, he was perfectly easy on that score,
being sure he did not mean to shew him any. "I owe it to my own
character, and to my child's interest," continued he, "to apply for
redress, but I look upon this as the first of many misfortunes which,
these convulsed times will bring upon me. When the head suffers
grievously, the members must be indisposed. I should blush to be exempt
from the misfortunes which weigh down my King."
A few days restored the Beaumont family to tranquillity; devotional
exercises, and the resources of an enlarged mind, preserved the Doctor
from sinking into depression. Constantia, ashamed of her want of
fortitude, strained every nerve to imitate her father, though in her
efforts to amuse him, the involuntary tears which her weakness could not
restrain, excited in his breast more painful feelings than the malice of
his enemies had power to occasion. Mrs. Mellicent was fully occupied by
the villagers, many of whom were hurt at the riot, but as they happened
to be (according to their own report) all belonging to the harmless
class of lookers-on, her cordial waters, lotions, and plaisters, were in
a constant state of requisition; this, added to the indispensable duty
of scolding them for not keeping in their own houses when such mischief
was afloat, kept her tongue and hands in continual action.
One night, as the Doctor was dismissing his household after
family-prayers, with his usual exhortation, "to faint not, neither be
weary in well-doing;" the trampling of horses was heard at the gate, and
four strangers craved his hospitality. A gentleman muffled in a
riding-coat, whose voice and figure recalled indistinct recollections,
introduced a tall ingenuous-looking youth, a blooming girl, and a person
habited as a servant. "We are of the King's party," said the graceful
stranger; "and need no other recommendation to Dr. Beaumont for a
night's lodging. Besides myself, a broken gentleman, here are a poor boy
and girl, benumbed with fatigue, and an old-fashioned servant, who will
not leave a ruined master." At hearing these words, Mrs. Mellicent
rushed to the door, to assure them that the beds were well-aired.
Constantia flew to assist in serving up supper; the Doctor lifted the
young people from their horses, and all were in a few minutes assembled
in his parlor.
"Allow me, Sir, to help off your coat," said Mrs. Mellicent; "and my
dear young lady, draw nearer the fire.--Your face reminds me of some
whom I well knew. When the King kept court at Oxford, I spent a winter
there; could I have known your mother?"--"You knew her well," said the
agonized stranger. "Dear Eusebius, have you forgot me?" "No, Evellin,"
replied Dr. Beaumont, folding the man of sorrows to his bosom, "Where is
our Isabel?"--"In Heaven!" replied he, "and has left these treasures to
the keeping of a crazed wanderer, who has no other portion than his
sword, no relic of his former self but his honour."
Tears and embraces followed; even Mrs. Mellicent wept as she alternately
clasped Eustace and Isabel to her heart. Her first care was to
distinguish who they were like; and in their blended resemblance to both
parents, she explained the confused ideas of recollection which her
niece had excited at her first appearance. She then went out to see that
due care was taken of Williams; nor were the horses forgotten, for they
belonged to a gentleman and a Loyalist, and had conveyed to her arms the
precious offspring of her beatified sister.
Eustace, Isabel, and Constantia, scarce needed the bond of kindred to
ensure affection. Their ages, habits, manners, and principles, so well
accorded, that their liking was instantaneous. The only difference was,
that the young Evellins, "bred on the mountain's rough side," inured to
severer trials, and exercised in a daily course of rigid duty, displayed
an energy and self-dependence which agreeably contrasted the polished
sweetness and feminine sensibility of Constantia Beaumont. Isabel was an
admirable herbalist, and expert in supplying all the wants of a secluded
family; robust with health and exercise, yet neither coarse in her
person, vulgar in her manners, nor sordid in her mind. Constantia was
mistress of every elegant accomplishment; she painted, sung, touched the
lute with exquisite sweetness; melted at every tale of woe; loved all
the world except her father's enemies, and was willing, as far as her
slender frame permitted, to perform the lowest offices that would
promote the welfare of others. Eustace was a year older than the girls,
and just on the verge of fifteen, tall, and manly in mind and person,
panting for enterprize, full of hope that he was able to correct the
disorders of the times, and sure that his name would be recorded in the
annals of his country, as one who loved his church and his King, and
hated the Roundheads and Fanatics. He soon drew the attention of his
hearers by wishing he had been at Ribblesdale on the night of the riot,
vowing he would have beat the whole party, and tossed Davies into the
flames.
Constantia smiled for a moment, and then shuddered at the idea of the
suggested torture. "I make no doubt he would," said Isabel, "and then
have rushed in himself to pull the villain out again."
"But my dear Eustace," inquired Constantia, "what are you to be?"
"A soldier to be sure," replied the boy. "Have you not heard that the
King has set up his standard at Nottingham. My father has parted with
our farm, and raised a levy of troops among the mountaineers, and he is
going to follow them to the King, with all the money he has left, except
a little which he leaves for Isabel."
"I tell you, brother," returned the sister, "we will dispute that point
no longer. The King is to have every shilling; for I know how to support
myself by my own labour."
"She shall never do that while we have a house--Shall she, aunt
Mellicent?" said Constantia.
"No," returned the good lady; "honest people are now scarce, so we must
take care of each other. But, Eustace, does your father approve of your
turning soldier while you are such a child?"
"No, dear aunt, and that is the only trouble I ever knew, except the
death of our blessed mother. I don't know his reasons, but he wants to
place me in safety; I hate safety, it sounds so womanish. As we came
along I met several fellows less than myself, who said they were
ensigns. I know I could make an ensign; I could wrap the colours round
my body, and die with the staff in my hand."
Constantia burst into tears, and declared Eustace talked so shockingly
she could not bear it.
"My pretty love," said he, "I did not mean to frighten you. No, I
intend, instead of being killed myself, to tear down the rebel
standards, and send them to you. What would you do with them?"
Constantine paused a moment--"Would they," said she, "make a tent for my
dear father to sit and read in? It goes to my heart to see him out of
doors this stormy weather, wandering about and looking at his burnt
library."
"Could I not put it a little in repair while I stay?" inquired Eustace.
"I am a very good mason, and a tolerable carpenter. I built a shed last
year for the old poney. Isabel, you can glaze the windows, and
white-wash. I think, between us, we might put it into comfortable
order."
Mrs. Mellicent, a little shocked at her niece's avowing her expertness
in these handicraft employments, apprehended that her lamented sister
had neglected her daughter's education through her solicitous attention
to more important duties. She began therefore to question her about her
accomplishments--"Can you work tent-stitch neat, my love?" was her first
inquiry. "No!"--"Bless me, had you leather hangings to your best
apartments?" Isabel was ignorant what hangings meant. Mrs. Mellicent
proceeded to examine her skill in confectionery, and found with
astonishment it was a science of which she did not know the name. "Can
you paint chimney-boards, or cut paper, or work samplers?" "Dear aunt,"
said Isabel, "I am a brown bird of the mountains, as my mother called
me. She taught me to sing, because she said it made work go on more
merrily, but the longest day was short enough for what I had to do; I
was laundress, and sempstress, and cook, and gardener; and if Cicely
went to look for the sheep, I had to milk and bake, and at night I
mended my father's fishing-nets, while I was learning Latin with
Eustace. Yet I got through all very well, till my mother fell sick, and
then I nursed and dressed her, as she lay helpless on the pallet. But if
I live with you, I will learn all your employments, for I am never happy
when I am idle, and my only wish is to be useful."
"There is sterling worth in this rustic hoyden," thought Mrs. Mellicent,
who, in contriving some occupation for so active a mind, recollected
that Mrs. Beaumont's dressing-plate had not been cleaned lately, and
undertook to make Isabel expert in furbishing the delicate filigree. She
called on Constantia to give up the key, it being considered as her
property, who blushed, hesitated, begged not to be questioned on the
subject, and at last owned it was gone.
"Gone! to whom?" "Dear aunt," returned Constantia, stealing a look at
the approving eye of Eustace, "I sent it to the King at York, as the
only contribution in my power. You must not be angry. My father and you
set the example, by parting with all the money and valuables you could
collect, and I thought it a bad excuse that, because I was under age, I
might not send my mite to assist him, so I packed it up with my mother's
jewels, and I am happy to say they got safe to His Majesty."
Mrs. Mellicent tried to frown. "Foolish girl," said she, "you should
have kept the essence-box at least, as an heirloom. It was a present
from Henry the Seventh's Queen to your great grandmother's aunt, who was
her maid of honour. There was the union of the two roses wrought upon
it; the King, standing with a red rose in his hand, and the Queen with a
white, and a Bishop between them, and a large dove at the top, with an
olive-branch in his mouth, so beautiful that it fell in festoons all
down the side. Well, I am thankful that I took off the pattern in
chain-stitch. It will shew what good blood you spring from when people
come to be again valued for their families." Mrs. Mellicent retired to
her chamber, secretly pleased with the dispositions of her young charge,
and inclined to believe that a parcel of beggarly republicans could not
long domineer over such generous and aspiring minds.