classes again in the provincial synod, and the synod in the general assembly. London formed a province with twelve classes, each containing from eight to fifteen parishes. Nowhere else but in London and in the county of Lancashire did the Presbyterian establishment come into full operation, and even in the metropolitan city, with all the zeal of the ministers to support it, and with the majority of the people which they could command, the success of the plan was very limited. On the 19th of December, 1646, the lord mayor and his brethren went up to Westminster with a representation of grievances, including first the contempt that began to be put upon the Covenant; and secondly, the growth of heresy and schism, the pulpits being often usurped by preaching soldiers, who infected all places where they came with dangerous errors. Of these grievances they desired redress. In the next year, 1647, the synod at Zion College published their testimony to the truth, as it was termed, in which a passage occurs curiously illustrative of the opinions on the subject of toleration that were then prevalent. The last error they witness against is called, they say, "the error of toleration, patronizing and promoting all other errors, heresies, and blasphemies, whatsoever, under the grossly-abused notion of liberty of conscience." The Independents, who, though a minority, were a considerable body in the city of London, being advocates for an extended toleration, as well as for the enjoyment of liberty themselves, greatly displeased the Presbyterian brethren, and materially thwarted the success of their plans. On both sides, no doubt, there were sincere, earnest, and holy men, nor did they disagree as to the essential truths of our blessed religion. They were worshipers of the same everlasting Father, through the same Divine Mediator, and trusted to the aid of the same gracious Spirit. They looked not to any morality of their own, as the ground of their acceptance with their Creator, but, conscious of manifold sins, rested on the sacrifice of "the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." Yet it is grievous to think, that in some instances a difference, which extended no further than to the outward polity of the Church, could dissever and almost alienate those whom grace had made one. And yet more grievous is it that good men who had only just escaped from persecution themselves, should have been ready to fasten the yoke upon brethren who could not see as they did. However, in this imperfect state of existence, such things have been and still are; but it is consoling to remember, that a state of being shall one day exist, when these sad anomalies will prevail no more. Freed from prejudice, passion, and infirmity, souls united by the tie of a common faith in the essentials of the gospel, shall then rejoice in a perfect and unbroken unity.

While the earlier stages of the struggle to which we have referred were going on, some distinguished men in London, on both sides, were removed from the scene of strife into the peaceful mansions of their Father's house. Two in particular are worthy of mention here as of the gentler cast, who, though they differed, felt that charity had bonds to bind the souls of godly men together, stronger than any difference of ecclesiastical opinion could break. Dr. Twiss, an eminent and learned Presbyterian clergyman, the prolocutor of the assembly of divines, died in London in 1646. He had refused high preferment and flattering invitations to a foreign university. Forced from his living at Newbury by the royalist party, and detained in London by his duties in the assembly, for which he received but a very small allowance, he had to struggle with poverty. Indeed, he was so reduced, that when some of the assembly were deputed to visit him, they reported that he was very sick and in great straits. He was buried in the Abbey, "near the upper end of the poor folk's table, next the vestry, July 24th; thence, after the Restoration, he was dug up and thrown into a hole in the churchyard of St. Margaret's, near the back door of one of the prebendaries' houses." In the same year died Jeremiah Burroughs, of the Independent school, and preacher to two of the largest congregations about London, Stepney, and Cripplegate. "He never gathered a separate congregation, nor accepted of a parochial living, but wore out his strength in continual preaching, and other services of the Church. It was said the divisions of the time broke his heart. One of the last subjects he preached upon and printed was his Irenicum, or attempt to heal divisions among Christians." Under the ascendency of the Presbyterians in London, the old church ceremonies of course were abandoned—churches were accommodated to the simplicity of worship preferred by the party in power. Superstitious monuments, images, and paintings, were removed; the crosses in Cheapside and Charing Cross pulled down. Even St. Paul's Cross, because of its form and name, was not spared, though hallowed by the remembrance of the great Reformers, who had there so effectively preached. Religious festivals were abolished, not excepting Christmas—a measure to which the citizens did not quietly submit, old habits and predilections being too strong to be overcome by law. In 1647, on that day most people kept their shops shut, and many Presbyterian ministers occupied their pulpits. Time, however, was allotted for recreation; and it was arranged "that all scholars, apprentices, and other servants should, with the leave of their masters, have such convenient reasonable relaxation every second Tuesday in the month, throughout the year, as formerly they used to have upon the festivals." It may be added, that stage plays were forbidden, and the theatres in London closed; galleries, seats, and boxes, were removed by warrant from justices of the peace, and all actors convicted of offending against this law were sentenced to be publicly whipped.

In consequence of the excitement of the times, the parliament issued an order forbidding persons to appear in the streets of London armed, or to come out of doors after nine o'clock at night. It was further enjoined, that all persons coming into the city should present themselves at Guildhall and produce their passes, and also enter into an engagement not to bear arms against the parliament. The misunderstanding between the legislature and the army becoming more grave and ominous than ever, the city corporation besought the former to disband the latter—a thing more easily proposed than accomplished. The citizens desired to have a militia for their own defence, under officers to be nominated by the common council; and were likewise anxious that the king, now in the hands of the army, should be brought to London, and a personal treaty entered into with him. Tumultuous assemblages, gathered from London, took place round the doors of the House of Commons, some of the mob thrusting in their heads, with their hats on, and shouting out, "Vote, vote;" and even forcing the speaker, when he was about to leave the chair, to remain at his post, violently demanding that their petition should be granted. The army at the time lay coiled up near London with most threatening aspect, and to add to the terror of the city, the speaker of the Commons and a hundred members withdrew from the metropolis, and repaired to the camp. Orders were now given by the common council to the train bands to repair the fortifications, and for all persons capable of bearing arms to appear at the appointed places of rendezvous. Fairfax and Cromwell, the commanders of the army, wrote an expostulatory letter to the city, stating their grievances, and disavowing all desire to injure the place. An answer was sent, very unsatisfactory to the parties addressed, and things wore an increasingly alarming appearance. Still the citizens seemed determined to oppose the army, and entered into an engagement to promote the return of the king to London. Shops were shut up, a stop was put to business, horses were forbidden to be sent beyond the walls, and whole nights were spent in anxious deliberation. The army, however, was pressing towards the gates on the Southwark side, and while the citizens were debating and planning, showed in an unmistakable manner that it at least was in action. The peril being imminent, on the 4th of August the common council and committee assembled in Guildhall, vast multitudes of the people repairing thither to learn the result of the deliberations. An express arrived, stating that Fairfax with the army had halted on their march. "Let us go out and destroy them," cried a stentorian voice; but a second express, on the heels of the first, ran in to correct the mistake of his predecessor, and to assure them that Fairfax and his men were no halters, but were marching on with great energy. This changed the tone of the assembly, and all exclaimed, "Treat! treat!" The committee spent most of the night in consultation, and the next morning despatched a submissive letter to the general. The inhabitants of Southwark not having sympathized with their brethren on the other side of the water in their opposition to the army, privately intimated to the general their willingness to admit him, and, accordingly, a brigade took possession of the borough about two o'clock in the morning, and thereby became masters of London Bridge. Another letter was despatched from the city authorities, more submissive than the first, and commissioners were speedily despatched to Hammersmith to wait upon Fairfax, who had there taken up his quarters, and formally yield to him all the forts on the west side of the metropolis. On the 6th of August, 1647, the general was received in state by the corporation at Hyde Park, and escorted in procession to the city, being the same day constituted constable of the Tower by the ordinance of parliament. Three days afterwards, he took possession of that old fortress, being attended by a deputation from the common council, who complimented him in the highest terms, and invited him and his principal officers to dinner. After an interval of another three days, the city voted £1,200, to be spent on a gold basin and ewer, as a present to this distinguished officer. The fortifications were dismantled, ports and chains taken away, and the army quartered in and about the city: many, we are told, in great houses, though the season was rigorous, were obliged to lie on the bare floor, with little or no firing. Orders were issued to provide bedding for the cold and weary soldiers; and when the city failed to fulfil its promise to pay money to the army, troops were dispatched to Weavers', Haberdashers', and Goldsmiths' Halls, the first of which they lightened of its treasure to the amount of £20,000. Strict injunctions, however, were given for the orderly and peaceable conduct of the military, on pain of death. London was now reduced to dumb quietude, save that murmurings were heard from the Presbyterians, who still insisted upon making terms with the king; but it was all in vain. The torrent rolled on, and swept away monarch and throne; of its devastations there are awful recollections associated with Charing Cross and Whitehall.

The latter was made the prison-house of the monarch during his trial. Hence he passed to the old orchard stair, to take boat for Westminster Hall. A servant, whom he particularly noticed on these occasions, has become an object of interest to the religious portion of the English public, from his having been the father of the eminently holy Philip Henry, and the grandfather of Matthew Henry, the commentator. When Charles returned to the palace after the absence of a few years, which, because of the sorrows that darkened them, seemed an age, he accosted his old attendant with the inquiry, "Art thou yet alive?" "He continued," says Philip Henry, speaking of his father, "during all the war time in his house at Whitehall, though the profits of his place ceased. The king passing by his door under a guard to take water, when he was going to Westminster to that which they called his trial, inquired for his old servant, Mr. John Henry, who was ready to pay his due respects to him, and prayed God to bless his majesty, and to deliver him out of the hands of his enemies, for which the guard had like to have been rough upon him." The king was condemned by the court of justice instituted for the occasion, and on the 30th of January, 1649, was publicly beheaded. The place which had been the scene of many of his youthful revels with the Duke of Buckingham, and which had witnessed the early pomp and pageants of his reign, having been converted into his prison, now became the spot where his blood was to be spilt. He had been removed to St. James's Palace, after his sentence, and there spent Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. At ten o'clock on Tuesday, he crossed the park to Whitehall, under military guard, Juxon, bishop of London, walking on the right, and Colonel Tomlinson, who was his jailer, on the left. Reaching the palace, he went up the stairs leading to the long gallery into his chamber, where he remained in prayer for an hour, and received the sacrament. Two or three dishes of refreshments had been prepared, which he declined, and could only be prevailed on to take a piece of bread and a glass of claret. All things being prepared, and the hour of one arrived, he passed into the Banqueting House, and thence proceeded, by a passage broken through the wall, to the scaffold. It was covered with black, and exhibited the frightful apparatus of death. There stood the block, and by it two executioners in sailor's clothes, with vizards and perukes. Regiments of horse and foot were stationed round the spot, while a dense multitude crowded the neighboring avenues, and many a serious countenance looked down from the windows and the roofs of houses. No shouts of insult met the unhappy prince as he stepped on the stage of death, but perfect and solemn silence pervaded the closely-pressed throng, as well as the soldiers on duty. Pity for the fallen monarch in his misfortunes, prevailed even with some who had condemned his unconstitutional and arbitrary course; so completely do the gentler feelings of our nature at such times master the conclusions at which the judgment has before arrived. Nor should it be forgotten, that very many there, who had regarded with alarm and indignation not a few of the acts which Charles had performed, shrank from the thought of the penalty to which he was doomed, as too severe, or decidedly impolitic. Others, also, were present, royalists in heart, whatever might be their caution at such a time in avowing their principles. It was the king's wish to address the multitude; but not being able to make himself heard so far, he delivered a speech to those who were near him, in which he expressed his forgiveness of his enemies, and then proceeded to maintain those high notions of kingly power which had proved his ruin. At the suggestion of the bishop, he closed by declaring, "I die a Christian, according to the profession of the Church of England, as I found it left me by my father. I have on my side a good cause and a gracious God." "There is but one stage more," said Juxon: "it is turbulent and troublesome, but a short one. It will carry you from earth to heaven, and there you will find joy and comfort." "I go," he said, "from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown." "You exchange," rejoined the bishop, "an earthly for an eternal crown—a good exchange." Taking off his cloak, he gave the insignia of the order of the garter to the prelate, adding significantly, "Remember!" then kneeling down by the block, his head was severed from his body at a blow. Philip Henry, son of the old Whitehall servant, witnessed that mournful tragedy. "There he was," says his son Matthew, "when the king was beheaded, and with a very heavy heart saw that tragical blow given. Two things he used to relate, that he took notice of himself that day, which I know not if any historians mention. One was, that at the instant the blow was given, there was such a dismal universal groan among the thousands of people that were within sight of it, as it were with one consent, such as he had never heard before, and desired that