The Loyalists Part 11

Nothing could be more contrary to the wishes and principles of Dr.

Beaumont, than this connexion. The Queen's retinue was composed of that refuse of the old court, who not having talents for an active situation, nor virtue enough to make them sensible of the baseness of impoveris.h.i.+ng dependence, continued to hang like leeches on the exhausted frame of Royalty, and to drain its decayed resources for their own support. While the King and his counsel were debating how to equip an army without money or credit; while the great and the good were disarraying their n.o.ble mansions, parting with every moveable, mortgaging their lands, and alienating even the treasured heir-looms which had for centuries attested their high descent, to support their falling Sovereign; the courtiers, who surrounded the Queen, were engaging their mistress to forward their intrigues for places and t.i.tles, and inticing her to pervert the scanty resources of the public treasury to feed their rapacity. Thus, when, after a painful summer spent in martial toils and dangerous conflicts, the King came to his winter-quarters, he found the fatigues of his public duties aggravated by those private cabals which were ever at work to counteract the decisions of his council, and to balance the advantage of a few sycophants against a nation's weal. The faction of whom I speak were incapable of judicious conduct either in prosperity or in adversity, mistaking a few successful enterprises for the former, and thereupon becoming insolent and sanguine, talking of unconditional submission from the rebels, and an intire reinstatement of themselves in the luxurious ease of their former sinecures; yet as easily discouraged by a few adverse events; without resources, without firmness; actuated by the evil spirit of selfishness which forbids any good or n.o.ble determination to enter the impure heart, that submits to its influence.

To these summer-flies which infest royalty, and often turn greatness to corruption, were added the gay, volatile, voluptuous part of the officers, who had obtained leave of absence from their respective cantonments, and who thought the hards.h.i.+ps of a soldier excused the excesses of a libertine. These were chiefly young men of high birth, neglected education, and unsound principles; unacquainted with the nature of the church and government for which they professed to fight, and so ignorant of religion and morality, as to be perpetually confounding them with fanaticism and hypocrisy, those constant topics of their abuse and ridicule. With them to be a republican or a sectary, was to be a knave, a cut-throat, nay, a devil; and to fight for the King conferred the privilege of violating those laws, which his supremacy was designed to guarantee. How dangerous was such society to the impetuous Eustace Evellin, whose pa.s.sions unfolded with an ardour, proportioned to his quick vivacious temper. Dr. Beaumont would have preferred seeing his charge in the field of battle, to beholding him in this scene of moral peril, particularly if he could have placed him under the command of the n.o.ble Lord Hopton, who was alike skilled to subdue the enemies of his King, and to suppress his own resentment at the injuries which he suffered from those who should have been his coadjutors.

But the die was cast, and there was no retreating; Eustace had accepted the Queen's invitation, and now complained, with less deference than he usually shewed for his uncle's judgment, of the superfluous caution which kept him wrapped up like a s.h.i.+vering marmoset, and even refused to expose him to the slight hazard of an holiday soldier. Could he not mount guard, go through the manual exercise, or gallop at a review without endangering his precious life? Isabel, who had parted with some valuable trinkets, to purchase materials for his regimentals, and was now busy in working his ruff, declared it would be hard to restrain him.

Constance had embroidered a scarf, which she tied around him; and after seeing him in his hat and plume, thought he looked so like a hero, that he might be indulged in just such a circ.u.mscribed sphere of glory as Andromache would have allowed to Hector, namely, to brace on his arms, and defend the walls of the city. Even Mrs. Mellicent observed, that her nephew made a very comely soldier. Dr. Beaumont, therefore, finding that he could not withhold Eustace from the temptations which surrounded him, had only to counsel him to resist them.

He did not commence his instructions with general invectives against a court-life; but admitted that good and wise men were often called to it by duty. He observed, that injunctions against entering into that or any other public station, savoured more of monastic or puritanic austerity than true piety. The concerns of government must be performed by human agents, and in representing eminent stations as incompatible with honesty, what do we but leave public business in the hands of unprincipled persons, and thus really encourage the depravity and knavery we affect to deplore. A nation must suffer, as well in a political as in a moral sense, when its rulers are weak or wicked; and how dare we pray that the will of G.o.d may be done upon earth, when we discourage those from directing worldly affairs, who feel a true zeal for his glory? This is, indeed, to accomplish the lying boast of Satan, who said that the kingdoms of the world were his, and he gave them to whom he chose.

The Doctor further observed, that every situation had its temptations.

The Hermit in his cell is haunted by spiritual pride, and even when we perform those active duties of benevolence which our religion requires, we must beware lest we are guilty of ostentation. If, when we rise from our knees, we have judged harshly of our brother, the volume of inspiration a.s.sures us, that we have sinned in our prayers. The same vigilant examination and lowliness of heart which Christians in private life require, will prevent those who inhabit courts and camps from displeasing their Creator. Or admit that the latter have greater temptations to offend, are they not amenable to a judge, who determines actions by relative circ.u.mstances, who awards brighter crowns to those who have endured sharper conflicts, and pardons the offences of over-tried frailty. From the private citizen, who is blessed with leisure and security to consider his ways, he requires those pa.s.sive virtues, that humble and grateful spirit, which in evil times are yet more rarely seen, than integrity and ability in rulers, who, walking among briars and thorns, hara.s.sed by public and private enemies, calumniated and misrepresented, exposed to numerous temptations, dangers, and snares, will, doubtless, if guided by singleness of heart, receive from G.o.d that pardon for their errors, which is denied them by those who reap the fruits of their labours.

"We may," continued he, "live in the world[1], without either shewing a haughty contempt for its enjoyments, or being devoted to its delights; without being intoxicated with its flattery, or depressed by its misfortunes. A court-life must, at your age, seem pleasant, but should you in future become weary of it, and regret that you have not sufficient time to devote to G.o.d, and to cherish the thought of him in your heart, recollect that wherever he places you, you are as sure of his favour and acceptance, as if you pa.s.sed every hour of your life in meditation and prayer. G.o.d is served, not merely with the words of the mouth or the bending of the knee; it is the pure and upright heart which he requires, and with which alone he will be satisfied; with this upright frame of mind we may live in the world, without either singularity or affectation, and cheerfully conform to its customs and amus.e.m.e.nts, yet preserve the most strict subjection and duty to the Almighty."

"Suffer not, dearest Eustace, pleasure or business to prevent the solemn duties of self-examination and prayer. These are spiritual antidotes, which preserve an endangered soul from the contamination of evil customs and loose society. When leisure permits, add religious reading, and above all the study of the Holy Scriptures. Never allow this world to be balanced against the next: eternity outweighs all that time can offer; be it pleasure, wealth, advancement, or glory. Keep these things in mind; serve thy Creator in thy youth; remember innocence is preferable to repentance, and I shall then see thee like a.s.sayed gold purified by trial."

Eustace promised a strict observance, and Dr. Beaumont now esteemed it his duty to send the faithful Williams to Colonel Evellin to acquaint him with what had pa.s.sed, and to receive further directions for the disposal of his son. He also privately informed the King of the solemn promise he had made to Evellin, and obtained an a.s.surance that the service of Eustace should never be required so as to incur a breach of that obligation; and further, that if no other restrictions could prevail, his own commands should confine the volunteer to the defence of Oxford, which was now threatened with a siege by the advancing armies of the Earl of Ess.e.x and Sir William Waller.

When we contemplate the miseries incident to civil war in a remote age, our views are fixed on the effects of discord, as visible in the contentions of two great opposing parties; we do not consider either the minor factions into which each body is split, or the distracted counsels and inefficient measures which constantly occur, when it is known that the restraint of prescriptive authority is necessarily relaxed, and that he who ought to govern and reward, is compelled to submit to controul and to sue for favour. When the head of a community is humbled, every member thinks he has a right to pre-eminence; and thus a war, begun under the pretence of subduing a tyrant, eventually creates mult.i.tudes of petty despots, only contemptible, because their sphere of oppression is small. In the King's council, the wisdom of Southampton, the moderation of Falkland, and the integrity of Hyde, had to contend with the pride and petulance of those who would not lower their own pretensions in deference to the public good, or forgive a private wrong for the sake of that unity which alone could secure the whole. In the army discord was equally prevalent; the generals accusing each other on every mischance, panting for superiority, and all offended at the hauteur of Prince Rupert, and jealous of the influence of Lord Digby.

The Parliament was still more divided; in it that party was now ripening, which finally overturned every branch of the const.i.tution, and founded a most oppressive but vigorous tyranny on its ruins.

The old republican leaders, or commonwealth's men, as they were called, began to see that self-preservation required their re-union with the King; but the aspiring Cromwell and his crafty adherents, relying on their numbers and influence in the army, resolved to clog every proposal of peace with terms which they knew the Sovereign must from conscience refuse. Of the generals who commanded their armies, the Earl of Ess.e.x was already known to have seen his error, in suffering pique at supposed slights and unintentional negligence to stimulate his pride into that rebellion which his principles condemned; and it was believed, even by his own party, that nothing but a dread of having sinned beyond sincere forgiveness, induced him to reject all overtures from the King. The disorderly bands commanded by Sir William Waller were like their general, distinguished only by greater insolence to their Prince, and even by personal attempts on his life; but this army had been dispersed early in the summer, and the leader had fallen into contempt. "The Earl of Manchester was of their whole cabal the most unfit for the company he kept, at first induced to join, what was then called, the patriotic party by filial piety, and led step by step to countenance those disorganizing counsels, which ravaged the country he loved with too unskilful a tenderness:" yet, unwilling to oppress any, he used the power his ill-acquired authority gave him, to preserve individuals from the distress which his fatal victories occasioned. This moderation ruined him in the eyes of his employers; and about this time there appeared in his army that dark malignant spirit, whose subtile machinations soon deprived him of all power of restraining the torrent, which, when he helped to raise the flood-gates of contention, he hoped he should always be able to direct and control. Sir Thomas Fairfax, the Parliamentary general in the north, was, by nature, a lover of moderation, and by education enlightened and liberal. He also strove, as far as his influence extended, to lessen the miseries of civil war; but that influence soon sunk under the daring preponderance of Cromwell, whose ultimate designs he wanted penetration to discover, and whose dark machinations he was always too late in his efforts to counteract.

Such was the state of the kingdom, when the Queen, terrified at the apprehension of being besieged in Oxford, fled to the west of England, and soon after to France, her native country, leaving an infant daughter to increase the anxieties of her Royal husband, but relieving him from the perplexities originating in the contentious faction, by whom she was surrounded. Through the injunctions of the King, Eustace had been prevented from accompanying his Royal mistress, and by enrolling his name among the bands who garrisoned Oxford, he in some degree discharged his sense of duty. Dr. Beaumont, besides, allowed him to take part in the enterprizes by which those vigilant warriors shewed their zeal and fidelity, as soon as they were relieved from their apprehensions for the safety of that important post, by the retreat of the rebel army.

As Williams did not return with an answer from Colonel Evellin, it was concluded that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy, a misfortune too common to the Royal expresses. One however arrived from the north, charged with most dolorous tidings of the fatal overthrow at Marston-Moor, the loss of York, and of its whole province, which had for so long a s.p.a.ce resisted the incursions of the republican party, under the auspices of the Marquis of Newcastle. These direful events, which resulted from want of concord between the King's generals, were followed by Lord Newcastle's quitting the kingdom in a hasty sally of pa.s.sionate despair, and by the dispersion of the army which his influence had raised, and his munificent loyalty had maintained. Only one small band of Loyalists under the command of Sir Thomas Glenham remained, who, after the reduction of York, threw themselves into Carlisle, and bravely defended it eleven months against a victorious enemy, without prospect of a.s.sistance. To this fragment of a powerful army Colonel Evellin attached himself. He sent a letter by the same person who brought the dispatch to the King, informing his friends that he was unwounded either in his person or his reputation, and ready to suffer every thing but dishonour for his injured Monarch. He gave a lively description of the respective armies, and of the misfortunes of the Royal cause, in being intrusted to men who suffered pa.s.sion to prevail over judgment, and chose to sacrifice their King sooner than quell their private resentments. But he complained in the tone of a man who had made his choice, and though hopeless of success resolved to persevere, and welcomed self-denial and sorrow. He a.s.sured Dr. Beaumont that the rebels had gained no victory over his principles; his enmity to their undertakings remained the same; "and if," said he, "the little remnant of my days is cut off in the next engagement, I shall live in my children; and they will, I doubt not, see the destruction of these 'covenanters', who cause the ruin of families and the decay of common honesty; changing the former piety and plain dealing of this nation into cruelty and cunning. When I see all they have done, I thank G.o.d that he prevented me from being one of the party which helped to bring in these sad confusions[2], and I pray him to preserve my son to see their just punishment."

As this letter proved that the Colonel had not met with Williams, it operated as a renewed inhibition on Dr. Beaumont to prevent Eustace from rus.h.i.+ng into the field, for which he had now a fresh incentive in the friends.h.i.+p he had formed with Major Monthault, a young man of birth and fortune, who had been attached, like himself, to the Queen's suite. This youth had seen actual service, and spoke with enthusiasm of the character of Lord Goring, then just appointed general of the horse in the west. He described him as the soldier's darling; a Mars in the field; an Apollo at mess; a Jove in council, and a Paris among the fair.

It was evident that Monthault piqued himself on being the counter-part of the excellence he commended, especially in the last particular. His intimacy with Eustace allowed him to visit Dr. Beaumont's family, and his attentions to the fair Helen of the group were certainly more marked than delicate, and would have excited the fears of Eustace, had he not taken care to inform the Major that he was betrothed to his lovely cousin with the entire approbation of herself and their mutual friends, though their union was deferred until a riper age and happier period. To admire and praise, or even to gaze pa.s.sionately on the promised wife of a friend, as Monthault did on Constantia, seemed to Eustace an implied commendation similar to that bestowed on a house, gardens, or any other beautiful and valuable possession, innocent in itself and flattering to the taste of the owner. He knew not that there existed such a character as a seducer, who could teach an unsuspecting mind to despise solemn engagements; he felt no tendency to treachery in his own heart. No one was more susceptible than he of the power of beauty, but he thought honour was the only means by which its favour could be won, and even his ardent pa.s.sion for heroic fame derived an additional stimulus from his love to the amiable and innocent Constantia.

The circ.u.mstances of my narrative oblige me again to recur to the state of public affairs. The treaty of Uxbridge was now pending; the necessities of the King compelled him to enquire on what terms his subjects would sheath the sword, and the rapid ascendancy of the fanatic party in Parliament, added to the mutual accusations and recriminations of their generals, induced the moderate Presbyterians to try if, by reconciliation with their Sovereign, they could gain strength to oppose the power which openly threatened their destruction and his. The artifices of Cromwell and his adherents need not be minutely detailed in a work intended only to give an admonitory picture of those times. In one point those men differed from the majority of modern Reformers, or rather the manners of that age were different from ours. Religion was then the mode; men and women were in general expounders and preachers; ordinary conversation was interlarded with Scripture phrases; common events were providences; political misconstructions of the sacred story were prophecies; and a fluency of cant was inspiration. No man (to borrow one of their favourite terms) was more _gifted_ this way than Cromwell; he had discerned the current of the public humour, and could adopt the disguise which suited his ambition. Every step which led him to the summit of power was prefaced by what he called seeking the Lord; that is, attending sermons and prayers, by which the suborned performers of those profane and solemn farces prepared their congregations to desire what their employers had previously determined to do; thus giving an air of divine inspiration to the projects of fraud, murder, and ambition. By such a perversion of public wors.h.i.+p, joined with an affectation of disinterested purity, that celebrated preparative for military despotism, the self-denying ordinance was introduced into the Commons. After numerous prayers and sermons, intreating Providence to strengthen the hands of the faithful, by choosing new instruments to carry on the G.o.dly work, an agent of Cromwell's inferred, that the Lord had indeed prompted their counsels, and proposed that henceforth no peer or member of Parliament should hold any public office. By these means, every man of rank and eminence who had been distinguished by a const.i.tutional struggle against arbitrary acts of power, and afterwards reluctantly led into open rebellion, was cas.h.i.+ered and dismissed from the army and from all official situations, which were thus left open to the fanatical party.

Alarmed at the high hand with which this ordinance was carried, the old commonwealth's men strained every nerve to renew a pacificatory intercourse with the King, which they effected; but their power extended no further; the preliminaries were clogged with terms wholly destructive of the church, and virtually tending to abolish regal power. The ruin or death of all the King's adherents was resolved on; and in proof that the fanatics could not only threaten but act, the venerable Archbishop Laud, after suffering a long imprisonment, was dragged to the scaffold. Thus the Parliamentary commissioners set out for Uxbridge with their banners dipped in the blood of the highest subject in the realm, the head of the Anglican church, and His Majesty's personal friend.

No true Englishman could have expected, or indeed wished, that the King should purchase permission to become a state-puppet, shackled in all his movements, obliged to sanction the cruel and illegal acts of his enemies by a breach of his coronation-oath, and compelled to abandon the established church and the lives of his faithful friends to their inveterate animosity. In vain was it privately suggested by the most moderate of the Parliamentary commissioners, that it was expedient to close on any terms, and unite with than to humble a party whose desperate purposes, supported by the popularity of their pretensions, threatened destruction to all their opponents. The King determined never to seem to barter his conscience for personal safety. He at that time foresaw what he afterwards so affectingly expressed in a letter to his nephew Prince Rupert, "that he could not flatter himself with an expectation of success more than to end his days with honour and a good conscience, which obliged him to continue his endeavours, not despairing that G.o.d would, in due time, avenge his own cause. Yet he owned, that those who staid with him must expect and resolve either to die for a good cause, or, which is worse, to live as miserable in the maintaining it as the violence of insulting rebels could make them." The treaty terminated without hope of being again renewed. Cromwell carried his ordinance; the army and the state were governed by his own creatures; while, by a master-piece of cunning, he contrived to be exempted from the restrictions of his own decree, and continued to act as general and legislator without a rival. Afterwards, when his packed representatives had effected all the purposes for which he kept them together, he put himself at the head of a file of soldiers, destroyed the engine by which he had overthrown the const.i.tution, and turned the pantomimic Parliament out of doors, laden with the odium of his crimes as well as of their own.

The melancholy presentiments of the King, when he found all hopes of honourable reconciliation futile, confirmed his determination to send the Prince of Wales into the west of England, where his arms still triumphed, that in case either of them fell into the hands of the rebels, the freedom of the other might tend to secure their mutual safety. To preserve the principles of the royal stripling, the King parted with several of his most faithful advisers. He const.i.tuted Lord Hopton commander in chief of the western district, but by fixing him more peculiarly about the person of his son, he unhappily gave too much power to the subaltern generals, among whom the apple of discord seemed to have been thrown, for they agreed in nothing but hatred of each other, and mismanagement of their trust.

Major Monthault belonged to the western army, and was ordered to leave Oxford in the Prince's suite. He had employed the leisure season of winter in cultivating an intimacy with the Beaumonts, and not being one of those who can look at beauty with disinterested admiration, he employed every art to ensnare Constantia. Simple, innocent, and mildly gay, she saw no danger in conversing with the friend of Eustace. He had spent much time in foreign courts; she led him to talk of celebrated beauties whom he had there seen; he found in all of them some glaring defect which forfeited their claims to supremacy. She laughed at his fastidiousness, and bade him describe what he would admit to be an irresistible charmer; he drew her own portrait, but she so rarely consulted her gla.s.s, that she knew not the likeness. He once advised her to arrange her tresses in what he deemed a more becoming braid; she did so, and then immediately asked Eustace if he approved the alteration; when, finding he disliked it, she resumed her former costume, and frankly avowed her reason for so doing. Monthault was piqued, and made several sharp remarks on the versatility of women.

"I fancy," said Constantia, "your's is a most invulnerable heart; we poor women are in your eyes either dest.i.tute of attractions to gain, or of merit to retain your affections. But don't be too sure of always keeping your boasted liberty. Aunt Mellicent says, men begin to doat at fifty, and then they do not love but idolize."

"The age of dotage and adoration begins earlier," answered Monthault, with a look which crimsoned the cheeks of Constantia; "but while you falsely accuse me of being invulnerable, have I not cause to deplore your impenetrability? I find it is impossible to agitate that tranquil bosom with so impetuous a guest as love."

Constantia was offended at the suggestion. "You know," replied she, "I am engaged to Eustace; and do you think I would marry him if I viewed him with indifference?"

Monthault observed, that a contract made at a premature age must originate in indifference, and never could be considered as indissoluble.

"I consider it so," answered Constantia; "nothing can dissolve it but death, or some palpable proof of gross unworthiness."

"Suppose," said Monthault, "a more enlarged view of mankind should discover to you a worthier lover; one whose pa.s.sion for you is founded on discriminating preference, not the cold impulse of satiated habit; one who could give distinction to beauty, and lead it from obscurity into the splendour it deserves; should such a one sue for the favour of the divine Constantia:"----

"I would answer, if I aim perfidious to Eustace, I cannot be divine."

"But love is a potent and untameable pa.s.sion, disdaining the narrow limitations of preceptive constancy. The acknowledged privilege of sovereign beauty is to inspire and encourage universal love."

Constance looked offended, and expressed a hope that she might never possess an empire which could only gratify vanity and pain sincerity.

Monthault found he had gone too far, and tried by badinage to divert her resentment. "If," said he, "praise is only timeable to your ear when uttered by one voice, I must not tell you, even if I heard our young Prince, who is an acknowledged wors.h.i.+pper of beauty, speak in raptures of the unparalleled loveliness of Dr. Beaumont's daughter."

"No," said she, sternly, "indeed you must not. My humble station prevents him from saying any thing of my person but, what would be offensive for me to hear; and I wish not to have the loyal attachment I feel for my Sovereign's son diminished, by knowing that he indulges in any improper licence of conversation."

"Nay," replied Monthault, "what he observed was only in reply to one who is your most devoted slave, predicting that the chains you formed never could be broken."

"I perceive," answered she, rising to leave the room, "that if I give you more time for the fabrication you will contrive a very amusing fiction. I must therefore silence you by saying, that, little as I know of court-gallantry, he who talks to me in this style, cannot be the friend of Eustace."

Monthault flew into heroics, and struggled to detain her. "Cruel Constantia," said he, "know you not that love is an involuntary pa.s.sion which reason vainly tries to subdue? Cannot you, who see the conflict in my soul, pity me without doubting my friends.h.i.+p or my honour?"

"I confess I do doubt both," was her reply; "but provided you no more offend me with such language, I will not mention my suspicions to Eustace. I am, 'tis true, a simple girl, yet not so weak as to value myself on an extrinsic appendage which, if I possess, I share with the b.u.t.terfly. If beauty renders me more amiable in the eyes of those I love, it is a welcome endowment; but I never will patiently hear it commended at the expence of any better quality."

It is probable that, after this repulse, Monthault would never more have thought of Constance if some other pursuit had intervened. But, in the leisure of suspended warfare, a vacant understanding and depraved appet.i.te sees no resource from _ennui_ but gallantry. He had tried flattery; but it failed to excite vanity, or to lead his intended prey into the toils of ambition. He resolved to pursue another scheme, by which he hoped that beauty might be separated from its plighted love.

While Oxford resounded with preparations for the removal of the Prince and the commencement of the campaign, Monthault affected regret at leaving Eustace. "I wish," said he, "you could accompany me to see actual service; you would then feel a just contempt for military martinets and parade exercise. Goring would, I know, delight in bringing forward a spirit like yours. But it is impossible. The barriers which detain you are insuperable. I myself know too well the power of beauty; yet, if you knew all that was said, even for Constantia's sake you might resolve, for a few months, to tear yourself from her arms."

"I cannot understand you," answered Eustace. "True, I am contracted to Constantia; but it is not she who detains me at Oxford. We are not to be married till we are both at full age; nor even then unless the times wear a happier aspect."

"Her character!" retorted Eustace; "can that need any other vindicator than my honour? or rather, does any man impugn it? We have loved from our childhood; but it has been with that innocence which enables us to look forward to years of happiness, unembittered by reproach."

Monthault smiled, said he rejoiced at this expurgation, but added, "Can you wonder Oxford is now the metropolis of slander, since it is full of court-ladies who have now no revels or maskings to amuse them, and never leave reputations in quiet when they are out of humour. But, to put a stop to defamation, let me advise a military excursion."

Eustace explained, that it was the will of an absent father, and not amorous dalliance, which kept him from the field. It was doubtful whether that father lived; for he was engaged in most severe service.

"Meantime," added he, "my uncle is bound by a promise to keep me from dangerous enterprises; but as I now begin to think it is disloyal for any one on the verge of manhood to refuse rallying round the King at his greatest need, I trust the prohibition will soon be removed. The last time that I urged Dr. Beaumont on the subject, he answered, that it was not courage, but bravado, to buckle on the sword, while the discussion of a pending treaty afforded a prospect of its being speedily ungirded.

But as the Parliamentary commissioners are returned to London, I am determined again to ask leave to join the army."

"And if refused," said Monthault, "would you stay at Oxford, like a tame lion in a chain, caressed by old women, and wondered at by spectacled fellows of colleges." Eustace paused. "I see, my brave fellow," resumed the tempter, "you are determined to be one of us. I know your heart, and can predict that the consciousness of positive disobedience will make you miserable. Go, then, in the hope that your uncle would not have restrained you. Are you not old enough to judge for yourself? They have permitted you to chuse a wife; why not also choose your profession?"

"You have determined me," said Eustace, "I will only bid adieu to Constantia."

"A most lover-like determination!" was Monthault's reply, "and made with a right prudent command of the impulses of valour. I antic.i.p.ate the result. In another hour you will return; press me to your heart; look a little ashamed; wish me good success; and then sigh out, 'I cannot bear to leave her.'"

"No," said Eustace; "to prove that I am not a woman's slave, I will only look the adieu, which may be our last, without telling her my purpose.

Had you a treasure, Monthault, which you valued more than life, would you not bathe it with a parting tear as you placed it in a casket, while about to enter on a dangerous undertaking, where your first step may be to meet death?"

Monthault answered, that soldiers never thought of dying. They separated; Eustace, to bid a mental farewel to his kindred, home, and love; and Monthault, to prepare the Prince and Lord Goring to welcome a pleasant addition to their party in a spirited youth, who had resolved to escape from the restrictions of austere friends, and to try the agreeable freedom of a military life. In this view these defenders of the Crown and the Church of England looked on the last resources which a falling King committed to their care.

[1] This paragraph is copied from Fenelon.