of the absent hero. Cold and silent on the subject of Essex's merits, Lord Leicester often bantered me on being so sensible of them, and seldom failed to remind me of the family compact, which had bound Lord Essex to wed Sir Francis Walsing∣ham's only daughter: to fulfil which, he purposed soon to recal him; and advised

me rather to turn my eyes on Sir Walter Raleigh, whose talents he pronounced infinitely superior, and whose homage was wholly paid to me. As this was a lover he knew I detested, the conversa∣tion generally ended when he was named, but a succession of such discourses con∣firmed me in the opinion of Lord Lei∣cester's selfishness, and prepared me, per∣haps, to decide in opposition to it.
Essex was at length summoned to Eng∣land. He arrived. An idle, unaccountable apprehension at once overcame my reason. I was persuaded I could not see him with indifference. I feared the keen eye of Elizabeth, and the colder and more watch∣ful one of Lord Leicester. I quitted the Court the day he was to be presented, and past it with Lady Pembroke. By a sin∣gular chance Miss Walsingham had chosen to do the same. The party enlarged in∣sensibly as the circle decreased. Essex was the theme of every tongue, and while Miss Walsingham's triumphant eyes ac∣knowledged the implied compliments, my yielding heart received them. "He

is here," cried Lady Pembroke, in the afternoon, looking out of the window, and kissing her hand. I felt ready once more to run away, but that decorum re∣strained me. Lady Pembroke indulged one of the gay whims which so often were a source of pleasure at once to herself and her friends, and insisted he should only be told his bride was among the unmarried ladies, from whom his heart must select her. It was an ill-judged project. Miss Wal∣singham had been contracted to Lord Es∣sex in childhood, rather to ratify a recon∣ciliation between the families, than with any idea of a future affection. The rigid principles of Lady Walsingham had hi∣therto kept her daughter in total seclusion, and the death of her mother had now given the young lady unbounded liberty. Her passions, naturally violent, had al∣ways spurned restraint; but compelled for a time to submit to it, they marked her character even in early youth with haugh∣tiness. The beauty she eminently pos∣sessed, soon drew around her a croud of lovers, which elevating her vanity, added

coquetry to pride, and united in her per∣son the strange extremes of sour reserve and unbounded levity. Sir Philip Sydney was the only man supposed to