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swering guilty or not guilty." But," said Marten, "if I plead, I lose the benefit of that act." "You are totally excepted out of the act," replied the court. "If it were so," rejoined Marten, "I would plead. My name is not in the act." The court informed him that his name was in the act, upon which the Solicitor General observed, that " he must have been kept close prisoner indeed, if he had not seen the Act of Indemnity," and directed that it might be shewn him. This being done, he said his name was not Henry Martin, but Harry Marten, and stood upon the quibble about the spelling of his name for some time, contending that "all penal statutes ought to be understood literally." The court, however, over-ruled the objection, the Solicitor General citing a case, where the name of the party was Bagster, but had been written Baxter, and "it was adjudged all one, being of the same sound;" after which, Marten pleaded not guilty in the usual form,

Similar efforts were made, by others of the prisoners, to impugn the mode of pleading, and several pleaded in this manner: " to the matter of fact this is my plea, in manner and form that I stand indicted, I am not guilty." Carew, like Harrison, a fifth monarchy man, when asked whether he was guilty or not guilty, said, "Saving to our Lord Jesus Christ his right to the government of these kingdoms, I say I am not guilty." To the next question, "how will you be tried?" he answered "How would you have me?" "Will you be tried by God and the country?" 66 Ay, if you will." "You must say the words," which he then did. Thomas Scot, a fierce republican, and unrelenting regicide, who declared in the House of Commons after the King's execution, that "when he died, he desired no other epitaph on his tombstone than here lies Thomas Scot, who adjudged to death the late King,' prefaced his plea thus-" Truly, I cannot call it treason, and therefore I plead not guilty."

The first that was put upon his trial was Harrison. Burnet, describing Harrison, says "he was a fierce and bloody enthusiast; and it was believed, that while the army was in doubt whether it was fitter to kill the King privately, or bring him to an open trial, that he offered, if a private way was settled on, to be the man that should do it. So he was begun with. He went through all the indignities and severities of his execution, in which the letter of the law in cases of treason was punctually observed, with a calmness, or rather a cheerfulness, that astonished the spectators. He spoke very positively that what they had done was the cause and work of God (!) which he was confident God would own and raise up again, how much soever it suffered at that time. Upon this, a report was spread and generally believed, that he said he himself should rise again; though the party denied that and reported the words as I have set them down."* Lud

fore, let us not deceive those who brought, or permitted us to come together, and earnestly desire you to depart from all particular animosities and revenge, or memory of past provocations, and pass this act without other exceptions than of those who were immediately guilty of the murder of my father." After several conferences between the two Houses, the act was agreed to, nearly as framed by the Commons, and received the royal assent on the 29th of August.

* In Cowley's comedy," Cutter of Coleman Street," (an admirable satire upon the fanatics of that day) there is the following allusion to this expected return of Harrison. "Cutter. I say again I am to return, (after death) and to return upon a purple dromedary, which signifies magistracy, with an axe in my hand that is called reformation, and I am to strike with that axe upon the gate of Westminster Hall, and cry down Babylon, and the building called Westminster Hall, is to run away, and cast itself into the river, and then Major General Harrison is to come, in green sleeves, from the north, upon a sky colored mule,which signifies heavenly instruction; and he is to have a trumpet in his mouth as big as a steeple, and at the sounding of that trumpet all the churches in London are to fall down."-This passage was censured as profane; but, says Cowley, in his preface to the comedy,

low says, in his "Memoirs," that "the executioner, in an ugly dress, with a halter in his hand, was placed near the Major General, and continued there, during the whole time of his trial." Ludlow may have heard this, and his desire to make the restored government odious, would lead him willingly to believe it but nowhere is such a circumstance stated, except by himself, and there is no reason to suppose that it was true.



Harrison, like the majority of his associates, and as is commonly the case in all revolutions, was a man of low extraction. His father was a butcher, at Newcastle-Under-Line, in Staffordshire, (Granger, following Clarendon, says, at Nantwich, in Cheshire,") where he carried on a very humble busiThe son was educated at a grammar school, and when he left it, was placed with an attorney of the name of Hulk, in Clifford's Inn, London. It is supposed, he practised as a needy, sharking attorney for some years, after he had served his time. Upon the breaking out of the civil war, however, he relinquished unprofitable law for profitable treason, engaged on the side of the Parliament, and by fighting and preaching, for he was a furious zealot, and affected extraordinary sanctity, rose from one post to another, till he became a Major General. He was not deficient in courage, and distinguished himself, on several occasions, under Sir Thomas Fairfax. "Cromwell," says Clarendon," who possibly had knowledge of him before, found him of a spirit and disposition fit for his service, much given to prayer and to preaching, and, otherwise, of an understanding capable to be trusted in any business. There were few men with whom Cromwell more communicated, or, upon whom he more depended for the conduct of anything committed to him." To Harrison was entrusted the important charge of conveying the King to London, from Hurst Castle, preparatory to his trial and execution; some curious particulars of which will be found in the subsequent account of his own trial and execution.

When Cromwell turned the Rump Parliament out of doors, ordering one of his musqueteers to "take away that fool's bauble, the mace," Harrison undertook to pull the Speaker out of his chair, who hesitated to obey Cromwell's command to quit it. It was a few days before this violent dissolution of the Rump Parliament, that one Major Streater told Harrison he suspected "Cromwell designed to set up for himself." "No," replied Harrison," the General's aim is only to make way for the kingdom of Jesus." "Then," answered Streater, "unless Jesus comes very suddenly, he will come too late." Such was the mixture of fanaticism and impiety, which prevailed among the men who, at that time, had supreme sway.*

(a masterly piece of writing) "Is it profane to speak of Harrison's return to life again, when some of his friends really professed their belief of it, and he himself had been said to promise it?" A noble passage follows, which I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing. "I call God to witness, that rather than one tittle should remain among all my writings, which, according to my severest judgment, should be found guilty of the crime objected, I would myself burn and extinguish them altogether. Nothing is so detestably lewd and wretchless as the derision of things sacred, and would be in me more unpardonable than any man else, who have endeavoured to root out the ordinary weeds of poetry, and to plant it almost wholly with divinity."

* Perhaps the most curious, certainly the most brief, account of this extraordinary procedure, is that which the good people of England read the next day, in the "Mercurius Politicus," the authorised gazette of the ruling persons. It

ran thus:

"Westminster, April 20. The Lord General delivered in Parliament divers reasons wherefore a present period should be put to the sitting of this Parliament: and it was accordingly done: the Speaker and the Members all departing. The grounds of which proceedings will (it's probable) be shortly made public.'



I have been twenty years waiting for an opportunity of having nothing to do, in order that I might do something which has never yet been done, namely, sort, select, classify, docket, and put into order three huge chests of letters and papers. There they stand, in one corner of my library; and every time I have cast in some new comer, making "confusion worse confounded," I have "sighed and looked, sighed and looked, and sighed again,” to think that there they were likely to stand. C'est le première pas qui coute. -the first step was all the difficulty-but I was never able to take this first step. At length, however, I have realised my long wished-for possession of a sinecure. I am laid up with a virgin fit of the gout, my feet are crippled, and I have nothing to do, because I can do nothing. I was about to add, I have nothing to think of, but that is not the case; for, every five minutes, a smart twinge in my right foot makes me expostulate with it in language which has been addressed to two of the higher branches of its family, (" let not the left hand know what the right hand doth,") by way of salutary hint.

If I had any sufficient reason for supposing that this attack would last till winter, I would at once make up my mind to write my " My Life and Times," in two quarto volumes. Were there even a probability of its return at stated periods, I should, perhaps, be inclined to reserve my past life for its future entertainment. But I am positively assured by my physician, (who ought to know something of my constitution, considering he has built it up, as he calls it, at least half a dozen times during the last ten years,) that I am "not a subject to be subject to the gout;" and that" when this attack leaves me, it will be for good and all." For good it must be; and that is all I care about. Being in this predicament, however, I have determined to set about emptying the aforesaid three chests, which are now standing open before me, and whose appearance is truly awful. I cannot, indeed, boast of quite so voluminous a correspondence as the late Dr. Parr, who once assured a friend, he had been sorting the letters of a single family, and that they amounted to eight thousand! To be sure, they comprised the epistolary scribbling of three generations, Dr. Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, and Tom. But I have had my share; besides which, I have always been both a collector and a preserver; and among the huge mass of blotted paper, thus accumulated, there are certainly some literary curiosities.

And what shall I do with those I consider as curiosities? was a question which naturally suggested itself. Leave them where they are? That would be selfish. Bequeath them to the British Museum? That would be deferring a benefit till it was no benefit to myself. Write my own life, and smuggle them all into it? But there is no chance, it seems, of the gout making me weary of life long enough, to enable me to make the world weary of my life. Lastly, shall I throw them into the fire? Alas! as a good punster might say, and as I say, meo periculo, that would be a burning shame, because many of them are calculated to throw a light, without that, upon various matters, persons, and things. It was in the midst of these cogitations that a "still small voice," (as certain small poets call their own. thoughts, by moonlight, or in a grove) whispered to me, "Send them to Blackwood for his Maga. If they are what you describe, that is the only place for them; and if they find a place there, you may be satisfied they are what you describe." I could have no possible objection to urge to this ad


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vice from my still small voice;" so I made my first dip into the chest, and drew up a small packet of letters, from no less a personage than his Grace the Duke of Wellington. But, before I transcribe them, a little prefatory explanation will be necessary.

The battle of Waterloo put all the pens in Europe in motion, and mine among the rest. The reader need not settle himself in his chair, in an attitude of patient martyrdom. I am not going to say a single word about myself, beyond what is absolutely required to qualify him for understanding the deeply-interesting letters of his Grace. And, first of all, let me set myself right with those, if any such there be, who may question the right I have to make such a correspondence public. My own feeling upon the subject is, that I have exercised a very dubious right in withholding documents like these so long. The battle of Waterloo already belongs to history, as does every fact or circumstance connected with the Duke of Wellington's military achievements. The information communicated by his Grace, was given for public use, inasmuch as it was avowedly sought for that purpose; and the frank, unostentatious style of the illustrious writer, can only redound to his honour. Lastly, a curious, though not, perhaps, a very important occurrence, is established by one of the letters, which may well make us look upon what is called authentic history as mere fable.

I have said that my pen was one of the many hundreds, from Sir Walter Scott's and Southey's, down to the anonymous "Eye-witnesses " and " Near Observers" of pamphlets, magazines, and newspapers, which the day of Waterloo set in motion; and, having said that, the reader must make his own choice as to which of the "grey goose quills" I flourished on the occasion. Being desirous, however, to get at the fountain head of truth, I adopted a course every way suited to a man of my genius and enterprising character. Disdaining to wriggle myself into his Grace's august presence, by setting to work the friend of a friend of some aide-de-camp, who was intimate with another aide-de-camp, who had the confidence of a major-general, who was brother-in-law to the military secretary of his Grace; and, having no shorter channel at my command, I e'en sat down, wrote a plain letter to the Duke himself, and sent it, with a portion of my intended work, addressed to his Grace, at the head-quarters of the British army in France, trusting to the chapter of accidents for its safe arrival and favorable reception. It did arrive safely; and its reception is told in the following letter, which I received about three weeks afterwards :

“Cambray, May 2d, 1816.

"SIR-Upon my return here, on the 29th April, I received your letter of the 13th April, and the first part of the work which you propose to dedicate to me; and I beg leave to make you my best acknowledgments for this intention.

"I have long, however, felt myself under the necessity of declining to give my consent that any work should be dedicated to me, with the contents of which I am not previously acquainted; and you will readily believe, that I feel this necessity in a stronger degree in regard to a History of the Battle of Waterloo, than I should do upon any other subject.

"More accounts have been published of that transaction, than of any other that for many years has attracted the public attention; and those who have written them have thought they possessed all the necessary information for the purpose, when they have conversed with a peasant of the country, or with an officer or soldier engaged in the battle. Such accounts cannot be true; and I advert to them, as only to warn you against considering them as any guide in the work which you are about to publish.

"I have the honour to be Sir, your obedient humble servant,



In acknowledging the receipt of this letter, it was impossible for me, while expressing the sense I entertained of his Grace's kindnesss, in thus guarding me against erroneous accounts, to abstain from seeking a clew to certain and authentic ones. I accordingly did so, with as much earnestness and delicacy as my anxiety to obtain the information, and my consciousness of the slender pretensions I had to urge the request, alike dictated. My letter was dated the 21st of May, 1816, and on the 8th of June his Grace hohoured me with a reply. Before, however, I transcribe it, let me prepare the reader for the most interesting passage, by making two short extracts from two of the official accounts of this memorable conflict. The first is from Marshal Blucher's "Official Report of the Operations of the Prussian Army of the Lower Rhine," drawn up and signed by his Quarter-Master General Gneisenau. It runs thus:

"In the middle of the position occupied by the French army, and exactly upon the heights, is a farm called La Belle Alliance. The march of all the Prussian columns was directed towards this farm, which was visible from every side. It was there that Napoleon was during the battle-it was thence that he gave his orders, that he flattered himself with the hopes of victoryand it was there that his ruin was decided. There, too, it was, that, by a happy chance, Field-Marshal Blucher and Lord Wellington met in the dark, and mutually saluted each other as victors. In commemoration of the alliance which now subsists between the English and Prussian nations, of the union of the two armies, and their reciprocal confidence, the Field-Marshal desired that this battle should bear the name of La Belle Alliance."

The Austrian official account of the battle says—“ Field-Marshal Blucher, who was the nearest to Genappe, undertook the pursuit of the enemy, as the two commanders met at La Belle Alliance about nine in the evening." I shall now transcribe the Duke of Wellington's letter to myself:

Paris, June 8, 1816.

"SIR-I have received your letter of the 21st May. I have already explained to you my reasons for declining to give a formal permission that any work, with the contents of which I should not be acquainted, should be dedicated to me, with which you appear to be satisfied; and I applied those reasons particularly to a work on the battle of Waterloo, because that, notwithstanding so much had been published on that event by so many people, there was but little truth.

"You now desire that I should point out to you where you could receive information on this event, on the truth of which you could rely. In answer to this desire, I can refer you only to my own despatches published in the London Gazette. General Alava's report is the nearest to the truth of the other official reports published; but even that report contains some statements not exactly correct. The others, that I have seen, cannot be relied upon. To some of them may be attributed the source of the falsehoods since circulated through the medium of the unofficial publications with which the press has abounded. Of these, a remarkable instance is to be found in the report of a meeting between Marshal Blucher and me, at La Belle Alliance; and some have gone so far as to have seen the chair on which I sat down in that farm-house. It happens that the meeting took place after ten at night, at the village of Genappe; and any body who attempts to describe, with truth, the operations of the different armies, will see that it could not be otherwise. The other part is not so material; but, in truth, I was not off my horse till I returned to Waterloo between eleven and twelve at night. I have the honor to be, your most obedient humble servant,

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