"True," replied Goring; "though it is one of those disagreeable truths I purpose forgetting the first opportunity. But from the time I saw him, when a prisoner after the battle of Worcester, his dark brow bent upon us in disdain, rather than exaltation; his calm, clear, grey eye triumphant, but unexcited, which seemed to look through every object which it scanned; his very gesture a command; and, though in the first flush of victory, not a muscle seemed stirred, not a look told that this 'crowning mercy' was more than a rational belief, which had been fulfilled according to his expectation. I felt our genius rebuked before his: I seemed suddenly to know that he was the destiny of England."
"It was the wonderful influence that is ever the heritage of a great mind; but it is an heritage which descends not. Cromwell's power died with himself,—the elements of ambition, fanaticism, desire of change, and jarring interest, have all gone back to their original chaos. Confusion is the order of the day."
"So much the better for us," exclaimed Goring; "you know the old saying:
'March winds and April showers,
Bring forth May flowers.'
We will take it as our motto."
