Somerset House in the Strand, a lying in
state more splendid than sensible —as all such
vanities after death are, I think—Richard
became Lord Protector. He was an amiable
country gentleman, but had none of his
father's genius, and was quite unfit for such a
post in such a storm of parties. Richard's
Protectorate, which only lasted a year and a
half, is a history of quarrels between the
officers of the army and the Parliament, and
between the officers among themselves, and of
a growing discontent among the people, who
had far too many long sermons and far too
few amusements, and wanted a change. At
last, General Monk got the army well into his
own hands, and then, in pursuance of a secret
plan he seems to have entertained from the
time of Oliver's death, declared for the
King's cause. He did not do this openly:
but in his place in the House of Commons,
as one of the members for Devonshire,
strongly advocated the proposals of one SIR
JOHN GREENVILLE, who came to the House
with a letter from Charles, dated from
Breda, and with whom he had previously
been in secret communication. There had
been plots and counterplots, and a recall of
the last members of the Long Parliament,
and an end of the Long Parliament, and
risings of the Royalists that were made too
soon; and most men being tired out, and
there being no one to head the country now
Oliver was dead, it was readily agreed to
welcome Charles Stuart. Some of the wiser
and better members said—what was most
true —that in the letter from Breda, he
made no real promise to govern well, and
that it would be best to make him pledge
himself beforehand as to what he should be
bound to do for the benefit of the kingdom.
Monk said, however, it would be all right
when he came, and he could not come too
soon.

So, everybody found out all in a moment
that the country must be prosperous and
happy, having another Stuart to condescend
to reign over it; and there was a
prodigious firing off of guns, lighting of bonfires,
ringing of bells, and throwing up of caps.
The people drank the King's health by
thousands in the open streets, and everybody
rejoiced. Down came the Arms of the
Commonwealth, up went the Royal Arms instead,
and out came the public money. Fifty
thousand pounds for the King, ten thousand
pounds for his brother the Duke of York,
five thousand pounds for his brother the
Duke of Gloucester. Prayers for these
gracious Stuarts were put up in all the churches;
commissioners were sent to Holland (which
suddenly found out that Charles was a great
man, and that it loved him) to invite the King
home; Monk and the Kentish grandees went to
Dover, to kneel down before him as he landed.
He kissed and embraced Monk, made him
ride in the coach with himself and his
brothers, came on to London amid wonderful
shoutings, and passed through the army at
Blackheath on the twenty-ninth of May (his
birthday), in the year one thousand six
hundred and sixty. Greeted by splendid dinners
under tents, by flags and tapestry streaming
from all the houses, by delighted crowds in
all the streets, by troops of noblemen and
gentlemen in rich dresses, by City companies,
trainbands, drummers, trumpeters, the great
Lord Mayor, and the majestic Aldermen, the
King went on to Whitehall. On entering it, he
commemorated his Restoration with the joke
that it really would seem to have been his
own fault that he had not come long ago,
since everybody told him that he had always
wished for him with all his heart.

CHAPTER XLII.

There never were such profligate times
in England as under Charles the Second.
Whenever you see his portrait, with his
swarthy ill-looking face and great nose, you
may fancy him in his Court at Whitehall,
surrounded by some of the very worst
vagabonds in the kingdom (though they were
lords and ladies), drinking, gambling, indulging
in vicious conversation, and committing
every kind of profligate excess. It has been
a fashion to call Charles the Second " The
Merry Monarch." Let me try to give you a
general idea of some of the merry things
that were done, in the merry days when
this merry gentleman sat upon his merry
throne, in merry England.

The first merry proceeding was—of course—
to declare that he was one of the greatest, the
wisest, and the noblest kings that ever shone,
like the blessed sun itself, on this benighted
earth. The next merry and pleasant piece of
business was, for the Parliament, in the
humblest manner, to give him one million
two hundred thousand pounds a year, and to
settle upon him for life that old disputed
tonnage and poundage which had been so
bravely fought for. Then, General Monk,
being made EARL OF ALBEMARLE, and a
few other Royalists similarly rewarded, the
law went to work to see what was to be
done to those persons (they were called
Regicides) who had been concerned in
making a martyr of the late King. Ten of
these were merrily executed; that is to say,
six of the judges, one of the council, Colonel
Hacker and another officer who had
commanded the Guards, and HUGH PETERS, a
preacher, who had preached against the
martyr with all his heart. These executions
were so extremely merry, that every horrible
circumstance which Cromwell had abandoned
was revived with appalling cruelty. The
hearts of the sufferers were torn out of their
living bodies; their bowels were burned
before their faces; the executioner cut jokes to
the next victim, as he rubbed his filthy hands
together that were reeking with the blood of
the last; and the heads of the dead were
drawn on sledges with the living to the place