battles, to seize the fugitives, which being done, they should have their freedom without ransom. This design had nearly been accomplished, by reason of Percy's age and weariness of turmoil, when Fleming, his persistent friend, discovered it in time to warn him. The Earl with his confederates fled upon this to Wales, joined their strength with that of the intrepid Glendower, and eluded successfully many schemes to transfer them to the hands of their cunning foe.

The Scottish court at this time presented the doubly mournful spectacle of royal incapacity, and dissension among the chief councillors. The result of this state of things, though not so disastrous, was not unlike that growing out of similar misfortunes in France twenty years later. King Robert was in his dotage, and took but feeble part in the administra tion. His brother, the Duke of Albany, whose cruelty, ambition, and courage were well suited to the cir cumstances of the time, used every endeavor to monopolize the power. Having assumed the regency, he proceeded, by an arrogant use of his power, to concentrate his brother's prerogatives in himself. The heir to the throne, David Duke of Rothsay, a reckless but generous youth, was seized by his order, cast into a miserable dungeon, treated with every petty cruelty and insult, and finally suffered to starve in his wretched cell. The old King, roused by this bitter crime, and fearing for his second son James, then a youth of fourteen, summoned the Earl of Orkney, and ordered him to convey that prince to Paris without delay. Within the friendly court of Charles the Well-Beloved he would remain in security till the time was ripe for him to return and claim the sovereignty.

An English cruiser, lying indolently off Flamborough, spied a suspicious vessel heading toward France. The chase was short; the Scotchman soon yielded before the swiftness of his pursuer. The valuable prize, an embryo king, was brought to the foot of Henry's throne. He ordered him into confinement, saying: "I can speak French as well as my brother Charles; and I am more capable of educating a King of Scotland." The castle of Pevensey was chosen wherein to lodge the young prince, who remained the captive of the English monarch for nineteen years. His youth was spent in the study of literature, for which he early evinced a strong passion. Being afterwards removed to Windsor Castle, and treated with the most liberal consideration, he there broke out into the best poetry which that age has transmitted to us. The Duke of Albany, like a wise man, discerning that the security of his own power was held by Henry, made friendly overtures; and this fortunate capture put an end to one source of unquiet until after the close of both Henry's and his successor's reigns. Poor old King Robert died soon after the news of James's capture reached him, unable any longer to bear up in his decrepitude against the accumulated misfortunes of his house.

Ever since the coronation of Henry his relations with the Parliament had been almost uniformly pleasant and harmonious. He had shown a disposition to accede to their wishes, and respect their opinions. They had sustained him on the throne, had granted him supplies, and had passed laws for the security of his government. In 1407, however, the session of the Commons was a stormy one. The nation was restless, and began to be distrustful. The

speeches of the members in that year strike us as singularly bold for an age in which regal authority was dreaded as nearly absolute. They complained that the taxes were enormous, that quiet did not seem to follow upon liberal grants, that the possessions in France were constantly menaced, that Ireland was slipping through their fingers, that traitors continued to be at large, that rebellion was unpunished, that the court was full of incompetency and ill-advisers. The Speaker, Sir John Tiptoft, inveighed directly against the King. Northumberland and Bardolph were encouraged by these murmurs to hope to reinstate them. selves in the north. They sent to Sir Thomas Rokeby, who seemed to encourage the designed attempt.

Early in 1408 Percy and his confederates returned in force to their hereditary districts, recovered some of their ancient castles, were joined by their former tenants, and, advancing to Knaresborough, were there joined by an old companion in arms, Sir Nicholas Tempest. Rokeby, who had encouraged them only to betray them, now came suddenly upon them with a well-drilled army, and pursued them as far as Tadcaster, where they were forced to turn at bay. The conflict was short; the conquest of the rebellious rabble was quickly consummated. The fighting on the part of Percy was dogged and fierce; the royal troops were steady, persistent, and impenetrable. The pride of the haughty house of Percy was saved the ignominy of the scaffold; for the aged Earl fell on the field, obstinately fighting till death called him thence. Bardolph was taken prisoner, so wounded that he soon after died in the victorious camp. Thus ended, with the death of Northumberland and the defeat of his faithful bands, that series of insurrec

tions which had denied to Henry for eight years that serenity of rule which he coveted so much.

The wise character of the King in nothing shone more conspicuous than the manner with which he bore with the complaints of his Parliament. He heard their remonstrances patiently, and their denunciations without anger. He might have returned resistance for resistance, and defiance for defiance. He set an example which would have saved the crown of one and the head of another of his successors, had they given heed to it. With royal composure he yielded to the demands of the querulous legislators; with quiet dignity he strove to reconcile them to the untoward events of his reign. Such a spirit, conciliatory but not cringing, awoke in those to whom it addressed itself the highest admiration for the sovereign. The total overthrow of the Percy rebellion confirmed the returning sentiment of loyalty and love. His Parliament once more reposed in him a respectful confidence, and received back from him his gratitude and patronage. No word of harsh rebuke had passed his lips. With a rare knowledge of human nature, he had touched the spring which opened the hearts of his people.

While these events were enacting, Prince Henry was engaged with the Welsh in the west, the course and end of which campaign we refrain from narrating until we come to that period in the life of our subject during which the events occurred.

The troubles in France were now becoming hazardous to the unity of that kingdom. The death of Philip, Duke of Burgundy, made way for the succession of his son, who is known to fame as John the Fearless of Burgundy. This prince was

sanguinary, ambitious, and revengeful. He inherited and intensified the rivalry and hatred which his father had borne toward the Duke of Orleans. A semblance of reconciliation was, however, made by these turbulent princes, and two expeditions, one to Guienne, under Orleans, and one to Calais, under Burgundy, set out to drive the English from continental soil. The failure of both was a signal for the flame of mutual detestation to burst forth with renewed violence. Burgundy charged that Orleans had monopolized the resources of the state, as the reason of his discomfiture. Orleans recriminated, and, sustained by Queen Isabella, whose lover he was, conquered. Burgundy retired to Flanders, uttering bitter threats. The venerable Duke de Berri, the uncle of these pugnacious men, tried for the good of the state to restore amicable relations be tween them, and apparently succeeded. Burgundy and Orleans met, embraced, and resolved to govern together in perpetual amity. They supped together, went to mass arm in arm with each other, and each paid the other every affectionate attention which their perfidious craft could invent.

This reconciliation, like the former one, was of but short duration. It was interrupted by one of the most atrocious transactions recorded in history. One night the Duke of Orleans was paying a visit to one of his mistresses in an obscure street. As he came out with a single attendant, on his way back to the Louvre, several men in disguise fell upon him, and stabbed him through and through. He muttered indistinctly, as the blood gushed from his mouth, and then instant death relieved him. Several days afterward, Burgundy came to the royal council, and avowed the crime.