forces of Cromwell; a battle was fought, and the Scotch army was soon beaten, and many of them killed, whilst very few men were lost in the army of Cromwell.

Young Charles then formed the bold resolution of marching directly into England, with such of the Scottish army as remained, hoping that he should find many friends to join him in England. In this, however, he was disappointed, for every body seemed struck with terror at the power and the success of Cromwell. Charles, however, got as far as Worcester; but Cromwell had made haste to follow him, with an army of forty thousand men. Here was a terrible battle, and the King's little army was soon completely beaten, and the King himself, though he fought boldly, was at last obliged to escape for his life.

Cromwell tried every means he could think of, to get the King into his power;—and it is quite wonderful to think how Charles ever escaped, when he was pursued in all directions, and spies set to watch him, and great rewards offered to any one who should take him. The young Prince, however, found friends, who were firm and true to him, and who contrived to keep him out of the hands of his enemies, sometimes by hiding him, and sometimes by dressing him in shabby clothes, that he might not be known; till, at length, they got him safely out of the kingdom.

On one occasion, he mounted an oak tree, and actually saw the soldiers, who were searching for him, pass under the very tree where he was concealed. At another time, he was concealed in the house of an honest and loyal cottager. Often he slept in a hay-loft. Many times he was in great distress for want of food and sufficient clothing. He performed a long journey on horseback in the dress of a servant, carrying behind him, for the sake of concealment, a lady, Mrs. Lane, the wife of a

warm and loyal friend, who kept within sight for their assistance, till they actually brought the King to the sea-side, near Brighton, where a boat was provided for him ;-and thus he got fairly out of the kingdom, and was landed safely in France.

Cromwell, we may be sure, acquired great applause amongst his friends for his boldness and success; he returned from the battle of Worcester, in great triumph, to London, and he and the Parliament now possessed the whole power of the nation. Cromwell was, however, too ambitious to allow the Parliament to have its share of power, and, on the other hand, the Parliament was jealous of him and the army. But the Protector soon shewed the Parliament what was his way of settling such affairs. He actually went to the Parliament House himself, taking with him three hundred soldiers, who were to remain on the outside till he stamped with his foot. There he listened awhile to the debate; but he soon told them that he did not like their way of proceeding, and that they need sit no longer. Then he stamped with his foot, and the armed soldiers appeared. Then he used every sort of abusive language to the members of Parliament. "Get you gone," said he, "give place to honester men. You are no longer a Parliament; I tell you, you are no longer a Parliament." He called one of them a "drunkard," another a "glutton," and all the frightful names that he could think of. He pointed to the mace which lay on the table, and said, "Take away that bauble." Then he turned out all the members, and locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, and returned home to Whitehall.

After this new way of dissolving a Parliament, it was necessary that another should be appointed. But Cromwell wanted to keep the power in his own hands; and, for this purpose, he got together a Parliament of such poor miserable creatures, as

could do nothing towards managing the affairs of the State, so that Cromwell, in fact, did every thing according to his own will and pleasure. One of these fine members of Parliament was called Barebone, a foolish leather-seller; and this strange assembly was called, after him, the Barebone's Parliament. We may be sure that nothing could be done by such a set of people as these; so that there was soon an end of this Parliament; and thus, according to his intention, Cromwell had every thing his own way. In his wars, as I have already told you, he had great success; but, when he proved himself to be such a tyrant, and was for carrying every measure according to his own will, and was content with nothing but absolute power, many of his old friends forsook him, and there were many plots. and conspiracies set on foot to take away his life. He was tormented in his mind too, with the constant fear of being murdered. He wore a coat of steel armour under his clothes, and kept pistols in his pockets, and had a miserably gloomy and suspicious countenance. He always travelled in a great hurry, and never without a number of men to guard him. He seldom came back from any place by the same way that he went, and he was constantly changing his bed-chamber, that nobody might know where he slept; he was miserable when he was in company, for he thought every man was his enemy; and he was so full of fears too, that he hardly knew how to be alone.

His end, however, was approaching. He was seized with a tertian ague, which soon carried him off; and he died in the year 1658, in the 59th year of his age. He had been in possession of the government about ten years. He had appointed his son Richard Cromwell to succeed him, and Richard was accordingly proclaimed Protector. He was not, however, in the least, fitted for such a station, and was soon willing to give it up. The

people then began to wish for their rightful King; and, accordingly, Charles was sent for, from Holland, where he was then living, and he entered London on the 29th of May, which was his birthday. This was in the year 1660. This is called the Restoration, and was principally brought about by General Monk, a brave soldier, who had long possessed great power in the army, and who now turned it to a good purpose, by employing it in support of his rightful sovereign. You know that, on the 29th of May, we still celebrate the Restoration, and carry about oak branches, in remembrance of the King's escape in the oak tree. But I must tell you more about King Charles the Second in my next letter.

J. S.

SELECTIONS FROM DIFFERENT AUTHORS.

Seven hours to law,-to soothing slumber seven,
Ten to the world allow,-and all to Heaven.

Sir Edward Cook, paraphrased by Sir W. Jones.

ON A BIBLE.

Happiest they of human race,
To whom God has granted grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To mark and learn the heavenly way.
And better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

Sir Walter Scott.

HUMILITY disposeth the glorious God to give, and the humble mind to receive, direction and guidance, in all the walk and concern of this life. A proud heart commonly disdaineth and undervalueth all wisdom but its own, and all other counsel but what suits with its own wisdom: and therefore the glorious God most commonly crosseth or disappointeth him, or leaves him to the hardiness and misery of his own counsels, and to eat the bitter

fruit of his own rashness and folly.-Sir Matthew Hale.

We may every day see what a small matter quite shatters and overturns the most wise and secret and well-laid designs in the world; so that, in one moment, a pitiful, small, unexpected occurrence wholly breaks in pieces a design of men laid together with long deliberation and forecast, and with all the advantages of secrecy, power, and combination. One poor unthought-of accident cracks in sunder, and breaks, all to shivers, the whole elaborate machine.-The Same.

To wait for God's performance, in doing nothing, is to abuse that divine Providence, which will so work, that it will not allow us to be idle. Bishop Hall.

How happy a thing it is to live well, that our death, as it is certain, so it may be comfortable.The Same.

When we vow what we cannot, or what we ought not to do, we mock God, instead of honouring him. The Same.

Minds long habituated to receive impressions from the objects of our disordered affections, seem at last to yield themselves entirely to them, and to refuse all other excitement. The view of this law of our moral being, has something very striking and awful in it. Every thought, every wish, every action, is making us more accessible either to the invitations of Heaven or the temptations of hell. The movements of our minds may be forgotten by us, but they have left traces behind them, which inay affect our eternal destiny. They do not terminate in themselves-in their own rectitude, or their own sin; they have strengthened some principle, and weakened its opposite. Think whether that principle forms a part of the character of Heaven, or the character of hell. If it be a part of the character of Heaven, an advance has been made in