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 told of Charlemagne or Rollo. The sports that had
pleased the leisure of his earlier youth were tedious and flat to one
snatched from so mighty a career. His hound lay idle at his feet, his
falcon took holiday on the perch, his jester was banished to the
page's table. Behold the repose of this great unlettered spirit! But
while his mind was thus debarred from its native sphere, all tended to
pamper Lord Warwick's infirmity of pride. The ungrateful Edward might
forget him; but the king seemed to stand alone in that oblivion. The
mightiest peers, the most renowned knights, gathered to his hall.
Middleham,--not Windsor nor Shene nor Westminster nor the Tower--
seemed the COURT OF ENGLAND. As the Last of the Barons paced his
terrace, far as his eye could reach, his broad domains extended,
studded with villages and towns and castles swarming with his
retainers. The whole country seemed in mourning for his absence. The
name of Warwick was in all men's mouths, and not a group gathered in
market-place or hostel but what the minstrel who had some ballad in
praise of the stout earl had a rapt and thrilling audience.

"And is the river of my life," muttered Warwick, "shrunk into this
stagnant pool? Happy the man who hath never known what it is to taste