Tyrconnel were sincere. No British statesman had then
so high a reputation throughout Europe as Sir William Temple. His
diplomatic skill had, twenty years before, arrested the progress of the
French power. He had been a steady and an useful friend to the United
Provinces and to the House of Nassau. He had long been on terms of
friendly confidence with the Prince of Orange, and had negotiated that
marriage to which England owed her recent deliverance. With the affairs
of Ireland Temple was supposed to be peculiarly well acquainted. His
family had considerable property there: he had himself resided there
during several years: he had represented the county of Carlow in
parliament; and a large part of his income was derived from a lucrative
Irish office. There was no height of power, of rank, or of opulence, to
which he might not have risen, if he would have consented to quit his
retreat, and to lend his assistance and the weight of his name to the
new government. But power, rank, and opulence had less attraction
for his Epicurean temper than ease and security. He rejected the most
tempting invitations, and continued to amuse himself with his books, his
tulips, and his pineapples, in rural seclusion. With some hesitation,
however, he consented to let his eldest son John enter into the service
of William. During the vacancy of the throne, John Temple was employed
in business of high importance; and, on subjects connected with Ireland,
his opinion, which might reasonably be supposed to agree with his
father's, had great weight. The young politician flattered himself that
he had secured the services of an agent eminently qualified to bring the
negotiation with Tyrconnel to a prosperous issue.

This agent was one of a remarkable family which had sprung from a noble
Scottish stock, but which had long been settled in Ireland, and which
professed the Roman Catholic religion. In the gay crowd which thronged
Whitehall, during those scandalous years of jubilee which immediately
followed the Restoration, the Hamiltons were preeminently conspicuous.
The long fair ringlets, the radiant bloom, and the languishing blue eyes
of the lovely Elizabeth still charm us on the canvass of Lely. She
had the glory of achieving no vulgar conquest. It was reserved for her
voluptuous beauty and for her flippant wit to overcome the aversion
which the coldhearted and scoffing Grammont felt for the indissoluble
tie. One of her brothers, Anthony, became th