terrible Sir John Fielding the famous blind
magistrate, who was then the scourge of St.
Giles's and the Fleet-ditch districts, and were
committed by him to Newgate. However, it was
felt that on this occasion the Irish had been more
sinned against than sinning; that a jealous feeling
on the part of the English agriculturists
against what they considered an unfair
interference with their special province, had broken
out; and the newspapers took the side of the
aliens, speaking of them as the "poor Irish," and
alluding with feeling to the "great cruelty" with
which they had been treated. That the battle
was maintained for two whole days shows that
the numbers on the Celtic side must have been
respectable.

In seventeen 'ninety-three, a child died at
Oxford-buildings, in London, and it was determined
to celebrate the demise with all the national
glories and traditions. The chronicles of the
day appear confused in their views of the nature
of such a gathering: but, to their descendants,
such a ceremony as a wake is now grown very
familiar. The more festive portion of the
entertainment would appear to have been sustained
through the night of the twenty-third of June,
with the usual alcoholic rites: the departed infant
was bewailed copiously in spirituous tears. But,
early in the morning, the universal grief began to
manifest itself in various signs of tumult, and by
daybreak had burst out into what was called "a
dreadful riot." Both sexes engaged with hearty
good will. What immediate cause of unpleasantness
had arisen does not appear; but the
efficient Watch of the period were very soon at the
scene in strong force—numerically speaking. It
is almost idle to mention that those guardians of
law and order were repulsed with discredit—
very much cut up; and Captain Patrole, who
had foolishly interfered, so severely beaten, as
not to recover his wounds. However, about
three o'clock A.M., the Foot Guards arrived—a
body who would seem to be the traditional
enemies of the Irish exile—and went up bravely
to the attack. This interference was met with
spirit—and a shower of brickbats. Yet it was
felt that against such odds and such advantage
a conflict was hopeless. The Foot Guards
soon had it all their own way, and were
presently encumbered with fifty prisoners.

In the year of the Rebellion, seventeen 'ninety-
eight, a strong detachment of Irish recruits,
belonging to the Seventeenth Light Dragoons,
arrived at Somers-town, near London, and
almost immediately the horizon became clouded.
The new dragoons beguiled the tedium of this
sojourn by sallying forth and beating the
Somers-town men. At last, orders arrived for
the embarkation of the draft, and the whole
party, two sergeants and fifty-one privates, were
marched away to Billingsgate—a name of
ominous significance—where their ship was lying.
They went their way, says the chronicle,
naïvely, "much to the joy of the inhabitants."
Unfortunately, the tide did not serve, and the
vessel got aground, and was therefore obliged to
wait some hours. The Irish Dragoons had thus
the prospect before them of a tedious confinement,
without any food for the mind. Their impetuous
spirits chafed against the restraint, when a bold
Celt struck out the happy device of proposing
that they should not misspend precious time
for which they were accountable, but return
forthwith to Somers-town. This proposal was
hailed with acclamation, and the whole party,
headed by the two sergeants, forthwith
disembarked, and in a short time presented
themselves in the Somers-town district, to the
great consternation of the natives. The
naturally disorganised state in which they
found their apartments—owing, of course, to
the unexpectedness of their return—drove the
gallant fellows out upon the streets, which they
patrolled to the great alarm of the inhabitants,
who had so imprudently and prematurely
rejoiced at their departure. Their course was
marked by a series of the most terrific outrages.
In Gray's lnn-lane the battle raged with such fury,
that the military had to be hurriedly sent for.
The crisis was so serious that application was
made to the authorities for the services of the
Loyal St. Pancras Association—it is to be
presumed, a corps of volunteers. These were soon
on the ground, and their presence, with that of
the military, produced an important effect on the
fortunes of the other side. After some severe
fighting, the dragoons gave way, and retired in
good order to their barracks, which were
presently stormed by the military and the Loyal St.
Pancras Volunteers, and the whole party
captured. The prisoners were removed to the
various "watch-houses" for the night; but
whether the accommodation was too restricted
for so large a party, or more prudential reasons,
prevailed, it was thought advisable to "re-conduct"
them to their barracks, whence they
were presented to "Mr. Justice Leroux, of
Somers-town." That functionary remitted the
two sergeants to the house of correction; and
finally had the remaining rioters sent off to the
water's edge, "to be shipped." They were all
happily got away. A tranquil embarkation was
effected, and Somers-town was restored to
tranquillity.

Sometimes a little unpleasantness has arisen,
not as might be supposed between the base
Saxon and the peaceful Celt, but between
members of the various septs or clans sojourning in
the country of the hereditary enemy. Of this
class was the grand riot of the year eighteen
hundred and eleven, which took place at
Poplar. This dispute did not grow out of a mere
vulgar incident, as festivity over an infant's
obsequies, or competition for employment in
the getting-in of hay. There was a more chivalric
principle involved; namely, "which province
produced the better men, Connaught or
Munster?" The argument was at first conducted
on the ordinary irrational principles of mere
discussion and verbal controversy, but it was
felt how inadequate such poor weapons were in
deciding a question of grand proportions.
Recourse was promptly had to the national logic.
It turned out that over one hundred persons