fied, and overpowered, by the insults, menaces, and clamours of her rebellious subjects, set her hand with tears and confusion to a resignation of her kingdom."* The resignation of a throne is of itself as great a theme as human life can afford. In the surrender of a crown, there is a concentration of intense feeling rivetted on the individual who is about to descend from the very summit of human elevation, accompanied with peculiar satisfaction to reflect that a human being had moral courage sufficient to make such a sacrifice with calmness and becoming dignity. But our admiration is heightened when we reflect, that the individual executing so uncommon an instrument as the resignation of the highest earthly honour, was a female, possessed of every feminine grace, charm, accomplishment, and winning softness, urged to it by the presence of the stern and implacable Lindsay, who with his mailed hand seized the delicate arm of the Queen, and swore that unless she subscribed the deeds without delay, he would sign them himself with her blood, and seal them on her heart.+ Who would not feel, while he traverses the fragmental ruins of the lake-moated Castle of Lochleven, the greatest interest in the scene of Mary's darkest hours, and execrate the merciless monster who hesitated not to outrage humanity, by such harshness to his Queen, who herself set seal to the resignation of her kingdom with hesitation, but with such stoical resolution, that we are left in amazement at the courage and magnanimity of this extraordinary woman! In October 1805, a boy digging in the sands near Kinross-house, found a bunch of keys in a very decayed The loch at this time was within narrow bounds, on account of a severe drought. Little doubt exists as to these being the keys of the Castle, which were thrown into the lake by Douglas in 1568, as before described. These keys are desposited in Kinross-house: another key, state. *Boswell's Life of Johnson. which was used by Queen Mary at Lochleven, is preserved in the Antiquarian Societies' Hall, Edinburgh. The recent operations of partially draining the Loch, in March 1831, have brought to light two other interesting relics, the first of which is a handsome sceptre, apparently of cane, hilted with ivory, and mounted with silver, upon which the words, "Mary Queen of Scots," are almost wholly legible, although the ivory and silver are much decayed. It is surprising that this royal relic should have been found in the lake, and the only way in which it can be satisfactorily accounted for, is, that in the hurry of Queen Mary's flight, she may have lost this treasured emblem of her Royalty. This conjecture is borne out by the circumstance, that the sceptre was found near the place called 66 Mary's Knowe," the landing-place of the fugitive Queen. About the same time, a marble figure, delicately sculptured, of a human form in miniature, was found near the island of St Serf, and is supposed to have decorated one of the niches of that famous monastery. It is worthy of remark, that we owe the discovery of the keys of Lochleven to a boy; and it was by the instrumentality of a few boys who were amusing themselves in the newly-reclaimed land, that these last important relics have also been discovered. In draining the loch, several large stone cannon-balls were also discovered, which had probably been fired upon the besiegers in 1335, when they attempted to blockade the Castle. Within the circuit of the outer wall there is a small space, where once existed the garden of the Castle, the scene also of Mary's captivity, where she was wont to enjoy the fresh breeze, and gaze with wearied eye on the expansive mirror of the Lake. This ruined enclosure which once boasted the light tread of the most lovely and most unhappy of queens, is now covered with grass, and with the weed-grown court, affords sufficient pasture for two cows which we saw grazing amidst the ruin. The adjacent island and monastery of St Serf, is the place where the celebrated Andrew Winton, canon-regular of St Andrews, and Prior of Lochleven, wrote his Chronicle. He was born about the year 1360. Rude as his couplets may appear to modern eyes, his pages are much prized by the literati for the exquisite prospects of early society which they present, and the circumstances of remote history which they record. Kinnesswood, on the north-east bank of the Lake, is famed as the birth-place of the amiable Michael Bruce, who died at the early age of 21,-an instance, among many thousands, that "Many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its fragrance in the desert air.” Bruce's metrical description of the ruins of Lochleven is one of his best productions, and we cannot conclude our historical account in a more elegant manner, than by quoting the following lines from that beautiful poem : "No more its arches echo to the noise Of joy and festive mirth; no more the glance Lash'd by the wint'ry tempests, cold and bleak, That time has spared, forth from the window looks, Half hid in grass, the solitary fox; While, from above, the owl, musician dire, Screams hideous, harsh, and grating to the ear. Equal in age, and sharers of its fate, A row of moss-grown trees around it stand; Sheffield Castle AND Manor. "For fourteen years secluded from mankind, She never saw the sun's delightful beams, Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad, A broken splendour.". |