"These authentic utterances of the man Oliver himself--I have gathered them from far and near; fished them up from the foul Lethean quagmires where they lay buried; I have washed, or endeavored to wash, them clean from foreign stupidities, (such a job of buck-washing as I do not long to repeat;) and the world shall now see them in their own shape." For the rest, this book is of course entertaining, witty, dramatic, picturesque; all traits that are piquant, many that have profound interest, are brought out better than new. The "letters and speeches" are put into readable state, and this alone is a great benefit. They are a relief after Mr. Carlyle's high-seasoned writing; and this again is a relief after their long-winded dimnesses. Most of the heroic anecdotes of the time had been used up before, but they lose nothing in the hands of Carlyle; and pictures of the scenes, such as of Naseby fight, for instance, it was left to him to give. We have passed over the hackneyed ground attended by a torch-bearer, who has given a new animation to the procession of events, and cast a ruddy glow on many a striking physiognomy. That any truth of high value has been brought to light, we do not perceive--certainly nothing has been added to our own sense of the greatness of the times, nor any new view presented that we can adopt, as to the position and character of the agents. We close with the only one of Cromwell's letters that we really like. Here his religious words and his temper seem quite sincere. "_To my loving Brother, Colonel Valentine Walton: These._ July, 1644. "DEAR SIR: It's our duty to sympathize in all mercies; and to praise the Lord together in chastisements or trials, so that we may sorrow together. "Truly England and the church of God hath had a great favor from the Lord, in this great victory given unto us, such as the like never was since this war began. It had all the evidences of an absolute victory obtained by the Lord's blessing upon the godly party principally. We never charged but we routed the enemy. The left wing, which I commanded, being our own horse, saving a few Scots in our rear, beat all the prince's horse. God make them as stubble to our swords. We charged their regiments of foot with our horse, and routed all we charged. The particulars I cannot relate now; but I believe, of twenty thousand, the prince hath not four thousand left. Give glory, all the glory, to God. "Sir, God hath taken away your eldest son by a cannon-shot. It brake his leg. We were necessitated to have it cut off, whereof he died.