ed his whole life in obscurity, and was bewildered by finding himself an important actor in a mighty revolution. The events of the last twenty-four hours, and the perilous state of the city which was under his charge, had disordered his mind and his body. When the great man, at whose frown, a few days before, the whole kingdom had trembled, was dragged into the justice room begrimed with ashes, half dead with fright, and followed by a raging multitude, the agitation of the unfortunate mayor rose to the height. He fell into fits, and was carried to his bed, whence he never rose. Meanwhile the throng without was constantly becoming more numerous and more savage. Jeffreys begged to be sent to prison. An order to that effect was procured from the Lords, who were sitting at Whitehall, and he was conveyed in a carriage to the Tower. Two regiments of militia were drawn out to escort him, and found the duty a difficult one. It was repeatedly necessary for them to form, as if for the purpose of repelling a charge of cavalry, and to present a forest of pikes to the mob. The thousands who were disappointed of their revenge pursued the coach, with howls of rage, to the gate of the Tower, brandishing cudgels, and holding up halters full in the prisoner's view. The wretched man, meantime, was in convulsions of terror. He wrung his hands; he looked wildly out, sometimes at one window, sometimes at the other, and was heard even above the tumult crying, "Keep them off, gentlemen! for God's sake, keep them off!" At length, having suffered far more than the bitterness of death, he was safely lodged in the fortress, where some of his most illustrious victims had passed their last days, and where his own life was destined to close in unspeakable ignominy and horror.*

All this time an active search was making after Roman Catholic priests. Many were arrested. Two bishops,

North's Life of Guildford, 220; Jeffreys's Elegy; Luttrell's Diary; Oldmixon, 762. Oldmixon was in the crowd, and was, I doubt not, one of the most furious there. He tells the story well. Ellis Correspondence; Burnet, i., 797, and Onslow's note.

Ellis and Leyburn, were sent to Newgate. The nuncio, who had little reason to expect that either his spiritual or his political character would be respected by the multitude, made his escape disguised as a lackey in the train of the minister of the Duke of Savoy.*

Another day of agitation and terror closed, and was followed by a night the strangest and most terrible that England had ever seen. Early in the evening an attack was made by the rabble on a stately house which had been built a few months before for Lord Powis, which in the reign of George the Second was the residence of the Duke of Newcastle, and which is still conspicuous at the northwestern angle of Lincoln's Inn Fields. Some troops were sent thither; the mob was dispersed, tranquillity seemed to be restored, and the citizens were retiring quietly to their beds. Just at this time arose a whisper which swelled fast into a fearful clamor, passed in an hour from Piccadilly to White Chapel, and spread into every street and alley of the capital. It was said that the Irish whom Feversham had let loose were marching on London, and massacring every man, woman, and child on the road. At one in the morning the drums of the militia beat to arms. Every where terrified women were weeping and wringing their hands, while their fathers and husbands were equipping themselves for fight. Before two the capital wore a face of stern preparedness which might well have daunted a real enemy, if such an enemy had been approaching. Candles were blazing at all the windows. The public places were as bright as at noonday. All the great avenues were barricaded. More than twenty thou sand pikes and muskets lined the streets. The late daybreak of the winter solstice found the whole city still in arms. During many years the Londoners retained a vivid recollection of what they called the Irish night. When it was known that there had been no cause of alarm, attempts were made to discover the origin of the rumor which had produced so much agitation. It appeared that

Adda, Dec.; Citters, Dec. 1.

some persons who had the look and dress of clowns just arrived from the country had first spread the report in the suburbs a little before midnight; but whence these men came, and by whom they were employed, remained a mystery. And soon news arrived from many quarters which bewildered the public mind still more. The panic had not been confined to London. The cry that disbanded Irish soldiers were coming to murder the Protestants had, with malignant ingenuity, been raised at once in many places widely distant from each other. Great numbers of letters, skillfully framed for the purpose of frightening ignorant people, had been sent by stage-coaches, by wagons, and by the post to various parts of England. All these letters came to hand almost at the same time. In a hundred towns at once the populace was possessed with the belief that armed barbarians were at hand, bent on perpetrating crimes as foul as those which had disgraced the rebellion of Ulster. No Protestant would find mercy. Children would be compelled by torture to murder their parents. Babes would be stuck on pikes, or flung into the blazing ruins of what had lately been happy dwellings. Great multitudes assembled with weapons; the people in some places began to pull down bridges, and to throw up barricades; but soon the excitement went down. many districts, those who had been so foully imposed upon learned with delight, alloyed by shame, that there was not a single popish soldier within a week's march. There were places, indeed, where some straggling bands of Irish made their appearance and demanded food; but it could scarcely be imputed to them as a crime that they did not choose to die of hunger, and there is no evidence that they committed any wanton outrage. In truth, they were much less numerous than was commonly supposed; and their spirit was cowed by finding themselves left on a sudden without leaders or provisions, in the midst of a mighty population which felt toward them as men feel toward a drove of wolves. Of all the subjects of James, none had more reason to execrate him than these

In

unfortunate members of his Church and defenders of his throne.*

It is honorable to the English character that, notwithstanding the aversion with which the Roman Catholic religion and the Irish race were then regarded, notwithstanding the anarchy which was the effect of the flight of James, notwithstanding the artful machinations which were employed to scare the multitude into cruelty, no atrocious crime was perpetrated at this conjuncture. Much property, indeed, was destroyed and carried away. The houses of many Roman Catholic gentlemen were attacked. Parks were ravaged. Deer were slain and stolen. Some venerable specimens of the domestic architecture of the Middle Ages bear to this day the marks of popular violence. The roads were in many places made impassable by a self-appointed police, which stopped every traveler till he proved that he was not a papist. The Thames was infested by a set of pirates who, under pretense of searching for arms or delinquents, rummaged every boat that passed. Obnoxious persons were insulted and hustled. Many persons who were not obnoxious were glad to ransom their persons and effects by bestowing some guineas on the zealous Protestants who had, without any legal authority, assumed the office of inquisitors. But in all this confusion, which lasted several days and extended over many counties, not a single Roman Catholic lost his life. The mob showed no inclination to blood, except in the case of Jeffreys; and the hatred which that bad man inspired had more affinity with humanity than with cruelty.†

Many years later Hugh Speke affirmed that the Irish night was his work, that he had prompted the rustics who raised London, and that he was the author of the letters which had spread dismay through the country. His assertion is not intrinsically improbable, but it rests on no

Citters, Dec., 1688; Luttrell's Diary; Ellis Correspondence; Oldmixon, 761; Speke's Secret History of the Revolution; Clarke's Life of James, ii., 257; Eachard's History of the Revolution; History of the Desertion. + Clarke's Life of James, ii., 258.

evidence except his own word. He was a man quite capable of committing such a villainy, and quite capable, also, of falsely boasting that he had committed it.*

At London William was impatiently expected, for it was not doubted that his vigor and ability would speedily restore order and security. There was, however, some delay, for which the prince can not justly be blamed. His original intention had been to proceed from Hungerford to Oxford, where he was assured of an honorable and affectionate reception; but the arrival of the deputation from Guildhall induced him to change his intention, and to hasten directly toward the capital. On the way he learned that Feversham, in pursuance of the king's orders, had dismissed the royal army, and that thousands of soldiers, freed from restraint and destitute of necessaries, were scattered over the counties through which the road to London lay. It was therefore impossible for William to proceed slenderly attended without great danger, not only to his own person, about which he was not much in the habit of being solicitous, but also to the great interests which were under his care. It was necessary that he should regulate his own movements by the movements of his troops, and troops could then move but slowly over the highways of England in mid-winter. He was, on this occasion, a little moved from his ordinary composure. "I am not to be thus dealt with," he exclaimed, with bitterness, "and that my Lord Feversham shall find." Prompt and judicious measures were taken to remedy the evils which James had caused. Churchill and Grafton were intrusted with the task of reassembling the dispersed army and bringing it into order. The English soldiers were invited to resume their military character. The Irish were commanded to deliver up their arms on pain of being treated as banditti, but were assured that, if they would submit quietly, they should be supplied with necessaries.†

*Secret History of the Revolution.

+ Clarendon's Diary, Dec. 13, 1688; Citters, Dec. 14; Eachard's History of the Revolution.