When he was brought upon the scaffold, he felt the edge of the axe with which he was to be beheaded, and observed, "'Tis a sharp remedy, but a sure one for all ills," harangued the people calmly, eloquently, and conclusively, in defence of his character, laid his head on the block with indifference, and died as he had lived, undaunted, one of the greatest benefactors of both England and America, judicially murdered by the pitiful spite of the basest and worst of England's monarchs. James could slay his body, but his fame shall live forever.
[1] I would here caution my readers from placing the slightest confidence in anything stated in Hume's History (fable?) of the Stuarts, and especially of this, the worst of a bad breed.
HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.
BY ROBERT G. ALLISON.
If sorrow's clouds around thee lower,
E'en in affliction's gloomiest hour,
Hope on firmly, hope thou ever;
Let nothing thee from Hope dissever.
What though storms life's sky o'ercast