ee fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then
was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to the
tribunal. The junior baron present led the way, George Eliott, Lord
Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defence of Gibraltar
against the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The long procession
was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the
great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King. Last of all
came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and noble
bearing. The gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The long galleries
were crowded by an audience such as has rarely excited the fears or the
emulation of an orator. There were gathered together, from all parts of
a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous empire, grace and female
loveliness, wit and learning, the representatives of every science and
of every art. There were seated round the Queen the fair-haired young
daughters of the House of Brunswick. There the Ambassadors of great
Kings and Commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no
other country in the world could present. There Siddons, in the prime of
her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene surpassing all the
imitations of the stage. There the historian of the Roman empire thought
of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres, and
when, before a senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus
thundered against the oppressor of Africa. There were seen, side by
side, the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the age. The
spectacle had allured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved to us
the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and the sweet
smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced Parr to suspend his
labors in that dark and profound mine from which he had extracted a vast
treasure of erudition, a treasure too often buried in the earth, too
often paraded with injudicious and inelegant ostentation, but still
precious, massive, and splendid. There appeared the voluptuous charms of
her to whom the heir of the throne had in secret plighted his faith.
There too was she, the beautiful mother of a beautiful race, the St.
Cecilia whose delicate features, lighted up by love and music, art has
rescued from the common decay. There were the members of that brilliant
society which quoted, criticised, and exchanged repartees, under the
rich peacock ha