still a mere medley of Puritan morality and social revolt, of
traditional loyalty and political scepticism, of bigotry and free
inquiry, of science and Popish plots, the England of the Restoration was
reflected in its king. What his subjects saw in Charles the Second was a
pleasant, brown-faced gentleman playing with his spaniels, or drawing
caricatures of his ministers, or flinging cakes to the water-fowl in
the park. To all outer seeming Charles was the most consummate of
idlers. "He delighted," says one of his courtiers, "in a bewitching kind
of pleasure called sauntering." The business-like Pepys discovered, as
he brought his work to the Council-board, that "the king do mind nothing
but pleasures, and hates the very sight or thoughts of business." That
Charles had great natural parts no one doubted. In his earlier days of
defeat and danger he showed a cool courage and presence of mind which
never failed him in the many perilous moments of his reign. His temper
was pleasant and social, his manners perfect, and there was a careless
freedom and courtesy in his address which won over everybody who came
into his presence. His education indeed had been so grossly neglected
that he could hardly read a plain Latin book; but his natural quickness
and intelligence showed itself in his pursuit of chymistry and anatomy,
and in the interest he showed in the scientific inquiries of the Royal
Society. Like Peter the Great his favourite study was that of naval
architecture, and he piqued himself on being a clever shipbuilder. He
had some little love too for art and poetry, and a taste for music. But
his shrewdness and vivacity showed themselves most in his endless talk.
He was fond of telling stories, and he told them with a good deal of
grace and humour. He held his own fairly with the wits of his Court, and
bandied repartees on equal terms with Sedley or Buckingham. Even
Rochester in his merciless epigram was forced to own that Charles "never
said a foolish thing." He had inherited in fact his grandfather's gift
of pithy sayings, and his habitual irony often gave an amusing turn to
them. When his brother, the most unpopular man in England, solemnly
warned him of plots against his life, Charles laughingly bade him set
all fear aside. "They will never kill me, James," he said, "to make you
king."

But courage and wit and ability seemed to have been bestowed on Charles
in vain. He only laughed when Tom Killigrew told him frankly tha