Sir Robert Clifford, with others, went over to Burgundy and tendered to Perkin their services. Clifford even wrote back to say that he knew perfectly the person of Richard, Duke of York, and that this young man was undoubtedly that prince himself. The whole nation was in suspense, and a regular conspiracy was formed against the king’s authority. Henry showed great ingenuity in detecting who this wonderful person was that thus boldly advanced pretensions to his crown. His spies insinuated themselves amongst the young man’s friends, and bribed his retainers and domestic servants--nay, sometimes his confessor himself; and, in the end, the whole conspiracy was laid before him, and many of the chief conspirators were condemned and executed. Perkin, however, continued at large, and made a descent on Kent, where he was repulsed. He then returned to Flanders, whence he sailed to Cork, but the Irish were no longer disposed to espouse his cause. In Scotland, however, to which he next proceeded, he was more fortunate. James, the monarch of that country, recognised him as “the true prince,” and not only gave to him in marriage a near relation, Lady Catherine Gordon, but also took up arms in his behalf. But, failing in two incursions in England, James grew tired of the contest, and consented to treat with Henry. Either fearing that he might be given up, or having received an intimation to withdraw, Perkin quitted Scotland with four ships and eighty followers, made a vain attempt at Cork to obtain aid from the Earl of Desmond, and finally landed in Cornwall, the men of which county had recently been in rebellion. Six thousand Cornishmen joined him, and at their head he assaulted Exeter, but was defeated by the citizens. Finding that Henry, with an overwhelming force, was now at hand, his courage failed him, and he took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in Hampshire. He gave himself up on a promise of pardon, but was committed to the Tower. He was subsequently executed, on a charge of having, while imprisoned in the Tower, formed a treasonable plan with the Earl of Warwick to effect their escape, and raise the standard of insurrection. Pretenders to royalty have not been of uncommon occurrence in other countries. In Portugal, the doubts respecting Sebastian having been really slain at the battle of Alcaçar, gave rise to several attempts to personate that chivalrous but rash monarch. Five or six impostors succeeded each other; of one claimant to the name and title of the Portuguese sovereign, however, the pretensions were so plausibly or so truly supported, that serious doubts have been entertained whether he was not “the true prince,” and no “false thief.”