the wide field of Chalgrove, where he was attacked by the troops of Captains Gunter and Sheffield, with whom Hampden had ridden. They boldly charged Rupert, but Gunter was soon slain, and Hampden, who was looking impatiently but in vain for Essex's reinforcements, rode up to lead on Gunter's troopers to the charge, and received a mortal wound. He did not fall, but, feeling his death blow, wheeled round his horse, and rode away towards the house of his father-in-law at Pyrton, whence he married his first wife, whose early death had made such a change in him. The soldiers of Rupert barred the way in that direction, and he made for Thame, and reached the house of Ezekiel Browne. He still continued to live for a week, and spent the time with what strength he had in urging on Parliament a correction of the palpable military errors of the campaign, and especially of the dilatory motions of Essex, which in fact had cost him his life. He expired on the 24th of June, and was buried in his own parish church at Hampden, followed to the grave by his regiment of green-coats with reversed arms and muffled drums. The news of this national disaster spread dismay through London and over the whole country. The prudence, the zeal, and activity united in Hampden, had made him one of the most efficient men in the House and in the field. The suavity of his manners, the generosity of his disposition, the soundness of his judgment, had won him universal confidence. It was clearly seen that nothing but the deepest and most patriotic concern for the real welfare of the country animated him. Though he was conscientiously convinced of the mischief of political bishops, he was attached to the doctrines of the Church of England; and though he was, like Pym, firmly persuaded that nothing but the strongest obligations, the most imperative necessity, would ever tie down Charles to an observance of the limits of the Constitution, he was far from dreaming of his death, or of sweeping away the monarchy to make way for a republic. A little more time must have placed him at the head of the army, and, with such a right-hand man as Cromwell, must have soon terminated the campaign. His death seemed like a general defeat, and struck the deepest and most lasting sorrow into the public mind. Time has only increased the veneration for the name of John Hampden, which has become the watchword of liberty, and the object of popular appeal in every great crisis of his country's history.