for differences of opinion in religion, so long as such differences did
not endanger the peace and well-being of the realm. If this declaration
meant anything, it meant a breadth of toleration larger and more liberal
than had been ever granted by Cromwell. Any fears of the renewal of
persecution must be groundless.

But if such dreams of religious liberty were entertained they were
speedily and rudely dispelled, and Bunyan was one of the first to feel
the shock of the awakening. The promise was coupled with a reference to
the "mature deliberation of Parliament." With such a promise Charles's
easy conscience was relieved of all responsibility. Whatever he might
promise, the nation, and Parliament which was its mouthpiece, might set
his promise aside. And if he knew anything of the temper of the people
he was returning to govern, he must have felt assured that any scheme of
comprehension was certain to be rejected by them. As Mr. Froude has
said, "before toleration is possible, men must have learnt to tolerate
toleration," and this was a lesson the English nation was very far from
having learnt; at no time, perhaps, were they further from it. Puritanism
had had its day, and had made itself generally detested. Deeply
enshrined as it was in many earnest and devout hearts, such as Bunyan's,
it was necessarily the religion not of the many, but of the few; it was
the religion not of the common herd, but of a spiritual aristocracy. Its
stern condemnation of all mirth and pastime, as things in their nature
sinful, of which we have so many evidences in Bunyan's own writings; its
repression of all that makes life brighter and more joyous, and the sour
sanctimoniousness which frowned upon innocent relaxation, had rendered
its yoke unbearable to ordinary human nature, and men took the earliest
opportunity of throwing the yoke off and trampling it under foot. They
hailed with rude and boisterous rejoicings the restoration of the
Monarchy which they felt, with a true instinct, involved the restoration