Weekly Chillicothe crisis., 1880-01-08
.JHisreilanr
49, -
STORY OF LADY NITHiSDALE.

Everybody has heard of the Tower of
London. The London of to-day has risen
around it from the ashes of the London of
the past; generation after generation has
been forgotten; customs have changed as
completely as fashions, but the Tower is
now, as of old, an object of interest that
is half of fear, halt of tenderness to all
reading and thinking minds with human
sympathy. So often has it been described,
so often portrayed upon artists canvas
and engravers' block that even those who
dwell beyond seas know well its square,
stOlid outline and angular turrcts. Its
TRAITORS Gate" has gaped and bristled
in many youthful dream, and its blood
stained Hill" has risen like a nightmare
upon the visions Of tender students and
impressionable lovers of romance. Will
liam the Norman-England's conqueror,
whose grasp closed on Ger forever built
those massive walls; set them, like his
SOUL upon the fair face of the land his
sword had won, and stamped into it "A
very spirit of sorrow and tyranny. A pal
ace in its early days, when palaces were
raised on prisons and cemcntcd with blood,
it gradually sunk the palace in the prison,
but kent its royal character, for II was
made the prison Of the enemies of Kings
and still the sons of Kings. Tie names
of the noble and the royal blaclcn its rec
ords; saint.like souls in delicate
bodies, and spampered bodies whose
ous were fit for darker prisons,s
alike have passed from lite beneath its
shadow, have looked their last in hope
from its barred windows. Tragedies, hor-
rors, sutlerings, existence and such tri-
umphs OF the spirit over the flesh have
illumined its darkest vaults as bid us, in
very shame, defy the worst man can do,
while God looks on and crowns the victor
who endures.
The names Of many Of the prisoners in
the Tower Of London are as familiar as
household words. Taking them without
regard to order, William Wallace, the
golden.haired hero of Scotland; Sir
Thomas Moore, Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane
Gray, Sir Walter Raleigh, the Earle of
Essex-a long, long line of brave and
gracious men and women pass before the
mental vision at its very name. Later
en-. less distinguished, but as blameless,
sufferers take their places. The unsettled
state of England during the time of
Charles l., the struggles of Charles H.,
the flight of James H., and the misery in
which it involved his followers, we've all
seasons OF harvest for the Wardens of the
Tower. The dark and bloody shadow of
that flying figure which crossed the
Thames and left the Great Seal lying un.
der tho;e sullen waters in 1856, stretched
far across the future Of England, and
sank lower upon his too faithful subjects.
Rebellion followed rebellion. and Scot
land saw the ranks Of her best and bravest
sadly thinned before the crown of the
Stuarts rested firmly and easily upon the
thick heads Of the house of Brunswick.
Lovers of history and of romance know
well the tragedies of l725 and l745, the
dates of those two failures. those splendid
groundless hopes, and hopeless disap.
pontment, when Charles Edward, the
son, and James III, the grandson of
James II, flashed, each in his turn, and
vanished, less nobly, less fearfully, hut us
sadly as the First Charles.
1t was in the struggle of Ills that Lord
Nithisdale passed the grim threshold of
the Tower. He had been "out" with the
gallant Earl Of Mar, and shared his ruin,
together with his brother Earls of Der.
wentwater, Camwath and Winton, and
the Lords Wilmington, Renmur
and Marine. AQ, save the Earl
Of Winton, were sentenced to death,
and all efforts to soften or appease the
rigor of their judges appeared useless.
Wives, mothers, sisters, daughters crowd
ed to the foot of the throne, appealed
with the trembling lips OF eRe, the beauty
of youth, the helpless hands of infancy,
to George l., and appealed in vain. Or.
ders were sent to dispatch Der
wentwater, Nithisdale and Kenmuir
immediatsly-the others to be respited for
a short time, but certainly to due,
1t was the last night of life to Nithis.
dale. In the gray of dawn, in the sweet,
yet solemn hour when earth seems most
at peace, while it waits for the blessing of
the Lord upon new day, he was to die.
And moreover, an awful, doubly awful
death. He had received the tidings with
that gracious and gallant courtesy whicn
belonged to his order. His check had
not paled nor his eye dropped, norhis deep
sweet voice trembled as he thanked the
bearer Of the news, and craved, in gentle
terms, the necessary quiet to prepare his
mind for the most fatal event Of time and
eternity to him. But now that he was
alone, now that the dark shadows of his
gloomy cell were barred by the holy light
Of the moon, now that the future seemed
so near, and the past so far of, so vain, so
l. ...1 4 I