In the year 1573, Mary, at her own earnest request, was removed, for the benefit of her health, from Sheffield to the Wells at Buxton. The news she had lately received from Scotland, and the apparent annihilation of all her hopes, had affected her not a little. "Though she makes little show of any grief," the Earl of Shrewsbury wrote to Cecil, "yet this news nips her very sore." At Buxton, which was then the most fashionable watering-place in England, she was obliged to live in complete seclusion; and it may easily be conceived, that the waters could be of little benefit to her, without the aid of air, exercise, and amusement. Lesley, though detained at a distance, took every means in his power to afford her consolation, and wrote two treatises, after the manner of Seneca, expressly applicable to her condition; both of which he sent to her. The first was entitled,--"_Piæ afflicti animi meditationes divinaque remedia_," and the second,--"_Tranquillitatis animi conservatio et munimentum_." She thanked him for both of these productions, and assured him, that she had received much benefit from their perusal. With many parts of the first, in particular, she was so pleased, that she occupied herself in paraphrasing them into French verse.[181] Lesley was soon afterwards allowed by Elizabeth to pass into France, where he long continued to exert himself in the cause of his mistress, visiting, on her account, several foreign courts, and exposing himself to many inconveniences and hardships. He died at a good old age in 1596, and his memory deserves to be cherished, both for the many amiable qualities he possessed in private life, and his inflexible fidelity and attachment to the Queen of Scots.[182] In 1574, a fresh misfortune overtook Mary, in the death of her brother-in-law, Charles IX. He was succeeded on the throne by the Duke of Anjou, who took the title of Henry III., and was little inclined to exert himself in the cause of his sister, having been long at enmity with the house of Guise. But a still more fatal blow was the death of her uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, who had ever made it a part of his policy to identify her interests with his own, and to whom she had always been accustomed to turn, with confidence, in her greatest distresses.