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Queen Elizabeth's time, abolished it as a superfluous charge to the crown." Tintagel had been made a state prison in the reign of Richard II., and at that time the custody of the castle was given to persons of rank and consequence. John Holland, Earl of Huntingdon, was made constable in 1388. The only state-prisoners whose names are recorded, of those who were confined at Tintagel, are John Northampton, Lord Mayor of London, who is said, by Carew, in 1385, to have been "for his unruly maioralty condemned thither as a perpetual penitentiary;" and Thomas, Earl of Warwick, who was imprisoned there in 1397.

But there is a second description of hill castles, built for residence, as well as for defence. Most of these were also provided with keeps, and those that were destitute of this appendage, were generally built turretwise as Castle Karnbré. Tintagel Castle, represented in our illustration, appears to have been one of these, and is, doubtless, a building of very great antiquity. It is situated partly on the extremity of a bold rock of slate, on the northern coast of the county, partly on a rocky island, with which it was formerly connected by The renown which this castle has acquired as the a drawbridge. Dr. Borlase says of it, Tintagel Castle | birth-place of King Arthur rests upon dubious grounds. was built on a cape of land, the extremity of which was The history of that individual, if such a person ever a peninsula, a very lofty hill. Where this peninsula really existed, has been so obscured by monkish legends, joined the mainland there are the fortifications, partly and miraculous stories, that it has acquired altogether on the hill and partly on the main." In the survey a fabulous air. Yet there is the high authority of made in the eleventh year of King Edward the Third, Chancellor Bacon on the side of his claims, who says Tintagel is described as "a certain castle sufficiently that there was enough truth in his story to make him walled," in which were two chambers beyond the two famous, besides that which was fabulous. Mr. Redding, gates in a decayed state; one chamber, with a small in his interesting Itinerary of the County of Cornwall, kitchen for the constable, in good repair; one stable for recently published, describes a visit to the ruined and eight horses, decayed; one cellar and bakehouse, ruin- shattered walls of Tintagel, and its precipitous cliffs at ous. The timber of the great hall had been taken the foot of which the sea has hollowed out a cavern, down by command of John, Earl of Cornwall, because" in which the waves thunder, rage, and boil. Such," the hall was ruinous, and the walls thereof of no value. he remarks, "is all that remains of the reputed birth-place In the reign of Qeeen Elizabeth the following lines of him whose exploits and good sword Excaliber' have respecting Tintagel were translated from the Latin by bards of Italy, and the minstrels of the North have alike been said and sung from age to age. The troubadours, the


There is a place within the winding shore of Severne sea, On mids of rock, about whose foote the tides turn-keeping play

A tow'ry-topped Castle here wide blazeth over all Which Corineus' ancient brood Tindagel Castle call. In the preceding reign there was standing at Tintagel, according to Leland, "a pretty chapel of St. Uliane with a tomb on the left side;" and the same writer alludes to recollections of a postern door of iron, which he seems to think was the entrance to a dungeon of the most formidable and impregnable character. But Borlase does not agree in considering the place impregnable: on the contrary, he says that though the cliffs of the peninsula are hideous, and not to be climbed without the utmost danger, yet the ground here was badly chosen, the hill dipping so very suddenly that everything within the wall was exposed to a hill over against, and scarce an arrow-flight from it. The walls remaining on the mainland inclose two narrow courts, and several stone

done honour to the name of the hero whose existence some
truth, to doubt. It is difficult at first," he adds, "looking
are so contumacious to the pleasure of fiction, if not of
at the ruinous state of Tintagel Castle, the dark slate rocks
upon which they stand, and the sterility of the surround-
ing country, to reconcile the antique pomp and pageantry
of the hero and of his knights of the round table with such
a scene. Imagination, prompt in resources for all diffi-
culties, at once calls in the agency of time, operating every
where, changing fertile territories into barren lands, and
rendering the barren fertile; strewing earth with the wrecks
of castles, as well as of empires, and reconciling past pro-
tion thus recalls the actions of the potent hero of the west,
bability with existing doubt. The magic of the imagina-
the magnificence of his court, the valour
of his knights,
the visions of his glory, and the triumphs of his conquests;
fierce war and faithful love; where desolation holds an un-
divided sovereignty, and black rocks shivered by tempests,
treeless, and almost herbless shores, and cliffs of almost
fearful grandeur are all that remain. Yet even here fancy
nurses her day-dreams of what has been in story, and further
depicts the British hero borne back from Slaughter Bridge,
mortally wounded, the tears of beauty unavailingly shed
for him, the mournful countenances of his warriors, and
the last moment when he rendered up his soul to God."

steps from the ascent to the highest part of the fortress. Altogether it was an extensive work, and apparently placed there for the purpose of shutting out the enemy by means of the narrow isthmus; but this is The name of Tintagel properly belongs only to the regarded as an error in judgment on the part of its castle, and to the rugged and precipitous cliff on which founders, since by placing it on a rock which though its ruins stand; but the town, a mile distant, called also elevated, was lower than the surrounding country, they Bossiney, or Trevena, has popularly received the name shut themselves out from the means of viewing the of Tintagel likewise. It has now dwindled to a mere state of the neighbourhood, and the movements of an hamlet, containing not more than half a dozen houses. enemy. This castle is the reputed birth-place of the In the time of Henry VIII., though only a fishing town, famous King Arthur about the end of the fifth century, it possessed considerable privileges; and Leland says and is considered as a British structure, produced in the that there were at that time the ruins of a great number rudest times before the Cornish Britons had learned of houses in it, showing that it was far more considerfrom the Romans the art of war; for it cannot be sup-able at some previous period. Before the Reform Act posed that those who had seen the Roman mode of procedure would have chosen such injudicious ground for their fortress.

This castle was the seat of the Dukes of Cornwall at a very remote era, and "it continued," says Borlase, "to be one of the castles of the Earls of Cornwall to the time of Richard, King of the Romans, who entertained here his nephew David, Prince of Wales. After the death of Richard and his son Edmund, Earls of Cornwall, all the ancient castle went to ruin; from palaces became prisons and gaols, and this among the rest. There was, however, a yearly stipend allowed for keeping this castle, till the Lord Treasurer Burleigh, in

this place returned two members of Parliament, elected by only five or six persons. The church of Tintagel formerly belonged to the Abbey of Fontevrault, in Normandy, and was afterwards given by Edward IV. to the collegiate church at Windsor, the dean and chapter of which attach all the great tithes, and are patrons of the living. The bells of Tintagel are particularly musical, and in connection with their merry peals, is a story, which, according to Mr. Reddel, is sincerely believed among the Cornish folk to the present day. We have somewhat shortened that gentleman's version of the tale, which is to the following effect. About three miles from Tintagel is the church of

Bottreaux, from whose silent tower no musical peal ever fell upon mortal ears. Not that the inhabitants were indifferent to the charms of music. They loved to hear the merry peal from Tintagel, when the wind bore the melodious sounds in the direction of their village, and they were exceedingly emulous of possessing a similar peal themselves. The bells of Tintagel, which some said had tolled for King Arthur, as he was borne a corpse from the field of blood, near Camelford, to Tintagel, and again as he was borne away from his native castle to be interred at Glastonbury, were not the bells of Bottreaux, but altogether aliens to the place; so the people determined to have as choice a peal as money could procure. The Lord de Bottreaux subscribed largely towards the purchase, and an order was sent to London for the bells, to a founder of great reputation. The bells were made and consecrated: they were shipped and had a prosperous voyage, and at length the vessel came into the bay opposite Bottreaux. Tintagel bells were 'swinging slow wita sullen roar,' and as the sound boomed along the waves to the ear of the pilot, he rejoiced at the music of his native bells, and thanked God that on that evening he should be on shore. "Thank the ship, you fool," said the captain; "thank God upon the shore." "Nay," said the pilot, "we should thank God every where." "Go to; thou art a fool, I tell thee," said the Captain, "thank thyself and a steady helm."

This strain was continued for some time; the pilot soberly maintaining that it was the duty of all to thank God on sea or land, and the captain becoming choleric, and uttering sinful oaths and blasphemies. The ship meanwhile was in sight of the town, that only lacked the bells to be a fair rival to Tintagel. The people were out on the cliffs watching the approach of the precious. freight, and ready to welcome it with joy. But at this moment the wind rose suddenly, and blew furiously from the west. Nearer and nearer drove the vessel into the bay, and when not more than a mile from the church tower a monstrous sea struck her; she gave a lurch to port, and went down, bells and all. The pilot, who could swim, was taken up by a daring fisherman. As the ship went down the clang of the bells was distinctly heard, dull, as if muffled by the waves, through which there came from the ocean depths solemn tollings, at intervals, clearly distinguishable from the roar of the winds and waves. And ever since (so goes the tale) the sound continues to be heard in the frequent tempests that assail that part of the coast. The Rev. Mr. Hawker has versified this tale, entitling it The Silent Tower of Bottreaux. The more important part is contained in the following stanzas:

The ship rode down, with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea,
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreaux bells on board-
'Come to thy God in time!'

Rung out Tintagel's chime;
'Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last!'

The pilot heard his native bells,
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells;
"Thank God!' with reverent brow he cried,
'We make the shore with evening's tide.'
'Come to thy God in time!'
It was his marriage chime;
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
His bell must ring at last!

"Thank God, thou whining knave, on land,
But thank at sea the steersman's hand,'-
The captain's voice above the gale-
"Thank the good ship and ready sai!.'
'Come to thy God in time!'
Sad grew the boding chime;
'Come to thy God at last!'
Boomed heavy on the blast.

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THE CHRISTIAN IN HIS GARDEN. THE Contemplation of nature feeds the mind with sweet and refreshing food. Few illustrations of this abiding love could be produced, more sublime or touching than the dying exclamation of the excellent Bishop Porteus. In the early part of May he had been removed to Fulham; he was reduced to a state of great weakness, but the soft air and the charms of the opening spring seemed to revive him. Upon the morning of the 13th, he sat in his library, near the window; the sun shone with beautiful lustre; the air was full of balm and sweetness; the countenance of the good bishop beamed with a transient glow, and in the grateful gladness of his heart, he exclaimed several times, "O, that glorious sun!" Soon after, he fell asleep, and a brighter sun broke upon him. A Scottish poet, Dr. Leyden, has sung that,

Sad is he that dies in spring,

When flowers begin to blow and larks to sing; but the Christian can never live too long, nor die too soon; to him all seasons are equally welcome, for Faith surrounds his dwelling, even upon earth, with the bloom and verdure of Paradise.

When Manso, a name rendered dear to us by Milton, visited Tasso at Bissaccio, the poet, in the delirium of his melancholy gloom, believed himself to be attended by a familiar spirit, and inquired of his friend, whether he did not behold him. Manso saw nothing but the sunbeams pouring in at the window. But, in truth, there is a heavenly spirit, not only in every flash of sunshine, but in every flower of the garden, and in every cloud of a summer evening, if we look upon them with Christian eyes. Keble has touched upon this feeling with great sweetness and beauty:

But he whose heart will bound to mark
The full bright burst of summer morn,
Loves too each little dewy spark,

By leaf or flow'ret worn:

Cheap forms and common hues, 'tis true,
Through the bright shower-drop meet his view;

The colouring may be of this earth,

The lustre comes of heavenly birth.

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By studying nature in this spirit of meek devotion and solemn love, a good man may, indeed, “walk down the world as in a garden of spices, and draw a divine sweetness out of every flower.'



To dwell listlessly and dissatisfied in a world so em bellished by the workmanship of its Creator, so illumi nated by his presence, so fragrant with the incense of nature's worship, is surely to imitate Eve, and to slumber in the garden of Paradise, while the sun shines upon our eyes, and the voice of the bird is heard branches. We need not envy the Abbot of Clairvaux, who, after sailing down the Leman Lake, asked his fellow-travellers in the evening where it was. Gibbon, beneath whose library-windows the beautiful landscape was spread out, remarked that the reader should see it, in order to admire or despise St. Bernard. The earnest

mind of Henry Martyn derived some of its most glowing impulses from natural objects. "In the evening," he writes in his journal, "the sound of sacred music, with the sight of a rural landscape, imparted some indescribable emotions after the glory of God, by diligence in his work." It is a very pleasing observation of Alison, that, of the innumerable eyes upon our earth that open

on nature, those of man alone see its Author and its end.

The gentle Walton delighted his heart with the reflection, while listening to the song of the nightingale, that God had assuredly prepared in heaven rewards for them who love Him since He suffered even bad men to partake here in those strains of harmony. We notice a thoughtful communion with nature in the lives of many of our elder bishops and masters in the faith. Of the early life of the excellent Bishop Andrews*, few particulars have been recorded; but we know that he was fond of walking by himself, or with a favourite companion, conversing upon their studies, or illustrating some dim passages of holy teaching; and he has declared that field-walks, with the contemplation of grass, corn, trees, and skies, and meditation on their beauties and virtues, afforded him, from his childhood to the evening of his life, the liveliest and sincerest gratification of which his feelings were susceptible.

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have taken away my goods, and have banished me into the
woods, cannot hinder the earth from putting forth the
flowers, nor the trees from yielding their fruit, nor the
birds from singing among the branches; no, nor me from
entertaining myself with all these pleasures, at least from
Patrick; but the germ of his beautiful flower may cer-
being contented." Thomson, I fear, never read Bishop
tainly be discovered in the Parable.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny:
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living streams, at eve.
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave;
Of fancy, reason, virtue,-nought can me bereave.


Dante has a sentiment not dissimilar, in his indignant rejection of the conditional return to Florence, after his long banishment. "What! shall I not everywhere enjoy the sight of the sun and stars? And I not seek and contemplate in every corner of the earth, under the canopy of heaven,-consoling and delightful truth,without rendering myself inglorious?" To return to our own history: it may display the rural feelings of early times to recollect, that, in the grant of Cox, bishop of Ely, in 1576, of a large part of Ely House to Christopher Hatton, the tenant undertook to pay a red rose for the gate-house and garden; and the bishop reserved to himself the privilege of gathering twenty bushels of roses yearly. The garden at Ely House seems to have been about four hundred feet long, and "almost as many broad," terminating in meadows comprising fourteen acres. In Lord Burleigh's garden, at Theobalds, the walks extended two miles. Archbishop Sancroft was found by Hough working in his garden at Fresingfield.

But it is time for us to contemplate the Christian in his garden; and the history of Wilberforce presents us with a beautiful picture. Nature had always been dear to him; and even his favourite poet could not have gazed, by the side of his companion and friend, Mrs. Unwin, with a more tender or loving eye, over the villages that glimmered in the setting sun; the grey towers of village churches, dimly seen through trees; the valley inlaid by the winding river; or the hedgerow blossoming in May. To settle in soft musings in silent lanes; to wander beneath the verdant roof of embowering foliage, with no sound to break the solitude, except the low, sweet song of the red


We might trace this sympathy with trees and sunshine, through the works of many of the distinguished theologians and orators of the seventeenth century. There is a ruddy glow of healthful enjoyment in their genius. Two examples will be sufficient. The first comes from Jeremy Taylor: "I am fallen," he exclaims, "into the hands of publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all from me;-what now? Let me look about me. They have left me sun and moon, fire and water, a loving wife, and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve; and I can still discourse, and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry countenance, and my cheerful spirits, and a good conscience; they have still left ine the Providence of God, and all the promises of the Gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to them too. And still I sleep and digest, and eat and drink; I read and meditate; I can walk in my neighbour's pleasant fields, and see the variety of natural beauties, and delight in all that in which God delights; that is, in virtue and wisdom, in the whole creation and in God himself." This is a noble and fervid outpouring of Christian philosophy; but the poetic feeling of the writer breathes still more sweetly in the following passage, where he shows that the superb theatre of nature, with all its varying scenery, is open to the humblest spectator. "The poorest artisan of Rome, walking in Cæsar's gardens, content with slender notes had the same pleasure which they ministered to their lord; and although, it may be, he was put to gather fruits to eat And more than half-suppressed; from another place, yet his other desires were delighted to read some sacred or pleasant volume,—a Psalter or equally with Caesar's. The birds made him as good music, a Horace, under the wide-spreading boughs of an old the flowers gave him as sweet smells; he there sucked as chesnut-tree:-these we know to have been the innogood air, and delighted in the beauty and order of the place, for the same reason, and for the same perception, as the cent amusements of Wilberforce, as they had been of prince himself." Now to these passages from Taylor, let the hermit of Weston. Cowper thought it not unme add the following scene from Bishop Patrick's Pa-worthy of his harp, to commemorate the kindness of rable of the Pilgrim, and then compare them with one Mr. Throgmorton in preserving, at Weston Underof the most exquisite stanzas in Thomson's Castle of wood, the chesnuts, in "whose long-protracted bowers" Indolence. The Pilgrim in his journey discovers, under he might enjoy, at noon, a large beech tree, a poor mau in very coarse and miserable clothes, yet apparently listening to the warbling of the birds with happiness and contentment. The Pilgrim approaches and addresses the stranger, who explains the reason and the source of his joy. His wants, he says, are few, and the blessings of God abundant. Poverty itself he regards as the mother of sobriety, the nurse of arts, and the mistress of wisdom. He has discovered that Prosperity offers her poison in cups of gold. 66 "Nay," he continues, "this music which you saw me listening to, this music of God's own creating, gives me the greater ravishment, because I consider that none can rob me of it, and leave me my liberty and life. They that

Seo Saturday Magazine, Vol. XXIV, p. 221.

The gloom and coolness of declining day.
Rogers introduces a very pleasing sketch of a cele-
brated contemporary of Wilberforce, forgetting the
turbulent animosities of political excitements, in the
sequestered walks of his garden:—

Ah! then 'twas thine
Ne'er to forget some volume half divine;

Shakspere's or Dryden's,-through the chequered shade
Borne in thy hand behind thee, as we stray'd.
A garden walk with Wilberforce was more delightful to
the Christian's heart, than all the elegance and taste of
Fox could have made it. We can hear him, in the

spirit of Cowper, moralizing upon every leaf and

blossom, as he bent over them in love and admiration:

Laburnum, rich
In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure;
The scentless and the scented rose,-this red
And of an humbler growth, the other tall
And throwing up into the darkest gloom
Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew,
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf
That the wind severs from the broken wave;
The lilac, various in array,-now white,
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
With purple spikes pyramidal, as if,
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
Which hue she most approved, she chose them all;
Copious of flowers, the woodbine pale and wan,
But well compensating her sickly looks
With never-cloying odours, early and late;
Hypericum, all bloom, so thick a swarm
Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods,
That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon, too,
Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset
With blushing wreaths, investing every spray;
Althæa, with the purple eye; the broom,
Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd,
Her blossoms; and, luxuriant above all,
The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets,
The deep, dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf
Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more
The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars;→
These have been, and these shall be in their day.
From death to plenty, and from death to life,
Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man
In heavenly truth; evincing, as she makes
The grand transition, that there lives and works
A soul in all things,-and that soul is God.
The beauties of the wilderness are his,
That makes so gay the solitary place,
Where no eye sees them; and the fairer forms,
That cultivation glories in, are his.

He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year.
And, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next.

As the eye of Wilberforce wandered from the page of the open volume, it would turn to some beautiful plant, or some blossom painted over with the richest tints; and then, we are told, he would point out the harmony of the colours, the beauty of the pencilling, the perfection of the colouring, and run up all into those aspirations of praise to the Almighty which were ever welling forth from his grateful heart. He loved flowers with all the simple delight of childhood. He would hover from bed to bed over his favourites; and when he came in, even from his shortest walk, he deposited a few that he had gathered safely in his room before he joined the breakfast table. Often would he say, as he enjoyed their fragrance, "How good God is to us! What should we think of a friend who had furnished us with a magnificent house and all we needed, and then, coming in to see that all had been provided according to his wishes, should be hurt to find that no seats had been placed in the rooms? Yet so has God dealt with us!-surely flowers are the smiles of his goodness." This beautiful description of Wilberforce may be compared with a touching anecdote related by Mr. Woodward: "It was my lot," he writes, "many years years ago to attend a friend, unspeakably dear to me, upon his dying bed. He was one who loved all that is pure in nature, and who, moreover, loved the Lord his God with all his heart. But a few hours before his departure, a bunch of his favourite flowers was brought to him. The sorrowing group around him watched with tender anxiety, to see whether he would notice them, and in what manner he would now be affected by them. But they were not left long in suspence; for no sooner did he catch the wellknown fragrance, than he lifted his eyes to heaven, and almost with his last breath exclaimed, Silent hymns!'" Our old monasteries sometimes witnessed similar scenes of delightful piety and resignation. Seated in the open air, surrounded by the monks, and at the hour of singing the morning psalms, expired the young Abbot of Wearmouth.

Crabbe gives to the vicar of his Borough a taste for flowers;

To a small garden with delight he came,

And gave successive flowers a summer's fame; and the village-parsonages of England-nooks of verdure and sunshine-contain some charming plots of garden-ground, There is a beauty in their inclosure of rose-hedges, which we look for in vain among the Flowers princely magnificence of baronial abodes. seem to be the natural ornament of the pastor's dwelling; with these jewels of nature his rooms shine: Herbert decked his chamber with them; the home of his Country Parson was to be as fine as his garden could make it. His poetry may illustrate his advice: O that I once past changing were,

Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
Many a spring I shoot up fair,

Off'ring at heaven, growing and groaning thither:
Nor doth my flower

Want a spring-shower,

My sins and I joining together!

But while I grow in a straight line,

Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own,
Thine anger comes, and I decline;
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone,
Where all things burn,

When thou dost turn,

And the least frown of thine is shown?

And now in age 1 bud again, After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing, O my only light, It cannot be

That I am he

On whom thy tempests fell all night.

These are thy wonders, Lord of Love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide:
Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
Who would be more
Swelling through store,

Forfeit their Paradise by their pride..

Dr. Cooke Taylor, in his very interesting essay on the history of society, notices, as a peculiarity of the Christian dispensation, that its divine Author makes no special reference to the consolation, or to the mental elevation, which the humble study of the power and wisdom of God, as displayed in his works, cannot fail to afford. He regards the omission as a proof of the universality of the religion; the force of such arguments necessarily depending not only upon climate, but upon the extent of civilization and capacity. But he justly adds, that our Lord, neither by precept nor example, taught His disciples to survey with indifference the harmonies or sublimities of nature. "Some of his most persuasive lessons and affecting illustrations were derived from those mute preachers, the flowers of the field; "the lilies that toil not, neither do they spin,' and yet are more gorgeously arrayed than Solomon in all his glory,-the fields white with the ripened harvest, the vineyard with all its varieties of labour and enjoyment. A garden was his favourite resort for contemplation, and a garden was chosen for the place of his sepulture."

[Abridged from WILLMOTT'S Pictures of Christian Life.]

Comparative Scale of the Elementary Sounds to be found in Ancient and Modern Languages. The English retains only 38, the German 31, and the French 39. The Latin 45, the Hebrew 65, the Persian 122, the Arabic 148, the Welch 213. With respect to the Hebrew, however, it it should not be forgotten, that its imperfect remains preclude a satisfactory view of its elementary character." Of the 65 elements still preserved in it, about 30 have an The Arabic has 63 and Persian 61, agreeing in the same identity of functions and signification with those in Welsh. manner.-W. O. PUGHE.

JOHN W. PARKER, Publisher, West Strand, LONDON,

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ANTIQUITY AND EXTENT OF THE EARLDOM OF ARUNDEL. IN antiquity, extent, and dignity, the earldom of Arundel, in the county of Sussex, is the most interesting and the most remarkable in England. The Rape of Arundel contains fifty-five parishes, some of which are very considerable. These are ranked under six hundreds, over which the earldom of Arundel was anciently paramount. The forest of Arundel was a separate jurisdiction; and this, with its chases and parks, was very extensive, and occupied a considerable part of the Rape. That part of this district which is immediately on the sea, has been greatly encroached upon by the tides. Of the parish of Middleton, eight miles from Chichester, more than half has been absorbed by the sea, and even within the last twenty or thirty years the land has been considerably encroached upon. The town of Arundel is situated on the river Arun, at a short distance from the sea, and on some elevated ground close to the town, rises the noble Castle of Arundel the history of which, together with that of its dignified owners, will form the subject of our present number.

* This term is peculiar to Sussex, and represents a division less than a county, but greater than a hundred.


There is mention of Arundel Castle as early as the time of King Alfred, who bequeathed it by will to his nephew Adhelm. But it does not appear at that time to have ranked higher than the neighbouring lordships, and though it descended to Harold, afterwards king, the proof of its enjoying privileges and jurisdiction as a royalty, is of subsequent date. After the battle of Hastings, Arundel was conferred by the Conqueror on his kinsman, Roger de Montgomeri, who was created Earl of Arundel and Shrewsbury, receiving two very extensive territories or earldoms which gave the title. The earldom of Arundel then consisted of a very extensive district estimated at 42,160 acres, reaching from Arundel to the sea, to the Weald, and to the confines of Hampshire, and was commensurate with the present rapes of Arundel and Chichester. In 1071 Earl Roger had established himself at Arundel, and had constituted his earldom in the plenitude of feudal tenure. Surrounding his castle in every direction, his possessions were three lordships, ten hundreds with their courts of suit and service, eighteen parks, and twenty-five manors with their appendant lands. This earl was a chief adviser of William of Normandy in his invasion of England, and commanded the centre of his army at the battle of Hastings. The Conqueror seems to have delighted in heaping favours on him. Besides making him Earl of Arundel and Earl of


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