The Hampdens. Harriet Martineau

over for the day. Gentle and simple complained of the cost of living in England now, when all articles of use that could be corrupted were bad, and all dear; and of the pretences made to screw money out of them, or money’s worth. Several told of relations who had had soldiers billeted on them—the King’s hounds, as these soldiers were called, who hunted the people for their master’s pleasure and interest. Some had been fined because they refused to bow to the altar, in popish fashion; and fined twice over, to escape transportation for refusing this idolatry. A tavern dinner was too costly, now that the meat dressed in taverns was taxed; and the innkeepers were ruined by this, and by the charges on every article, from tobacco pipes up to the choicest wines. The laundresses were ruined, and all families perplexed by the monopoly of soap given to a Romish corporation, who sold for soap a mixture of lime and tallow, which gave sore hands to all the washerwomen, and left the linen fouler than before; the linen also falling into tinder wherever it was touched. The assignment of the old forests of the kingdom to the Queen’s creatures was one of the sorest grievances. Dean Forest had been thus made over to papists, who would take very good care that the Spaniards and French had the range of the seas; and the people of England were not only called upon to pay to the King the cost of ships instead of giving him the ships themselves, but they got no ships at all. The timber which should make them was given away to foreigners, and English children were carried off by pirates, more and more boldly because there were no ships to give chase. This topic brought upon Richard further questions as to what Mr. Hampden would advise.

      “He has since been charged,” Richard declared, “with twenty shillings more ship-money, on account of another property; and, from some searchings into the business which we have heard of, we expect that the trial—”

      “The trial!” exclaimed some startled people.

      “Surely! Of what else have we been speaking? Mr. Hampden will be brought to trial for refusing to pay those last twenty shillings. I shall give him what message you send. What shall it be?”

      The messages were very various; but the general sense was the same. It was a message ​of blessing. Some thanked him; some bade him keep up his heart; some begged to be summoned whenever he thought they could support him; or, as some said, rescue him. To these last Richard replied, that Mr. Hampden was standing up for law and order, and that he desired to be rescued by law only from a peril into which he entered with deliberate intent. Being asked for his opinion, Richard gave it—that Mr. Hampden would consider those his best friends who best stood up for the law in those evil days. Let every man satisfy himself that this new way of taxing was illegal, and then oppose it. If every citizen refused to pay ship-money, it could not be levied.

      “Then there would be something else instead,” the people said.

      “Probably, and it would be dealt with in like manner,” Richard supposed.

      It was a dreary prospect; but that day there was the best news that had been heard in Cornwall for many a year. The mothers at Port Eliot shut themselves up to bemoan their loss: the gentry and yeomen hastened to mount, and spurred homewards, only stopping at every hamlet to spread the news that Mr. Hampden was going to turn the ship-money into ships which would chase the Dutch and Spaniards and French, and the Barbary pirates from the English shores.

       (To be continued.)

      ​

      THE HAMPDENS.

       Table of Contents

      AN HISTORTETTE. BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.

      CHAPTER II. LOVERS’ PERILS IN MERRY ENGLAND.

      When the young men entered the Priory gate they found a family group seated in the sunshine on the lawn. The ladies and children seemed to have assembled there in eagerness for news; and the eagerness must be great to overcome their dread of marauders from the sea. Lady Carewe related that she found there was no keeping the young people within; so she had issued forth with them, to see that no one of them passed the gate. She had placed scouts, so that no enemy could approach unobserved: but she did not seriously suppose that any pirates remained in the neighbourhood, or would appear while the country was excited with rage and terror.

      “I believe there is nothing to fear,” Richard began,” when his wife exclaimed that he was too hoarse to speak. He was in fact so thirsty and hoarse after his oratory—this being his first public speech—that he was glad to be led by Margaret to the house, for refreshment and rest. It was observed that, voiceless as he was, he was eagerly conversing with his wife, even pausing again and again, till they disappeared within the door. Harry Carewe was inquiring of Lucy and Kitty where Henrietta was—the only absent member of the party. The sisters looked round, had seen her not long before, supposed she had stolen away, as usual, and might probably be found in her favourite green walk among the ruins.

      “Very imprudent!” Harry grumbled, as he ran towards the ruins, whence he made a sign that all was well, Henrietta appearing at the moment.

      “There go two of them,” Alice complained, “to tell Margaret and Henrietta everything before we have heard a word about the pirates.”

      “We will tell you about the whole matter,” said the younger Eliot. “Only let us have a draught of yonder ale—our throats are so dry.” And he went to meet the servant who was bringing a pitcher and tankard from the house.

      “Your throat dry, Edmund?”

      “Yes, Miss Alice. Every throat was dry; for ​you must know, such of us as were not orators had to sustain those who were. We had to cheer Knightley; and he so spoke that we could not but do it with all our hearts, and with all our strength.”

      Edmund related how the gentry and farmers were riding in every direction to inform the people that something was now to be done about the ship-money, and about guarding the seas. It was a proud hearing for the family when Edmund told how the very name of Mr. Hampden put spirit into every man present; or, if there were any there who took the other side, they held their peace.

      “So far well,” Lady Carewe observed. “But will any action follow? Will these Cornishmen take a part from this day forward? or will they only hold their voices, ready to shout for the next patriot that they may chance to see?”

      “Richard says he never saw men in earnest, if these are not.”

      “In earnest to do what?” Alice asked. “What would they do next?”

      “They will insist on a parliament.”

      “What is a parliament?” Nathanael wanted to know.

      Lady Carewe shook her head, and sighed forth her sorrow that there should be an English boy—a boy of such a family as the Hampdens—that had not heard at least as much of Parliament as of the Court, and who did not even know what a parliament was.

      “But what is it?” Nathanael demanded. “Is it——”

      He was stopped by a pair of hands laid on his mouth from behind. It was Henrietta; and as the boy struggled, she whispered in his ear, and let him go.

      “What does she say?” asked Edmund in great surprise.

      “She says I must not ask that question—about a parliament. Yes—about a parliament,” the boy repeated in a defiant way. “If Edmund speaks of a parliament here, and Richard down in the town, why may not I?”

      “Because it is unlawful and wrong: the King has forbidden it,” Henrietta replied.

      “Aunt Carewe, is that true?” asked Lucy and Kitty.

      “It is true that the King has made a proclamation that no person in the kingdom shall