with the utmost speed to France.' Lauzun, after expressing his high sense of the honour that was conferred on him, presented his hand to the queen to lead her away. She turned a parting look on the king— an eloquent but mute farewell, and followed by the two nurses with her sleeping infant, crossed the great gallery in silence, stole down the back stairs, preceded by S. Victor, who had the keys, and passing through a postern door into the privy gardens, quitted Whitehall for ever. A coach was waiting at the gate, which S. Victor had borrowed of his friend signor Ferichi, the Florentine resident, as if it had been for his own use. 'On our way,' pursues he, 'we had to pass six sentinels, who all, according to custom, cried out, Who goes there?' I replied without hesitation, 'A friend'; and when they saw that I had the masterkey of the gates, they allowed me to pass without opposition. The queen, with the prince, his two nurses, and the count de Lauzun, got into the coach, but to make all sure, I placed myself by the coachman on the box to direct him. We drove to Westminster, and arrived safely at the place called the horseferry, where I had engaged a boat to wait for me. To prevent suspicion, I had accustomed the boatmen to row me across the river of a night, under pretence of a sporting expedition, taking cold provisions and a rifle with me, to give it a better colour.' That pretext, however, could scarcely be expected to pass current on the inclement night, when he ventured the passage of those wintry waters with the fugitive queen and her babe. It was then, evidently a case of life and death, and the boatmen must have been paid accordingly, for they incurred some danger themselves. The night was wet and stormy, and so dark,' continues S. Victor, that when we got into the boat we could not see each other, though we were closely seated, for the boat was very small.' Thus with literally only one frail plank between her and eternity,' did the queen of Great Britain cross the swollen waters of the Thames, with her tender infant of six months old in her arms, with no better attendance than his nurses, no other escort than the count de Lauzun, and the writer of this narrative, who confesses, 'that he felt an extreme terror at the peril to which he saw personages of their importance exposed, and that his only reliance was in the mercy of God, by Whose especial Providence,' he says, 'we were preserved, and arrived at our destination.'

"A curious print of the times, represents the boat in danger, and the two gentlemen assisting the rowers, who are labouring against wind and tide. The queen is seated by the steersman, enveloped in a large cloak, with a hood drawn over her head; her attitude is expressive of melancholy, and she appears anxious to conceal the little prince who is asleep on her bosom, partially shrouded among the ample folds of her draperies. The other two females betray alarm. The engraving is rudely executed, and it is printed on coarse paper; but the design is not without merit, being bold and original in conception, and full of passion. It was probably intended as an appeal to the sympathies of the humbler classes, in behalf of the royal fugitive.

"Our passage,' says the conductor of the enterprise, 'was rendered very difficult and dangerous, by the violence of the wind, and the heavy and incessant rain. When we reached the opposite bank of the Thames, I called aloud by name on monsieur Dusions, the page of the back-stairs,

who ought to have been there waiting with a coach and six, which had been engaged by count de Lauzun. The page answered promptly, but told them that the coach was still at the inn. Thither S. Victor ran to hasten it, leaving Lauzun to protect the queen. Her majesty, meantime, withdrew herself and her little company, under the walls of the old church at Lambeth, without any other shelter from the wind and bitter cold, or any other consolation than that the rain had ceased.'

"On that spot, which has been rendered a site of historic interest, by this affecting incident, the beautiful and unfortunate consort of the last of our Stuart kings remained standing, with her infant son fondly clasped to her bosom, during the agonizing interval of suspense caused by the delay of the coach, dreading every moment that he would awake and betray them by his cries. Her apprehension was unfounded. He had slept sweetly, while they carried him in the dead of the night from his palace nursery to the waterside; neither wind nor rain had disturbed him, he had felt none of the perils or difficulties of the stormy passage, and he continued wrapt in the same profound repose during this anxious pause, alike unconscious of his own reverse of fortune, and his mother's

woe.

"Mary Beatrice is said to have looked back with streaming eyes towards the royal home where her beloved consort remained, lonely and surrounded with perils; and that she vainly endeavoured to trace out the lights of Whitehall, among those that were reflected from the opposite shore, along the dark rolling river. The historians of that period declare, that the queen remained an hour under the walls of the old church with her babe, waiting for the coach, which through some mistake never came, and that a hackney coach was, at last, procured with difficulty. This was not the case, for S. Victor found the coach and six all ready at the inn, which was within sight of the river; the delay, therefore, must have been comparatively brief, but when time is measured by the exigency of circumstances, minutes are lengthened into hours."-pp. 252-259.

Every consolation that could be afforded by countenance and even more solid marks of consideration, was paid them by Louis XIV. Little as we respect that vain and unprincipled man, it must be allowed that his treatment of the royal exiles was very handsome. We will not inquire how much of it proceeded from the delightful feeling of patronising kings, or how far his own ambitious designs may have induced him to use them as tools for his own purposes; we will content ourselves by admitting that nothing could be more kind, gracious, and in better taste, than his conduct to James and Mary. Much of Miss Strickland's book is occupied by the details of those important nothings, the Court etiquettes, which appear to have been no trifles to the unfortunate victims of them. Fauteuils, pliants, tabourets seem all to have been meted out according to the strictest rule of distributive justice, and woe be to any infringement thereof. James and Mary took precedence of all save the King, which was by no means palatable to the Dauphin; but the most difficult relationship to arrange, and

that which the noble nature of Mary Beatrice seems much to have revolted against, was in the anomalous case of the Maintenon. But all this court ceremonial covered an aching heart. "I am in too miserable a condition to wish that my friends should follow it, if they can be in their own country," was her expression to Lady Lichfield. James now made his unhappy attempt upon Ireland, and it was during his absence there that his consort made her interesting friendship with the nuns of Chaillot, which has been before alluded to. Her letters to them breathe an air of fervent piety, and though perhaps too strongly tinctured with the floating theology of the Roman schools, are the evidence of a most sincere and genuine religion. The following letter breathes a beautiful spirit of resignation :

"At S. Germains, this Tuesday.

"It is certain, my dear mother, that I have had grand visits to make and to receive. I shall conclude these to-morrow with that of madame de Chartres, at Versailles, and I hope that we shall then have a little repose together next week. In truth, I need it, both for soul and body. What you say of that repose in your last letter is admirable, but it seems to me that the more I seek for it the less I find it. It may be, perhaps, that I seek it with too much anxiety, or rather, that I search for it where it is not; yet, all the while, I am convinced that it is only to be found in GOD, and I do not appear even to wish to find it out of Him.' -p. 314.

It was written soon after the return of the king, during his eighteen months' absence in Ireland. The following paragraph is in the same strain :

"I am much mortified, my beloved mother, that I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you as I had purposed, but it seems that, for some time, it has been GOD's pleasure to send me all sorts of mortifications. It is certain that I have had several of different kinds, even since I saw you; but what is there to be said to all this, if not, 'It is the LORD; let Him do what is good in His sight.'"-p. 318.

Again,

"Oh, but the ways of GOD are far from our ways, and His thoughts are different from our thoughts. We perceive this clearly in our last calamity, and by the unforeseen, and almost supernatural mischances by which GOD has overthrown all our designs, and has appeared to declare Himself so clearly against us for our overwhelming. What then,' pursues the sorrowful queen, 'can we say to this, my beloved mother; or a ther, is it not better that we should say nothing-but, shutting the mouth, and bowing the head, to adore and to approve, if we can, all that GOD does; for He is the Master of the universe, and it is very meet and right that all should be submitted to Him. It is the LORD; He has done what was good in His eyes.' She goes on to acknowledge the difficulty she feels in performing the Christian duty she has described, in the following simple, touching words :

"This, my dearest mother, is what I wish to say and do, and to

this, I believe you have yourself encouraged me by your words, as you do by your letters, which are always so precious to me. But I say it, and I do it, with so bad a grace, and so much against my will, that I have no reason to hope that it can be agreeable to GOD. Aid me to do it better by your prayers, and encourage me constantly by your letters, till we have the happiness of embracing each other again.""-p. 322.

The queen now was brought to bed of a daughter called by poor king James La Consolatrice. James had now become thoroughly domestic, and had repented him of the evil ways which he had indulged in during his prosperity. His mind was now given to resignation and penance. On one occasion being compared to S. Louis, he said, "Alas! do not compare me to that great Saint. It is true I resemble him in my misfortunes, but I am nothing like him in my works. He was always holy from his youth, and I have been a great sinner. I ought to look upon the afflictions GOD hath sent me as the just punishment of my faults." On another occasion, alluding to his failure at the Hague, he said, "GOD says He is pleased to show from time to time by great events that it is He That does all, to make us the more sensible that it is by Him that kings do reign, and that He is the LORD of Hosts." He now began to make frequent retreats in the convent of La Trappe, while his wife betook herself to her spiritual friends at Chaillot. Sometimes Mary accompanied her husband, when she greatly edified the good Trappists by her devotion. James formed a friendship and entered into correspondence with the celebrated Abbé de Ranée, the champion of the severe rule of S. Benedict against the literary congregation of S. Maur. Mary's kindness to the emigrant Jacobites was exceeding the royal pair sold their jewels to supply gratuities for them, and the reduction of the Scotch guard of one hundred and fifty officers, all, with a few exceptions, Scotch Episcopalians, pained them exceedingly. These entered into the wars in Spain and Germany, and afforded some of the finest instances of modern chivalry. The Peace of Ryswick was a sad disappointment to our royalties; for though James had refused the crown of Poland, yet that stubborn conscientiousness which had been his bane in a worldly sense, prevented him resigning his pretensions to the throne of England. Another unsuccessful attempt was made but failed, and both submitted themselves to what Providence had laid upon them. Yet there was some prospect, for Mary had died and William was known to have an incurable disease, when one day in the Chapel Royal at S. Germain, the anthem was from Lamentations; "Remember, O LORD, what is come upon us; behold our reproach: our inheritances turned to strangers, our houses to aliens." The king, overcome by the allusion, fell down in an apoplexy similar to that which attacked him at the invasion of England. Mary was sadly afflicted, but she thus expresses herself:

"You know my weakness, my dear mother, and my little virtue,

and therefore you may judge better than any other person the extreme need I have of prayers. I do not ask anything in particular; for I feel a want of my former faith in devotion, but only a public desire to be able to conform myself to the will of God. I request only the fervent prayers of my dear mother and all our sisters, and of the other monastery. I ask yours, my good mother, who suffer for me and with me, and who know well the sad state in which I find myself. I do not hope to see you during the holy week; but we will be found at the foot of that Cross, whither our crosses should be borne.'"-p. 387.

Again, at p. 394.

"For I believe,' continues she, that a heart full of divine love is at peace and content in every kind of state, and cannot be otherwise than well. This is the only thing I would pray you to ask for me, my dear mother. It is the sole thing needful, without which one cannot be happy, either in this world or in the other; and with which, all that the world calls misfortunes and disgrace cannot render one miserable. I believe this as firmly as if I had experienced it myself, although, in truth, I have never felt an approach to it; for instead of doing all for love, I do all perforce. GOD knows it, and you may comprehend it well; and therefore I am sure, my dear mother, that you will pity me and pray for me.""

The king's mind was much shaken by his illness, and though they adjourned to the baths of Bourbon, there seemed no chance of his recovery. He lingered for several months, capable of taking the air, but ill at heart and in body. On Friday, the 2nd September, most unfortunately the same anthem that had brought on the first crisis was again played, and the king sank into a swoon: apoplexy supervened, but he rallied, and received the last rites of the Church. His parting words to his son, uttered with a fervour and solemnity that astonished every one, are worth recording.

"I am now leaving this world, which has been to me a sea of storms and tempests, it being GOD Almighty's will to wean me from it by many great afflictions. Serve Him with all your power, and never put the crown of England in competition with your eternal salvation. There is no slavery like sin, nor no liberty like His service. If His holy Providence shall think fit to seat you on the throne of your royal ancestors, govern your people with justice and clemency. Remember, kings are not made for themselves, but for the good of the people. Set before their eyes, in your own actions, a pattern of all manner of virtues. Consider them as your children; you are the child of vows and prayers, behave yourself accordingly. Honour your mother, that your days may be long; and be always a kind brother to your dear sister, that you may reap the blessings of concord and unity.'"-p. 398.

Sorrow and

King James's death-bed was an edifying scene. affliction working in an honest and good heart had done their blessed work, the grievous errors of his youth and middle age had been purified in the furnace of trial,-the prayers of his martyred