him were at Ungerford. But in the evening his advance guard brought in a man who was eager to speak with the king, and whom Max, no sooner saw, than he ran to meet him. It was an old friend-Harold Bexton. Bexton, on his way in a Cantonian vessel to seek his fortune in the south, had stayed at Sandover from stress of weather. There he heard of Max's enterprise, and, seized with enthusiasm, went to join him. Harold was welcomed with great delight by the seven, and at once added to the council table. When hey explained their plans he rose in astonishment, and declared that he had passed Barrowlands, and that the greatest force he had ever seen was gathered together. On this intelligence, which came at so fortunate a moment, Maximin determined to march to the eastward and southward, and take up a position fronting the enemy. To advance and attempt to outflank them was extremely dangerous; to retire would destroy the confidence of his troops. Much discouraged by this discovery, Maximin was restless and moody the whole of the night, sleeping little. On the morrow the army marched as directed, and towards evening debouched upon the slope of the hills which went down to the river's edge. On the opposite side they could see the tents of the enemy, and hear the strains of his bands. While the army took up position for the night, Maximin ascended the adjacent hill and gazed over his opponent's force. It was truly great, and to his then inexperienced eye appeared the greater, as he had so few to compare it against. He had heard from Harold the twelve kings were there assembled against him; and the forces could not number less than fifteen thousand men, all more or less disciplined. His own army was barely eight thousand, and of that number not more than 2000 were disciplined, the remainder being the mountaineers. It was an anxious and uneasy night. There was a light drizling rain, which made it darker than it need otherwise have been, and in consequence men were more apt to be alarmed at the smallest disturbance, and several times the cry arose that the enemy were crossing the ford. Now and then a shot was fired by the sentinels and outposts. The watch-fires of the enemy were dimly seen in the distance, and at intervals the bugle sounded as they relieved guard.

After making all dispositions, Maximin desired to be left in solitude in his tent, and, closing the curtain, sat down before his writing-table and lamp. He listened, and as he did so the clang of the armourers rivetting arms and sharpening blades, rang dismally upon the ear. He was no coward, but his mind was too great and comprehensive not to estimate at their full importance the powers opposed to him. He felt now what it was to fight for a crown, that gew-gaw which in its narrow circle includes so much. At length, in the early morning, he drew paper and pen towards him,

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and wrote a few lines to Genevre. It was the first letter he had ever written to ber, and he wrote it on the eve of the battle which might not only end his hopes, but despoil him of life. It ran: "Honoured and dearest Genevre,-In this supreme moment of my life when the arbitration of the sword is about to decide my destiny, I may be permitted to tell you in plain and unmistakeable language the love that I have for you. This much you may have guessed before; but a king-for such I am, and a leader of men-may say what a poor hunter could not. To-morrow I may win-to-morrow my head may lie in the dust; which ever it shall be, remember I am ever yours alone. For love of you I have drawn the sword and put away the scabbard.MAXIMIN." He called an attendant, and despatched this letter by a horseman; then lay down upon the rude couch, and presently fell into a disturbed slumber. At three he awoke with a start and cried aloud, when the attendants came, and he began to arm. Those who saw him on that memorable occasion relate that he shivered, whether with the cold morning air, or fear, or both; that his hands were white and nerveless, his finger-nails bloodless, but his eye, unusually bright and glittering as if under the influence of wine. His face was deadly pale, and he complained of sickness and a pain in the head. When they had put on his armour, he staggered under it as if he had suddenly lost his strength, and ordered them them to take it off; nor, despite every persuasion, could they induce him to retain anything more than a shirt of mail, and an open steel helmet with the short bridge to protect the nose and face. He wore the long, straight heavy sword, but no other weapon. They handed him wine, but he refused it, and drank only a little water. About four o'clock Prince Albert came up on horseback armed cap-a-pie in complete mail, and in his loud, impressive voice, demanded that the cannon should begin pointing out that the mist was rising from the valley between the two armies. "I never," writes Sydney in his memoirs, "felt so near an approach to positive dread of our commander becoming a poltroon as at that moment. I rode up behind Prince Albert, and I declare that for two or three minutes we could not understand what the king said, he spoke so low and inarticulately. I distinguished something about "peace-blood-chance!" when a cock crowed somewhere near. The King looked up as if he thought it was a good omen, raised his hand, and said in a clear tone, "Yes; advance the guns." From that moment he never faltered, although those who were near him assure me that he exhibited symptoms of extreme nervousness the whole day. Prince Albert rode off in the mist, and Sydney stayed with the King to act as his staff officer. The mist was very thick, and rose

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about ten feet above the tents, so that looking up the sky was visible, but horizontally nothing could be seen. James de Caux had charge of the artillery. He, on receiving the message from Prince Albert, horsed his guns and ran a battery of six down the slope till he approached the river, and then judging distance by guess, he elevated the muzzle, and fired the first shot with his own hand. Deadened by the mist, the report sounded dull and ominous along the line, but as it echoed from the hills the men sprang up and fell in. The echo of that shot has not even yet, in one sense, died away.

This was the order of the battle. First were posted the artillery: three batteries, or 18 guns (7 lb.) under De Caux. Next came 800 match-lock men, armed with the improved musket and bayonet, under Stewart. Behind them stood the second rank of spears, or the phalanx, three deep, numbering also 800 men, under Albon Quincey. On the right wing were stationed 400 heavy horse under George de Pinole. In the rear were 200 men-at-arms, under Prince Charles, forming the reserve. The mountaineers, in all about six thousand men, most diversely armed, but principally with spears and short guns, were on the left wing, and under their own officers. but directed by Lords Henry and Sydney. The general orders issued were to engage all along the line, but not to charge or advance beyond the river, which was shallow, till express orders were given.

The disposition of the allies is not so clear, but it appears that Badom occupied the centre, Brucester the left wing, and Sandover the right wing, with the minor kings at the rear, and on the right of Sandover-the general object of Burgos, who commanded in chief, being to outflank his opponent. The Cythes were scattered all along the line under their own leaders. This was the original order of array when de Caux's first cannon awoke the distant echeos.

Maximin sprang on his horse, a white mare, and rode with his orderlies down to the artillery. The mist was rising fast, and as it cleared the opposite green slope across the river became visible, and upon it a few gnarled hawthorn bushes. De Caux saw now that he had fired too low, and aimed higher, when, after the next discharge there was an outcry as if the ball had told. At the same moment a sputtering fire of musketry on the left told that skirmishers were advanced to the extreme edge, and the mountainers began to reply with irregular discharges. Maximin was watching De Caux with the guns, when a cannon-ball flew whistling through the air, and dropped on the sward close in the rear, turning up sward and earth. He turned pale but sat firm, setting his teeth. Another and another ball, till a cannon was knocked over and two horses cut to pieces. Limber up," said De Caux. We are

exposed to their fire over the ridge, and cannot return it." They returned to high ground, and saw the shot plough up the earth as they struck below them. The mist was now rolling westward up the valley, and the panorama of the battle was unrolled. Down the opposite slopes on his right Maximin saw troops of men hurrying to the river's edge where was a slight shelter of willow trees and bushes. His own regiments of musketteers were within easy range of the river, but the advanced sections were lying down in a hollow ditch and firing as they lay. Every now and again a man would throw up his arms and fall, roll over, or spring up in the air, and fall as the bullet struck him. Over the opposite ridge there poured still more bodies of matchlocks, who supported their skirmishers, and fired high to reach Max's men. The fire now became. very hot, and Stewart's matches fell back, when there was a movement as if the enemy would cross. Caux's guns were engaged with the enemy's, firing at long range, at which they were more effective, and actually forced the enemy to withdraw under the ridge. Max rode to him and ordered the guns to play on the infantry at the river's edge, which they did with terrible effect, and soon forced the enemy up the slope. Stewert sent his matches forward both sides, and fired volleys into them; but at this moment Max's attention was directed to the left wing, for an orderly rode up with a curt message from Edward Sydney:"Sandover pressing very hard! Cythes half across the river! Can hardly hold our own." From the high ground Max could see as he galloped along the slope the green jackets of the Cythes in the water, and their long glaives-a sword-blade on the end of a pole, a terrible weapon-flashing as they swung them up and down. The mountaineers were forced back in the centre, and the green jackets had torn across. Cheers echoed from the Sandover troops, and there was the thud of galloping cavalry, as the Burgos sent his horse forward to support the Cythes and press the advantage. At this moment Alban Quincey rode up to Max, and seizing his bridle, begged him to order an advance on the right wing, as Stewart's matches were at the river's edge, and if sup. ported could advance up the slopes under cover of the artillery. Max looked back at the retreating troops; then forwards at the struggle ahead. He saw the green flag already his side of the river; he saw the swords of the cavalry glitter as they rushed down the slope, and felt the ground tremble under the charge. He heard firing a long distance ahead, as if troops had already outflanked him. He hesitated. He hesitated. In that moment he remembered the encounter he had witnessed between Sandover and Bicester, and his own contempt at their inefficiency. Now he understood the difficulty of war; recognised the extreme importance the smallest

step may bear. He thought it better to protect his line than to advance. He refused Quincey, and ordered him to return to his brigade, and sent messages for Caux to send up a battery. The battery came, but came too late. The fiery horse had charged across the shallow river, and was among the mountaineers. Max saw the horses' heads tower over his men-he saw the swords rise and flash, fall, and rise again, of a dull tint. He saw the troops pressed back-a wave passed over them-then came a cheer-the horse burst in, and the mountaineers gave way. He felt a sickening sensation at his heart, and his sight swam for a moment. When he looked again, the battery was on his right, playing into the enemy; but it was in vain. Burgos urged forward every man he could get into the gap, the mountaineers fought bravely; but they were a disorderly crowd, in ten minutes it was a rout. Horses and infantry, Cythes and all, were in one indescribable ruck, all pressing up the slope, all shooting right and left at the fugitives. Max threw up his arms as if to stem the torrent. The balls thrown by the battery into the stream of pursuers seemed no more than marbles-unheeding they pressed on, and the artillerymen seeing that there was nothing between them, and the Cythes, began to waver and aim widely. 'Fly, fly," cried Lord Sydney riding up, the cavalry come this way." He urged Max's buglemen, when a shot struck the white mare, and she reared and fell. In another moment the horse were on them. The artillerymen crept under their gun, but the cavalry, laughing and shouting, pushed them between the spokes of the wheels, and stabbed them mercilessly. Sydney was forced away, striking back as he rode, and crying, "A Rescue! a Rescue!"

To be continued).