of machine-made men of arms. Then the problem seems to have been, given, a person with the elements of a soldier and the ideas of a patriot, to develop him into a man; now it is rather, given, a man potentially with no very definite notions, to lop him down into a soldier and crush his individuality to nonentity; so much have new inventions, different modes of warfare, and the revolution of ideas helped to change the aspect of military matters, and dwarf a genuine valour into a mere mechanism of strings and wires.

So the time wore on. Nathaniel was getting anxious for news from home, when one day his young friend brought him in a packet, which had met with many adventures on the way, and was at least some three weeks old, having been lost once or twice in its transit, and turning up at last unexpectedly in the saddle-bags of one of the Association Couriers. The outside address and letter we venture to copy, with a little modernization, for such as may be interested in the revelation it affords of social manners in a by-gone age. To my Right Worshipful and best Beloved Father, Nathaniel Newbury, be these

delivered in haste.

'Carlton Grange, July 28, 1643. 'My beloved Father,

'I recommend me to you in the most humble wise, and do endeavour to conduct myself as you counselled me when you left us. Since you went away most things have prospered us in their usual manner, and by God's good favour we are all sound in body and mind. But we have had a terrible fright, of which 1 will now tell you. You had not left us many hours when I espied a suspiciouslooking person, loitering about the neighbourhood, as the manner of loose folk is, intent on plundering and disturbing honest people. But I put my eyes upon him, and made all things in readiness. Notwithstanding my care and watchfulness, we were awakened at midnight by a strange noise, which proved to be this villain, who had gotten into our house, and was prowling about and upsetting everything, until he came to our dear mother's room, where, threatening to stab her with a poignard, she cried out,

and I rushed to her assistance. John, the serving-man, soon came also, and after a hard scuffle, in which our lives were much in jeopardy by reason of his violence, (and the pike Midge made us weapon from him, bound him with cords, stood us in good stead,) we wrested his and had him conveyed away and brought before Mr. Justice the next morning. He was well whipped for his pains, and is now in gaol where he is likely to remain.

'I enclose a letter from Giles. The yard shed is being builded with good speed. Answer this when you can, for we much desire to know whether you are well and what the troops are doing. Be assured we are not slothful in our prayers for you and the Parliament.

'Your son and servant,

'ELIJAH NEWBURY.' The enclosure from his son Giles contained some very important information about that personage himself, which, as it will more naturally fall into its proper place in our narrative, need not be given here. Its allusion to current matters were, however, by no means so private, and may be summarily given. The London crosses had been torn down by the authorities amidst the shouting of the populace and the clangor of martial trumpets. The Book of Sports had been burnt upon their ruins, the apprentices were getting excited, many shops were partially or entirely closed, and a military spirit was being rapidly infused into the hearts of even the most peaceloving Puritans. The fortifications of the city, decreed by Parliament, were progressing with much spirit. Gentlemen of noble birth and ladies of quality and renown mingled with civilians and labourers, and with spades and mattocks worked at the entrenchments amidst the roll of drums and the clamour of auxiliary voices. It was an inspiring moment for poet, painter, or historian. The old Jew with trowel and spear, and the Greek building even his sacred tombs into the walls of the Peiræus, are instances of romantic endeavour that perhaps only dwarf this modern one by their antiquity and transcend it by their sacrifice. All events were

ripening for a harvest that was to be not of sheaves but of men, not of grain but of blood. Hampden, the champion of the great cause that was shaping itself into such might and majesty on every hand, had expired, and his last words-O Lord, save my country!' thrilled all who knew his virtues, loved his cause, and revered his memory.

Lincoln was now one of the seven associated counties, as Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, Cambridge, Herts, Hants, and Lincoln were commonly styled. It was soon to be the theatre of some few more active operations. Newbury and his young companion were soon inducted into the life of a regular marching army. Cromwell and the younger Fairfax were approaching Boston to unite and complete, if possible, the total liberation of the county. A batch of new men were sent to Cromwell, including our gospeller and others, and were scrutinized with great closeness by this man of iron. He had a word for most men, a smile for some, and a rebuke for others. At first he was somewhat repulsed by the stiff, resolute, but Centaur-like manner with which Newbury bestrode his sturdy cob. He was conscious of an electric influence emanating from Newbury's will, and hovered about him for many minutes in a perplexity that was by no means displeasing. I think there must be something in that man, he looks so boldly out at things,' he said to himself. Here, Newbury-Corporal Newbury, in future, if you please-come to me a

minute.'

Nathaniel nervously complied, for the speaker was no dandiacal general who fluttered you only by his ribbons and stars, but a veritable Mars in aspect, manner, and tone. Wrinkled, warty, sallow, shaggy-haired, like an odd Silenus face cut from some gnarled and knotted oak, there was withal a depth, magnanimity, and strong honest intelligence about the man-a very terror in his quiet searching gaze, that made you love, tremble, and revere, almost before you had analysed your own emotions,

53

or were even conscious of their fulness and power.

I

What have you to say of these new comers? Are they true? don't so much want soldiers as men;' and eyeing Nathaniel severely, he went on 'not so much men as Christians.'

'I will be answerable for them all, Colonel. We burn to show you what even recruits can do when they war for the right.'

'Aye, aye, man, that is well. You're a good honest soul.'

'You praise me, Sir; I am, I hope, a Christian, doing my duty.'

'See to it, then,' answered Cromwell, with a dash of severity in his tone. 'See to it, that ye fail me not when I trust you most, in my hour of need. I love honest, sober Christians, who expect to be used as men.'

Then, riding forwards a few paces, and addressing the new comers in a body, Cromwell said with solemnity

Now, my men, you must keep your arms clean, and your hearts open in the sight of God; forget not your prayers and your psalms, and verily the swords in your hands shall become sceptres in the using, and of mighty power!'

Amen!' responded the new Corporal devoutly.

The united army was now moving to the north of the county by hard stages, preparing to meet Sir John Henderson and the royalist army. The meeting came more suddenly than was anticipated. Cromwell's horse, who were a full day's march in advance of the infantry, at last came upon the outposts of the enemy on Tuesday, October 10th. Cromwell was unwilling to fight. His men and his horses were excessively fatigued, and yet needed restraint rather than encouragement. The Earl of Manchester-the general in command of the Parliamentariansdrew them up on Bolinbroke Hill, an eminence near Winceby-in-theWolds. It was then seen at what fearful odds they would have to contend against the royalists-it was as four to one. On Wednesday morn

ing the fight began, and the cavaliers had a good opportunity of testing the merits of this 'thimble and bodkin army,' as it was ironically called. The enemy drew up in battle array, and about noon the Roundheads marched a mile towards the enemy.

'Come,' said Fairfax, 'let us fall on! I never prospered better than when I fought against the enemy three or four to one.'

Cromwell caught the inspiration. Through the ranks of his Ironsides rang the watchwords, 'TRUTH and PEACE!' All was now joy and calm resolution. Officers gave short pithy addresses to their men, there were extempore prayer-meetings, and the men gladly arranged themselves in the order of battle.

Newbury was pale, almost sad. Many of his newly-made friends were around him, and by his side was the young convert he had made. Cromwell moved in and out amongst them speechless, but looking unutterable thoughts.

The enemy advanced a few paces, and fired a loose volley. They came still nearer, crying aloud their warcry, For Cavendish.'

The Roundheads were impatient, swaying about with emotion as a wild steed shakes his sinewy neck though held in with curb and with bridle.

Cromwell was to lead the van with his unconquerable dragooners.

'Charge!' he cried out at length, in hoarse, rasping tones. It thrilled his men like a divine word, and their swords gleamed in the air, keen and terrible. A thousand manly voices shouted aloud, For Truth and Peace,' and bursting out to a man in the fine Psalm, O clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto God with the voice of triumph. For the Lord most High is terrible; he is a great King over all the earth. The very welkin trembled with their music and the thick tramp of their hurrying feet. Whilst within half pistol-shot they received a second volley from the enemy, that surprised them if it did not do much

execution. They were now close upon each other, and voices in either army were distinctly audible as they came together.

'On with ye!' yelled a cavalier with loose wind-tossed locks. Who ever knew a Puritan to fire a musket without winking?'

In the name of the Lord, and in the might of his power!' shouted some pious Puritan.

A spur, a dash, a momentary silence-they have met. It was a terrible shock. The front ranks of each body were overtopped and swallowed up in the confusion and carnage. A low murmur, as of wounded men, was just audible amidst the subsiding clash. Still the men behind pressed onwards. A voice was heard, loud and strong, from amidst the press-it surely must have been Newbury's, crying, the shields of the earth belong unto God. Clash went line after line, and man after man. Cromwell was unhorsed, and almost crushed beneath his steed, but mounted again on the sorry horse of a trooper. Newbury's young friend was missing, evidently either dead or seriously wounded. Very soon the roar, the eddy, and the clashing were around our Gospeller. He began to feel sickened, staggered, blinded. Right in front of him bore down a fierce hirsute cavalier, with a frown and demonglare about him enough of them. selves to annihilate a simple honest man. Newbury suddenly became conscious of his danger. He remembered that he had not dis charged his pistol. Grasping it hastily, he took a sharp aim, closed his eyes, and fired. The man fell, and Newbury felt his cheek flush and his ears tingle. But it was no time for reflection. Hurried on from behind he was continually getting into fresh difficulties and meeting fresh foes. Cromwell was once more by the side of his favourite Ironsides. The battle grew furious, and the thunder of the conflict resounded far and wide. Newbury was getting more and more surrounded, and could not keep off his

assailants. A severe slashing cut across the left thigh at last gave his valour the final spurt. He mowed right and left with his trusty sword in gigantic swathes.

They flee! they flee!' was cried from the front. Away, away, charged they all again, over hillocks, ditches, quagmires, dead horses, and dying men.

The royalist dragoons made for a lane, and the chase became terribly exciting. Ironside after Ironside now galloped to the front, and stretched their steeds at a killing pace over the broken road.

Click, clatter, and slash!-click, clatter, and slash -click, clatter, and slash! Oh, the horror of that death-ride in the narrow lane Slash-lane, as it is better known in the tradition of the battle!

The royalists were totally routed. They had despised their foes, and their religious canting madness, as they thought it to be, but now they lay slain and scattered in pools, ditches, and ruts. Flight availed them not. Mile after mile, right up to Horncastle, chased the lionstrong Ironsides, scattering terror and death, like the avenging angels of the Lord.

Poor Newbury's horse could hold on no longer. It staggered, fell forwards, and pitched its rider on to a fallen cavalier, who lay in the mud gashed and gored with many a scar. The horse gave a feeble groan and expired, and Newbury's com

rades, in their haste, mistaking the cause of his fall, left him for dead. After a while Nathaniel raised up his head, and a wild whirl of noises dinned his ear. He still heard the first tramp of the charge, and the sound of the psalm they had sung. Again and again he raised himself to sink anew into this mad dance of war, in which heaven, earth, and hell blended in strange mixture and mystery. A feeble sigh at length betokened consciousness, as a knot of worn and dusty-vestured Ironsides returned from the death-ride.

'Why it's Newbury!' said one, as hearing voices he staggered to his feet, with sufficient strength to cry in response, God is gone up with a shout, the Lord with the sound of a trumpet. Tenderly these rough stern men lifted him into a saddle, and guided him where he might procure the restoratives he so much needed, and have the long gash in his thigh at once attended to by a skilful chirurgeon. It was a sore and obstinate wound. But Newbury was patient and hopeful. He said, it is but my first scar. Thank God, I am a bruised and not a broken reed. If it had been my head, my country was welcome to it; had it been my leg, it had been worse, but as it is, my right arm is still strong, and this hack is but the token, the sign-manual, whereby Britain saith to me, "Nathaniel, thou art mine!" '

of Mr. Deacon, in the streets at Bagworth, about seventy years ago.

He was born at Cauldwell, near Burton-on-Trent, October 11th, 1772, and thus relates, in letters to Mrs. Stubbins, his early religious experience-'I can scarcely remember the time when I was not under serious impressions. I had the inestim.