the rightful heir of the crown, and that there was no room for dispute in the matter. But the real point in dispute was the very important one, what the law of succession really was. Was it any bar that Edward claimed through a female? The succession of all the kings from the Empress Maud might be fairly held to settle this item in Edward's favour. But the real difficulty, which lay beyond, was not so easily solved.

Very little understood at present is the law of non-representation, the old "custom of England," which was also the custom of Artois, and several other provinces. According to this law, if a son of the king should predecease his father, leaving issue, that issue was barred from the throne. They were not to be allowed to represent their dead father. The right of succession passed at once to the next son of the monarch.

Several of our kings tried to alter this law, but it was so dear to the hearts of the English people that up to 1377 they invariably failed. The most notable instance is that of Richard I., who tried hard to secure the succession of Arthur, the son of his deceased brother Geoffrey, in preference to his youngest brother John. But the "custom of England" was too strong for him: and though John was personally neither liked nor respected by any one, England preferred his rule to making a change in her laws.

It was Edward III. who succeeded in making the alteration. His eldest son, the famed Black Prince, had died leaving a son behind him, and the old King strongly desired to secure the peaceable succession of his grandson. He succeeded, partly because of the popularity of the deceased Prince, partly on account of the unpopularity of the next heir, but chiefly because the next heir himself was willing to assist in the alteration. His reward for this self-abnegation is that modern writers are perpetually accusing him of unbridled ambition, and of a desire to snatch the crown from that nephew who would assuredly never have worn it had he withheld his consent.

But though John of Gaunt was perfectly willing to be subject instead of sovereign, his son Henry did not share his feelings. He always considered that he had been tricked out of his rights: and he never forgave his father for consenting to the change. After sundry futile attempts to eject his cousin from the throne, he at last succeeded in effecting his purpose. The succession returned to the right line according to the old "custom of England"; and since King Richard II., for whom it had been altered, left no issue, matters might have gone on quietly enough had it been suffered to remain there.

They were quiet enough until the death of Henry V. But a long minority of the sovereign has nearly always been a misfortune to the country: and the longest of all minorities was that of Henry VI., who was only eight months old when he came to the throne. Then began a restless and weary struggle for power among the nobles, and especially the three uncles of the baby King. The details of the struggle itself belong to general history: but there are one or two points concerning which it will be best to make such remarks as are necessary at once, in order to save explanations which would otherwise be constantly recurring.

King Henry was remarkably devoid of relatives, and the nearest he had were not of his own rank. He was the only child of his father, and on the father's side his only living connections beside distant cousins were an uncle—Humphrey Duke of Gloucester—and a grand-uncle—Cardinal Beaufort—both of whom were, though different from each other, equally diverse from the King in temperament and aim. On the mother's side he had two half-brothers and a sister, with whom he was scarcely allowed to associate at all. He wanted a wife: and he took the means to obtain one which in his day princes usually took. He sent artists to the various courts of Europe, to bring to him portraits of the unmarried Princesses. King Henry's truth-loving nature comes out in the instructions given to these artists. They were to be careful not to flatter any of the royal ladies, but to draw their portraits just as they were. Of the miniatures thus brought to him, the King's fancy was attracted by the lovely face of a beautiful blonde of sixteen—the Princess Marguerite of Anjou, second daughter of René, the dispossessed King of Naples. An embassy, at the head of which was William Duke of Suffolk, was sent over to demand, and if accepted, to bring home the young Princess.

The girl-Queen found herself a very lonely creature, flung into the midst of discordant elements. She loved her husband, as she afterwards showed beyond question, and she must have felt deep respect for his pure, gentle, truthful, saintly soul. Yet, excellent as he was, he was no adviser for her. It was simply impossible for her brilliant intellect and brave heart to lean upon his dulled brain and timid nature. How could he, with the uttermost will to aid her, help his young wife to keep out of snares laid for her which he could not even see, or counsel her to beware of false friends whose falsehood he never so much as suspected? Is it any wonder that Marguerite in this sore emergency turned to Suffolk, her first friend, a man almost old enough to be her grandfather, with a wise head and a tender heart, and thoroughly desirous to do his duty? Poor, innocent girl! she paid dearly for it. One word of cruel, contemptuous surmise dropped from the lips of a young nobleman,—who very possibly had wished the fair young Queen to make him her chief adviser—and all over the land, as with wings, the wicked falsehood sped, till there was no possibility of undoing the evil, and Marguerite woke up in horror to find her name defamed, and her innocent friendship with Suffolk believed to be criminal. She did not discover for some time who was the author of this cruel slander: but when she did, she never forgave Warwick.

There is not the shadow of probability that it was true. Suffolk was about fifty years of age[#] when Marguerite was married, and he had been for nearly fifteen years the husband of one of the loveliest women in England, to whom he was passionately attached. His character is shown further by the farewell letter written to his son,[#] one of the most touching and pious farewell letters ever penned by man.

[#] He was born at Cotton, in Suffolk, and baptized in that church on "The Feast of St. Michael in Monte Tumba" [Oct. 16] 1396. (Prob. Ætatit Willielmi Ducis Suffolk, 5 H. V. 63.)

[#] Published among the Paston Letters.

But now another and a more serious complication was added to those already existing. The dispossessed heir of the elder branch, Richard Duke of York, had much to forgive the House of Lancaster. He had the memory of a murdered father and a long-imprisoned mother ever fresh before him. His claim was only through the female line, as the son of a daughter of the son of a daughter of Lionel Duke of Clarence, the second son of Edward III. who attained manhood, and who had predeceased his father. In respect of the male line, he was descended from a younger brother[#] of the grandfather of Henry VI. It was therefore only as the representative of Duke Lionel that he could put forward any claim at all. But Richard was not good at forgiving. And when, as if for the purpose of further entangling matters, and suggesting to Richard the very idea which he afterwards carried into action, Henry VI. was seized with an attack of that temporary insanity which he inherited