implicit obedience." In a word, he had to choose between Essex and his Queen. It is the fashion to speak of Essex as his "noble benefactor," but, after all, what had he accomplished for Bacon? It is also the fashion. to speak very lightly of the earl's crime-as the indiscretion of a passionate and wounded spirit—but he could scarcely have sinned more deeply than he did against not only his sovereign, but his country's welfare, as well as the Protestant cause. And in this lies Bacon's real justification.

It was owing to Bacon's influence with the Queen, that Essex was forgiven for his wild, mad conduct in Ireland. But the moment that this madcap earl found himself personally safe, he renewed his political intrigues. Abandoned by his old Protestant friends, he filled their places with crafty and desperate Papists, the meanest of plotters and the most reckless of adventurers. Montjoy, it was resolved, should bring over an army from Ireland; the Queen's person must be seized; Raleigh, Cobham, and Cecil should be slain; and Essex might play at dictator, or, perhaps, as king, until overthrown by the cut-throats whose tool and dupe he was. Bacon made one more attempt to propitiate the Queen in the earl's favour, but she was by this time aware of the full compass of his guilt. Every hour augmented the force and weight of the evidence against him. When, therefore, Bacon pleaded for him, she grew angry, and for three months would hold no counsel with his advocate. From Michaelmas to Christmas her indignation lasted. But at the New Year he obtained a moment's audience. 'Madam," he then said, "I see you withdraw your favour from me. And now I have lost many friends for

HIS SELF-VINDICATION.

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Yet

your sake, I shall lose you too. You have put me like one of those that the Frenchmen call enfans perdus,* that serve on foot before horsemen; so have you put me into matters of envy without place or without strength; and I know at chess a pawn before the king is much played upon. A great many love me not, because they think I have been against my Lord of Essex; and you love me not, because you know I have been for him. will I never repent me that I have dealt in simplicity of heart towards you both, without respect of caution to myself. And, therefore, vivus vidensque pereo. If I do break my neck, I shall do it, in a manner, as Master Dorington did it, who walked on the battlements of the church many days, and took a view and survey where he should fall. And so, madam, I am not so simple but that I take a prospect of mine overthrow; only I thought I would tell you so much that you may know that it was faith and not folly that brought me into it. And so I will pray for you.". The Queen was touched by the plain truth of this appeal, and took him again into favour, but made him clearly understand that there should be no further speech of Essex.

The dark drama was rapidly hastening to its dénouement. It was in the stillness of a Sabbath morning, that, all suddenly and unexpectedly, the highest officials in the realm-Lord-Keeper Egerton, Lord Chief-Justice Popham, and the Lord-Comptroller Knollys-appeared at the gates of Essex House. The plotters instantly perceived that their intrigues were discovered. All was now confusion, dismay, desperation. Should they resist, or submit? The issue was soon decided. Relying on the

*A kind of "forlorn hope."

earl's popularity with the Londoners, they rushed into the streets to rouse the city against the Queen's government. But brandished pikes and fierce shouts called forth no ready response. There was not one citizen so mad as to join the desperate band. Baffled and dismayed, Essex took boat at Queenhithe and returned to his mansion; and upon the arrival of the Lord-Admiral Nottingham with the trainbands, seeing clearly that resistance was useless, he surrendered it and himself. In a few hours more he was safely immured in the Tower, and thus was disastrously ended the "Ride of the Mad Earl.” *

In due time he was brought up for trial. His guilt was clear; the evidence irrefragable. His prosecutors -Attorney-General Coke, Solicitor-General Fleming, and the learned Counsel Bacon-had the simplest of tasks to perform. But we wish that Bacon had not been there to perform it. We admit that he acted but in discharge of his duty; but for once he might have passed his duty by, and none would have blamed him. He conducted himself, indeed, like a prudent man, and not as a chivalrous hero; and I do not know that a philosopher and an essayist, whatever his genius, should be expected always to act like a hero. It is but just to his memory, moreover, to recollect that towards the lesser conspirators he dealt very tenderly, and exerted all his influence to save them from the rope and the axe.

After the earl's death it was considered expedient to publish a "Declaration of the Practices and Treasons" he had attempted or committed. The Queen selected Bacon to be the penman, and sending for him to the palace, commanded him to draw up, from materials fur* Baker, "Chronicles of the Kings of England."

A PITIFUL TASK.

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nished by herself and her Privy Council, such a State. Paper as should satisfy the world that Essex had been justly condemned and had justly suffered. It was a labour of pain, which only a wise and tender spirit could render a labour of love. There was much Elizabeth wished to conceal, out of regard for the memory of one who was of her own blood. There was much that it was necessary to set forth in vindication of the course she had adopted. But Bacon's first essay was so mildly worded that the Queen and her councillors took it in hand, strengthened its expressions, and elaborated its points. Then she bade him write it out afresh. But when the Declaration had thus been embittered, the Queen again sent for the recalcitrant penman. She complained of the leniency of the sentiment, and the tenderness of the language. "It is my Lord of Essex, my Lord of Essex," she cried, "on every page! you can't forget your old respect for the traitor. Strike it out; make it Essex,

or the late Earl of Essex." The entire book was then reprinted, and given to the world as the "Declaration of the Practices and Treasons attempted and committed by Robert, late Earl of Essex, and his Complices;" and though corrected and sharpened by the Queen and her Council, still remained "the most gentle and moderate State Paper ever published in any kingdom." *

.....

* I have based my narrative on Mr. Dixon's statements. The reader may compare it with Macaulay's censure:-"The faithless friend," he says, who had assisted in taking the earl's life, was now employed to murder the earl's fame. In the succeeding reign, Bacon had not a word to say in defence of this performance; a performance abounding in expressions which no generous enemy would have employed respecting a man who had so dearly expiated his offences. His only excuse was, that he wrote it by command, that he considered himself as a mere secretary." See also Mr. Spedding's "Life and Works of Lord Bacon."

CHAPTER IV.-HIS MARRIAGE.

"I have found an alderman's daughter, a handsome maiden, to my liking."Bacon's Letter to Sir Robert Cecil.

The Bride-The Mother-The Marriage, and its Festivities.

THERE was a sumptuousness in Bacon's intellect which strongly attracted him towards the beauty of form and colour. He delighted in the luxury of flowers, the pomp of music, the richness of tapestries, and gems, and marbles, the glory of a well-ordered garden, the murmur of fountains, and the shade of cedarn alleys. No marvel, then, that when he looked for a wife he looked for comeliness of person as well as innocency of disposition. For, as he himself says with his usual rhythm of language, 'Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and, for the most part, it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtues shine and vices blush."

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Such was the case with Alice Barnham, the daughter of one Alderman Benedict Barnham and Dorothy his wife. Dorothy, about 1603, had become a widow, and being beautiful, accomplished, and aspiring, had wedded, for her second husband, the wealthy Sir John Pakington of Hampton Lovet. She then looked for a splendid match for a lovely daughter, and was wroth when so poor a courtier and needy a lawyer as Bacon presented himself. It was her object to rise yet higher in society through her daughter's marriage, so that it was not until after years of patient waiting, when the suitor had won. a knight's spurs, and risen to a position of power and