perhaps, that the construction of a new capital-a new centre for men's thoughts throughout his empire-would help to make his reforms permanent, and so in May, 1703, he began the construction of St. Petersburg.

At the time he raised the first house, there were only four or five fishermen's huts at this place. This house was a low hall, made with planks and joists, to secure himself from the weather, and rest in; but in memory of this great undertaking, it has been preserved ever since, being inclosed with a wooden gallery, raised on a wall three or four feet high. The place he pitched upon is inaccessible, from the depth of the river Neva, and from the country's being a morass all round it. His resolution being thus taken, and the work begun, he issued forth orders, pursuant to which many thousand workmen, Russians, Tartars, Cossacks, Calmucs, and peasants of all sorts, were soon brought thither; and these made a beginning of the new fortress. He was obliged to break through forests, to open ways, to dry up moors, and to raise banks, before he could lay the foundation of this new town. The whole was a force put upoi: nature; but the czar aspired higher than only to the destruction of towns, like ordinary heroes; there were no difficulties that he would not surmount, no toils but he would undergo, to raise the grandeur of his nation. When this work was first undertaken, the men had neither sufficient provisions for subsisting them, nor even necessary tools; no house or huts to dwell in; and yet they proceeded with such expedition, that in five months' time the fortress was raised, though the earth thereabouts was so scarce that the greatest part of the labourers carried it in the skirts of their clothes, and in bags made of old rags and mats. It is computed that no

less than 100,000 men perished in this undertaking; for, as the country had been made desolate by war, and the usual supplies by the Lake of Ladoga were often retarded, no provisions could be had even for ready money. While the fortress, the plan of which was drawn by the czar himself, was going on, the city began by degrees to be built. His majesty obliged not only the nobility, but merchants and tradesmen of all sorts, to go and live there, and to trade in such commodities as they were ordered. This at first was not at all agreeable to the nobility and persons of distinction, who in Moscow had very large buildings within the city, and country seats and villages about it, where they had fish-ponds, and gardens with plenty of fruits, that were not to be expected here. However, as the place was agreeable to the designs and humour of the czar, he paid little regard to the complaints of those who considered their own luxury more than the advantage of their country. The Boyars brought hither great retinues, and the merchants and shop-keepers found their account in this new city, where everything bore an excessive price. Several Swedes, Finlanders, and Livonians, not being able to subsist in their own towns, depopulated by the wars, continued here. Artificers, mechanics, and seamen were invited hither to encourage shipping, and the affairs of the navy.

So, by patient skill and perseverance all difficulties were overcome, and one of the most splendid cities in Europe rose from what had but lately been a barren waste. In these and many other ways he well earned the title given to him of Emperor of all the Russias, and the still more honourable one of Father of his country, which his own contemporaries gave him, and which has been fully confirmed by posterity.

OWARDS the close of the reign of William of Orange, known in the list of English kings by the name of William III., he was much mortified by the struggles of rival factions, and the unwillingness the English nation showed to put full trust in himfor it was not till they lost him that they recognised his full value.

From the annoyance of his position in England, he sought relief by renewing with more ardour than ever his attention to the affairs of Europe, and by pursuing his darling project of humbling the power of the French king, and keeping that monarch within such limits as would be consistent with the independence and tranquillity of the other continental nations. His innermost conviction was, that the balance of power would be destroyed, and Europe exposed to frequent wars and invasions, if the French were allowed to incorporate Lorraine and Alsace, to make encroachments on the sides of the Alps and Pyrennees, and to extend their dominions along the left bank of the Rhine. And now there was a prospect of a far wider extension than this-of French dominion or dictation, by family connection, in the great peninsula beyond the Pyrenees. Charles II., the childish and childless monarch of Spain, was in a most precarious state of health, and the pretensions of the House of Bourbon to the inheritance of his dominions were notorious. To arrest these impending evils William successfully negociated two treaties of partition for the Spanish monarchy, to both of which Louis XIV. was an artful and faithless subscriber: for, when the

Spanish king, controlled by the French party that surrounded him during his sickness, and worked into indignation by the notion that other powers should dismember and distribute his dominions, bequeathed them all at his death, in 1700, to Philip, Duke of Anjou, second son of the Dauphin, Louis XIV., in spite of every obligation of treaties, accepted the testament for his grandson, and put his armies in motion for the Pyrenees.

William, now declining in health, was sensibly affected by this defeat of all his diplomatic labours; but he applied himself with his usual energy to form a new league against France; and the insulting conduct of Louis, at this crisis, in giving the son of James II., on the death of that prince, the title of King of England, so exasperated the mass of the British nation (who had far higher and nobler feelings than most of their legislators), that they eagerly seconded William's wish for a declaration of war. But in the midst of eager preparations for the commencement of hostilities, William's life was suddenly brought to a close. He had suffered much during the winter, and in his more familiar conversations with his trusty friend, Lord Albemarle, he had intimated serious apprehensions; but his unshaken mind maintained a most manful struggle with the weakness of his body; he continued to toil in his cabinet, and, at his moments of relaxation, to take that vigorous exercise to which he had been accustomed. Meanwhile, reports of the king's declining state began to be whispered about, causing universal distress and alarm. His medical advisers, both English and Dutch, seemed utterly unable to arrest the progress of his disorders. In addition, it appears that

he had sent letters of consultation to the most eminent physicians throughout Europe; but, with his usual diplomacy, William the "silent" had screened himself under fictitious names, lest they should be tempted to return answers too flattering. To the celebrated Fagan he described himself as a parish priest, and Fagan frankly replied that the disease whose symptoms he described could have only one termination, and the only advice he could give his correspondent was to prepare for another world. Then upon this open avowal, the king consulted Fagan without disguise, and obtained from him such prescriptions as were calculated to ward off for a time the inevitable stroke.

As spring approached the nation began to entertain hopes of the great and silent king's recovery. Though his headaches and shiverings almost daily attacked him, he was able to ride out and even to join in the hunt, but he had no longer that firm seat and command of the bridle for which he had gained a renown. Even then all his concern was for the future of his adopted country. The filial respect and tenderness of Albemarle were almost essential to him; but as it was of the utmost importance that his minister at the Hague should be acquainted with his plans for the next campaign, he was willing to endure Albemarle's absence, while on a mission to make known the nature of these plans to him. Hensius, the minister, was at that time suffering from indisposition,-a trifle compared to that of William's then; but in the king's nature there was none of that selfishness which too frequently accompanies weakness and disorders. On the 20th of February he sent what proved to be his final letter to his faithful minister, in which-without even hinting at his own sufferings, or the prognostications of physicians-he writes:-"I am infinitely concerned to learn that your health is not yet reestablished. May God be pleased to

grant you a speedy recovery. I am unalterably, your good friend, William."

On the same day on which he thus, unknown to himself, closed his long correspondence, he was rambling on a favourite horse, called Sorrel, through Hampton Court Park. He urged his horse to strike into a gallop just at the spot where a mole had been at work, and it stumbled and fell violently. The king fractured his right collar-bone. He was carried to Hampton Court, where it was set, and contrary to medical advice, he returned to Kensington the same evening. The setting was deranged by the unavoidable jolting of the carriage; but the fracture was soon again reduced. For several days no unfavourable symptoms appeared, or if they appeared they were carefully concealed. But the frame of William was not in a condition to sustain such an accident. What to a young and vigorous man would have been comparatively a trifle, was ruinous to him. He felt that his days were rapidly drawing to an end, and grieved deeply that the noble work which he had projected for the land of his adoption would be left but half finished. One of his projects he thought he could accomplish before he bade farewell to his earthly life, and it was one which has been of incalculable advantage to our country. William had long been convinced that the relations between England and Scotland were unsatisfactory, and that they must either be more firmly united. or there would be an open rupture and a total severance, and that meant war and untold disaster to both, and fearful evils in all the civilised world. He sagely saw that an absolute union would be the grand remedy, the best security for the prosperity of both, for the just balance of power among European states, and for the protection and safety of other Protestant communities. This, then, was the burden of the last message which William sent to his faithful Houses

of Parliament-a recommendation to set about immediately to secure a treaty for the lasting union of England and Scotland. He told them that an unhappy accident had compelled him to make in writing the communication which he would gladly have given with his own lips; that such a union had suggested itself to him on first coming to our shores, and that the closing scenes of his reign would be made happy could he see it effected. With uncovered heads the Commons received the message, and resolved that on the 7th of March they would take it into consideration.

But, on the 1st of March, humours of threatening appearance developed themselves in his knee; on the 3rd he was seized with fever and ague; on the 5th his strength greatly failed him; on the 6th he could scarcely be kept alive by the use of cordials. Several bills were waiting his assent, and he ordered a Commission to be prepared for his signature, but unable to form the letters of his name, it was suggested that a stamp be prepared. The Lord Keeper and the clerks of parliament came, according to usage, to witness the signing of the Commission. But they were detained for some time in his ante-chamber, while he was in one of his paroxysms of his malady. It was the day the House had resolved to consider the union with Scotland; but that subject was not introduced, as it was known the king had not many hours to live. On the same day Lord Albemarle arrived from Holland to comfort him with some good news, that the States General were in the best of temper, and the magazines and troops and provisions in the best of condition, and William received the intelligence with the calmness of a man who had to prepare for conflict with another enemy, of the most formidable and ever the last. "Je tire vers ma fin" (I am drawing towards my end), he said to his lordship. On the closing page of

Macaulay's "History of England," the closing scenes of the hero to whom his fascinating pen has given immortal renown, are thus described :—“ His end was worthy of his life. His intellect was not for a moment clouded. His fortitude was the more admirable because he was not willing to die. He had very lately said to one of those he most loved, 'You know that I never feared death; there have been times when I should have wished it; but now that this great new prospect is opening out before me I do wish to stay here a little longer.' But no weakness, no querulousness, disgraced the noble close of his noble career. To the physicians the king returned his thanks, graciously and gently. I know that you have done all that skill and learning could do for me, but the case is beyond your art, and I must submit.' From the words which escaped him he seemed frequently to be engaged in mental prayer. Burnet and Tenison remained many hours in the sick - room. He professed to them his firm belief in the truth of the Christian religion, and received the Sacrament from their hands with great seriousness. The ante-chambers were crowded all night with lords and privy councillors. He ordered several of them to be called in, and exerted himself to take leave of them with a few kind and cheerful words. Among the English who were admitted to his bedside were Devonshire and Ormond. But there were in the crowd those who felt as no Englishman could feel, friends of his youth who had been true to him, and to whom he had been true, through all vicissitudes of fortune: who had served him with unalterable fidelity when his Secretaries of State, his Treasury and his Admiralty, had betrayed him; who had never in any field of battle, or in an atmosphere tainted with loathsome and deadly disease, shrunk from placing their own lives in jeopardy to save his, and whose truth he had, at the cost of his own popularity,

rewarded with bounteous munificence. He strained his feeble voice to thank Auverquerque for the affectionate and loyal services of thirty years. To Albemarle he gave the keys of his closet and of his private drawers. 'You know,' he said, 'what to do with them.' By this time he could scarcely respire. Can this,' he said to his physicians, 'last long?' These were his last articulate words. Bentinck came to his bedside, and the king took the hand of his earliest friend and pressed it tenderly to his heart. In that moment, no doubt, all that had cast a passing cloud over their long and pure friendship was forgotten. It was between seven and eight in the morning. The bishops knelt down and read the Commendatory Prayer. When it ended William was no more." Thus on that Sabbath evening, March 8th, 1702, at Kensington Palace, in the fiftysecond year of his age, this brave and illustrious warrior-king entered into his rest. When he was laid out it was found that he had worn next to his skin a small piece of black silk ribbon, to which was appended the gold ring and a lock of the hair of his beloved Mary.

It becomes us now, in some concluding remarks, to sketch the character of this illustrious man. Bishop Burnet was much about his person, having "observed him very carefully in a course of sixteen years." On the whole he speaks impartially of him, neither attempting to conceal his defects nor to magnify his excellences. As to his personal appearance he tells us that "William had a thin and weak body, was brownhaired, and of a clear and delicate complexion; he had a Roman eagle nose, bright and sparkling eyes, a large front [forehead], and a countenance composed to gravity and authority; all his senses. were critical and exquisite. He was always asthmatical, and the dregs of the smallpox falling on his lungs, he had a constant deep cough. His behaviour was solemnly serious, seldom cheerful,

and then but with a few." A great deal of this coldness and reserve was no doubt due to the fact that he was a foreigner, imperfectly speaking language-at least, loving his own much better, and knowing how all his utterances would be carefully repeated and perhaps criticised, and his mistakes ridiculed. Besides, he had to move among factious and untrue men, and he gave the confidence of his familiar speech to but few. It was much to his honour, though sad grief to his subjects, that he retained his love to his native landnot that he loved England less, but that he loved Holland more. "And when from time to time he set sail to the Hague," as Macaulay says, "he felt all the glee of a schoolboy who is leaving hard masters and quarrelsome comrades to pass the Christmas holidays at a happy home. That stern and composed face which had been the same in the pursuit at the Boyne and the rout at Landen, and of which the keenest had in vain tried to read the secrets, now wore an expression but too intelligible," for he was then free from the annoyance of seeing English faces and speaking and hearing English words.

William took but little interest in matters of literature and science; but the greatest of all sciences, that of religion, was an exception. In his native land the two great religious parties of Calvinists and Arminians corresponded to the great political parties of the nobles and the people. The oligarchy were Arminians, and the masses of the people adhered to the Calvinistic creed. The House of Orange had sided with the people in this theological question, and owed no small part of its popularity to that circumstance. William had carefully examined these nice points in dispute, and from principle as well as descent adhered to the views of the Reformer of Geneva. His belief in predestination, or in absolute decrees, was as fixed as was that of Napoleon