b'Dfl 428 \n.1 \n.V2 \nCopy 1 \n\n\n\nCROMWELL AND HIS TIMES. \n\n\n\nLECTURE \n\n\n\nDELIVERED BEFORE THE \n\n\n\nAMERICAN UNION ACADEMY OF LITEUA- \nTUEE, ART AND SCIENCE, \n\n\n\nv/\'j^smiNra-TOiT GiT"5r, \n\n\n\nMONDAY EVENING, MARCH 28, 1870, \n\n\n\nHON. P: VAN TRUMP, \n\n\n\nAND ORDERED TO LE PRINTED BY A\' VOTE OE TUE ACADEMY. \n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, D. C. : \nPRINTED BY JUDO & DETWEILER. \n\n1871. \n\n\n\nV \n\n\n\n"mr*" ..... I \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\x94 . \n*THE LIBRARY \n\nOF CONGRESS \n1 WASHINGTON \n\n\n\nCROMWELL AND HIS TIMES. \n\n\n\nI bave selected as the tlieme of the lecture th\xc3\xacs evening, one of \nthe most impoitant epochs in the annals of Euglish history, and \none of the most extraordinary men of his age, to wit: the Great \nCiviL War in England, and the hero of its achievements, as well \nas the arbitcr of its results, Oliver Cromwell. There is some- \nthing solemn, and at the sanie time instructive, or ought to be, in \nthe contempLation of these great periods in the history of the civil \nlife of the human race, in its lowest as well as in its highest types \nof organization, when, in the providence of God, kings are de- \nthroned, governments are broken up, old dynasties are sweptaway, \nand new ones inaugurated, through the Aeree passions of the Peo- \nple, whether aroused by the deep sense of politicai wrongs, or they \nare\'hurled against each other by the phrenzy of religious antagon- \nism. These great historic periods stand like beacons along the coast \nof Time, shedding their clear and warning light upon the great \nhighway of nations, exposing the rocks and shoals on which bave \nsplit many a goodly bark, freighted with the highest hopes and \nthe dearest rights of millions of human beings. The English Revo- \nlution of 1640, was intensified by a combination of both the religious \naud the politicai elements. In this characteristic, it stands in aline \nof partial coincidence with its greater and more horrid suceessor, \nthe French Revolution. But the similitude terminates with the \nadvent of the two great struggles. Though similar in the causes \nwhich produced them, how widely difTerent in their results, and in \nthe motives and feelings of the great intellects which controlied, or \nwere controlied by them ! How radically difFerent, too, were the \ntwo great master-spirits who f\xc3\xacnally brought them to a dose, by the \nirresistible power of their own self-will, in the objects which they \nhad in view, and in the genius, as well as in the moral tone of their \nindividuality, CROanvELL and Napoleon ! The French Revolu- \ntion, in the philosophy of its devolution, was unlike any other civU \ncom\'motion, which preceded it, in the history of the world. It was, \nin some things, the most hopeful and promising in its commence- \nment; the most horrid and bloody in its progress; and the most \nunmixed and contemptibly despotic in its conclusion. Indeed, for \nthe unmitigated furor of its prosecution, and the naked and aimless \nterror of its details, it was one of the most extraordinary struggles \nof any recorded in the annals of mankind. The differences in some \n\n\n\nof the leading causos which produced, and the motives whichguided \nthe English Civil War and the French Revokition, are not more \nstriking in their nature than were the means resorted to in pushing \nthem forward to their ultimate objects. In both these great volca- \nnoes of liuman passion, Religion was a prominent if not controlling \nelement of discord. In tlie case of tlie Englisli peopie, one of the \nleading impulses of the rebellion was a most bitter and sectarian \ncrusade against the National Church, as an intolerable oligarchy, \nsustained by the power of the State, biit with a clear and avowed \nprogramme for the establishment of a parer religion, and a more \njust form of ecclesiastical polity, as they understood it. With \nFrance and the French peopie, it was a determined and inexorable \nwar against ali religions, whether legitimated by State policy, or \nsanctified by private observance. With them, the only Supreme \nPower acknowledged was Death ; the only Future recognized was \nAnnihilation ; the only Deity worshipped was a wild, anarchie, but, \nstrange to say, fraternizing Spirit of Liberty. In Englaud, a reli- \ngions accountability was hopefully acknowledged by ali ranks and \nali sections, although its technical forms and minor canons furn- \nished grounds for the most intense and bigoted disiiutation. In \nFrance, on the contrary, the whole system was sapped to its foun- \ndations ; the religious faith of the nation was subverted hj the f\xc3\xacerce \ninf\xc3\xacdelity of her men of genius, her statesmen, and her i^hiloso- \nphers. In England, however embittered was the contest as to the \nmode of worship, they ali unitcd in one common and cherished \nfaith as to the divine o6;ec< of their adoration ; and although dis- \ntracted and torn asunder by contending factions, the public mind \nwas attracted to one common centre, in the atoning merits of the \nDivine Founder of Christianity ; while in Fi\'ance, the whole jslan \nof salvation was repudiated, and, in its stead, a tinsellcd Goddess of \nLiberty was impiously set up as a f\xc3\xact homage for the Peoiale, inau- \ngurated by the baneful genius of Ilosseau, of Voltaire, of Raynel, \nand of Mirabeau, the high-priests of this new and impious philoso- \nphy ! Subject to the modit\xc3\xaccation of time, of race, and of civiliza- \ntion, these are of some of the direful consequences, written by the \nuncbangeable band of God, in characters of retributive tire, upon \nthe front of civil war ! \n\nBefore we enter upon the immediate consideration of the English \nRevolution, \xe2\x80\x94 its indeflnite commencement, \xe2\x80\x94 its slow but steady \nprogress, \xe2\x80\x94 and its decisive but most unexi^ected termination , \xe2\x80\x94 as well \nas the necessary study of the characters and actions of the great men \nwho moukled its destinies, or were submerged by its i\xc3\xacood-tide of \ncommotion,\xe2\x80\x94 it will be proper, and perhaps instructive, to take a \nbrief but rapid survey of the English Government, and the temper \nof the English Peoiile, for a reign or two prior to its advent. \n\nJames VI of Seotland, but the first of the Stuart line who reigned \n\n\n\n5 \n\nover the English i^eoi^le, ascended the throne of theBritish Empire \nat a time when the public mind was largely oecupied and excited \nupou two questions esseiitial to liumau happiness, Religion, aiad its \ncorrelative aspiration, Individuai Liberty and Constitutional Gov- \nernment. Notwithstanding the absolute and arbitrary power exer- \ncised by the Tudor dynasty ; indeed, as the inevitable consequence \nof the tyranny of that proud and haughty race of princes, an under- \ntoned but growing and determined spirit of liberty liad manifested \n\xc3\xactself, not only in the commercial and middle ranks of the people, \nbut also, to their honor be it said, in a large i^ortion of the nobility \nof England. Prior to that period, the two great subdivisions of the \nEnglish people, were the nobility and the yeomanry. That power- \nful class, the middle rank of society, which has since become the \nchief glory of England, was then beginning to make itself felt in ali \nthe departments of Government. It was the naturai ofFspring of \ntrade and commei\'ce, invigorated by the impulse of adventure in the \ndiscovery of the contineut of America. It arose out of the views of \nthe feudal system which it had rested like a nightmare upon the \nnations of Europe. The power of the castle and the donjon-keep \nweiit down before the new and greater j^ower of the counting-house \nand the Vk^ork-shop, Trade, commerce, enfranchised labor, were the \ngenii who silently but steadily worked out this wonderful revolution \nin the social and politicai condition of man. In conjunction with \nthat great politicai reformer of the world, the printing-press, this \ndivine genesis of new rights, of new duties, and new relations, im- \nparted also a new life, breathed a higher energy, and infused a quick- \nened intelligence, into ali the ramificatious of the social and politi- \ncai fabric, slowly but surely preparing the public mind, not only \nfor the full ai^preciation, but the noble assertion of those great civil \nrights which had been withheld by the strong arni of arbitrary \npower. Tlie graduai introduction of this new and powerful element, \nseemed to bave been overlooked, or at least disregarded, by the reign- \ning princes and their purblind ministers, until they were fully no- \ntified of its existence by the force and vigor of its assaults upon the \npi\'erogatives of the crown. Then carne the shock of those two great \npoliticai forces, Prerogative on the oue side and Privilege on the \nother. Some of the laws passed by Elizabeth and James fully de- \nveloj^ed not only the fact, but the spirit of this rapidly growing class. \nThe tyrannic statutes against the Non-Conformists, whether Pro- \ntestant or Catholic, were well calculated to arouse an indignant spirit \nin a people not wholly destitute of ali sense of naturai right and po- \nliticai justice. Those against the Catholics w;ere especially severe \nand unjust. Upon being convicted, in a court of law, of the sin of \nnot attending the established church, or of professing the Catholic \nreligion, they were disfranchised from holding any office of trust or \nemolument; they were not allowed to keep arms in their houses ; \n\n\n\n6 \n\nthey were not permitted to come within ten miles of the city of Lon- \ndon on pain of being fined and iuiprisoned ; thej^ coiild bring no \naction at law or suit in equity ; they were not permitted to travel \nabove Ave miles from their homes, unless under tlie autliority of a \nlicense ; and no marriage, or burial, or baptism, were allowed, otlier- \nwise than by the regularly ordained ministers of the Church of \nEngland.* \n\nThe laws against dissenting Protestants, were scarcely less rlgo- \nrous. In tliis state of tliings, t\xc3\xacie Seottisli Solomon, as lie has been \nderisively termed, ascended tlie English tlirone. He derived liis title \nfrom being tlie grandson of Margaret Tudor, eldest daughter of \nHenry VII, he who overcome Richard III on the fatai f\xc3\xaceld of \nBosworth, immortalized more by the genius of Shakspeare than the \ndeath of the tyrant. It is somewhat singular, that James, the son \nof the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, should have been, in his \npublic acts at least, one of the strongest anti-catholic princes who \never wielded the English sceptre ; but the private teachings of his \ncelebrated tutor, and no less celebrated assailant of his mother\'s \nmemory, George Buchanan, seem to have nioulded his religious \ncharacter, in despite of that mother\'s creed, or the remembrauce of \nher wrongs at the hands of Elizabeth, These circumstances in- \nduced the English people to look for a peaceful and happy reign. \nThese fond expectations, however, were si^eedily blasted ; and the \nhistory of tliis monarch\'s reign consists of little else, as associated \nwith himself, than exhibitions of pedantic disputation on theology \nand witch-craft, and f\xc3\xacerce and unyielding contests between the \ncrown and the parliament, by king-craft on the one side, and popu- \nlar privileges on the other. A minute and detailed account of these \ncontroversies, would be out of i^lace on the present occasion ; but it \nis of some importance to know the origin of these struggles between \nthe crown and the parliament, as they were the primary cause of \nthe succeeding events, occuring in the reign of his son, Charles I, \nwhicli forni so conspicuous a figure in the history of Great Britain, \nand wliieli found their ultimate and perfect fruition in the tri- \numphant establishment of free religion and free government on the \nAmerican contineiit. It is to tliose great contests, in the parlia- \nment and upon the jDlains of England, that ive owe the high boon \nof liberty which we are now entitled to enjoy under written consti- \ntutions ; and which we seem to appreciate so little, or so lightly, \nthat we were willing, on botli sides, to hazard its very existence, \nnot in a struggle for its establishment, for it was already established \nby the clearest written guarauties ever drawn by the band of man, \nbut, as against ali the admonitions of history, to stake it upon mere \nquestioiis of policy and administration. In the barbarous ages \n\n*Hume. \n\n\n\nwhicli i^receded the 17tli ceiitury, the human mind, enervated by \nsuperstition and obscured by ignorancc, and in that transition state \npassing from the feudal to the modem system of jDohties, seemed to \nhave given up ali pretensions to liberty, either civil or religious. \nUnlimited and uncontroUed despotisni prevailed everywhere in \nEuroi^e ; and although England suffered less in this respect than \nalmost any other nation, the many examples of avbitrary power \nexerted by her sovereigns, from Richard III to Edward VI, show \nthat the English were very far from being a free people. The only \nbusiness of their parliaments, during that time, seemed to be to \nvote subsidies upon the people, the manner and extent of which \nwere wholly dictated by the crown. An incontrovertible proof of \nhow little restraint the peojDle could then imjDOse upon the autho- \nrity of the sovereign, is the faet that the proceedings of parliament \nwere accounted of so little consequence, even by the members of \nthe body itself, that there were no authorized records kept of theni. \nIn the regular edition of the " Parliamentary Proceedings," pub- \nlishod in 1767, in twenty-two volumes, two small oetavo volumes \ncomprise the whole transactions of the English parliament, from \nthe earliest period up to the aceession of Elizabeth ; and these, as \nthe editors say in their prefaee, are mostly taken from the private \npapers of individuai members deposited in the British Museum. \nThe proceedings of parliament being thus held by the nation of \nso little consequence, it is not to be wondered at that the sessions \nwere irregular and widely separated, or that little interest was felt, \nand less attention paid, to the choice or oontinuance of its members . \nIn the reign of Elizabeth and her predecessors, the sessions of par- \nliament did not oceupy more than one-twelfth part of the whole \ntime. In the time of Charles I, and up to the time of the Protecto- \nrate, the disparity was stili greater, not thcn from the indifFerence \nof the people, but from the strong disinclination of the King either \nto rule or be ruled by parliament. Did the limits of this lecture \npermit, it would be an interesting examination to consider the \nvarious questions of prerogative and privilcge which arose between \nJames and bis parliament, for the reason that we of the 19th cen- \ntury are indebted for many of the high privileges which we now \nenjoy to the heroic struggles of the great nien of that age, wlio \nboldly demanded and extorted the rights of the people from the \niron-grasp of tyranny. As a j^arallel to these politicai contests be- \ntween the crown and parliament, and as a joint cause of the fearful \nwar which convulsed the whole empire in the succeeding reign, and \nwhich finally overthrew the monarchy of a thousand years, a brief \nsurvey of the religious question is necessary to a full understanding \nof the mighty issues involved in the Great English Civil War. At \nthe time of the aceession of James, there were four great religious \nparties in England : theEstablished Episcopacy, the Pre.sbyterians, \n\n\n\nthe Catholics, aud the Puritaus. When these seveml parties l\xc3\xacrst \ncrystalized iiito separate forms of orgauization, there was very little \ndifference between the presbyterian and the puritan faith. Indeed, \nat that tinie, puri tauistn was uuderstood to bo nothing more than \npoliticai presbj\'teriauism. It was oiilj^ after the dissolution of the \nmonarchy that they became distinct parties, at which time they \nwere driven asunder by an ineurable hatred of each other, and the \nstroiigest antagonism of j^olitical objects. I have already alluded to \nthe special aud very severe public enactments against the Catholics. \nThe two other religious subdivlsions of the pe\xc3\xb3ple, the presbyterians \nand the puritans, were Included and disabled, in a more general \nforni, by the statiites against Non-Conformists ; statutes whieli \nmight impr\xc3\xacson the bodies, but could not fetter or bend the mighty \ngenius of such immortal man as Bunyan, and Baxter, and Milton, \nand De Foe ! The tinker\'s hammer was silenced in the streets and \nlanes of Bedfordshire, but the tinker\'s genius sent forth froni the \nprison-walls of Bedfordjail the immortai but sectarian " Pllgrim\'s \nProgress," to live forever in the religious hearts of the common \npeople as the unsurpassed allegorical battle-f\xc3\xaceld of the Christian \nsoldier ! The hunible hozier\'s shop in an obscure Street of London \nwas shut up by the minions of power, and its proud and gifted \nowner iraprisoned within the mouldy walls of Newgate ; but from \nits gloomy portals there issued the faeinating pages of "Robinson \nCrusoe," to lead captive the mind of Young England, and from \nwhence also proceeded those trenchant and powt rfui politicai traete \nwhich stirred up the slumbering heart of the Old England of that \n(hvy to its profoundest depths, and shook the tlirone upon its un- \nsteady foundations ! It is difflcult, if not impossible, in this our \nday of written constitutions, if not more enlightened ijublic liberty, \nto appreciate or comprehend the enormous oppression and tyi\'anny \nof this vile system of legislation. These public commotions do not \nso mudi change as they develop human nature. They only lift the \nniask which an unevangelized civilization liangs upon the naturai \nfeatures of man. Once remove from tlie passions of men the re- \nstrainf of \xc3\x8cAW, and ali fear of the consequences of the infraction of \nlaw, and man becomes the enemy of man, more cruel and implaca- \nble than the wild beasts of the forest: \n\n" Amici the woods the tiger knows his kiud ; \nThe panther preys not on the panther hrood ; \nMan only is the common foe of man." \n\nIn that wild wliiilpool of unbridlcd passion, i\\n\\ man, who was \nnot, by his cowardice, driven to be a hypocrite, was constantly at \nthe mercj\' of the lowest and most abandoned of mankind, the com- \nmon informer. Legislative pre.miums were thus held up, as the \nmost powerful teinptation for the commission of acts of deijravitj\', \nat the very thought of which human nature recoils wjth horror. \n\n\n\nThey were emiuently calculated to looseu the buiids wbich held \nsociety together ; to dissolve ali civil, moral, and religious obliga- \ntioii; to poison the sources of domestic happiness; and to annihi- \nlate every principle of honor. Apart from the Catholie population, \nwho had no affinity, whether of feeling-or doctrine, with any of the \nreligious parties, the great body of English Xon-Conformists wcre \nprosbyterian and puritan , prior to the accession of Charles I. These \nwere stili further subdivided, during the Civil War, into Independ- \nents, Anabaptists, Arminians, and Fifth-Monarchy men. The \nPuritan Party, whether considered as a politicai or religious sect, \nexerted such an important influence on the civil war in England , \nas well as impressed itself so vividly and indelibly upon some of the \nlocai populations and social institutions of our own country, that \nthey are worthy of some special notice. They are the prototypcs, \nwhether in iDolitics or religion, of that modem class of men, and \nwomeu, too, in the sudden discovery of a new system of woman\'s \nrights, who assume to be governed by a higher and more spiritual \nstandard of duty, whether public or private, social or politicai, than \nis furnished by the laws or public opinion, and wholly independent \nand defiant of both. They were a set of stern, saturnine, deeply- \nearnestnien, who claimed to have found a new mission for man \nupon eartli ; and who were ready to sustain it by the sharp argu- \nment of the sword \xe2\x80\x94 to \n\n" Pi\'ove tlieir doctrine orthodox, \n\nBy apostolic blows and knocks ;" \n\nAnd discarding ali mere human constitutions and comi^acts, by \nsetting up in their stead a wild, fanatical, and irresponsible forum of \nprivate conscience, as the sole arbiter of things temperai or eternai. \nWith them, ali laws and constitutional guarantees, even the sacred \ntruth of revelation itself, were niade subservient to their own human \ninterpretation of the Divine Government. In setting up the Bible, \nin politicai afFairs, as a substitute for constitutions and laws, and as \nthe only rule of action for the government of man in his civil rela- \ntions, the pedestal which they reared, and upon which they piaced \nit, was their own narrow and sectarian construction of \xc3\xacts precepts, \nwhich they mistook, or Avere likely to do, for the infallible law of \nDoity. They profossed to follow, as they understood it, the irure \nWord of God, in opposition to ali traditions, to ali mere human ordi- \nnances, and to ali other authorities coming in conflict with their \ninterpretations of the scriptures ; and they maintained, with a fierce- \nness and energy " which touched the highest scale of fanaticism,\' \nthat every man has a naturai right to judge and act for himself, Avith- \nout being rightfully subject to the hiAvs of the c\xc3\xaca\xc3\xb9I magistrate, or \nthe decrees of councils, churches or synods.* In this sense, they \n\n*Macaulay, \n\n\n\n10 \n\nwere botli the religious and the politicai jaeobins of the 17th century. \nI kuow it is the fashion, in this conntry, growing oiit of a kind of \nidolatrous veneration of our " Pilgrini Fathers," to speak of the Pu- \nritans in terms of unqualil\xc3\xaced eulogy. You niight as well expeet to \nhear George Washington or Benjamin Franklin condemned in a \npatriotic Fourth-of-July oration, as to hear the Puritans, or their \ndoctrines, either religious or liolitical, criticised by a public speaker \nor public writer of the j\xc3\xacresent day. There must be no interference \nwith oicr national Hero-Worship ; the American mind must have its \nidols. In its morbid tendency to rear its partizan altars whereon to \nplace its votive ofTerings to some delfled idea or glorif\xc3\xaced person, it \nis not surjjrising that they should occasionally break the second \ncommandment of the Decalogue, either in the way of doctrinal error \nor personal imbeeility. As the result of this peculiar trait in our \nnational character, the Puritans have long since received their \nApotheosis in the Pantheon of popular ijrejudice; and it would be \nvain, if not sacrilegious, to expose their errors or eondemn their ac- \ntions. It is undoubtedly true, however, that, in England, even their \nmost oxtravagant doctrines were instrumentai in the aceomplish- \nment of a groat public good ; \xe2\x80\x94 and that it is equally true, the zeal \nand firmness with which they resisted usurped authority, in an age \nand under circumstances when firmness for the right was something \nmore than a common virtue, tended largely to the adoption and per- \nfection of a system of constitutional law, which established the pub- \nlic liberty, and enswred the common rights of the people, no candid \n/ L f>i" philosophic thii\xc3\xacker will have the hardihood to deny. AH these \ngrand results, however, growing out of this great struggle between \nthe crown and the people, owed their consummation to the peculiar \neonjuncture of the times, to the important and inevitable cnds sought \nto be atta\xc3\xacned, rather than to the fortuitous moral \xc3\xac\xc3\xacieans adoj\xc3\xacted \nfor their accomi^lishment. The time had come, out of the long dim \nages of despotism, w^hen the noblest politicai victory, ach\xc3\xaceved by \nthe common and united elforts of the English people, was won for \nthe benefit of mankind for ali time to come, unless we, their de- \nscendants and the recipients of this great heritage, shall prove rec- \nreant to the high and responsible duty devolved upon us of trans- \nmitting it unimpaired to our posterity. It was the spirit of liberty, \nawakened in ali the peo^^le, without reference to sect or class, which \nshattered the power of prerogative in its strongholds, and made the \ncrown ameijable, as well as conformable, to public opinion. The \npuritans united in this great battle ; \xe2\x80\x94 they were but ixj\xc3\xacortion of the \ncommon army which achieved the victory ; \xe2\x80\x94 and they have no more \nright to approiiriate^to themselves ali the glory, either upon their \nreligious tenets or their poliiical op\xc3\xacnions, tlian had the infantry \nunder Manchester, in the bloody fight of Marston. Moor, to claim \nthe exclusive renown of that wcll-fought field, bccause they fought \n\n\n\n11 \n\nwith difFerent weajDons from Cromwell\'s invincible brigade of liorse \nThe Puritans owed their origin to the arbitrary reign of Eliza- \nbeth. Like ali persecutions, her oppressive nieasures only seemed \nto increase their uumbers. Notwithstauding the decided tone of \nElizabeth, two of her most powerful ministers, Burleigh and Wal- \nsingham, secretly favored this new and rising class of politico-re- \nligionists. Their stern and gloomy tempers naturally sympathized \nwith the kindred spirit of the ostracized sectaries. Upon the death \nof the Queen and the accession of James, the Puritau party looked \nhopefully for a change of nieasures in the policy of the erown. But \nin this they were doomed to disappointment. The lofty spirit of \nindependence assumed by the Puritans, in the matters of both \nChurch and State, could find no sympathetic response in the ultra \nnotions of James, in relation to the regal ijrerogatives. The cele- \nbrated conference of Bishops at Hampton Court separated the king \nand the Puritans forever. From that time the war of opinion, as \na prelude to the war of force, began, and the dogmatic pedantry of \nJames on the one side, and the unbendiug determinatiou to main- \ntain their rights on the other, was exhibited in a seriesof oppressions \nand counter resistance, which lasted until the dose of the reign. \nIn the year 1615, the persecutiou of a single unknown and humble \nindividuai, instigated aud nianaged by James himself, set ali Eng- \nland aglow with indignation at so gross an infraction of the law, \nand did more to build up and vitalize the politicai iDOwer of the Pu- \nritans, tlian ali the disabling acts of Elizabeth. An aged and ex- \nemplary gentleman, by the name of Edmund Peachum, a non-con- \nforming minister of the Puritan faith, living in one of the remote \ncounties of England, was arrested upon a charge of treason for \nwriting a seditious sermon, which had been found by som\xc2\xab govern- \nment spy in his private study. The sermon had never been \npreached; and the old man, upon being inhumanly put to the tor- \nture, declared it was never intended to be delivered or published. \nThe case is reported in the second volume of the English State \nTrials, and exhibits one of the most extraordinary instances of the \ntyrannicaland unconstitutional interference of the king, the crown \nlawyers, and the judges, in the Avhole range of judicial history. It \nis one of the most painful and degrading reflections, that sudi great \nlights in philosophy and law, as Lord Bacon and Lord Coke, should \nbe found mean and dastardly euough to lend their great names and \nability to the low-minded and malicious design of James to get from \nthe judges, of the grandest judicial tribunal then in Christendom, \nan extra-judicial and private opinion of this man\'s guilt upon the \nlaw of constructive treason ; so true it is, that those wlio trample on \nthe helpless are always the first to cringe to the iiowerful. This \nsimple instance in the life of Bacon, of a total negation of his \n\n\n\nn \n\nmanhood, wonld justify ar.d give point to the wither\xc3\xacng sarcasm \nof Pope, when he characterizes hiin as the \n\n" Greatest, wisest, meaneul of inaukind !" \n\nIt is no palliation, but rather an aggravation, of Coke\'s gross and \nscandalous mis<condv.ct on that occasion, that he at first boldly stood \nout against the monstrous illegality of James\' proceedings, and \nasserted that " they were not according to the customs of the \nrealm." His deep-seated jealousy of his ilkistrious rivai for court \nfavor, overcame his principles as a lawyer and liis high and solemn \nduty as Chief Justice of tlie liingdom ;\xe2\x80\x94 and not ali his great and \nnoblc struggles on the side of public liberty in the House of Com- \nmons, after Bacon had supplanted him in the favor of James, could \natone for " the deep damnation " of his judicial perjurj-, in the case \nof the humble puritan preacher. As for Bacon, a man of the most \nmagnificent intellect of that or any other age, heaven\'s avenging \njustice hurled him from his high estate, and sunk him to the \nlowest depths of human degradation. In less than six years after \nthe trial of Ptachum, he \\>-as impeached in the House of Lords, \nfound guilty of accepting bribes as Lord Chancellor, and was sen- \ntenced to pay a fine of \xc2\xa340,000, and to be imprisoned in the Tower \nduring the pleasure of the king. This instance, in Peachum\'s \ncase, of the ai)i)lication cf tlie torture, and the vile, unconstitu- \ntional, but suecessful attempt in procuring the private opinion and \npledges of the judges, in a capital case, which those judges them- \nselves were afterwards to try, set the minds of the Englisli people \non Are; procured an order from the (iueen, the unfortunate Anne \nof Denmark, positively prohibiting for the future the use of the \nrack ; and llnally gave a new impulse and jiower to that down- \ntrodden portion of the people, who, in the next reign, ruled the na- \ntion through the j\xc3\xacarliament, ar.d brought the devoted head of \nJames\' son to the block. \n\nThus, it will be seen, that u])()n these three great questions of Pre- \nrogative, Beligion, and Popular Privilege, the seeds of revolution \nwhich overthrew the English monarchy, and established a new \nforni of government in its stead, were sown long anterior to the \nripening harvest. It was the spirit of freedom breathing over tlie \nstagnant waters of despotism ; it was the impulse of a regenerative \npoliticai philosophy, energizing the best minds and thei^rofoundest \nthinkers of the age ; and though the contest was long doubtful, the \nheroic spirits who thus grappled witli desi^ots, looked hopefully \ninto the future for victory. The attemi)ts that were begun, and \nresolutely continued, by the House of Commons, to withstand the \nsordid despotism of the first British monarch of the Stuart line, first \nprepared the popular mind to appreciate, as well the intolerable iu- \ncubus of royal tyranny, as the glorious principles of a well-regulated \n\n\n\n13 \n\nsystem of const\xc3\xactutional liberty. Since the enforced signature of \nJohn to MagnafCliarta by the Aeree Barons at Runnymeade, no \ncontest between the people and the crown had taken place, in which \nthe public liberty was so deeply interested. Had the bold and un- \nyielding spirits who first raised their patriotic voices against the \nillegal exactions of James, allowed themselves to be intimidated by \nthe frowns of royalty and the terrors of the dark dungeons of the \nTower, England would now be destitute of those great constitH- \ntional barriers wliich, while they protect the legitimate i^owers of \nthe throne, equally secure the just rights and liberties of the people. \nIn tlie midst of this feverish excitement of the i)opular mind, and \nat a time when the English nation was looking with the highest \nhopes to the Parliament as the theatre upon which was to be worked \nout the great problem of civil and religious liberty in their favor, \nCharles I ascended the imperiai throne of his ancestors. No prince \nwho ever wielded a kingly sceptre, had so rare an opportunity pre- \nsented him of reconciling the politicai dissentions, wliich existed \namong his people ; though it is doubtful whether any efTort of the \ncrown, or of the established church, could have compromised or \nadjusted the religious feuds which existed, even among the non- \nconformists themselves, upon questions of abstract faith and doc- \ntrine. That Charles, in the end, unwisely overlooked the temper \nof his people, or recklessly disregarded the consequences of a dis- \nagreement with them, upon questions of administrative i^ower \nagainst popular privilege, is clearly manifest in the history of his \nfirst parliament. The first parliament met in June, 1625, and large \nand liberal supi^lies of money were voted by the House of Commons \nto the king\'s revenue. Tlie second parliament met in 1026. The \nCommons were stili disposed to be liberal in the supply of money \nto their sovereign ; but among its members were sudi men as Hamp- \nden, and Pym, and Selden, and Sir John Elliott, whose names are \nas immortai as history itself, and who took the determined position \nthat no more money sliould be voted, unless upon the express con- \ndition that the King should enter into the most solenni guaranties \nagainst ali future encroachments of the crown uijon the rightful \npowers of the People, through their representatives in Parliament. \nHis third parliament was convened in 1628, of which the man who \nafterwards became the arbiter of the fate of Charles and of the mon- \narchy, Oliver Cromwell, was a meniber. In this parliament, \nduriiig its first session, Ave subsidies were granted to the royal ex- \nchequer, amounting to more than a million of pounds sterling, or \n$5,000,000 of our money. Tliese were large and liberal supplies for \nthat period in the history of the English government and of the \nmonetary condition of the world. The representatives of tl\\e peo- \nple thus responded to the wishes of the crown, in a spirit of manly \ngratitude to the king for his consent to the great Petition of Right, \n\n\n\n14 \n\nwhich was looked ujion as the second great charter of English lib- \nerty, carried throngh by the t\xc3\xacrmness of Hampden and his loatriotic \ncompeers. Charles, in giving his constitutional assent to this cele- \nbrated narrative of popular grievances, pledged his kingly word to \nraise no more taxes without the consent of parlianient ; to abolish \nthe system of forced loans ; to imprison no man except by legai pro- \ncess ; to billet no more soldiers in the domicil of the citizen ; and to \nleave the jurisdiction of offences to the common law tribunals of \nthe country. Happy would it bave been for the throne, and for the \npeace and happiness of the people, had Charles been an honest man \nand observed in good faitli these solemn undertakings. This i^eriod \nin the history of these great struggles is too broad ; the instances of \nbad faith on the one side, and of stern and unyielding pertinacity \non the other, are too numerons, to be noted within the narrow limits \nof a single lecture. I will, therefore, with your permission, pass \nover the long interval of eleven years, from 1629 to 1640, a i)eriod \nfilled with the treachei\'y and double-dealing of the king, in which \nhe governed without parliaments, and violated every pledge he had \nso solemnly given, up to the time when the eelebrated Long Parlia- \nment eommeneed its session. Lord Macauley, with that richness \nof rhetorical antithesis for which he was so remarkable, thus speaks \nof this parlianient : \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n"On the 3d of November, 1640,\xe2\x80\x94 a day to be long remembered, \xe2\x80\x94 \nmet the great Parliament, destined to every extreme of fortune, \xe2\x80\x94 to \nempire and to servitude, to glory and to contempt ; at one time the \nsovereign of its sovereign, at another time the servantof its servants, \nand the tool of its tools. From the first day of its meeting the at- \nteudance was great, and the aspect of its raembers was that of men \nnot disposed to do the work negligently. The dissolution of the late \nparliament had convinced most of them that half-way measnres \nwould no longer suffice," \n\nIn the long interval between the two parliaments, Charles had \nbroken his royal pledge, under the pernicious counsels of the Earl \nof Strafford. He became lost to ali sense and remembrance of his \nsolemnly plighted faith, vmder the influence of that em\xc3\xacnent but \ndangerous minister. Among the many arbitrary and unconstitu- \ntional schemes devised by this \xc3\xacngenious and unscrupulous states- \nman, to raise revenue without the aid and sanction of the money \npower of the House of Commons, was the eelebrated Writ of Ship \nMoney. This mode of f\xc3\xaclling the cofFers of the national exchequer, \nwas in direct and palpable violation of the compact between the king \nand parliament in the Petition of Right. Not even the friends and \npensioned eulogists of Charles have ever claimed it to be otherwise. \nStrafford, like ali renegades, was not disi^osed to be guided by mod- \neration in his measures of adm\xc3\xacnistration. He ordered writs, levying \nthis tribute, to be sent into ali the counties of England. John Hamp- \n\n\n\n15 \n\nDEN, then a quiet and almost unknown but well-educated country \ngentleman of Buckinghamshire, in behalf of the people of England \nrather than for himself, resolved at ali bazards to test the legality of \nthese high-handed proceedings. The moment he assnmed this lofty \nand defiant ijosition, he stood transfigured as the Genius ofEnglish \nLiberty. The question of taxation, at that time, had entered largely \ninto the theory of constitutional government ; and in some of the \nprior civil commotions of England, it formed, either in the shai^e of \ndirect taxation or in the grantof inonopolies, one of the cbief grounds \nof contcntion. Unlikethe great popularstrugglesof theaneientcom- \nraonwealths of Greece and Rome, where the contests were mainly cen- \ntered either in the choice of rulers or the supreraacy of caste, the Eng- \nlish people, from the earliest historic periods, had struggled with the \ngreat revenue powers of the crown, until at last tliey triumphantly \nestablished this great attribute of sovereignty in the legislative de- \npartment of the government, not as a prescribed, but as a self-im- \nposed social and politicai obligation. It was a violation of this great \nprinciple of politicai power, in the reign of George III, which spoke \nAmerican liberty into existcnce; and like itssister-spiritin England, \nit is to be regulated, maintained, and perpetuatcd bere, only by a \nkindred heroism to that which aniraated Hami^den in his noble re- \nsistance to illegal and unconstitutional exaction in the usurped \npowers of the crown. His cousin, afterwards the celebrated Oliver \nSt. John, and a distant kinsman of the more celebrated Henry St. \nJohn Lord Bolingbroke, was then a briefless barrister of Lineoln\'s \nInn, and was not unwilling to try his forensic strength with so for- \nmidable an adversary upon so great a question. The eyes of ali \nEngland were turned towards Westminster Hall. Every free-born \nEnglishman felt that his own liberty and property were involved in \nthe issue. The case carne on to be heard in 1636, in the Court of \nExchequer, before ali the Judges of England, and is to be found re- \nIDorted in full in the od voi. of the State Trials. It occupied twelve \ndays in the argument of the legai questions involved in the writ, \nand was decided by eight of the judges against four, in favor of the \npower of the crown. It is a remarkable fact that Charles, following \nin the footsteps of his father in Peachum\'s case, in a letter to the \njudges over his own signature, required of tliem an extra-judicial \nopinion, in advance of the argument of the cause, and that the judges \nwere cowardly and servile enough to send back to him sudi an \nopinion as would be satisfactory to the royal demands. This dec\xc3\xac- \nsion was the great fact occurring in the long interval between the \ntwo jiarliaments, which brought to the Long Parliament that inflex- \nible spirit of opposition to the royal prerogative, and that uncon- \nquerable devotion to the rights and privilegcs of the i^eople, as rep- \nresented in the legislative brandi of the government, which f\xc3\xacnally \nset up the arbitrament of the sword, and plunged the nation into a \n\n\n\n16 \n\nbloody and protmcted war. My l\xc3\xacmits, greatly as I have pressed \nthem, will not iDermit me takiug more than a rapid view of a fe\\r \nimportant events i:)rior to the oi)en ajDpeal to arms: These are the \nimiieachment and execution of StrafFord, \xe2\x80\x94 the Grand Remonstrance, \n\xe2\x80\x94 and the attempted arrest, by the king in person, of the Fi ve Meni- \nbers of the House of Commons. The trial and execution of the un- \nfortunate prime minister of Charles I, has perhaps elicited more \nsymjjathy and commiseration for the vietim, than any other case \nof capital punishment, for a politicai ofFense, that occurred in the \n17tli century. The lofty disdain and bold hearing of the man, \xe2\x80\x94 the \nconsummate ability with which he defended hiniself, and his ad- \nministration of af\xc3\xacairs, at his trial in the House of Peers, \xe2\x80\x94 the cow- \nardly abandonment of him by Charles, in whose ignoble service he \nhad risked his life and his fortune, and who had most solemuly \npromised him that not a hair of his head should be touched, \xe2\x80\x94 and \nthe touching, beautiful, and eloquent appeal to his judges, which, \neven to this day, is often published as one of the f\xc3\xacnest specimens of \npathetic elocution in the language ; \xe2\x80\x94 ali conspire to make the trial \nof the Earl of Straf\xc3\xac\xc3\xb2rd one of the most interesting and memorable \ncases in the annals of politico-eriminal jurisprudence. And yet stern \nand even-handed justice, and a mindful regard for j^ublic security \nand public liberty, compel the mind to an unwilling acquiescence in \nhis fate. His proud and def\xc3\xacant spirit, and his overweening conf\xc3\xac- \ndence in his great abilities, in milder times and under a better regu- \nlated or better administered government, might have sustained him, \nwithout danger to himself, or prejudice to his sovereign ; \xe2\x80\x94 but when \nmutuai forbearance was necessary between king and people, when \nparty animosities were to be reconciled and jiersonal feelings modi- \nfled and subdued, and the whole scheme of complex and antagonis- \ntic administration required an affability of manners, if not a pliancy \nof temper, to meet the trj\'ing emergencies of the times, it is certain \nthat Straf\xc3\xacbrd was the last man in England to be entrusted with the \nresponsibility of public affairs, or to hold in his grasj:) the great and \ndangerous powers of the crown. I do not propose entering into the \nexamination of the question whether the execution of StrafFord was \nlegai and regular, because done by an ex post facto law, \xe2\x80\x94 that was a \nquestion which for a long time divided the legai profession in Eng- \nland. I have noticed it only to show the great power which the \nparliament had obtained over the king, and the coki and heartless \ningratitude of Charles in allowing him to be sacrificed. He was \nbound by every i^rinciple of houor to i^rotect and save him. The \nvery men wlio deprived Straf\xc3\xacbrd of his life, despised the king for \nnot saving it. He had apostacized from the great cause of the peo- \nple to serve the royal interests, and the King should have risked \nhis crown to save him. In less than eight years afterward, when \nCharles himself was made to answer with his life before the same \n\n\n\n17 \n\n(Iread tribunal of the people, in a stili more irregular and unconsti- \ntutional forni, no act of his whole rasli and vascillating life excited \nin him sudi apparent remorse as his unmanly yielding up .Stvafford \nto destruction and deatli. This is evident from wliat is so feeliiigiy \nsaid in the " Eikon Basili/c*,\'^ printed and published thenextmonlh \nafter the execution of the King, and supposed to be wiitten by \nCharles himself wliile eonfined a prisoner in Carisbrooke Cnsl\'.e In \nthe seeond meditation and prayer he saj\'S, or is made to say : \n\n" I Looked upon niy Lord of Strafford, as a Gentleman, vvhose \ngreat abilities miglit make a Prinee rather afraid, than ashamed to \nemploy him in the greatest affairs of State. \xe2\x96\xa0\xe2\x80\xa2" " * Tliat I never \nbare any toucli of Consc\xc3\xacence witli greater regret : whicli, as a signe \nof My repentance, I bave often with sorrow confessed botli to God \nand men, as an act of so sinful frailty, tliat it discovered more fear \nof Man, tlian of God. * \'\xe2\x96\xa0\'" - I see it a bad exchange to wound a \nman\'s own Conscience, thereby to salve State-sores ; to eahiie the \nstormes of popular discontents, by stirring atenipest in a man\'s ovvne \nbosom. \'\xe2\x80\xa2\xe2\x96\xa0\xe2\x96\xa0 " * Nor liath anything more fortified My resolutions \nagainst ali those violent ojiportunities, "svliich silice liave souglit to \ngain a like consent from Me, to Acts, wiierein My Conscience is \nunsatisf\xc3\xaced, than the s/iar}) iouches l bave bad for wliat passed Me \nin jNIy Lord of StraJforcVs business." \n\nThe fall of Straftbrd was the most clear and significant step in \nthe onward march of the parliamentary party, whicli bad occurred \nsilice the commencement of the troubles. Sudi a fact could not \nbave occurred in any preceding reign. The high notions of Henry \nVili, the imiierious temjier of bis daughter, Elizabeth, even the \ntiniid but arbitrary charaeter of James, would not bave permitted \nsudi a dariiig stride to power on the part of tlie parliament. But \nthis was not ali : other important triumphs followed in rapid suc- \ncession ; sudi as the suppression of the Star Chamber, of the Court of \nHigh Commission, the iiassage of the Triennial Bill, and the abo- \nlition of arbitrary taxation ; whicli, if tliey bad been acquiesced in \nby Charles in good faith, the country would bave settied into its \nregular constitutional diannels, and a happy agreement again estab- \nlislied between king and people. But this was no part of the king\'s \nintention. He seemed to be controlied by a spirit of infatuation. \nand could not see, that if he stili determined to govern his kingdom \nby orders of councii and royal proclamations, he bad already granted \ntoo mudi io the demands of the parliamentary party. His hopes \nwere reanimated, and bis purposes more earnestly determined \nupon, about this time, by large and infiuential accessions from the \nojiposition, now that the envy of Strafford bad no longer cause for \nexistence ; aniong whom were Edward Hyde, afterwards Earl of \nClarendon, the noble and generous Lord Falkland, and Sir John \nCulpepper. This was in the year 1G41. Early in November of that \n\n\n\n18 \n\nyear, tue kiug had gone to Hcotland, with the uvowed purpose of \nholding a parhament there ; hut with the real purpose, as was \nfeared by the parliamentary party at home, of raising an army in \n8cotland with the intention of invading England, and putting an \nend to the controversy at the point of the bayonet. Inimediately \niipon his return from Seotland, what is known in history as the \nGkand Eemonstrance, was reported in the House of Conimons. \nWhile this celebrated paper is characterized by ali the quaint and \ngrotesque style of that singular age of letters, it is a most remarka- \nble doeument for the force of its logie, the terse, energetic direet- \nness of its argument, and the clear, efFective, and consistent collo- \ncation of its facts. It M-as drawn up by Pym, one of the ablest \nmen then in England ; and although this powerful summing up of \nthe Avrongs and grievances of the people, niaj\' now He hid in tlie \nmagnum mare of politicai literature at the State Paper Oll\xc3\xacce, as a \ndry mouldy piece of obsolete parehnient, every word and line of it \nonce thrillcd the great national heart of England with the electric \ntire of liberty ! It was to the English people what the Declaration \nof Independence was to us. Itwasan indictment preferred against \nthe king before the Grand Inquest of the country, and was by that \ncountry endorsed as "a true bill." \n\nThe consideration of this stirring appeal to the patriotism and \npassions of that old English people of 1041, occasioned one of tlie \ninost protracted and storniy debates ever witnessed in tlie House of \nConimons. The broad-niinded statesmanship of P^\'ni, \xe2\x80\x94 the cool \nconsiderate principles of Hamjxlen, \xe2\x80\x94 the technical and lawyer-lilie \nacumen of Glynn, \xe2\x80\x94 the fiery directness of Hasselrig, \xe2\x80\x94 and the eru- \ndite and jDliilosophic dialectics of Selden, \xe2\x80\x94 ali found ampie scope in \nthe develoijment of this bold and daring scheme of popular rediess \nand constitutional reforra. It was debated from 8 o\'clock in the \nmorning until 3 o\'clock of the next morning, the 22d and 23d days \nof November, 1641, without intermission or adjournment. The Ile- \nmonstranee was carried by the small majority of 11 votes, out of \nov\'er 400 members. It was a full and exhaustive prescntment, in a \niletail of 20(5 clauses, of the alleged usurpations of the crown upon \ntlie rights of the people, and was a most direct and unequivocal im- \npeachment of Charles in his kingly ofiE\xc3\xacce, and, as sudi, liad no pre- \ncedent in English liistory. The remonstrance was ordered to be \nprinted, after another exciting debate upon that question. The \nking presented his answer in forni, drawn up with great tact and \ningenuity, and botli papers were sent to the people for tlieir solenin \narbitrament. This, too, was an anomaly, not cnly in the liabits of \nthat people, but of that age. It was upon this occasion, and on the \nlinai passage of tlie Ilemonstrance, that Oliver Cromwell, in \ncoming down stairs from the Plouse of Commons, said to a friend \nfhat if that measure had failed, he Avould bave cmbarked for New \n\n\n\n19 \n\nEngland on tiie next day, iiever to return. Upon what a slender \nthread bang the Destinies of Empire ! These two most extraordi- \nnary papers brought the war of opinion to its very acme of excite- \nment. . We shall see that in the course of a very few days after tbeir \npublication, a certain freak of ill-advised action on tlie part of \nCharles, brought on the more doubtful and terrible conflict of arms. \nIt is a very forcible and most truthful theory of Lord ISIacauley, in \nbis unt\xc3\xacnished but admirable bistory of England, that the marked \nand eharacteristic difFerence between the policy of Elizabeth and \nthat of Charles, in dealing with the same questions in a different \ngeneration, was, that the Queen, upon any subject of pojjular \ngrievance being introduced into ber parliaments, at once, and with \napi^arent frankness and cheerfulness, acceded to the wishes of ber \npeople; thus completely foreslalling and disarming ali mere fac- \ntious demands, and drawing from the quivers of an unfriendly \nopposition, ali the force and poison of the intended missile. On the \nother band, while Charles fought every question of popular right \nwhich infringed upon the assumed prerogatives of the crown, with \na stubborn pertinacity which only exasperated the f\xc3\xacery spirit of the \nCommons, he always, in the end, yielded bis morose and reluctant \nconsent, ivhen It ivas too late! This fatai error has existed in more \nthan one great struggle between a government and its people, or \nbetween the peoi^le themselves, in a sectional struggle Ibr suprem- \nacy. The return of Charles from Bcotland was associated with \nevents of the most startling character. The terrible and bloody \nrebellion in Ireland had occurred while he was yet in Scotland. \nDevising measures to quell this fearful outbreak of poj)ular fury, \nhad divided the time and ;ittention of the House of Commons in \nprepar\xc3\xacng and perfecting the Grand Remonstrance. The spirit and \nmanner of the remedies proposed, clearly iniplied a susijicion that \nthe king himsolf had been complicateti in these Irish troubles. The \nonly plausible prctext then known, for this suspicion, was the very \nef^uivocal expression of the king as the news first reached bim of \nthe rebellion, when he said : "I hope this ili news from Ireland \nmay hinder some of these foUies in England." More indubitable \nevidence has since come to light, in the correspondenee between \nCharles and the Duke of Ormond, implicating bim in these bloody \ntransactions. During the long and exciting debates on the Remon- \nstrance, the boldest speakers in behalf of the people, were Pym, \nHampden, HoUis, Hasselrigg and Strode, names made immortai in \nbistory by the designation of "The Five Members." These events \nthrew Charles into a pbrenzy of fury. Without consulting bis con- \nstitutional advisers, (for even Clarendon admits that he did not,) \nbut urged by the Queen and Lord Digby, in a most unfortunate \nmoment for himself, for the monarchy, and for the peace of bis \nkingdom, he marched down to the House of Commons, at the head \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa2li) \n\nof 300 of his armed lialbei\'diers, to make the arresi of the five obnox- \nious members. Froiii that moment, the Oreat Ch\'il Wa?\', with ali \nits attendant horrors, was fully inaugurated This incident is \nmarked by ali the historians of the period, whether Cavalier or \nRoundhead, as the very pivot and turning poiut of the long and \nanxious contest between tlic king and jiarlianient ; and was the \ntrunipet-blast wliich drove the two great partles to put the long-de- \nbated issue to the fearfiil arbitrament of the sword. In my old copy \nof the "rarliamentary Journal:-!," which, from the engraved book- \nplate and coat of arms, once belonged to the titular family of the \nHollands, ali of whom were eminent politicians in their day, and \nwhose fame was crowned by the great abilities of Charles James \nFox, one of their descendants, every page of this rash transaction \nbears the mark, by pencil or otherwise, indicat\xc3\xacng the opinion of \nthe reader, that this, of ali others, was the act of the king\'s life \nwhicli determined the fate of the monarchy. So completely had \nthis mad act revolutionized the popular sentiment, that within \nseven days afterward, and notwithstanding the king had demanded \nthe surrender of the common council of the city, the five members \nwere conducted in triuniph through the streets of London to the \nHouse of Commons, amid the exultant shouts of the people. This \nfalse step of diarie-*, wliile it convineed the i^arliament it would be \nmadness in them any longer to place reliance upon his faitli or in- \ntegrity, also nerved them to prepare for the great contest which \nnow loomcd up in the future. \n\nIt is not my purpose to paint battle-ssenes, or describe the horrors \nof that sanguinary struggle of six years\' duration, in which brother \nwith brother, fathers with their children, were engaged in deadly \nstrife, crushing out thousands of human lives, and sweeping the fair \nflelds of the "merrie England" of that olden time, with the whh-1- \nwind of discord and civil war. New sounds are now heard in the \nland; the busy hum of trade, the joeund song of the reapers, the \nhallowed music of "the church-going beli," are overcome and stilled \nby other notes, " grating harsh thuiidcr" upon the ears of the \npeople : \n\n" The shout \n\nOf battle, the barbarian j\'ell, the bray \nOf dissonaiit iiistruments, the clang of arms, \nThe shrieks of agony, the groaus of death, \nIn one wild uproar and continued din, \nShake tlie stili air." \n\nAs the scene thus suddenly changes from the halls of 8t. Stephen\'s \nto the tented field,\xe2\x80\x94 from the conflict of mind to the conflict of \narms,\xe2\x80\x94 from tlie taetics of diplomacy to the taetics of the bayo- \nnet,\xe2\x80\x94 new flgures start out upon the canvas. In the parliamentary \ntableaux, the flgures of Pym and Hampden on the one side, and of \n\n\n\n21 \n\n.Strafford and Falkland ou theotber, stand out in bold and promi- \nnent relief from the common back ground of their partisan com- \npeers. But in the picture which is now presented to our observa- \ntion, one single, towering, and collossal form, stands out as the cen- \ntrai figure, dwarfing every other individuai by whoni it is sur- \nrounded; and seeming to stand alone in its solemu and defiant \ngrandeur ; and that figure is\xe2\x80\x94 Oliver Cromwell! Tliat stern, \niron-visaged figure stands there as a moral necessity, the living im- \npersonation of God\'s retributive justice ; as a legitimate and inevi- \ntable result of ali the wild and revolutionary scenes which bave \npreceded it\xe2\x80\x94 of broken laws, of violated rights, and ruthless rup- \ntures of Mie social organism, It stands there as the Genius of Rev- \nolution. It is a recd presence: it stands there, armor-clad, with \nuplifted sword, not as a myth, not as a weird shadow without sub- \nstanee or meaning ; but as a real, veritable, unavoidable faci, INIiL- \niTARY Despotism Spkinging from Civil War! \n\nIn order to present a clear and distinct outline of that figure (and \nmy remaining time will permit only a mere outline) it is necessary \nto turn the eye back again into the past for a few years prior to the \ntime when this great controversy was thus suddenly changed from \npai3er resolves to steel and gunpowder It has beau the singular bad \nfortune of Oliver Cromwell, and of his family, that bis and their \ncharacters, u.util witliin tlie last half century, bave been left almost \nexclusively in tlie hands of their eneniies. The short interval \nbetween his deatli and the Restoration of the Stuarts, presented no \nopportunity for a faithful and impartial history of that extraordi- \nnary man. From that time to the present, his memory has been \ntraduced,\xe2\x80\x94 his motives impugned, \xe2\x80\x94 and his great public acts con- \ndemned and criticised with a rancor of feeling almost unparalleled \nin the whole range of biograpbical Hterature. It could not be ex- \npected tliat the public writers and partisan Iiistorians, during the \nshameful and profligate reign of the seeond Charles, would bave \nthe manly independence to give as a truthful picture of the man \nwho had shattered the " divine riglit " of kings, and usurped the \nthrone of a monarchy which had, for more than a tbousand years \nwithstood the shock of contending parties. What kind of justice \nor decency could be expected of a great politicai party who, hyena- \nlike, after ^their restoration ,to power, and by a solenin vote of par- \nliament, ordered the dead and mouldering body of Cromwell to be \nexhumed and hung on the common malefactor\'s gibbet on Tyburn \nHill, and then ignominiously thrown into a hole at the foot of the \ngallows. It has been the fashion with both politicai and religious \nwriters to hold up the character of Cromwell as the combination \nand symbol of every bad quality in human nature, Avithout a single \nv\xc3\xacrtue, public or domestic, to illuminate the dark and forbidding \npicture. Two works, liowever, bave appeared in modem tinies, \n\n\n\n22 \n\nwhicli bave largely tended to correct the opinion of the workl in \nregard to the great Englisli Revolutionist. Tliese are the " Letters \nand Speeches of Cromwell," by Tlionias Carlyle, and the " Life of \nthe Protector," by Dr. D\'Aubigne. It is not to be denied, liowever, \ntliat botli of tliese works by these two distinguislied wiiters, treat \nthe leading acts of Croniwell\'s life from toc partisan a stand-point. \nThe great draw-back to Carlyle, either as a biographer or historian, \nis his strong tendency to ultraism. With bini, ali i)rominent pub- \nlic men, living or dead, are eitlier dcmi-gods or cypliers ; wliile Dr. \nD\'Aubigne brings to his task too mudi of the one-sided spirit of \ntlie polemic battle-field. He is too prone to canonize his great Pro- \ntestant Hero as a Saint, rather tlian estimate him as a Man, witli \nali the passions and motives common to other men. In the brief \nsketch which I propose to draw of tlie Protector, I am conscious of \nno feeling of bias, either for or against him^ as the Representative \nMan of his age. \n\nOi.iVER Ckomwell, took his seat as a member of the od Parlia- \nment of Charles I, for the county of Huntingdon, on the 17tli daj\' of \nMarch, 1628, in the 30th j^ear of his age. The first notice of the fu- \nture Protector, in tlae Parliaiuentary Journals, is on the llth day of \nFebruary, 1029, when the House liad resolved itself into Committee \nof the Whole on the state of Religion. He was one of the speakers \non that occasion. He was afterwards a t\xc3\xacrm advocate of the Grand \nRemonstrance ; and it was on one of these occasions, after he liad \naddressed the House in one of his (^uaint but pilhy speeches, that \nLord Digby turned to John Hamixlen and enquired who the rustie \norator was, who had Just taken liis seat : "That sloven," said Hamp- \nden, "wlioni you see before you liath no ornament in his speech ; \nthat sloven, I say, if we shall ever come to a breach witli the king \n(which God forbid!) in sudi case, I say, that sloven will be the \ngreatest man in England!" Although Hampden did noi live to \nsee his ijrediction fulfilled ; yet that it was fulfilled, there is stili \nmany a land-i\xc3\xaciark in England, many a traditional glory, botli on \nland and sea lo testify. The next entry in the journals, is liis ap- \npointment as a colonel in the parliamentary army, in connection \nwith Fleetwood, afterwards his son-in-law, and Whalley and Des- \nborough. Soon after, he was ai^pointed Lieutenant General, being \nby that advaueement, second in command to tlie Earl of Manches- \nter, who was commander-in-chiefof the parliamentary forces. This \nrapid rise in military rank, was wliolly due to liis brilliant achieve- \nments on the f\xc3\xacelds of Edgehill, Newbery and Marston-Moor. No \nbetter proof of the great military genius of Cromwell, could be pro- \nduced, than the most extraordinary fact, that a man of over 40years \nof age, whose whole previous life had been spent in the quiet avoca- \ntions of a farnier, should ali at once, as if by intuition, master the \nwhole system of strategie tactics, and leave his veteran competitors \n\n\n\n23 \n\nfar in the vear. The woiiderfiil skill with whieh, iu a few short \nmonths, he transformed the awkward recruit into the practised and \ninvincible soldier, \xe2\x80\x94 the unerring tact with wh\xc3\xacch his clear-sighted \nintellect detected the appropriate movement, in the criticai moment \nof the doubtful fate of battle,\xe2\x80\x94 and the rapidlty, accuracy, and irre- \nsistable force with which lie executed it,\xe2\x80\x94 placed Cromwell in tlie \nfront ranlc of the ilhistri\xc3\xb2us captains of his age. There is no more \nsigniflcaut or suggestive faet, in his whole military career, t\xc3\xacian his \ninliexible strictness in relation to the religious sentiment of his sol- \n(liers. This, it is true, might bave resulted from a profound and \nsagacious insight into the peculiar character of the times and the \ntemper of the people, which had produced sudi grotesque charac- \nters as "Praise-God-Barebones," and Hopkins the Witch-Finder, \nwithout a particle of personal religious sentiment on the part of the \ncommander. But that Richard Baxter, the immortai author of the \n"Soul\'s Best," although a royalist in politics, and of an opposite \nreligious faith, should be selected by Cromwell as the chapUiin of \nhis own favorite regiment, is, in my opinion, some evidence of at \nleast a fitful piety and occasionai toleration. Unlcss disturbed or \ndisplaced by otlier more joersonal and absorbing passions, the Par- \nliamentary ensign, with its unique blazonry of Five Bibles, and the \nmotto, "God with us," was, to Cromwell, as sacred as was ever the \nconsecrated legend, ^ \'in 7\xc3\xacog sic/no vinces,^^ to the devoted followers \nof Constantine. But the military character of Cromwell needs no \nillustration. It stands unchallenged before the world. His great \nbatilcs are his military historians. His charge at Marston-Moor, \ncrashing through the ranks of the enemy, his left arm in a sling, \nand his right hand dealing deatli to ali who confronted him, is as \nmuch a testament of his personal courage, as the battles of Dunbar \nand Worcester are proofs of his genius as a commander. It is his po- \nliticai and religious character which forms the riddle of his life. The \nthree great points of his public life, upon which unfriendly biogra- \nphers bave rested their condemnation, are, Ist, His participation in \nthe trial and execution of the king ; 2d, His secret agency, as alleged, \nin procuring the passage of the 8elfDenying-0rdinance ; and, 3d, \nHis dissolution of the Long Parliament by force of arms. To the \nfirst and third of these charges, there can be but one answer ; and \nthat is, they are wholly indefensible, either by the laws or the con- \nstitution of England ; and can only be extenuated, not defended, \nupon the ground that anarchy had trampled out ali law and order, \nleaving each man\'s own individuai safety as the last arbiter of his \nrights, the dreadful negation of ali sympathy and ali humanity, in \nthe final struggle for personal security. The second charge has \nnever beeu established ; and, as an inference from the circumstances, \nis unfounded in fact. But I shall take them up briefly in their \norder. When such nien as Charles James Fox, William Godwin, \n\n\n\n24 \n\nand Thomas Carlyle, attempi to justify the executiuu of the king \nupori legai as Avell as politicai grounds, eveu their great abilities are \nunequal to the task. \n\nIt is only -svlieu the question is looked at as a struggle for the hi.st \ni:)lank in the shipwreck, that the uiind can yield its consent to the \ncatastrophe. It is evident to my mind that thls Is the view which \nCrouiwell took of the situation. Ali writers agree that at first he \nwas niost anxious to save the life of the king, and that he and his \nson-in-law, Ireton, were in secret uegotiations with him on the sub- \nject. It wasamost clinracteristic act of perfidy, on the part of the \nking, which suddenly changed Cromwell from a conservative to a \nregicide. The Queen had retired to France prior to these negotia- \ntions. Her proud and spleuetic temperament couid not brook the \nidea of submission on the part of the king. She had heard of \n(Jromwell\'s proj^ositioiis for an accommodation, and the terms of \nl\'oyal favor to him, as the future Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. She \nwrote to the king, bitterly reproaching him for his concessions to \nrebels and traitors. This letter was intercepted by Cromwell, but \nallowed to reach the king. A spy ascertained when and in what \nmode the king intended to send a reply to the Queen. It was to be \nsewed up in the skirt of a saddle, to be taken on a particular night \nto the Blue Boar Inn, in Holborn, and to be despatched from thence \nto Dover. Cromwell and Ireton, disguised as common troopers, seized \nthe saddle and found the letter. Charles, in this letter, advised the \nQueen " to rest easy as to the concessions he should niake ; that in \ndue time she would learn how he intended to deal with these \nrogues, who, instead of a silken garter, should be fltted with a \nhempen cord." This fact is too well authenticated- to admit of \nany reasonable doubt of itsexistence. It is asserted In the raemoirs \nof both Lord Eroghili and the Baron Masseres. But the most sig- \nli ificant assertion of its truth is that by Lord Bolingbroke. In a \nconversation with Mr. Pope and Lord Marchmont, in 17-12, Lord \nBolingbroke said that the old and second Earl of Oxford had frequently \ntold him that he had seen and had in his hands the originai letter \nitself. That letter sealed the fate of the king. Cromwell at once \nadvanced with his army to Windsor, to keep an eye on the negotia- \ntions which were stili kept up between the parliament and the \nking. From this point, and at this juncture of afTaira, commenced \nthe fatai rupture between the iirmy and the parliament. The lead- \ning party in the imrliament, headed by the joresb^\'terians, now saw \nno other method of destroying, or at least checking, the domina- \ntion of the military poAver, than to crush or depress it, by the rcrjal \npower in the constitution. llepeated propositions for an agree- \nment had passed between the captive king and the Commons ; but \nthe great obstacle which had ali along stood in the way, stili kept \nthem asunder. This was the persistent and the stubborn refusai of \n\n\n\nCharles to abolish episcopaey, though he had conseuted to alter the \nliturgy. But iiotwitbstanding this disputed point the ncgotiations \nfor a treaty ^yere stili carried ou with vigor, and both parties, for \nthe first time, seemed to be iu earnest to come to an agreement. But \nit was now ali too late ! The die was cast ! A new turn was given \nto the whole machinery of revolution. The victorious army, Avith \nCromwell at \xc3\xacts head, fulminated from Windsor a furious renion- \nstrance against ali negotiations, and demanded vengeance against \nthe king for bis perfidy and double-dealing. "When the parliament, \nin defiance of the anny, voted for the acceptance of the treaty \nof ISTewport, rs a final adjustment of the long and bloody struggle \nbetween the crown and the people, safety and self-protection to the \ngreat army leaders undoubtcdly required oue of two things : either \nthe overthrow of the parliament or the destruction of the king. \nThe excess of despotism and of erime, on the part of Cromwell and \nhis compeers, was, thatthey unnecessarily perpetrated both of these \noutrages ; one by force of arms, the other without law and in viola- \ntion of ali the traditions of the eonstitution. Prior to the open rup- \nture between the jiarliament and the army, the king had been re- \nmoved to Hurst Castle, in Hampshire. The parliament, in the \nmeantime, not quite forgetful of its former power and glory, began \nto issue their ordinances against the eneroachments of the army \nupon the civil power of the government, when they were astounded \nby a message from Cromwell that he intended paying them a visit \nin London on the next day with his whole army, with the imperi- \nous demand that they shouid raise for him the sum of \xc2\xa340,000 in the \ncity. That was the crisis, the very turning point or joivot of the \nrevolution, between the military and civil power, and was, in fact, \na new or counter revolution. Cromwell, although beginning his \nwouderful career as a legislator, now stands, amid the wild commo- \ntion around him, as the very personificationof military domination. \nThe Commons, although they must bave felt themselves as desti- \ntute of ali the means, if not the hope, of prevailing in their new \nscheme of adjustment, had stili thecourage to resist, and to attempt, \nin the face of that most remarkable army, to finish the treaty they \nhad begrn with the king. Thcj^ had taken into considcration, in a \nnew spirit, the whole of his concessions ; and although they had \nformerly voted them unsatisfactory, they renewed the consultation \nwith greedy vigor. After a stormy debate, which lasted three days, \nit was carried in the king\'s favor by a vote of 129 against 83, that \nhis concessions were "a proper foundation for the two houses to \nproceed upon in settling the aflTairs of the nation." \n\nThis was the last attempt in favor of the king ; for the next day \n\nColonel Bride, by whose orders it is nowhere in ali the history of \n\nthat period intimated, at the head of two regiments of soldiers, \n\nblockaded ali the passages to the House, and seized forty-scven mem- \n\n4 \n\n\n\n26 \n\nbers of the PresJ)yterian party, and seiit thcm to prison. Niuety- \nsix more members were forcibly excluded, and none were allowed \nto enter but such as "vvere favorable to the views and Avishes of the \narmy. This gross invasion of the rights and jurisdiction of the \ncivil [joower has passed into history by the nume of Pride^ s Purge< \nand the few remaining members were called the liiim}) Parliament. \nThis remnant of a House of Commons immediately proceeded to \nrescind the vote ujDon the treaty Avith the king, abolished the House \nof Lords, and appointed a Couneil of State, as the executive branch \nof- the new government, of whieh Oliver Cromwell was a member. \nIn some four years and four months thereafter, this sanie parlia- \nment, or rather this dislocated remnant of a parliament, composed \nat that time of the mere slavish and willing tools of the army, was \ndispersed at the point of the bayonot by Cromwell himself in per- \nson ! One stride more, and we shall find bini wielding the scex^tre of \nan empire, the daring suceessor of a long line of ancient kings, the \nsole and self-willed arbiter of life, liberty, and projierty, by as bold \nan act of usurpation as is reeorded in the annals of history! It is \na most noteworthy and suggestive fact, that in three of the leading \nmodem revolutions, of England, of Sweden, and of France, the sena- \ntorial branch of the government went down, two of them in a con- \ntest with the more popular re^iresentative body, and the other with \nthe executive. In France, the ticrs-etai, or third estate, overthrew \nboth the nobility and clergy, as constituent legislative branches of \nthe government, when convened in the form of states-general. In \nboth England and France, the modus 02\xc3\xacerandi was a single and un- \nresisted vote of the Commons. In Sweden, it was done by order of \nthe king. It is remarkable, too, how revolutions track with each \nother in their onward movement, either in the fruition of their de- \nsigns, or in overleaping the results primarily contemplated by those \nwho set them in motion. However wild and erratic these outbreaks \nof human jiassion may seem, there is at last a kind of moral symmetry \nbetween them, which seems to he governed, comet-like, by some \nfixed law of their being. Hence, it has passed into a proverb, that \nhistory always repeats itself. This historic maxim, based upon the \nprinciple that like causes produce like effects in the fate of nations, \nis of vast moment to us as ajDeoplejust now, because tee are standing \nin the midst of a moral revolution none the less radicai or dangerous \nfor being the consequcnce rather than the cause of a great civil war. \nIn contemplating these momentous facts of by-gone years in other \ncountries, the mind p\xc3\xa0infully and involuntarily turns to our own \ntimes and circurnstances, with a degree of trembling anxiety to \nknow whether history may not repeat itself bere, in the fiercestrug- \ngle for power and sujDremacy between the great depositories of na- \ntional sovereiguty. \nBut we turn back ogain to Cromwell\'s legislative life : There is, \n\n\n\n27 \n\npei\'haps, no act of his whole public career in whi^^h the charge of \ncunning and diiijlicity lias been more gcnerally and peiiBistently \napplied, tban bis alleged instrumentality in bringing about what is \nknov/n in history as the " Self-Denying Ordinance." But it was \nthe combination of circumstances, rather tban any known positive \nfact, which gave color to this ebarge. A dispute arose between the \nEarl of Manchester and his Lieutenant General at the second battle \nof Newbery. Upon the retreat of the king\'s army from the f\xc3\xaceld, \nCromwell applied to Manchester for Jeave to follow tbeni witb his \nbrigade of borse. This was peremptorily refused. Eoth Manchester \nand Essex bad, jjrior t-o this time, been suspected by some of the \nmore radicai officers of being Inkewarm in the parliamentary cause. \nBoth of these military Icaders were niembers of the House of Lords. \nCromwell, in the House of Commons, boldly made the ebarge of \ncowardice and mismanagement against Manchester. This was in \nOctober, 1644; in the succeeding December, the Ordinance was \nintroduced into the House of Commons by Mr. Tate, seconded by \nSir Henry Vane, Jr., which provided tbat no member of either \nHouse of Parliament sliould, during the war, enjoy or execute any \noffice or command, civil or military. Rushworth, the most reliable \nhistorian of iiarliamentary proceedings, gives the full particulars, \nand the points of debate, of a private meeting at Lord Essex\'s, be- \ntween the Scotch Commissioners and Whitelock, Maynard, and \nothers, ali enemies of Cromwell, in which the only queslion for \nconsideration was, how to put an end to the growing power of the \nLieutenant General. \n\nNow, although no particular mode was adopted to carry out the \nobject of the meeting, yet as the Self-Denying Ordinance was moved \nin the House of Commons a very short time afterward, and the mo- \ntion was promptly seconded by Sir Henry Vane, Cromwell\'s most \nbitter enemy, the conclusion is almost irresistible, tbat this cele- \nbrated legislative act was the product of the secret conclave beld at \nthe house of Lord General Essex. Tbat the friends of Cromwell, in \nthe parliament by a special resolution excepting bim and others out \nof its operation, tbus cbanging the poison into healthful ailment is \nno satisfactory evidence of its origin, although this fact is seized \nupon witb great avidity by Clarendon, Hume, and others, as proof \n" strong as holy writ" against Cromwell and his adherents. The \ntrue foundation for the passage of this celebrated statute, so far as \nthe parliament was concerned, however particular individuals, and \neven Cromwell, may bave intrigued for its adoption, was the fact \ntbat serious reverses to the parliamentary forces bad occurred under \nthe immediate command of Lord General Essex, the son of tbat un- \nfortuuate Earl of Essex wbose life fell a sacrifice to a whim of Eliza- \nbeth \xe2\x80\x94 Essex stood in the parliamentary interest as the representative \nman of the nobility ; and to get rid of hira, without alienating the \n\n\n\n28 \n\nclass to wliich he beloiigtnl, \\v:is an extremely perplexing and deli- \ncate task. Had thcre been no suspension of the ordinance in favor \nof particular officers, tbere could bave been no charge, or suspicion \neven, of any sinister views in the promoters of it. Two great objects \nwere to be attained : the dismissal of Essex, and the retention of \nCromwell, both of whicli were accomplished. The result of the \nchange was soon perceptible ; for not long afterward, the great and \ndecisive battle of \xc3\x8cS\'aseby was fought, which completely broke the \npower of the royalists. The parliament owed the result of this last \ngreat battle with the king, to the genius and valor of Cromwell. \nThe fate of the day had become doubtful ;\xe2\x80\x94 Prince Rupert, a nephew \nof tlie king, at the head of the royal cavalry had forced the left wing \nof the parliamentarians to g\xc3\xacve way ; when Cromwell^ at the head \nof the borse, among whom was his own famous regiment known by \nthe name of " Ironsides," niade one of those well-tinied and furious \ncharges, such as had won Edgehill, and Xewbury, and Marston, \nwith a sweej:\xc2\xbb of power that carried everything before him, and which \nmade old John Milton liken him to one of those ancient mythologi- \ncal giants who \xc3\xaciurled mountains at the gods. To fuUy develop the \ncharacter of Cromwell, as a military commander, would, of itself, \nrequire ali the space of an ordinary lecture, Enough to say, that \nupon him fell the duty and the glory of terminating this most dis- \nastrous and unnatural war ; \xe2\x80\x94 upon him, also, devolved the stili more \ndifficult and dangerous undertaking of a re-construction of the gov- \nernment. That the manner in which he did this, and the means he \nemployed to accomplish it, was a clear, naked, and unequivocal \nusurpatiou, no man in his senses will deny. This gross usurpation \nof power consisted of two things : Ist, the abolishment of the House \nof Lords, in which he had a leading share ; and, 2d, his dispersing \nthe members from the House of Commons, at the point of the bayo- \nnet, of which he assumed the sole responsibility. That Cromwell \nhad other impulses, besides mere politicai ones, in the destruction of \nthe aristocratic brandi of the legislature, is quite probable from an \nebullition of feeling said to bave been exhibited by him in his quar- \nrel with the Earl of Maueliester, when he spitefully told that uoble- \nman : " There never would be a good time in England till we had \ndone with Lords." These two violent and unconstitutional acts go \nto prove the inevitable results of ali revolutions. The end of revo- \nlution, when once beguu, however just in its inception, is what none \nbut Deity can foresee. Poor, blind man, with ali his boasted powers \nof intellect, when once fairly caught in the surging tlood-tide of \npopular commotion, tearing away, in its fearful course, the bui- \nwarks of laws and constitutious, is tossed about on its angry waves, \nhopeless and powerless to steer the frail bark whose guiding helm \nhe has himself torn away ! The mere forjiis of government have but \nlUtle to do by way of modifying or checking the movemeuts or the \n\n\n\nresults of civil revolution. Indeed, it is a great loroblem, yet te be \nsolved, whethei\'thctendencies of free institutions, under the pressure \nand temi^tations of a great civil war, are not more direct in the line \nof military doniination, under the lead of some giddy or selfish popu- \nlar idol, than those of a monarchy itself. The object which origi- \nnally called the English j^eople to arms, was to hedge in the crown \nwithin its true constitutional limits. No man then dreamed of the \ntotal overthrow of the government, sudi as was witnessed in the \nviolent accession of Cromwell to the supreme power of the nation. \nThe two legislative branches of the government, the Lords and Com- \nmons, nobly united with the people in their just demands for redress \nand restriction. It was, therefore, not only an act of ingratitude on \nthe part of Cromwell and bis unscrupulous adherents, in overthrow- \ning the House of Peers ; but it was a most distinct and naked act of \nusurpation and t^a-anny. It would bave been no more anomalous, \nas a co-ordinate brandi of the government, under the Protectorate, \nthan it was under the Monarchy. \n\nThe offlce of Protector wasonly asubstitutionaland not dissimilar \nform of executive power to that of the king, and was by no means \na new title in English history. It is a singular fact, that so mani- \nfest was this constitutional truth to the English people, when \nsobered by ref\xc3\xacection, that Cromwell was compelled to submit to a \nreorganization of the government by restoring the House of Lords \nto the constitution. It is this fact, coupled with the subsequent \npeaceful restoration of the monarchy, which makes the English \nRevolution of 1640 so peculiar, and altogether unlike any other suc- \ncessful civil war in ali history. The English constitution, although \nneither written on brass orparchment, but existing only in the lex \nnon scvipta of traditional eustoni, withstood not only the shock, but \nthe no less criticai rebound of revolution, and vibrated back to its \nold resting place among its great originai elements of politicai or- \nganization in King, Lords and Commons. There is no single act of \nali Cromwell\'s eventful life more reprehensible than bis promiuent \nagency in destroying tlie Senatorial branch of the national legisla- \nture. It was an outrage upon the constitution for which there can \nbe no excuse ; and the specific and immediate object for which it \nwas done, the trial and execution of the king, makes it infamous as \nwell as despotic. His excuse, that he conimitted these outrages from \nthe necessityof the case, will not avail liim. His great coadjutor \nand friend, John Milton, in one of the grandest epics in the lan- \nguage, exclaims : \n\n" So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, \nThe tyranfs plea, excused his devilish deeds." \n\nThese encroachments by one branch of government upon anothei\' \nare always the most dangerous, because they are subversive of the \n\n\n\n30 \n\nvery fundamentals of constitutional liberty. Protection from this \nkind of usurpation has been recogn\xc3\xacsed as a cardinal principle in ali \nforms of government, with the least i^retensions to public liberty, \nfrom the time of the Amphictyonic league to the American Confed- \neracy. In this great essential of liberty, the partition of sovereignty \nInto several distinet and independent departments of government, \nthe English constitution is the great model of our own. But in the \nenlargement of the area of popular liberty, and in what may be \ntermed the ref\xc3\xacnement of this system of checks and balances of or- \nganized politicai power in the several departments, our constitution \nis a Wide dcparture from ali governments, ancient or modem , which \nbave preceded it. In this regard, it is an experiment upon ali past \nhistory ; it is a forward movement upon the great and disputed \nquestion of man\'s capacity for self-government, and a vital question \nfor the American peojDle to decide is, whether they will put tlieir \ngovernment to a test which will submit every fibre of this complex \ntexture of constitutional frame-work to its utmost tension. Let \nthem not carelessly or recklessly dose their ears to the warning ad- \nmonitions which come up from the sepulchre of dead nations. If \nthis government shall fall ;\xe2\x80\x94 if there sliall be a rupture of its delicate \nand harmonious structure ; \xe2\x80\x94 if this wonderful scheme of laws and \nconstitutions shall be improperly changed or broken up, \xe2\x80\x94 the clock \nof civilization, regulated by liberty and law, will be set back for \ncenturies. Mankind will again be driven to renew their oft-repeated \nstruggle for those great personal rights ordained by the Almighty \nas common to ali ;\xe2\x80\x94 and no man can dream of the time, the blood, \nand the treasure, it may cost to regain such lost vantage ground of \nconstitutional liberty. Mr. Justice Blackstone, in one of bis ad- \nmirable law lectures, speaking of the harmonious action of the \nseveral branches of the Britisli Constitution, remarks: \n\n"Thus every branda of our civil polity sujiports and is supported, \nregulates and is regulated, by the rest ; for the two houses drawing \nin two directions of opi^osite interest, and the prerogative in another \nstili diflerent from them both, they naturally keep each other from \nexceeding their proper limits; while the whole is prevented from \nseparation, and artificially connected by the mixed nature of the \ncrown, which is a part of the legislative, and the sole executive mag- \nistrate. Like three distinet powers in mechanics, they jointly im- \npel the machine of government in a direction different from what \neither, acting by itself, would bave done ; but at the sanie time in \na direction partakiug of each, and formed out of ali; a direction \nwhich coustitutes the true line of liberty and hapi^iness of the com- \nmunity." \n\nIt is not in the jiower of human language to present a more forci- \nble, and at the same time a more beautiful syllogism, of the several \nparts, or the harmonious oj)eration, rightly understood and admin- \nistered, of this concrete triplicity in the English constitution, thau \nis contained in this extract from this eminent law writer. And \n\n\n\n31 \n\nalthough Cromwell, afterwards, called to the adm\xc3\xacnistration of jus- \ntice, in the law tribunals, some of the purest and ablest judges who \never sat in the English courts ; and although lie himself executed \nthe duties of his own high trust with even-lianded justice ; and it \nmay he, as he claimed it to bave been, that he usurped the supreme \npower only to preserve it from tlie faetions ; yet, notwithstanding \nali this, bis forcibly overturning the government at the point of the \nbayonet, was one of the clearest and most daring abuses of the mil- \nitary power recorded in the annals of civilized history. The real \ncharacter of Cromwell, whether politicai or religious, is at last a \nproblem difficult of solution. He has, as a general thing, been de- \nnounced by historians as a tyrant and hypocrite. He was undoubt- \nedly the one, but there is no satisfactory evidence that he was the \nothen \n\nThere was a certain robust English mind about Cromwell which \nis not to be mistaken. I do not believe there was a scintilla \nof hypocrisy in his composition. In the minor aflfairs of life or of \nState, his diplomacy may at times bave approached dissimulation ; \nbut in ali things where the passions of his soni were engaged, his \ndirectness of thought and straightforward form of expression, pre- \nclude ali idea of sham. "Paint me as I am, wart and ali," was \nhis remark to Walker, the artist, while sitting to him for the best \nportrait we bave of his manly lineaments. He wanted to go down \nto posterity with his i)hysical as well as moral features touched by \nthe iDcncil of truth. His religious character is not so easily under- \nstood. Cromwell was an enthusiast, in some jjoints a fanatic ; and \nhe undoubtedly mistook his own fluctuating and intensified emo- \ntional sensatious for a kind of divine inspiration. His humility \nwas an unconscious assimulation ; his pious self-abasement was ajj- \nparent, not real ; his mystic and delusive theosophy was manifest, \nnot only in his public utteranees asa magistrate, but in his religious \ndevotions as an individuai. His prayers were eonceived more in \nthe spirit of demand than of sui:)plication. This was the arrogance \nof fanaticism, not the humble submission of rational piety. It was \nan irreverent spirit of self-righteousness, an impious exaltation of \nself, not a just conception of the infinite dissimilitude between the \ncreature and the Creator. Ali this was delusion, springing from a \nmorbid moral sense, not the sound and healthy action of reasou as \nthe result of undisturbed intellectual organization. These instances \nof moral phenomena, although rare, do oecasionally exist in some \nof the greatest and best of men. In this regard, Cromwell was, so \nto speak, a kind of emotional but subdued countorpart of Ignatius \nLoyala, of Francis Xavier, or Martin Luther; and with no inten- \ntion of confouuding the Christian with the Moslem character, not \nunlike Mahomet, in the alternate exaltation of his feelings, and the \nascetic fervor of his imagination. In ofFering up his fervid and ini- \n\n\n\n32 \n\npassioned supplications to Deity, iu the tryiug circumstances bj\xc2\xbb^ \nwhicli he was surrounded, in j^roportioii as his einotioiis were ex- \ncited by theemergency which haddrawn him thus to beseeeh heaven \nfor support, his faith in an approving response to his prayers, or his \ndemands, Avould aniount to a solenin conviction on liis peculiar \npliysiolog\'ical temperanient. His religious faitli was not so niucli a \nlogicai, as it was a psychologieal faet. In his spiritual man, he pro- \nfoundly felt and realized the religious sentiment; it was an innate \nand essential portion of his being ; but he could not, or he did not, \nreason vipon its truth. In keei^ing with his character, this enthu- \nsiasm was not unmixed with the coldest fornialism. With him, to \nobey the dryest formulas of his creed, was as mudi a duty as to be- \nlieve in the existence of his God, or to repcnt of his sins. This, in \nray opinion, is the true explanation of Cromwell\'s religious charac- \nter. In him the religious sentiment existed, not by any iDrocess \nof ratiocination, but it sprung from the cmotional organization of \nhis temperament, and the enthusiasm of his mental and moral \ncharacter. There was a kind of pietistic egotism in his faith, a sort \nof personal exaltation and self-reliant bigotry in his religious con- \nvictions, which clouded his great intelleet and made him the victim \nof delusion. There are severa! marked i^assages in his life which can \nhe rationally accounted for uj^ou no other satisfactory hypothesis. In \nthese spells of sijiritual exaltation, these weird moments of soul-ab- \nstraction, Cromwell undoubtedly deluded himself into the belief \nthat he had direct and actual communication with Deity. With \nhim, the scriptural declaration that " the voice of God had walked in \nthe garden in the cool of the day," in the presenceof primeval man, \nwas a factand not a metaphor. It was one of these hallueinations, \nso strangely blended with but controlied by his naturai sagacity\xc2\xbb \nwhich determined the fate of the King, It was either this, or the \nmost consummate hypocrisy. which inducedhimsolemnly todeclare \nthat Charles was to be dealt with aceording to God\'s revelation in \nanswer to his prayers. The politicai and partizan ballads of any \nperiod or people, while they may in some degree illustrate the gene- \nral spirit of t\xc3\xacie times, are not the most reliable sources of historic \ntruth, either with regard to men or measures, yet they are not to be \nwholly disregarded or set as\xc3\xacde. In an old and rude ballad of the \nCommonwealth, entitled " A CofHn for King Charles," to be found \nin the eighth volume of the King\'s Pamphlets, in the folio edition \nof "Broadsides," iirinted in 1649, there is an evident hit at this \nover-wought self-reliant, ulmost impiouscharacteristieof Cromwell. \nHe \xc3\x8c9 ronde io soliloquize upon the death of the King as foUows : \n\n"Now Charles the I. is tumbled downe, \nThe Second I not feare ; \nI gl\'aspe the septer, weare the crowiie, \nNoi- for Jchovah care." \n\n\n\n88 \n\nIt niay, theu, be well affirmed of Croni well, that if \\ve are to nieas- \nure and determine upon bis religious eharacter by tbe standard of \nreason and common sense, or by the moro orthodox principles of \nmodem theology, the verdict will unquestionably have to be, that \nhe was an over-excited enthusiast, whose moral action was superin- \ndnced by delusion, through a self-iniposed inspiration froni Deity. \nHis struggles and wrestlings with an unquiet conscience,\xe2\x80\x94 bis fre- \nquent and agonizing appeals, through the medium of prayer, for a \niight from heaven to guide his wavering footsteps, in relation to the \noxecution of his anointed sovereign ; and liis most remarkable and \ncontradictory interviews on that subject with his cousin John Crom- \nwell, in his cliaracter of Commissioner from the States of Holhmd \nto save the life of the king, are clear and indubituble indications of \nthis fact. \n\nTliere is anotlier charge made against Cromwell, wliich, I think, \nis perfectly explained by the peculiar trait whieh we are now con- \nsidering, the deep onotlonal eharacter of the man. Tt is his visit, \nsolitary and alone, in the deep hours of tlie night, to look upon the \ndead body of Charles, as it lay in state in the i:)alace of Whitehall. \nIt is charged against him, by the historians of the period, that he \ndid so, with the mean and ignoble purpose of gratifying his i)ersonal \nfeelings of satisfaction at the regicidal drania whicli had just been \ncompleted. How imprcbable a supposition ! What a distorted view \nof both the man and the occasion ! To my mind, that most remark- \nable scene borders on the sublime of solemn and dramatic effect. \nWhat deej! and mighty emotions must have swept the stoi\'my soul \nof the great Regicide in thus gazing upon the constitutional repre- \nsentative, but most unconstitutional exponent of a great system of \ngovernment, transmitted through a long and proud line of kings, \nthen lying in the cold ombrace of death, which lic had been so largely \ninstrumentai in producing ! Wliat a scene for a painter ! \xe2\x80\x94 Tlie Uv- \ning Cromwell gazing upon the dead Cliarles ! No light or frivolous \nfeelings of levity or indifference were passing through the mind of \nCromwell at that midnight levee of the living and the dead ! That \nmind was travelling back, with deep and painful emotion, through \nthe long years of the past, \xe2\x80\x94 back to the death of Elizabeth, when \nJames was on his royal tour to London, to have liis " kingly crowu \nput on." In that progress, with the young Charles in his train, \nJames stopped on a hunting frolle at the old manorial house of \nHinchinbrook, the seat of the old cavalier Sir Oliver Cromwell, an \nuncle of the greater Oliver. The two boys, of equal age, the future \nKing and the future Protector, gamboled together in frolicksome \npast-time on the green and beautiful banks of the Ouse, little dream- \ning of the great parts they were dcstined to play against each other \nin the far-ofl\' future. \n\n\n\nu \n\nOtlicr thoughts than lev\xc3\xacty, other feeliiigs than Ihose of low per- \nsonal gratification, avouIcI sudi a scene produce on such a man ! In \nthat silent and impressive meeting of the living and the dead, \nCromwell\'s reflections and inedltations weie also resting upon the \nfact, that, at a timo when he was halting between his desire to save \nthe king and the laerformance of his (hity to save the country, \nCharles had been specially kind to his family. AH thcse things \npressed uj\xc3\xacon his niind in that solenin death-ohamber ; and instead \nof going there, as a personal enemy, to niock the royal dust, he Avas \nthere tofeel as a man ; irresistably impelled to it by tlie fascination \nof the great catastrophe. Any other solution is distorted and un- \nnatural ; but this is in keeping with the scene, witli the clear ^\\o- \nbabilities of the case, and with the naturai feelings of such a man \non so remarkable and solemn an occasion. . Conscience, too, may \nhave i^layed lier part in that nocturnal scene ! \xe2\x80\x94 because there come \nmoments to every man, seared as his heart may be by its contact \nwith selfishness and deceit, when, in spite of himself, he forgets the \nfuture, and involuntarily laj-s asidq his darling projects, his hopes, \nhis fears, his yearnings after the toys of ambition, and the trap- \npings of power, in a contrite and anxious contemplation of the \npast, and a searching analysis of his conduct through life. Tliat \nman must have no great guilt or great sorrow on his soul, who can \nlook so steadily into the future, that the i^ast shall have no share in \nhis meditations when contemplating the immediate iiresence of \nDeath and tl\xc3\xace Grave. Cromwell, in tliat solemn Iiour of the niglit, \nin the presence of the royal dead, and with a conscience painfully \nalive to ali the responsibilities of the regicidal tragedy, felt that he \nstood there as the judicial murderer of his sovere\xc3\xacgn. He could noi, \nin that solenin and impressive liour, lay the fiattering unction to \nhis soul, that Charles Stuart had been Icgal\xc3\xacij tried and condemned \nby a constilutlonal tribunal of his country, invested rightfully I>y \nlaw with the great power to sit u^Don the life of the king. He \nknew, as well as any man could kiiow, that the Court of High \nCoramission, erected impromptu for that single purpose, had been \ncreated by less than a majority of the House of Commons, in the \nabsence, and after the destruction, by its own usurpation, of the \nHouse of Lords, as a co-ordinate brandi of the government. Tliese \nwere not pleasant rellections, in that dread hour of self-commun- \ning ; and if Cromwell did not feel the sharp thrusts of a self-upbraid- \ning conscience, in looking upon the headless trunk of the dead king \nbefore bini, he was eithcr more or less than man, and a very mon- \nstcr of revolution and anarchy. \n\nSuch was Oliver Cromwell; a religious entluisiast, an unreason- \ning fanatic, a military usurper, but a clear-sighted and sagacious \nman of the world, in ali things which jiertained to the control of \nmen, or gavo tono a|)d direction to the jniblic will ; a patriot in the \n\n\n\n35 \n\nbeginning, a heartless and uiiscrupuloususurper in the end. There \nwas the most perfcct homogeneity in his intelleetual, but the niost \nstartling incongriiities in liis moral faculties. This \\yant of bal- \nauce, this absence of meutal and moral equation, iii his character, \nsometimes produced the most startling and shocking contrasts in \nhis actions. As for inslnnce, he couid Avrite to his friend, Col. Al- \nlured, when that friend\'s son had fallen in battle, with the most \ntouching pathos of sympathetic friendship, wholly overcome by his \nemotions ; while with the sanie pen, and from the sanie battle-t\xc3\xaceld, \nhe eould deliberately sit down and indite the coldestand most heart- \nless account to William Lenthall, Speaker of the House of Com- \nmons, of his putting :2,000 Catholic Irishnien to the sword at the \nsiege of Drogheda, and shipi)ing hundreds as slaves to the Barba- \ndoes, with the impious deelaratiou that it was the " righteous \njudgment of God !" Sudi are the monstrous results when politics \nand fanaticism are the co-operative agents of private ambition or \n(State iDolicy ! The conduct of the Protector, in more than one of \nhis great public acts, stands out as a warning light to guide the foot- \nsteps of public men, with God\'s solenni admonition that it is not \nright, it is not just, it is not wise, to govern a great and educated \npeople Avith the lash of private vengeance or the whip of partisan \nfury. \n\nCromwell\'s friendship and enmities were profoundly partisan ; he \neould see no good come out of Nazareth ; while ali virtue and good- \nness were centered in his Jerusalem. But with ali his faults, he was, \nin some jioints of his administration of public affairs, one of the \nbest governors wlio ever ruled the destinies of England. His f\xc3\xacrm- \nness in ordering the trial and execution of Don Panteleon, the \nbrother of the Portuguese Ambassador, and an attach\xc3\xa9 of the lega- \ntion, for the murder of an English gentleman in the streets of Lon- \ndon, in despite of his asserted otRcial protection from an English trial \nby the paramount authority of International law, and at the risk of \nan open rujiture with ali the great powers of Europe, was a trait in \nhis character which found an approving and exultant responso in \nthe sturdy nat\xc3\xaconal pride of the English people. In this he was the \nrepresentative man, the pronounced type of the people among whom \nhe lived. This leading feature of Cromwell\'s politicai character is \nthe key to his whole wonderful career. In the great power of self. \nwill, and the union of moral and physical courage to override the \nopposing will of others, he has been very mudi underrated by con- \nteniporary historians. He eould not bave attained his high position \nin the State, and among sudi a peo^ile, had he been the character \nhanded down to us by biassed historians like Clarendon, or royal \nsatirists like Butler. That he had great abilities as a statesman, and \nalniost unequalled tact as a popular leader, is not denied by any one. \nIt is also, inferentially, oqually true, that he must bave had some \n\n\n\n36 \n\ngreat inorai qualitic:?, othei\'wise he could not bave commanded the \nregard of suoh men as John Milton, John Hampden, and Sir Mat- \nthew Hale. He made h\xc3\xacs power felt bj\' his turbulent couutrynieu \nat home, and respeeted by bis hostile national enemies abroad. His \nresolute will and clear maseuline intellect, made his administrative \npolicy alike conduce to the glorj* and prosperity, if not the happi- \nness, of the nation, and had not death intervened, he was about to \ninaugurate a policy upon the great religious question of the daj\', \nwhich might bave changed the whole face of Europe. But a few \ndays of suffering and disease,\xe2\x80\x94 a few shiverings and burnings of a \ntertian ague, and ali was in the dust. On the od day of September, \n1658, the anniversary of his great battlcs of Dunbar and Worcester^ \nhe breathed bis last, after having appointed his eldest son Richard \nto succeed bini in the Pi\'otectoral office. In this last officiai act of \nthe Great Protector, bis singular contradistinctive duality of charac- \nter, his greatness and his weakness, are most strikingly exemplified. \nIn these last fluttering nioments of his life, in the very article of \ndeath, the feeble and exjDiring energies of his soi;l were rapt and ab- \nsorbed in the future of England and the aggrandizement of his \nfamily. His strong and his weak points were equally exhibited. \nThe unmerciful Iconoclast of the idols surrounding the tbrone, \xe2\x80\x94 the \nrelentless destroyer of Dynasties and of Legitimacy in the succes- \nsion of regal jjower and dominion,\xe2\x80\x94 even in the last ebbing moments \nof his life, he was looking to a new line of succession for the trans- \nmission of liis own no less absolute power and authority, and was \ncontemplating the means of iDcrpetuating the organization of bis \nparty and the supremacy of his family. While he had stricken \ndown the tbrone with tlie iron band of revolution, he was clinging \nto one of the great props and pillars upon which that tbrone was \nbased, the rigbt of Primogeniture ; but how weak, bow imbeeile he \nwas in the choice of the instrument for the accomplisbment of his \npurposes. The timid and gentle-hearted Richard was wholly unf\xc3\xact \nfor the great trust. Had the choice fallen upon his younger and \nmuch abler brother Henry, the descendant of a Regicide, instead \nof aGuelph, might to-day be ruling thedestinies of the British Em- \npire. A young Prince Oliver instead of an Arthur, a young Crom- \nwell instead of a Coburg, might bave been the recipient of \nthose brilliant ovatious so bountifully tendered by us a few weeks \nago to the modest son of Queen Victoria. But Cromwell died, as be \nhad lived, a riddle and a mystery ; and the last moments of his life, \nlike that life itself, furnish no reliable solution of liis comi^lex and \nincongruous character. But bow fearfullj\'^ impressive was that \nclosing drama of a great and storni y life ! Theve Avas^a wild har- \nmony in that remarkable deatb-bed scene. While one of the most \nterrible storms ever witnessed in England was roaring through the \ndark and deserted streets of London, on that old autumnal night o. \n\n\n\n37 \n\n1658, in a retired rooui in tlie kingly palace of Whitehall, under the \nsame roof which had sheltered the dead body of Charles Stuart nine \nyears before, tliere was j^assing to its final audit, with the bowling \nelem\xc3\xa9nts for his aj^propriate requiem, one of the stormiest human \nsouls, one of the sternest and niost restless human spirita ever \nshrined in a tabernacle of day. With bini were buried the politicai \nresults, but not the bitterness, of the Gbeat English Civil War. \nThe bad j^assions engendered by the Revolution long survived its \nGreat Leader, but the axe of the executioner, the fires of persecu- \ntion, the phreuzy of legislation, at last gave way to time and re- \nturning reason, and the English People, emerging from the school \nof a most bitter experience, once more reposed in peace and security \nbeneath the protecting a\xc3\xacgis of Laws and Constitutioxs. \n\nAnd now, my friends, have ive nothing to learn in these lessons \nof histor^\', these convulsions of human passion, and these rash as- \nsaults upon constitutions ? Is our fabric of government so perfect \nand imperishable ; is public virtue here so infallible; are Ave, as a \npeo^Dle, so far removed from the temptations of folly and corruption, \nthat ive have nothing to fear from like causes and passions which \nhave produced the downfall of the proudest empires of other days? \nI speak in no partizan sense, but in the earnest and warning spirit \nof a teacher; for every man, however humble his abilities niay be, \nwho speaks to a ijublic audience upon the great afFairs or duties of \nlife, thereby assumes, for the time being, the responsible character \nof a public instructor. I lift myself high above the mere jwlitician ; \nin the language of the great Irish orator, I "let the aitar and the \ngod sink together in the dust," when I so\xc3\xacemnly declare to you here \nto-night with some knowledge of the great crisis which has not \npassed from but is stili upon us, that if it is true that "history is \nphilosoi^hy teaching by example," her lessons should sink deejj \ninto our hearts ; and we should bring earnest souls and honest minds \nto the investigation, the understanding, and the redress, of what- \never wrongs and abuses, near or remote, may have crept into this \ngreat and glorious government of ours, in which we ali are com- \npellcd to have a common and insei^arable interest. AVe shall fall \nfar short of our high mission as men, as citizens, and as the custo- \ndians of a Christian civilization, if we fall in this great duty which \nGod has set before us ! If we shall so forget the passions and \nanimosities engendered by eivil war, as to join in a common effort \nto restore the Government in the same manly, cordial, and catholic \nspirit, in which our great ancestors, both cavalier and puritan, \nunited in its creation and defence,\xe2\x80\x94 if we shall again recognise and \nre-establish those great principles of constitutional liberty, of equal \nrights, of just laws, and a full i^articipation, by ali the people, in the \nhlesswgs as well as the obligations of government, which energised \n\n\n\n38 \n\nand signalized the Englisli and the American Revolutions, \xe2\x80\x94 this \nvast and magnificent country of ours, with its enterprising people, \nits unbounded resources, and its high intelligence, willagain beput \nui^on the track of power and emi:)ire ; \xe2\x80\x94 and the eye of reanimated \nfaith will see in the far-oflf and naajestic Future, standing in the \npoliticai heavens as a Bow of Promise reflected by the Sun of \nLiberty upon the black storm-cloud of Civil Kevolution, that grand \nold CoNSTiTUTiON of ours, "vvith its noble cluster of kixdred \n\nSOVEREIGNTIES\xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" High o\'er the world exalt its brows sublime, \nAud lift its Plllars throngh the Storms of Time!" \n\n\n\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS \n\n\n\n020 690 760 5 \n\n\n\n'