On Both Sides of the Sea: A STORY OF The Commonwealth and the Restoration A SEQUEL TO "THE DRAYTONS AND THE DAVENANTS" _BY THE AUTHOR OF_ "Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family." NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. CARD FROM THE AUTHOR. "The Author of the Schonberg-Cotta Family wishes it to be generally known among the readers of her books in America, that the American Editions issued by Mr. M. W. Dodd, of New York alone have the Author's sanction." Contents Chapter I. Olive's Recollections II. Olive's Recollections III. Lettice's Diary IV. Lettice's Diary V. Olive's Recollections VI. Olive's Recollections VII. Olive's Recollections VIII. Olive's Recollections IX. Notes by Magdalene Antony X. Lettice's Diary XI. Lettice's Diary XII. Lettice's Diary On Both Sides of the Sea. ON BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA. CHAPTER I. OLIVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. Since England was, such an event was never witnessed within sound of her seas, as that which darkened London on the fatal 30th of January, 1649. In the recollection of such moments it is difficult to disentangle feeling from fact, what we saw with our eyes and heard with our ears from what others told us, from what we saw with the imagination and heard with the heart. In my memory that day lies shrouded and silent, as if all that happened in it had been done in a city spell-bound into silence in a hushed, sunless, colorless world, where all intermediate tints were gathered into funereal black and white, the black of the heavily-draped scaffold and the whiteness of the frosty ground from which it rose into the still and icy air; whilst behind the palace slept, frost-bound, the mute and motionless river, imprisoning with icy bars the motionless ships. From early in the day the thoroughfares and squares and open gathering-places of the city were filled with the Commonwealth soldiers. I remember no call of trumpet or beat of drum; only a slow pacing of horsemen, and marching of footmen, silently, to their assigned positions, the tramp of men and the clatter of the horse-hoofs ringing from the hard and frosty ground, and echoing from the closed and silent houses on the line of march. It was no day of triumph to any. To the army, and those who felt with them, it was a day of solemn justice, not of triumphant vengeance. To the Royalists it was a day of passionate hushed sorrow and bitter inward vows of retribution; to the people generally a day of perplexity and woe. Old Mr. Prynne, who owed the king nothing, as he said, but the loss of his ears, the pillory, imprisonment, and fines, had pleaded for him generously in the House, before the House had been finally "purged."