Another loss had to be sustained in the month of June. Early one Sunday morning, Prince Rupert, with a skirmishing party, drew up his men in order of battle amidst the standing corn of Chalgrove Field. John Hampden, who had spent the night in the immediate neighbourhood, adventured, contrary to the wishes of his friends, to throw himself into this at first apparently unimportant action. With characteristic bravery, he led an attack, and, on the first charge at the head of his troops, received in his shoulder two carbine balls. He rode off the field, "his head bending down, and his hands resting on his horse's neck." Though fainting with pain, he cleared a brook on the road to Thame, and on reaching that town had his wounds dressed. Conscious of danger, he first despatched letters of counsel to Parliament, and then prepared for his departure from the world. After six days of severe suffering, and about seven hours before his death, he received the Lord's supper, declaring that, "though he could not away with the governance of the Church by bishops, and did utterly abominate the scandalous lives of some clergymen, he thought its doctrine in the greater part primitive and conformable to God's word, as in holy Scripture revealed." Dr. Giles, the rector of Chinnor, and Dr. Spurstow, the chaplain of his regiment, attended him in his last moments. He died in prayer, uttering, "O Lord, God of Hosts! great is Thy mercy, just and holy are Thy dealings unto us sinful men. Save me, O Lord, if it be Thy good will, from the jaws of death; pardon my manifold transgressions. O Lord, save my bleeding country. Have these realms in Thy special keeping. Confound and level in the dust those who would rob the people of their liberty and lawful prerogative. Let the King see his error, and turn the hearts of his wicked counsellors from the malice and wickedness of their designs. Lord Jesus, receive my soul! O Lord, save my country! O Lord, be merciful to...." As he uttered these words, his speech failed, and then, falling backwards, he expired. His remains were conveyed to the churchyard of Great Hampden, close beside the old family mansion, where the patriot had spent so much of his life in the studies and the sports of a country gentleman. Through lanes under the beech-covered chalk hills of the Chilterns, a detachment of his favourite troops, bare-headed, carried him to his last resting-place--their arms reversed, their drums and ensigns muffled--mournfully chanting, as they slowly marched along, the dirge from the Book of Psalms: "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations;--thou turnest man to destruction;--thou carriest them away as with a flood;--they are as a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up, in the morning it flourisheth and groweth up, in the evening it is cut down and withereth." When the funeral was over, the soldiers, returning from the village church to their