chard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, in the
Rous Roll, preserved at the Herald's College, does justice, at least, to
the height and majesty of his stature. The portrait of Edward IV. is the
only one in that long series which at all rivals the stately proportions
of the King-maker.] above him,--with his high, majestic, smooth,
unwrinkled forehead,--like some Paladin of the rhyme of poet or
romancer; and, perhaps, not only in this masculine advantage, but in
the rare and harmonious combination of colossal strength with graceful
lightness, a more splendid union of all the outward qualities we are
inclined to give to the heroes of old never dazzled the eye or impressed
the fancy. But even this effect of mere person was subordinate to that
which this eminent nobleman created--upon his inferiors, at least--by
a manner so void of all arrogance, yet of all condescension, so simple,
open, cordial, and hero-like, that Marmaduke Nevile, peculiarly alive
to external impressions, and subdued and fascinated by the earl's first
word, and that word was "Welcome!" dropped on his knee, and kissing the
hand extended to him, said, "Noble kinsman, in thy service and for
thy sake let me live and die!" Had the young man been prepared by the
subtlest master of courtcraft for this interview, so important to his
fortunes, he could not have advanced a hundredth part so far with the
great earl as he did by that sudden, frank burst of genuine emotion; for
Warwick was extremely sensitive to the admiration he excited,--vain or
proud of it, it matters not which; grateful as a child for love, and
inexorable as a woman for slight or insult: in rude ages, one sex has
often the qualities of the other.

"Thou hast thy father's warm heart and hasty thought, Marmaduke," said
Warwick, raising him; "and now he is gone where, we trust, brave men,
shrived of their sins, look down upon us, who should be thy friend but
Richard Nevile? So--so--yes, let me look at thee. Ha! stout Guy's honest
face, every line of it: but to the girls, perhaps, comelier, for wanting
a scar or two. Never blush,--thou shalt win the scars yet. So thou hast
a letter from thy father?"

"It is here, noble lord."

"And why," said the earl, cutting the silk with his dagger--"why hast
thou so long hung back from presenting it? But I need not ask thee.
These uncivil times have made kith and kin doubt worse of each other
than thy delay did of me. Sir Guy's mark, sure eno'! Brave old man! I
loved hi