the one virtue which was to cover a multitude of sins. Her political morality was worthy of the Court of Catherine de Medici, and of the companionship of the treacherous Charles IX. On the 4th April, 1558, Mary signed two deeds. By the first she made a complete and unconditional transfer of Scotland to the Kings of France, in consideration of the services they had rendered to that country; and by the second, which was only to have force in case of the failure of the first, she mortgaged the revenues of her kingdom to the extent of a million of gold in repayment of alleged expenses incurred by France in its defence. As it was impossible. for a poor country like Scotland to pay such a sum at once, Henry II. was to possess the kingdom till the mortgage was liquidated. She claimed the right to dispose of her heritage as she pleased, but added that she might be obliged to dissemble with her subjects till she got them into her power. These two deeds are at the present day amongst the national archives of France. On the 19th April, only fifteen days later, she solemnly promised, in the presence of the Commissioners sent over on the occasion of her marriage to the Dauphin, that she would preserve the integrity of Scotland, its laws and liberty, which she had just bound herself to betray. Such was Mary Queen of Scots. Very different was the case with John Knox. Brought up in the Romish Church, and driven out of it by persecution, and horror at the vices of its priests, he saw in one single year seven martyrs to Protestantism perish in Scotland, and hundreds of others forced to fly into England to escape the same fate. But Knox was not an ambitious preacher, anxiously thrusting himself forward. On the contrary, though in priest's orders, he contented himself with the tuition of a few pupils in the learned languages, and strove only for peace and unmolested obscurity. Until his forty-second year he thus continued humbly but thoroughly doing the duty he had undertaken-striving hard to do it, in spite of persecution. But the Protestants of Scotland were too much in need of able and sincere leaders to allow him to continue in this modest position. The clergy and people took him by surprise, and solemnly called upon him in the name of God to act as their minister. This unexpected appeal was not made to a man insensible to its importance and responsibility. He tried to address the audience, but, overcome by the emotion of his deep and earnest heart, he burst into tears and rushed out of the place. Writing of himself in his history, he says, "His countenance and behaviour from that day till the day that he was compelled to present himself in the public place of preaching, did sufficiently declare the grief and trouble of his heart; for no man saw any sign of mirth from him, neither had he pleasure to accompany any man for many days together." He had striven his best to be allowed to live in quietness and obscurity; he had thrust himself into no man's place, meddled with no man's affairs, but when called out of his humble retirement by the earnest cry of an oppressed people, Knox did not refuse the trust which he had in no way sought, but thenceforward dedicated himself to it, and spoke out manfully and honestly for his cause, earning that proud epitaph, the proudest which could stand over the preacher's grave "There lies he who never feared the face of man." And no pleasant task had been his since that notable day of his calling. Danger, difficulty, and unrest had attended but never daunted him, and just before his death he wrote, "The worlde is wearie of me, so am I of it.” At the time when Mary was beginning her education in France, Knox was a prisoner in its galleys for conscience sake, laboriously toiling at the oar under hard task-masters, but still composing treatises on Faith. After his escape he was made Chaplain to Edward VI., but resigned that office, and refused a Bishopric in the English Church, on account of certain scruples as to its forms; refusing position, safety, and honour, and acting to his own loss at all times for the sake of what he believed to be truth. There could be very little sympathy between a man like Knox and Mary. The one was profoundly earnest and true, deeply impressed with the seriousness of life, and the importance of its duties. The other was frivolous and gay-without intensity, except in the pursuit of pleasure; without perseverance, except in the prosecution of her own private projects; a queen without honour, and a woman without principle. From the day of her arrival in Scotland, she passed through a series of scandalous adventures, which, even if her criminal participation were not proven, would, from their nature and number, suggest both guilt and indiscretion. His But an earnest-minded man like Knox would not be content with the inquiry as to what evil she had or had not done. question would be the much more positive one, "What good has she done?" From a queen and ruler he would require something more than negative qualities. In such a rank not to do good would be to do harm. What answer, then, could he get to such a demand? This-that from the commencement of her reign till its close, she never did a single act conducive to the happiness of her people; that she brought into the kingdom discord and strife, was mixed up with a succession of crimes, whose infamy. can be surpassed by no similar period of history;-and further (had he lived to see the fact), that though confined for nineteen years in a neighbouring state, she had left no good deed to plead for her in her own kingdom, nor a single friend to take arms in her defence. Here we conclude. Our limited space has prevented any large or adequate treatment of our subject. We have therefore confined ourselves to those points alone which were immediately connected with this poem. We have stated the true story of Mary Queen of Scots, upon evidence of which the reader may form his own judgment. We commenced with the axiom that truth of fact and truth of feeling were the indispensable requisites of the Historian and the Poet,-that these alone could make literature valuable, or indeed otherwise than pernicious. By this standard we have tried Professor Aytoun, and have found him wanting. If we have criticised him severely, his social and literary position have required it at our hands. The greater his power to disseminate error, the greater our need to correct him, and our condemnation is the stronger in proportion as he is unable to plead in extenuation either youth or inexperience. Mr. Aytoun has none of the higher characteristics of a poet. The most that can be said for him is, that he displays considerable command over the mechanical part of the art. Let this, therefore, commend him to those with whom good rhythm can compensate for bad matter, or true rhyme for false history. 119 ART. IV. THE EXODUS OF THE INDIAN EXILE. 1. The Anglo-Indian Passage, Homeward and Outward; or a Card for the Overland Traveller from Southampton to Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta. By DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON. Madden, London; 1849. 2. The Hand-book of India and Egypt. By LIEUT. STOC- It is a deeply interesting and curiously suggestive fact, capable of most convincing illustration, that when a man sits down to record voluminously in the form of a journal whatever he may have to say on Indian subjects, he does so in a spirit of the most captivating simplicity, and is never, by any chance, secretly impressed with the possibility of eventual publication! Let the sceptic who doubts this statement, peruse innumerable prefaces to works on India, and in nine cases out of ten he will be struck with the singular chain of events by which humble letter-writers and unpretending diarists have been dragged breathless into the formidable arena of authorship, before they well knew what they were about, or could lift up a finger in self-defence. Such being the case, we would recommend the Anglo-Indian aspirant to literary fame to publish his lucubrations in the form of a journal, or to intrench himself deliberately behind the time-honoured ramparts of letter-writing immunity; solemnly protesting from the first against all unfavourable strictures and comments on his proceedings, and basing his title to indulgence on the unanswerable argument that he is collecting interesting information for his family, and cannot possibly be cognisant of the existence of a public. Having delivered himself of this exordium, in which, of course, it will be impossible to detect a bull, it will only remain for him carefully to punctuate what he has written, and then proceed, considerably relieved in mind, with the remainder of his discourse. We proceed to act upon the advice thus tendered to our friends. Our journal lies before us. The English subscriber to the Bombay Quarterly, who has engaged his passage for India, will feel sufficient interest in the subject to justify us in giving him the result of our own experience of the East. All practical useful information connected with the voyage out, will be found in the interesting publications that head this paper; so it will be sufficient if we introduce to the reader a few of his fellowpassengers, and touch upon some of the lighter incidents that enliven the journey to, and the landing in this country. The last few weeks at home-perhaps the last in its fullest and most solemn sense-are not, we think, always happy ones. There is often, we suspect, something approaching to a sensation of relief on both sides when the sad farewell has been pronounced, and all can resume their usual avocations. The family refuse invitations, as the poor boy is going out' so soon, and abstain from issuing any for similar sufficient reasons. A cold, dismal torpor seems to afflict the household. To-day all the world has conveyed itself to Epsom, and Town is desolate and dispiriting. Howbeit, Frederick, the elder brother, remains at home and prowls about the melancholy abode, whistling or gaping out of window; because, as he subsequently remarks to Ned Craster of the Treasury, "it would not have looked well, you know, to leave the young fellow alone, and all that sort of thing," to which apothegm Ned fully subscribes, remarking that it does Frederick honour. Laura, the first-born, whose age and position in the family have authorised her hitherto to twit the unfortunate lad, and to treat him in every respect as an infant weaned easily within her recollection, is compelled to submit gracefully to the odour of tobacco, which he and Frederick bring with them at this melancholy season from the harness-room. Pater-familias, invariably comatose after dinner, now sits with trembling eye-lids, and pokes the fire nervously, while the conversation drags dismally, and can hardly struggle through the evening. The married sister, who has run down' for the occasion, and whose thoughts revert to the dear child cutting his teeth at home, employs herself in crochet-work, and has no observations at hand of an exciting nature. Fanny, simple little Fanny, who is always happy with Charlie by her side, reads aloud her brother's last article in the Haileybury Advertiser or Addiscombe Observer, to which the family, who have been accustomed to pooh-pooh that young gentleman's productions, now listen with appalling kindness. Charles, if the truth must be told, finds himself painfully out of his element, and is perfectly impressed with the dreariness of his literary performances. So bed-time comes at last, to the relief of every one, and the two brothers, availing themselves of the auspicious moment, indulge plebeian propensities in the harness-room retreat. But the restraint soon vanishes, for the hour of departure is at |