who are proverbially pretty easy coram latronibus), and have seen my friend with the grey mare and the black vizard. Alas! there always came a day in the life of that warrior, when it was the fashion to accompany him, as he passed without his black mask, and a nosegay in his hand, accompanied by halberdiers and attended by the sheriff in a carriage without springs, and a clergyman jolting beside him—to a spot close by Cumberland Gate and the Marble Arch, where a stone still records that here Tyburn turnpike stood. What a change in a century—in a few years! Within a few yards of that gate the fields began; the fields of his exploits, behind the hedges of which he lurked and robbed. A great and wealthy city has grown over those meadows. Were a man brought to die there now, the windows would be closed, and the inhabitants keep their houses, in sickening horror. A hundred years back people crowded to see the last act of a highwayman's life, and make jokes on it. Swift laughed at him; grimly advising him to provide a Holland shirt, and white cap crowned with a crimson or black ribbon for his exit, to mount the cart cheerfully, shake hands with the hangman, and so-farewell! SPEAK GENTLY.-ANON. SPEAK gently: it is better far, To rule by love than fear; Speak gently love doth whisper low The vows that true hearts bind; Speak gently to the little child, Teach it in accents soft and mild,- Speak gently to the young; for they Pass through this life as best they may, 'Tis full of anxious care. Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the careworn heart; Speak gently, kindly to the poor; Speak gently to the erring:-know Speak gently! He who gave his life Said to them, "Peace! be still!" Speak gently: 'tis a little thing Dropt in the heart's deep well; The good, the joy which it may bring, DEATH OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.-HUME. [David Hume, Historian and Philosopher, 1711-76]. SOME incidents happened, which revived her tenderness for Essex, and filled her with the deepest sorrow, for the consent which she had unwarily given, for his execution. The Earl of Essex, after his return from the fortunate expedition against Cadiz, observing the increase of the Queen's fond attachment towards him, took occasion to regret that the necessity of her service, required him often to be absent from her person, and exposed him to all those ill offices, which his enemies, more assiduous in their attentions, could employ against him. She was moved with this tender jealousy; and, making him the present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge of her affection; and assured him, in whatever disgrace he should fall, whatever prejudices she might be induced to entertain against him, yet, if he sent her that ring, she would immediately, upon sight of it, recall her former tenderness, would afford him a patient hearing, and would lend a favourable ear to his apology. Essex, notwithstanding all his misfortunes, reserved this precious gift to the last extremity; but, after his trial and condemnation, he resolved to try the experiment; and he committed the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom he desired to deliver it to the Queen. The countess was prevailed on by her husband, the mortal enemy of Essex, not to execute the commission; and Elizabeth, who still expected that her favourite would make this last appeal to her tenderness, and who ascribed the neglect of it to his invincible obstinacy, was, after much delay and many internal combats, pushed by resentment and policy, to sign the warrant for his execution. The Countess of Nottingham, falling into sickness, and affected with the near approach of death, was seized with remorse for her conduct; and, having obtained a visit from the Queen, she craved her pardon, and revealed to her the fatal secret. The Queen, astonished with this incident, burst into a furious passion: she shook the dying countess in her bed; and crying to her, that God might pardon her, but she never could, she broke from her; and thenceforth resigned herself over to the deepest and most incurable melancholy. She rejected all consolation; she even refused food and sustenance; and, throwing herself on the floor, she remained sullen and immovable, feeding her thoughts on her afflictions, and declaring life and existence an insufferable burden to her. Few words she uttered; and they were all expressive of some inward grief, which she cared not to resighs and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her despondency, and which, though they discovered her sorrows, were never able to ease or assuage them. Ten days and nights she lay upon the carpet, leaning upon cushions which her maids brought her; and her physicians could not persuade her, to allow herself to be put to bed, still less, to make trial of any remedies which they prescribed to her. Her anxious mind at last, had so long preyed on her frail body, that her end was visibly approaching; and the Council being assembled, sent the keeper, admiral, and secretary, to know her will with regard to her successor. She answered, with a faint voice, that as she had held a regal sceptre, she desired no other than a royal successor. Cecil requesting her to explain herself more particularly, she subjoined, that she would have a king to succeed her; and who should that be, but her nearest kinsman, the King of Scots? Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied that she did so, nor did her mind in the least wander from Him. Her voice soon after left her; her senses failed; she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued some hours, and she expired gently, without struggle or convulsion, in the seventieth year of her age and forty-fifth of her reign. |