By the death of Isabel of Warwick, Clarence was a widower, and eagerly sought the hand of Mary of Burgundy, the orphan heiress of Charles the Bold, and the richest match in Europe. This alliance the queen as eagerly opposed. Probably she feared the influence which the possession of so much wealth, and the foreign possessions of Mary, would give him. Exasperated by her intrigues, Clarence rushed into the council chamber, and uttered disrespectful words both against her and Edward, at the same time renewing the accusation of sorcery against the Duchess of Bedford.

From that moment his fate was sealed. Edward was at Windsor when the news reached him. Instigated by the queen and his subtle mother-in-law, he hastened to London and arrested his brother, whose trial and attainder quickly followed; but the king demurred to a public execution-not from love, but fear.

Since the loss of his wife Isabel, to whom, with all his failings, it seems Clarence was tenderly attached, he had given way to habits of intemperance, a circumstance which most probably suggested the manner of his death: a butt of Malmsey wine was introduced into his prison in the Bowyer Tower, and one morning he was found dead with his head hanging over it;—that he selected the manner of his death, as some writers pretend, is a fable too absurd for belief. When princes are removed from this world, those who are interested in their destruction seldom consult them or the means. In all probability, at the end of one of his orgies, he was taken, whilst in a state of insensibility, from his chamber, and drowned in the butt of wine. Shakspeare, who, to flatter the grand-daughter of his conqueror, never loses an opportunity of blackening the character of Richard III., makes that prince a party to his death, without the least historical evidence to justify the charge. Richard, who was Governor of the Marches at the time, was residing in the north. It is true that the partisans of the queen accused him, but that was only to draw attention from the share their mistress had taken in the singular and horrible assassination-for it would be a mockery to call such a death an execution.

Every cause of inquietude removed-firmly seated on the throne-Edward gave way to the inherent licentiousness of his nature. Although he had long transferred his affections from the queen to his mistresses, her influence over him remained unshaken to the last, which may partly be accounted for by her never manifesting any jealousy or interference with his amours— an acquiescence which, however prudent in her as a queen, makes us doubt whether, as a wife, Elizabeth ever really entertained any very great affection for her lord.

King Edward IV. expired at Westminster, April the 9th, 1483, of an intermitting fever, brought on by vexation, it is said, at the refusal of the king of France, Louis XI., to marry the dauphin to the Princess Elizabeth. The reason alleged was most mortifying the inequality of the lady's birth. Perhaps the wily king foresaw that, on the death of Edward, the validity of his marriage would be disputed by the next male heir of the house of York.

Previous to his death, Edward endeavored to reconcile his queen with the nobles who had been most offended by the manner in which she had intrigued for the advancement of her family; and he expired, after recommending his infant sons and widow to their loyalty and protection. Perhaps, at the very last moment, when about to appear before the Judge of all, the recollection of the murder of the heir of Lancaster, and his brutal treatment of the unfortunate Margaret of Anjou, pressed upon his conscience, and he trembled for the safety of his own helpless children: For heaven is sometimes just, and pays us back,

The measure that we mete!

The body of the king, after lying in state in London, clad in the royal robes, with the crown upon its head and sceptre in its hand, was conveyed to Windsor and interred in St. George's Chapel, where a singular tomb of open iron-work, said to have been the work of the celebrated Quintin Matsys, the Flemish painter -who, before love changed him from a blacksmith into an artist, used to work in iron. The singular monument still remains, admired to the present day for the delicacy and beauty of its work.

CHAPTER XII.

A helpless child, in his minority,

Is in the care of his stern uncle, Gloucester-
A man who frowns on me and all of mine.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE imprudent zeal with which the widowed queen had pursued the aggrandizement of her family and the children of her first husband, had made her powerful and bitter enemies amongst the old nobility of the realm, including the favorites and friends of the late king, who saw with jealousy and dislike the honors and emoluments lavished on the aspiring Woodvilles. This feeling broke forth on the very first council held after the death of Edward IV.; for when the widowed Elizabeth proposed that her son should be escorted from Ludlow-where he was residingby a powerful army to London, Lord Hastings opposed the pro position with more heat than discretion.

"An army!" he exclaimed; "and against whom, madam, is it to be directed?"

The insolent tone and look of defiance with which the question was put, awed the anxious mother, and she remained silent. "But I need not ask," continued the haughty peer-"it cannot be against the uncle of his grace, the noble Duke of Gloucester, or against the lords of the council, who are devoted to the true

interests of your son! An army is necessary to confirm the usurped power of your insolent kinsmen. Know, madam," he added, "that the nobles of England are not yet so humbled that they will permit the Woodvilles to lord it in the realm!"

It was in vain that Elizabeth turned an imploring glance from the impetuous Hastings to the other members of the council. Her mute appeal was met with cold looks or impatient words.

Reluctantly she yielded an assent which it was no longer possible to refuse.

"Do as ye list, my lords," she said; "but remember that the king's safety is in your hands, and will be required of you. I am a helpless woman, and wish not to control you!"

With these words, the widow of Edward IV. left the fatal council in which the fate of her son was decided; for there is little doubt, that if the youthful monarch had been escorted to London, as his mother had proposed, the schemes of his ambitious uncle might have been defeated.

At this time, the Duke of Gloucester had given no indication of his intention of disputing the crown with his nephew. He had so long been absent from court, in his government in the north, that many had forgotten him. On receiving intelligence of his brother's death, he proclaimed his son, by the title of Edward V., at York, and wrote respectful letters of condolence to the queen, who appears to have been so completely deceived by his hypocrisy, that it was rather against the vague terrors, the instinctive warnings of maternal affection, she wished to guardwhen she proposed that an army of sturdy Welshmen should accompany her son to London-than any defined danger.

Whilst Elizabeth was anxiously awaiting the arrival of her son, Gloucester, assisted by the Duke of Buckingham, intercepted the young king's progress; seized on him with an armed force, and at the same time arrested his uncles, the Lords Rivers and Gray. This took place on the 29th of April; but it was the 3rd of May before intelligence of what had taken place reached the widowed queen.

The surprise and despair of the unhappy mother may be better imagined than described, when the fatal intelligence was brought to her. Bitterly did she reproach her weakness in having yielded to the opinion of the council in not calling out the militia of Wales to escort her son. Under the guard of the hardy mountaineers, who were devoted to the house of York, the catastrophe could scarcely have occurred. The first friend who made an effort to console her was the Chancellor Archbishop of York,

who brought her a cheering message from Lord Hastings, whose after conduct proved how bitterly he regretted his foolish jealousy and impetuosity.

66 I will hear none of them-talk to none of them!" she frantically exclaimed; "for all alike are traitors! Whilst York is in safety, his brother's life, at least, will be respected, since Gloucester will hardly venture to take the life of Edward to transfer the crown to the brow of his younger brother!"

With a promptitude and energy scarcely to be expected from her weak character, that very night she left the palace, accompa nied by her second son and her daughter, and once more took sanctuary at Westminster. This time, however, she removed her jewels and household stuff—as the chroniclers of the time quaintly term her furniture and wardrobe-and inhabited the abbot's apartments, which were equally privileged with the massive building known by the name of the sanctuary itself. At an early hour the following morning the prelate visited her, and gave into her hands the great seal of England, which the next day she weakly resigned to him, he being terrified at the threats of the Duke of Gloucester's partisans, who had reached London a few hours after her flight.

The council which met after the death of Edward IV. had appointed the 4th of May for the coronation of his heir: a ceremony which his wily uncle never intended to take place, as it would have given his nephew a yet stronger hold on the affections of the nobility and people.

At an early hour the procession entered the city. The young king, dressed in the royal mantle, rode in the centre of Gloucester's officers and partisans; the perfidious duke riding on his right hand. As the cortège moved along Cheapside, his uncle repeatedly pointed him out to the acclamations of the people.

At the termination of the pageant-the only one in which the doomed prince ever figured after his accession to the crown-he was removed to the royal apartments in the Tower of London, under pretence of awaiting the necessary preparations for his coronation.