  SCENES FROM "HOLMBY HOUSE."
[By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.]
1. THE BATTLE OF NEWBURY, 20TH SEPTEMBER, 1643.
 [G. J. Whyte-Melville (1821-1878) was the son of a Fifeshire laird. He became a soldier, and fought 
during the Crimean War. From 1850 onward he published over a
score of novels, some of which are historical, but his best efforts are seen in his description of 
fox-hunting, steeplechasing, and English country-life generally.
"Holmby House" is a tale of the time of Charles I. War had broken out between the King and the 
Parliament. The forces of the Parliament held the south-east of
England, while the King was strong in the north. The Earl of Essex, the Parliamentary leader, after 
relieving Gloucester, which had been besieged by the King,
returned towards London. He was overtaken at Newbury and compelled to fight, but resumed his 
march next day.
In our first extract the battle is described, the stubbornness and endurance of the Roundhead forces 
contrasting strongly with the fiery impetuosity of the Cavalier horsemen under Prince Rupert, nephew 
of the King. Humphrey Bosville and George Effingham, two 
prominent characters in the story, fight on the side of the King as do
Sir Giles Allonby, Lord Goring, Colepepper, and Falkland " the virtuous and the just."]

PRINCE RUPERT.

" How much longer are we to stand here idle, mowed down by round shot and exposed to the fire of 
these crop-eared citizens? " exclaimed Humphrey  Bosville, as his
sorrel pawed impatiently and shook its bridle, whilst the men of his squadron murmured audibly behind 
him at an enforced inactivity, always so trying to the Cavaliers.
" Steady, men! " was George Effingham's reply, as he faced his little band, carelessly turning his 
back to the sharp fire poured in upon them by the Parliamentary
artillery, admirably served, and in a commanding position from which they had got the range of their 
enemy, to a nicety. "Steady for a few minutes longer. Our time will
come directly. I never knew Prince Rupert keep us so well in hand as he has done to-day. 'He laughs 
best who laughs last,' Humphrey; and the game is none the
worse for being played according to rule. See, the pikes are forming into line even now, and here 
comes Sunderland at a gallop with 
orders." Effingham's eyes were beginning to glitter, and his dark
face to pale a shade or two, as was customary with him when the moment of action had arrived.
They had waited for it long enough. The day was already beginning to wane, and Colepepper's Horse 
had 
been held in reserve so carefully that they almost feared they
were to have no share in the stern conflict which they could themselves behold waged by their 
comrades with the Parliamentary army.

MUSKETEER AND PIKEMAN.

Essex had taken up a strong position on an eminence called Bigg's Hill, disposing his troops in 
stationary masses as though unwilling to attack, and trusting to the well-known imprudence of the 
Cavaliers to attack him on ground most disadvantageous to their principal arm - a fiery and impetuous 
cavalry. The King's troops, on the
contrary, had
at their own option to give or decline battle; and their obvious tactics would have been to draw the 
enemy, if possible, from his stronghold, and, whilst manoeuvring on
the plain, to fall upon him with their cavalry. The older officers saw this at a glance, and Goring, 
smart and sprightly as though turned out for a review, detached Sir Giles
Allonby, with a handful of veterans whom he could trust, to make a feint, followed by such a retreat 
as should tempt the Parliamentary leaders into a general advance of
their whole line.
The old knight acquitted himself admirably of his duty. But, alas! the manoeuvre succeeded only too 
well. The Roundheads detached a party of veteran horse to check him. A strong body of foot advanced 
to the assistance of their comrades. One or
two headstrong young Cavalier officers, without waiting for orders,
engaged the cavalry regiments they commanded. Prince Rupert was nothing loth to offer the main body 
of 
his horse, and was soon to be seen in the van leading a succession of those brilliant headlong charges 
which have made his name 
proverbial as the bravest of the brave and the rashest of the rash -
charges which must succeed triumphantly or fail lamentably, and to which, in their undisciplined 
impetuosity, the slightest
check is too apt to prove fatal.
Notwithstanding their advantage of position, notwithstanding their superior discipline and numbers, the 
Roundhead horse gave way before the furious onslaught of the enemy; and the day must have ended in 
a triumph for the Royal cause had it not been 
for the unexpected steadiness and gallantry with which the
pikemen stood their ground - a gallantry the more surprising both to friend and foe, inasmuch as it 
was displayed by the hitherto untrained bands of London, whom the
Cavaliers held in unbounded derision and contempt, and in whom even the Parliamentary veterans had 
no 
great confidence as the champions of a doubtful day.
" The knaves stand fast with their yard-measures in their hands," quoth Goring, as he re-formed his 
brigade and brought them once more into position, after leading them
through and through a column of the enemy's horse, striking fiercely to right and left, like the 
veriest trooper.
" Those pikes will turn the tide of the action yet, my lord," was Sir Giles's reply, as the 
experienced eye of the veteran detected the diminished ardour and the failing
horses of his own cavalry. " Zounds," added the old Cavalier, " it shall never be said His Majesty's 
troops were turned by their own tradesmen. If they would but deploy
into line! One more effort, and we might be amongst 'em."
In the meantime the trained bands, who had already sustained the attacks of the Royalist cavalry
with such determined obstinacy, and whose long pikes, held by strong English arms and backed by
stout English hearts, formed a bristling hedge of steel which not even the King's troopers could 
break through, were in the act of making a flank movement to acquire a
position more favourable than that which they had already occupied. Prince Rupert's eagle eye, ever 
quick as lightning to detect an advantage, saw their wavering line,
and seized the opportunity to order up his reserve for one last desperate
effort. The rise of the hill was against the horses; a minute sooner and they would have been in time, 
but ere the cavalry could reach their steady, resolute foes these had again become a stationary mass of 
resistance, hedged with steel, and pouring forth a deadly, withering fire, that enforced the 
Royalists to turn, emptying many a saddle, and bringing many a
curled head to the dust. The most old Colepepper could accomplish was to make an orderly retreat; and 
as Humphrey Bosville, with tears of shame and indignation in
his eyes, brought his troop back in good order to their appointed position, Effingham quietly 
observed, " Another point in the game scored up against us, young one. Another opportunity lost. 
Laurels, indeed, Humphrey ! Better gather a handful of weeds, and lay your head down here on the 
turf, and be at rest."
In another instant he had darted like lightning from his men, and was engaged hand to hand will some 
half a dozen of the enemy's cavalry, who, like meaner birds about
a hawk, were besetting the gallant Earl of Carnarvon, and hemming him in on all sides with their 
swords. That officer had got detached from his own men, and was now returning, alone and on a tired
horse, through the scattered troopers of the enemy. Strong, athletic, and a practised  swordsman, he 
had already emptied more than one of his opponents' saddles; but
he was exhausted and outnumbered, and George Effingham's assistance came too late.
He had received a pistol-shot, which had broken his bridle-arm, and deprived him of all control over 
his failing steed. Still, his fine horsemanship and the thorough use of
his weapon enabled him to hold at bay the troopers in his front; but alas! a sword thrust from the 
rear had run him through the body; and as George Effingham cut down
the successful assailant, and took the Earl's horse by the bridle to 
turn him out of the press, his strength was
failing. Courteous and gentle to the last, he than thanked Effingham for his services.

From a picture by C. W. Cope.]
THE TRAIN-BANDS LEAVING LONDON.

"I am bounden to you, comrade," he said, sinking forward on his horse's neck; " but it is too late.  I am 
hurt to the death, for all my cunning of fence. I pray you leave me,
and save yourself." Even as he spoke he fell heavily from his horse; and Effingham, with many a 
shrewd 
blow and many a hairbreadth escape, fought his way back to his own men.
 Night was by this time drawing on, and as its dark mantle fell over the combatants neither 
Cavaliers nor Roundheads could boast of a decided victory. The gallant
trained bands bivouacked on the round they had held with such stubborn valour;  and, although they 
made an orderly retreat at day-break, pursuing their line of march for
the capital,  and regardless of the harassing attacks made on their rear by the tireless Prince 
Rupert, with a thousand musketeers and such of his cavalry as were not put of action the previous day, 
they could scarce plume themselves on having gained any positive vantage over their opponents.
Humphrey Bosville and George Effingham slept under the same cloak, their horses picketed close to 
their feet. Their squadron formed a strong outpost of Prince Rupert's
advancing column, and they were be ready for the pursuit with the first dawn of the morning light.
So the trumpets sounded the reveille blithely ere
the first streaks of the morrow's dawn; and Effingham's squadron were up and mounted and filing 
slowly over the ground of yesterday's hard-fought 
struggle in the early light of the soft autumn morning. Above their heads the heaven breathed of peace 
and beauty and holy calm ; the birds were singing in 
the copse and hedges, the sheep were bleating on the distant
hills; but below their feet the very bosom of mother earth was torn and scarred by the fierce struggle of 
her wayward children. The ground occupied  by the enemy was indeed vacant, for Essex was 
by this time in full and orderly retreat; but the traces of the
conflict were but too apparent in broken wagons, dismounted guns, turf trampled and trodden by dinted 
hoof-marks and scored with wheel-tracks;  worst of all, in
helpless bodies of men and horses, lying as they fell, the dying and the dead.
Bosville shuddered as he gazed; a man must indeed be inured to war who can look unmoved on such a 
scene. Effingham's eye dilated as he touched his comrade's
arm and pointed to a heap of dead, who had evidently made a gallant attempt to storm an orchard 
surrounded by an old blackthorn hedge, and been shot down man by
man as they came up.
" The apples in the orchard are hanging ripe from the bough, but the harvest of death is already 
gathered and carried home," said Effingham. " Humphrey, we are like the
Assyrians when they came up by thousands against the might of Judaea, and, lo ! an unseen arm smote 
the horse and his rider. Have not these been kicking against
the pricks? Verily, the Lord is against us."
" I saw them charge over this very ground yesterday," was the young soldier's reply, "and a 
nobler feat of arms I never witnessed, nor a finer fellow than the officer
who led them. I could not recognise him at that distance, but I saw him put himself at the head of 
a handful of cavalry and lead them twice up to this old straggling
hedge, and twice they were repulsed by the deadly fire of the musketeers who lined it. The third 
time he leapt his horse into the orchard, and I am certain I saw him
fall some twenty paces before any of his men. By St. George, there he lies! - man and horse under that 
large tree. Let us go in, Effingham, and see who he is! "
The two Cavaliers dismounted, and walked reverently and slowly up to the corpse. It was stretched at
length, its right hand still grasping its sword, and an ineffable expression of peace on its pale 
upturned face. Yes, in the midst of war he had found it at last. No more
bitter misgivings now - no more weary longing and harassing anxiety - no more aching heart and 
sickening hopes and fears for Falkland. There he lay, the good, the
generous, the gifted; born to be the ornament of a Court, the pillar of a State, the hope of a 
nation; and there he lay, shot below the girdle by some obscure musketeer,
himself perhaps all unconscious of the deed. Many were the good and great men that joined the 
Royalist 
cause; many a noble heart shed its blood for King Charles;
many a wise head plotted for the Crown; many a stalwart arm struck its last to the war-cry of " God and 
the King ": but there was but
one Falkland, and the morning after Newbury he was found a corpse.
The tears started to Bosville's eyes.
"Let us send back a party to bury him," said he. "The Prince will willingly spare enough men for
such a duty as this."
Effingham was not listening to him. " The King had better have lost his right arm," was his reply. 
"Verily, the Lord is against us."

Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no 
means vulgar. The friends thou hast and their adoption tried, Grapple
them to thy soul with hoops of steel; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd 
unfledged comrade.
- SHAKESPEARE

SCENES FROM "HOLMBY HOUSE."
[By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.]
II. THE MAN OF DESTINY.
[Led to feel that he could no longer conscientiously wield his sword in the cause of the King, George 
Effingham handed in his commission as captain and joined the
Parliamentary forces. His friend Humphrey Bosville, while carrying dispatches, was captured by 
Cromwell's men, and, unknown to George, was lying under sentence of death in Gloucester jail. Mary 
Cave, a lady of the Queen's Court and a friend of Bosville, determined to go to Cromwell to plead for 
the life of the prisoner. She rode up to the Parliamentary forces, was captured, and taken to Cromwell's 
headquarters.]

OLIVER CROMWELL.

"Bring the Malignant woman hither," said Cromwell, "and I will myself question her ere she be placed 
in ward."
As he spoke he dismounted, and entered a large stone building converted into a barrack, attended by a 
few of his officers, amongst whom was Effingham, and followed
by the prisoner under escort of two stalwart troopers. The instant that the short cloak she wore was 
removed, and the beaver hitherto slouched over her lace taken off by Cromwell's orders, Effingham 
started as if he had 
been shot. He would have spoken, but an imperious glance from the
prisoner seemed to freeze the words upon his lips. He held his peace, and stood there, deadly pale, 
and trembling like a child.
The General scanned his prisoner carefully. His usual tact and discernment were here at fault. 
"Woman," he said, rudely and sternly, " what want you here; whence
came you; and why venture  you thus amongst the people of the Lord? "
" I would see Cromwell alone," replied Mary.
"I have ridden far and fast  to see you, General," she added, with a certain tone of irony in her 
voice; "you will not refuse to grant an interview when a lady asks it."
Effingham felt a strange thrill to hear her voice. How it took him back to that which seemed now some 
other stage of existence, albeit so short a time ago !
Cromwell hesitated. Bold schemer, undaunted soldier as he was, he entertained a morbid dread of 
assassination, a dread that in later days, when in the full flush of his
prosperity, and seated on the throne, caused him to wear proof-armour under his clothes on all public 
occasions.
 He had read, too, of women who would not
scruple to sacrifice their lives in a political cause; his own enterprising spirit told him how readily it 
was possible to encounter certain death for a
great object; and this lady did not look as if she
was likely to shrink from any desperate deed because of its danger. And yet, to fear a woman!
Pshaw! it seemed absurd. He would grant her
the interview she desired. He looked upon his
officers, for the most part trustworthy, fearless
veterans, whose courage and fidelity he had already tried on many a well-fought field. Effingham alone 
was a new acquaintance, and his quick eye caught expression of George's countenance watching the 
prisoner's face.
"Do you know anything of the lady? " said he, in short, imperious tones, turning sharply round upon 
his 
new officer, with a frown of displeasure gathering on his thick
brows.
"You may speak the truth, Captain Effingham," said Mary, with a look of quiet contempt.
Thus urged, Effingham hesitated no longer to acknowledge his acquaintance with the beautiful 
"Malignant."
"Mistress Mary Cave is too well known at the Court not to have won the respect and confidence of all 
who 
have ever breathed that polluted atmosphere. I will answer for
her faith and honesty
with my head. If she fail you, my life shall be for the life of her."
Mary thanked him with a grateful glance.
" I have a boon to ask of you, General; a bargain to drive, if you will. Grant me the interview I require, 
and bid me go in peace."
Cromwell signed to her to follow him into a smaller apartment, in which a fire was burning, and which 
contained a chair, a writing-table, and a few articles of rough
comfort.
" Captain Effingham," he said, in his short, stern tones, " place two sentries at the door. Remain 
yourself within call. Madam, I am now at our service. Speak on; we are
alone."
He doffed his heavy headpiece, placed it on the writing-table, and was about to throw himself into 
the chair. The General was no polished courtier -  above all, no woman-worshipper - but there was that 
in Mary Cave's bearing which checked his first impulse, and bade him 
stand up respectfully before his prisoner.
His manner, though reserved, became less stern than at first. " Reassure yourself, madam," said he, 
with a tone of kindness in his harsh voice; "I do not to-day hear
the name of Mistress Mary Cave for the first time. I can safely affirm I would long ago have given 
much to obtain
possession of the lady who thus voluntarily surrenders herself as a prisoner. I have yet to learn 
what brings her into
the very stronghold of the enemy. Had she been a man, there had been a price on her head."
These words were alarming; but the smile that stole over the General's face was softer and kindlier 
than his wont.
" I am come," said Mary, " to seek the exchange of a prisoner. A messenger might have lingered, 
letters been
intercepted, even a white flag outraged , so, General – so - I came myself. Major Bosville is 
languishing, perhaps dying,
in Gloucester jail. May he not be ransomed, can he not be exchanged? Any sum of money, any number 
of 
prisoners -
aye, ten for one."
Cromwell's brow grew dark. "You ask too much, madam," he replied, shaking his head sternly. " That 
officer lies even
now under sentence of death. He has refused to give any information concerning the strength or 
movements of the
enemy. A confirmed Malignant, he shall die the death. Hath not Rupert slain in cold blood thirteen 
godly warriors
taken with arms in their hands? The blood of the Lord's anointed cries aloud for vengeance. God do so 
to me, and
more also, if I smite not root and branch till the Amalekite* is destroyed out of the land! "
He was chafing now - angry and restless, like some noble beast of prey.

*Amalekites - A warlike tribe of the south-west of Palestine They displayed the greatest hostility to the 
Israelites, who consequently showed them no mercy.

Mary fitted the last arrow to her bowstring. "You know me, General," she said, with something of her 
old proud air.  "You know my power, my influence, my information. Listen: I will buy Bosville's life of 
you. You shall 
make your own terms."
Cromwell smiled. He was perfectly courteous, but somewhat ironical in his reply.
" You cannot bribe me, madam," said he, "valuable as I doubt not is the price you offer. Your 
information may or may
not be far superior to my own. I am a simple soldier; my duty lies plain before me. I will have blood 
for blood, and I
have the warrant of Scripture for my determination."
Poor Mary! she broke down altogether now. Everything gave way before the overwhelming flood of 
womanly pity and
womanly fear. She seized the General's rough, coarse hand in both her own, so white and soft by the 
contrast. Ere
he could prevent her she pressed it to her lips, she bent over it, and clung to it. Down on her knees 
she implored him,
she besought him, she prayed to him, with tears and sobs, to spare the prisoner's life. Her pride was 
fallen altogether
now, her humiliation complete. It was no longer the stately Mary Cave, the Queen's friend, the 
adviser of statesmen,
the ornament of a Court, but a broken-hearted woman pleading for life and death.
 " Save him, General," she grasped. " I sent him
on his errand. I got him his appointment. I
 bade him go forth wounded and helpless into the
 very midst of your troopers, and now if he is to
die his blood is on my head. Oh ! think of your own mother! think of your own child! think of any one 
that you have ever loved! Would you see her 
kneeling as I do
now? Would you see her, lonely, helpless amongst strangers and enemies, pleading for dear life, and 
bear to know that 
she was refused ? Think better of it; for the love of mercy, General,
think better of it. Grant me this one boon, and I will pray for you, enemy though you be, night and 
morning, on my bended knees, till my dying day."
His voice sounded hoarser than usual, and he loosened the plain linen band around his throat as he 
muttered the word " Reprisals! "
She sprang fiercely from her knees, flung his hand, which she had again taken, away from her in 
scorn, and flashed at him such a glance as made even Cromwell quail.
" Reprisals! " she repeated. "It is the Puritan's English for murder. You have refused me - refused 
Mary Cave on her bended knees, who never knelt before to mortal
man. Beware of my revenge! Oh! I meant it not. Forgive me," she added, her whole manner changing 
once 
more to one of the softest, the most imploring entreaty, as
the uselessness and folly of her anger struck chill and sickening to her heart; " forgive my hasty 
words, my pride that has never yet, learned to stoop. You talk of
reprisals, General; one life is worth another - take mine instead of his. Lead me out now - this minute - 
I am ready; and let him go free."
She had touched the keystone now - the sympathy for courage and devotion which every brave man 
feels. 
He turned his face away that she might not see his emotion,
for there were tears in Cromwell's eyes. She took the gesture for one of refusal, and it was in sad, 
plaintive tones she proffered her last despairing request.
"At least grant me the one last boon I have ridden so far  to ask. It is not a little thing that 
will tempt a woman to the step I have taken. You cannot refuse me this - if I cannot save him, at least I 
can die with him. Shot, steel, or hempen 
noose, whatever penalty is exacted from Humphrey Bosville shall be
shared by her who sent him here to die. I ask you no more favours - I claim it as a right. He shall not 
suffer alone for my sake. Do not think I shall flinch at the last
moment. See! there is not a trooper of all your Ironsides that fears death less than Mary Cave."
She had conquered triumphantly at last. The brave spirit could not but recognise its kindred nature. 
He had made up his mind now, and not a hair of Humphrey's head
should have fallen had the whole Parliament of England voted his death to a man. Kindly, courteously, 
nay, almost tenderly, the rough Puritan soldier raised the
kneeling lady to her feet. With a consideration she little expected, he placed her carefully in the 
chair, sent an orderly trooper for food and wine, and even bestirred
himself to ascertain where she might be most safely lodged till her departure with a safe-conduct under 
his own hand.
" I grant your request, Mistress Mary Cave, and I attach to my concession but two conditions. The 
one, it is needless to state, is that Major Bosville passes his word
of honour never again to bear arms against the Parliament, and the other " - his glance softened more 
and more as he proceeded -  "that you will not quite forget plain
Oliver Cromwell, and that hereafter, when you hear his harshness censured and his rustic breeding 
derided, you will not be ashamed to say you have known him to
show the courtesy of a gentleman and the feeling of a man."
Mary's spirit had kept her up hitherto, but on hearing these words she laid her head upon the coarse 
deal table and gave way to a passion of tears.

SCENES FROM "HOLMBY HOUSE."
[By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.]
III. - THE KING AT HOLMBY HOUSE.
[Archbishop Laud, the King's chief adviser, had been executed, the Battles of Marston Moor and 
Naseby 
had been fought, everywhere the royalist cause seemed hopeless. Charles
took refuge with the Scots, but, refusing their terms, was handed over to the English Parliament,  and 
was kept under guard at Holmby House, in Northamptonshire.
Quarrels arose, however, between the army and the Parliament, and Charles negotiated and intrigued 
with both. The Parliament wished the army to be disbanded, but this the latter refused to do until its 
terms had been agreed to. As it was rumoured that Parliament was about to remove the King to 
London, raise a new army, and renew the civil war, the leaders of the army determined to take strong 
measures.]

From the picture by Daniel Mytens.]
CHARLES I.

On the fairest site perhaps in the whole fair country of Northampton stand to this day the outward 
walls, the lofty gates, and an inconsiderable remnant of what was once the goodly edifice of Holmby 
House. The slope of the ground which declines 
from it on all sides offers a succession of the richest and most pastoral
views which this rich and pastoral country can afford. Like the rolling prairie of the Far West, 
valley after valley of sunny meadows, dotted with oak and elm and other noble trees,
undulates in ceaseless variety far as the eye can reach; but unlike the boundless prairie, deep dark 
copses and thick luxuriant hedgerows, bright and fragrant with wild flowers and
astir with the glad song of birds, diversify the foreground and blend the distance into a mass of 
woodland beauty that gladdens alike the fastidious eye of the artist and the stolid
gaze of the clown.
The soft June night sank peacefully upon Holmby Palace, with all its conflicting interests, all its 
intrigue and treachery, as it sank upon the yeoman's adjoining homestead, and the
shepherd's humble cottage in the vale below. The thrush had finished the last sweet tones of her 
even-song, and not a sound disturbed the surrounding stillness, save an occasional
note from the nightingale in the copse, and the murmur of a fountain playing drowsily on in the 
garden. Calmly the stars shone out in mellow lustre, looking down, as it seemed, mild
and reproachful on the earth-worms here below.
The King was preparing to retire for the night. Notwithstanding all the anxieties and fears that had 
arisen from a warning he had that morning received, the force of habit was so
strong that the numerous preparations for His Majesty's rest were made with as scrupulous an 
attention to the most trifling detail as when he was possessed of all the pomp of real
royalty and conscious of actual power long ago at Whitehall.
After Doctor Wilson had paid his customary visit and received to his respectful inquiries the 
customary answer that nothing was amiss with the royal health, preserved as it
was by rigid and unswerving temperance, Mr. Herbert, as groom-in-waiting, presented the King with a 
ewer and cloth, making at the same time the prescribed obeisance.
Then, setting on a chair a night-lamp, consisting of a round cake of wax in a silver basin, he 
proceeded himself to retire to the couch prepared for him In a small ante-room
opening into the apartment occupied by His Majesty, so that the King might not, even in the watches 
of the night, be left entirely alone.
As Herbert backed respectfully from the room, the King recalled him, as though for a few minutes' 
confidential conversation.
" Herbert," said he, taking up at the same time his jewelled George and Garter, which, with his 
customary attention to trifles, he insisted should
placed near his bed-head, " Herbert, you are
becoming negligent; you have omitted to lay these gauds - empty vanities that they are! - in their 
accustomed place. Also this morning you neglected to observe the
command I gave last night."
His Majesty spoke with a grave and somewhat haughty air, which concealed a covert smile. The. 
attendant, in some confusion and no little surprise at the unusual displeasure
of the King's tone, admitted that he had aroused His Majesty five minutes too late, and pleaded the 
usual excuse of a difference amongst the clocks. The King preserved an
ominous frown.
"You are aware," said he, " that I never pardon a fault, nor overlook even the most trifling mistake. 
Have you not often heard me called harsh, vindictive, and exacting? I
have prepared your punishment; I trust it will caution you for the
future. Here is a gold watch," he added, his assumed displeasure vanishing at once in a hearty burst 
of laughter at the scared expression of his attendant's countenance, "a
gold alarm-watch, which as there may be cause shall awake you. Wear it for Charles Stuart's sake; 
and years hence, perhaps when he is no more, may it remind you of the
stern, unkindly sovereign who, albeit he valued to the utmost the affection and fidelity of his 
servant, could not pass over the slightest omission without some such token of his
displeasure as this."
So speaking, and good-humouredly pushing Herbert from the room, he bade him a cordial " 
Goodnight," 
leaving his groom of the bedchamber more devoted to his person, if
possible, than before.
Such was one among many instances of Charles's benevolent disposition; such little acts of kindness as 
this endeared him to all with whom he came in daily contact, and the
charm of such a temperament accounts at once for the blind devotion on the part of his followers, 
commanded by one who was the most amiable and accomplished of private gentlemen, as he was the 
most injudicious and inefficient of kings.
(To be continued.)

SCENES FROM "HOLMBY HOUSE." 
[BY G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.]
III. - THE KING AT HOLMBY HOUSE.
(Continued from page 127.)
[Both the King and Herbert are restless and cannot sleep. Herbert re-enters the King's chamber, and the 
two hold converse.]
Even as the King spoke a loud knocking was heard at the outer door, communicating as it did with a 
back staircase that led to a private entrance into the court. Sounds
of hurry and confusion at the same time filled the palace, and the tramp of horses mingled with the 
clash of steel was distinctly audible outside the walls. An officer's
voice was heard, too, above the confusion, calling on the few yeomen of the guard and other officials 
who formed the garrison to " stand to their arms," exhorting them at
the same time to preserve the King's person from injury. Meantime the personal attendants of the 
Sovereign rushed to his bedchamber, scared, pale, and half-dressed,
but ready, if need were, to sacrifice their lives in defence of the King.
Charles alone preserved his usual composure. The knocking at the door of his private, apartments 
being violently repeated, he desired his friend Maxwell to hold
converse with this unmannerly disturber of his repose. Reconnoitring the assailant through a 
panelling in the door, the old courtier was horrified to observe a cornet of
the Parliamentary dragoons standing at the head of the stairs in complete armour, with a cocked 
pistol in his hand, and clamouring for admittance.
" What would you? " inquired Maxwell, through the panelling. " Who are you, and by whose orders 
do you come here? "
The cornet was a stout, resolute-looking man, with all the appearance of having risen from the ranks. 
His voice was deep and harsh, his countenance of that dogged
nature which sets argument and persuasion alike at defiance. His answers were short and to the point.
" I would see Charles Stuart," he replied. " My name is Joyce, cornet in the service of the Parliament. I 
am here on my own responsibility."
" Have you the authority of the Parliamentary Commissioners* for your intrusion? " gasped out 
Maxwell.
No," thundered the cornet; " I have placed a sentry at the door of every man of them. Keep quiet, old 
gentleman - I take my order from them that fear neither
Commissioners nor Parliament."
[Joyce at length consents to leave His Majesty undisturbed till morning.]
Charles sought his couch once more in that frame of quiet helplessness which seems usually to have 
taken possession of him when in the crisis of a difficulty. He slept
soundly, and awoke with characteristic regularity, little before his ordinary hour. His toilet was 
performed with the greatest care, his devotions not curtailed of a single
word, his poached egg and glass of fair water leisurely discussed, and then, but not till then, His 
Majesty expressed his readiness to hold an interview with the
personage who seemed to have power of life and death over his Sovereign.
The King's simplicity of manner and quiet dignified bearing overawed even the rough and low-born 
officer of the Parliament. Half-ashamed of his insolence, half-bullying
himself into his naturally offensive demeanour, Cornet Joyce was ushered into the presence with a far 
different aspect from that which he had assumed the night before.

* The officers of the Parliament who had charge of the King's person.

Charles and his captor seemed to have changed places. The King appeared
to be the offended judge, the cornet wore the sullen, apprehensive, and abashed look of a guilty 
prisoner.
Charles's good nature, however, soon restored the official to his self-possession and, by an easy 
transition, to a large portion of his original insolence.
In reply to the monarch's gentle interrogative as to the cause of the last night's outrage, he 
answered boldly, " My orders are to remove Your Majesty at once, without further
delay."
This frank avowal created no small dismay in the little circle then assembled in His Majesty's outer 
apartment.
The King remained totally unmoved.
" Let the Commissioners be sent for," said he, with a dignified air, " and let these orders be 
communicated to them."
The cornet was fast recovering his former audacity. " I have taken measures with them already," said 
he; "they are in watch and ward even now, and must return, will they, nill
they,* to the Parliament."
" By whose authority? " demanded the King sternly, but with visible uneasiness.
The cornet shook his head, laughed rudely, and pointed with his forefinger to his own coarse person.
" I would ask you, sir, as a favour," said the King, "to set them at liberty; and I demand, as a 
right," he added, drawing himself up, and flushing with a sense of impotent anger
and outraged dignity, " to be permitted a sight of your instructions."

* Willing or unwilling-the origin of our phrase, willy nilly.

" That is easily done," answered Joyce, " if Your Majesty will take the trouble to step as far as this 
window."
And, opening the casement, he pointed into the courtyard below, where indeed was drawn up as goodly 
a 
squadron of cavalry as the whole Parliamentary army could boast - well
armed, well mounted, bold, and bronzed, with stalwart frames and stern, unflinching faces, possessed, 
moreover, of the self-confidence and disciplined valour inspired by a career
of hard-won victories. They were the same material, some of them the same men, that confronted 
Charles at Edgehill, routed him at Marston Moor, and finally vanquished him at Naseby. The finest 
cavalry in the world, and, bitterest thought of all, his own subjects. The King's 
heart was sore as he looked down into the court, but he had played the part of
royalty too long not to know how to disguise his feelings, and he turned to the cornet with a smile 
as he said, " Your instructions, sir, are in fair characters, and legible without
spelling. The language, though somewhat forcible, is sufficiently intelligible, and admits of no further 
argument. I am ready to attend your good pleasure, with this condition, that I
stir not unless accompanied by the Commissioners. You have had your audience, sir; you may 
withdraw. "
The cornet, somewhat to his own surprise, found himself making a respectful obeisance and retiring 
forthwith; but the King's coach was ordered to be got in readiness without
delay, and that very day Charles Stuart, accompanied, as he had stipulated, by the Commissioners 
commenced the journey which led him, stage by stage, to his final
resting-place - the fatal window at Whitehall - the scaffold and the block.

SCENES FROM "HOLMBY HOUSE.'' 
[By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE.]
IV. THE TRIAL OF THE KING.
[The King was seized by Joyce on the 4th June, 1647, but in November he escaped and fled to 
Carisbrooke Castle, in the Isle of Wight, where he again found himself a prisoner. (See note on the 
back of Card No. 18 of the series " Castles of Britain - Carisbrooke Castle.")
From his prison he intrigued with the Scots, the Parliament, and the army. England was torn in civil 
strife, and the Scots invaded the north, but were driven back by Cromwell. At last, after months of 
intrigue, plot, and counterplot, Charles was brought to trial before a Court of 150 Commissioners 
appointed by the remnant of the House of Commons, the army having forcibly expelled those members 
who were more or less favourable to the King. At the head of the Court was John Bradshaw. Of 
the 150 members, only 67 were present during the trial, which began on the 20th January, 1649, at 
Westminster Hall.]
The King's trial was about to commence, and already had the Commissioners taken their seats, with 
more than the usual pomp of form and ceremony. The stern and able Bradshaw, he whose
sense of duty has earned him an unenviable immortality under the title of " The Regicide," stood 
erect as President, supported by skilful lawyers.
All heads were turned, all eyes directed, towards the bar of the House, at which was set a velvet 
chair of state. This inanimate object seemed to excite universal interest. It was to receive the royal
prisoner, but it was still empty.
Anon the vague murmur that pervades all large assemblies increased audibly, and a certain stir was 
apparent at the far end of the hall; then succeeded the deep hush of intense expectation, and
many a heart heard nothing but its own thick beating.
A sedan-chair was carried slowly up the hall; many uncovered as it passed them; one or two voices 
were even heard to murmur a blessing. But that chair contained Charles Stuart, and his judges sat 
doggedly with their hats on, neither rising nor showing the slightest mark of respect to their unfortunate 
sovereign.

From an old print.]
THE TRIAL OF CHARLES I.
A. The King. B. President Bradshaw. C and D. Bradshaw's assistants. E and F. Clerks of the Court. G. 
Oliver Cromwell.

When the King reached the bar he alighted, and, without removing his hat, seated himself at once in 
the chair appointed for him; but, presently rising again, looked sternly about him,
at the President, at the Court, at the people in the galleries; his nerve was as unshaken as it had 
ever been in the presence of physical danger. He was at bay now, and he was every
inch a king.
But he was altered - sadly altered, too. Suffering and anxiety had ploughed furrows in the royal face; 
his well-knit figure was firm and upright as ever, nor were his locks, though slightly
tinged with grey, much thinner than of old; but his features were sharpened and his eyes hollowed, as 
if he had been suffering acute physical pain; while the doomed expression that
had always been the chief characteristic of his face had deepened to an intensity of melancholy that 
it was piteous to look upon.
When Bradshaw spoke, however, the King's features hardened into defiance once more. Silence was 
proclaimed, and a whisper might have been heard from one end to the other of
that vast hall. Then the clerk read over the order for the King's trial. When the ceremony was 
concluded, the list of Commissioners was called over by the same official, those present
answering to their names.
"John Bradshaw."
"Here," replied the President, in a loud, undaunted voice, looking sternly at the King, who returned 
his glance with a haughty and contemptuous frown.
" Thomas Fairfax."
There was no response. A stir filled the hall as men turned and stared, and whispered their 
neighbours with eager, anxious faces.
Again the clerk called in a loud voice, " Thomas Fairfax."
"He has more wit than to be here," was answered, in distinct, confident tones; but, though Bradshaw 
bent his brows in anger, and the Commissioners made hasty inquiries, and
gave stern orders to their officials to secure the offender, it was not easy, in the increasing 
confusion, to ascertain whence the bold reply had come.
It caused, however, a murmur and a disturbance which it took some minutes to quell. Signs of 
disapproval were swamped by a strong inclination to applaud; and it was evident
that a powerful feeling in favour of the royal prisoner existed even in the very Court in which he 
was to be tried.
The impeachment was then read over, accusing the monarch of "designs to erect to himself an illimited 
and tyrannical power, to overthrow the rights and liberties of the people;
of high treason in respect of the levying of war against the present Parliament, and the people 
therein represented " -  denoted by his appearance at York and Beverley with a
guard; by the setting-up of the standard at Nottingham; by the battle of Edgehill; and so on in order 
enumerating the different battles at which the King had been present. The
document then went on to say that he had caused the death of thousands of freeborn people; that after 
his forces had been defeated, and himself made prisoner, he had stirred
up insurrection in the country, and given a commission to the prince, his son, to raise a new war 
against the Parliament; and that, " as he was the author and contriver of these
unnatural, cruel, and bloody wars, so was he therein guilty of all the treasons, murders, rapines, 
burnings, spoils, desolation, damage, and mischief to the nation which had
been committed in the said wars, or been occasioned thereby; and that he was therefore impeached for 
the said treasons and crimes, as a tyrant, traitor, and murderer, and a public implacable enemy to the 
Commonwealth, on behalf of the good people of 
England."
The King had sat perfectly silent and composed during the reading of the above strangely worded 
impeachment, save that at the terms " tyrant " and " traitor," as applied to
himself, he had smiled contemptuously in the faces of the Court. He raised his head, however, as the 
clerk paused to take breath after reading the last paragraph, and seemed
about to make some objection or remark, but was arrested in the act, for the same female voice that 
had already interrupted the proceedings of the Court now rose once more,
distinct and forcible through the hush of the attentive audience.
" The good people of England! " it exclaimed, in clear, mocking tones. " No; nor one-hundredth part of 
them."
[The words came from Lady Fairfax. For some time there was great confusion.]
When order was once more restored, Mr. Cook, the Attorney-General, being about to speak, the King 
laid the long amber-headed cane which he usually carried upon his
shoulder, and bade him " Hold " ; but, the Lord President requiring him to proceed, His Majesty 
folded his arms, and, bending his brows fixedly upon him, listened attentively to
a
summary of the charges against him which was now repeated.
His Majesty then required to know by what authority  he was brought hither.
" I have," said Charles, " a Trust committed to me by God by old and lawful descent; I will not 
betray it to answer to a new unlawful authority; therefore, resolve me that, and you
shall hear more of me. "
" Sir," replied the President, " you are required
to answer these charges in the name of the people of England, of whom you are the elected King."
" I deny that," interrupted the indignant monarch. " England has been no elective kingdom, but an 
hereditary monarchy for near a thousand years. I dispute your authority. I do
stand more for the liberty of my people than any here that come to be my pretended judges."
Bradshaw, in an insolent tone, bade him interrogate the Court with becoming deference and humility.
His pride aroused, his royal dignity insulted, Charles lost his assumed calmness and that presence of 
mind for which he was not always too conspicuous. With intemperate
voice and gesture he inveighed against the injustice of the proceedings, calling on Divine 
Providence, in no measured language, to avenge him of his enemies and right him in the
face of the whole world. Whilst thus declaiming, the amber head of his staff fell off; and this 
little incident, ominous as it might have appeared to a superstitious mind, served to
change the current of his ideas and to moderate the violence of his bearing.
Mary Cave's loyal heart swelled with indignation as, sitting unobserved behind Lady Fairfax, she 
could not but remark how no obedient courtiers pressed to pick it up - how the
King, with a gesture of patient surprise, was fain to stoop for it himself, and, as though reminded by the 
very act of the friendlessness of his position and the necessity for resignation, rose once more with the 
calm brow and the air of quiet long-suffering that had become habitual to that careworn face.
Charles, after vainly protesting against the authority of his judges, had relapsed into the quiet,
dignified bearing of one who, while he feels the injustice to which he is subjected, resolves bravely 
and patiently to bear his fate. As he was conducted down the hall, loud
expressions of loyalty greeted him from many an unknown and unsuspected supporter even amongst 
those 
therein assembled, although a strong majority of his enemies strove
to drown these greetings by violent cries for
"justice."
When the King passed the sword of state, placed conspicuously in the sight of the whole assemblage, 
he manned himself with an air of dignity, and, facing the Court, pointed to
the emblem of death, while he exclaimed in a loud, firm tone, "I do not fear that."
It was no empty boast. How little Charles Stuart feared the extreme moment from which poor human 
nature instinctively recoils he proved nobly and resignedly on the scaffold.
[For five days the trial proceeded.]
The Commissioners were already assembled, and were waiting but for him who was indeed as their 
very 
right arm and the breath of their nostrils. Lieutenant-General Cromwell
stepped from his coach amidst the clang of arms and the deferential stare of the populace, the most 
powerful individual in England.
The future Lord Protector was by this time fully nerved for the stern measures he had undertaken to 
carry out. Small deliberation did they hold, those gloomy men. Their nerves
were strung, their minds made up. The DEATH WARRANT lay before them, the merciless document 
that 
pronounced " Charles Stuart, King of England, to stand convicted,
attainted, and condemned of high treason, and other high crimes"; that sentenced him "to be put to 
death by the severing of his head from his body, of which sentence execution yet remaineth to be done. 
These are therefore to will and require you* to 
see the said sentence executed in the open street before Whitehall upon the
morrow, being the thirtieth day of this instant month of January, between the hours of ten in the 
morning and five in the afternoon, with full effect. And for so doing this shall be
your warrant.
" And these are to require all officers and soldiers, and other the good people of this nation of 
England, to be assisting unto you in this service. Given under our hands and seals."
And then they signed their names in full, thus:
" JOHN BRADSHAW. " THOMAS GREY, LORD GROBY. " OLIVER CROMWELL."
(And fifty-six others.)
And the third signature was written in the steadiest hand amongst them all.

* The officers appointed to carry out the sentence. [THE END.]

THE BUILDING OF THE "ARGO."
I have a tale to tell of heroes who sailed away into a distant land to win themselves renown for 
ever, in the adventure of the Golden Fleece.
Whither they sailed, my children, I cannot clearly tell. It all happened long ago - so long that it has 
all grown dim, like a dream which you dreamt last year. And why they went I
cannot tell. Some say that it was to win gold. It may be so; but the noblest deeds which have been 
done on earth have not been done for gold.
The brave Spartans of old looked for no reward in money when they fought and died at Thermopylae* 
and 
Socrates the wise asked no pay from his countrymen, but lived poor and
barefoot all his days, caring only to make men good. And there are heroes in our days also, who do 
noble deeds, but not for gold. Our discoverers did not go to make themselves
rich when they sailed out one after another into the dreary frozen seas; nor did the ladies who went 
out to drudge in the hospitals of the East, making themselves poor, that they
might be rich in noble works. And young men, too, whom you know, children, and some of them of 
your 
own kin, did they say to themselves, " How much money shall I earn?"
when they went out to the war, leaving wealth, and comfort, and a pleasant home, and all that money 
can give, to face hunger and thirst, and wounds and death, that they might fight for their country and 
their Queen? No, children, there is a better thing on earth than wealth, 
a better thing than life itself; and that is to have done something before you die for which good men 
may honour you.

* Ther-mop'-i-le - a pass in Greece where three hundred Spartans opposed  an army of over two million 
Persian invaders.
 Florence Nightingale and others, who nursed the soldiers during the Crimean War.

Therefore we will believe - why should we not? - of these same Argonauts of old that they too were 
noble men, who planned and did a noble deed; and that therefore their fame has lived, and been told in 
story and in song, mixed up, no doubt, with dreams and fables, and yet true 
and right at heart. So we will honour these old Argonauts, and listen to their
story as it stands; and we will try to be like them, each of us in his place; for each of us has a 
Golden Fleece to seek, and a wild sea to sail over ere we reach it, and dragons to
fight ere it be ours.
And what was that first Golden Fleece? I do not know, nor care. The old Hellens* said that it hung in 
Colchis, which we call the Circassian coast, nailed to a beech-tree in the War-god's wood; and that it 
was the fleece of the wondrous ram which bore Phrixus and Helle across the 
Euxine§ Sea, which we now call the Black Sea.
When a famine came upon the land, their cruel stepmother wished to kill them, that her own children 
might reign, and said that they must be sacrificed on an altar to turn away
the anger of the gods. So the poor children were brought to the altar, and the priest stood ready with his 
knife, when out of the clouds came the Golden Ram and took them on his
back and vanished.
He carried the two children far away over land and sea, till he came to the narrow waters between 
Europe and Asia, and there Helle fell into the sea. So those narrow straits are
called " Hellespont," after her; and they bear that name until this day.
Then the ram flew on with Phrixus to the north-east across the sea which we call the Black Sea now; 
and at last, they say, he stopped at Colchis, on the steep Circassian coast.

* People of Greece.  Kol'-kis.  Hel-le. Yux'-in.

There Phrixus married the daughter
of the king, and offered the ram in sacrifice; and the ram's fleece was nailed to a beech in the grove of 
the War-god.
And after a while Phrixus died, and was buried; but his spirit had no rest, for he was buried far 
from his native land
and the pleasant hills of Hellas.* So he came in dreams to the heroes of the Hellens, and called 
sadly by their beds, "Come, and set my spirit free, that I may go home to my fathers and to my 
kinsfolk."
And they asked, "How shall we set your spirit free? "
" You must sail over the sea to Colchis and bring home the Golden Fleece; and then my spirit will 
come back with it,
and I shall sleep with my fathers and have rest."
He came thus and called to them often; but when they woke they looked at one another, and said, " 
Who dare sail to Colchis, or bring home the Golden Fleece?" And in all the country none was brave 
enough to try it, 
for the man and
the time were not come.
But in the mountains was growing up a boy, the son of Aeson, King of Iolcos, who had been driven 
from 
the throne by
his cruel stepbrother. The boy grew strong, and brave, and cunning, and he learnt to wrestle, and to 
box, and to hunt,
and to ride, and to play upon the harp. He learnt the virtues of all herbs, and how to cure all 
wounds; and he received
the name of Jason the Healer, and that is his name until this day.
And ten years came and went, and Jason was grown to be a mighty man. How he visited his father's 
kingdom and was trapped by his uncle into promising to set out in the quest for the Golden Fleece is 
too long a story to tell here.

* Greece. I-ol'-kos.

But set out he did, first sending
out heralds who cried to all the great heroes, " Who will dare come to the adventure of the Golden 
Fleece? "
 And the goddess Hera stirred the hearts of all
the princes, and they came from all their valleys
to the yellow sands of the shore. And first came
Heracles* the mighty, with his lion's skin and club,
and behind him his young squire, who bore his
arrows and his bow; and Tiphys, the skilful steersman; and Ancaios, who could read the stars, and 
knew all the circles of the heavens; and Argus, the
famed shipbuilder; and many a hero more, in helmets of brass and gold with tall dyed horse-hair crests, 
and embroidered shirts of linen beneath
their coats of mail, and greaves of polished tin to
guard their knees in fight; with each man his shield
upon his shoulder, of many a fold of tough bull's
hide, and his sword of tempered bronze in his silver-studded belt, and in his right hand a pair of lances 
of the heavy ash staves.
So they came down to Iolcos, and all in the city came out to meet them, and were never tired with 
looking at their
height and their beauty, and their gallant bearing, and the glitter of their inlaid arms. And some 
said, " Never was such
a gathering of the heroes since the Hellens conquered the land."
But the women sighed over them, and whispered,
"Alas! they are all going to their death."
Then they felled pines and shaped them with the axe, and Argus taught them to build a galley, the 
first long ship that
ever sailed the seas. They pierced her for fifty oars - an oar for each hero of the crew - and pitched her 
with coal-black pitch, and painted her bows with vermilion; and they named her " Argo " after Argus, 
and worked at her all day long.

* Hera-cles - the Greek name for Hercules. An-ki'-os.

At night the wicked uncle feasted 
them, and they slept in his palace-porch.
But Jason went away to the northward till he found Orpheus, the prince of minstrels, where he dwelt 
in his cave among the savage tribes. And he asked him, " Will you leave your
mountains, Orpheus, and sail with me to bring home the Golden Fleece, and charm for us all men and 
all monsters with your magic harp and song ? "
Then Orpheus sighed, " Have I not had enough of toil and of weary wandering far and wide? In vain is 
the skill and the voice which my goddess mother gave me; in vain have I sung
and laboured;. in vain I went down to the dead, and charmed all the kings of Hades, to win back my 
bride. For I won her, my beloved, and lost her again the same day, and
wandered away in my madness, even to Egypt and the Libyan sands, and the isles of all the seas. I 
charmed in vain the hearts of men, and the savage beasts, and the trees, and
the lifeless stones, with my magic harp and song, giving rest, but finding none. But at last 
Calliope,* my mother, brought me home in peace, and I dwell here alone in the cave
among the savage tribes, softening their wild hearts with music. And now I must go out again, to the 
ends of all the earth, far away into the misty darkness, to the last wave of the
Eastern Sea. But what is doomed must be, and a friend's demand obeyed; for prayers are the daughters 
of Zeus, the Father of the Gods, and who honours them honours him."
Then Orpheus rose up sighing, and took his harp. He led Jason to the south-west, to the side of the 
sacred lake, and the fountain which breathed out fire, in the darkness of the
ancient oak wood, beneath the mountain of the hundred springs.
And he led him to the holy oak, where a black dove 
settled in old times, and was changed into a priestess, and gave oracles to all
nations around. And he bade him cut down a bough, and make sacrifices; and they took the bough and 
came to Iolcos, and nailed it to the beak-head of the ship.

From the " Hawthorne Reader," William Collins, Sons, and Co.]
THE LAUNCHING OF THE "ARGO."

And at last the ship was finished, and they tried to launch her down the beach.; but she was too heavy 
for them to move her, and her keel sank deep 
into the sand. Then all the heroes looked at each other blushing; but Jason spoke, and said, " Let us 
ask the magic bough, perhaps it can help us in our need. "
Then a voice came from the bough, and Jason heard the words it said, and bade Orpheus play upon the 
harp, while the heroes waited round, holding the pine-trunk rollers, to
help her toward the sea.
Then Orpheus took his harp, and began his magic song, " How sweet it is to ride upon the surges, and 
to leap from wave to wave, while the wind sings cheerful in the cordage,
and the oars flash fast among the foam! How sweet it is to roam across the ocean, and see new towns 
and wondrous lands, and to come home laden with treasure, and to win
undying fame!"
And the good ship " Argo " heard him, and longed to be away and out at sea; then she stirred in 
every timber, and heaved from stem to stern, and leapt up from the sand upon
the rollers, and plunged onward like a gallant horse; and the heroes fed her path with pine-trunks till 
she rushed into the whispering sea.
Then they stored her well with food and water, and pulled the ladder up on board, and settled 
themselves each man to his oar, and kept time to Orpheus' harp; and away across
the bay they rowed southward, while the people lined the cliffs; and the women wept, while the men 
shouted, at the starting of that gallant crew.
-From " The Heroes," by Charles Kingsley.

OLIVER CROMWELL AND CHARLES I.
Not long after King James I took the place of Queen Elizabeth on the throne of England, there lived 
an English knight at a place called Hichinbrooke. His name was Sir Oliver
Cromwell. He spent his life, I suppose, pretty much like other English knights and squires in those 
days, hunting hares and foxes, and drinking large quantities of ale and wine. The
old house in which he dwelt had been occupied by his ancestors for a good many years, In it there was 
a great hall, hung round with helmets and coats of arms, cuirasses and
swords, which his forefathers had used in battle , and with horns of deer and tails of foxes which 
they or Sir Oliver himself had killed in the chase.
This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been called Oliver, after himself, but who was 
generally known in the family by the name of Little Noll. His father was a younger
brother of Sir Oliver. The child was often sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a 
troublesome little fellow to take care of. He was forever in mischief, and always running into
some danger or other, from which he seemed to escape only by a miracle.
Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange accident had befallen him. A huge ape, which was 
kept in the family, snatched up little Noll in its fore paws, and clambered with
him to the roof of the house. There this ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if 
it had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. Fortunately, however, it brought
the child safe down again; and the event was afterwards considered an omen that Noll would reach a 
very elevated station in the world. 
One morning, when Noll was five or six years old, a royal messenger arrived at Hichinbrooke with 
tidings that King James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver Cromwell. This was a
high honour, to be sure, but a very great trouble; for all the lords and ladies, knights, squires, 
guards, and yeomen who waited on the King were to be feasted as well as himself, and
more provisions would be eaten and more wine drunk in that one day than generally in a month. 
However, Sir Oliver expressed much thankfulness for the King's intended visit, and
ordered his butler and his cook to make the best preparations in their power. So a great fire was 
kindled in the kitchen, and the neighbours knew by the smoke which poured out of
the chimney that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and frying were going on merrily.
By-and-by the sound of trumpets was heard approaching nearer and nearer, and a heavy, old-fashioned 
coach, surrounded by guards on horseback, drove up to the house. Sir Oliver,
with his hat in his hand, stood at the gate to receive the King. His Majesty was dressed in a suit of 
green, not very new; he had a feather in his hat and a triple ruff round his neck, and
over his shoulder was slung a hunting-horn instead of a sword. Altogether he had not the most 
dignified aspect in the world, but the spectators gazed at him as if there was something
superhuman and divine in his person. They even shaded their eyes with their hands, as if they were 
dazzled by the glory of his countenance.
" How are ye, man? " cried King James, speaking with a Scotch accent, for Scotland was his native 
country. " By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am glad to see ye."
The good knight thanked the King, at the same
time kneeling down while His Majesty alighted. When King James stood on the ground he directed Sir 
Oliver's attention to a little boy who had come with him in the coach. He was six or seven years old, 
and wore a hat and feather, and was more richly dressed than the King himself. Though by no means an 
ill-looking child, he seemed shy, or even sulky, and his cheeks were rather pale, as if he had been kept 
moping within doors, instead of being sent out to play in the sun and wind.
" I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said the King. " I hope, Sir Oliver, ye have a son of 
your own to be his playmate."
Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, whom one of the attendants had now 
taken out of the coach. It was wonderful to see how all the spectators, even the
aged men with their grey beards, humbled themselves before this child. They bent their bodies till 
their beards almost swept the dust. They looked as if they were ready to kneel down
and worship him.
The poor little prince! From his earliest infancy not a soul had dared to contradict him; everybody 
around him had acted as if he were a superior being; so that, of course, he had
imbibed the same opinion of himself. He naturally supposed that the whole kingdom of Great Britain 
and all its inhabitants had been created solely for his benefit and amusement.
This was a sad mistake; and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his father's throne.
" What a noble little prince he is! " exclaimed Sir Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration. "No, please 
Your Majesty, I have no son to be the playmate of His Royal Highness, but there
is a nephew of mine somewhere about the house. He is near the prince's age, and will be but too happy 
to wait upon His Royal Highness."
" Send for him, man; send for him," said the King.
But, as it happened, there was no need of sending for Master Noll. While King James was speaking, a 
rugged, bold-faced, 
sturdy little urchin thrust himself through
the throng of courtiers and attendants, and greeted the prince with a broad stare. His doublet and hose 
(which had been put 
on new and clean in honour of the King's
visit) were already soiled and torn with the rough play in which he had spent the morning. He looked 
no more abashed than if 
King James were his uncle and the prince
one of his customary playfellows.
This was little Noll himself.
" Here, please Your Majesty, is my nephew," said Sir Oliver, somewhat ashamed of Noll's appearance 
and demeanour. " Oliver, 
make your obeisance to the King's
majesty."
The boy made a pretty respectful bow to the King, for in those days children were taught to pay 
reverence to their elders. 
King James, who prided himself greatly on
his scholarship, asked Noll a few questions in the Latin grammar, and then introduced him to his son. 
The little prince, in a 
very grave and dignified manner, extended
his hand, not for Noll to shake, but that he might kneel down and kiss it.
" Nephew," said Sir Oliver, " pay your duty to the prince."
"I owe him no duty," cried Noll, thrusting aside the prince's hand with a rude laugh. "Why should I kiss 
that boy's hand? "
All the courtiers were amazed and confounded, and Sir Oliver the most of all. But the King laughed 
heartily, saying that 
little Noll had a stubborn English spirit, and
that it was well for his son to learn betimes what sort of a people he was to rule over.
So King James and his train entered the house, and the prince, with Noll and some other children, was 
sent to play in a 
separate room while His
Majesty was at dinner. The young people soon became acquainted; for boys, whether the sons of 
monarchs or of peasants, all 
like play, and are pleased with one
another's society. What games they diverted themselves with I cannot tell. Perhaps they played at ball, 
perhaps at blindman's
buff, perhaps at leap-frog, perhaps at prison-bars. Such games have been in use for hundreds of years, 
and princes as well as 
poor children have
spent some of their happiest hours in playing them. Meanwhile King James and his nobles were 
feasting with Sir Oliver in the 
great hall. The King sat in a gilded chair,
under a canopy, at the head of a long table. Whenever any of the company addressed him it was with 
the deepest reverence. If the attendants offered him wine or the various delicacies of the festival, it was 
upon their bended knees. You would 
have thought by these tokens of worship
that the monarch was a supernatural being; only he seemed to have quite as much need of those vulgar 
matters, food and drink, 
as any other person at the table. But
fate had ordained that good King James should not finish his dinner in peace.
All of a sudden there arose a terrible uproar in the room where the children were at play. Angry shouts 
and shrill cries of 
alarm were mixed up
together; while the voices of elder persons were likewise heard, trying to restore order among the 
children. The King and 
everybody else at the table looked aghast, for
perhaps the tumult made them
think that a general rebellion had broken out.
" Mercy on us!" muttered Sir Oliver; "that graceless nephew of mine is in some mischief or other. The 
naughty little whelp! " 
Getting up from the table, he ran to see what was the matter, followed by many of the guests, and the 
King among them. They all crowded to the door of the play-room.
On looking in they beheld the little Prince Charles with his rich dress all torn, and covered with 
the dust of the floor. His royal blood was streaming from his nose in great
abundance. He gazed at Noll with a mixture of rage and affright, and at the same time a puzzled 
expression, as if he could not understand how any mortal boy should dare to give
him a beating. As for Noll, there stood his sturdy little figure, bold as a lion, looking as if he 
were ready to fight not only the prince, but the King and kingdom too.
"   You little villain," cried his uncle; " what have you been about? Down on your knees this 
instant, and ask the prince's pardon. How dare you lay your hands on the King's
majesty's royal son!"
" He struck me first," grumbled the valiant little Noll; " and I've only given him his due."
Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in astonishment and horror. No punishment seemed 
severe enough for this wicked little varlet, who had dared to resent a blow from the
King's own son. Some of the courtiers were of opinion that Noll should be sent prisoner to the Tower 
of London and brought to trial for high treason. Others, in their great zeal for the
King's service, were about to lay hands on the boy and chastise him in the royal presence.
But King James, who sometimes showed a good deal of sagacity, ordered them to desist.
" Thou art a bold boy," said he, looking fixedly at little Noll; " and, if thou live to be a man, my 
son Charlie would do wisely to be friends with thee. "
"I never will," cried the little prince, stamping his foot.
" Peace, Charlie, peace! " said the King. Then, addressing Sir Oliver and the attendants, " Harm 
not the urchin, for he has taught my son a good lesson, if Heaven do but give him
grace to profit by it. Hereafter, should he be tempted to tyrannize over the stubborn race of 
Englishmen, let him remember little Noll Cromwell and his own bloody nose."
So the King finished his dinner and departed; and for many a long year the childish quarrel between 
Prince Charles and Noll Cromwell was forgotten. The prince, indeed, might have
lived a happier life, and have met a more peaceful death, had he remembered that quarrel, and the 
moral which his father drew from it. But when old King James was dead, and
Charles sat upon his throne, he seemed to forget that he was but a man, and that his meanest subjects 
were men as well as he. He wished to have the property and lives of the
people of England entirely at his own disposal. But the Puritans, and all who loved liberty, rose 
against him, and beat him in many battles, and pulled him down from his throne.
Throughout this war between the King and the nobles on one side and the people of England on the 
other there was a famous leader, who did more towards the ruin of royal
authority than all the rest. The contest seemed like a wrestling match between King Charles and this 
strong man. And the King was overthrown.
When the discrowned monarch was brought to trial that warlike leader sat in the judgment-hall. Many 
judges were present besides himself; but he alone had the power to save
King Charles or to doom him to the scaffold. After sentence was pronounced this victorious general 
was entreated by his own children, on their knees, to rescue His Majesty from death.
" No," said he, sternly. " Better that one man should perish than that the whole country should be 
ruined for his sake.
It is resolved that he shall die."
When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the scaffold, his great enemy stood at the window of the 
royal palace of Whitehall.

CHARLES I GOING TO EXECUTION.

He beheld the poor victim of pride, and an evil education, and misused 
power, as he laid
his head upon the block. He looked on with a steadfast gaze while a black-veiled executioner lifted 
the fatal axe and
smote off that anointed head at a single blow.
" It is a righteous deed," perhaps he said to himself. " Now Englishmen may enjoy their rights."
At night, when the body of Charles was laid in the coffin, in a gloomy chamber, the general entered, 
lighting himself
with a torch. Its gleam showed that he was now growing old; his visage was scarred with the many 
battles in which
he had led the van; his brow was wrinkled with care and with the continual exercise of stern 
authority. Probably there
was not a single trait, either of
aspect or manner, that belonged to the little Noll who had battled so stoutly with Prince Charles. 
Yet this was he.
He lifted the coffin-lid, and caused the light of his torch to fall upon the dead monarch's face. 
Then, probably, his mind
went back over all the marvellous events that had brought the hereditary
King of England to this dishonoured coffin, and had raised himself, a humble individual, to the 
possession of kingly
power. He was a king, though without the empty title or the glittering crown.
" Why was it," said Cromwell to himself, or might have said, as he gazed at the pale features in the 
coffin - "why was
it that this great King fell, and that poor Noll Cromwell has gained all the power of the realm? "
And, indeed, why was it?
King Charles had fallen because, in his manhood the same as when a child, he disdained to feel that 
every human creature was his brother. He deemed himself a superior being, and fancied that his 
subjects were created only for a king to rule over. And Cromwell rose because, in spite of his many 
faults, he mainly fought for the rights and freedom of his fellow-men; and therefore the poor and the 
oppressed all lent their strength to him.
-NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.



