Page images
PDF
EPUB

in truth the greatest part of those who were guilty of those disorders were young men, who had never seen the king, and had been born and bred in those corrupt times, "when there was no king of Israel." He was equally delighted with the luxury and voluptuousness of the presbyterians, who, in contempt of the thrift, sordidness, and affected ill-breeding of the independents, thought it became them to live more generously, and were not strict in restraining or mortifying the unruly and inordinate appetite of flesh and blood, but indulged it with too much and too open scandal, from which he reaped no small advantage; and wished all those, who were not his friends, should not only be infected, but given over to the practice of the most odious vices and wickedness.

In a word, the nation was corrupted from that integrity, good nature, and generosity, that had been peculiar to it, and for which it had been signal and celebrated throughout the world; in the room whereof the vilest craft and dissembling had succeeded. The tenderness of the bowels, which is the quintessence of justice and compassion, the very mention of good nature was laughed at and looked upon as the mark and character of a fool; and a roughness of manners, or hardheartedness and cruelty was affected. In the place of generosity, a vile and sordid love of money was entertained as the truest wisdom, and any thing lawful that would contribute towards being rich. There was a total decay, or rather a final expiration of all friendship; and to dissuade a man from any thing he affected, or to reprove him for any thing he had done amiss, or to advise him to do any thing he had no mind to do, was thought an impertinence unworthy a wise man, and received with reproach and contempt. These dilapidations and ruins of the ancient candour and discipline were not taken enough to heart, and repaired with that early care and severity that they might have been; for they were not then incorrigible; but by the remissness of applying remedies to some, and the unwariness in giving a kind of countenance to others, too much of that poison insinuated itself into minds not well fortified against such infection: so that much of the malignity was transplanted, instead of being extinguished, to the corruption of many wholesome bodies, which, being corrupted, spread the diseases more powerfully and more mischievously.

(From the Same.)

THE STUART FAMILY

THE truth is, it was the unhappy fate and constitution of that family, that they trusted naturally the judgments of those who were as much inferior to them in understanding as they were in quality, before their own, which was very good; and suffered even their natures, which disposed them to virtue and justice, to be prevailed upon and altered and corrupted by those who knew how to make use of some one infirmity that they discovered in them; and by complying with that, and cherishing and serving it, they by degrees wrought upon the mass, and sacrificed all the other good inclinations to that single vice. They were too much inclined to like men at first sight, and did not love the conversation of men of many more years than themselves, and thought age not only troublesome but impertinent. They did not love to deny, and less to strangers than to their friends; not out of bounty or generosity, which was a flower that did never grow naturally in the heart of either of the families, that of Stuart or the other of Bourbon, but out of an unskilfulness and defect in the countenance; and when they prevailed with themselves to make some pause rather than to deny, importunity removed all resolution, which they knew neither how to shut out nor to defend themselves against, even when it was evident enough that they had much rather not consent; which often made that which would have looked like bounty lose all its grace and lustre.

(From the Same.)

CLARENDON'S LETTER TO THE KING

MAY it please your Majesty,

I am so broken under the daily insupportable instances of your Majesty's terrible displeasure, that I know not what to do, hardly what to wish. The crimes which are objected against me, how passionately soever pursued, and with circumstances very unusual, do not in the least degree fright me. God knows I am innocent in every particular as I ought to be; and I hope your Majesty knows enough of me to believe that I had never a violent appetite for money, that could corrupt me.

But, alas! your Majesty's

declared anger and indignation deprives me of the comfort and support even of my own innocence, and exposes me to the rage and fury of those who have some excuse for being my enemies; whom I have sometimes displeased, when (and only then) your Majesty believed them not to be your friends. I hope they may be changed; I am sure I am not, but have the same duty, passion, and affection for you that I had when you thought it most unquestionable, and which was and is as great as ever man had for any mortal creature. I should die in peace (and truly I do heartily wish that God Almighty would free you from further trouble by taking me to Himself) if I could know or guess at the ground of your displeasure, which I am sure must proceed from your believing, that I have said or done somewhat I have neither said nor done. If it be for any thing my Lord Berkeley hath reported, which I know he hath said to many, though being charged with it by me he did as positively disclaim it; I am as innocent in that whole affair, and gave no more advice or counsel or countenance in it, than the child that is not born; which your Majesty seemed once to believe, when I took notice to you of the report, and when you considered how totally I was a stranger to the persons mentioned, to either of whom I never spake word, or received message from either in my life. And this I protest to your Majesty is true, as I have hope in heaven; and that I have never wilfully offended your Majesty in my life, and do upon my knees beg your pardon for any over-bold or saucy expressions I have ever used to you; which, being a natural disease in old servants who have received too much countenance, I am sure hath always proceeded from the zeal and warmth of the most sincere affection and duty.

I hope your Majesty believes, that the sharp chastisement I have received from the best-natured and most bountiful master in the world, and whose kindness alone made my condition these many years supportable, hath enough mortified me as to this world; and that I have not the presumption or the madness to imagine or desire ever to be admitted to any employment or trust again. But I do most humbly beseech your Majesty, by the memory of your father, who recommended me to you with some testimony, and by your own gracious reflection upon some one service I may have performed in my life, that hath been acceptable to you; that you will by your royal power and interposition put a stop to this severe prosecution against me, and that my

concernment may give no longer interruption to the great affairs of the kingdom; but that I may spend the small remainder of my life, which cannot hold long, in some parts beyond the seas, never to return; where I will pray for your Majesty, and never suffer the least diminution in the duty and obedience of,

[blocks in formation]

JOHN MILTON

[John Milton, born in Bread Street, London, 9th December 1608; entered at Christ's College, Cambridge, 12th February 1624; left the University as M.A., and retired to Horton, Bucks, 1632; set out for Italy 1637, returning in 1639; took up his abode in London, first in St. Bride's Churchyard, then in Aldersgate Street; in 1643 married Mary Powell, by whom he had three daughters; after her death in 1653 he married Catherine Woodcock, who died about a year after her marriage, in 1657, having borne him a daughter. In March 1649 Milton had been appointed Secretary for Foreign Tongues to the Council of State, an office which he held till the downfall of the Commonwealth. The Restoration involved him in personal peril; but after the passing of the Act of Oblivion he came forth from his concealment, and settled in a house in Holborn near Red Lion Square, whence, in 1662, he removed to Artillery Walk near Bunhill Fields. In 1665 he married his third wife, Elizabeth Marshall. He died 8th November 1674, and was buried in the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate.]

MILTON, it seems, succeeded imperfectly in defending the English people against the imputation that he allowed himself on its behalf to be diverted from the service of the Muses. The charge, frequently made, once more found expression in the late Mark Pattison's admirable biographical essay.

Although with divers reservations dictated by his own candour, this distinguished scholar virtually repeated the accusation of Johnson, that Milton "lent his breath "--they omit to say by whom that breath was inspired—“to blow the flames of contention.” The censure, whether uttered in so many words, or insinuated, or implied, is based on the obsolete fallacy of drawing a distinction between a great writer, or for that matter a great intellectual worker of any kind, and the same personage viewed as "a man.” I have no room for discussing it here; nor am I in the secret of Milton's "mission" to his nation or to mankind. Indeed, the question might be asked on a lower plane, whether posterity can judge so accurately of the relation of the mind of Milton even to his own age and to its problems, as to decide ex cathedrâ upon

« PreviousContinue »