of his courtiers, the common purpose of whose lives was pursuit
of pleasure. Never was sovereign more gracious to those who came
in contact with him, or less ceremonious with his friends; whilst
abroad he had lived with his little band of courtiers more as a
companion than a king. The bond of exile had drawn them close
together; an equal fortune had gone far towards obliterating
distinctions of royalty; and custom had so fitted the monarch and
his friends to familiarity, that on his return to England neither
he nor they laid aside a mutual freedom of treatment which by
degrees extended itself throughout the court. For all that, "he
was master," as Welwood says, "of something in his person and
aspect that commanded both love and admiration at once."

Among his many gifts was that of telling a story well--a rare one
'tis true in all ages. Never was he better pleased than when,
surrounded by a group of gossips, he narrated some anecdote of
which he was the hero; and, though his tales were more than twice
told, they were far from tedious; inasmuch as, being set forth
with brighter flashes of wit and keener touches of irony, they
were ever pleasant to hear. His conversation was of a like
complexion to his tales, pointed, shrewd, and humorous;
frequently--as became the manner of the times--straying far
afield of propriety, and taking liberties of expression of which
nice judgments could not approve. But indeed his majesty's
speech was not more free than his conduct was licentious. He
could not think, he gravely told Bishop Burnet, "God would make a
man miserable for taking a little pleasure out of the way."
Accordingly he followed the free bent of his desires, and his
whole life was soon devoted to voluptuousness; a vice which an
ingenious courtier obligingly describes as a "warmth and