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abroad, had exhausted his revenue, and he was left considerably in debt. One conspiracy was no sooner detected, but another rose from its ruins; and to increase his calamity, he was now taught, upon reasoning principles, that his death was not only desirable, but his assassination would be meritorious. was published by Colonel Titus, a man who had formerly been attached to his cause, entitled, Killing no Murder. all the pamphlets that came forth at that time, or perhaps of those that have since appeared, this was the most eloquent and masterly. "Shall we, (said this popular declaimer,) who would not suffer the lion to invade us, tamely stand to be devoured by the wolf?" Cromwell read this spirited treatise, and was never seen to smile more.


All peace was now for ever banished from his mind. He now found that the grandeur to which he had sacrificed his former peace, was only an inlet to fresh inquietudes. The fears of assassination haunted him in all his walks, and were perpetually present to his imagination. He wore armour under his clothes, and always kept pistols in his pockets. His aspect was clouded by a settled gloom; and he regarded every stranger with a glance of timid suspicion. He always travelled with hurry, and was ever attended by a numerous guard. He never returned from any place by the road he went; and seldom slept above three nights together in the same chamber. Society terrified him, as there he might meet an enemy; solitude was terrible, as he was there unguarded by every friend.

A tertian ague came kindly at last to deliver him from this life of horror and anxiety. For the space of a week no dangerous symptoms appeared; and, in the intervals of the fits, he was able to walk abroad. At length the fever increased, and he became delirious. He was just able to answer "Yes," to the demand whether his son Richard should be appointed to suc ceed him. He died on the third day of September, that very day which he had always considered as the most fortunate of his life; he was then fifty-nine years old, and had usurped the government nine years.

A. D. 1658.


Whatever might have been the difference of interest after the death of the usurper, the influence of his name was still sufficient to get Richard, his son, proclaimed protector in his room. But the army, discontented with such a leader, esta blished a meeting at General Fleetwood's, which, as he dwelt in Wallingford-house, was called the Cabal of Wallingford. The result of their deliberation was a remonstrance, that the command of the army should be intrusted to some person in whom


they might all confide; and it was plainly given to understand that the young protector was not that person.

Richard wanted resolution to defend the title that had been conferred upon him; he soon signed his own abdication in form, and retired to live several years after his resignation, at first on the Continent, and afterwards upon his paternal fortune at home. He was thought by the ignorant to be unworthy of the happiness of his exaltation, but he knew by his tranquillity in private, that he had made the most fortunate escape.

The officers, being once more left to themselves, determined to replace the remnant of the old parliament which had beheaded the king, and which Cromwell had so disgracefully turned out of the house.

The Rump Parliament, for that was the name it went by, being now reinstated, was yet very vigorous in its attempts to lessen the power by which it was replaced. The officers of the army therefore came to a resolution (usual enough in those times) to dissolve that assembly, by which they were so vehemently opposed. Accordingly, Lambert, one of the generals, drew up a chosen body of troops, and placing them in the streets which led to Westminster-hall, when the speaker, Lenthall, proceeded in his carriage to the house, he ordered the horses to be turned, and very civilly conducted him home. The other members were likewise intercepted, and the army returned to their quarters to observe a solemn fast, which generally either preceded or attended their outrages.

During these transactions, General Monk was at the head of eight thousand veterans in Scotland, and beheld the distraction of his native country with but slender hopes of relieving it.

Whatever might have been his designs, it was impossible to cover them with greater secrecy than he did. As soon as he put his army in motion, to inquire into the causes of the disturbances in the capital, his countenance was eagerly sought by all the contending parties. He still, however, continued to march his army towards the capital; the whole country equally in doubt as to his motives, and astonished at his reserve. But Monk continued his inflexible taciturnity, and at last came to St. Alban's, within a few miles of London.

He there sent the Rump Parliament, who had resumed their seat, a message, desiring them to remove such forces as remained in London to country quarters. In the mean time, the house of commons, having passed votes for the composure of the kingdom, dissolved themselves, and gave orders for the immediate assembling a new parliament.


A. D. As yet the new parliament was not assembled, and 000} no persons had hitherto dived into the designs of the general. He still persevered in his reserve; and although the calling a new parliament was but, in other words, to restore the king, yet his expressions never once betrayed the secret of his bosom. Nothing but a security of confidence at last extorted the confession from him. He had been intimate with one Morrice, a gentleman of Devonshire, of a sedentary, studious disposition, and with him alone did he deliberate upon the great and dangerous enterprise of the restoration. Sir John Granville, who had a commission from the king, applied for access to the general; he was desired to communicate his business to Morrice. Granville refused, though twice urged, to deliver his message to any but the general himself; so that Monk, now finding he could depend upon his minister's secresy, opened to him his whole intentions; but, with his usual caution, still scrupled to commit any thing to paper. In consequence of these proceedings, the king left the Spanish territories, where he very narrowly escaped being detained at Breda by the governor, under the pretence of treating him with proper respect and formality. From thence he retired into Holland, where he resolved to wait for farther advice.

At length the long expected day for the sitting of a free parliament arrived. The affections of all were turned towards the king; yet such were their fears, and such dangers attended a freedom of speech, that no one dared for some days to make any mention of his name. All this time, Monk, with his usual reserve, tried their tempers, and examined the ardour of their wishes: at length he gave directions to Annesley, president of the council, to inform them that one Sir John Granville, a servant of the king, had been sent over by his majesty, and was now at the door with a letter to the commons.

Nothing could exceed the joy and transport with which this message was received. The members, for a moment, forgot the dignity of their situations, and indulged in a loud acclamation of applause. Granville was called in, and the letter eagerly read. A moment's pause was scarce allowed; all at once the house burst into an universal assent to the king's proposals; and, to diffuse the joy more widely, it was voted that the letter and indemnity should immediately be published.

Charles II. entered London on the twenty-ninth of May, which was his birth-day. An innumerable concourse of people lined the way wherever he passed, and rent the air with their acclamations. They had been so long distracted by unrelent

ing factions, oppressed and alarmed by a succession of tyrannies, that they could no longer suppress these emotions of delight, to behold their constitution restored, or rather, like a phoenix, appearing more beautiful and vigorous from the ruins of its former conflagration.

Fanaticism, with its long train of gloomy terrors, fled at the approach of freedom; the arts of society and peace began to return; and it had been happy for the people if the arts of luxury had not entered in their train.

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"HEN Charles came to the throne he was thirty years of age, possessed of an agreeable person, an elegant address, and an engaging manner. His whole demeanor and behaviour was well calculated to support and increase popularity. Accustomed, during his exile, to live cheerfully among his courtiers, he carried the same endearing familiarities to the throne; and, from the levity of his temper, no injuries were dreaded from his former resentments. But it was soon found that all these advantages were merely superficial. His indolence and love of pleasure made him averse to all kinds of business; his familiarities were prostituted to the worst, as well as the best, of his subjects; and he took no care to reward his former

friends, as he had taken few steps to be avenged of his former enemies.

Though an act of indemnity was passed, those who had an immediate hand in the king's death were excepted. Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, though dead, were considered as proper objects of resentment; their bodies were dug from their graves, dragged to the place of execution, and, after hanging some time, buried under the gallows. Of the rest who sat in judgment at the late monarch's trial, some were dead, and some were thought worthy of pardon. Ten only, out of four-score, were devoted to immediate destruction. These were enthusiasts, who had all along acted from principle, and who, in the general spirit of rage excited against them, shewed a fortitude that might do honour to a better cause.

This was the time for the king to have made himself independent of all parliaments; and it is said that Southampton, one of his ministers, had thought of procuring his master, from the commons, the grant of a revenue of two millions a year, which would have effectually rendered him absolute; but in this his views were obstructed by the great Clarendon, who, though attached to the king, was still more the friend of liberty and the laws. Charles, however, was no way interested in these opposite views of his ministers; he only desired money, in order to prosecute his pleasures; and, provided he had that, he little regarded the manner in which it was obtained.

His continual exigencies drove him constantly to measures no way suited to his inclination. Among others was his marriage, celebrated at this time, with Catharine, the Infanta of Portugal, who, though a virtuous princess, possessed, as it should seem, but few personal attractions. It was the portion of this princess that the needy monarch was enamoured of, which amounted to three hundred thousand pounds, together with the fortress of Tangier in Africa, and of Bombay in the East Indies. The Chancellor Clarendon, the Dukes of Ormond and Southampton, urged many reasons against this match, particularly the likelihood of her never having any children; but the king disregarded their advice, and the inauspicious marriage was celebrated accordingly.

It was probably with a view of recruiting the supply for his pleasures, that he was induced to declare war against the Dutch, as the money appointed for that purpose would go through his hands. In this naval war, which continued to rage for some years with great fierceness, much blood was

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