was a true abstract of the character of the deceased; that his gifts and graces were remembered in the simplicity in which they ought to be remembered. The composition and quality of the mind of a virtuous man, contemplated by the side of the grave where his body is mouldering, ought to appear, and be felt, as something midway between what he was on earth walking about with his living frailties, and what he may be presumed to be as a spirit in heaven.

Escape of Charles the Second after the
Battle of Worcester.

[THE following narrative, which is extracted from a fuller account, published in 1766, from the Pepys MSS. in Magdalen College, Cambridge, is professed to be written by Charles II. himself. It is certainly very graphic and minute; and its liveliness is somewhat characteristic of the king in his social hour.]

After that the battle was so absolutely lost, as to be beyond hope of recovery, I began to think of the best way of saving my

self; and the first thought that came into my head was, that, If I could possibly, I would get to London as soon, if not sooner, than the news of our defeat could get thither: and it being near dark, I talked with some, especially with my Lord Rochester, who was then Wilmot, about their opinions, which would be the best way for me to escape, it being impossible, as I thought, to get back into Scotland. I found them mightily distracted, and their opinions different, of the possibility of getting to Scotland, but not one agreeing with mine for going to London, saving my Lord Wilmot; and the truth is, I did not impart my design of going to London to any but my Lord Wilmot. But we had such a number of beaten men with us of the horse, that I strove, as soon as ever it was dark, to get from them; and though I could not get them to stand by me against the enemy, I could not get rid of them now I had a mind to it.

So we, that is, my Lord Duke of Buckingham, Lauderdale, Derby, Wilmot, Tom Blague, Duke Darcey, and several others of my servants, went along northward towards Scotland; and at last we got about sixty that were gentlemen and officers, and slipped away out of the high road that goes to Lancashire, and kept on the right hand, letting all the beaten men go along the great road, and ourselves not knowing very well which way to go, for it was then too late for us to get to London on horseback, riding directly for it, nor could we do it, because there were yet many people of quality with us that I could not get rid of.

So we rode through a town short of Wolverhampton, betwixt that and Worcester, and went through, there lying a troop of the enemies there that night. We rode very quietly through the town, they having nobody to watch, nor they suspecting us no more than we did them, which I learned afterwards from a countryfellow.

We went that night about twenty miles, to a place called White Lady's, hard by Tong Castle, by the advice of Mr Giffard, where we stopped, and got some little refreshment of bread and cheese, such as we could get, it being just beginning to be day. This White Lady's was a private house, that Mr Giffard, who was a

Staffordshire man, had told me belonged to honest people that lived thereabouts.

And just as we came thither, there came in a country-fellow, that told us there were three thousand of our horse just hard by Tong Castle, upon the heath, all in disorder, under David Leslie, and some other of the general officers; upon which there were some of the people of quality that were with me who were very earnest that I should go to him, and endeavour to go into Scotland, which I thought was absolutely impossible, knowing very well that the country would all rise upon us, and that men who had deserted me when they were in good order, would never stand to me when they had been beaten.

This made me take the resolution of putting myself into a disguise. And endeavouring to get a-foot to London, in a country. fellow's habit, with a pair of ordinary gray-cloth breeches, a leathern doublet, and a green jerkin, which I took in the house of White Lady's. I also cut my hair very short, and flung my clothes into a privy-house, that nobody might see that anybody had been stripping themselves. I acquainting none with my resolution of going to London but my Lord Wilmot, they all desiring me not to acquaint them with what I intended to do, because they knew not what they might be forced to confess; on which consideration, they, with one voice, begged of me not to tell them what I intended to do.

So all the persons of quality and officers who were with me, (except my Lord Wilmot, with whom a place was agreed upon for our meeting at London, if we escaped, and who endeavoured to go on horseback, in regard, as I think, of his being too big to go on foot,) were resolved to go and join with the three thousand disordered horse, thinking to get away with them to Scotland. But, as I did before believe, they were not marched six miles, after they got to them, but they were all routed by a single troop of horse, which shows that my opinion was not wrong in nct sticking to men who had run away.

As soon as I was disguised, I took with me a country-fellow, whose name was Richard Penderell, whom Mr Giffard had under

taken to answer for to be an honest man. He was a Roman Catholic, and I chose to trust them, because I knew they had hiding-holes for priests that I thought I might make use of in case of need.

I was no sooner gone (being the next morning after the battle, and then broad day) out of the house with this country-fellow, but, being in a great wood, I sat myself at the edge of the wood, near the highway that was there, the better to see who came after us, and whether they made any search after the runaways, and I immediately saw a troop of horse coming by, which I conceived to be the same troop that beat our three thousand horse; but it did not look like a troop of the army's, but of the militia, for the fellow before it did not look at all like a soldier.

In this wood I stayed all day, without meat or drink; and by great good fortune it rained all the time, which hindered them, as I believe, from coming into the wood to search for men that might be fled thither. And one thing is remarkable enough, that those with whom I have since spoken, of them that joined with the horse upon the heath, did say, that it rained little or nothing with them all the day, but only in the wood where I was-this contributing to my safety.

As I was in the wood, I talked with the fellow about getting towards London, and asked him many questions about what gentlemen he knew. I did not find he knew any man of quality in the way towards London. And the truth is my mind changed as I lay in the wood, and I resolved of another way of making my escape; which was, to get over the Severn into Wales, and so to get either to Swansea or some other of the sea-towns that I knew had commerce with France, to the end I might get over that way, as being a way that I thought none would suspect my taking; besides that, I remembered several honest gentlemen that were of my acquaintance in Wales.

So that night as soon as it was dark, Richard Penderell and I took our journey on foot towards the Severn, intending to pass over a ferry, halfway between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury. But as we were going in the night we came up by a mili, where I heard some

people talking, (memorandum, that I had got some bread and cheese the night before at one of the Penderell's houses, I not going in,) and, as we conceived, it was about twelve or one o'clock at night, and the country-fellow desired me not to answer if anybody should ask me any questions, because I had not the accent of the country.

Just as we came to the mill, we could see the miller, as I believed, sitting at the mill-door, he being in white clothes, it being a very dark night. He called out, "Who goes there?" Upon which Richard Penderell answered, "Neighbours going home," or some such-like words. Whereupon the miller cried out, "If you be neighbours, stand, or I will knock you down." Upon which, we believing there was company in the house, the fellow bade me follow him close; and he ran to a gate that went up a dirty lane, up a hill, and opening the gate, the miller cried out, "Rogues, rogues!" And thereupon some men came out of the mill after us, which I believed were soldiers. So we fell a running both of us, up the lane, as long as we could run, it being very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge, and lie still to hear if anybody followed us; which we did, and continued lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hearing nobody come, we continued our way on to the village upon the Severn, where the fellow told me there was an honest gentleman, one Mr Woolfe, that lived in that town, where I might be with great safety; for that he had hidingholes for priests. But I would not go in till I knew a little of his mind, whether he would receive so dangerous a guest as me: and therefore stayed in a field, under a hedge, by a great tree, commanding him not to say it was I, but only to ask Mr Woolfe whether he would receive an English gentleman, a person of quality, to hide him the next day, till we could travel again by night for I durst not go but by night.

Mr Woolfe, when the country-fellow told him that it was one that had escaped from the battle of Worcester, said, that for his part, it was so dangerous a thing to harbour anybody that was known, that he would not venture his neck for any man, unless it were the king himself. Upon which, Richard Penderell very in