broad, rode after her mother's chariot; when she
appeared in public places, was in the box near her, or in the pit looking
at her; when she went to church was sure to be there, though he might not
listen to the sermon, and be ready to hand her to her chair if she deigned
to accept of his services, and select him from a score of young men who
were always hanging round about her. When she went away, accompanying her
Majesty to Hampton Court, a darkness fell over London. Gods, what nights
has Esmond passed, thinking of her, rhyming about her, talking about her!
His friend Dick Steele was at this time courting the young lady, Mrs.
Scurlock, whom he married; she had a lodging in Kensington Square, hard by
my Lady Castlewood's house there. Dick and Harry, being on the same
errand, used to meet constantly at Kensington. They were always prowling
about that place, or dismally walking thence, or eagerly running thither.
They emptied scores of bottles at the "King's Arms", each man prating of
his love, and allowing the other to talk on condition that he might have
his own turn as a listener. Hence arose an intimacy between them, though
to all the rest of their friends they must have been insufferable.
Esmond's verses to "Gloriana at the Harpsichord", to "Gloriana's Nosegay",
to "Gloriana at Court", appeared this year in the _Observator_.--Have you
never read them? They were thought pretty poems, and attributed by some to
Mr. Prior.

This passion did not escape--how should it?--the clear eyes of Esmond's
mistress: he told her all; what will a man not do when frantic with love?
To what baseness will he not demean himself? What pangs will he not make
others suffer, so that he may ease his selfish heart of a part of its own
pain? Day after day he would seek his dear mistress, pour insane hopes,
supplications, rhapsodies, raptures, into her ear. She listened, smiled,
consoled, with untiring pity and sweetness. Esmond was the eldest of her
children, so she was pleased to say; and as for her kindness, who ever had
or would look for aught else from one who was an angel of goodness and
pity? After what has been said, 'tis needless almost to add that poor
Esmond's suit was unsuccessful. What was a nameless, penniless lieutenant
to do, when some of the greatest in the land were in the field? Esmond
never so much as thought of asking permission to hope so far above his
reach as he knew this prize was--and passed his foolish, useless life in
m