about all her appointments, which touched us with pity, and led us back to the turbulent and half civilized men by whom she was surrounded, and from whom she had little reason to expect forbearance as a woman, or obedience as a queen. The closet, to which we were shown the secret staircase where the assassins entered, seems scarcely of sufficient dimensions to allow the persons, who are said to have been assembled there, the simplest accommodations for a repast; especially if Darnley was of so gigantic proportions, as the armor, still preserved there and asserted to be his, testifies. Poor Mary, notwithstanding her errors, and the mistakes into which she was driven by the fierce spirit of her evil times, is now remembered throughout her realm, with a sympathy and warmth of appreciation, which failed to cheer her sufferings during life. Almost constantly you meet with memorials of her. In the Castle of Edinburgh, you have pointed out to you a miserable, dark room, about eight feet square, where her son James the Sixth was born; in the Parthenon, among the gatherings of the Antiquarian Society, you are shown the cup from which she used to feed her infant prince, and the long white kid gloves, strongly embroidered with black, which she was said to have worn upon the scaffold; and in the dining-hall at Abbotsford, you start at a most distressing portrait of her, a head in a charger, taken the day after her execution. Near the Cathedral of Peterborough, where her body was
