that he had begun his march back to Scotland. He arrived in London early
in February; and his unwilling hosts had no alternative but to bow to an
outwardly friendly authority which they had no means of resisting.

In the whole proceedings, from this time forward, there is a distinct
element of comedy, which comes as a welcome relief after the long tragedy
of Hyde's narrative, and which, even though he wrote it looking back over
an interval of checkered years, is apparent in the altered tone of that
narrative. Monk had marched slowly on the capital. When he arrived at St.
Albans, he halted there, and sent to Parliament to represent the
inconvenience that might arise from the presence of troops that had proved
unfaithful, and to ask for their removal. There was nothing for it but to
obey. Even this was not easy, because the discarded troops proved restive
and were on the point of mutiny. But their officers had disappeared, and
they were at length persuaded to leave the City clear for Monk's approach.
When that was arranged, he marched through the City and the Strand to
Westminster, and took up his appointed quarters at Whitehall. He was
received in the House of Parliament with every honour. The man whose
intentions they more than suspected, and whose presence they would gladly
have dispensed with, was told that he was a public benefactor whose happy
intervention had saved the State. "His memory would flourish to all ages,"
and Parliament would ever be grateful for his support in time of need.

"The general was not a man of eloquence, or of any volubility of speech,"
But he assured them of his unalterable fidelity. He told them of the
addresses that had reached him at every stage of his southern march, and
of the general desire "for a free Parliament." As that was just what they
were not, the avowed profession of his ardent agreement with this desire,
however constitutional, was hardly fitted to remove their uneasiness. They
were in the utmost straits for money. The exchequer was empty, and their