hotly renewed, Cromwell's infantry and "the Lancashire regiments being" (in the words of the lieutenant-general's animated despatch) "long engaged at push of pike. At length," he continues," they were beaten from the bridge, and our horse and foot following them, killed many, and took divers prisoners, and we possessed the bridge and a few houses there, where we lay that night, the enemy being drawn up within musket-shot of us." This refers to such of the wearied and overmatched English as still kept together, for the Scots were by this time in rapid retreat. Nothing could exceed the dismay and disorder of this night-march, the roads being bad, the weather rainy, and the whole army distracted with terror of the victorious foe. With the morning the pursuit was again renewed, and continued to Warrington, where Bayley, though strongly posted upon a bridge, in command of 6,000 men, surrendered to Cromwell without a blow. The duke, in the mean time, accompanied by his principal officers and a few troops of cavalry, had wandered to Uttoxeter, where falling in with a party of the Lord Grey of Groby's men, whom Cromwell's vigilance had roused to the pursuit, he yielded himself to their mercy, with his own hand stripping off his scarf, george, and sword, and resigning them to the officer in command. Langdale shared the fate of his unfortunate commander. Having disbanded his remaining followers, he was taken in a village-inn near Nottingham, where, in disguise, he had sought shelter. Never was victory so complete obtained at smaller cost; for after the dispersion of the English under Langdale, not fifty men fell on the side of the victors; whilst of the Scots, except the division under Monroe, and the stragglers who succeeded in joining him, none recrossed the border. Such was the disgraceful issue of an expedition, in the van of which, on its setting forth, its vain leader is described as marching "with his life-guard and trumpeters before him, all in scarlet cloaks full of silver lace, in great state, with standards and equipage like a prince!" While the parliament were suspending those dishonoured standards in Westminster Hall, and offering public thanksgiving for their victory, Cromwell followed up the disastrous blow by a march upon Edinburgh, to extinguish the remaining power of the Hamiltonians.

Not less disgraceful, in its degree, proved an enterprise undertaken at the same time by the Earl of Holland, who, though implicated in all the measures of the Presbyterians, had sufficient interest to procure a commission from Paris to raise an army for the king. Affecting scorn of all precaution against the Independents, he openly made his house in London the general rendezvous of the royalists; and, on the same day on which the Scots moved towards England, he also, at the head of a party of 500 cavaliers in warlike array, several of them noblemen and gentlemen of the highest quality, marched out of the city, and fixed his quarters at Kingston in Surrey. On the second day, through the negligence of his chief military officer, Dalbier, the earl's party was surprised, and dispersed by Colonel Rich's horse. At St. Neot's, whither he fled with about a hundred followers, he was a second time attacked, and taken. Dalbier was slain, and with him the son of Sir Kenelm Digby; but the most lamented loss in this contemptible insurrection was that of Lord Francis Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham's brother, who fell, refusing quarter, in the

affray at Kingston. The duke himself escaped into the Netherlands, and the earl had leisure, during a long imprisonment in Warwick Castle, to brood over the rashness of this attempt to retrieve-what nothing could have retrieved—his reputation as a loyal subject of the king.

During these disastrous transactions, Fairfax, with Ireton as nominally second in command, but in reality supreme, was prosecuting the siege of Colchester. The particulars of this siege still survive in the popular remembrance; in the journal printed by Rushworth, and in other authentic accounts, it abounds in painful and stirring incident. Indefatigable in exertion, of heroic bravery, patient of the extremest privation, the devoted band who there rallied round Goring, have consecrated with the odour of loyalty that otherwise homely town. For many weeks, abjuring all thoughts of a surrender, they fought cheerfully, surrounded by famine and conflagration; because they could not be persuaded, that while the heart of the nation was yearning for the king's return,-while the royal standard was actually floating, or ready to be raised, over half England,— while an army, which they fondly believed both brave and devoted to the cause, was advancing towards the capital, they would be ultimately left unsuccoured within the walls they had so well defended in his name. One after another, however, these hopes were extinguished by the successes of the republican army, or by the deplorable incapacity and mismanagement of the king's friends. The discomfiture of the Scots closed the door against hope from arms. Another prospect of relief might indeed remain: the Presbyterian party had for a time recovered its influence and courage; and the parliament, once more under their management, had repealed the vote of no more addresses, and resolved to open a treaty with the king in the Isle of Wight. But men who were reduced to live on the putrid flesh of horses, and on more disgusting substances, and could not calculate upon a scanty supply even of such food for to-morrow, were unable to wait the issue of a tedious negotiation. They offered Fairfax to capitulate; who answered, that the common soldiers might expect quarter, but that the officers must surrender at discretion. No alternative remained but to agree to these terms, or perish. They accepted them; and while Fairfax's council deliberated on their fate, were required to assist its deliberations by furnishing a list of all the names of the captives. Presently afterwards a guard was sent to conduct to execution Sir George Lisle, Sir Charles Lucas, and a Florentine gentleman, called in the histories Sir Bernard Gascoign, but whose true name was Guasconi, whom the council had selected to die, "for the example of others, and that the peace of the kingdom might no more be disturbed in that manner." Lucas, the first to suffer, tearing open his doublet, exclaimed to the musketeers who were drawn up in readiness, "Fire, rebels!" and instantly fell. Lisle ran to him, kissed his dead body, and turning to the soldiers, desired them to advance nearer. One of them replied: "Fear not, sir, we shall hit you." "Friends," he answered smiling, "I have been nearer when you have missed me." Guasconi, as a foreigner, was pardoned. Lord Capel, and the remaining prisoners of note, sent to Fairfax while this tragedy was in progress, entreating that either it might be forborne, or that, as they had all alike been guilty, if guilt there