=1649.= With exquisite humour, none the less delightful because it was probably unconscious, the admirers of Cromwell have set up his statue near to the House of Commons, his back turned towards it. He might just have left the House with the key of the locked door in his pocket. Why is the statue there? It cannot be simply in recognition of the fact that Cromwell cut off the head of a king. To cut off a king’s head may be a meritorious deed, or it may be an infamous deed, or neither the one nor the other in any notable degree. But, taken by itself, it does not seem to demand an expression of national gratitude. Yet what else could the statue have been intended to commemorate? What, besides, did Cromwell do? He set up in place of monarchy a Thing so detestable that in a few years the people were glad to have back a Stuart at any price: anything was better than the military despotism of Cromwell and his majors-general. Great soldier he was, great and pitiless. The proper place for Cromwell’s statue was Drogheda. Our hearts have burnt within us as we have read the story of ship-money levied by Charles I. without the authority of Parliament. But Cromwell also levied taxes illegally. When his old friend Cony refused to pay, and reminded Cromwell how he had often declared that the man who paid an illegal tax was worse than he who demanded it, Cromwell threw his old friend into prison. When Cony was brought into court on his habeas corpus, Cromwell threw into prison the three counsel who argued the case. Cony, deprived of the aid of counsel, pleaded his own cause. It was too clear to suffer greatly from want of skill in the pleading: the judge could not decide adversely to Cony, but was unwilling to give judgment against Cromwell. He deferred his decision. Cromwell removed him from the bench. Enclosing went on as before; the country was desolated by civil war; the people fell into poverty deeper and deeper. The wicked laws, “taking away the life of men only for theft,” continued in force to the bitter disappointment of those who had looked for better things: “You have sate now,” wrote Samuel Chidley, addressing his Highness the Lord Protector and the Parliament, “you have sate now above these 40 days twice told, and passed some Acts for transporting Corn and Cattel out of the Land, and against Charls Stuart’s, &c., but (as I humbly conceive) have left undone matters of greater concernment; amongst which, the not curbing this over-much justice in hanging men for stealing is one; the not suppressing the pressing of men to death for not answering against themselves is another.” Samuel Chidley, who, for greater emphasis, printed his arguments in red ink, gave instructions that a copy of his book “should be nailed upon Tiburne Gallowes before the execution, with this motto written on the top:— ‘Cursed be that bloody hand Which takes this downe without Command.’