[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

During the somewhat tedious recovery of Harold,
and his subsequent irresolution, both parties had been
engaged in active hostilities, unaccompanied by any
decisive result. The battle of Edgehill had been
fought with doubtful success, and the intervals of
action were occupied by negociations in which, it is
believed neither party was sincere. Mutual propositions
for peace were made and declined under various
pretences, and it had become evident to those who
looked beneath the surface, that the contest could only
be decided by the sword. Accordingly, both parties
braced themselves for the final issue.

The Earl of Essex was at the head of the Parliamentary
forces, and had already excited the jealousy
of the leaders of the House of Commons, by his inactivity,
as well as want of vigilance. Thus far the result
of the struggle seemed extremely doubtful. The

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

King had been successful in Cornwall, and other parts
of the kingdom: misunderstandings subsisted among
the Parliamentary generals, who of course did not
cordially co-operate: and it was daily becoming more
evident, that Essex, as well as several other noblemen
who had taken arms against the King, were not exactly
on the side of the people. Though ready to oppose
the despotic claims of Charles, so far as they interfered
with their own exclusive privileges, they were by no
means prepared to strip him quite bare of his prerogative;
and without doubt, by this time began to perceive,
or at least suspect, that if finally successful, the
popular leaders would not stop at a redress of grievances.
In short, they began to fear for themselves and
their order. A people struggling for freedom can
never place any just reliance in those who monopolize
in a great degree the benefits of the abuse of power;
nor should they ever choose them for leaders. The
chief of a revolution which has for its object the
attainment of equal rights, rather than a mere change
of dynasty, should be a child of the revolution, sharing
the sympathies, partaking in the grievances of the
people, and claiming a legitimate right to command,
not from superiority of rank, but of talents, vigor and
patriotism.

Harold had left home on horseback, placing his
domestic affairs in charge of honest Gilbert, who continued
to set out the dinner table every day at the
same hour, and in the same manner as if his master
was present, until at length, perceiving with great

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

surprise, that no one attended, he relinquished the practice
in despair. It is said, with what truth we know not,
that he afterwards occupied the dinner hour in wandering
about the house as if looking for somebody that
was missing. The reader may perhaps question the
prudence of Harold in leaving his affairs in the hands
of old Gilbert. But it was in fact Hobson's choice; he
had neither kindred, acquaintance, or friend around
him; and in the confusion of the times, perhaps justly
concluded that upon the whole he might as well trust
to Providence and Gilbert.

The journey of Harold was devoid of incident or accident,
and he joined the Parliamentary forces, at that
time encamped on Turnham Green, under the Earl of
Essex. The royal army was close at hand, the King
having taken advantage of a negociation for peace then
in progress to make a rapid march upon the city of
London, in the course of which he surprised two regiments
of the hostile troops, which were cut off almost
to a man. Being admitted a private in a troop of horse
attached to the Train Bands, he at once entered on
active service. A battle was hourly expected, and
Skippon, the sturdy leader of the Train Bands, composed
of London apprentices, in anticipation of this event, took
occasion to address them in the following pithy and
characteristic words: “Come, my brave boys, let us
pray heartily, and fight heartily. I will run the same
fortunes and hazards with you. Remember the cause
is for God, for the defence of your wives and children.
Come my boys, let us pray heartily, and fight heartily.”

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

Such was the spirit which animated a large portion
of the Parliamentary army, and it is not to be wondered
at that they ultimately conquered. Religious
enthusiasm had been arrayed against the sentiment
of loyalty; and devotion to the King was met by the
far more powerful influence of devotion to a higher
power. The love of liberty was combined with the
enthusiasm of religion, and the two united proved
irresistible.

That a great majority of the Puritans of that age
were sincere in their professions, notwithstanding the
charge of hypocrisy so often urged against them by
the Loyalists, and reiterated by succeeding English
historians, we think can scarcely be doubted. Cromwell
may have been a hypocrite, though this appears
extremely doubtful; but his followers were unquestionably
sincere, as they proved on various occasions by
freely sacrificing themselves on the field of battle. If
any additional proof be required, let us cast our eyes
towards the band of Pilgrims, who sacrificed their
country, home, kindred, friends, and all those associations
of early days that cling closest to the heart of
man, to seek the far distant wilds of a new world; to
cope with danger, death and famine; to struggle with
the wintry winds; to war with the fury of wild beasts
and the wiles of savage men; to labor in the fields,
and worship in churches with arms in their hands, and
meet the trying exigencies of a keen, inhospitable climate,
divested of all the common comforts of life. To
doubt the sincerity of these were to question the faith

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

of the primitive martyrs, who offered up their lives on
the wheel or at the stake, and sped their last breath
in songs of triumph.

But to resume our narrative. To the disappointment
and disgust of his army, Essex, it is said by
the advise of some of the noblemen who served under
him, strenuously opposed by that of a majority of the
others, instead of offering battle to the King while facing
him for several hours, suddenly wheeled about, and
retreated to London, without being pursued. His subsequent
conduct was such as to increase the suspicions
already entertained by his partisans, and inspire the
enemy with new hopes of final success.

Without entering into a detail of the events which
succeeded, and in which Harold was not immediately
concerned, we shall content ourselves with noticing the
skirmish of Chalgrove Field, in which the conduct of
Essex was again equivocal and unsatisfactory. An
excursion of Prince Rupert from Oxford, the headquarters
of the King, had alarmed the neighboring
counties, and the Parliamentary forces were eagerly
following him, as he retreated laden with booty.
Among the foremost on this occasion was the patriot
Hampden, who though an officer of foot, joined a
body of cavalry of which Harold was one. They overtook
the Prince at Chalgrove Field, and in their eagerness,
advancing too rapidly, were environed by the
enemy and cut to pieces. Almost at the first discharge,
Hampden had been shot in the shoulder with a brace
of bullets, and one of the prisoners to the Royalists

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

reported that he had seen him early in the action,
slowly quitting the field, his head hanging down, and
his arms resting on the neck of his horse.

Harold, too, had been rather severely wounded, and
on leaving the field, it so chanced that in his progress
towards the main body of the patriot army, he overtook
Hampden, who appeared on the point of dropping
from his horse. Though in little better plight, he endeavored
to assist him to the utmost of his power; but
the strength of both failed them rapidly, and seeing a
comfortable-looking farm house at a little distance,
somewhat retired from the road, he proposed to attempt
to gain it before they became entirely exhausted. Accordingly
thither they proceeded, and were kindly received
by the master of the house, who was devoted to
the same cause, though too aged to take an active part
in the struggle.

Prince Rupert, who generally lost by impetuosity
what he gained by valor, having succeeded in reaching
Oxford with his booty, while Essex was looking
on, the Parliamentary army remained master of the
field. The situation of Hampden and Harold prevented
their removal, and the latter found himself companion
in suffering with this illustrious patriot, during
the brief remaining period of his existence. Though
suffering exquisite pain he maintained a perfect abstinence
from all complaint, and apparently forgetting
himself thought only of his country. Being engaged
in the same cause, and fellows in suffering, they occasionally
communed with each other on the state of

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

public affairs. At these times Harold listened with
respectful deference to the voice of wisdom and patriotism
proceeding as it were from the grave, for it became
every moment more evident that his hours were numbered,
and were but few. The day preceding his death,
when the weakness of nature had overborne the capacity
for suffering, the great patriot of England, after
long silence and deep reflection, addressed Harold, as
follows:

“The die is cast, and my earthly career is over. I
could have wished to bear my part in the great contest
now at issue, and to have seen the final result, whether
successful or not; for I did not ask myself when
I took arms against my sovereign but the single question,
whether or not our cause was just. It was
enough for me that England was oppressed, and that
all men have a natural right to resist oppression however
sanctioned by precedent, or hallowed by time.
Antiquity is no warrant for abuses; on the contrary
the longer a nation has suffered them, the greater reason
they should be relieved as soon as possible.”

After pausing a few minutes to recover breath, he
proceeded—

“But I am called away, as it were, at the dawn of
morning, perhaps in mercy that I may not see the
darkness of the night that may succeed. For I will
not conceal from you, my young companion in calamity,
that my hopes diminish, in proportion as the
prospect of a successful issue in the strife of arms increases.
I do not fear the people, but their leaders;

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

for the people are ever right, except when deceived by
those they trust, and always successful, except when
betrayed. But there are among us wolves in sheep's
clothing, who I suspect will betray the flock to the
midnight robber. As might be expected—for such is
ever the mixture of liberal and selfish motives, in all
the great, as well as little affairs in which man is the
instrument—the noblest motives are often mingled
with the meanest. Patriotism, which is the highest
of earthly influences, is profaned by an association
with selfishness, the meanest of them all.

“Already I perceive increasing symptoms of alienation
among some of our chief leaders, and those, too,
whose rank and wealth give them the most extensive
influence; struggles among others of meaner rank,
for the spoils even before they are won; and a general
want of that concert of action, if not of opinion, which
from first to last, in all past time, has been the bane
of all parties without an acknowledged head, to whom
long established laws, and immemorial custom, have
prepared men to be obedient. The King is weak, if
not unprincipled, and in the hands of still weaker and
more wicked councillors. There is no longer any confidence
to be placed in his word, which is the only
bond of those who claim to be above the law. He will
lose his cause, for he knows not how to fight or negociate;
to make war or peace. We shall, in all human
probability, gain the power to do what I and some
others had in view, when forced to seek redress by the
sword; but I greatly fear it may be so abused by

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

contending factions, attaining a temporary ascendancy,
that the people wearied and disgusted by repeated
disappointments, and sick of the struggles of leaders,
whose incapacity will be only equalled by their ambition,
will at length be wrought upon to return like the
dog to his vomit, and restore without reservation the
same power to the same despot by whom it was
abused.

“If such should be the case—which Heaven avert!
it will speedily be followed ere long by another revolution,
the offspring of the first; and England will be
again doomed to pay a second price for a blessing she
heedlessly threw away. Thus, my young friend, we
who shed our blood will not shed it in vain. It will
not, like the rivers of the desert, sink into the earth
without yielding either flowers or fruits; its product
will eventually be the enjoyment of a rational liberty,
which could not have been obtained without martyrs.
With this conviction I die, and with it I die content,
leaving my motives, acts, and opinions, to the judgment
of posterity.”

These sentiments were uttered at intervals, as his
exhausted strength permitted, and when finished, the
dying patriot sank exhausted on his pillow, where he
lay some hours without another word. Thus he quietly
passed away, apparently without pain, and without
fear. The Royalists exulted in his death, which had
rid them of their most formidable enemy; while the
opposite party mourned it as the loss of their best friend.
Like Washington, he has united the suffrage of the

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

world in his favor. Posterity has but a single voice in
speaking of Hampden, who at one time seemed to concentrate
in himself the spirit of the nation, and
even the historian of the Revolution, himself a courtier,
as well as a loyalist, who seldom ascribes other
than sinister, or selfish motives for the conduct of
friend or foe, has been compelled to yield to his talents
and patriotism the highest meed, that of unwilling
praise.

The recovery of Harold was slow and gradual; and
it was not until the opening of the next campaign that
he entered on active service, when he found great
changes had taken place in the Parliamentary army.
The self-denying ordinance, as it was called, had excluded
a class of officers, whose zeal, if not fidelity,
had been suspected; but an exception was made in
favor of Oliver Cromwell, who was then at the head of
the army in fact. He had rapidly risen to distinction,
by a series of successful exploits; and it was the fortune
of Harold, who had been promoted to the command
of a troop of horse, to be frequently brought into
contact with one of the most extraordinary men of
that or any other age. Observing the quick decision,
as well as fearless courage of Harold, on various occasions
of great exigency, Oliver attached him to his
person before the end of the campaign, during the
course of which Harold studied his character intensely,
only to become more profoundly puzzled by its apparent
inconsistencies.

The real character of Cromwell is still a mystery—

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

partly from its own deep profundity, partly from the
bitter prejudices that are awakened in forming a
judgment. Whether a hypocrite, or an enthusiast; a
patriot, or a mere creature of selfish ambition, is a
question that will probably never be decided. Assuredly,
however his sincerity or his patriotism may
be questioned, none can doubt his qualifications as a
soldier, or his abilities as a statesman; and the most
loyal Englishman when he denounces him as a rebel
and a traitor, should bear in mind, the successful vigor
with which he asserted the honor of England, and
caused the most potent monarchs of his time to crouch
at his feet. England owes him more than a host of
her legitimate monarchs combined can justly claim,
and if he accepted the sovereignty he wielded it nobly.

Though leader of a band of stern enthusiasts, who in
their abhorrence of the “Book of Sports,” had perhaps
fallen into the opposite extreme of sour austerity; and
though he himself set the example in zeal, as well as
sobriety, yet were there frequent occasions in which
he deviated into downright buffoonery. Though in
public he was grave and reserved, in his family, and
among his friends, his conversation was familiar and
diverting. He indulged in practical jokes; he loved
the society of men of wit, and his domestic chaplain,
Jeremy White, was a great humorist. A grave old
chronicler says, “Oliver Cromwell, the Protector, loved
a good voice and instrumental music well; and when
Mr. James Quin, a student of C. C. Oxford, a good
singer, was introduced to him, he heard him sing with

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

great delight, liquored him with sack, and in conclusion
said, `Mr. Quin, you have done well, what shall
I do for you?' To which, Mr. Quin made answer,
with great compliments, (of which he had command
with great grace,) `That your Highness would be
pleased to restore me to my student's place,' which
the Protector did accordingly, and he held it to his
dying day.”

Oliver's jokes were sometimes rather rough, it must
be acknowledged. He would occasionally, when he
suspected any intrigue was going on in the army, invite
his inferior officers to an entertainment, and in
the midst of their jolity, order in a company of footguards,
with beat of drum, to whisk the dishes away,
after the manner of Doctor Pedro Positive de Snatchaway.
While this was in progress, Oliver pelted them
with cushions, or put live coals into their boots and
pockets; and when thus thrown off their guard by
this sportful conviviality, would wheedle them out of
all such secrets as he desired to know. When it suited
his purpose, he spoke in a style so full of studied
perplexity, that no one could comprehend his meaning;
but when he wished to be understood, he delivered
himself with a force and vigor and clearness, that
caused it to be said of him that “His every word was
a thought.” But the real character of kings and
rulers, who are succeeded by those of opposite principles,
is seldom, if ever, fairly delineated, since historians
are either themselves infected with party prejudices,
or become the organs of those that are. Thus

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

it has fared with Oliver Cromwell. The loyal English,
while they cannot help pluming themselves on
the successful vigor of his foreign policy, which laid
the foundation of their country's greatness, still consider
him a hypocrite and usurper; while the republicans
can never forgive him for having picked up a
sceptre that lay in his way, and appropriated to himself
an authority that had no owner.

Under this renowned leader, Harold entered on a
career of arduous service, the particulars of which will
be passed over, as more properly belonging to history.
Advanced to the command of a regiment of horse, at
the head of which he greatly distinguished himself at
the decisive battle of Naseby, it was once more his fortune
to be desperately wounded, near the close of the
action. He received a musket ball in the thigh, which
caused so great a loss of blood, that in a few minutes
he fell from his horse insensible, where he lay unheeded,
while his regiment rushed on in hot pursuit of the
flying Royalists, leaving the scene of conflict among
the living, peopled only by the dying and the dead.

Recovering his recollection after a brief interval,
and raising himself on his elbow with great difficulty,
he looked around with dim and glazed eyes,
rendered half blind by weakness and exhaustion.
Both armies had passed away, one in retreat, the
other in pursuit. Nothing remained but the wounded
and dying; nothing was heard but groans of anguish
and despair. Some lay stretched on the ground with
their pale faces turned to heaven; some writhing in

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

agony, and tearing the earth; and here and there
might be seen an expiring victim half propped up by
a dead body. Enemies and friends now joined in one
melancholy concert of moans, and those who from fellow
subjects had become mortal foes, now once more
rested together in peace in the long armistice of death.

Thoughts like these occurred not to him, for his
own condition in a great measure occupied his mind,
and cooled his sympathy for others. He had managed
in a degree to stop the bleeding of his wound by the
application of a handkerchief; but a faintness like that
of approaching dissolution hung upon him, and as
evening was now at hand, he felt assured that if he
passed the night on the field, he would never see the
dawn of morning. From the consideration of his own
forlorn state, he was moved by a feeble voice exclaiming—

“Is there any one here that knows Ambrose Harefleet?”

“Yes,” answered another voice equally feeble.

“Who art thou?” asked the first.

“Thy brother, Miles.”

“The Crop-ear—the traitor to his king—and the
curse of his father”—cried the other, his voice strengthening
with indignation.

“And thou,” said Miles Harefleet—“The companion
of the sons of Belial, the persecutor of the faithful,
and the oppressor of thy fellow subjects. But alas!
this is no time to dispute the justice of our cause. The
appeal has been made to the sword and there is but

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

one higher tribunal. Canst thou not crawl hither, for
I cannot come to thee to exchange forgiveness and die
together.”

The one brother managed, with many moans, to
crawl to the other, and they fell into each other's arms
weeping.

“I forgive thee, Miles, for drawing the sword against
thy king.”

“And I forgive thee, Ambrose, for drawing thine
against the people. But enough of this bickering.
Though we have of late lived in discord, let us die
in peace. Let us remember we are brothers; one
mother bore, one bosom nourished, one country sustained,
and one God will judge us both. To-day we
have met in mortal fight, to-night we shall lay down
in peace together. Alas! my dear wife and children,
and my dear country—what will become of ye all?—
Brother! brother! give me your hand, I am going.”

The two brothers embraced, and lay for a while
locked in each other's arms, without any other evidence
of life than occasionally a low moan, bespeaking the
agonies of nature in her last struggle. In a short
time it ceased, and the silence of death succeeded.

This sad example of the deplorable consequences of
civil strife, which sets brother against brother, father
against son, and severs all the ties of nature and
society, sank deep into the heart of Harold, who often
recalled it to mind, and as often asked himself whether
even liberty was not sometimes too dearly purchased.
But such reflections were speedily banished by a sense

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

of his own situation. Night was now close at hand;
he could still feel the blood trickling from his wound,
and was conscious of increasing weakness. With a last
despairing effort he raised himself sufficiently to recline
against the body of one whom he supposed dead,
but who feeling the pressure of his weight uttered a
low moan, at the same time making a feeble effort to
escape the burden. Harold turned his head towards
him, and at once recognized the pale face of Israel
Baneswright, bearing the ghastly expression of approaching
death. He addressed him by name, but he
answered only by a groan. At length he gradually
regained his consciousness, and in a voice that seemed
to come from one whose spirit was already on tip-toe
for another world, asked who was there.

“Your friend Harold Habingdon,” answered the
other, and the name seemed to awaken the last spark
of life.

“Thou art come too late to help me,” said Israel.

“Alas? I am as helpless as yourself.”

“Art thou too wounded?”

“Yes, sorely.”

“And in what cause? That of a tyrant king, or a
suffering people?”

“I serve under Oliver Cromwell.”

“Enough—we will then die together; and I for my
part would die rejoicingly, did I but know that the
Philistines have been conquered and on the field where
I perish.”

“Thy wish is granted. The Royal army has been

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

defeated utterly, and chased from the field. I doubt if
it will rally again.”

The news seemed to awaken Israel to new life and
energy. He raised himself partly from the ground, and
exclaimed with an enthusiasm that seemed only more
energetic from his weakness—

“Praise be to the Lord of Hosts! The malignant
adversary is smitten, hip and thigh; the usurping
Prelacy are sinking under the weight of a persecuted
people; the kingdom of anti-Christ is falling, and those
who have been crushed under its foot shall crush it
under their foot in turn. The great armies of Gog
and Magog are fleeing before the might of the godly.
Let us pray with Joshua, that the sun may stand still
in Gideon, and the moon in the valley of Aijalon, that
there be time to smite the Philistines, even without
mercy, as they have dealt towards the children of
righteousness.”

Exhausted by the effort, he sank again to the ground
and spoke no more. Harold eagerly inquired after
Susan; but he answered not. His spirit had departed,
and the last breath of one whose temper was originally
mild and forgiving, was expended in maledictions on
his fellow creatures. Such are the effects of religious
persecution, equally the offspring and the parent of
bigotry.

By this time straggling parties of the victorious
army were beginning to return; and commencing their
first duty to their wounded fellow-soldiers, discovered
the body of Harold still among the living, but almost

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

drained of the fountain of life. He was borne to a tent,
where his wound was examined and pronounced not in
itself mortal, though the great loss of blood he had
sustained rendered his recovery doubtful. His youth,
a good constitution, and a patient firmness, at length
by slow degrees overcame his extreme debility, and in
due time he was able to walk abroad. Conscious, however,
that the lingering debility which not only weighed
his body but his spirit to the earth, would for some
time incapacitate him for active service, he asked and
obtained leave of absence and returned home, where
he found everything precisely in the same place he had
left it, and Gilbert just about setting out the dinner
table, as usual. The good old man was so surprised
at seeing him, that he dropt a bundle of spoons he carried
in his hand, which so discomfited him that he forgot
to welcome his young master, till he had carefully
picked them up again.

Harold returned to Habingdon an altered man.
During the period of his service his religious and
political opinions had settled down on the platform of
the most rigid of the sect of the Puritans. He had
fought and bled for them, and they had become more
precious for the price. The habit of fighting against
his king, had quite effaced all reverence for his authority;
and the example of those with whom he had
daily associated in danger and death, gradually made
him a thorough convert, not only to their opinions, but
their manners and habits. He had become a Roundhead
and republican. His deportment was

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

characterized by a sour austerity, which scorned all appearance
of gaiety, and seldom relaxed into a smile. A secret
feeling of superiority over those he chose to call the
wicked, at war with Christian humility, had gradually
insinuated itself into his heart, and generated that
spiritual pride so utterly unworthy the spirit of Christianity
and its author. So far as respected his principles
and conduct, he was a man of the strictest integrity;
but he had ceased to be amiable, and though
gifted with qualities that might gain respect, could
scarcely hope to be loved by those around him.

It was long ere he thoroughly recovered; and during
the period of his convalescence the Royal cause was
ruined, and the King in the hands of his enemies.
His party ceased to make head in the field, and it was
not long before the errors and weaknesses, which would
have been more venial had they not been those of a
sovereign, were atoned by a death inflicted by The
Judges of Kings, who taught him by sad experience,
that monarchs are not alone accountable to heaven for
their actions, but that there is a High Tribunal on
earth to which they may be brought for judgment.
Hitherto kings had paid the forfeit of their crimes
against the people, by becoming the victims of conspiracy,
assassination, and war; but now for the first
time did a sovereign fall by the axe of the executioner,
according to the forms, at least, of law and justice.
It was a memorable example, and, say what we will,
a sublime spectacle, to see a monarch atoning for his
offences against his people, like one of the people. The

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

punishment may have been illegal, but who shall say it
was not just.

Harold had left the service, sometime previous to
the death of the King, in consequence of his regiment
being disbanded, and remained at home, a quiet though
deeply interested observer of those succeeding struggles
and intrigues, by which unprincipled, ambitious
men at length justly forfeited that freedom it had cost
so much blood to acquire. They had united in achieving
victory, but quarreled about the division of the
spoils; or to do them justice, perhaps it may have
been that a difference of opinion as to the adoption of
a new system of government was one great cause of
those divisions which were now approaching a crisis.
But Harold had another subject which approached
nearer his heart. He had not forgotten Susan Baneswright;
and his deep-rooted affection for that orphan
girl was only more quickened by the recollection that
she was now without a father or protector. He sought
her, and instituted inquiries in all directions that afforded
the least hope of success, but could gain no
clue to guide him in his further search, and finally sat
down in despair of ever seeing her again. This disappointment
of the dearest of his earthly hopes only
increased the gloomy severity of his devotion, for religion
and love are in some degree antidotes to each
other, and the disappointments of the heart often seek
consolation in devotion.

While in this state of mind, circumstances not material
to our story called him to a distant part of the

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

country not far from the borders of Wales. It was
midsummer, the weather soft and balmy, and the
landscape everywhere displayed that rich redundancy
of green pasture for which old England is so renowned.
One evening towards sunset, as he rode along, buried
in contemplations in which the past predominated over
the present and future, he was roused from his reverie
by the sudden darkness which came upon him, occasionally
illuminated by flashes of lightning, followed
by quick crashes of thunder. At once the present resumed
its empire, and, as often happens in this world
of sudden changes, the pains of memory were banished
by the prospect of an approaching shower. The
anticipation of a wet jacket is a sovereign remedy for
sentimental regrets. It has a marvellous cooling influence
on the fever of the spirits and acts as a showerbath
on the heated brain. Powerful as is the influence
of memory and imagination, reality is stronger than
either or both combined; and notwithstanding all that
may have been said or sung of mental sorrows, they
fade away like spectres before the stern realities
of physical suffering. The Patriarch Job bore the
loss of his cattle, his houses, and his children without
a murmur; but when his body was covered with boils,
and he writhed in the agonies of pain, he groaned
aloud, and his patience was conquered.

Be this as it may, Harold pricked on his weary
steed in hope of gaining some friendly shelter in cottage,
barn, or outhouse. But the storm proved too
swift in the race, and he was overtaken by a pelting

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

rain opposite a rustic temple of learning, the small fry
of which had just been dismissed for the day, and
scampered home, anxious to escape a ducking. This
being the only place of shelter in sight, he forthwith
rode up to it, and fastening his horse to a post, opened
the door, through which he bolted without knocking;
your pelting shower being a great enemy to ceremony.
The first object that caught his attention was a female,
who seemed somewhat alarmed at his intrusion,
for she trembled violently, and her face was very pale.
A second glance, followed by a fixed gaze of intense
interest, disclosed to Harold the object which had so
long occupied his thoughts, and influenced his actions.
It was Susan Baneswright, who at once recognising
him, after a slight hesitation came forward, addressed
him by name, and offered her hand, with a pensive
smile of chastened welcome. Years had passed away
since they parted, yet in gazing on her he could see
little change in her face or person. The attractive
power of her face depended not on color but expression;
and the placid firmness of her mind, as well as
the gentleness of her temper, had preserved her in the
midst of great trials from those violent emotions of
passion which undermine the constitution, and perhaps
more than any other cause, contribute to shorten as
well as embitter the brief period of existence allotted
to men. Her face still wore that sweet expression of
submissive melancholy, which had from the first irresistibly
called forth his sympathy; while her person,
clothed in the simplest fashion and most homely

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

texture, was yet graceful from its natural proportions, as
well as attractive from the absence of all affectation.

It will be recollected that Harold had never disclosed
his attachment in words, except to her father, who
she had neither seen nor heard from since the interview
heretofore recorded; and if she had become conscious
of his feelings, it was doubtless through the
medium of that mysterious sympathy said to constitute
a sort of magnetic telegraph, but which after all
is perhaps nothing more than the dumb eloquence of
the eyes. The meeting, therefore, was not that of
mutual lovers, but long separated friends. Though
friendly, perhaps cordial, it was accompanied by that
sober, staid formality peculiar to the sect to which
they belonged; and not a word passed that could be
translated into the language of love. We will not say
as much of their looks, or that the eye did not make
ample amends for the delinquency of the tongue.

After mutual greetings, the storm being passed
away as suddenly as it came, Harold leading his horse
by the bridle, accompanied Susan to her abode in a
small hamlet, which though close at hand, was hid by
a green wooded hill that soared above the rustic chimneys.
She resided with an elderly widowed dame,
whose husband had died fighting against his king, and
who was of the strictest sect of the Puritans. The
pious widow received Harold somewhat ungraciously;
but being apprised by Susan that he was an old friend
of her father, and of course of the right stamp, she
abated somewhat of her acidity, and accorded him her

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

blessing. While busily occupied with her household
affairs, the which she accompanied occasionally with a
hymn of more piety than poetry, Harold and Susan
being left to themselves entered into mutual details
of their past history.

Harold related the principal incidents of his life
since they parted, omitting the scene after the battle
of Naseby, as well as the particulars of Israel's visit,
and dwelling slightly on his anxious search for Susan.
The narrative of Susan was one of grief and suffering.
On leaving the prison they had continued to lead a sort
of itinerant life. Israel exhorted the people to rise in
their might and smite the Philistines, until at length
excited beyond all restraint by continually hearing of
the vicissitudes of the conflict, now at its height, he
girded on his sword, and proceeded to join the army
of Cromwell, who he considered the chiefest of the
saints. Here he exhorted and fought with equal enthusiasm,
until he met his death on the famous field
of Naseby, while hotly pursuing a flying squadron of
loyalists, and exhorting his companions to scatter the
armies of Gog and Magog like chaff before the winds.
But of this catastrophe Susan knew nothing certain,
though accustomed to consider him as dead. Not long
after the departure of Israel, his wife, worn out by the
hardships and exposures she had encountered as well
from duty and affection to her helpmate as from pious
conviction, gradually declined in her health, and sunk
into the grave, leaving Susan without a protector, save
the good woman in whose house she now resided. Not

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

to be a burden to her, she had managed to gather together
a little school, from which she derived a homely
support, which sufficed for all her wants. When her
story was finished, she anxiously inquired of Harold
if he could give her any information concerning the
fate of her father.

Without entering into minute particulars, he communicated
the death of Israel on the field of Naseby
and the information was received with humble resignation,
as only confirming what she had long believed.
After a pause devoted to filial piety and love, she addressed
Harold with mingled sorrow and resignation.

“The will of Heaven be done. I have long believed
myself without a parent, without a home, and
without a friend, save him who has promised to protect
those who have no other protector. My dear mother
breathed her last in my arms; I saw her die, and
her last words were spoken to me. Of my father's
fate, though well assured something serious had befallen
him, I was ignorant till now, and the certainty,
fearful as it may be, is less painful than uncertainty
without hope. There is one thing yet left me. I have
still duties to perform, and it is a blessed dispensation
that the indigent, in administering to the wants of
others, provide for their own.”

The heart of Harold swelled with overwhelming
emotion at this affecting lesson of philosophic piety.
A flood of tenderness rushed to his heart, and he could
no longer restrain his emotions.

“Susan,” he exclaimed—“Dear Susan, do not say

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

you are alone in the world without a home or a friend,
when one such stands before you to whom you are
dear as the apple of his eye, the breath of his life—I
might almost say, the welfare of his soul—”

“Forbear, Harold”—interrupted Susan—“forbear,
Harold Habingdon. Place not thine immortal part
in comparison with thy mortal affections. Thy heart
thou mayest give away; thy soul belongs to God.”

“Nay, hear me, Susan. From the moment I exchanged
that last look at the prison door, my thoughts
have dwelt on thee by day and by night, in sickness
and health, in the calm hour of contemplation, and in
the hurry of battle. In the jail when forsaken and
perishing with hunger, hopeless of relief, and often
wandering from myself, so long as my mind retained
its consciousness, I thought of thee. And when I lay
gasping on the field of blood, with nothing but woe
and death around me, still I thought of thee—”

“Forbear, Harold—forbear. This is no time to talk
on such a subject. It becomes me now to mourn
the breaking of former ties, rather than think of new
ones.”

“Forgive me, Susan—we have met by accident, and
accident may soon part us. Let me tell thee all, and
then answer truly, as thy heart may dictate. When
after retiring from the army, I recovered from my
wound, I sought thee wherever I thought it probable
thou mightest be found, nor did I rest until all hope
of finding thee was gone. We have at length met,
and chance has done for me what my own exertions

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

could not accomplish. Let us never, I beseech thee,
part again. Like thee, I stand alone in the world. I
am the last of my race, with none to share my
thoughts, or control my actions; and thou, dearest
Susan, thou art a stricken deer, alone in a forest, without
a protector. I offer you a refuge and a home; I
offer you a heart devoted to your happiness and I expect
a decisive answer. Speak to me, my beloved—
answer me, are we never to part, or never to meet
again?”

For the first time since he had known her, the
steady, well-poised mind of Susan seemed shaken to its
base. During this address she became greatly agitated
by a struggle which relieved itself neither by tears
or words. At length recovering in some degree, she
raised her eyes to his, and perceiving the eager expectation
with which he awaited a reply meekly said—

“What can I bring as my dower but poverty and
misfortune. My inheritance, alas! is disappointed
hopes, and sorrowful recollections.

“What canst thou bring me”—cried Harold, the
deep-buried enthusiasm and energy of his character
bursting forth like a torrent long pent up—“Thou
canst bring me the most precious of all earthly dowers,
a gentle, pious, virtuous wife, in whom I may
trust with the faith of a martyr. Thou canst bring
me peace, content, joy, and felicity. Thou canst make
my house the abode of happiness, and its master the
most blessed of men. Talk not then of poverty and
misfortune—I have enough to ward off one, and my

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

watchful care will, with the blessing of Heaven,
shield thee from the other. Answer me, Susan, wilt
thou be mine—wilt thou entrust thy happiness to me
for this life? One word—and give thy hand as a
token.”

“I will”—whispered the maiden, and gave him her
hand. At that moment love triumphed over the
self-denying ordinances of the sect; he pressed her to
his bosom; he kissed her with all the ardor of long
continued abstinence suddenly bidden to a plenteous
feast, while Susan, doubtless taken by surprise, quietly
submitted to the inexorable canons of nature. The
contract being thus sealed, Harold related to her the
occasion of his journey, and besought Susan to become
his bride on his return, which would be in a few days.
But here her unconquerable sense of duty presented
an insurmountable obstacle. She had engaged herself
as a teacher during a period of which more than a
month remained, and steadily refused to break her
engagement, though he eagerly offered to compound
with the villagers.

“No, Harold,” said she, “I will not violate one engagement,
however unimportant, while about to enter
into another so solemn and lasting”—adding, with the
first happy smile he had ever seen light up her pensive
brow, and which made her look almost beautiful—“I
fear thou wilt not trust me hereafter as a wife, if I
prove faithless to these little children.”

Harold respected her scruples, and after appointing
the day on which he was to return and claim his bride,

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

bade Susan a farewell, which caused her cheek to wax
almost as red as her lips. As he left the house he
heard the good mistress of the mansion chaunting with
awful nasal twang, the following lines, that seemed
ominous.

p316-114

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