frantically, "she had been all abroad since that matter
of the crown broke out.'' She went on
rambling, that the crown was hers—she wanted
nothing but her right—she had great property—
if she had not her right, England would be
drowned in blood for a thousand generations.
It was found that ten days before, she had
presented a petition, which was discovered
to be full of ravings about "tyrants, usurpers,
and pretenders to the throne." It was
proposed to commit her for a few days to
Tothill-fields Bridewell; but, as she was a state
prisoner, (save the mark!) she was given over
to the custody of a messenger, who took her to
his house in Half-moon-street. At her lodgings
were found three letters relating to her claims:
one to Lord Mansfield, one to Lord
Loughborough, one to General Branham. The scraps
of writing all referred to "effects " and
"classics:" terms she seemed to have
ignorantly used in an algebraic way to mysteriously
express "an unknown quantity." She owned
that she meant to frighten the king with the
knife, and so to obtain her right. The petition
was blank, she said, because she had delivered
many others before, and the king knew well
enough what she wanted. She grew silent, and
refused to answer any more questions. She
answered many of the mad doctor's questions
incoherently, and at last became quite convulsed,
saying, "Tears would give her relief."

On August the 8th, Dr. Munro pronounced
poor old Peg insane, and the Privy Council
ordered her to be conveyed to Bedlam. Mr.
Cook took her in a hackney-coach, his wife, a
friend, and a nurse accompanying her, under
pretence of taking the poor old creature on a party
of pleasure. When they got under the wall of
Bedlam, she observed she knew where they
were taking her to. They all dined with her,
and she remained collected till the king's name
was mentioned; then she kept saying, "I
expected him to visit me." After this she was
taken to her cell, a chain put round her leg,
and riveted to the floor. All this she bore
with perfect unconcern. As Mr. Cook was
to leave, she asked for pen and ink and
paper, to write some letters to send by him.
The materials were given her, but she would
not then write.

On the afternoon of the attempt, the king,
after turning over some papers with
indifference, returned to Windsor, graciously
smiling, and, in order to allay the public
anxiety, with fewer attendants than usual. In
the mean time, the Spanish Chargé d'Affaires
had executed a daring stroke of diplomacy, under
the pretence of an uncontrollable sympathy.
The Public Advertiser says: "The moment the
Spanish Chargé d'Affaires heard the report of
the villanous attempt, he went post to Windsor,
and immediately introduced himself to the
queen; not, as a man of common sagacity
would have done, in order to assure her
majesty that the king had received no injury from
the knife, of the assassin, but solely with an
intention to engage her in conversation, and
thereby prevent her from hearing any report at
all until the king's arrival. In this design he
happily succeeded, and then took leave of their
majesties leaving the king to tell the story
himself. The king shook him warmly by
the hand, and assured him that he hardly knew
a man in the world to whom he was so much
obliged."

The untoward prince, then twenty-four, and
at the worst of his pranks, was at this time in
open rebellion against his father, after the
manner of his royal grandfather. On hearing,
however, of the attempt, he came post to
Windsor, asked permission to pay his duty to
the queen, and stayed with her two hours;
but did not see the king, although his majesty
was in an adjacent room. On leaving, he told his
mother that he would dine at a certain inn,
and remain till six o'clock. The king sending
no message for him, the prince at that hour
drove off.

The Earl of Salisbury ordered one hundred
pounds to be given to the yeoman and fifty
pounds to the footman who arrested Peg's
hand; but it was rather ludicrous that the too
zealous yeoman declared that Peg made a
tremendous plunge at the king's body, while the
king steadily declared the contrary. The
Public Advertiser, irritated at all this fuss about
nothing, ventured on the following audacious
squib, August 17: "Hints for the Biography
of Margaret Nicholson. The place of her birth
—her father and mother—her uncles and aunts
by the father's side—ditto by the mother's side
—her grandfather and godmother—also, her
grandfathers and godmothers—her brothers and
sisters—whether any of her brothers were
married—how many children had they—whether
any of her sisters married, and to whom—what
was the profession of her family—were they
Roman Catholics, Protestants, Anabaptists,
Arians, Arminians, Moravians, Muggletonians,
Calvinists, Quakers, Presbyterians, or Unitarians,
&c.? It is also highly necessary to know
the political tenets of said family from the time
of the Revolution to the present hour—whether
she ever made a tour to Scotland, and with
whom, as, in all probability, among the
descendants of the Pretender in the Highlands
she may have acquired her regicide principles.
Nicholson is a Scotch name, and the Nicholsons
were formerly called MacNicoll; now .
MacNichol is a Highland name; ergo, it is very
probable she may be a descendant of some
king-killing Jacobite or other. Vide
Anecdotos Johnsoni passim. In the description of
her person we expect the greatest accuracy
The exact number of inches above five feet
and the most correct and animated detail of
the form of each feature. Her dress also
minutely described, the shop where she
purchased her last gown, and whether she ever
wore a bustle previous to her public appearance
the week before last. We consider the public
as highly interested in all these things."

A contemporaneous paper gives the following
scandal as the true version of the cause of