one of the Inns of Court—the Gardens of the Temple—where we overhear a dispute between Richard Plantagenet and the Earl of Somerset-representing the future rival Houses of York and Lancaster. This paltry altercation led to the disastrous Wars of the Roses ; which, for thirty years, impoverished and decimated the people of England, antagonized her soldiers and her peaceful citizens, almost annihilated her ancient nobility, and sacrificed eighty Princes of the rival royal families. “What great events from little causes spring !"

The subject of the original dispute--which soon centralized into a personal quarrel-appears to have been-Whether the son of a father found guilty of high treason, was legally justified in claiming his father's personal title of nobility ?

The Scene is the Temple Garden in London.
Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard
Plantagenet and Vernon. Plantagenet speaks :
Plan. ... Great lords and gentlemen, what means this 'si-

lence ?
Dare no man answer,

in a case of 'truth? Suf. Within the Temple-'Hall we were too loud;

The 'Garden here is more convenient.
Plan. Then, Suffolk, say if I 'maintained the truth?

Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in 'error ?
Suf. 'Faith, I have been a 'truant in the law,

And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the 'law unto

my

will. Som. Judge 'you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us. War. ... Between two 'hawks, which flies the higher pitch;

Between two 'horses, which doth bear him best;
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye-
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment;
But, in these nice sharp quillets* of the 'law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.

The Yorkest Plantagenet resumes:
Plan. Tut, tut! here is a 'mannerly forbearance !

Since you are tongued-tied, and so loath to 'speak,
In dumb 'significantst proclaim your thoughts.-
Let him that is a true-born gentleman,
If he suppose that 'I have pleaded 'truth,
From off this briar pluck a 'white rose with 'me.

The Lancastrian Somerset replies :
Şom. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,

But dare 'maintain the partyf of the truth,
Pluck a 'red rose from off this thorn with 'me.

Warwick again speaks :
War. 'I love no colours ; and—without all colour

Of base insinuating flattery

I pluck this 'white rose, with Plantagenet.
Suf: 'I pluck this 'red rose, with young Somerset,
And say, withal, I think he held the right.

Vernon interrupts :
Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,

Till you conclude—that he, upon whose side
The 'fewest roses are cropped from the tree,

Shall yield the other in the 'right opinion.
Som. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected;

If 'I have fewest, I subscribe in 'silence.
Plan. And I.
Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,

I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here-
Giving 'my verdict on the 'white rose side.

Somerset bitterly retorts :
Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off ;

Lest, bleeding, you do paint the 'white rose 'red,

And fall on 'my side so, against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion 'bleed,

Opinion shall be 'surgeon to my hurt,

And 'keep me on the side where still I am. All advance to choose their roses—the majority white ones, which are waved in triumph. Richard Plantagenet says: Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your 'argument? Som. Here, in my 'scabbard ! meditating that

Shall dye your 'white rose in a 'bloody red. Plan. Meantime, your 'cheeks do counterfeit 'our roses ;

For 'pale they look with fear—as witnessing

The truth on 'our side.
Som.

No, Plantagenet,
'T is not for 'fear, but 'anger,—that 'thy cheeks
'Blush, for pure shame, to counterfeit 'our roses ;

And yet thy tongue will not 'confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rose a 'canker, Somerset ?
Som. Hath not 'thy rose a 'thorn, Plantagenet?
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing,—to maintain his truth,

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his 'falsehood! Som. Well, I'll find 'friends to wear my 'bleeding roses,

That shall maintain what 'I have said is 'true,

Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen! Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,

I scorn 'thee and thy 'faction, peevish boy!

*

Suf. Turn not thy scorn 'this way, Plantagenet.
Plan. Proud Poole, I 'will! and scorn both him and 'thee.

Suffolk angrily interposes:
Suf. I'll turn 'my part thereof into thy 'throat !
Som.

Away, away, good William de la Poole !

We 'grace the yeoman by 'conversing with him.
War. Now, by Heaven's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;

His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
Third son to the Third Edward, King of England.

Spring crestless 'yeomen from so 'deep a root ?
Plan. He bears bim on the place's privilege,*

Or 'durst not, for his craven heart, say thus !
Som. By Him that made me, I 'll 'maintain my

words
On any plot of ground in Christendom.
Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
For treason 'executed in our late King's days ?
And, by 'his treason, stand'st not 'thou attainted,

Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
Plan. My father was 'attached, but not attainted,

Condemned to 'die for treason, but no traitor;
And that I 'll prove, on better men than Somerset !
I'll note you in my book of memory,
To 'scourge you for this apprehension !

Look to it well, and say you are well warned.
Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still ;

And know us, by these colours, for thy foes. Suf. Go forward, and be choked with thy ambition !

And so farewell—until I meet thee 'next! Som. Have with thee, Poole. Farewell, ambitious

Richard.
Somerset goes away, followed by Suffolk, and the Partisans of
the Red Rose. Warwick says to Plantagenet :
War. This blot, that they object against your House,

Shall be wiped out in the next Parliament;
And if thou be not then created 'York,
'I will not live to be accounted 'Warwick.
And here I prophesy :-This brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction, in the Temple Garden,
Shall send, between the Red rose and the White,
A 'thousand souls to death and deadly night.

[Exit.

[Exit.

1

As it is impossible for the theatre to provide a suitable representative for every stage of the King's adolescence (and as his reign extended over nearly fifty years,) our readers must, in mercantile language, “ strike an average," and picture his present ideal representative as a young man--mild, inoffensive, and religious; adorning the sceptre, rather than wielding it.

In this great assembly, the angry feelings that had existed between Duke Humphrey of Gloster and the Bishop of Winchester are openly manifested.—Humphrey of Gloster,-popularly known as the “good” Duke Humphrey, on account of his mild exercise of royal authority,-is Regent of England. His open, but unguarded temper has hitherto been sorely tested by the arrogant Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester-one of the legitimated children of old John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. It had been vainly thought by his royal relatives, that his obscure birth and religious profession would be sufficient obstacles to a high political career.

In the midst of public business, Gloster offers to present a Bill
for consideration : the Bishop angrily snatches it from him and
tears it to pieces.
Win. Com'st thou, with deep-premediated lines,

With written pamphlets studiously devised ?
Humphrey of Gloster, if thou 'canst accuse,

Do it without 'invention,-suddenly.
Glo. Presumptuous priest!

Think not,-although in writing I preferred*
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have 'forged; or am not able
'Verbatims to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
That very 'infants prattle of thy pride;
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The 'King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt

From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe

To give me hearing what I shall reply;

And he shall know I am as good-
Glo.

As good!
Thou bastard of my grandfather!
Win. Ay, lordly sir! for what are 'you, I pray,

But one imperious in another's throne?
Glo. What! Am I not Protector, saucy priest?
Win. And am not I a Prelate of the Church ?
Glo. Yes !—as an outlaw in a castle keeps,

And useth it to patronagef his theft.
Win. Unreverent Gloster !

Glo.

'Thou art reverent,
Touching thy 'spiritual function, not thy 'life.
Win. 'Rome shall remedy this.
War. Roam 'thither, then.

The young King interposes :
King. Uncles of Gloster and of Winchester,

The special watchmen of our English weal,
'I would prevail, -if 'prayers might prevail, -
To 'join your hearts in love and amity.
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a 'peace,

If holy Churchmen take delight in 'broils?
Wur. Yield, my lord Protector ;-yield, Winchester;

Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,

To 'slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. Win. 'He shall submit, or I will 'never yield. Glo. Compassion on the King 'commands me stoop: Here, Winchester, I offer thee my

hand ... King. . . . Fie, Uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach

That 'malice was a great and grievous 'sin ;

And will not you 'maintain the thing you teach? Win. ... Well, Duke of Gloster, I will 'yield to thee;

Love for 'thy love, and hand for hand, I give.
Glo. [Aside.] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.-

See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
This token [Givinglis] serveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers.

So help me Heaven, as I dissemble not.
Win. [aside.] So help 'me Heaven, as I 'intend it not !
King. O loving uncle, and kind Duke of Gloster,

How joyful am I made by this accord ?*— A hollow reconciliation being thus effected, Warwick, with Salisbury and Richard Plantagenet, advances-bearing a petition that the claim of the latter to the dukedom of York may be established. Warwick says : War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,

Which, in the right of Richard Plantagenet,

We do exhibit to your majesty.
Glo. Well urged, my lord of Warwick ;-for, sweet prince,

You have great reason to do Richard right.
King. Stoop now, and set your knee against my foot ;

And, in reguerdont of that duty done,
I gird thee with the valiant sword of York: