(_With Mr. Punch's Compliments to the Gentleman who will have to design
"that statue."_)
"You really must join the Army," said the stern old Puritan to the Lord
Protector. "The fate of this fair realm of England depends upon the
promptness with which you assume command."
OLIVER CROMWELL paused. He had laid aside his buff doublet, and had
donned a coat of a thinner material. His sword also was gone, and
hanging by his side was a pair of double spy-glasses--new in those
days--new in very deed.
"I cannot go," cried the Lord Protector at last, "it would be too great
a sacrifice."
"You said not that," pursued IRETON--for it was he--"when you called
upon CHARLES to lose his head."
"But in this case, good sooth, I would wish a head to be won, or the
victory to be by a head;" and then the Uncrowned King laughed long and
heartily, as was his wont when some jest tickled him.
"This is no matter for merriment," exclaimed IRETON sternly. "OLIVER,
you are playing the fool. You are sacrificing for pleasure, business,
duty."
"Well, I cannot help it," was the response. "But mind you, IRETON, it
shall be the last time."
"What is it that attracts you so strongly? What is the pleasure that
lures you away from the path of duty?"
"I will tell you, and then you will pity, perchance forgive me. To-day
my horse runs at Epsom. With luck his chance is a certainty. So
farewell." Then the two old friends grasped hands and parted. One went
to fight on the blood-stained field of battle, and the other to see the
race for the Derby.
* * * * *