King John did not live long enough to illustrate the family character by fighting with his children.  When he died, in 1216, his eldest son, Henry III., was but nine years old, and even a Plantagenet could not well fall out with a son of that immature age.  However, John did his best to make his mark on his time.  If he could not quarrel with his children, because of their tender years, he, with a sense of duty that cannot be too highly praised, devoted his venom to his wife.  He was pleased to suspect her of being as regardless of marriage-vows as he had been himself, and so he hanged her supposed lover over her bed, with two others, who were suspected of being their accomplices.  The Queen was imprisoned.  On their being reconciled, he stinted her wardrobe, a refinement of cruelty that was aggravated by his monstrous expenditure on his own ugly person.  Queen Isabella was very handsome, and perhaps John was of the opinion of some modern husbands, who think that dress extinguishes beauty as much as it inflames bills.  Having no children to torment, John turned his disagreeable attentions to his nephew, Arthur, Duke of Brittany, who, according to modern ideas, was the lawful King of England.  The end was the end of Arthur.  How he was disposed of is not exactly known, but, judging from John’s character and known actions, we incline to agree with those writers who say that the uncle slew the nephew with his own royal hand.  He never could deny himself an attainable luxury, and to him the murder of a youthful relative must have been a rich treat, and have created for him a new sensation, something like the new pleasure for which the Persian king offered a great reward.  Besides, all uncles are notoriously bad, and seem, indeed, to have been made only for the misery of their nephews and nieces, of whose commands they are most reprehensibly negligent.  We mean to write a book, one of these days, for the express purpose of showing what a mistake it was to allow any such relationship to exist, and tracing all the evil that ever has afflicted humanity to the innate wickedness of uncles, and requiring their extirpation.  We err, then, on the safe side, in supposing that John despatched Arthur himself,—­not to say, that, when you require that a delicate piece of work should be done, you must do it with your own hand, or you may be disappointed.  John did the utmost that he could do to keep up the discredit of the family; for, when a man has no son to whip and to curse, he should not be severely censured for having done no more than to kill his nephew.  Men of large and charitable minds will take all the circumstances of John’s case into the account, and not allow their judgment of his conduct to be harsh.  What better can a man do than his worst?