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himself, and his fortunes, and his life, into the scale against the king, and on the side of the people. He was at that time a plain country yeoman. We do not believe that he had any ambition other than to serve the cause with a brave pure heart. Could he, whose unnoticed days had been passed by a farmer's ingle, see gleaming before his eyes a crown, which he might refuse ? Could he, who had spent his later years in following the plough, dream that he should draw the sword, only to find himself at last the greatest general of his own age, and one of the greatest soldiers of any age? Well might he say, One never mounts so high as when one does not know where one is going.” It is the sublime of human philosophy and character to be able to say this; it is faith in Providence and in destiny alone which can say this. When he first entered on the struggle, his thought, no doubt, was to fulfil a duty or two upon the field and in the senate, and then go back to his farm. He little thought that he was to be the umpire of the whole contest.

Certain it is that we are to seek for what Cromwell was in after life, in those early days of his history. Some writers, Guizot among the rest, have said that he adopted theories of liberty of conscience, and so forth, to suit his ambition and his success. Not he! He was for years, before the breaking out of civil war, substantially all that he was after. When he entered upon his career of public life, he had no principles to seek; he had found them long since, and he acted upon them invariably. Nor can we perceive that he adopted any new principles, or expedients, through the whole of his future career. Cromwell was all that we include in the term Puritan. His whole public life was the result of that mental experience by which his faith was moulded. In him there was a profound reverence for the law of God. He had an instinctive apprehension of order. To disfranchise, to rout and put to flight the imbecilities of anarchists; such was his work. A sworn soldier of the Decalogue was he. Say that he read with keen vividness into men's hearts and men's purposes; well, he did so, as any man may do, by the light of high intelligent principles within him. In many things, we do not doubt, he much misinterpreted texts of the Divine Book. Perhaps he was too much

Hebrew of the Hebrews.” Some do not see how a man can be faithfully a Christian man and also a soldier ; but if he will be a soldier, then we do not see how he can fulfil a soldier's duty better than by looking into the Old Testament. We see plainly that we shall not know Cromwell's character and deeds unless we acquaint ourselves with Cromwell's theology.

His theology made the life of his home in old farmer days at St. Ives. His theology guided his impressions of men and events. His theology went with him to the army, and kindled there his heroism, and, if you will, his enthusiasm. His theology ruled his character in the senate and on the throne. It was not merely his speech, but deep, far beneath his


speech, lay his great thoughts of God; and unless you understand his inner depth of vital conviction, you will have no comprehension of the man. His mind was fostered from the unseen springs of meditation, and from reading in that literature, unquestionably the most glorious in magnificence and wealth we have had. In our age we have little religious literature : the mighty folios in which the Puritan fathers taught have dwindled down to the thin tracts in which our friend the Rev. Octavian Longcloth, or his curate, the Rev. Dismal Darkman, mix their acidulated milk and water for weak stomachs. Far different was the theology of Cromwell and the writers of Cromwell's age. Manton, himself one of the greatest of these writers, says Cromwell had a large and well-selected library. Many of our most famous pieces were then unwritten; but there were some pieces of Smith, Caudray, Adams, Owen, Goodwin, and Mede, and the earlier fathers, and Calvin, and Hooker, and Herbert's lyrics. We think such were the men with whom Cromwell walked and mused, and whose writings shed light into his soul.

Sir John Goodricke used to relate a remarkable anecdote, which we should probably assign to the siege of Knaresborough Castle, in 1644, and which was told him when a boy, by a very old woman, who had formerly attended his mother in the capacity of midwife. “When Cromwell came to lodge in our house, in Knaresborough," said she, “I was then but a young girl. Having heard much talk about the man, I looked at him with wonder. Being ordered to take a pan of coals, and air his bed, I could not, during the operation, forbear peeping over my shoulder several times to observe this extraordinary person, who was seated at the far side of the room untying his garters. Having aired the bed, I went out, and shutting the door after me, stopped and peeped through the keyhole, when I saw him rise from his seat, advance to the bed, and fall on his knees, in which attitude I left him for some time. When returning again, I found him still at prayer ; and this was his custom every night so long as he stayed at our house ; from which I concluded he must be a good man; and this opinion I always maintained afterwards, though I heard him very much blamed and exceedingly abused.”

No! we should say there would be no shaking this woman's faith in him. To her he would appear as what he was-genuine and transparent. How many of Cromwell's maligners, how many of us writers and readers, would stand the test of the keyhole ?



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