ith
vigour, and retaliated keenly on his assailants. At Edinburgh perhaps
the public opinion might have been against him. But in London the
controversy seems only to have raised his character. He was regarded
as an Anglican divine of eminent merit, who, after having heroically
defended his religion against an army of Popish Rapparees, was rabbled
by a mob of Scotch Covenanters, [530]

He presented to the Commons a petition setting forth the destitute
condition to which the widows and orphans of some brave men who had
fallen during the siege were now reduced. The Commons instantly passed
a vote of thanks to him, and resolved to present to the King an address
requesting that ten thousand pounds might be distributed among the
families whose sufferings had been so touchingly described. The next day
it was rumoured about the benches that Walker was in the lobby. He was
called in. The Speaker, with great dignity and grace, informed him that
the House had made haste to comply with his request, commended him
in high terms for having taken on himself to govern and defend a city
betrayed by its proper governors and defenders, and charged him to tell
those who had fought under him that their fidelity and valour would
always be held in grateful remembrance by the Commons of England, [531]

About the same time the course of parliamentary business was diversified
by another curious and interesting episode, which, like the former,
sprang out of the events of the Irish war. In the preceding spring,
when every messenger from Ireland brought evil tidings, and when the
authority of James was acknowledged in every part of that kingdom,
except behind the ramparts of Londonderry and on the banks of Lough
Erne, it was natural that Englishmen should remember with how terrible
an energy the great Puritan warriors of the preceding generation had
crushed the insurrection of the Celtic race. The names of Cromwell, of
Ireton, and of the other chiefs of the conquering army, were in many
mouths. One of those chiefs, Edmund Ludlow, was still living. At
twenty-two he had served as a volunteer in the parliamentary army; at
thirty he had risen to the rank of Lieutenant General. He was now old;
but the vigour of his mind was unimpaired. His courage was of the
truest temper; his understanding strong, but narrow. What he saw he
saw clearly: but he saw not much at a glance. In an age of perfidy and
levity, he had, amidst manifold temptations and dangers, ad