of the commissioners to Westminster, a resolution to the following purport, drawn up by Marten, was proposed in the Commons: "That no farther addresses should be made to the king, nor any message be received from him, by the houses; and that if any person, without their leave, contravened this order, he should be liable to the penalties of treason." Sir Thomas Wroth was the first to speak in support of this proposition. Next rose Ireton, and, in a speech, the affected moderation of which presented a contrast with the coarse violence of the previous orator, said, "the king had denied that protection to the people which was the condition of obedience to him; that after long patience they should now at last show themselves resolute; that they should not desert the brave men-the many thousand godly men-who had fought for them beyond the possibility of retreat or forgiveness, and who would never forsake the parliament unless the parliament first forsook them." After some further debate, says the writer who has recorded these speeches, Cromwell brought up the rear. It was time, he said, to answer the public expectation, that they were able and resolved to govern and defend the kingdom by their own power, and teach the people that they had nothing to hope from a man whose heart God hardened in obstinacy. "Do not," he concluded (after extolling in the highest terms the valour and godliness of the soldiers), "let the army think themselves betrayed to the rage and malice of an irreconcilable enemy, whom they have subdued for your sake, from whom they should meet revenge and justice; do not drive them to despair, lest they seek safety by other means than adhering to you, who will not stick to yourselves; and (laying his hand on his sword) how destructive such a resolution in them will be to you all, I tremble to think, and leave you to judge." The resolution passed by a majority of 141 to 92. The concurrence of the parliament, in the extremest views of the army being thus far secured, Cromwell resolved to mark this unity of object as absolute and irrevocable, by a solemn public act. A meeting of the general-officers and chief agitators (now entirely reconciled, upon the principles of the levellers), was held at Windsor in the presence of the parliament's commissioners. The preliminaries of this conference were fasting and prayer. In this last exercise Cromwell and Ireton distinguished themselves in a manner worthy of the signal occasion; the "godly" were enraptured, and described the "outpourings of the spirit" (whatever spirit it was) "which on that occasion breathed from the lips of those great men, as such sweet music as the heavens never before knew." This scene of awful profanity was acted in the royal halls of Windsor Castle! And there also, as if to fill up the hateful climax in a manner the most grotesquely incongruous, was formally adopted the resolution, long before conceived in their obscurer conclaves, that the king should be brought to trial by the nation, as a shedder of his people's blood. "We declare," say the army, in their public resolutions at this meeting, in language as explicit as it was yet prudent publicly to employ, "that we are resolved firmly to adhere to and stand by the parliament in their vote not to make any farther addresses, &c. and in what shall be farther necessary for prosecution thereof, and for the settling and securing of the parliament and kingdom, WITHOUT THE KING and AGAINST HIM, or any other that shall hereafter partake with him." Hitherto the Lords had hesitated to adopt the recent vote of the Commons:-the army's "agreement" decided

them. To make all sure, the houses were farther obliged to agree in a request to Fairfax to quarter a regiment of infantry at Whitehall, and one of cavalry at the Mews, for their protection. The general complied; and presently afterwards laid aside, for a time, even the appearance which he had hitherto maintained, of executing, in his own person, the functions of his dictatorial office. Alleging exhaustion by "the multiplicity of business," he transferred to a committee of officers, at the head of whom were Cromwell, Ireton, and Fleetwood, the settlement of all affairs relating to the army-i. e., for so it really was, to the entire interests and welfare of the nation. By such means was the imprisoned king already set aside, and a republic, or rather a military despotism, imposed upon the nation.

But loyalty, if it can be said ever to have been extinct among the people, was now rapidly rekindling in their bosoms; even the sternest of the Presbyterians, except such as were silenced, by the immediate dread of military violence, asserting the equity of the king's claim to be heard in a personal conference. It became necessary therefore to invest the late proceedings with some appearance of reason. A "Declaration" was consequently prepared, to vindicate their necessity and justice. In this famous document was brought together the whole mass of errors and crimes, real and imaginary, with which the government was chargeable, from, and even before, the king's accession. The failures, the exactions, the illegal punishments, the bloodshed,-in short, all the grievances embodied in their first remonstrance on the state of the kingdom, and every calumny added in subsequent declarations, were raked together, and, with other charges, hitherto unheard of, or suffered to sleep in the obscure recesses of slander, were exhibited in the darkest colours which malevolence could command. It was more than insinuated that the death of King James had been caused by poison, administered to him through the contrivance of Charles and the Duke of Buckingham. On this point even Selden rose to vindicate the king. He had been, he said, one of the committee nominated to investigate the causes of King James's death, and he remembered nothing in the evidence which reflected on his majesty. He therefore moved the omission of that clause, but was put down by the republicans, who threatened him with instant expulsion.

Yet the parliament's "Declaration" was thought less forcible than might have been expected from the talents and malignity of its authors, employed on a field of mistake and misfortune so extensive, calamitous, and obnoxious to prejudice and misrepresentation. It was not left, however, to work its effects unanswered. Charles published a counterdeclaration from his own hand; and a more regular and minute defence appeared from the pen of the faithful Hyde. In the king's appeal to the people, having vindicated his desire, and his frequent endeavours to settle a peace, and pointed out the grounds on which his rejection of the four bills was both reasonable and inevitable, he proceeds, as follows, with a statement, certainly not too highly coloured, of his patience under the severe treatment he was then suffering: "That by the permission of Almighty God, I am reduced to this sad condition, as I no way repine, so I am not without hope but that the same God will, in due time, convert these afflictions unto my advantage. In the mean

time, I am content to bear these crosses with patience and a great equality of mind; but by what means or occasion I am come to this relapse in my affairs, I am utterly to seek, especially when I consider that I have sacrificed to my two houses of parliament, for the peace of the kingdom, all but what is more dear to me than my life, my conscience and honour; desiring nothing more than to perform it in the most proper and natural way, a personal treaty. . .

"And now I would know," he eloquently concludes, "what it is that is desired: is it peace? I have showed the way, being both willing and desirous to perform my part in it, which is a just compliance with all chief interests. Is it plenty and happiness? They are the inseparable effects of peace. Is it security? I, who wish that all men would forgive and forget, like me, have offered the militia for my time. Is it liberty of conscience? He who wants it is most ready to give it. But if I may not be heard, let every one judge who it is that obstructs the good I would or might do. What is it that men are afraid to hear from me? It cannot be reason (at least, none will declare themselves so unreasonable as to confess it), and it can less be impertinent or unreasonable discourses; for thereby, peradventure, I might more justify this my restraint than the causes themselves can do: so that, of all wonders yet, this is the greatest to me. But it may easily

be gathered, how those men intend to govern who have used me thus: and if it be my hard fate to fall, together with the liberty of this kingdom, I shall not blush for myself, but much lament the future miseries of my people; the which I shall still pray to God to avert, whatever becomes of me."

Cromwell, in the mean time, not fully assured of Hammond, was prosecuting an anxious and subtile correspondence, designed to confirm that functionary in obedience to the directions and the views of his masters. The following letter is highly characteristic, both of the writer and his correspondent:-"DEAREST ROBIN,-Now (blessed be God) I can write, and thou receive, freely. I never in my life saw more deep sense, and less will to show it unchristianly, than in that which thou didst write to us at Windsor; and though in the midst of thy temptation, which indeed (by what we understand of it) was a great one, and occasioned the greater by the letter the general sent thee, of which thou wast not mistaken when thou didst challenge me to be the penner. How good has God been to dispose all to mercy! And although it was trouble for the present, yet glory is come out of it, for which we praise the Lord with thee, and for thee; and truly thy carriage has been such as occasions much honour to the name of God and religion. Go on in the strength of the Lord, and the Lord be still with thee! But, dear Robin, this business hath been (I trust) a mighty providence to this poor kingdom, and to us all. The house of Commons is very sensible of the king's dealings, and of our brethren's, in this late transaction. You should do well, if you have anything that may discover juggling, to search it out, and let us know it; it may be of admirable use at this time; because we shall (I hope) instantly go upon business in relation to them tending to prevent danger. Let us know how it is with you in point of strength, and what you need from us; some of us think the king well with you, and that it concerns us to keep that island in

...

great security, because of the French, &c.; and if so, where can the king be better? If you have more force, you will [be] sure of full provision for them. The Lord bless thee: pray for thy dear friend and servant,

"O. CROMWELL."

The measures, regarding the secure possession of the king, which were taken by the parliament after the vote of non-addresses, were such as are indicated in this curious epistle. The houses confirmed the precautions of Hammond by an order for the dissolution of the royal household, authorizing the general to appoint attendants on the king, in any number not exceeding thirty; a vote, presently afterwards superseded by one which referred it to Hammond "to appoint eight such persons as he should think fit," with full liberty to "place and displace" at pleasure. Troops were, at the same time, marched into the island; and Rainsborough (originally a seaman, though latterly colonel of a regiment under Fairfax), being appointed to the command of the fleet, with the view at once of satisfying the fiercest among the republicans as to the sincerity with which the "grandees" had embraced the regicidal cause, and of setting aside Warwick, the Presbyterian, was ordered round with his ships to blockade the island. In carrying this last precautionary measure into effect, an important difficulty occurred.

260

CHAPTER XXVIII.

POPULAR INDIGNATION-SECOND WAR.

THE late republican vote had opened the eyes of the people. Blood of theirs had been lavishly shed-treasure to an enormous amount, wrung from the sinews of the commonalty, or obtained by casting out to confiscation and beggary the ancient nobility of the land, had been squandered-its most venerable institutions subverted-on pretence of restoring the nation to a state of freedom and happiness. And what was the result, as now seen and felt by all? Three great parties, each irreconcilably hostile to both the others, poured over every district, town, hamlet, hearth, and bosom, the bitterness of social hatred and division. One estate of the legislature, having first usurped the proper functions of the whole, had then seized those of the executive, and was now itself being swallowed up in the despotism of its mercenary instruments. More than a year had elapsed since the army of the parliament had been left victorious, and without an enemy; but the exactions necessary for its maintenance, instead of being abolished, had increased; and still it continued clamorous for more pay, as well as larger power, though every post of authority and emolument in the realm was already occupied either by its officers, mostly low-born and insolent men, or by its obsequious creatures in that degraded assembly which still bore the name of an English parliament. The sovereign (to surround whose throne with constitutional landmarks, which a dutiful and affectionate people were never, on their side, to overpass, had been held forth as the sufficient object of seven years of strife), was now a captive in a remote fortress, denied the privilege of negotiating with his rebellious subjects, and denied in terms which intimated a purpose to supersede his office by the introduction of an arbitrary form of government, unknown to the constitution, and alien to the habits and wishes of the people, and even obscurely to countenance the rumours current that he was destined to perish on the scaffold or in the dungeon. Such were those circumstances that engaged the thoughts, and supplied the conversation, of the people; of whom three-fourths had either retained the old loyalty of Englishmen, through those struggles which they had been taught to regard as no less needful for the king's welfare than their own, or, if extinguished for a season, felt it now rekindle from indignation against their betrayers. The press, never more energetic than throughout this period, lent its aid in spite of penalties; the king's immediate friends, though uncertain and disunited, were variously active; in short, the whole country appeared to heave with throes of indignant agitation, and the renewal of that unnatural and disastrous war began, on all sides, to be apprehended.

The general discontent, as usual, first found a voice in petitions, which were poured into the parliament from many quarters, but all concurring in the same prayer for the