The Loyalists Part 5

Sir William protested that there was not a man in England who lamented, more bitterly than himself, the excess which had brought the popular cause into disrepute; yet he thought candour required us to make allowances for the heat of debate, and the ebullition of pa.s.sion incident to deliberative a.s.semblies, which made the members often push matters further than they intended; and he extremely regretted that the King, by some ill-advised steps, such as that of violating the freedom of Parliament, by personally demanding five members to be given up to his vengeance, had fomented a spirit of animosity which mild counsels might have subdued.

These qualifying remarks irritated Evellin. "After a series of not merely pa.s.sive, but submissive actions," said he, "after yielding one member of the Council to the Tower, and another to the block, from which even a King's prayer, for a friend and servant, could not procure unhappy Wentworth a day's respite, His Majesty did, I must own, adopt rash counsels. But it is not their illegality so much as his weakness in threatening when he wanted strength to punish, that I condemn. If your objection to the royal cause be founded on the distraction and imbecility that have marked the measures by which it has been supported, I must cease to rouse your dormant loyalty. It is not in the defenceless tents of our Prince that we must seek for safety; we must leave him to his fate, on the same principle that we abandon a naked child to the attacks of a man clad in complete armour."

Dr. Beaumont now took part in the debate. "If," said he, "we look back to the original pretences of those who set out as reformers, I think we shall be able to form a clear decision as to the part we ourselves should act, where the confusion they labour to excite has actually commenced. They first unsettle our obedience by discovering what they call the iniquity of our governors; and indeed it is not difficult for those who look with a malignant eye on their conduct to perceive such errors, or, if you will, vices, as an artful and censorious temper may dress up into glaring enormities, especially if it deals in those exaggerations which people, who give up their understandings to the views of a party, call true representations. The man of dullest intellect can discover faults in extensive complicated systems, and the more he confines his view, the more must he see matters in detail, and not in their general tendency. Yet these illiberal censors are sure to be regarded, because in all countries the majority of the people (I mean such as are uninformed) wish for nothing so much as to be their own masters, which they suppose will be the immediate consequence of overthrowing the existing system. A reformer thus sets off with every possible advantage, with an auditory predisposed to listen, and a fair field for censure, in which malice and ingenuity have s.p.a.ce to expatiate; nor can his own pretensions to purity and wisdom at first be questioned, for as he generally rises from an obscure station, his former conduct is not known, and the glibness of his oratory, and the popularity of his topics, gain him ample credence for all the excellent qualities to which he lays claim. 'Tis true, when he has gained the ascendancy he aims at, his behaviour generally shews him to be not only frail and faulty, but a worse knave than any he has exposed; but before he thus discovers himself, he has gained a hold either of the affections or the fears of the mult.i.tude, which, added to their reluctance to owning their own mistake, maintains his popularity till a rival incendiary rises to dispossess him. In the mean time, candour, who was pushed behind the scenes, when she came to plead for our lawful governors, is brought into play, and made to utter fine declamations on the impossibility of always acting right, and on the distinction between public and private virtue, bespeaking that indulgence for usurpers or factious demagogues which was denied to the lapses of lawful rulers, whose inclinations at least must be on the side of an upright and wise administration, because they have a permanent interest in the welfare of the nation. The delusions of which I speak seldom last long; an enlightened people perceives the cheat; but it is lamentable that the tricks of these political puritans should never grow stale by practice, and that as often as a pseudo-reformer starts up with pretensions to great honesty and great wisdom, England should forget how often she has been deceived, and allow him to excite a tumult which wiser heads and better hearts cannot allay."

Sir William found no difficulty in replying to the Doctor. He had only to admit that his remarks were very just; but, at the same time, he must say, that, if pushed to their full extent, they would tend to establish abuses; since, who would dare to arrest the strong arm of tyranny, if liable to the odium which was thus cast on all promoters of reformation?

"I spake not of reformers truly so called," said Dr. Beaumont, "but of those factious persons who, to promote their own ends, tamper with the inflammable pa.s.sions of the populace, and, instead of amending errors, snarl at restraints. A true patriot points out defects with a view to have them removed, and brings himself into as little notice as possible.

We may as well pretend that Wickliffe and Jack Cade were moved by the same spirit, as say, that we cannot discern between those who seek to do good, and those who would breed distractions. Yet, as the ma.s.s of mankind are either too ignorant or too much occupied to discover the sophistry by which, for a time, falsehood pa.s.ses for truth, 'it is an ill sign of the situation of a kingdom when controversy gets among the ignorant, the illiberal, or the ill-designing, or even when it descends to those who should practise, being too unskilful to debate, and too violent to differ, without breach of charity.' I have fortified my opinion by the words of an able, uncorrupt statesman, who, though he shared the grace and favour of many mighty Kings, died in honest poverty, knowing the weakness of mankind, but scorning to apply it to his own emolument--I mean Sir Henry Wootton. And his sentiments are confirmed by the son of Sirach, whose reflections have been thought worthy of being annexed to the volume of inspiration. After observing that 'the wisdom of the wise man cometh by opportunity of leisure,' and that they whose time is occupied in husbandry or handicraft-work, are devoted to those necessary but humble employments which render themselves respectable, and benefit the public, he a.s.serts, 'they shall not be sought for in public councils, nor sit high in the congregation.

They cannot declare justice and judgment, and they shall not be found where dark parables are spoken.' Yet, Sir, these are the men who, in our disastrous times, have menaced and governed the popular branch of our legislature, till they have drawn away all but their own partizans, and denied their King the rights of conscience, while they claim for themselves unbounded licence. These men are now virtually our rulers; nor will they be content with dethroning the King and annihilating the n.o.bles, for they will not rest till they have levelled every gentleman who pretends to hereditary distinctions of rank, fortune, or privilege, and torn down every symbol of greatness which offends their ambitious littleness. So then, every one who has any thing valuable to lose, ought, in policy, as well as in conscience, to support the throne, with whose rights his own are inseparably blended."

Sir William answered, that though, from the great mildness of his temper, he seldom expressed himself with warmth, he always acted with decision. He had that morning issued orders to raise a regiment among his own tenantry.

"And you will march them to join the King?" said Eustace.

"A very fine precipitate youth!" returned the Baronet, smiling; "no, brave young man, your good uncle has taught me another lesson, and I trust you will also allow him to restrain your ardour. He has himself set us the example of staying at his post in the hour of danger. The peace of our own county is of the first consequence. I shall therefore train my force, and keep it ready to call out, in case any disturbance should arise in our own neighbourhood."

"Aye," replied Eustace, "protect Waverly Park; 'twere a pity it should be despoiled and plundered."

"No good could accrue to the King from the ruin of a loyal subject,"

said Sir William.

"But," observed Eustace, "you have a son who has just attained full majority, do you not find it difficult to keep him out of action? Surely his heart beats high to join the n.o.ble Stanley, to whom the King has intrusted the whole County Palatine."

"You know not," returned Sir William, "how you distress me by this inquiry. Heaven forbid I should insinuate any thing against so brave a gentleman and so loyal a subject as the Earl of Derby; but he has lived so little with his equals that he knows not how to treat his inferiors; and, unhappily, the stateliness of his manners has so indisposed this county, that people of no name, and contemned interest, have s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hands, the disaffected being moved, not so much by dislike to the King or favour to Parliament, as by impatience of the Earl's humour, and a resolution not to be subject to his commands."

Sir William then expatiated on the impolicy of oppressive haughty demeanor in people in eminent stations, especially when the times were so big with peril. His remarks had been wise and instructive, had he not tried to ill.u.s.trate them by the popularity and liberality of his own conduct; yet, as it may be said he was the only evidence of his own urbanity, which must have been lost to posterity had he not recorded it, he now pleaded it in extenuation of the blameable sensibility of his son, who, educated in these liberal notions, had felt so hurt by the negligence of the Earl of Derby at Preston fair, that he had been provoked by it to offer his services to Parliament, from whom he had received a commission, and was now serving in the army of Lord Ess.e.x.

Mrs. Mellicent, who saw in this ostensibly-lamented defection a scheme to secure Waverly-hall and its dependencies, whichever party finally predominated, remarked that it was a very prudent arrangement.

"So my friends suggest," returned Sir William, "to console me; but my regret, that any of the name of Waverly should be seen, in what severe people will call actual rebellion, is too acute for such soothing consolation. I have only to take care that the rect.i.tude of my own behaviour shall refute every suspicion that I am conniving at, or even apologizing for Henry's errors. And though I know the poor fellow's feelings were too keen for his peace, and though, in my own exquisite susceptibility of kindness, I could find motives to mitigate his fault, I will leave his conduct to the mercy of candid people. I will now end my perhaps tedious visit, lamenting that my corps was not raised when Dr. Beaumont's library was destroyed by that infuriate rabble. I extremely regret the loss of the precious museum and valuable ma.n.u.scripts, which his taste, learning, science, and piety had collected, and with a request that you will consider me as your friend and protector, should any further disturbances arise, I sincerely bid you farewell."

"I trust," said Eustace, after he was gone, "my uncle will never apply to that man for redress; he is no better than a rebel in his heart."

"Not so," replied Mrs. Mellicent, "and for the best of reasons--he has no heart at all."

"You forget," observed the Doctor, "that when he was the admirer of our beloved Isabel, he shewed by his warmth and a.s.siduity, that he was capable of loving something beside himself."

"And never," said Mrs. Mellicent, "brother, had I so much cause to think meanly of my own judgment, and own the superiority of dear Isabel's penetration, as when she rejected my advice, and refused that vacillating time-server; shewing that she needed not the light of prosperity to discover the deserving."

Her eye glanced on Evellin, who, overpowered by these allusions to his beloved wife, left the room without listening to the compliment paid to himself. His impetuous son stormed with fury, that such a man should even pretend to have felt the power of his mother's charms. "Had he been my father," said he, "I would have fled my country, and disowned my name. But why did you not, dear uncle, convince him it is not loyalty but self-preservation which makes him arm his tenants."

"And why do you not convert that cricket-ball, which you are pressing with so much vehemence, into a pure and solid gem? I never attempt impossibilities. One reason why admonitions are so little attended to, is, that mentors think too little of the dispositions of those they reprove, and so seek to work a miracle, not to perform a cure. Talk to a selfish person about being disinterested, and he will utter a few fine sentences till you fancy his heart is enlarged, when, in fact, he is but more wedded to the idol he wors.h.i.+ps, by recollecting that he has spoken liberally: but shew him 'honesty is the best policy,' and that he is most likely to succeed by keeping straight courses, and he will quit his crooked paths through policy, which is something gained on the side of integrity; and perhaps acting right, may, in time, induce him to change his motives too. I have looked on all sorts of offenders, and there is no violator of scriptural holiness of whom I have so little hope as the self-idolator, for so I deem him who is not only wise in his own conceit, but who sees no other object worthy the favour or attention of G.o.d or man. Such a one considers misfortune not as a chastis.e.m.e.nt but as a wrong; nor can he be grateful for mercies, because he esteems the greatest to be merely his due. Yet of all men he is the most pitiable, for his overflowing vanity makes him betray his self-conceit; so that though he is surrounded by flatterers, he has no friend; no one dare tell him of his faults, but all seek to profit by his follies. I am no pretender to prophecy; I know my own house totters in this storm, and I have more need to prop and secure it than to concern myself as to what will befall my neighbours. Sir William Waverly and I have chosen two different methods of steering our barks; probably both may end in s.h.i.+pwreck, but my eyes are fixed on the pole-star in the heavens, while he has attended to deceitful charts and treacherous pilots. We will now close the subject of his faults with inferences for our own improvement.

Let us be careful not to think too much of ourselves, and too little of others. It is an excellent way of subduing the acute sense of affliction, to employ our minds in a.s.suaging the miseries of our fellow-creatures; and prosperity is never so well enjoyed as when we call in the stranger and the dest.i.tute, as well as our friends and kindred, to share in its blessings. Let us ever consider ourselves as responsible servants in one large family, and we shall never grow vain or self-devoted."

"My dear uncle," said Eustace, "can you think it possible we should any of us become the creature we so abhor?"

"Remember Hazael's answer to Elisha," replied the Doctor; "nor think it is needless vigilance to make a strict inquiry how you approximate to the vices you seem most to detest. I have heard you say Eustace, that for a thousand worlds you would not grieve your father. Yet you have just said, were you young Waverly, you would renounce parental authority, and abjure your name. This shews that there is an innate principle in your composition at enmity with filial obedience; touch but the chord that moves it, and duty is exposed to instant danger."

"My father," answered Eustace, "will never suffer me to despise him. His honour, his afflictions, are alike my security. If tempted to disobedience I will recall to my mind his woe-worn majestic form, and ere I dare to grave another furrow on his brow, or whiten one more hair, the dying injunctions of my mother will rush to my mind, and I shall remember that when she could no longer minister relief to his afflictions, she consigned him to my care."

[1] This and many of the following extracts are from Lord Clarendon.

CHAP. VIII.

Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd, Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know What air's from home. Haply this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, That have a sharper known: to us it is A cell of ignorance.

Shakspeare.

Dr. Beaumont's admonitions to Eustace were not uttered at random.

Evellin was determined immediately to put in force the commission he had received, by joining the Marquis of Newcastle. His Majesty was very desirous of securing the northern coast to facilitate the introduction of the succours he expected from Holland with the Queen. Ever since the arrival of arms and accoutrements, the pa.s.sion of Eustace for military fame had become more decided and uncontrolable; he poised his father's sword, put on his helmet, and talked of the best method of killing all the rebel generals. The plans he laid for terminating the contest appeared so feasible to Constantia, that at length (though not without tears) she consented that he should enter on the Herculean labour of destroying the many-headed monster, Rebellion. Isabel thought that her father and uncle were likely to know what was best to be done, but as often as she ventured to hint that he might be too sanguine, Eustace reminded her, that girls knew nothing about war and politics, and directed his observations to Constantia, who had at least the feminine merit of acquiescing in his opinions.

The evening previous to Colonel Evellin's departure was destined to the severe task of bending Eustace to obedience. The father began by putting into his son's hands the miniature of his mother, commanding him constantly to wear it, and part with it only with his life. Eustace wept, pressed it to his lips, and asked if that was the only mark of devoted affection which he could shew to her memory. The Colonel pointed to Isabel. "She lives in your sister," said he; "duty calls me from her; you must be her protector." "Oh, my father!" replied Eustace, throwing himself at his feet; "how better can I protect my sister, than by combating her enemies."

The Colonel answered,--"My age, my experience, my expertness in military studies and exercises, impose that task on me. The King, whom I served in my youth, was a gracious master, and I feel confident that I can render him a.s.sistance. My duty to him, and I will add to you too, required the tender of my services. They have been accepted; I set out for York to-morrow, to be employed as my immediate commander, the Marquis of Newcastle, shall determine."

"And when shall I follow you," inquired Eustace, who read in his father's eye a prohibition which restrained him from urging his wish to accompany him.

"As soon," replied Evellin, "as your services can either benefit the King or yourself."

"I know," said Eustace, "you do not doubt my courage or fidelity; it must therefore be from the opinion you have formed of my inability, that you insist upon my spending more of my life in what must now be called shameful inactivity. I look three years older than I am, and my strength and ability are as premature as my appearance. Ever since the war broke out I have been studying histories of battles and sieges, and I can ride, fence, and fire at a target with dexterity. If at first I were to commit some mistakes, actual service would improve me. Oh, best and kindest of fathers, blast not the dearest hopes of your only boy. Fix no stigma upon him, as if he were a tall puppet fit only to trifle, nor let him be regarded as a coward, glad to use any excuse that shall purchase safety. My dying mother bade me supply her place to you. How better can I obey her than by s.h.i.+elding your head in the day of battle, smoothing your pillow when you retire to your tent, partic.i.p.ating in all your dangers and sorrows, relieving your anxieties, and lightening your labours. If I may not go with you, or speedily to follow you, the life your kindness would preserve from the sword will be consumed by grief."

The Colonel turned away his face to conceal the emotion which his son's eagerness for action occasioned. "I have promised," said he, "that I will send for you as soon as you can serve the King or yourself. You have mentioned your mother--resemble her in this; she never attempted to shake my settled purposes, but conformed to the opinion which she doubted not was founded on full deliberation. As a boy, you are all I wish; but there must be much improvement to realise a fond father's hopes of you as a man. Employ the years of probation wisely. Submit to your excellent uncle as to the representative of both your parents; form yourself by his instructions, and when you are called into action I shall glory in you."

"But you have named years of probation; must I for years be confined to Ribblesdale? Will no zeal, no diligence on my part shorten this period, and enable me to rejoin you?"

"In these disturbed times," said the Colonel, "we can form no guesses of the future. When we shall meet, or whether ever more in this world, are chances on which I cannot calculate. Bear in mind this parting interview; and if you sometimes, in your heart, accuse me of harshness, soften your opposition to my will by reflecting, that I may have motives for my determination which cannot now be disclosed to you, and that a dutiful obedience will render you worthy the entire confidence of one who has seen too much of man to confide in mere professions of desert and ability."

The swelling heart of Eustace ill brooked these restrictions. He flew to his confidante, Constantia, to complain of the cruelty of his father's injunctions. In the warmth of his expostulations, he uttered something expressive of distaste for the life he led, which moved the gentle girl to lament, that what made them so happy should make him wretched. "If you loved us," said she, "as we do you, it would reconcile your mind to pa.s.sing your whole life with us." Eustace smiled on the lovely moderator, and answered, "I think it is impossible you can love me as much as I do you, but you must agree, that a life of inactivity is now disgraceful; and even my pretty Constance would despise me, if she saw me loitering about, idling away my best days, when all the kingdom is in arms." "I never can despise a dutiful son," answered she; and Eustace found in that avowal such an unanswerable argument on the side of filial obedience, that he was able, not only to see the Colonel depart without impatience, but also to support his weeping sister.

It was some weeks before his repugnance to a life of inactivity returned; but as the fiery ardour of his character was only smothered, not quenched, it burst out again at the time that Dr. Beaumont took his daughter and sister with him to Lancaster a.s.sizes, whither he went to obtain redress for his injuries. He had diligently employed the time since Evellin's departure in confirming his authority over his young charge. Isabel was all cheerful duty and smiling diligence. Eustace was occasionally impetuous and refractory, but overflowing with sensibility, and more apt to repent than to offend. The Doctor judged it would not be inexpedient to try the temper of his pupils by leaving them a little time to themselves.

Eustace resolved to employ this period of liberty in executing a project he had formed, and in which he meant Isabel should be his coadjutrix. He began with observing, "he feared their dear Constance was not quite happy. She so often regrets her father's library," said he, "that I know she will never be easy till it is restored. I have examined the ruins, and calculated what repairs it will want; there are stones and timber lying about, and I can work it up myself if you will help me." As far as her strength could go Isabel was perfectly willing, and Eustace promised her the light jobs, reminding her that she fixed up the pewter-shelves in their own cottage very well under his directions.

"But," said Isabel, "of what use will the room be when the books are all destroyed?"--"I have thought of that too," answered Eustace, "and have contrived accordingly. You know we left three hampers of books in the mountains; they are safe enough I dare say, because those we gave them to, as keep-sakes, cannot read, and I dare say will let us have them back if we say we want them. Now if we work very hard, we shall have two nights and a day to spare, and I can trot the poney with the market cart over the fells, and fetch them. To be sure they may not be just the books my uncle lost, but books are books you know, and I am sure Constance will look so happy when she sees the shelves filled again, and all in order."

Isabel was delighted with the project, and promised to a.s.sist, though at the peril of incurring her aunt's displeasure, for not finis.h.i.+ng, ere she returned, a representation of the garden of Eden in satin-st.i.tch, according to her order. Eustace looked at the plan, and finding it would save time, they agreed that plain gra.s.s would look as well on a firescreen, as all the crocodiles and elephants which with literal deference to natural history Mrs. Mellicent had drawn up rank and file, on each side Adam and Eve. The young architects antic.i.p.ated the departure of their friends with eagerness, and set about their scheme the moment the calash drove off. The business was got through with great alacrity, and though there were a few mistakes, and certainly no nice finish as a whole, it was creditable to their mechanical skill, as well as to their kind intentions.

Determining that the poney knew the road, and hoping to get a little sleep in the cart, Eustace set off immediately on his mountain-expedition, and Isabel busied herself in putting all things in order, and preparing plumb-porridge, and sack-posset, as a festive regale to celebrate the re-a.s.sembling of the family-party, who, she determined, should sup merrily in the new library.

Eustace arrived first, in high spirits, but with his cloaths torn, and his face b.l.o.o.d.y. Isabel was alarmed. "Nothing but a few scratches,"

answered he, "which I can cure with vinegar while you mend my coat. I will tell you how I got them presently; but do you unpack the books, while I take care of the poney. Stop a moment; there is something in the cart you must not meddle with." Isabel inquired what it was. "Women are so inquisitive," continued Eustace. "Well then, it is a lute; Constance's own lute, which she lost the night of the fire." Isabel inquired how he recovered it. "Fought for it," answered he; "I see you will not be easy, so I must tell you all about it."

"The people of Fourness were very glad to see me, calling me Mr. Random, and a great many more kind names; so we packed up the books, and they sent some cheese for my uncle, and apples for Constance." "And nothing for me?" said Isabel. "Pshaw," returned Eustace, "how you interrupt me; I believe the apples are for you. So I came driving back very merrily, and within a few miles of this village, I met a fellow carrying a box, which I could perceive held a lute. I had plenty of money, for the mountaineers would not let me spend it; so I thought if I can get this lute, Constance will like the new library as well as she did the old one, and I very civilly told the man I would buy it, and give him all he asked for it.--But in your life you never saw such a sharp bad visage as the fellow's, and he put himself into the most ridiculous posture, rolling his goggle eyes, and smiting his breast, and at last roared out, 'O vain youth, covet not musical devices, but tune thy heart to praise, and thy lips to spiritual songs.'--'Tune thy own lips to civility,' said I; 'and you shall too before you pa.s.s.' 'I can use the arm of flesh as well as the sword of the spirit,' said he; so to it we fell, and he scratched and pulled my hair, and tore my coat, just as you girls do, but I gave him enough to teach him good manners, and at last made him own he took the lute from my uncle's, the night of the fire, and that Squire Morgan was to have it. So I threw him a s.h.i.+lling just to mend his broken head, and have brought the lute to its own home again."