* suspicion to the ruling powers.

 

 

advanced towards York, expecting to be joined by
multitudes, but the English people did not answer
their wishes at all; they did not, in fact, relish a
king brought into the country, as it were, on the

shoulders of Irishmen and Germans. The leaders
of the young King Edward’s army then determined
to fall suddenly on Henry and risk all in a pitched
battle. Henry had left Kenilworth, and, having
passed through Coventry and other places, was now
halting at Stoke-on-Trent, near Newark.

The Earl of Lincoln led his men to the attack,
and a battle took place which raged fiercely for
about three hours. ‘The victory remained with King
Henry’s troops, but it was dearly bought. The
brave Germans fell almost to a man, and their
gallant leader, Martin Swart, died with them. All
the noble Fitzgeralds bit the dust, for the Irish
disdained to flee. The Earl of Lincoln was slain,
and the priest, Richard Simon, and the Pretender,
Edward the Sixth, were taken prisoners.

When Lord Lovel saw he could do no more he
set spurs to his horse and fled. Leaping into the
Trent, he either crossed it or was drowned in its
rushing waters. No one knows with certainty what
his fate was; but there is a very sad story about
him, somewhat confirmed by a discovery made many
years ago, which we will briefly relate.

Near the town of Witney, in Oxfordshire, there is
a little village called Minster Lovel, where remains
of a very ancient castellated building may yet be
seen. ‘The castle, once the home of the Lovel
family, was demolished about the year 1694, and the
workmen in doing this discovered a vault. In this
vault was a chair and table. On the table was a
prayer-book, or missal, and in the chair was the
skeleton of Lord Lovel, clad in a very rich dress.
The vault was small, and the air had been so well
shut out, that the book and garments were entire, or
nearly so.

But how came Lord Lovel to die in this vault ?
The story is, that when he left the fatal field of
Stoke he swam across the Trent, and escaped into
Oxfordshire by unfrequented roads. A faithful ser-
vant, who knew his master’s sign, admitted him by
dead of night into his house at Minster Lovel, when
Lord Lovel retired at once into a secret cellar, the
key of which the servant kept.

Here the proscribed nobleman remained for
several months in safety ; but his estates being
then seized by the king’s order, the servants were
driven off, and the house was stripped of all its
furniture.

Owing to these circumstances the unhappy Lord
Lovel was left to perish by hunger in the vault,
which thus became his grave. It is a dreadful
story, reminding us of the fate of the Duke of
Rothsay, described by Sir Walter Scott in the air
Maid of Perth.

This story has been doubted, but there seems no
reason why it should not be true. Mr. ‘Timbs, in his
book called Abbeys, Castles, and Ancient Halls of
England, gives us several authorities for the story,
which he says seems not a whit more unlikely than
the accounts of priests hiding in secret holes and
corners during the time when they were objects of

G. 8. O.

THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD.

SHE home of childhood has a charm, I cannot

yas

Gs tell you why or what :
Tt has a charm, a nameless charm, that hangs

about no other spot ;

A charm no other place can have, however pleasant
it may be.

Oh, no, there is no second place in all this earth so
dear to me.

My home it was no castle grand, no marble hall, no
palace wide ;

It had no park, nor well-kept lawns, nor other signs
of wealth and pride ;

No lake and swans, no fallow deer, no costly foun-
tain spouting foam :

But it was beautiful to me, and ever will, my child-
hood home.

It was a house of stud and.mud, a strange old place,
with floors awry ;

Low ceilings with huge balks across — in vain one
asks the reason why ;

Old doors where they ought not to be, and windows
never set to rights ;

And such a chimney-corner too, a cosy nook on
winter nights.

But why should I its praises sing ? I’ve loved it long,
I love it still,

With its one rood of garden ground my dear old
father used to till.

Its arbour and its peacock yew, its water-butt and
big elm-tree,

The sweet-brier and the privet hedge, what memories
they bring to me!

I’ve been a football in my time, kicked by Dame
Fortune to and fro;

I’ve seen Niagara’s cataract, and Himalaya’s range
of snow; :

I’ve trod the streets of capitals, their pomp and
splendour have I seen,

But not a sight can stir my heart like the old cottage
by the green.

And when upon my aching brow the ague-spot has
nightly lain, :

Or when on duty in the trench my foot has stumbled
o’er the slain,

Or when the solemn forest wild before me placed its
awful bar,

A sight of comfort to the heart, my childhood’s home
has gleamed afar.

Then was I borne to days of health by memory on
angel wing,

To sweet uncrimsoned fields of peace, where war its
shadow may not fling; ;

Or by my father’s side I stood, and I was safe from
fear once more, <

As ’twixt me and the roaring dark I felt the Lord
had shut the door! G. 8. O.

CADVOIODA