of London. Soon comes the Parliament of 1629, in which the popular
leaders make their great remonstrance against the regal tyranny. In that
House sat a plain young man, with ordinary cloth apparel, as if made by
an old-country tailor, "his countenance swollen and reddish, his voice
sharp and untonable," with "an eloquence full of fervor." That young man
is yet to be heard from. His name is Cromwell, known in history as
Oliver Cromwell. His briefly-reported speech of six lines is destined to
be weightier than the edicts of a king. The session was brief. Popery
and Arminianism, unjust taxation and voluntary payment of taxes not
ordered by Parliament, were declared treasonable and hostile principles
in Church and State,--so said Parliament. "You are a Parliament of
vipers,"--so said the king; and, on the tenth of March, Parliament was
dissolved, not to meet again in the old historic hall for eleven long
years; until, in 1640, the majesty of an outraged people rises superior
to the majesty of an outraging ruler. Now follow the attempted riveting
of the chains of a despotic and unscrupulous power, which does not
understand the temper of the common people, nor the methods of
counteracting a great popular upheaval in society.

It is not easy to resist the iron pressure of a tyrant; but, to our
ancestors, it was far better than to accept the peace and profit which
might follow abject submission. To borrow the words of De Tocqueville:
"They cling to freedom for its native charms independent of its
gifts,--the pleasure of speaking, acting, and breathing without
restraint, under no master but God and the Law." The Englishmen of the
first half of the seventeenth century were the fathers of the men who
fired shots at Lexington and Concord, "heard round the world."

But how do the royal prerogatives affect our ancestors in England? Our
fathers were of common mould, and feel the unjust demand of the