only visited her when attended by some gentleman of his suite. One day her husband returned unexpectedly. Owing to long absence abroad, Dick Talbot, James's loyal but scatter-brained friend, who had been left in the antechamber as sentinel, not realising that Lady Southesk was the wife of the man he had known as Lord Carnegie, ran to meet him, and shaking him warmly by the hand, advised him to go and seek amusement elsewhere, as the Duke of York was then visiting her, and he had been stationed there to prevent intruders. Southesk was so astounded at the blunder of his unlucky friend, that he suffered himself to be turned out of his own house, not having the courage to face the heir presumptive. Notwithstanding that the story got about, Lady Southesk continued to frequent the court; she, however, deteriorated fast, failing to conceal by art the ravages dissipation had made in her beauty.

The Duke of York's mistresses better known as such are Arabella Churchill, his first, and Catherine Sedley, among his last.

Carried away by the general frivolity, Frances Jennings and Miss Price, another maid of honour, took part in the following escapade.1 They dressed themselves up as orange girls, with the intention of visiting a famous conjurer at Charing Cross.2 This pretended conjurer, whose skill was astonishing London, was the witty and licentious Earl of Rochester, a friend and boon companion of the King. The young ladies provided themselves with oranges, crossed the Park on foot from St. James's Palace, and took a hackney coach at Whitehall to drive to the theatre, where they knew the Duchess of York would be found in the royal box. They had not reckoned on the fact that orange girls did not bear a good

1 "Beauties of the Court of Charles II."

2 "Chronicles of Fashion."

reputation. At the entrance to the theatre they encountered "the handsome Sydney," about to pay his court to the Duchess of York, but he was preoccupied and paid no attention to them. They next met with Killigrew, to whom Miss Jennings offered her "fine oranges," and the foolish girl was horrified when, turning to Miss Price, he said, "Not now, but if you will bring this young girl to my lodgings to-morrow, I will make it worth to you all the oranges in London," and he showed his admiration for her so openly, and in so rude a manner, that they both hurried away, covered with confusion.

Entering another coach they proceeded to within a few doors of the fortune-teller's, and were about to descend from the carriage, when they were greatly alarmed at perceiving a notorious libertine, one Brouncker. The novel sight of seeing two orange girls in a hackney coach attracted his attention. His astonishment was further increased when a pretty foot and ankle, attired in shoes and stockings out of keeping with the character, emerged from the vehicle. He drew Miss Price aside, and, offering her his purse, made very much the same proposals that Killigrew had done. Having obtained a view of their faces, which all the time they had been endeavouring to conceal, he recognised them both, and put the worst construction on their conduct, believing an assignation on the part of the chaste Miss Jennings at the bottom of the escapade, and delighted at the prospect of retailing the scandal, he took his departure. In the meantime a crowd of ruffians had surrounded the coach, and made for the oranges. The coachman did his best to defend the property of his "fare," and a free fight was the result. Gladly relinquishing the fruit, the two maids of honour re-entered their coach, and, very much crestfallen, returned to St. James's.

Miss Price possessed more wit than beauty, and was

not bashful; she took great interest in other people's love affairs, and also liked one of her own. Her inclination to pry into the secrets of others led her to discover some low intrigues of Lord Rochester's, which she published to the world. Later, Lord Rochester, in his capacity of astrologer, took his revenge, for, when Miss Price's maid consulted him, he told her she served a good-natured lady, whose only fault was loving wine and men! The maid was so struck with the remark that she repeated it to her mistress, and the reputation of the Wizard increased.

This Lord Rochester, known as Wilmot, must not be confused with Laurence Hyde, James the Second's brother-in-law, in whom the title was subsequently revived. Wilmot, after a very wild life, repented on his deathbed, a state of mind brought about by the good offices of Bishop Burnet of pious memory. Lord Rochester died without issue at the High Lodge in Woodstock Park in 1680.

Miss Price was not long a maid of honour. One of her lovers having died, a casket containing all her letters to him came to light. Anne Hyde, having unluckily and unintentionally read one or two aloud, found herself obliged to dismiss her maid of honour for the sake of example. No correspondence was held sacred in those days or for many years to come.

None of Frances Jennings' numerous admirers thought the worse of her for her frolics. Richard Talbot, afterwards Earl and Duke of Tyrconnel, was anxious to marry her, but Frances was indifferent to him. She had set her affections upon Henry Jermyn, a dandy known as le petit Jermyn, son of Henry Jermyn, Master of the Horse to the Duke of York; his intentions were not thought to be honourable, so it was as well for Frances that he fell ill. Talbot now saw a favourable opportu

nity to press his suit, but one day, when about to commence his tender appeal, their interview was interrupted by Miss Temple, who brought a paper for Miss Jennings' perusal. Count Hamilton says, "The paper Miss Temple held in her hand was a poetical epistle which Lord Rochester had written some time before upon the intrigues of the two courts. In this, speaking of Miss Jennings, he said that Talbot had struck terror among the people of Gad by his gigantic stature, but that Jermyn, like a little David, had vanquished the great Goliath. Frances, delighted with this allusion, read it over two or three times, thinking it more entertaining than Talbot's conversation, and at first laughed heartily at it; but soon after, assuming a tender air, Poor little David,' she said, with a deep sigh, and turning her face on one side during this short reverie she shed a few tears, which assuredly did not flow for the defeat of the giant. Talbot, stung to the quick and seeing himself so ridiculously deceived in his hopes, quitted the room abruptly, vowing never to think any more of a giddy girl, in whose conduct there was no rhyme nor reason; but he did not keep his resolution."

Finding her virtue impregnable, on his recovery Jermyn's devotion to Frances cooled off, and his conduct opened Miss Jennings' eyes; so, when he arrived, expecting sympathy, she received him with raillery and affected indifference. He came to announce his intention of taking part in an expedition to Guinea. "He had already," she said, "made captives of so many that he did right to go in search of fresh laurels and foreign conquests. She only trusted that he would bring back from Africa the foreign ladies whom he would enslave, in order to supply the places of those his absence would bring to the grave." Jermyn was much piqued at being so received; he had hoped to encounter tears and re

proaches, but in this his vanity sustained a rebuff. Frances civilly wished him farewell, plainly telling him that this visit was the last she expected. He did not, however, leave England. Miss Jennings afterwards married Sir George Hamilton, styled by Evelyn "a valiant and worthy gentleman"; he was a grandson of James, first Earl of Abercorn, and a younger son without fortune. He did not live long after his marriage, and left his widow with three daughters, who became celebrated as the "three Viscountesses." They were all beautiful and distinguished. Elizabeth married Viscount Ross; Frances, Viscount Dillon; Mary's husband was Nicholas, Viscount Kingsland.

Shortly after her husband's death, Lady Hamilton accidentally met in France her former admirer, Talbot, now the widower of a maid of honour, who had been known as "the languishing Boynton." Talbot renewed his offer of marriage, and in 1679 Lady Hamilton became his wife.

Her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Hamilton, had married the famous Count de Grammont. She was a very beautiful, virtuous woman, and had been brought up in France, where her father, also a Sir George Hamilton, spent many years of exile. Twenty years after marriage the Count de Grammont describes the beauty, grace, and delicacy of his wife with great tenderness. "She had the finest neck and loveliest hand and arm in the world, her forehead was fair and open, her hair dark and luxuriant, and arranged with great taste and picturesque simplicity, her complexion owed nothing to art, eyes not large but full of expression, her mouth charming, and the contour of her face perfect. Her nature was as faultless as her body was fair. She had great dignity and reserve, said little but that to the purpose, and at the same time was full of humour and ready wit."