will be raised up to take our place, and to be crowned with the honour of which we have proved ourselves unworthy.

The sum is this:-First, It is by no means easy for us to gain anything like a clear and correct estimate of the state and prospects of true religion around us, so as to make that a basis of expectation for the time to come. Secondly, That even though we could do this, yet, as the tree does not feed on its own fruits, so we ought not to fix our dependence on any outward things. Signs of good are cheering; but we must not make them our basis of operations for further aggression and triumph. And thirdly, That our faith and hope for the advancement of the Redeemer's kingdom should rest, so far as man goes, upon the purity, the vigour, the healthy development in action, of the church's piety, rather than upon her numbers. But our chief, and, in the highest sense, our sole dependence should be in the word of the Lord, which liveth and abideth for ever; in the supreme providence and sovereign grace of the Lord Jesus; and in the perpetual presence and mighty working of the Holy Spirit among men. None can deny that living faith in God, and in His Christ, is at all times our shield and buckler; the pillar and ground of our confidence, in the sunlight and in the shade, in the calm and in the storm; when outward circumstances favour us, and when they frown upon us; when the eastern horizon of the church is bright with promise, and when it is dark and louring. What helps, what hinders, the exercise and fruitfulness of this faith, we will not now discuss. But this is the hope of the church, the anchor which "entereth into that within the veil." May God grant us the grace to abide steadfast, firmly held to the immutable promises of His holy word!

J. W.

MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

(Continued from page 153.)

THE Earl of Lennox, Lord Darnley's father, demanded that the murderers of his son should be brought to trial. The Council was compelled to make some show of activity; but the whole proceedings were so manifestly contrived to screen the criminals, and this, evidently, with the Queen's sanction, that they tended to strengthen the prevailing impression of Bothwell's guilt and Mary's complicity. It would have been but decent that those accused of such a crime should be committed to prison; but they were not even excluded from the court. Bothwell was still received with every mark of favour, and even sat at the council which fixed the day for the trial. At the time appointed he appeared, but at the head of about two thousand friends, vassals, and hired soldiers. No accuser came forward. Lennox protested by a messenger against the trial, urging reasonably that he had not had opportunity to collect evidence, or gather about him his friends and vassals, without whose support he durst not come within reach of his unprincipled and powerful foe. Not even a whole fortnight had been

allowed him. The verdict of “Not guilty," the only verdict to be expected when no evidence was produced for the prosecution, did not silence the murmurs of the people. Every circumstance of the trial afforded ground for suspicion; "and the judgment pronounced, instead of being a proof of innocence, was esteemed an argument of guilt."

Bat Mary, still more hopelessly, and with an infatuation for which it is difficult to account, entangled herself with this utterly worthless man. It soon became a rumour, that a marriage was contemplated. Remonstrances, protests, warnings, flowed in upon her from those whose counsels were most entitled to consideration. Queen Elizabeth appealed in impassioned strains: "For the love of God, Madam, exert your prudence and sincerity, so that the world may with reason clear you of a crime so enormous, that, if you were guilty, it would degrade you from the rank of a Princess. Speaking to you as to a daughter, I declare I would rather prefer for you an honourable grave, than a spotted life." The court of France was so impressed with the gravity of the crisis, that it despatched a special embassy to dissuade Mary from her purpose. Archbishop Beaton wrote from Paris: “Alas, Madam, all over Europe there is no subject so common as your Majesty and your realm; and it is for the most part interpreted in the most inister sense. Establish, I beseech you, that reputation of your virtue which hath hitherto prevailed; otherwise, I fear that this is the first act of a tragedy I pray God to avert." Melville, her most faithful servant, showed her a letter he had received, in which the writer said: "If she marries Bothwell, she will lose the favour of God, her own reputation, and the three kingdoms of Scotland, England, and Ireland." Lord Herries, most devotedly attached to her interests, threw himself at her feet, and with tears conjured her, by her honour, her duty, and the safety of the prince, not to marry the Earl. John Craig, a fearless and an upright man, minister of the High Church, being commanded to publish the banns, protested before the congregation that he abhorred the marriage as hateful in the sight of God. His conduct contrasts very honourably with that of many, who, from cowardice or interest, reserved their opposition and protest until the fatal step had been taken. All was, however, in vain. In vain the courts of England and France remonstrated. In vain the most devoted of her servants expostulated, even with tears. In vain the results were clearly laid before her. She was deaf to every argument of danger, decency, or duty. Within three months of the king's murder, she married the man universally held to be stained with her husband's blood. Without entering into other circumstances, which would go far to prove Mary to have been for the time, not only without shame, but also without common understanding, we may say, that, as if to complete the infamy of the act, Bothwell all the while was married, and a collusive divorce was hurriedly obtained only nine days before this lamentable alliance. We give the matter as summed up by Robertson :*_"The eyes of neighbouring nations were

* Robertson's History, vol. ii., p. 74.

fixed on the great events which had happened in Scotland during three months. A King murdered with the utmost cruelty in his capital city; the person suspected suffered not only to appear publicly in every place, but admitted into the presence of the Queen, distinguished by her favour, and intrusted with the chief direction of her affairs; subjected to a trial which was carried on with shameless partiality; acquitted by a sentence which served only to confirm the suspicions of his guilt; divorced from his wife on pretences frivolous or indecent; and, after all this, instead of meeting with the ignominy due to his crimes, permitted openly and without opposition to marry a Queen, the wife of the Prince whom he had assas sinated, and the guardian of the laws he had been guilty of violating. Such a quick succession of incidents so detestable, and so singular, in the space of three months, is not to be found in any other history. They left, in the opinion of foreigners, a mark of infamy on the nation. The Scots were held in abhorrence all over Europe. They durst hardly appear any where in public; and, after suffering so many atrocious deeds to pass with impunity, they were universally reproached as men void of courage or of humanity, as equally regardless of the reputation of the Queen and the honour of their country."

It must be confessed, that through political intrigue and mutual distrusts, and also through the power and artifice of Bothwell, there had not been that united, immediate, and out-spoken remonstrance which the occasion called for. It must be remembered that Murray, himself a tower of strength, and others, were not at that time in the country. So soon, however, as the marriage had been celebrated, all hesitation and slackness passed away. A confederacy was formed to avenge the murder, and protect the Prince, whose life was not considered safe if he should fall into Bothwell's hands. The friends of the latter fell back from him as from one infected with the plague. When the forces of the confederated nobles met those of Mary at Carberry-Hill, she was in no condition to cope with them. Her own retainers regarded the murder with disgust, which made them little disposed to fight in a quarrel which must be regarded as Bothwell's cause. This guilty man by Mary's advice fled, and she surrendered herself to the lords. Her popularity was now wholly gone. A rude rabble insulted her with loud cries; and a banner, on which were painted figures of her assassinated husband, and the infant Prince kneeling and praying for the punishment of his father's murderers, with the legend, "Judge and defend my cause, O Lord," was displayed before her. After being detained a short time in Edinburgh, she was removed to Lochleven.

Meanwhile the pressing question was eagerly, and not without fierceness, debated. Some proposed her restoration, with securities; others, her deposition, with leave to retire to France. Others, with Knox at their head, grimly demanded that she should be put on her trial for the crimes of adultery and murder, and, if found guilty, be put to death. The course favoured by the majority, and ultimately resolved on, was, that she should be imprisoned, and required to resign the crown to her son, and appoint a

Regency to act during his minority. Instruments to this effect were signed. It can hardly be disputed, that her resignation was no resignation, in the true sense, but that she was as forcibly deprived of her crown as was Charles I. or James II.; and that the nobles were as surely implicated as the Roundheads under Cromwell, or those who changed the dynasty in favour of the Prince of Orange. No court in the kingdom would pronounce deeds valid which had been signed in rigorous captivity, and extorted by violent threatening. Forms are valuable, and even in this dark and lawless time men clung tenaciously to forms which seemed to give a colour of law to that which could have no other justification than the necessities of the crisis. Mary was rigorously and jealously guarded in Lochleven Castle. It is situated in the midst of the lake of Leven, and was admirably adapted for securing the prisoner in safe custody. The grey ruins still remain to cast their dusky shadow on the placid waters. While we look on them, we can vividly recall the time when the warder watched the gate, and the sentinel paced along the wall, and when the royal captive, sitting sadly by the turret-window of her lonely prison, listened to the ceaseless waves, which still with gentle ripple break against the rocky base as they did three hundred years ago.

Notwithstanding the extreme care with which the Queen was guarded, she contrived to effect her escape. When the tidings spread, she was very quickly surrounded with numerous and warm friends. There was no Bothwell now to awaken jealousy and disgust; and, besides, her misfortunes, as will ever be the case when youth and beauty suffer, quickened into active flame the sympathies in many which had been only dormant, not extinguished. Many a sword was unsheathed, and many a spear was seized, to support the rights and guard the person of Mary Stuart. Again she was a Queen at the head of a rapidly increasing army, attended by her court, and receiving the homage of great barons, prelates, and gentlemen sincerely devoted to her. But this bright gleam, which suddenly lighted up her beclouded fortunes, was only transient. Murray, who had been appointed Regent, instantly marched to oppose her, and the disastrous battle of Langside as suddenly extinguished every ray. Her army was routed, and she fied precipitately. But whither should she go? After the experience of Carberry-Hill, she would not and durst not again surrender herself to the nobles. Scotland afforded no asylum. It was impossible to escape to France. In this crisis she resolved to trust to the tender mercies of her rival and cousin, Queen Elizabeth of England; and so closed for ever the dignity, power, and liberty of Mary, Queen of Scots. Henceforth we see her only within the gloomy precincts of a prison, or the still more gloomy surroundings of a scaffold.

The story of Mary's captivity and death is an extremely difficult and intricate passage of history. We can only present it very briefly. To deal with it otherwise would require the space of a volume. It must be confessed, that, by crossing the border as a fugitive and a suppliant, she placed Elizabeth in circumstances of very great delicacy and embarrassment. The

whole question requires to be removed out of narrow limits, and to be con sidered in relation to the great subjects of European politics. Her captivity was a matter in which the whole of Europe was interested. To understand it aright, it will be necessary to study the relation which Queen Elizabeth sustained to the whole Protestant interest throughout Europe, and that which Queen Mary bore to the Roman Catholics. The convulsions of the Reformation had rudely shaken the foundations of the Romish Church. It had been shorn of many a fair country, and, indeed, its very existence seemed to be endangered. England, Scotland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and all northern Europe, had shaken off its toils, and defied its authority. Germany was retained by a very feeble grasp. The Pope looked with an angry and jealous eye upon Bohemia, Poland, the Netherlands, and even France for they were a'l more or less dangerously infected with Protestant leaven. The only countries of importance on which Rome could securely count were Italy and Spain. But a very different state of affairs now prevailed. That mysterious and idolatrous church was not now standing on the defensive. It had with startling boldness again asserted its supremacy, and recovered much of its lost ground, with a rapidity and success which even now we look on with wonder. At this time Elizabeth was regarded by all Europe as the great bulwark of the Protestant cause. "The central point of Protestant policy and power was, without doubt, in England.” It was evident that the great battle for lasting and universal supremacy would be fought there. At the moment when Mary sought the protection of her cousin, the thick clouds which betokened the coming struggle were gathering. God used Elizabeth as His instrument in restraining the ambition of Rome, and in guarding those principles of civil and religious liberty which had been sown in this island, and were then effectually taking root. With all her faults, we cannot forget what we owe, under God, to her firmness, courage, integrity, and sagacity; in short, to her brave and generous heart. Like Elizabeth, Mary was the head and representative of her party. All Roman Catholic Europe, all Ireland, and a numerous, influential, and active party in Scotland and England, regarded Elizabeth as a usurper and a bastard, and were ready on any favourable crisis to unite in maintaining Mary's rights to the throne. It was in such a critical period that she came into Elizabeth's hand. What was to be done in the conflicting and embarrassing circumstances? Robertson does not put the case quite fairly, when he says that Mary, having voluntarily sought the protection of her cousin, ought to have been permitted either to return to her own country, or retire to any other asylum she might choose; and would have been, had the counsels of Elizabeth been influenced by considerations of justice or generosity. Can it be said that Mary did voluntarily come into England, any more than Napoleon in our own century voluntarily surrendered to the "Bellerophon?" She was flying for her life. Every other avenue of escape was closed, and she only chose that which appeared to be

*Ranke's History of the Popes, vol. i., p. 512.