This is evidently the writing not only of a man of good sense and natural good taste, but of a man of literary habits.  Of the studies of Hampden little is known.  But as it was at one time in contemplation to give him the charge of the education of the Prince of Wales, it cannot be doubted that his acquirements were considerable.  Davila, it is said, was one of his favourite writers.  The moderation of Davila’s opinions and the perspicuity and manliness of his style could not but recommend him to so judicious a reader.  It is not improbable that the parallel between France and England, the Huguenots and the Puritans, had struck the mind of Hampden, and that he already found within himself powers not unequal to the lofty part of Coligni.

While he was engaged in these pursuits, a heavy domestic calamity fell on him.  His wife, who had borne him nine children, died in the summer of 1634.  She lies in the parish church of Hampden, close to the manor-house.  The tender and energetic language of her epitaph still attests the bitterness of her husband’s sorrow, and the consolation which he found in a hope full of immortality.

In the meantime, the aspect of public affairs grew darker and darker.  The health of Eliot had sunk under an unlawful imprisonment of several years.  The brave sufferer refused to purchase liberty, though liberty would to him have been life, by recognising the authority which had confined him.  In consequence of the representations of his physicians, the severity of restraint was somewhat relaxed.  But it was in vain.  He languished and expired a martyr to that good cause for which his friend Hampden was destined to meet a more brilliant, but not a more honourable death.

All the promises of the king were violated without scruple or shame.  The Petition of Right to which he had, in consideration of moneys duly numbered, given a solemn assent, was set at nought.  Taxes were raised by the royal authority.  Patents of monopoly were granted.  The old usages of feudal times were made pretexts for harassing the people with exactions unknown during many years.  The Puritans were persecuted with cruelty worthy of the Holy Office.  They were forced to fly from the country.  They were imprisoned.  They were whipped.  Their ears were cut off.  Their noses were slit.  Their cheeks were branded with red-hot iron.  But the cruelty of the oppressor could not tire out the fortitude of the victims.  The mutilated defenders of liberty again defied the vengeance of the Star-Chamber, came back with undiminished resolution to the place of their glorious infamy, and manfully presented the stumps of their ears to be grubbed out by the hangman’s knife.  The hardy sect grew up and flourished in spite of everything that seemed likely to stunt it, struck its roots deep into a barren soil, and spread its branches wide to an inclement sky.  The multitude thronged round Prynne in the pillory with more respect than they paid to Mainwaring in the pulpit, and treasured up the rags which the blood of Burton had soaked, with a veneration such as mitres and surplices had ceased to inspire.