BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD III.: BEING AN ALLEGORICAL PANEGYRIC OF THE INCONTROVERTIBLE MACHINATIONS OF AN EGOTISTICAL USURPER.

We will now write out a few personal recollections of Richard III. This great monarch, of whom so much has been said pro and con, but mostly con, was born at Fotheringhay Castle, October 2, 1452, in the presence of his parents and a physician whose name has at this moment escaped the treacherous memory of the historian.

Richard was the son of Richard, Duke of York, and Cecily Neville, daughter of the Earl of Westmoreland, his father being the legitimate heir to the throne by descent in the female line, so he was the head of the Yorkists in the War of the Roses.

Richard’s father, the Duke of York, while struggling one day with Henry VI., the royal jackass that flourished in 1460, prior to the conquest of the Fool-Killer, had the misfortune, while trying to wrest the throne from Henry, to get himself amputated at the second joint. He was brought home in two pieces, and ceased to draw a salary as a duke from that on. This cast a gloom over Richard, and inspired in his breast a strong desire to cut off the heads of a few casual acquaintances.

He was but eight years of age at this time, and was taken prisoner and sent to Utrecht, Holland. He was returned in good order the following year. His elder brother Edward having become king, under the title of Edward IV., Richard was then made Duke of Gloucester, Lord High Admiral, Knight of the Garter, and Earl of Balmoral.

It was at this time that he made the celebrated bon-mot relative to dogs as pets.

Having been out the evening before attending a watermelon recital in the country, and having contributed a portion of his clothing to a barbed-wire fence and the balance to an open-faced Waterbury bull-dog, some one asked him what he thought of the dog as a pet.

Richard drew himself up to his full height, and said that, as a rule, he favored the dog as a pet, but that the man who got too intimate with the common low-browed bull-dog of the fifteenth century would find that it must certainly hurt him in the end.

He resided for several years under the tutelage of the Earl of Warwick, who was called the “Kingmaker,” and afterwards, in 1470, fled to Flanders, remaining fled for some time. He commanded the van of the Yorkist army at the battle of Barnet, April 14, 1471, and Tewkesbury, May 4, fighting gallantly at both places on both sides, it is said, and admitting it in an article which he wrote for an English magazine.

He has been accused of having murdered Prince Edward after the battle, and also his father, Henry VI., in the Tower a few days later, but it is not known to be a fact.

Richard was attainted and outlawed by Parliament at one time; but he was careful about what he ate, and didn’t get his feet wet, so, at last, having a good preamble and constitution, he pulled through.

He married his own cousin, Anne Neville, who made a first-rate queen. She got so that it was no trouble at all for her to reign while Dick was away attending to his large slaughtering interests.

Richard at this time was made Lord High Constable and Keeper of the Pound. He was also Justiciary of North Wales, Seneschal of the Duchy of Lancaster, and Chief of Police on the North Side.

His brother Clarence was successfully executed for treason in February, 1478, and Richard, without a moment’s hesitation, came to the front and inherited the estates.

Richard had a stormy time of it up to 1481, when he was made “protector and defender of the realm” early in May. He then proceeded with a few neglected executions. This list was headed or rather beheaded by Lord Chamberlain Hastings, who tendered his resignation in a pail of saw-dust soon after Richard became “protector and defender of the realm.” Richard laid claim to the throne in June, on the grounds of the illegitimacy of his nephews, and was crowned July 6. So was his queen. They sat on this throne for some time, and each had a sceptre with which to welt their subjects over the head and keep off the flies in summer. Richard could wield a sceptre longer and harder, it is said, than any other middle-weight monarch known to history. The throne used by Richard is still in existence, and has an aperture in it containing some very old gin.

The reason this gin was left, it is said, was that he was suddenly called away from the throne and never lived to get back. No monarch should ever leave his throne in too much of a hurry.

Richard made himself very unpopular in 1485 by his forced loans, as they were called: a system of assessing a man after dark with a self-cocking writ and what was known as the headache-stick, a small weapon which was worn up the sleeve during the day, and which was worn behind the ear by the loyal subject after nightfall. It was a common sight, so says the historian, to hear the nightfall and the headache-stick fall at the same time.

The queen died in 1485, and Richard thought some of marrying again; but it got into the newspapers because he thought of it while a correspondent was going by, who heard it and telegraphed his paper who the lady was and all about it. This scared Richard out, and he changed his mind about marrying, concluding, as a mild substitute, to go into battle at Bosworth and get killed all at once. He did so on the 22d of August.

After his death it was found that he had rolled up his pantaloons above his knees, so that he would not get gore on them. This custom was afterwards generally adopted in England.

He was buried by the nuns of Leicester in their chapel, Richmond then succeeding him as king. He was buried in the usual manner, and a large amount of obloquy heaped on him.

That is one advantage of being great. After one’s grave is filled up, one can have a large three-cornered chunk of obloquy put on the top of it to mark the spot and keep medical students away of nights.

Greatness certainly has its drawbacks, as the Duchess of Bloomer once said to the author, after she had been sitting on a dry-goods box with a nail in it, and had, therefore, called forth adverse criticism. An unknown man might have sat on that same dry-goods box and hung on the same nail till he was black in the face without causing remarks, but with the Duchess of Bloomer it was different, oh, so different!