settling her worldly affairs. She wrote her testament with her own hand. Her money, her jewels, and 60 her clothes, she distributed among her servants, according to their rank or merit. She wrote a short letter to the King of France, and another to the Duke of Guise, full of tender 65 but magnanimous sentiments, and recommended her soul to their prayers, and her afflicted servants to their protection. At supper, she ate temperately, as usual, and conversed not 70 only with ease, but with cheerfulness; she drank to every one of her servants, and asked their forgiveness, if ever she had failed in any part of her duty towards them. At her 76 wonted time she went to bed, and slept calmly a few hours. Early in the morning she retired into her closet, and employed a considerable time in devotion. At eight o'clock, 80 the High Sheriff and his officers entered her chamber, and found her still kneeling at the altar. She immediately started up, and with a majestic mien, and a countenance 85 undismayed, and even cheerful, advanced towards the place of execution, leaning on two of Paulet's attendants. She was dressed in a mourning habit, but with an elegance 90 and splendour which she had long laid aside, except on a few festival days. An Agnus Dei hung by a pomander chain at her neck; her heads at her girdle; and in her hand 95 she carried a crucifix of ivory. At the bottom of the stairs the two Earls, attended by several gentlemen from the neighbouring counties, received her; and there Sir Andrew 100 Melvil, the master of her household,

who had been secluded, for some weeks, from her presence, was permitted to take his last farewell. At the sight of a mistress whom he 105 tenderly loved, in such a situation,

he melted into tears; and as he was bewailing her condition, and complaining of his own hard fate in being appointed to carry the account of such a mournful event into Scotland, 110 Mary replied, 'Weep not, good Melvil, there is at present greater cause for rejoicing. Thou shalt this day see Mary Stuart delivered from all her cares, and such an end put to 115 her tedious sufferings, as she has long expected. Bear witness that I die constant in my religion; firm in my fidelity towards Scotland; and unchanged in my affection to France. 120 Commend me to my son, tell him I have done nothing injurious to his kingdom, to his honour, or to his rights; and God forgive all those who have thirsted, without cause, for 125 my blood.'

With much difficulty, and after many entreaties, she prevailed on the two Earls to allow Melvil, together with three of her men-servants, and 130 two of her maids, to attend her to the scaffold. It was erected in the same hall where she had been tried, raised a little above the floor, and covered, as well as a chair, the 136 cushion, and block, with black cloth. Mary mounted the steps with alacrity, beheld all this apparatus of death with an unaltered countenance, and signing herself with the cross, 140 she sat down in the chair. Beale read the warrant for execution with a loud voice, to which she listened with a careless air, and like one occupied in other thoughts. Then 145 the Dean of Peterborough began a devout discourse, suitable to her present condition, and offered up prayers to Heaven in her behalf; but she declared that she could not in con- 150 science hearken to one, nor join with the other; and falling on her knees, repeated a Latin prayer. When the Dean had finished his devotions, she,

155 with an audible voice, and in the English tongue, recommended unto God the afflicted state of the Church, and prayed for prosperity to her son, and for a long life and peaceable 160 reign to Elizabeth. She declared that she hoped for mercy only through the death of Christ, at the foot of whose image she now willingly shed her blood; and lifting up, and kiss165 ing the crucifix, she thus addressed it, 'As thy arms, O Jesus, were extended on the cross, so with the outstretched arms of thy mercy receive me, and forgive my sins.' 170 She then prepared for the block, by taking off her veil and upper garments; and, one of the executioners rudely endeavouring to assist, she gently checked him, and said, with 175 a smile, that she had not been accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to be served by such valets. With calm but undaunted fortitude, she laid her neck on the 180 block; and while one executioner held her hands, the other, at the second stroke, cut off her head, which falling out of its attire, discovered her hair already grown quite gray with 185 cares and sorrows. The executioner held it up still streaming with blood, and the Dean crying out, 'So perish all Queen Elizabeth's enemies,' the Earl of Kent alone answered Amen. 190 The rest of the spectators continued

silent, and drowned in tears, being incapable, at that moment, of any other sentiments but those of pity or admiration.

195 Such was the tragical death of Mary, Queen of Scots, after a life of forty-four years and two months, almost nineteen years of which she passed in captivity. The political 200 parties which were formed in the kingdom, during her reign, have subsisted, under various denominations, ever since that time. The rancour

with which they were at first animated, hath descended to succeeding 205 ages, and their prejudices, as well as their rage, have been perpetuated, and even augmented. Among historians, who were under the dominion of all these passions, and who have 210 either ascribed to her every virtuous and amiable quality, or have imputed to her all the vices of which the human heart is susceptible, we search in vain for Mary's real character. 215 She neither merited the exaggerated praises of the one, nor the undistinguishing censure of the other.

To all the charms of beauty, and the utmost elegance of external form, 220 she added those accomplishments which render their impression irresistible. Polite, affable, insinuating, sprightly, and capable of speaking and writing with equal ease and dig- 225 nity. Sudden, however, and violent in all her attachments, because her heart was warm and unsuspicious. Impatient of contradiction, because she had been accustomed from her 230 infancy to be treated as a queen. No stranger, on some occasions, to dissimulation, which, in that perfidious court where she received her education, was reckoned among the ne- 235 cessary arts of government. Not insensible of flattery, or unconscious of that pleasure with which almost every woman beholds the influence of her own beauty. Formed with the qual- 240 ities which we love, not with the talents that we admire, she was an agreeable woman rather than an illustrious queen. The vivacity of her spirit not sufficiently tempered with 245 sound judgment, and the warmth of her heart, which was not at all times under the restraint of discretion, betrayed her both into errors and into crimes. To say that she was always 250 unfortunate, will not account for that long and almost uninterrupted suc

cession of calamities which befell her; we must likewise add that she was 255 often imprudent. Her passion for Darnley was rash, youthful, and excessive. And though the sudden transition to the opposite extreme was the natural effect of her ill-requited 260 love, and of his ingratitude, insolence, and brutality, yet neither these, nor Bothwell's artful address and important services, can justify her attachment to that nobleman. Even 265 the manners of the age, licentious as they were, are no apology for this unhappy passion; nor can they induce us to look on that tragical and infamous scene which followed 270 upon it with less abhorrence. Humanity will draw a veil over this part of her character, which it cannot approve, and may, perhaps, prompt some to impute her actions to her situa276 tion, more than to her dispositions; and to lament the unhappiness of the former, rather than accuse the perverseness of the latter. Mary's sufferings exceed, both in degree 280 and duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has feigned to excite sorrow and commiseration; and while we survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her frailties; we think 285 of her faults with less indignation,

and approve of our tears, as if they were shed for a person who had attained much nearer to pure virtue.

With regard to the Queen's person, a circumstance not to be omitted in 290 writing the history of a female reign, all contemporary authors agree in ascribing to Mary the utmost beauty of countenance and elegance of shape of which the human form is capable. 295 Her hair was black; though, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore borrowed locks, and of different colours. Her eyes were

dark grey; her complexion was 300 exquisitely fine; and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. Her stature was of a height that rose to the majestic. She danced, she walked, and rode 305 with equal grace. Her taste for music was just, and she both sang and played upon the lute with uncommon skill. Towards the end of her life she began to grow fat; and her long 310 confinement, and the coldness of the houses in which she was imprisoned, brought on a rheumatism, which deprived her of the use of her limbs. 'No man,' says Brantome, 'ever be- 315 held her person without admiration and love, or will read her history without sorrow.'

ED

DWARD GIBBON (1737-1794), the son of a wealthy landed proprietor, was born at Putney, near London. Being a sickly child, he was unable to attend school regularly, but instructed himself by diligent private reading, especially in history and geography. After a short experience of student life at Oxford, he became a Roman Catholic; but, sent to Lausanne to board with a judicious Calvinist minister, he returned to his old faith. For five years he stayed at Lausanne (1753-1758), where he applied himself to the study of the French and Latin

classics, and made French his second native language. After his return to London, he accepted a commission as captain in the South Hampshire Militia, and so, during three years' active service, while his regiment was called out, received some knowledge of military tactics, very helpful for the future historian. In 1764 he travelled on the continent; and, at Rome, he tells us, 'as he sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the barefooted friars were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter', the idea of writing the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman

ment; and we should vainly search for the pure and spontaneous sentiments of the barbarian amidst the declamation and learning of a sophist, 75 the wishes of a Roman senator, the precedents of office, and the vague professions which, in every court and on every occasion, compose the language of discreet ministers. The reso putation of Theodoric may repose with more confidence on the visible peace and prosperity of a reign of thirty-three years, the unanimous esteem of his own times, and the 85 memory of his wisdom and courage, his justice and humanity, which was deeply impressed on the minds of the Goths and Italians.

The partition of the lands of Italy, 90 of which Theodoric assigned the third part to his soldiers, is honourably arraigned as the sole injustice of his life. And even this act may be fairly justified by the example of 95 Odoacer, the rights of conquest, the true interest of the Italians, and the sacred duty of subsisting a whole people, who, on the faith of his promises, had transported themselves into 100 a distant land. Under the reign of Theodoric, and in the happy climate of Italy, the Goths soon multiplied to a formidable host of two hundred thousand men, and the whole amount 105 of their families may be computed

by the ordinary addition of women and children. Their invasion of property, a part of which must have been already vacant, was disguised 110 by the generous, but improper, name of hospitality; these unwelcome guests were irregularly dispersed over the face of Italy, and the lot of each barbarian was adequate to his birth 115 and office, the number of his followers, and the rustic wealth which he possessed in slaves and cattle. The distinctions of noble and plebeian were acknowledged; but the lands of

every freeman were exempt from 120 taxes, and he enjoyed the inestimable privilege of being subject only to the laws of his country.

Fashion and even convenience soon persuaded the conquerors to assume 125 the more elegant dress of the natives, but they still persisted in the use of their mother-tongue; and their contempt for the Latin schools was applauded by Theodoric himself, who 180 gratified their prejudices, or his own, by declaring that the child who had trembled at a rod, would never dare to look upon a sword. Distress might sometimes provoke the indigent Roman 135 to assume the ferocious manners which were insensibly relinquished by the rich and luxurious barbarians: but these mutual conversions were not encouraged by the policy of a mon- 140 arch who perpetuated the separation of the Italians and Goths, reserving the former for the arts of peace, and the latter for the service of war. To accomplish this design, he studied 145 to protect his industrious subjects, and to moderate the violence, without enervating the valour, of his soldiers, who were maintained for the public defence. They held their lands 150 and benefices as a military stipend: at the sound of the trumpet, they were prepared to march under the conduct of their provincial officers; and the whole extent of Italy was 155 distributed into the several quarters of a well-regulated camp. The service of the palace and of the frontiers was performed by choice or by rotation; and each extraordinary fatigue 160 was recompensed by an increase of pay and occasional donatives.

Theodoric had convinced his brave companions, that empire must be acquired and defended by the same 165 arts. After his example, they strove to excel in the use, not only of the lance and sword, the instruments of