drawn, in civil fight, it can never be sheathed, till it has fairly proved who is the strongest.

We cannot esteem these statements an irrelevant digression, because they help to shew the steps whereby men like Fairfax, who if bigotted, were not fanatical, and certainly not disposed to extremities, were led to wage war on the King, while they wished the conservation of the monarchy. First taking up arms to keep the peace, in the belief that the royal party were too weak to resist, they afterwards refused to lay them down, because the King was too formidable, and too much exasperated to be trusted.

The hostilities in Yorkshire never seem to have been suspended either by the winter or the negociations. It will be recollected that we left Sir Thomas intrenched at Bradford. According to his own account he had only three troops of horse, and about eight-hundred foot, but, upon summoning the country, he made up the latter twelve or thirteen hundred, "too many to lay idle, and too few to be on constant duty."

In a war of posts and parties, boldness and the first blow is more than half the battle. A hot engagement on the 23rd of January, made him master of Leeds, with all the stores and ammunition laid up there. Soon after he defeated Colonel Slingsby at Gisborough, and received in the name of the King and Parliament, the submission of Wakefield and Doncaster. All hopes of adjustment being over, Ferdinando Lord Fairfax, and his son, Sir Thomas Fairfax, were proclaimed traitors by the Earl of Newcastle, to whom the King had entrusted the command of the four northern counties, and who was, in return, proclaimed traitor by the Parliament. About the same time the Hothams, father and son, who had displayed the first overt act of opposition to the sovereign, deserted the Parliamentary cause. Though their defection was not yet

demanded, in express terms, the abolition of Episcopacy. This was clearly what neither they, had they been, which they were not, a legitimate representative Parlia ment, had any right to demand, nor Charles, had he been as absolute a monarch as he was accused of seeking to be, could have had any right to grant, as long as there was one congregation in the empire, who deemed Episcopacy essential to a Christian church, and therefore, in their view, essential to covenanted salvation. The people have, in these matters, no more just authority than the King, nor the King than the people, nor the gentry than the mob, nor the learned than the ignorant. No man, no community, has a right to deny to any portion of the community, what that portion esteem necessary to their eternal well-being. The state may determine the political rank and functions of religious ministers, and over church property it has the same prerogative, be it more or less, as over other property; for property, under whatever denomination, is of the things that be Cæsars. But over the religious character of ministers, the state has no lawful sway. It may deprive a Bishop of his barony, but not of his orders.

fully declared, they much inconvenienced the elder Fairfax by denial of succours, compelling him to retire from Selby towards Leeds. On his march he was intercepted by Newcastle, who lay with his army on Clifford-moor, whereupon he summoned his son to join him, with what forces he could raise, at Sherburn, to make good his retreat. After some inconsiderable operations at Tadcaster, Sir Thomas was twice defeated by the Lord Goring, at the head of twenty troops of horse and Dragoons, so mightily had the royal force increased. The first action was on Bramham-moor, the second on Seacroft-moor. rassed retreat, he reached Leeds, where his father had safely arrived an hour before him. Leeds and Bradford were then the only places of strength held by the Parliamentarians northward of Hull, which the Hothams were then plotting to deliver into the hands of the Royalists. Fairfax determined by a bold enterprize to revive the spirits of his party, then much dejected by the King's successes in the West.

After an embar

He attacked and recovered Wakefield, captured the elder Goring, took 1400 prisoners, 80 officers, and a large store of ammunition. Thus encouraged, the father and son formed a junction, and resolved to engage the Earl of Newcastle, who was advancing to the siege of Bradford, though their united forces did not exceed 3000, while those of the Earl were 10,000, armed and appointed as nobly as the wealth and magnificence of Cavendish could afford, animated by his chivalric spirit, and directed by the experience of King, his Lieutenant, a veteran Scot, long practised in the continental wars. The result of this temerity was the defeat of Atherton Moor, June 30, 1643. Two thousand were slain or taken in the field, and two thousand more surrendered the next day. The situation of the Fairfaxes was now most perilous, and had the royalists known how to make use of their victory, the North might have been secured to the King, the communication between the Scotch and English rebels cut off, and perhaps the House of Stuart would still be reigning over the British Isles.

The elder Fairfax withdrew to Leeds on the night of the battle, having commanded his son to remain in Bradford with 800 foot and 60 horse, at a great strait, scarce knowing which way to turn, for there was no garrison to receive his scattered troops. Halifax and Beverley were evacuated, and Sir John Hotham had declared, that should he retreat towards Hull, the gates should be shut against him. But at this very juncture, the treason of the Hothams exploded. The son was seized in the town, and the father made his escape through a postern. One of the cannon which he had himself directed to oppose his sovereign's entrance, was discharged after him without effect. Attended with six guards only, he made for his house at Scorbro', near Beverley,

which he had secretly fortified and stored. But meeting with unexpected obstacles, he turned his steps to Beverley, where Colonel Boynton, his own nephew, was already apprised of his approach, and ready to apprehend him. So well had the Colonel kept his counsel, that his troops knew not for what service they were called out, and when Sir John, riding unawares into the town, found seven or eight hundred armed men lining the street, he boldly put himself at their head, and bad them follow him, and they, uninformed of his apostacy, were about to obey, when his nephew laid hold of his bridle, and, with suitable apologies, arrested him as a traitor to the Commonwealth. He and his son were sent to London, committed to the Tower, and, after a considerable interval, executed on Tower-hill. We cannot reckon this among the crimes of the Parliament. The son might well have been spared, for his offence was filial obedience; but the father was a double traitor, and there is reason to think that his secession from the parliamentary interest was owing to envy at the higher promotion of Fairfax, rather than to returning loyalty.

These events took place at the very time that the battle of Atherton Moor was fighting, and the news arrived just in time to relieve the Lord Ferdinando from his despondency. Thus writes his son :— "Whilst the Lord Fairfax was musing on these sad thoughts, a messenger was sent unto him from Hull, to let him know the townsmen had secured the Governor; that they were sensible of the danger he was in, and if he had any occasion to make use of that place, he should be very readily and gladly received there."

Meanwhile, Sir Thomas, with his little remnant, was surrounded in Bradford by the vastly superior force of the royalists. It was a woeful time, when women and young children were fain to be dragged along with flying or pursuing squadrons, feeling less horror amid shot, and fire, and savage gashes, and "strange images of death," than in the desolation of their once happy homes, and silent expectation of all imagi nable villanies. The wife and children of Fairfax were at his side when, with dauntless courage, and a religious confidence in his cause which they who least approve his cause must admire, he determined to cut his way through the enemy. Of the peril and capture of his lady he speaks feelingly in his memorials:-"I must not here forget my wife, who ran the same hazard with us in this retreat, and with as little expression of fear; not from any zeal, or delight in the war, but through a willing and patient suffering of this undesirable condition. I sent two or three horsemen before, to discover what they could of the enemy, who presently returned, and told us there was a guard of horse close by us. I, with some twelve more, charged them: Sir Henry

Fowles, Major General Gifford, myself, and three more, broke through. Captain Modd was slain, and the rest of our horse being close by, the enemy fell upon them and soon routed them, taking most of them prisoners, among whom was my wife, the officer, Will Hill, behind whom she rid, being taken. I saw this disaster, but could give no relief, for after I was got through, I was in the enemy's rear alone; those who had charged through with me went on to Leeds, thinking I had done so too, but I was unwilling to leave my company, and staid till I saw there was no more in my power to do, but to be taken prisoner with them."

Arriving at Leeds, he found all in great distraction: the council of war resolved to abandon that place and take refuge in Hull, which was full sixty miles distance, and several of the King's garrisons intervening. With singular skill or good fortune he thridded his way through the numerous detachments hovering round Leeds, and gained Selby in safety, intending to cross the ferry, and make for the parliamentary post at Cawood. But before he could accomplish this purpose, he was overtaken by a company of horse, and received a shot in the wrist, which made the bridle fall out of his hand, and occasioned so great a loss of blood, that he had like to have fainted. But overcoming nature by a strong effort of will, he siezed the reins in his sword hand, and withdrew from the meleé: his intrepidity gave resolution to his followers; the enemy, perhaps gladly, suffered a brave man of an ancient house to escape, and after a most harrassing march, attacked on every side, he arrived at Hull.-But we must give his own account of this adventure::- I had been twenty hours on horseback after I was shot, and as many hours before and as a further affliction, my daughter (afterwards Duchess of Buckingham), not above five years old, endured all this retreat a horseback, being carried before her maid; but nature not being able to hold out any longer, she fell into frequent swoonings, and in appearance was ready to expire her last. Having now passed the Trent, and seeing a house not far off, I sent her with her maid only thither, with little hopes of seeing her any more alive, though I intended the next day to send a ship from Hull for her. I went on to Barton, having sent before to have a ship ready against my coming thither. Here I lay down to take a little rest, if it were possible to find any in a body so full of pain, and a mind yet fuller of trouble and anxiety. Though I must acknowledge it as the infinite goodness of God, that my spirit was nothing at all discouraged from doing still that which I thought to be my duty. I had not rested a quarter of an hour before the enemy came close to the town. I had now not above a hundred horse with me: we went to the ship, where, under security of our

ordnance, we got all our men and horse aboard, and crossing Humber, we arrived at Hull, our men faint and tired. I myself had lost all, even to my shirt, for my clothes were made unfit to wear with rents and blood. Presently after my coming to Hull, I sent a ship for my daughter, who was brought the next day to the town, pretty well recovered of her long and tedious journey. Not many days after, the Earl of Newcastle sent my wife back in his coach, with some horse to guard her; which generous act of his gained him more reputation than he could have got by detaining a lady prisoner on such terms," There is something amiable in this extract. It is pleasing to observe that even civil war does not extinguish a parent's tenderness. Perhaps it had been better for the poor little girl to have died then, than to have lived to be the wife of Villiers. We like Fairfax, too, for calling his wife by that plain, homely, kindly, Christian appellation. Nothing is more heartless than to hear Sir, and Madam, and my Lord, and my Lady, between husband and wife. Still more odious are such titles of honour passing between parents and children.* The names of father, mother, husband, wife, brother, sister, which the Almighty himself has appointed, are far, far more venerable, as more holy, than any which the feudal system has left behind. We do think, however, that Fairfax should have acknowledged Newcastle's generosity with something more than a flat truism.

Though the immediate danger was thus passed through, the situation of the Fairfaxes in Hull was extremely critical. The Parliament, intent on watching the personal movements of the King, whom they yet hoped to drive into a compromise which might amount to a virtual surrender of sovereignty, seem hitherto to have neglected the support

*Let it not be supposed that we recommend the example of Philip Egalité, or advocate a substitution, by Act of Parliament, of the titles Citoien, and Citoienne, for your Grace, and your Highness Conventional forms of respect are useful enough where there is no substance of natural duty, or heart-affection. Let them be observed as rigidly as may be in the court, the ball-room, the quarter sessions, the formal dinner party; but let them be expelled from the family fire-side. So far from being actuated by any jacobinical or levelling principle, we are pleading in behalf of, and in pure affection for, the Aristocracy, who are the only persons subject to these restrictions, and in a much worse condition, in all that regards their in-door affections, than any part of society but the brutally oppressed and ignorant. It is related of the Proud Duke of Somerset, that when his second Duchess tapped him fondly on the shoulder with her fan, he turned round haughtily, and said, "Madam, my first Lady was a Percy, and she never took such a liberty." In what a desart must that man's heart have dwelt;―of how much innocent pleasure must he have deprived himself, without the benefits of religious mortification.

We have always had a good opinion of King James I. ever since we learned that he used to call his son Baby Charles.