Oliver Cromwell had certainly this afflatus. One that I knew, that was at the battle of Dunbar, told me that Oliver was carried on with a divine impulse; he did laugh so excessively as if he had been drunk; his eyes sparkled with spirits. He obtained a great victory; but the action was said to be contrary to human prudence. The same fit of laughter seized Oliver Cromwell, just before the battle of Naseby; as a kinsman of mine, and a great favourite of his, Colonel J. P. then present, testified. Cardinal Mazarine said, that he was a lucky fool. In one of the great fields at Warminster in Wiltshire, in the harvest, at the very time of the fight at Bosworth field, between King Eichard III. and Henry VII. there was one of the parish took two sheaves, crying (with some intervals) now for Richard, now for Henry; at last lets fall the sheaf that did represent Richard; and cried, now for King Henry, Richard is slain. This action did agree with the very time, day and hour. When I was a schoolboy I have heard this confidently delivered by tradition by some old men of our country. Monsieur de Scudery in his Poem, entituled "Rome Vaincue", fancies an angel to be sent to Alaric, to impel him to overrun the Roman empire with his swarms of northern people. The like may be fancied upon all changes of government; when providence destines the ends, it orders the means. By way of parallel to this, the Pope by the like instinct, being at Rome in the consistory, did speak of the engagement in the famous battle of Lepanto, and that the Christians were victors. The fight at sea being two hundred miles or more distant from them. King Charles I. after he was condemned, did tell Colonel Tomlinson, that he believed, that the English monarchy was now at an end: about half an hour after, he told the Colonel, "that now he had assurance by a strong impulse "on his spirit, that his son should reign after him." This information I had from Fabian Philips, Esq. of the Inner- temple, who had good authority for the truth of it: I have forgot who it was. The Lord Roscomon, being a boy of ten years of age at Caen in Normandy, one day was (as it were) madly extravagant in playing, leaping, getting over the table-boards, &c. He was wont to be sober enough: they said, God grant this bodes no ill luck to him; in the heat of this extravagant fit, he cries out, my father is dead. A fortnight after news came from Ireland, that his father was dead. This account I had from Mr. Knolles, who was his governor, and then with him; since Secretary to the Earl of Stafford, and I have heard his Lordship's relations confirm the same.