tional encroachments on the royal prerogative. Essex was appointed their general, and, in this capacity, was declared a rebel by the King. It is foreign to our purpose to detail the progress of the campaign further than as illustrating the personal character of Robert Devereux.

He did not evince any great military genius in the conduct of the war, but proved himself an honourable and compassionate man. He maintained strict discipline, and restrained his soldiers from pillage or lawless outrage. Charles appealed to him on one occasion, entreating him to act as mediator. The application was made and received in a manner creditable alike to the King and to the general:

THE KING TO ESSEX.

"ESSEX, I have been very willing to believe, that whenever there should be such a conjuncture, as to put it in your power to effect that happy settlement of this miserable kingdom, which all good men desire, you would lay hold of it. That season is now before you; you have it at this time in your power to redeem your country and the crown, and to oblige your King in the highest degree; an action certainly of the greatest piety, prudence, and honour that may be, and such an opportunity as perhaps no subject before you ever had, or after you shall have, to which there is no more required, but that you join with me heartily and really, in the settling of those things which we have both professed constantly to be our only aims.

"Let us do this, and if any be so foolishly unnatural as to oppose their King's, their country's, and their own good, we will make them happy, by God's blessing, even against their wills.

"To this the only impediment can be, want of mutual confidence. I promise it to you on my part; and as I have endeavoured to prepare it on yours by my letter to Hertford from Evesham, I hope this will perfect it, when, as I here do, I have engaged to you the word of a king, that you joining with me in that blessed work, I shall give both to you and your army such eminent marks of my confidence and value, as shall not leave a room for the least distrust amongst you, either in relation to the public or to yourself, unto whom I shall then be, your faithful friend,

"CHARLES R.

"Liskeard, 6th August, 1644."

Essex laid the letter before Parliament, and replied to the King that having no power from Parliament to treat, he could not do so without a breach of trust. His scruples were

honourable; the more so, as he had to complain of recent injustice received at the hands of his employers; who had, in fact, supplanted him in favour of Sir William Waller, as they afterwards did more completely in the case of Sir Thomas Fairfax.

The "self-denying ordinance," which obliged all who sat in the house to resign their commissions in the army, was especially levelled at Essex. He laid down his command with great dig. nity, coupling his resignation with some salutary advice:

I

"MY LORDS,-I know that jealousies cannot be avoided in the unhappy condition of our present affairs; yet wisdom and charity should put such restraints thereto, as not to allow it to become destructive. hope that this advice from me is not unseasonable, wishing myself and my friends may, among others, participate the benefit thereof; this proceeding from my affection to the Parliament, the prosperity whereof I shall ever wish from my heart, what return soever it brings me, I being no single example in that kind of that fortune I now undergo."

If Essex had taken arms against his sovereign from unworthy motives, if he had been actuated by personal ambition, his hopes were signally defeated; but we feel convinced that he followed, in this matter, the dictates of an honest heart. We cannot but regret that from what we must deem a mistaken sense of duty-he did not accept the office of a mediator between the King and his Parliament, especially when so earnestly invited by his sovereign to act in this capacity. It might have spared his country years of intestine war, his king a martyr's death, the state itself the iron yoke of a military despotism; while the constitution not improbably might have arisen from the social conflict, had it been terminated at this crisis by a wise and just compromise between the contending parties, in a far more sound and healthy condition than that which was

afterwards ushered in on the re-establishment of monarchy at the restoration of King Charles II.

The opportune moment passed by unemployed, never to return. The revolution proceeded. Essex, like all moderate men in similar circumstances, was lost in the whirlwind he had helped to raise, but could no longer control. A few years, and Charles was beheaded; and the Parliament, in their turn,

How

succumbed to the despotism of Cromwell and his victorious army. inexplicably dark would be these, and similar passages in the world's history, if we did not recognise amid the gloom the power of a superintending Providence!

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we may ;"

and the darkest conflict of evil passions, is often overruled for the attainment of some wise and beneficent end. "Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee; the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.”

Essex did not live to see the problem he had been one of the first to propound fairly worked out. He died at Essex House, on the 14th of September, 1646. His character has been so impartially summed up by Lord Clarendon, that we shall take leave of him, and with him, bid adieu to Captain Devereux and his labours, in the words of the great historian of the Cromwellian Revolution :

"He was of a rough, proud nature; the

most popular man of the kingdom, and the darling of the swordmen. His pride and ambition were not accompanied by any illnature; and he had a faithfulness and constancy in his nature, which always kept him religious in matters of trust; in a word, he might be imposed on in his understanding, but could not be corrupted by hopes or fears. He was, in his friendships, just and constant, and would not have practised foully against those he took to be enemies. He was more the idol of the people than the idolater of them. A weak judgment, and a little vanity, will hurry a man into as unwarrantable and as violent attempts as the most insatiable ambition will do. His vanity disposed him to be his Excellency, and his weakness to believe he should be General in the Houses as well as in the field. The new doctrines and distinctions of allegiance, and of the King's power, were too hard for him, and did intoxicate his understanding, and made him quit his own to follow theirs, who, he thought, wished as well as, and judged better than himself. He was no good speaker; but having sat long in Parliament, and being well acquainted with the order of it, spoke better there than anywhere else; and was always heard with attention and respect, and had much authority in the debates."

WHAT I have heretofore mentioned of the events which followed immediately on my father's death, were all related circumstantially to me by MacNaghten himself, who used to dwell upon them with a most painfully accurate memory. There was not an incident, however slight, there was not a scene of passing interest, that did not leave its deep impression on him; and, amid all the trials of his own precarious life, these were the events which he recurred to most frequently.

Poor fellow, how severely did he reproach himself for calamities that no effort of his could avert! How often has he deplored mistakes and errors which, though they perhaps hastened,

by no means caused, the ruin that imperilled us. The simple fact was, that in his dread of litigation, from which almost all his own misfortunes had sprung, he endeavoured to conduct affairs which required the most acute and subtle intelligence to guide. He believed that good sense and good intentions would be amply sufficient to divest my father's circumstances of all embarrassment; and when, at last, he saw two claimants in the field for the property-immense, almost fabulous, demands from Fagan-and heard, besides, that no provision was made for my mother, whose marriage was utterly denied and disbelieved-then he appears to have lost all self-control

altogether, and in his despair to have grasped at any expedient that presented itself. One day, addressing a confidential letter to Sir Carew O'Moore, whom he regarded as the rightful heir to the property; the next, adventuring to open relations with Curtis, through the mediation of Fagan. Every weak point in my mother's position, became, of course, exposed by these fruitless communications; while, by his own change of purpose, he grew to be distrusted by each in

turn.

It was a theme that he avoided speaking on; but, when questioned closely by me, he has owned that Curtis exercised a kind of sway, a species of terror-like influence over him, that totally overcame him.

"That old, besotted, crazy intellect," said he, "appeared to have recovered freshness and energy with prosperity; and, animated with almost diabolical acuteness, to profit by every weakness of my own nature. Even Fagan, with all his practised craft, had to succumb to the shrewd and keen-witted powers of the old man; and Crowther owned that all his experience of life had not shown him his equal in point of intelligence."

A misanthropic bitter spirit gave him a vigour and energy that his years might have denied him; and there was a kind of vindictive power about him that withstood all the effects of fatigue and exhaustion.

The law had now begun its campaign in right earnest. There were two great issues to be tried at bar, and a grand question, involving any amount of intricacy, for the Chancery Court. The subject was the possession of a large estate, and every legal celebrity of the day was engaged by one side or the other. Of course such an event became the general topic of discussion in all circles, but more particularly in those wherein my father had once moved. Alas for the popularity of personal qualities-how shortlived is it ever! Of the many who used to partake of his generous hospitality, and who benefited by his friendship, how few could now speak even charitably of his acts. Indeed, it would appear from the tone in which they spoke, that each, even the least observant or far-seeing, had long anticipated his ruin. Such absurd extra

vagance such pretension! A house fit for a sovereign prince, and a retinue like that of royalty! And then the daily style of living-endless profusion and waste. The "French connexion"-none would say marriagealso had its share of reprobation. The kindly disposed only affected to deplore and grieve over that unhappy mistake. The rigidly right seemed to read in his own downfall a justice for a crime committed; while another section, as large as either, "took out” their indignation at his insolence in having dared to present her to the world as his wife!

And yet, his once warm heart was scarcely cold when they said these things of him. And so it is to this day, and to this hour: the same code of morality exists, and the same set of moralisers are to be met with everywhere. Far be it from me to say that faults and follies should pass unnoticed and unstigmatised; but, at least, let the truth-teller of to-day not have been the tuft-hunter of yester day-let the grave monitor who rebukes extravagance, not once have been the Sybarite guest who provoked excess and least of all let us hear predictions of ruin from the lips that only promised long years of happiness and enjoyment.

Events moved rapidly. The Chancellor appointed a receivership over the property, and an order from the Court required that immediate possession should be taken of the house and demesne. My father's balance at his banker's amounted to some thousand pounds. This, too, was sequestered by a judge's order "awaiting proceedings." An inventory of every thing-even to the personal effects of my mother-the jewellery she had carried with her from France-her very wardrobe was taken. The law has a most microscopic eye for detail. Carriages, horses, servants' liveries, were numbered the very cradle, in which lay her baby, was declared to belong to some unknown owner; and a kind of mystical proprietorship seemed to float unseen through the chambers and corridors of that devoted dwelling.

My poor mother!-removed from room to room, with good-natured care, to spare her the shock of proceedings which even her ignorance of the world might have taken alarm at! Weak,

scarcely able to walk-only half conscious of the movement around her asking every moment for explanations which none had courage to give her agitated with vague terror-a sense of some misfortune lowering over her, and each moment nearer-catching at a chance word dropped here eagerly watching at every look there-what misery, what suffering was yours! poor, friendless, forsaken widow.

Where was MacNaghten, her one faithful friend and counsellor? He had gone to town early that morning, and had not yet returned. One last but fruitless effort to induce Curtis to come to terms, had led him again to seek an interview. Her cousin De Gabriac, who had been ill for several days, had by a mere accident, from expressions picked up by his valet in the household, learned the nature of the allegation against my mother-that her marriage was denied, and my illegitimacy declared. Almost driven to madness by what sounded like an outrage to his pride, he had set out for Dublin to fasten upon some one-anyone-a personal quarrel in the vindication of my mother's honour. Fagan's address was known to him, by frequent mention of his name, and thither he accordingly hastened. The Grinder was from home, but to await his return De Gabriac was ushered up stairs into the drawing-room, where an elderly man was seated writing at a table. The old man lifted his head and slightly saluted the stranger, but continued his occupation without any further notice, and De Gabriac threw himself into a chair to wait, with what patience he could, for Fagan's coming.

There was a newspaper on the table and De Gabriac took it up to spell as he could the intelligence of the day. Almost the very first lines which caught his eye, were an announcement of an "Extensive sale of valuable furniture, plate, and household effects, late the property of Walter Carew, Esq." Certain enigmatical words that headed the advertisement puzzled the foreigner, and unable to restrain his eagerness to unravel their meaning, he advanced to the table where the old man was writing, and in a polite tone asked him to explain what meant such phrases-as "In re," "Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meaghvalley House, and others, petition

from the newspaper to the inquirer, and back again to the paper, and then to the astonished face of the Frenchman, without a word. "I have to hope," said De Gabriac, "that nothing in my question may appear rude or uncivil. I merely wished to know'

"To know who Joseph Curtis is!" broke in the old man, quickly. "Then I'll tell you, sir. He is the only surviving son of Robert Harrison Čurtis and Eleanor Anne, his wife, born at Meaghvalley House, in the parish of Cappagh, barony of Ivrone, Anno Domini, 1704. Served in parliament for twenty-eight years, and commanded the militia of his native county, till deprived of that honour by a rascally government and a perjured viceroy." Here his voice grew loud, and his manner violent and excited. "Since when, sir, harassed, persecuted, and tortured, he has been robbed of his estates, stripped of his property, and left houseless and friendless-ay, sir, friendless I say, for poverty and want attract no friendship; and who would still be the victim of knavery and scoundrelism if Providence had not blessed him with a clear head as well as a strong heart. Such he is, and such he stands before you. And now, sir, that I have answered your question, will you favour me with a reply to mine-what are you called?"

"I am the Count Emile De Gabriac," said the Frenchman, smiling; "I will spare you the pedigree and the birthplace.'

"Wisely done, I've no doubt, sir," said Curtis, if, as I surmise, you are the relative of that French lady whom I met at Castle Carew."

"You speak of my cousin, sir-Madame de Carew."

"I do not recognise her as such, sir, nor does the law of this country."

"How do you mean, sir-not married is it such you would imply ?" cried De Gabriac, fiercely.

"Never imagine that your foreign airs can terrify me, young gentleman," said Curtis, insolently. "I've seen you in your own country, and know well the braggadocio style you can assume. If you ask me for information do so with the manner that beseems in

quiry. If you are for a quarrel it's not Joe Curtis will balk your good inten

tions."

"Poor old fool," said De Gabriac, contemptuously. "If you had a grand

"But, I have neither-I want neither; I am ready, willing, and able to defend my own honour, and this is exactly what I suspect you are unable to say."

"But you do not suppose that I can cross a weapon with the like of you!" said De Gabriac, with an insolent laugh.

"You wouldn't be a Frenchman if you hadn't a subterfuge to escape a meeting!" cried Curtis, with a most taunting impertinence of manner.

"This is pushing insolence too far, old man," said De Gabriac, barely able to restrain himself.

"And yet not far enough, it would seem, to prompt you to an act of manhood. Now hear me, Monsieur Count. I am no admirer of your country, nor its ways; but this I will say, that a French gentleman, so far as I have seen of them, was always ready to resent an insult; and, whenever a slight was passed by unnoticed, the presumption ever was, that he who endured it was not a gentleman. Is it to some such explanation you wish to conduct me in the present case?"

A contemptuous exclamation and a glance of ineffable disdain was all the reply the Count vouchsafed to this outrageous appeal, and probably by no means could he so effectually have raised the old man's anger. Any allusion to his age, to the infirmities that pertained to it, he bore always with the greatest impatience; but to suppose that his time of life placed him beyond self-vindication was an insult too great to be endured, and he would have braved any peril to avenge it. His sudden access to wealth, far from allaying the irritability of his nature, had increased and exaggerated them all. The insolence of prosperity was now added to the querulous temperament that narrow fortune had engendered, and the excitement of his brain was little short of actual frenzy. To what extent of outrage passion might have carried him there is no saying, for he was already hurriedly advancing towards the Count when the door opened and Polly Fagan entered. She had overheard from an adjoining room the words of high altercation, and recognising Curtis as one of the speakers, determined at any cost to interfere.

"I am sure, sir," said she, address

ing the old man, while she curtsied deeply to the stranger, "that you will forgive my intrusion; but I only this moment learned that you were here writing, and I thought that probably the quiet seclusion of my room would suit you better-may I make bold to offer it to you?"

"Thanks, madam, but will you leave; this is quite to my taste," said he, stiffly.

"It is so comfortable, sir, and looks out upon our little garden!" said Polly, coaxingly.

"I am certain, madam, that it has every attraction, and only needs your presence there to be incomparable." Nay, sir," said she, laughing, "I'll not take your inuendo save in its flattering sense.'

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"I never flatter, madam, for I wouldn't try to pass on another the base coinage I'd reject myself. Others, however," and here he glanced towards the Frenchman, " may not have these scruples; and I am sure the charms of your apartment will be fully appreciated elsewhere."

Polly blushed deeply, not the less so that the Frenchman's eyes were bent upon her during the delivery of the speech with evident admiration.

"If mademoiselle would permit me, even as a sanctuary," began the Count.

"Just so, Miss Polly," broke in Curtis ; "let him take refuge there, as he tells you, for he feels very far from at ease in my company."

Polly's quick intelligence read in these few words the real state of the case; and, resolved, at all hazards, to prevent untoward consequences, she made a sign to the Frenchman to follow her, and left the room.

It was in vain that the old man reseated himself at the writing-table; all his efforts at composure were fruitless, and he muttered to himself threats of vengeance and imprecations, till he worked his mind up to a state of ungovernable fury. It was in the very paroxysm of this passion, and while he was pacing the chamber with hasty steps, that Fagan entered.

"Nothing unpleasant has occurred, sir, I trust," exclaimed the Grinder, as he beheld the agitated face, and watched the lips that never ceased to mutter unintelligibly.

"Tell me, sir," cried he, advancing up to Fagan, and placing one hand upon his shoulder" tell me,