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power which has dotted the surface of the whole globe with her possessions and military posts, whose morning drum-beat, following the sun in his course, and keeping pace with the hours, circles the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England. The remarkable fact of the simultaneous death of Adams and Jefferson-the second and third presidents of the United States-happening on the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence (July 4, 1826), could not but powerfully affect the mind of Webster, as it did that of the whole nation. Jefferson had written the Declaration, and Adams had proclaimed it in congress. Daniel Webster, speaking at Boston on the 2d of August following, thus characterised the departed

statesmen :

Adams and Jefferson.

Adams and Jefferson are no more; and we are assembled, fellow-citizens, the aged, the middle-aged, and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate of the Commonwealth, and others its official representatives, the University, and the learned societies, to bear our part in those manifestations of respect and gratitude which pervade the whole land. Adams and Jefferson are no more. On our fiftieth anniversary, the great day of national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in the midst of echoing and re-echoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names were on all tongues, they took their flight together to the world of spirits. If it be true that no one can safely be pronounced happy while he lives, if that event which terminates life can alone crown its honours and its glory, what felicity is here! The great epic of their lives, now happily concluded! Poetry itself has hardly terminated illustrious lives, and finished the career of earthly renown, by such a consummation. If we had the power, we could not wish to reverse this dispensation of the Divine Providence. The great objects of life were accomplished, the drama was ready to be closed. It has closed; our patriots have fallen; but so fallen, at such age, with such coincidence, on such a day, that we cannot rationally lament that the end has come, which we knew could not be long deferred. Neither of these great men, fellow-citizens, could have died, at any time, without leaving an immense void in our American society. They have been so intimately, and for so long a time, blended with the history of the country, and especially so united, in our thoughts and recollections, with the events of the Revolution, that the death of either would have touched the chords of public sympathy. We should have felt that one great link, connecting us with former times, was broken; that we had lost something more, as it were, of the presence of the Revolution itself, and of the Act of Independence, and were driven on, by another great remove from the days of our country's early distinction, to meet posterity, and to mix with the future. Like the mariner, whom the currents of the ocean and the winds carry along, till he sees the stars which have directed his course and lighted his pathless way descend, one by one, beneath the rising horizon, we should have felt that the stream of time had borne us onward till another great luminary, whose light had cheered us, and whose guidance we had followed, had sunk away from our sight. But the concurrence of their death on the anniversary of independence has naturally awakened stronger emotions. Both had been presidents, both had lived to great age, both were early patriots, and both were distinguished and ever honoured by their immediate agency in the Act of Independence. It cannot but seem striking and extraordinary, that these two should live to see the fiftieth year from the date of that act; that they should complete that year; and that

then, on the day which had fast linked for ever their own fame with their country's glory, the heavens should open to receive them both at once. As their lives themselves were the gifts of Providence, who is not willing to recognise in their happy termination, as well as in their long continuance, proofs that our country and its benefactors are objects of His care? Adams and Jefferson, I have said, are no more. As human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of independence; no more, as at subsequent periods, the head of the government; no more, as we have recently seen them, aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. They are no more. They are dead. But how little is there of the great and good which can die! To their country they yet live, and live for ever. They live in all that perpetuates the remembrance of men on earth; in the recorded proofs of their own great actions, in the offspring of their intellect, in the deep-engraved lines of public gratitude, and in the respect and homage of mankind. They live in their example; and they live, emphatically, and will live, in the influence which their lives and efforts, their principles and opinions, now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs of men, not only in their own country, but throughout the civilised world. A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly great man, when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift, is not a temporary gift, is not a temporary flame, burning brightly for a while, and then giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common mass of human mind; so that when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally goes out in death, no night follows, but it leaves the world all light, all on fire, from the potent contact of its own spirit. Bacon died; but the human understanding, roused by the touch of his miraculous wand to a perception of the true philosophy and the just mode of inquiring after truth, has kept on its course successfully and gloriously. Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still known, and they yet move on by the laws which he discovered, and in the orbits which he saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space. No two men now live, fellow-citizens, perhaps it may be doubted whether any two men have ever lived in one age, who more than those we now commemorate, have impressed on mankind their own sentiments in regard to politics and government, infused their own opinions more deeply into the opinions of others, or given a more lasting direction to the current of human thought. Their work doth not perish with them. The tree which they assisted to plant will flourish, although they water it and protect it no longer; for it has struck its roots deep, it has sent them to the very centre; no storm, not of force to burst the orb, can overturn it; its branches spread wide; they stretch their protecting arms broader and broader, and its top is destined to reach the heavens. We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No age will come in which the American Revolution will appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human history. No age will come in which it shall cease to be seen and felt, on either continent, that a mighty step, a great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human affairs, was made on the 4th of July 1776. And no age will come, we trust, so ignorant or so unjust as not to see and acknowledge the efficient agency of those we now honour in producing that momentous event.

Another memorable day in the history of the United States was the centenary celebration of the birth of Washington.

Washington.

That name (said Webster) was of power to rally a nation, in the hour of thick-throbbing public disasters

and calamities; that name shone, amid the storm of war, a beacon light, to cheer and guide the country's friends; its flame, too, like a meteor, to repel her foes. That name, in the days of peace, was a loadstone, attracting to itself a whole people's confidence, a whole people's love, and the whole world's respect; that name, descending with all time, spread over the whole earth, and uttered in all the languages belonging to the tribes and races of men, will for ever be pronounced with affectionate gratitude by every one in whose breast there shall arise an aspiration for human rights and human liberty.

We perform this grateful duty, gentlemen, at the expiration of a hundred years from his birth, near the place so cherished and beloved by him, where his dust now reposes, and in the capital which bears his own immortal name.

All experience evinces that human sentiments are strongly affected by associations. The recurrence of anniversaries, or of longer periods of time, naturally freshens the recollection, and deepens the impression of events with which they are historically connected. Renowned places, also, have a power to awaken feeling, which all acknowledge. No American can pass by the fields of Bunker Hill, Monmouth, or Camden, as if they were ordinary spots on the earth's surface. Whoever visits them feels the sentiment of love of country kindling anew, as if the spirit that belonged to the transactions which have rendered these places distinguished still hovered round, with power to move and excite all who in future time may approach them.

But neither of these sources of emotion equals the power with which great moral examples affect the mind. When sublime virtues cease to be abstractions, when they become embodied in human character, and exemplified in human conduct, we should be false to our own nature, if we did not indulge in the spontaneous effusions of our gratitude and our admiration. A true lover of the virtue of patriotism delights to contemplate its purest models; and that love of country may be well suspected which affects to soar so high into the regions of sentiment as to be lost and absorbed in the abstract feeling, and becomes too elevated, or too refined, to glow either with power in the commendation or the love of individual benefactors. All this is immaterial. It is as if one should be so enthusiastic a lover of poetry as to care nothing for Homer or Milton; so passionately attached to eloquence as to be indifferent to Tully and Chatham; or such a devotee to the arts, in such an ecstasy with the elements of beauty, proportion, and expression, as to regard the master-pieces of Raphael and Michael Angelo with coldness or contempt. We may be assured, gentlemen, that he who really loves the thing itself, loves its finest exhibitions. A true friend of his country loves her friends and benefactors, and thinks it no degradation to commend and commemorate them...

Gentlemen, we are at the point of a century from the birth of Washington; and what a century it has been! During its course the human mind has seemed to proceed with a sort of geometric velocity, accomplishing more than had been done in fives or tens of centuries preceding. Washington stands at the commencement of a new era, as well as at the head of the new world. A century from the birth of Washington has changed the world. The country of Washington has been the theatre on which a great part of that change has been wrought; and Washington himself a principal agent by which it has been accomplished. His age and his country are equally full of wonders, and of both he is the chief.

Washington had attained his manhood when that spark of liberty was struck out in his own country, which has since kindled into a flame, and shot its beams over the earth. In the flow of a century from his birth, the world has changed in science, in arts, in the extent of commerce, in the improvement of naviga

tion, and in all that relates to the civilisation of man. But it is the spirit of human freedom, the new elevation of individual man, in his moral, social, and political character, leading the whole long train of other improvements, which has most remarkably distinguished the era. Society, in this century, has not made its progress, like Chinese skill, by a greater acuteness of ingenuity in trifles; it has not merely lashed itself to an increased speed round the old circles of thought and action, but it has assumed a new character, it has raised itself from beneath governments, to a participation in governments; it has mixed moral and political objects with the daily pursuits of individual men, and, with a freedom and strength before altogether unknown, it has applied to these objects the whole power of the human understanding. It has been the era, in short, when the social principle has triumphed over the feudal principle; when society has maintained its rights against military power, and established, on foundations never hereafter to be shaken, its competency to govern itself.

A work on the Southern States of North America, by EDWARD KING, who, with a body of artists, spent most of the years 1873 and 1874 on a tour of observation, will be found interesting and valuable. The party travelled more than twenty-five thousand miles, visiting nearly every city and town of importance in the southern and south-western States. The artist-in-chief, Mr Champney, furnished more than four hundred of the sketches which illustrate the work, all of which are well executed and constitute a gallery of pictures of American life, character, and scenery.

Condition of the Southern States since the War.

There is (says Mr King) much that is discouraging in the present condition of the south, but no one is more loth than the Southerner to admit the impossibility of its thorough redemption. The growth of manufactures in the southern states, while insignificant as compared with the gigantic development in the north and west, is highly encouraging, and it is actually true that manufactured articles formerly sent south from the north, are now made in the south to be shipped to northern buyers.

There is at least good reason to hope that in a few years immigration will pour into the fertile fields and noble valleys along the grand streams of the south, assuring a mighty growth. The southern people, however, will have to make more vigorous efforts in soliciting immigration than they have thus far shewn themselves capable of, if they intend to compete with the robust assurance of western agents in Europe. Texas and Virginia do not need to exert themselves, for currents of immigration are now flowing steadily to them; and as has been seen in the north-west, one immigrant always brings, sooner or later, ten in his wake. But the cotton states need able and efficient agents in Europe to explain thoroughly the nature and extent of their resources, and to counteract the effect of the political misrepresentation which is so conspicuous during every heated campaign, and which never fails to do these states incalculable harm. The mischief which the grinding of the outrage mill by cheap politicians, in the vain hope that it might serve their party ends at the elections of 1874, did such noble commonwealths as Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi, can hardly be estimated.

Mr King's work, it appears, was undertaken at the instance of the publishers of Scribner's Monthly Magazine, and the British publishers (Blackie and Son) have brought it out in an attractive form.

LORD MACAULAY.

In 1842, as already stated, LORD MACAULAY produced his Lays of Ancient Rome. In the following year, he published a selection of Critical and Historical Essays, contributed to the Edinburgh Review, which are still unrivalled among productions of this kind. In questions of classical learning and criticism-in English philosophy and history-in all the minutiae of biography and literary anecdote—in the principles and details of government-in the revolutions of parties and opinions-in all these he seems equally versant. He enriched every subject with illustrations drawn from a vast range of reading. He is most able and striking in his historical articles, which present pictures of the times of which he treats, with portraits of the principal actors, and comparisons and contrasts drawn from contemporary events and characters in other countries. His reviews of Hallam's Constitutional History, Ranke's History of the Popes, and the Memoirs of Burleigh, Hampden, Sir Robert Walpole, Chatham, Sir William Temple, Clive, and Warren Hastings, form a series of brilliant and complete historical retrospects or summaries unsurpassed in our literature. His eloquent papers on Bunyan, Horace Walpole, Boswell's Johnson, Addison, Southey's Colloquies, Byron, &c., have equal literary value; and to these must be added his later works, the biographies in the Encyclopædia Britannica, which exhibit his style as sobered and chastened, though not enfeebled.

In 1848 appeared the first two volumes of his History of England from the Accession of James II., of which it was said 18,000 copies were sold in six months. In his opening chapter he explains the nature and scope of his work.

Exordium to History of England.

the realms which Cortes and Pizarro had added to the dominions of Charles V.; how in Asia, British adventurers founded an empire not less splendid and more durable than that of Alexander.

Nor will it be less my duty faithfully to record crimes and follies far more humiliating than any disdisasters mingled with triumphs, with great national aster. It will be seen that what we justly account our chief blessings were not without alloy. It will be seen that the system which effectually secured our liberties against the encroachments of kingly power, gave birth to a new class of abuses from which absolute monarchies are exempt. It will be seen that in consequence partly of unwise interference, and partly of unwise neglect, the increase of wealth and the extension of trade produced, together with immense good, some evils from poor and rude societies are free. It will be seen how, in two important dependencies of the crown, wrong was followed by just retribution; how imprudence and obstinacy broke the ties which bound the North American colonies to the parent state; how Ireland, cursed by the domination of race over race, and of religion over religion, remained indeed a member of the empire, but a withered and distorted member, adding no strength to the body politic, and reproachfully pointed at by all who feared or envied the greatness of England.

which

Yet, unless I greatly deceive myself, the general effect of this checkered narrative will be to excite thankfulness in all religious minds, and hope in the breasts of last hundred and sixty years is eminently the history all patriots. For the history of our country during the of physical, of moral, and of intellectual improvement. Those who compare the age on which their lot has fallen with a golden age which exists only in their imagination, may talk of degeneracy and decay; but no man who is correctly informed as to the past, will be disposed to take a morose or desponding view of the present.

I should very imperfectly execute the task which I have undertaken, if I were merely to treat of battles and sieges, of the rise and fall of administrations, of intrigues in the palace, and of debates in the parliament. It will be my endeavour to relate the history of the people as well as the history of the government, to trace the progress of useful and ornamental arts, to describe the rise of religious sects and the changes of literary taste, to portray the manners of successive generations, and not to pass by with neglect even the revolutions which have taken place in dress, furniture, repasts, and public entertainments. I shall cheerfully bear the reproach of having descended below the dignity of history, if I can succeed in placing before the English of the nineteenth century a true picture of the life of their ancestors.

I purpose to write the history of England from the accession of King James II. down to a time which is within the memory of men still living. I shall recount the errors which, in a few months, alienated a loyal gentry and priesthood from the House of Stuart. I shall trace the course of that revolution which terminated the long struggle between our sovereigns and their parliaments, and bound up together the rights of the people and the title of the reigning dynasty. I shall relate how the new settlement was, during many Volumes III. and IV. appeared in 1855, and it troubled years, successfully defended against foreign soon became manifest that it was hopeless to and domestic enemies; how, under that settlement, the authority of law and the security of property were found expect that the historian would live to realise his to be compatible with a liberty of discussion and of intention of bringing down his History to 'a individual action never before known; how, from the time within the memory of men still living,' or auspicious union of order and freedom, sprang a pros- living in 1848. The anticipated period we may perity of which the annals of human affairs had furnished assume to be the close of the last century; and no example; how our country, from a state of ignomin-between 1685-the date of the accession of James ious vassalage, rapidly rose to the place of umpire | II.-and 1800, we have one hundred and fifteen among European powers; how her opulence and her martial glory grew together; how, by wise and resolute good faith, was gradually established a public credit fruitful of marvels, which to the statesmen of any former age would have seemed incredible; how a gigantic commerce gave birth to a maritime power, compared with which every other maritime power, ancient or modern, sinks into insignificance; how Scotland, after ages of enmity, was at length united to England, not merely by legal bonds, but by indissoluble ties of interest and affection; how in America, the British colonies rapidly became far mightier and wealthier than

years, of which Lord Macaulay had then only travelled over twelve. His fourth volume concludes with the Peace of Ryswick in 1697. Part of a fifth volume was written, bringing down the History to the general election in 1701, but not published till after the death of the author. No historical work in modern times has excited the same amount of interest and anxiety, or, we may add, of admiration, as Lord Macaulay's History. Robertson and Gibbon were astonished at their own success; it greatly exceeded their most daring

At about one in the morning of Monday the sixth of July, the rebels were on the open moor. But between them and the enemy lay three broad rhines filled with Ditch and the Langmoor Rhine, Monmouth knew that water and soft mud. Two of these, called the Black he must pass. But, strange to say, the existence of a trench, called the Bussex Rhine, which immediately covered the royal encampment, had not been mentioned to him by any of his scouts.

and sanguine hopes; but the number of readers was then_limited, and quarto volumes travelled The Battle of Sedgemoor, July 6, 1685. slowly. Compared with Macaulay, it was as the old mail-coach drawn up with the railway express. The moon was indeed at the full, and the northern The night was not ill suited for such an enterprise. Before the second portion of Macaulay's History streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog was ready, eleven large editions of the first had lay so thick on Sedgemoor that no object could be been disposed of. It had been read with the discerned there at the distance of fifty paces. The eagerness and avidity of a romance. The colour-clock struck eleven; and the Duke (of Monmouth) ing might at times appear too high, almost coarse, with his body-guard rode out of the castle. He was but there were no obscure or misty passages. not in the frame of mind which befits one who is about Highly embellished as was the style, it was as to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed clear and intelligible as that of Swift or Defoe. to see him pass observed, and long remembered, that It was the pre-Raphaelite painting without its his look was sad and full of evil augury. His army littleness. Whether drawing a landscape or por- marched by a circuitous path, near six miles in length, trait, evolving the nice distinctions and subtle towards the royal encampment on Sedgemoor. Part of traits of character or motives, stating a legal arguthe route is to this day called War Lane. The foot were led by Monmouth himself. The horse were conment, or disentangling a complicated party ques-fided to Grey, in spite of the remonstrances of some tion, this virtue of perspicacity never forsakes the who remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were historian. It is no doubt a homely virtue, but given that strict silence should be preserved, that no here it is united to vivid imagination and rheto- drum should be beaten, and no shot fired. The word rical brilliance. So much ornament with so much by which the insurgents were to recognise one another strong sense, logical clearness, and easy adapta- in the darkness was Soho. It had doubtless been selected tion of style to every purpose of the historian, was in allusion to Soho Fields in London, where their never before seen in combination. In producing leader's palace stood. his distinct and striking impressions, the historian is charged with painting too strongly and exaggerating his portraits. He has his likes and dislikes his moral sympathies and antipathies. His sympathies were all with the Whigs, and his History has been called an epic poem with King William for its hero. Marlborough is portrayed in too dark colours, and William Penn also suffers injustice. The outline in each case is correct. Marlborough was treacherous and avaricious, and Penn was too much of a courtier in a bad court.* But the historian magnifies their defects. He does not make allowance for the character and habits of the times in which they lived, and he seizes upon doubtful and obscure incidents or statements by unscrupulous adversaries as pregnant and infallible proofs of guilt. In his pictures of social life and manners there is also a tendency to caricature; exceptional and accidental cases are made general; and the vivid fancy of the historian sports among startling contrasts and moral incongruities. Blemishes of this kind have been pointed out by laborious critics and political opponents; the 'critical telescope' has been incessantly levelled at the great luminary, yet nearly all will subscribe to the opinion that 'a writer of more passionless and judicial mind would not have produced a work of half so intense and deep an interest; that if Macaulay had been more minutely scrupulous, he would not have been nearly as picturesque; and that, if he had been less picturesque, we should not have retained nearly so much of his delineations, and should, therefore, have been losers of so much knowledge which is substantially, if not always circumstantially, correct.' + His History is altogether one of the glories of our country and literature.

* 'I wrote the History of four years during which he (Penn) was exposed to great temptations-during which he was the favourite of a bad king, and an active solicitor in a most corrupt court. His character was injured by his associations. Ten years before or ten years later he would have made a much better figure. But was I to begin my book ten years earlier or ten years later for William Penn's sake?'-Life of Macaulay, ii. 252. It is clear, however, that, misled by Sir James Mackintosh's notes, he imputed to William Penn corrupt practices chargeable against a worthless

contemporary, George Penne.

↑ North British Review, No. 49.

The wains which carried the ammunition remained at the entrance of the moor. The horse and foot, in a long narrow column, passed the Black Ditch by a causeway. There was a similar causeway across the Langmoor Rhine; but the guide, in the fog, missed his way. There was some delay and some tumult before the error could be rectified. At length the passage was effected; but, in the confusion, a pistol went off. Some men of the Horse Guards, who were on watch, heard the report, and perceived that a great multitude was advancing through the mist. They fired their carbines, and galloped off in different directions to give the alarm. Some hastened to Weston Zoyland, where the cavalry lay. One trooper spurred to the encampment of the infantry, and cried out vehemently that the enemy was at hand. The drums of Dumbarton's regiment beat to arms; and the men got fast into their ranks. It was time; for Monmouth was already drawing up his army for action. He ordered Grey to lead the way with the cavalry, and followed himself at the head of the infantry. Grey pushed on till his progress was unexpectedly arrested by the Bussex Rhine. On the opposite side of the ditch the king's foot were hastily forming in order of battle. 'For whom are you?' called out an officer of the Foot Guards. For the king,' replied a voice from the ranks of the rebel cavalry. For which king?' was then demanded. The answer was a shout of 'King Monmouth,' mingled with the war cry, which forty years before had been inscribed on the colours of the parliamentary regiments, God with us.' The royal troops instantly fired such a volley of musketry as sent the rebel horse flying in all directions. The world agreed to ascribe this ignominious rout to Grey's pusillanimity. Yet it is by no means clear that Churchill would have succeeded better at the head of men who had never before handled arms on horseback, and whose horses were unused, not only to stand fire, but to obey the rein.

A few minutes after the duke's horse had dispersed themselves over the moor, his infantry came up running fast, and guided through the gloom by the lighted matches of Dumbarton's regiment.

Monmouth was startled by finding that a broad and profound trench lay between him and the camp which he had hoped to surprise. The insurgents halted on the edge of the rhine, and fired. Part of the royal infantry on the opposite bank returned the fire. During threequarters of an hour the roar of the musketry was incessant. The Somersetshire peasants behaved themselves as if they had been veteran soldiers, save only that they levelled their pieces too high.

But now the other divisions of the royal army were in motion. The Life Guards and Blues came pricking fast from Weston Zoyland, and scattered in an instant some of Grey's horse, who had attempted to rally. The fugitives spread a panic among their comrades in the rear, who had charge of the ammunition. The wagoners drove off at full speed, and never stopped till they were many miles from the field of battle. Monmouth had hitherto done his part like a stout and able warrior. He had been seen on foot, pike in hand, encouraging his infantry by voice and by example. But he was too well acquainted with military affairs not to know that all was over. His men had lost the advantage which surprise and darkness had given them. They were deserted by the horse and by the ammunition wagons. The king's forces were now united and in good order. Feversham had been awakened by the firing, had got out of bed, had adjusted his cravat, had looked at him self well in the glass, and had come to see what his men were doing. Meanwhile, what was of much more importance, Churchill had rapidly made an entirely new disposition of the royal infantry. The day was about to break. The effect of a conflict on an open plain, by broad sunlight, could not be doubtful. Yet Monmouth should have felt that it was not for him to fly, while thousands whom affection for him had hurried to destruction were still fighting manfully in his cause. But vain hopes and the intense love of life prevailed. He saw that if he tarried the royal cavalry would soon intercept his retreat. He mounted and rode from the field.

been killed or wounded. Of the rebels more than a thousand lay dead on the moor. So ended the last fight, deserving the name of battle, that has been fought on English ground.

Execution of Monmouth.

It was ten o'clock. The coach of the Lieutenant of the Tower was ready. Monmouth requested his spiritual advisers to accompany him to the place of execution; and they consented: but they told him that, in their judgment, he was about to die in a perilous state of mind, and that, if they attended him, it would be their duty to exhort him to the last. As he passed along the ranks of the guards he saluted them with a smile, and he mounted the scaffold with a firm tread. Tower Hill was covered up to the chimney tops with an innumerable multitude of gazers, who, in awful silence, broken only by sighs and the noise of weeping, listened for the last accents of the darling of the people. I shall say little,' he began. 'I come here, not to speak, but to die. I die a Protestant of the Church of England.' The bishops interrupted him, and told him that, unless he acknowledged resistance to be sinful, he was no member of their church. He went on to speak of his Henrietta. She was, he said, a young lady of virtue and honour. He loved her to the last, and he could not die without giving utterance to his feelings. The bishops again interfered, and begged him not to use such language. Some altercation followed. The divines have been accused of dealing harshly with the dying man. But they appear to have only discharged what, in their view, was a sacred duty. Monmouth knew their principles, and, if he wished to avoid their importunity, should have dispensed with their attendance. Their general arguments against resistance had no effect on him. But when they reminded him of the ruin which he had brought on his brave and loving followers, of the blood which had been shed, of the souls which had been sent unprepared to the great account, he was touched, and Yet his foot, though deserted, made a gallant stand. said, in a softened voice: 'I do own that. I am sorry The Life Guards attacked them on the right, the Blues that it ever happened.' They prayed with him long on the left; but the Somersetshire clowns, with their and fervently; and he joined in their petitions till they scythes and the butt-ends of their muskets, faced the invoked a blessing on the king. He remained silent. royal horse like old soldiers. Oglethorpe made a vigor-Sir,' said one of the bishops, do you not pray for the ous attempt to break them, and was manfully repulsed. king with us?' Monmouth paused some time, and, Sarsfield, a brave Irish officer, whose name afterwards after an internal struggle, exclaimed 'Amen.' But it obtained a melancholy celebrity, charged on the other was in vain that the prelates implored him to address to flank. His men were beaten back. He was himself the soldiers and to the people a few words on the duty struck to the ground, and lay for a time as one dead. of obedience to the government. 'I will make no But the struggle of the hardy rustics could not last. speeches,' he exclaimed. Only ten words, my lord.' Their powder and ball were spent. Cries were heard of He turned away, called his servant, and put into the 'Ammunition! for God's sake, ammunition!' But no man's hand a toothpick case, the last token of ill-starred ammunition was at hand. And now the king's artillery love. 'Give it,' he said, 'to that person.' He then came up. It had been posted half a mile off, on the accosted John Ketch the executioner, a wretch who had high road from Weston Zoyland to Bridgewater. So butchered many brave and noble victims, and whose defective were then the appointments of an English army name has, during a century and a half, been vulgarly that there would have been much difficulty in dragging given to all who have succeeded him in his odious office. the great guns to the place where the battle was raging, Here,' said the duke, are six guineas for you. Do had not the Bishop of Winchester offered his coach not hack me as you did my Lord Russell. I have horses and traces for the purpose. This interference of heard that you struck him three or four times. My a Christian prelate in a matter of blood has, with strange servant will give you some more gold if you do the inconsistency, been condemned by some Whig writers work well.' He then undressed, felt the edge of the who can see nothing criminal in the conduct of the axe, expressed some fear that it was not sharp enough, numerous Puritan ministers then in arms against the and laid his head on the block. The divines in the government. Even when the guns had arrived, there meantime continued to ejaculate with great energy: was such a want of gunners that a sergeant of Dum-'God accept your repentance! God accept your imbarton's regiment was forced to take on himself the perfect repentance!' management of several pieces. The cannon, however, though ill served, brought the engagement to a speedy close. The pikes of the rebel battalions began to shake; the ranks broke; the king's cavalry charged again, and bore down everything before them; the king's infantry came pouring across the ditch. Even in that extremity the Mendip miners stood bravely to their arms, and sold their lives dearly. But the rout was in a few minutes complete. Three hundred of the soldiers had |

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The hangman addressed himself to his office. But he had been disconcerted by what the duke had said. The first blow inflicted only a slight wound. The duke struggled, rose from the block, and looked reproachfully at the executioner. The head sank down once more. The stroke was repeated again and again; but still the neck was not severed, and the body continued to move. Yells of rage and horror rose from the crowd. Ketch flung down the axe with a curse. 'I cannot do it,' he

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