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upon the Scottish nation, he found himself engaged in a war with his northern, without the support of even his more southern subjects. By the advice of Laud and Strafford another Parliament was called, the members returned to which were, for the most part, in the opposition ranks. Men who resolved that every subject should be subordinate to the redress of the national grievances, whatever might be the result. The issue of this Parliament needed little foresight to predict. Disputes with the king became more violent, and three weeks after its convocation it was dissolved. Tyranny succeeded tyranny, and every day the feelings of the English approximated more closely to those of the Scotch, with whom they were at war. The expedition against Scotland signally failed. A convocation of peers met at York, Sept. 1, 1640, and negotiations were entered into between the belligerent powers,

But the difficulties increased on every hand. No way of escape seemed open, and Charles, like a desperate gambler, who has lost everything and stakes the last morsel on the game, determined to seek the advice of another Parliament, although most fearful odds were against him. His worst fears were surpassed; for, exasperated by eleven years of neglect or insult, during which time all their entreaties for their lawful rights were answered by haughty temerity, cold disdain, or undisguised ridicule, the people rose from their degredation, and by their delegates proclaimed their inherent majesty, powerful as it was bold. Strafford was impeached for high treason, to which that of Laud succeeded. Proofs were insufficient to convict Strafford of high treason; the Commons immediately passed a bill of attainder against him. The conduct of Charles in this instance was of the most desperate character. Anxious to save Strafford, from an idea of necessity for his counsels, and perhaps, also, from affection, he refused to sanction the bill condemning his favorite servant to the scaffold. He sent for Hollis, one of the popular leaders, Strafford's brother-in-law, who, on that account, had taken no part in the proceedings." What can be done to save him ?” he asked, with apparent anguish. Hollis advised him to solicit in person a reprieve from the Commons, in a speech which he drew up on the spot, wbile he would use his influence with his friends to be satisfied with the Earl's banishment. Hollis fulfilled his promise, and had partially succeeded, when the king received a letter from Strafford, nobly urging him not to spare his life, if his death would at all conduce to concord with the people. The vacillating king, regardless of his former assurance, Be sure,” he wrote to him, “ on my royal word, you shall not suffer, either in your life, or in your fortune, or in your honor,” now seemed glad of this letter, by which he might sacrifice his most devoted servant to his adversaries. Whatever may have been Strafford's faults, he had been devoted to the interests of the king; whatever bis crimes, they were committed on his behalf. If it were requisite that he should die for offences against the national good, it was not at the king's hands he ought to have received such vengeance. Charles sent his secretary of state to notify Strafford of his assent to the bill of attainder. Overcome by this meanness, which he had vainly thought impossible, Strafford lifted up his hands, and exclaimed, “ Nolite confidere principibus et filius, hominum quia non est salus in illis!" Not even observing his agreement with Hollis, he did not go near the House, but merely sent by the Prince of Wales a letter, with this remarkable postscript, “ If he must die, it would be a charity to spare him till Saturday." The House, after his ready assent to the bill, regarded the postscript as hypocritical, and ordered the execution to take place the next day. On the scaffold Strafford briefly, but solemnly, vindicated his conduct, and died with fortitude and composure. Thus fell Strafford, who set out in public life with the applause and prayers of an oppressed people, but he

died amid the curses of the same nation, deserted by the king, to serve whom he had abandoned his old friends, yea, to serve whom he had even endeavored to crush that nation's liberties.

The power and demands of Parliament increased in proportion as the king gave way. They gained the king's assent to a bill, which deprived him of the power of d.ssolving Parliament without their own consent. The Parliament, from being powerless, had become the paramount authority in the state. It had reformed abuses; it had destroyed its enemies; it had humbled regal pride, and contracted the limits of royal authority. But they became divided, and in the midst of their success party factions began to prevail in the House. A general remonstrance had been prepared, not indeed as formerly, one which merely embodied grievances actually existing, and the wish of the country, but which set forth, in the darkest colors, all the delinquencies of the king, contrasted with the merits of the Parliament, and which, instead of stating calmly the remedy for evils, appealed to the passions of the people against the king, the bishops, and Popery. This remonstrance, only carried by a majority of 159 against 148, was published. The Reformation, which had hitherto only extended to civil and political matters, now reached the Church. The bishops were excluded from all office.

Charles profited by the zeal of the Parliament, and began to surround himself with other counsellors, mild men, who loved the liberties of the people, but who feared further innovations. Lord Falkland, Mr. Hyde, afterwards Lord Clarendon, and Sir John Colepepper, all formerly leaders of the Reformers, became his ministers; and by their advice, at all times, he promised to act. Their well-known integrity and mildness inspired confidence once more in the people towards the king. The parties daily increased, and became distinguished by names; the royalists were named Cavaliers, the citizens Roundheads.

The bishops protested against the bill for their exclusion, declaring therein every bill null and void that should be adopted without the consent of all the legitimate and necessary members of Parliament, and presented it to the king, who eagerly received it without asking the advice of his new friends, and despatched the address to the House with his sanction. The rage of Parliament was extreme. The absurdity of the fact that the act of twelve men, whose Parliamentary existence was then in dispute, should order the fate of Parliament itself, was palpable. They were impeached, and sent to the Tower. One voice alone defended them, and voted them stark mad, fit only to be sent to bedlam instead of the Tower. A foolish manæuvre on the part of the king destroyed what little confidence in his rectitude the Parliament still entertained. Jan. 3d, 1642, Sir Edward Herbert, the attorney-general, went to the House of Peers, and in the king's name accused of high treason Lord Kimbolton and five of the most popular leaders of the Commons. The Lords were thunderstruck, but Lord Kimbolton remained firm. In the Commons, when the news reached them that seals had been placed on the property of the five members, they voted it a breach of privilege. The sergeant-at-arms appeared at the bar to demand the five members; no notice was taken of the demand. The Commons, jointly with the Lords, demanded a guard to render them secure from danger, and adjourned until the next day, ordering the accused to be in their seats. Next day, when they re-assembled, all were in doubt and perplexity, especially the royalists, for these violent measures had been without the cognizance of the king's wisest friends. The accused alone had some idea of what was at hand. Presently the king appeared in person, with an armed force, to arrest the five members ; but they had left their seats and gone into the city. Charles was obliged to return home, defeated and out-generalled,

The accused members bade defiance to his power in their retreat, for they were idolized by the people. At length poor Charles determined to quit Whitehall for Hampton Court, with his wife and children. Thence he proceeded to Windsor, to prepare for war; for both parties now plainly foresaw that war was inevitable, and began to prepare for it in good earnest, although secretly. It was only delayed because each party wished the other to commence hostilities.

At length the king formally called his subjects to arms, by planting the royal standard at Nottingham. The royal army progressed but slowly, while, on the other hand, that of Parliament, under the command of the Earl Essex, already numbered 20,000, and rapidly increased. The first battle was fought on the 23d Oct., at Edge-Hill near Keynton, in Warwickshire. Both parties claimed the victory. The king established his head-quarters at Oxford. The history of this period of the war is not important, both parties, from a feeling of affinity with their enemies, hesitated at striking a decisive blow, until Cromwell, who began to shine prominently among the great men of the day, began to organize another army.

" The royal cavalry more especially struck terror into the Parliamentary horse ; and the cavalry was still, as in the feudal times, the most honored and efficient force. Hampden and Cromwell were talking one day of this inferiority of their party. How can it be otherwise ?' asked Cromwell ; 'your horse are, for the most part, superannuated domestics, and people of the soil; theirs are the sons of gentlemen, men of quality. Do you think such poor vagabonds as your fellows have soul enough to stand against gentlemen, full of resolution and honor ? Take not my words ill. I know you will not; you must have fellows animated by a spirit that will take them as far as the king's gentlemen, or you'll always be beaten.' You are right,' said Hampden; but this cannot be.' 'I can do something towards it,' said Cromwell; • and I will. I will raise men who will have the fear of God before their eyes, and who will bring some conscience to what they do, and I promise you they shall not be beaten.' He accordingly went through the eastern counties, recruiting young men, the greater part known to him, and he to them; all freeholders, or the sons of freeholders. to whom pay was not an object, nor mere idleness a pleasure ; all fierce, hostile fanatics, engaging in the war for conscience's sake, and under Cromwell from confidence in him. I will not deceive you,' said he, nor may you believe, as my commission has it, that you are going to fight for the king and Parliament; if the king were before me, I would as soon shoot him as another. If your conscience will not allow you to do as much, go and serve elsewhere.' The majority did not hesitate a moment; and they were no sovner enli ed, than all the comforts of domestic, and all the license of military life, were alike interdicted them ; subjected to the most severe discipline, compelled to keep their horses and arms in perfect order, often sleeping in the open air ; passing, almost without relaxation, from the duties of military services to the exercises of piety, their leader insisted upon their devoting themselves to their new calling as earnestly as to their cause : and that the free energy of fanaticism should, in them, be combined with the disciplined firmness of the soldier. When the campaign opened, fourteen squadrons of such volunteers, forming a body of about a thousand horse, marched under the orders of Cromwell.”—16. pp. 206, 207.

Such was the secret of Cromwell's success, and such formed the strength of that army, which afterwards gained so much renown. They were soldiers, not from profession or for gain, but from pure conviction, from religious duty. In a day when it was considered imperative upon all to fight for their religion, they buckled on the sword to defend their own homes and the temples of the Most High. Their presence in the battle-field was the result of a deeply-rooted, but steady conviction of the rectitude of their cause, the sacredness of those privileges for which they fought. They were not " fanatics," as M. Guizot designates them, but mostly pious and

History of the English Revolution of 1640.


determined men, who, in fighting in the army of Cromwell, merely discharged their consciences of what was considered, by all parties, a duty binding upon all-to fight for the religion they professed. Our author has fallen, we conceive, into several mistakes of this kind, which, as we purpose noticing hereafter, we shall not detain our readers to consider, but pass on to notice the leading events of the Revolution.

Skirmishes were daily taking place between straggling parties of the two armies, with alternate success. In one of these, fought on the 18th June, on Chalgrave Common, some distance from Oxford, John Hampden received a wound, from the effects of which he died. The death of this good and great man was, of course, received with very different emotions by the opposing parties. The royalists displayed unequivocal signs of joy, while the Parliament and its adherents bitterly lamented the death of one of their best and bravest champions. Disaster now fell steadily and heavily upon the people. Place after place surrendered to the victorious army of Charles, until they invested Gloucester. Thither Essex repaired, and compelled the royalists to raise the siege. The battle of Newberry shortly afterwards occurred, when the Parliament gained a decisive victory. Among those slain of the king's army was Lord Falkland, one of the very few of the honest adherents of Charles, the account of whose death we extract from our author. After enumerating some of those slain, he adds :

"- Lord Falkland, the glory of the royalist party—a patriot, though proscribed at London ; respected by the people, though a minister at Oxford. There was nothing to call him to the field of battle, and his friends had more than once reproached him for his needless temerity. My office,' he would answer, with a smile, 'is far from being such as to deprive me of the privilege of my age ; a secretary at war should know something about war.' For some months past he had sought danger with eagerness ; the sufferings of the people, the greater evils be foresaw, the anxiety of his mind, the ruin of his hopes, the continual disquietude of his soul; placed, as he was, among a party whose success he dreaded almost as much as their defeat, everything had contributed to plunge him into utter despondency: His temper was soured ; his imagination, naturally brilliant, various and gay, had become fixed and sombre. Inclined by taste and habit to peculiar elegance in toilet, he had of late taken no care, neither of his apparel or of his person ; no conversation, no employment had any longer charms for him. Sitting with his friends, his head buried in his hands, he would, after a protracted silence, sorrowfully murmur, * Peace! peace! The prospect of some negotiation alone revived him. On the morning of the battle, those around him were astonished to find him more cheerful than of late; he seemed to give a long, unwonted attention to his dress. If I be killed to day, said he, I would not that they should find my body in foul linen.' His friends conjured him to stay away; sadness once more stole over his features. No,' he said, • I am weary of the times ; I foresee much misery to my country, but I believe I shall be out of it before night;' and he joined Lord Byron's regiment as volunteer. The action had scarcely commenced when a ball hit him in the lower part of the stomach ; he fell from his horse, and died without any one having observed him fall; the victim of times too rugged for his pure and sensitive virtue. His body was not found till next day; his friends, Hyde in particular, preserved an inconsolable remembrance of him; the courtiers heard, without much emotion, of the death of a man who was foreign to their ways and feelings. Charles manifested decent regret, and felt hinself more at ease in the Council.”—Ib. pp. 227, 228.


(To be Continued.)


We have just received from Paris the first volume of Lamartine's new work on the French Revolution. The brilliant talents of its illustrious author ; the high interest of the subject; above all, the singular fact that these great works, on the same grand topic, appeared simultaneously in Paris in the month of April last, and each one written by the master-spirits of contemporary French literature, Lamartine, Louis Blanc, and Michelet, gives to the present volume under review an attraction even beyond that which necessarily belongs to any production from the accomplished pen of its author.

This splendid book has fallen into our hands only at the last moment, and time is wanting to give it not merely a perusal, but that careful reflection to which its varied materials, and the admirable mode in which they are treated, equally demand. Though it seems to us something like presumption to aspire to sit in judgment over the effusions of genius like those of Lamartine, it is a task far more consonant to the enthusiastic feelings of admiration which inspire us, and which is indeed far more becoming our humble capacity, to content ourselves simply with pointing out to the enjoyment of the reading world such passages as are more particularly worthy their attention, if a perusal of the entire work should not be in their power. To explain the nature and scope of his object, we cannot do better than translate from the preface of the author his remarks on this head.

“ This book has not the pretensions of history, and therefore should not affect its solemnity. It is only an intermediate book between history and memoirs. Events occupy less space than men and ideas. Familiar details abound, and details are the physiognomy of character; and it is by them that the imagination is impressed. Distinguished writers have already written the fastes of this evermemorable epoch. Others, besides, will write it soon. It would be doing us an injustice to make any comparison. They have drawn, or will draw the picture of a century; we have given but a sketch of a group of men, and of a few months only of the Revolution.'

He says:

Thus simply and clearly does Lamartine explain the unpretending nature of his work. It is true, he attempts not the serious duties, nor ventures on the laborious drudgery, of a conscientious and pains-taking historian. Sympathising with the heroic elevation of character which distinguished the ill-fated, but noble-minded Girondist, Lamartine has merely sought to give expression to his fine sentiments of admiration, and, with the modesty of true genius, little dreaming the act was consecrating for ever the memory of his subject.

But we will spare our impatient readers the ennui of longer suspense, and put before them at once the following extract, which is, beyond question, the most powerful portraiture ever drawn of Mirabeau.

The education of Mirabeau was as harsh and cold as the hand of his father, who was called the friend of man, but whose restless spirit and egotistical vanity rendered him the persecutor of his wife and the tyrant of his children. The only virtue inculcated in him was that of honor. Thus it was the fashion of the time to style that ostentatious virtue, which

* Historie des Girondins. Par M. A. de Lamartine.

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