changed their orders, and it was determined that Lord Guildford only should be executed on that spot.

Guildford, on the morning of his execution, urgently requested to be allowed to bid a last adieu to the cherished partner of his heart; and although his wishes were not refused by the Queen, the gratification of them was denied by his wife. Her strong judgment at once decided the effects of an interview which was likely to overwhelm them with unavailing sorrow, and thus to destroy that firmness which was so necessary to enable them to bear the trying scene before them; she reminded him that their separation would be but for a moment, and that they would soon rejoin each other, where their affections would be united for ever, and where neither misfortunes nor death could reach them, but where their felicity would be eternal! Lord Guildford was first led to his fate, and when passing under the window of his wife, obtained one last token of her love and remembrance.

What tale of sorrow, it may be asked, has ever equalled this heart-rending scene? But her cup of bitterness was not yet full, for besides her own sufferings, she experienced the agony of seeing the headless corpse of her husband conveyed in a cart, lying upon straw, from the place of execution. As soon as the closing scene of Lord Guildford's life was over, the sheriffs announced to Lady Jane that they were ready to attend her to the scaffold; nor did this awful summons shake the fortitude which she had displayed throughout her imprisonment. A contemporary writer* describes her conduct on the occasion in the following words:-"Being come down and delivered into the hands of the sheriffs, she exhibited a countenance so gravely settled with all modest and

* Phoenix.

comely resolution, that not the slightest trace of fear or grief could be perceived, either in her words or actions; but like a divine body, going to be united to her heart's best and longest beloved, so shewed she forth all the beams of a well mix'd and well temper'd alacrity, rather instructing patience how it should suffer, than being by patience any way able to indure the travail of so grievous a journey." With this blessed and modest spirit, undaunted and unaltered, she went to the scaffold. She was conducted to the place of execution by the lieutenant of the Tower, and was entirely occupied in the perusal of a book of prayer, though Fox asserts that she was continually interrupted by Feckenham, the Romish priest, and confessor to the Queen. On reaching the scaffold, she mounted is without hesitation, and addressed the assembled crowd in a short speech, in which she admitted her crime against the Queen, but protested that she was innocent either of wishing or procuring the royal dignity; and after requesting those who heard her to bear witness that she died a true Christian woman, and that she expected salvation only through the mercy of God in the merits of the blood of His Son Jesus Christ, she confessed that when she did know the Word of God, she neglected it, and loved herself; and that therefore the punishment had happily and worthily happened to her for her sins; she thanked God for His goodness in giving her time to repent, and concluded her speech by requesting them to assist her with their prayers. She then knelt down, and addressing Feckenham, asked if she should say the Psalm, "Misereri mei Deus"-Have mercy upon me, O Lord,-to which he assented, and she repeated it in English in the most devout manner. When it was concluded, she arose, and began to prepare herself for her fate by giving Mrs. Tylney, one of her maids, her

gloves and handkerchief, and her book to the lieutenant's brother; and proceeding to untie her gown, the executioner offered to assist her, but she requested him to let her alone, and turning towards her gentlewomen who assisted her, they gave her a handkerchief to tie round her eyes. The executioner now fell on his knees, and desired her pardon, to which she replied, "Most willingly." He desired her to stand upon the straw, which bringing her within sight of the block, she said, "I pray you despatch me quickly," adding presently after, "Will you take it off before I lay me down?" The executioner answered, "No, madam." She then tied the handkerchief before her eyes, and felt for the block, saying, "What shall I do? Where is it?" One of the spectators immediately guided her, when she laid her head on it, and stretching forth her body, exclaimed, "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." Immediately the axe fell; the head was severed at one stroke, and this world closed for ever on one of the most virtuous, most accomplished, and unfortunate women that ever adorned it.

It is singular that, numerous as have been the biographers of Lady Jane Grey, none of them have alluded to the place of her interment. The presumption is that both she and her husband were buried in the chapel of the Tower.

My task is ended. The actions of mankind, if related with fidelity, are far more satisfactory evidence of merits than any deductions that can be drawn from them by the biographer. In the case of this exemplary woman, no other language than that of unqualified praise can possibly be used. Her conduct as a daughter and a wife afford ample scope for praise and imitation; her extraordinary attainments, fortitude, and piety, excite our warmest

admiration. In the assumption of the royal dignity, the only action of her life which is open to censure, we have seen that she yielded to the commands of her parents and the entreaties of her husband; and we must remember that had she not been induced to accept the crown, the lives and fortunes of her nearest relatives must undoubtedly have fell a sacrifice. Who, then, shall blame her? None, I think, of my present hearers, who, I deem it, will be more disposed to shed a tear over the memory of one whom neither youth, nor beauty, nor acquirements, nor innocence, could save from a premature and disgraceful death.

JOURNAL OF A

VOYAGE TO AMERICA.

August 16th, 1862.—Left Prince's Dock, Liverpool, in Lion steamer for Great Eastern at 10 a.m., on board at II, engines put in motion at 2 o'clock, cleared out under half speed till 3.30. Stopped, discharged pilot, ahead under full steam at 4.10. Dinner at 5, dined at 6 o'clock, first saloon tables are crowded, obliged to go into the second; scramble for food, nothing could be worse. Captain polite and full of apologies, queer lot of people, six Yankees to an Englishman; got a bottle of champagne after some trouble; potatoes and peas after meat, pudding after cheese; came below to write this at 7.30, and put on warmer clothes. Eleven o'clock wrote letters to drop at Queenstown; a walk on deck, which is now comparatively clear, 250 yards without impediment; a final pipe and some indifferent sherry and water close the first day. Speed, sixteen miles an hour; Holyhead long past.

Good manners! An hour before dinner went into the first dining saloon and pinned our cards on the table cloth where we desired to sit, which appeared the general custom; coming down afterwards, found the cards removed and their places occupied by others; remonstrated, and had them replaced, but on returning at dinner time they had