THE characters of Warwick and of Edward IV. were so similar up to a certain point, and beyond that so opposite, their fortunes were so closely intertwined up to a certain time and afterwards were so fatally antagonistic, that they must be considered together awhile. The virtues of the one shine the brighter, and the defects of the other loom the darker by contrast; and the juxtaposition of the two figures in history makes the contrast all the more striking. In Warwick we see the nobler and more antique form of chivalry; in Edward we see chivalry modernised and debased by the additions of a voluptuousness more vicious than refined, and of a selfishness Italian in its intensity, and Machiavellian in its policy. Equally brave and distinguished for personal prowess in the field, Warwick joined to the courage the magnanimity of the lion, while Edward showed the cruelty as well as the fierceness of the tiger. But Edward greatly excelled Warwick, as well as all the other captains of his day, in generalship. His boldness, which cared for no odds however great, which shunned no danger however desperate, would have seemed mere foolhardiness, had not his marvellously quick perception, sagacious judgment, and tremendous energy, made prudence foolish and boldness prudent. His confidence in his own powers, which made them ten times more formidable, was fully justified by the results of nine pitched battles, in which victory never left his standard. But as soon as the opposition was overcome which had roused his energies into so fierce an activity, he abandoned himself to luxurious habits and indulgence in amorous and convivial pleasures. They who had seen him awhile ago delighting like a war-horse in the sound of the battle, would never expect such “a martial man to become soft fancy’s slave.” Yet so it was; terrible as Cæsar in war, in peace he was another Antony, and would risk the loss of an empire for a woman’s smile. His generous affection for Elizabeth Woodville would be a bright spot in his character, had he not sullied it by his numerous amours and gross licentiousness. While Edward thus stained his character as much by his wantonness in peace as by his cruelty in war, Warwick, who despised such pleasures, won from both equally honourable laurels. The young King’s Court was no genial place for his severe manliness; and the disgraceful match-making and place-hunting by which the Queen’s relatives and friends were acquiring power, not only disgusted, but also alarmed him for the power of his family and of the old nobility. Edward and Warwick were equally proud, but Warwick’s was the pride of conscious worth, Edward’s the pride of an arbitrary will. More kingly than the King himself, Warwick overshadowed the throne with his greatness. To him Edward knew that he owed his crown, but he felt that he was strong enough to keep it without his help. His gratitude was swallowed up in the humiliation of his dependence, for he felt that he was not a king