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of insanity derived from the mad King Charles of France, became more and more incapable; and the proud and vindictive Margaret completely governed him and the country. The Queen was hated by the people, and discontent at her tyranny spread throughout the land. A feeling grew up and spread in favour of Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, who, in default of issue to Henry, was the next heir to the throne. In fact, as the son of Anne Mortimer, the great-granddaughter of the Duke of Clarence, second son of Edward III.,and as grandson of Edmund, fourth son of that Monarch, Richard of York had a title to the throne even superior to that of Henry of Lancaster. It was not, however, his hereditary rights which evoked popular favour in his behalf, but rather respect for his personal character, his political and military ability, and his known bravery.

On October 13th, 1453, after having been eight years married and childless, a son was born to Henry and Margaret. This made more remote the possibility of the Duke of York's succession to the throne, and also gave the nation the prospect, in the event of the death of Henry, of a long period of regency on the part of the hated Margaret. Richard's following became larger and more powerful, and his influence so increased that in 1454, in view of the acknowledged imbecility of Henry, he was appointed Protector of the realm.

A few months after, however, the King having in some measure recovered, Margaret resumed authority in his name, and abrogating the Protectorship, recalled the Duke of Somerset (who had been degraded and confined in the Tower) to the head of the administration.

Now ensued a long and increasingly bitter struggle between the Court and the Duke of York, which at length developed into an appeal to the sword, and civil war resulted. The nation was divided into two hostile parties, ranged under the banners of Lancaster and York respectively, the nobility in general favouring the King's cause, while the middle and lower classes pledged themselves to the cause of the Duke. The Red Rose was adopted as the badge of the Lancastrians, and the White Rose as that of the Yorkists, and hence the protracted contest received the name of "The Wars of the Roses."

The Duke of York had on his side the powerful support of his kinsman the Earl of Salisbury, and his son the Earl of Warwickthe latter "the last of the barons," whose power rivalled and sometimes overshadowed the majesty of the throne itself.

The first of the twelve great battles which marked this bitter and bloody thirty years' struggle was fought at St. Alban's, in May, 1455, when the King was captured and the Duke of Somerset killed.

The victorious Richard behaved with courtesy and clemency, treating the King with kindness and respect. The Parliament constituted the Duke a second time Protector, and the executive government fell into the hands of the Yorkists.

The machinations of the Queen prevented, however, the continuance of this peaceful and moderate arrangement, and led the King to assume the government again, and to cancel the Duke's commission. Richard quietly withdrew; but the wicked Queen resolved to destroy him and his principal coadjutors, and her intention becoming known, there was no alternative but in self-defence to take up arms again.

At Bloreheath, in Staffordshire, in September, 1459, the King's forces were defeated; but in the following month, weakened by desertions, and dismayed by the overwhelming army brought against it, the Yorkist force was scattered, and its leaders obliged to flee to the continent.

In less than twelve months, however, the fortune of war was reversed. The Earl of Warwick won the battle of Northampton in July, 1460, the King being taken prisoner, and the Queen and her son compelled to save their lives by flight.*

Henry was taken to London and honourably treated. Three months afterwards the Duke of York advanced a formal claim to the crown, grounding it upon his hereditary descent from the second son of Edward III. It was arranged, however, that Henry should retain the throne during his lifetime, the Duke being Regent, and the acknowledged. heir to the crown.

But this compact did not close the civil war. Restless and vindictive, Margaret rallied her partizans, and raised an army in the north. Too hastily engaging with the Queen's wild and numerous forces, Richard suffered a terrible defeat at Wakefield Green, on the last day of the year 1460, and was either slain in the battle or executed immediately afterwards. His head, surmounted by a paper crown, was impaled on the city gate at York, and his son, the Earl of Rut

It was just previous to this event that Henry spent three days and nights at Crowland, whose beautiful abbey is represented on the preceding

page.

land, a boy of twelve, was brutally slain, on Wakefield Bridge, by Lord Clifford with his own hand. The barbarities of the vengeful Margaret were revolting even to her friends, and many forsook her cause in consequence of these atrocities.

Edward, Earl of March, the eldest son of Richard, continued the strife and sought to avenge his father's death. In February, 1461, he defeated the Lancastrians at Mortimer's Cross, five miles from Leominster, Hereford; and, in imitation of the Queen's acts, beheaded several prisoners, among others Owen Tudor, who had married the Queen-dowager, Catherine.

In the second battle of St. Alban's, fought

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in the same month, Margaret achieved success over the Earl of Warwick, and recovered her husband, who was found in a tent after the battle.

Her triumph ended here, for she was not allowed to enter the metropolis. Edward and Warwick, uniting their forces, advanced to London, where they were received with joy by the citizens. The young Duke made a bold demand for the throne; the incapacity of Henry, with the public hatred of Margaret, strengthened his position, and on the fourth of March he was proclaimed as Edward IV.

JAMES YEAMES.

N a quiet, picturesque nook, about four or five miles from the rock-bound coast of northern Cornwall, and nearly the same distance from the rugged granite peaks of Rough-tor and Brown-willy, lies the quaint, queer little town of Camelford. Although numbering only five or six hundred inhabitants, it is a corporate town, and was once a borough-a borough for which the wonderful Henry Brougham took his first seat in Parliament.

Within a very few miles of this ancient borough there is much to attract the notice of the archæologist, the artist, and the poet. A mile or two beyond, there are some of the loveliest little sheltered nooks, and some of the grandest coast scenery, which England can show. But to our mind, Camelford has claims for distinction higher and nobler than all these. Most of us will love to think of it more as the scene in which some of the best and holiest men in Methodism have laboured, than as an ancient corporation or disfranchised borough. The apostolic Francis Truscott, the sturdy, but true-hearted, Richard Treffry, that grand old Christian gentleman, the Rev. Joseph Burgess, and the learned Adam Clarke, lived and toiled there.

Richard Treffry, junior, was born in Camelford.

Dr. Clarke had many intimate and valued friends there. Among these were Francis Lobb, and his two sisters Molly and Fanny. And they were worthy of the Doctor's esteem. Richard Mabyn-a Metho

dist of Wesley's time-loved the Doctor as his own son, and bequeathed to him nearly all he possessed-not a large fortune certainly, but enough to add greatly to Dr. Clarke's comfort, and to aid him in his literary pursuits.

Lydia Rosevear-one of earth's saintslived and died at Camelford, as also Thomas Pearse, of whom a remarkably interesting memoir may be found in the "Methodist Magazine" for the year 1816, from the pen of his beloved pastor and friend, the Rev. Francis Truscott.

The year 1835 was a melancholy period in the history of Methodism. Divisions occurred which rent many of our Societies asunder, and no Circuit in the kingdom suffered more severely than Camelford. The strife was awful, and neither party was guiltless of uncharitable and bitter feeling. Let us draw a veil over the scenes which caused good men to weep in secret, and the enemies of Christ to triumph. Reference is made to them here only that the writer may bear his rejoicing testimony to the fact that happier influences now prevail. In his occasional visits to the dear old place he has noticed, of late, that the various branches of the Methodist family are working in their respective spheres amidst mutual goodwill and Christian love. The various ministers seem to carry out to its practical issues the glorious utterance of our blessed Lord, "One is your Master, even Christ; and all ye are brethren."

An episode in the life of a good man of Camelford is worthy of record.

An inhabitant of the place, who moved in a somewhat respectable sphere, conceived a strong prejudice against an equally respectable Methodist neighbour, and took no pains to conceal it. The cause was utterly groundless, for the Christian tradesman was a man of remarkable probity and blameless life, although wont to defend his views of what he thought to be right with a force and severity of language beyond what others deemed necessary. His irreligious neighbour was seized with serious and fatal illness, and his spiritual condition was a cause of deep concern to the other.

In an early stage of the illness, the worthy Methodist called at the house of Mr. H, the invalid, to make kind inquiries, and to leave a kindly message. The writer-then a little boy-was present when the call was made. The wife of the sick man came to the door, and seemed surprised, but expressed deep thankfulness for the visit, and said she would gladly convey to her husband the kind message.

Very soon after this, an earnest request came from Mr. H, that Mr. P would be so good as to come and see him. It was promptly and gladly attended to, and the sick man grasped the hand of the other with eagerness and deep emotion. There was no explanation asked or given about anything past and gone; but at once the sufferer said, "O, Mr. P——, I want you to talk to me, and pray for me! I have lived without God. I have neglected the most important work of life, and now I must die, and I have no hope. Is there any mercy for me-so great a sinner as I have been?"

He was broken down, and the distress of his mind was unutterable. He was pointed to the loving and compassionate Saviour, and assured that the Divine mercy was illimitable. So truly penitent did he seem, that there was no hesitation in unfolding to him the pre

cious promises of salvation for all who come to Christ. For many days and nights did the mental agony endure without any alleviation, although he was seen almost daily by his friend, whose whole soul was penetrated with an absorbing anxiety for the unhappy and suffering man.

One day a messenger came hurriedly to Mr. P's house, desiring him to call on Mr. H- as soon as possible. On entering the room where the sick man lay, Mr. Pat once was struck with wonder and joy. He noticed an almost celestial radiance surrounding the features of his friend. Mr. H- exclaimed, "I hardly know what this is. I feel quite well. My pain is all gone. I am as strong as a lion. I was praying for mercy, and in a moment my burden was taken away. Yes, I now know and feel that my sins, which were many, are all forgiven, and that my merciful Saviour has saved me." His soul was filled with joy unspeakable, and full of glory. He wanted instantly to tell his Christian friend, and now the two wept and prayed and rejoiced together.

The sick man's strength rapidly declined; yet day by day, during the prolonged illness, did these two bosom friends meet and talk of the love of Jesus and the rest of heaven.

H

One Sunday morning a servant from Mr. called to say that he was believed to be dying, but wished to see Mr. P—— once more before he departed. It was indeed so. He was dying. He could scarcely articulate. My dear father-for I can no longer write in the third person, it was indeed my revered father-my dear father took his hand in his, and leaning over him said, in gentle, loving tones, "Is Christ precious to you now? Looking up to heaven with beaming eyes he whispered, "Precious Jesus! Precious Jesus!" and in a few seconds the happy spirit was released, and he entered into rest. E. P.

"I

Spiritual

AM afraid we are losing our singing power. It seems as if we were in danger of falling into weak dependence upon organs and choirs. And while we are allowing our public music of praise and thanksgiving to be done for us, we may possibly cease to cultivate our

Singing.

gift of song until we have lost it. I hope the Methodists will not live to find their matchless Hymn-Book useless for want of heart and voice to use it."

This was said by a Methodist minister at a Society-meeting held in a town chapel after