nature. . . .
Its moral effect depends entirely upon what we make that world to
be.'--Cromwell's religion, which may be profitably studied in his letters
and speeches, (much better known of, than read) reveals itself there as
the simple reflex of his personal views: it had great power to animate,
little or none to regulate or control his impulses. He had, indeed, a
most real and pervading 'natural turn for the invisible; he thought of
the invisible till he died; but the cloudy arch only canopied a field of
human aim and will.'

_The horrible sacrament_; The summary of Cromwell's conduct at Drogheda
by a writer of so much research, impartiality, and philosophic liberality
as Mr. Lecky deserves to be well considered.

'The sieges of Drogheda and Wexford, and the massacres that accompanied
them, deserve to rank in horror with the most atrocious exploits of Tilly
and Wallenstein, and they made the name of Cromwell eternally hated in
Ireland. It even now acts as a spell upon the Irish mind, and has a
powerful and living influence in sustaining the hatred both of England
and Protestantism. The massacre of Drogheda acquired a deeper horror and
a special significance from the saintly professions and the religious
phraseology of its perpetrators, and the town where it took place is, to
the present day, distinguished in Ireland for the vehemence of its
Catholicism:' (_Hist. of Eighteenth Cent_. ch. vi).

_Mortal failure_; The ever-increasing unsuccess of Cromwell's career is
forcibly set forth by Ranke (xii. 8). He had 'crushed every enemy,--the
Scottish and the Presbyterian system, the peers and the king, the Long
Parliament and the Cavalier insurgents,--but to create . . . an
organization consistent with the authority which had fallen to his own
lot, was beyond his power. Even among his old' Anabaptist and
Independent 'friends, his comrades in the field, his colleagues in the
establishment of the Commonwealth, he encountered the most obstinate
resistance. . . . At no time were the prisons fuller; the number of
political prisoners was estimated at 12,000 . . . The failure of his
plans soured and distracted him.' It was, in fact, wholly 'beyond his
power to consolidate a tolerably durable political constitution.'--To the
disquiet caused by constant attempts against Cromwell's life, Ranke adds
the death of his favourite daughter, Lady Claypole, whose last words of
agony 'were of the right of the king, the blood that had be