These things, indeed, you have articulated,
Proclaim'd at market-tables, read at churches,
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings and poor discontents,
Which gape and rub the elbows at the news
Of hurly burly innovation;
And never yet did Insurrection want
Such water-colours to impaint his cause.
Shakspeare.
The summer of 1643 opened with favourable omens to the royal cause.
Evellin sent intelligence to Ribblesdale of the successes of the Marquis
of Newcastle against Fairfax, the safe arrival of the Queen with
military stores, and his own expectation of being joined to her escort,
which would enable him to have an interview with the King at Oxford.
This intelligence, added to that of the advantages gained over Sir
William Waller in the west, revived the drooping hopes of the loyalists,
and terrified the enthusiastic Eustace with apprehensions lest the
contest should be decided before he could measure swords with one
round-head.
Dr. Beaumont took a more comprehensive view; he saw how little had been
done, and how much loyal blood had been shed. The King's cause was
supported by the death or ruin of his best friends, but his victories,
instead of intimidating, hardened his opponents. They were bound
together by a dread of danger, and a belief that they had sinned beyond
all hopes of pardon, and therefore must depend for safety entirely on
the success of the rebellion they had fomented.
To insure that success, the Parliament had long since employed the most
potent stimulant of human action, religion; and, by embodying their
favourite teachers under the title of the Assembly of Divines, contrived
to give that species of state-establishment to their own theological
scheme which they had objected to, as one of the crying sins of
episcopacy. This memorable body of auxiliaries was created at the time
of their beginning to levy war upon the King, by seizing his military
resources, and refusing him admission into his own garrison. A fact
which may serve to convince the reflecting mind of the close union which
subsists between monarchical and episcopal principles is, that their
next step to that of employing the forces and revenues of the crown
against the person of the Sovereign, was a declaration "that they
intended a necessary and due reformation of the Liturgy and government
of the church, and that they would consult godly and learned divines,
and use their utmost endeavours to establish learned and preaching
ministers, with a good and sufficient maintenance throughout the whole
kingdom, where many dark corners were miserably destitute of the means
of salvation, and many poor ministers wanted necessary provision."
Though wise men saw the design of this carefully-worded declaration, yet
indolent, or quiet men, who were willing to hope, caught at its
designing moderation, believed that Parliament only meant to reform
abuses, and that its designs were not so very bad. This very
declaration, which a year before would have terrified the people, in
whom there was then a general submission to the church-government, and a
singular reverence of the Liturgy, now when there was a general
expectation of a total subversion of the one, and abolition of the
other, they thought only removing what was offensive, unnecessary, or
burthensome, an easy composition. Thus the well-meaning were, by
degrees, prevailed on, towards ends they extremely abhorred, and what,
at first, seemed prophane and impious to them, in a little time appeared
only inconvenient.
But infinite is the danger of tampering with national feeling in its
most important point. The mildly-worded decree above cited, cherished
those principles of mutability, which overthrew the church of England,
while new forms of doctrine sprang from every portion of her ruins, all
contending for mastery, and each insisting on the individual right of
choosing, and the uncontrolable liberty of exercising what they pleased
to term religion. The first of these tenets is as inadmissible in
argument, as it is desperate in practice, for if every man has a right
to choose, it must follow that he has an equal right to abstain from
choosing, and thus universal atheism is sanctioned by the over-strained
indulgence of civil liberty, confounding what our perverse natures will
do with what they properly may. And if we found this opinion on the
ground of human free-will, it may be asserted that a man has a right to
choose whether he will be veracious, temperate, chaste, and
conscientious; whether he will be a good father, husband, citizen, or
the reverse; and thus every moral offence of which human laws do not
take cognizance, may be justified by the same plea, that in this land of
liberty people have a right to act as they think proper. By these means
that finer system of morals, which extends virtue and goodness to points
which the mere letter of the law cannot reach, is at once annihilated;
and the peculiar excellence, of the Gospel, as a religion of motives, is
superseded by the licence allowed to rebellious wills, and the darkness
of perverse understandings.
The proposition of the Parliament to consult "godly and learned divines"
was exemplified, by their ordering the individuals of which the House of
Commons was now composed, to name such men as they thought fit for their
purpose. Every known friend to the King had been already banished,
either by the clamour of the London mobs, or their own votes. "Of one
hundred and twenty, who composed the assembly of Divines, though by the
recommendation of some members of the Commons, whom they were not
willing to displease, and by the authority of the Lords, some very
reverend and worthy names were inserted, there were not above twenty,
who were not declared and avowed enemies of the church, some of them
very infamous in their lives and conversations, most of them of very
mean parts in learning, if not of scandalous ignorance, and of no other
reputation than malice to the church of England."
Of this ignorance and incapacity for every thing but the work of
destruction, their own party made the most angry complaints. Yet were
those men the fittest to act as Spiritual prompters to an aspiring
faction, bent on overturning existing institutions, and establishing
their own power. The general ground of quarrel of all the sects with the
establishment, was its retaining ceremonies, prayers, and a mode of
discipline, which, though bearing close affinity to the apostolical age,
were rejected by violent reformers, because our church received them
through that of Rome. The answer of Bishop Ridley to the Papists, "That
he would be willing to admit any trifling ceremony or thing indifferent
for the sake of peace," suited not the taste of those who saw
Anti-christ in a square cap or a surplice, and in a written creed or
doxology (though agreeing in substance with their own opinions) an
infringement of the liberty of a true Protestant. Such as these cared
not what confusion or infidelity prevailed, nor how Popery itself
triumphed, while they were busy in overthrowing the strongest bulwark
that human wisdom had erected against it. The people were inflamed
against the court and the church by the charge of jesuitical designs,
the palaces of the deposed bishops were converted into prisons, crowded
with the champions of the protestant cause; the truly "pious, godly, and
learned ministry" were driven from the flocks to which they had been
appointed by their spiritual superiors, and supplanted by these
champions of the rights of private judgment and unbounded liberty, who
made their respective congregations not only judges of theological
points, but teachers of every opinion, except those which derived
support from sound learning, constitutional authority, beneficial
experience, general acceptation among Christians, or a clear consistent
view of the word of God. Men sought celebrity by inventing modes of
faith; and sacred truths were not established by an appeal to antiquity,
but by the singular ordeal of novelty, as if, after a lapse of seventeen
ages, it was reserved for ignorance and fanaticism to make fresh
discoveries in the sacred writings.
The ordinance of sequestration, which annihilated all
church-dignitaries, and exposed every parochial minister to the malice
of any informer who should report him for his loyalty, passed in the
year 1643, and was justified by complaints of the supposed scandalous
lives of the episcopal clergy. Doubtless, in a numerous body, some might
be found guilty of gross vices, secular in their pursuits, negligent of
their high duties, and looking more to the "scramble at the shearers'
feast," than to feeding and guiding the flock through the wilderness. No
true lover of the church will defend clerical debauchees or canonical
worldlings, especially when she appears beleaguered round with enemies,
and when her surest earthly supports are the zeal, the learning, and the
pious simplicity of her officials. Persuaded that our national
establishment grows from that root which can never decay, we may always,
when a very general corruption of the clergy is apparent, expect a
fearful tempest to arise, which will clear the tree of its unsound
branches, and enable it to put forth vigorous and healthy shoots. But
while that rottenness is not total but partial, while some green boughs
are still seen to extend a lovely and refreshing shade, what impious
hand shall dare to assail the venerable queen of the forest, whose
magnitude defends the saplings, which, ambitiously springing under its
protection, require the room it occupies? At the time of the great
rebellion, the Church of England boasted an unusual number of, not
merely learned, but apostolical men, especially among the bishops and
the royal chaplains, whose pious labours have excited the gratitude and
admiration of posterity, as much as their lives and sufferings did the
wonder and commiseration of their own times. Beside those who have been
thus immortalized, there were vast numbers who "took their silent way
along the humble vale of life," unknown to fame either for their virtues
or their hardships, yet still living in the memory of their descendants.
These submitted in silence to poverty, reproach, and injustice; and,
like Bishop Sanderson, "blessed God that he had not withdrawn food or
raiment from them and their poor families, nor suffered them, in time of
trial, to violate their conscience." The long-continued persecution of
the ruling powers proves that such men formed the majority of the
episcopal clergy. Their place was occupied by those who were willing to
receive wages from the hand of usurpation, and to see the lawful owner
in extremest need, while they enjoyed ill-acquired affluence. These men
soon won over the populace by the most false and dangerous views of
religion, stating, "that men might be religious first, and then just and
merciful; that they might sell their conscience, and yet have something
worth keeping; and that they might be sure they were elected, though
their lives were visibly scandalous; that to be cunning was to be wise;
that to be rich was to be happy; and that to speak evil of governments
was no sin[1]." Plain, instructive, practical discourses, sound and
temperate explanations of the great mysteries of Christianity, connected
views of the whole body of gospel doctrines and precepts, were cast
aside as legal formalities. Extemporary harangues, immethodical and
tautological at best, sometimes profane, often absurd and perplexing,
never instructive, became universal. One of the worst features of these
sermons was their tendency to torture scripture to the purposes of
faction, and represent the Almighty as personally concerned in the
success of rebels. "The Lord was invited to take a chair and sit among
the House of Peers," whenever that House opposed the furious proceedings
of the Commons; and if the King gained a victory, the preacher
expostulated in these irreverent terms: "Lord, thou hast said he is
worse than an infidel that provides not for his own family. Give us not
reason to say this of thee, for we are thine own family, and have lately
been scurvily provided for."
In a work intended to familiarize the conduct and principles of
loyalists to the general reader, this vindication of the episcopal
clergy, and appeal to their literary remains, and to the doctrines
delivered by their opponents on public occasions, cannot be deemed
irrelative. I now proceed with my narrative.
Dr. Beaumont was not long permitted to repose at Ribblesdale after his
enemies were armed with power for his expulsion. A visit from Morgan was
the signal of bad tidings. He required a private interview. The Doctor
silently besought Heaven to give him fortitude, and admitted him.
He began with enumerating his own kind offices, and anxiety to preserve
him in his cure, believing him to be very well-meaning, though mistaken
in his politics. He reminded him that he had ever recommended temperate
counsels, and lamented that, in the present disturbed state of things,
he or his family should, by any indiscreet act, give occasion to his
enemies to precipitate his ruin. He then pulled out a long string of
charges against the Doctor, the first of which was his affording shelter
to, and corresponding with, one Allan Evellin, calling himself Colonel
Evellin, by virtue of a pretended commission from the King, a most
dangerous delinquent and malignant, now in arms against Parliament, and
seen, in the late attack on Sir Thomas Fairfax's army, to make a
desperate charge, and murder many valiant troopers who were asserting
the good old cause. Dr. Beaumont acknowledged that he had afforded his
brother-in-law the rights of hospitality; and he put Morgan upon proof
that the King's commission was not a sufficient justification of the
alleged murders, which, he presumed, were not committed basely, or in
cold blood, but in the heat and contention of battle, and might
therefore be justified by the rule of self-defence, as well as by the
King's authority.
Morgan said the ordinance of Parliament made it treason to fight for the
King; but this assertion sounded so oddly, that he hurried to the next
count, which was, his dissuading Ralph Jobson from taking the Covenant.
The Doctor acknowledged this fact, alledging also, that as he considered
the Covenant to be sinful, he was bound in duty, as the spiritual guide
of Jobson, to advise him not to bind his soul by any ill-understood,
ensnaring obligation, being already bound, by his baptismal and
eucharistical oaths, to all that was required of Christians in an humble
station.
To Dr. Beaumont's vindication of himself from these and similar crimes,
Morgan could only answer that the ordinances of Parliament made them
offences. In these unhappy times those decrees were not supplemental to,
but abrogatory of, law and gospel. But there was another charge founded
on the violation of the grand outlines of morality, which could be
brought home to one of the Doctor's household. Morgan drew up
triumphantly, as he read the accusation, namely, "That Eustace Evellin,
son of the above malignant cavalier, did, on the 17th day of March last
past, assault and wound Hold-thy-Faith Priggins, and by force take from
his possession a box containing his property, and that he did carry off
the same, leaving the said Priggins bleeding on the high road." The
Doctor was startled; he knew this was the time of his nephew's
mountain-expedition, but was entirely ignorant of its being signalized
by any act of Quixotic chivalry. He disclaimed all knowledge of the
business, and begged to know who Hold-thy-Faith Priggins was. "I know,"
said he, "a John Priggins, a fellow of most infamous and depraved
conduct, but this other is quite a new name in this neighbourhood."
Morgan denied all personal acquaintance with the man, previous to the
day when he came to lodge his complaint against Eustace, and at the same
time announced his design of exercising the gift of preaching, to which
he just discovered he had a call. He however admitted that he believed
this same Priggins was the Doctor's old acquaintance, he having
acknowledged that previous to his conversion he had been guilty of every
sin except murder.
Dr. Beaumont imagined such a confession would justify a magistrate in
refusing to permit even the meanest part of the sacerdotal functions to
be assumed by one who mistook glorying in his iniquities for
regeneration; but Morgan replied, that it would be contrary to those
principles of civil liberty which his conscience and office required him
to support, to make any investigation into the past, or to require any
pledge for the future conduct of the convert.
Dr. Beaumont could not help observing that, in kindness to his friend
Davies, Morgan should have been careful of opening the mouth of one who
might perhaps introduce schism into the new-founded congregation.
Morgan smiled. "I perceive, my good Doctor," said he, "you are quite in
the dark in these matters; you must know, the Parliament's ordinance has
been acted upon in many parishes, and the sequestrators have taken such
note of your life and conversation as to resolve to eject you from your
living, and institute Master Davies in your place; though my influence
has hitherto suspended the actual execution of this design. Now, as I
hate all monopolies, and think every person's talents should have fair
play, during your ministry I countenanced Davies against you, and if
Davies is put in your place I shall sit under Priggins rather than
Davies, for that is the best way of keeping him sharp to his duty, and
one gets at truth best by hearing from all preachers what they have to
say for themselves."
Dr. Beaumont answered, that though assured the exercise of his
sacerdotal functions depended on his pleasure, he could not, while he
was permitted to perform it, so far desert his duty as to allow one of
his parishioners to utter wrong opinions without respectfully shewing
their fallacy. He was proceeding to the undoubtedly-fruitless labour of
trying to correct determined error, when Morgan stopped his argument by
shewing him the order he had received to eject him from his rectory.
Dr. Beaumont answered, that being humbly persuaded his ministry had been
beneficial, he wished to be allowed to continue in the quiet exercise of
his spiritual functions. His office was not bestowed upon him either by
Parliament or by the assembly of Divines, neither could the votes of the
one, nor the opinion of the other, lawfully degrade him from it.
Morgan replied, that whatever fancies he might entertain respecting the
durability of his right to the rectory, and the unalienable nature of
ordination, he must know, from numerous instances, that they had a way
now of cutting this sort of disputes very short, by expelling those who
would not walk out of doors quietly. Some indeed suffered their prudence
to get the better of their obstinacy, and were comfortably re-settled in
their benefices. One method of reconciliation which he would advise Dr.
Beaumont to attend to, was, to volunteer his subscription to the
engagement which had just been taken by Parliament and the City of
London, on the discovery of a most horrid plot formed by papists and
malignants, to put the King in possession of the Tower; to admit the
popish army into the city; to seize the godly Parliament, and put an end
to all those hopes of reformation which the nation now entertained. He
shewed the Doctor a copy of the oath, and remarked, that as nothing was
said in it about ecclesiastical changes, he could not object to swearing
to preserve the true Protestant religion against the influence of a
popish party, headed by the Queen, whom the House in its wisdom had
impeached of high-treason.
Dr. Beaumont said, the crime laid to Her Majesty's charge, which had
induced the Parliament to take that extraordinary step, was the bringing
arms and ammunition into the kingdom to assist her Sovereign and
husband, and not her being a Catholic, nor any plot or contrivance to
murder and imprison true Protestants. In the vow tendered to him, he saw
himself required to attest various matters which he disbelieved. He knew
of no Popish army raised and countenanced by the King; he knew of no
treacherous and horrid design to surprise the Parliament and the city of
London. He could not give God thanks for the discovery of what he really
believed was one of those fabrications intended to strengthen the ruling
party, which always follow a detected conspiracy. He denied that the
armies raised by the two Houses were for their just defence, or for the
liberty of the subject; and he would never promise to oppose those who
assisted the King, nor bind himself in a league with his enemies.
"My sacred function," continued the Doctor, "is that of a minister of
peace. I will never have recourse to arms except to guard my own family
from assassins; nor will I ever engage not to assist my King with my
purse or my counsels, or shut my gates on any loyal refugee who seeks
the shelter of my roof. I have few personal reasons for being attached
to Ribblesdale, but I hold myself bound to it by a spiritual contract,
and will abide here till I am forced from it, diligently,
conscientiously, and meekly doing my duty among ye, without partiality
or respect of persons. My counsel, my assistance, my purse, my prayers,
are at the service of all my parishioners; if, therefore, the residence
of a quiet man, who, though he will not sacrifice his own conscience,
imposes no restraints on others, be not inconsistent with the duty you
say you owe to these new authorities, suffer me to die in my parish. I
am ready to promise that I will never engage in plots or conspiracies
for your destruction; and since the scale of war is still suspended, and
we know not who will be the ascending party, I will also promise, that
in case the royal cause ultimately triumphs, I will use my influence
with the King in favour of my neighbours."
"You speak like a man of sense and moderation," answered Morgan. "Why
should hatred and animosity prevail between us? Why should we not
imitate the liberality of Sir William Waverly? General Waverly has just
been to see him. The worthy Baronet at first rated him a little, telling
him he had made a most unhappy choice; but they were friends in a few
minutes, and he asked Master Davies and me to dine with them; wished the
King better advisers; drank prosperity to the Parliament; and paid his
weekly assessment cheerfully. I think it is the best plan for all
parties to hold neighbourly intercourse with each other, and even to
form alliances which may some time turn to account; and this leads me to
my other proposition. I believe I may persuade the honourable
sequestrators that you are not a dangerous delinquent, nor wholly
unprofitable in the ministry; but this must be on condition that you
suffer justice to take its course with your nephew, and ally yourself to
some person of staunch principles by marriage."
Dr. Beaumont answered, he was very willing that the charge against
Eustace should be investigated, but as to intermarriage with any family,
he had long since devoted the remainder of his life to widowhood.
"But you have ladies in your house," said Morgan, drawing his chair
closer to the Doctor, and pursing his features into an enamoured grin.
The idea of a quondam scrivener making love to Mrs. Mellicent (for on
this occasion he thought only of her), and the contrast between her
dignity and Morgan's square figure and vulgar coarseness, provoked a
smile, notwithstanding the seriousness of his own situation: Morgan
thought this a good omen, and went on.
"You see me here, Master Doctor, a hale man, under fifty, pretty warm
and comfortable in circumstances; I once said I never would encumber
myself with a wife and family, but things are now going on so well, that
all will be settled before my children are grown up; and I do not see
why I should not try to make my old age comfortable, now I have done so
much for the public.--That's a very pretty, modest, well-behaved
daughter of yours, and I think would make me a good wife; a little too
young, perhaps, but she will mend of that fault every day."
Dr. Beaumont was struck dumb with surprise. Morgan continued--"And if
the young maid is willing, I shall not mind shewing favour to that
hot-headed cousin of hers, for her sake. He wants to be a soldier I
find; I could get him a commission under Lord Essex, who is a fine
spirited commander, and will give him fighting enough. You know it will
be doing just as the Waverly family do. Come, I see you
hesitate--suppose we call in the young people, and hear what they say?"
"Eustace shall immediately answer to the charge laid against him," said
the Doctor, rising to summon him. "And let Mrs. Constantia come too; I
wish that business decided first," continued Morgan.
"That business is already determined," answered the Doctor. "Eustace, I
have called you to answer to a charge laid against you, of assaulting a
peaceable passenger whom you met in your return from the mountains, and
taking from him a box which was his property. Did you or did you not
commit this outrage?"
"Aye!--answer without fear or evasion, young man," said Morgan.
"I know neither fear nor evasion," replied Eustace, darting on the
Justice a look which could not have been more contemptuous had he heard
of his offer to Constantia;--"I certainly did beat a saucy knave who
insulted me."
"And stole his goods!" said Morgan.
"I took from him something;--let him name what."
"A box or case, his property, are the words of his affidavit."
"Again," said Eustace, "I require him to state what was in that box?"
Morgan coloured--"The forms of law," said he, "must be adhered to. He
only swears to a box or case, as his property. Did you or did you not
take it from him?"
"I did."
Dr. Beaumont turned on his nephew a look of angry expostulation, which
stung him to the soul. He threw himself on the ground, and clasped his
knees in anguish. "My dearest uncle," said he, "I can bear any thing but
your displeasure. I took a box containing stolen goods from a thief, who
was carrying it to an accomplice."
Morgan was thunder-struck; for, in describing the assault, Priggins had
omitted mentioning that he had been cuffed into a full discovery of his
theft, and had owned that Morgan had agreed to accept a part of Dr.
Beaumont's spoil as a reward for giving indemnity to the rioters. He
tried to recollect himself, and told Eustace, better language to a
magistrate would become his situation.
"Who touches the hem of your magisterial robe?" said the fiery boy.
"Have I said that the villain who stole my cousin's lute, was carrying
it to you when I took it from him, and restored it to the right owner.
My dear and worthy protector, the only fault I have committed, was in
saying I found it, when you asked me how it was recovered. Let him who
accuses me of the theft be brought face to face, and I will soon make
him own who are the knaves in this business."
Morgan's confusion at being drawn into an implied self-accusation
prevented him from pressing the business further. He endeavoured to be
civil, said that Priggins must have mistaken the person of Eustace, or
have given him a false account. He believed him to be a worthless liar,
and holding out his hand to Eustace, hoped it would cause no ill blood
between them.
"No," said the latter, holding up his arm in a posture of defiance;
"there may be a concert between thieves and the receivers of stolen
goods; but we know too much of each other to shake hands, and so
remember Master Morgan I hate dissimulation, and now think of you just
as I used to do."
When they were alone the Doctor reproved Eustace for his peremptory
behaviour, and required an impartial statement of the whole affair. The
interview ended with full pardon for his past precipitation, and an
earnest admonition, as he tendered the preservation of them all, to be
guarded in future. Eustace could not but perceive that he had increased
his uncle's difficulties, and promised great prudence, with a full
intention of keeping his word.
Dr. Beaumont then proceeded to consult the faithful partner of all his
former trials on his present situation. It was to Mrs. Mellicent only
that he disclosed all that had passed in his interview with Morgan, who,
making the same misapplication of Morgan's amorous tender, drew up her
stiff figure into full stateliness. "Leave the knave to me, brother,"
said she; "I desire no better jest than to hear him make me a proposal;
I that have had a serjeant at law in his coif, and the sheriff of the
county in his coach and six, come to make love to me, to be at last
thought of by the son of a shoe-maker!"
Her brother here interposing, relieved her mind from the terrifying idea
of having the laurels of her early days blasted by this degrading
conquest, but he only changed indignation into distress. "What! our
lovely, dutiful, modest, ingenuous Constantia, to marry that lump of
sedition; that bag of cozening vulgarity; that rolling tumbril, laden
with all the off-scourings of his own detestable party!--Brother, take
my advice, and send the dear creature instantly to the King's quarters;
there is no safety for her within Morgan's reach.--These republicans
stop at nothing; I question whether my years and prudence will protect
me, but I will run all risks, and remain with you at Ribblesdale. But
let the young people be immediately removed, under the care of
Williams.--Morgan will never pardon the affront he received from
Eustace. The hint he gave about Essex, makes me apprehend that a project
will be laid to entrap the boy. I know he would sooner die than accept
any terms from traitors; let me therefore intreat you to send them all
to York, and place them under the Earl of Bellingham's protection."
Dr. Beaumont approved the plan, but cautioned her how she spoke of the
Earl of Bellingham. Mrs. Mellicent assured him she was very wary. "But,"
said she, "as we are forced to hear and say so much that is painful, let
us in our privacies indulge ourselves with anticipating brighter scenes.
I am fully persuaded that the children will outlive these sorrows. I had
a most consoling dream last night.--I saw Eustace in Castle-Bellingham,
just as I have heard Williams describe it in the old Earl's days,
attended by a train of gallant gentlemen, knights, esquires, chaplains,
pages, and all the proper retinue of nobility. I saw Constance too, our
own sweet Constance, dressed in black-velvet covered with jewels; and
she was smiling upon Eustace, and giving orders just as a countess ought
to do in the open gallery, as the servants were going about from the
hall to the buttery; I see it all now before my eyes, and I tell you,
brother, whatever you learned men may say about it, dreams often are
true prognostics, and warnings too. In one point, I believe we are both
agreed, Constance shall marry none but Eustace."
"It is more necessary," replied Dr. Beaumont, "to preserve the children
from present violence, than to lay plans for their future
aggrandisement. Prepare then with all possible speed for their removal,
and I will advise them of its absolute necessity."
This precaution was indeed truly prudent. The rancorous heart of Morgan
could not forgive the insinuated accusation of Eustace, nor the cold
hauteur with which the Doctor hurried over his offer of an alliance,
which, in the proposer's estimation, promised safety, wealth, and
honour. He immediately sent information to an officer, who was
recruiting for the Parliament, of a young desperate malignant, whom he
wished to have pressed into the service, as a mild punishment for
contumacy and outrage, and he did not doubt that the appearance of the
sequestrators, armed with full powers for immediate dispossession, would
terrify Constantia into acquiescence with his wishes, on condition that
he would protect her father.
The young party left Ribblesdale at midnight, under the escort of
Williams. The separation was marked with many tears and many anxious
wishes, that they might soon be followed by their faithful guardians.
The young ladies felt all the alarm and anxiety of leaving their quiet
homes, which is incident to their sex and years; they were terrified at
the thought of sleeping at an inn, and seeing none but strangers; "if
they should discover who we are," said Constantia, "and deliver us into
the power of Morgan!"--Eustace begged her not to be frightened, for he
would die sooner than see her exposed to any insult. "You are always so
ready to die!" observed Isabel; "what good would it do us to have you
killed? But indeed I have no fear of being discovered, for we are so
muffled up in our camlet riding-hoods, that we shall pass for
country-girls going to market. Courage! dear Constance. Come, whip your
horse on with spirit, and talk to me about eggs and poultry."
"Your brown face and red arms will pass well enough," said Eustace; "but
they must be blind idiots, who mistake our pretty Constance for a market
girl." "I will bind up my face as if I had the tooth-ache," said she;
"and talk broad Lancashire, till I come to the Marquis's quarters."
Williams observed that their danger would then begin.
The girls started, saying, they hoped they should then be in safety.
"You know not, my dear mistresses," said Williams, "the habits of camps,
nor the licence of gay, dissipated cavaliers, conscious of conferring
obligations on their King, and claiming from their occasional hardships
a right to indulgence. It is a bad situation for handsome young women,
but I have it in charge, in case I cannot deliver you into the care of
my old master, to take you on to Oxford, and place you with an old
college-friend of Dr. Beaumont's."
Eustace, whose heart had exulted at the idea of being fixed in the scene
of action, and of being permitted to endeavour to remove the prohibition
of his taking arms, strenuously opposed the plan of an Oxford residence,
as still more improper for young ladies, protesting that the flatteries
of a court and a university were more dangerous than the free licence of
military manners. He then began to caution Constantia, assuring her she
must not believe all that would be told her about the power of her eyes
to make men miserable, and about Venus and Hebe, and a great many more
nonsensical comparisons. "If I do," returned she, "it will do me no
harm. A woman is not more beloved for being handsome. There is our dear
aunt Mellicent; her face, you know, is the colour of a cowslip, and all
seamed and puckered, yet we could not love her better than we do, if she
were ever so beautiful."
Eustace allowed that she was a very good woman, though he could well
spare her putting him to rights, as she called it, quite so often. He
fancied, too, he knew some people more agreeable.--Isabel thought when
women were young, they always liked to be called handsome, and
recollected she often heard her aunt say, that before she had the
small-pox, she was thought very comely, and had many lovers. Eustace
burst into a loud laugh, and said so many provoking things on the
misfortune of old maids being reduced to record their own victories,
that his companions protested they would be very angry, and not speak to
him till he sung them a song of his own composition, by way of penance.
He submitted cheerfully to the punishment, and caroled the following
canzonet, as they proceeded in safety to the borders of Yorkshire:--
Once Beauty bade the God of Wit
Appease her anger with his songs;
Love thought the sacrifice unfit,
And cried, "The task to me belongs."
Light flow'd the strain of wayward smiles.
Of blushes and of tears he sung,
Of mournful swains arrang'd in files,
And hearts on eye-shot arrows hung.
But Beauty frown'd; "This lay from thee!
Proud rebel, dost thou break thy chain?
Wit may devise a sportive glee,
But Love should languish and complain."
To whom the God: "When you disguise
Your charms with spleen's fantastic shade,
Insulted Love to Wit applies,
And goes like you in masquerade."
[1] Life of Bishop Sanderson.