the feet of the young prince. Her prayers were heard, she said, like Simeon of old: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." Tradition relates that the old Jacobite did actually die some days after the departure of the adventurous young man whose success she so ardently desired. The prince was advancing towards Derby, that fatal limit of Scotch expeditions into England. Three armies were formed around and against him. General Wade was at last moving across the county of York; the Duke of Cumberland, recalled from Germany, had gathered at Litchfield a body of from seven to eight thousand men. Considerable forces were assembled at Finchley for the defence of London. Charles Edward alone was still joyous. The road to the capital of Great Britain was open to him; a quick march had left behind him the Duke of Cumberland as well as General Wade. When he established himself at Derby, on the 4th of December, his whole preoccupation was to know whether he should enter London on foot or on horseback; dressed simply as an English gentlemen, or in the highland costume which he had worn since his arrival in Scotland. {207} The views of his adherents were different and their preoccupations more serious. Scarcely had they arrived at Derby, when the chiefs repaired in a body to the prince, representing to him the extreme danger they ran, surrounded as they were by hostile armies, in a hostile or indifferent country, without assistance from the Jacobites, and far distant from the forces which had remained in Scotland under the command of Lord Strathallan. A victory at the gates of London, the only chance of glory and success, would leave them still isolated and exposed to the vengeance and anger of the Elector. The latter had thirty thousand men at his disposal; their army did not number more than five thousand fighting men. All counselled retreat, whilst there was yet time, while the roads were not cut off, and reinforcements awaited them in Scotland. The prince bore himself violently. "I would rather be twenty feet under the ground than retreat," he exclaimed. He multiplied reasons, arguments, and hopes, both groundless and chimerical; promising a landing of French troops in the county of Kent, expatiating justly on the terror into which their approach had thrown London, where the day of entrance into Derby long bore the name of Black Friday. The Scots remained immovable. Their soldiers were preparing to march into the capital, sharpening their swords or piously prostrating themselves in the churches; but the chiefs were resolved not to run any new risk. On the evening of the 5th of December the prince finally yielded. {208} "You desire it," he said to the members of his council; "I consent to the retreat; but henceforth I will consult no one. I am responsible for my actions only to God and to my father. I shall no longer ask nor accept your advice."