Those that would serve God sincerely in affluence have infinitely
greater advantages and opportunities for it in adverse fortune;
therefore let us set vigorously to the task that lies before us,
supplying in the abundance of inward beauty what is wanting to the
outward lustre of the church; and we shall not fail to find that
the grots and caves lie as open to the celestial influences as the
fairest and most beautiful temples.
Dr. Henry Hammond's Letters.
A painter, who is solicitous to give just representations of nature,
must blend his lights and shades, and contrast vivid colours with sombre
hues. The correct imitator of human life must also alternately introduce
joys and sorrows. Is it the langour of unwarrantable depression, the
indulged caprice of fastidious sensibility, or a more intimate
acquaintance with the dark colourings of disappointment than with the
sunshine of prosperity, which induces the conclusion, that the likeness
to reality will be more faithfully preserved if a sombre tinge
predominates in the fictitious narrative that paints the trials of
highly honourable and susceptible minds? The refinement which inspires
liberal desires and generous motives exposes its possessor to a more
lively feeling of the injuries inflicted by envy, selfishness, and
duplicity. The golden dreams of ingenuous candour and conscious ability
are rarely realized, and acute perception and high-minded integrity,
though most propitious to the growth of every virtue, seem to be the
choice fruits of heaven which, in the austere climate of this lower
world, require shelter and protection.
It is not murmuring against the wisdom or justice of Providence to
admit, that in a probationary state the most perfect characters are they
who have been purified by "much tribulation, and through faith and
patience inherit the promises." The instrument used in this ordeal is
generally our brother-man. Yet, while with hope and confidence, we look
forward to a glorious issue of temporal affliction in eternal glory, let
us beware of unfitting ourselves for the future recompence by extreme
resentment against those who are the agents that Almighty Wisdom uses to
improve us. Let us not attribute to malice and cruelty what may be
referred to less criminal motives. Do we not often afflict others
undesignedly, and, from mere carelessness, neglect to relieve distress?
Our own concerns, interests, and wishes engross our thoughts. Nothing is
so important to us as forwarding our own aims; and our fellow-creatures
are too often but inconvenient lumber if they stand in our way, or
merely useful implements if they forward our designs. It is from a want
of attention to the feelings of others, from a neglect of the golden
rule of putting ourselves in their place, and not from innate malice or
a diabolical delight in giving pain, that the sorrows caused by domestic
tyrants and puny oppressors chiefly proceed. Were self-love reduced
within proper bounds, earth would resemble heaven. Let those, then, who
deeply feel those "wrongs which patient merit of the unworthy takes,"
temper their aspirations after a state where universal good-will is the
source and cement of bliss, by cultivating that excellent preparative
for its fruition, a spirit of active, enlarged, and considerate
benevolence.
These reflections will not unaptly precede the return of Lady Bellingham
from her northern expedition. It never was the practice of Cromwell to
render any one disrespect while his services could be useful, or till he
was prepared to prevent the effects of his enmity. While the success of
the King remained doubtful, he wished not to make himself any more
enemies; and at the same time that he restrained and mulcted the
Presbyterians, he endeavoured to persuade them to make common cause with
the fanatics. He received Lady Bellingham (who was the avowed patroness
of the latter) with much apparent respect, and at the same time he wrote
kindly to her Lord, promising that his party should be admitted to a
share in the government as soon as he could let the dove out of the ark
to fetch the olive branch, which could not be the case as long as the
floods of ungodliness covered the earth. He styled himself the servant
of the Commonwealth, and the assured friend of Lord Bellingham; but
nothing was further from Cromwell's heart than an intention of realizing
these promises. His only aim was to pacify and amuse his opponents till
he gained leisure to play his own game. He loaded Lady Bellingham with
flattering expressions, selected her to stand by his side, when, as he
called it, he rose in the congregation of the saints to give the word of
exhortation, and appealed to her as the judge and expounder of his
spiritual gifts. These, he observed, were all the refreshing attentions
which the necessity of pursuing the host of Sisera allowed him to pay to
the Deborah of the English Israel, except permitting her to reside in
Bellingham-Castle, and to plead his friendship and protection.
The victory at Worcester was of that decided nature, which enabled
Cromwell to throw off the mask, to dissolve that pantomime of a
Parliament in whose name he had hitherto governed, and to assume the
title of "Protector of the liberties of England." He now exercised a
more despotic tyranny than this nation suffered either from her Danish
or Norman conquerors. He confined the elective franchise to himself,
creating what he called Parliaments for the sole purpose of making them
ridiculous, and then turning out his mock-legislators with contempt. He
alternately punished and provoked every party; even his own agents and
creatures could not escape his apprehensive suspicions, which, by
indulgence, engendered an insatiable thirst of blood. Yet, combining
great qualities with the meanest vices--the policy of an Augustus and
the enterprize of a Trajan with the dissimulation of Tiberius and the
cruelty of Domitian, he at once awed and dazzled surrounding nations,
and while he subjugated, exalted his own. Never was England more
respected than when unlimited power, undaunted courage, and persevering
activity placed all her resources in the hands of a man who, scarcely
ranked by birth in the patrician order, could make every European
sovereign tremble on his throne. Yet still, like the mystical sun in the
Apocalypse, tormenting others while he was himself tormented, the era of
his assuming power was the consummation of his extreme misery. He waded
through seas of blood; he broke every divine and human obligation; he
made the name of liberty a terror, and that of religion contemptible, to
become himself a more pitiable object than the veriest wretches whom he
inhumed in his prisons. They had some who sympathized in their
sufferings, some who wished them God speed; but though the civilized
world trembled at the name of Cromwell, he knew he had spies, creatures,
and parasites, but not one friend.
Yet amidst this secret wretchedness and universal odium, the distant
reflex of his name and authority was respected by all. Lady Bellingham
found her reception very different, as the Protector's friend, in her
return through England, than when she fled to Scotland an alarmed
fugitive. Conscious of former remissness, Morgan met her at Lancaster,
and earnestly entreated she would repose some days at Saint's-Rest after
the fatigue of her journey. The alarm and mortification she had endured
in that neighbourhood made her recollect the village with disgust; but
there were some mysteries which she wished him to explain. Nursery tales
affirm, that Puss, when converted into a fine lady, retained her old
propensity of catching mice; and though Lady Bellingham was transformed
from a fine lady into a devotee, the renovating spirit of true religion
had not altered her temper or inclinations; there was the same
waywardness in the former, the same cold selfishness in the latter.
While she raved at formal and legal Christians, she was herself the true
formalist, presuming on superior merit from the length of her devotional
exercises, her rigid austerities, and the sums she expended in spreading
her peculiar notions. But she came out of her closet to make her inmates
and dependants wretched; her fasting-days were unsanctified through
moroseness, and beside that, her gifts were too much confined to
party-purposes to be entitled to the praise of charity; ostentation blew
the trumpet before her alms, and she had the reward she sought, in the
praise of men.
To return from the description to the illustration of this not uncommon
character. It happened one evening, as the Countess was anticipating
the joys of Heaven, by an analogy drawn from the delights which
Bellingham-Castle afforded, and which she supposed would there be
increased in an infinite ratio, that her humble companion ventured to
recall her imagination to this world, by producing what she thought a
very pretty poem on the subject of love, which she found in their chamber
at the miserable old delinquent's at Ribblesdale. Lady Bellingham shook
her head at the name of love, commanded Mrs. Abigail to avoid the sinful
subject, and to expiate the offence by reading fifty pages of "a popular
fanatical treatise."
As the waiting-gentlewoman retired to perform the penance, Lady
Bellingham commanded her to leave the paper that she might destroy it.
But though the word Love was dangerous to a tyro in Antinomianism, the
situation of the initiated is very different; to the former all things
are sinful, but the latter being free from the law, and above ordinances,
have a large licence. Valuing herself now only on her spiritual graces,
Lady Bellingham opened the profane legend, which, she expected, described
personal attractions; and to her astonishment recognized the writing of
her son, of whom she had heard no certain tidings since the battle of
Preston, but who was supposed, both by Cromwell and herself, to be in the
north of Ireland, where an officer of the same name had gained celebrity.
The date proved that he had been a resident in Dr. Beaumont's family; no
name was prefixed, but the lines breathed a permanent attachment, to
which, after some resistance, he had entirely surrendered his heart.
O place thy breast against a turbid stream,
Beat with strong arm the flood, and tread the wave,
Or toil incessant 'neath the burning beam,
When, like a giant woke from wassail-dream,
Sol rushes furious from the lion's cave:
Then mayst thou know how hard to stem the tide
Of chaste desire, and love's o'erwhelming storm,
When by entranc'd affection first descry'd,
Beauty and truth, such as in Heaven reside,
Appear on earth in woman's lovely form.
Is there a charm in wisdom? Is there power
In blushing modesty's retiring air?
Looks patience lovely in affliction's hour?
Is not humility a priceless flower?
And filial piety divinely fair?
And bloom such graces in this narrow dell,
Bosom'd in hills, from civil discord far;
Then, courts and camps, glory and wealth farewell!
All-powerful love hath broke ambition's spell,
And freed a captive from his iron car.
Ruminating on these lines, and recollecting the mild dutiful behaviour
of Constantia, she could not help supposing that melancholy beauty to be
the object of her son's attachment. She had sufficiently interested her
to inquire the reason of her mournful appearance, and learned that she
had lost her lover in the civil wars. Could that lover have been her
son? Could the figures she had seen sitting among the ruins, and which
she was persuaded were not human, be sent as supernatural omens to
indicate Sedley's death. It was happy for her unsettling reason, that at
the moment when this terrific thought shot across her brain, she
recollected, whatever her early misdemeanors might have been, she was
now in a safe state, and had wiped off all offences to her brother, even
supposing any had been committed. Yet she grew uneasy to hear of her
son, and wished she had been more particular in her inquiries as to the
certainty of his being in Ireland. I have already stated that maternal
affection had no part in her character. The manner in which she treated
Arthur prevented frequent intercourse. Hearing that a Colonel Sedley was
distinguished by his cruelty to the Catholics at the taking of Fredagh
and Drogheda, she had trusted that it was her son now become warm in the
good cause to which she had devoted him. The date of this poem shewed
that he was in Lancashire, indulging very different sentiments at the
time of those bloody victories, and it was her perplexity on this point
which made her give Morgan an affable reception.
She soon discovered, that though he had lately forborn persecuting the
Beaumonts, he retained the most inveterate enmity to the whole family.
She drew from him all the information it was in his power to give
respecting her son's residence at Ribblesdale; the assistance he
received from the Beaumonts when at the point of death, and his sudden
disappearance. Morgan was unacquainted with his change of sentiments and
attachment to Isabel, who, having been long secreted with her father,
was believed to be dead, and had been too insignificant and humble to
draw the attention of so important a personage as Morgan. His
communications confirmed Lady Bellingham in the belief that she had seen
an apparition of her brother, indicative of her son's death, and that
Constantia, who mourned a widowed love, had been the object of his
ill-placed affections.
Full of apprehension, destitute alike of delicacy, gratitude, and
candour, and disposed, from her political feelings, to ascribe every bad
passion and action to the royalists, a thought struck her that poverty
might have tempted the old delinquent to murder her son; and the
suspicion grew to certainty, when the most minute inquiries could give
no information of him subsequent to his receiving a large remittance
from his tenants the week before he was last seen at Ribblesdale. Her
humble attendants, on hearing her opinion, protested that nothing was
ever more probable. The chaplain expatiated on the vices of the
episcopal clergy, and cited the words of that-then-popular writer,
Martin Mar-prelate, to prove them guilty of the greatest offences, not
excepting even theft and murder. The gentleman-usher found damning
proofs of extreme poverty in all the arrangements of the Beaumonts, and
the waiting-gentlewoman could no otherwise account for the deep
melancholy of Constantia, than by supposing her lover had been murdered
by her father, whose pale care-worn features bore, in her opinion, the
character of an assassin.
Having wrought her mind to this conclusion, Lady Bellingham sent again
for her confidant Morgan, who, beside his aversion to one whom he had
long felt to be a troublesome neighbour, had now particular reasons for
appearing zealously inclined to serve the Protector and his friends. He
advised Lady Bellingham to state the loss of her son to His Highness,
and procure his order for the Doctor's arrest, adding, that even if
innocent of this accusation, the imprisonment of one, who as an
irreclaimable royalist, deserved punishment, was no breach of justice.
He assured Her Ladyship, that her son's long residence in a disaffected
family, had not occasioned the smallest change in his opinions, but that
he showed his zeal for the good old cause, by informing him of all the
proceedings and councils of the delinquents that came to his knowledge;
and he feared, as he was missing a little time before Charles Stewart's
attempt on Scotland, his having penetrated into that design precipitated
their bloody purposes. His communications shaped the fluctuating
purposes of Lady Bellingham into a most determinate and diabolical
resolve, and she returned to London with the heart of an "Ate hot from
hell," and the aspect of a Niobe.
She now presented herself before the Protector and his council, as a
distracted mother, ignorant of the fate of her only son, and praying for
a minute investigation of the mysterious business. A request from the
patroness of the fanatics imperatively demanded attention. Several of
their leaders were her devoted friends, and the fine qualities of young
Sedley had really attracted Cromwell's notice, who, though he was
incapable of loving virtue and honour, ever wished to engage them in his
service. It is but justice to the Usurper's administration to say, that,
except when his government or personal security were concerned, he was
an impartial and vigorous administrator of the criminal laws, never
sparing rank, or shielding greatness. But though justice thus beamed on
those who had not made themselves conspicuous by their principles, a
known royalist could not expect her smiles, a warrant was therefore
dispatched to apprehend Dr. Beaumont, and Morgan was charged with its
execution.
About this time that unhappy family were reduced to the last stage of
pecuniary distress. Their good friend Barton was still in confinement,
persecuted with the most inveterate hatred by Lady Bellingham's party,
and as his revenue was sequestered, no remittances could come from that
quarter. At the death of Farmer Humphreys, the church-land he had
occupied was taken from his widow, who was now fallen into decay, and
unable to assist the necessitous pastor she so truly revered. The
provision which the revolutionary government pretended to make to the
ejected ministers, was at best irregularly supplied, and often totally
withheld. The infirmities of Colonel Evellin engrossing the whole time
of Isabel, no fund could be raised from her industry, and with prompt
though perhaps imprudent loyalty Dr. Beaumont had sent the sum left by
De Vallance to the King's assistance when he made the last unsuccessful
effort to obtain his crown. Want, therefore, appeared before their eyes
in all its horrors; the produce of their cow and their garden, added to
the kind attentions of the villagers, were their sole support.
It was impossible to conceal their difficulties from Evellin, who now
earnestly prayed that death would relieve his generous friend from the
burden of his support. The firm and patient Isabel could no longer
divert him from these sad exclamations. She could not modulate her voice
to a song, nor attempt to engage his attention by reciting a tale of
other times. She threw her eyes upon the ground in silence, as if
wishing to measure out his grave, and one where she might sleep in peace
beside him.
They were roused from the passive depression of poverty by the awakening
call of imminent danger to the person of him who, in all their former
trials, had acted as their guardian angel to avert or mitigate calamity.
Morgan delivered, without any ceremony, to Dr. Beaumont an order to
attend the council of state in London, as a prisoner. The Doctor
declared himself ready to pay a quick obedience to the existing
government in all lawful cases, but stated his extreme penury and the
utter destitution of his family. The rigid frugality of their habits was
known; and Morgan, now assuming an inquisitorial air, demanded what
became of the moiety of the fifth allowed to the expelled ministers,
which he had last received. Dr. Beaumont was taken by surprize, and
before he could parry the impertinence of the question, was charged by
Morgan with sending pecuniary aid to Charles Stewart. This was now a
crime against the state, for which many suffered. Dr. Beaumont asked if
this was the business on which he was summoned to London, and Morgan,
knowing that it was determined to take him by surprize respecting the
charge of assassinating De Vallance, answered sternly, that for this and
various other misdemeanors he must be examined before the council.
No heart that had not been steeled by malevolence against all the better
feelings of humanity, could have resisted the cries and supplications of
Constantia, intreating that she might accompany her father; but Morgan,
recollecting that she in the pride of beauty had disdainfully rejected
his offer of marriage, took a savage pleasure in witnessing her
affliction. To see the sorrows of his darling child excite derision
instead of pity and respect, consummated Dr. Beaumont's anguish. Taking
Constantia aside, he gave her his parting blessing, with a fervour that
recalled his own firmness, and imparted consolation to her. He reminded
her how much her aunt, Evellin, and Isabel, must now depend upon her
exertions. He doubted not but commiseration for his misfortunes would
increase the benevolence of the villagers, and he intreated her to
recollect, that as her lamentations were unavailing, fortitude and
patient endurance were the only means to subdue the malice of their
enemies. He recurred to his favourite argument, that an oppressor is
merely an instrument of chastisement in the hand of Almighty goodness,
whose ultimate purposes are all mercy and wisdom. A tyrant's wrath
cannot pass its prescribed bounds; no earthly power can take us out of
the omnipotent hands of our Creator; nor will He ever fail those who
firmly trust in His care, and sincerely obey His precepts. "Courage, my
child," said he, as he kissed her pale cold cheek, "I have committed no
crimes either against the state or any individual: I shall soon be
allowed to return. This affliction is the trial of your faith, not the
punishment of my guilt."
Dr. Beaumont did not venture to visit his concealed friend, but the
lamentations of the villagers, who surrounded their departing pastor
with tears and blessings, added to the distress of Isabel, soon informed
Colonel Evellin that his revered protector was seized by the strong
gripe of power. He insisted on accompanying him to London as a
fellow-prisoner, protesting he was ready to defy Cromwell, accuse
Bellingham, and die. Isabel had sufficient strength to prevent the
immediate execution of this rash purpose. "O think," said she, "that by
so doing, you will not only sacrifice yourself, but also my uncle. The
very act of having concealed you is punishable with death. For the sake
of our best and kindest friend, a little longer exercise that fortitude
and patience which have been my support through years of apprehension
and calamity. Let not my long services within this narrow recess lose at
last the desired reward of saving a parent, more dear and precious from
his undeserved calamities."
"Shall I perish for want, immured in this gloomy tenement?" said
Evellin, wildly. "When my friend is gone, who will provide a covering
for this wretched body, or food to sustain it?--Have I not told thee,
girl, that De Vallance basks in luxurious state at Bellingham-Castle;
and I would sooner perish in a lazar-house than beg my bread of him?
Dost thou not know his blood-hounds yet surround these ruins, and that
it is Beaumont only who has kept them from my war-worn trunk."
"Dearest father," resumed Isabel, "I can keep off the blood-hounds, and
will daily lead you forth to enjoy the warm sun-beams. Fear not; but
trust in that Providence who feeds the young ravens. How wonderful was
its preservation of our King when hunted from forest to forest by his
merciless foes! The wants of nature are few and small. See how your
despair makes me weep. Oh, for the sake of my mother's memory, dry the
tears of your orphan girl."
In this manner did Isabel try to console the man of many sorrows, but he
had taken his resolution, and even when most composed, would not be
diverted from his purpose of following Dr. Beaumont to London, that he
might be ready to confront his enemies, or to share his fate. Mrs.
Mellicent was consulted on the subject, and she thought this
determination should not be opposed. It had been already agreed upon,
that Constantia should follow her father, and attend him in confinement;
and it was now settled, that Isabel and Evellin should privately
accompany her. Disguised as beggars, they were removed out of the
village, and being joined by Williams and Constantia, proceeded towards
London as fast as their destitute condition admitted.
They had left Waverly-Hall some weeks, when Dr. Lloyd and Jobson arrived
to communicate tidings which they thought would change the house of
mourning to the abode of happiness. But no sound or sight indicated that
these lonely ruins now afforded shelter to man. No trace of inhabitants
was visible.--No monarch of the feathered brood was heard aloud to crow;
no smoke rising from the chimney announced the preparation of the
homely, but social meal. Jobson entered at the unresisting door; the
furniture, like the family, had disappeared. He ventured into the secret
chamber, that too was vacant; nothing remained but the couch on which
the noble veteran had stretched his palsied frame, and, magnanimously
enduring his own anguish, descanted on the arduous duties of a soldier.
"Ah, worthy Doctor," said the dismayed Jobson, "those confounded
Roundheads have caught him at last. Here are some of the tatters of his
poor old roque-laure, and the woollen cap Mrs. Isabel used to draw over
his head so carefully. Here she used to kneel by his side, say her
prayers, and sometimes sing in such a sweet low voice; and then the
Colonel would kiss her, and tell her she would kill herself with
watching him. But when she crept through that little arch to go away, he
would look at her as if his soul was parting from his body. And then she
would come back again, and say she had not shaken hands with the honest
trooper, (meaning me,) and would whisper me, to keep up his spirits; and
so they would trifle away half the night."--"'Serjeant,' the Colonel used
to say to me, bless his good heart! though I never was more than a
corporal, 'that girl has the courage of a lion.' 'Aye, and as cunning as
a fox too,' I used to answer. 'She is beautiful as an angel,' he went
on; 'Did you ever see such eyes?'--'Never but my first sweetheart's,
Sally Malkins,' said I. But then he turned gruff, and would say,
'Pshaw!' for he never could be pleased with any body praising Mrs.
Isabel, but himself and that make-believe good young Lord with a wicked
father."
While Dr. Lloyd deliberated how to proceed, an aged woman appeared in
sight, with a basket on her arm, seemingly employed in gathering herbs.
"St. George be my speed!" exclaimed Jobson; "Can that be Madam
Mellicent? Ah, sure enough it is her sharp wrinkled face: I never
thought she would bend her stiff joints, or walk in the dirt without her
riding-hood." Dr. Lloyd offered to go and accost her. "Not for your
life," replied Jobson; "she never would forgive me for letting you catch
her thus out of sorts. Stop behind that buttress, and I'll go and tell
her there is some company coming, and when she has put on her pinners
and facings, she will be very glad to see you."
Mrs. Mellicent's appearance was too indicative of profound dejection for
Dr. Lloyd to believe she would require any introductory ceremonials. He
ventured to salute her with an abrupt assurance, that he was a warm
friend of her family, intrusted with a welcome and important
communication. Mrs. Mellicent fixed her eyes upon him with that look of
inquisitorial diffidence which those who have long been familiarized
with distress and injustice, bestow on the dawn of better days. "I can
hardly suspect," said she, "that you are one of those who find amusement
in sporting with the feelings of the unhappy. You see in me the forlorn
relic of a respectable family, now supported by those who were fed at
its gates in the days of my prosperity. Yet as far as I can, I try to be
independent; and my knowledge in medicine allows me to alleviate the
pains of those who shelter my grey hairs.--My brother, his daughter, and
the sole surviving child of a beloved sister, now in Heaven, are at this
moment exposed to the dreadful trial of Republican persecution. Poverty
chains me to this spot, where I drew my first breath, and where, if
those I love are sacrificed, I hope soon to close my eyes on sorrow."
"You have," said Dr. Lloyd, "omitted to name another strong tie which
should bind you to life. You have a brave and gallant nephew, who loves
and honours the maternal aunt, who checked his extravagancies and
fostered his virtues."
"Eustace Evellin!" returned the good Lady, while her eyes filled with
tears, "Did you know him, Sir?--The murderous insurgents cut him off at
Pembroke in cold blood. That is their usual method; they only spare
useless logs like myself--a withered blasted tree, stripped of all its
branches, fit only to sustain the trophies of their accursed triumph.
How long, Lord, how long!" continued she, wringing her hands and looking
up to Heaven.
Dr. Lloyd now cautiously informed her of the almost miraculous escape of
Eustace, and the lively interest he took in his preservation. He added
an account of the dangers of De Vallance, and assured her, that he had
left them both in his cottage, as safe and happy as English Loyalists
could be, while their country groaned under the yoke of Cromwell. The
fortitude, nay even the corporeal strength of Mrs. Mellicent, revived at
the recital; her own necessities were forgotten, and she scarcely
lamented that she had not now a house to welcome, or even the widow's
barley-cake to bestow on, the kind protector of the generous youths whom
she so fondly loved. Every regret was lost in the prospect of better
times, in the future happiness of Constantia and Isabel, in the
restoration of the Neville line, and the adoption of the amiable De
Vallance into its unpolluted branch. Only one life appeared to stand in
the way of their felicity:--Remove the stern Usurper, a penitent nation,
weary of oppression, would joyfully welcome back its exiled Sovereign.
What might not the Beaumonts and the Nevilles hope from the justice of a
Prince for whom they had bled and suffered! Such agreeable reveries as
these supported Mrs. Mellicent's spirits during that long period of
suspense, in which (for fiction must not anticipate the slow progress of
history) she expected their realization. And if hope invested the
enlivening phantom of royal gratitude in too gorgeous colours, may we
not bless, rather than censure, the fortunate delusion? We are to
consider, that the venerable spinster having passed her days in privacy,
was ignorant of the chicanery of courts, and disposed to believe, that
honour, gratitude, and sincerity, are the inseparable concomitants of
illustrious birth. She herself never forgot either her benefactors or
her enemies; and she knew not how early Princes are taught to consider
the sacrifice of life and fortune as positive debts due to them from
their subjects. She was not aware how often expediency compels them to
smile on a potent enemy, and to overlook an inefficient friend; how
necessary it is for them to employ, as instruments, the able and
enterprising, rather than the amiable; and in fine, how much more apt
the great are to shower their favours on those whom they oblige by
unexpected munificence, than to discharge the claims of justice; to seek
praise for liberality, instead of being contented with the merit
resulting from a mere performance of duty.
To return; the account which Mrs. Mellicent gave of the persecution
raised by the Oliverian government, determined Dr. Lloyd to prevent
either of his young friends from becoming its victim. They both
recollected the anxiety of the late King to remove his heir beyond the
power of his rebel subjects, as soon as he found it was impossible for
himself to escape; and that he even considered the preservation of the
Prince as a security for his own life. The event refuted that
conclusion; but it was owing to this forecast that the prayers and hopes
of Englishmen could still follow the princely fugitive. Whether he was
shrouded in the oak at Boscobel-wood, or coldly frowned on by the courts
of France and Spain, England saw, in the lineal heir of her monarchy, a
pledge of the future restoration of her civil and ecclesiastical
constitution, and a guarantee to individuals against sequestrators and
informers. The same judicious measures which had preserved the Royal
sapling when the parent-tree was felled, should be resorted to for the
safety of an illustrious private family; and Dr. Lloyd agreed to hurry
back to North Wales, and remove his precious charge to some more
auspicious clime, before they heard of the imprisonment of Dr. Beaumont.
Virginia was objected to on account of its distance from the scene of
action. The power of Cromwell, so resistless in the centre of his
government, was somewhat relaxed in its more remote dependencies; and
the island of Jersey was pointed out as a spot where Eustace and De
Vallance ran less hazard of being recognized by Cromwell's officers.
Loyalty was at this time a bond of endearment which united apparent
strangers; Mrs. Mellicent had an intimacy, in her early days, with a
lady who was now wife to one of the most respectable merchants at St.
Helier. He was one who, though faithful to the King, had preserved such
an ostensible moderation in his conduct as to avoid offending his
enemies; consequently, he had it in his power to assist those braver
spirits that had withstood the storm, and now required shelter. A
friendly intimation of remembrance, and an offer of aid had been
transmitted by this Lady to Mrs. Mellicent, and she advised Dr. Lloyd to
fix his abode in that island, under the character of a medical
gentleman, travelling with two pupils, who were to study physic at
Leyden, but were required, by their infirm constitutions, to establish
their health in a salubrious climate, before they encountered the
morasses and fogs of Holland.
Dr. Lloyd was not a friend by halves; he was willing to devote the
remainder of his life and fortune to the service of these interesting
and deserving young men. He wrote a brief account of the preservation of
Eustace and the safety of De Vallance, and Jobson was sent with the
welcome communication to London, to lighten the woes of their
affectionate and unhappy friends. Dr. Lloyd returned to Wales with the
utmost celerity. He avoided explaining the distressed state of the
family, contenting himself with assuring Eustace and De Vallance that
Colonel Evellin was alive, and that Isabel and Constance were faithful
to their vows. The plan of emigration to America must, he said, be
abandoned, as it was impossible for the family to remove; but as the
preservation of their lives, in some degree depended on the concealment
of Eustace, it became necessary they should avoid the rigid scrutiny
which Cromwell was now making after obnoxious Loyalists, by removing to
a retreat where, though the royal banner was not permitted to fly, the
inhabitants were allowed to remain in a sort of peaceable neutrality.