rice, raised up
against him two competitors for the pleasure he had long enjoyed of
entertaining the English court; and these competitors were so much the
more dangerous, as the reputation of their several merits had preceded
their arrival, in order to dispose the suffrages of the court in their
favour.

They came to display, in their own persons, whatever was the most
accomplished either among the men of the sword, or of the gown. The one
was the Marquis de Flamarens, the sad object of the sad elegies of the
Countess de la Suse, the other was the president Tambonneau, the most
humble and most obedient servant and admirer of the beauteous Luynes. As
they arrived together, they exerted every endeavour to shine in concert:
their talents were as different as their persons; Tambonneau, who was
tolerably ugly, founded his hopes upon a great store of wit, which,
however, no person in England could find out; and Flamarens, by his air
and mien, courted admiration, which was flatly denied him.

They had agreed mutually to assist each other, in order to succeed in
their intentions; and therefore, in their first visits, the one appeared
in state, and the other was the spokesman. But they found the ladies in
England of a far different taste from those who had rendered them famous
in France: the rhetoric of the one had no effect on the fair sex, and the
fine mien of the other distinguished him only in a minuet, which he first
introduced into England, and which he danced with tolerable success.
The English court had been too long accustomed to the solid wit of Saint
Evremond, and the natural and singular charms of his hero, to be seduced
by appearances; however, as the English have, in general, a sort of
predilection in favour of anything that has the appearance of bravery,
Flamarens was better received on account of a duel, which, obliging him
to leave his own country, was a recommendation to him in England.

Miss Hamilton had, at first, the honour of being distinguished by
Tambonneau, who thought she possessed a sufficient share of wit to
discover the delicacy of his; and, being delighted to find that nothing
was lost in her conversation, either as to the turn, the expression, or
beauty of the thought, he frequently did her the favour to converse with
her; and, perhaps, he would never have found out that he was tiresome,
if, contenting himself with the display of his eloquence, he had not
thought proper to attack her heart. This