h what the God of Moses gave it to catch food, they lack charity.
Sir, I have walked by the way-side, and I have seen a man tread into the
smallest atoms the hill of the industrious ant, and say, it stole the
peasant's corn; and yet I have known that same man make long prayers and
devour widows' houses. I have watched the small singing-bird, trolling
its sweet song on the bough of some wild cherry-tree, and a man, whose
hair was combed over his brow, whose step was slow, whose eyes appeared
to seek commune with Heaven, killed that bird, and then devoured all the
cherries. A little of that red fruit would have served the singing-bird
for the length of a long summer's day, and it could have sung to its
mate till, when the night came, they sheltered in each other's bosom;
yet he, the man with the smooth hair and the holy eye, killed the small
bird; but mark ye, sir, he ate the cherries, all, every one. Though I am
as one lacking sense, and only a serving Jew, I trow he lacked charity!"

"Uncle," whispered the page, creeping up to his ear, "can this man be
indeed a Jew? He hath a blue eye and an English tongue; and surely not
an Israelitish heart; see that he deceive us not."

"My dear boy, peace," said the simple yet learned Doctor; "let the
wisdom of this poor child of Israel teach thee to be more humble-minded;
for, look ye, who might not profit by his words?"

The excellent man would have spoken much more to our friend Robin, who
might not inaptly be likened to a dark-lantern, within which is much
light, though it is only occasionally given forth; but on the instant
Gracious Meanwell summoned him to appear before the Protector.

"The Lord deliver me! the Lord deliver me!" muttered Robin, as he
followed his conductor past the silken barrier--"The Lord deliver me!
for, of a truth, my head is now fairly in the lion's mouth."

The room into which he was ushered thus abruptly was hung with ancient
tapestry, and furnished after the strangest fashion. Robin had little
inclination to examine either its proportions or arrangements, but
tremblingly followed until his guide paused with him opposite a long
narrow table, at the further end of which, his hand resting upon a pile
of books, stood the Protector--Oliver Cromwell.

It was impossible to look upon him without feeling that he was a man
born to command and to overthrow. His countenance, though swollen and
reddish, was marked and powerful, and his presence as lofty and maj