at was directed against us of the press, sir, and
their Lordships knew it. 'Ad's heart, sir, there was a riot, the house
servants tumbling everybody out, and Mr. Burke and Mr. Dunning in the
boot, who were gone there on the business of this house to present a
bill. Those gentlemen are but just back, calling upon the commons
to revenge them and vindicate their honour. And my Lord North looks
troubled, as you will mark, for the matter is like to go hard against
his Majesty's friends. But hush, Mr. Burke is to speak."

The horse fell quiet to listen, and my friend began to ply his shorthand
industriously. I leaned forward with a sharp curiosity to see this great
friend of America. He was dressed in a well-worn suit of brown, and
I recall a decided Irish face, and a more decided Irish accent, which
presently I forgot under the spell of his eloquence. I have heard it
said he had many defects of delivery. He had none that day, or else I
was too little experienced to note them. Afire with indignation, he told
how the deputy black rod had hustled him like a vagabond or a thief, and
he called the House of Lords a bear garden. He was followed by Dunning,
in a still more inflammatory mood, until it seemed as if all the King's
friends in the Lower House must desert their confederates in the
Upper. No less important a retainer than Mr. Onslow moved a policy of
retaliation, and those that were left began to act like the Egyptians
when they felt the Red Sea under them. They nodded and whispered in
their consternation.

It was then that Mr. Fox got calmly up before the pack of frightened
mercenaries and argued (God save the mark!) for moderation. He had the
ear of the house in a second, and he spoke with all the confidence--this
youngster who had just reached his majority--he had used with me before
his intimates. I gaped with astonishment and admiration. The Lords, said
he, had plainly meant no insult to this honourable house, nor yet to
the honourable members. They had aimed at the common enemies of man, the
printers. And for this their heat was more than pardonable. My friend at
my side stopped his writing to swear under his breath. "Look at 'em!"
he cried; "they are turning already. He could argue Swedenborg into
popery!"

The deserters were coming back to the ranks, indeed, and North and Dyson
and Weymouth had ceased to look haggard, and were wreathed in smiles. In
vain did Mr. Burke harangue them in polished phrase. It was a la