See in Index, CHALICE, HEAVEN, SULPHUROUS, LOWELL.

Delivery. Few poets have expressed the enthusiasm excited by a beautiful day more eloquently than Lowell in these justly celebrated lines. They should be read in the middle pitch, with a joyous orotund quality of voice, time rather rapid than medium, force moderate, expression animated and almost jubilant.

I.

OH! what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, grasping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf or blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace.

II.

The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the egg beneath her wings,

And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

III.

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away

Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God so wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell.

IV.

We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;

That the breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by.
And if the breeze kept the good news back,

For other couriers we should not lack;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing-
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

V.

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how:
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving;

'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-
'Tis the natural way of living:

Who knows whither the clouds have fled?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache:
The soul partakes the season's youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

XXXIX. LAST HOURS OF MARY, QUEEN OF

SCOTS.

MISS BENGER.

During the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, her kingdom became a scene of confusion and civil discord. Having been imprisoned in the castle of Loch Leven, she made her escape in 1568; but her party being defeated in the battle of Langside, she fled to England, and sought the protection of Queen Elizabeth; but that princess treated her as a personal and political rival, and kept her in safe custody for a period of eighteen years. At the end of that time she was tried for a conspiracy against the life of the Queen of England, condemned, and beheaded, February 8, 1587. The execution of Mary has left an ineffaceable stain upon the characters of Elizabeth and her advisers. The following narrative has been slightly condensed and altered from the original.

For ADVANCE, after, ask, TASK, see § 22; ORATORY, § 29; in COUNCIL, SATIN, SYMBOL, sound the unaccented vowel, but not in coUSIN, PRISON. See in Index, ADIEU, ALMONER, COMMUNE, CONFESSOR, COURTEOUS, DISCERN, EXHORT, PAGEANT, PEREMPTORY, SCAFFOLD, TOWARD, VEHEMENT, WOUND, Guise, BengER.

Delivery. The style is narrative, and the piece should be read in the middle pitch, with a pure quality of tone, moderate force, varied inflections, and such pauses chiefly as are indicated by the punctuation.

1. ON the evening of the 7th of February, 1587, just as Mary had withdrawn to her inner chamber, the earls of Kent and Shrewsbury demanded to see her. At the summons, Mary, ever tenacious of princely dignity, ordered her sole remaining badge of royalty, the ermined mantle, to be brought, and having thrown it over her shoulders, hastened to receive her visitors, whose errand was bluntly announced by the earl of Kent, whilst the earl of Shrewsbury, with visible emotion, remained silent.

2. When Mary heard that she was to die on the morrow, she replied, with an unaltered countenance, "The message is welcome; yet I did not think the queen, my sister, would have consented to my death." She then asked to be allowed to confer with her almoner, her steward, and her confessor. The presence of her confessor was peremptorily refused by the earl

of Kent, who exhorted her to commune with the dean of Peterborough; and when Mary declined accepting such assistance, he exclaimed, "Your life is the death. of our religion, as your death shall be its life."

3. The earls having withdrawn, Mary desired that her household might be assembled for supper. She conversed with cheerfulness. Toward the close of the repast she drank to each of her servants, who, kneeling, pledged her in return, mingling tears with their wine, and beseeching their mistress to pardon their various offenses. In like manner she asked of them eternal forgiveness. During this interchange of good will, all but the queen burst into transports of grief: she endeavored to soothe their complaints, lamenting only that she could so ill requite their fidelity.

4. After supper she distributed money, linen, and jewels among her domestics; she then wrote her will; and finally addressed letters to the king of France, the duke of Guise, and her confessor. In the epistle to the last named she expressed the deepest sorrow that she had been denied the privilege of communicating with him in her last moments, but consoled herself by the thought that she was deemed worthy to die for the Catholic faith.

5. Her worldly concerns having been arranged, she besought her women to pray for her, whilst she retired to rest. At midnight she rose, refreshed by sleep, and . repairing to her oratory, dropped on her knees, and remained several hours in devout and fervent supplication. The tears she shed were no longer those of passion, but of contrition and piety, and they were accompanied with touching expressions of humility and resignation.

6. When the morning dawned, Mary quitted the oratory to attire herself for the mournful solemnity. She soon issued from her chamber clad in such princely robes as she had been accustomed to wear on festivals,

in the days of her prosperity. A black veil descended to her feet, an ivory crucifix hung suspended from her neck, and a string of beads was appended to her girdle. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar and hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long train.

7. At this late hour she called together her household, and read aloud her will; when finding that she had omitted to mention one of her servants, she returned to her cabinet in order to supply the omission, and to subjoin a postscript to her farewell letter to the king of France. Before she had finished, the sheriff and Beal, clerk of the council, accompanied by Paulet, arrived to conduct her to the scaffold. On hearing the summons, she requested but one quarter of an hour's delay, which being granted, she soon completed her task; and cheerfully opening the door, presented herself to Paulet and the sheriff, who were waiting in the antechamber.

8. Having passed the threshold of her prison, she courteously accepted the assistance of Paulet, to traverse the long gallery, observing, it was the last trouble she should ever give him. In the gallery she was met by her steward, Melvin, whose pathetic lamentation she eagerly interrupted, telling him, he ought rather to rejoice that the trials and troubles of Mary Stuart were at length to have an end; and "bear from me," she added, "this message to Scotland, that I die a true woman to my religion, and like a true woman of Scotland and France. God forgive them that have thirsted for my blood." After which, tears trickling down her cheeks, she kissed Melvin, and solemnly bade him adieu.

9. Then, turning to the earls, she asked if some of her servants might be permitted to witness her last moments; and this being harshly denied, Mary de