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Rh pages wherein human intellect ever shed its halo over human action. Evelyn dwelt upon the noble page with that feverish enthusiasm, that fiery element, whence all that is great originates; but which so often consumes where it kindles, or, thwarted by small and unworthy circumstances, exhausts itself in the vain endeavour.

He continued to pace the terrace, till a page brought him a summons from Henry Cromwell, whom he found in a small closet, busied in writing despatches.

"I want your aid," he exclaimed, in an animated tone. "All has gone right. The terror of my father's name is still about us; there was not even a murmur of dissent when I announced Richard Lord Protector of England; and yet, do you know, the name of Charles Stuart almost rose to my lips!"

"There was a time," said Evelyn, "when I felt a deep sympathy for the exiled prince—I pitied him as one deprived of his just heritage; but a crown cannot, and ought not to be transmitted like an estate. The prodigal heir can only waste his own substance, and the punishment falls, as it should, upon himself; but the prince has an awful responsibility,—the welfare of others is required at his hands; his faults and his follies take