But neither wily ministers, nor plotting knaves, nor jealous hate, nor obedient executioners, could rid Queen Elizabeth of her last great foe, who, in spite of all her schemes, and tears, and imprecations, would soon snatch the royal diadem from her brow, and take the sceptre from her clutching hands, and tear the royal ermine from her tottering form, and close her defiant eyes. The King of Terrors could neither be bribed, nor menaced, nor defeated, though she should cry in tortured agony, “_My kingdom for an hour of time!_” Steadily this conqueror approached, though she fought desperately to elude his grasp. Far differently did Elizabeth meet her doom from the heroic Queen of Scots. Refusing to go to bed lest she should be deemed dying, Elizabeth commanded that pillows should be piled for her on the floor; and there, writhing in agony of body and terror of mind, she spent her last hours. Now calling upon her chaplain to pray, and then muttering in angry complainings when her ministers requested her to name her successor. At length she was so weak that she could no longer speak, and she ordered by signs that the Archbishop of Canterbury should continue to pray. This the old man did until he was utterly exhausted, the dying queen each time motioning him to proceed, when he endeavored to stop from very weariness. Meanwhile her attendants watched her waning breath, with eager impatience to greet the coming king. But even in death their wily vigilance was overreached by the apparent sleep of their helpless sovereign, and Elizabeth had been dead several hours before it was discovered by her scheming ministers, who were eagerly awaiting the signal announcing her demise, that they might be the first to shout “God save James I.! king of England, Ireland and Scotland!” Mr. Froude thus ably sums up the salient points in the character and reign of Elizabeth:—