poetical temperament and the fantastic lengths to which it was carried in his native country, where ladies' chambers were, and continue to be, very common scenes for the reception of company, his intrusion will, at all events, bear a much fairer interpretation than could be bestowed upon a similar one, under the usages of the society in which we live.

On the following morning, the affair was made known to the Queen by her ladies. Had they been wise enough to hold their peace, it is odds but the lover's taste for adventure would have been satisfied by the first essay. Instead of this, being forbidden all future access to her presence, he became more desperate than ever. His motives had been misconstrued; his actions, he thought, had been misrepresented; he was bent on explanation, and he hoped for pardon. Thus it was that when Mary, on the same day, quitted Edinburgh, her disgraced admirer executed his determination of following her, and, on the night of the 14th, seized the only opportunity of an interview by committing the very same offence for which he was then suffering :-Mary had no sooner entered her chamber than Chatelar stood before her.

1

Whatever her feelings may have been towards him, it is not surprising that this sudden apparition should have proved somewhat startling, and have produced an agitation not very favourable to his cause. It may be presumed that she was not mistress of her actions, for certain it is, that she did that which, if she possessed one half of the womanly tenderness for which she has credit, must have been a blight and a bitterness upon her after life. Chatelar comes, wounded to the quick, to supplicate a hearing; and the Queen, it is said, "was fain to cry for help," and desire Murray, who came at her call, "to put his dagger into him."

Thus, by dint of unnecessary terrors and unmeaning words, was Chatelar given over to an enemy who had always kept a jealous eye upon him, and to justice, which seemed determined to strain a point for his sake, and give him something more than his due. In a few days he was tried, and experienced the usual fate of favourites, by being condemned to death.

Alas, how bitter is the recollection of even trifling injuries towards those who loved and

are lost to us! yet what had this been in counterpoise to the reflections of Mary? She had given over a fond and a fervent heart to death for no fault but too much love, and any attempt to recall the deed might have afforded a colour to the aspersions which malignant persons were ever ready to cast upon her character, but could have availed no further.

For Chatelar there was little leisure for reflection. The fever of the first surprise-the strange, the appalling conviction as to the hand which hurled him to his fate-the shame, the humiliation, the indignation, had scarce time to cool in his forfeit blood, before he was brought out to die the death of a culprit upon the scaffold.

It has been the fashion for writers upon this subject, in the quiet and safety of their firesides, to exclaim against his want of preparation for his transit; but, under such circumstances, I cannot much wonder that he should rather rebel against the usual ceremonies of psalm-singing and last speeches. If he might have died more like a priest, it is certain that he could not have died more like a gallant ca

valier; and if he chose to nerve himself for death by reading Ronsard's hymn upon it, this is no proof that he looked with irreverence upon what was to follow it. His last words are extremely touching; for they prove that, though he considered that Mary had remorselessly sacrificed his life, his sorrow was greater than his resentment, and his love went with him to the grave. 'Adieu," he said, turning to the quarter in which he supposed her to be, "adieu, most beautiful and most cruel princess in the world!" and then, submitting himself to the executioner, he met the last stroke with a courage consistent with his character.

66

Of Mary's behaviour on this event, history, I believe, gives no account.

My ponderings upon this singular story had detained me long. The old pictures on the walls glistened and glimmered in the moonshine like a band of spectres; and, at last, I fairly fancied that I saw one grisly gentleman pointing at me with his truncheon, in the act of directing his furies to "seize on me and take me to their torments." It was almost time to be gone; but the thought of Chatelar seemed

holding me by the skirts. I could not depart without taking another look at the scene of his happiest hours, and I stole, shadow-like, with as little noise as I could, through the narrow passages and staircases, till I stood in Mary's little private apartment.

As I passed the antechamber the light was shining only on the stain of blood; the black shadows here and elsewhere made the walls appear as though they had been hung with mourning; and the ghost of a tune was haunting my ears with—“ Adieu plaisant pays de France." I do not know that ever I felt so melancholy; and had not the owl just then given a most dismal whoop, I think I might very possibly have had courage and sentiment enough to remain till I was safely locked up for the night. I passed by the low bed, under which Chatelar is said to have hidden himself. It must have cost him some trouble to get there! I glanced hastily at the faded tambour work, which, it is possible, he might have witnessed in its progress; and I shook my head with much satisfaction to think that I had a head to shake. "If," said I,