to his very last."

When the morrow's sun rose, Oliver was speechless; between three and
four in the afternoon, he lay dead. Friday 3rd September 1658. "The
consternation and astonishment of all people," writes Fauconberg, "are
inexpressible; their hearts seem as if sunk within them. My poor
Wife,--I know not what on earth to do with her. When seemingly quieted,
she bursts out again into a passion that tears her very heart in
pieces."--Husht, poor weeping Mary! Here is a Life-battle right nobly
done. Seest thou not,

"The storm is changed into a calm,
At His command and will;
So that the waves which raged before
Now quiet are and still!

"Then are _they_ glad,--because at rest
And quiet now they be:
So to the haven He them brings
Which they desired to see."

"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord;" blessed are the valiant
that have lived in the Lord. "Amen, saith the Spirit,"--Amen. "They do
rest from their labors, and their works follow them."

"Their works follow them." As, I think, this Oliver Cromwell's works
have done and are still doing! We have had our "Revolutions of
Eighty-eight," officially called "glorious"; and other Revolutions not
yet called glorious; and somewhat has been gained for poor Mankind.
Men's ears are not now slit-off by rash Officiality; Officiality will,
for long henceforth, be more cautious about men's ears. The tyrannous
Star-chambers, branding-irons, chimerical Kings and Surplices at
All-hallowtide, they are gone, or with immense velocity going. Oliver's
works do follow him!--The works of a man, bury them under what
guano-mountains and obscene owl-droppings you will, do not perish,
cannot perish. What of Heroism, what of Eternal Light was in a Man and
his Life, is with very great exactness added to the Eternities; remains
forever a new divine portion of the Sum of Things; and no owl's voice,
this way or that, in the least avails in the matter.--But we have to
end here.

Oliver is gone; and with him England's Puritanism, laboriously built
together by this man, and made a thing far-shining, miraculous to its
own Century, and memorable to all the Centuries, soon goes. Puritanism,
without its King, is _kingless_, anarchic; falls into dislocation,
self-collision; staggers, plunges into ever deeper anarchy; King,
Defender of the Puritan Faith there can now none be found;--and nothing
is left but to recall the old disowned Defender with the remnants o