cided their chance hopeless, before they raised their hands to resist. A large majority of the prelates were to be found in Richard's train; and their influence was incalculable in securing the adhesion of the peasantry.

The messengers who had gone before to the metropolis, had prepared the citizens for the approach of their favorite. No one any longer heeded the law or the royal authorities. All respect for the kingly dignity was thrown aside. Richard's name was openly jeered and laughed at. A large concourse of citizens met together at once, and it was resolved that they should go out en masse to welcome Henry to London. The Lord Mayor put himself at the head of his constituents, surrounded by noblemen and civic dignitaries, and passed beyond the city walls without molestation from the officers of the King. Henry had meanwhile taken the direct road from Bristol to London, and was rapidly approaching the city. At Guilford, about twenty-five miles from London, he met the Lord Mayor and the citizens, received their congratu lations and assurances of support, and the night was spent in merrymaking and needful repose.

Early on the following morning Henry, with the Archbishop on his right hand and the Lord Mayor on his left, and followed by his rejoicing army, resumed his march. As he approached the capital, men, women, and children in a dense mass flocked out on the road to welcome him hither. Nobles and priests, attired in the splendid habiliments of their orders, appeared in his path and hailed him as the deliverer of the Church and the State. "Welcome! welcome! good Derby!" resounded on every side. Rude eulogies on Henry of Bolingbroke were mingled with curses on Richard of Bordeaux. It was unmistakably a revolution-a

revolution into which the large preponderance of all classes entered. The people's will, for once, spoke loudly and with no doubtful import. Their chosen lord was come-the transition of allegiance was both sudden and decisive. In the midst of an ovation which surprised those who had been most sanguine, Henry rode with a calm and majestic air, his countenance only betraying his exultation by a placid smile, and his whole demeanor complacent, yet full of dig nity. In the height of an excitement such as made his companions restless and wild with joy, the hero of the pageant exhibited no passionate emotion, and was throughout deliberate and self-possessed. He returned, indeed, the salutations of the multitude by graceful bows and an occasional kind expression, and showed his appreciation of their affection in a manner which, though calm, left no doubt of sincerity. His noble carriage and the elegant repose of his features drew admiration from every breast. His smile, singularly attractive, reassured every one of those full and anxious hearts. He looked, indeed, according to those who witnessed his entrance into London, every inch a king, a worthy Plantagenet, a true champion of regal dig. nity. Lancaster was escorted to his own house in the city, and there received the great state and religious dignitaries who were at that time in London. The dowager Duchess of Gloucester, who, it may be conjectured, thoroughly detested Richard for the murder of her husband, came with her daughters to encourage and stimulate her nephew. Her son Humphrey, now Duke of Gloucester, was with the King in Ireland, in compulsory attendance.

The whole city had the appearance of a gala day; the shops were closed; the people flocked about the

streets in gay attire, all having fastened a red rose to their breasts; the chariots of the nobility and prelacy were passing rapidly to and fro; the praises of Henry were in every mouth, and the one cry was for the deposition of Richard of Bordeaux. Having discharged, with thanks and presents, the faithful band of Bretons who had escorted him to England, Lancaster quickly raised a force of twelve thousand men, and set out by forced marches toward the west, for the purpose of encountering the King.

Richard did not receive intelligence of the invasion of his crown until Henry had been three weeks in England. He was still in Ireland when the news reached him. Many officers of his army, who had known the events, had shrunk from disclosing them to the King. Sir Richard Scroop at last found courage to speak. Richard for the second time in his life exhibited a prompt and energetic spirit, such as had quelled the riots of Wat Tyler. He ordered Salisbury to sail with a considerable force to Conway, in Wales, and to incite the Welsh to an active defence of the royal standard. Richard himself would follow with the remainder of the army from Waterford. Salisbury succeeded in gathering a fair number from the Welsh mountains. Richard landed soon after at Milford with his suite and five or six thousand soldiers. But this force had no sooner found themselves on English soil, than the discontent with which they had followed the King to Ireland increased, and their favorable inclinations toward Henry appeared. The next morning after his disembarkation, the King arose and looked out upon his camp. To his utter chagrin it seemed almost deserted. During the night whole battalions had left their

tents, and were now full on their way toward the usurper's headquarters. Humphrey Duke of Glouces ter, and Richard Earl of Arundel, had disappeared. A council of war, called immediately, exhibited a woful paucity in number, and great depression of spirits. It was discovered that even among the inferior force that remained, there were loud murmurs and much wavering. The King, notwithstanding, exhibited more resolution than his most courageous counsellors. "I will not fly in the face of my subjects," said he. It was a rash speech, but a brave one. The lords and bishops urged him to fly to a place of safety; he was no longer secure with his own army. It was folly, they said, to march with a despondent force against an exultant force, twice as large. Some wished him to retire from the kingdom altogether; others said this would be virtual abdication, and proposed that he should join the forces under Salisbury at Conway. The latter advice, after much discussion, prevailed. That night Richard, accompanied by Exeter, Surrey, Scroop, Feriby, and the Bishop of Carlisle, crept away in the disguise of a monk, and turned toward Conway. About the same time the Duke of Albemarle and Sir Thomas Percy fled in another direction to join Henry. The flight of the King was successfully accomplished. When it was discovered, the army disbanded, and many followed their late companions into the camp of the victorious prince.

Meanwhile Richard, having arrived without any mischance at Conway Castle, found to his grief that what had happened to him had also occurred to Salisbury. That nobleman was found to be in command of a pitiful troop; most of his army had, like that of Richard, deserted. The neighboring castles were ex

amined, and proved to be deficient in force, soundness, and provisions. Then Richard seems to have felt that his crown was lost to him. The two 'bastard brothers of the King, the Duke of Exeter and the Duke of Surrey, were sent forward to treat with the advancing insurgents, now become revolutionists. Meanwhile Henry had made good progress, each day adding to his force, and the people all along his route greeting him and cheering him on with joyful accla mations. At Cirencester Gloucester and Arundel joined him; and as he drew nearer and nearer the western coast, the deserters from the royal standard flocked about him in constantly increasing numbers. He began to feel himself secure of the supreme power, and no doubt by this time had determined to place the crown on his own head.

When the envoys of the King, Exeter and Surrey, came to him, they were courteously received, and treated with kind consideration; but Henry had reasons for detaining them, therefore they became in a manner his prisoners. His idea was that Richard would escape, when he found resistance hopeless, if the Dukes returned to him; but would await them in Conway Castle. He desired above all things to make sure of Richard's person. He therefore sent forward the Earl of Northumber land, his most powerful adherent, to make specious offers to the King, and to detain him by every means till Henry should come up. The propositions submitted to the King were, that he should govern accord ing to the constitution of the realm; that he should deliver up Exeter, Surrey, Salisbury, and the Bishop of Carlisle, to be tried for the murder of Gloucester; that Lancaster should be made grand justiciary. An