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] than Essex; but here he saw every appearance of gross injustice, and had he been permitted to act on his liberal and just sentiments, he would probably have soon reduced all the difficulties of Ireland by doing what was right towards its inhabitants. But, unfortunately for him and for Ireland, his enemies at home were rabid for his destruction, and the queen, ignorant of the real source of the disorders there, and already prejudiced against him, listened to the insidious suggestions of Cobham, Cecil, Gray of Wilton, and Raleigh. These insinuations were no other than that Essex was at heart a traitor, and was in collusion with the Irish to betray his trust and make himself independent. Still worse, that he was waiting for the descent of the Spaniards on the island to assist in the design.

At this moment Philip III., who had succeeded his father on the throne of Spain—a man of far inferior abilities, but with all his father's ambition and enmity to the heretic queen of England—was threatening a fresh descent on some part of the British domains. A fleet under the adelantado had appeared off the coast of Brittany, and an army was immediately set on foot, and the chief command given to the Earl of Nottingham. Apprehensive that the ardent temperament of Essex might induce him to volunteer his services against the enemy whom he had so zealously encountered before, the queen was induced by her ministers to forbid him quitting Ireland. The Spanish fleet cruised up the Channel, and without any opposition entered the harbour of Sluys. No sooner, therefore, had Essex given to Tyrone an opportunity of justifying himself, instead of falling upon him and beating him, in the usual way, without inquiry or reason, than the junto of his enemies at home represented him as playing into the hands of Spain—Ireland being the vulnerable point on which the Spaniards would be sure to make the attack. Instead, therefore, of a fair and judicious inquiry into the merits of the demands presented by Tyrone for the Irish, the bitterest reproaches were showered by the queen on Essex in letters which, from the style, he immediately attributed to Raleigh. Certain that his destruction was determined upon by these implacable foes, and that no justice was to be expected either for himself or the Irish nation whilst he was at such a distance, he formed the sudden resolve to hasten to London and defend his policy in person. His first idea was to take with him such a body of troops as should overawe the adverse party, and secure his own person; but Sir Christopher Blount, who had now married his mother, convinced him of the fatality of such a proceeding. He departed, therefore, with a small attendance; and arriving in London on the 28th of September, and finding the queen was at Nonsuch, he lost not a moment in hastening thither, to prevent any one preceding him to his prejudice. But he found that, quick as he had been, his enemies had been quicker, and that one of the most hostile of them, Lord Gray of Wilton, was on the way at full speed. Essex knew what the effect would be if Cecil got the news before his arrival, for having left his government contrary to the positive order of the queen; and if time were allowed to excite the queen's resentment, he would undoubtedly be arrested the moment of his arrival. For this reason he rode like a madman, through mud and mire, but hate travelled faster, and Gray had been closeted a good quarter of an hour with Cecil when he reached the palace.

Without pausing to alter his dress, Essex rushed into the queen's privy chamber, and not finding her there, did not hesitate to rush into her bed-chamber, though it was only ten o'clock in the morning. The queen was just up, and sat with her hair all about her face in the hands of her tire-woman. She was naturally excessively astonished at this unexpected apparition; but Essex threw himself on his knees before her, covered her hands with kisses, and did not rise till she had given him evidence of her good-will. He retired to make his toilet in such good humour at his reception, that he thanked God that after so many troublous storms abroad, "he found a sweet calm at home."

Within an hour he returned, and had a long interview with Her Majesty, who was so kind and gracious, that the courtiers, who had carefully watched how this rude entrance would be taken, persuaded themselves that love would carry the day against duty with the queen; and they all, except the Cecil party, were very courteous towards him. But by the evening the poison of the venomous minister had been instilled and done its work. Essex was received by the queen with a stern and distant air, and she began to demand of him why he had thus left Ireland without her permission, affairs being in so disordered and dangerous a state. He received an order at night to consider himself a prisoner in his room; and the next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, he was summoned to give an account of himself to the Council. On entering the Council, the lords arose and saluted him, but reseated themselves, leaving him standing at the end of the board. It was demanded why he had left his charge in Ireland without leave; why he had made so many knights there, contrary to the expressed desire of the queen; why he had dared to write such presumptuous letters to Her Majesty; and how he had presumed to enter Her Majesty's bedroom.

Essex is said to have answered these and other demands concerning his administration of Irish affairs, in a most temperate, grave, and discreet manner. But it was thought that the last charge would go hardest with him. Elizabeth had now had time to reflect on the figure which she must have made in the eyes of the man whom she had the vanity and folly still to regard as a lover. She was now sixty-three years of ago. Her natural locks were thin and grey; her face was wrinkled and haggard, and she had thus been surprised before she was made up by her artists of the toilet, into an impossible imitation of youth. The woman who had eighty wigs of different hues had not had time to put on one; and the humiliating fact would, no doubt, sink deeper into her vain mind every moment.

On the third day after his examination by the Council he was committed to the custody of the Lord Keeper Bacon, who had received much favour from Essex. There was great merry-making in the Court, as if to show that the queen felt no concern for her late favourite, and she then removed to Windsor. Lady Walsingham entreated her that Essex might be allowed to write to his wife, who had just been confined, and was in great trouble at neither seeing nor hearing from him. Elizabeth had the brutality to refuse. She was, in fact, in the worst of humours, neither at peace with herself, nor with any one