called The Field of Redmore,' probably the name of a marsh which lay between the two armies; but it has usually been called 'The Battle of Bosworth,' from the name of the neighbouring town. Richmond's forces turned the marsh, and attacked the centre, where Richard had stationed himself with Norfolk's troops, being those on whose fidelity he could most rely. The struggle was severe; but Lord Stanley now charged the supporters of Richard, while the Duke of Northumberland, who commanded nearly a third part of the king's forces, drew off his troops, and merely looked on.

After a desperate conflict, in a momentary pause, Richard turned aside from the crowd, and drank from a well which is still pointed out. His friends brought him a horse and urged him to fly, but he still refused. Replacing his crown upon his head, he again declared that he would conquer or die. The deadly strife was renewed, the combatants again fought hand to hand. After some time, Richard saw Richmond approach, when he charged forward at his rival. He speared Sir William Brandon, the standardbearer, and unhorsed others; but Richmond's friends interposed. Richard fought with desperation; he again nearly cut his way to his rival, and seemed on the point of gaining the day when Sir William Stanley headed a charge upon the king, who exclaimed 'Treason and hewed down all who approached him, till, weakened by his wounds, he fell beneath the number of his assailants.

"With the death of the usurper, the Battle of Bosworth ended; it had only raged around him. He

fell by the treachery of a few of his own nobles; for the nation at large had not taken an anxious part in the combat. He had gained the crown by treason; he lost it by the treachery of some whom he had personally favoured.

"On the conflict ceasing, Richmond, afterwards known in history as Henry the Seventh, knelt on the ground, and offered thanks for his victory. Stanley then placed on his head the battered crown from the helmet of Richard; and the victorious army, with those who joined them, marched to Leicester, preparing to move forward to London.

"The dead body of Richard was stripped, thrown across the back of a horse, and carried to Leicester. The head was crushed against the wall of a bridge over which the horse was led. We have to remark a singular coincidence of dates, which strikingly displays retributive justice. Richard was in Leicester on the very same day on which, two years before, there is reason to believe, he sent orders from that place commanding the murder of his nephews; and he perished on August the 22nd, the day upon which he received news of their death, or was rejoicing in the fancied security purchased by the intelligence.

"It has also been noticed, that the spot on which Richard the Third (or Richard the usurper) was slain, formed part of the estates of the Lord Hastings, whom he used for an instrument in obtaining possession of the young princes, and then caused to be beheaded treacherously, and without trial, because that nobleman would not countenance his designs upon the crown.

"After the body had been exposed for some days to public view, it was buried without ceremony at the Grey Friars, in Leicester. When that monastery was dissolved, the tomb was broken up, and the stone coffin of King Richard was, for several years, used as a common horse-trough."

In one of his psalms, David says, "I have seen the wicked in great power, spreading himself like a green bay-tree. Yet he passed away, and lo! he was not. Yea, I sought him, but he could not be found." And in another psalm we read concerning such men,— "Surely, Thou didst set them in slippery places; Thou castedst them down into destruction. How are they brought into desolation as in a moment! They are utterly consumed with terrors. As a dream, when one awaketh, so, O Lord, when Thou awakest, Thou shalt despise their image."

Think, young reader, how applicable these Divine truths are to that bad man of whom you have been told in this and the foregoing chapters. For a little while his iniquity seemed to prosper; all his plans succeeded; he wrought as much mischief and sorrow to others as he was permitted to work; and attained, for a little while, the greatness for which he committed so much sin. But even in his highest success he was unhappy; and in a few short years all his honour turned to dishonour: he died unlamented, and, like many another so-called hero,

"He left a name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale."

"The White Rose of England."

A STORY OF THE REIGN OF HENRY THE SEVENTH.

WARWICK.

THE

HE Wars of the Roses, which raged so furiously and caused so much misery in our country about four hundred

years ago, are not to be subject of this story. It will be sufficient to state respecting them, that they broke out between, and were carried on by, two powerful ducal families, those of York and Lancaster, who were rivals for the crown and throne of England. The long contest was called "The Wars of the Roses," be

cause of the party emblems employed; those who fought for York choosing a White Rose as a mark of

distinction from those on the other side, whose badge or token was a Red Rose. The White Rose being triumphant, Edward of York became king, as Edward the Fourth, instead of Henry the Sixth, of Lancaster, who, being thus dethroned, was imprisoned in the Tower of London; where he died in the year 1471, not without suspicion of having been murdered by order of the Duke of Gloucester, of whom you have perhaps already read enough in the previous story.

After Edward the Fourth, came the poor boy who was smothered in that dismal Tower; and after him, came and went the usurper just mentioned. Then Henry the Seventh reigned. And now begins our story of the "White Rose of England."

Though the people in general were well enough satisfied with having Henry, Earl of Richmond, for their king, instead of the tyrant Richard, there were some who thought he had not much right to the crown, after all; and there were a few others who were very jealous of his being king, and disliked him exceedingly. To satisfy the former class of his subjects, Henry consented to marry one of the daughters of King Edward the Fourth, and daughter also (of course) of the poor queen whom, in our first story, we left, almost forgotten, with her five daughters, in the Sanctuary at Westminster. Henry's queen was, therefore, sister of the two young princes who had been so cruelly murdered in the Tower.

This was a very good arrangement, no doubt; or it would have been if everything else had been smooth and pleasant; for Henry, being a Lancastrian, and the young princess a Yorkist, the white and red roses