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that would certainly astonish the head of a government in the present day, if he received any such in his despatches. Essex wishes he could live like a hermit "in some unhaunted desart most obscure"

"From all society, from love and hate

Of worldly folk; then should he sleep secure.
Then wake again, and yield God every praise,
Content with hips and hawes, and bramble-berry;
In contemplation parting out his days,

And change of holy thoughts to make him merry.
Who, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush,
Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush.

Your Majesty's exiled servant,

ROBERT ESSEX."

It is difficult to estimate the nature of Essex's Irish government, thwarted as he was on all sides. The Cecils were his enemies at court, and in Ireland he was not allowed to make his own subordinate appointments. When he named the Earl of Southampton, his friend, general of the horse, the Queen compelled him to revoke the appointment. All consequently went wrong; and at last, feeling perhaps that he was making no progress in subduing the enemies to whom he was opposed, and that his sudden presence at court might counteract the machinations of his rival, he arrived unexpectedly one Michaelmas Eve, about ten in the morning, at the court gate, and made his way hastily up to the Queen's bedchamber, where he found Elizabeth newly up, with her hair about her face. She received him graciously; and he left her, thanking God that, though he had suffered much trouble and storms abroad, he found a sweet calm at home. The calm was but of short continuance; the Cecils and others were at work, and that very evening he was ordered to consider himself a prisoner in his room. After eight months of restraint he wrote a touching appeal to the Queen, which was not answered for three months more, when he was released, but ordered not to appear at court. In a few days a valuable patent he held for the monopoly of sweet wines expired, and he petitioned for a renewal to aid his shattered fortunes. It was refused; and in a manner that made the refusal the least mortifying part of the business. "In order to manage an ungovernable beast he must be stinted in his provender," was the Queen's remark. Essex now became desperate; and unfortunately there was one at hand ready to direct his thoughts into the worst channels-Cuffe, his secretary, a man who has been described as "smothered under the habit of a scholar, and slubbered over with a certain rude and clownish fashion that had the semblance of integrity."* By him Essex was advised to remove Sir Robert Cecil, Raleigh, and others, forcibly from court, and so make the way clear for the recovery of his ascendancy. Other men joined in this advice, and, finally, relying upon his extraordinary popularity with the Londoners, he determined to adopt it. A strong party of officers who had served under him took up lodgings about Essex Street, and formed themselves into a council. The gates of Essex House were thrown open to flocks of Catholic priests, Puritan preachers, soldiers, sailors, young citizens, and needy adventurers; these proceedings of course immediately attracted the notice of the government, and Essex was summoned to appear before the Privy Council. A note from an unknown writer, warning him to provide for his safety, was at the same moment put into his hand, and he was informed that the guard at the Reliqua Wottonianæ.

palace had been doubled. Essex saw he must at once strike or be stricken; so, on the following morning, Sunday, the 8th of February, 1600-1, he determined to march into the city during sermon-time at St. Paul's Cross, and call upon the people to join him, and force their way to the Queen. His dear friend, the Earl of Southampton, with the Earl of Rutland, Lords Sandys and Mounteagle, and about three hundred gentlemen, were ready to accompany him, when the Lord Keeper Egerton, Sir William Knollys, the Lord Chief Justice Popham, and the Earl of Worcester arrived, and demanded the cause of the disturbance. They were admitted without their attendants; when Egerton and Popham asked what all this meant. "There is a plot laid against my life," was the reply uttered in a loud and impassioned tone; "letters have been forged in my name-men have been hired to murder me in my bed-mine enemies cannot be satisfied unless they suck my blood!" The Lord Chief Justice said he ought to explain his case to the Queen, who would do impartial justice. Some voices now cried out, "They abuse you, my Lord-they betray you—you are losing time!" The Lord Keeper, then putting on his hat, commanded the assembly, in the Queen's name, to lay down their arms and depart. Louder cries now broke out, "Kill them!kill them!-keep them for hostages !-away with the great seal!" Essex immediately conducted them to an inner apartment, bolted the door, and placed a guard of musqueteers to watch it. Drawing his sword, he then rushed out, followed by most of the assembly. At St. Paul's Cross, to their surprise, they found no preaching-no congregation-the Queen having sent orders to that effect to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. The Earl, addressing the citizens he met with, cried, "For the Queen, my mistress!—a plot is laid for my life!" and entreated them to arm. But they contented themselves with crying, "God bless your Honour!" and left him to his fate. Uncertain what to do, Essex went to the house of one of the sheriffs, and remained for some time. About two in the afternoon he again went forth, and passed to and fro through many streets, till, seeing that his followers were fast disappearing, he directed his footsteps towards Essex House. Barricades had been formed in the mean time, and at Ludgate he was attacked by a large body of armed men whom the Bishop of London had placed there. Several persons were wounded in the affray. Essex was twice shot through the hat, and his step-father, Sir Christopher Blount, was severely wounded and taken prisoner. The Earl retreated into Friday Street, where, being faint, drink was given him by the citizens. At Queenhithe he obtained a boat, and so got back to Essex House, where he found that his last hope, the hostages, were gone; his trusted friend and servant, Sir F. Gorge, having set them at liberty, hoping thereby to make his own peace with the Queen. He now fortified his house, determined to die rather than be taken, hoping still to receive assistance from the citizens. But a great force soon hemmed him in on all sides; several pieces of artillery were planted against the house, amongst the rest one on the tower of St. Clement's. A faithful follower, Captain Owen Salisbury, seeing all was lost, stood openly in a window, bareheaded, desiring there to meet his death. He was hit on the side of the head: "Oh that thou hadst been so much my friend as to have shot but a little lower!" he exclaimed. It was sufficient, however; for it saved him from the fate he dreaded-execution as a traitor: he died on the following morning. About ten at night Essex demanded a parley, and surrendered to the Lord Admiral upon a promise of a fair hearing and a speedy trial.

The two friends, Essex and Southampton, were sent to the Tower, the other prisoners to the various gaols. We need not follow the details of the sad history any farther, but pass at once to the conclusion. The two Earls were found guilty, and Essex was executed on Ash Wednesday, the 25th of February, about eight in the morning, in an inner court of the Tower-Sir Walter Raleigh looking on from the Armoury. It was said the execution was made thus private from the Queen's fear of what Essex might say touching her own virtue. Rash and criminal as this insurrection might be, it would be wrong to judge of Essex's character merely from that event. He was a brave soldier, an accomplished scholar, a true friend (what an expression was that of his in a letter to the Lord Keeper Egerton, "I would I had in my heart the sorrow of all my friends!"), and a generous and high-spirited man: circumstances alone, acting upon his one great fault, an unrestrained temper, prevented his having also the reputation of a loyal subject. Among his other claims to favourable remembrance, there is one for which he deserves especial honour and reverence-in a most intolerant age he was a most tolerant governor. Several of Essex's principal followers, including the instigator Cuffe, were executed. Southampton was saved from the block, but remained a close prisoner during the Queen's life and that life it appears was embittered to a fearful degree by these melancholy transactions. Essex remained the darling of the people, whilst the ministers-his rivals, enemies, and judges—were insulted and hooted whenever they appeared abroad. Even she herself was looked on coldly. The particulars of the romantic story of the ring sent to the Queen by Essex after his condemnation, as collected by Dr. Birch,* and repeated in the Memoirs of the Peers of England during the reign of James I.,' are so interesting, and belong so peculiarly to the memories of the Strand (for the Countess died in the neighbouring Arundel House), that we cannot resist the temptation of transcribing them :-"The following curious story," says the compiler of this work, "was frequently told by Lady Elizabeth Spelman, great grand-daughter of Sir Robert Carey, brother of Lady Nottingham, and afterwards Earl of Monmouth, whose curious memoirs of himself were published a few years ago by Lord Corke:-When Catharine Countess of Nottingham was dying (as she did, according to his Lordship's own account, about a fortnight before Queen Elizabeth), she sent to her Majesty to desire that she might see her, in order to reveal something to her Majesty, without the discovery of which she could not die in peace. Upon the Queen's coming, Lady Nottingham told her that, while the Earl of Essex lay under sentence of death, he was desirous of asking her Majesty's mercy in the manner prescribed by herself during the height of his favour; the Queen having given him a ring, which, being sent to her as a token of his distress, might entitle him to her protection. But the Earl, jealous of those about him, and not caring to trust any of them with it, as he was looking out of his window one morning, saw a boy with whose appearance he was pleased; and, engaging him by money and promises, directed him to carry the ring, which he took from his finger and threw down, to Lady Scroope, a sister of the Countess of Nottingham, and a friend of his Lordship, who attended upon the Queen; and to beg of her that she would present it to her Majesty. The boy, by mistake, carried it to Lady Nottingham, who showed it to her husband, the admiral, an enemy of Lord Essex, in order to take his advice. The

*Negotiations, p. 206.

admiral forbid her to carry it, or return any answer to the message; but insisted upon her keeping the ring. The Countess of Nottingham, having made this discovery, begged the Queen's forgiveness; but her Majesty answered, 'God may forgive you, but I never can,' and left the room with great emotion. Her mind was so struck with the story that she never went into bed nor took any sustenance from that instant; for Camden is of opinion that her chief reason for suffering the Earl to be executed was his supposed obstinacy in not applying to her for mercy." "In confirmation of the time of the Countess's death," continues the compiler, " it now appears from the parish register of Chelsea, extracted by Mr. Lysons (Environs of London, ii. 120), that she died at Arundel House, London, February 25th, and was buried the 28th, 1603. Her funeral was kept at Chelsea, March 21, and Queen Elizabeth died three days afterwards!" An additional confirmation is given by the recorded incidents of Elizabeth's conduct during her last illness. For ten days and nights together prior to her decease she refused to go to bed, but lay upon the carpet with cushions around her, buried in the profoundest melancholy. Let us pass on to the other and pleasanter memories which yet hold us to this interesting place. The author of the Fairy Queen,' who had been a visitor at the house during Leicester's life, and had received assistance from that nobleman, thus writes in his Prothalamion' (he has been speaking of the Temple) :

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"Next whereunto there stands a stately place,
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace

Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell.
Whose want too well now feels my friendless case:
But, ah! here fits not well

Olde woes, but ioyes, to tell

Against the bridale daye, which is not long:

Sweet Themmes! runne softly till I end my song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer,

Great England's glory, and the world's wide wonder,

Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder,

And Hercule's two pillars standing near

Did make to quake and feare :

Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie!

That fillest England with thy triumph's fame,

Joy have thou of thy noble victorie."

The hint in these verses was, as has been observed, rather broad, but in strict harmony with the feelings and habits of the great writers and patrons of the time. Essex no doubt appreciated it rightly at all events it was he who buried the poet in Westminster Abbey. Essex's son, the Earl of Essex who commanded the parliamentary forces in the civil war, was born here. When he was got rid of by the Commons' famous self-denying ordinance, Lord Clarendon says the whole parliament, the day after he had resigned his commission, came to Essex House to return him thanks for his great services. The only existing remains of Essex House are a pair of very large and fine stone pillars, with Corinthian capitals, at the end of the street; probably the original supports of the water-gate of the mansion. In Devereux Court is the oldest and most famous of London coffee. houses, the Grecian; with a bust of the Earl of Essex on its front, which appears to be a fine work, although from its height it is difficult to judge. Cibber, we were told, was the sculptor.

Between Essex Street and Milford Lane Stow says an ancient chapel formerly

existed, called St. Spirit. Next to Milford Lane is Arundel Street, which, with Norfolk, Surrey, and Howard Streets, the latter crossing the others, mark the site of the once stately mansion and gardens of Arundel House, and derive their names from its latest possessors.

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The earliest notices we possess of this mansion refer to it as the London residence of the Bishops of Bath and Wells, when it was called Bath's Inn, or Hampton Place. In the reign of Edward VI. it was in the King's hands, who sold it to his uncle, Lord Thomas Seymour, who, when Stow wrote, had lately new builded the house," and given to it the appellation Seymour Place. During his time the house was the scene of some strange intrigues and dalliances, in which the Virgin Queen figures in a somewhat equivocal manner, and which had wellnigh ended in her marriage, and the addition of a King Thomas to the roll of British sovereigns. In 1547 Seymour, who held the post of Lord Admiral, married the Queen Dowager Catherine, Henry VIII.'s last wife, and buried her the year following, not without raising suspicions of foul play. The crime supposed was, however, never supported by any tangible evidence, and seems to have arisen more than anything else from the known intimacy between the Princess Elizabeth and him. He contrived to place the Princess at Seymour Place, evidently with the object of marrying her, and sharing in the succession to the throne. And there is little doubt that she liked him. His vaulting ambition, however, overleaped itself, and his trial and execution for "treasonable" practices speedily followed, and put an end to all his schemes. Reverting to the Crown, Seymour Place was sold by it to the Earl of Arundel, with several other messuages, for £41. 6s. 8d., and another change of name took place: thenceforward it was called Arundel House. Clarendon gives an interesting but somewhat satirical account of the place and its master, the collector of the famous marbles, at this period. He says the Earl seemed to live, "as it were, in another nation, his house being a place to which all people resorted who resorted to no other place; strangers, or such as affected to look like strangers, and dressed themselves accordingly. He was willing to be thought a scholar, and to understand the most mysterious parts of antiquity, because he made a wonderful and costly purchase of excellent statues whilst in Italy and in Rome (some whereof he could never obtain permission to remove out of Rome, though he had paid for them), and had a rare collection of medals. As to all parts of learning, he was almost illiterate, and thought no other part of history so considerable as what related to his own family, in which, no doubt, there had been some very memorable persons. It cannot be denied that he had in his own person, in his aspect and countenance, the appearance of a great man, which he preserved in his gait and motion. He wore and affected a habit very different from that of the time, such as men had only beheld in pictures of the most considerable men; all which drew the eyes of most, and the reverence of many, towards him, as the image and representative of the ancient nobility and native gravity of the nobles, when they had been most venerable; but this was only his outside, his nature and true humour being much disposed to levity and delights which indeed were very despicable and childish."

The magnificent collection of marbles referred to in this passage of course adorned Arundel House at the time in question, when it was the common resort of many eminent artists. Among those also who more particularly enjoyed the Earl's

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