appointed you is dissolved." The rest of the members stared at him in silence; but Bradshaw, the president, boldly replied,-"Sir, we have heard what you did at the house in the morning, and before many hours all England will hear of it; but, sir, you are mistaken if you think that the parliament is dissolved, for no power under heaven can dissolve them but themselves; therefore take you notice of that." Nevertheless, the council finding that they, too, were exposed to military violence, quietly broke up.

We cannot pause to describe either the general consternation produced throughout England, by this extraordinary exertion of power on Cromwell's part, or the more covert but not less anxious efforts by which he again strove to draw from his friends an offer of supreme power. Enough is done when we state, that the latter entirely failed; that a new council of state was erected; that by the gentlemen composing it Oliver was authorized, as captain-general of the forces, to summon 142 persons, selected by themselves, who, with the appellation of a parliament, might assist in the general conduct of affairs; that this strange assembly, composed in many instances of the lowest and most worthless tradesmen in London, met; that it received the name of the "Barebones' Parliament," in consequence of a leather-seller in Fleet-street, called "Praise God Barebones," being one of its chief orators; and that, after a brief display of bigotry and folly, such as had not yet been exhibited within the walls of St. Stephen's, it in its turn becoming displeasing to Cromwell, the members composing it were, at the point of the pike, induced to dissolve themselves. A like proceeding was adopted by the new council of state, which gave up to Cromwell, the whole authority of the government; without, however, expressing any opinion as to the uses to which it ought to be turned. And now, when every obstacle seemed to be removed, a club of his own creatures, though they refused him the title of king, succeeded in investing him with more than kingly authority. On the 12th of December, 1653, the Barebones' parliament broke up; and on the 16th Cromwell was solemnly inaugurated, in Westminster Hall, as "Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland."

According to the new arrangement, the power of legislation was committed conjointly to the parliament and the protector,-the executive being lodged absolutely with the protector and his council. All writs, patents, and commissions were to issue in the name of the protector; from him all honours and offices were to be derived; and he was invested generally with the most valuable of the prerogatives of a king, though his office itself was declared to be elective. But, though thus liberal to their new sovereign, the people of England were not forgetful of themselves. Triennial parliaments were established. A novel, and, as it was esteemed at the moment, a more equitable

system of representation was invented, by regulating the number of members to be returned from each county, city, and borough, in proportion to the sums paid by each towards the national expense; while the smaller boroughs were plundered of their chartered privileges, and deprived of all weight in the body politic. No laws, it was provided, should be altered, suspended, abrogated, or enacted, no tax, charge, or imposition laid apon the people,-except by the common consent of parliament; and bills passed by the two houses were, it was declared, to have the force of law, twenty days after they should have been offered to the protector, even though his assent should be refused. Such is a meagre outline of the novel constitution of which Cromwell was appointed the guardian ;-how far it operated to secure the liberty and happiness of the people every reader of history must be aware.

We should deviate entirely from the design of this memoir were we to follow the bent of our own inclinations, by giving even a brief account of this the most important era in Cromwell's life. Let it suffice to state, that throughout the space of four years and nine months he wielded the destinies of the British empire with a degree of vigour unparalleled in the annals of our country. By a simple declaration of his arbitrary will he united its discordant parts, suppressing the parliaments in Edinburgh and London, and calling up representatives from Scotland and Ireland to London. His foreign policy, again, was, with one memorable exception*, both wise and vigorous. Holland he reduced to the necessity of accepting a disadvantageous peace; Sweden and Denmark he overawed; both Spain and Portugal felt the weight of his arm; and France at once courted and feared him. Yet was he both a tyrant to his own subjects, and the slave of constant apprehensions, for which there was but too much room. The parliament which he had called into existence began, even on its first meeting, to question his authority; and was, according to his usual practice convinced by the argument of pike and musket. This gave rise to plots and conspiracies, in which many members joined, till at last he dissolved the body, after plainly declaring that its continuance was not for the benefit of the nation. Thence followed various insurrections,—with seditions innumerable, by which the army itself was affected, till a temper naturally stern became soured into absolute misanthropy.

In the month of September, 1656, Cromwell summoned his third parliament, which he had taken care to pack with creatures devoted to his own wishes. Its first proceeding was formally to "renounce and disannul the title of Charles Stuart unto the sovereign dominions of the nations of England, Scotland and Ireland;" its second, to

* We allude to his imprudent alliance with France against Spain, of which the consequences continue to be felt even in our own times.

declare it "high treason to conspire the death of the protector." By and by, this obsequious assembly, on the motion of alderman Park, resolved, that "Cromwell should be elected king;" and a deputation actually waited upon him to receive his pleasure on the subject. But Cromwell, though not less ambitious now than formerly of the royal dignity, soon found that the army were to a man determined to resist the encroachment. It was to no purpose that he employed every artifice of which he was master for the purpose of overcoming their hostility. Even Fleetwood, who had married his daughter, the widow of Ireton, and Desborough his brother-in-law, refused their consent, while colonel Pride, formerly his ready agent, took now an active part against him. That gentleman procured a petition from the principal officers, which stated "that they had hazarded their lives against monarchy, and were still ready to do so; and that finding an attempt was making to press their general to take upon him the title and government of a king, in order to destroy him, they humbly desired that the house would discountenance all such endeavours." It was impossible to misconstrue the import of declarations such as these; so Cromwell bent to the storm, and declined the proffered honour. Nevertheless his faithful commons failed not, by a fresh enactment, to afford what salve they could to his wounded vanity. They voted him protector for life, with power to name his successor; and they authorized him to bring back the form of the old constitution, by establishing a house of peers. But this measure, by which he expected to increase his authority, proved the principal cause of his future weakness. His most trusty adherents alone accepting the ephemeral dignities which he had to offer, made way in the lower house for men of a different mould, whose opposition to the will of the protector became at last too bitter for endurance. Having in vain tried the effect both of flattery and menaces, Cromwell had recourse in the end to his old expedient; and violently dissolving the parliament, determined to govern thenceforth by virtue of his own prerogative.

From this period, up to the autumn of 1658, Cromwell passed his time, surrounded indeed by all the pomp and circumstances of high estate, but a prey to more than the common anxieties and troubles which accompany even usurped power. Alarmed day by day with rumours of meditated revolts, made aware even through the public press that his life was not safe from the blow of the assassin, and conscious as well that his friends were alienated from him, as that his very guards abhorred him, he was miserable when in society, lest every hand should be turned against him; and not less miserable in solitude, because he was there without support. To such a height, indeed, were his fears of personal violence raised, that he wore constantly beneath his clothes a suit of chain-armour, and carried daggers, pistols,and other weapons of

offence, concealed about his person : yet was there one source of consolation left him amid so many troubles. His domestic life was a happy one, as far as the attachment of his wife and children could render it so; and it may be more than doubted whether the religious enthusiasm which once swayed him ever lost its power. It is at all events certain, that even while signing warrants of proscription and death, against multitudes of loyal men, for no other reason than he suspected them of designs hostile to his government, he continued still to speak of himself as an instrument in the hands of God.

Such was the tenor of his existence, when Elizabeth, his favourite daughter, was seized with a lingering illness, under which she gradually sank. Her condition deeply affected the protector, and he spent no inconsiderable portion of his time by her bed-side, vindicating to her many passages in his public career, and offering to her all the consolations of religion. His anxiety and grief operating upon a frame already shaken, and aided by the chill of his armour, which he wore next the skin, threw him into a fever; and gout and ague following, he became alarmingly ill. He, too, became unable to quit his bed; and the death of his daughter being somewhat unguardedly communicated to him, a violent paroxysm ensued: from that time his recovery was hopeless. It is true that neither he nor the fanatical preachers who surrounded him would give any credence to the opinions of the physicians. "Do not think that I will die," said he to his wife, when on one occasion she entered his apartment; "I am sure of the contrary:" and seeing that she looked sorrowfully in his face, he immediately added, "Say not that I have lost my reason. I tell you the truth: I know it from better authority than any which you can have from Galen or Hippocrates. It is the answer of God himself to our prayers, not to mine alone, but to those of others, who have a more intimate interest in him than I have. Go on cheerfully, banishing all sorrow from your looks, and deal with me as ye would with a serving man. Ye may have skill in the nature of things; yet nature can do more than all physicians put together; and God is far more above nature."

In perfect accordance with the sentiments conveyed in this speech, was the tenor both of his own and of his chaplains' devotions. One of these, called Goodwin, addressed the Supreme Being thus:-"Lord, we do not ask thee for his life; of that we are assured; thou hast too many great things for this man to do for it to be possible thou shouldst remove him yet; but we pray for his speedy establishment and recovery." So also the protector himself, on the very night preceding his death, uttered the following petitions:"Lord, I am a poor foolish creature; this people would fain have me live; they think it will be best for them, and that it will redound much to thy glory; all the stir is about this. Other

would fain have me die; Lord, pardon them; and pardon thy foolish people; forgive their sins, and do not forsake them; but love and bless them; and give them rest, and bring them to a consistency, and give me rest, for Jesus Christ's sake." There is but one more anecdote relating to this, the last scene in Cromwell's drama, which we venture to give. Throughout life he had ever professed himself a high Calvinist; and, as a necessary consequence, a believer in the doctrine called the final perseverance of the saints. In a moment of more than usual depression, he begged of one of his chaplains to say, whether the doctrine were really sound; and whether he who had once been in a state of grace could ever fall back into reprobation.

The divine assured him that no such event could occur. "Then," exclaimed he, "I am safe; for I am sure I was once in a state of grace."

In the midst of these ravings, and while his spiritual attendants predicted a speedy recovery, the hand of death fell heavy upon Cromwell. On the 3d of Sept. 1658, a day considered by himself as particularly fortunate, he gave up the ghost, having, in a voice scarcely audible, named his son Richard as his successor in the protectorial chair. But as if nature herself had taken an interest in the fate of this extraordinary person, he breathed not his last as other men do. A furious tempest swept from one side of the island to the other. The largest trees in St. James's park were torn up by the roots; houses were unroofed or thrown down, and men, even of strong minds, seriously doubted, whether the strife of the elements were produced by ordinary causes. His adherents, of course, spoke of the occurrence as manifesting the interest taken by the Deity himself in the character and services of the deceased, while the royalists ascribed it to a dispute among the evil spirits which rule the air, as to which should enjoy the honour of conducting the usurper's soul to the place of punishment. These speculations were, no doubt, equally absurd; yet was there less of impiety in them than in the conduct of his favourite chaplain, Stury.-"Dry up your tears," said he to the protector's relatives and attendants; "ye have more reason to rejoice than to weep. He was your protector here, he will prove a still more powerful protector now that he is with Christ at the right hand of the Father."

Cromwell's condition of body at his decease was not such as to permit his being laid out, as it is called, in state; but a waxen image, made to represent him, received all the honours usually bestowed upon royal clay. His funeral, likewise, was performed amid a greater display of pageantry, and at an expense far exceeding that lavished upon the obsequies of any monarch. "He was carried," says Evelyn, " from Somerset House on a velvet bed of state, drawn by six horses, harnessed with the same; the pall was held up by his new lords; Oliver lying in effigie in royall robes, and crowned with a crown, sceptre, and globe,

like a king. The pendants and guerdons were carried by the officers of the army; the imperial banners, achievements, &c., by the heraulds in their coates; a rich-caparisoned horse, embroidered all over with gold; a knight of honour armed cap-à-pie; and after all, his guards and souldiers, and innumerable mourners. In this equipage they proceeded to Westminster; but it was the joyfullest funeral I ever saw; for there was none that cried but dogs, which the souldiers hooted away with a barbarous noise, drinking and taking tobacco in the streets as they went."

The remains of Cromwell were deposited for a season in Henry VII.'s chapel, amid the dust of the kings of England, being enclosed in a superb coffin, which bore the following inscription :"Oliverus Protector Reipublicæ Angliæ, Scotia, et Hiberniæ ; natus 25 Aprilis, anno 1599; inauguratus 16° Decembris, 1653; mortuus 3o Septembris, 1658, hic situs est." Of the contumelies afterwards offered to them we are not called upon to say more, than that they have covered with disgrace those only by whom they were commanded and executed.

It has been our great object in the foregoing sketch to regard Oliver Cromwell in the single light of a distinguished military commander. In adhering to this design we have not unfrequently been compelled to suppress details full both of interest and instruction, and to impose serious restraints upon our own opinions touching the true end even of professional biography. The plan, however, which we had chalked out for ourselves arbitrarily requiring these sacrifices, they have without hesitation been made; nor in drawing up a general estimate of his character as a public man shall we permit ourselves to indulge in greater liberties. To some other pen will doubtless be intrusted the task of determining, the niche which Cromwell must fill among the statesmen of England. Let it be our business to give, as far as some little knowledge of such matters will allow, a brief estimate of his qualifications as the leader of an army.

Oliver Cromwell belonged to that limited number of mortals, of whom it may with justice be said, that they came from the hands of nature ready-made soldiers. Bold, active, robust in frame, with nerves of the firmest texture, no dangers could affright, nor any accidents deprive him of self-command, while a thorough confidence in his own resources sufficed in every emergency to carry him through difficulties, under which a more modest man would have given way. The great quality, however, which distinguished him from almost every other general of his day, was his intimate acquaintance with human nature, and the consequent readiness with which he selected fitting instruments, and moulded them on all occa. sions to his own purposes. Of this, the mode which he adopted to fill up the ranks of his first regiment affords the most satisfactory proof; and

nis treatment of these very men after they were mixed up with others, and so formed a portion of a large body, amply confirms it. No man knew better than he where to draw the line between proper indulgence and its excess; no man could better temper familiarity with respect, easy and kind treatment, with the most rigid discipline. The consequence was, that his soldiers, however stubborn with others, were to him pliant and tractable; not only because they reposed in his abilities the most absolute confidence, but because they personally loved and respected himself.

Undaunted bravery, however, the capability of more than common bodily exertions, and a presence of mind which is never to be taken by surprise, though each and all necessary ingredients, do not suffice, even when accompained by a thorough knowledge of human nature, to complete the character of a great general. There must, in addition, be the power of rapid, and, at the same time, accurate calculation; a judgment clear, and profound; a foresight to imagine all probable difficulties, in order that they may be anticipated; and a moral courage which shall not pass over any, whether it be great or small. If, again, to these be added the principle of order by which masses of men are moved like the pieces on a chess-board, then is the structure of a great military mind complete. Such men were Hannibal, Cæsar, Marlborough, and, for a time at least, Napoleon Bonaparte; and such a man is the duke of Wellington; how far the like assertion may be hazarded with respect to Cromwell we entertain serious doubts.

Cromwell lived in an age when the art of war, properly so called, was very little understood; and, with one exception, he never measured himself against an officer either of talent or experience. His early career, therefore, though very brilliant, was that of an active partisan rather than of a general; while it was not till the year 1649 that he ever enjoyed the opportunity of commanding a large army in person. His first campaigns in the capacity of general in chief were in Ireland, where he certainly gained many and important advantages: yet when it is recollected that he fought against men disheartened, and at variance among themselves; that there was no army in the field to oppose him; and that the war was one of sieges only, our admiration of his genius will necessarily degenerate into an admission that he was active, resolute, and ruthless. The terrible executions which he sanctioned in the first towns attacked intimidated the garrisons of other places; and hence the terror of his name did more towards securing their surrender than the skill of his dispositions, or the vigour of his assaults. In Ireland, therefore, we see only the indefatigable guerilla chief enlarged into the leader of a band of ferocious veterans, from whose cruelty the royalists were glad to take shelter, by abandoning the posts which they had been appointed to hold.

Of all the campaigns which Cromwell conducted, that against the Scots in 1650-1 deserves to be considered as the most regular and the most scientific. When he reached the border, instead of a raw army in his front, he beheld a scene of devastation and loneliness around him; for the people were driven from their houses; the corn and cattle were removed, and such measures adopted as would, even now, when the mode of maintaining a mountainous country is better understood, he approved. It would appear that Cromwell had not omitted from his calculations the possible occurrence of these events. A fleet of victuallers and store-ships moved along the coast, from which supplies might be derived; and trusting to these, he pushed boldly forward to the attack of the capital. It has been said that Cromwell was out-generalled here by Leslie. We have no wish to detract from the merits of that able officer, whose system of defence was exactly such as the circumstances of the case required. Trained in the Belgic school, he was not ignorant that raw levies, however individually brave, cannot, with any chance of success, be opposed to veterans on what is termed a fair field; he, therefore, selected a position naturally strong, entrenched it on every weak point, and having devastated the country in its front, waited patiently to be attacked. In all this, however, the single quality displayed was firmness; for there was no manoeuvring on either side, as there was no occasion for it. Cromwell, therefore, is as little to be accused of a deficiency in skill, because he failed to penetrate the lines in front of Edinburgh, as Massena deserves to be accounted a weak man, because the lines of Torres Vedras arrested his march into Lisbon.

Having exhausted every device to turn this position, Cromwell determined on a retreat; and here again he has been accused of improvidence, because he preferred the coast to the inland road. It is very true that the position at Dunbar was a perilous one; but let the perils attending the adoption of a different plan be considered. Whence was Cromwell, in the event of his falling back through the interior, to derive his supplies. There was no food in the country; he depended on his ships for every thing: had he suffered his communications with them to be interrupted, his destruction was inevitable. In a choice of difficulties, he accordingly selected that course which seemed to be the least encumbered with them: what man in his senses would act otherwise? Again, it is urged, that his retreat was disorderly; and that he ran himself into a snare, from which the flagrant mismanagement of his enemies could alone deliver him. To a certain extent there is truth in both assertions. His retreat was not conducted with all the steadiness which might have been exhibited; yet was it the reverse of disastrous: for as often as the Scots hazarded an attack, they were repulsed with a loss more heavy than they inflicted.

In the description already given of the relative positions of the two armies at Dunbar, it will be seen, that the prospects of Cromwell must have been for a time exceedingly gloomy. Hemmed in between a range of hills and the sea, a more desponding general would have given up all for lost, yet Cromwell's confidence never forsook him. He calculated upon the possible occurrence of one of those lucky chances to the operations of which all military movements are liable, and the event demonstrated that he had not erred in so doing. Far be it from us to recommend his conduct here as worthy of universal adoption; yet were it folly to talk of carrying on war in every situation by rule. War is a game of chance, the broad principles of which are alone matters for disquisition, its minuter details being much more frequently swayed by accident than by previous consideration. And it is by the promptitude with which he takes advantage of such accidents, more than by any other proceeding, that the great general is distinguished from the mere theorist. How Cromwell contrived to extricate himself from the toils, and to defeat the army which encircled him, we have already shown: we can now only repeat, that his doing so more than redeemed any errors which he may have previously committed.

We come now to his march westward, and its consequences. The plan of operations pursued by the king manifestly indicated, that of his communications with the more northern and western counties he was peculiarly jealous; and it became, of course, the object of Cromwell to dissever these. And here it was, that the greatest displays of generalship were exhibited on both sides. Leslie's position in the Tor-wood was admirably chosen. His movement to the right, by which he blocked up the road to Lanarkshire, was prompt and able; it may be questioned whether he displayed equal alacrity afterwards. His information being excellent he was not long left in ignorance that the English had detached largely into Fifeshire. Had he advanced upon the corps in his front, and forced it to give battle, the chances are, that he would have overthrown it. This, however, he neglected to do; either because his own genius was rather passive than active, or because his troops were not sufficiently manageable, and the consequence was, that Cromwell turned him with his whole army. It is true that the march of Cromwell upon Perth laid open the road to England; but on a southward movement, in such a crisis, no human being could have calculated. Nay, so little was that movement approved at the head-quarters of the royal army, that a threat of desertion by the English cavaliers alone induced Leslie to consent to it. There is, therefore, no blame justly attributable to Cromwell, as if he had left England exposed to invasion; because the invasion itself was a rash and a desperate step, which men disposed to cast all upon the hazard of a die would alone have taken.

Respecting the dispositions made, so soon as the truth became known, for a rapid and effective pursuit, only one opinion can be formed. They were all of them excellent; whether we look to the prompt detaching of the cavalry by the great north road, to the calling out of the militias, or to the close and tenacious chase undertaken by Cromwell himself. It may be that the king loitered a little by the way; and it is certain that, having determined to risk all upon a single manœuvre, he ought to have pushed it to the extreme; yet the very slackness of his friends to join, which caused these delays, bears the best testimony to the prudence with which Cromwell had taken his measures. Finally, the battle of Worcester, though undertaken with very superior numbers, might of itself suffice to place Cromwell high upon the list of military commanders. To pass even one deep river in the face of an enemy is not an easy matter: Cromwell passed two, and the royalists were totally destroyed.

Were we to set up a comparison between Oliver Cromwell and any of the renowned generals of modern times, we should do flagrant injustice to both parties. A man can be fairly estimated only when brought into contrast with those who were his personal rivals in the art which they severally practised, because in all arts, and in the art of war more, perhaps, than in others, such changes occur from age to age, that between those who were accounted masters in each, few points of resemblance are to be found. There may be great activity displayed by both, great foresight and prudence; yet the instruments which they respectively wielded are in their nature so dissimilar, that you cannot place the artists themselves in legitimate contrariety. No man would think of comparing the ship-builder of Charles I.'s time with the ship-builder of the 19th century; and as little may the military leader in the civil wars be contrasted with the late emperor of the French, or the duke of Wellington. But if we confine our attention to the times in which he lived,-if we compare Cromwell with prince Rupert, with Charles himself, with Massey, and even with Leslie,-it will be found that he far excelled them all in every point necessary to the formation of a great military character. He was not less brave than the bravest of them; he fell short of none in activity; he was more vigilant than any; calculated more justly; and, above all, surpassed them in an extraordinary degree in his powers of reading the workings of men's passions. Yet we do not hesitate to avow our persuasions that nature, though she gave to him all the qualifications required to produce a soldier, intended Cromwell for a politician or a statesman, rather than for a general.

Cromwell's personal appearance is so well known, that we shall not waste much time in describing it. To a figure which conveyed the idea rather of strength than of symmetry, he united a countenance full indeed of expression, but exhi