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hope of his recovery, and on the 9th of August, 1848, his sufferings were brought to a termination.

This gallant officer and distinguished man had two sons in the navy. The elder was a lieutenant, and bade fair to have proved himself a worthy son of his father. He jumped overboard and saved the life of a seaman in

the Tagus, and his exertions at the wreck of the Syphax were of the most heroic kind. He perished with nearly the whole of his crew in the wreck of the Avenger. The younger son is still a midshipman, and has, we are told, displayed great talents as an hydrographer.

From t e Metropolitan.

MY EARLY FRIEND.

WHERE is the sunny brow, the soft and sportive glee,

The step of fairy lightness, the laugh of melody?

My early friend! we parted in the spring-time of thy years;

I prayed that peace might be thy lot through this sad vale of tears;
Some traces of time's work, of earth's woes, I looked to see,
But not this silent stamp, alas! of hopeless misery.

My early friend! thy guileless heart was tender as the dove,
With clinging trust and faith in those who sought thy youthful love :
Harsh words and cold reproving looks were never known by thee,
And thy sweet tears were shed alone in purest sympathy:
Not loss of children, friends, or kin, not poverty's sharp care,
Hath stamped thy snowy brow with that look of mute despair.

'Twas the slow but dread awakening to a strange and lingering doom,
The apathetic blight of mind, which cast its chilling gloom;

Amid the world of strangers, uncherished and unknown,
Ah! easy 'twas to crush thee, my loving, gentle one!

The flowers of a hardy kind can bear the nipping frost,

But delicate and fragile things soon by neglect are lost.

Too well, too late thou knowest, I would have died to save thee

From every pang that must await our earthly destiny;

Thy life should'st have been poetry, and music, and delight,
And thou, the fairy spirit, the brightest of the bright.
But angels now await thee, thy home is with the blest,
My early friend! my gentle friend! betake thee to thy rest!

From the People's Journal.

A VISIT TO THE RUINS OF SANDAL CASTLE.

"And yon rude remnants stand alone. Sandal! thy wreck might well inspire, In glowing breasts, a poet's fire; And cold the heart, and strange the eye, That could unheeded pass thee by. How still!

I fear to climb thy turf-clad hill, Or wander o'er thy hidden graves; Where'er I gaze, the sward heaves green In hillocks, and the dark bough waves Its funeral plume of dusky leaves, So gently o'er the sleepers here, I would not trample on their bier!"

LEATHAM.

How rich in moral lessons are the ancient feudal strongholds of our ancestors? From ruined tower and ivied pillar, how strongly the lesson comes home to the heart, that the ancient brute-force dominion and mind-enslaving monuments of our forefathers are but the types of an epoch long since extinct. We see the decaying walls, built as if to defy Time, silently sinking beneath the hand of the spoiler, and almost outliving the recollections of the ancient times of which they are the memorials; and the moral of this finds its place in our hearts, and sanctifies the spot.

A few months since, accompanied by a friend, I visited Sandal Castle, which is situate about two miles from Wakefield. We started one afternoon in autumn, when the leaves were just beginning to fall. It was one of those sunny days, when the transition from autumn to winter is scarcely perceptible. We crossed the noble bridge of eight arches, which here spans the Calder, crowned by an ancient chapel, or chantry, erected most probably on the occasion of the battle of Wakefield, and proceeded onwards towards Sandal. There are two ways by which the traveller may reach the hill; the field way, which skirts the Pugneys, and the highway, up the Cock and Bottle Lane. We preferred the field way on this occasion; it proceeds through a long field, divided by the carriage-road, which leads to Mr. Shaw's mansion, Belle Isle-a very pleasant walk, by the way, until we reach the house, when

we diverge from the Calder, and proceed through the Pugneys, a large tract of valley ground, part of which was formerly the river's bed, which has recently been turned into another channel; the ground, therefore, is still damp, from defective drainage. Here a ditch, of great depth, a remnant of the original channel of the Calder, still remains, near the side of the foot-path, and is noted principally for being the spot where a young gentleman, the son of a Wakefield banker, was drowned one afternoon, whilst stoning frogs with his brothers. He fell into the water, and his brothers, terrified in the highest degree, started for aid to the neighboring town. Of course, on their return, life was extinct. Here, again, we diverge from the foot-path which skirts the Pugneys, and proceed in a north-easterly direction, through some meadows, until we get into a lane, which branches out into the Cock and Bottle Lane. In this lane is a good house, beautifully situated, but woefully desolate, which has a legend connected with it. The tale runs thus: A lady who resided in this house was very much addicted to card-playing; and in defiance of the admonitions and reproofs of her friends, would even play on the Sabbathday. One Sunday, whilst engaged in dealing the cards with a young gentleman, a casual visitor at the house, she was struck dead, or died in a fit in her chair. Her partner was so shocked, that he shut himself up in a monastery for the remainder of his life, to endeavor to atone, by a life of penitence, for the thoughtless part he had played in this drama. Since then-so the surrounding cotters say-the evil spirit of this lady walks the house. No one lives long in it, they are all so disturbed by this apparition; and it now presents a desolate spectacle, all the windows being broken, and an unearthly stillness reigning in and about it:

"A residence for woman, child, and man,

A dwelling-place, and yet no habitation: A house; but under some prodigious ban Of excommunication.

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At the end of this bye lane we arrive at the conjunction of the two roads; and proceeding up the main road a few yards, brings us to the stile which incloses the castle domain. We climb over the stile, formed of the roots of an old tree, which overhangs the road, and are at once by the ruins of the castle. The castle appears to have been built on a series of hills, and the whole building inclosed by a moat, which still remains, though nearly dry. Crossing the moat, we leave the ruins of the castle on our left, and proceed up the side of the steep hill, which must have almost sheltered the castle. Indeed, a tradition says, that this hill was thrown up in one night, by ten thousand soldiers, when the castle was attacked by the Parliamentary army, to shield it from the constant fire which was kept up from a battery placed on Lowe Hill, about two miles off. At the top, a noble expanse of country presents itself. We see the Calder meandering along in a half-circle below us, and lit up like burnished gold by the last rays of the departing sun. For miles around, a beautiful prospect is obtained. In the far-off distance is perceptible the spire of Wakefield steeple, and a few of the houses of the outskirts, and all around, wood and vale in beautiful succession, reward the traveller for his trouble in ascending it. The moat which formerly encompassed the castle winds round the bottom of the hill, and noble trees crown its declivity and its surrounding heights. Leaving this hill we turn to the ruins. Only a portion of the walls, but that portion of massive thickness, is now perceptible. The rest has fallen beneath the stern hand of Time. The historical recollections which cling to this castle are very interesting. Here took place the battle of Wakefield, described by Shakspeare in his King Henry VIth. Also in the time of the Protectorate, this castle bore some part in the struggle. Every one recollects the wars of the Roses. The Duke of York, after making a treaty with Henry VI. allowing

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him the privilege of wearing his crown until his death, but after that, to descend to the Duke of York and his heirs, went into the north, and arrived at his castle of Sandal on the 21st December, 1460. In the mean time the Queen Margaret, having discovered from King Henry the concessions his timidity had allowed him to make, was naturally indignant at the disclosure, and collecting a large army followed the Duke of York, and overtook him at Sandal. Here, on the 30th December, 1460, the battle of Wakefield was fought. The Duke of York's army amounted only to about 5,000 or 6,000 soldiers, while the queen's numbered 20,000. The duke was taken prisoner, and all his soldiers cut in pieces. Even in this fight, the issue might have been different, had the Duke of York waited within the walls for reinforcements. But his courage, which had borne away the palm in the continental tournaments, would not allow him thus to be bearded in his stronghold by a woman-general. He drew out his troops, and a defeat was, of course, the result. York was taken prisoner, and his youngest son, the Duke of Rutland, was slain by Lord Clifford, as he was endeavoring to escape from the field with his priest tutor. He had even gained Wakefield bridge, when the vengeful Clifford overtook and slew him. Some historians affirm that this chapel on the bridge was erected by King Edward, who took part in the battle of Sandal, in memory of his unfortunate brother of Rutland. Certain it is, that in Domesday Book mention is made of the revenue depending from certain lands, appertaining to two priests, for constant prayers for the souls of the slain in this battle; and this fact gives additional probability to the statement. chapel has, however, undergone curious metamorphoses since that period, having been employed successively as an exchange, a warehouse, an old clothes shop, a flaxdresser's shop, a news room, a cheese-cake house, a dwelling-house, a corn-factor's office, and a tailor's shop. More recently, however, within the last few years, subscriptions for an entire re-building of the edifice, with a view to its being re-opened as a place of worship, were collected, and with so much success, that in 1846 the treasurers appointed to receive the subscriptions thought themselves justified in beginning the work, and at this date, 1848, it is now completed, and forms perhaps one of the most complete specimens of the modern Gothic style of architecture within a considerable distance. Divine service is now performed in it every

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Sunday. But this is a digression. We left the Duke of York a prisoner in the hands of Margaret's forces; they sat him on a little hillock, placed a paper crown on his head, and bowed the knee in mock reverence before him; and when he wept for shame at such insults, Clifford gave him a scarf dipped in the blood of young Rutland, wherewithal to wipe his eyes; adding outrage to insult. They slew him there, and placed his head on the tower of York, so that "York might overlook York." Sandal Castle was then dismantled, and has no important history for a long time, until the period of the Protectorate, when King Charles held possession of it. Colonel Overton, at the head of the parliamentary army, advanced to lay siege to the place, which was defended on the part of Charles, by Bonnivant, and right stoutly did he hold his trust. Colonel Overton stationed a battery on Lowe Hill for the purpose of beating down the walls, though with little result. The stout old pile did its duty bravely:

"In vain! ye shake, but cannot raze
Yon massive pile of bygone days!
Onset by day-assault by night,
Disclose no yawning breach to sight;
War's iron tempest vainly falls
On Sandal's adamantine walls."

LEATHAM.

But within the castle gaunt famine was stalking abroad in its most horrible shapes, and the garrison were obliged, having no prospect of speedy relief, to come to a compromise with the besiegers. They were allowed to march out unmolested, with all the honors of war, and Cromwell's troops speedily razed its towers to the ground, and since that time its political history is a blank. It is destined to play no further part in the history of our country. A small fragment of solitary wall still remains; and within one of the windows is carved in the stone the names of all the great little visitors, the Joneses and the Smiths, whose desire to grave their names on one of Time's pedestals has led them to that elevation.

Sandal Castle's history may be divided into four eras; the first, of its erection, we cannot speak, but no doubt it is of great antiquity. The second era embraces its history, under the Earl of Warren, who owned Sandal as one part of his vast domains. It was destroyed in his time by the Earl of Lancaster, in revenge for the harboring of his adul

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terous wife, who had fled to Warren's castle as to a place of safety. Lancaster came upon them whilst engaged in consummating their honeymoon, and burnt Sandal Castle to the ground, and with it most of its brave defenders. Earl Warren himself, and Joan of Lancaster, however, escaped from the castle by a subterraneous passage; such, at least, is the common tradition. At all events, Earl Warren escaped, and he rebuilt the castle in great splendor. The third era embraces the period of the wars of the Roses, and the subsequent dismantling of the castle in its occupancy by the royalist troops. The fourth era relates to the destruction of the castle by Cromwell's general, and ends its history.

After going over the ground, and peopling it with the spirits of departed heroes, we left the scene, and returned towards Wakefield, this time taking the high road. A couple of hundred yards down Cock and Bottle lane brings us to a triangular piece of ground on the right hand side, still pointed out as the death place of the Duke of York. It is nearly adjacent to the high road, and is now entirely overgrown with trees. Historical reminiscences now strike us at every step. We can fancy York bravely retiring from the fight, pursued perhaps by a knot of soldiers; here taken prisoner, and here beheaded. A spring of water from a solid rock faces the place.

It is a most remarkable fact, that nowhere does the pale primrose grow with such profusion as on this thrice-dyed battle scene. Little rosy children and country maidens flock to gather the earliest blossoms of the season at Sandal Castle. Is it because the soil is so rich from the mere wantonness of the spirit of death which was here displayed? Who knows? the same has been observed at Towton, where a great battle took place between the Yorkists and Lancasterians, and where "roses of a peculiar kind still grow; some in distinct circles in the centre of the ground. Many of the inhabitants of the village believe that these roses spring from the pits in which the slain were buried after the battle." [Leatham.] At Waterloo, too, if I mistake not, the produce of the field of battle is tinged with a peculiarity not to be found elsewhere.

Leaving the death place of York, we proceeded homewards, and the shades of evening were beginning to encircle the world of nature, when we again crossed the Calder on our entrance into Wakefield.

NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.

Mirabeau : a Life-History. In Four Books. 2 vols. Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities. Edited 12mo. Smith and Elder. London, 1848.

The author of this work states, that before the memorable 23d of February, a considerable portion of it was ready for the press; but that in the second volume, recent events have disposed him in the choice of "such passages as were still sound, practicable advice to Frenchmen, and, in fact, to every lover of order and of peace." The style and tone of the publication is somewhat too much of the Carlyle school for our taste, but it furnishes much better material from which to form a judgment concerning the history and character of Mirabeau than the English reader will find elsewhere. The tendency of the writer to look as favorably as may consist with candor on his much disfavored hero, does not lead him to suppress facts; and as to his own reasoning upon those facts, the reader will be competent to judge of the degree of value that should be attached to it.

Under the best possible education, the passionate, impulsive nature of Mirabeau would have been a faulty nature; under the influence of an education as neglected and faulty as it could well be, the natural consequences followed. Up to a certain point in his history, the bad was comparatively forgotten in the good; from that point the good has been as much forgotten in the bad. But the unfortunate incident for his memory has been, that after awhile he ceased to be a man of mere party; and thus, by degrees, brought upon him the evil tongues of all parties. He found it easier to raise the demon of revolution than to control it when raised. This last work, however, his gigantic soul saw must be done, or all would be lost. But the thing could not be done, and what he foresaw ensued. In this respect, his career bears some resemblance to that of Cromwell. Had he given himself up to mere partisanship, his party would have been an heir-loom for his reputation. All sorts of party passions would have rushed to his defence, had he only been content to echo its watchwords. But his nature, with all its faults, could not be brought to worship the narrow egotism of party as the wisdom of humanity. His aim, accordingly, was in the direction of a broader and more humane form of settlement than mere partisanship could tolerate. In holding to this course he was wise, however much he may have been execrated and calumniated for his wisdom. Men of sense look back upon him as the one man who saw where it would be good to stop, and their estimate of the mobs, or the managers of mobs, who were proof against his counsel, is not now very flattering. In his private life, he was a vicious man in a vicious age, but there were some forms of degradation to which the sovereignty of his intellectua! nature could never be brought to submit.-Britizh Quarterly Review.

by William Smith, LL. D. Second edition improved and enlarged.

In some points of view this new edition of Dr. Smith's very valuable Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities is almost a new work. Various articles have been entirely rewritten, especially in the earlier part, where the idea of a smaller book than was eventually found advantageous induced a somewhat curtailed treatment, during its first serial appearance. A good many new articles have been added, the subjects of which were altogether omitted in the first edition; a considerable addition has been made to the number of illustrative wood-cuts; and those articles in which no fundamental change has been made have been carefully revised. In short, the new matter extends to upwards of three hundred pages, besides the illustrations; and the old has been carefully considered and corrected.-Spectator.

Life of Lord Clive. By the Rev. G. R. Gleig.

This book, forming Nos. 5, 6, and 7 of "Murray's Home and Colonial Library," is a carefully compiled history of the public career of the founder of our Indian Empire-and does not pretend to be anything more. It is chiefly founded on the "Life," by Sir John Malcolm: no new materials are added, nor is any novelty in the way of estimating the mixed, but brilliant, character of the conqueror attempted. Mr. Gleig seems to have had no purpose in writing beyond making a book; but this he has done with the careful mediocrity of manner which marks all his productions; and perhaps many will be disposed to read the narrative of Clive's life in this form who are unable to procure the larger work of Sir John Malcolm. Neither is, however, very satisfactory. Macaulay's essay on Clive is incomparably the best and truest account of him which we possess. But it is only an essay; the history of the Hero of Plassey still remains to be written.-Athenæum.

The Authorship of the Letters of Junius elucidated; including a Biographical Memoir of Lieutenant Colonel Isaac Barré, M. P. By John Britton, F. S. A. London: J. R. Smith. 1848.

We cannot say that we think Mr. Britton's " Elucidation," creditable as it is to his ingenuity and research, will throw much light upon the vexed question of the authorship of the famous Letters of Junius. Mr. Britton is of opinion that the real author of these letters was Col. Barré, and that he was assisted in their composition by the Earl of Shelburne, and Dun

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