of Westminster Hall; the members of the House of Commons standing by, bare-headed. On the 23rd of April, the following year, Charles was solemnly crowned in the Abbey, and the same day the merry monarch" kept his coronation feast with great magnificence in the old hall, where twentyone years before he had listened, a mere child, to the dying eloquence of the ill-fated Strafford. Since that time how many revolutions of fortune had the old hall witnessed! Since then, his own unfortunate father, the princely Hamilton, the gay and graceful Holland, and the virtuous and high-minded Lord Capel, surrounded by guards and preceded by the fatal axe, had severally passed under its massive portal, never to cross its threshold again. Since then, the mighty Cromwell had sat there arrayed in purple and ermine, and now he was beneath the gibbet at Tyburn. The empire, too, of the second Cromwell had passed away, and he who, a few months before, had received a greater number of fulsome addresses from the people of England than had ever congratulated the accession of a legitimate sovereign, was now a prescribed fugitive in a foreign land. And these were men, many of them of rare virtues or of exalted talent; while Charles, without any merit of his own, was now quietly seated at the gay and gorgeous banquet, bandying wit and repartee with the frolic Buckingham, or exchanging looks of love and gallantry with the bright eyes which glanced down on the young monarch from the silken galleries above.

James the Second was crowned in Westminster Abbey with his consort, the young and lovely Mary of Modena, on the 23rd of April, 1685, and afterwards partook of a "most sumptuous and magnificent" banquet in the Hall. At the coronation of the misguided monarch more than one incident occurred, which his subjects regarded as ominous of future ill, and they certainly were remarkable coincidences. At the moment when the Tower guns announced that the King was crowned, the royal standard was blown from the White Tower; the canopy over the King's head was observed to be unaccountably rent; and in one of the London churches, a window, in which the royal arms were beautifully painted, fell down without any apparent cause. But that which was considered in the last degree ominous, was the circumstance of the crown tottering on the King's head. It seems it would have dropped to the ground, had not Henry Sidney, the brother of the lamented and high-minded Algernon Sidney, stepped forward and prevented its falling. "It was not the first occasion," he said, "that his family had supported the Crown."

During the short and dark reign of James the Second, the only incident of great interest associated with Westminster Hall is the memorable trial of the Seven Bishops, with the Archbishop of Canterbury at their head, the most important, perhaps, that ever took place under its venerable roof. On the day of their trial, the 29th of June, 1688, the Bishops were conducted from the Tower

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to Westminster by water; the banks of the river, on both sides, being crowded with an immense mass of anxious spectators, who followed the barge with their eyes, and audibly offered up their prayers for the persecuted fathers of the church. On being arraigned at the bar in Westminster Hall, the venerable appearance of the aged prelates, the position in which they stood as the meek but undaunted champions of the civil and religious liberties of their fellow-countrymen, as well as the crowded thousands who filled the Hall, presented one of the most imposing scenes of which we can form any notion. After sitting up all night, the jury made their reappearance in the Hall before the anxious and excited audience. The wished-for verdict of " Not Guilty" was returned, when the roof of the old Hall rang with such an universal shout of joy as had not often been heard within its walls; the same shout was echoed through the cities of Westminster and London, and in a short time was echoed back by the army on Hounslow Heath, where the King was dining with the general, Lord Faversham, in his tent. Being informed of the cause of the uproar, the bigoted monarch appears to have been startled for the moment; but while every one but himself was watching the brooding of the storm, which was so soon to burst over his head, he alone remained obstinate, blind, and perverse.

William the Third and his consort, Queen Mary, were crowned in Westminster Abbey, on the 11th of April, 1689, and afterwards banqueted in the

Hall with the usual pomp and ceremony, Dymoke, the champion, making the customary challenge. "It was as usual," says Reresby, "a splendid sight: the procession to the Abbey was quite regular, though not so complete in the number of nobility as at the two last solemnities of the same kind. Particular care was had of the House of Commons, who had a place prepared for them to sit in, both in the church. and in the Hall. They had tables spread for them, to which I, among other friends, had the honour of being admitted, so that I had a very fair opportunity of seeing all that passed."

It was in this reign that Peter the Great of Russia paid a visit to England, and, among other places, was conducted by the Marquis of Carmarthen, who was appointed to attend him during his visit, into Westminster Hall. To a despotic monarch, what a host of startling reflections was that Hall capable of exciting! But we mention the visit of the Czar rather for the purpose of recording an amusing incident. It happened to be term time, and the vast area was, as usual at such seasons, crowded with lawyers in their wigs and gowns. Peter appeared to be struck with the sight, and inquired who these persons could possibly be? Being informed by Lord Carmarthen that they were all persons of the legal profession, he appeared quite confounded. 66 Lawyers!" he exclaimed, "why I have only two in all my dominions, and I believe I shall hang one of them the moment I get back."

On the 23rd of April, 1702, Queen Anne was

crowned in Westminster Abbey. The banquet in the Hall was solemnized with the customary splendour and rejoicings; her consort, Prince George of Denmark, sitting on her right hand under the same canopy. Two years afterwards, Westminster Hall presented the cheering spectacle of being hung with the trophies won by the great Marlborough at Blenheim,-that memorable battle in which, out of an army consisting of sixty thousand men, the French and Bavarians lost, in killed and wounded, forty thousand, including fifteen hundred officers and the greater number of their generals. The trophies, suspended in Westminster Hall, consisted of no less than one hundred and twenty-one standards, and one hundred and seventy-nine colours. Since the days when Hannibal sent three bushels of gold rings to Carthage, stripped from the dead bodies of the Roman knights on the field of Cannæ, never, perhaps, had so many trophies adorned the triumph of a general.

We have recently made a passing reference to the singular and chequered fortunes of the second Protector, Richard Cromwell. In the reign of Queen Anne, when he had arrived at a very advanced age, a law-suit, in which his daughters had unfortunately engaged him, compelled him to visit. London for the purpose of giving evidence at the Court of King's Bench, Westminster. While his cause was pending, curiosity induced him to wander into the Hall, which, half a century before, had been the scene of his father's and his own splen