WHAT IS TIME?

I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares,

Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs
"Time is the warp of life," he said. Oh, tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!"
I asked the ancient venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:

From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed,
“Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode!"
I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins: "Time!" he replied,
"I've lost it! ah, the treasure!" and he died.
I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years:
They answered, "Time is but a meteor glare!"
And bade us for eternity prepare.

I asked a spirit lost; but oh, the shriek

That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak!
It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!"
Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply:
"Time is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory, or the path of hell."
I asked old father Time himself, at last,
But in a moment he flew swiftly past;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind

His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.

I asked the mighty angel, who shall stand,

One foot on sea, and one on solid land;

"By heavens," he cried, "I swear the mystery's o'er; Time was, time is, but time shall be no more!"

Questions: What persons were questioned? What is meant by: "A man of cares"? "The warp of life"? "Tide of life"? "Silver

spheres "? "Bright chronometers of days and years"? Give the words of the dying sinner and of the spirit lost, in three ways.

DEATH OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

John Lingard, D. D., was born in England in 1771; died in 1851. His "History of England," complete in ten volumes, is the only impartial history of that nation. The splendid styles of Hume and Macaulay can never make amends for their false, unjust, or careless treatment of Catholic questions. Lingard's style is pure, dignified and classical ; but it is in the higher requisites of history, it is in fairness, in accuracy and completeness of details, in diligent research, in clear and methodical arrangement, that his work vindicates its claim to be considered the standard book of reference on all disputed points of English history.

IN

N the midst of the great hall of the castle had been raised a scaffold, covered with black serge, and surrounded with a low railing. About seven, the doors were thrown open; the gentlemen of the country entered with their attendants; and Paulet's* guard augmented the number to between one hundred and fifty and two hundred spectators. Before eight, a message was sent to the queen, who replied that she would be ready in half an hour.

At that time, Andrews, the sheriff, entered the oratory, and Mary arose, taking the crucifix from the altar in her right, and carrying her prayer-book in her left hand. Her servants were forbidden to follow; they insisted; but the queen bade them be content, and turning, gave them her blessing. They received it on their

*This was Sir Amias Paulet, the appointed custodian of the unfortunate queen. How unflinchingly he performed his office may be inferred from a letter of Queen Elizabeth to him, in which she says: "Amias, my most faithful and careful servant, God Almighty reward thee treblefold for thy most troublesome charge so well discharged."

knees, some kissing her hands, others her mantle. The door closed; and the burst of lamentation from those within resounded through the hall.

Mary was now joined by the earl and her keepers, and descending the staircase, found at the foot Melville, the steward of her household, who, for several weeks, had been excluded from her presence. This old and faithful servant threw himself on his knees, and wringing his hands, exclaimed, — “Ah, madam, unhappy me! was ever a man on earth the bearer of such sorrow as I

shall be, when I report that my good and gracious queen and mistress was beheaded in England!"

Here his grief impeded his utterance; and Mary replied: "Good Melville, cease to lament; thou hast rather cause to joy than mourn; for thou shalt see the end of Mary Stuart's troubles. Know that this world is but vanity, subject to more sorrow than an ocean of tears can bewail. But, I pray thee, report that I die a true woman to my religion, to Scotland, and to France. May God forgive them that have long thirsted for my blood, as the hart doth for the brooks of water. O God, thou art the author of truth, and truth itself. Thou knowest the inward chambers of my thoughts, and that I always wished the union of England and Scotland. Commend me to my son, and tell him that I have done nothing prejudicial either to the dignity or independence of his crown, or favorable to the pretended superiority of our enemies." Then bursting into tears, she said, "Good Melville, farewell;" and kissing him, "once again, good Melville, farewell, and pray for thy mistress and thy queen." It was remarked as Something extraordinary, that this was the first time in her life that she had ever been known to address a person with the pronoun thou.

Drying up her tears, she turned from Melville and made her last request, that her servants might be present at her death. But the Earl of Kent objected that they would be troublesome by their grief and lamentations, might practice some superstitious trumpery, perhaps might dip their handkerchiefs in her grace's blood. "My lords," said Mary, "I will give my word for them. They shall deserve no blame. Certainly your mistress, being a maiden queen, will vouchsafe, in regard of womanhood, that I have some of my own women about me at my death."

Receiving no answer, she continued, "You might, I think, grant me a far greater courtesy, were I a woman of lesser calling than the Queen of Scots." Still they were silent; when she asked with vehemence,-"Am I not the cousin to your queen, a descendant of the blood royal of King Henry VII., and the anointed Queen of Scotland?" At these words the fanaticism of the Earl of Kent began to yield; and it was resolved to admit four of her men and two of her women servants. She selected her steward, physician, apothecary, and surgeon, with her maids Kennedy and Curle.

The procession now set forward. It was headed by the sheriff and his officers; next followed Paulet and Drury, and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent; and lastly came the Scottish queen, with Melville bearing her train. She wore the richest of her dresses, that which was appropriate to the rank of a queen dowager. Her step was firm, and her countenance cheerful. She bore without shrinking the gaze of the spectators, and the sight of the scaffold, the block, and the executioner, and advanced into the hall with that grace and majesty which she had so often displayed in her happier days, when in the palace of her fathers. To aid her as she

mounted the scaffold, Paulet offered his arm. "I thank you, sir," said Mary; "it is the last trouble I shall give you, and the most acceptable service you have ever rendered me.'

The queen seated herself on a stool which had been prepared for her. On her right stood the two earls; on the left the sheriff and Beal, clerk of the council; in front, the executioner from the Tower, in a suit of black velvet, with his assistant, also clad in black. The warrant was read, and Mary, in an audible voice, addressed the assembly. She would have them recollect, also, that she was a sovereign princess, not subject to the Parliament of England, but brought there to suffer by injustice and violence. She, however, thanked her God that he had given her this opportunity of publicly professing her religion, and of declaring, as she had often before declared, that she had never imagined, nor compassed, nor consented to, the death of the English queen, nor ever sought the least harm to her person. After her death, many things, which were then buried in darkness, would come to light. But she pardoned from her heart all her enemies, nor should her tongue utter that which might turn to their prejudice.

Here she was interrupted by Dr. Fletcher, dean of Peterborough, who, having caught her eye, began to preach, and under cover—perhaps through motives of zeal-contrived to insult the feelings of the unfortunate sufferer. Mary repeatedly desired him not to trouble himself and her. He persisted; she turned aside. He made the circuit of the scaffold, and again addressed her in front. An end was put to this extraordinary scene by the Earl of Shrewsbury, who ordered him to pray. His prayer was the echo of his sermon; but Mary heard him not. She was employed at the time in