for Oliver Cromwell.

One thing, and one alone, could make Charles dangerous--a
violent death. His tyranny could not break the high spirit of the
English people. His arms could not conquer, his arts could not
deceive them; but his humiliation and his execution melted them
into a generous compassion. Men who die on a scaffold for
political offences almost always die well. The eyes of thousands
are fixed upon them. Enemies and admirers are watching their
demeanour. Every tone of voice, every change of colour, is to go
down to posterity. Escape is impossible. Supplication is vain. In
such a situation pride and despair have often been known to
nerve the weakest minds with fortitude adequate to the occasion.
Charles died patiently and bravely; not more patiently or
bravely, indeed, than many other victims of political rage; not
more patiently or bravely than his own judges, who were not only
killed, but tortured; or than Vane, who had always been
considered as a timid man. However, the king's conduct during his
trial and at his execution made a prodigious impression. His
subjects began to love his memory as heartily as they had hated
his person; and posterity has estimated his character from his
death rather than from his life.

To represent Charles as a martyr in the cause of Episcopacy is
absurd. Those who put him to death cared as little for the
Assembly of Divines, as for the Convocation, and would, in all
probability, only have hated him the more if he had agreed to set
up the Presbyterian discipline. Indeed, in spite of the opinion
of Mr. Hallam, we are inclined to think that the attachment of
Charles to the Church of England was altogether political. Human