come with much zeal to him, whether terrified or corrupted, left him on a sudden, or threw down their arms; so that he had none left, but a company of good officers, and five or six hundred foreigners, Dutch and Germans, who had been acquainted with their officers. With these, he betook himself to a place of some advantage by the inequality of the ground, and the bushes and small shrubs which filled it and there they made a defence for some time with notable courage.

But the enemy being so much superior in number, the common soldiers, being all foreigners, after about a hundred of them were killed upon the place, threw down their arms; and the marquis, seeing all lost, threw away his ribbon and George, (for he was a knight of the garter,) and found means to change his clothes with a fellow of the country, and so after having gone on foot two or three miles, he got into a house of a gentleman, where he remained concealed about two days: most of the other officers were shortly after taken prisoners, all the country desiring to merit from Argyle by betraying all those into his hands which they believed to be his enemies. And thus, whether by the owner of the house, or any other way, the marquis himself became their prisoner. The strangers who were taken were set at liberty, and transported themselves into their own countries; and the castle, in which there was a little garrison, presently rendered itself; so that there was no fear of an enemy in those parts.

The Marquis of Montrose, and the rest of the prisoners, were the next day, or soon after, delivered to David Lesley; who was come up with his forces, and had now nothing left to do but to carry them in triumph to Edinburgh; whither notice was quickly sent of their great victory; which was received there with wonderful joy and acclamation. David Lesley treated the marquis with great insolence, and for some days carried him in the same clothes, and habit, in which he was taken; but at last permitted him to buy better. His behaviour was, in the whole time, such as became a great man; his countenance serene and cheerful, as one that was superior to all those reproaches, which they had prepared the people to pour out upon him in all the places through which he was to pass.

When he came to one of the gates of Edinburgh, he was met by some of the magistrates, to whom he was delivered, and by them presently put into a new cart, purposely made, in which there was a high

chair, or bench, upon which he sat, that the people might have a full view of him, being bound with a cord drawn over his breast and shoulders, and fastened through holes made in the cart. When he was in this posture, the hangman took off his hat, and rode himself before the cart in his livery, and with his bonnet on; the other officers, who were taken prisoners with him, walking two and two before the cart; the streets and windows being full of people to behold the triumph over a person whose name had made them tremble some few years before, and into whose hands the magistrates of that place had, upon their knees, delivered the keys of that city. In this manner he was carried to the common gaol, where he was received and treated as a common malefactor. Within two days after, he was brought before the Parliament, where the Earl of Lowden, the chancellor, made a very bitter and virulent declamation against him: told him, "he had broken all the covenants by which that whole nation stood obliged; and had impiously rebelled against God. the king, and the kingdom; that he had committed many horrible murders, treasons, and impieties, for all which he was now brought to suffer condign punishment;" with all those insolent reproaches upon his person, and his actions, which the liberty of that place gave him leave to use.

Permission was then given him to speak; and without the least trouble in his countenance, or disorder, upon all the indignities he had suffered, he told them, "since the king had owned them so far as to treat with them, he had appeared before them with reverence, and bareheaded, which otherwise he would not willingly have done: that he had done nothing of which he was ashamed, or had cause to repent; that the first covenant, he had taken, and complied with it, and with them who took it, as long as the ends for which it was ordained were observed; but when he discovered, which was now evident to all the world, that private and particular men designed to satisfy their own ambition and interest, instead of considering the public benefit; and that, under the pretence of reforming some errors in religion, they resolved to abridge and take away the king's just power and lawful authority, he had withdrawn himself from that engagement: that for the league and covenant, he had never taken it, and therefore could not break it and it was now too apparent to the whole Christian world, what monstrous mischiefs it had produced: that when, under colour of it, an army from Scotland had invaded England in assistance

of the rebellion that was then against their lawful king, he had, by his majesty's command, received a commission from him to raise forces in Scotland, that he might thereby divert them from the other odious persecution; that he had executed that commission with the obedience and duty he owed to the king; and, in all the circumstances of it, had proceeded like a gentleman; and had never suffered any blood to be shed but in the heat of the battle; and that he saw many persons there, whose lives he had saved: that when the king commanded him, he laid down his arms, and withdrew out of the kingdom; which they could not have compelled him to have done." He said, "he was now again entered into the kingdom by his majesty's command, and with his authority: and what success soever it might have pleased God to have given him, he would always have obeyed any commands he should have received from him." He advised them, "to consider well of the consequence before they proceeded against him, and that all his actions might be examined, and judged by the laws of the land, or those of nations."

As soon as he had ended his discourse, he was ordered to withdraw ; and, after a short space, was again brought in; and told by the chancellor, that he was, on the morrow, being the one and twentieth of May 1560, to be carried to Edinburgh cross, and there to be hanged upon a gallows thirty foot high, for the space of three hours, and then to be taken down, and his head to be cut off upon a scaffold, and hanged on Edinburgh tollbooth; his legs and arms to be hanged up in other public towns of the kingdom, and his body to be buried at the place where he was to be executed, except the kirk should take off his excommunication; and then his body might be buried in the common place of burial." He desired, He desired, "that he might say somewhat to them;" but was not suffered, and so was carried back to the prison.

That he might not enjoy any ease or quiet during the short remainder of his life, their ministers came presently to insult over him with all the reproaches imaginable; pronounced his damnation; and assured him, "that the judgment he was the next day to suffer, was but an easy prologue to that which he was to undergo afterwards." After many such barbarities, they offered to intercede for him to the kirk upon his repentance, and to pray with him; but he too well understood the form of their common prayer, in those cases, to be only the most virulent and insolent imprecations upon the persons of those

they prayed against, ("Lord, vouchsafe yet to touch the obdurate heart of this proud, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured, traitorous, and profane person, who refuses to hearken to the voice of thy kirk,” and the like charitable expressions,) and therefore he desired them "to spare their pains, and to leave him to his own devotions." He told them, "that they were a miserable, deluded, and deluding people; and would shortly bring that poor nation under the most insupportable servitude ever people had submitted to." He told them, "he was prouder to have his head set upon the place it was appointed to be than he could have been to have had his picture hang in the king's bedchamber: that he was so far from being troubled that his four limbs were to be hanged in four cities of the kingdom, that he heartily wished that he had flesh enough to be sent to every city in Christendom, as a testimony of the cause for which he suffered."

The next day, they executed every part and circumstance of that barbarous sentence, with all the inhumanity imaginable; and he bore it with all the courage and magnanimity, and the greatest piety, that a good Christian could manifest. He magnified the virtue, courage, and religion of the last king, exceedingly commended the justice, and goodness, and understanding of the present king; and prayed, "that they might not betray him as they had done his father." When he had ended all he meant to say, and was expecting to expire, they had yet one scene more to act of their tyranny. The hangman brought the book that had been published of his truly heroic actions, whilst he had commanded in that kingdom, which book was tied in a small cord that was put about his neck. The marquis smiled at this new instance of their malice, and thanked them for it; and said, "he was pleased that it should be there; and was prouder of wearing it, than ever he had been of the garter;" and so renewing some devout ejaculations, he patiently endured the last act of the executioner.

Thus died the gallant Marquis of Montrose, after he had given as great a testimony of loyalty and courage, as a subject can do, and performed as wonderful actions in several battles, upon as great inequality of numbers, and as great disadvantages in respect of arms, and other preparations for war, as have been performed in this age. He was a gentleman of a very ancient extraction, many of whose ancestors had exercised the highest charges under the king in that kingdom, and had been allied to the crown itself. He was of very good parts, which

were improved by a good education: he had always a great emulation, or rather a great contempt of the Marquis of Argyle, (as he was too apt to contemn those he did not love,) who wanted nothing but honesty and courage to be a very extraordinary man, having all other good talents in a very great degree. Montrose was in his nature fearless of danger, and never declined any enterprise for the difficulty of going through with it, but exceedingly affected those which seemed desperate to other men, and did believe somewhat to be in himself above other men, which made him live more easily towards those who were, or were willing to be, inferior to him, (towards whom he exercised wonderful civility and generosity,) than with his superiors or equals He was naturally jealous, and suspected those who did not concur with him in the way, not to mean so well as he. He was not without vanity, but his virtues were much superior, and he well deserved to have his memory preserved, and celebrated amongst the most illustrious persons of the age in which he lived,

77.-BUNYAN.

T B. MACAULay.

THE characteristic peculiarity of the 'Pilgrim's Progress' is that it is the only work of its kind which possesses a strong human interest. Other allegories only amuse the fancy. The allegory of Bunyan has been read by many thousands with tears. There are some good allegories in Johnson's Works, and some of still higher merit by Addison. In these performances there is, perhaps, as much wit and ingenuity as in the Pilgrim's Progress.' But the pleasure which is produced by the 'Vision of Thirza,' the 'Vision of Theodore,' the 'Genealogy of Wit,' or the 'Contest between Rest and Labour,' is exactly similar to the pleasure which we derive from one of Cowley's odes, or from a canto of Hudibras. It is a pleasure which belongs wholly to the understanding, and in which the feelings have no part whatever. Nay, even Spenser himself, though assuredly one of the greatest poets that ever lived, could not succeed in the attempt to make allegory interesting. It was in vain that he lavished the riches of his mind on the House of Pride and the House of Temperance. One unpardonable fault, the fault of tediousness, pervades the whole of the Faery