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EPISTLES BY MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.
Epistle from MARY to her UNCLES.-April, 1566.
No. IV.

FOND, generous friends! the soothing lines I bless,
Which all your kind solicitude express;

But though I feel your love's persuasive art,
Veil'd e'en from you must be my secret heart,
I own these eyes no longer bright appear,
Or only shine through memory's fruitless tear;
Own, that amidst the pride of regal state,
Which once could Mary's heedless breast elate,
The sense of anguish wakes my conscious sigh,
Bids the just opening smile of pleasure fly,
And, like the dread hand-writing on the wall,
Spreads o'er the royal feast a funeral pall.
Own that while e'en my enemies can sleep,
I on the midnight pillow wake and weep.
Own I with pleasure but one prospect see,
That early tomb which soon will close on me.
Own that I've bidden every hope farewel,
But I no more will own-no more will tell,-
Silence alone can woes like mine become,
Small griefs are garrulous, but great ones dumb.

AN ILLUSTRATION OF LIGHT AND HEAVY SORROW.

The harp of Eolus when hung on high,
Where o'er its wires the summer's zephyrs sigh,
Can breathe responsive murmers to the breeze,
While sounds distinct and sweet attention seize;
But be that harp in winter's whirlwind hung,
Soon as his forceful breath the wires has rung;
At once it breaks them, and, to atoms crush'd,
Their little world of melody is hush'd:

So when the mourner's breast light sorrows swell,
The lip in pity's ear the tale can tell;

But when woe's direst force the heart o'ertakes,
'It murmers, mourns not, but at once it breaks.

Epistle from MARY to her UNCLES.-June, 1566.
No. V.

Oh! my lov'd Lords! my past complaints forget!
My meaning silence, or my loud regret!
Ungrateful Mary! rash, desponding, weak,
How could I dare of hopeless woe to speak?
E'en while my heart its weak despair betray'd,
My grief with pity pardoning Heaven survey'd;
And gave, to change my agony to joy,

New ties, new transports, in my beauteous boy!

* It may be necessary to state to the reader that all the lines in this series, whether in the shape of Epistles or otherwise, are supposed to be written by Mary.

A. O.

Once more methought creation round me smil'd
When to my heart I clasp'd my new born child?
Yes, I have passed the hour of pain and dread,
And claim your blessing on my infant's head
Bid you implore of Heav'n, belov'd Lorrain!
That all we prize, a friend in him may gain;
That he for my supineness may atone,

And in two realms exalt our charch's throne.
What joy, what heartfelt joy my kingdom fill'd,
What loyal transports every bosom thrill'd,
With what loud shouts the air was heard to ring
At the glad birth of Scotland's future king!
Instant to England's Queen the news was sent,
Whose royal head in envious grief it bent;
She views the mother's joy with jealous brow,
And envies happiness she cannot know;
But whatsoe'er the secret rage she feels,
No outward sign that secret rage reveals;
For at the font she will, by proxy, stand,
And gifts baptismal send with lavish hand;
From Gallia's King, and Savoy's Duke I crave
The same consent which England's Sovereign gave;na
But, to insure it, try your winning powers,
And then the wish'd-for splendour must be our's.
For royal sponsors will for Scotland's Prince,
And Scotland's Queen, their high respect evince;
But though the brightest splendour, power can know,
Shall at this sacred rite around me glow;

Though feast, though dance, though pageant fill the day,
And Stirling's walls resound the minstrel's lay;

(For, Oh! I cannot feast in Holyrood,

Whose floors are stain'd with murder'd Rizzio's blood.)

Yet still, far more the woman than the Queen,

Will Mary oft forsake the sparkling scene
For one far dearer to her throbbing heart,
For bliss affection can alone impart;
Yes, to my child, I will from splendour steal,
His tiny fingers gentle grasp to feel;
And taste a joy to which all joys are cold,
When to my breast a craving babe I hold;
While I his claim to nature's food confess,
And on his brow the mother's kiss impress.

Address from MARY to her CHILD.-August, 1566.

Sleep on, my darling boy, sleep on!
For on thy sleeping face I see

His features who my fancy won,

Then frowning fled from love and me.

And while thy little form I press,

I taste a balm too oft denied;

For I o'er thee that love confess,

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From others' eyes conceal'd by pride...
And then with blessings mix'd with blame
I murmur out my Darnley's name.

Yet wake, yet wake, my angel child,
That thou mays't on thy mother smile;

And fond despair, and fancies wild,
By that unconscious look beguile.

Already sure thy infant heart

To me a tale of love has told.
Methinks with joy I see thee start,
Thy mother's features to behold;
And while I feel thy tiny clasp,
I fancy 'tis affection's grasp;

And then I feel my bosom beat,

While memory wakes her pleasing pain ;
And, sighing, think 'tis passing sweet
To love and be belov'd again.

But, when thou wakest, do not look
Like him from whom thy being came;

For he full soon my arms forsook,

And broke my heart, and stain'd my fame ;
And I should fear that thou, one day,
Like him wilt love me, and betray.

But now farewell! my sleeping boy!
I must thy cradled slumbers leave;
And hide again, by seeming joy,

The breast that secret sorrows heave.

A crown, my child, with thorns is lin'd!
To feel this truth may soon be thine!
But, darling, may thy stronger mind

Remove those thorns which pierce in mine;
Content to suffer I shall be,

If I a warning prove to thee.

A. OPIE.

A QUAKER'S ADVICE TO HIS NEPHEW ON THE SUBJECT

ESTEEMED NEPHEW,

OF MARRIAGE.

I have received thy letter contain ing an application for my advice in thy choice of a wife, and now send thee such counsels as mine own experience of the married state, together with many years' reading of books, and long study of mankind, can furnish in the matter. It appeareth thou intendest to establish thyself in the world, and in order thereto art now looking out for a wife, with whom thou mayst wisely unite the destiny of thy life: in which, John, I think thou doest perfectly right, as I would advise all persons, both male and female, to marry; and do consider the life of a single person as valueless, and lost to the world.

Choose then thy wife out of a family, respectable, however low their station; not disgraced by any servile occupation or ignominious office, but known in their situation of life for consistency and honesty of practice. Let it be a liberal and virtuous family; one remarkable for

kindness and liberality of sentiment and for rectitude of principle, and one in which the most entire reverence is paid to religion, for that, John, is the foundation of all virtues, and all happiness. And this advice I give, in consequence of its being found too surely to be the fact, that the offspring partakes of the principles of the family wherein it is reared; that the child imbibes, like the air that surrounds it, the feelings and dispositions which float about its tender age, and that frail and faulty children generally proceed from parents who, in their day, have lapsed from the path of virtue. For the act generally argueth the principle in the parents, and the principle lives after the act is past, and continues to spread its influence, and proclaim its character in the social circle, and in the family. On the other hand, from a religious education well principled children generally come. From sound instructions and religious examples corresponding effects ensue. Exceptions

may be found on each side of the case, but the body of the rule is not to be impugned. I would also put thee on the watch to observe that thy wife's relations be agreeable, and such as it will please thee to consort with, as this is naturally to be expected; and that they be not numerous, lest they become at any time burthensome to thee; and that they do not all live too near to the place in which thou meanest to reside, lest thou see too much of them, and disgust, the natural consequence of familiarity, result from thy tool great intimacy with them. For it is not to be denied, that, in marrying, one marries not only to the wife but to the family; and that it is necessary to consider and examine them, only second to the lady, herself. I do not say that if the woman of thy choice be a virtuous woman thou should'st, on account of the objections to be made to the relations, reject her: for a virtuous woman is beyond all price; she has every thing within herself, and can effectually reconcile to her husband the want or absence of all other friends in the world. But if other circumstances were the same, if it were possible for thy affections to be equally directed to two women at once, the same in acquirements and fortune, one with many or unpleasant relations, the other with few and those desirable, I would not have thee hesitate a moment in choosing the latter.

Take care that there exists a strict congeniality between you in the following points: in religion, and in political ideas, for without a similarity in these all thoughts of happiness is but a dream; for they are vital and essential points, and are constantly recurring as matters of observation or discourse. Let the congeniality which I am recommending extend to another point, and be equally observable in the love of home: this is an unequivocal virtue on which (unlike religion or politics) no two opinions, so long as the mind is not perverted, can be held; and it is one of the most essential in the compound of requisites which go to form the basis of happiness in the marriage state. She should shew a decided attachment to home and its duties, and be

distinguished for the domestic affections. If she is fond of gadding abroad, alone, or in mixed company; if she is dying for visiting, and fond to excess of the rattle and perturbation which precede and follow any departure from home, she is not a suitable wife for thee, and is not, or ought not to be, in this, congenial to thyself. Home is, of all others, the place on which thou must ultimately depend for comfort. Consistently with this feeling, thy wife must be capable of discharging the duties of a mistress, and doubtless will be so, if drawn from a family such as I depicted in the commencement of this letter. She must superintend the concerns of thy household, pervade all, and assist in many; she must understand the nature of the business which she commits to her servants to execute, and, when thou art absent, be able to manage the house with fidelity, skill, and despatch.

I caution thee against fixing thy choice on a reader of novels or romances, or the like. Such an one will spend the summer's day in lolling on the couch, decyphering a worthless book, uneasy in posture, impaired in health, and disinclined to exercise and the kisses of the refreshing breeze; such an one, instead of preserving thy substance, will waste it. Not that the books I speak of are, in this our age, all worthless and to be reprobated; a great proportion are not so; but it is a capital mischief resulting from them that, although they may do no harm, yet they engross the time which might be spent over books, or, generally, in occupations infinitely more beneficial and improving.

In speaking of the portion thou may'st expect with thy wife I shall perhaps express sentiments foreign from the general run of the times: I recommend thee to prefer a competency to a great fortune, as the latter might induce some women to presume on the obligation under which they would conceive thou layest to them; but the latter will ensure thy wife's dependance upon thee, and make her look up to thee and rely upon thee more, as she sees thee more disinterested, and more devoted to exertions on her behalf. Besides, a competency only will give

a greater impulse to thy industry. Thou seest that I do not inculcate a total neglect of money: in the pre sent state of things it is highly desirable, on account of many com forts which it is impossible to pro cure without it. And doubtless I think thou would'st not do thy duty to thyself, or the family into which thou may'st expect to marry where thou wert not to receive a shilling on thy marriage, this I say subject to the contingency of thy meeting with a really virtuous wife; for if thou art quite sure that such a prize is within thy grasp, I say, as I said before, that she is invaluable, and that she ought to be seized at the risk or neglect of every other earthly consideration.

Whatever be her circumstances take care, if it lies in thy power, that her ideas on matters connected with money be properly liberal. Let it be thy chief aim to steer clear of that narrowness of conduct and sentiment which is too frequently to be found in women. Whence it arises I know not, but I think that they are more inclined to the feeling than the men, who labour for the gold. In this, of course, as in the practice of all other virtues, thou must set her the example; and thou wilt have no reason to complain of her, if thou hast shewn thyself de ficient in the same points.

As for thy wife's person (of which I have not been impatient to speak, as I would not have thee make it a primary object) I would rather she should be distinguished by medio crity only in beauty; and this not only for the reason for which I dissuaded excess of money, but because it is desirable, that she should not have attractions for men so powerful, that those who see her rivet their gaze upon her; gazes which will hurt her if she have much diffidence, and if she have not, will tend to corrupt her mind, and make her as culpable as the men themselves are. The style of features in many women, which the world calls uninteresting, would deserve the name of good looks, if accompanied by worth and purity; therefore when I see a woman not much distinguished by personal attractions, I exclaim, she is beautiful enough, if she is good.

Lets her, however, if possible be such as will do thee credit in com pany, and in the eyes of other people. Certain it is that a man must marry to please more than himself if he wish to live in the enjoyment of tranquillity. Let me be rightly understood; she must have becoming and sterling features, a portly figure and manner, and a superior air and carriage in general.

Let her mental qualifications be all that virtuous ladies usually possess. Let her be mistress of every accomplishment which does not carry. mischief with it. In acquirements which are calculated to strengthen and mature the judgment take care that she be not wanting; for if her judgment be strikingly beneath thine own, there will be danger of its sometimes exciting thy contempts and all occasion of contempt should be as carefully avoided as of hatred, for qualities of an hateful aspect are not more surely calculated to inter rupt connubial happiness.

Of the more volatile parts, which are generally comprehended under the name of wit, it is different; for these should be always in mediocrity, and not at the height of acuteness Too sparkling, and too lively, she will attract observation and atten tions, which may interfere with your mutual happiness; and if her wit be too visibly superior to thine own, she will be apt to exercise her talent at thy expense, and to thy uneasiness. For it is to be lamented how rarely acuteness of talent exists with judgment commensurate with it, and how rarely it is marked by forbearance and goodnature in its

possessors.

I would rather that thy wife were marked by modesty, if at the expense of her wit, for modesty is an indispensible qualification, and a jewel which never tires the eye. There is a principle of modesty implanted in our being by the same hand which implanted our passions, and marked more strongly in the female sex than in the male, which it requires the grossest violation of nature, and the utmost blackness of depravity in us, to subdue or expel. Think not thyself the happier if thy wife has shown thee a preference, in regard of which modesty was overlooked; for if it be overlooked

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