further appeared that he had been long in
secret treaty with the Duke of Lorraine for
a foreign army of ten thousand men.
Disappointed in this, he sent a most devoted
friend of his, the EARL OF GLAMORGAN, to
Ireland, to conclude a secret treaty with the
Catholic powers, to send him an Irish army
of ten thousand men; in return for which
he was to bestow great favours on the
Catholic religion. And when this treaty was
discovered in the carriage of a fighting Irish
Archbishop, who was killed in one of the
many skirmishes of those days, he basely
denied and deserted his attached friend, the
Earl, on his being charged with high treason;
and — even worse than this— had left blanks
in the secret instructions he gave him with
his own kingly hand, expressly that he
might thus save himself.

At last, on the twenty-seventh day of April,
one thousand six hundred and forty-six, the
King found himself in the city of Oxford, so
surrounded by the Parliamentary army who
were closing in upon him on all sides, that he
felt that if he would escape, he must delay
no longer. So, that night, having altered the
cut of his hair and beard, he was dressed up
as a servant and put upon a horse with a
cloak strapped behind him, and rode out of the
town behind one of his own faithful followers,
with a clergyman of that country, who knew
the road well, for a guide. He rode towards
London as far as Harrow, and then altered
his plans, and resolved, it would seem, to go
to the Scottish camp. The Scottish men had
been invited over to help the Parliamentary
army, and had a large force then in England.
The King was so desperately intriguing in
everything he did, that it is doubtful what he
exactly meant by this step. He took it, anyhow,
and delivered himself up to the EARL
OF LEVEN, the Scottish general-in-chief, who
treated him as an honourable prisoner.
Negotiations between the Parliament on the one
hand and the Scottish authorities on the other
as to what should be done with him, lasted
until the following February. Then, when
the King had refused to the Parliament the
concession of that old militia point for twenty
years, and had refused to Scotland the recognition
of its Solemn League and Covenant,
Scotland got a handsome sum for its army
and its help, and the King into the bargain.
He was taken by certain Parliamentary commissioners
appointed to receive him, to one
of his own houses, called Holmby House, near
Althorpe, in Northamptonshire.

While the Civil War was still in progress,
John Pym died, and was buried with great
honour in Westminster Abbey— not with
greater honour than he deserved, for the liberties
of Englishmen owe a mighty debt to Pym
and Hampden. The war was but newly over
when the Earl of Essex died, of an illness
brought on by his having overheated himself
in a stag hunt in Windsor Forest. He, too,
was buried in Westminster Abbey, with great
state. I wish it were not necessary to add
that Archbishop Laud died upon the scaffold
when the war was not yet done. His trial
lasted in all nearly a year, and, it being
doubtful even then whether the charges
brought against him amounted to treason, the
odious old contrivance of the worst kings was
resorted to, and a bill of attainder was brought
in against him. He was a violently prejudiced
and mischievous person, had had strong ear-
cropping and nose-slitting propensities, as you
know, and had done a world of harm. But he
died peaceably, and like a brave old man.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

WHEN the Parliament had got the King
into their hands, they became very anxious
to get rid of their army, in which Oliver
Cromwell had begun to acquire great power;
not only because of his courage and high
abilities, but because he professed to be very
sincere in the Scottish sort of Puritan religion
that was then exceedingly popular among the
soldiers. They were as much opposed to the
Bishops as to the Pope himself; and the very
privates, drummers, and trumpeters, had such
an inconvenient habit of starting up and
preaching long-winded discourses, that I
would not have belonged to that army on
any account.

So, the Parliament being far from sure but
that the army might begin to preach and fight
against them now it had nothing else to do,
proposed to disband a greater part of it, to
send another part to serve in Ireland against
the rebels, and to keep only a small force in
England. But, the army would not consent
to be broken up, except upon its own conditions;
and when the Parliament showed
an intention of compelling it, it acted for
itself in an unexpected manner. A certain
cornet, of the name of JOICE, arrived at
Holmby House one night, attended by four
hundred horsemen, went into the King's
room with his hat in one hand and a pistol
in the other, and told the King that he
had come to take him away. The King,
was willing enough to go, and only stipulated
that he should be publicly required to do so
next morning. Next morning, accordingly,
he appeared on the top of the steps of the
house, and asked Cornet Joice before his men
and the guard set there by the Parliament,
what authority he had for taking him away?
To this Cornet Joice replied, "the authority
of the army." "Have you a written commission?"
said the King. Joice, pointing to
his four hundred men on horseback, replied,
"that is my commission." " Well," said the
King smiling, as if he were pleased, "I
never before read such a commission; but
it is written in fair and legible characters.
This is a company of as handsome proper
gentlemen as I have seen a long while." He
was asked where he would like to live, and
he said at Newmarket. So, to Newmarket
he, and Cornet Joice, and the four hundred