s to follow him. He entered quietly, leaving his
soldiers outside. The House now contained no more than fifty-three
members. Sir Harry Vane was addressing this fragment of a Parliament
with a passionate harangue in favor of the bill. Cromwell sat for some
time in silence, listening to his speech, his only words being to his
neighbor, St. John.

"I am come to do what grieves me to the heart," he said.

Vane pressed the House to waive its usual forms and pass the bill at
once.

"The time has come," said Cromwell to Harrison, whom he had beckoned
over to him.

"Think well," answered Harrison; "it is a dangerous work."

[Illustration: OLIVER CROMWELL.]

The man of fate subsided into silence again. A quarter of an hour more
passed. Then the question was put "that this bill do now pass."

Cromwell rose, took off his hat, and spoke. His words were strong.
Beginning with commendation of the Parliament for what it had done for
the public good, he went on to charge the present members with acts of
injustice, delays of justice, self-interest, and similar faults, his
tone rising higher as he spoke until it had grown very hot and
indignant.

"Your hour is come; the Lord hath done with you," he added.

"It is a strange language, this," cried one of the members, springing up
hastily; "unusual this within the walls of Parliament. And from a
trusted servant, too; and one whom we have so highly honored; and
one----"

"Come, come," cried Cromwell, in the tone in which he would have
commanded his army to charge, "we have had enough of this." He strode
furiously into the middle of the chamber, clapped on his hat, and
exclaimed, "I will put an end to your prating."

He continued speaking hotly and rapidly, "stamping the floor with his
feet" in his rage, the words rolling from him in a fury. Of these words
we only know those with which he ended.

"It is not fit that you should sit here any longer! You should give
place to better men! You are no Parliament!" came from him in harsh and
broken exclamations. "Call them in," he said, briefly, to Harrison.

At the word of command a troop of some thirty musketeers marched into
the chamber. Grim fellows they were, dogs of war,--the men of the Rump
could not face this argument; it was force arrayed against law,--or what
called itself law,--wrong against wrong, for neither army nor Parliament
truly represented the people, though just then the army seemed its most
rightful representativ