cted tone, which he, in common with the coxcombs of that
day, usually assumed, "who that heard thee when thou talkest of humility
and devotion, would recognize the sternest heart and the most daring
ambition God ever gave to prince?"

Richard started at these words, and his eye shot fire as it met the keen
calm glance of the prelate.

"Nay, your Grace wrongs me," he said, gnawing his lip,--"or I should not
say wrongs, but flatters; for sternness and ambition are no vices in a
Nevile's eyes."

"Fairly answered, royal son," said the archbishop, laughing; "but let us
be frank. Thou hast persuaded me to accompany thee to Lord Warwick as
a mediator; the provinces in the North are disturbed; the intrigues of
Margaret of Anjou are restless; the king reaps what he has sown in the
Court of France, and, as Warwick foretold, the emissaries and gold of
Louis are ever at work against his throne; the great barons are moody
and discontented; and our liege King Edward is at last aware that, if
the Earl of Warwick do not return to his councils, the first blast of a
hostile trumpet may drive him from his throne. Well, I attend thee: my
fortunes are woven with those of York, and my interest and my loyalty
go hand in hand. Be equally frank with me. Hast thou, Lord Richard, no
interest to serve in this mission save that of the public weal?"

"Thou forgettest that the Lady Isabel is dearly loved by Clarence, and
that I would fain see removed all barrier to his nuptial bliss. But
yonder rise the towers of Middleham. Beloved walls, which sheltered my
childhood! and, by holy Paul, a noble pile, which would resist an army,
or hold one."

While thus conversed the prince and the archbishop, the Earl of Warwick,
musing and alone, slowly paced the lofty terrace that crested the
battlements of his outer fortifications.

In vain had that restless and powerful spirit sought content in
retirement. Trained from his childhood to active life, to move mankind
to and fro at his beck, this single and sudden interval of repose in the
prime of his existence, at the height of his fame, served but to swell
the turbulent and dangerous passions to which all vent was forbidden.

The statesman of modern days has at least food for intellect in letters
when deprived of action; but with all his talents, and thoroughly
cultivated as his mind was in the camp, the council, and the state, the
great earl cared for nothing in book-lore except some rude ballad that
tol