and over went pussy crunkling out a full length in the heather. At the same moment, startled by the noise, another pack of grouse rose, into which the contents of the Major's second barrel went with fell precision. "Now Dick! be alive, pick up the birds, look sharp, at this rate you'll be rich before night," said the Major, reloading as quickly as he could.

The place was literally alive with game. The coolness and precision of the sportsman made amends for the obstinate perversity of the dog. The Major's blood was up, he scarcely missed a shot, and the red-legged boy was staggering with the weight he carried, long before the day was over. Alas! could the deceived and deeply injured Sandy Macpherson have only known what devastation was going on among his grouse, he could scarcely have been so hard upon the grazier, with whom he was chaffering about the price of a heifer; nor, his bargains being concluded, would he have jogged home, with that cheerful expression his countenance wore when he alighted from his shelty, towards nightfall, at the door of the Cat and Bagpipes.

"Ha'e ye the ten pun' ready for me?" he inquired, with a pleasant smile, as he opened the door of the parlour, where the Major was seated at dinner.

"No, Sandy, but you have brought it from the fair for me, I hope," replied the Major, laughing.

"Na! na! de'il a bit, that winna do; ye couldna shoot a grouse if yer life depended on it, ye ha'e nae nerves.'

"Take a chair, Sandy, you must stay to dinner; but, before you sit down, just lift that cloth, on the sideboard; you'll see something there that 'll give you an appetite for the mutton."

The poor keeper did as he was bid, and a sight was indeed revealed to his astonished gaze which for many a long day he bitterly remembered. There, ranged in due order, were about forty brace of the Duke's finest grouse, not to mention several hares, and sundry head of black game. Confusion, horror, surprise, and wrath, struggled for a moment in his countenance, and seemed to deprive him of all power of

utterance.

"Hech, sirs! I'm a ruined man, that's all," he said at last with an execration, we need not stay to mention.

"Deuce a bit, Sandy; keep your own counsel, and I'll keep mine, you may be certain of that."

"An wi' that auld dowg, that I thocht didna ken a grouse frae a gander. An' my ten pun' into the bargain: Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" groaned the unhappy keeper wiping the perspiration off his forehead.

"Never mind that, Sandy, I can afford to let you off the bet; the day's sport is worth the money, and more too," and the Major, as he spoke, slipped a few sovereigns into the keeper's hand.

"Aweel! aweel! wha'd ha'e thocht it, wi' that auld deef pointer. De'il tak' me but if ever I see a chiel on the mountains again wi' a blue body coat an' dancing shoon, I'll slip the dowgs at him, dang me if I don't!"

"Never mind, Sancho is no great things of a dog, but his master is a right honest fellow, and a staunch sportsman into the bargain; Scotchman as you are, you cannot be expected to be a match for a man who has hunted with the Faugh a Ballaghs.' But if ever you come to Ireland, Sandy, you shall be right welcome at Badger Hall."

ILL TRES FRANCAIS DU 16M SIECLE

London Richard Bentley 1851

MARY QUEEN OF SCOT S.*

WITH A PORTRAIT.

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS is the most truly tragic character in all history. We do not mean that there are not others, whose misfortunes have been equally great and virtues more exemplary; but we assert that there is none, in whose life we find so many romantic and sad vicissitudes, so much of the heroism of our nature alternating with so much of its softer feelings and failings, so much beauty, so much love, perhaps so much revenge, so much dignity, so much weakness, and so much suffering and sorrow. With all her faults, even with all her crimes, she was one, in Shakspeare's phrase,

"More sinned against than sinning."

But the poetry of her character arises from her errors as well as from her sufferings. To adopt some of the words of Shelley touching the heroine of one of his poems, the dramatic interest which Mary inspires, is proved by the sympathy which she finds in the hearts even of those who condemn her, and by the restless and anatomizing casuistry with which men seek her justification, yet feel that she has done that which requires to be, but cannot be, justified.

Her history is also the history of an important crisis in the great current of the destinies of Europe. It is the history of the formidable struggle in the north and south of this island between the Reformed and Roman Catholic creeds. It involves also the consideration of the great contest between Protestant and Constitutional England and Romanist and Despotic Spain. Philip II. had long intrigued to raise Mary from an English dungeon to the English throne; and, after her death, he attacked England as her avenger. The great drama of Mary's fate is prolonged after her fall; and the Armada fills its closing scene.

M. Mignet, the justly celebrated historian of the French Revolution, has found in the life and times of Mary, a subject worthy of his powers; and one also which he has invested with much more of the charm of novelty, than might have been thought possible with so ancient a theme. Mary's history is indeed "an old tale, and one that has been oft told;" but, unfortunately, her character was made by the writers of her own country a party question, on which the Jacobites strove to display their devotion to the House of Stuart by idolizing Mary; while the partizans of the House of Hanover sought to manifest their loyalty to the ruling dynasty by their vehemence and virulence against her. Two schools, one of Marian, and one of Anti-Marian writers, were thus created; and even recent Scotch and English authors have betrayed proofs of being enlisted in one or other of these parties A really impartial history of Mary has long been a desideratum; and it is from French literature that we at last have received it.

M. Mignet has skilfully availed himself both of the large collection of memoirs and letters respecting Mary, which Count Labanoff published a few years ago; and also of many documents in the State Paper Office of France, and in the Spanish Archives of Simancas, which had been previously unknown, and which throw valuable light on many parts of his subject. The reader will especially find proofs of this in

The History of Mary Queen of Scots, by F. A. Mignet, Member of the Institute and of the French Academy; Perpetual Secretary of the Academy of Moral and Political Science. 2 vols.

the first volume, in the description of Elizabeth at the commencement of her reign, and in the second volume in the narrative of Philip's efforts, first to rescue, and afterwards to avenge Mary.

We quote, as a fair specimen of M. Mignet's work, the résumé at the conclusion. After commenting on the troubled state of Scotland at the time of Mary's return from France, he asks, "In order to rule as a queen over her powerful nobility, without provoking an insurrection; to practise the Catholic form of worship, without exciting the aggressive distrust of the Protestants; and to preserve the plenitude of her sovereign authority in the relations with England, without exposing herself to the intrigues and attacks of the restless Elizabeth-in order to do these things, what qualifications did Mary Stuart bring with her into Scotland? She condemned the religion, and was unacquainted with the customs of the country which she was called to rule. Leaving a brilliant and refined court, she returned full of regret and disgust, to the wild mountains and uncultivated inhabitants of Scotland.

"More amiable than politic, very ardent, and not at all circumspect, she returned thither with misplaced elegance, dangerous beauty, a quick but restless intellect, a generous but excitable temperament, a taste for the arts, a love for adventure, and all the passions of a woman, combined with the extreme liberty of a widow. Although possessed of great courage, it only served to hasten her misfortunes; and she employed her mind with committing, with better grace, those faults to which she was urged by her position and character. She had the imprudence to present herself as the legitimate heir to the crown of England, and thus to become the rival of Elizabeth; she served as the support of the vanquished Catholics in her kingdom, and thus incurred the implacable enmity of the Reformed party, who were determined to maintain, at all risks, the religious revolution which they had occasioned. Nor was this all. The dangers to which she was exposed by the exercise of her authority, the pretensions of her birth, and the ambition of her creed, were aggravated by the errors of her private conduct. Her sudden liking for Darnley-the excessive familiarities which she allowed Rizzio, and the confidence which she reposed in him-and the ungovernable passion she felt for Bothwell-were all equally fatal to her. By raising to the rank of her husband and king a young gentleman devoid of all merit, except personal attractions-by the sudden aversion and disgust which she felt for him-by making a Catholic foreigner her secretary and favouriteand by consenting to become the wife of her husband's murderer, she gave the death-blow to her own authority. After having lost her crown, she inconsiderately exposed herself to the loss of her liberty. She sought an asylum in the dominions of her enemy, before she had been assured that one would be granted her; and, after throwing herself upon the mercy of Elizabeth, she conspired against her with but little chance of success. From her captivity in the prison in which she had been iniquitously confined, she thought she would be able, in concert with the Catholic party, to provide means for her deliverance, but she only laboured for her own destruction. The Catholics were too feeble in the island, and too disunited on the Continent, to revolt or interfere usefully on her behalf. The insurrections which she attempted in England, and the conspiracies which she framed until 1586, completed her ruin, by causing the death or exile of her most enterprising partisans. The maritime crusade, discussed at Rome,