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duction, indigitate, reminiscential evocation, farraginous, advenient, ariolation, lapifidical.

as some have done in their persons; one face of Janus holds no proportion unto the other. It is too late to be ambitious. The great mutations of the world are acted, or time may be too short for our designs. To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without injury to our expectations, in the advent of the last day, were a contradiction to our beliefs. We, whose generations are ordained in this setting part of time, are providentially taken off from such imaginations; and being necessitated to eye the remaining particle of futurity, are naturally constituted unto thoughts of the next world, and cannot excusably decline the consideration of that duration, which maketh pyramids pillars of snow, and all that is past a moment.

Those who are acquainted with Dr Johnson's style, will at once perceive the resemblance, particularly in respect to the abundance of Latin words, which it bears to that of Sir Thomas Browne. Indeed there can be no doubt that the author of the 'Rambler' acquired much of his fondness for pompous and sounding expressions from the writings of the learned knight of Norwich. Coleridge, who was so well qualified to appreciate the writings of Browne, has numbered him among his first favourites. Rich in various knowledge, exuberant in conceptions and conceits; contemplative, imaginative, often truly great and magnificent in his style and diction, though, doubtless, too often big, stiff, and hyperLatinistic. He is a quiet and sublime enthusiast, Circles and right lines limit and close all bodies, with a strong tinge of the fantast: the humorist and the mortal right-lined circlel must conclude and constantly mingling with, and flashing across, the shut up all. There is no antidote against the opium philosopher, as the darting colours in shot silk play of time, which temporally considereth all things. Our upon the main dye.' The same writer has pointed fathers find their graves in our short memories, and out the entireness of Browne in every subject before sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors. him. He never wanders from it, and he has no Grave-stones tell truth scarce forty years. Genera occasion to wander; for whatever happens to be his tions pass while some trees stand, and old families subject, he metamorphoses all nature into it. We last not three oaks. To be read by bare inscriptions may add the complete originality of his mind. He like many in Gruter,2 to hope for eternity by enigseems like no other writer, and his vast and solitary matical epithets, or first letters of our names, to be abstractions, stamped with his peculiar style, like studied by antiquaries who we were, and have new the hieroglyphic characters of the East, carry the names given us, like many of the mummies, are cold imagination back into the primeval ages of the consolations unto the students of perpetuity, even by world, or forward into the depths of eternity. everlasting languages.

[Oblivion.]

What song the syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture. What time the persons of these ossuaries entered the famous nations of the dead, and slept with princes and counsellors, might admit a wide solution. But who were the proprietaries of these bones, or what bodies these ashes made up, were a question above antiquarianism; not to be resolved by man, nor easily perhaps by spirits, except we consult the provincial guardians, or tutelary observators. Had they made as good provision for their names as they have done for their relics, they had not so grossly erred in the art of perpetuation. But to subsist in bones, and be but pyramidally extant, is a fallacy in duration. Vain ashes, which, in the oblivion of names, persons, times, and sexes, have found unto themselves a fruitless continuation, and only arise unto late posterity, as emblems of mortal vanities, antidotes against pride, vain-glory, and maddening vices. Pagan vain-glories, which thought the world might last for ever, had encouragement for ambition, and finding no Atropos unto the immortality of their names, were never damped with the necessity of oblivion. Even old ambitions had the advantage of ours, in the attempts of their vain-glories, who, acting early, and before the probable meridian of time, have by this time found great accomplishment of their designs, whereby the ancient heroes have already outlasted their monuments and mechanical preservations. But in this latter scene of time we cannot expect such mummies unto our memories, when ambition may fear the prophecy of Elias; and Charles V. can never hope to live

within two Methuselahs of Hector.2

And therefore restless inquietude for the diuturnity of our memories unto present considerations, seems a vanity almost out of date, and superannuated piece of folly. We cannot hope to live so long in our names

1 That the world may last but six thousand years. Hector's fame lasting above two lives of Methuselah, before that famous prince was extant.

To be content that times to come should only know there was such a man, not caring whether they knew more of him, was a frigid ambition in Cardan; disparaging his horoscopal inclination and judgment of himself, who cares to subsist, like Hippocrates' patients, or Achilles' horses in Homer, under naked nominations, without deserts and noble acts, which are the balsam of our memories, the entelechia and soul of our subsistences. To be nameless in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history. The Canaanitish woman lives more happily without a name than Herodias with one. than Pilate? And who had not rather have been the good thief,

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her Poppy, and deals with the memory of men without the founder of the pyramids? Herostratus lives that distinction to merit of perpetuity: who can but pity burnt the temple of Diana; he is almost lost that built it: time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse; confounded that of himself. In vain we comsince bad have equal durations; and Thersites is like pute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, to live as long as Agamemnon, without the favour of the everlasting register. Who knows whether the best

of men be known? or whether there be not more re

markable persons forgot than any that stand remem

bered in the known account of time? Without the
been as unknown as the last, and Methuselah's long
favour of the everlasting register, the first man had
life had been his only chronicle.

be content to be as though they had not been; to
Oblivion is not to be hired: the greatest part must
be found in the register of God, not in the record of
before the flood; and the recorded names ever since
man. Twenty-seven names make up the first story
contain not one living century.
the dead long exceedeth all that shall live. The
when was the equinox? Every hour adds unto that
night of time far surpasseth the day, and who knows

The number of

current arithmetic which scarce stands one moment. And since death must be the Lucina of life; and even Pagans could doubt whether thus to live were to die;

1 The character of death.

• Gruteri Inscriptiones Antiquæ.

since our longest sun sets at right descensions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time, that grows old in itself, bids us hope no long duration; diuturnity is a dream, and folly of expectation.

Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares with memory a great part even of our living beings; we slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows destroy us or themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions induce callosities; miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, which, notwithstanding, is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days; and our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls a good way to continue their memories, while, having the advantage of plural successions, they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings; and, enjoying the fame of their passed selves, make accumulation of glory unto their last durations. Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again. Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies to attend the return of their souls. But all was vanity, feeding the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandise; Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.

glory of the world is surely over, and the earth in ashes unto them.

To subsist in lasting monuments, to live in their productions, to exist in their names, and predicament of chimeras, was large satisfaction unto old expectations, and made one part of their elysiums. But all this is nothing in the metaphysics of true belief. To live indeed is to be again ourselves, which being not only a hope but an evidence in noble believers, 'tis all one to lie in St Innocent's churchyard, as in the sands of Egypt; ready to be anything in the ecstacy of being ever, and as content with six foot as the moles of Adrianus.

[Light the Shadow of God.]

Light that makes things seen makes some things invisible. Were it not for darkness, and the shadow of the earth, the noblest part of creation had remained unseen, and the stars in heaven as invisible as on the with the sun, and there was not an eye to behold them. fourth day, when they were created above the horizon The greatest mystery of religion is expressed by adumbration, and in the noblest part of Jewish types we find the cherubim shadowing the mercy-seat. Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living. All things fall under this name. The sun itself is but the dark Simulachrum, and light but the shadow of God.

[Toleration.]

I could never divide myself from any man upon the difference of an opinion, or be angry with his judgment for not agreeing with me in that from which within a few days I should dissent myself.

[Death.]

I thank God I have not those strait ligaments There is nothing strictly immortal but immortality. or narrow obligations to the world, as to dote on life, Whatever hath no beginning may be confident of no or be convulsed and tremble at the name of death. end, which is the peculiar of that necessary essence Not that I am insensible of the dread and horror that cannot destroy itself, and the highest strain of thereof, or, by raking into the bowels of the deceased, omnipotency to be so powerfully constituted as not to continual sight of anatomies, skeletons, or cadaverous suffer even from the power of itself; all others have a relics, like vespilloes, or grave-makers, I am become dependent being, and within the reach of destruction. stupid, or have forgot the apprehension of mortality; But the sufficiency of Christian immortality frustrates but that, marshalling all the horrors, and contemplatall earthly glory, and the quality of either state after ing the extremities thereof, I find not anything therein death makes a folly of posthumous memory. God, able to daunt the courage of a man, much less a wellwho can only destroy our souls, and hath assured our resolved Christian. And therefore am not angry at resurrection, either of our bodies or names hath the error of our first parents, or unwilling to bear a directly promised no duration; wherein there is so part of this common fate, and like the best of them much of chance, that the boldest expectants have to die, that is, to cease to breathe, to take a farewell found unhappy frustration, and to hold long subsist- of the elements, to be a kind of nothing for a moment, ence seems but a scape in oblivion. But man is a to be within one instant of a spirit. When I take a noble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the full view and circle of myself, without this reasonable grave, solemnising nativities and deaths with equal moderator and equal piece of justice, death, I do conlustre, nor omitting ceremonies of bravery in the in-ceive myself the miserablest person extant. famy of his nature. there not another life that I hope for, all the vanities Pyramids, arches, obelisks, were but the irregula- of this world should not intreat a moment's breath rities of vain-glory, and wild enormities of ancient for me; could the devil work my belief to imagine I magnanimity. But the most magnanimous resolution could never die, I would not outlive that very thought; rests in the Christian religion, which trampleth upon I have so abject a conceit of this common way of expride, and sits on the neck of ambition, humbly pur-istence, this retaining to the sun and elements, I cansuing that infallible perpetuity, unto which all others must diminish their diameters, and be poorly seen in angles of contingency.

*

*

Pious spirits, who passed their days in raptures of futurity, made little more of this world than the world that was before it, while they lay obscure in the chaos of pre-ordination and night of their fore-beings. And if any have been so happy as truly to understand Christian annihilation, ecstacies, exolution, liquefaction, transformation, the kiss of the spouse, gustation of God, and ingression into the divine shadow, they have already had a handsome anticipation of heaven: the

Were

not think this is to be a man, or to live according to the dignity of humanity. In expectation of a better, I can with patience embrace this life, yet in my best meditations do often desire death. I honour any man that contemns it, nor can I highly love any that is afraid of it: this makes me naturally love a soldier, and honour those tattered and contemptible regiments, that will die at the command of a sergeant. For a Pagan there may be some motives to be in love with life; but for a Christian to be amazed at death, I see not how he can escape this dilemma, that he is too sensible of this life, or hopeless of the life to come.

It is a brave act of valour to contemn death; but where life is more terrible than death, it is then the truest valour to dare to live; and herein religion hath taught us a noble example. For all the valiant acts of Curtius, Scævola, or Codrus, do not parallel or match that one of Job; and sure there is no torture to the rack of a disease, nor any poniards in death itself, like those in the way or prologue to it. Emori nolo, sed me esse mortuum nihil curo'-['I would not die, but care not to be dead']. Were I of Cæsar's religion, I should be of his desires, and wish rather to go off at one blow, than to be sawed in pieces by the grating torture of a disease. Men that look no further than their outsides, think health an appurtenance unto life, and quarrel with their constitutions for being sick; but I that have examined the parts of man, and know upon what tender filaments that fabric hangs, do wonder that we are not always so; and considering the thousand doors that lead to death, do thank my God that we can die but once. It is not only the mischief of diseases, and villany of poisons, that make an end of us we vainly accuse the fury of guns, and the new inventions of death; it is in the power of every hand to destroy us, and we are beholden unto every one we meet he doth not kill us. There is, therefore, but one comfort left, that though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death: God would not exempt himself from that, the misery of immortality in the flesh; he undertook not that was immortal. Certainly there is no happiness within this circle of flesh, nor is it in the optics of those eyes to behold felicity; the first day of our jubilee is death. The devil hath therefore failed of his desires; we are happier with death, than we should have been without it. There is no misery but in himself, where there is no end of misery; and so, indeed, in his own sense, the stoic is in the right. He forgets that he can die who complains of misery; we are in the power of no calamity while death is in

our own.

[Study of God's Works.]

The world was made to be inhabited by beasts, but studied and contemplated by man; it is the debt of our reason we owe unto God, and the homage we pay for not being beasts; without this, the world is still as though it had not been, or as it was before the sixth day, when as yet there was not a creature that could conceive, or say there was a world. The wisdom of God receives small honour from those vulgar heads that rudely stare about, and with a gross rusticity admire his works; those highly magnify him whose judicious inquiry into his acts, and deliberate research into his creatures, return the duty of a devout and

learned admiration.

[Ghosts.]

I believe that the whole frame of a beast doth perish, and is left in the same state after death as before it was materialed unto life; that the souls of men know neither contrary nor corruption; that they subsist beyond the body, and outlive death by the privilege of their proper natures, and without a miracle; that the souls of the faithful, as they leave earth, take possession of heaven; that those apparitions and ghosts of departed persons are not the wandering souls of men, but the unquiet walks of devils, prompting and suggesting us unto mischief, blood, and villany, instilling and stealing into our hearts; that the blessed spirits are not at rest in their graves, but wander solicitous of the affairs of the world; but that those phantasms appear often, and do frequent cemeteries, charnel-houses, and churches, it is because those are the dormitories of the dead, where the deril, ke an insolent champion, beholds

with pride the spoils and trophies of his victory over Adam.

[Of Myself.]

For my life it is a miracle of thirty years, which to relate were not a history, but a piece of poetry, and would sound to common ears like a fable. For the world, I count it not an inn but a hospital, and a place not to live but to die in. The world that I regard is myself; it is the microcosm of my own frame that I can cast mine eye on-for the other I use it but like my globe, and turn it round sometimes for my recreation. The earth is a point not only in respect of the heavens above us, but of that heavenly and celestial part within us. That mass of flesh that circumscribes me, limits not my mind. That surface that tells the heavens it hath an end, cannot persuade me I have any. * Whilst I study to find how

I am a microcosm or little world, I find myself something more than the great. There is surely a piece of divinity in us-something that was before the heavens, and owes no homage unto the sun. Nature tells me I am the image of God as well as Scripture. He that understands not thus much, hath not his introduction or first lesson, and hath yet to begin the alphabet of man.

[Charity.]

But to return from philosophy to charity: I hold not so narrow a conceit of this virtue, as to conceive that to give alms is only to be charitable, or think a piece of liberality can comprehend the total of charity. Divinity hath wisely divided the acts thereof into many branches, and hath taught us in this narrow way many paths unto goodness: as many ways as we may do good, so many ways we may be charitable; there are infirmities, not only of body, but of soul and fortunes, which do require the merciful hand of our abilities. I cannot contemn a man for ignorance, but behold him with as much pity as I do Lazarus. It is no greater charity to clothe his body, than apparel the nakedness of his soul. It is an honourable object to see the reasons of other men wear our liveries, and their borrowed understandings do homage to the bounty of ours. It is the cheapest way of beneficence, and, like the natural charity of the sun, illuminates another without obscuring itself. To be reserved and caitiff in this part of goodness, is the sordidest piece of covetousness, and more contemptible than pecuniary avarice. To this (as calling myself a scholar) I am obliged by the duty of my condition: I make not, therefore, iny head a grave, but a treasure of knowledge; I intend no monopoly, but a community in learning; I study not for my own sake only, but for theirs that study not for themselves. I envy no man that knows more than myself, but pity them that know less. I instruct no man as an exercise of my knowledge, or with an intent rather to nourish and keep it alive in mine own head, than beget and propagate it in his; and in the midst of all my endeavours, there is but one thought that dejects me, that my acquired parts must perish with myself, nor can be legacied among my honoured friends. I cannot fall out, or contemn a man for an error, or conceive why a difference in opinion should divide an affection: for controversies, disputes, and argumentations, both in philosophy and in divinity, if they meet with discreet and peaceable natures, do not infringe the laws of charity. In all disputes, so much as there is of passion, so much there is of nothing to the purpose; for then reason, like a bad hound, spends upon a false scent, and forsakes the question first started. And this is one reason why controversies are never determined; for though they be amply proposed, they are scarce at all handled, they do so swell with unnecessary digressions; and the parenthesis on the

party is often as large as the main discourse upon nued his exertions in behalf of Protestantism, which, the subject.

JOHN KNOX.

The Scottish prose writers of this period are few, and, in general, not only in language and style, but in the extent of their learning and whole strain of their genius, they fall strikingly below the first class of their English contemporaries.

John Knox.

At the commencement of the period, we find the name of a writer whose true eminence lies in a different field, that of vigorous political movement. JOHN KNOX, the celebrated reformer, was born at Haddington, in 1505. Bred a friar, he early embraced the doctrines of the Reformation, and while

Birthplace of Knox.

disseminating them at St Andrews, was carried prisoner to France in 1547. Being set at liberty two years afterwards, he preached in England till the accession of Mary in 1554 induced him to retire to the continent, where he resided chiefly at Geneva and Frankfort. Visiting Scotland in 1555, he greatly strengthened the Protestant cause by his exertions in Edinburgh; but at the earnest solicitation of the English congregation in Geneva, he once more took up his abode there in 1556. At Geneva he published The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, directed principally against Mary of England and the queen regent of Scotland. Returning to Scotland in 1559, he conti

Regimen or government.

by the aid of an English army, finally triumphed in the following year. He died in 1572, and when laid in the grave, was characterised by the Earl of Morton as one who never feared the face of man.' The theological works of Knox are numerous, but his chief production is a History of the Reformation of Religion within the Realm of Scotland, printed after his death. Although, from having been written at intervals, and amid the distractions of a busy life, much of it is in a confused and ill-digested state, it still maintains its value as a chief source of information on the ecclesiastical history of the eventful period during which the author lived; and, though sometimes inaccurate, and the production of a partizan, it has, in the main, been confirmed by the researches of later historians. As a specimen of this celebrated work, we select the account of the

[Assassination of Cardinal Beaton.]

After the death of Master Wishart, the cardinal was cried up by his flatterers, and all the rabble of the corrupt clergy, as the only defender of the Catholic Church, and punisher of heretics, neglecting the authority of the sluggish governor. And it was said by them, that if the great prelates of latter days, both at home and abroad, had been so stout and zealous of the credit of the Catholic Church, they had not only suppressed all heretics, but also kept under the laymen, who were so froward and stubborn. On the other side, when that the people beheld the great tormenting of that innocent, they could not withhold from piteous mourning and complaining of the innocent lamb's slaughter. After the death of this blessed martyr of God, began the people in plain speaking to damn and detest the cruelty that was used; yea, men of great birth, and estimation, and honour, at open tables avowed, that the blood of the said Master George should be revenged, or else it should cost life for life. And that, in a short time, they should be like hogs kept for slaughter, by this vicious priest, which Amongst neither minded God nor cared for man. those that spake against the cardinal's cruelty, John Lesley, brother to the Earl of Rothes, was chief, with his cousin Norman Lesley, who had been a great follower of the cardinal, and very active for him, but a little before fell so foul with him, that they came to high reproaches one with another. The occasion of their falling out was a private business, wherein Norman Lesley said he was wronged by the cardinal. On the other side, the cardinal said he was not with respect used by Norman Lesley, his inferior. The said John Lesley in all companies spared not to say, that that same dagger (showing forth his dagger), and that same hand, should be put in the cardinal's breast. These bruits came to the cardinal's ears; but he thought himself stout enough for all Scotland; for in Babylon, that is, in his new block-house," he was sure, as he thought, and upon the fields he was able to match all his enemies. * * Many purposes were devised how that wicked man might have been taken away; but all faileth, till Friday the 28th of May, anno 1546, when the aforesaid Norman came at night to Saint Andrews. William Kirkcaldy of Grange, younger, was in the town before, waiting upon the purpose. Last came John Lesley, as aforesaid, who was most suspected. What conclusion they took that night, it was not known, but by the issue that followed. But early upon the Saturday, in the morning, the 29th of May, were they in sundry companies in the abbey churchyard, not far distant from the castle.

*The archiepiscopal palace of St Andrews, in which the cardinal resided, was a fortified building, to which, it appears, he had recently made some important additions for farther security.

[graphic]
[graphic]

him twice or thrice through with a stag-sword: and so he fell, never word heard out of his mouth, but, I am a priest, fie, fie, all is gone.

While they were thus busied with the cardinal, the fray rose in the town; the provost assembles the commonalty, and comes to the house-side, crying, What have ye done with my lord cardinal where is my lord cardinal? have ye slain my lord cardinal? They that were within answered gently, Best it were for you to return to your own houses, for the man ye call the cardinal hath received his reward, and in his own person will trouble the world no more. But then more enragedly they cry, We shall never depart till that we see him. And so was he brought to the east the faithless multitude, which would not believe before they saw, and so they departed without Requiem æternam, et requiescat in pace, sung for his soul. * These things we write merrily, but we would that the reader should observe God's just judgments, and how that he can deprehend the worldly-wise in their own wisdom, make their table to be a snare to trap their own feet, and their own purposed strength to be their own destruction. These are the works of our God, whereby he would admonish the tyrants of this earth, that in the end he will be revenged of their cruelty, what strength soever they make in the contrary.

DAVID CALDERWOOD-SIR JAMES MELVIL

In the reign of James VI., a work similar to that of Knox, but on a much more extensive scale, more minute, and involving many public documents, was written by DAVID CALDERWOOD, another zealous Presbyterian divine. An abridgment of this work has been printed under the title of The True History of the Church of Scotland: the original, in six folio volumes of manuscript, reposes in the library of the university of Glasgow. For his resolute opposition to Episcopacy, Calderwood was imprisoned in 1617, and afterwards banished from Scotland. On his return, he became minister of Pencaitland, in Haddingtonshire. The style of his work deserves little commendation; but though tinged with partyfeeling, it has always been valued as a repertory of historical facts.

First, the gates being open, and the drawbridge letten down, for receiving of lime and stones, and other things necessary for building (for Babylon was almost finished), first, we say, essayed William Kirkcaldy of Grange, younger, and with him six persons, and getting entry, held purpose with the porter, If my lord was waking? who answered, No. While the said William and the porter talketh, and his servants made them to look at the work and workmen, approached Norman Lesley with his company; and because they were in great number, they easily gat entry. They address to the midst of the court; and immediately came John Lesley, somewhat rudely, and four persons with him. The porter fearing, would have drawn the bridge; but the said John, being en-block-house head, and showed dead over the wall to tered thereon, stayed it, and leaped in; and while the porter made him for defence, his head was broken, the keys taken from him, and he cast into the ditch, and so the place was seized. The shout ariseth; the workmen, to the number of more than a hundred, ran off the walls, and were without hurt put forth at the wicket gate. The first thing that ever was done, William Kirkcaldy took the guard of the privy postern, fearing lest the fox should have escaped. Then go the rest to the gentlemen's chambers, and without violence done to any man, they put more than fifty persons to the gate the number that enterprised and did this, was but sixteen persons. The cardinal, wakened with the shouts, asked from his window, What meant that noise? It was answered, that Norman Lesley had taken his castle: which understood, he ran to the postern, but perceiving the passage to be kept without, he returned quickly to his chamber, took his twohanded sword, and caused his chamberlain to cast chests and other impediments to the door. In this meantime came John Lesley unto it, and bids open. The cardinal asking, Who calls? he answered, My name is Lesley. He demanded, Is that Norman? The other saith, Nay, my name is John. I will have Norman, saith the cardinal, for he is my friend. Content yourself with such as are here, for other you shall There were with the said John, James Melvin, a man familiarly acquainted with Master George Wishart, and Peter Carmichael, a stout gentleman. In this meantime, while they force at the door, the cardinal hides a box of gold under coals that were laid in a secret corner. At length he asketh, Will ye save my life? The said John answered, It may be that we will. Nay, saith the cardinal, swear unto me by God's wounds, and I will open to you. Then answered the said John, It that was said is unsaid; and so cried, Fire, fire (for the door was very strong), and so was brought a chimleyfull of burning coals; which perceived, the cardinal or his chamberlain (it is uncertain) opened the door, and the cardinal sat down in a chair, and cried, I am a priest, I am a priest; ye will not slay me. The said John Lesley (according to his former vows) struck him first once or twice, and so did the said Peter. But James Melvin (a man of nature most gentle and most modest), perceiving them both in choler, withdrew them, and said, This work and judgment of God (although it be secret) ought to be done with greater gravity. And presenting unto him the point of the sword, said, Repent thee of thy former wicked life, but especially of the shedding of the blood of that notable instrument of God, Master George Wishart, which albeit the flame of fire consumed before men, yet cries it for vengeance upon thee, and we from God are sent to revenge it. For here, before my God, I protest, that neither the hatred of thy person, the love of thy riches, nor the fear of any trouble thou couldst have done to me in particular, moved or moveth me to strike thee; but only because thou hast been, and remainest, an obstinate enemy against Christ Jesus and his holy gospel. And so he struck

have none.

SIR JAMES MELVIL, privy councillor and gentleman of the bed-chamber to Mary Queen of Scots, was born at Hall-hill, in Fifeshire, in the year 1530, and died in 1606. He left in manuscript a historical work, which for a considerable time lay unknown in the castle of Edinburgh, but having at length been discovered, was published in 1683, under the title of Memoirs of Sir James Melvil of Hall-hill, containing an Impartial Account of the Most Remarkable Affairs of State during the Last Age, not mentioned by other Historians; more particularly Relating to the Kingdoms of England and Scotland, under the Reigns of Queen Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots, and King James. In all which Transactions the Author was Personally and Publicly Concerned. This work is esteemed for the simplicity of its style, and as the sole authority for the history of many important events.

JOHN LESLEY.

JOHN LESLEY, bishop of Ross, was a zealous partisan of Queen Mary, whom he accompanied on her return from France to Scotland in 1561, and in whose behalf he actively exerted himself during her imprisonment in England. Forced by Elizabeth to withdraw to the continent on account of the conspiracies against her in which be engaged, he was appointed bishop of Constance in 1593, and in that situation employed his wealth and influence in founding three colleges for the in

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