have fallen out of its frame,—­a circumstance as awful, in that age of omens, as the portrait that walked from its frame in the “Castle of Otranto,” but perhaps more easily accounted for.  On the eventful day of Dr. Lambe’s being torn to pieces by the mob, a circumstance occurred to Buckingham, somewhat remarkable to show the spirit of the times.  The king and the duke were in the Spring Gardens, looking on the bowlers; the duke put on his hat; one Wilson, a Scotchman, first kissing the duke’s hands, snatched it off, saying, “Off with your hat before the king.”  Buckingham, not apt to restrain his quick feelings, kicked the Scotchman; but the king interfering, said, “Let him alone, George; he is either mad or a fool.”  “No, sir,” replied the Scotchman, “I am a sober man; and if your majesty would give me leave, I will tell you that of this man which many know, and none dare speak.”  This was, as a prognostic, an anticipation of the dagger of Felton!

About this time a libel was taken down from a post in Coleman-street by a constable and carried to the lord-mayor, who ordered it to be delivered to none but his majesty.  Of this libel the manuscript letter contains the following particulars:—­

     P Who rules the kingdom?  The king.  Who rules the king?  The
     duke.  Who rules the duke?  The devil.  P

     Let the duke look to it; for they intend shortly to use him
     worse than they did the doctor; and if things be not shortly
     reformed they will work a reformation themselves.

The only advice the offended king suggested was to set a double watch every night!  A watch at a post to prevent a libel being affixed to it was no prevention of libels being written, and the fact is, libels were now bundled and sent to fairs, to be read by those who would venture to read to those who would venture to listen; both parties were often sent to prison.[238] It was about this time, after the sudden dissolution of the parliament, that popular terror showed itself in various shapes, and the spirit which then broke out in libels by night was assuredly the same, which, if these political prognostics had been rightly construed by Charles, might have saved the eventual scene of blood.  But neither the king nor his favourite had yet been taught to respect popular feelings.  Buckingham, after all, was guilty of no heavy political crimes; but it was his misfortune to have been a prime minister, as Clarendon says, “in a busy, querulous, froward time, when the people were uneasy under pretensions of reformation, with some petulant discourses of liberty, which their great impostors scattered among them like glasses to multiply their fears.”  It was an age, which was preparing for a great contest, where both parties committed great faults.  The favourite did not appear odious in the eyes of the king, who knew his better dispositions more intimately than the popular party, who were crying him down.  And Charles attributed to individuals, and “the great impostors,” the clamours which had been raised.