laid to the charge of the unfortunate Anna. And she was conveyed ignominiously to the Tower, whither she had gone on the day of her coronation, but three years before, in all the pride and pomp of newly acquired royalty. Nothing can be more affecting than the short history of her latter days. The only fault of which she was conscious, that of having sometimes behaved with harshness towards the young Princess Mary, she confessed with many tears, kneeling before Lady Kingston, from whom she obtained a promise to supplicate for her, in like manner, the forgiveness of Mary, when she should be no more. When put upon her trial, she made so clear and able a defence against each of the charges brought against her, that upon most of them it was found impossible to convict her. Nor is it known in what way she was at length so far criminated as to have the charge of treason declared against her, and sentence of death passed. From the moment that her doom was fixed, no symptom of fear or regret was ever perceived to agitate her. Her time was chiefly employed in acts of devotion, but at intervals she conversed with her usual animated cheerfulness. No murmur against the king ever escaped from her lips. " I thank him," said

she, "that he raised me from a private station to make me a queen; and now, from a queen, he will raise me to be a saint in heaven." But neither her innocence, her submissive gentleness, nor the remembrance of his former affection, made any impression on the cold-hearted tyrant, who anxiously awaited the signal of her execution to lead her successor, Jane Seymour, to the altar.

That tribute of justice which was denied to Anna Boleyn, while living, has been amply paid to her memory. It appeared as if the stroke of the executioner had torn away a bandage from the eyes of the people. All classes believed her to have been sacrificed to the passions of the king, and the intrigues of the court. Time has still more completely vindicated her fame, and her parting spirit would have been consoled could she have foreseen the future greatness of her only daughter, Elizabeth.

Few of those, whose failing was ambition, have died so innocent as Anna Boleyn; it is a passion that closes the heart to all good feeling, concentrating in selfishness every power of the mind. Falsehood and artifice attend its outset, and crimes follow its success. But from her example we may learn, that it is not only when allied to sin,

Candid, generous, and

that ambition is fatal. pious, beneficent to the poor, indulgent to her dependants, affectionate to her kindred, kind in all her social relations, she was as much distinguished by her virtues, as she was eminent for talents and beauty; and the levity of behaviour, on which Henry affected to ground some of his accusations against her, was but a harsher name for the natural sprightliness and graceful animation which had once so enchanted him.

Some historians have endeavoured to palliate the enormities of Henry's reign, by dwelling on its beneficial results to church and state. But we daily see the noblest ends worked out by the most unworthy instruments; nor ought our thankfulness for the blessed Reformation in our Church, to which Henry was instrumental, to prevent our hearty detestation of those atrocities which for ever stamp him a most heartless and sanguinary tyrant.

ESSAY XXIV.

ON THE INSTABILITY OF POPULAR OPINION.

"Popular glory is a perfect coquette; her lovers must toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice, and perhaps at last be jilted into the bargain." GOLDSMITH.

It is only among men of the most desperate character, that a total disregard of the opinion of their fellow-creatures is to be found. To be insensible to the voice of censure or of praise evinces an unnatural hardness of heart, which, happily for society, even the few who are sufficiently depraved to desire it can rarely, if ever, attain to. The voice of the multitude may be considered as a louder kind of conscience, an organ used by the Deity to enforce obedience to his laws, respect towards his institutions, and that degree of outward decorum in our conduct and transactions which is essential to the maintenance of social order. It operates as an encouragement to the deserving, and a check upon the wicked. And although its

decisions, like those of every earthly tribunal, be in some cases erroneous, yet its influence is as salutary as it is absolute and universal.

Yet, while we pay due regard to the opinions of the world, (which means, in fact, no more than conforming to the restraint upon our words and actions, which reason and religion enjoin,) let us beware of courting applause from that small part of it in which we liye and move. For though maxims admitted by all must be right, opinions adopted by many may be wrong. It is, therefore, only in general principles, not on particular or local questions, that the voice of the multitude may safely be trusted: and woe to the man who becomes its slave! The guidance of a whirlwind is not more dangerous or more irresistible.

It were well if men would make a point of deserving popular applause, without being solicitous as to obtaining it. The former they would be sure of accomplishing by their own endeavours, and the latter, though little to be depended on, would frequently follow. But the very reverse of this is often the case. Few men are content to deserve the esteem of the public by firmness, integrity, or industry, in their own vocation, and an honest contempt of praise if it exceed their de