poor Peg's insanity. When in service with a lady
of quality in Brudenell-street, she was disliked
and ridiculed by the other servants for being
quiet, prudish, reserved, and melancholy. One
night, however, the valet was seen coming out
of her bedroom. She and the valet were
dismissed, but afterwards lived together at other
places. The man eventually deserted Peg,
married, and took an inn on the western road.
After this, Peg pined, relinquished service,
and abandoned herself to despondency and
solitude.

The old woman's version of her own attempt
by no means resembles the one we have given.
With the cunning of insanity, irritable at
confinement, and eager for escape, she declared she
had not had the slightest wish to injure the king;
on the contrary, "she had a great notion of him."
When the king used to visit at Lord Coventry's
he had frequently looked at her in a way that
bespoke kindness and regard. Being out of
service, she resolved to appeal to the king.
Unfortunately, having a knife in her pocket as
well as the petition, in her hurry and confusion,
and fear of missing the moment, she pulled
out the knife instead of the paper, and was
instantly seized.

This poor old creature lived in Bedlam more
than thirty-seven years, surviving the King
himself, in spite of his long reign, and even
surviving all the "Peg Nicholson's Knights," as the
provincial tuft-hunters who obtained knighthood
on the occasion were called by vulgar and
contumelious people. Latterly she grew stone deaf,
seldom spoke, took great quantities of snuff with
intense satisfaction, and lived almost entirely on
gingerbread. Tranquil, contented, neat, and
industrious, she was allowed tea, as a great
favour, and had the exclusive privilege of living,
in her quiet and harmless way, apart from the
criminal patients, in the ward used as a retreat
for the aged and infirm.

ii. JAMES HATFIELD'S.

On the 15th of May, 1800, there was a
review of the first (Grenadiers) battalion of Guards
in Hyde Park, before the King, Lord Chatham,
Lord Chesterfield, and some distinguished
officers. The sturdy, tight stocked, spatter-
dashed veterans of the American war were in
the thick of their evolutions, when a gentleman
named Ongley, who stood about twenty
yards from his majesty, was unpleasantly
startled by receiving (not at all according to
the programme) a musket-ball through the
upper part of his thigh. It was soon
ascertained that this accident was occasioned by a
soldier's having carelessly left a ball-cartridge in
his cartouche-box, which had got mingled with
the blanks.

The following evening, the king, queen, and
princesses went to Drury Lane Theatre, then
under the guidance of that great but wayward
genius, Sheridan. The play was Cibber's She
Would and She Would Not, followed by the
farce of the Humorist. Drury Lane was great
then. Sheridan's version of Kotzebue's Pizarro
had been a recent triumph, and had run thirty-
one nights—a run then considered wonderful;
nor had Morton's comedy of Speed the Plough
been less successful. Just as the king entered
the royal box, and was about four paces from the
door, a soldierly-looking man in the middle of
the pit, the second row from the orchestra, got
up on his seat, and levelling a horse-pistol,
discharged it at the royal box. The action was
so quick and so unexpected, that no one could
stop him; but a gentleman next him, Mr.
Holroyd, of Scotland-yard, struck his arm so
as to send the bullet up into the roof of the
royal box.

There was a moment's suspense, of alarm,
horror, and astonishment; then a cry from a
hundred mouths of "Seize the man!" Mr.
Major Wright, a solicitor of Wellclose-square,
who sat behind the fellow, was the first to lay
hands on him; and he and the musicians dragged
him over the orchestra spikes upon the stage, and
in to the musicians' room.

In the mean time, the king had advanced with
perfect composure to the front of the box,
and there stood watching the man being hurried
off. The queen about to enter, and inquiring
what was the matter, he said with amiable
mendacity:

"Only a squib, squib, squib. They have
been firing squibs."

The queen, hearing the report, seeing the
flash, and of course guessing the truth, came
forward much agitated, and curtseying, asked
the king whether they should stay?

"Yes," said the king; "we will not stir;
we will stay the whole of the performance."

The princesses, informed of the event before
they entered the box, burst into tears. Two
of them fainted; but the Princess Elizabeth
preserved her courage, and helped to restore
her sisters. When the Earl of Salisbury tried
fussily to draw the king from the theatre, his
majesty said, angrily and obstinately, "Sir, you
discompose me as well as yourself. I shall not stir
one step." When the king was told that there
was perhaps a conspiracy afloat, he replied nobly:
"Existence was not worth having, if he could
not enjoy his amusements in the midst of his
people."

There was no great attention paid that night
to the grandeur of Kemble, the generous
acting of Bannister, the buxom joyousness of Mrs.
Jordan, the testiness of King, or the arch
humour of Miss Pope. The one feature of the
evening was the tremendous burst of enthusiasm
and hearty patriotism when God Save the
King was sung with full power and intense
fervour. The whole house joined.

Mr. Jeffereys, M.P. for Coventry, with true
courtier-like tact, instantly on Hatfield's
seizure, hurried off to Lord Melbourne's, where
the Prince of Wales was that day dining, and
informed him of the attempt on the life of his
not overmuch beloved father. The prince
instantly went to the theatre to attend the
king.