Republican Herald

AMUSING MISCELLANY.

A THRILLING PASSAGE-THE DEATH
OF
CASTILAR,

There is a powerful article in the last number of the American Magazine, under the title of "Passages in the Life of Mary Stuart." Unable to find space for the whole of it in our columns, we cannot refrain from giving the following extract, which we perceive, has already won a compliment from the New-York American.-

The ill-fated Chastelar, having first confessed his love to the object of it, had been indignantly dismissed. The scene is thus continued.

An hour had scarcely elapsed, before the lights were extinguished throughout the vaulted halls of Holyrood; the guards were posted for the night, the officers had gone their rounds, the ladies of the royal circle were dismissed, and all was darkness and silence. In Mary's chamber a single lamp was burning in a small recess, before a beautifully executed painting of the virgin, but the light was not sufficient to penetrate the obscurity which reigned in the many angles and alcoves of that irregular apartment, although the moonbeams were admitted through the open casement.

Her garb of ceremony laid aside, her lovely shape scantily veiled by a single robe of spotless linen, her auburn tresses flowing in unrestrained luxuriance, almost to her feet, if she had been a creature of perfect human beauty when viewed in all the pomp of royal pageantry, she now appeared a being of supernatural loveliness. Her small white feet, unsandalled, glided over the rich carpet with a grace, which a slight degree of fancy might have deemed the motion peculiar to the inhabitants of another world. For an instant she turned to her repose, she leaned again against the carved mullions of the window, and gazed pensively, and it might be, sadly, upon the garden, where she had so lately parted from the unhappy youth whose life was thus embittered by that very feeling which, above all others, should have been its consolation. Withdrawing her eyes from the moonlight scene, she knelt before the lamp and the shrine which it illuminated, and her whispered orisons arose, pure as the source from which they followed- the prayers of a weak and humble mortal; penitent for every trivial error, breathing all confidence in Him who can alone protect or pardon; the prayers of a queen for her numerous children, and, last and holiest of all, a woman's prayer for her unfortunate admirer, Yes, she prayed for Chastelar, that strength be given to him from on high to bear the cross of his miserable life, and that by divine mercy this hopeless love might be uprooted from his breast. "The words burst passionately from her lips, her whole form quivered with the excess of her emotion, and the big tears fell like rain from her uplifted eyes. While she was yet in the very flood of passion, a sigh was breathed, so clearly audible, that the conviction flashed like lightning on her soul, that this most secret prayer was listened to by other ears than those of heavenly ministers. Terror, acute terror, took possession of her mind, banishing by its superior violence every less engrossing idea. She snatched the lamp from its niche--waved it slowly around the chamber- and there, in the most hallowed spot of her widowed chamber, a spy upon her unguarded moments, stood a dark figure. Even in that moment of astonishment and fear, as if by instinct, the beautiful instinct of purely female modesty, she snatched a velvet mantle from the seat on which it had been cast aside, and veiled her person even before she spoke- "Oh God it is de Chastelar. Sweet Queen,'-replied the intruder—'bright beautiful ruler of my destinies, pardon- 'What ho!'-she screamed in notes of dread intensity-'a moi, a moi mes Francois. My guards!-Seyton—Carmichael-Fleming--will ye leave your Queen alone with treachery and black dishonor!-Villain! slave!-'she cried, turning her flashing eyes upon him, her whole form swelling as it were with all the fury of injured innocence, 'didst thou dare to think that Mary-Mary, the wife of Francis-the anointed Queen of Scotland, would brook thine infamous addresses-Nay, kneel not or I spurn thee-What ho! will no one aid in mine extremity- Fear nought from me,' faltered the wretched Chastelar; but with a voice like that of some inspired Pythoness she broke in, 'Fear! think'st thou that I could fear a thing, an abject coward thing, like thee ?-a wretch that would exult in the infamy of one whom he pretends to love? FEAR THEE! by heavens, if I could have feared, contempt must have forbidden it. Nay Mary, hear me! hear me but one word, if that word costs my life-' Thy life! had'st thou ten thousand lives, they should be but a feather in the scale against thy monstrous villany. What ho!' again she cried stamping with impotent anger at the delay of her attendants, Treason!-My guards-Treason!' At length the passages rang with the hurried footsteps of the startled inmates of the palace, with torch, and spear, and brandished blades, they rushed into the apartment; page, sentinel, and chamberlain, ladies, with dishevelled hair, and faces blanched with terror. The Queen stood erect in the centre of the room, pointing with one white arm bare to the shoulder towards the wretched culprit, who with folded arms and head erect awaited his doom in unresisting silence. His naked rapier, with which alone he might have foiled the united efforts of his enemies lay at his feet, his brow was white as sculptured marble, and no less rigid, but his eyes glared wildly, and his lips quivered as though he would have spoken. The Queen, still furious at the wrong which he had done her fame, marked the expression. Silence!' she cried-'Degraded! would'st thou meanly beg thy forfeited life; wert thou my father thou should'st die to-morrow! Hence with the villain!-Bid Maitland execute the warrant-Our self-Ourself will sign it-away! Chastelar dies at daybreak!' 'It is well'-replied he calmly, 'it is well!— the lips I love the best pronounce my doom; and I die happy since I die for Mary! Would'st thou but pity the offender, while thou dost doom the offence, de Chastelar would not exchange his shortened span of life, and violent death for the brightest crown of Christendom. My limbs may die-my love will live forever? Lead on minions-I am more glad to die, than ye to slay!- Mary-beautiful Mary--think hereafter upon Chastelar!' The guards passed onward-last of the group unfettered and unmoved, de Chastelar stalked after them. Once, ere he stooped beneath the low browed portal, he paused. placed both hands on his heart, bowed lowly and then pointed upwards, as he chanted once again the words Pensez a moi-Noble Dame-Pensez a moi. As he vanished from her presence, she waved her hand impatiently to be left alone—and all night long she traversed and retraversed the floor of her chamber in paroxysms of the fiercest despair.- The warrant was brought to her-silently, sternly she traced her signature beneath it;-not a sign of sympathy was on her pallid features, not a tremor shook her frame : she was passionless majestic and unmoved. The Secretary left the chamber on his fatal errand-and Mary was again a woman. Prostrate upon her couch she lay, sobbing and weeping as though her very soul was bursting from her bosom, defying all consolation, spurning every offer at remedy.- 'Tis done!' she would say-' 'Tis done!-I have preserved my name, and murdered my only friend. The morning dawned slowly and the heavy bells of all the churches clanged the death peal of Chastelar. The tramp of the cavalry defiling from the palace gates struck on her heart as though each hoof dashed on her bosom. An hour passed away-the minute bells still tolling, the roar of a culverin swept heavily downwards from the castle, and all was over! He had died as he had lived, undaunted; as he had lived, devoted! 'Mary, divine Mary.' were his latest words, 'I love in death, as I have loved in life thee and thee only.' The axe drank his blood, and the Queen of Scotland had not a truer servant left behind, than he, whom for a moment's frenzy she was compelled to slay, yet was his last wish satisfied, for though the Queen might not relent, the woman did forgive, and in many a mournful hour did Mary think on Chastelar.