tempting God than trusting him, and posterity will condemn those who discern and predict danger and misfortune, and yet through weakness or supineness, do nothing to avert them. All the objections of foreign sovereigns deserve no regard. James, whose natural grief we respect, will not forget that Mary desired to give up him and his kingdom to Philip II., and caused his father to be murdered. Henry III., the author of the massacre of St. Bartholomew's, and now the slave of the Guises, has no right to interfere; and Philip II., who offered large rewards for the heads of William of Orange, and Antonio of Portugal, and caused his own son to be executed for far less urgent reasons, must, in his heart, think the execution of Mary, natural, nay, he must approve it."

About the same time reports were spread of insurrections that had broken out, and of invasions by the Scotch. Authentic accounts were received of the military armaments of Philip, which were carried on with great activity. New conspiracies were formed against the life of Elizabeth, of which the French ambassador, Count Aubespine, (a friend of the Guises,) was aware, if he had not contrived them. "The state and church," it was alleged, “nay, all existing institutions will be overthrown and the prosperity of England destroyed, if of these daily recurring dangers only one is observed and counteracted too late. (2) If Elizabeth were murdered,

who would be able to oppose Mary's claims to the throne? If the Spaniards were landed, where would there be time or power to proceed against Mary, either by legal or violent means? These terrible embarrassments, this fearful excitement, this feverish state ought to be at once put an end to by the execution of the Scotch Queen; (and this continued to be the opinion of Elizabeth's counsellors, of the Lords and of the Commons;) nay, even those who affirmed that Mary was not so guilty, would confess, that the good of millions required a victim.” Elizabeth who, as Robert Cecil says, "was naturally not prompt in taking a resolution, but inclined to delay," had never been agitated by such conflicting motives and feelings. The melancholy recollection of the death of her mother, and the dangers of her youth; the natural horror at causing the sentence of death to be executed on her nearest relation, on a Queen, the consideration of the opinions of contemporaries and of posterity, apprehension for her own danger, her duties to her people, her attachment to her religion, all this combined with deputations and entreaties, on one part, and vehement demands on the other, threw her mind into such a state of indecision, that she would and would not, advanced and receded, resolved and retracted. "How good would it be," said some, "if Heaven called Mary from this world;" others, more bold said, "we must not wait for this. What, (to say

nothing of former times,) Charles IX., Henry III., Philip II., and John III., have done in our days, from less urgent reasons, is fully justified in this case. In order to avoid further scandal and vain complaints, let Mary be put to death, without noise, according to the sentence, and thereby peace be given both to her and to the kingdom."

These proposals were not approved, (29) but Elizabeth caused a warrant to be drawn and sealed, in which it is stated that, contrary to her own inclination, and in conformity with the petitions of the Parliament, of the nobility, and of the people, and for the security of the Church and State, she gave her consent to the execution of Mary. This warrant, however, was only to be in readiness in case of an insurrection, or the landing of foreign troops; (30) and Elizabeth expressly enjoined the secretary Davison not to part with it till further orders, but to keep it in his hands. Instead of this, Davison mentioned it to Sir Christopher Hatton the Chamberlain, he to Burghley, and both to the Privy Counsellors; and Davison at length gave up the warrant to them. All agreed that the Queen had done her part, and they must take upon themselves and their consciences, what was still wanting; and Davison concluded, from equivocal, passionate, and obscure speeches of the Queen, that this proceeding would be agreeable to her. Without applying to Elizabeth, who they feared would retract, they

VOL. I.

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sent the warrant to the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, and others who were commissioned to carry the sentence into execution. They arrived at Fotheringay on the 7th of February, and announced to Mary that she must prepare for death the next morning. Though somewhat surprised she heard the intelligence with the utmost composure. She calmly settled the affairs of her small household, provided for her servants, distributed some little presents, and took an affecting leave of each individual. She declined the spiritual aid of a Protestant Clergyman, and a Roman Catholic priest was refused her. When the Earl of Kent added that her life would be the death of the pure faith, Mary answered, that the real motive for her execution was dissembled. Dressed in royal attire, with a rosary in her hand and a crucifix on her breast, Mary mounted the scaffold, and said to her servants who were weeping round her, "Weep not, for the end of my sufferings is come." She then spoke of her situation, of the persecution which she had endured, and of her innocence of the conspiracies against the life of Elizabeth, till the Earl of Kent exhorted her to think not of the past, but of the future. When two ladies, her attendants, took off her cap, it appeared that sorrow, more than age, had turned her hair grey.(3) She then kneeled, prayed that God would send his spirit to her aid and release her, that he would pardon her enemies

as she did, that he would turn away his anger from England, and bless the Queen. After she had said, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit," her head fell. "So perish all the enemies of Elizabeth!" exclaimed Dean Fletcher, and the Earl of Kent joined. All the others who were present were silent through horror at this sight, or melted into tears. Elizabeth received the news of Mary's execution, she was overpowered with terror, anger, and grief, so that she was at first speechless, and then gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears, and loud lamentations.(32)

When

What she had so often wished in secret, or in moments of passion had declared to be necessary, was now done, without her express order indeed, and therefore without her immediate fault, but it was done, and the deed and the blame now appeared to her in a very different light from what they did when only contemplated as remote possibilities. The shadowy forms which hovering over Mary's scaffold, stretch out their dark arms through centuries, seemed alone to envelope her, and in this gloom all the light of the arguments disappeared, which had been produced in favour of the measure. That the most important resolution of her reign had been taken and executed without her participation, could not fully justify a Queen, who for thirty years had governed by no means in name, but in fact. It never would have been done