is here subjected, perhaps is owing more than to any other single cause, the formation of that national character, which has, under the Divine blessing, raised England to its eminent position among the people of the earth.”*

*This is an extract from an address delivered after a confirmation, at Eton College, in 1844, by Dr. Kaye, Bishop of Lincoln, and quoted in a little work that I found in my brother's library, entitled "The Unity of History, or Outlines of Lectures on Ancient and Modern History considered on the principles of the Church of England,” by the Rev. C. J. Abraham, London, 1845. W. B. R.

LECTURE X.*

Richard the Third-Henry the Eighth.

The character of Edward the Fourth-His death-Richard's usurpation-Its character of intrigue and violence-The princes in the Tower-Attempted vindications-Their inefficacy-Sir Thomas More -Richard's deformity, mental and physical-Effect of personal deformity-Commanding intellect of the king-Power of will-No sympathy-No repentance-Contrast of Macbeth--Richard's dreamThe last of the Plantagenets-The Tudor kings-Henry the Eighth -The progress of society and government-Henry's reign nearly contemporary with Shakspeare-The play of Henry the Eighth history-Wolsey's character-Catharine of Arragon-Wolsey's fall and death-The approaching Reformation-Henry's character the worst in history-His death-Conclusion.

AFTER the close of the War of the Roses, and the death of nat good man, King Henry the Sixth, the throne of England was peacefully held by Edward the Fourth, who kept until his death the possession, which had cost so much peril to himself and havoc in the realm. The battle of Tewkesbury was followed in Edward's reign by twelve years of peace and of exhaustion; and, at the end of that time, during which there were scarce any events of importance or interest, the monarch died a death, which had become most unusual in the York

* March 1st, 1847.

family-he died in his bed; for it may be mentioned as one of the indications of the sanguinary character of the times, that the lives of his father and grandfather and his three brothers, ended bloodily or violently. The character of Edward the Fourth was briefly this: he was a warlike and a voluptuous prince, equally ready for the perils of war and the pleasures of peace. The military hardships of his early life seem to have been regarded by him as warrant for the uncurbed licentiousness of his undisturbed royalty. One of the elder English historians, in summing up his character, says that "He lived too fast; and that, while no man acted with more vigour and spirit in all the distressed and dangerous situations of his affairs, yet, when the danger or difficulties were over, he relapsed constantly into a sauntering way with the fair sex." What precisely the historian meant by a sauntering way with the fair sex, I need not stop to describe further than to say that, while Edward displayed in his belligerent days an energy and dauntless intrepidity like that of as stern and indefatigable a warrior as Cromwell, in his peaceful years he sank into the easy morality of as gay a voluptuary as Charles the Second. It is one of the dark truths of human nature, that men can mingle with all the levity of loose pleasures the perpetration of deeds of appalling ferocity; for the heart becomes so indurated by continued self-indulgence, that the conscience will be troubled no more by crimes of cruelty and bloodshed than by its frolic immoralities. The close of the career of this voluptuous prince, King Edward the Fourth, was darkened by the guilt of fratricide. The share he had in the murderous killing of his brother, Clarence, is finely represented by Shakspeare as embitter

ing his last hours. Immediately on being informed of the death of Clarence, he is solicited by Lord Stanley to pardon one of his servants, and his perturbed conscience finds voice in the answer to the suit:

"Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother killed no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him? Who in my wrath
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised?
Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?
Who told me in the field at Tewksbury
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said,-Dear brother, live, and be a king?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments, and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you

Had so much grace to put it in my mind."

Edward's undisturbed occupation of the throne gave deceitful promise of the security of the house of York, and of the return of tranquil times. Even during the peaceful part of his reign, the elements of discord were secretly fermenting, and the evil eye of the strongest man of the Yorkist race was watching the chances for usurpation. The death hours of Edward the Fourth may well have been embittered, not only by the memory of many an act of ruthless violence, but by gloomy forebodings for his young heir, to the unformed strength of whose hands the sceptre was to pass. Edward the Fifth succeeded to

his father's throne when but thirteen years old, and he reigned for less than thirteen weeks. His name stands on the list of English sovereigns, and his statue may fill a niche with the images of the rest; but there is only the name and shadow of a reign. Under the dark protectorship of his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, the youthful sovereign went speedily from the palace to a prison, and found secret death and burial within the gloomy precincts of the Tower of London. Whatever there was of justice in the original claim of the York family to the throne, it was established with so much wrong and iniquity that it had no sure foundation to rest on; and after Edward the Fourth's triumphant career, retribution fell heavily on his sons and successors. Indeed, when we consider the mingled right and wrong in both the Lancastrian and York titles, it would seem as if the good in each was rewarded with a brief season of success, after which the meed of misery was awarded to the guilt. The ruin of the house of York was not only the retributive consequence of its crimes, but it was to be effected by the atrocities of him who was to be the last of the dynasty.

It is not necessary that I should follow with any comment the usurpation of Richard the Third. It is a familiar story of craft and cruelty directed to the accomplishment of a purpose, which, probably, had long been present to his thoughts. It is one of the miseries of civil war that it destroys all sense of security of life or of possession of any kind; and it is then, when the whole fabric of society is unstable, that the worst passions display themselves and roam abroad in all their force. Witnessing, during the early part of his career, the confusion and