Gloucester simulated to be "mightily surpriz'd," and said, "although he knew the things, he (Buckingham) alleged, to be true, yet he loved King Edward and his children above any crown whatsoever, and therefore could not grant them their request." Thereon Buckingham "murmured" and "obtained pardon" to speak a second time. He then said, "they were gone too far to go back," and that if he refused "to take the Crown upon him, which they humbly beseeched him to do,"—and gave them "a resolute answer" to the contrary, then "they would look out for some worthy person who would accept their proposal."

The time was now come to throw off the mask, for the climax of hypocrisy had been reached, and Gloucester, never slow to act when the decisive moment arrived, immediately put his foot on the neck of the coveted opportunity. There was no hesitation in the declaration he then made; he "perceived" that the "whole realm was bent upon it not to have King Edward's children to govern them, of which he was sorry,"—and that "he knew the Crown could belong to no man so justly as ourself," a claim now confirmed and joined also by "your election, the Nobles and Commons of this Realm," the which of all titles "possible," he took to be the most effectual, he did therefore "content and agree favourably to receive your petition and request,"—and would forthwith from that day forward, "take upon us the royal estate, to rule, govern, and defend."

"Stand all apart,—Cousin of Buckingham,
Give me thy hand;—thus high by thy advice
And thy assistance is King Richard seated."

So the farce ended, and the deputation retired. Buckingham had placed the crown on the grisly brow of the White Boar, who, in return was destined not long afterward to rend him that offered it to the heart.

The assumption of the royal dignity by Gloucester, brings to a conclusion the first half of our little narrative, relating to the man who thus offered it to him.

Two equally remarkable, much-alike, and unenviable-in-conduct, personages, are now presented to us, who had both risen to the highest positions in their native land, the one to supreme authority as king; the other his faithful, and almost unscrupulous lieutenant, henchman, and catspaw, possessing a rivalling royal descent, but little removed in directness from his own, to be from this service the most important and influential of that king's subjects. A very dangerous and crazy alliance between men of such kindred character and aspirations, and destined assuredly not to last long.

Life never stands still,—in the very nature of things it cannot,—nor remain long on an even, which means literally a dead level: it must progress or recede. This is true generally of all life, but specially so of one animated by ambitious longings. A spirit so prompted must continue to ascend if there be any altitude to win, but if this be denied, and the unstable path it follows at last begins to sink rather than to rise beneath the advancing step, and points to the dread bourne of obscurity and neglect; or, if the powerful antagonism of rival claims and influence jostle it on one side and precede it; or, the cold shadow of preference, joined with indifference and crushed hopes paralyze its future efforts, there is neither anchorage nor haven for the beaten bark, then the bitter promptings of envy and shattered pride but too often occupy the heart instead, give demon wings to its future course, urging it fatally onward to end in the blind and reckless shipwreck of all.

Gloucester was proclaimed King on 22 June, and on 4 July went to the Tower by water, accompanied by his Queen. On that day among the titles of honour distributed, was that "Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, was made Constable of England for term of life, but he claimed the office by inheritance."[20] He had previously been elected a Knight of the Garter.

The next day Richard rode in state from the Tower through the City to Westminster, and a large cavalcade of the nobility and the great officers of state. "But the Duke of Buckingham carried the splendour of that day's bravery, his habit and caparisons of blue velvet, embroidered with Golden naves of carts, burning, the trappings supported by footmen habited costly and suitable."

On the day following, 6 July, the coronation of Richard and his Queen took place, when "all the prelates mitred in their pontificalibus" received the King in Westminster Hall, and in the grand procession, after the great Officers of State carrying the royal insignia, came the "King in a surcoat and robe of purple, the canopy borne by the Barons of the Five Ports, the King between the Bishops of Bath and Durham, the Duke of Buckingham bearing up his train, and served with a White Staff for Seneschal, or High Steward of England," an office he appears to have held for that day only; while in the Queen's procession "the Earl of Surrey was Constable (pro illa vice tantum)."[21]

Richard, instead of summoning a Parliament, held a conference with some of the principal nobles, and after charging them to preserve the peace and put down all crime and disorder, set off for a progress through the midland counties, the end of the journey to be York, where a second coronation was performed by Archbishop Rotherham, and Richard created his son Prince of Wales.

From Windsor the King passed through his manor of Woodstock to Oxford, and it being fine summer weather, the people kept high holiday on the route of the royal progress. At the University he appears to have been particularly well received, and acceded to their petition to release Morton, the Bishop of Ely, from his durance in the Tower, as that prelate was a special favourite with them, and having done so, consigned him to the gentler and freer espionage of his friend the Duke of Buckingham, who sent the Bishop down to his Castle of Brecknock in South Wales.

This transfer of the Bishop from the Tower to Wales, was the first step in the prelude whose dénouement was to be at Bosworth. There was no man whose ability Richard more disliked and feared than Morton's, and that prelate had an equally intense hostility toward the King. But one thing was manifest by his thus committing the Bishop to Buckingham's custody, he could not at the time have had any doubt of the Duke's continued fealty toward him.

The progress continued to Gloucester, the King "making small stay anywhere." Here at this ominously-named city, from which he derived his title, two circumstances occurred whose issues eventually wrested the Crown from his brow, which he was hastening to York,—as if to make assurance doubly sure,—thereon to have it set with all ceremony for the second time. The first of these incidents was his parting from Buckingham, as it turned out, for ever,—although he appeared to be still "constantly disposed and affected toward him in all outward appearance." The other was that from here the first message is said to have been sped—to be afterward repeated with more deadly effect from Warwick—for the murder of the young Princes in the Tower, a crime that for wanton cruelty and hideousness completely dwarfed the legion of others he had previously committed. At last Richard's daring had reckoned without its host, no such enormity had ever occurred in England before, he had "miscalculated the national sentiment, there was a fierce reaction, his popularity went in a day."

Richard is said to have dismissed Buckingham at Gloucester, "with rich gifts and extraordinary marks of favour and affection." Whatever these may have been, he had previously given him an enormous number of appointments and offices in Wales, which had constituted him almost a little king in the Principality. While Protector, he

When Richard became King, he added a further large number of similar appointments, and the most, if not the whole, were dowered "with the fees anciently due and accustomed thereto," so that besides giving him great authority, they must have afforded him a large income.

Buckingham adjournied on from Gloucester, to his castle of Brecknock, in what state of mind, it is difficult to guess. Arrived there, he found his ghostly prisoner, with all complaisance waiting to welcome him. It must have been here also, or on his way hither, that the Duke received the intelligence of the murder of the Princes in the Tower. The ghastly news would presumably have greatly startled both Buckingham and the prelate, unless Richard had confided the grim secret to the Duke prior to his parting from him at Gloucester, a supposition we would fain believe not to have been the case, for two reasons, one that the youths were almost as nearly related to Buckingham as they were to himself, being the Duke's wife's sister's children, his nephews by marriage, and there was not like overwhelming motive for him to acquiesce in such atrocity, as actuated Richard; and secondly, a crime of such glaring enormity would scarcely brook revelation to anyone, beyond the person designed to be the instrument employed to perpetrate it, nor then, until the last moment brought the dire necessity; and although Richard was hardened enough and bold enough for anything, still the youths were nearly related to Buckingham, and Gloucester could not be sure how his—as it turned out—half-alienated friend might receive it.

Morton, who is described as being "a very wise, politic person, a man of learning, and of a winning behaviour," did not allow his host to remain long inactive and unattacked with regard to the great scheme he had in view. Within the influence of such a mind, Buckingham, weak, vacillating, ambitious, and unscrupulous, would literally be nowhere, and so it turned out.

On his arrival at the Castle, Buckingham, it is said, was still full of the praises of Richard. In a qualified sense this was probably so; Morton comprehended the situation at once; he had probably anticipated it, and was prepared with his plans. The argument the astute ecclesiastic used was double-edged. He knew it would not be safe to depreciate Richard's character alone without some compensating, alluring set-off; and so he coupled with it the inevitably unsettling—the prelude to convincing—one to minds constituted as Buckingham's,—that of flattering his vanity with the vision of rivalship, by setting forth the equal if not superior claim to the highest dignity, he possessed, both in disposition, wisdom, and birth; supplemented by a contrasted view of Richard's atrocious wickedness, and unprincipled usurpation. Not that Morton really wished or desired such a thing, as the sequel proved, because a shift of this nature would be only exchanging the bad for as bad; but if he could alienate Buckingham from Richard half the battle would be won, the ultimate design would take care of itself, and may be unfolded in due time. So the fly played with the spider; and, said the Bishop to his gaoler-host,—

So Morton is said to have whetted Buckingham's appetite and appealed to his pride, and the Duke, as a matter of course, wished to hear further of the mind of his adroit and agreeable prisoner, promising the utmost secrecy in all things concerned, on a subject evidently congenial to him. Morton soon discovered this, and growing bolder, placed in striking and flattering contrast the superior qualities of his host, compared with the evil and cruel characteristics of Richard, under whom "if he at any time is suspicious of his fidelity to him, no man is sure of his own life," and continued he,—

Thus much for the preliminary portion of the prelate's speech, to enlist the ear of his auditor, and then he added, what he intended the foregoing adulation should lead up to,—

This candid statement appears to have been a poser for Buckingham, who, it is added, "continued silent some time," at which the Bishop in his turn "changed colour, and was very much confused," expecting the Duke to have warmly coincided; who, "perceiving the Bishop's affright, bade him fear nothing, and they would have further talk on the morrow, but now 'let us go to supper.'"

The Duke sent for Morton the next day, and not being quite easy and sure within himself, bade the Bishop rehearse the whole matter over again. This done, Buckingham "pulled off his hat, and made a sort of prayer," which being ended, "he then put on his hat, and applied himself to the Bishop."

Buckingham's reply to Morton was a kind of declaration and confession combined. He began with a similar strain of profession of regard toward the Bishop, having always found him "a sure friend, a trusty counsellor, and a vigilant statesman," and as the Bishop had so unreservedly opened his mind to him, he would reciprocate the confidence. And so he began by declaring,—

and also that it would be of "ill consequence" to the nation, for the young King to govern, with his mother for Regent, and all her family, who were persons of "no high descent" occupying the most important positions, and have more share in the government than the King's relations and the other persons who were of the "very highest quality" in the kingdom, and so,—

That after this Gloucester produced to him and others "instruments witnessed by doctors, proctors, and notaries," shewing that Edward's children were bastards, and himself the rightful heir to the throne, which they believed to be true, and so took him for their "rightful prince and sovereign," and it was by his assistance he was made King, at which time

This statement as to the refusal of Richard to give him the portion of the Earl of Hereford's lands, does not accord with Dugdale's account to which we shall refer, nor with Richard's bitter exclamation of reproach when he heard of Buckingham's defection.

The Duke then continues to narrate how on his way homeward to Brecknock, he "meditated" how he might dethrone Richard, and that "had I assumed the supreme power, I thought there was nobody so likely to carry it as myself," that he sojourned two days at Tewkesbury brooding over the matter, but considered altogether "that to pretend to seat myself on the throne would not do," as in that case both the houses of York and Lancaster would join themselves against him, although he remembered,—

At this interview it was proposed by the Countess that her son should marry one of king Edward's daughters, and "conjured" Buckingham, "by the memory of Duke Humphrey, his grandfather," to do his utmost to forward the match, to be eventually a solution to the present troubles, and he came to a resolution to "spend his life and fortune" in forwarding such a "glorious design," by which, if effected, he doubted not "the proud boar, whose tusks have gored so many innocent persons, shall soon be brought to confusion, the rightful and indubitate heir enjoy the crown, and peace be restored to this distracted kingdom."

This was exactly the kind of confession Morton required, and all being agreed on, the next thing was to get some trusty envoy to send to the Countess of Richmond to concert measures. He was soon found in the person of Sir Reginald Braye, who was despatched to her with the announcement of Buckingham and Morton's design, and to get her to communicate with the Queen-Mother and acquire her assent and adherence to the project. This the Countess effected through the medium of Dr. Lewis, her physician, and the Queen-Mother readily assented, on the stipulated condition that the Earl of Richmond married her daughter Elizabeth, and failing her, the next eldest, Cecilia.

Morton having taken captive the mind, if not the person of his gaoler, now wished the Duke to set him at liberty, and let him go to his diocese in Ely, where his friends would preserve him from any violence of Richard's,—"once I find myself at Ely," said he to Buckingham, "with four days start of Richard, I am ready to defy all his malice." The Duke however had no mind to lose so good an adviser, and did not wish him to leave, but Morton was determined to be gone if he could, and so stole away from Brecknock Castle in disguise, and doubtless without the Duke's knowledge.

It is rather difficult to estimate Morton's action on this occasion. The secret was out, the measures were concerted, and would soon get wind; was he afraid of Richard's vengeance? By his leaving Buckingham thus, he greatly compromised the Duke if their plans failed, and left him to certain destruction, while he would be in safety. With great rapidity he crossed from Brecknock to Ely, a hundred and seventy miles, and thence to Wisbech, and with money and men he had collected from his great works in the Fens, took shipping and got safely over to Flanders, and the first intelligence Richard had of his flight, was that he was in Brittany with the Earl of Richmond. Richard doubtless was fully alive to the threatened danger, and Shakspeare well imagines his apprehension in the words,—

"Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham with all his rash-levied strength."

Matters now proceeded apace toward the development of the movement. Sir Reginald Braye, as the trusty ambassador, had won over Sir Giles Daubeney, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Guilford, and others, and with these were the Courtenays, Sir Edward, afterward Earl of Devon, and Bishop Peter Courtenay, Sir Robert Willoughby, afterward Lord Broke, Sir Thomas Arundell, and Sir Thomas Brandon, these were to rendez-vous at or near Salisbury: the Marquis of Dorset had left his sanctuary, and with his uncle Sir Richard Widville had gone to the north. Dr. Christopher Urswick, Chaplain to the Countess, and Thomas Rame, had been despatched by her by different routes to Brittany to apprise her son of the complexion of the movement, and he was to appear off the western coast with a fleet and men to land in aid.

Richard, of course, soon found out the character of the insurrection and those implicated in it. To Buckingham he first sent a "very kind obliging letter," inviting him to come to London, but the Duke "pretended indisposition," and so excused himself. The King thereon being enraged, sent him "a letter in a rougher stile, commanding him on his allegiance to attend him." But the die was cast, matters had gone too far to recede, and the message was returned by the Duke, "that he would not expose himself to his mortal enemy, whom he neither loved nor would serve."

Buckingham gathered together as soon as possible his "rash-levied" strength. These consisted of a number of his tenants and a host of ill-disciplined Welshmen, and he endeavoured by long marches, passing through the Forest of Dean, to get to Gloucester, and thence onward to join the western contingent. The Earl of Richmond set sail from Brittany, the twelfth of October, with a fleet of forty ships and five thousand Bretons on board. They appear to have at once encountered a storm, which dispersed the fleet, but

But how fared Buckingham and his motley host? Not only circumstances, but Nature fought against him. The river Severn, swollen by ten days continuous rain, overflowed all the adjoining country, doing immense damage, and the inundation was so large, and of such remarkable character, that for a hundred years afterward it was named and recollected as The Great Water, or Buckingham's Water, and tradition delivers it was so severe "that men, women, and children were carried away in their beds with the violence of it."

This inundation totally prevented the Duke and his army crossing the river, and his allies on the other side coming to his support. The Welshmen "tried with being exposed to hunger, rain, and numberless hardships, returned to their homes,"—they appear to have deserted by degrees, "until at last the Duke had none left about him but his domestic servants, nor could prayers nor threats keep them together, so he was obliged to fly with the rest."

Thus prematurely ended this unfortunate movement, and Buckingham fled for refuge and secrecy to the house of his old servant, Ralph Banister, to whom himself, and his father before him, had shewn many acts of kindness.

Richard had gone down north to organize an army to meet the insurrection, and on the twelfth of October was at Lincoln, to see the Bishop, who however was absent and sick. Here the King sent him a letter to the following intent,—

To which Richard with his own hand, added this remarkable and significant postscript,—

What Richard was in such hurry to get his Great Seal for, was manifest at Leicester. Here, on the twenty-third of the month, he issued a proclamation against the rebels, and offering rewards for their apprehension. For Buckingham it was a thousand pounds in money, or a hundred pounds yearly in land, for the Marquis of Dorset and the Bishops of Ely and Salisbury a thousand marks in money each, or one hundred marks in land, and smaller sums for knights and gentlemen of lesser degree. His reprobation appears to have been specially directed against the Marquis of Dorset, "who, at the perill of his soule, hath many and sundry maids, widows, and wives, damnably, and without shame, deflowered and defiled." The next day at Coventry,—

Ashton, who was probably a man after his master's heart, took summary vengeance on the dispersed insurrectionists, and coming into the western counties signalized his zeal by numerous executions of those adjudged by him guilty, or only of favouring the conspirators; anticipating in spirit and action the bloody campaign of the detestable Jeffreys, on a similar errand two centuries afterward.

"It is better to trust in the Lord, than to put confidence in man, than to put confidence in princes;"—had ever the royal Psalmist's words truer interpretation than in the fate of Buckingham, whom we left hiding with his servant near Shrewsbury? Alas for the fidelity of servants when exposed to temptation; but is not falseness ever the attribute of servitude? Instead of the noble self-denial of sheltering and befriending his old master and friend, the glittering prize of a thousand pounds was within his grasp, the position of being a petty squire with a "manor of land" was before his eyes, and the temptation proved to be too much for "Maister Rauf Banistre," who, casting the eternal odium that would inseparably be attached to such conduct to the winds, went and betrayed the whereabouts of his master to John Milton, Esq., then Sheriff of Shropshire, who with a party of soldiery surrounded and searched the locality, apprehended him in a little grove near Banister's house, and conveyed him to Shrewsbury.

After a short confinement there, the Duke by royal order was delivered over to the custody of Sir James Tyler and another knight; and, "appareled in a piled black cloak," was escorted to Salisbury.

Richard who was pursuing his journey southward, had probably reached Salisbury before his prisoner had arrived.

No time was lost in dealing with the noble captive. His fate had already been foreshadowed in Richard's postscript to the Bishop,—

"When this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham."

And there could be but one effectual way to "subdue his malys," and to put permanently beyond the power of future mischief this "never falsre traitor to be purvayde for,"—this "most untrew creature lyvynge."

The Duke was closely examined by his captors, and is said to have confessed the whole plan of the insurrection, and all particulars of the conspiracy.

He then made energetic efforts to obtain an interview with Richard, hoping to excite his compassion, or, as it has been also surmised, purposing if opportunity offered to despatch him with a concealed dagger. But he was sueing a much more able and crafty person than himself. Richard was about the last man to trust himself into the compromising company of his victim, and so into colloquy with one with whom he had aforetime been partner in so many crimes, and to whom he also owed so much, in acquiring his present position. Richard refused to see him, and his doom was immediate death, without further trial or arraignment.

It was even so. On 2 November, 1483, being All-Souls day, the Duke of Buckingham was beheaded in or near the Market Place, at Salisbury.

It is singular that such little knowledge remains as to the exact spot where this unfortunate but unscrupulous man perished, and no official evidence at all exists as to his place of burial. Relative to this Sir R. C. Hoare says,—

Concerning this, Hall observes,—

And this account is corroborated by documents in the Stafford MSS., quoted by the historian of Shrewsbury. The passage on the subject is as follows:—

The Duke having been thus summarily disposed of, what became of the wretch that betrayed him? One account narrates,—

But according to another, and truer version, the informer received his reward, and,—

Both giver and receiver a congenial pair, and the gift that passed a characteristic one, being a portion of the spoil of their victim. Of such men it may be said,—

"Shame and Desolation sit
By their graves ever."

But where was Buckingham buried, after he had been thus "condemned and executed in such summary way, on a new scaffold erected in the Market-place of Salisbury." A tomb to his memory is erected in Britford church, about a mile and a half distant from that city, but it is a cenotaph only, his body was not interred there; where then was its final resting-place, after his troublous life had found such disastrous extinction? Still further ignominy appears to have remained to be meted out to the inanimate form, after man had wreaked his last vengeance on the life.

DISCOVERY MADE IN THE KITCHEN OF THE SARACEN'S HEAD INN,
SALISBURY.
From the Saturday Magazine, 6 April, 1839.
View larger image

From an article in the Saturday Magazine, 6 April, 1839, we gather the following,—

Commenting on this discovery, Sir R. C. Hoare remarks,—

The name of Blue Boar Row is still perpetuated on the south side of the Market Place at Salisbury.

The tomb set up to his memory in Britford church, is in the place of honour, on the north side of the chancel. It is a high-tomb with Purbeck marble cover-stone, but exhibiting no brass indent, or inscription. Below are six canopied niches containing figures:—1. Figure gone.—2. Crowned female saint, with remains of cross (?), probably St. Margaret.—3. A bishop with pastoral staff, and hand raised in benediction.—4. A female saint crowned, St. Katharine with wheel and sword.—5. St. George, with sword, shield, and dragon under his feet.—6. A female saint bearing a pix or shrine, St. Mary Magdalene (?). At the west end are two niches having within them angels holding shields with the bearings sculptured thereon:—1. A chevron, evidently for Stafford, and 2. A fess (apparently cotised engrailed, but perhaps only an ornament introduced by the sculptor), for Widville, Earl Rivers. Over the tomb is a detached ogee arched crocketted canopy, with large finial, springing from embattled and pinnacled side buttresses. The canopy is ornamented with vine foliage and fruit; the workmanship of the whole composition is of coarse character. On a modern brass plate affixed above the tomb is this inscription,—

HENRICUS·STAFFORD·DUX·BUCKINGHAM DECAPITATUS APUD SALISBURI·I·RIC·III ^A.D. _1483.

It is probable this memento at Britford was erected by the Duke's brother-in-law, Lionel Widville, who was Bishop of Salisbury at the time of Buckingham's execution. Its position outside the city was doubtless adopted to deprecate prominence and discussion at this dangerous era.

The Bishop was the third son of Sir Richard Widville, the first Earl Rivers (so created by Edward IV., in 1466, and who was subsequently beheaded at Northampton, 1467), by his wife Jacqueline of Luxemburg, widow of John Plantagenet, Duke of Bedford. He was brother to Elizabeth, Queen of Edward IV., and so uncle to the unfortunate Princes so relentlessly destroyed by Gloucester, brother also to Katharine, wife of Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, and Anthony, Earl Rivers, executed at Pontefract by Richard III. He held the See two years only, 1482-4, and his death is said to have been accelerated by the fate of his brother-in-law at Salisbury, and the other misfortunes that befell his family during the reign of Richard III.

The tomb assigned to Bishop Widville stands under the first arch of the north aisle of the choir of the Cathedral, leading into the transept.

It is a high altar-tomb, the cover-stone perfectly plain, with indent for inscription on its edge, but the brass has disappeared. Below are traceried panels, with shields in their centres, on which were originally brass escutcheons. Over the tomb is a large and heavy canopy, extending the whole width of the arch of the aisle. The arch of the canopy is depressed, and cusped, with roses on the bosses of the points. The vaulting within is panelled, as are also the side buttresses. The spandrels are traceried with shields in the centres, on which, as on the tomb below, were brasses. The whole composition is of Purbeck marble, and of plain character.

Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, married Katharine, daughter of Richard Widville,—created Earl Rivers by Edward IV., 24 May, 1466, and constituted by that monarch Constable of England,—by his wife Jacqueline of Luxemburg, widow of John Plantagenet, Duke of Bedford, third son of King Henry IV. She was thus sister to Elizabeth, Queen of Edward IV., and so aunt to the unfortunate Princes murdered in the Tower.

By her the Duke had two sons and two daughters. Edward, eldest son, who was restored to all the honours of his father, by Henry VII., and made Constable of England and K.G. He appears to have offended, and, according to Burke, "also excited the enmity of Wolsey," and that ambitious prelate finally succeeded in accomplishing his ruin. Like his father he was doomed to fall by domestic treason, for having discharged one Knevet, a steward, for oppressing his tenantry; that individual became a fit instrument in the hands of Wolsey to effect the object he had at heart. Knevet declared "that the duke had contemplated the assassination of the King, Henry VIII., in order that he might ascend the throne himself as next heir, if his majesty died without issue," and it was further alleged "hee had consulted a monke or wizard, about succession of the crowne."

The Duke made a passionate and indignant denial to this frivolous, yet withal foul charge, but nevertheless he was found guilty and beheaded on Tower Hill, 17 May, 1521. Old Weever says, "he was a noble gentleman, exceedingly much lamented of good men. Of whose death, when the Emperour Charles the fift heard, he said, 'that a Butchers dogge, (meaning the Cardinall, a butchers sonne) had deuoured the fairest Buck (alluding to the name of Buckingham) in all England.' He sometime lay sumptuously entombed in the church of the Augustine Fryers, in London, and the bodies of a hundred more of exemplarie note and degree, but now their bodies are not only despoiled of all outward funerall ornaments, but digged up out of their requietories, and dwelling houses raised in the place, which was appointed for their eternal rest."

Henry, the second son, was created Earl of Wiltshire, 1 Henry VIII., 1509, married first, Margaret, Countess of Wilts, and secondly, Cicely Bonville, Marchioness of Dorset. More of him will be found under the notice of Bonville. He died 6 March, 1523.

Elizabeth, eldest daughter married Robert Ratcliffe, created Lord Fitzwalter, and afterward 28 Dec., 1529, Earl of Suffolk, K.G., and Lord High Chamberlain. He died in 1542.

Anne, married first Sir Walter Herbert, second son of William Herbert, first Earl of Pembroke and K.G. By a singular coincidence this Earl met with his death through the desertion of a Stafford, Humphrey, Earl of Devon, of the Suthwyck in Wiltshire and Hooke in Dorsetshire branch of the family; who withdrew his support at Banbury, and Pembroke was defeated at Danesmore in 1469, and afterward taken to Northampton and beheaded. Secondly, she married George Hastings, first Earl of Huntingdon, of the second creation, who died in 1544, and was buried at Stoke-Pogis. She survived the Earl, and at her death was interred beside him.

The motives that influenced the conduct and actions of Buckingham have been a subject of much speculation among historians, and it is doubtful if any fixed determination or aim lay at the bottom of any of them, beyond the chances or necessities of the passing hour. The social aspect of the age in which he lived exhibited merely a succession of plots for the mastery of ruling for the time being, and almost everyone having station above the ordinary citizen, was by turns embroiled or mixed up in them; while those holding distinguished positions by birth or influence, were almost forced to take active part, with all their consequent perils. Ambition, cruelty, and callous hardness, trampled under foot all the finer feelings of the heart and mind,—hypocrisy and treachery invaded the most sacred ties of home and blood-relationship, the desire of worldly power, and holding their neighbours in the yoke of bondage, was the prevalent feeling, to which all others were sacrificed, and the opposing factions met each other on the field of battle, and fought for the governing power at the sword's point, with the sacrifice of myriads of human lives. At this distance of time it may be asked, what result after all, was effected by this bloodshed that surged through the country for half-a-century? It may be answered, none, beyond letting loose the worst vices that infest humanity, and the consequent retardation of all that tends to civilize the individual.

Amid such a storm of wickedness, strong minds alone had chance to pilot themselves safely through it, and then with much uncertainty, but what would be the fate of weak ones,—vacillating, uncertain, capricious, such as Buckingham was said to possess? Only one in the end, at that era, was reserved for such, and with unsparing revengeful steps it overtook him.

That he was the main instrument of placing the Crown on Gloucester's head, seems to admit of little doubt,—

"The first was I that help'd thee to the crown;
The last was I that felt thy tyranny."

It is equally uncertain what motive influenced his defection from Richard. This has been said to have been Richard's withholding from him the large estates which Buckingham claimed should have descended to him as coheir of Bohun, as a reward for helping him to the Throne, and so did not fulfil the implied promise of the compact. But was this so? Richard may be readily believed to have been bad enough for anything, but was he thus ungrateful to the man, to whom he was indebted more than to any other for attaining his present position?

Upon this point there appears to be considerable doubt. Dugdale, under his notice of Stafford in the Baronage, includes the following:—