nseemly state of
uproar.

What a place is old St. Stephen's Chapel, over St. Mary's in the Vaults,
for the great Commons of England to gather! It is scarce larger or more
imposing than our own assembly room in the Stadt House in Annapolis.
St. Stephen's measures but ten yards by thirty, with a narrow gallery
running along each side for visitors. In one of these, by the rail, I
sat down suffocated, bewildered, and deafened. And my first impression
out of the confusion was of the bewigged speaker enthroned under the
royal arms, sore put to restore order. On the table in front of him lay
the great mace of the Restoration. Three chandeliers threw down their
light upon the mob of honourable members, and I wondered what had put
them into this state of uproar.

Presently, with the help of a kind stranger on my right, who was
occasionally making shorthand notes, I got a few bearings. That was the
Treasury Bench, where Lord North sat (he was wide awake, now). And there
was the Government side. He pointed out Barrington and Weymouth and
Jerry Dyson and Sandwich, and Rigby in the court suit of purple velvet
with the sword thrust through the pocket. I took them all in, as some of
the worst enemies my country had in Britain. Then my informant seemed
to hesitate, and made bold to ask my persuasion. When I told him I was a
Whig, and an American, he begged the favour of my hand.

"There, sir," he cried excitedly, "that stout young gentleman with the
black face and eyebrows, and the blacker heart, I may say,--the one
dressed in the fantastical costume called by a French name,--is Mr.
Charles Fox. He has been sent by the devil himself, I believe, to ruin
this country. 'Ods, sir, that devil Lord Holland begot him. He is but
one and twenty, but his detestable arts have saved North's neck from
Burke and Wedderburn on two occasions this year."

"And what has happened to-day?" I asked, smiling.

The stranger smiled, too.

"Why, sir," he answered, raising his voice above the noise; "if you have
been in London any length of time, you will have read the account, with
comment, of the Duke of Grafton's speech in the Lords, signed Domitian.
Their Lordships well know it should have been over a greater signature.
This afternoon his Grace of Manchester was talking in the Upper House
about the Spanish troubles, when Lord Gower arose and desired that the
place might be cleared of strangers, lest some Castilian spy might lurk
under the gallery. Th