OLIVER was dead, and Richard was Protector.  He had been nominated, in some indistinct way, by his father on his death-bed; and, though there was missing a certain sealed nomination paper, of much earlier date, in which it was believed that Fleetwood was the man, it was the interest of all parties about Whitehall at the moment, Fleetwood himself included, to accept the death-bed nomination.  That having been settled through the night following Oliver’s death, Richard was proclaimed in various places in London and Westminster on the morning of September 4, amid great concourses, with firing of cannon, and acclamations of “God save His Highness Richard Lord Protector!” It was at once intimated that the Government was to proceed without interruption, and that all holding his late Highness’s commissions, civil or military, were to continue in their appointments.

Over the country generally, and through the Continent, the news of Oliver’s death and the news that Richard had succeeded him ran simultaneously.  For some time there was much anxiety at Whitehall as to the response.  From all quarters, however, it was reassuring.  Addresses of loyal adhesion to the new Protector poured in from towns, counties, regiments, and churches of all denominations; the proclamations in London and Westminster were repeated in Edinburgh, Dublin, and everywhere else; the Armies in England, Scotland, and Ireland were alike satisfied; the Navy was cordial; from Lockhart, as Governor of Dunkirk, and from the English Army in Flanders, there were votes of confidence; and, in return for the formal intimation made to all foreign diplomatists in London of the death of the late Protector and the accession of his son, there came mingled condolences on the one event and congratulations on the other from all the friendly powers.  Richard himself, hitherto regarded as a mere country-gentleman of simple and jolly tastes, seemed to suit his new position better than had been expected.  In audiences with deputations and with foreign ambassadors he acquitted himself modestly and respectably; and, as he had his father’s Council still about him, with Thurloe keeping all business in hand in spite of an inopportune illness, affairs went on apparently in a satisfactory course.—­A matter which interested the public for some time was the funeral of the late Protector.  His body had been embalmed, and conveyed to Somerset House, there to lie in open state, amid banners, escutcheons, black velvet draperies and all the sombre gorgeousness that could be devised from a study of the greatest royal funerals on record, including a superb effigy of his Highness, robed in purple, ermined, sceptred, and diademed, to represent the life; and not till the 23rd of November was there an end to these ghastly splendours by a great procession from Somerset House to Westminster Abbey to deposit the effigy in the chapel of Henry VII., where the body itself had already been privately interred.—­A week after this