GEOGRAPHY OF THE HEAVENS FOR NOVEMBER.

Portland.Ladies had a tent in Market Square; decorated the polling places with flowers; gave out votes and copies of amendment; gave bouquets to temperance voters; in ward four about every other young man had this decoration in button-hole.

Portland.

Ladies had a tent in Market Square; decorated the polling places with flowers; gave out votes and copies of amendment; gave bouquets to temperance voters; in ward four about every other young man had this decoration in button-hole.

Skowhegan.We have heard from twenty-one towns; our majority is 2,378. Surely God has moved upon the hearts of men in this great crisis.

Skowhegan.

We have heard from twenty-one towns; our majority is 2,378. Surely God has moved upon the hearts of men in this great crisis.

Presque Isle.Our great day is over. We have three hundred and fifty three for the amendment, fifty-seven against it. We had our national motto framed and trimmed with flowers, and a big “Yes” vote in the center. This hung directly behind the ballot-box.

Presque Isle.

Our great day is over. We have three hundred and fifty three for the amendment, fifty-seven against it. We had our national motto framed and trimmed with flowers, and a big “Yes” vote in the center. This hung directly behind the ballot-box.

North Anson.We had one hundred and eighty-eight “Yes” to twenty-three “No.” God has blessed us far beyond our hopes. All our people are astonished at so large a majority. Many men told me they were surprised at the softening influence the women had over those profane, rough men. There was no rude word all day.One town in Aroostook county cast one hundred and eighty-two “Yes” and two “No.” Its total political vote was one hundred and ninety-three. Surely they “remembered to vote” (contrary to faint-hearted prediction) in the State of Maine to-day.Never was the prophecy so visibly realized:The tabernacle of God shall be with men.Lewiston is the only large city giving a majority against the amendment. So far as learned, the women did not come out in that place.Evening.—Sure of my fifty thousand.L. S.

North Anson.

We had one hundred and eighty-eight “Yes” to twenty-three “No.” God has blessed us far beyond our hopes. All our people are astonished at so large a majority. Many men told me they were surprised at the softening influence the women had over those profane, rough men. There was no rude word all day.

One town in Aroostook county cast one hundred and eighty-two “Yes” and two “No.” Its total political vote was one hundred and ninety-three. Surely they “remembered to vote” (contrary to faint-hearted prediction) in the State of Maine to-day.

Never was the prophecy so visibly realized:The tabernacle of God shall be with men.

Lewiston is the only large city giving a majority against the amendment. So far as learned, the women did not come out in that place.

Evening.—Sure of my fifty thousand.

L. S.

I do not know how the foregoing extracts read to those fond of fictitious stories, but to me they have the ring of an epic; they are so real, so true-hearted, so full of humanity’s sacred aspiration toward a Golden Age

“Of sweeter manners, purer laws!”

It is record of heart-words. So far as I have learned, all the temperance societies of the state had but twelve hundred dollars to spend—five hundred given by Dr. R. H. McDonald, of California, and seven hundred from the Grand Lodge of Good Templars. The rank and file won the victory, and I believe the inspiration of their work was this motto given by the president of their state W. C. T. U. at the Gardiner Convention:Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit. So shall ye be my disciples.

What is the lesson Maine can teach? It is expressed in theraison d’êtreof the now famous “Memorial” presented this year to all the presidential conventions by the National W. C. T. U., viz.: “The poison habits of the nation can be cured by an appeal to the intellect through argument, to the heart through sympathy, to the conscience through the motives of religion. The traffic in those poisons can best be handled by prohibitory law.”

BY CHANCELLOR M. B. GOFF,Western University of Pennsylvania.

Has again returned to about the same place that it occupied this time last year; and as a result, we find that it rises and sets within a minute or two of the times given on the 1st, 16th, and 30th of last November. For the present month, it rises at 6:31, 6:48, and 7:04 a. m., and sets at 4:57, 4:41, and 4:34 p. m., respectively, on the dates mentioned. We find also that on the 16th day breaks as late as 5:11 a. m. Other phenomena connected with the sun are as follows: On the 4th, at 3:00 p. m., it is in superior conjunction with Mercury, rendering of course by its great brilliancy that little planet invisible. On the 13th it is in opposition to Neptune; that is, 180° distant. So that, on that date, the planet might be said to rise as the sun sets, or set as the sun rises. On the 20th, at 3:00 a. m., it is 90° east of Jupiter, so that if both had the same declination Jupiter must rise about six hours before the sun. But since the declination of Jupiter is north while that of the sun is south, the former actually rises nearly eight hours before the latter.

Exhibits the following phases: Full on the 3d, at 3:28 a. m.; last quarter on the 9th, at 6:04 p. m.; new moon on the 17th, at 1:03 p. m.; and first quarter on the 25th, at 5:08 p. m. On the 16th, it rises at 5:31 a. m.; on the 1st, it sets at 4:18 a. m.; and on the 30th, sets at 4:11 a. m. Is nearest the earth on the 4th, at 10:36 a. m., and farthest away on the 19th, at 9:12 p. m. The sun and moon play an important part, in fact, are the sole cause, as is believed, of a singular phenomenon observable in our largest bodies of water. We refer to theTides, which are an alternate rising and falling of the waters of the ocean, at regular intervals. These have their greatest and least elevation twice a day, and are calledHighandLow Tides; twice a month, calledSpringandNeap Tides; and also twice a year. The rising of the tide is called theFloodand the falling theEbbtide. Similar tides, whether high or low, occur on opposite sides of the earth at the same time. Thus, if it is high tide at New York it is high tide 180° from New York. The same is true of low tides. The interval between two successive high tides is about twelve hours and twenty-five minutes; or, if we regard the tidal wave as passing entirely around the earth, it would each day reach the same meridian about fifty minutes later than on the preceding day. So that they occur in the course of time, at all hours of the night and day. Now, it is often very important to know just when they will take place. For example, a vessel wishing to enter a harbor where the water is ordinarily too shallow to let her pass, may propose to take advantage of high tide to make her mooring. It has been found that the connection between the tides and the motions of the sun and moon is so intimate that the one evidently depend upon the others, and so accurately has the relation been established that it is a matter of comparative ease to estimate the height of the tide at any given time on any coast of the world. The cause of the tides is the attracting power of the sun and moon. On the principle of universal gravitation the earth is drawn toward these two bodies, and were it a solid mass, all the body would move equally toward them; but as it is partly liquid, and as the attraction of all its parts is not equal, the liquid parts nearest the bodies move faster than the solid part; while the liquid part furthest away not being attracted so strongly as the solid part is left behind, and thus at the same time two waves are formed on opposite sides of the globe. Such tides as these would be called High Tides. At the moment of high water at any given place, the water is, as it were, piled up. And as the amount of water on the earth’s surface is constant, at 90° from this place the waters must be shallower, and thus low tides are created. The foregoing results would be produced, if the sun and moon had the same longitude or if their longitudes differed by 180°. Since these relative positions each occur once at least every month, there are each month two Spring Tides. But there also occurs twice each month a period when the sun and moon are 90° from each other; then instead of their united influence being exerted, it is divided, and the attractions are at right angles to each other. Thus are produced what are calledneaptides. The attraction of the sun upon the earth is vastly greater than that of the moon, but on account of the greaterinequalityof the moon’s attraction, its influence in producing tides is really three times as great as that of the sun. Nor is the tidal wave always directly under the moon, but follows it at various distances, depending much upon the depth of water, the regularity of the channel, the size of the ocean, and the coast along which it moves.

On the 4th, in superior conjunction with, and on the 16th, at 5:00 a. m., at its greatest distance from the sun; while on the 18th, at 3:53 a. m., it will be 5° 18′ south of the moon. It will rise on the 1st at 6:29 a. m.; on the 16th, at 7:29 a. m.; and on the 30th, at 8:26 a. m., and set on the corresponding days at 4:47, 4:51, and 5:14 p. m., being a morning star for the first four days and evening star for the remainder of the month, and perhaps visible to the naked eye on the last day. Motion for the month direct, and amounting to 46° 56′ 44″. Diameter increases from 4.6″ to 5″.

Continues to reign queen of the morning, rising, however, later each day, and rapidly moving to her superior conjunction, her diameter diminishing 3.2″ in twenty-nine days. Her times for rising are these: On the 1st, 3:02 a. m.; on the 16th, 3:31 a. m.; and on the 30th, 4:00 a. m. On the 4th, at 6:00 a. m., she will be 50′ north of Uranus; on the 13th, at 10:00 p. m., nearest the sun; and on the 14th, at 12:38 a. m., 2° 1′ north of the moon.

Will be evening star during the entire month, and will afford nothing of especial interest. He rises at 8:46, 8:41 and 8:35 a. m., on the 1st, 16th and 30th, respectively; and sets on the same days at 6:06, 5:47 and 5:33 p. m., respectively. His direct motion amounts to 24° 52′ 6″, and his diameter diminishes two tenths of a second of arc. On the 19th, at 8:48 a. m., is 5° 26′ south of the moon.

On the other hand, grows in interest each day, his diameter increasing from 33.2″ to 36″, and his countenance shedding its light on an average of half the night during the month. His motion is 2° 52′ 14″ direct. On the 11th, at 12:33 a. m., 4° 26′ north of the moon; and on the 26th, at 3:00 a. m., 90° west of the sun. He rises on the 1st at 12:53 a. m.; on the 16th, at 12:00, midnight; and on the 29th, at 11:11 p. m., and is consequently a morning star.

Will be morning star, although visible nearly the entire night,and will increase in diameter from 18.8″ to 19.4″. Will have a retrograde motion of 2° 8′ 38″, and on the 5th, at 10:18 p. m., will be 3° 23′ north of the moon. On the 1st, will rise at 7:25 p. m., and on the next morning set at 10:03 a. m.; on the 16th, will rise at 6:22 p. m., and on the 17th, set at 9:00 a. m.; and on the 30th, rise at 5:23 p. m., and set on December 1st, at 8:01 a. m.

Is also morning star, rising on the 1st at 3:20 a. m.; on the 16th, at 2:25 a. m.; and on the 30th, at 1:32 a. m., and setting on the afternoon of the same days at 3:22, 2:25 and 1:30 p. m., in the same order. His motion is direct, and amounts to 1° 26′ 27″ of arc. Diameter increases one tenth of a second of arc. On the 3d, at 6:00 a. m., is 50′ south of Venus; and on the 13th, at 3:45 a. m., is 1° 54′ north of the moon.

This distant neighbor of ours, in his far-away home, seems to have exhausted his resources in his early efforts at disturbing the motion of Uranus, and sinking to the common level, now makes his accustomed rounds without attracting any attention from the great mass of the world’s people, and but little from astronomers themselves. But he is still among his companions, and we find him claiming for himself this month the distinction of both a morning and an evening star—the former for the first half of the month, the latter for the remainder. On the 1st, 16th and 30th, he rises at 5:35, 4:35 and 3:38 p. m., respectively, and sets on the mornings of the 2d, 17th, and December 1st, at 7:33, 6:31, and 5:34. On the 3d, at 8:14 p. m., he is 1° 28′ north of the moon; and on the 13th, at 3:00 p. m., 180° west of the sun; that is, in opposition.

BY EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

These two famous specimens of ruined Gothic architecture have been written and sung by many historians and poets. Scott says:

“If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright,Go visit it by the pale moon light.”

“If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright,

Go visit it by the pale moon light.”

But the ordinary commonplace tourist can not always plan his trips by the almanac, and thus it was that we saw it not by moonlight, when indeed it must be a scene of enchantment, but under the broad sunlight of a glorious midsummer day. Though several years have passed since then, there comes to me now as in a dream, a perfect picture of the noble ruin, superb even in its desolation and decay, with the greenest, softest grass for its floor and the glorious canopy of a perfect summer sky for its roof, the soft sunlight streaming athwart pillar and carved window and the rich ivy clinging lovingly to its mouldering sides. And ah! how the birds sang, its only music now. And what must it have been with its roof, buttresses and pinnacles entire, its gorgeous windows ablaze with color, with chime of bells and solemn peal of organ resounding through its naves and aisles—an object of reverence and admiration to the brave, the good, the noble of the land of Wallace and Bruce!

Melrose was founded in 1136 by David I. of Scotland, who also founded the abbeys of Holyrood, Kelso and Dryburgh, and was consecrated ten years later with all the pomp and circumstance peculiar to the ecclesiasticism of those days. By royal charter it was granted to the Cistercian order of monks, which, previous to this, had been established in France. This monastery was the mother church to all of this order in Scotland. In the retreat from Scotland of Edward II., in 1322, the English wreaked their fury on religious houses, and among others destroyed Melrose.

To the end that the abbey might be rebuilt, King Robert made a grant of £2,000 to the Abbot of Melrose. Had it not been for this destruction we should have missed the exceeding beauty of this famous ruin, for at the time the church was restored, the Gothic style of architecture had attained its most perfect development.

In 1384 Richard II. made an inroad to Scotland, lodged one night in the abbey and set fire to it in the morning. Afterward he made grants to the church, which meant, let us hope, that his majesty repented his act of vandalism.

Again was the monastery destroyed in 1545 by the Earl of Hertford. Tradition has it that the English on their return at that time had passed the abbeys of Melrose and Dryburgh when the bells were rung to express the joy of the monks at their escape; on hearing the sound, the English were not slow to return and turn their joy into sorrow.

Soon after the Scottish reformation took place and the abbey was never again rebuilt. After the reformation, one James Douglass, commendator, took down a good share of the ruin to build a house. His example was quickly followed by others, and for some time the people of Melrose used the venerable ruins for a quarry, and it is said there is not an old house in Melrose but has a stone from the abbey in its walls. Since it passed into the hands of his grace, the Duke of Buccleuch, every precaution has been taken to prevent its further decay. The rules of the Cistercians were very rigid, and for many years were strictly enforced. But there came a time when wealth flowed freely into the monastery, when royalty and nobility vied with each other in heaping costly gifts upon it, when the brothers waxed fat and loved their flesh-pots and goodly libations, and holy living was neglected and the name of the monks of Melrose came to be a hissing and a by-word.

Melrose, like all the other abbeys of olden time stands east and west. Nothing of the original structure remains save the side chapels on the south aisle, the first three of which are roofless. These chapels have been used as burying places for families of note in the vicinity. In one is a carved representation of the heads of David I. and his queen Matilda. In another is an ancient kneeling-stone facing toward the sunset, four horseshoes on its back and this inscription on its top: “Orate pro anima fratris Petre, ærari?” Pray for the soul of brother Peter, the treasurer.

The charm of the south transcript, lies chiefly in the wonderful carving and the graceful proportions of the various parts which form so symmetrical and perfect a whole. Perhaps the most exquisite specimen of carving is on the capital of a pillar which bounds the south aisle on the east, separating it from the nave; it represents the Scotch kale and is a most delicate piece of point lace carving. From the south transept also one can best see the small high window in the wall of the north transept, the tracery of which is quite perfect, and is said to represent the crown of thorns. In this part of the abbey are some curious and quaint inscriptions, one of which reads:

“Sa gaes ye compass even about,Sa truth and laute do but doute.Behalde to ye hande of John Muroo.”

“Sa gaes ye compass even about,

Sa truth and laute do but doute.

Behalde to ye hande of John Muroo.”

Another inscription a little higher up tells who this John Morrow was, and his connection with the abbey:

“John : Morow : sum : tyme : callit :Was : I : and : born : in : Parysse :Certainly : and : had : in : kepping :All : mason : work : of : Sautau :Druys : ye : hye : kyrk : of : Glasgu :Melros : and : Pasley : of :Nyddysdale : and : of : Galway :I : pray : to : God : and : Mary : bath :And : sweet : St. : John : keep : this : holy :Kirk : frae : skath :”

“John : Morow : sum : tyme : callit :

Was : I : and : born : in : Parysse :

Certainly : and : had : in : kepping :

All : mason : work : of : Sautau :

Druys : ye : hye : kyrk : of : Glasgu :

Melros : and : Pasley : of :

Nyddysdale : and : of : Galway :

I : pray : to : God : and : Mary : bath :

And : sweet : St. : John : keep : this : holy :

Kirk : frae : skath :”

He is said to have been the first Grand Master of the Freemason lodge of Melrose.

Just east of this transept is St. Bridget’s chapel, where is still to be seen a statue of that saint beside one of the windows. In a corner between this chapel and the chancel is according to the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” the grave of the wizard Michael Scott.

Just beyond this grave is a flat stone which was the favorite resting place of that other wizard, Sir Walter Scott, when he came here to feast on the mournful beauty of the scene. To the magic influence of this noble ruin we may be indebted for many of the beautiful thoughts he has given us. Doubtless that wonderful imagination of his peopled those silent chapels and dim shadowy aisles with a host of illustrious dead. In speechless dignity and beauty they passed in review before him, a glorious company of the departed whose names, brightened by his magic touch, will live forever. But the chief place of interest is the chancel, under whose floor lie the ashes of those long, long dead. Alexander II. and Waldevus, the second Abbot of Melrose, a man of holy life, much loved for his exceeding gentleness, lie here.

The “Flower of Chivalry,” the famous Black Douglas, who was killed by his kinsman while hunting in Ettrick Forest, was buried here. Another Douglas, James the Earl, killed by Harry Hotspur, was here buried with the greatest pomp and ceremony.

But the most precious deposit, and the one for which these magnificent ruins seem a fitting tomb, is that right royal heart which once beat high with truth, valor and bravery, but which “feels its pulse no more,” the heart of “King Robert the Bruce.” It was the wish of the king that his heart should be buried in this abbey. However, subsequent to that, he expressed a desire that it should rather be interred in the Holy Sepulchre in Palestine. To this end Sir James Douglas set sail with the precious burden, but in Spain encountered the Saracens. Bravely refusing to retreat he fought and fell, but the king’s heart was saved, brought back to his nation’s land, and after such fitful fever was laid to rest at last in fair Melrose. The chancel is lighted by three superb windows, the one to the east being the one of which Scott wrote:

“The moon on the east oriel shoneThrough slender shafts of shapely stone;By foliaged tracery combined;Thou would’st have thought some fairy’s hand’Twixt poplars straight the osier wandIn many a freakish knot had twined;Then framed a spell, when the work was done,And changed the willow wreaths to stone.”

“The moon on the east oriel shone

Through slender shafts of shapely stone;

By foliaged tracery combined;

Thou would’st have thought some fairy’s hand

’Twixt poplars straight the osier wand

In many a freakish knot had twined;

Then framed a spell, when the work was done,

And changed the willow wreaths to stone.”

High on the west wall of the north transept can be seen the statues of St. Peter with his book and keys and St. Paul with a sword. When we saw them they were in an excellent state of preservation. In the north wall of the north transept are two doors with rounded arches; the first led into the sacristy or wax cellar, where the tapers and the communion wine were kept; the other it is supposed led to the treasury.

The carving in the north aisle is almost as worthy of admiration as that of the south aisle, being quite fresh and wonderfully beautiful. An ancient inscription here catches the eye:

“Heir lys the raceOf ye hoos of Leir.”

“Heir lys the race

Of ye hoos of Leir.”

The cloisters also show much fine carving. In the true Gothic, nature alone was imitated, which accounts for the endless variety of design. At the top of the east wall of the cloisters is an excellent representation of a negro’s grinning face; at the corner is seen the figure of a flying angel. The roof is quite gone, as are the pillars which supported it. The beholder realizes the ruin and decay more here than in any other portion of the abbey. The ornamentation of the central tower can best be seen from the cloisters. There is a legend that Cromwell once turned his cannon upon the abbey from Gattonside heights, and marks on the north wall are shown to carry out the tale.

Grand as is the interior, the visitor is more impressed by the massive yet graceful exterior, with its pinnacles, flying buttresses and its exquisite pillars and windows. The zealous Scottish reformers pulled down nearly all the statues, only two remaining, those of the Virgin and child, and of St. Andrew.

A famous and grotesque gargoyle, a pig playing upon bagpipes, projects from the roof in a noticeable manner.

West of the south entrance is a pedestal supported by the figure of a monk holding a scroll, on which is inscribed:

“Cu : Venit : Tes : Jeg : Cessabit : Umbra.”

(When Jesus came the darkness of the world ceased.)

On the opposite side of the doorway is another inscription held by the figure of an aged monk:

“Passens : c : q : ipse : voluit.”

(He suffered because he himself willed it.)

Over the doorway is a half length figure of John the Beloved, with this inscription in Latin:

“Behold the Lamb of God.”

But it is impossible to enumerate all of the interesting carvings, heads, figures and inscriptions. The picture of the magnificent ruin with its delightful accessories, the songs of birds, the soft, genial summer air, the peaceful sky, the half pleasant, half mournful recollections which it arouses, fades from memory, and in its stead rises the semblance of another venerable pile, half abbey, half palace, lying at the foot of lofty crags—the world famous Holyrood.

The story of the founding of Holyrood or Holy Rude is told by ancient chroniclers as follows: The munificent and good King David I. was not absolutely faultless. He was minded to hunt on a holy day, the festival of the exaltation of the cross or Rude day as it was called, in spite of the admonitions of his confessor. Heated with the chase the king had ridden to the “fute of the crag,” when there rushed suddenly upon him the “farest hart that ever was sene,” and threw both him and his horse with violence to the ground. The king threw back his hands between the antlers of the stag to save himself from the blow, when suddenly “the haly croce slaid into his hands.” The stag fled in dismay at sight of the sacred emblem, and the king resolved to found a house to the “Holy Rude,” the Virgin, and all saints on the spot where “he gat the croce.”

This legend, however, is not generally credited, there being a more satisfactory reason given by other chroniclers for the founding of the abbey. Margaret, the grand niece of Edward the Confessor, and mother of King David, gave to her son a cross of pure gold, which opened and shut like a casket, and which contained, it was claimed, a portion of that cross on which Christ died. It might be reasonable to believe that the king built the abbey as a receptacle for this sacred relic, as he bestowed it upon this religious house. This emblem was called “the black rude,” and was for ages regarded as the palladium of the kings of Scotland. It was at last captured from David II. at the battle of Neville’s Cross, and for centuries after was kept in the Cathedral of Durham. But it mattersnot whether built to form a fitting shrine for the holy relic or to commemorate the king’s narrow escape from death by the interposition of the “Holy Rude,” the noble pile has not been spared by time’s ruthless hand, and only the chapel royal remains of that great monastery, the choir and transepts being entirely gone, and the sole remaining portion even being roofless.

But the crumbling, ivy grown walls have wonderful associations connected with them. The crown of Scotland has here been placed upon many royal brows; here James II. was married to Mary of Gueldres, and James III. to Margaret of Denmark; here James IV. was presented by the legate of his holiness, Pope Julius II., with that sword and crown which are yet preserved among the regalia of Scotland; and here, strangest scene of all its eventful history, under the great eastern window, in an evil moment, the beautiful White Rose of Scotland was married to the profligate Darnley. We are told that this abbey was the last resting place of many great ones, but when the transepts and choir were destroyed the ancient memorials were lost. It is said that David II., James II. and James V. were buried here, but of the tomb of David not a vestige remains, and there is much doubt as to the exact locality of the tombs of the others.

The most striking feature of the abbey is the western front, consisting of a great square tower, and an immense gateway with two curious windows above it. This tower is a superb specimen of the architecture of the period of transition from the Romanesque to the Early English. Above the doorway and between the windows is a tablet placed there by Charles I., who also was crowned here, which bears this inscription, strange indeed, under the circumstances:

“He Shall Build Ane HouseFor My Name, And I WillStablish The ThroneOf His KingdomFor Ever.”

“He Shall Build Ane House

For My Name, And I Will

Stablish The Throne

Of His Kingdom

For Ever.”

But interesting as is this ancient abbey, the palace is of more attraction to visitors. Ill-fated James IV. founded it, and it was no sooner completed than he brought his bride to live therein. They were married and she was crowned in the chapel royal. Here also came the fair French princess Magdalene, first queen of James V., received with every indication of joy and affection, blooming in youth and beauty, only to be laid in the earth forty days after her arrival. The second queen of James and mother of Mary Stuart, Mary of Guise, was also crowned in the chapel. But of the multitude of famous women who have swept in the glory of their pride and beauty through the halls of this palace, the most thrilling interest clusters round the name of the ill-starred Mary Stuart. Here occurred those events which will forever link the name of Holyrood with that of the unfortunate “White Queen.”

To Holyrood she came first after her arrival from “her pleasant land of France” she loved so much; here she married the inferior and dissolute Darnley, and her Rizzio was foully murdered before her eyes; in the council chamber of the palace she married “Black Bothwell,” and her last night before being sent a captive to Lochleven was spent within these walls.

That part of the palace built by Charles II. is of quadrangular shape, having a court in the center. It was while passing through this court that we met a pompous, overdressed woman who was saying in a loud voice to her companion, “Well, what of it? What if Mary Stuart did live here? What does that amount to?”

The great picture gallery is in this part of the palace. It is one hundred and fifty feet in length and is hung round with portraits of a hundred Scotch kings. This room is of historical interest, for “Bonnie Prince Charlie” used it for a ball room, while he was staying at Holyrood. Readers of “Waverley” will remember the description in that book of the great ball given in this room. From this vast room the visitor may enter Lord Darnley’s apartments, which are soon scanned, for one is more eager to see Queen Mary’s room. At last we mount a gloomy stairway and enter what is perhaps the most famous and sadly interesting suite of rooms in all Europe.

The queen’s audience chamber is a large room lighted by two windows. The walls are draped with faded and time-worn tapestry. Here stands the bed upon which two other unfortunate Stuarts laid their uneasy heads, Charles I. and the Pretender, and after “Culloden’s bloody field, dark source o’ mony a tear” the conqueror of the latter, the Duke of Cumberland, slept upon the same pillow. It was in this room that Mary had those stormy scenes with Knox, the Scottish reformer.

In the bedroom still stand her chairs, her bed with its faded hangings, and the basket which Elizabeth sent her filled with baby linen. There is also a bit of her embroidery, carefully preserved in a glass case. On the walls hang the sadly tarnished mirror which has so often reflected her lovely face, her portrait and those of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, given her by the Virgin Queen, “her sister and her foe.”

Poor, unhappy queen! How she must have pined for her sunny France, among those cold, northern people. How often has she stood at these very windows and turned her beautiful eyes, filled with tears, toward those great mountains which shut her in. Whatever she was, good or vile, an abused, suffering woman, or an unprincipled, intriguing queen, we can think of her only with pity. But the most famous room is that little chamber, no larger than a good sized closet, where Rizzio was so cruelly murdered. Into this little room rushed the conspirators, overturning the table and putting out the lights, dragging their victim from Mary’s feet out through her bedroom, audience chamber, and into the hall beyond, stabbing him at every step and leaving him at last with fifty-six wounds in his body. And to this room the brutal Ruthven returned and demanded a cup of wine, and in the frightened queen’s presence tossed it off with wine red hand. Could it have been imagination only that loaded the air of that dark, damp, silent palace with heavy sighs? that caused one to look behind, at sound of footsteps and the sweeping of robes? that peopled those empty rooms with tenants of air, troubled ghosts of the illustrious dead?

Each old ruin has a charm all its own. Under these ivy-grown battlements how many fair women and brave men have lived, eaten, drunken, danced, sorrowed, loved and died; within these gray old walls what heartaches, ambitions, loves and hates have been nurtured, all to end at last and leave only silence and decay.

We left the palace and went out into the glad sunlight, to the green fields, to the flowers, to life; leaving behind desolation, death. Slowly we turned back to the city, and the last thing we heard was the mournful song of the birds which were flying about the ruins.

The rich man, indeed, is better able to indulge his passions, and to bear up against any harm that may befall him. The poor man’s condition prevents him from enjoying such advantages; but then, as a set-off, he may possess strength of body, freedom from disease, a mind relieved from many of the ills of life, is blessed in his children, and active in his limbs. If he shall, besides, end his life well, then, O Crœsus, this is the happy man, about whom thou art curiously inquiring. Call no man happy till thou knowest the end of his life; up till that moment he can only be called fortunate.—Herodotus.

BY REV. A. E. WINSHIP.

“God’s prophets of the Beautiful these poets are.”

For three centuries England has luxuriated in a succession of regal poets, wearing, not hereditary crowns, but laurel wreaths bestowed by royal hands in virtue of the loyalty rather than the melody of their stanzas. Two centuries earlier Edward III. indulged Chaucer, the “Father of English Poetry,” in his harmless aspiration to enjoy the title of laureate, and the honor skipped along with irregular movement until Queen Elizabeth wreathed the brow of Spenser in laurel, giving the position such dignity that succeeding monarchs considered it an indispensable luxury to have a rhymer in the royal household to honor the birthday of king and queen, princes and princesses with an ode, graceful, polished, fervent.

The idea of poet laureate is not of English birth, but comes with other literary sentiments from Grecian days, the custom being to enliven the great musical contests by publicly crowning the successful poet. Rome in the days of the empire adopted the custom, adding to the formality and grace of the occasion. Germany revived the long neglected courtesy in the twelfth century, and was thefirst to christen the crowned bard“Laureate.”

The French had special poets for the rhythmic praises of the imperial household, but from prejudice or neglect did not adopt the German title, while the Spaniards had both the poets and the title, but lacked the favor of the goddess of song. The Saxons, from their earliest days, were lovers of music, though content with a low order of song. For centuries the minstrels were the favorites with the unalloyed Saxon race. Not until the eleventh century, when William the Conqueror grafted the Norman blood into the sturdy Saxon veins, was there call for a higher order of song than the minstrel furnished. As the two nations intermingled their habits and social customs, as the languages blended the strength of the one with the grace of the other for three centuries, the people were prepared in mind and heart, in thought and sentiment, to appreciate a national poet, and after nine centuries without a poet or a language out of which poetry could be woven, they found themselves suddenly possessed with a poet of highest order and a language melodious in its every accent.

The splendor of chivalry had reached its height, and the magnificent court of Edward III. brought to a climax the progressive spirit of the Plantagenets, and the series of victories that initiated his reign exalted the pride of the nation and brought it to a degree of patriotic order that must voice itself in a national poet. For such an hour was Geoffrey Chaucer sent, a poetic genius, whose birth and associations calculated to make the art in his hands chivalric.

His name—Chaussier—of Norman birth, anglicised itself gracefully into Chaucer, indicative of the ease with which, reciprocally, he translated the legends of Saxon life in a new language, the poetic.

Born in London, possibly educated at Cambridge, probably a child of wealth, a page in the service of a noble lady, a soldier of the king, a prisoner in French hands, and ransomed by his king, all before he was twenty, it is easy to see that he ingratiated himself early into a variety of experiences from which a poet can profitably draw. In his young manhood, following the adventures of youth, he was in the service of the king as valet of the chamber. He served as comptroller of customs, and negotiated delicate personal matters for the king at home and in foreign courts, was employed on important embassies open and secret, even negotiating for the marriage of the Prince of Wales in France.

Upon one of these foreign missions he witnessed tourneys, grand receptions and magnificent displays, of such a character that he was possessed with a desire to see his own country follow suit, and as an initiative step aspired at being himself crowned poet laureate to the king, in which he was humored by Edward III., who allowed him also £100 as an annual allowance. The succeeding king, Richard II., the last of the Plantagenets, confirmed him in the position and secured to him its financial reward.

This first laureate purples the horizon of English literature, but so faint is the flush of dawn that it is impossible to fix the year of his birth, which may have been as early as 1328, and may have been as late as 1345. To understand the circumstances under which he wrote we must consider the England in which he lived, and for which he wrote. It was no more thickly settled than the state of Vermont, the entire population being only about the same as that of Missouri. The city of London then had no more than Lynn, Portland, Omaha, or Somerville—35,000. It had been larger, but had suffered from the great plagues. But this must not mislead us, for, notwithstanding her diminutive size, England was the most powerful nation of western Europe, and three nations of historic prominence were suppliants for her favor. The nation was wealthy, and the middle classes appreciated and demanded increased financial, political and social privileges. It was this first hope and purpose of the people that ripened the nation for its poet.

Cæsar set foot on British soil fourteen centuries earlier; the Saxons made permanent abode nine centuries before his day; Alfred the Great glorified the Saxon Heptarchy five centuries before the poet sang; and what wonder that he who created the very language that could be poetic should aspire for the first laurel wreath?

For nearly a thousand years there had been no poetry in the Saxon life, there had never been on British soil. Beauty and harmony were missing in their speech and deeds. The history they had made was devoid of sentiment, hence the almost universal disinclination to read the history of those years. As soon as there was sentiment in their life it was poetized.

Chaucer was merely a beautifier of thought. He originated little, he glorified whatever he voiced. He breathed life into thethoughtandlanguageof the people, making them living souls, the Adam and Eve of English life. It is too much to ask that the primal poet who has to create language, create thought also. He did for the language of England what no other man was ever privileged to do for any nation. He took the chaotic speech and gave it beauty and rhythmic symmetry. He took foreign thought and made a home dress in which to clothe it. He took a language that foreigners despised, and of which the countrymen were ashamed, and christened it into the triune of strength, beauty and melody, so that it promises to be the universal tongue. He made a language that has the elements of perpetual youth, such as is possessed by no words but the Saxon’s.

In speaking of Chaucer as the initial laureate, it is with full knowledge that a century earlier, before there was a poet worthy the name, Henry III., of Magna Charta fame, had a “Versificator Regis,” whom he allowed £100 per year, but since it is impossible to find his name, or a line he ever wrote,it has not seemed wise to discount the honor so justly due him who wrote the first classic English verse.

After Chaucer there was no inheritor of his wreath for nearly a century, when, in the reign of Edward IV., who died 1485, John Kay was laureate, but he left no verse to show whether or not he adorned his position.

The growth of the custom into dignity and permanence was through the universities. Each of the large classic institutions had the established degree of poet laureate bestowed upon those who graduated with honors from the courses in grammar, rhetoric and versification. It was a requisite for all graduates who presented themselves for this honorable degree, to write a hundred creditable Latin verses on the glory of the university—though sometimes another subject was assigned. Upon graduation, and the acceptance of the Latin verses, he was publicly crowned with a wreath of laurel, and styled “poeta laureatus.” If he was ever selected by the king to rhyme his praise he might style himself the “king’s humble poet laureate.”

John Skelton is the first whom we know to have taken all these honors. He was a graduate of Cambridge in 1484, and nine years later was wreathed poet laureate of Oxford, and soon after of Lauvain, and in 1504, twenty years from graduation, Cambridge gave him the same honorary title and wreath. He also won the regal versifier’s crown, writing a poem when Henry VII.’s eldest son, Prince Arthur, was created Prince of Wales, and Latin verses when the infant Prince Henry (VIII.) was created Duke of York in 1494. Skelton is spoken of by his contemporaries as a special light and ornament to British literature.

Bernard André, of whom nothing is known except that he was a tutor of Prince Arthur, was poet laureate.

It was left to popular Queen Bess, among the many good things of her fickle reign, to establish the rank of regal laureate by conferring the laurel upon Edmund Spenser, since whom there has been no vacancy except when Cromwell took the poetry out of high life in England. Her reign is justly famed for its abundance of literary, poetic and dramatic talent. It was then that for the first time “Men of Letters” were a prominent feature in national life, and in that galaxy of artists the most brilliant star was her poet laureate.

Edmund Spenser was a charity boy, struggling for all his opportunities, supported at school by a benevolent Londoner, Robert Newell, but despite circumstances he was head boy. While a grammar school boy his benefactor died, and in the list of funeral expenses, still extant, is an item of two yards of cloth given Edmund Spenser to make a gown, that he might attend the funeral. This was the boyhood of the author of the “Faerie Queen.” There were multitudes in England whose parents, rolling in wealth, urged their children to study, but it was left for a charity student to lead his age and rank as one of the five great poets of the English tongue.

Pope Pius V. attempted to bring recreant England under the sway of the Church of Rome, and issued a bull of deposition against Elizabeth, attempting to enforce it by rebellion in the counties of the north. But he underestimated the grit and popularity of the queen, in whose interest the nation rose as one man. It was in the fervor of this patriotic ardor that Spenser published his first poems, awaking a sense of expectancy in the public mind, which he gratified later with his matchless glorification of Queen Bess in the “Faerie Queen.”

In the Elizabethan days even a poet of Spenser’s genius, whom the nation ardently admired, could not hope to live by poetic writing. In our own day Longfellow received from a weekly paper $4,000, or $20 a line, for his “Hanging of the Crane,” but Spenser’s pen could not have produced poems fast enough to have guaranteed him a living. Substantial favors from the royal court were indispensable unless he turned his mind and hand to other employments. Queen Elizabeth made it her established policy to encourage literature by special bequests, and Sir Philip Sidney, her confidential counselor, proposed an award to Spenser’s loyalty and genius, and she instructed Lord Cecil of the treasury to give him £100, but he remonstrated that it was too much for such indulgence as poetry, whereupon she permitted him to give what was reasonable, and consequently he gave nothing which measured his value of verse. Spenser’s need was so great that he was forced to remind the queen of her neglect, which he did in these lines:

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