gentleman usher. And then the Countess of Warwick, deputy for the queen.
Her train was borne by Lady Russell's two sisters, Lady Burleigh and
Lady Bacon; and after them came "other ladies and gentlemen, many."

The deputy went within the traverse, the rest remaining without, while
the Dean made a short address. After it was over

Lady Bacon took the child and brought it to the font, where
the Dean attended in his surplice. Then the Earl Leicester
approached near to the traverse, and there tarried until the
deputy came forth, from whence they leisurely proceeded to
the font, the deputy's train still borne, where she
christened the child by the name of Elizabeth; which done
the deputy retired back into the traverse again, and the
nurse took the child, and came down, and there dressed it.

Now comes one of the most impressive and picturesque episodes in the
story.

The account says--

In the meantime, Mr. Philip Sidney came out of the Chapel
called St. Edward's shrine having a towel on his left
shoulder, and with him came Mr. Delves, bearing the basin
and ewer. Then the deputy came forth, her train borne, and
they two kneeling, she washed.

Imagine Philip Sidney, then twenty-three years old, appearing from the
Confessor's Chapel, which as I have explained lies directly behind the
altar, with his towel over his shoulder, to kneel before the good and
charming Countess of Warwick--Philip Sidney, that exquisite and noble
soul, the very type and pattern of all that is most beautiful and
admirable in the age of Elizabeth.

Fair as he was brave, quick of wit as of affection, noble
and generous in temper, dear to Elizabeth as to Spenser, the
darling of the Court and of the camp; his learning and his
genius made him the centre of the literary world which was
springing into birth on English soil.

Poet, philosopher, chivalrous knight errant, grave councillor, what
wonder that he was the idol of the whole country? And the story of his
death, which we all know, but of which I, for one, never tire, was a
fitting close to the thirty-two years of this Bayard without fear and
without reproach. He threw away his life to save the army of his queen
in Flanders. As he lay dying he called for water. But when it was
brought and the bottle was put to his lips he saw a poor soldier dying
near him, and bade them give it to him. "Thy necessity," he said, "is
greate