into Palace Yard, and surrounded the Houses of Parliament. Owing to the illness of Thurlow, the Lord Chancellor, Mansfield had to preside that day as Speaker in the Upper Chamber. As he drove through Parliament Street he was recognised by the mob, who broke the windows of his carriage, and assailed him with shouts and execrations as a notorious Papist. With difficulty he reached the door, through which he passed into his retiring-room, and received the protection of the officers of the House against the rabble that pressed close upon his footsteps. With rent robes and dishevelled wig he proceeded to take his seat upon the woolsack, preserving his usual dignity and composure of mien. Other Peers had been still more grossly ill-treated. The Archbishop of York's lawn-sleeves were torn off and thrown in his face; the Bishop of Lincoln, his carriage having been broken in pieces, was carried fainting into a gentleman's house, whence, later on, he went away in disguise; Lords Stormont, Hillsborough, and Townshend had narrowly escaped with their lives; the Duke of Northumberland was forced out of his carriage, robbed of his watch and purse, and almost stripped of his clothes.

The day's business, however, was begun with the usual formalities, and the Duke of Richmond was speaking in support of a bill for annual parliaments and universal suffrage—an infelicitous measure to bring forth at such a crisis-when Lord Montford rushed in, besprinkled with mud and hair-powder, and broke into a torrent of agitated speech. The Duke of Richmond, offended at this interruption, appealed to the woolsack for protection, and Mansfield endeavoured to interfere; but Lord Montford claimed to be heard on a matter of life and death, asserting that Lord Boston, on his way to his duty as a

Peer of Parliament, had been roughly handled, and would certainly be murdered if none hastened to his assistance. At this crisis the House presented an almost grotesque appearance. Some of their lordships moved restlessly about, with their hair loose upon their shoulders; others were bespattered with mud thrown by plebeian hands; most of them as pale as the Ghost in "Hamilet;" and all of them greatly perturbed, and speaking loudly and together. One proposed to send for the Guards, another for the justices or civil magistrates; many vociferated, "Adjourn! Adjourn!;" while the skies resounded with the huzzas, shoutings, hootings, and hissings in Palace Yard.

Lord Townshend at last plucked up courage to volunteer, if joined by others, to attempt Lord Boston's rescue. The Duke of Richmond was fired by his example, but suggested that if they went as "a band,” the mace ought to be carried before the noble and learned lord on the woolsack, and that he should go at their head—the conscript fathers of Great Britain, led by their consul, advancing to meet the plebs in all their dignity! Lord Mansfield did not lack physical courage, and expressed himself perfectly willing to take the post of honour-and danger-so courteously provided for him; but the Duke of Gloucester wisely disapproved of a device which would hardly have had other than fatal results. While the perplexed senators continued their discussion, in came Lord Boston, who, by skilfully engaging some of the leaders of the mob in a subtle argument on the question "whether the Pope really was AntiChrist," had contrived to effect his escape with no other damage than dishevelled hair and a considerable sprinkling of hair-powder over his clothes. Lord Mansfield

then ordered Black Rod to call before them the High Bailiff of Westminster, who informed them that he had received no communication from the Secretary of State; but, attracted by "the disturbance"-a wide euphemism, surely, for a formidable riot!—had done his utmost to restore tranquillity. As yet he had been able to collect only six constables, who were quietly waiting in the Guildhall until more could be assembled, as no good could be done with such a handful.

It cannot be said that the High Bailiff's speech was encouraging; and the Peers, greatly dismayed, insisted on the adjournment of the House. Thereafter the Assembly gradually thinned, most of the Lords having either retired to the coffee-houses or gone off in hackney-carriages; while others had slunk home under cover of the growing darkness. Thus it came to pass that Lord Mansfield, in his seventy-sixth year, was left alone and unprotected, except by the officers of the House and his own servants. There seems to have been a strange want of chivalry in this desertion of the venerable Chief-Justice; but, on the other hand, his remaining to the last may have been a piece of unnecessary Quixotism.

Next day (June 7th), the insurrection, unchecked by any display of energy and decision on the part of the authorities, assumed more alarming proportions. Newgate and the other metropolitan prisons were broken open, and their inmates released. The Inns of Court. were besieged, and preparations made for attacking the Bank. Having sacked the houses of three of the London magistrates, the infuriated populace rolled towards Lord. Mansfield's mansion in Bloomsbury Square. Apprehending an attack, Lord Mansfield had sent for Sir John Hawkins, who arrived with a party of con

stables, and advised that the military should immediately be summoned. Contrary to Sir John's recommendation, Lord Mansfield insisted that the soldiers should be stationed, not in his house, but in the neighbouring church of St. George's-from a fear, perhaps, that the sight of the red coats might further inflame the temper of the rioters. Scarcely had his order been obeyed before the mob poured into the square, carrying torches and other combustibles, and filling the air with their yells and drunken shouts. When they began to beat at the outer door, Lord Mansfield and his wife retreated by a back passage. The work of destruction went on apace, and before morning there was nothing left of the stately structure but the blackened and mouldering outer walls. The whole of Lord Mansfield's valuable library of printed books and manuscripts, his private papers and correspondence, his pictures, plate, furniture,—all were consumed. The rioters, to prove their disinterestedness, flung into the flames a costly tankard of silver, filled with guineas.

We take from Sir Nathaniel Wroxall's Memoirs a graphic account of his experiences of this memorable

Scene:

"About nine o'clock," he says, "accompanied by three other gentlemen-who, as well as myself, were alarmed at the accounts brought in every moment of the outrages committed, and of the still greater acts of violence meditated as soon as darkness should favour and facilitate their further progress- —we set out, . . . and drove to Bloomsbury Square, attracted to that spot by a rumour, generally spread, that Lord Mansfield's residence, situate at the north-east corner, was either already burnt or destined for destruction. Hart Street and Great Russell Street presented each to the view as we passed large fires, composed of furniture taken from the houses of magistrates or other

obnoxious individuals. Quitting the coach, we crossed the square, and had scarcely got under the wall of Bedford House when we heard the door of Lord Mansfield's house burst open with violence. In a few minutes all the contents of the apartments, being precipitated from the windows, were piled up and wrapt in flames. A file of foot-soldiers arriving, drew up near the blazing pile, but without either attempting to quench the fire or to impede the mob, who were, indeed, far too numerous to admit of their being dispersed, or even intimidated, by a small detachment of infantry. The populace remained masters; while we, after surveying the spectacle for a short time, moved into Holborn."

Lord Mansfield afterwards regretted, and with just reason, that he had not met the attack of the multitude with a greater display of vigour. Erskine tells us that he more than once heard him say that perhaps some blame might attach to himself and others in authority for their forbearance in not directing force to be at the first moment repelled by force it is the highest humanity to check the infancy of tumults.

The loss which he had sustained in the destruction of his library was irreparable. The loss of furniture and plate might have been repaired; indeed, the House of Commons authorised the payment of adequate compensation, but with lofty generosity he declined it. Nothing could give back to him his valuable MSS., or the books enriched with the autographs of Pope, Swift, Bolingbroke, and the brightest luminaries of the age. All he could do was to summon to his aid the fortitude of a Christian. Perhaps the sympathy which the poet Cowper expressed in some graceful stanzas afforded him as much consolation as, in the circumstances, it was possible for him to receive: :