protected our Protestant brethren, and de- | Galen or Hippocrates. It is the answer of fended our holy faith. He will not drop His faithful servant, nor disown His instrument. But His will be done, and not mine. If He has mercy on me, I will glorify His name, heal the wounds of this country, govern with the most conscientious justice, and dedicate the whole remainder of my life to His service, and to the welfare of my people. I feel that my task is not yet ended, and that I am called upon to achieve still greater things." He remained for long hours on his knees, praying fervently for the recovery of his daughter; but Heaven turned a deaf ear to his appeals. Lady Claypole finally succumbed to her sufferings, and breathed her last in his arms. It afforded a melancholy enjoyment to the protector to surround his daughter's coffin with regal pomp. Her adorned remains lay in state at Westminster Hall, and were interred in a special vault amid the tombs of the kings. After her death, the protector was subject to fits of the most profound melancholy. His health began to give way, and soon he was no longer able to leave his bed. His physicians were sensible of the perilous condition to which his disease had reduced him, but he himself would not believe that his life was drawing to a close. "Why do you look so sad?" he asked the doctor, who was standing by his bedside. "How can I look gay when I am responsible for the life of your highness?" "You physicians think that I shall die," replied Cromwell, seizing the hand of his wife, who was sitting at his side; "but I tell you I shall not die of this distemper. I am well assured of my recovery." 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. You may have skill in your profession; but Nature can do more than all the physicians in the world, and God is far above Nature." All the friends and adherents of the protector shared this firm belief. Not only in Whitehall, but in all the churches of London, prayers for his recovery ascended to heaven; but even his adversaries were filled with terror and anxiety at the thought of his death, and the confusion that would succeed to it. Hitherto, Cromwell had made no definite depositions as to his successor, and his friends, for this reason, were greatly embarrassed-even Thurloe, from various motives, hesitating to ascertain the protector's wishes in this respect. Cromwell himself, as his conditic grew worse and worse, no longer took any interest in worldly affairs. His soul turned exclusively to heaven; it retired into itself, and occupied itself with other questions and problems than those which engrossed the mourners surrounding his bed. At the gates of eternity, which opened to him now, a sudden shudder seized him. Round his bed sat his chaplains, who henceforth did not leave him any more; he alternately prayed or conversed with them on religious subjects. "Tell me," he asked, starting up from his meditations, "is it possible to fall from grace?" "It is not possible," replied Sterry, one of the preachers. "Then I am safe," said Cromwell; "for I know that I was once in grace." He turned and commenced praying aloud: "Lord, though a miserable and wretched Perceiving that the physicians were won- creature, I am in covenant with Thee through dering at these words, he added: Thy grace, and may and will come to Thee for Thy people. Thou hast made me a mean instrument to do them some good, and Thee service. Many of them set too high a value "Think 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 upon me, though others would be glad of my death. Lord, however Thou disposest of me, continue and go on to do good for them. Teach those who look too much upon Thy instruments to depend more upon Thyself, and pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people too." After uttering this fervent prayer, he sank into a stupor, which lasted until evening. Toward nightfall he became greatly excited; he spoke in an undertone, and very incoherently, and hesitated in the middle of the words and sentences: "In truth, God is good; He will not-God is good-I should like to live for the sake of God and His people, but my task is ended.God will be with His people." They asked him to drink, and then to sleep. "I do not want to drink," he said, "nor to sleep. I think only of making haste, for I must depart very soon." Thurloe, who did not leave his bedside, and the members of his family, deemed it indispensable to remind him of the necessity of appointing a successor. He uttered in a feeble voice the name of his son Richard. A terrific tempest raged at night, destroying vast amounts of property on land and sea. Morning dawned at last; it was the anniversary of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester, but Cromwell had already lost consciousness. Between three and four in the afternoon he heaved a deep sigh; his friends and the members of his family hastened to his bedside and found that he was dead. CHAPTER VIII. GENERAL MONK-MILTON AND LADY ALICE. IMPORTANT events occurred now in rapid succession. The little son of a great father ruled but a short time over England. Richard Cromwell was too weak for such a burden; he succumbed to the parties which, after the death of the mighty protector, delivered from the pressure of his iron hand, raised their heads again. The protector's generals, incited by their ambition, aspired to his power. They possessed, perhaps, his baser, but not his nobler qualities. Only one of them had inherited his calculating penetration and calm prudence; but the ardent enthusiasm, by which Cromwell had achieved such extraordinary successes, was wanting to him. General Monk marched his troops, who were blindly devoted to him, to London, where he restored tranquillity, and for the time being quietly watched the course of events. As usual, a state of exhaustion had succeeded to the protracted civil wars and the long-continued intense political excitement. Tired of party struggles, and deprived by Cromwell of the liberty for which the country had striven, a majority of the nation longed for tranquillity and enduring institutions. The youth hated the moral austerity of the Puritans, and were desirous of enjoying the forbidden pleasures of life. Thus the way was already fairly paved for the restoration of the Stuarts. Even during the existence of the republic, the pulpits resounded with appeals in favor of a monarchy, as they had formerly done against it. Large numbers of armed apprentices marched noisily through the streets, and cheered vociferously for Charles II. His agents now pro Profound silence reigned in the death-room, broke only by the sobs and low lamentations of the family, and of a few faithful servants. "Cease to weep," said Sterry; "you have more reason to rejoice. He was your protec-ceeded openly and fearlessly, and enlisted for tor here; he will prove a still more powerful protector, now that he is with Christ, at the right hand of the Father." him every day new adherents. England's fate depended on one man, and he was the officer to whom we have already alluded, General Monk. Hitherto he had not revealed his intentions; he possessed the art of silence in the highest degree, and concealed his thoughts even from his own brother. Coolheaded and sober, he knew how to appreciate the state of public affairs and his own position; destitute of ardor and enthusiasm, the republic was as indifferent to him as the monarchy, and he concluded to espouse the cause from which he expected to derive most benefit. This man was now master of the situation. Cool calculation and prudent selfishness had succeeded to ardent fanaticism. Everything betokened the impending downfall of the republic. The ex-royalists exulted openly, while the friends of liberty mourned in secret. No one grieved more profoundly than Milton. Since his last interview with Cromwell, he had taken heart again and hopefully looked forward to the future. Owing to his growing blindness, he was obliged to retire from public affairs; and, in accordance with his recommendation, Marvell, the young Englishman, whose acquaintance he had made in Rome, was appointed his assistant. The great poet was now again at liberty to pursue his private studies, and to realize the devout aspirations of his youth for an immortality of literary fame. In his lonely and sleepless nights he was at work upon his "Paradise Lost." Fragments of this great epic he communicated to his friends, who received the first books with rapturous admiration, and urged him to continue his work. Especially was Alice delighted with the passages which she had heard. He listened willingly to her advice, and her refined judgment and excellent taste, but more than all her innate piety exercised the greatest influence upon his immortal creation. No less happy was the effect which she exerted upon his spirits. His wife had died; in spite of their reconciliation, she had never been able to appreciate his worth and genius. Nevertheless, he mourned sincerely over his loss, which was the more painful to him as she left three half-grown daughters. His faithful friend was to him a devoted support, and to his children a mother. She took care of him and did not leave him. Owing to his constant intercourse with her, his mind assumed a milder tone; be learned from her involuntarily that gentleness and toleration with which the noble lady was animated. Without being recreant to his own convictions, he judged the views of others with greater forbearance than formerly. He reflected seriously on the reconciliation of the various Protestant sccts, and in his conversations with her he frequently dwelt upon this subject. "Such a reconciliation," he said to her one day, "is feasible only after the Church has gained its entire independence of the state." "I doubt if it will ever succeed in so doing." "And yet every argument supports my demand. It cannot be denied, being the main foundation of our Protestant religion, that we of these ages (having no other divine rule or authority from without us, warrantable to one another as a common ground, but the Holy Scripture, and no other within us but the illumination of the Holy Spirit so interpreting that Scripture as warrantable only to ourselves, and to such whose consciences we can so persuade) can have no other ground in matters of religion but only from the Scriptures. Hence it is obvious that neither traditions, councils, nor canons of any visible church, much less edicts of any magistrate or civil session, but the Scripture only, can be the final judge or rule in matters of religion, and that only in the conscience of every Christian to himself. Our doctrine prefers the Scripture before the Church, and acknowledges none but the Scripture sole interpreter of itself to the conscience. But if any man shall pretend that the Scripture judges to his conscience for other men, he makes himself greater not only "The protector becomes only too easily a tyrant. In pretending to protect religion against its enemies, he will ere long lay his hands upon the freedom of conscience and thought. He that seeks to compel an infidel to observe at least the outward forms of religion, or a conscientious man to act contrary to his conviction, will bring about the same than the Church, but also than the Scripture, than the consciences of other men; a presumption too high for any mortal, since every true Christian, able to give a reason of his faith, has the word of God before him, the promised Holy Spirit, and the mind of Christ within him; a much better and safer guide of conscience, which, as far as concerns himself, he may far more certainly know than any out-result in the two cases, and make only hypoward rule imposed upon him by others, whom he inwardly neither knows nor can know. Chiefly for this cause do all true Protestants account the pope Antichrist, for that he assumes to himself this infallibility over both the conscience and the Scripture." "But if you deny all authority and church discipline, you throw open the door to heresy and infidelity," objected his orthodox friend. "These dread words do not terrify me, although I know that they have been used for ages past as scarecrows to keep free® and liberal minds from the field of truth. He who to his best apprehension follows the Scripture, though against any point of doctrine by the whole Church received, is not a heretic, but he who follows the Church against his conscience and persuasion grounded on the Scripture. How many persecutions, imprisonments, banishments, penalties, and stripes, how much bloodshed, have the forcers of conscience to answer for! Christianity in its original form is of a purely spiritual nature, and founded on unlimited liberty; for its growth and development, it has no need of the temporal power, which is manifestly subordinate to it, and whose yoke it cannot tolerate. It is a degradation of religion to deem such a support necessary to it; it is a perversion of its whole essence and character, and, what is worse still, an insult to divine truth." "In my opinion, the state must have at least the right to superintend religious matters, so as to prevent blasphemy and immorality. This is its bounden duty." | crites. I can see the salvation of our faith only in the entire independence of the Church from the state. It is not until then that we shall have that toleration which you, my friend, as well as I, desire for all men." "God grant then that the day may soon dawn upon us, when every one shall practise the charity and forbearance which have animated us for many years past, notwithstanding our opposite views!" "Amen!" said the poet. "And now let me recite to you the first lines of the third book of my 'Paradise Lost.'" The poet spoke, in a tremulous voice: "Hail, holy Light! offspring of heaven first-born, May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Of Nature's works, to me expunged and razed, Alice listened in profound emotion to the touching complaint which the poet uttered in regard to his own blindness. When he was through, she seized his hand and dropped a tear on it. "Is my Muse weeping?" asked the poet. "Yes, you are my Muse, and stand as such before my dimmed eyes. In you I find again the divine nature of woman, which restores to us our paradise lost. Alas! I possessed it once, and forfeited it by my own fault. But Heaven was merciful to me, and sent to me in your person one of His angels, who opened to me the gates of a new and more beautiful Eden. That earthly passion has vanished, and only that heavenly love, which is now my comfort in gloom and adversity, has remained to me. Let me confess to you at this hour how fervently I once loved you, dear Alice. Time has purified and transfigured my love; free from all earthly desires, I may openly avow to you to-day what I formerly concealed with timid anxiety from the world." "And I return your avowal in the same spirit," whispered Alice, deeply moved. "I loved you, also, in those beautiful days. Fate separated us, and I became the wife of another man. God knows how dear he became to me. It was not that intoxicating love that attached me to Carbury, but the highest admiration of his noble and manly nature. I grappled a long time with my remembrance of the past, and of you, until the fulfilment of my duty afforded me full satisfaction and tranquillity. I learned not only to esteem, but really to love my husband, and soon he was my most precious treasure on earth. For you, however, I preserved in my heart the most affectionate sympathyan affection which, like yours, has remained free from illicit desires and impure thoughts." "And thus was vouchsafed to me a happiness for which I scarcely ventured to hope. You have restored to me my faith in the bet. ter nature of woman; in you I learned to respect and revere that holy womanhood which I once considered a mere chimera. Let me confess to you that there was once in my life a time when I really believed that woman was made of baser stuff, and was inferior to man." For a "How I deplore your error, and how you must have suffered in consequence! man who has lost faith in the exalted nature of woman cannot be happy on this earth. It is true, the Creator has given us weakness as our inheritance, but at the same time He has planted mildness in our hearts. If Eve deprived mankind of paradise, through another woman was given to us the Redeemer and the salvation of the world." "In these words you have described my own fate. I also possessed once a wife resembling Eve. She destroyed the paradise of my wedded life, and I forgave her, as Adam of old forgave his wife, that great sinner. But now there has appeared to me another woman, who, free from all the weaknesses of her sex, soars high above this miserable world, and carries me from earth to heaven. Already I feel her blessed influence; already I feel that, despite my blindness, she fills my soul with radiant light, purifies me by her gentleness and toleration, reconciles |