I have already stated that the command of the army, destined to subdue the Welsh Loyalists, had been given to Lord Bellingham as a test of his fidelity, or rather a snare to expedite his ruin, and that his Countess was privy to this design, being actually the person who had informed Cromwell of his secret disaffection. The Usurper had recently suffered a severe disappointment; his favourite General Mytton had thrown up his command in disgust, and refused again to subdue his countrymen, since he perceived his hopes of founding a republic, that was to combine every Utopian idea of purity, had issued in the establishment of military despotism. Cromwell resolved henceforth to employ a more subtle policy, and to place a spy on every one whom he entrusted with an important command, whose interest it should be to watch and report all their actions. He had formed a determination not only to annihilate the ancient nobility, but also to create a new house of peers, consisting of men raised by what he called personal merit, in reality a selection from his own creatures, which is often the true explanation of the word merit, when used for party-purposes. No expedient could better serve such a purpose, than that of exhibiting birth and rank, self-degraded in the person of one, who he knew would prove himself unworthy of the trust reposed in him. When a system of _espionage_ and secret influence becomes the ruling principle of government, it follows that the governed must counteract its designs by a similar process, and thus venality and treachery become legalized by the acknowledged laws of self-defence. Lord Bellingham had his agents in the army, as well as Cromwell, and soon discovered that the sword of Damocles was suspended over his head. Though disaffected to the cause he served, he had not courage to avow his sentiments, or even prudence enough to throw up the command, and embrace the only chance of safety, by choosing a life of retirement. Wedded to the possessions and rank he had so dearly purchased, and full of ill-founded confidence that he could play as successful a game with a close-penetrating tyrant, as he had done with a generous inexperienced King, he thought an air of inexorable cruelty to the royalists must remove, or at least lull the suspicions of the serpent, who lay wrapped round in observant coil, ready to spring upon him. As to the feelings of those whom he persecuted, for the sake of prolonging his own worthless life and preserving his ill-acquired fortunes, he either entirely forgot that they had any, or considered that self-preservation rendered every expedient lawful.