"On the afternoon of the 17th I visited, in company with some military medical officers, the infirmary. I saw there from twelve to twenty cases of sabre wounds; several persons that were severely crushed, and, among these, two women, who appeared not likely to recover. One man was in a dying state from a gun-shot wound in the head; another had had his leg amputated: both these casualties arose from the fire of the 88th the night before. Two or three were reputed dead; one of them, a constable, killed in St. Peter's Field; but I saw none of the bodies.
"As shortly as I could, I have now related what fell under my own observation during these twenty-four hours.... I trust that I have, at least in some degree, complied with your wishes; and I beg you will believe me, my dear Sir, yours most truly,
"Willm. J. Hylton Jolliffe."
"To Thomas Grimston Bucknall Estcourt,
"Esq., M.P."
[STATE OF ENGLAND (1819).]
Source.—Works of P. B. Shelley.
An old, mad, blind, despised and dying king,—
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring,—