was the foremost among them. For two thousand gold-pieces Charles II. purchased the everready pen of this great scholar to justify the memory of his father and abuse the whole English nation. Such, however, was the influence of the press already at that time, that the Parliament again took notice of the work written by Salmasius, and instructed Milton to publish a reply to it. It is true, the author's name added greatly to the importance that was attached to this pamphlet. Salmasius was considered the most learned man of his age; he spoke all living and dead languages, Latin and Greek, even Persian, Syriac, and Arabic. At the university he taught at the same time all sciences, theology, medicine, jurisprudence, and history. By means of his innumerable treatises, commentaries, notes, and learned prefaces, he had gained the greatest celebrity throughout Europe, and hitherto no one had ventured to dispute with him his supremacy in the learned world. He was courted by the most powerful monarchs; both Richelieu and Mazarin had taken the utmost pains to win him for France, and the eccentric Queen of Sweden succeeded only by means of urgent prayers in prevailing on him to comply with her invitation and come to Stockholm. When the celebrated professor was sick, or would not leave his house, owing to the cold climate of the north, Christina herself came to him, kindled the fire in the stove, cooked his breakfast, and often stayed for whole days at his bedside; so that the professor's wife became jealous of the queen, and compelled her learned husband to leave Stockholm and Sweden.

Such was the disputant with whom Milton now had to deal. All his friends were afraid lest this controversy should result in his signal discomfiture, and sought to dissuade him from entering upon it. Milton, however, was conscious of his strength, and knew that his ability was not only equal, but superior to that of

Milton's

a venal and pedantic polyhistor. learning was not merely a sterile and useless accumulation of indigested material, however well calculated to tickle his own vanity, or to impose upon the blind multitude. His knowledge had passed into flesh and blood, and become united with his whole character, and with his peculiarities of thinking and feeling. It was, therefore, under the promptings of a more exalted spirit that he entered upon this new task and wrote his "Defensio Populi." In this defence, he developed already, with surprising boldness, the principles which Rousseau afterwards only repeated in his "Contrat Social," and which were sufficient to shake the foundations of the whole civilized world. Milton rested his argument likewise on popular sovereignty, and contended that the nation had conferred power on the king solely for the sake of its own security. The sensation which his work produced was extraordinary. So eagerly and universally was it perused by the nation and throughout Europe, that fifty thousand copies were sold in the course of a few weeks. The foreign ambassadors congratulated Milton on this unexpected success; even the former patrons of Salmasius turned their backs disdainfully upon the discomfited professor, and lavished praise and flatteries on his victorious opponent. Queen Christina now derided her former favorite even more than she had once admired and revered him. Salmasius vainly made new efforts to wrest from his adversary his newly-gained laurels; every such attempt resulted in more profound humiliations for him. But Milton achieved his triumphs only at a heavy cost. Every word which he wrote, and by which he crushed the venal pedant, impaired his eyesight. A dreadful headache, with which he had often been affected from his earliest youth, added to the pains of his suffering eyes; but he paid little or no attention to the augmentation of his ills. Like a brave soldier, he continued the struggle with

of his soldiers. However, expressions of illconcealed exultation and secret ambition burst from time to time from under the mask of this assumed modesty. He rewarded the commissioners sent to him by Parliament with princely munificence, presenting them not only with horses which had been taken during the war, but also with wealthy and aristocratic prisoners, who, it was to be expected, would pay a heavy ransom for their release. Thus he endeavored already to win for himself friends and devoted adherents. His bearing, his manners, and his language seemed to have undergone a complete change, and plainly exhibited the consciousness of his undisputed power. All these symptoms added to the apprehensions with which Parliament looked upon the influence and the schemes of the successful general, who, at the head of a victorious army, could demand and dare every thing. This distrust could not fail to lead sooner or later to an open rupture, and the struggle between the two sides seemed inevitable. Cromwell leaned upon the army, and counted upon the imprudence with which his opponents daily laid themselves open to his attacks. He did not hasten to strike the decisive blow, but prepared every thing in secret. Few great men have possessed the instinctive prudence and sharp-sightedness of this upstart. Seemingly inactive, he watched his enemies like a spider in its web. Like the latter, he was gifted with the finest scent for public opinion and for the sentiments of the people. Representing the wishes and ideas of the latter, he acquired a gigantic strength, a demoniacal power. Since the beginning of civil war, the whole authority of government had centred in the Parliament, which was held responsible for every public measure. It had governed too long already not to excite in the nation the longing for a change. Like every assembly of the same description, it was not free from the failings and weaknesses which always pertain to

the exercise of power under similar circumstances. Adversaries were not wanting to it; among them, the quarrelsome John Lilburne was most prominent. Rarely has a politician enjoyed so much popularity; he was worshipped by the people, and especially by the lower classes of London. Already, during the reign of Charles I., he had gained the reputation of a martyr of liberty, and after the king's execution his restless spirit impelled him to oppose the Parliament with the same obstinacy. His contemporaries characterized his quarrelsomeness most aptly by saying that, if John Lilburne were to remain all alone in the world, John would enter upon a quarrel with Lilburne. However, it was not this innate peculiarity of his character that dictated his course, but he was guided far more by a strong sense of justice, and the conviction that the rights of every Englishmen must remain unimpaired, no matter what pretexts might be adduced for a contrary course. In the city, where he had passed his youth, and in the army, where he had served with honor and distinction, he had a host of friends, citizens, and apprentices, officers and privates, religious and political enthusiasts, who, like him, were ardently attached to democratic ideas and principles, and who cared neither for the requirements of social order nor the stability of the government, but were always ready to criticise and attack the latter when it did not come up to its demands and dreams, or pursued a course offensive to their pride or their convictions. Now, Lilburne possessed not only the talent of exasperating the public by means of his writings, but the still more dangerous gift of raising this exasperation to the highest pitch. He was indefatigable in getting up petitions, in holding seditious meetings, in influencing the temper of the army-in short, in all the democratic measures calculated to keep up a spirit of rebellion and to shake the power of the existing government. This remarkable

man had succeeded in the course of time in discrediting the Parliament in the eyes of the multitude, and in undermining its influence and authority. In so doing, he served unwittingly the ambition of Cromwell, against whom he inveighed afterward with the same rancor and violence.

Cromwell profited by the unpopularity of the Parliament, to which he secretly sought to add as much as possible. For this purpose, he frequently assembled the most influential party leaders and the generals of the army, partly to ascertain their sentiments with his accustomed caution, partly to make sure of their assistance. Thus he gradually matured the plan which had long slumbered in his soul. However, before resorting to violent means, he wished to enter a peaceful path for getting rid of his adversaries. The people concurred universally in expressions of weariness and dissatisfaction at the so-called Long Parliament, which they said had outlived itself. A large number of pamphlets and scurrilous papers were levelled against it, and their tone became daily more insulting and aggressive. Contempt combined with hatred, and the weapons used were often those of scathing irony and mortifying scorn. In vain were all prohibitions and prosecutions of the offending authors; neither the wrath of Parliament nor the power of the Council of State was able to restore its influence, or to silence the enemies, who were well aware that Cromwell shared their opinions, and was a secret ally of theirs. The Parliament was already morally dead, and yet it was intent on continuing its semblance of life; it lacked alike moral and material power; neither the people nor the army, who agreed in their aversion to it, were willing to tolerate it any further. Under these circumstances, the leaders of the republican party themselves deemed it prudent to move the dissolution of Parliament and the holding of general elections; but they took measures in

secret to secure their reëlection and the retention of the government in their hands. Cromwell was highly indignant at these intrigues, and made up his mind to frustrate them at any cost. The meetings of his friends at his rooms took place in a more rapid succession than heretofore; he used means to add to the number of his partisans, until he at last felt strong enough to throw down the gauntlet and disperse the Parliament by main force. What no King of England had ever attempted, what Charles Stuart, despite his despotic tendencies had never dared, was now unhesitatingly undertaken by Cromwell. When all was ready, Colonel Ingoldsby informed Cromwell, one | day, that Parliament was sitting, and had come to a resolution not to dissolve itself, but to fill up the House by new elections. Cromwell in a rage immediately hastened to the House, and carried a body of three hundred soldiers along with him. Some of them he placed at the door, some in the lobby, some on the stairs. He entered the hall alone, without creating a sensation in the assembly. He wore a black coat and gray woollen stockings, as was his custom when not appearing in uniform. Cromwell took his seat and seemed to listen attentively to the debate; only from time to time a grin or sarcastic smile illuminated his stern features. Like an eagle, he was silent and calm before pouncing on his prey. Not a gesture betrayed his emotion, and yet his heart throbbed perhaps more impetuously to-day than it had done in many a bloody battle. He had arrived at the Rubicon; in the next moment he would be either a proscribed traitor or the sovereign ruler of three kingdoms.

His friend St. John spoke to him. It was not until now that Cromwell broke his silence, and told him that he had come with the purpose of doing what grieved him to the very soul, and what he had earnestly with tears besought the Lord not to impose upon him.