In the month of May, 1660, England was almost mad with joy because Charles II. was restored to the throne. In London, “groups of royalists,” we are told, “gathered round buckets of wine in the streets, and drank the king’s health on their knees. The bells of every steeple rang, and bonfires were so numerous that the city seemed surrounded by a halo; men shouted, women scattered flowers, and with loud thanks to Heaven, as if he had been an angel sent down from God, Charles II. was received at Whitehall, where so lately the tragedy of fallen royality had been enacted.”

Republicanism was at an end; and the stern virtues of puritanism gone quite out of fashion. The season of violent reaction was come; and again the noblest blood in England, noblest in the truest sense of the word, flowed from the hands of the executioner. Amongst the earliest victims was Hugh Peters, the successor of Roger Williams as minister at Salem. His arraignment, trial, and execution were scenes of wanton cruelty. Any trial indeed was a mockery, because his death was already decreed. “Go home to New England, and trust God there,” were his last words to his daughter, the wife of the younger Winthrop. At the gallows he was compelled to wait while his friend Cooke, who had just been executed, was cut down. “How do you like this?” asked the savage hangman, exultingly. “I thank God,” replied Peters, “that I am not terrified at it. You may do your worst;” and turning to his friends he said, with a smile, “Weep not for me; my heart is full of comfort.” Several of the regicides perished about the same time, with equal calmness and resignation, their faith in the principles which brought them to the scaffold no whit abated. Three of the regicide judges, however, Whalley, Goffe, and Dixwell, of whom we shall speak presently, fled to New England. Nor did the thirst of English vengeance satisfy itself with the execution of the living; it wreaked itself on the dead. The corpses of Cromwell, Bradshaw and Ireton were disinterred, dragged on hurdles to Tyburn, and hanged on three separate gallows, after which they were cut down and beheaded! The whole horrible and disgusting scene being considered one of great merriment.

In June, 1662, perished also on the scaffold the noblest of the advocates of liberty in the New World, Sir Henry Vane, the former governor of Massachusetts, the firm friend of Rhode Island, and the supporter of liberty under all circumstances, whether religious or political. One of the first and fastest friends of republicanism in England, he had resisted the aggressions of Cromwell, and Cromwell for this cause had imprisoned him. The trial of Vane has become a noble passage in history. Though a man of a nervous temperament, he stood before his judges with an undaunted courage which amazed all, and there pleaded “for the liberties of England, for the interest of all posterity in time to come.” Counsel was not allowed him, and he stood, “not afraid,” as he said, “in that great presence, to bear witness to the glorious cause, nor to seal it with his blood.”

“Sir Henry Vane is too dangerous a man to let live, if we can honestly put him out of the way,” wrote the king to his counsel; and though they could not honestly put him out of the way, yet they sentenced him to the block, while others were hanged.

When, on the day before his execution, his friends were admitted to visit him, they found him so serene and cheerful, that he, not they, administered consolation, “reasoning calmly on death and immortality.” Reviewing his political career from the day when he had defended in New England the unitarianism of Anne Hutchinson, to his last struggle for English liberty, he said, “I feel not the least recoil in my heart for what I have done.” When his children gathered round him weeping, he said, kissing and embracing them, “The Lord will be a better father to you than I have been. Be not troubled, for I am going home to my father;” and his last words to them were, “Suffer anything rather than sin against God.” To his friends he said, “I leave my life as a seal to the justness of that quarrel. Ten thousand deaths rather than defile the chastity of my conscience; nor would I for a thousand worlds resign the peace and satisfaction which I have in my heart!”

As he went to execution, prayers and tears accompanied him. So great was the public sympathy, that people cried, “God be with you!” On the scaffold it was his wish to address the vast multitude assembled to witness his death, but trumpets overpowered his voice, and finding it vain to make the attempt, he turned to his friends, reminding them that he had foretold the dark clouds which were coming thicker and thicker for a season, but that a better day would dawn in the clouds; and baring his neck for the axe, he exclaimed: “Blessed be God, I have kept a conscience void of offence; to this day I have not deserted the righteous cause for which I suffer.” Thus perished Sir Henry Vane; his death establishing the great principle of popular liberty, even more than his life had done. The blood of the martyr never flows in vain.

The ship that conveyed to Boston, in July, the first news of the Restoration, brought with it Whalley and Goffe, two of the regicide judges of Charles II., who now naturally fled to the only portion of the English territories where republicanism might still be tolerated. They were well received by Endicott, the governor, and the tidings which they brought being hardly credited, excited but little attention. Nor was it till the month of November that official information of this great event arrived; of the act of indemnity for all except such as were concerned in the death of Charles I.; of the execution of Peters, and the imprisonment of Vane, together with the information that many complaints of persecution and misdemeanours against the colony were received by parliament and the crown.

More unwelcome tidings could hardly have reached Massachusetts; and yet, a general court being summoned, addresses were prepared to the restored monarch very little creditable to the independence and manliness of the colony. They spoke of the execution of Charles very vaguely, and apologetically represented themselves as “his present majesty’s poor Mephibosheths, by reason of lameness in respect of distance, not until now appearing in his presence, kneeling with the rest of his subjects before his majesty as their restored king. They prayed for a continuance, however, of civil and religious liberties; and as regarded the complaints which had been brought against them, they besought the king that he would not hear men’s words, for that his servants were true men, fearing God and the king.” At the same time that this cringing address, and another in the same spirit to parliament, were sent, letters were written to the now aged Lord Say and Seal, and other puritan noblemen who might be supposed to have interest with the new government, to bespeak their favour.

Much more creditable than these addresses was the conduct of New England with regard to the fugitive regicides. Before a royal order for their arrest reached Boston, by the hands of a party of royalists, which Massachusetts was required to execute, the offenders had escaped to New Haven. The magistrates assumed an appearance of assiduity, and published a proclamation against them, but no intention existed of giving them up. They were safe, and shortly afterwards were joined by Dixwell, another of the regicide judges; and, spite of all the efforts that were made to arrest them, all three finished their days in New England. Dixwell lived openly, under a feigned name, at New Haven; and the other two in concealment, sometimes in Massachusetts, at other times in Connecticut.

It was not long before New England perceived that they had no reason to congratulate themselves on the altered government in the mother-country. The commercial restrictions from which they had been exempt during the Commonwealth were now renewed; and with some return to their former independence, the general court and elders drew up a clear declaration of what they considered to be their rights. These they asserted to be, “to choose their own governor, deputy-governor, and representatives; to admit freemen on terms to be prescribed at their own pleasure; to set up all sorts of officers, superior and inferior, with such powers and duties as they might appoint; to exercise, by their annually-elected magistrates and deputies, all authority legislative, executive and judicial; to defend themselves by force of arms against any aggression; and to reject any and every imposition which they might judge prejudicial to the colony, and contrary to any just act of colonial legislation.”

This declaration, which left but small prerogative to the crown, and which asserted the navigation act to be an infringement of their charter, was drawn up before Charles II. was publicly proclaimed in New England, nearly twelve months after the news had first reached them, and then all demonstrations of extravagant joy were prohibited; the king’s health was not even allowed to be drunk. The colonies of Plymouth, Hartford, New Haven and Rhode Island, had, on the contrary, immediately proclaimed the king.

Connecticut, in the person of the younger Winthrop, then in London, applied for and obtained a favourable charter; the colonists having beforehand carefully drawn up the document, which they desired the king to ratify, claiming the land by purchase from the natives—by conquest from the Pequods, who had made on them a war of extermination—and by the sweat of their own brows, which had changed the wilderness into a garden. Their petition for this charter was not only seconded by the aged Lord Say and Seal, who obtained for it also the co-operation of the Earl of Manchester, but Winthrop, himself a man of the noblest endowments, at once a scholar, a gentleman and a Christian, won for it general good will by his merits alone. The son-in-law of Hugh Peters, whose execution had so lately taken place, “God gave him, nevertheless, favour,” as his own father Governor Winthrop, truly observed, “in the eyes of all with whom he had to do;” and in his interviews with Charles, whether it was by the charm of his conversation, his descriptions of Indian warfare, and the adventurous life in the wilderness; or whether, really, as was said, Winthrop presented a ring to the monarch, which had been given, under peculiar circumstances, by Charles I. to Winthrop’s grandfather, which constituted a claim on the house of Stuart, is not known; this, however, is a fact, the charter was obtained. Clarendon was full of good will, and certain courtiers, having themselves, it is believed, interested views, recommended no limitations. This charter embraced as one colony New Haven and Hartford, the limits of the latter being extended from the Narragansett river to the Pacific Ocean. On the colonists it conferred unqualified power to govern themselves; to elect their own officers; to enact their own laws; to administer justice; to exercise all power deliberative and executive, without appeal to England, or without reference to England under any circumstances. Connecticut was independent in everything but name.

“After his successful negociation and efficient concert in founding the Royal Society,” says Bancroft, “Winthrop returned to America, bringing with him a name which England honoured, and which his country should never forget, and resumed his tranquil life in rural retirement.” Some little trouble he at first met with from the two colonies being amalgamated, without the consent of New Haven to such a measure being first obtained. New Haven, which seemed thus compelled to sink its own existence in that of the stronger sister-colony, very naturally made some opposition, but the wisdom and firm gentleness of Winthrop effected a reconciliation; the colonies were united as by a happy marriage, and thenceforth but one interest swayed the two. Connecticut showed her respect and affection for Winthrop, by annually electing him for fourteen consecutive years as her governor.

The result of this ample charter, this liberty of self-government, was a social condition so nearly approaching to the Utopia of philosophers, and the golden age of the poets, that we must be allowed to dwell somewhat at length upon the beautiful and refreshing picture. It stands almost alone in the history of man. The institutions of Connecticut being almost perfected by this charter, nearly a century elapsed before any event took place which demands the historian’s notice. But its progress during this time was of healthy increase, its population doubled every twenty years, and its history was a picture of colonial happiness and prosperity. “To describe its condition,” says Bancroft, “is but to enumerate the blessings of self-government by a community of farmers who have leisure to reflect, who cherish education, and who have neither a nobility nor a populace. Could Charles II. have looked back upon earth, and seen what security his gift of a charter had conferred, he might have gloried in an act which redeemed his life from the charge of having been unproductive of public happiness. The contentment of Connecticut was full to the brim.”

Connecticut and Rhode Island were examples of what a truly Christian commonwealth may become; greater than the Pilgrim states, because they understood and practised the milder Christian virtues of forbearance and love. Persecution had no home in these states. Roger Williams was ever a welcome guest at Hartford, and “that heavenly man,” John Haynes, at Providence. “I think, Mr. Williams,” said this modern St. John, addressing his Christian brother, “that the most wise God hath provided and cut out this part of the world as a refuge and receptacle for all sorts of consciences.” Happy Connecticut! “No enemy,” we are told, “was within her borders, tranquillity was within her gates, and the fear of God within her heart.” Nor was this a mere poetical image; for many years the public security was so great, that locks and bolts were unknown; the best house had no firmer fastening to its doors than a simple latch.

At the risk of dwelling, perhaps, a little too long on this portion of our history, we must give a picture of life which is as quaint and beautiful as any Arcadian poem that ever was written.

“There were neither rich nor poor in the land, but all had enough. There was venison on the hills, abundant fish in the rivers, and sugar was gathered from the maple of the forest. The soil was originally justly divided, or held faithfully in trust for the public, and for new-comers. Happiness was enjoyed unconsciously; like sound health, it was the condition of a pure and simple life. There was for a long time hardly a lawyer in the land. The husbandman who held his own plough, and fed his own cattle, was the great man of the age; nor was any one superior to the matron, who, with her busy daughters, kept the hum of the wheel incessantly alive, spinning and weaving every article of dress. Fashion was confined within narrow limits; and pride, which aimed at no grander equipage than a pillion, exulted only in the common splendour of the blue and white linen gown with sleeves reaching to the elbow, and the snow-white flaxen apron, which, primly starched and ironed, was worn on public days by every woman of the land. The time of sowing and the time of reaping marked the progress of the year; and the plain dress of the working day and the more trim attire of the Sabbath, the progress of the week.

“Every family was taught to look up to God, as the fountain of all good. Yet life was not sombre; the spirit of frolic mingled with innocence; religion itself assumed a garb of gaiety, and the annual thanksgiving was as joyous as it was sincere. Frugality was the rule of life, both private and public. Half a century after the concession of the charter, the annual expenses of government did not exceed £800.

“Education was always regarded as an object of deepest concern, and common schools existed from the first. A small college was early established, and Yale owes its birth to ten worthy fathers, who in 1700 assembled at Branford, and each one laying a few volumes on a table, said, ‘I give these books for the founding of a college in this colony.’

“Political education was a natural consequence of the constitution. Every inhabitant was a citizen, and every citizen, irrespective of wealth, condition, or any other circumstance, was possessed of the franchise. When, therefore, the progress of society and of events furnished a wider field of action than mere local politics afforded, the public mind was found equal to its circumstances; emerging then from the quiet of its origin into scenes where a new political world was to be created, the sagacity which had regulated the affairs of the village, gained admiration in the field and the council.”^[5]

Rhode Island, as well as Connecticut, received a charter of the most liberal character from Charles. Ever the advocate of the enfranchisement of the mind, they had pleaded, in 1658, with the English Commonwealth, “that they might not be compelled to exercise any civil power over men’s consciences, which,” urged they, “we judge no less than a point of absolute cruelty;” and again, addressing the restored monarch, they besought that they might be enabled “to hold forth a lively experiment that a most flourishing civil state may stand, and best be maintained, with a full liberty of religious concernments.” And Charles listened to their request; and Clarendon himself seconded it, and that noble charter, more liberal even than that of Connecticut, was granted, which Roger Williams says, “startled his majesty’s high officers of state, who, against their will, signed it, fearing the lion’s roaring.” And Rhode Island, as Roger Williams had prayed might be the case, became a secure home for liberty of conscience. “No person within the said colony,” it was enacted, “at any time hereafter shall be anywise molested, punished, disquieted, or called in question for any differences in opinion in matters of religion; but that all and every person may at all times hereafter freely and fully have and enjoy his and their own judgments and consciences, in matters of religious concernments.” There was no restriction here as regarded Jesuits or Pagans; the spirit of this charter was broader even than that of Maryland, which, disregarding distinction of sect and party, still required belief in Christ. It is a grand lesson to the narrowsouled religionist, whether he be Episcopalian or Calvinist, who deals damnation freely to all who differ from him, that in two states, the one founded by a Catholic, the other by the holders of every kind of heresy, the noblest principles of Christianity, forbearance and love, were alone acknowledged as the true foundations of religion.

The liberty thus granted, spite of the assertion that quakerism fled from the Rhode Island colony because it was tolerated there, caused quakerism to have there its first home in the New World. Governor Coddington joined the society and died a member of it. The yearly meeting of the Quakers was held at his house till his death; and the first meeting-house of that body was built at Newport, on Rhode Island. George Fox himself, in 1672, visited his “Friends” there, and committed to them “the firm support of the good of the people.” The creative power of good in the colony he declared to be the instruction of all the people in their rights; “you are the unworthiest men upon earth,” added he, “if you do lose the liberty wherewith Christ hath made you free in life and glory,”—for he and his early Friends regarded Christianity, taken in its own broad and catholic spirit, as the great emancipator of the human race.

The joy of the colonists, on receiving their noble charter, was extreme. George Baxter—could it be the same who was so active among the revolutionists of New Amsterdam?—arrived with it on the 24th of November, 1663, and the whole body of the people gathered together for its solemn reception. “The letters of the agent were opened, and read with good delivery and attention; then the charter was taken forth, from the precious box that held it, and was read by Baxter, in the audience and view of all the people; and the letters, with his Majesty’s royal stamp and broad seal, with much becoming gravity were held up on high, and presented to the perfect view of the people.”

When the gifted sons and daughters of America begin to express their patriotism and national pride by means of the fine arts, this noble incident will inspire a patriot artist. The scene itself, on the shores of a beautiful island; the great sea beyond; and the congregated people, “a very great meeting and assembly,” men, women, and children beholding, with deep emotion, the upheld charter, with the broad seals, that insured to them those sacred liberties which were dear to them as life. A more beautiful subject could scarcely be found; and yet American history abounds with many such. One day they must of necessity become eloquent through the arts.

As regards the other states, the effect of the Restoration was not so favourable. In Maryland, as we already know, the claim of Lord Baltimore being confirmed, a temporary tranquillity was established throughout the state. Virginia was less fortunate, though she had been the most loyal of all the states; and though her homes had opened themselves to the exiled royalists, many of whom were now established on her soil. In April, 1661, Sir William Berkeley, the governor, embarked for England as agent for Virginia to obtain relief from the Navigation Act, which office he very unworthily performed. Instead of favour, instead of the repeal of onerous laws imposed by the Commonwealth, commercial restrictions were multiplied, and the reward of loyalty was dismemberment among greedy courtiers. But to this we shall return in the order of date.

As regards New Hampshire and Maine, we have already stated that Charles conferred upon his brother, the Duke of York, the country between the Pemaquid and the St. Croix; yet the proprietary claims of these provinces were revived with the intention of obtaining them for the Duke of Monmouth, and the fine extent of country from Connecticut River to Delaware Bay, then partly in possession of the Dutch, and partly included in Winthrop’s patent, was also given to the Duke of York. We now return to Massachusetts.