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selves in sight of each other. This was the time for the king to strike a decisive blow : he lost the opportunity; and both sides separated with equal loss. Five thousand men are said to have been found dead on the field of battle. It would be tedious, and no way instructive, to enter into the marchings and counter-marchings of these undisciplined and ill-conducted armies: war was a new trade to the English, as they had not seen a hostile engagement in the island for near a century before. The queen came to reinforce the royal party; she had brought soldiers and ammunition from Holland, and immediately departed to procure more. But the parliament, who $new its own strength, felt no discouragement. Their demands seemed to increase in proportion to their losses; and, as they were repressed in the field, they grew more haughty in the cabinet. Such governors as gave up their fortresses to the king were attainted of high treason. It was in vain for the king to send proposals after any success; this only raised their pride and their animosity. But though this desire in the king to make peace with his subjects was the highest encomium on his humanity, yet his long negotiations, one of which he carried on at Oxford, were faulty as a warrior. He wasted that time in altercation and treaty which he should have employed in vigorous exertions in the field. However, the first two campaigns, upon the whole, wore a favourable aspect. One victory followed another: A. D. Cornwall was reduced to peace and obedience T643. under the king: a victory was gained over the parliamentarians at Stratton-hill, in Devonshire; another at Roundway-down near the Devizes; and a third in Chalgrave-field. Bristol was besieged and taken; and Gloucester was besieged; the battle of Newbury was

favourable to the royal cause; and great hopes of success were formed from an army in the north, raised by the marquis of Newcastle. But, in the second of these campaigns, the two bravest and greatest men of their respective parties were killed; as if it was intended, by the kindness of Providence, that they should be exempted from seeing the miseries and the slaughter which were shortly to ensue. These were John Hampden, and Lucius Cary, lord Falkland. In an incursion made by prince Rupert to within about two miles of the enemy's quarters, a great booty was obtained. This the parliamentarians attempted to rescue; and Hampden, at their head, overtook the royalists in Chalgrave-field. As he ever was the first to enter into the thickest of the battle, he was shot in the shoulder with a brace of bullets, and the bone broken. Some days after he died in great pain; nor could his whole party, had their army met a total overthrow, have been cast into greater consternation. Even Charles, his enemy, felt for his disaster, and offered his own surgeon to assist his cure. Hampden, whom we have seen, in the beginning of these troubles, refuse to pay shipmoney, gained, by his inflexible integrity, the esteem even of his enemies. To these he added affability in conversation, temper, art, eloquence in debate, and penetration in council. But Falkland was a still greater loss, and a greater character. He added to Hampden's severe principles a politeness and elegance but then beginning to be known in England. He had boldly withstood the king's pretensions while he saw him making a bad use of his power; but when he perceived the design of the parliament to overturn the religion and the constitution of his country, he changed his side, and steadfastly attached himself to the crown. From the beginning of the civil war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity forsook him; he became melancholy, sad, pale, and negligent of his person. When the two armies were in sight of each other, and preparing for the battle of Newbury, he appeared desirous of terminating his life, since he could not compose the miseries of his country. Still anxious for his country alone, he dreaded the too prosperous success of his own party as much as that of the enemy; and he professed that its miseries had broken his heart. His usual cry among his friends, after a deep silence and frequent sighs, was, “Peace! Peace!” He now said, upon the morning of the engagement, that he was weary of the times, and should leave them before night. He was shot by a musket-ball in the belly: and his body was next morning found among a heap of slain. His writings, his eloquence, his justice, and his courage, deserved such a death of glory; and they found it. The king, that he might make preparations during the winter for the ensuing campaign, and to oppose the designs of the Westminster parliament, called one at Oxford; and this was the first time that England saw A. D. two parliaments sitting at the same time. His 1644. house of peers was pretty full; his house of commons consisted of about a hundred and forty, which amounted to not above half of the other house of commons. From this shadow of a parliament he received some supplies; after which it was prorogued, and never after assembled. In the mean time the parliamentarian leaders were equally active on their side. They passed an ordinance, commanding all the inhabitants of London and its neighbourhood to retrench a meal a week, and to pay the value of it for the support of the public cause. But, what was much more effectual, the Scots, who considered their claims as similar,

led a strong army to their assistance. The two houses levied an army of fourteen thousand men in the east under the earl of Manchester; they had an army of ten thousand men under Essex, and another of nearly the same force under sir William Waller. These were superior to any force the king could bring into the field, and were well appointed with ammunition, provisions, and pay. Hostilities, which even during the winter season had not been wholly discontinued, were renewed in the spring with their usual fury, and served to desolate the kingdom without deciding victory. Each county joined that side to which it was addicted from motives of conviction, interest, or fear. Some, however, petitioned for peace; and all the wise and good were earnest in the cry. What particularly deserves remark, was an attempt of the women of London, who, to the number of two or three thousand, went in a body to the house of commons, earnestly demanding peace. “Gave us those traitors,” said they, “that are against peace; give them, that we may tear them in pieces.” The guards found some difficulty in quelling this insurrection, and one or two women lost their lives in the fray. The battle of Marston-moor was the beginning of the king's misfortunes and disgrace. The Scots and parliamentarian army had joined, and were besieging York, when prince Rupert, joined by the marquis of Newcastle, determined to raise the siege. Both sides drew up on Marston-moor, to the number of fifty thou sand, and the victory seemed long undecided between them. Rupert, who commanded the right wing of the royalists, was opposed by Oliver Cromwell, who now first came into notice, at the head of a body of troops whom he had taken care to levy and discipline. Cromwell was victorious; he pushed his opponents off the field, followed the vanquished, returned to a second engagement and a second victory; the prince's whole train of artillery was taken; and the royalists sustained irreparable injury. While the king was unfortunate in the field, he was not more successful in negotiation. A treaty was begun at Uxbridge, which, like all others, came to noA. D. thing. The puritans demanded a total abolition 1645. of the episcopacy and all church ceremonies; and this Charles, from conviction, from interest, and persuasion, was not willing to permit. He had all along adhered to the episcopal jurisdiction, not only because it was favourable to monarchy, but because all his adherents were passionately devoted to it. He esteemed bishops as essential to the Christian church; and thought himself bound, not only by temporal but sacred ties, to defend them. The parliament was as obstinately bent upon removing this order; and, to show their resolution, began with the foremost of the number. William Laud, archbishop of Canterbury, as we have already seen, had been imprisoned in the Tower at the same time with Strafford; and he had patiently endured so long a confinement without being brought to any trial. He was now, therefore, accused of hightreason, in endeavouring to subvert the fundamental laws, and of other high crimes and misdemeanours. The groundless charge of popery, which his life and afterwards his death belied, was urged against him. In his defence he spoke several hours with that courage which seems the result of innocence and integrity. The lords, who were his judges, appeared willing to acquit ‘him: but the commons, his accusers, finding how his trial was likely to go, passed an ordinance for his exe

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