These truculent tools of tyranny had been for ten years in the full performance of their flagitious work; but, instead of crushing out the spirit of a brave people—which was their real aim and end—they had only been preparing it for a more determined and effective resistance.
The trial of Hampden—the favourite of Buckinghamshire—for his daring refusal to pay the arbitrary impost of “ship money,” had met with the approbation of all honest men; while the judges, who condemned him, were denounced on all sides as worse than “unjust.”
To its eternal glory be it told, nowhere was this noble spirit more eminently displayed than in the shire of Bucks—nowhere, in those days, was the word liberty so often, or so emphatically, pronounced. Shall I say, alas! the change?
True, it was yet spoken only in whispers—low, but earnest—like thunder heard far off over the distant horizon—heard only in low mutterings, but ready, at any moment, to play its red lightnings athwart the sky of despotism.
Such mutterings might have been heard in the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade. In the midst of that joyous gathering, signs and sounds of a serious import might have been detected—intermingling with scenes of the most light-hearted hilarity.
It may be wondered why those sentiments of freedom were not more openly declared. But that is easy of explanation. If among the assemblage who assisted at the birthday celebration, there were enemies to Court and King, there were also many who were not friends to the cause of the People. In the crowd which occupied the old camp, there was a liberal sprinkling of spies and informers—with eyes sharply set to see, and ears to catch, every word that might be tainted with treason. No man knew how soon he might be made the victim of a denunciation—how soon he might stand in the awe-inspiring presence of the “Chamber.”
No wonder that men expressed their sentiments with caution.
Among the gentlemen present there was a similar difference of opinion upon political matters—even among members of the same family! But such topics of discussion were studiously avoided, as unbecoming the occasion; and no one, carelessly contemplating the faces of the fair dames and gay cavaliers grouped laughingly together, could have suspected the presence of any sentiment that sprang not from the most contented concordance.
There was one countenance an exception to this general look of contentment—one individual in that brilliant throng that had as yet taken no pleasure in the sports. It was Marion Wade.
She, whose smile was esteemed a blessing wherever it fell, seemed herself unblessed.