THE LION'S MOUTH.

The news of the suppression of the conspiracy and the arrest of the
ringleaders caused great excitement over England. Enormous crowds
paraded the streets of London demanding the exile of all persons who had
formerly borne titles. The King was hung in effigy and his lay figure
cremated in the public kiln at Lincoln's Inn Fields. Socialism became
rampant. A rabble of the lowest orders of the people invaded Hyde Park
and the other public gardens, making day and night hideous with their
orgies. The famous Albert memorial statue was blown to shivers by
dynamite at high noon, and unbridled license became the watchword of the
masses. Such anarchy had never been known in England. Even the
government, who at first were inclined to suffer the demonstration
against the Royalists to gather head, grew alarmed. Absolute revolution
was imminent, and resolute measures had to be taken. Nor did the public
temper cool until threescore of the most wretched of those who live in
the foul dens of the great city lay dead along the streets of Kensington
and Belgravia. The military were forced to shoot them down to stem the
tumult.

Comparative quiet was restored at the end of ten days, and then the
government ventured to bring the prisoners to London under a strong
guard and lodge them in the Tower. Twenty thousand people, it is
estimated, dogged the footsteps of the troops who escorted them, and it
was only the points of bayonets and the muskets ready to deal death at a
word that secured their safety. The conspirators marched two and two
with lancers carrying loaded carbines on each flank. There were sixteen
in all. John Dacre and Geoffrey Ripon were side by side. Neither of them
had much hope of escaping the fury of the mob. The Duke of Bayswater and
Colonel Featherstone rode a little in advance. The poor old duke's hat
had fallen off, and his bald head was a shining mark for missiles. An
egg had struck his pate and made an offensive daub.

The streets through which the procession passed were lined with
spectators. From Government House, President Bagshaw and the leading
members of the party in power looked down upon their victims, and the
windows of Whitehall across the way afforded a view to the friends of
the opposition, among whom sat Richard Lincoln and his daughter. The
great commoner would have preferred to avoid the spectacle, but Mary had
expressed a desire to see the prisoners on their way through the
street