Richard, when he found his end approaching, made a will, in which he bequeathed the kingdom with all its treasure, to his brother John, except a fourth part, which he distributed among his servants. He ordered also, that the archer who had shot him, should be brought into his presence, and demanded what injury he had done him that he should take away his life? The prisoner answered with deliberate intrepidity; "You killed, with your own hands, my father, and my two brothers; and you intended to have hanged me. I am now in your power, and my torments may give you revenge: but I will endure them with pleasure, since it is my consolation, that I have rid the world of a tyrant." Richard, struck with this answer, ordered the soldier to be presented with one hundred shillings, and set at liberty, but Marcade, the general who commanded under him, like a true ruffian, ordered him to be flayed alive and then hanged. Richard died in the tenth year of his reign, and the forty-second of his age, leaving only one natural son, called Philip, be

hind him.

Richard had all the qualities that could gain the admiration and love of a barbarous age, and few of those that could ensure the approbation of his more refined posterity. He was open, magnanimous, generous, and brave to a degree of romantic excess. But then he was cruel, proud, and resentful. He valued neither the blood, nor the treasure of his subjects; and he enfeebled his states by useless expeditions, and wars, calculated rather to promote his own revenge than their interests. During this. reign, the inferior orders of the people seemed to encrease in power, and to shew a degree of independent obstinacy. Formerly, they were led on to acts of treason by their barons; they were now found to aim at vind,

cating their rights, under a leader of their own rank and denomination. The populace of Lon'don placed at their head one William Fitzosborn, commonly called Longbeard, who had been bred to the law; but who, fonder of popularity than business, renounced his profession, and espoused the cause of the poor with uncommon enthusiasm. He stiled himself the saviour of the poor; and upon a certain occasion even went over to Normandy, where he represented to the king, that the poorer citizens were oppressed by an unequal assessment of taxes, and obtained a mitigation. His fame for this became so great among the lower orders of his fellow-citizens, that above fifty thousand of them entered into an engagement to defend and to obey him. Murders were in consequence daily committed in the streets; but whether by Longbeard's orders is uncertain. The Justiciary (for the king was then absent) summoned him before the council to answer for his conduct; but he came with such a formidable train, that none were found hardy enough to accuse him. However, he was pursued some time after by a detachment of officers of justice; but killing one of them, he escaped with his concubine to the church of St. Mary Le Bow, where he defended himself with determined resolution. There he was supplied with arms and provisions, and expected to be joined by the populace; but being deceived in his expectations, he was at last forced from his retreat by the smoke of wet straw kindled for the purpose at the door. He was then taken, tried, and convicted ; and being drawn at an horse's tail through the streets of London, he was hung in chains, with nine more of his accomplices. The lower class of people, when he was dead, began to revere a man, they had not spirit to relieve. They stole his gibbet, and paid it a veneration.

like that offered to the wood of the cross. The turf on which it stood was carried away, and kept as a preservation from sickness and misfortune; and had not the clergy withstood the torrent of popular superstition, his memory might have probably received honours similar to those paid at the shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury.

W

CHAPTER X.

JOHN.

ERE the claims of princes settled on the same principles that govern the lower orders of mankind, John had nothing to fear from a disputed succession. The king of France, who was the only monarch that could assist the pretensions of a rival, had long declared for John's title; and during the life of his brother, had given him the most convincing proofs of sincerity in his assistance. But it was otherwise, now that Richard was no more. Philip began to shew, that his former alliances and friendships were calculated not to serve John, but to distress England; not to distribute justice, but to encrease his own power. There was an old claimant to the crown, whom indeed Richard, upon his taking the cross, declared heir to the throne; but who was afterwards set aside, at the instance of the dowager-queen. This was Arthur, the son of his late brother Geoffry, a youth who though but then twelve years of age, promised to be deserving of the kingdom. Philip, who only desired an occasion to embarrass John, soon resolved to second this young claimant's pretensions; and several of the continental barons immediately declared in favour of Arthur's succession.

John, who was readily put in possession of the

English throne, lost no time to second his interest on the continent; and his first care was to recover the revolted provinces from young Arthur, his nephew. The war, therefore, between the English and French king, was renewed with all its former animosity, and all its usual detail of petty victories and undecisive engagements. At length, a treaty put an end to those contests that only served to thin mankind, and it was hastened by a circumstance peculiarly favourable. John's nephew, Arthur, together with Constantia, his mother, distrusting the designs of the king of France, who only intended to betray them, came to throw themselves on his mercy, and restored the provinces which still continued in their interest. Thus this monarch, after a short contest, saw himself disputed monarch of all the dominions that were annexed to

the English throne. But he was ill able to preserve that power by his prudence, which was thus easily obtained by the mutual jealousies of his enemies. His first transgression was his marriage with Isabella, the daughter of count Angouleme, while the queen was yet alive; and 1220. what still encreased the offence, while

A. D.

Isabella properly belonged to another husband, the count de la Marche, who ardently loved her. This produced an insurrection against him; to repress. which, he was obliged to have recourse to his English subjects for assistahce, by whose means the confederacy was soon broken: and John found, by his present success, that he might for the future com mit violences with impunity.

As the method of deciding all disputes by duel was still in full force, John resolved to avail himself of this advantage against all the refractory barons. He kept a set of hired bravoes, under the title of his champions; and these he deputed to fight his cause whenever any of the nobility opposed his

encroachments. Such contemptible opponents very justly gave the haughty barons disgust, and an universal discontent prevailed amongst them, which at last produced another dangerous confederacy. John attempted to break it by oaths, protestations, and perfidies; but every attempt of this kind only served to connect his enemies and render his person contemptible.

Something still remained to render John hateful to his subjects; and this ill disposed prince took the first opportunity of becoming so. Young Arthur who, with his mother, had so imprudently resigned themselves to his protection, soon perceived their error, and found that nothing honourable was to be expected from a prince of his abandoned character. Observing somewhat very suspicious in his manner, of conducting himself to them, they fled from Mans, where he detained them, and retired in the night to Angers, from whence they went once more to take refuge with their old protector. As it was Philip's interest to treat them with all possible indulgence, they were received with great marks of distinction ; and young Arthur's interests were soon after very vigorously supported. One town after another submitted to his authority; and all his attempts seemed attended with success. But his unfortunate ardour soon put an end to his hopes and his claims. Being of an enterprising disposition, and fond of military glory, he had laid siege to a fortress in which the dowager-queen was protected and defended by a weak garrison.' John therefore falling upon his little army, before they were aware of his approach, the young prince was taken prisoner, together with the most considerable of the revolted barons. The greater part of the prisoners were sent over to England; but the unfortunate prince himself was shut up in the castle of Falaise. John thus finding a rival at his mercy, from whom,