into jeopardy the
politics of all the cabinets of Europe, each of which had its favourite
candidate to support. The legitimate heir to the throne of England was
to be the creature of her breath, yet Elizabeth would not speak him into
existence! This had, however, often raised the discontents of the
nation, and we shall see how it harassed the queen in her dying hours.
It is even suspected that the queen still retained so much of the woman,
that she could never overcome her perverse dislike to name a successor;
so that, according to this opinion, she died and left the crown to the
mercy of a party! This would have been acting unworthy of the
magnanimity of her great character--and as it is ascertained that the
queen was very sensible that she lay in a dying state several days
before the natural catastrophe occurred, it is difficult to believe that
she totally disregarded so important a circumstance. It is therefore,
reasoning _a priori_, most natural to conclude that the choice of a
successor must have occupied her thoughts, as well as the anxieties of
her ministers; and that she would not have left the throne in the same
unsettled state at her death as she had persevered in during her whole
life. How did she express herself when bequeathing the crown to James
the First, or did she bequeath it at all?

In the popular pages of her female historian Miss Aikin, it is observed
that "the closing scene of the long and eventful life of Queen Elizabeth
was marked by that peculiarity of character and destiny which attended
her from the cradle, and pursued her to the grave." The last days of
Elizabeth were indeed most melancholy--she died a victim of the higher
passions, and perhaps as much of grief as of age, refusing all remedies
and even nourishment. But in all the published accounts, I can nowhere
discover how she conducted herself respecting the circumstance of our
present inquiry. The most detailed narrative, or as Gray the poet calls
it, "the Earl of Monmouth's _odd account_ of Queen Elizabeth's death,"
is the one most deserving notice; and there we find the circumstance of
this inquiry introduced. The queen at that moment was reduced to so sad
a state, that it is doubtful whether her majesty was at all sensible of
the inquiries put to her by her ministers respecting the succession. The
Earl of Monmouth says, "On Wednesday, the 23rd of March, she grew
speechless. That afternoon, by signs, she called for her council, and by