After being King in everything but name for five years, Cromwell died
(September 3, 1658) on the anniversary of the victories of Dunbar and
Worcester (S453). During the latter part of his career he had lived
in constant dread of assassination, and wore concealed armor. At the
hour of his death one of the most fearful storms was raging hat had
ever swept over England. To many it seemed a fit accompaniment to the
close of such a life.
In one sense, Cromwell was a usurper and a tyrant; but, at heart, his
object was his country's welfare. In such cases the motive is all in
all. He was a lonely man of rough exterior and hard manner.[1] He
cared little for the smooth proprieties of life, yet he had that
dignity of bearing which high moral purpose gives. In all that he did
he was eminently practical. In an age of isms, theories, and
experiments, he was never confused and never faltered in his course.
To-day a colossal bronze statue of the great soldier and ruler stands
in the shadow of the Houses of Parliament, where the English people,
more than two hundred and forty years after his burial, voted to erect
it.
[1] Cromwell was always a lonely man, and had so few real friends that
Walter Scott may have expressed his true feeling when he makes him say
in his novel of "Woodstock": "I would _I_ had any creature, were it
but a dog, that followed me because it loved me, not for what it could
make of me."