ror closed, and was followed by a night
the strangest and most terrible that England had ever seen. Early in the
evening an attack was made by the rabble on a stately house which had
been built a few months before for Lord Powis, which in the reign of
George the Second was the residence of the Duke of Newcastle, and which
is still conspicuous at the northwestern angle of Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Some troops were sent thither: the mob was dispersed, tranquillity
seemed to be restored, and the citizens were retiring quietly to their
beds. Just at this time arose a whisper which swelled fast into a
fearful clamour, passed in an hour from Piccadilly to Whitechapel, and
spread into every street and alley of the capital. It was' said that
the Irish whom Feversham had let loose were marching on London and
massacring every man, woman, and child on the road. At one in the
morning the drums of the militia beat to arms. Everywhere terrified
women were weeping and wringing their hands, while their fathers and
husbands were equipping themselves for fight. Before two the capital
wore a face of stern preparedness which might well have daunted a real
enemy, if such an enemy had been approaching. Candles were blazing at
all the windows. The public places were as bright as at noonday. All
the great avenues were barricaded. More than twenty thousand pikes and
muskets lined the streets. The late daybreak of the winter solstice
found the whole City still in arms. During many years the Londoners
retained a vivid recollection of what they called the Irish Night. When
it was known that there had been no cause of alarm, attempts were
made to discover the origin of the rumour which had produced so much
agitation. It appeared that some persons who had the look and dress of
clowns just arrived from the country had first spread the report in the
suburbs a little before midnight: but whence these men came, and by whom
they were employed, remained a mystery. And soon news arrived from many
quarters which bewildered the public mind still more. The panic had
not been confined to London. The cry that disbanded Irish soldiers were
coming to murder the Protestants had, with malignant ingenuity, been
raised at once in many places widely distant from each other. Great
numbers of letters, skilfully framed for the purpose of frightening
ignorant people, had been sent by stage coaches, by waggons, and by the
post, to various parts of England. All these letters came