"The affairs of England, Sire, most urgent. Charles
The First has lost a battle that decides
One half his realm—craves moneys, Sire, and succor.
King. He shall have both. Eh, Baradas?
Baradas.Yes, Sire.
Richelieu. (Feebly, but with great distinctness.) My liege—
Forgive me—Charles's cause is lost. A man,
Named Cromwell, risen—a great man—"
That is enough, a great man settles things; a small one nibbles away at petty reforms, although he knows nothing is settled thereby, and that the question is only pushed ahead for the time to break out again directly. English politicians are mostly nibblers, though Gladstone can take a good bite when put to it.
Will you lay "violent hands upon the Lord's anointed?" "I'll anoint ye!" says Cromwell, and then, I take it, was settled for the future the "divine right of kings" theory; for since that time these curious appendages of a free state have been kept for show, and we hear nothing more of the "divinity which doth hedge a king." Some one of the party remarked that we had not seen a statue or even a picture of England's great Protector. I told them a wise man once said that the reason Cromwell's statue was not put among those of the other rulers of England at Westminster was because he would dwarf them. But his day is coming. We shall have him there in his proper place by and by, and how small hereditary rulers will seem beside him!