Vast confusion waits;
As doth the raven on a sick-fall'n beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest.
Shakspeare.
I avoid dwelling on the bitter anguish of the Beaumont family at the
dreadful catastrophe of the long-imprisoned King. Its pious head added
largely to his intercessory prayers, imploring heaven to avert its
vengeance from all who had inadvertently been accessary to the fact, to
forgive those who repented of the heinous sin, and to soften the hearts
of those who still gloried in having murdered their Sovereign. For the
English nation, his petitions were most fervent and impressive. The
character of the young King had in it some traits which excited his
apprehension; he prayed earnestly that they might be found (as many
people said they were) merely the exuberance of youth; and that the
acknowledged grace and affability of his manners, and the placableness
of his temper, might ornament, but not supplant, those christian virtues
and noble principles which had so eminently distinguished his father.
Considering the provocations the people had committed, the great
dissoluteness of one sort, and the wild fanaticism or palpable hypocrisy
of the others, added to the furious passions and implacable resentments
which were excited, especially by this last desperate deed, he saw
little hope that true religion and regular liberty could be speedily
restored; he feared, therefore, the sun of England's glory would suffer
a long eclipse: yet England was his country, nor could affluence or
distinction have tempted him to quit it while he thought his example,
his labours, or his prayers could afford assistance to its inhabitants.
The existing Government allowed Dr. Beaumont and his family personal
security: in return, he resolved to abstain from plotting its overthrow.
The young King wished his friends not to hazard their own safety by rash
undertakings; and Dr. Beaumont considered that to labour at the gradual
introduction of right principles, the removal of mistakes, and the
regulation of false doctrines; and, above all, to lead a life of
holiness, universal charity, and meek simplicity, were the most likely
means to heal the wounds made by violence, to soften the Divine anger,
and to prepare the people for the restoration of legitimate rule. The
reformation of individuals must, he knew, precede that of the nation;
and he considered that the man, who employed himself diligently at his
post, and strove to revive the sentiments of loyalty and piety in a
country village, more truly served his God and his King than he who
engaged in weak and unweighed efforts against a power which now wielded
the energies of the kingdom. He lamented to see such enterprizes
successively come to no better issue than that of giving fresh instances
of the often-recorded fact, that loyalty and truth can die on the
scaffold, or in the field of battle, without bending to their
persecutors, or relinquishing the principles interwoven with life.
The situation of Colonel Evellin was very different. He was proscribed,
exempted out of every amnesty, and though incapacitated by his
infirmities from serving his King, yet forbidden to rest his weary head
in secure privacy, till called by nature to hide it in the grave. Arthur
De Vallance too, the noble-minded revolter, renouncing the distinctions
purchased by the guilt of his parents, was resolved henceforth to devote
his life to atone for their crimes, by being the constant attendant,
comforter, and protector of his uncle. Yet was he not wholly
disinterested in that resolution; the love of Isabel stimulated him to
persevere in it, and he looked to her as the companion and reward of his
services.
It was now determined to wait the probable effect of the summer heats in
relieving the Colonel from the imbecility of extreme decrepitude. Dr.
Beaumont was then to join the hands of Arthur and Isabel, and they and
their father were to remove to Holland, where every friend of the Royal
Martyr was affectionately welcomed by the Princess of Orange, whose only
consolation in her deep affliction for him, was to cherish those who
suffered in his cause. Arthur possessed a small private fortune
independent of his parents, which, when converted into cash, would be
adequate to their frugal support; and it was agreed, that while they
waited the chance of the Colonel's recovery, no disclosure should be
made of the change in his principles. He, therefore, retained the title
of Sedley; continued to visit Morgan; talked of the friendship of
Cromwell; and pretended that he resided with the Beaumonts, because he
still required the assistance of his surgeon, and that he wished to be
fully convinced of their inoffensive conduct before he recommended them
to the General's favour.
During this time the Sunday assembling of the church in the wilderness
was repeated as often as the safety of the congregation would permit.
These were Dr. Beaumont's halcyon moments; the refreshing balms which
enabled him to support his public and private affliction. The terrible
death of Humphreys had made a great impression in the village, the
outrageous blasphemies of the self-condemned reprobate in his last
moments, and the utter inability of the various teachers of different
opinions who gathered around him, to tranquillize his disordered
imagination or quiet his alarmed conscience, led the beholders of that
heart-rending scene to recollect, that no such occurrence had taken
place during the quiet ministry of him who had preached the comfortable
doctrine of God's universal acceptance of penitent sinners, and who had
ever aimed rather to reform their lives than bewilder their
understandings or influence their imaginations. Many of the neighbours
who wanted courage to attend his more public services, visited the
Doctor by night, and besought his instruction as a preceptor, or his
judgment as a casuist. One wished him to talk with his wife, who was so
much engrossed with spiritual things, that she thought it sinful to
attend to temporal concerns. He said she left him alone in a severe fit
of sickness, while in extreme danger, to listen to a favourite preacher;
and, when reproved for her inhumanity, she burst into a transporting
extacy, and declared herself now sure of salvation, as "she suffered for
righteousness-sake," and would bear her cross with patience. He
protested he knew not how to act, since, if he treated her with
kindness, she was in despair, calling herself a lost soul, applying to
her own case the woe denounced on those with whom the world is at peace,
and complaining that she had no longer "a thorn in the flesh to buffet
her." A disconsolate mother implored Dr. Beaumont to interfere and
support her authority with her daughter, who, misunderstanding their
preacher's encomiums on the sufficiency of faith, abandoned herself to
antinomian licentiousness, asserting, that "it was the law which had
created sin," but that the elect were free from the curse of the law.
One father was ruined by children, who refused to "labour for the meat
that perisheth." Another came in the deepest distress, lamenting that
his son was committed to prison for having joined a band of fanatical
desperadoes, who publicly plundered their neighbours, declaring that
they were now superior to the commandments, and were prophets appointed
to set up the empire of King Jesus, and restore those times "when
believers had all things in common." In some of these instances Dr.
Beaumont was enabled to enlighten the bewildered judgment; but when the
errors of the imagination were fortified by licentious passions, or a
perverse disposition, he could only give comfort to the afflicted
relations by confirming them in a clearer view of divine truth.
But the Doctor's greatest trouble proceeded from those frequent visitors
who came to complain to him of the state of their neighbours' souls, and
to vaunt their own spiritual gifts and happy security. To these he could
be of no use, nor is it any reflection on his learning and abilities, to
say he was often posed by a class of disputants, who, wanting a previous
acquaintance with those general topics of information which are
necessary to a clear and true view of the question, presume to handle
the most abstruse and profound topics of theology, while unable to see
the force of their opponent's reasonings, or to attend to the
development of the false hypothesis on which their notions are founded.
These people, being wise in their own conceits, gloried in their errors,
mistaking spiritual pride for piety, and censorious curiosity for
concern for their neighbours' souls. The spirit of "Stand apart, I am
holier and wiser than thou," had such firm possession of their minds,
that the mild instructions and persuasive example of Dr. Beaumont had no
effect; his refusal to anathematize the darkness of their adversaries,
or to admire the splendour of their illumination, sealed their ears
against all his counsels. In vain did he admonish them that the test of
Christian principles, as given by our Divine Lawgiver, was unity. The
promulgation of the Gospel to distant countries was to result from
universal good-will. "By this shall all men know that ye are my
disciples, if ye have love one to another," was the Saviour's definition
of his true servants. "I thank God that I am not like this Publican,"
was the self-gratulation of a much greater sinner. The Apostles enjoined
the most guarded temperance of judgment respecting others, and the
closest inquisition about ourselves; and the wisest and best men, from
well-grounded fears of their own perseverance in well-doing, have
declined[1] all superior affectation of sanctity or invidious comparison
of the behaviour of others with their own, lest they should afterwards
fall into some grievous sin, and thus bring disgrace on religion and
virtue. The Catholic church, he said, was a term implying affectionate
communion as well as universality; and how could they be said to wish
for Christ's reign upon earth, who made knowledge to consist in
frivolous cavils, and piety in rancorous misinterpretation of a
brother's motives? Were discord, enmity, and censoriousness, fit
harbingers of the Prince of peace? His great forerunner preached
repentance and reformation. The sins of individuals, not the
institutions of civil society, were the mountains which were to be
levelled before the rising of the Sun of Righteousness. We might be
saved, without knowing if our neighbour was in the road to heaven; we
must at the last day be judged for the good we have done, not for the
evil others have thought; nor would the mere frequent calling upon the
Lord save those who in their deeds rejected the Divine government. In
fine, Dr. Beaumont, weary of the obstinacy and determined ignorance of
these self-righteous, told them that their pretensions to a larger share
of heavenly gifts was presumptuous, since they indulged in offences that
spoke a more infernal origin than merely carnal sins; for, so far as
human eye can penetrate into concealed mysteries, pride was the crime of
the fallen angels. Nor would he admit that Christian humility had any
thing to do with general acknowledgments, which rested in the corruption
of our common nature. "It is in confession of actual sin that the
contrite offender humbles himself before his God. The sentiment arising
from an imputation of guilt which we could not avoid, or from the
expectation of a punishment of which we are born the inheritors, is not
self-abasement, but despair. The penitent, observed Dr. Beaumont, feels
like one abashed by the recollection of his misdeeds, and fearful of
forfeiting the pardon afforded him by mercy: hence arise kindness and
compassion to his fellow-sinners, and newness of life in his own
conduct; but he was yet to learn how the feelings of the predestinated
elect, who boasted of being brands snatched out of the fire, and
privileged favourites of Heaven, improved the morals of mankind."
Had Dr. Beaumont merely consulted his own ease, he could not have taken
more effectual methods for clearing his door of those who came to
display their own graces; yet his converts were numerous, respectable,
and, what is better, shewed in their behaviour the improvement they
derived from his labours. A quiet tractable deportment, a due sense of
subordination, of duty to superiors, and of contented labour in their
own callings, those noble and peculiar distinctions of true disciples of
the church of England, which render her so proper an ally to the state,
were again visible in the language and manners of those who attended the
stolen congregational services I have mentioned, for to this assembling
themselves together, the Divine blessing is especially promised. After
the solemn and primary duties of confession, prayer, and praise, Dr.
Beaumont resumed his old method of instruction, alternately expounding
Christian mysteries, and inforcing Christian morals. On some occasions
he pursued a course of catechetical lectures; on others, quitting
elementary instructions, he proceeded to inforce good works as the test
of faith; now recommending the means of grace, by which the heart of man
was prepared to co-operate with the Divine Spirit, and then expatiating
on the hopes of glory, the goal and reward of diligence and perseverance
in well-doing. The service was lengthened by occasional prayers, adapted
to the state of the kingdom, and closed with an hymn, except at those
times when the centinel or watch indicated there was danger of
interruption.
One fine evening of the summer of 1649 they were thus employed, and
roused to uncommon fervour by a most pathetic discourse, to which the
following hymn, sung by the congregation, was in its purport analogous:
Oh Thou, to whose paternal ear
Affliction never vainly cried!
Whom in prosperity we fear,
On whom in sorrow we confide;
We mourning exiles humbly crave
Thy light to guide--thy power to save.
Proscribed from consecrated ground,
Forbid thy sacred courts to tread,
We know, where contrite hearts are found,
Thy cleansing grace is largely shed.
The church may wander in the wild,
But God still feeds his pilgrim child.
Our canopy the vaulted skies,
Our unction the refreshing dew;
The circling rocks that round us rise,
Conceal us from th' oppressor's view;
Still shall their solemn echoes bear
To thy high courts our praise and prayer.
Not for ourselves (though sore dismay'd
Like hunted doves) we pray alone;
A bleeding people asks thy aid,
A ruin'd church, a prostrate throne,
A land become by woes and crimes,
A beacon to surrounding climes.
Oh, by the sacred ransom paid
For rebel man, rebellion hide;
Where evil spirits now have made
Their den, let thine own Spirit 'bide.
And change our contests and our wrongs
To holy lauds and peaceful songs.
The echoing rocks prolonged the solemn melody, and every heart was
filled with sympathetic submission, devout patience, and humble hope,
when their attention was recalled to the present scene by a loud Amen,
which discovered a till-then-unobserved participator in their devotions.
A lame bare-headed beggar stood leaning on his crutch, while the wind
blew his hair and tattered garments in every direction. "Heaven bless
you, worthy Christians!" said he; "you have prayed for the King, help a
wounded soldier who has fought for his Royal Father. 'Tis many a day
since I have heard the old church service, and it has done my heart
good; I have drunk to her prosperity thousands of times."
Arthur offered him an alms.--"Oh, young gentleman," said he, "this is
like throwing diamonds to a dunghill-cock. I cannot buy a loaf in the
mountains, and I dare not venture into any town till I can get some
other clothes to disguise myself. I was in the last insurrection, as the
rebels call it, and so may be hanged without judge or jury, wherever
they catch me; and they may hang me if they will, for they can never
make any thing of me but a King's trooper, or else a Tom o' Bedlam."
Dr. Beaumont now advanced to see what measures could be adopted to
relieve the stranger's necessities, when, to his great surprize, the man
limped forward, and, grasping his hand with ecstasy, gave it a hearty
shake. "Ah, my good Doctor, is it you?--'Twas so dusky I could not see
your face; and your voice is quite broke and hollow to what it used to
be. I hoped Your Reverence was safe and well at Oxford, and not
preaching here among the goats and sheep in the mountains, while tinkers
and tailors are palavering in churches. Don't Your Reverence remember
Jobson, whom you tried to get out of that Squire Morgan's clutches, when
the cursed covenant came first in fashion. I could not swallow it, you
know, nor will I now, though they were to change my torn coat for a
major's uniform. Is the Squire still alive? I should like to knock him
down with my crutch, and tell him I bought shoes of his father."
It was with unfeigned pleasure that honest Jobson was recognised by his
neighbours. Plans were proposed for his immediate relief, and Arthur
hoped he could procure him a protection through the interest of Morgan.
"Say nothing about it, Sir," answered Jobson; "I tell you I'll owe him
nothing but a sound drubbing, and I hope to pay that before I die, in
spite of the wound in my knee; he should have it now if I could catch
him; and let me tell you, I am sorry to hear such a pretty-spoken
gentleman as you, say you have any acquaintance with such a scoundrel.
He has made me hate the neighbourhood he lives in; and I only came into
it to see if all was true that was said of my wife; and I find she is
gone a tramping with one of the new preachers, and her girls are gone
after her with some of the rebel troopers. Let them go, I say, if they
have no better fancies than that; I'll hop back to Wales, where an old
soldier of the King's is sure to find a nook in a cottage-chimney, and a
piggin of warm leek porridge; aye, and a warm heart too, that never will
betray him."
"It is not in Wales only," answered Dr. Beaumont, "that there are found
warm hearts who revere the memory of their martyred Sovereign, and love
the brave soldier who has bled in his cause. My situation compels me to
be careful of offending the ruling powers, but we can contrive to make
some cavern in the mountains a comfortable place of shelter, till you
are better able to undertake a long journey; and believe me, it rejoices
my soul to see you display the same firmness in adversity as you did in
the hour of danger. In the wreck of your little fortune, you have
preserved that noblest treasure, an upright heart. Many who now bask in
affluence, would give their ill-acquired eminence to call that jewel
without price their own."
"True, worthy Doctor," answered Jobson; "yet the knaves often get
uppermost in this world, and so won't own themselves to be scoundrels,
which is what provokes me. But the times will come when we shall tell
them a bit of our minds again; and then I suppose my wife will leave the
preacher, and want me to take her in again; but no, no, Madam, says I,
there's two words to that bargain. Does Your Reverence know, that though
I never rose higher yet than to be an officer's servant, I am to be a
yeoman of the guard. His Highness the King, as now ought to be,
promised, when he was only Prince of Wales, that when he came to live in
Whitehall, he'd make me one of the Beaf-eaters: bless his generous
heart! he'd have made me any thing I asked, but I never was ambitious.
So, please Your Majesty's Highness sweet Prince, says I, let me be a
Beef-eater as long as I live. This was when I was in the boat with him,
as he went to Sicily from Pendennis-Castle. 'Twas the last time he set
his foot on English ground, said he must think of his word when he comes
back with the crown on his head."
By this time Isabel and Constantia had concerted a retreat for Jobson in
the mausoleum, which, having been recently searched, was not likely soon
to excite the suspicions of the parliamentary committee-men. They
therefore lingered by the side of Jobson, and gave him a private
intimation of their design, directing him to come to the park-wall at
midnight, where they would provide, not only for his support, but
attempt to cure his wound, as habit had now made them expert surgeons.
Jobson could scarcely be confined to whispering his acknowledgements.
"Give me the use of my leg again," said he, "and let the King's colours
fly in what part of England they will, Ralph Jobson shall stand by the
side of them."
Each party was true to the appointment, and the tender chirurgeons
perceived with pleasure, that Jobson's lameness proceeded rather from
neglect and unskilful treatment, than from such an injury of the muscles
as excluded all hope that their action could be restored. His adventures
were told to Colonel Evellin, who insisted that his fellow-sufferer
should become an inmate of his apartment. "Soldiers," said he, "can talk
over wars and sieges together, and pray for better times. The tedious
hours will pass pleasantly, enlivened by that gallant fellow's
simplicity; and, if Morgan thinks that it is worth while to let loose
his blood-hounds in search of a lame beggar, he may, at the same time,
unearth another who has nothing but his life to lose. Calamities like
ours level all distinctions; and why is the breath which animates the
ruined representative of fallen greatness more valuable than that which
inspires the heroism and cheerful patience of an honest trooper. Yet
courage, my girl; the blood of Neville is not wholly contaminated; and
when I cease to give thee anguish, thou and Arthur shall restore its
purity."
The family considered on Colonel Evellin's request, and as none but
themselves knew of Jobson's first retreat, they thought the safety of
their noble charge would not be hazarded by indulging him with a
companion. It was, however, still deemed expedient to conceal his name
and connexion with the Beaumonts, and to describe him to Jobson only as
a loyal officer, disabled by hard service, who sought concealment till
he was sufficiently recovered to leave England. Jobson rejoiced in the
change of apartments. The tincture of superstition, which was universal
in those times, gave him a great reluctance to being hid in a monument,
though he disguised his general apprehension of supernatural beings
under the pretence of dislike to Sir William Waverly. "If it had been a
loyal gentleman's tomb," said he, "I dare say I could have slept in it
all night very well, but I know the Baronet was no better than a rebel
in his heart, and the malice of those scoundrels is not cured by
knocking their brains out. To say the truth, my teeth chattered in my
head, and my legs twitched so about, that I am sure I never should have
got well while I staid there."
Jobson's light heart now foreboded that his wound would quickly heal,
and that the brave gentleman, who was his companion in affliction, would
take him to be his servant, when he should be able to leave England; he,
therefore, settled in his own mind, that he would stay in Colonel
Evellin's service till the King sent for him to make him a Beef-eater.
The concealed Loyalists soon fell into that intimacy which suffering in
the same cause naturally inspires. Adversity is a great leveller, not
only of artificial distinctions, but also of personal qualities. The
dispossessed nobleman, and the village-ploughman, conversed familiarly
together of many a hard-fought day. The scene of their warfare lay in
different parts of the kingdom; but each listened with painful interest
to the details of the other: Evellin ruminating on the errors which had
ruined the King's cause, Jobson cursing the knaves who betrayed, and the
traitors who beheaded, him.
"I cannot help making free with Your Honour," said Jobson, "though I see
by all your ways you are a right true gentleman, and not like the
Rump-tinkers and Old Noll's make-believes. You would hardly think, merry
as I seem with you, that I am very sad at heart: not about Madge Jobson,
my wife as was; no, let her go where she will, for she always was a bad
one; but 'tis about that noble family that are so good to us both. And
that pretty Mistress Constance, as sighs so when she bandages up my
knee; sweet creature! she thinks she hurts me, but I would not cry out
if she did; for I have a story I could tell her would make her sigh
more, and look paler than she does, though she is now as white as a
coward marching up to a charged battery."
Colonel Evellin inquired what story. The remembrance of his son was ever
present to his mind; but the indelible shame of his public disgrace had
prevented him from alluding to him, or asking Jobson if he had ever met
him during the campaign of 1645: and the deep feeling of affectionate
grief prevented Jobson from naming the gallant youth to the good
gentleman, who seemed, he thought, to want to have his spirits raised,
and was too cast down to be diverted with melancholy stories.
Jobson now begged the Colonel to satisfy his doubts whether it was right
to make his benefactors unhappy. "As a friend of the family," said he,
"and a wise man, I wish to consult you. They don't seem to know what is
become of Mr. Eustace Evellin, had I better tell them or not?"
Though long and intimately versed in the discipline of severest misery,
Colonel Evellin was forced to turn away his face to conceal his paternal
perturbation. "If," said he, "since the public rebuke of Lord Hopton, he
has again disgraced his lineage, bury his shame in that oblivion which I
hope now covers his body; but, if he lived long enough to redeem his
honour, tell me his history."
Jobson gazed with indignant surprise on his agitated companion. "If,"
answered he, "you had not fought as nobly as you have for the King, I
would not bear to hear you talk about Mr. Eustace Evellin's redeeming
his honour before he lost it. Why, it was all a mistake of the old
Lord's when the cowards and traitors drove him distracted; and so he
thought Mr. Eustace one of them, because now and then they tippled
together. Aye, he has been sorry enough for it since: but Generals
should be careful what they say, for Lord Hopton ruined one of the
fairest young gentlemen that ever was born."
The Colonel motioned with his hand that Jobson should proceed with his
narrative. "Does Your Honour groan through pain?" inquired the latter;
"let me lay you in an easier posture. Did you never hear how Mr. Eustace
fought at Pendennis-Castle; when old John Arundel of Terrice thanked him
before all the garrison?"
"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Evellin, "that was a public honour!"
"Tush! that was nothing," continued Jobson; "every soldier knew already
what stuff Mr. Eustace was made of. Old John called him the hero of
Lancashire. After the castle had surrendered, I went with him into
Wales; and wherever there was a little fighting we were at it: and when
there was none, we lived just as we could; for I did not care about
Madge Jobson, and Mr. Eustace said he could not go home because his
father had cursed him."
"No, no, no," said Evellin; "he never cursed him."
"I wish," cried Jobson, "the poor gentleman had known that; it might
have saved his life."
"Is he dead?" exclaimed the father, in an agony that lifted his
debilitated frame from its recumbent posture.
"Shot in cold blood after the taking of Pembroke-Castle."
"By whose order?"
"A devil's-born traitor, as bad as those who cut off the King's head;
Lord Bellingham they call him."
Evellin clenched his fist; his teeth were set; his eyes rolled in
terrific wildness; Jobson thought him in a fit, and advanced to support
him. But with the reckless strength of frenzy, the distracted father
grasped the tottering veteran. No object but Bellingham presented itself
to his perverted imagination; and in the fury of rage, blended with
anguish, he redoubled his blows on Jobson, exclaiming, "Accursed
Bellingham, give me back my son!"
The vehemence of the Colonel's execrations brought Arthur de Vallance to
the assistance of Jobson, who, in terrified accents, declared the good
gentleman was suddenly gone mad, and he could not hold him. It might be
expected, that the entrance, at that instant, of the son of Eustace's
murderer would have increased the paroxysm, but nature was exhausted; he
fixed his eyes upon him, till anguish changed to glaring inanity, and he
sunk lifeless on the pallet.
Arthur's first care was to call Isabel, in hopes her tender
ministrations would restore her father. Her efforts were attended with
success. Evellin opened his eyes, saw his daughter and her lover
supporting him; he looked alternately at each; no language can describe
the expression of those looks, while he vainly struggled for utterance.
Withdrawing his hand from the pressure of Arthur's, he threw it round
the neck of Isabel, and with the feebleness of an apparently dying
accent, inquired if she loved that man. Astonishment kept her mute;
Evellin sobbed aloud. "By _his_ father, girl, your brother has been
murdered in cold blood."
If a painter wished to portray a scene of superlative misery, which the
pen cannot describe, the present might employ his strongest powers of
pathos.--The pleading eye of Arthur fixed on the face of Isabel, while
she gazed on her father with the blank features of astonishment and
despair. Jobson now understood the development he had caused, and shared
the anguish which it excited. He brushed the tears from his eyes; they
filled again. He sobbed aloud, and thought such sorrow worse than the
severest warfare he had ever sustained.
The first return of recollection suggested to young De Vallance the
necessity of withdrawing from the presence of his uncle. He sought Dr.
Beaumont, but that universal comforter could not relieve such despair.
He had, himself, the dreadful task of disclosing the death of Eustace to
Constantia, and of sustaining the keen anguish of her first sorrow,
before he could intrust her to the care of Mrs. Mellicent, and assist
Isabel in the secret chamber, where the loud cries and groans of Evellin
exposed them all to the most imminent danger of discovery.
Before Dr. Beaumont could visit his frantic friend, rage had again
exhausted his strength; he lay apparently lifeless, and Isabel was
weeping over him.--In cases of extreme distress, to talk of comfort and
prescribe composure, is impertinence. Nature will claim her rights, and
a true friend respects them in silence. He directed his attention to the
narrative of Jobson, from whose report he gathered those particulars of
the fate of Eustace, which, with other circumstances that afterwards
transpired, shall be narrated in the subsequent chapter.
[1] This disposition was a prominent feature in the character
of Sir Matthew Hale.