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mentarians fell back, and the next morning Charles marched away into Banbury. About twelve hundred men perished in this battle.

Tidings of the battle, variously represented, spread far and wide. In London the trained bands were kept constantly under arms, and trenches were thrown up round the city. During the winter Charles lay at Oxford; Rupert the Robber exercising his marauding games in the neighbourhood, extending his flying excursions to Gloucestershire, Wilts, Hants, and even as far as Bath; he also paid visits and levied black mail in Bucks and Berkshire.

In June, 1643, Rupert one night trotted away with a couple of thousand men from Oxford, meaning to make short work of two Parliamentarian regiments lying at Wycombe. John Hampden heard of this intention, and, not content with warning Essex, rode out himself with a body of cavalry and encountered Rupert on

CHALGROVE FIELD.

Macaulay in one of his brilliant essays tells the story.

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'Hampden had, on the preceding day, strongly represented to Essex the danger to which this part of the line was exposed. As soon as he received intelligence of Rupert's incursion, he sent off a horseman with a message to the general. The cavaliers,' he said, 'could return only by Chiselhampton Bridge. A force ought to be instantly despatched in that direction for the purpose of intercepting them.' In the mean time, he resolved to set out with all the cavalry that he could muster, for the purpose of impeding the march of the enemy till Essex could take measures for cutting off their retreat. A considerable body of horse and dragoons volunteered to follow him. He was not their commander. He did not even belong to their branch of the service. But he was,' says Lord Clarendon, 'second to none but the general himself in the observance and application of all men.' On the field of Chalgrove he came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the first charge, Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two bullets, which broke the bone and lodged in his body. The troops of the Parliament lost heart and gave way. Rupert, after pursuing them for a short time, hastened to cross the bridge, and made his retreat unmolested to Oxford.

"Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which in his youth he had

carried home his bride Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains an affecting tradition that he looked for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an effort to go thither to die. But the enemy lay in that direction. He turned his horse towards Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. He wrote from his bed several letters to London concerning public affairs, and sent a last pressing message to the headquarters, recommending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. When his public duties were performed, he calmly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the Church of England, with whom he had lived in habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of Buckinghamshire Greencoats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excellent divine."

Some few things he said have been preserved. We repeat them here. "Though he could not away with the governance of the Church by bishops, and did utterly abominate the scandalous life of some of its clergymen, he thought its doctrines, in the greater part, primitive, and conformable to God's word as Holy Scripture revealed." As his life grew shorter, his conversation became more devout. His last moments were spent in fervent prayer. "O Lord God of Hosts, great is thy mercy. Great and holy are thy dealings with us sinful men. Save me, oh Lord, if it be thy good will, from the jaws of death! Pardon my manifold transgressions, and, Lord, save my bleeding country. Confound and level iu the dust those who would rob the people of their liberty and lawful prerogative. Let the king see his error, and turn the heart of his wicked counsellors from the malice and wretchedness of their designs. Lord Jesus, receive my soul! Oh Lord, save my country! Oh Lord, be merciful to _"} The sentence was never finished. The next morning Hampden was no more. Far and near men wept as they heard the melancholy news. Never was a great leader cut off more inopportunely. Clarendon tells us his death "occasioned as great a consternation to his friends as if their whole army had been defeated and cut off." They buried him by the side of his heir, where the bones of his loved ones lay They gave him a soldier's funeral. With arms reversed and muffled drums, the troops followed his body to the grave. As they went, they sang how God had been his dwelling-place in all generations. As they returned, they sang the forty-third Psalm.

Hampden died, but the cause to which he had devoted his life lived. He left behind him men of the same true spirit and glorious aim. His

name is a watchword still. When the men of England have to be invoked when "the good old cause," as Sydney, who died for it on the scaffold, termed it, is in danger, they are told

"Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory

Sydney's matchless shade is yours,

Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a thousand Agincourts."

Affairs were going on badly with the Parliament, and the Royalists were looking forward confidently to a successful conclusion of the campaign. Queen Henrietta joined her liege lord the king, his majesty meet

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ing her at Edge Hill, and conducting her in triumph to Oxford. The poets sang her praises as that of a heroine bringing victory: one of them set forth

"When gallant Grenville stoutly stood
And stopped the gap up with his blood,
When Hopton led his Cornish band
Where the sly conqueror durst not stand,
We knew the queen was nigh at hand.
"When great Newcastle so came forth,
As in nine days he scoured the north,
When Fairfax' vast, perfidious force
Was shrunk to five invisible horse,
When none but lady staid to fight,
We knew our queen was come in sight.
"When with Carnarvon, who still hit
With his keen blade and keener wit,
Stood Wilmot, Byron, Crawford, who
Struck yesterday a glorious blow,
When Waller could but bleed and fret,
Then-then the sacred couple met."

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