innocence. He who reads, thinks; who thinks, reasons. But not to reason

is duty; and happiness as well. These truths are incontestable; society

is based on them.

Thus had sound social doctrines been re-established in England; thus had

the nation been reinstated. At the same time a correct taste in

literature was reviving. Shakespeare was despised, Dryden admired.

"Dryden is the greatest poet of England, and of the century," said

Atterbury, the translator of "Achitophel." It was about the time when M.

Huet, Bishop of Avranches, wrote to Saumaise, who had done the author

of "Paradise Lost" the honour to refute and abuse him, "How can you

trouble yourself about so mean a thing as that Milton?" Everything was

falling into its proper place: Dryden above, Shakespeare below; Charles

II. on the throne, Cromwell on the gibbet. England was raising herself

out of the shame and the excesses of the past. It is a great happiness

for nations to be led back by monarchy to good order in the state and

good taste in letters.

That such benefits should be misunderstood is difficult to believe. To

turn the cold shoulder to Charles II., to reward with ingratitude the

magnanimity which he displayed in ascending the throne--was not such

conduct abominable? Lord Linnæus Clancharlie had inflicted this vexation

upon honest men. To sulk at his country's happiness, alack, what

aberration!

We know that in 1650 Parliament had drawn up this form of declaration:

"I promise to remain faithful to the republic, without king, sovereign,

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The Man Who Laughs