And what of her rival queen and kinswoman, “that bright Occidental star,” Elizabeth? A woman with a strong masculine intellect, of dauntless courage, one fitted to rule and govern, and advance a nation. But unmistakably her father’s daughter, cruel, heartless, unforgiving, and thoroughly false: with a woman’s caprice exalting to supreme favouritism to-day, and striking down into the dust to-morrow. She signed Mary’s death-warrant, and, by grimaces and plainest hints, she made her people slay her own cousin. And when the deed was irretrievably done she went into a hypocritical paroxysm of well-acted anger and regret, and dealt round punishment for the act which she herself had compassed. These two women cited to the bar of judgment, Mary might well hide her face for many sins and frailties; but the better actor would try to stand up, boldly and unabashed. Our own hearts must answer which of the two we justify, rather than the other. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Old Edinburgh. “Edina! Scotia’s darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow’rs, Where once beneath a monarch’s feet Sat legislation’s sov’reign powers! There, watching high for war’s alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold vet’ran grey in arms, And marked with many a seamy scar.” So sang Burns, when “from marking wildflowers on the banks of Ayr,” he “sheltered,” and was feted and petted in the “honoured shade” of the capital of Scotland. And Sir Walter Scott, in describing Marmion’s approach to the city on a summer’s morning, cannot, from a full proud heart, refrain from introducing his own personality:— “Such dusky grandeur clothed the height Where the huge castle holds its state, And all the steep slope down, Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Pil’d deep and massy, close and high— Mine own romantic town!”