while Spain was crumbling down beneath their feet. It is true that all was not what it seemed: it is true that Napoleon's aggressions on Spain were destined to bring on a fatal retribution; and that this Austrian alliance aroused the jealousy of Russia, which had coquetted with him, and afterwards indulged the vindictiveness of a deserted coquette: it is true that the new marriage was, as Napoleon himself said, "a pit covered with flowers." But nobody knew these things at the time. No hollowness was apparent when, in the autumn of this year, the summons went out for the family council, and Austria was making ready to go over to the conqueror; and the English people were invited to hold a Jubilee, in which there could be little mirth. The cries for Reform, and what the King took for revolution, had become so vehement throughout England, that the Court was almost as much concerned as the enlightened liberals to see how little fit the Opposition leaders were to cope with the times. While the government had been trying (thanks to Romilly, in vain) to make their Sedition Bills more stringent, the Opposition leaders were showing themselves undecided, backward, indistinct in their views, isolated in their conduct; fit neither to cope with the rash bigots on the government benches, nor with the railing malcontents out of doors. In the midst of the depression abroad, and the quarrels at home, in defiance of the gloom which was settling down upon the world, the Jubilee was to be held, and men were to be joyful and loyal on the 25th of October, at least, whatever had gone before or should come after.

The Jubilee was held, and with much real fervour of loyalty. Sir Samuel Romilly foresaw that it would puzzle posterity to account for the unquestionable popularity of the King at this time: but the causes may still be understood and appreciated. Whatever was happening abroad, we were still safe within our own islands, with a throne in the midst; and the phrase about "rallying round the throne" was then neither hackneyed nor absurd-the long war appearing to have sprung directly from the great revolution abroad, which had played such tricks with thrones. The aged King, nearly blind, and now

sinking, now rising, in mental health, saved us from the regency of a Prince whom nobody loved, and whose vices the best people feared. The King's family troubles and personal sufferings secured to him the respectful sympathy of all but the heartless. Last and least, it was agreeable to be summoned to any public rejoicing in such times; and the whole nation seemed to feel it so.

At Windsor and Frogmore, the royal residences, the display was, of course, the most imposing. From the first blast of the trumpets at six in the morning, to the last of the fireworks at midnight, all was show and festivity. The royal family attended service in the Chapel, and the Princes and Princesses offered their tributes of honour to "a reign_sacred to piety and virtue." All the church bells in the kingdom were ringing; all the streets were gay with processions during the day, and shining with illumination at night. Every body sang "God save the King" and "Rule Britannia:" and all corporations feasted. The poor feasted too; and all deserters from army and navy were pardoned; and the bulk of society was, no doubt, the better for that day. They knew that there were grand doings in the far corners of the earth, by appointment, in sympathy with home; meetings in Canada, balls at Bombay and Calcutta, and some remission of toil, some faint revival of the sensation of citizenship, in the convicts at Botany Bay. It was something to know this. It was something that the Park and Tower guns should fire for something else than bloodshed. The national heart needed a holiday; and this was an innocent and natural occasion. Those who could not admire the old King could wish him well. Those who could not praise his reign could respect his length of days. Those who would not have originated rejoicings at such a time fell in with the geniality of others, without too curiously asking why. The Jubilee went off well; and those who were most proud of it were most eager to point out how unlikely it was that there should ever be another.

CHAPTER III.

O. P. Question-Opening of the Session-Mr. Peel-Adversity-Commercial Crash-Efforts at Reform-Bullion Committee-Penal Law reform-Condition of the Clergy-Dissenters' Licenses Bill-Privilege question-Parliamentary censure of Burdett-Sir F. Burdett committed to the Tower-His release-Weakness of the Government -Death of Windham-Death of Princess Amelia-Insanity of the King-Meeting of Parliament-Repeated adjournments - Proposition of a Regency—The Princes' protest.—[1810–12.]

THE close of 1809 was marked by two trials in Westminster Hall which tested the quality of English Jury trials, and which were therefore watched with an interest which bore no proportion to the importance of their subjects. One was a prosecution of Mrs. Clarke and two tradesmen, by Colonel Wardle, for perjury. A mob filled Westminster Hall, and disturbed the proceedings by their shouts in favour of Colonel Wardle, the popular idol of the day. Lord Ellenborough, Chief Justice, was the judge. The honest jury returned a verdict of Not Guilty.

The other trial arose out of some late riots in Covent Garden theatre. It appears strange now that, at such a time, a time when the liberties of the world were in jeopardy, and when adversity was besetting our own country on every side, men could feel interest enough about theatre prices to make a riot. But, from whatever cause, whether from dulness under the circumstances of the war, or from the excitement of a quarrelsome temper, which is one of the consequences of war, or from a sincere conviction that the principle of fair play was in question, it so happened that the Q. P. riots of 1809 were a very serious matter indeed.

On the morning of the 20th of September, 1808, at four o'clock, Covent Garden theatre was perceived to be on fire. It was in every way a most disastrous fire. That the theatre was destroyed was by no means the worst part of it. Seven houses near were totally demolished; and many more rendered uninhabitable. Several dramatic

works, of which no copies existed outside the theatre, and, worse still, much music of Handel, Arne, and other composers, of which likewise there were no duplicates, were lost. By the fall of a burning roof, eleven men were killed at once, and others fatally injured. It is curious now to read the record of the anxiety that was felt about Drury Lane theatre, from the flakes of fire that were blown upon its roofs: and how men got upon the roof, and opened the cistern, and kept such watch as to save the second theatre. The cause of the fire was supposed to be the lodgment among the scenes of the wadding of a pistol, fired by the hero of the favourite dramatic piece of the day-Pizarro, which was adapted for the English stage by Mr. Sheridan, the principal proprietor of Drury Lane theatre.

On the night of the 24th of February next, when the Commons were discussing the conduct of the war in Spain, and Mr. Sheridan was listening, while waiting to speak, the House was filled with a glare of light so extraordinary that cries of "Fire! Fire!" interrupted the concluding part of Mr. Canning's speech. Drury Lane theatre was on fire: and it was Mr. Sheridan who informed the Ministers, in a low tone across the table, that it was so. The sympathy for him was so strong that the adjournment of the debate was demanded by several members: but Mr. Sheridan calmly said that "whatever might be the extent of the individual calamity, he did not consider it of a nature worthy to interrupt their proceedings on so great a national question." He left the House, accompanied by all good wishes. But he knew that the ruin was desperate. The destroyed theatre had been deep in debt before. It was looked upon as a new theatre, because it was the successor of one burned down in 1793. The architect had exceeded his estimate so enormously that the debts seemed hopeless before; and now, the building was burned down before its erection was paid for. From the false estimates of architects arose the subsequent mischiefs connected with the theatres; and among others, the O. P. riots of 1809.

The expense of rebuilding Covent Garden turned out to be so heavy, that the proprietors raised the prices of

admission. The public were not disposed to allow this; and they alleged that advantage was taken of Drury Lane theatre being in ruins to fix a monopoly price on a public amusement. A separate cause of complaint was the erection of 28 private boxes, by which the area for the public was much contracted, and facilities were supposed to be afforded for corrupting the morals of the frequenters of the theatre. A vigorous opposition was prepared for the first night, the 17th of September. On the steps, a mob was vociferating for the Old Prices, long before the doors were opened. The emotion of surprise at the beauty of the structure and its decorations caused silence at first; but when Mr. Kemble appeared to speak the opening address, the uproar began. For three months afterwards it continued throughout the performances. The people in the pit turned their backs upon the actors; and the din of cries, stamping, horns, trumpets, dustmen's bells, and watchmen's rattles, was insufferable. When the cry of O. P. could no longer be heard, the letters were stuck upon hats and placards; and at length, there was fightingserious boxing between the police and the audience, and between rival partisans, and tearing up of benches, and breaking of chandeliers. A sort of troubled pause ensued when the combatants became weary; and it was hoped that the mischief was over, when an incident occurred, out of which grew the trial in Westminster Hall. Mr. Clifford, a barrister, appeared one night in the pit with the letters O. P. in the front of his hat. Way was made for him to the centre, amidst cries of "way for the honest counsellor." The box-keeper, Mr. Brandon, caused Mr. Clifford to be arrested, and carried before the Bow Street magistrate. The magistrate immediately discharged him. Mr. Clifford indicted Brandon for an assault and false imprisonment. The trial took place before Sir James Mansfield, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas; and his charge to the jury was an express direction to acquit Brandon. The jury, however, satisfied that Mr. Clifford's act was not one of riot, gave their verdict in his favour. The judge expressed strong regret, and fears that evil consequences would ensue; but the crowd in the neighbouring streets thought otherwise: and they