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ILLUSTATIONS.

Rebecca in Prison

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A TALE OF THE COMMONWEALTH.

When nations are involved in the calamities attendant on civil wars, the energies of the human mind are generally displayed to an advantage, which, in seasons of peace, or even in times of common hostilities, are totally unknown. Exertion and heroic enterprize keep place with the occasions which call the spirits of the brave into exercise; and the lapse of ages, instead of diminishing the interest which they excite, augments their importance, by adding veneration to their lustre.

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But it is melancholy to reflect, that, while some few memorials of this description are preserved, many a daring exploit, never reaching the ear of the historian, disappears with the moment gave it birth. "One Cæsar lives, a thousand are forgot." The following affecting incident, which chance has rescued from the wreck of time, is an exemplification of this theory. G. 28.

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At that awful period when this nation was convulsed with civil discord, and Cromwell and his partisans were contending against the scattered forces of the king, William Mortimer, a young and zealous royalist, used every exertion to forward the success of his lawful monarch. He left his family, then living in retirement near Chepstow, to join the standard of Charles, who was marching with an army from Scotland into the southern part of the country, expecting to be reinforced by his friends, and all those who were discontented with the wild enthusiasm of Cromwell and his followers. These expectations were, in a great measure, disappointed.

The royalists, in general, were not aware of their king's approach, and the Scotch, on whose assistance he had confidently relied, were deterred from uniting with them unless they previously subscribed to the covenant. In this posture of affairs, Charles encamped at Worcester, and was compelled to hazard that fatal battle, the result of which is so well known. Mortimer was one of the few who, escaping from the field, accompanied the king in his flight; and although history is silent upon the subject, it has been handed down by tradition, that Charles, dismissing all his faithful attendants, for fear of hazarding a discovery, and accompanied only by William Mortimer, who was well acquainted with the localities of the country, resolved if possible, to escape to Wales. The attempt, however, was frustrated by means of the various passes of the Severn being so well guarded by soldiers, who were every-where eager for his apprehension, not so much in obedience to the commands of their generals, as on account of the immense reward that was offered for his person.

Not dismayed at this unexpected failure, they travelled by night (hiding themselves in marshes and among the river reeds in the day time), and, with much peril and exertion, contrived to reach Monmouth. Here they soon perceived that it was impossible for them to remain long without being discovered; and Mortimer, having arranged his plans accordingly, seized a little boat on the banks of the Wye, and, covering the king with bark of trees, suffered the vessel, during the night, to be carried down the current till it reached the romantic rocks above mentioned. Here they landed, and, letting the boat drift with the stream, to elude pursuit, secreted themselves in the natural recesses of the cliffs. Mortimer had sufficient

confidence in the faith of a young lady, to whom he was betrothed, to confide to her the secret of the king; and as he was afraid to make his appearance near a place where he was so well known, this loyal and affectionate girl, at the hazard of her own life and honour, brought them, at the dead of night, their provisions. One fatal night she was traced to the spot by a militia-man, who was eager for the destruction of his sovereign, and on her return was seized and confined by this ruthless traitor.

In the meanwhile, Mortimer, fearful a discovery might take place from these midnight interviews, in a neighbourhood where he was so well known, and anxious for the further safety of his royal master, whose danger was increased by delay, ventured to descend from their secret cave to the residence of a peasant, who was under the greatest obligations to him, and informed him that a friend of his, a cavalier, who had escaped from the battle of Worcester, was anxious to get out of the country. The old man was sworn to secresy, and the king was immediately confided to his care. Mortimer then retired to his hidingplace, with the intention of passing there the remainder of the night, but his pursuers with their hot blood-hounds were then hunting about the spot; he saw the light of their torches glaring among the dark and rugged caverns, and heard the cliffs re-echo the howling of the wolf-dogs, as they forded the river, and climbed the precipices, in the eager pursuit of their prey. He attempted to retreat, but in vain, the monsters of death were already fast approaching, and after a short, but desperate struggle, he sunk down, bleeding and exhausted, under their greedy fangs. The pursuers called off their dogs in order to save his life, that they might extort from him a confession of the king's retreat: they succeeded in muzzling the ferocious animals; but when they lifted their victim from the bloodstained sward where he had fallen, they found him stiff and cold in the arms of death; they passed their torches before his face, but his eyes were for ever closed. Even the barbarians themselves, when they looked upon his well proportioned limbs, and saw his fine and manly countenance, beautiful in death, cursed the cause that had betrayed them to the commission of a crime, at which even their depraved hearts now shuddered.

As they had gained nothing by their cruelty, and he, from

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