Henry now had some experience of warlike training; for during the next two or three years he and his brothers joined the French against the Spaniards. And when Cromwell's alliance with their French relatives made it impossible for them to keep up any further connection with the French Court, the young men joined Condé in the Spanish camp for a time. The Duke of Gloucester, however, soon tired of soldiering; and went back again to his books and his wise friends at Leyden, where he gained great renown by his retired, studious life, until another change came over the fortunes of his family. In 1660 Cromwell was dead. England was weary of war and revolution--weary of army rule--and when Charles the Second signed the Declaration of Breda on April 4, the English nation was rejoiced to return to its natural government by King and Parliament. The Duke of Gloucester was at Breda when that famous Declaration was signed. He accompanied his brothers to England, and rode on the king's left hand in his triumphal entry into London on May 29. Henry now proved that in prosperity, as in adversity, his love of work, almost the best gift that any young lad can possess, was as strong as ever. "He was active, and loved business, was apt to have particular friendships; and had an insinuating temper which was generally very acceptable."[108] The king was strongly attached to him, and was vexed when he saw that no post was left for this favorite brother; for Monk was General, and the Duke of York was in command of the Fleet. However, although Lord Clarendon considered the post was beneath his dignity, Henry begged to be made Lord Treasurer, "for he could not bear an idle life." Alas! he only enjoyed this prosperous change in his fortune for four short months. "The mirth and entertainments" of the restoration, "raised his blood so high, that he took the smallpox." The ignorant physicians bled him three times, thus effectually taking away his last chance of recovery. And on September 13, 1660, this promising young prince died at Whitehall, the very palace where, eleven years before, his sad, broken father had been executed. All the nation mourned the loss of the duke, for every one loved and admired him. With his namesake Prince Henry he completed not twenty years, and what was said of the unkle, was as true of the nephew. In searching at the British Museum a little while ago for documents concerning this prince, we came upon a mention under his name in the catalogue of "Some Teares." Curious to see what they were, we were told that the book which contained them was too valuable to be brought into the great reading room, where hundreds of workers congregate in busy silence every day. So we were taken through locked doors into an inner sanctum; and there the precious document was intrusted to us. It was a large sheet of stiff paper, with wide black borders, and on it a long poem (of which I can only give a few lines) was printed, entitled,