fortunate Rizzio; and snatching a dagger from the king's side, while the queen filled the room with her cries, plunged it in her presence into Rizzio's bosom, who, screaming with fear and agony, was torn from Mary by the other conspirators, and dragged into the anti-chamber, where he was dispatched with fifty-six wounds. The unhappy princess continued her lamentations; but being informed of his fate, at once dried her tears, saying, "I will weep no more; I will now think of revenge." The insult on her person, the stain attempted to be fixed upon her honor, and the danger to which her life was exposed, on account of her pregnancy, were injuries so atrocious and complicated, as scarcely, indeed, to admit of pardon, even from the greatest clemency.

CHAP. LXI.

Of the Death of Darnley, and the Fate of Mary.

-LORD DARNLEY did not long survive Rizzio. The house in which he lay, was soon after blown up with gun-powder, in the middle of the night. His dead body was found at some distance in a neighboring field, but without any marks of violence or contusion. No doubt could be entertained, but that he was murdered; and the general suspicion fell upon Bothwell as the perpetrator. And, as the queen married Bothwell at Edinburgh a little after, many were of opinion,

that Darnley was put to death by her consent and connivance. The consequence was an insurrection of the people, from whom Mary fled into England, where she was ungenerously detained a prisoner eighteen years, and afterwards beheaded by queen Elizabeth, under pretence of being an accomplice in certain conspiracies formed against her.

Mary owned, indeed, that she had used her best endeavors to recover her liberty, which was only pursuing the dictates of nature; but as for harboring any thought against the life of the queen, she treated the idea with horror.

The chief evidence against Mary arose from the declaration of her secretaries. But the testimony of two witnesses, even though men of character, who knew themselves to be exposed to all the rigors of imprisonment, torture and death, if they refused to give any evidence which might be required of them, was by no means conclusive. Besides they were not confronted with her, though she desired they might; and affirmed, that they would never, to her face, persist in their evidence. But the condemnation of the queen of the Scots, not justice, was the object of her unprecedented trial.

Never did Mary appear so great, as in this last scene of her life. She was not only tranquil, but intrepid and magnanimous. When Sir Andrew Melvil, the master of her household, who had been excluded for some weeks from her presence, was permitted to take his last farewel, he burst into tears; bewailing the condition of a mistress whom he loved, as well as his

own hard fate, in being appointed to carry into Scotland the news of such a mournful event, as the catastrophe that awaited her. "Weep not, good Melvil," replied she," there is at present a greater cause for rejoicing. Thou shalt this day see Mary Stuart delivered from all her cares, and such an end put to all her tedious sufferings as she has long expected. Bear witness that I die constant to my religion, firm in my fidelity towards Scotland, and unchanged in my affec tion to France. Commend me to my son. Tell him that I have done nothing injurious to his kingdom, to his honor, or to his rights; and God forgive all those who have thirsted without cause for my blood."

On ascending the scaffold, she began, with the aid of her women, to take off her veil and upper garments; and the executioner rudely endeavor. ing to assist them, she gently checked him, and smiling said, "I have not been accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to be served by such valets!" Then making a solemn protestation of her innocence, she soon after laid her head upon the block, with calm, but undaunted fortitude.

Such was the fate of Mary Stuart, queen of Scotland, and dowager of France, one of the most amiable and accomplished of her sex, who in the forty-fifth year of her age, and in the nineteenth of her captivity in England, fell a victim to the jealousy and to the fears of an offended rival. But though Mary's trial was illegal, and her execution arbitrary, history will not permit us to suppose, that her actions were at no time

criminal. With all the excellencies both of body and mind, which can adorn the female character, she had many of the weaknesses of a woman, which were the source of all her misfortunes.

CHAP. LXII.

Of Henry the Fourth of France, deservedly. named the Great.

HENRY applied himself with wonderful attention and success (assisted in all his undertakings by his minister, the great Sully,) to cultivate the happiness of his people, by encouraging manufactures, particularly that of silk, the benefit of which France to this day. He re-established the tranquility, and, in a great meaga, secured the happiness of his people. He formed connections with the neighboring powers, for reducing the ambition of the house of Austria; for which purpose, it is said, he laid deep schemes, and collected a formidable army. Others say, that he designed to have formed Christendom into a great republic, of which France was to be the head.

Whatever may be in these conjectures, it is certain, that while he was making preparations for the coronation of his queen, Mary of Medicis, and was ready to enter upon his grand expedition, he was assassinated in his coach in the streets of Paris, by one Ravilliac, a desperate fanatic, who mounted the wheel of his carriage,

and stabbed him to the heart with a knife, over the duke d'Espernon's shoulder, and amidst six more of his courtiers.

The assassin, like some others of that age, thought he had done an acceptable service to God in committing murder; especially as the king was going to assist the protestants, and consequently still a heretic in his heart. He did not offer to make his escape, and seemed much surprized at the detestation in which his crime was held.

Thus perished Henry IV. one greatest and best princes that ever sat on the throne of France; and with him perished all his great de. signs. A more melancholy reflection cannot enter the human mind, than is suggested by this untimely event, that a wretch unworthy of existence, and incapable of one meritorious action, should overturn the most illustrious enterprises, and terminate a life necessary to the wo

millions!

Henry's greatest weakness was his incrumate passion for women, which led him into many irregularities. But even that was rather a blemish in his private than in his public character. Though no man was more a lover, he was still a king. He never suffered his mistresses to direct his councils, nor to influence him in the choice of his servants.