teemed the restoration, and even life of the King, altogether incompatible. This opinion, so much warranted by the boundless ambition, and profound dissimulation of his character, meets with ready belief, though it is more agreeable to the narrowness of human views, and the darkness of futurity, to suppose that this daring usurper was guided by events, and did not as yet foresee, with any assurance, that unparalleled greatness which he afterwards attained. Many writers of that age have asserted, that he really intended to make a private bargain with the King; a measure which carried the most plausible appearance both for his safety and advancement: but that he found insuperable difficulties in reconciling with the wild humours of the army. The horror and antipathy of these fanatics had, for many years, been artfully fomented against Charles; and though their principles were, on all occasions, easily warped and eluded by private interest, yet was some colouring requisite, and a flat contradiction to all former professions and tenets could not be safely proposed to them. It is certain, at least, that Cromwell made use of this reason, why he admitted rarely of visits from the King's friends, and showed less favour than formerly to the royal cause. The agitators, he said, had rendered him odious to the army, and had represented him as a traitor, who, for the sake of private interest, was ready to betray the cause of God to the great enemy of piety and religion. Desperate projects, too, he asserted to be secretly formed for the murder of the King; and he pretended much to dread lest all his authority, and that of the commanding officers, would not be able to restrain these enthusiasts from their bloody purposes."

Intelligence being daily brought to the King of menaces thrown out by the agitators, he began to think of retiring from Hampton court, where he now resided, and of putting himself in some place of safety. The guards were doubled upon him the promiscuous concourse of people restrained: and a more jealous care exerted in attending his person; all

under colour of protecting him from danger, but really with a view of making him uneasy in his present situation. These artifices soon produced the intended effect. Charles, who was naturally apt to be swayed by counsel, and who had not access then to any good counsel, took suddenly a resolution of withdrawing, though without any concerted, or at least any rational scheme, for the future disposal of his person. Early in the evening, the King retired to his chamber, on pretence of being indisposed; and, in an hour after midnight, went down the back stairs, attended by Ashburnham and Legg, both gentlemen of the bed-chamber. Sir John Berkeley waited for him at the garden gate with horses, which they instantly mounted, and directed their route towards Hampshire. Ashburnham said he had bespoke a ship for conveying the King to some part of the continent, or to Jersey, but the vessel could not be found at the place appointed. The royal fugitives, thus disappointed, repaired to Titchfield, a seat belonging to the Earl of Southampton, and discovered himself to that nobleman's mother, who received him with the warmest cordiality. There he deliberated with his friends about his next excursion; and they advised him to cross over to the Isle of Wight, which was under the government of Hammond, a man entirely dependant on Cromwell. Ashburnham and Berkeley were sent before to exact a promise of this officer, that if he could not protect, he would not detain his Majesty's person. Hammond seemed surprised at their address; expressed his inclination to serve his Majesty, but owned, at the same time, he was under the necessity of obeying his superiors. When he understood where the King was, he accompanied them to Titchfield with a guard of soldiers, and staid in a lower apartment, while Ashburnham went up to the King's chamber. Charles no sooner understood that Hammond was in the house, than he exclaimed, “ O Jack, thou hast undone me." The other shed a flood of tears, and offered to go down and dispatch the Colonel, but the King

would not consent. He re-collected all his fortitude, and sent for Hammond, who repeated his professions of regard, and seemed to believe the army would take no step to his prejudice. Charles submitted to his fate, accompanied the colonel to the Isle of Wight, and was lodged in Carisbrook Castle, where, though received with great demonstrations of respect and duty, he was in reality a prisoner.

A treaty was shortly afterwards entered into between the King and the Parliament, but the terms proposed to him were such as he could not, either in honour or conscience, accept; and when the negotiation was broken off, Hammond, by orders from the army, removed all his servants, cut off his correspondence with his friends, and shut him up in close confinement. The King afterwards showed to Sir Philip Warwick a decripid old man, who, he said, was employed to kindle his fire, and was the best company he enjoyed during the several months that this rigorous confinement lasted. No amusement was allowed him, nor society, which might relieve his anxious thoughts: to be speedily poisoned or assassinated was the only prospect which he had every moment before his eyes: for he entertained no apprehension of a judicial sentence and execution; an event of which no history hitherto furnished an example. Meanwhile, the Parliament was very industrious in publishing, from time to time, the intelligence which they received from Hammond; how cheerful the King was, how pleased with every thing that approached him, how satisfied in his present condition. The great source whence the King derived consolation amidst all his calamities, was undoubtedly religion; a principle which, in him, seems to have contained nothing fierce or gloomy, nothing which enraged him against his adversaries, or terrified him with the dismal prospect of futurity. While every thing round him bore a hostile aspect; while friends, family, relations, whom he passionately loved, were placed at a distance, and unable to serve him, he reposed himself with confidence in the arms of that Being who pene

trates and sustains all nature, and whose severities, if received with piety and resignation, he regarded as the surest pledges of unexhausted favour.

A final attempt at an accommodation between Charles and the Parliament was made at Newport, in the autumn of 1648; but, like former attempts, failed through the unbending obstinacy of the Puritan leaders. The King yielded to all their demands, except what concerned the abolition of episcopacy, and the giving up of his friends. These were conditions to which he thought himself bound in honour and conscience not to consent; and his firmness in these points, however creditable to his character, proved in the event fatal to him.

When the Parliament was negotiating with the King, Cromwell, and the other leaders of the army, were employed in quelling various dangerous insurrections in different parts of the kingdom; and their usual success having attended their arms, they now returned to London, flushed with victory, and determined no longer to observe any terms with their adversaries. Their first step was to exclude from the Parliament all those members whom they thought unfriendly to their cause. When the Commons were to meet, Colonel Pride, formerly a drayman, surrounded the house with two regiments, and seized in the passage forty-one members of the Presbyterian party, and sent them to a low room, which passed by the appellation of hell, whence they were afterwards carried to several inns. About 160 members more were excluded, and none were allowed to enter but the most furious and most determined of the Independents. This invasion of the Parliament commonly passed under the name of Colonel Pride's Purge, so much disposed was the nation to make merry with the dethroning of those members who had arrogated the whole authority of government, and deprived the King of his regal prerogatives.

One of the first acts of this remnant of the House of Commons, was the appointment of a committee to draw up a for

mal accusation or impeachment of the King. Charles was now removed from the Isle of Wight to Windsor, and every thing announced to him that the period of his life was now fast approaching: but, notwithstanding all the preparations which were making, and the intelligence which he received, he could not, even yet, believe that his enemies really meant to conclude their violences, by a public trial and execution. A private assassination he every moment looked for; and, though Harrison assured him that his apprehensions were entirely groundless, it was by that catastrophe, so frequent with dethroned princes, that he expected to terminate his life. In appearance, as well as in reality, the King was now dethroned. All the exterior symbols of sovereignty were withdrawn, and his attendants had orders to serve him without ceremony. At first, he was shocked with instances of rudeness and familiarity, to which he had been so little accustomed. Nothing so contemptible as a despised Prince! was the reflection which they suggested to him. But he soon reconciled his mind to this, as he had done to his other calamities.

All the circumstances of the trial were now adjusted, and the high court of justice fully constituted. It consisted of 133 persons, as named by the Commons; but there scarcely ever sat above 70: so difficult was it, notwithstanding the blindness of prejudice, and the allurements of interest, to engage men of any character or name in that criminal measure. Cromwell, Ireton, Harrison, and the chief officers of the army, most of them of mean birth, were inembers, together with some of the Lower House and some citizens of London. The twelve judges were at first appointed of the number; but, as they had affirmed, that it was contrary to all ideas of English law to try the King for treason, by whose authority all accusations for treason must necessarily be conducted, their names, as well as those of some peers, were afterwards struck out. Bradshaw, a lawyer, was chosen president. Coke was ap