the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart. This made some think, or pretend to think, that he was so much enamoured on peace, that he would have been glad the King should have bought it at any price; which was a most unreasonable calumny; as if a man that was himself the most punctual and precise in every circumstance that might reflect upon conscience or honour could have wished the King to have committed a trespass against either. . .

In the morning before the battle, as always upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself into the first rank of the Lord Byron's regiment, who was then advancing upon the enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musketeers; from whence he was shot with a musket on the lower part of the belly, and in the instant falling from his horse, his body was not found till the next morning, till when there was some hope he might have been a prisoner; though his nearest friends, who knew his temper, received small comfort from that imagination. Thus fell that incomparable young man, in the four-and-thirtieth year of his age, having so much despatched the business of life, that the oldest rarely attain to that immense knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the world with more innocence: and whosoever leads such a life need not care upon how short warning it is taken from him.

The Battle of Stratton.

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Towards the middle of May, the Earl of Stamford marched into Cornwall, by the north part, with a body of fourteen hundred horse and dragoons, and five thousand four hundred foot by the poll, with a train of thirteen brass ordnance, and a mortar piece, and a very plentiful magazine of victual and ammunition, and every way in as good an equipage as could be provided by men who wanted no money; whilst the King's small forces, being not half the number, and unsupplied with every useful thing, were at Lanson [Launceston]; of whom the enemy had so full a contempt, though they knew they were marching to them, within six or seven miles, that they considered only how to take them after they were dispersed, and to prevent their running into Pendennis Castle to give them further trouble. which purpose having encamped themselves upon the flat top of a very high hill, to which the ascents were very steep every way, near Stratton, being the only part of Cornwall eminently disaffected to the King's service, they sent a party of twelve hundred horse and dragoons, under the command of Sir George Chudleigh, father to their Major-general, to Bodmin to surprise the high shrief [sheriff], and principal gentlemen of the country; and thereby, not only to prevent the coming up of any more strength to the King's party, but, under the awe of such a power of horse, to make the whole country rise for them. This design, which was not in itself unreasonable, proved fortunate to the King. For his forces which marched from Lanson, with a resolution to fight with the enemy, upon any disadvantage of place or number (which, how hazardous soever, carried less danger with it than retiring into the county, or anything else that was in their power), easily now resolved to assault the camp in the absence of their horse; and with this resolution they marched on Monday the fifteenth of May within a mile of the enemy; being so destitute of all provisions, that the best officers

had but a biscuit a man a day, for two days, the enemy looking upon them as their own.

On Tuesday the sixteenth of May, about five of the clock in the morning, they disposed themselves to their work, having stood in their arms all the night. The number of foot was about two thousand four hundred, which they divided into four parts, and agreed on their several provinces. The first was commanded by the Lord Mohun and Sir Ralph Hopton, who undertook to assault the camp on the south side. Next them, on the left hand, Sir John Berkely and Sir Bevil Greenvill were to force their way. Sir Nicholas Slanning and Colone. Trevannion were to assault the north side; and on the : left hand, Colonel Thomas Basset, who was Major-general of their foot, and Colonel William Godolphin were to advance with their party; each party having two pieces of cannon to dispose as they found necessary: Colone) John Digby commanding the horse and dragoons, being about five hundred, stood upon a sandy common which had a way to the camp, to take any advantage he outh. of the enemy, if they charged; otherwise, to be firm as

a reserve.

In this manner the fight begun; the King's forces pressing with their utmost vigour those four ways up the hill, and the enemy's as obstinately defending their ground. The fight continued with very doubtful success tili towards three of the clock in the afternoon, when word was brought to the chief officers of the Cornish that their ammunition was spent to less than four barrels of powder; which (concealing the defect from the soldiers! they resolved could be only supplied with courage an therefore, by messengers to one another, they agreed t advance with their full bodies, without making any more shot, till they reached the top of the hill, and so might be upon even ground with the enemy; wherein the officer's courage and resolution was so well seconded by the soldier that they began to get ground in all places. and the enemy, in wonder of the men who out-face. their shot with their swords, to quit their post. Majorgeneral Chudleigh, who order'd the battle, failed in ro part of a soldier; and when he saw his men recoil fr.d less numbers, and the enemy in all places gaining the hill upon him, himself advanced, with a good stand of pikes, upon that party which was led by Sir John Berkely and Sir Bevil Greenvill, and charged them so smartly that he put them into disorder; Sir Bevil Green 2 in the shock being borne to the ground, but quick's relieved by his companion, they so reinforced the charge. that having killed most of the assailants and disperse' the rest, they took the Major-general prisoner, after he had behaved himself with as much courage as a m could do. Then the enemy gave ground apace, ins much as the four parties, growing nearer and nearer s they ascended the hill, between three and four of tr clock they all met together upon one ground near the top of the hill, where they embraced with unspeaka joy, each congratulating the other's success, and ali 1. knowledging the wonderful blessing of God; and berz there possessed of some of the enemy's cannon, they turned them upon the camp, and advanced together perfect their victory. But the enemy no sooner unler stood the loss of their Major-general but their hearts failed them; and being so resolutely pressed, and the ground lost, upon the security and advantage where. they wholely depended, some of them threw down the arms and others fled; dispersing themselves, and ever

man shifting for himself, their general, the Earl of Stamford, giving the example, who (having stood at a safe distance all the time of the battle, environed with all the horse, which in small parties, though it is true their whole number was not above six or seven score, might have done great mischief to the several parties of foot, who with so much difficulty scaled the steep hill) as soon as he saw the day lost, and some said sooner, made all imaginable haste to Exciter [Exeter], to prepare them for the condition they were shortly to expect.

Character of Charles I.

But it will not be unnecessary to add the short character of his person, that posterity may know the inestimable loss which the nation then underwent, in being deprived of a prince whose example would have had a greater influence upon the manners and piety of the nation than the most strict laws can have. To speak first of his private qualifications as a man, before the mention of his princely and royal virtues; he was, if ever any, the most worthy of the title of an honest man; so great a lover of justice, that no temptation could dispose him to a wrongful action, except it were so disguised to him that he believed it to be just. He had a tenderness and compassion of nature which restrained him from ever doing a hard-hearted thing; and therefore he was so apt to grant pardon to malefactors, that his judges represented to him the damage and insecurity to the public that flowed from such his indulgence; and then he restrained himself from pardoning either murders or highway robberies, and quickly discerned the fruits of his severity by a wonderful reformation of those enormities. He was very punctual and regular in his devotions; so that he was never known to enter upon his recreations or sports, though never so early in the morning, before he had been at public prayers; so that on hunting-days his chaplains were bound to a very early attendance. And he was likewise very strict in observing the hours of his private cabinet devotions, and was SO severe an exactor of gravity and reverence in all mention of religion, that he could never endure any light or profane word in religion, with what sharpness of wit soever it was covered though he was well pleased and delighted with reading verses made upon any occasion, no man durst bring before him any thing that was profane or unclean; that kind of wit had never any countenance then. was so great an example of conjugal affection, that they who did not imitate him in that particular did not brag of their liberty and he did not only permit but direct his bishops to prosecute those scandalous vices in the ecclesiastical courts against persons of eminence and near relation to his service.

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His kingly virtues had some mixture and allay that hindered them from shining in full lustre, and from producing those fruits they should have been attended with. He was not in his nature bountiful, though he gave very much which appeared more after the duke of Buckingham's death, after which those showers fell very rarely; and he paused too long in giving, which made those to whom he gave less sensible of the benefit. He kept state to the full, which made his Court very orderly, no man presuming to be seen in a place where he had no pretence to be. He saw and observed men long before he received any about his person, and did not love strangers, nor very confident men. He

was a patient hearer of causes, which he frequently accustomed himself to at the Council board; and judged very well, and was dexterous in the mediating part; so that he often put an end to causes by persuasion, which the stubbornness of men's humours made dilatory in courts of justice.

He was very fearless in his person, but not enterprising; and had an excellent understanding, but was not confident enough of it; which made him oftentimes change his own opinion for a worse, and follow the advice of a man that did not judge so well as himself. And this made him more irresolute than the conjuncture of his affairs would admit. If he had been of a rougher and more imperious nature, he would have found more respect and duty; and his not applying some severe cures to approaching evils proceeded from the lenity of his nature and the tenderness of his conscience, which in all cases of blood made him choose the softer way, and not hearken to severe counsels, how reasonably soever urged. This only restrained him from pursuing his advantage in the first Scots expedition, when, humanly speaking, he might have reduced that nation to the most slavish obedience that could have been wished. But no man can say he had then many who advised him to it, but to the contrary; by a wonderful indisposition all his Council had had to fighting or any other fatigue. He was always an immoderate lover of the Scottish nation, having not only been born there, but educated by that people, and besieged by them always, having few English about him until he was King; and the major number of his servants being still of those, who he thought could never fail him; and then no man had such an ascendant over him by the lowest and humblest insinuations as duke Hambleton [Hamilton] had.

As he excelled in all other virtues, so in temperance he was so strict that he abhorred all deboshry to that degree that at a great festival solemnity where he once was, when very many of the nobility of the English and Scots were entertained, being told by one who withdrew from thence what vast draughts of wine they drank, and that there was one earl who had drank most of the rest down, and was not himself moved or altered, the King said that he deserved to be hanged; and that earl coming shortly after into the room where his majesty was, in some gaiety, to show how unhurt he was from that battle, the King sent some one to bid him withdraw from his majesty's presence; nor did he in some days after appear before the King.

There were so many miraculous circumstances contributed to his ruin, that men might well think that heaven and earth conspired it, and that the stars designed it. Though he was from the first declension of his power so much betrayed by his own servants that there were very few who remained faithful to him, yet that treachery proceeded not from any treasonable purpose to do him any harm, but from particular and personal animosities against other men. And afterwards, the terror all men were under of the Parliament, and the guilt they were conscious of themselves, made them watch all opportunities to make themselves gracious to those who could do them good; and so they became spies upon their master, and from one piece of knavery were hardened and confirmed to undertake another, till at last they had no hope of preservation but by the destruction of their master. And after all this, when a man might reasonably believe that less than a universal defection of three

nations could not have reduced a great King to so ugly a fate, it is most certain that in that very hour when he was thus wickedly murdered in the sight of the sun, he had as great a share in the hearts and affections of his subjects in general, was as much beloved, esteemed, and longed for by the people in general of the three nations, as any of his predecessors had ever been. To conclude: he was the worthiest gentleman, the best master, the best friend, the best husband, the best father, and the best Christian that the age in which he lived had produced. And if he was not the best King, if he was without some parts and qualities which have made some kings great and happy, no other prince was ever unhappy who was possessed of half his virtues and endowments, and so much without any kind of vice.

This unparalleled murder and parricide was committed upon the thirtieth of January, in the year, according to the account used in England, 1648, in the forty and ninth year of his age, and when he had such excellent health, and so great vigour of body, that when his murderers caused him to be opened (which they did; and were some of them present at it with great curiosity) they confessed and declared that no man had ever all his vital parts so perfect and unhurt: and that he seemed to be of so admirable a composition and constitution, that he would probably have lived as long as nature could subsist. His body was immediately carried into a room at Whitehall, where he was exposed for many days to the public view, that all men might know that he was not alive. And he was then embalmed, and put into a coffin, and so carried to St James's, where he likewise remained several days. They who were qualified to order his funeral, declared that he should be buried at Windsor in a decent manner, provided that the whole expense should not exceed five hundred pounds. The Duke of Richmond, the Marquis of Hertford, the Earls of Southampton and Lindsey, who had been of his bed-chamber, and always very faithful to him, desired those who governed that they might have leave to perform the last duty to their dead master, and to wait upon him to his grave; which, after some pauses, they were permitted to do, with this, that they should not attend the corpse out of the town; since they resolved it should be privately carried to Windsor without pomp or noise, and then they should have timely notice, that if they pleased, they might be at his interment. And accordingly it was committed to four of those servants, who had been by them appointed to wait upon him during his imprisonment, that they should convey the body to Windsor, which they did. And it was that night placed in that chamber which had usually been his bed-chamber: and the next morning it was carried into the great hall, where it remained till the lords came; who arrived there in the afternoon, and immediately went to Colonel Whitchcott, the governor of the castle, and shewed the order they had from the Parliament to be present at the burial, which he admitted. But when they desired that his Majesty might be buried according to the form of the Common Prayer Book, the Bishop of London being present with them to officiate, he expressly, positively, and roughly refused to consent to it; and said it was not lawful; that the Common Prayer Book was put down, and he would not suffer it to be used in that garrison where he commanded; nor could all the reasons, persuasions, and entreaties prevail with him to suffer it. Then they went into the church, to make

choice of a place to bury it in. But when they entered into it, which they had been so well acquainted with, they found it so altered and transformed, all tombs. inscriptions, and those landmarks pulled down, by which all men knew every particular place in that church, and such a dismal mutation over the whole, the they knew not where they were: nor was there one o officer that had belonged to it, or knew where the princes had used to be interred. At last there was a fellow of the town who undertook to tell them the place, where, he said, there was a vault, in which King Harry the Eighth and Queen Jane Seymour were interr'd. As near that place as could conveniently be, they caused the grave ti be made. There the King's body was laid without any words, or other ceremonies than the tears and sighs of the few beholders. Upon the coffin was a plate of silver fixt with these words only, 'King Charles, 1648.' When the coffin was put in, the black velvet pall that ha covered it was thrown over it, and then the earth thrown in; which the governor stayed to see perfectly done, and then took the keys of the church, which was seldom pat to any use.

Execution of Montrose.

As soon as he had ended his discourse he was ordered to withdraw, and after a short space was agai brought in, and told by the Chancellor, that he was on the morrow, being the one-and-twentieth of May 1650, to be carried to Edenborough cross, and there to be hanged upon a gallows thirty feet high, for the space of three hours, and then to be taken down, and s head to be cut off upon a scaffold, and hanged on Edenborough tollbooth, and his legs and arms to le hanged up in other public towns of the kingdom, an! his body to be buried at the place where he was to be executed, except the Kirk should take off his excommunication, and then his body might be buried in the common place of burial. He desired that he might say somewhat to them,' but was not suffered, and so was carried back to the prison.

That he might not enjoy any ease or quiet during the short remainder of his life, their ministers care presently to insult over him with all the reproaches imaginable; pronounced his damnation, and assured him that the judgment he was the next day to underg was but an easy prologue to that which he was to undergo afterwards. And after many such barbarities, they offered to intercede for him to the Kirk upon his repentance, and to pray with him; but he too well understood the form of their common prayers in those cases to be only the most virulent and insolent imprecations against the persons of those they prayed against ("Lord, vouchsafe yet to touch the obdurate heart of this proud incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjure, traitorous, and profane person, who refuses to harken to the voice of thy Kirk,' and the like charitable ex pressions), and therefore he desired them to spare the pains, and to leave him to his own devotions. He told them that they were a miserable, deluded, and deluding people, and would shortly bring that poer nation under the most insupportable servitude et people had submitted to. He told them he was prouder to have his head set upon the place it was appointed to be than he could have been to have his picture hang in the King's bedchamber: that he was so far from being troubled that his four limbs were to be hanged

in four cities of the kingdom, that he heartily wished he had flesh enough to be sent to every city in Christendom, as a testimony of the cause for which he suffered.

The next day they executed every part and circumstance of that barbarous sentence with all the inhumanity imaginable; and he bore it with all the courage and magnanimity, and the greatest piety, that a good Christian could manifest. He magnified the virtue, courage, and religion of the last King, exceedingly commended the justice and goodness and understanding of the present King, and prayed that they might not betray him as they had done his father. When he had ended all he meant to say, and was expecting to expire, they had yet one scene more to act of their tyranny. The hangman brought the book that had been published of his truly heroic actions whilst he had commanded in that kingdom, which book was tied in a small cord that was put about his neck. The marquis smiled at this new instance of their malice, and thanked them for it, and said he was pleased that it should be there, and was prouder of wearing it than ever he had been of the Garter; and so renewing some devout ejaculations, he patiently endured the last act of the executioner.

Thus died the gallant Marquis of Montrose, after he had given as great a testimony of loyalty and courage as a subject can do, and performed as wonderful actions in several battles, upon as great inequality of numbers, and as great disadvantages in respect of arms and other preparations for war, as hath been performed in this age. He was a gentleman of a very ancient extraction, many of whose ancestors had exercised the highest charges under the King in that kingdom, and had been allied to the Crown itself. He was of very good parts, which were improved by a good education : he had always a great emulation, or rather a great contempt of the Marquis of Argyle (as he was too apt to contemn those he did not love), who wanted nothing but honesty and courage to be a very extraordinary man, having all other good talents in a great degree. He was in his nature fearless of danger, and never declined any enterprise for the difficulty of going through with it, but exceedingly affected those which seemed desperate to other men, and did believe somewhat to be in himself which other men were not acquainted with, which made him live more easily towards those who were, or were willing to be, inferior to him, and towards whom he exercised wonderful civility and generosity, than with his superiors or equals. He was naturally jealous, and suspected those who did not concur with him in the way not to mean so well as he. He was not without vanity, but his virtues were much superior, and he well deserved to have his memory preserved and celebrated amongst the most illustrious persons of the age in which he lived.

Escape of Charles II. after the Battle of Worcester. When the night covered them, he found means to withdraw himself with one or two of his own servants, whom he likewise discharged when it began to be light; and after he had made them cut off his hair, he betook himself alone into an adjacent wood, and relied only upon Him for his preservation who alone could and did miraculously deliver him.

When the darkness of the night was over, after the King had cast himself into that wood, he discerned

another man, who had gotten upon an oak in the same wood, near the place where the King had rested himself, and had slept soundly. The man upon the tree had first seen the King, and knew him, and came down from the tree to him, and was known to the King, being a gentleman of the neighbour county of Staffordshire, who had served his late majesty during the war, and had now been one of the few who resorted to the King after his coming to Worcester. His name was Carelesse, who had had a command of foot, above the degree of a captain, under the Lord Loughborough. He persuaded the King, since it could not be safe for him to go out of the wood, and that as soon as it should be fully light, the wood itself would probably be visited by those of the country, who would be searching to find those whom they might make prisoners, that he would get up into that tree where he had been, where the boughs were so thick with leaves that a man would not be discovered there without a narrower inquiry than people usually make in places which they do not suspect. The King thought it good counsel, and with the other's help climbed into the tree, and then helped his companion to ascend after him, where they sat all that day, and securely saw many who came purposely into the wood to look after them, and heard all their discourse, how they would use the King himself if they could take him. This wood was either in or upon the borders of Staffordshire; and though there was a highway near one side of it, where the King had entered into it, yet it was large, and all other sides of it opened amongst enclosures, and it pleased God that Carelesse was not unacquainted with the neighbour villages. And it was part of the King's good fortune that this gentleman was a Roman Catholic, and thereby was acquainted with those of that profession of all degrees and it must never be denied that those of that faith, that is, some of them, had a very great share in his majesty's preservation.

The day being spent in the tree, it was not in the King's power to forget that he had lived two days with eating very little, and two nights with as little sleep; so that when the night came he was willing to make some provision for both so that he resolved, with the advice and assistance of his companion, to leave his blessed tree; so when the night was dark, they walked through the wood into those enclosures which were farthest from any highway, and making a shift to get over hedges and ditches, and after walking at least eight or nine miles, which were the more grievous to the King by the weight of his boots (for he could not put them off when he cut off his hair, for want of shoes), before morning they came to a poor cottage, the owner whereof, being a Roman Catholic, was known to Carelesse. He was called up, and as soon as he knew one of them he easily concluded in what condition they both were, and presently carried them into a little barn full of hay, which was a better lodging than he had for himself. But when they were there, and had conferred with their host of the news and temper of the country, it was resolved that the danger would be the greater if they stayed together; and, therefore, that Carelesse should presently be gone, and should, within two days, send an honest man to the King, to guide him to some other place of security; and in the mean time his majesty should stay upon the hay-mow. The poor man had nothing for him

to eat, but promised him good butter-milk the next morning; and so he was once more left alone, his companion, how weary soever, departing from him before day; the poor man of the house knowing no more than that he was a friend of the captain's, and one of those who had escaped from Worcester. The King slept very well in his lodging, till the time that his host brought him a piece of bread and a great pot of butter-milk, which he thought the best food he ever had eaten.

...

After he had rested upon this hay-mow and fed upon this diet two days and two nights, in the evening before the third night another fellow, a little above the condition of his host, came to the house, sent from Carelesse, to conduct the King to another house, more out of any road near which any part of the army was like to march. It was above twelve miles that he was to go, and was to use the same caution he had done the first night, not to go in any common road, which his guide knew well how to avoid. Here he new dressed himself, changing clothes with his landlord, and putting on those which he usually wore: he had a great mind to have kept his own shirt, but he considered that men are not sooner discovered by any mark in disguises than by having fine linen in ill clothes; and so he parted with his shirt too, and took the same his poor host had then on. Though he had foreseen that he must leave his boots, and his landlord had taken the best care he could to provide an old pair of shoes, yet they were not easy to him when he first put them on, and in a short time after grew very grievous to him. In this equipage he set out from his first lodging in the beginning of the night, under the conduct of his comrade, who guided him the nearest way, crossing over hedges and ditches, that they might be in least danger of meeting passengers. This was so grievous a march, and he was so tired, that he was even ready to despair, and to prefer being taken and suffered to rest, before purchasing his safety at that price. His shoes had after the walking a few miles hurt him so much that he had thrown them away, and walked the rest of the way in his ill stockings, which were quickly worn out; and his feet, with the thorns in getting over hedges, and with the stones in other places, were so hurt and wounded, that he many times cast himself upon the ground, with a desperate and obstinate resolution to rest there till the morning, that he might shift with less torment, what hazard soever he run. But his stout guide still prevailed with him to make a new attempt, sometimes promising that the way should be better, and sometimes assuring him that he had but little further to go; and in this distress and perplexity, before the morning they arrived at the house designed, which though it was better than that which he had left, his lodging was still in the barn, upon straw instead of hay, a place being made as easy in it as the expectation of a guest could dispose it. Here he had such meat and porridge as such people use to have, with which, but especially with the butter and the cheese, he thought himself well feasted; and took the best care he could to be supplied with other, little better, shoes and stockings; and after his feet were enough recovered that he could go, he was conducted from thence to another poor house, within such a distance as put him not to much trouble; for having not yet in his thought which way or by what means

to make his escape, all that was designed was only ty shifting from one house to another to avoid discovery: and being now in that quarter which was more inhabite! by the Roman Catholics than most other parts in Eng land, he was led trom one to another of that persuasion. and concealed with great fidelity. But he then observe! that he was never carried to any gentleman's house though that country was full of them, but only to po houses of poor men, which only yielded him rest, with very unpleasant sustenance; whether there was more danger in those better houses, in regard of the resort and the many servants, or whether the owners of grea estates were the owners likewise of more fears and apprehensions.

Within few days, a very honest and discreet person. one Mr Hurlestone [Huddlestone], a Benedictine monk. who attended the service of the Catholics in those parts. came to him, sent by Carelesse, and was a very great assistance and comfort to him. And when the places to which he carried him were at too great a distance to walk, he provided him a horse, and more proper habit than the rags he wore. This man told him the the Lord Wilmott lay concealed likewise in a friend's house of his, which his majesty was very glad of, art wished him to contrive some means how they might speak together, which the other easily did; and within a night or two brought them into one place. Wilmott told the King that he had by very good-fortune falles into the house of an honest gentleman, one Mr Lane. a person of an excellent reputation for his fidelity to the King, but of so universal and general a good name. that, though he had a son who had been a colone in the King's service during the late war, and wa then upon his way with men to Worcester the very day of the defeat, men of all affections in the country and of all opinions paid the old man a very great respect; that he had been very civilly treated there: and that the old gentleman had used some diligence to find out where the King was, that he might get him to his house, where he was sure he could conceal him till he might contrive a full deliverance. . . . And so they two went together to Mr Lane's house [Bentley Hall], where the King found he was welcome, and cotveniently accommodated in such places as in a large house had been provided to conceal the persons malignants, or to preserve goods of value from being plundered; where he lodged and ate very well, and began to hope that he was in present safety. Wilmor returned under the care of the monk, and expecte summons when any farther motion should be thought to be necessary.

In this station the King remained in quiet and blessed security many days, receiving every day information of the general consternation the kingdom was in, oct of the apprehension that his person might fall into the hands of his enemies, and of the great diligence they used in inquiry for him. He saw the proclamatior that was issued out and printed, in which a thousan pounds were promised to any man who would deliver and discover the person of Charles Steward [Stuart} and the penalty of high treason declared against those who presumed to harbour or conceal him: by which he saw how much he was beholden to all those wb were faithful to him. It was now time to consider how he might find himself near the sea, from whence he might find some means to transport himself. . . .