indrances, had now led him to the summit of his hopes, in
making him Lord Protector of England.

His countenance was rough but intelligent--his ample brow and quick grey
eyes seemed to look out, over his own plans, and the opposition of his
enemies. His voice was stentorian: his hand stretched out in debate, seemed
by its gigantic and muscular form, to warn his hearers that words were not
his only weapons. Few people had discovered some cowardice and much
infirmity of purpose under this imposing exterior. No man could crush a
"butterfly on the wheel" with better effect; no man better cover a speedy
retreat from a powerful adversary. This had been the secret of his
secession at the time of Lord Raymond's election. In the unsteady glance of
his eye, in his extreme desire to learn the opinions of all, in the
feebleness of his hand-writing, these qualities might be obscurely traced,
but they were not generally known. He was now our Lord Protector. He had
canvassed eagerly for this post. His protectorate was to be distinguished
by every kind of innovation on the aristocracy. This his selected task was
exchanged for the far different one of encountering the ruin caused by the
convulsions of physical nature. He was incapable of meeting these evils by
any comprehensive system; he had resorted to expedient after expedient, and
could never be induced to put a remedy in force, till it came too late to
be of use.

Certainly the Ryland that advanced towards us now, bore small resemblance
to the powerful, ironical, seemingly fearless canvasser for the first rank
among Englishmen. Our native oak, as his partisans called him, was visited
truly by a nipping winter. He scarcely appeared half his usual height; his
joints were unknit, his limbs would not support him; his face was
contracted, his eye wandering; debility of purpose and dastard fear were
expressed in every gesture.

In answer to our eager questions, one word alone fell, as it were
involuntarily, from his convulsed lips: The Plague.--"Where?"--"Every
where--we must fly--all fly--but whither? No man can tell--there is
no refuge on earth, it comes on us like a thousand packs of wolves--we
must all fly--where shall you go? Where can any of us go?"

These words were syllabled trembling by the iron man. Adrian replied,
"Whither indeed would you fly? We must all remain; and do our best to help
our suffering fellow-creatures."

"Help!" said Ryland, "there is no help!--great God,