and said, When I come to the fire, my hand shall first be burned.' · He kept his promise. When at the stake, he thrust his right hand into the flame, crying out This hand hath offended.' his royal consort, grieved by the defeat of her arms in France, and goaded by remorse for her merciless conduct towards her protestant subjects, Mary expired in London on 17th of November, 1558. Her com-, plaint was dropsy. Thus ended the mortal career of Mary, Queen of England, to the no small satisfaction of the people. She has left behind a most unenviable memory. Perhaps the most lenient view we can take of her character is, that she was a conscientious bigot. Had she been fostered by a kinder and more benevolent genius than that of Roman Catholicism, she might have been a The fire soon did its work upon his frame, and the Archbishop mingled with the confessors of the ancient church. Mary continued these persecutions through Gardiner and Bonner, the remaining part|| of her reign. It is estimated that from the year 1555, to her death in 1558, no less than 400 persons perished for their adhesion to Protestant Christianity. Happy was it for mankind, that Providence inter-less cruel princess: amiable and lovely she fered and removed her, after a short reign,|| to a higher tribunal. perhaps could hardly have become, since moroseness and cruelty appear to have been inherent in her nature. Still, had the full power of the religion of Jesus, in its purity, fallen upon her heart, she had, doubtless, left a better name to posterity. CONVERSION OF LADY HUNT INGDON. Having declared war with France, at the instigation of Phillip her husband, who had now ascended to the throne and empire of Lady Margaret Hastings, sister of the Charles his father, in Spain, the English Earl of Huntingdon, was the first of that and Spanish armies, defeated the French family who received the truth as it is in Jesus; and the change effected by the under Montmorency with enormous slaughpower of the Holy Spirit soon became ter at St. Quentin. To atone for this de- visible to all. Considering the obligafeat the Duc de Guise attacked Calais, then tion she was under to the sovereign grace but feebly garrisoned, and hardly dream- of God, she felt herself called upon to ing of an attack as it was then, winter.- seek the salvation of her fellow-creatures, After a short but sturdy resistance, he cap-nal interests. Next to her own soul, the and the promotion of their best and etertured the city, and the Lion-flag of Eng- salvation of her own family and friends land, planted there by the vigorous arm of became her care. She exhorted them Edward III, which had waved for full two faithfully and affectionately, one by one, hundred years on its battlements, gave to flee from the wrath to come; and the Lord was pleased to make her the honorplace to the banners of France. ed instrument of Lady Huntingdon's conversion, as well as of many others of her family. This was a heavy blow to the pride of the British people, and also to the heart of Mary, who observed, that after her death they would find the word, Calais, engraven upon her heart,' an expression that shews the keenness of her feelings on the subject of national honor. Would that she had felt as keenly for the woes of those, whose lives she so recklessly sacrificed on the altar of a cruel religious creed. Forsaken of her husband, who, it seems, never conceived a very ardent affection for 254 He led her to the Altar. and beginning also to see her sinfulness ||her from eternal destruction, just when and guilt, and the entire depravity of her nature, her hope of being able to reconcile herself to God by her own works and deservings, began to die away. She sought, by the most rigorous austerities, to conquer her evil nature, and dispel the distressing thoughts which continually engrossed her mind. But, alas! the more she strove, the more she saw and felt that all her thoughts, words, and works, however specious before men, were utterly sinful before him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.' she stood upon its very brink, and raised her froin the gates of hell to the confines of heaven. The 'sorrow of the world, which worketh death,' was exchanged for that 'godly sorrow that worketh repentance unto life;' and joy unspeakable and full of glory succeeded that bitterness which comes of the conviction of sin. She enjoyed a delightful foretaste of heaven. Her disorder from that moment took a favorable turn. She was restored to perfect health, and to newness of life. She determined,thenceforward, to present herself to God, as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable,' which she was convinced was ker ‘reasonable service.' 6 course was had to one of the prelates; and the following is the account of the interview, which took place between the elect lady' and the episcopal dignitary. A dangerous illness having brought her to the brink of the grave, the fear of death fell terribly upon her, and her conscience was greatly distressed. She now perceived that she had beguiled herself The change wrought in her views was with prospects of a visionary nature; was soon known, and persons were not wantentirely blinded to her own real charac-ing to urge the Earl to interpose. Reter; had long placed her happiness in mere chimeras, and grounded her vain hopes upon an imaginary foundation. It was to no purpose that she reminded herself of the morality of her conduct; in vain did she recollect the many encomiums which had been passed upon her early piety and virtue. Her best righteousness now appeared to her to be but 'filthy rags,' which, so far from justifying her before God, increased her condemnation. The remorse which before attended her conscience, on account of sin, respected only the outward actions of her life; but then she saw her heart was 'deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked,'—that 'all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,'-and that 'the thoughts of man's heart are only evil, and that continually.' The earl 'recommended her to converse with Bishop Benson,' who had been his tutor, and with his request she readily complied. That prelate was accordingly sent for, and he attempted to convince the countess of the unnecessary strictness of her sentiments and conduct. But she pressed him so hard with Scripture, brought so many arguments from the Articles and Homilies, and so plainly and faithfully urged upon him the awful responsibility of his station, under the great Head of the Church, that his temper was ruffled, and he rose up in haste to depart, bitterly lamenting that he had ever laid his hands upon George Whitefield, to whom he attributed the change wrought in her ladyship. 'My lord,' said the countess, mark my words: when you are on your dying bed, that will be one of the few ordinations you will reflect up When upon the point of perishing, in her own apprehension, the words of Lady Margaret returned strongly to her recollection, and she felt an earnest desire, renouncing every other hope, to cast herself wholly upon Christ for life and sal-on with complacence.' vation. From her bed she lifted up her The prelate's conduct at that solemn heart to the Saviour, with that important season verified her prediction; for when prayer; and immediately all her distress near his death, he sent ten guineas to and fears were removed, and she was fill- Mr Whitefield, as a token of regard and ed with peace and joy in believing. Je-veneration, and begged to be remembersus, the Sun of Righteousness, arose, and ed by him in his prayers!' burst in meridian splendor on her benighted soul! The scales fell from her eyes, and opened a passage for the light of life, which sprang in, and death and darkness fled before it. Viewing herself as a brand plucked from the burning, she could not but stand astonished, at the nighty power of that grace which saved HE LED HER TO THE ALTAR. He led her to the altar, But the bride was not his chosen ; As though its pulse had frozen. Flowers were crush'd beneath his tread, And a gilded dome was o'er him; Of one he hoped to cherish; Of a name and form that the sacred rites, Many a hand was proffered; From the greeting that was offered. Its deepest, saddest token; Sketches of Travel. ADMIRAL WRANGELL'S EXPEDI TION TO SIBERIA. north of the Siberian seas. An extensive tract of the Siberian coast was traversed by the party in the course of their enterprise, in order to enable them to cross the ice northwards, at various points, in sledges; and the result of these journeys, was the discovery of a 'wide immeasurable ocean' at all points which they tried. This obstacle, of course, compelled them to pause, and renounce the object immediately in view. But in their various routes on the land, they saw enough to render their expedition one of profound interest, both to themselves and to othThe little that was formerly known on the subject of Northern Siberia, must have often led reflecting minds to wonder in what manner life could be sustained in regions so cold and dreary. 'Here, (says Admiral Wrangell) there is nothing to invite. Endless snows, and ice-covered rocks bound the horizon. Nature lies shrouded in almost perpetual winter.No one attempts the cultivation of any vegetable, nor could success be expected.' ers. This must be understood as refering to the vegetables capable of sustaining man, and which, indeed, do yield his chief sustenance, in almost all parts of the world. Happily, however, there are A DEER HUNT, & C. in Siberia, grasses and wild fruits, in sufNo portion of the globe, scarcely ex- ficient abundance to maintain a great vacepting even the interior of Africa, is less riety of the lower animals; and it is here known to the civilized world, than the that nature has given compensation to northern coast of Asia. This region beman for the poverty of useful vegetation. ing entirely in the possession of Russia, Countless herds of rein-deer, elks, black it was by that power alone that discover- bears, foxes, sables, and gray squirrels ies could properly be prosecuted; and, fill the upland forests; stone foxes and till of late years, its rulers have not been wolves roam over the low grounds. Enorin a condition to appreciate the full value mous flights of swans, geese, &c.. arrive of such explorations, either to themselves in spring, and seek deserts where they or to mankind at large. The matters may moult and build their nests in safebrought to light, therefore, by Admiralty. Eagles, owls, and gulls pursue their Wrangell's expedition of 1820-1823, the account of which is now, for the first time, laid before the world, have all the charms of perfect novelty; and of this, as well as of their generally interesting character, a few extracts will suffice to satisfy the reader. The northeastern district of Siberia, visited by Admiral Wrangell and his companions, lies between the river Lena on the West, and Bhering's Straits on the East, and extends from about the 126th to the 130th degree of east longitude, and from the 62d to the 73d degree of North latitude. The expedition was a land one, its main object being to settle certain doubts which prevailed as to the existence of a great arctic continent, prey along the sea coast; ptarmigan run in troops along the bushes; little snipes are busy along the brooks and in the morasses; the social crows seek the neighborhood of men's habitations; and, when the sun shines in the spring, one may even sometimes hear the cheerful note of the finch, and, in autumn, that of the thrush. There is also an abundance of fish in the waters; and it is by means of these varieties of animal life that a comparatively large population are fed and clothed and enabled to endure the cold and herbless dreariness of a Siberian clime. As in the case of the Laplanders, the rein-deer furnishes to the Normade tribes 236 Admiral Wrangell's Expedition to Siberia. of Siberia the means of supplying all their |siness is much easier. Meanwhile, the most pressing wants. The two most rest of the boats pick up the slain, and important epochs of the year, are the fasten them together with thongs, and evspring and autumn migrations of the rein- ery one is allowed to keep what he lays deer. About the end of May they leave hold of in this manner. It might seem the forests, where they had found some that in this way, nothing would be left to degree of shelter from the winter cold, in || requite the spearmen for their skill, and large herds, and seek the northern plains the danger they have encountered; but nearer the sea, partly for the better pas- whilst everything taken in the river is the ture afforded by the moss tundras, and property of whosoever secures it, the partly to fly from the mosquitoes and oth- wounded animals which reach the bank er insects which, literally speaking, tor- before they fall, belong to the spearman ment them to death. who wounded them. The skill and ex In good years, the migrating body of rein-deer consists of many thousands; and, though they are divided into herds of two or three hundred each, yet the herds keep so near together, as to form only an immense mass, which is sometimes from fifty to one hundred versts in breadth. As cach separate herd approaches the river, the deer draw more closely together, and the largest and strongest takes the lead. He advances, closely followed by a few of the others, with head erect, and apparently intent on examining the locality. When he has satisfied himself, he enters the river, the rest of the herd crowd after him, and, in a few minutes, the surface is covered with them. Then the hunters, who had been concealed to leeward, rush in their light canoes from their hiding places, surrounding the deer, and delay their passage, whilst two or three chosen men, armed with short spears, dash into the middle of the herd, and despatch large numbers in an incredibly short time; or at least wound them so, that if they reach the bank, it is only to fall into the hands of women and children. The office of spearman is a very dangerous one. It is no easy thing to keep the light boat afloat among the dense crowd of the swimming deer, which, moreover, make considerable resistance; the males with their horns, teeth, and hind legs, whilst the females try to overset the boat by getting their fore feet over the gunnel; if they succeed in this, the hunter is lost, for it is hardly possible that he should extricate himself from the throng; but the skill of these people is so great, that accidents very rarely occur. A good hunter may kill one hundred or more in less than half an hour. When the herd is large, and gets into disorder, it often happens that their antlers become entangled with each other; they are then unable to defend themselves, and the bu perience of these men, are such, that in the thickest of the conflict, when every energy is taxed to the uttermost, and their life is every moment at stake, they have sufficient presence of mind to contrive to measure the force of their blows so as to kill the smaller animals outright, but only to wound the larger and finer ones, so that they may be just able to reach the bank. Such proceeding is not sanctioned by the general voice, but it seems, nevertheless, to be almost always practised. The whole scene is of a most singular and curious character, and quite indescribable. The throng of thousands of swimming rein-deer, the sound produced by the striking together of their antlers, the swift canoes dashing in amongst them, the terror of the frightened animals, the danger of the huntsmen, the shouts of warning, advice, or applause, from their friends, the blood-stained water, and all the accompanying eircumstances, form a whole which no one can picture to himself, without having witnessed the scene. Sometimes the rein-deer hunt fails, and then the importance of the animal to the natives is shown by the most deplorable consequences. On one occasion, when Admiral Wrangell was present, the natives, who were waiting in a state of almost utter starvation for the appearance of the herds, were filled with joy by immense numbers of rein-deer approaching the right bank of the river opposite to Lobasnojoe. I never saw such a multitude of these animals. At a distance, their antlers resembled a moving forest. Crowds of people flocked in on every side, and hope beamed on every countenance as they arranged themselves in their light boats, to await the passage of the deer. But whether the animals had seen, and were terrified at the crowds of people, or whatever the reason may have been, after a short pause, they turned, left the bank, and disappeared among the mountains. The utter despair of the poor | sister from the seductions of the gay starving people was dreadful to witness. world, and lead her, in her youth and It manifested itself among these rude beauty, to the living fountain where she children of nature under various forms.might drink of the waters of Eternal life; Some wept aloud, and wrung their hands, that the rankling weeds of vanity and some threw themselves on the ground, passion might be rooted from her young and tore up the snow; others, and amongst heart to make room for flowers of celesthem the more aged, stood silent and no-tial growth. tionless, gazing with fixed and tearless eyes in the direction where their hopes had vanished. Feeling our utter inabil ity to offer any alleviation to their misery, we hastened to quit this scene of wo.' The Young Lady. From the Boston Weekly Magazine. 6 BY MARY L. GARDNER. 'Oh, sister, I was so happy last night, enried, admired, flattered, caressed-I was the observed of all observers, Fanny. You can't think, dear, of the malicious looks of Harriet Howe, when I made my grand entree-amid the homage of the beaux, who declared me the star of the ascendant.' 'But, Annie, was you rendered happy by the disappointed feelings of your friend Harriet. Can this be your enjoyment? * * * ** A year has passed since those two sisspent by the elder in the quiet discharge ters were presented to the reader. A year of domestic virtues; in the enlarging and promoting of Christian graces,in strengthening the heart for its trials; in imparting kind counsel to the wayward yet loved one; in performing those thousand nameless offices of affection, which make the sphere of woman's duty, and create an elysium by the hearth-stone, diffusing a blessed influence on all who meet there; by the lovely and beautiful Annie, in a continual round of dissipation, amid the glare of fashion, the homage ever paid to the beautiful, the corrupting influence of flattery and voluptuous splendor-where the seducing voice of pleasure was intoxicating that heart formed with high capacities, with noble, glorious powers of thought. Again are they before you. The Why, Fanny, you know I always cra- fever spirit' has passed over that mansion, ved homage; I would be the glorious and the beautiful Annie was stricken.sun, attracting, by my lustre and bright-Hour after hour did Fanny glide around ness, all around, while such lesser planets that couch, administering the cooling as Harriet Howe should, in any presence, draught, and bathed that heated, fevered shrink to insignificance.' brow, while the eye that of late beamed 'Annie, Annie, I warn you against the with life and beauty was rolling in delirindulgence of such feelings. Do not, Iium, gazing with unmeaning glance upon beseech you, let your love of homage, of fashionable dissipation, of vanity, possess your heart to the utter exclusion of the holier, purer, better feelings of which you are susceptible!' 'Oh, sister! how prosaic this morning. I declare you should be installed priest of some tabernacle, that you might hold forth for the conversion of our wicked world. But I must away to don my best attire, for George Stanley will call this morning, and he must not see me in this dishabille.' her, who was bending with agonized heart over the sick bed;-often and fervently did prayers arise from that chamber, that the loved one might be spared, or prepared for that change for which her life had so much unfitted her--that the Spirit of consolation might pour a balm upon their hearts, and prepare them to meet with unshaken faith the event. They were heard and answered; the dark-winged Azrael, who had hovered over the fair girl, leaving the shadow of his course upon the brow, marble and transparent as And so they parted-those two sisters it looked, was gone, and she arose from -the one to spend the morning in deco-her couch, weak and feeble as a new-born rating her person, or in practising those babe, but with the light of reason in her airs which might again attract that hom-eye, coolness and tranquillity in her veins, age which on the preceding evening had caused her heart to swell with pride, envy,|| and sinful passion:-the other, to kneel in the privacy of her chamber, and ask her Almighty Friend to shield her young and the smile of hope upon her lips. Her health was slowly, yet perfectly restored but great was the change a few weeks' illness had wrought on that face. Gone forever was that external beauty, for the |