berland, with the lords of the privy council-knelt at her feet, and hailed her Queen of England. She

burst into an agony of tears, and implored them to withdraw their cruel purpose; for no ambition tired her veins; modest and retiring, the joys of domestic bliss were all her hopes aspired to: but they advanced her legal right to the crown; the bequest of Edward; and above all, the power invested in her hands of establishing the reformed religion, and preventing future massacres and bloodshed. England, they told her, stood upon the brink of ruin; and she only could save the nation from destruction. Rome, i they urged, was secretly preparing the cruellest tortures and she would behold her parents, husband, friends, all perish, if Mary should ascend the throne. They implored her to save them, and to be the protector of her falling country!

Thus assailed on every side, and unable to stem the torrent of united persuasion, she yielded; and gave herself up as a pledge for England's welfare, but no thought of joy filled her labouring bosom. She looked forward to a protracted scene of danger, difficulty, care, and sorrow. She considered herself as a victim for the public good, and was resolver

to die for that faith in which she had been educated: for that dear native land, which gave her birth. She reflected with sorrow, on the many lives, which had heen sacrificed; and looked forward with horror, to the thoughts of how many more might yet be sacriAced to that mistaken zeal which profaned the sared cause of religion, by inflicting tortures in the name, and for the sake of that blessed Redeemer, ! who gave his own life, a ransom for mankind! But in the sweet hope of preventing the deluge of human blood, in the divine expectation of establishing that pure religion, which would secure the happiness of England, the lovely victim of ambition yielded her judgment, and her peace, to the persuasions of her relatives. Then as she tenderly pressed the hand of her beloved Guilford, and smiled faintly upon him, while a gentle sigh heaved in her bosom, she exclaimed

Oh, Guilford what do we give up for glory,
For glory! that's a toy I would not purchase,
An idle empty bubble: but for England!
What must we lose for that! since then my fate
Has forced this hard exchange upon my will,
Let gracious Heaven allow me one request:
For that bless'd peace in which I once did dwell,
All that I ask is, though my fortune frown,
And bury me beneath this fatal crown,
Let that one good be added to my doom,

To save this land from tyranny and Rome.***

Her dignities were transient. Mary's frier.ds, though less powerful, were more numerous; they were more zealous too. The church of Rome, still struggling for its right, and striving to redeem its falling greatness, ardently cherished the idea of a princess, educated in the strict tenets of their religion; a bigot in faith; one who had been taught to prefer martyrdom, to a denial of her belief; whose stern, morose, and unbending disposition would not shrink from the performance of her most rigid duties,

even though that rigour should teach her, that the devastation of human-kind was necessary to support the cause of the catholic faith. Mary, on the death of Edward, had retired to Kenning Hall, in the county of Norfolk; and commencing her operations, soon found herself at the head of a strong force. Northumberland summoned his levies, determined to oppose Mary's army, and sustain the rights of Lady Jane; but he soon learned how fruitless is ambition, and how uncertain are its effects. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm with which Jane's claims had been received, and the readiness with which they had been admitted, even those very persons, who had bent the knee before her, who with earnest entreaty, and hands uplifted had besought her to defend their laws, and faith, now vented execrations on her name, proclaimed her traitress, and doomed her devoted head to the scaffold. The very rabble who had echoed the youthful usurper's name, with shouts of exultation and delight, no sooner heard of the approach of the Princess Mary, than they crowded to greet her, hailed her as their Queen, and conducted her to the Tower in triumph. Northumberland's army, for the most part, deserted him, and the few who remained were so lukewarm in the cause, that he dared not lead them to encounter the army of the victorious Mary. Finding all lost, he attempted to quit the kingdom-but was prevented, and soon afterwards condemned, and executed.

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who had been confined in the Tower, by order of Edward, at the suggestion of the Duke of Somerset the protector, was now by Mary's order not only set at liberty, but invested with all his former religious power, and soon afterwards chosen Lord Chancellor.

This ambitious prelate resolved, at every hazard, to abolish the protestant faith, and confirm the ca

tholic privileges. He entertained a secret hatred towards Lady Jane and Lord Guilford; the mildness of whose religious opinions, and the gentleness and urbanity of whose mauners, were as reproaches to his sternness, and vindictive cruelty.

Lady Jane heard of the expected arrival of the Princess Mary without regret; and resigned, with joy, the crown she had reluctantly taken. Her happiness, at being dismissed from the cares of royalty, would have been without alloy; had it not been from the sorrows of her parents, and her apprehensions for their safety-apprehensions which were too well founded. The vindictive Mary, by no means appeased with the gentle submission of Lady Jane, issued orders for her imprisonment, and that of Lord Guilford; also of the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk; and Gardiner was entrusted with the commission. Guilford was distracted with this sudden change of

fortune; and at the idea of his Queen, his beauteous Jane, being torn from him; torn by ruffia hands, and placed in a prison, there to atone for the sins of others, for transgressions she had never de sired to commit; to be punished for that cond which had resulted from his father's ambition, and

her filial obedience to her parents, but in which her own inclination had not any share whatever. The Duchess of Suffolk also accused herself, as the murderer of her beloved child! and her grief almost amounted to insanity. Jane alone stood firm ; and, supported by religion, bowed her head with humble resignation to the will of Heaven. She even offered consolation to her afflicted friends; and, deep as her sufferings were, neither complaint or reproach escaped her lips. Guilford, even in the agony of his heart, now gazed upon her with wonder and redoubled admiration! "How is it, my beloved, (he cried), in this hour of desolation and sorrow, when all around thee are involved in anguish and despair, thou alone appearest calm and undisturbed, as if thou didst defy the power of fate; and those eyes which flowed in torrents on the death of Edward, are now dry; as though thou didst disdain the common weakness of humanity; oh, why is this?"

"It is, my Guilford, that I would teach thee to prepare thy mind for all those gloomy horrors which must ensue! The time for tender thoughts, and soft endearments is passed and gone! Our joys are fled; for ever fled; and we have now another part to play. We must now learn to bear, with forLitude, those evils we have no power to avert; that even in death we may triumph over our foes-and teach them, that virtue is superior to the power of fate, and cannot be subdued! Oh! canst thou think, beloved of my soul, thou first and dearest object of my fond affection, canst thou believe thy Jane insensible to all thy sorrows, thine and my parent's sorrows? No! Guilford, no! Words cannot speak the anguish of my heart! It swells, it heaves with agony and fain would pour its torrent forth but yet, it must not be, it is the lot of human nature to endure, and we must learn the bitter les son ?"