for a hundred years it was enough to discountenance all that was real in piety to term it Puritanical, and to hint that Cromwell was a Puritan. Even a well-informed reader, unless his studies have been accidentally directed to the pamphlet literature of the period of Charles II., has no conception of the audacious calumnies then uttered without a blush. Cromwell, a monster of vice in all respects, was in actual league and compact with the devil. The bargain was concluded on the plain of Worcester the day before the battle; the Prince of Darkness had appeared in person on the field, and there and then the usurper entered into a solemn treaty with him, the tempter securing to him the victory, and he surrendering to the fiend his soul and body in return. It happened that an awful tempest raged when Cromwell died (or, according to a more accurate statement, two days before), and the coincidence was too important to be lost. The chroniclers of a lying age turned it to the best account. The great enemy of God and man, they said, had come rushing upon the hurricane, and it was he that howled in the tempest in frantic anticipations and fiendish joy, as he watched the agonies of his victim, and waited for his last breath. The story is gravely related by several writers, and slyly alluded to by others, who seem ashamed to repeat what they were anxious to circulate and to impress on the credulity of England. The abilities of Cromwell as a statesman were not of the highest order. When he died, the reins of power were already slipping from his hands. The nation was slowly recovering from the wasting miseries of war; it would not have long submitted to be governed without a Parliament, and a Parliament was incompatible with Cromwell's power. He wished, no doubt, that England should be free and happy; but he wished, too, to be its greatest man, if not its sovereign. He had nothing of the magnanimity of Washington. To the last, he was a slave to the vulgar lust of power; and to this he sacrificed both his integrity and his country, his confidence and his peace. Still he had an upright disposition; and, till it was debauched by his ambition, an honest mind. His fame rests upon his foreign policy, which was always successful, for it was always right. Yet it required and this, perhaps, is its highest praise-neither deep sagacity nor diplomatic skill. It was founded upon one principle; namely, to defend the Protestant cause, whenever and by whom soever assailed. Cromwell knew (what no Stuart would ever comprehend) that Protestantism was not only the religion but the pride of England. When he undertook the defence of the Protestants abroad, he carried with him the enthusiasm of the whole nation. He volunteered his assistance to the Swiss and Savoyards against the reigning duke, the neighbouring princes of Italy, and the pope himself, who had combined to extirpate these heretics. Forgetting its internal discords, the whole nation espoused the cause, and emptied its purse in one generous contribution. The universities shared in the enthusiasm, and gave their alms to the Alpine sufferers for the faith; and Milton contributed still more in his immortal sonnet. At home we see the Protector embarrassed by his ambition and his crimes. Abroad he appears before us unshackled; and we perceive what Cromwell might have been, had he refused to listen to the suggestions of a base ambition. "I will make an Englishman," he said, “as much respected as an ancient Roman, over all Europe." "If the pope insults us, I will send a frigate to Civita Vecchia, and he shall hear the sound of my cannon at Rome." England exulted in his prowess, and foreign courts confessed themselves outwitted by a potentate, whose straightforward policy defeated all the stratagems of their diplomatists; who said what he meant, and seldom failed to accomplish the intentions he avowed. Such simplicity was new amongst the wily statesmen of continental Europe; they found themselves in the presence of an antagonist from whose sling and stone they had no protection. The powers which had insulted Charles were abject in soliciting his friendship. Clarendon allows that his greatness at home was but a shadow of the glory which he had abroad; that it was hard to discover which feared him most,-France, Spain, or the Low Countries; that they valued his friendship at his own price; that they would have complied with any demand he could have made; and that such was their terror of his name, that Cardinal Mazarine, the French minister, turned pale whenever it was mentioned. He remonstrated with the French king, and the Protestants at Nismes were relieved from a horrible persecution; he threatened the Duke of Savoy, and the tyrant disgorged his plunder, and even restored his afflicted Protestant subjects to their political rights. "None can wonder," exclaims the noble writer, "that his memory still remains in those parts and with those people, in great veneration." The veneration still continues; and U amongst the mountains of Switzerland the name of Cromwell is pronounced as that of one of the benefactors of their race. History of the Later Puritans. A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT. JANE TAYLOR. A GENTLEMAN just returned from a journey to London, was surrounded by his children, eager, after the first salutations were over, to hear the news; and still more eager to see the contents of a small portmanteau, which were, one by one, carefully unfolded and displayed to view. After distributing amongst them a few small presents, the father took his seat again, saying, that he must confess he had brought from town, for his own use, something far more curious and valuable than any of the little gifts they had received. It was, he said, too good to present to any of them; but he would, if they pleased, first give them a brief description of it, and then perhaps they might be allowed to inspect it. The children were accordingly all attention, while the father thus proceeded :-"This small instrument displays the most perfect ingenuity of construction, and exquisite nicety and beauty of workmanship: from its extreme delicacy, it is so liable to injury, that a sort of light curtain, adorned with a beautiful fringe, is always provided; and so placed as to fall in a moment on the approach of the slightest danger. Its external appearance is always more or less beautiful; yet in this respect there is a great diversity in the different sorts; but the internal contrivance is the same in all of them, and is so extremely curious, and its powers so truly astonishing, that no one who considers it can suppress his surprise and admiration. By a slight and momentary movement, which is easily effected by the person it belongs to, you can ascertain with considerable accuracy the size, colour, shape, weight, and value of any article whatever. A person possessed of one is thus saved from the necessity of asking a thousand questions, and trying a variety of troublesome experiments, which would otherwise be necessary; and such a slow and laborious process would, after all, not succeed half so well as a single application of this admirable instrument." GEORGE. If they are such very useful things, I wonder that every body, that can at all afford it, does not have one. FATHER. They are not so uncommon as you may suppose; I myself happen to know several individuals who are possessed of one or two of them. CHARLES. How large is it, father? could I hold it in my hand? FATHER. You might but I should be very sorry to trust mine with you! GEORGE. You will be obliged to take very great care of it, then? FATHER. Indeed I must: I intend every night to enclose it within the small screen I mentioned; and it must besides occasionally be washed in a certain colourless liquid kept for the purpose; but, this is such a delicate operation, that persons, I find, are generally reluctant to perform it. But notwithstanding the tenderness of this instrument, you will be surprised to hear that it may be darted to a great distance, without the least injury, and without any danger of losing it. CHARLES. Indeed! and how high can you dart it? FATHER. I should be afraid of telling you to what a distance it will reach, lest you should think I am jesting with you. GEORGE. Higher than this house, I suppose? FATHER. Much higher. CHARLES. Then how do you get it again? FATHER. It is easily cast down by a gentle movement, that does it no injury. GEORGE. But who can do this? FATHER. The person whose business it is to take care of it. CHARLES. Well, I cannot understand you at all; but do tell us, father, what it is chiefly used for. FATHER. Its uses are so various that I know not which to specify. It has been found very serviceable in deciphering old manuscripts; and, indeed, has its use in modern prints. It will assist us greatly in acquiring all kinds of knowledge; and without it some of the most sublime parts of creation would have been matters of mere conjecture. It must be confessed, however, that very much depends on a proper application of it; being possessed by many persons who appear to have no adequate sense of its value, but who employ it only for the most low and common purposes, without even thinking, apparently, of the noble uses for which it is designed, or of the exquisite gratifications it is capable of affording. It is, indeed, in order to excite in your minds some higher sense of its value than you might otherwise have entertained, that I am giving you this previous description. GEORGE. Well then, tell us something more about it. FATHER. It is of a very penetrating quality; and can often discover secrets which could be detected by no other means. It must be owned, however, that it is equally prone to reveal them. CHARLES. What! can it speak then? FATHER. It is sometimes said to do so, especially when it happens to meet with one of its own species. GEORGE. What colour are they? FATHER. They vary considerably in this respect. GEORGE. What colour is yours? FATHER. I believe of a darkish colour; but, to confess the truth, I never saw it in my life. BOTH. Never saw it in your life? FATHER. No, nor do I wish ; but I have seen a representation of it, which is so exact that my curiosity is quite satisfied. GEORGE. But why don't you look at the thing itself? FATHER. Nay, I believe I could not prevail upon any body to part with such a thing. GEORGE. Then how did you get this one? FATHER. I am so fortunate as to be possessed of more than one; but how I got them I really cannot recollect. CHARLES. Not recollect! why you said you brought them from London to-night. FATHER. So I did; I should be sorry if I had left them behind me. CHARLES. Now, father, do tell us the name of this curious instrument. FATHER. It is called-an EYE. Contributions of Q. Q. |