through the day; she slept several nights in the chamber under his apartment. She heaped on him so many marks of tenderness and confidence, as, in a great measure, quieted those suspicions which had so long disturbed him. But while he was fondly indulging in dreams of the return of his former happiness, he stood on the very brink of destruction. On Sunday, the 9th of February, about eleven at night, the queen left the Kirk of Field, in order to be present at a masque in the palace. At two next morning, the house in which the king lay, was blown up with gunpowder.. The noise and shock which this sudden explosion occasioned, alarmed the whole city. The inhabitants ran to the place whence it came. The dead body of the king, with that of a servant who slept in the same room, were found lying in an adjacent gar den, without the city wall, untouched by fire, and with no bruise or mark of violence.

Such was the unhappy fate of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnly, in the twenty-first year of his age. Had he died a natural death, his end would have been unlamented, and his memory would have soon been forgotten; but the cruel circumstances of his murder, and the slackness with which it was afterwards avenged, have made his name to be remembered with regret, and have rendered him the object of pity to which he had otherwise no

title.

DAVID RIZIO.

THE history, character, and tragical death of this man, are transmitted to posterity by our author in the following words:

The low birth and indigent condition of this man placed him in a station in which he ought

naturally to have remained unknown to posterity. But what fortune called him to act and to suffer in Scotland, obliges history to descend from its dignity, and to record his adventures. He was the son of a musician in Turin; and having accompanied the Piedmontese ambassador into Scotland, gained admission into the queen's family by his skill in music. As his servile condition had taught him supleness of spirit, and insinuating manners, he quickly crept into the queen's favour; and her French secretary happening to return at that time into his own country, was preferred by her to that office. He now began to make a figure in court, and to appear as a man of weight and consequence. 'The whole train of suitors and expectants, who have an extreme sagacity in discovering the paths which lead most directly to success, applied to him. His recommendations were observed to have great influence over the queen, and he grew to be considered not only as a favourite but as a minister. Nor was Rizio careful to abate that envy which always attends such an extraordinary and rapid change of fortune. He studied, on the contrary, to display the whole extent of his favour. He affected to talk often and familiarly with the queen in public. He equalled the greatest and most opulent subjects in richness of dress and in the number of his attendants. He discovered in all his behaviour that assuming insolence, with which unmerited prosperity inspires an ignoble mind. It was with the utmost indignation that the nobles beheld the power, it was with the utmost difficulty that they tolerated the arrogance, of this unworthy minion. Even in the queen's presence they could not forbear treating him with marks of contempt. Nor was it his exorbitant power alone which exasperated the Scots. They considered him, and not without reason, as a dangerous ene

my to the protestant religion, and suspected that he held for this purpose, a secret correspondence with the court of Rome.

In consequence of such a conduct, the king and nobles mutually conspired to take away his life. Nothing now remained but to concert the plan of operation, to choose the actors, and to assign them their parts in perpetrating this detestable crime. Every circumstance here paints and characterises the manners and men of that age, and fills us with horror at both. The place chosen for committing such a deed was the queen's bed-chamber. Though Mary was now in the sixth month of her pregnancy, and though Rizio might have been seized elsewhere without any difficulty, the king pitched upon this place, that he might enjoy the malicious pleasure of reproaching Rizio with his crimes before the queen's face. The earl of Morton, the lord high chancellor of the kingdom, undertook to direct an enterprise, carried on in defiance of all the laws of which he was bound to be the guardian. The lord Ruthven, who had been confined to his bed for three months by a very dangerous distemper, and who was still so feeble that he could scarce walk, or bear the weight of his own armour, was intrusted with the executive part; and while he himself needed to be supported by two men, he came abroad to commit a murder in the presence of his sovereign.

On the 9th of March, Morton entered the court of the palace with an hundred and sixty men; and without noise, or meeting with any resistance, seized all the gates. While the queen was at supper with the countess of Argyle, Rizio, and a few domestics, the king suddenly entered the apartment by a private passage. At his back was Ruthven, clad in complete armour, and with that ghastly and horrid look which long sickness had given

him. Three or four of his most trusty accom→ plices followed him. Such an unusual appearance alarmed those who were present. Rizio instantly apprehended that he was the victim at whom the blow was aimed; and in the utmost consternation retired behind the queen, of whom he laid hold, hoping that the reverence due to her person might prove some protection to him. The conspirators had proceeded too far to be restrained by any consideration of that kind. Numbers of armed men rushed into the chamber. Ruthven drew his dagger, and with a furious mien and voice commanded Rizio to leave a place of which he was unworthy, and which he had occupied too long. Mary employed tears, and entreaties, and threatenings, to save her favourite. But, notwithstanding all these, he was torn from her by violence, and before he. could be dragged through the next apartment, the rage of his enemies put an end to his life, piercing his body with fifty-six wounds.

EARL OF BOTHWELL.

ABOUT this time a new favourite grew into great eredit with the queen, and soon gained an ascendant over her heart, which encouraged his enterprising genius to form designs that proved fatal to himself, and the occasion of all Mary's subsequent misfortunes. This was James Hepburn, earl of Bothwell, the head of an ancient family. and, by his extensive possessions and numerous vassals, one of the most powerful noblemen in the kingdom. Even in that turbulent age, when so many vast projects were laid open to an aspiring mind, and invited it to action, no man's ambition was more daring than Bothwell's, or had recourse to bolder or more singular expedients for obtaining power.

When almost every person of distinction in the kingdom, whether papist or protestant, had joined the congregation in opposing the dangerous encroachments of the French upon the liberties of the nation, he, though an avowed protestant, adhered to the queen regent, and acted with vigour on her side. The success which attended the arms of the congregation having obliged him to retire into France, he was taken into the queen's service, and continued with her till the time of her return into Scotland. From that period, every step of his conduct towards Mary was remarkably dutiful; and amidst all the shifting of faction, we scarcely ever find him holding any course which could be offensive to her. When Murray's proceedings with regard to her marriage gave umbrage to the queen, she recalled Bothwell from that banishment into which she had with reluctance driven him, and considered his zeal and abilities as the most powerful supports of her authority. When the conspirators against Rizio seized her person, he became the chief instrument of recovering her liberty, and served her, on that occasion, with so much fidelity and success, as made the deepest impression on her mind, and greatly increased the confidence which she had hitherto placed in him. Her gratitude loaded him with marks of her bounty; she raised him to offices of profit and of trust, and transacted no matter of importance without his advice. By complaisance and assiduity, he confirmed and fortified these dispositions of the queen in his favour, and insensibly paved the way towards that vast project which his immoderate ambition had perhaps already conceived, and which, in spite of many difficulties, and at the expense of many crimes, he at last accomplished.

During Mary's disgust at Darnly, after the assassination of Rizio, Bothwell, all the while, was