took up the royal piece from the board as he spoke), unless something is done, and that suddenly. What think you of

these matters?"

"What do I think?" replied Sir Hugh, "as I have long thought, that, like the great hurricane, which, in the year forty-two, destroyed all my crop of canes, such evils come not by chance: for the sins of the kingdom are we visited with these woes; it is no otherwise; and yet am I no Puritan who speak it. We say the Parliament did this, or the Parliament undid that; but I say the devil did it, who, like as he had empire given to try the patience of faithful Job by sore afflictions and calamities, even so now has he the spirit of the Parliament given to him to try the patience of our suffering King."

"It is too true," said Sir Piers.

"We see a fellow like Cromwell busy to do evil, and call it good," continued Sir Hugh; "but what is he more than a 'Jack in the clock house,' that strikes when the hour comes? but the devil is in the wheel that moves the machinery. I have no patience with the times; and that men should thus sit down quietly, even as we do now, when such things are acting. Where is honour? Where is place? Verily do I think that Lucifer is in the parliament; and there sits he on the King's throne, with no more reverence than if it were an ale bench."

"In the parliament!" exclaimed Sir Piers, who caught the warm tone with which his companion had concluded his last speech, "rather say in the army; for what now is the Parliament better than a pack of hounds, that have hunted down the royal game at the cry of their leader, and are speedily whipped off like curs when no longer wanted for his profit! I tell thee the Parliament played the part of an old wizard, raised a devil, whose name is Legion: but not all the art of all the parliaments combined could lay him, so long as he leads an army at his beck. What a man is Cromwell! I could almost find it in my heart to applaud him for his very daring, and the power with which he carried on rebellion, usurpation, tyranny! for doth not the poet say-respect for his great place, and let the devil be sometimes honoured for his burning throne?"

"Oliver Cromwell," said Sir Hugh, "always reminds me of a pirate ship, that rides the high seas under false colours to draw in the unwary, till a royal merchantman comes in sight; then your pirate pounces upon her at once, boards, or makes conditions, as if he carried the law of the high seas in his own bottom; and often does he sink the ship, after rifling her of all her wealth. Thus has Cromwell done by the good bark of

Britain's sovereignty; and I wish that he may spare the captain, who so long stood at the helm and defied the storm. But he, alas, is now captive!-a prisoner in Carisbrook Castle, whilst a kingdom looks on, and makes an idol of him who has turned on the very prince in whose behalf he affected to take up arms!"

"Nay, for the matter of that," said Sir Piers, "he is more feared than loved; for, trust me, there are those of his own party who would never thus submit to be ruled by him, were it not for his army, his agitators, his levellers, and his psalmsinging swash-bucklers, whom he has so clad in iron, that they are called his lobsters, to express their casing! I say again, it is fear that rules men's minds as they look on Cromwell. It is fear which has caused the late calm; but as a learned and ejected pastor said to me but last week-like those of the Dead Sea, such calms are a curse.' Oh, England, England! when I look on thee, I could weep for the madness of thy people. Thou hadst a sovereign, mild, good, and righteous; some faults, the faults of humanity, and of his great state, were his. But what were these, arbitrary though they might be, when compared to the arbitrary acts of his predecessors? Yet not satisfied, you have plucked down this sweet lovely rose, and planted there

"A bottle-nosed old Roundhead," said Sir Hugh, interrupting the elegant quotation of his friend, "who is as cunning as a fox and as fierce as a tiger. Why there would be no end to the catalogue did I rehearse his qualities. Imprimis, he hath no birth nor elevation to recommend him; but then he is full willing to raise others, therefore is he a friend to the gallows, for many an honest cavalier hath he hanged, as high as Haman, for no sin but that of loyalty. Secondly, he loves not to see men exalt themselves; therefore doth he trample on all his betters. He would have freedom for all men; no doubt freedom in spirit; for the bodies of such as would be troublesome to him are fast locked in prison. He would have no arbitrary taxes, no monopolies by kings; and to prevent the possibility of this sin, hath he hurled down the king, laid the strong hand on all estates, whilst your committee men and sequestrators act as jackals to the lion."

"And bring all flesh to his den," said Sir Piers.

"And then for quarreling, who is like him?" continued the vehement Sir Hugh: "why he quarreled with all the bishops; ay and with the judges to boot, for the loss of Pryn's ears; and so in requital he strikes you off a score or two of heads, and says his prayers for it before breakfast. And then the King, the King would have an army of Papists to make poor Eng

I recovered my liberty and lost my estate. And look you now; when once again I talk of King Charles and my sword, my old comforter, the cheerer of my prison, the companion of my musings, my tobacco-pipe, snaps as I hold it in my hand." Sir Hugh closed his narrative of the standard with much emotion; indeed with more emotion than the incident of the broken pipe could warrant, were not his great and repeated misfortunes considered. These had weakened his spirits, though not his principles; for the habitually unfortunate often become the habitually timid; they start at shadows, and see evils when they do but fear them. Sir Piers observed this foolish accident had awakened, like a spark on a train of gunpowder, all the slumbering painful recollections of Sir Hugh's past calamities; and, ever kind and thoughtful, he now spoke with much feeling.

"Sir Hugh, I have done wrong, I fear, in hinting to you a plan, a mad plan, may be, which some gentlemen are not unwilling to undertake, as a last effort to rescue the King from his hard bondage. But you have suffered much, too much, already; you have escaped these tempestuous times, after having manfully struggled with them, like a shipwrecked mariner, who saves nothing but life. You are a married man, and a father; once again are you endeavouring to provide for your family a better fortune. I do you wrong to put it in hazard."

"You do me no wrong, no wrong in the world, Sir Piers,” cried his friend, "no more wrong than when the merchants of Exeter offered me a share in the galliasse that was to go forth on venture to the Bermudas. I accepted it, and the ship foundered; but I have ever held myself indebted to their kindness in making me a sharer of the benefit, had there been benefit, in their schemes. I have, Sir Piers-and I hope I may be pardoned thus speaking in my own commendation, considering the occasion-but I have, Sir, once had the honour of ruining myself and family, for the King: and if I feel it a duty to do so again, I would wish to know who shall say me nay?”

"Not I, my dear Sir Hugh," said his friend, "if such is your resolution, as I offer you no venture in which I do not share myself, to the full, the same peril. But your wife and daughter?"

"Must not be thought of, must not be named: and yet I love them both, Sir Piers, as dearly as I love the light of day, or the blood that warms my heart. But if they, too, must suffer in the cause, why, heaven's will be done; and if the husband and father die to serve God's church and the king, I

think not He will leave the widow and the fatherless without comfort. So I will even trust them to Him, and not look back; but fix my eye on my duty, as the pilot does on the card, certain that it will guide him better than he could guide himself without it. But soft! we are interrupted."

"Who comes hither?" said Sir Piers, hastily rising up, as if he feared any part of their discourse should have been overheard by an eavesdropper.

""Tis I, your honour, Cornet Davy," said a voice_that spoke without the door; and immediately after, Cornet Davy followed this announcement of his own name, which he had sent before him, into the room.

CHAPTER IV.

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away:

Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done,

Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village.

THE person who announced himself as Cornet Davy, was somewhat advanced in years; had a grave and respectable appearance, a head white as wool, and a countenance as long and as dolorous as that of an undertaker. The Cornet (elevated to that station when Sir Hugh raised his troop of horse at the beginning of the rebellion) was originally that worthy man's head clerk; and one who, as well as presiding over the ledger, could also, in the absence of his master, bargain with foreign merchants, or with home and retail dealers. In his more noble and military capacity, Richard Davy had not entirely forgotten the habits of his original calling; so that, notwithstanding he had displayed much spirit and aptitude as a soldier, on the desertion of the troop (soon after the taking of Exeter by Fairfax), he very naturally and very quietly fell into his old place; not only as head, but now, alas! as sole clerk to his beloved patron, whom he still faithfully attended in his more humble and reduced traffic of a ship-chandler.

A fondness for distinction, a feeling of honour, not to be condemned, which caused him to entertain some little pride for his past brave deeds, made honest Davy still ambitious of being designated by the title of Cornet; though his military appellative not unfrequently led him into trouble, as he had borne it on the losing side of the question. An old sword and a brace of petronels, that had been the companions of his military career, were still cherished, as trophies of honour in a fallen cause. Like the spirit of their owner, they were ever held ready for action at the call of duty to God, the king, and Sir Hugh Piper, of loyal and noted bravery. If wishing well, and praying earnestly and watching incessantly for the welfare of King Charles, could have set him free, the zeal alone of Cornet Davy would have done the business; and such an index was the honest man's face to the feelings of his mind, that when he daily appeared, with the Diurnal* in

A newspaper of the time.