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sion of Faith, under pain of excommunication. About ten years afterwards, she and her son, the Earl of Sutherland, were ordered to be confined in the town of Inverness; and a priest, for saying mass in her ladyship's house, was tried for his life. In pursuance of a mitigated sentence, he was taken to the market cross of Edinburgh in his mass clothes," and there chained for two hours, after which, a fire being kindled, the mass clothes". were burnt, with "all his other Popish baggage." Again, about ten years after that, Lady Jane received a summons to appear before the High Commission in the Scotch metropolis on account of her religion, when her son, Sir Robert Gordon, procured on her behalf, "an oversight and toleration" for the rest of her days, provided she never harboured or received a Jesuit. A licence to the same effect seems to have been granted by James the Sixth of Scotland and the First of England. This pledge, however, did not preserve the lady from trouble, for in about another ten years-it is curious how the intervals of peace and quietude ran in decades-sentence of excommunication having been passed upon her, it was necessary to procure a renewal of exemption from punishment, when the faithful Sir Robert once more became surety for his mother. Sir Robert was as firm in his Presbyterianism as she was in her Roman Catholicism, and it appears they never quarrelled with each other about their differences. It is a proof of her tolerant temper, that when a Protestant relative was about sending her boy to the countess's castle, and expressed a fear of his becoming a proselyte to Popery, Lady Jane replied, "The bairn is not capable of that; and when he is, he shall be at his own command." Whether or not the mother's faith involved the son in some suspicion, Sir Robert thought fit, years afterwards, to secure a testimonial of character from the Elgin Presbyters to this effect: that "since his residence amongst us here in the Presbytery of Elgin he hath been a main advancer of the true religion, and a great furtherer and help in what concerns this present reformation, and is well affected to the Church and peace of this country, and hath yielded full and constant obedience to all public ordinances."

The old lady lived till 1629, when she died, and was buried by her two surviving children, Alexander and Robert, "in the cathedral church of Dornoch, in the sepulchre of the Earl of Sutherland." This was at her own request, and it shows a pre-eminent regard for her second husband. She had lived in stormy times, and passed through various fortunes, but, with the exception of certain vexatious proceedings against her on religious grounds, she seems to have led a tranquil, as well as active domestic life. But how much she witnessed! and with what interest, in her retirement at Strathbogie, Dunrobin, and Boyne, must she have watched the progress of events, and the fate of distinguished persons with whom, in her early days, she had been closely connected! She would hear the story of Queen Mary's life after her marriage with Bothwell, of her surrender, and his escape to Norway. The much-talked-of poems and love-letters between them would surely excite

the curiosity of her who had been Bothwell's first wife. The abdication of her royal mistress, her weary imprisonment in Lochleven Castle, the battle of Langside, and her flight to England, with all the intrigues, plots, and sufferings which ended in the terrible execution at Fotheringay, could not but occupy the thoughts and agitate the feelings of one who had loved and served the unhappy queen. And then the regency of Murray and Morton, the career of Knox, the civil wars of Scotland, the mysterious raid of Ruthven, and the mysterious Gowrie Conspiracy, would supply materials for a good deal of meditation and talk to the Lady Jane. She would follow James to England after the death of Elizabeth, and would enter into the particulars of the Gunpowder Plot, and would watch the doings of Queen Mary's son, down to his Scotch visit in 1617 and his death in 1625. The storm gathering over Charles I did not break before the friend of his grandmother had been gathered to her fathers. But however she might ponder what went on, she kept herself free from party strife. "A virtuous and comely lady," says her son; "judicious, of excellent memory, and great understanding, above the capacity of her sex: in this much to be commended, that during the continual changes and particular factions of the court, in the reign of Queen Mary, and in the minority of King James VI, which were many, she always managed her affairs with so great prudence and foresight, that the enemies of her family could never prevail against her, nor move those that were the chief rulers of the State for the time, to do anything to her prejudice-a time, indeed, both dangerous and deceitful."

And now that we have reached the end of Jane Gordon's story, the question recurs, Has any light been thrown since on the matter of the dispensation so much talked about? The Earl of Murray believed that a dispensation had really been obtained, and afterwards abstracted. "It was, no doubt, destroyed before Bothwell's divorce," says the learned antiquary, Mr. Robertson. It turns out, after all, to be still in existence. The very document, which has suggested so much speculation, has been discovered amongst the Dunrobin archives, through the researches of Dr. Stuart, under the authority of the Historical MSS. Commission. A facsimile of it is given in his interesting volume, entitled, "A Lost Chapter in the History of Mary Queen of Scots Recovered." Also it is a lost chapter recovered for the life of Lady Jane Gordon. It concerns her as much as it concerns Queen Mary, if not more. It is given in the name of John, Archbishop of St. Andrews, and it legalises the marriage between Bothwell and his bride, notwithstanding their consanguinity, whatever it might be. That being the case, then, Jane Gordon was the lawful wife of James Bothwell, and could not be divorced from him on the ground of consanguinity; at the same time, the other act of divorce on the ground of adultery did not, in the opinion of some Scotchmen learned in the law, set Bothwell free to marry again. The existence of the dispensation, therefore, appears to have been a legal bar to the mar

riage of Bothwell with Mary, and though it could. not set aside the divorce of Bothwell from Jane on the ground of adultery, it might, if known by others, have made the latter lady rather uncomfortable after her marriage with another husband whilst Bothwell was alive. And now, not only has the dispensation been brought to light, but, being found at Dunrobin, amongst the Sutherland archives, it is plain it must have been in the possession of Lady Jane, and by her secreted after her marriage, and carefully kept from the knowledge of other people, when the proceedings for her divorce from Bothwell were going on. The production of the document would have put a stop to the suit in the Archbishop's Court. More

over, the archbishop must have known all abou: it, and the inconsistency of his first granting the dispensation and then annulling the marriage for the want of it, is most palpable, and exhibits an instance of unprincipled conduct exceedingly common in those days. Then, too, it is made as clear as possible that Lady Jane must have connived at her own divorce, and that, too, so far as the dispensation was concerned, simply for the purpose of promoting the marriage of her husband with another woman. The fact is as discreditable as it is curious, and altogether the story illustrates the saying that "fact is stranger than fiction." JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D.

“TH

HEN." The good old times! It is the fashion to speak of them and to sigh after them. How "old" are they? How far must we go back upon the chart of Time to find them?

A thousand years?

Christmas was a great festival even "then." There was a Bible in the vulgar tongue in every church throughout the country, but there were not many who could read it; nor was it always safe to go where one might hear it read. The land was full of violence. Saxons and Danes were constantly at strife; there were robberies and murders, wholesale massacres and devastations. No man was secure. Witness King Edmund, murdered at the festal board, and Edward the Martyr, stabbed not long afterwards in the back while drinking a cup of mead on horseback. Famine and plague at the same time ravaged the land and made it desolate. No doubt there was some extra feasting and drinking as Christmas time came round among the rude soldiery in their fastnesses, but the peasants had not much share in

"A fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Goes roaring up the chimney wide."

'Tis yet early in the day, according to our degenerate ideas; for in those times men dined at ten in the morning and supped at four; but the company are in full dress; and the "fool" in motley, with a cap and bells upon his head and a little effigy of himself in his hand, stands ready to receive them with some wise or saucy greeting, and ushers them into the great dining-hall, from the high roof of which the holly and the mistletoe, relics of ancient Druidical mysteries, depend. Long tables groan beneath the weight of venison, capons, plum-puddings and mince-pies, the latter of oblong shape to represent the manger at Bethlehem.

"There the huge sirloin reeks; hard by Plum porridge stands and Christmas pie."

Mead, beer, and cyder flow abundantly, and soon every tongue begins to wag with interchange of kindly greetings, and the lively jest goes round.

The

But it is not all eating and drinking. sacred history to which the annual festival owes its origin is not forgotten. Already, on the eve of Christmas, the simple-minded husbandmen. have gone forth, lantern in hand, to their cattlesheds, expecting to find the oxen kneeling upon their knees at the midnight hour, as if they too had some sacred memories of Bethlehem, and would celebrate with bovine reverence the birthday of their Lord and Maker.

There is not much book-learning either in the hall or the cottage; yet the Holy Bible-Wyckliffe's translation-is accessible to all who can read it; and the sweet story of the Saviour's lowly birth is made known to high and low, rich and poor. The spirit of peace and love is abroad. Neighbours and friends confess the genial influence. Kind words are exchanged, old grudges healed, injuries forgiven, foes reconciled, and friendship sealed.

Are these, then, the good old times? Scarcely; for there are dark scenes which we do not care to look upon or to think of at this season-harsh, cruel, and unequal laws, poverty, oppression, misery, and crime; wars and fightings abroad, and at home rebellions and civil strifes, by which the whole nation is divided and convulsed.

Let us try another period-three or four centuries later.

George III is king-Farmer George, as the people called him. We may picture another social gathering, in which it is pleasant to observe children of all ages conspicuous. There are presents for each-a wooden horse for Tommy (let us hope he will be kind to it), a lovely doll for Barbara; books-pretty story-books-with pictures which children can admire, and letter-press which they can read, teaching them to love the Christmas festival and Christmas truths. These, too, are the days of Sunday-schools, when the Saviour's charge to His disciples is beginning to be understood in its wider and more comprehensive meaning,-"Feed My lambs." Philanthropy and Christian fellowship are abroad. The prisons are visited, the oppressed relieved, the sick taken care of, and the heathen taught.

Surely we are getting nearer now to the "good old times." And yet the closer we approach the less "old" do they appear. Let us come at once

to this present year of grace, 1883. The homely manners of a past generation may by some be contrasted with the more formal demonstrations of modern society; but every age has had its circles of etiquette as also its homes of simplicity. The good old times are perhaps as near to us "NOW" as they have ever been to our forefathers. Christmas is as well and truly kept, there is as much enjoyment, and its influences are, to say the least, as sweet and real as they have ever been. "Rich and poor meet together" and confess that "the Lord is the Maker of them all." The hospitals, the workhouses, even the prisons, are invited to rejoice on this universal festival. Bibles are now scattered broadcast, not chained here and there to a pillar in the church, but placed in the hands of every child; and every child can read them. Books-what a wealth of them! gifts, playthings are distributed, not among the children of the rich alone, but to the humblest and the poorest also.

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Say not thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than these? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this" (Eccles. vii. 10).

The good times, the best times, are yet to come. The message has been proclaimed once for all. Peace on earth, goodwill towards men. All times are good if we will make them so. Let each do what he can, by mutual charity and sympathy, and love, to hasten and to help.

IT

T is not wise to lead a very calculating life. I mean that if we are for ever balancing this against that, and scheming how we may reach such and such an end with the least expenditure of time, money, and trouble, we are only too likely to nourish the spirit of distrust; we cultivate a habit of petty suspicion in which half the charm of human intercourse is gone, and we become incapable of exercising that faith which is divine, and which saves us from or helps us through the difficulties of our course. It is not well to encourage incessant calculation.

But times arrive in which we are drawn to look specially at ways and means, pros and cons, losses and gains; when we may wisely strike a balance; when we may add up what we have received and spent; when we look closely at our condition and position, and take deliberate measures in respect to the future discharge of our duties and conduct of our lives. There is no inevitably fixed time in which we should so act. Occasions arise in every life when a man busies himself apart from his neighbours, to look over the books of his behaviour as well as the state of his business. A personal crisis comes, or a family entanglement, an unexpected loss, sickness, possibly death.

Then, in either of these cases, the man is busy, is pressed by business in word or deed. He is driven to pause, reflect, forecast. But the world' without is not agitated. His neighbours glance

at his concerns, note his animation or confusion with more or less interest or kindness; yet they are not disturbed. They have no particular call to bestir themselves. There are times, however, when all feel some common impulse to take stock of their position. These times are purely arbitrary or conventional. They arrive in periods of national disaster, or they come in company of the almanack, which points out that a measured period is drawing to a close, and a new round of the old duties and life about to begin. We have nearly reached such a turning-point now. The familiar date of 1883 will pass over to the past. A fresh calendar will lie upon our desks or be fixed upon the wall, and the commonplace business of the day will take to itself another heading. This being so, we will pause for a minute, and look at some of the thoughts which the end of a year suggests, when we are led to put things again in the scales, see what they weigh, strike some of the balances, and look over some of the old receipts of life. In making up accounts perhaps it is almost too much of a truism to say that they should be made up. There are, however, people who would be shocked at the idea of falsifying a balance-sheet, which they are bound to render to others, but who are tempted to deal a little unfairly with themselves.

This is, no doubt, very natural. We all like, or should like, to look on the best side of any difficulty or position; and when we have ourselves

alone to deal with, this desire to make things pleasant is sometimes paramount. We are scrupulous in regard to the public discharge of obligations and the rendering of their accounts with accuracy, but in respect of matters which are wholly of a private nature we sometimes spare ourselves the unpleasantness of looking our affairs fully in the face. I do not here refer to money matters. I am thinking of the estimate we should form of our condition in our own eyes or in the eyes of God. When we have it suggested to us towards the close of the year that we should balance our accounts and see how we stand, we feel that the most im

portant inquiry of all is concerning our moral condition, concerning our reckoning with our conscience, with ourselves. Below the outward causes of gladness, of depression, which in the eyes of others affect our lives, we know that our real radical happiness depends upon the sincerity of our own behaviour, upon the honesty with which we are trying to do that which we believe to be right. The reckoning there determines our real state. It is the taking stock in that which shows how we stand.

Obviously, then, our first consideration is to deal fairly by ourselves. We must not yield to the