said to have been nearly double that number. Had Glyndwr made good his engagements, the armies would have been about equal. Percy, however, had confidence in his own prowess, and his experience of that of his compeer, Douglas, banished every doubt of victory from his mind. His ardour received a momentary check from the following incident, which strikingly exemplifies the universal superstition of the times:—In preparing for the field, he called for his favourite sword, when he was informed that he had left it at the village of Berwick the preceding night. The name of the place startled him, and heaving a sigh, he exclaimed, “Alas! then, my death is near at hand; for a wizard once told me that I should not live long after I had been at Berwick, which I thought was a town in the north so called. Yet, I will not be cheaply won.” The abbot of Shrewsbury and one of the clerks of the privy seal, were sent by the King to offer pardon to Hotspur if he would lay down his arms, but to no purpose. Percy completed all his military arrangements, and stationed his troops in a field still called the Hateleys—the royal forces occupying ground immediately opposite. A flourish of trumpets, mingling with the contending shouts of “St. George and victory,” and “Esperance Percy,” was the signal of onset, which was answered by a tremendous discharge of arrows from both sides. The Scots, who were too impatient to fight at a distance, rushed with great fury upon the centre of the royal army, and threw it into disorder; but the King hastening with fresh succour rallied his broken troops and recovered their ground. He frequently exposed himself in the thickest of the battle, which indeed he might the more safely do, since he had diminished the chances of personal danger, by investing several of his knights in regal habiliments. Events soon proved the prudence of the stratagem. Percy sought him in every part of the field, and Douglas with equal impetuosity slew three of these mock-monarchs with his own hand. The fight extended from Berwick westward, to the vicinity of Haughmond Abbey in the east, and continued for three hours with various success. The bravery of the King was nobly seconded by the valour of his son, Prince Henry, who that day performed his noviciate in arms, and gave earnest of the future glory of Agincourt. The Scottish champion, seconded by Hotspur, made another furious attack on the royal station—slew the standard bearer, and came within a sword’s point of the king, who fled for his life. In one of these charges Hotspur was shot through the brain by an arrow, and fell gloriously in the midst of his foes. Shortly after his army gave way on all sides, and a total rout ensued. Douglas fled, and being hotly pursued, he was thrown down from his horse while taking a desperate leap on Haughmond-hill, and seized by the enemy. Phillips, the historian, says, “1,600 royalists were slain, and 3,000 wounded; on the side of