No person appeared as an accuser, not a single witness was examined, nor any evidence produced against him. The jury, under these circumstances, could do nothing else but acquit him. Their verdict, however, was far from gratifying the wishes or silencing the murmurs of the people. Every circumstance in the trial gave grounds for suspicion, and excited indignation; and the judgment pronounced, instead of being a proof of Bothwell's innocence, was esteemed an argument of his guilt. Pasquinades and libels were affixed to different places, expressing the sentiments of the public, with the utmost virulence of language.

Even Bothwell himself did not rely on the judg ment which he had obtained in his favour, as a full vindication of his innocence. Immediately after his acquittal, he, in compliance with a custom which was not then obsolete, published a writing, in which he offered to fight, in single combat, any gentleman of good fame, who should presume to accuse him of being accessary to the murder of the king.

Every step taken by Bothwell had hitherto been attended with all the success which his most sanguine wishes could expect. He had entirely gained the queen's heart; the murder of the king had excited no public commotion; he had been acquitted by his peers of any share in that crime; and their decision had been, in some sort, ratified in parliament. But in a kingdom, where the regal authority was so extremely limited, and the power of the nobles so formidable, he durst not venture on the last action, towards which all his ambitious. projects tended, without their approbation. In order to secure this, he, immediately after the dissolution of parliament, invited all the nobles who were present to an entertainment. Having filled the house with his friends and dependants, and surrounded it with armed men, he opened to the

company his intention of marrying the queen, whose consent, he told them, he had already ob tained; and demanded their approbation of this match, which, he said, was no less acceptable to their sovereign than honourable to himself. Huntly and Seaton, who were privy to all Bothwell's schemes, and promoted them with the utmost zeal; the popish ecclesiastics, who were absolutely devoted to the queen, and ready to sooth all her passions, instantly declared their satisfaction with what he had proposed. The rest, who dreaded the exorbitant power which Bothwell had acquired, and observed the queen's growing affection towards him in all her actions, were willing to make a merit of yielding to a measure which they could neither oppose nor defeat. Some few were confounded and enraged. But, in the end, Bothwell, partly by promises and flattery, partly by terror and force, prevailed on all who were present 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 declarations of Bothwell's innocence, and the most ample ac knowledgment 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 a husband; and if she should condescend to bestow on him that mark of her regard, they undertook to promote the marriage, and to join him with all their forces, in opposing any person who endeavoured to obstruct it.

Three days after the rising of parliament, Mary went from Edinburgh to Stirling, in order to visit the prince her son. Bothwell had now brought

his schemes to full maturity, and every precaution being taken which could render it safe to venture on the last and decisive step, the natural impetuosity of his spirit did not suffer him to deliberate any longer. Under pretence of an expedition against the freebooters on the borders, he assembled his followers; and marching out of Edinburgh with a thousand horse, turned suddenly towards Linlithgow, met the queen on her return near that place, dispersed her slender train without resistance, seized on her person, and conducted her together with a few of her courtiers, as a prisoner to his castle of Dunbar. She expressed neither surprise, nor terror, nor indignation, at such an outrage committed on her person, and such an insult offered to her authority, but seemed to yield without struggle or regret. Melvil was, at that time, one of her attendants; and the officer by whom he was seized, informed him that nothing was done without the queen's own consent. If we may rely on the letters published in Mary's name, the scheme had been communicated to her, and every step towards it was taken with her participation and advice.

Bothwell having now got the queen's person into his hands, it would have been unbecoming either a politician or a man of gallantry to have delayed consummating his schemes. For this purpose, he instantly commenced a suit, in order to obtain sentence of divorce from his wife, lady Jean Gordon, the earl of Huntly's sister. The pretexts which he pleaded were trivial or scandalous. But his authority had greater weight than the justice of his cause; and in both courts sentence of divorce was pronounced with the same indecent and suspicious precipitancy.

While this infamous transaction was carrying on, the queen resided at Dunbar; detained as a prisoner,

but treated with the utmost respect. Soon after Bothwell, with a numerous train of his dependants, conducted her to Edinburgh; but instead of lodging her in the palace of Holyroodhouse, he conveyed her to the castle, of which he was go vernor. The discontent of the nation rendered this precaution necessary. In an house unfortified, and of easy access, the queen might have been rescued without difficulty out of his hands. In a place of strength, she was secured from all the attempts of his enemies.

One small difficulty still remained to be surmounted. As the queen was kept in a sort of captivity by Bothwell, a marriage concluded in that condition might be imputed to force, and be held invalid. In order to obviate this, Mary appeared in the court of session, and in presence of the chancellor, the other judges, and several of the nobility, declared that she was now at full liberty; and though Bothwell's violence in seizing her person had, at first, excited her indignation, yet his respectful behaviour since that time had not only appeased her resentment, but determined her to raise him to higher honours.

What these were, soon became public. The title of duke of Orkney was conferred upon Bothwell; and on the 15th of May his marriage with the queen, which had so long been the object of his wishes, and the motive of his crimes, was solemnized. The ceremony was performed in public, according to the rites of the protestant church, by Adam Bothwell, bishop of Orkney, one of the few prelates who had embraced the reformation, and on the same day, was celebrated in private, according to the forms prescribed by the popish religion. The boldness with which Craig, the minister, who was commanded to publish the banns, testified against the design; the small num

ber of the nobles who were present at the marriage; and the sullen and disrespectful silence of the people, when the queen appeared in public, were manifest symptoms of the violent and general dissatisfaction of her own subjects. The refusal of Du Croc, the French ambassador, to be present at the nuptial ceremony or entertainment, discovers the sentiments of her allies with regard to this part of her conduct.. And although every other action in Mary's life could be justified by the rules of prudence, or reconciled to the principles of virtue, this fatal marriage would remain an incontestable proof of her rashness, if not of her guilt.

A considerable body of the nobles having assembled at Stirling, entered into an association for defence of the prince's person; a precaution deemed necessary, as Bothwell had made different attempts to get him into his power. The first accounts of this league filled the queen and Bothwell with great consternation. They were no strangers to the sentiments of the nation with respect to their conduct; and though their marriage had not met with public opposition, they knew that it had not been carried on without the secret disgust and murmurings of all ranks of men. They foresaw the violence with which this indignation would burst out, after being so long suppressed. And in order to prepare for the storm, Mary issued a proclamation, requiring her subjects to take arms, and to attend her husband by a day appointed. At the same time, she published a sort of manifesto, in which she laboured to vindicate her government from those imputations with which it had been loaded, and employed the strongest terms to express her concern for the safety and welfare of the prince her son. Neither of these produced any considerable effect. Her proclamation was ill obeyed, and her manifesto met with little credit.