ccording to custom; and then most unhappily for himself and for others,
whom he corrupted by his example, he presented himself at the court of
Charles II. He was at this time a youth of eighteen, and one of the
handsomest persons of his age. The face of Buckhurst was hard and plain;
that of De Grammont had little to redeem it but its varying
intelligence; but the countenance of the young Earl of Rochester was
perfectly symmetrical: it was of a long oval, with large, thoughtful,
sleepy eyes; the eyebrows arched and high above them; the brow, though
concealed by the curls of the now modest wig, was high and smooth; the
nose, delicately shaped, somewhat aquiline; the mouth full, but
perfectly beautiful, was set off by a round and well-formed chin. Such
was Lord Rochester in his zenith; and as he came forward on state
occasions, his false light curls hanging down on his shoulders--a
cambric kerchief loosely tied, so as to let the ends, worked in point,
fall gracefully down: his scarlet gown in folds over a suit of light
steel armour--for men had become carpet knights then, and the coat of
mail worn by the brave cavaliers was now less warlike, and was mixed up
with robes, ruffles, and rich hose--and when in this guise he appeared
at Whitehall, all admired; and Charles was enchanted with the
simplicity, the intelligence, and modesty of one who was then an
ingenuous youth, with good aspirations, and a staid and decorous
demeanour.

Woe to Lady Rochester--woe to the mother who trusted her son's innocence
in that vitiated court! Lord Rochester forms one of the many instances
we daily behold, that it is those most tenderly cared for, who often
fall most deeply, as well as most early, into temptation. He soon lost
every trace of virtue--of principle, even of deference to received
notions of propriety. For a while there seemed hopes that he would not
wholly fall: courage was his inheritance, and he distinguished himself
in 1665, when as a volunteer, he went in quest of the Dutch East India
fleet, and served with heroic gallantry under Lord Sandwich. And when he
returned to court, there was a partial improvement in his conduct. He
even looked back upon his former indiscretions with horror: he had now
shared in the realities of life: he had grasped a high and honourable
ambition; but he soon fell away--soon became almost a castaway. 'For
five years,' he told Bishop Burnet, when on his death-bed, 'I was never
sober.' His reputation as