The place was worthy of such a trial.  It was the great hall of William Rufus, the hall which had resounded with acclamations at the inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers, the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the hall where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice with the placid courage which has half redeemed his fame.  Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting.  The avenues were lined with grenadiers.  The streets were kept clear by cavalry.  The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the heralds under Garter King-at-Arms.  The judges in their vestments of state attended to give advice on points of law.  Near a hundred and seventy lords, three-fourths of the Upper House as the Upper House then was, walked in solemn order from their usual place of assembling to the tribunal.  The junior Baron present led the way, George Eliott, Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled for his memorable defence of Gibraltar against the fleets and armies of France and Spain.  The long procession was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the great dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King.  Last of all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and noble bearing.  The grey old walls were hung with scarlet.  The long galleries were crowded by an audience such as has rarely excited the fears or the emulation of an orator.  There were gathered together, from all parts of a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous empire, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning, the representatives of every science and of every art.  There were seated round the Queen the fair-haired young daughters of the house of Brunswick.  There the Ambassadors of great Kings and Commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no other country in the world could present.  There Siddons, in the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene surpassing all the imitations of the stage.  There the historian of the Roman Empire thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Verres, and when, before a senate which still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa.  There were seen, side by side, the greatest painter and the greatest scholar of the age.  The spectacle had allured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and the sweet smiles of to many noble matrons.  It had induced Parr to suspend his labours in that dark and profound mine from which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition, a treasure too often buried in the earth, too often paraded with injudicious and inelegant ostentation, but still precious, massive, and splendid.