a traitor to the high court of parliament.
Sir Francis instantly wrote, and named twelve
o'clock the next day ; but about five, before the
letter could be despatched, the mild serjeant
called in person. The service of the Speaker's
warrant was still fixed for twelve the next day.
Mr. Colman politely bowed and withdrew.

About seven that evening, Mr. O'Connor went
to the Tower to see if all was ready for Sir
Francis. Colonel Smith, the governor, assured
him that the house next his own had been well
aired, and that, from a sense of duty as well as
respect, Sir Francis might depend on receiving
every attention. About eight o'clock, the
serjeant and a messenger called on Sir Francis.
The former told him that he had received a
severe reprimand for not executing the warrant
before and remaining in the house; he therefore
hoped Sir Francis would now submit to be his
prisoner.

Burdett explained that the serjeant was not
to blame, as (without any personal offence to
him) he certainly should not have permitted him
to remain.

Serjeant: I shall be obliged, sir, to resort to
force, as it is my duty to execute the warrant.

Burdett: If you bring an overwhelming force,
I must submit; but I dare not, from my
allegiance to the king and my respect for his laws,
yield a voluntary submission to such a warrant
—it is illegal."

The serjeant must leave the house, but could
carry a letter to the Speaker containing the
resolution as to the warrant taken by (him) Sir
Francis. The serjeant begged to decline taking
any such letter. He had already incurred blame;
if he carried the letter, he should be considered
still more criminal. He then withdrew, entirely
confused and nonplused.

The letter was sent to the Speaker at ten
o'clock that night, by Robert Burdett (a boy of
fourteen, the son of Sir Francis) and by the
baronet's brother, Mr. Jones Burdett.

The letter denied the power assumed by the
House of Commons. The intrepid writer said:

"Power and privilege are not the same
thing, and ought not at any time to be
confounded together. Privilege is an exemption
from power, and was by law secured in the
third branch of the legislature in order to
protect them, that they might safely protect the
people, not to give them power to destroy the
people. Your warrant, sir, I believe you know
to be illegal. I know it to be so. To superior
force I must submit; but I will not, and dare
not, incur the danger of continuing voluntarily
to make one of any association or set of men
who shall assume illegally the whole power
of the realm, and who have no more right to
take myself or any one of my constituents by
force than I or they possess to take any of those
who are now guilty of this usurpation; and I
would condescend to accept the meanest office
that would vacate my seat, being more desirous
of getting out of my present association than
other men may be desirous of getting profitably
into it."

Meanwhile, the storm rose; the mob surged
and waved outside No. 80 and all along
Piccadilly, from the Haymarket to the gates of the
Park. They broke Mr. Percival's and Mr.
Lethbridge's windows, and half a dozen other houses
were pelted at and much glass was smashed. The
humour of the mob was to compel every one who
passed down Piccadilly to take off his hat and
cry " Burdett for ever!" Woe betide the beaver
that did not lift at their imperative bidding! But
there was no danger in this; it did small harm to
any one, and was beneficial to the hatters.

On Saturday morning, the town being now in
a full ferment of anger, curiosity, and alarm,
Sir Francis breakfasted with Mr. O'Connor in
Maddox-street, and then took a ride in the
Park, accompanied by his groom. On his
return to No. 80, Sir Francis found a number of
his friends assembled, and a messenger of the
House waiting with a warrant of arrest in his
pocket. Burdett called the man " my good
friend," but ordered him to instantly withdraw.
He was shown down-stairs by Mr. O'Connor.
The man particularly wished Mr. O'Connor to use
force and to assault him, but Mr. O'Connor
refused to oblige him. The storm grew. Ministers
wished to wreak their annoyance on the
sympathising mob. Between twelve and one
o'clock a troop of Life Guards trotted up,
and were drawn in line before the door of
No. 80. This was the true way to irritate
the mob into violence. More people than
usual in Piccadilly — the shouting and pelting
at hats and windows could have been prevented
by a few police-officers' staves. But the
frightened ministers, uncertain on the question,
resolved on the most violent and cruel mode of
repressing a momentary effervescence. The
Life Guards, eager to get to work, and fretting
at their own idleness and the contempt and
anger of the populace, clanked their steel
scabbards and backed their restless horses over the
pavement to disperse the mere innocent spectators.
The very sight of those plumed helmets,
shining breastplates, and sharp drawn swords,
was enough to exasperate men. The simplest
plan would have been for the serjeant-at-arms
to have at once forced the door, served his
warrant, and removed his prisoner under escort
to the Tower. Burdett was treated like a
brigand at bay, and the populace was irritated
by the useless display of force. Foot Guards
were now planted across Piccadilly, from Dover-
street on the one side to Bolton-row on the
other, so as to stop all traffic, and keep off the
hissing sympathisers. Soon after this, Mr.
Read, the magistrate, arrived, and successfully
mounting a dragoon horse, read the Riot Act
(there being no riot), and warned all people
peaceably to depart. The dispersion was brief;
in the evening the crowd grew larger than ever,
exasperated at the soldiers, uncertain of what
was about to happen, and befogged about the
whole question. An attempt to send Burdett,
the people's man, to the Tower against his
wish — so far they saw probable injustice. The
soldiers refused to let Mr. Jones Burdett