The following year Edward marched into Scotland, where he captured Baliol and sent him to France, where he died, in boundless obscurity, in 1297. Baliol was succeeded by the brave William Wallace, who won a great battle at Stirling, but was afterwards defeated entirely at Falkirk, and in 1305 was executed in London by request.

But the Scotch called to their aid Robert Bruce, the grandson of Baliol's competitor, and he was solemnly crowned at the Abbey of Scone.

During a successful campaign against these people Edward fell sick, and died in 1307. He left orders for the Scottish war to be continued till that restless and courageous people were subdued.



Edward was called the English Justinian; yet those acts for which he is most famous were reluctantly done because of the demands made by a determined people.

During his reign gunpowder was discovered by Roger Bacon, whereby Guy Fawkes was made possible. Without him England would still be a slumbering fog-bank upon the shores of Time.



Young Edward was not much of a monarch. He forgot to fight the Scots, and soon Robert Bruce had won back the fortresses taken by the English, and Edward II., under the influence of an attractive trifler named Gaveston, dawdled away his days and frittered away his nights. Finally the nobles, who disliked Gaveston, captured him and put him in Warwick Castle, and in 1312 the royal favorite was horrified to find near him a large pool of blood, and on a further search discovered his own head lying in the gutter of the court. Turning sick at the gory sight, he buried his face in his handkerchief and expired.

The nobles were forgiven afterwards by the king, who now turned his attention to the victorious Scots.

Stirling Castle and the Fortress of Berwick alone remained to the English, and Robert Bruce was besieging the latter.

The English, numbering one hundred thousand, at Bannockburn fought against thirty thousand Scots. Bruce surprised the cavalry with deep pits, and before the English could recover from this, an approaching reinforcement for the Scotch was seen coming over the hill. This consisted of "supes," with banners and bagpipes; and though they were really teamsters in disguise, their hostile appearance and the depressing music of the bagpipes so shocked the English that they did not stop running until they reached Berwick. The king came around to Berwick from Dunbar by steamer, thus saving his life, and obtaining much-needed rest on board the boat.[A]

[Footnote A: Doubtless this is an error, so far as the steamer is concerned; but the statement can do no harm, and the historian cannot be positive in matters of this kind at all times, for the strain upon his memory is too great. The critic, too, should not be forgotten in a work of this kind. He must do something to support his family, or he will become disliked.—AUTHOR.]

Edward found himself now on the verge of open war with Ireland and Wales, and the population of the Isle of Wight and another person, whose name is not given, threatened to declare war. The English nobles, too, were insubordinate, and the king, who had fallen under the influence of a man named Spencer and his father, was required by the best society, headed by Lancaster, to exile both of these wicked advisers.

Afterwards the king attacked Lancaster with his army, and having captured him, had him executed in 1322.



The Spencers now returned, and the queen began to cut up strangely and create talk. She formed the acquaintance of Roger Mortimer, who consented to act as her paramour. They organized a scheme to throw off the Spencers and dethrone Edward the Thinkless, her husband, in 1325.

Any one who has tried to be king even for a few weeks under the above circumstances must agree with the historian that it is no moonlight frolic.

Edward fled to Wales, but in 1326 was requested to come home and remain in jail there, instead of causing a scandal by staying away and spending his money in Wales. He was confined in Kenilworth Castle, while his son was ostensibly king, though his wife and Mortimer really managed the kingdom and behaved in a scandalous way, Mortimer wearing the king's clothes, shaving with his razor, and winding the clock every night as though he owned the place.[A] This was in 1327.

[Footnote A: The clock may safely be omitted from the above account, as later information would indicate that this may be an error, though there is no doubt that Mortimer at this time wore out two suits of the king's pajamas.—Author.]

In September the poor king was put to death by co-respondent Mortimer in a painful and sickening manner, after having been most inhumanly treated in Berkeley Castle, whither he had been removed.

Thus ends the sad history of a monarch who might have succeeded in a minor position on a hen farm, but who made a beastly fluke in the king business.

The assurance of Mortimer in treating the king as he did is a blot upon the fair page of history in high life. Let us turn over a new leaf.



CHAPTER XIV.

IRRITABILITY OF THE FRENCH: INTERMINABLE DISSENSION, ASSISTED BY THE PLAGUE, CONTINUES REDUCING THE POPULATION.

It is a little odd, but it is true, that Edward III. was crowned at fourteen and married at fifteen years of age. Princes in those days were affianced as soon as they were weighed, and married before they got their eyes open, though even yet there are many people who do not get their eyes opened until after marriage. Edward married Philippa, daughter of the Count of Hainault, to whom he had been engaged while teething.

In 1328 Mortimer mixed up matters with the Scots, by which he relinquished his claim to Scotch homage. Being still the gentleman friend of Isabella, the regent, he had great influence. He assumed, on the ratification of the above treaty by Parliament, the title of Earl of March.

The young prince rose to the occasion, and directed several of his nobles to forcibly drag the Earl of March from the apartments of the guilty pair, and in 1330 he became the Earl of Double-Quick March—a sort of forced March—towards the gibbet, where he was last seen trying to stand on the English climate. The queen was kept in close confinement during the rest of her life, and the morning papers of that time contained nothing of a social nature regarding her doings.



The Scots, under David Bruce, were defeated at Halidon Hill in 1333, and Bruce fled to France. Thus again under a vassal of the English king, Edward Baliol by name, the Scotch crooked the reluctant hinges of the knee.

Edward now claimed to be a more direct heir through Queen Isabella than Philip, the cousin of Charles IV., who occupied the throne, so he proceeded to vindicate himself against King Philip in the usual way. He destroyed the French fleet in 1340, defeated Philip, though with inferior numbers, at Crecy, and demonstrated for the first time that cannon could be used with injurious results on the enemy.



In 1346 the Black Prince, as Edward was called, on account of the color of the Russia iron used in making his mackintosh, may be said to have commenced his brilliant military career. He captured Calais,—the key to France,—and made it a flourishing English city and a market for wool, leather, tin, and lead. It so continued for two hundred years.

The Scotch considered this a good time to regain their independence, and David Bruce took charge of the enterprise, but was defeated at Neville's Cross, in 1346, and taken prisoner.

Philippa here distinguished herself during the absence of the king, by encouraging the troops and making a telling equestrian speech to them before the battle. After the capture of Bruce, too, she repaired to Calais, where she prevented the king's disgraceful execution of six respectable citizens who had been sent to surrender the city.



During a truce between the English and French, England was visited by the Black Death, a plague that came from Asia and bade fair to depopulate the country. London lost fifty thousand people, and at times there were hardly enough people left to bury the dead or till the fields. This contagion occurred in 1349, and even attacked the domestic animals.



John having succeeded Philip in France, in 1350 Edward made another effort to recover the French throne; but no monarch of spirit cares to have his throne pulled from beneath him just as he is about to occupy it, and so, when the Black Prince began to burn and plunder southern France, his father made a similar excursion from Calais, in 1355.

The next year the Black Prince sent twelve thousand men into the heart of France, where they met an army of sixty thousand, and the English general offered all his conquests cheerfully to John for the privilege of returning to England; but John overstepped himself by demanding an unconditional surrender, and a battle followed in which the French were whipped out of their boots and the king captured. We should learn from this to know when we have enough.

This battle was memorable because the English loss was mostly confined to the common soldiery, while among the French it was peculiarly fatal to the nobility. Two dukes, nineteen counts, five thousand men-at-arms, and eight thousand infantry were killed, and a bobtail flush royal was found to have been bagged as prisoners.

For four years John was a prisoner, but well treated. He was then allowed to resume his renovated throne; but failing to keep good his promises to the English, he came back to London by request, and died there in 1364.

The war continued under Charles, the new French monarch; and though Edward was an able and courteous foe, in 1370 he became so irritated because of the revolt of Limoges, notwithstanding his former kindness to its people, that he caused three thousand of her citizens to be put to the sword.

The Black Prince fought no more, but after six years of illness died, in 1376, with a good record for courage and statecraft. His father, the king, survived him only a year, expiring in the sixty-fifth year of his age, 1377.

English literature was encouraged during his reign, and John Wickliffe, Gower, Chaucer, and other men whose genius greatly outstripped their orthography were seen to flourish some.



Edward III. was succeeded by his grandson, Richard, and war with France was maintained, though Charles the Wise held his own, with the aid of the Scotch under Robert II., the first of the Stuarts.

A heavy war-tax was levied per capita at the rate of three groats on male and female above the age of fifteen, and those who know the value of a groat will admit that it was too much. A damsel named Tyler, daughter of Wat the Tyler, was so badly treated by the assessor that her father struck the officer dead with his hammer, in 1381, and placed himself at the head of a revolt, numbering one hundred thousand people, who collected on Blackheath. Jack Straw and Rev. John Ball also aided in the convention. The latter objected to the gentlemen on general principles, claiming that Adam was no gentleman, and that Eve had still less claim in that direction.[A]

[Footnote A: Rev. John Ball chose as a war-cry and transparency these words:

"When Adam delved and Eve span, Where was then the gentleman?"

Those who have tried it in modern times say that to be a gentleman is no sinecure, and the well-bred author falls in with this sentiment, though still regarding it as a great boon.—HISTORIAN.]

In this outbreak, and during the same year, the rebels broke into the city of London, burned the palaces, plundered the warehouses, and killed off the gentlemen wherever an alibi could not be established, winding up with the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

During a conference with Tyler, the king was so rudely addressed by Wat, that Walworth, mayor of London, struck the rebel with his sword, and others despatched him before he knew exactly Wat was Wat.

Richard, to quiet this storm, acceded to the rebel demands until he could get his forces together, when he ignored his promises in a right royal manner in the same year. One of these concessions was the abolition of slavery and the novel use of wages for farm work. By his failure to keep this promise, serfdom continued in England four hundred years afterwards.

Richard now became unpopular, and showed signs of worthlessness. He banished his cousin Henry, and dispossessed him of his estates. This, of course, irritated Henry, who entered England while the king was in Ireland, and his forces were soon joined by sixty thousand malecontents.

Poor Richard wandered away to Wales, where he was in constant danger of falling off, and after living on chestnuts knocked from the high trees by means of his sceptre, he returned disgusted and took up his quarters in the Tower, where he died of starvation in 1400.

Nothing can be more pathetic than the picture of a king crying for bread, yet willing to compromise on tarts. A friendless king sitting on the hard stone floor of the Tower, after years spent on board of an elastic throne with rockers under it, would move even the hardened historian to tears. (A brief intermission is here offered for unavailing tears.)



CHAPTER XV.

MORE SANGUINARY TRIUMPHS: ONWARD MARCH OF CIVILIZATION GRAPHICALLY DELINEATED WITH THE HISTORIAN'S USUAL COMPLETENESS.

The Plantagenet period saw the establishment of the House of Commons, and cut off the power of the king to levy taxes without the consent of Parliament. It also exchanged the judicial rough-and-tumble on horseback for the trial by jury. Serfdom continued, and a good horse would bring more in market than a man.

Agriculture was still in its infancy, and the farmer refused to adopt a new and attractive plough because it did not permit the ploughman to walk near enough to his team, that he might twist the tail of the patient bullock.

The costumes of the period seem odd, as we look back upon them, for the men wore pointed shoes with toes tied to the girdle, and trousers and coat each of different colors: for instance, sometimes one sleeve was black and the other white, while the ladies wore tall hats, sometimes two feet high, and long trains. They also carried two swords in the girdle, doubtless to protect them from the nobility.



Each house of any size had a "pleasance," and the "herberie," or physic garden, which was the pioneer of the pie-plant bed, was connected with the monasteries.



Roger Bacon was thrown into prison for having too good an education. Scientists in those days always ran the risk of being surprised, and more than one discoverer wound up by discovering himself in jail.

Astrology was a favorite amusement, especially among the young people.

Henry IV., son of John of Gaunt, fourth son of Edward III., became king in 1399, though Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, and great-grandson of Lionel, the third son of Edward III., was the rightful heir. This boy was detained in Windsor Castle by Henry's orders.



Henry succeeded in catching a heretic, in 1401, and burned him at the stake. This was the first person put to death in England for his religious belief, and the occasion was the origin of the epitaph, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Conspiracies were quite common in those days, one of them being organized by Harry Percy, called "Hotspur" because of his irritability. The ballad of Chevy Chase was founded upon his exploits at the battle of Otterburn, in 1388. The Percys favored Mortimer, and so united with the Welsh and Scots.

A large fight occurred at Shrewsbury in 1403. The rebels were defeated and Percy slain. Northumberland was pardoned, and tried it again, assisted by the Archbishop of York, two years later. The archbishop was executed in 1405. Northumberland made another effort, but was defeated and slain.

In 1413 Henry died, leaving behind him the record of a fraudulent sovereign who was parsimonious, sour, and superstitious, without virtue or religion.

He was succeeded by his successor, which was customary at that time. Henry V. was his son, a youth who was wild and reckless. He had been in jail for insulting the chief-justice, as a result of a drunken frolic and fine. He was real wild and bad, and had no more respect for his ancestry than a chicken born in an incubator. Yet he reformed on taking the throne.



Henry now went over to France with a view to securing the throne, but did not get it, as it was occupied at the time. So he returned; but at Agincourt was surprised by the French army, four times as large as his own, and with a loss of forty only, he slew ten thousand of the French and captured fourteen thousand. What the French were doing while this slaughter was going on the modern historian has great difficulty in figuring out. This battle occurred in 1415, and two years after Henry returned to France, hoping to do equally well. He made a treaty at Troyes with the celebrated idiot Charles VI., and promised to marry his daughter Catherine, who was to succeed Charles upon his death, and try to do better. Henry became Regent of France by this ruse, but died in 1422, and left his son Henry, less than a year old. The king's death was a sad blow to England, for he was an improvement on the general run of kings. Henry V. left a brother, the Duke of Bedford, who became Protector and Regent of France; but when Charles the Imbecile died, his son, Charles VII., rose to the occasion, and a war of some years began. After some time, Bedford invaded southern France and besieged Orleans.



Joan of Arc had been told of a prophecy to the effect that France could only be delivered from the English by a virgin, and so she, though only a peasant girl, yet full of a strange, eager heroism which was almost inspiration, applied to the king for a commission.



Inspired by her perfect faith and godlike heroism, the French fought like tigers, and, in 1429, the besiegers went home. She induced the king to be crowned in due form at Rheims, and asked for an honorable discharge; but she was detained, and the English, who afterwards captured her, burned her to death at Rouen, in 1431, on the charge of sorcery. Those who did this afterwards regretted it and felt mortified. Her death did the invaders no good; but above her ashes, and moistened by her tears,—if such a feat were possible,—liberty arose once more, and, in 1437, Charles was permitted to enter Paris and enjoy the town for the first time in twenty years. In 1444 a truce of six years was established.

Henry was a disappointment, and, as Bedford was dead, the Duke of Gloucester, the king's uncle, and Cardinal Beaufort, his guardian, had, up to his majority, been the powers behind the throne.

Henry married Margaret of Anjou, a very beautiful and able lady, who possessed the qualities so lacking in the king. They were married in 1445, and, if living, this would be the four hundred and fifty-first anniversary of their wedding. It is, anyway. (1896.)

The provinces of Maine and Anjou were given by the king in return for Margaret. Henry continued to show more and more signs of fatty degeneration of the cerebrator, and Gloucester, who had opposed the marriage, was found dead in his prison bed, whither he had been sent at Margaret's request. The Duke of York, the queen's favorite, succeeded him, and Somerset, another favorite, succeeded York. In 1451 it was found that the English had lost all their French possessions except Calais.

Things went from bad to worse, and, in 1450, Jack Cade headed an outbreak; but he was slain, and the king showing renewed signs of intellectual fag, Richard, Duke of York, was talked of as the people's choice on account of his descent from Edward III. He was for a few days Protector, but the queen was too strongly opposed to him, and he resigned.



He then raised an army, and in a battle at St. Albans, in 1455, defeated the royalists, capturing the king. This was the opening of the War of the Roses,—so called because as badges the Lancastrians wore a red rose and the Yorkists a white rose. This war lasted over thirty years, and killed off the nobility like sheep. They were, it is said, virtually annihilated, and thus a better class of nobility was substituted.

The king was restored; but in 1460 there occurred the battle of Northampton, in which he was defeated and again taken prisoner by the Earl of Warwick.



Margaret was a woman of great spirit, and when the Duke of York was given the throne she went to Scotland, and in the battle of Wakefield her army defeated and captured the duke. At her request he was beheaded, and his head, ornamented with a paper crown, placed on the gates of York, as shown in the rather life-like—or death-like—etching on the preceding page.

The queen was for a time successful, and her army earned a slight reputation for cruelty also; but Edward, son of the late Duke of York, embittered somewhat by the flippant death of his father, was soon victorious over the Lancastrians, and, in 1461, was crowned King of England at a good salary, with the use of a large palace and a good well of water and barn.



CHAPTER XVI.

UNPLEASANT CAPRICES OF ROYALTY: INTRODUCTION OF PRINTING AS A SUBSIDIARY AID IN THE PROGRESS OF EMANCIPATION.

Henry VI. left no royal record worth remembering save the establishment of Eton and King's Colleges. Edward IV., who began his reign in 1461, was bold and active. Queen Margaret's army of sixty thousand men which attacked him was defeated and half her forces slaughtered, no quarter being given.

His title was now confirmed, and Margaret fled to Scotland. Three years later she attempted again to secure the throne through the aid of Louis XI., but failed. Henry, who had been in concealment, was now confined in the Tower, as shown in the engraving on the following page.



Edward's marriage was not satisfactory, and, as he bestowed all the offices on his wife's relatives, Warwick deserted him and espoused the cause of Queen Margaret.

He had no trouble in raising an army and compelling Edward to flee. Henry was taken from the Tower and crowned, his rights having been recognized by Parliament. Warwick and his son-in-law, the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward IV., were made regents, therefore, in 1471. Before the year was out, however, the tables were again turned, and Henry found himself once more in his old quarters in the Tower. Warwick was soon defeated and slain, and on the same day Margaret and her son Edward landed in England. She and Edward were defeated and taken prisoners at Tewkesbury, and the young prince cruelly put to death by the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, brothers of Edward IV. Margaret was placed in the Tower, and a day or two after Henry died mysteriously there, it is presumed at the hands of Gloucester, who was socially an unpleasant man to meet after dark.

Margaret died in France, in 1482, and the Lancastrians gave up all hope. Edward, feeling again secure, at the instigation of his younger brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, caused Clarence, the other brother, to be put to death, and then began to give his entire attention to vice, never allowing his reign to get into his rum or interfere with it.

He was a very handsome man, but died, in 1483, of what the historian calls a distemper. Some say he died of heart-failure while sleeping off an attack of coma. Anyway, he turned up his comatose, as one might say, and passed on from a spirituous life to a spiritual one, such as it may be. He was a counterfeit sovereign.

In 1474 the first book was printed in England, and more attention was then paid to spelling. William Caxton printed this book,—a work on chess. The form of the types came from Germany, and was used till James I. introduced the Roman type. James I. took a great interest in plain and ornamental job printing, and while trying to pick a calling card out of the jaws of a crude job-press in the early years of his reign, contributed a royal thumb to this restless emblem of progress and civilization. (See next page.)



The War of the Roses having destroyed the nobility, times greatly improved, and Industry was declared constitutional.

Edward V. at twelve years of age became king, and his uncle Dick, Duke of Gloucester, became Protector. As such he was a disgrace, for he protected nobody but himself. The young king and his brother, the Duke of York, were placed in the Tower, and their uncle, Lord Hastings, and several other offensive partisans, on the charge of treason, were executed in 1483. He then made arrangements that he should be urged to accept the throne, and with a coy and reluctant grace peculiar to this gifted assassin, he caused himself to be proclaimed Richard III.



Richard then caused the young princes to be smothered in their beds, in what is now called the Bloody Tower. The Duke of Buckingham was at first loaded with honors in return for his gory assistance; but even he became disgusted with the wicked usurper, and headed a Welsh rebellion. He was not successful, and, in 1483, he received a slight testimonial from the king, as portrayed by the gifted artist of this work. The surprise and sorrow shown on the face of the duke, together with his thrift and economy in keeping his cigar from being spattered, and his determination that, although he might be put out, the cigar should not be, prove him to have been a man of great force of character for a duke.

Richard now espoused his niece, daughter of Edward IV., and in order to make the home nest perfectly free from social erosion, he caused his consort, Anne, to be poisoned. Those who believed the climate around the throne to be bracing and healthful had a chance to change their views in a land where pea-soup fog can never enter. Anne was the widow of Edward, whom Richard slew at Tewkesbury.



Every one felt that Richard was a disgrace to the country, and Henry, Earl of Richmond, succeeded in defeating and slaying the usurper on Bosworth Field, in 1485, when Henry was crowned on the battle-field.

Richard was buried at Leicester; but during the reign of Henry VIII., when the monasteries were destroyed, Richard's body was exhumed and his stone coffin used for many years in that town as a horse-trough.

Shakespeare and the historians give an unpleasant impression regarding Richard's personality; but this was done in the interests of the Tudors, perhaps. He was highly intelligent, and if he had given less attention to usurpation, would have been more popular.

Under the administrations of the houses of Lancaster and York serfdom was abolished, as the slaves who were armed during the War of the Roses would not submit again to slavery after they had fought for their country.

Agriculture suffered, and some of the poor had to subsist upon acorns and wild roots. During those days Whittington was thrice Lord Mayor of London, though at first only a poor boy. Even in the land of lineage this poor lad, with a cat and no other means of subsistence, won his way to fame and fortune.

The manufacture of wool encouraged the growing of sheep, and, in 1455, silk began to attract attention.

During his reign Richard had known what it was to need money, and the rich merchants and pawnbrokers were familiar with his countenance when he came after office hours to negotiate a small loan.



Science spent a great deal of surplus energy experimenting on alchemy, and the Philosopher's Stone, as well as the Elixir of Life, attracted much attention; but, as neither of these commodities are now on the market, it is presumed that they were never successful.

Printing may be regarded as the most valuable discovery during those bloody years, showing that Peace hath her victories no less than War, and from this art came the most powerful and implacable enemy to Ignorance and its attendant crimes that Progress can call its own.

No two authors spelled alike at that time, however, and the literature of the day was characterized by the most startling originality along that line.

The drama began to bud, and the chief roles were taken by the clergy. They acted Bible scenes interspersed with local witticisms, and often turned away money.

Afterwards followed what were called Moral Plays, in which the bad man always suffered intensely on a small salary.

The feudal castles disappeared, and new and more airy architecture succeeded them. A better class of furniture also followed; but it was very thinly scattered through the rooms, and a person on rising from his bed in the night would have some difficulty in falling over anything. Tidies on the chairs were unknown, and there was only tapestry enough to get along with in a sort of hand-to-mouth way.



CHAPTER XVII.

BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD III.: BEING AN ALLEGORICAL PANEGYRIC OF THE INCONTROVERTIBLE MACHINATIONS OF AN EGOTISTICAL USURPER.



We will now write out a few personal recollections of Richard III. This great monarch, of whom so much has been said pro and con,—but mostly con,—was born at Fotheringhay Castle, October 2, 1452, in the presence of his parents and a physician whose name has at this moment escaped the treacherous memory of the historian.

Richard was the son of Richard, Duke of York, and Cecily Neville, daughter of the Earl of Westmoreland, his father being the legitimate heir to the throne by descent in the female line, so he was the head of the Yorkists in the War of the Roses.

Richard's father, the Duke of York, while struggling one day with Henry VI., the royal jackass that flourished in 1460, prior to the conquest of the Fool-Killer, had the misfortune, while trying to wrest the throne from Henry, to get himself amputated at the second joint. He was brought home in two pieces, and ceased to draw a salary as a duke from that on. This cast a gloom over Richard, and inspired in his breast a strong desire to cut off the heads of a few casual acquaintances.

He was but eight years of age at this time, and was taken prisoner and sent to Utrecht, Holland. He was returned in good order the following year. His elder brother Edward having become king, under the title of Edward IV., Richard was then made Duke of Gloucester, Lord High Admiral, Knight of the Garter, and Earl of Balmoral.

It was at this time that he made the celebrated bon-mot relative to dogs as pets.

Having been out the evening before attending a watermelon recital in the country, and having contributed a portion of his clothing to a barbed-wire fence and the balance to an open-faced Waterbury bull-dog, some one asked him what he thought of the dog as a pet.

Richard drew himself up to his full height, and said that, as a rule, he favored the dog as a pet, but that the man who got too intimate with the common low-browed bull-dog of the fifteenth century would find that it must certainly hurt him in the end.



He resided for several years under the tutelage of the Earl of Warwick, who was called the "Kingmaker," and afterwards, in 1470, fled to Flanders, remaining fled for some time. He commanded the van of the Yorkist army at the battle of Barnet, April 14, 1471, and Tewkesbury, May 4, fighting gallantly at both places on both sides, it is said, and admitting it in an article which he wrote for an English magazine.

He has been accused of having murdered Prince Edward after the battle, and also his father, Henry VI., in the Tower a few days later, but it is not known to be a fact.

Richard was attainted and outlawed by Parliament at one time; but he was careful about what he ate, and didn't get his feet wet, so, at last, having a good preamble and constitution, he pulled through.

He married his own cousin, Anne Neville, who made a first-rate queen. She got so that it was no trouble at all for her to reign while Dick was away attending to his large slaughtering interests.

Richard at this time was made Lord High Constable and Keeper of the Pound. He was also Justiciary of North Wales, Seneschal of the Duchy of Lancaster, and Chief of Police on the North Side.

His brother Clarence was successfully executed for treason in February, 1478, and Richard, without a moment's hesitation, came to the front and inherited the estates.



Richard had a stormy time of it up to 1481, when he was made "protector and defender of the realm" early in May. He then proceeded with a few neglected executions. This list was headed—or rather beheaded—by Lord Chamberlain Hastings, who tendered his resignation in a pail of saw-dust soon after Richard became "protector and defender of the realm." Richard laid claim to the throne in June, on the grounds of the illegitimacy of his nephews, and was crowned July 6. So was his queen. They sat on this throne for some time, and each had a sceptre with which to welt their subjects over the head and keep off the flies in summer. Richard could wield a sceptre longer and harder, it is said, than any other middle-weight monarch known to history. The throne used by Richard is still in existence, and has an aperture in it containing some very old gin.

The reason this gin was left, it is said, was that he was suddenly called away from the throne and never lived to get back. No monarch should ever leave his throne in too much of a hurry.

Richard made himself very unpopular in 1485 by his forced loans, as they were called: a system of assessing a man after dark with a self-cocking writ and what was known as the headache-stick, a small weapon which was worn up the sleeve during the day, and which was worn behind the ear by the loyal subject after nightfall. It was a common sight, so says the historian, to hear the nightfall and the headache-stick fall at the same time.



The queen died in 1485, and Richard thought some of marrying again; but it got into the newspapers because he thought of it while a correspondent was going by, who heard it and telegraphed his paper who the lady was and all about it. This scared Richard out, and he changed his mind about marrying, concluding, as a mild substitute, to go into battle at Bosworth and get killed all at once. He did so on the 22d of August.



After his death it was found that he had rolled up his pantaloons above his knees, so that he would not get gore on them. This custom was afterwards generally adopted in England.

He was buried by the nuns of Leicester in their chapel, Richmond then succeeding him as king. He was buried in the usual manner, and a large amount of obloquy heaped on him.

That is one advantage of being great. After one's grave is filled up, one can have a large three-cornered chunk of obloquy put on the top of it to mark the spot and keep medical students away of nights.

Greatness certainly has its drawbacks, as the Duchess of Bloomer once said to the author, after she had been sitting on a dry-goods box with a nail in it, and had, therefore, called forth adverse criticism. An unknown man might have sat on that same dry-goods box and hung on the same nail till he was black in the face without causing remarks, but with the Duchess of Bloomer it was different,—oh, so different!



CHAPTER XVIII.

DISORDER STILL THE POPULAR FAD: GENERAL ADMIXTURE OF PRETENDERS, RELIGION, POLITICS, AND DISGRUNTLED MONARCHS.

As a result of the Bosworth victory, Henry Tudor obtained the use of the throne from 1485 to 1509. He saw at once by means of an eagle eye that with the house of York so popular among his people, nothing but a firm hand and eternal vigilance could maintain his sovereignty. He kept the young Earl of Warwick, son of the Duke of Clarence, carefully indoors with massive iron gewgaws attached to his legs, thus teaching him to be backward about mingling in the false joys of society.

Henry Tudor is known to history as Henry VII., and caused some adverse criticism by delaying his nuptials with the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV.

A pleasing practical joke at this time came near plunging the country into a bloody war. A rumor having gone forth that the Earl of Warwick had escaped from the Tower, a priest named Simon instructed a good-looking young man-about-town named Lambert Simnel to play the part, landed him in Ireland, and proceeded to call for troops. Strange to say, in those days almost any pretender with courage stood a good chance of winning renown or a hospitable grave in this way. But Lambert was not made of the material generally used in the construction of great men, and, though he secured quite an army, and the aid of the Earl of Lincoln and many veteran troops, the first battle closed the comedy, and the bogus sovereign, too contemptible even to occupy the valuable time of the hangman, became a scullion in the royal kitchen, while Simon was imprisoned.



For five years things were again dull, but at the end of that period an understudy for Richard, Duke of York, arose and made pretensions. His name was Perkin Warbeck, and though the son of a Flemish merchant, he was a great favorite at social functions and straw rides. He went to Ireland, where anything in the way of a riot was even then hailed with delight, and soon the York family and others who cursed the reigning dynasty flocked to his standard.

France endorsed him temporarily until Charles became reconciled to Henry, and then he dropped Perkin like a heated potato. Perk, however, had been well entertained in Paris as the coming English king, and while there was not permitted to pay for a thing. He now visited the Duchess of Burgundy, sister of Edward IV., and made a hit at once. She gave him the title of The White Rose of England (1493), and he was pleased to find himself so popular when he might have been measuring molasses in the obscurity of his father's store.

Henry now felt quite mortified that he could not produce the evidence of the murder of the two sons of Edward IV., so as to settle this gay young pretender; but he did not succeed in finding the remains, though they were afterwards discovered under the staircase of the White Tower, and buried in Westminster Abbey, where the floor is now paved with epitaphs, and where economy and grief are better combined, perhaps, than elsewhere in the world, the floor and tombstone being happily united, thus, as it were, killing two birds with one stone.

But how sad it is to-day to contemplate the situation occupied by Henry, forced thus to rummage the kingdom for the dust of two murdered princes, that he might, by unearthing a most wicked crime, prevent the success of a young pretender, and yet fearing to do so lest he might call the attention of the police to the royal record of homicide, regicide, fratricide, and germicide!

Most cruel of all this sad history, perhaps, was the execution of Stanley, the king's best friend in the past, who had saved his life in battle and crowned him at Bosworth. In an unguarded moment he had said that were he sure the young man was as he claimed, King Edward's son, he—Stanley—would not fight against him. For this purely unpartisan remark he yielded up his noble life in 1495.

Warbeck for some time went about trying to organize cheap insurrections, with poor success until he reached Scotland, where James IV. endorsed him, and told him to have his luggage sent up to the castle. James also presented his sister Catherine as a spouse to the giddy young scion of the Flemish calico counter. James also assisted Perkin, his new brother-in-law, in an invasion of England, which failed, after which the pretender gave himself up. He was hanged amid great applause at Tyburn, and the Earl of Warwick, with whom he had planned to escape, was beheaded at Tower Hill. Thus, in 1499, perished the last of the Plantagenets of the male kind.

Henry hated war, not because of its cruelty and horrors, but because it was expensive. He was one of the most parsimonious of kings, and often averted war in order to prevent the wear and tear on the cannon. He managed to acquire two million pounds sterling from the reluctant tax-payer, yet no monarch ever received such a universal consent when he desired to pass away. If any regret was felt anywhere, it was so deftly concealed that his death, to all appearance, gave general and complete satisfaction.



After a reign of twenty-four years he was succeeded by his second son, Henry, in 1509, the elder son, Arthur, having died previously.

It was during the reign of Henry VII. that John and Sebastian Cabot were fitted out and discovered North America in 1497, which paved the way for the subsequent depopulation of Africa, Italy, and Ireland. South America had been discovered the year before by Columbus. Henry VII. was also the father of the English navy.

The accession of Henry VIII. was now hailed with great rejoicing. He was but eighteen years of age, but handsome and smart. He soon married Catherine of Aragon, the widow of his brother Arthur. She was six years his senior, and he had been betrothed to her under duress at his eleventh year.

A very fine snap-shot reproduction of Henry VIII. and Catherine in holiday attire, from an old daguerreotype in the author's possession, will be found upon the following page.



Henry VIII. ordered his father's old lawyers, Empson and Dudley, tried and executed for being too diligent in business. He sent an army to recover the lost English possessions in France, but in this was unsuccessful. He then determined to organize a larger force, and so he sent to Calais fifty thousand men, where they were joined by Maximilian. In the battle which soon followed with the French cavalry, they lost their habitual sang-froid and most of their hand-baggage in a wild and impetuous flight. It is still called the Battle of the Spurs. This was in 1513.

In the report of the engagement sent to the king, nothing was said of the German emperor for the reason, as was said by the commander, "that he does not desire notice, and, in fact, Maximilian objections to the use of his name." This remark still furnishes food for thought on rainy days at Balmoral, and makes the leaden hours go gayly by.

During the year 1513 the Scots invaded England under James, but though their numbers were superior, they were sadly defeated at Flodden Field, and when the battle was over their king and the flower of their nobility lay dead upon the scene.



Wolsey, who was made cardinal in 1515 by the Pope, held a tremendous influence over the young king, and indirectly ruled the country. He ostensibly presented a humble demeanor, but in his innermost soul he was the haughtiest human being that ever concealed beneath the cloak of humility an inflexible, tough, and durable heart.

On the death of Maximilian, Henry had some notion of preempting the vacant throne, but soon discovered that Charles V. of Spain had a prior lien to the same, and thus, in 1520, this new potentate became the greatest power in the civilized world. It is hard to believe in the nineteenth or twentieth century that Spain ever had any influence with anybody of sound mind, but such the veracious historian tells us was once the case.

Francis, the French king, was so grieved and mortified over the success of his Spanish rival that he turned to Henry for comfort, and at Calais the two disgruntled monarchs spent a fortnight jousting, tourneying, in-falling, out-falling, merry-making, swashbuckling, and general acute gastritis.



It was a magnificent meeting, however, Wolsey acting as costumer, and was called "The Field of the Cloth of Gold." Large, portly men with whiskers wore purple velvet opera-cloaks trimmed with fur, and Gainsborough hats with ostrich feathers worth four pounds apiece (sterling). These corpulent warriors, who at Calais shortly before had run till overtaken by nervous prostration and general debility, now wore more millinery and breastpins and slashed velvet and satin facings and tinsel than the most successful and highly painted and decorated courtesans of that period.

The treaty here made with so much pyrotechnical display and eclat and hand-embroidery was soon broken, Charles having caught the ear of Wolsey with a promise of the papal throne upon the death of Leo X., which event he joyfully anticipated.

Henry, in 1521, scored a triumph and earned the title of Defender of the Faith by writing a defence of Catholicism in answer to an article written by Martin Luther attacking it. Leo died soon after, and, much to the chagrin of Wolsey, was succeeded by Adrian VI.



War was now waged with France by the new alliance of Spain and England; but success waited not upon the English arms, while, worse than all, the king was greatly embarrassed for want of more scudii. Nothing can be more pitiful, perhaps, than a shabby king waiting till all his retainers have gone away before he dare leave the throne, fearing that his threadbare retreat may not be protected. Henry tried to wring something from Parliament, but without success, even aided by that practical apostle of external piety and internal intrigue, Wolsey. The latter, too, had a second bitter disappointment in the election of Clement VII. to succeed Adrian, and as this was easily traced to the chicanery of the emperor, who had twice promised the portfolio of pontiff to Wolsey, the latter determined to work up another union between Henry and France in 1523.

War, however, continued for some time with Francis, till, in 1525, he was defeated and taken prisoner. This gave Henry a chance to figure with the queen regent, the mother of Francis, and a pleasant treaty was made in 1526. The Pope, too, having been captured by the emperor, Henry and Francis agreed to release and restore him or perish on the spot. Quite a well-written and beguiling account of this alliance, together with the Anne Boleyn affair, will be found in the succeeding chapter.

THE END