pularity, he began to hope, from the assistance of the giddy multitude, for that revenge upon his enemies in the council, which he supposed was denied him from the throne. With these aims, he began to increase the general propensity in his favour, by a hospitality little suited to his situation or his circumstances. He entertained men of all ranks and professions; but particularly the military, who, he hoped, in his present views, might be serviceable to him. But his greatest dependence was upon the professions of the citizens of London, whose schemes of religion and government he appeared entirely to approve; and while he gratified the puritans by railing at the government of the church, he pleased the envious by exposing the faults of those in power. However, the chief severity of his censure was heard to rest upon the queen, whom he did not hesitate to ridicule; and of whom he declared that she was now become an old woman, and that her mind was grown as crooked as her body.

A. D. It may well be supposed that none of these 1601. indiscretions were concealed from the queen: his enemies, and her emissaries, took care to bring her information of all his resentments and aims, and to aggravate his slightest reflections into treason. Elizabeth was ever remarkably jealous where her beauty was in question; and, though she was now in her sixty-eighth year, yet she eagerly listened to all the flattery of her courtiers, when they called her a Venus, or an angel. She therefore began to consider him as unworthy of her esteem, and permitted his enemies to drive him to those extremities to which he was naturally inclined to proceed. He had, in fact, by this time collected a select council of malcontents, who flattered him in his wild projects; and, supposing their adherents much more numerous than they really were, they took no pains to

conceal their intentions. Among other criminal projects,. the result of blind rage and despair, they resolved at last that sir Christopher Blount, one of his creatures, should, with a choice detachment, possess himself of the palace-gates; that sir John Davies should seize the hall, sir Charles Davers the guard-chamber, while Es-sex himself would rush from the Mews, attended by a body of his partisans, into the queen's presence, entreat her to remove his and her enemies, to assemble a new parliament, and to correct the defects of the present administration.

It was the fortune of this queen's reign, that all projects against it were frustrated by a timely notice of their nature and intent. The queen and council, alarmed at the great resort of people to Essex-house, and having some intimations of the earl's design, sent secretary Herbert to require his appearance before the council, which was assembled at the lord keeper's. While Essex was deliberating upon the manner in which he should proceed, whether to attend the summons or to fly into open rebellion, he received a private note, by which he was warned to provide for his safety. He now, therefore consulted with his friends on the emergency of their situation; they were destitute of arms and ammunition, while the guards at the palace were doubled, so that any attack upon it would be fruitless. While he and his confidants were in consultation, a person probably employed by his enemies, came in as a messenger from the citizens, with tenders of friendship and assistance against all his adversaries. Wild as the project was of raising the city, in the present terrible conjuncture, it was resolved on; but the execution of it was delayed till the day following.

Early in the morning of the next day he was attended by his friends the earls of Rutland and Southampton,

the lords Sandys, Parker, and Monteagle, with three hundred persons of distinction. The doors of Essexhouse were immediately locked, to prevent all strangers from entering; and the earl now discovered his scheme for raising the city more fully to all the conspirators. In the mean time, sir Walter Raleigh sending a message to sir Ferdinando Gorges, this officer had a conference with him in a boat on the Thames, and there discovered all their proceedings. The queen, being informed of the whole, sent in the utmost haste Egerton, the lord keeper, sir William Knollys, the comptroller, Popham, the lord chief justice, and the earl of Worcester, to Essex-house, to demand the cause of these unusual proceedings. It was some time before they received admittance through the wicket into the house; and it was not without some degree of fury that they ordered Essex and his adherents to lay down their arms. While they continued undaunted in the discharge of their duty, and the multitude around them clamoured loudly for their punishment, the earl of Essex, who now saw that all was to be hazarded, resolved to leave them prisoners in his house, and to sally forth to make an insurrection in the city. But he had made a very wrong estimate in expecting that popularity alone could aid him in time of danger; he issued out with about two hundred followers, armed only with swords; and, in his passage to the city, was joined by the earl of Bedford and lord Cromwell. As he passed through the streets, he cried aloud, " For the queen! ! for the queen! a plot is laid for my life!" hoping to engage the populace to rise: but they had received orders from the mayor to keep within their houses; so that he was not joined by a single person. He then proceeded to the house of Smith, the sheriff, on whose aid he greatly depended; but the crowd gathered round him

rather to satisfy their curiosity than to lend him any assistance. Essex now perceived that he was quite undone; and hearing that he was proclaimed a traitor by the earl of Cumberland and lord Burleigh, he began to think of retreating to his own house, there to sell his life as dearly as he could. But he was prevented in his aims even there; the streets in his way were barricaded, and guarded by the citizens, under the command of sir John Levison. In fighting his way through this obstruction, Henry Tracy, a young gentleman for whom he had a singular affection, was killed, and sir Christopher Blount wounded and taken. The earl himself, attended by a few of his followers, the rest having privately retired, made towards the river: and, taking a boat, arrived once more at Essex-house, where he began to make preparations for his defence. But his case was too desperate for any remedy from valour; wherefore, after demanding in vain for hostages and <conditions from his besiegers, he surrendered at discretion, requesting only civil treatment, and a fair and im*partial hearing.

Essex and Southampton were immediately carried to the archbishop's palace at Lambeth, whence they were -next day conveyed to the Tower, and tried by their peers on the nineteenth of February. Little could be urged in their defence; their guilt was too flagrant; and, though it deserved pity, it could not meet an acquittal. Essex, after condemnation, was visited by that religious horror which seemed to attend him in all This disgraces. He was terrified almost to despair by the ghostly remonstrances of his own chaplain; he was reconciled to his enemies, and made a full confession of his conspiracy. It is alleged upon this occasion $that he had strong hopes of pardon, from the irresolution which the queen seemed to discover before she

signed the warrant for his execution. She had given him formerly a ring, which she desired him to send her în any emergency of this nature, and that it should procure his safety and protection. This ring was actually sent to her by the countess of Nottingham, who, being a concealed enemy to the unfortunate earl, never delivered it; while Elizabeth was secretly fired at his obstinacy in making no applications for mercy and forgiveness. The fact is, she appeared herself as much an object of pity as the unfortunate nobleman she was induced to condemn. She signed the warrant for his execution; she countermanded it; she again resolved on his death, and again felt a new return of tenderness. At last she gave her consent to his execution, and was never seen to enjoy one happy day more.

After the beheading of Essex, which death he suffered in the thirty-fifth year of his age, some of his associates were brought in like manner to their trials. Cuffe, his secretary, a turbulent man, but possessed of great learning, Davers, Blount, and Meric, were condemned and executed; the queen pardoned the rest, being persuaded that they were culpable only from their friendship to their benefactor.

The remaining events of this reign are not considerable enough to come into a picture already crowded with great ones. With the death of her favourite Essex, all Elizabeth's pleasures seemed to expire: she afterwards went through the business of the state merely from habit; but her satisfactions were no more. She had fallen into a profound melancholy, which all the advantages of her high fortune, all the glories of her prosperous reign, were unable to remove. She had now found out the falsehood of the countess of Nottingham; who, on her death-bed, sent for the queen, and informed her of the fatal circumstance of the ring, which she had neglected