The unowed interest of proud-swelling state.
Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:
Now powers from home and discontents at home
Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.

Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child
And follow me with speed: I'll to the king:
A thousand businesses are brief in hand,

And heaven itself doth frown upon the land."

Great events were marching apace in the kingdom, and King John, feeling that all would soon be lost, made an abject surrender to Pandulph the Legate, handing him the crown and receiving it again from him as a subject of the Pope, under the promise that the Legate would command the Dauphin to retire from England. But Lewis did not prove so obedient as Pandulph anticipated, and refused to order his army to retreat. Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot had now joined the French, and many other discontented noblemen had followed their example. Sir Richard had warned King John of the possible failure of the Legate, and the royal troops were ordered to march upon Swinstead.

When the knight entered the French camp to deliver a message from the King, he found Pandulph and the Dauphin debating what course to pursue, and was glad to add the weight of his patriotic eloquence to their discussion. He advised Lewis to hurry back to France, and upbraided Pembroke and the other Barons for their

treachery to England. But the fiery French Prince was determined to bring the war to an issue, and ordered his men to strike up the drums. Sir Richard heard his command with an amused interest, and said:

"Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
And so shall you, being beaten: do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready braced
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall
As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand,
Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath used rather for sport than need,
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French."

Sir Richard's confidence lay more in his own warlike spirit than in the strength and faithfulness of King John's army, for the story of the death of Arthur had spread rapidly through the country, and many stout men-atarms refused to serve under the standard of a cruel, perjured King. But help came from the sturdy Wardens of the Welsh Marches, and King John, with their assistance, attacked Lynn and Lincoln and recaptured both places. Then he gave orders to march upon London. As they crossed the marshes of the Wash the baggage and treasure were swallowed in a quicksand. King John, his son Prince Henry, and several of his noblemen had narrow escapes. And here the King fell into a raging fever which caused him excruciating pain and such weakness that he had to be carried in

a litter. It was said that he was suffering from the effects of a deadly poison administered by a monk, who doubtless remembered the curse which had been laid upon King John, and the blessing promised to any one who would contrive his death. While Sir Richard and Hubert de Burgh drew up the army into position, the King was carried into Swinstead Abbey and there lay at the point of death. In one of the fierce skirmishes between the armies Lord Melun, a prominent French Lord, was slain, but before he died he confessed to Salisbury and Pembroke that the Dauphin meant to put them to death, whereupon they resolved to return to the camp of King John and crave his forgiveness. Prince Henry met them with offers of friendship, and their retainers were once more ranged beneath the standard of England.

But nothing could stay the progress of the malady or poison which was destroying the life of King John, and he began to rave and cry out as though in fearful torture. His lips were parched and dry, and a fierce inward fire consumed him. They carried him into the orchard of the Abbey, and laid him under the trees. It was early summer, and the blossoms hung thick on every bough. Sometimes he shrieked out as though in mortal fear, and again he tuned his voice into a weird song. The light of reason came into his eyes as Sir Richard hurried in and said that the French were not far away, but he could not rally. He tried to grasp the hand of his faithful knight, but could not, and so, with the rumour of disaster and defeat around him, he died. Prince Henry knelt by his side, but the end had come, and King John passed away, leaving his kingdom threatened by the presence of an invading, victorious army, and all

F

his possessions in France torn from the English crown. Worst of all, Normandy had been lost to the Plantagenets, and the great inheritance handed down by the Counts of Anjou had been gathered by King Philip and his knights. Yet with Prince Henry of Winchester, soon to be known as King Henry III., brighter days might dawn, or at least preparation be made for that time when the greatest Henry of the ancient Plantagenets would ravage France with his faithful soldiers and beat down their chivalry at Agincourt. Unknown to Sir Richard, Lewis the Dauphin had agreed before the death of King John to withdraw his army and leave the land in peace, but the stalwart son of Richard Cordelion still had faith in English hands and English hearts, and even while he gazed upon the dead body of his King, and thought that the standards of the French would soon be waving around him, he uttered the brave and confident words :

"This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true."

And these brave words are true for all time, while England's sons stand as Wardens of her gates and keepers of her windswept seas.

King Richard the Second

K

ING Edward III. of England, who died in the year 1377, had seven children. Edward the Black Prince; Lionel, Duke of Clarence; John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; Edmund, Duke of York; Thomas, Duke of Gloucester, and two others.

Edward the Black Prince, the illustrious soldier whose headlong bravery won for him a name of great renown, died before his father and left one young son, Richard of Bordeaux, who was publicly acknowledged as heir apparent to the English throne. Lionel, Duke of Clarence, died in 1368, leaving no male issue, although in the female line he became, with his brother Edmund, joint founder of that great House of York whose long struggle with the House of Lancaster led to the stirring period of the Wars of the Roses. John of Gaunt, by his marriage with Blanche of Lancaster, became the founder of the Lancastrian House, which afterwards gave Henry IV., Henry V., and Henry VI. to be Kings of England; and by his marriage with Catherine Swynford established the Beaufort family, from which came Henry of Richmond, afterwards Henry VII.

It was by the marriage of Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, with Margaret Beaufort, that their son united both Plantagenet and Tudor, and it was by Henry VII.'s marriage with Elizabeth of York that the rival Yorkists