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three of the latter calculated to soften her weary and utterly defenceless at the mercy heart infinitely. She felt now that the of all evil suggestions. Happily her bitlast act of her tradegy was almost played ter words of indignant upbraiding had out—that her unnatural strength need firmly closed the door of that proud heart endure but little longer; so, as she sat against herself. alone, she suffered her heart to soften, and The dawn grew into bright day; the let the tears fall slowly and unheeded sun shone full into her room; the birds a-down upon her lap.

twittered busily among the scarlet berries Suddenly Erle Lyneward stood before of the holly without; and soon she heard her. She was startled, confused, unnerv. Millie singing a quaint, pathetic scrap of ed. One glance at her softened face, her old Christmas-song, as she waited below tearful eyes, her tremulous hand, made for her sister's coming. The whole world him forget all but his old love for her. then, like Millie's hymn, was rejoicing in Before she could recover the cold compo- peace and good-will? She only was torn sure with which she always met him, he by inward strife, and utterly abandoned, had taken her hand, and was pouring out even by her own poor pride a strong passion of burning love and wild But there was something yet to be sorrow.

borne and done! Had she come so far Hildred dared not hear him out. One and could she not drag herself one step moment's irresolution and all would be further, before she lay down, finally, to lost. She had not time to weigh, or die? It was yet possible to madden Erle choose words. She thought only of Millie. and to make Millie miserable, though it Her answer was fiercely indignant-full it was too late to help herself. Should she of vehement resentment. He was humbled spoil all now, at the last hour ? this time: she, full of pride and power. No! She found strength enough to Once and for ever her fate was decided. battle on a little longer. She dressed

Was it, after all, so great a sacrifice ? hastily, but neatly; dashed ice-cold water Loving Millie as she did, was she not con- into her face, and dried it so roughly that scious that she did not voluntarily give the delicate skin glowed again; and, beup her own happiness, for that happiness fore that glow had time to fade, or a at Millie's expense was simply impossible. practised smile to die away from her If Hildred had deemed Millie's nature one mouth, she had joined Millie; had given that could forget and love again, after her all fair good wishes of the season, and awhile, she would long since have wavered borne the mockery of having them rein her purpose ; but she knew the girl's turned to her with many a soft kiss and words were true when she said she « did fond word. not forget.” She felt that she was as firm “And now to breakfast,” Hildred said; as she was gentle. She had read a world for it is late, and Erle will be here diof unchangeableness and remembrance in rectly to take you to church." the depth of Millie's dove-like eyes.

“ And you will come with us?” Millie Yes, the sacrifice was great, appalling asked. Alone with her own heart, that night Hil- “No! I shall spend this happy Christdred quailed. She suffered most pain from mas morning alone. I am not well.” a keen sense of the cruelty of the position Hildred answered. in which she had found herself.

“And yet you had such a color when The dawn of Christmas morning shone you came down! Let me stay with you! apon a wildly haggard face gazing out I had much rather." upon its brightness from an ivied-window. “Certainly not; there's no occasion, Hildred's eyes had not closed in sleep that Millie, have you not found out yet, child, night. Vivid pictures, devil-suggested of that I love my own company better than things that might have been, presented even yours ?” themselves to her fancy. She had seen Hildred hurried back to her own room herself acting out, scene after scene, a before Mr. Lyneward came to fetch Millie. proudly-happy life, as Erle Lyneward's She could not have met him calmly. But wife; and she had felt no power to bid when they were gone, he and Millie and the tempter get behiud her. It seemed the servants; when all the country people, as if her

all of strength had been exhausted churchward bound, had passed along the in that final master-stroke put to her own road, Hildred felt that she could not bear dark destiny; as if she now lay weak and the great quiet that fell upon the house.


The silent shining-in of the sun; the way faded out altogether. Still Hildred knelt it lay still and serene upon all it touched, on. even upon her, was maddening. She The church grew dim and dusky-she could not bear to remain there, alone. could read no longer, but she prayed. She would go to church, too. It was a As she passed out of the then dark sudden resolve, suddenly executed. A church, the sexton an old, lame man-was frenzied fear of being too late appeared coming in with a lantern to put away the to seize her. She did not mean to go to books and lock it up; a task neglected till the village-church, where Millie and Erle, then for his Christmas dinner. He drew and many people who knew her, were; back aghast as Hildred gently bade him but to a little old church on the other side good night, and looked with awe after the of the hill, to which but very few ever tall figure that soon disappeared in the darkwent.

He hurried over his duties and hobShe reached it at last, with difficulty: bled back to his fireside; where, no doubt, for she found herself very weak, and her he told a grim ghost-story; of having trembling eagerness defeated itself

. She seen, and been spoken to by, the longmade her way into a curtained pew, once deceased lady of a long-deceased squire, a long dead-and-dust squire's. It was in the church-porch, after dark, to very musty, dusty, and deserted. She crouched credulous listeners. down in a corner where no one could see Erle and Millie had been anxiously exher.

pecting her for a long time-Millie' had During the hour that Hildred passed in even urged Erle to go and seek her—but that old faded pew, listening, hardly con- he, saying that most likely she had only scious that she did listen, to holy words gone for one of her mad rambles, excused often heard before, a new chord was himself from doing so. And as they waitstruck within her. Some will call this un- ed and the night fell, Erle Lyneward had natural, improbable; I say it is not so, made a short humiliating confession of his but simply and only mysterious. It was weakness and sinfulness. And Millie ? solely one of God's providences (of which she pitied him, smiled upon him and forso many talk, in which so few firmly be- gave him, quite content with his assurance lieve); an instance of his infinite mercy that now he loved her only. Erle did not in providing for a soul in sore and utmost tell Millie who had been the object of his need.

fierce love, and she did not ask; he had Millie's words came back to Hildred's spoken too bitterly and harshly of Hildred. mind. She remembered Millie's saying, Neither ever alluded to that subject again; that those do not suffer thoroughly who neither ever knew of Hildred's devotion. do not suffer patiently. After thinking Mr. Lyneward's manner that evening of this, Hildred did not know distinctly when he first met Hildred was full of what she heard.. The service was over, troubled consciousness; but she set him the few worshippers gone home to happy at ease. She stayed with them all the firesides and Christmas mirth; yet she time, because it was the evening of Christsat still, unconscious that not another hu- mas day, and because her heart was at man being was in the little church, and oncesoftened and strengthened. She was that the old door was shut upon her. loving to Millie, and so friendly to Erle,

Hildred was glad when she found that that Millie's sweet face brightened into she was alone. She came out of her cor- pure, unalloyed gladness. ner, went up the aisle, to the communion- The marriage took place a few days table, knelt there and opened the great after. To the last, Hildred was full of Bible.

motherly affectionateness to motherless She found grand, great, glorious words Millie. She made Erle Lyneward feel -words that filled her excited mind with that she accepted him as a brother; for. awful joy-appealing to her glowing im- giving him his sin against his sister, and agination and her power of heroic self- asking forgiveness herself only for the sacrifice.

harsh way in which she had rejected and The sun descended lower in the heavens, upbraided him then. slanted in at a little stained west window, It was a very hard time, but Hildred and threw hues of soft amethyst and of got through it. She filled Milllie's cup golden glory upon the fine dark head of joy as full as she could—made her sacri. bent low in reverent worship. Then it fice as complete as she was able, for she made it cheerfully, and suffered its cost ill among strangers: sick unto death, but patiently. Suffered! Was suffering rather. she did not die. It is a slow fire, from which woman-mar- Her strength, and with it the conscioustyrs step forth pure and white-robed-a ness of power, returned-as there was fire that oftentimes burns life-long. need they should in the life she had

When all was done, Hildred went away. chosen. She breathed more freely the further be- No matter what that life was. Hildred hind her she left the scene of her fiery Grey lived it out nobly. She was known ordeal. She thought the new air would as a good, by many who could not recogat once give her strength. But she fell | nize in her a great and gifted, woman.


the Edinburgh Reviow.


Up to the time when Mr. Macaulay, ued to prevail

, where even the desire to exsome seven and twenty years ago, re- alt his intellectual abilities was most marked marked in this journal of the character of and prominent. We shall best perhaps exCromwell, that though constantly attacked hibit this, and with it the authorities on and scarcely ever defended, it had yet which M. Guizot has had mainly to rely, if always continued popular with the great we briefly sketch Cromwell under the leadbody of his countrymen, it is unquestion- ing general aspects in which he has appearable that the memory of the great Pro-ed to the readers of English history, from tector, assiduously blackened as it has the opening of the present century to our been in almost every generation since his own day. Under three divisions, we think, death, had failed to find a writer in any all may be sufficiently included. party entirely prepared to act as its The first would run somewhat thus. champion. Down to the days of Mr. That when the struggle had passed from Hume, Cromwell remained for the most the parliament house into the field of part what that philosophical historian very battle, there somewhat suddenly arose into unphilosophically called him, “a fanatical the first place amid the popular ranks, a hypocrite ;” and though there was after- man not more remarkable for his apparent wards a great change, though to praise religious fanaticism than for the sagacity him was no longer punishable, though to of his practical outlook on affairs. So far revile him became almost unfashionable, indeed had the latter quality in him a tenand at last the champion ready on every dency, as events moved on, to correct the point to defend and uphold him was found former, that even what was sincere in his in Mr. Carlyle, it is yet remarkable what religious views soon yicided to the teachdifferences as to his moral qualities contin- ings and temptations ofworldly experience,

and religion itself became with him but * 1. Historie de la République d'Angleterre et de the cloak to a calculating policy. His Cromwell (1649-1658). Par M. Guizot. 2 Tomes. principal associates were bigots in repubParis: 1854.

licanism; but he had himself too much 2. Richard Cromwell. Par M. Guizor. Paris: intellect to remain long under a delusion 1856. 3. History of Oliver Cromwell and the English

so preposterous as that monarchy, aristoCommonwealth. By M. Guizor. Translated from the cracy, and episcopacy were not essential French by A. SCOBLE, Esq. 2 vols. London: 1854. I to England. As the opponent of all three, VOL, XXXVII.-NO. IV.


nevertheless, he was pledged too deeply to the last, even with his hand upon the recede, and such was the false position in crown, driven back from it by the influence which his very genius and successes placed still possessed over him by old republihim, that with no love for hypocrisy, he be- can associates. His nature, in this view came of necessity a hypocrite. To cant in of it, is of that complicated kind, that his talk, to grimace in his gestures, on his without being false to itself, it has yet not very knees in prayer to know no humility, been true to others; and it is even more were the crooked ways by which alone he the consciousness of what might have been could hope to reach the glittering prize that his success, than the sense of what had tempted him. When at last it fell within been his failure, which makes the grief of his grasp, therefore, when he had struck his closing years. While he has grasped aside the last life that intercepted his path at a shadow of personal authority, the to sovereignty, and all he sought was means of government have broken from won, there came with it all the insepa- him; and failing as a sovereign, he can not rable attendants of discontent and remorse. further succeed as a ruler. Difficulties “What would not Cromwell have given,” without have accumulated, as perplexities exclaims Mr. Southey," whether he looked within increased; and his once lofty to this world or the next, if his hands thoughts and aspirations have sunk into had been clear of the king's blood!” The restless provisions for personal safety. height to which he afterwards rose never The day which released his great spirit, lifted him above that stain. It darkened therefore, the anniversary of his victories the remainder of his life with sorrow. of Worcester and Dunbar, was to be held “Fain would he have restored the mon- still his “ Fortunate Day" for the sake of archy,” pursues Mr. Southey, “ created a the death it brought, not less than it was house of peers, and reëstablished the epis- so held of old for the triumphs it associacopal church.” But his guilt to royalty ted with his name. was not to be cleansed, or his crime to soci- The third stands apart from both of ety redeemed, by setting up mere inade these, and may be taken as the expression quate forms of the valuable institutions he of certain absolute results, to which

a study had overthrown. Helived only long enough of the entire of Cromwell's letters and to convince himself of this; and at the speeches, brought into succinct arrangeclose would have made himself the instru- ment and connection, has been able

to ment for even a restoration of the Stuarts, bring an earnest inquirer, We may thus if Charles could have forgiven the execu- describe them. That in the harsh untuntion of his father. But this was not thought able voice which rose in protest against possible, and he died a defeated and disap- Popery in the third parliament, was heard pointed man.

at once the complete type and the noblest The second view of the character would development of what was meant by the arrive, by a very different reasoning, at Puritan Rebellion. That there then broke something like the same conclusion of forth the utterance of a true man, of a congrief and disappointment. Within some-sistency of character perfect to a heroic what similar toils of ambition, however, it degree, and whose figure has heretofore exhibits a far greater and purer soul. It been completely distorted by the mists of would seem to be founded on the belief time and prepossession through which we that a man must have thoroughly deceived have looked back at it into the past. himself before he succeeds on any great That this Cromwell was no hypocrite or or extended scale in deceiving others; actor of plays, had no vanity or pride in and here the final remorse is made to arise, the prodigious intellect, he possessed, not from treason to royalty, but from trea- was no theorist in politics or government, son to liberty. In this Cromwell, we have was no victim of ambition, was no seeker have a man never wholly without a deep after sovereignty or temporal power. and sincere religion, however often able That he was a man whose every thought to wrest it to worldly purposes; and, if was with the Eternal—a man of a great, never altogether without ambition, yet robust, massive mind, and of an honest, with the highest feelings and principles stout, English heart; subject to melanintermingling with the earlier promptings choly for the most part, because of the of it. There is presented to us a man not deep yearnings of his soul for the sense of always loving liberty, but always restless divine forgiveness, but inflexible and resoand insubordinate against tyranny; and at I lute always, because in all things governed by the supreme law. That in him was Free and unhesitating, nevertheless, is its seen a man whom no fear but of the admiration of genius and greatness, and divine anger could distract; whom no earnest and unshrinking the sympathy honor in man's bestowal could seduce or expressed with his courage and his pracbetray; who knew the duty of the hour tical aims. It would seem to be the view to be ever imperative, and who sought too exclusively of a statesman and a man only to do the work, whatever it might of the world, of one who has lived too near be, whereunto he believed God to have to revolutions, and suffered from them too called him. That here was one of those much, always to see them in their right rare souls which could lay upon itself the proportions, to measure them patiently by lowliest and the highest functions alike, their own laws, or adjust them fairly to and find itself, in them all, self-contained their settled meaning and ultimate design. and sufficient—the dutiful, gentle son, the But there is nothing in it which is petty quiet country gentleman, the sportive, or unjust-nothing that is unworthy of a tender husband, the fond father, the act- high, clear intellect. ive soldier, the daring political leader, the A great man, then, but enamored of powerful sovereign-under each aspect still this world's substantial greatness, is M. steady and unmoved to the transient out- Guizot's Cromwell. All that was noble ward

appearances of this world, still wres- in his mind, and all that was little, he was tling and trampling forward to the sublime able to subordinate to the lust of matehopes of another, and passing through every rial dominion. But where that passion instant of its term of life as through a Mars- led him, there also lay what he believed ton Moor, a Worcester, a Dunbar. That to be his duty; and it

; in the pursuit of such a man could not have consented to it, he suffered no principle of right to be take part in public affairs under any com- a barrier upon his path, neither did he pulsion less strong then that of conscience. suffer any mists of petty vanity to cloud That his business in them was to serve the his perfect view of whatever hard or flinty Lord, and to bring his country under sub- road might lie before him. To govern, jection to God's laws. That if the states- says M. Guizot, that was his design. The men of the republic who had labored and business of his life was to arrive at govfought with him, could not also see their ernment, and to maintain himself in it; way to that prompt sanctification of their his enemies were those who would throw country, he did well to strike them from any bar or hindrance in the way of this; his path, and unrelentingly denounce or and excepting those whom he used as its imprison them. That he felt, unless his agents, he had no friends. Such a man purpose were so carried out unflinchingly, was Cromwell, if he be judged rightly a curse would be upon him; that no act by the French historian. He was a great necessitated by it could be other than and a successful, but an unscrupulous just and noble; and that there could be man. With equal success he attempted no treason against royalty or liberty, un- and accomplished the most opposite enless it were also treason against God. terprises. During eighteen years a leadThat, finally, as he had lived he died, in ing actor in the business of the world, the conviction that human laws were and always in the character of victor, he nothing unless brought into agreement by turns scattered disorder and establishwith divine laws, and that the temporal ed order, excited revolution and chastised must also mean the spiritual government it, overthrew the government and raised of man.

it again. At each moment, in each situAnd now, with these three aspects of ation, he unravelled with a wonderful the same character before us, we may sagacity the passions and the interests perhaps better measure the view which that happened to be dominant; and, twistM. Guizot takes of Cromwell. Some- ing all their threads into his own web of thing of the first will be found in it, of policy, he clothed himself with their authe second decidedly yet more; and thority, and knew how to identify with though it has nothing of the remorse theirs his own dominion. Always bent with which both cloud the latter days of upon one great aim, he spurned any the Protector, it expresses the same sense charge of inconsistency in the means by of failure and loss, and stops with a fal- which he pursued it. His past might at tering step far short of where his last and any time belie his present, but for that he warmest panegyrist would place him. cared little. He steered his bark accord

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