te principles to those
which prevailed, could be the object of universal satisfaction: yet so
much were men displeased with the present conduct of affairs, and such
apprehensions were entertained of futurity, that the people, overlooking
their theological disputes, expressed a general and unfeigned joy that
the sceptre had passed into the hand of Elizabeth. That princess had
discovered great prudence in her conduct during the reign of her sister;
and as men were sensible of the imminent danger to which she was every
moment exposed, compassion towards her situation, and concern for her
safety, had rendered her, to an uncommon degree, the favorite of the
nation. A parliament had been assembled a few days before Mary's death;
and when Heathe, archbishop of York, then chancellor, notified to them
that event, scarcely an interval of regret appeared; and the two houses
immediately resounded with the joyful acclamations of "God save Queen
Elizabeth: long and happily may she reign." The people, less actuated
by faction, and less influenced by private views, expressed a joy
still more general and hearty on her proclamation; and the auspicious
commencement of this reign prognosticated that felicity and glory which,
during its whole course, so uniformly attended it.[*]

Elizabeth was at Hatfield when she heard of her sister's death; and
after a few days she went thence to London, through crowds of people,
who strove with each other in giving her the strongest testimony of
their affection. On her entrance into the Tower, she could not forbear
reflecting on the great difference between her present fortune and that
which a few years before had attended her, when she was conducted to
that place as a prisoner, and lay there exposed to all the bigoted
malignity of her enemies. She fell on her knees, and expressed her
thanks to Heaven for the deliverance which the Almighty had granted her
from her bloody persecutors; a deliverance, she said, no less miraculous
than that which Daniel had received from the den of lions. This act of
pious gratitude seems to have been the last circumstance in which
she remembered any past hardships and injuries. With a prudence and
magnanimity truly laudable, she buried all offences in oblivion, and
received with affability even those who had acted with the greatest
malevolence against her. Sir Henry Benningfield himself, to whose
custody she had been committed, and who had treated her with severity,
never f