marry John Sempill, son of Robert, third Lord Sempill, by an English wife.  Knox assures us that “it is well known that shame hastened marriage between John Sempill, called ‘the Dancer,’ and Mary Livingstone, surnamed ‘the Lusty.’” The young people appear, however, to have been in no pressing hurry, as Randolph, on January 9, did not expect their marriage till the very end of February; they wished the Earl of Bedford, who was coming on a diplomatic mission, to be present. {237b} Mary, on March 9, 1565, made them a grant of lands, since “it has pleased God to move their hearts to join together in the state of matrimony.” {237c} She had ever since January been making the bride presents of feminine finery.

These proceedings indicating no precipitate haste, we may think that Mary Livingstone, like Mary of Guise, is only a victim of the Reformer’s taste for “society journalism.”  Randolph, though an egregious gossip, says of the Four Maries, “they are all good,” but Knox writes that “the ballads of that age” did witness to the “bruit” or reputation of these maidens.  As is well known the old ballad of “Mary Hamilton,” which exists in more than a dozen very diverse variants, in some specimens confuses one of the Maries, an imaginary “Mary Hamilton,” with the French maid who was hanged at the end of 1563.  The balladist is thus responsible for a scandal against the fair sisterhood; there was no “Mary Hamilton,” and no “Mary Carmichael,” in their number—­Beaton, Seton, Fleming, and Livingstone.

An offended Deity now sent frost in January 1564, and an aurora borealis in February, Knox tells us, and “the threatenings of the preachers were fearful,” in face of these unusual meteorological phenomena. {238}

Vice rose to such a pitch that men doubted if the Mass really was idolatry!  Knox said, from the pulpit, that if the sceptics were right, he was “miserably deceived.”  “Believe me, brethren, in the bowels of Christ, it is possible that you may be mistaken,” Cromwell was to tell the Commissioners of the General Assembly, on a day that still was in the womb of the future; the dawn of common sense rose in the south.

On March 20, much to the indignation of the Queen, the banns were read twice between Knox and a lady of the Royal blood and name, Margaret Stewart, daughter of Lord Ochiltree, a girl not above sixteen, in January 1563, when Randolph first speaks of the wooing. {239} The good Dr. M’Crie does not mention the age of the bride!  The lady was a very near kinswoman of Chatelherault.  She had plenty of time for reflection, and as nobody says that she was coerced into the marriage, while Nicol Burne attributes her passion to sorcery, we may suppose that she was in love with our Reformer.  She bore him several daughters, and it is to be presumed that the marriage, though in every way bizarre, was happy.  Burne says that Knox wished to marry a Lady Fleming, akin to Chatelherault, but was declined; if so, he soon consoled himself.