aining the
victory for her, was incapable of abusing that victory when gained.

"In the evening of the 17th of June, Rupert darted out of Oxford with
his cavalry on a predatory expedition. At three in the morning of the
following day, he attacked and dispersed a few parliamentary soldiers
who were quartered at Postcombe. He then flew to Chinnor, burned the
village, killed or took all the troops who were posted there, and
prepared to hurry back with his booty and his prisoners to Oxford.

"Hampden had, on the preceding day, strongly represented to Essex
the danger to which this part of the line was exposed. As soon as he
received intelligence of Rupert's incursion, he sent off a horseman
with a message to the General. The cavaliers, he said, could return
only by Chiselhampton Bridge. A force ought to be instantly dispatched
in that direction, for the purpose of intercepting them. In the
meantime, he resolved to set out with all the cavalry that he could
muster, for the purpose of impeding the march of the enemy till Essex
could take measures for cutting off their retreat. A considerable body
of horse and dragoons volunteered to follow him. He was not their
commander. He did not even belong to their branch of the service. But
'he was,' says Lord Clarendon, 'second to none but the General himself
in the observance and application of all men.' On the field of
Chalgrove he came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the
first charge, Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two bullets, which
broke the bone, and lodged in his body. The troops of the Parliament
lost heart and gave way. Rupert, after pursuing them for a short time,
hastened to cross the bridge, and made his retreat unmolested to
Oxford.

"Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's
neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion which had been
inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which in his youth he had
carried home his bride, Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains
an affecting tradition, that he looked for a moment towards that
beloved house, and made an effort to go thither to die. But the enemy
lay in that direction. He turned his horse towards Thame, where he
arrived almost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his
wounds. But there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was
most excruciating. But he endured it with admirable firmness and
resignation. His first care was for his country. He wrote from his b