a king.  The sceptre would have been held by those who had the sword; or we must have lived in a state of perpetual anarchy, without any force or balance in the government; a state which could not have lasted long, but would have ended in a republic or in absolute dominion.

Mr. Hampden.—Your reasoning seems unanswerable.  But what could we do?  Let Dr. Laud and those other court divines, who directed the king’s conscience, and fixed in it such principles as made him unfit to govern a limited monarchy—though with many good qualities, and some great ones—let them, I say, answer for all the mischiefs they brought upon him and the nation.

Lord Falkland.—They were indeed much to blame; but those principles had gained ground before their times, and seemed the principles of our Church, in opposition to the Jesuits, who had certainly gone too far in the other extreme.

Mr. Hampden.—It is a disgrace to our Church to have taken up such opinions; and I will venture to prophesy that our clergy in future times must renounce them, or they will be turned against them by those who mean their destruction.  Suppose a Popish king on the throne, will the clergy adhere to passive obedience and non-resistance?  If they do, they deliver up their religion to Rome; if they do not, their practice will confute their own doctrines.

Lord Falkland.—Nature, sir, will in the end be sure to set right whatever opinion contradicts her great laws, let who will be the teacher.  But, indeed, the more I reflect on those miserable times in which we both lived, the more I esteem it a favour of Providence to us that we were cut off so soon.  The most grievous misfortune that can befall a virtuous man is to be in such a state that he can hardly so act as to approve his own conduct.  In such a state we both were.  We could not easily make a step, either forward or backward, without great hazard of guilt, or at least of dishonour.  We were unhappily entangled in connections with men who did not mean so well as ourselves, or did not judge so rightly.  If we endeavoured to stop them, they thought us false to the cause; if we went on with them, we ran directly upon rocks, which we saw, but could not avoid.  Nor could we take shelter in a philosophical retreat from business.  Inaction would in us have been cowardice and desertion.  To complete the public calamities, a religious fury, on both sides, mingled itself with the rage of our civil dissensions, more frantic than that, more implacable, more averse to all healing measures.  The most intemperate counsels were thought the most pious, and a regard to the laws, if they opposed the suggestions of these fiery zealots, was accounted irreligion.  This added new difficulties to what was before but too difficult in itself, the settling of a nation which no longer could put any confidence in its sovereign, nor lay more restraints on the royal authority without destroying the balance of the whole constitution. 

In those circumstances, the balls that pierced our hearts were directed thither by the hands of our guardian angels, to deliver us from horrors we could not support, and perhaps from a guilt our souls abhorred.

Mr. Hampden.—Indeed, things were brought to so deplorable a state, that if either of us had seen his party triumphant, he must have lamented that triumph as the ruin of his country.  Were I to return into life, the experience I have had would make me very cautious how I kindled the sparks of civil war in England; for I have seen that, when once that devouring fire is lighted, it is not in the power of the head of a party to say to the conflagration, “Thus far shalt thou go, and here shall thy violence stop.”

Lord Falkland.—The conversation we have had, as well as the reflections of my own mind on past events, would, if I were condemned to my body again, teach me great moderation in my judgments of persons who might happen to differ from me in difficult scenes of public action; they would entirely cure me of the spirit of party, and make me think that as in the Church, so also in the State, no evil is more to be feared than a rancorous and enthusiastical zeal.

DIALOGUE II.

Louis le Grand—Peter the Great.

Louis.—Who, sir, could have thought, when you were learning the trade of a shipwright in the dockyards of England and Holland, that you would ever acquire, as I had done, the surname of “Great.”

Peter.—Which of us best deserved that title posterity will decide.  But my greatness appeared sufficiently in that very act which seemed to you a debasement.

Louis.—The dignity of a king does not stoop to such mean employments.  For my own part, I was careful never

to appear to the eyes of my subjects or foreigners but in all the splendour and majesty of royal power.

Peter.—Had I remained on the throne of Russia, as my ancestors did, environed with all the pomp of barbarous greatness, I should have been idolised by my people—as much, at least, as you ever were by the French.  My despotism was more absolute, their servitude was more humble.  But then I could not have reformed their evil customs; have taught them arts, civility, navigation, and war; have exalted them from brutes in human shapes into men.  In this was seen the extraordinary force of my genius beyond any comparison with all other kings, that I thought it no degradation or diminution of my greatness to descend from my throne, and go and work in the dockyards of a foreign republic; to serve as a private sailor in my own fleets, and as a common soldier in my own army, till I had raised myself by my merit in all the several steps and degrees of promotion up to the highest command, and had thus induced my nobility to submit to a regular subordination in the sea and land service by a lesson hard to their pride, and which they would not have learnt from any other master or by any other method of instruction.

Louis.—I am forced to acknowledge that it was a great act.  When I thought it a mean one, my judgment was perverted by the prejudices arising from my own education and the ridicule thrown upon it by some of my courtiers, whose minds were too narrow to be able to comprehend the greatness of yours in that situation.

Peter.—It was an act of more heroism than any ever done by Alexander or Cæsar.  Nor would I consent to exchange my glory with theirs.  They both did great things; but they were at the head of great nations, far superior in valour and military skill to those with whom they contended.  I was the king of an ignorant, undisciplined, barbarous people.  My enemies were at first so superior to my subjects that ten thousand of them could beat a

hundred thousand Russians.  They had formidable navies; I had not a ship.  The King of Sweden was a prince of the most intrepid courage, assisted by generals of consummate knowledge in war, and served by soldiers so disciplined that they were become the admiration and terror of Europe.  Yet I vanquished these soldiers; I drove that prince to take refuge in Turkey; I won battles at sea as well as land; I new-created my people; I gave them arts, science, policy; I enabled them to keep all the powers of the North in awe and dependence, to give kings to Poland, to check and intimidate the Ottoman emperors, to mix with great weight in the affairs of all Europe.  What other man has ever done such wonders as these?  Read all the records of ancient and modern times, and find, if you can, one fit to be put in comparison with me!