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Page 89
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 dishonored coffin, and had raised himself, an 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.
* * * * *
"Dear father, how I should hate to be a king!" exclaimed Edward.
"And would you like to be a Cromwell?" inquired his father.
"I should like it well," replied George, "only I would not have put the
poor old king to death. I would have sent him out of the kingdom, or
perhaps have allowed him to live in a small house, near the gate of the
royal palace. It was too severe, to cut off his head."
"Kings are in such an unfortunate position," said Mr. Temple, "that they
must either be almost deified by their subjects, or else be dethroned
and beheaded. In either case it is a pitiable lot."
"Oh, I had rather be blind than be a king!" said Edward.
"Well, my dear Edward," observed his mother, with a smile, "I am glad
you are convinced that your own lot is not the hardest in the world."
CHAPTER VII.
It was a pleasant sight (for those who had eyes) to see how patiently
the blinded little boy now submitted to what he had at first deemed an
intolerable calamity. The beneficent Creator has not allowed our comfort
to depend on the enjoyment of any single sense. Though he has made the
world so very beautiful, yet it is possible to be happy without ever
beholding the blue sky, or the green and flowery earth, or the kind
faces of those whom we love. Thus it appears that all the external
beauty of the universe is a free gift from God, over and above what is
necessary to our comfort. How grateful, then, should we be to that
Divine Benevolence, which showers even superfluous bounties upon us!
One truth, therefore, which Edward's blindness had taught him, was, that
his mind and soul could dispense with the assistance of his eyes.
Doubtless, however, he would have found this lesson far more difficult
to learn, had it not been for the affection of those around him. His
parents, and George and Emily, aided him to bear his misfortune; if
possible, they would have lent him their own eyes. And this, too, was a
good lesson for him. It taught him how dependent on one another God has
ordained us to be; insomuch that all the necessities of mankind should
incite them to mutual love.
So Edward loved his friends, and perhaps all the world, better than he
ever did before. And he felt grateful towards his father for spending
the evenings in telling him stories--more grateful, probably, than any
of my little readers will feel towards me for so carefully writing those
same stories down.
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