But, at the worst, England was not altogether a Pandemonium in those days following upon the Restoration. I think, perhaps, the majority of historians and commentators are disposed to over-color the orgies; it is so easy to make prodigious effects with strong sulphurous tints and blazing vermilions. Certain it is that Taine, in writing of these times, has put an almost malignant touch into his story, blinking the fact that the trail which shows most of corrupting phosphorescence came over the Channel with the new King; forgetting that French breeding was at the bottom of the new tastes, and that French gold made the blazonry of the chariots in which the Jezebels rode on their triumphal way through London to--perdition. Then, again, English vice is more outspoken and less secretive than that of the over-Channel neighbors. It is now, and has always been true, that when his Satanic majesty takes possession of a man (or a woman), he can cover himself in sweeter and more impenetrable disguise under the pretty perukes and charming millinery of French art than in a homely British body, out of which the demon horns stick stark through all the wigs and cosmetics that art can put upon a man. It is worth while for us to remember that in this London, when the elegant Duke of Rochester was beating time with his jewelled hand to a French gallop, Richard Baxter’s[73] ever-living _Saints’ Rest_ was an accredited book, giving consolation to many a poor soul wrestling with the fears of death and of future judgment. It was published, indeed, somewhat earlier; but its author was still wakeful and earnest; and many a time his thin, stooping figure might be seen threading a way through the street crowds to his chapel in Southwark, where delighted listeners came to hear him, almost upon the very spot where Shakespeare, eighty years before, had played in the Globe Theatre. The eloquent Tillotson, too, in these times--more liberal than Baxter or Doddridge--was writing upon _The Wisdom of Being Religious_ and the right _Rule of Faith_, and by his catholicity and clear-headedness winning such favor and renown as to bring him later to the see of Canterbury. I would have you keep in mind, too, that John Milton was still alive--his “Samson Agonistes” not being published until Charles II. had been some twelve years upon the throne--and in quiet seclusion was cultivating and cherishing that serene philosophy which glows along the closing line of his greatest sonnet, “They also serve who only stand and wait!” _Andrew Marvell._ When upon the subject of Milton, I made mention of a certain poet who used to go and see him in his country retirement, and who was also assistant to him in his duties as Latin Secretary to the Council. This was Andrew Marvell,[74] a poet of so true a stamp, and so true a man, that it is needful to know something more of him.