the building, viz., Norman, but has a Middle-Pointed groined roof, and east window. The altar stands under a good Norman arch, on the south side of which is a curious winding recess.

Before the Conquest, the manor of Rising was held by Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury; and being forfeited by him in consequence of his opposition to William, was assigned to the Conqueror's brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeaux. When this prelate's goods were confiscated, it again fell into the king's hands, who granted it to William D'Albini, his butler. He it was who built the present castle; and from his family the domain passed to the Barons of Moutall, the last of whom dying without issue, his widow sold it to Isabella, the guilty and unfortunate consort of Edward II., who retired to this castle to spend the remainder of her days in penitence and seclusion. After her death, which took place here, Edward III. gave the estate to the Duke of Norfolk, and it still remains in the possession of the Howard family.

To the north of the keep stand the walls (to the height of about seven feet) of the little Anglo-Saxon Church. It is possible that this may be erected on the site of S. Felix's Church, as the ground on which it stands is considerably elevated. The building itself has no claim to that honour, being of much later date, although earlier than any other remains in the neighbourhood. The ground plan consists of a nave, chancel, and sacrarium, the latter raised one step, and terminating in a semicircular apse, lighted by three deeply splayed windows. The chancel has one window on the south side, and communicates with the nave and sacrarium by two small archways. The nave is surrounded by a stone seat, and opposite the entrance which is at the side, still stands the base of the font. The measurements of this Church are as follows:

Nave, 41ft. 3 in. by 19 ft. 9 in.

Chancel, 12 ft. 10 in. by 13 ft. 4 in.

Sacrarium, 15 ft. 1 in.; 13 ft. 4 in. at the commencement of the apse.

This deeply interesting ruin was till lately covered by the mound of the castle, and was only accidentally discovered during some excavations made in 1844.

Crossing again the bridge over the moat, we encountered the national school children wending their way to the parish Church. Thither we followed, and entered by the west door. The interior view of the Church is very striking. The first object upon which the eye rests is the altar, raised upon a footpace, adorned with two candlesticks, and having the Most Holy Name embroidered on its frontal. The east window is an exquisitely beautiful triple lancet, supported by shafts, and ornamented with the tooth moulding. It is filled with painted glass, recently erected by Wailes,

in memory of the rector's sister. The subjects are the closing scenes of our LORD's ministry. On its north side are three sedilia beneath another triple lancet; and to the north, in the east wall, is a niche of Middle-Pointed date, reaching nearly to the ground. In the north wall is another small niche, used as a credence, and farther down, the doorway leading into a vestry lately built. The whole is paved with encaustic tiles. Between the nave and chancel, and communicating with the latter by a transition arch, stands the tower, which with the nave, is in the Norman style. It is surrounded by a triforium. The roof consists of two simple zigzag springers crossed. There has been a south transept, but this being of later date was demolished in 1844, when the Church was restored under the direction of Mr. Salvin. The arch between the tower and nave is a fine Norman specimen. On either side is a recessed altar, the piscina to one of which serves also as a hagioscope. Over the other was discovered a fresco of the Crucifixion of much beauty. The pulpit stands to the north, and opposite it is a chantry chapel belonging to the Howards. The seats and roofs are all open, and the west window filled with painted glass. The font, which stands between the north and south doors in the central passage, has a square bowl with Romanesque carving. Its stem is circular, and during the late alterations was found to be actually the bowl of a font doubtless once belonging to the Saxon church already noticed, and brought here to save it from desecration. At the time we speak of, the effect of the building was much heightened by its tasteful decorations. Evergreens were wreathed round the arches, and over the nave arch was a “star of Bethlehem," and on the altar a cross of evergreen.

Externally, the west front is one of the finest examples of its style in the county. Over the doorway is a row of elaborate intersecting arches, in the centre of which is a round-headed window, and above a circular one, flanked by panel arches. The high-pitched gable is surmounted by a cross. On the south side

is a row of small windows, and a First-Pointed arch, once connecting the tower and transept. The east window is also very beautiful externally. In the graveyard are a few coped coffins, and one instance of a return to the simple wooden crosses which so often marked the resting-places of our fathers. Turning to the west, we catch sight of a cross standing in the middle of the (former) market-place. It surmounts a pinnacle raised on steps.

The service for the day was performed by the rector and curate, the Gloria and Canticles being chanted to Gregorian tones. When it was concluded, we followed to their home the inmates of the hospital, who left the Church in orderly procession.

The Hospital of the Most Holy and Undivided Trinity was founded in the thirteenth year of King James I. by Henry, Earl

of Northampton, for twelve poor women, to be chosen by the lord of the manor, out of Rising and two adjoining parishes. They are under the rule of a superior, who reports any infringement of the rules to the rector. To him is confided the management of the hospital. The inmates are bound to hear prayers read in the oratory twice a day; to say privately, three times a day, the Creed, the LORD's Prayer, and a prayer appointed by the founder; to attend Church on Wednesdays and Fridays, Sundays, and all Holydays. They wear high-crowned beaver hats, stuff gowns, and cloaks with the founder's badge embroidered on the shoulder. Atheism, heresy, blasphemy, &c. are punished by expulsion. The buildings are unimportant. They consist of a quadrangle with an entrance on the west side, opposite to which are the oratory and common dining-hall. The remainder is occupied by lodgings, along the walls of which trail roses and creeping plants.

I know not why, but when they tell

Of houses fair and wide,

Where troops of poor men go to dwell
In chambers side by side,

I dream of that old cottage door,
With garlands overgrown,
And wish the children of the poor
Had flowers to call their own.

And when they vaunt that in those walls
They have their worship day,
Where the stern signal coldly calls
The prison'd poor to pray :—

I think upon that ancient home
Beside the churchyard wall,*

Where roses round the porch would roam,
And gentle jasmines fall!

Well, they may strive as wise men will,
To work with wit and gold,

I think my own dear England still
Was happier of old.

As we left the hospital, immediately before us was the Church, and a few paces to the left the ruins of the Castle. The residence of feudal grandeur has crumbled into dust. The noble families who once possessed it are extinct, and scarce remembered; the sounds of revelry are hushed within its halls, the voice of the minstrel, and the harper's lay

Rising Hospital stands just at the east end of the Church, divided from it by the road.

Its glory down the arch of Time has rolled
The billows of the ages o'er it swim,
Gloomy and fathomless its tale is told.

But the Church is still as firm and strong as when first reared seven centuries ago. The race of royal priests who ministered of old within, is still represented at its altar. The feast-day yet is celebrated there; the deep-toned chant is sounded still, the selfsame notes to which the Fathers' hearts responded, the selfsame words in which their prayers were clothed: years of neglect have passed over it, and "Time's effacing fingers" had left here and there the traces of their progress; but the people's love has brought back its ancient glory, and "in beauty of holiness" it stands to bless them.

And so it is with the holy Catholic Church, and the various human institutions with which she has been at any time contemporary. The mighty empire which flourished at her birth is now a subject of the past. The system represented by D'Albini's castle is numbered with the things that have been, but no symptoms of decay are visible in her glorious fabric. Founded on the Rock of Ages, the billows have rolled over her in vain; guarded by the sheltering wings of the Blessed Paraclete, the "withering blasts of error" have failed to crumble the delicate beauty of her "carved work," strong in the might of heavenly protection, she has stood firm while all around her has been swept away; and such, we confidently believe, will be her fortune now. The clouds are gathering around her. The earthly systems which she has hallowed by her alliance, seem for the most part about to pass away. Empires are tottering, and the strongest kingdoms fall, but yet we believe that that power, Almighty as it is, which has rescued her in many a worse calamity, will now deliver, for the word from The Unchangeable has been spoken, "No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper, and every tongue that shall rise up against thee thou shalt condemn."*

T.F. W.

A FATHER AND SON.

THE following account was given by the surgeon who attended Captain Speke and his son, who were both wounded on board the Tiger, at the attack on Chandernagore in 1757.

* Those who desire to be further acquainted with the subject of this notice, may consult Blomfield's Norfolk, Vol. 8, and "The History and Antiquities of Castle Rising, by William Taylor," now publishing in quarterly parts.

The son was not above sixteen, beloved by every one who knew him, and especially by the admiral.

"When Admiral Watson had the unhappiness to see both father and son fall in the same instant, he immediately went up to them, and by the most tender and pathetic expressions, tried to alleviate their distress. The captain, who had observed his son's leg to be hanging only by the skin, said to the admiral, 'Indeed, sir, this was a cruel shot, to knock down both the father and the son!' Admiral Watson's heart was too full to make the least reply; he only ordered them both to be immediately carried to the surgeon.

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The captain was first brought down to me; he told me how dangerously his poor Willy had been wounded. Presently after, the brave youth himself appeared; his eyes overflowing with tears, not for his own but for his father's sake. He seemed not to believe either of us, until he asked me upon my honour, and I had repeated my first assurance in the most positive manner. He then immediately became calm; but on my attempting to inquire into the condition of his wound, he solicitously asked me if I had dressed his father's; for he could not think of my touching him before his father's wound had been taken care of. I assured him that the captain had been already properly attended to. Then,' replied the generous youth, pointing to a fellow sufferer, 'pray, sir, look to and dress this poor man, who is groaning so sadly beside me.' I told him that he had already been taken care of, and begged him, with some importunity, that I might now have liberty to examine his wound. He submitted to it, and calmly observed, Sir, I fear you must amputate above the joint.' I replied, 'My dear, I must.' Upon which he clasped both his hands together, and lifting his eyes in the most devout and fervent manner towards heaven, he offered the following short but earnest petition :-' Good GOD, do Thou enable me to behave in my present circumstances worthy my father's son!' When he had ended this ejaculatory prayer, he told me that he was all submission: I then performed the operation above the joint of the knee; but during the whole time the intrepid youth never spoke a word, or uttered a groan that could be heard at a yard distance.

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"You may imagine what, in this interval, the captain felt, who lay just by his darling son; but whatever were his feelings, there was no expression of them, but silent, trickling tears. The bare recollection of this scene, even at this distant time, is too painful for me. The son was taken to the hospital; the father was lodged at the house of a friend. For the first eight or nine days I gave the father great comfort, by carrying him joyful tidings of his boy; and in the same manner I gratified the son