he was not acquainted with any nobleman of that title; yet he did not doubt his existence, and supposed he might have reasons for not waiting upon him. Upon which the First Consul said, that a fellow, calling himself by that name, had been making the round of the Thuilleries for some days past, and he wished to know whether or not he had any claim upon his Excellency's protection."

I cast a look at George, and read in his countenance the same alarm, that chilled the blood in my veins. "That will be game for the police," were his Excellency's last words upon the subject.

"I assure you, Monseigneur," he continued, while I remained dumb with astonishment; “on my honour, and my great esteem for you, that I am not mean enough to have the least suspicion of a man, whose noble and generous conduct would do. honour to any nation; but in case you cannot reckon upon the interference of his Excellency, pardon my boldness, Monsieur, but your safety and my own."

politeness, Mons. Brelon, have the kindness to proceed."-" My youngest daughter is most intimately acquainted with M. Grosbaton, the valet of General Joubert; M. Grosbaton has a sister, who enjoys the confidence of an officer of the police, who has a daughter who has some knowlege of Lord Whitworth's porter; the porter is the intimate friend of one of my lady's maids, who is the chère amie of his Excellency the Ambassador's butler;"-" You lead me, M. Brelon, into an almost impenetrable maze of friendship, which does honour to your nation; but will you not have the goodness to tell me this important news?" "Instantly, Monseigneur; I wish only to make you acquainted with the source from whence I had it, that you may be convinced of its authenticity ?" Very prudent, Monsieur, you oblige me infinitely."."-"I do but my duty, milord; a duty which the most respectful devoument imposes upon me." Sans fuçons, Mons. Brelon ?"—"I obey your commands, Monseigneur. His Excellency's butler told the maid, who related it to the porter, "Be under no apprehension, Monand he again as milord will be so sieur Brelon," said I, with as much obliging as to recollect". "Per- composure as I could summon, at fectly, Sir; pray proceed"-" That the same time squeezing him by the his Excellency enquired of several hand; "I hope my case is not yet so English gentlemen at his table, desperate; and should it come to the whether they had the happiness of worst I shall not want means to knowing a Lord Johnsbury, mean- prove my innocence; I have, pering yourself, milord."-"No doubt," haps, been inconsiderate." He shrugsaid I, forcing a smile, and assum-ged his shoulders. "In England it ing an air of nonchalance that was very foreign to my feelings." The gentlemen answered, that they had not that honour; and his Excellency then related that the First Consul had himself enquired after you, Monseigneur, and asked why you had not been presented at his levée. His Excellency had answered, that

is the fashion, and it is difficult to to alter convenient customs. I thank you sincerely for your information. George shall discharge my account with you, and order post-horses directly." He made a low bow, and, after a thousand apologies, took his leave.

LINES

(To be continued.)

TO HER WHO WILL UNDERSTAND THEM.

When first I beheld thee, my love,
I felt that I ne'er could be free;
But honour forbids me to prove

How truly I languish for thee.

How long could I gaze on thy face
Unsullied by pride or by art!
But honour forbids me to trace
The beauties that torture my heart.

Thou art gone,-although not away,—
Nay, gone e'en before we could meet!
And honour forbids me to say

For whom my heart ever must beat!

EPISTLES BY MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Epistle from MARY to her UNCLES.-1567.

No. X.

AND can you still in Bothwell's guilt believe?
Still o'er incautious Mary's blindness grieve?
The verdict, though unanimous, distrust,

And deem the bloody charge, though fruitless, just?
Then learn to drive suspicion's mists away,
And give Earl Bothwell's worth to cloudless day:
My loyal nobles thus his guilt disprove,

They bid their sovereign smile on Bothwell's love;
Describe his services to Scotland's land,
And deem him worthiest of her royal hand!
Lives there a wretch, my Lords, so dead to shame,
So base a traitor to his sovereign's fame,
As to advise, nay, supplicate his Queen
To wed an actor in that monstrous scene,
And be the wedded friend, the tender wife
Of him whose hand bereav'd her Lord of life?
Or, should there be one man so lost, so vile,
Such guilt could ne'er assembled men defile!
And Scotland's nobles thus to Europe show,
Their hearts the innocence of Bothwell's know.'

* But, alas! such guilt, such unparellel'd, and even worse guilt still, did actually" defile" several of the proudest nobles of Scotland.

Time, which brings even the most closely veiled enormities to light, has proved, beyond the possibility of doubt, that Murray, Morton, Bothwell, and Maitland, concerted together the death of Darnley. Murray's aim was indeed hidden in its vile and wicked extent from his confederates, and even Bothwell, though a man of great acuteness, was so much absorbed in the delight he felt, at the high reward which Murray promised him, namely, the hand of the queen, if he would undertake the murder of Darnley, that he was utterly blind to the ruin which lurked under this insidious proposal, but eagerly and thankfully embraced it.

It is impossible to know whether Bothwell was actuated by ambition only, or by love for Mary, and jealousy of Darnley; but, certain it is, that alarmed at Mary's tender reconciliation with her husband, and renewed intercourse with him, he seized the very first opportunity which occurred, that is, he took advantage of her leaving her husband for one night, to destroy that unhappy man.— And here I must pause in my odious narrative to observe, that Mary's going on so trifling and simple a pretence to pass a night at Holyrood-house was, in my opinion, the strongest possible confutation of the charge brought against her that she was privy to the murder, and left Darnley in order that the crime might be consummated. Mary went to Holyrood to be present at an entertainment given to two of her domestics on their wedding!

Surely bad she been meditating to leave Darnley, in order that a crime like this might be perpetrated, she would have taken care to furnish herself with a stronger, and seemingly a more irresistible excuse for her unusual absence; an excuse so forced, and so elaborate, as to expose her to detection in the eyes of the penetrating, by the very pains taken to make it plausible. But, in the unsuspecting innocence of her heart, the queen, like a kind mistress, grants the prayer of her servants, and condescends to honour their entertainment with her presence.

But to resume my details-As soon as the bloody deed was accomplished, suspicion justly fell on Bothwell, as the author of it, though Mary was too much prepossessed in his favour to believe him guilty; especially as Murray, and the other confederates declared even then their belief in his innocence, and familiarly associated with him, and next contrived that he should be entirely acquitted when he was brought to trial!

Meanwhile my trembling lips no answer give,
Tho' Bothwell's claims within my memory live; !
While I with wonder see the veil remove,
Which hid so long his fond but secret love.
Nor think, lov'd Lords, that these projected ties
Of jealous anguish prompt the painful sighs;
In Bothwell's halls no fond, afflicted wife
Mourns o'er the vanish'd joys of wedded life,
Hates, yet adores, resents, yet pardons still,
Now courts divorce, then deems it life's worst ill,
Watches that face, the only book she reads,
To see if pity e'er to scorn succeeds.
And, if one little sign of love be given,
Lifts full of joy her secret soul to heaven;
If such there were who mourns, as I have done,
O'er hopes betray'd and life's fair prospects gone,
I should at once these offer'd ties repell,
Nor dare inflict the pangs I've known too well.
But Bothwell's halls a youthful wife contain,
Who longs to break her ill-assorted chain;
And even now, as if joy's only source,
With eager heart anticipates divorce,
And pants that hour of happiness to see,
Which may her hated fetters fix on me.

But, vainly still must Bothwell's passion burn,

My smiles on him, like flowers round funeral urn

Happy had it been for Mary had their wicked contrivances ended here; but these base conspirators against the fame, life, and happiness of their Queen, went on to perpetrate that very guilt of which it was impossible for Mary to conceive that any set of men could be capable; and they signed a declaration, in writing, and caused others to sign it, amongst whom were eight bishops, avowing their belief of Bothwell's innocence, and recommending Bothwell, though a married man, as the fittest husband for the queen.

But Mary, though always convinced that Bothwell was innocent, still hesitated to accept him as her husband; and thence the disgraceful seizure of her person by Bothwell, which soon after followed.-See Chalmer's 9th section, and page 208 of the 8th section.

Dr. Robertson, page 17, says of this writing “In the end, Bothwell, partly by promises and flattery, and partly by terror and force, prevailed on all who were present, (that is, present at a large entertainment which he gave) to subscribe a paper which leaves a deeper stain than any occurrence in that age on the honour and character of the nation. This paper contained the strongest assurances of Bothwell's innocence, and the most ample acknowledgment of his good services to the kingdom. If any future accusation should be brought against him on account of the King's murder, the subscribers promised to stand by him, as one man, and to hazard their lives and fortunes in his defence. They recommended him to the Queen as the most proper person she could choose for her husband."

"Amongst the subscribers of this paper we find some who were the Queen's chief confidents, others who were strangers to her councils and obnoxious to her displeasure; some who faithfully adhered to her through the vicissitudes of her fortune, and others who became the principal authors of her sufferings." Why does not Robertson name them? These were Murray and his faction.

It is an obvious truth, that those, who believe the sonnets and letters from Mary to Bothwell to be infamous forgeries, utterly and necessarily acquit Mary of loving Bothwell, as well as of being privy to Darnley's murder, and think her union with Bothwell was wholly the result of violence and expediency; but Robertson and Hume, who set out, as Mary's biographers, with a full belief in the authenticity of these infamous forgeries, see all the events of Mary's reign through the medium of this prepossession, and trace up all her actions after her quarrels with Darnley to the influence of Bothwell, and of an unlawful passion. Their prejudice distorts facts, and gives them a forced, and cruel intrepretation, worthy only of the age in which these horrors were perpetrated, and inconsistent with the amiable character of both historians,

Which only bloom to fade, soon pass away,
Short as the brilliance of a winter's day;
For in my breast no answering passion glows,
This woe-chill'd blood no more tumultuous flows;
No conscious ardour prompts my secret sigh,
As when my Darnley's form first met my eye;
When both at once transfix'd with love's own dart,
Fond, mutual glances mingled heart with heart;
Not love, but grateful friendship sways my breast,
And worldly prudence is its wary guest;
Prudence that says how vast is Bothwell's power,
To screen my threaten'd head in factious hour:
Since, by no rebel's traiterous aim defil'd,

He from impending ill would guard my child;
And, though most powerful of our chiefs he shines,
With matchless influence loyal zeal combines ;
His wish to strengthen not to share my sway,
And teach less loyal subjects to obey.

If then, while round me specious traitors throng,
And dare the open threat, the secret wrong,
This wounded bosom for protection lean
On him, the guide, and guardian of his Queen ;
Him only faithful 'midst the faithless found,
Like one lone spring that cheers the desert round,
If, pleas'd to listen to my nobles' voice,

I fix on Bothwell's Earl my wedded choice:
If to his arms this faded form I give,
At length content a subject's wife to live,
Forbear to judge, while true to nature's plan,
Dependant woman seeks protecting man.
Her aim, defence from traitors, rebels, foes,
From civil discord, and impending woes:

The wretch that's falling from the rock's high breast
Will grasp c'en thorns that can his fall arrest.

So I to guard my oft endanger'd throne,

And save the life far dearer than my own,

May from my pride's suggestions dare depart,
At the pure promptings of a mother's heart,

And place my child, secur'd from threat'ning harms,
In the safe shelter of a father's arms.

May Scotland's nobles urgent prayers approve,
And deign at length to smile on Bothwell's love;
Then shall my son who, through his mother springs
In proud succession from an hundred kings,
Be taught that mother's tender care to prize,
Who, for his sake, could pride's high claims despise;
And, by maternal love's fond daring led,

Her faith's firm, active foe consent to wed.
While this desire escapes her throbbing breast,
"Let me be wretched, so my child is blest!"
But let me close this irritating page,

My Lords, I see your now indignant rage!*
I hear your honour'd lips, belov'd Lorraine,
For such an union speak your proud disdain.
Forgive! forgive, make known your sacred will!
And I, perhaps, may dare obey it still.

For fond remembrance grateful Mary moves,
To bend submissive to the friends she loves.

* The marriage with Bothwell was a great blow to the pride of the House of

Guise.

Eur. Mag. Aug., 1823.

P

SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS IN LONDON AND PARIS.

From SIR CHArles Darnley, Bart., to the MARQUIS DE VERMONT.

LETTER XXIII.