  THE novel of "Woodstock, or, The Cavalier: a Tale of the Year Sixteen Hundred and Forty-one," was issued in June 1826, and was the last of the compositions which were published under the nominis umbra of the Author of "Waverley." It was composed within the space of three months, and immediately realised to the estate of the ingenious author, no less than £8228, less cost of paper and printing the first edition. The first illustration represents the aged Sir Henry Lee expressing his blessing over the head of King Charles II. It was evident policy in the monarch to recognise those who had been faithful to his family when fortune frowned. The presence of Sir Henry Lee, attended by Bevis, awoke most grateful feelings in the royal breast. Springing from his horse, and hastening to the aged gentleman, whom he prevented from rising to do him homage, amidst the enthusiastic applause of the spectators, he threw himself at his feet, and said-"Bless, father, bless your son, who has returned in safety, as you blessed him when he departed in danger." The King returned, joined the cavalcade, and the gorgeous array again put in motion, was followed by the watchful eyes of Alice, and the attendants of Sir Henry, who, on their return, were startled to perceive "that his cheek had assumed an unearthly paleness; that his eyes were closed; that his features expressed a rigidity that was not that of sleep. They had come too late-the light that burned so low in the socket had leaped up, and expired in one exhilarating flash."
Mr Cruikshank admirably portrays Mr Holdenough's triumph over the military intruder. Holdenough was in the act of ascending the steps of the pulpit when one of the soldiers seized him by the cloak saying, "Is it your purpose to hold forth to these good people?" "Ay, marry is it," said the clergyman, "let me not in my labour." But the man of war being himself minded to address the congregation, Mr Holdenough called out:-"Give place, thou man of Satan; respect mine order-my cloth." The soldier protested that he perceived no more to respect in the cut of Mr Holdenough's cloak than he did in the bishop's rochets-they were black and white; his, blue and brown. Mr Holdenough, finding the enemy incorrigible, called out-"Master Mayor of Woodstock, wilt thou be amongst those wicked magistrates, who bear the sword in vain? Citizens, will you not help your pastor? Worthy Alderman, will you see me strangled on the pulpit-stairs by this man of buff and Belial? But, lo! I will overcome him, and cast his cords from us." As he thus spoke, he dexterously slipped the string which fastened his cloak round his neck, so that the garment suddenly gave way, and the soldier, who had a tenacious grasp of it, fell backwards, down the steps of the pulpit; while the divine skipped actively up, and immediately gave forth a psalm of triumph.
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