“He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
The axe’s edge did try;
Nor called the gods with vulgar spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.”
HE incident you are now to witness is without a parallel in the history of our land. The scene opens in Westminster Hall, the vast building erected for the judicial courts of the realm by William the Second. There is a troop of horse in the courtyard, and armed men guard the doors. Now a procession enters, and as the doors open to admit it you hear loud shouts of “Justice! justice!” from the mob in the courtyard. At the head of the procession are officers bearing the mace and the sword of state; behind them, in black robes, you see John Bradshaw, and with him a number of members of Parliament. He takes his seat on a chair of crimson velvet, and his companions range themselves to the right and left of him. The sword and the mace are placed on the table at which the clerk sits, and the doors are flung open. At once a tumultuous crowd rushes in, eager to witness the dread ceremony. They struggle for places, and the hall rings with their shouts. At length order is restored, and the clerk reads the Act of Parliament constituting the court. Then the roll of judges is called over. Out of one hundred and thirty-five on the list only sixty-nine answer to their names.