though, by over-persuasion, or even by compulsion we may be drawn into a course of conduct which we cannot approve, we must expect to suffer the consequences of that course as though it had been taken without any such inducement. This, then, is the first lesson; We have to answer in ourselves, and in our own after lives and circumstances, for the mistakes we are led into by others, even though it be against our own will.

Another lesson is, that God will not grant success to those whom He loves when they enter into transactions of which He disapproves. Indeed, on this very account, He is more likely to frown upon their projects and bring them to nought. The ungodly are sometimes permitted to enjoy temporary success in their wrong-doing; but the mistakes which Christians make are almost certain to be met by speedy disappointment. The usurper Richard the Third triumphed for a time in his wickedness, though his triumph was short; but Lady Jane Grey, the passive instrument of a far less guilty usurpation, was not permitted to triumph at all.

The last lesson to be learned is, that though God, in His providence, interferes with, and withers up, the designs of His people when those designs are opposed to the principles of His Word, He does it in kindness and love. He may punish them, but He does not remove His loving-kindness from them. Probably the Lady Jane Grey was happier in the enjoyment of God's favour in her soul while a prisoner in the Tower, than she would have been had she continued to reign with the proud title of England's queen; that

she had more blissful anticipations when she ascended the steps of her scaffold than she would have enjoyed during the ceremony of an earthly coronation. "O Guildford Guildford !" she exclaimed, when she saw the headless corpse of her young husband borne by in a cart just before her own execution, "the ante-past which thou hast tasted, and which I shall so soon taste, is not so bitter as to make my flesh tremble. It is nothing compared to the feast of which we shall partake this day in heaven."

And here we may fitly bring this sorrowful story to an end by the following stanzas, which very well describe what the thoughts of this young "queen who was not a queen" would have been, and were, when in her deepest adversity:

"This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;

The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,—

There's nothing true but heaven.

"And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even;

And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,-
There's nothing bright but heaven.

"Poor wanderers of a stormy day,

From wave to wave we're driven;

And fancy's flash, and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way,-

There's nothing calm but heaven."

The day was Palm Sunday; and a strict order had been given that all people in

London on that particular day were to

attend Church service, carrying palm branches, or rather sprigs of yew as substitutes for them, in their hands, as was then the custom on that particular day. This order was given by government ; and it may be said or thought how very considerate

the government must have been to take such pains to make the people of London outwardly religious; though it was curious that that Sunday should be fixed upon more than any other for such an order to be given. I daresay the people wondered what it meant; but they mostly obeyed the order, and did not know till afterwards that the real reason of it was that there should be no disturbance, or attempt to rescue this new prisoner, who was known to be a favourite of the Londoners; and who was none other than the Princess Elizabeth, sister of the cruel Queen Mary.

Elizabeth, who was then not much over twenty years old, was suspected of treasonable designs against her sister. Our story has nothing to do with this, however; and I need only say that there was no proof of any such designs. The charge, indeed, could only have been made out of the hatred which the unhappy queen bore towards the young princess.

Elizabeth was taken to the Tower by water. When all the men, women, and children of London were either at church, obeying the order of government, or keeping in-doors for fear of being punished for disobedience, a barge, such as I have already described, was making its way down the Thames from above London bridge. The river was almost deserted at this time; and if any cries were uttered by the prisoner in that barge, they were unheard or disregarded.

The barge was steered to the Traitor's gate of the Tower, and, passing under the gloomy archway, the gates were quickly closed. Then the prisoner was requested to ascend the stone steps which led to the