The reason of his acceptance of it might, indeed, for want of a better,

be found in the fact that for the time being the republic was

triumphant. It was a matter of course that Lord Clancharlie should

adhere to the republic, as long as the republic had the upper hand; but

after the close of the revolution and the fall of the parliamentary

government, Lord Clancharlie had persisted in his fidelity to it. It

would have been easy for the noble patrician to re-enter the

reconstituted upper house, repentance being ever well received on

restorations, and Charles II. being a kind prince enough to those who

returned to their allegiance to him; but Lord Clancharlie had failed to

understand what was due to events. While the nation overwhelmed with

acclamation the king come to retake possession of England, while

unanimity was recording its verdict, while the people were bowing their

salutation to the monarchy, while the dynasty was rising anew amidst a

glorious and triumphant recantation, at the moment when the past was

becoming the future, and the future becoming the past, that nobleman

remained refractory. He turned his head away from all that joy, and

voluntarily exiled himself. While he could have been a peer, he

preferred being an outlaw. Years had thus passed away. He had grown old

in his fidelity to the dead republic, and was therefore crowned with the

ridicule which is the natural reward of such folly.

He had retired into Switzerland, and dwelt in a sort of lofty ruin on

the banks of the Lake of Geneva. He had chosen his dwelling in the most

rugged nook of the lake, between Chillon, where is the dungeon of

Bonnivard, and Vevay, where is Ludlow's tomb. The rugged Alps, filled

with twilight, winds, and clouds, were around him; and he lived there,

275

The Man Who Laughs