The only public profession of an insurrectionary spirit this year was made, where it was to be expected, at Bartholomew Fair, which was then held in August. There came to the fair, when revelry was at its highest tide, a Yorkshire ‘squire named More. He was said to be of the blood of the famous Chancellor of that name. The ‘squire entered the Ram Inn, in Smithfield, and called for wine. The chambers were so crowded that he could find no place where to quaff it in comfort, nor the sort of company whom he cared to ask to make room for him. At length, he espied a table at which were seated two ‘Gentlemen of the Life Guards,’――a Captain Cunliffe and one of the same regiment variously described as ‘Corporal Giles Hill,’ and as the Captain’s ‘right-hand man.’ The ‘squire, saluting them, asked their leave to take a seat and drink his wine at their table. This was readily granted, and no small quantity of Bartholomew Fair wine seems to have been quaffed. Presently, entered the Fiddlers, who, after giving some taste of their quality, were ordered by the Yorkshire ‘squire to play the ‘Duke of Ormond’s March.’ In an instant the room was in an uproar. The Whigs were frantic with rage and the Jacks with delight. The gentlemen of the Life Guards grew angry, as they were bound to do; and their anger flamed higher when the descendant of the Lord Chancellor got to his feet and proposed the Duke of Ormond’s health. The landlord ran out of the room to escape being involved in unpleasant consequences. The Life Guardsmen railed at the Jacobite ‘squire as rogue and knave and liar. More persisted in giving the treasonable sentiment. ‘The Duke is an honest man,’ said the wine-flushed ‘squire,――‘let us drink his health.’ ‘You are a rascal Jacobite,’ cried the ‘right-hand man,’ ‘to propose such a health to gentlemen who wear his Majesty’s cloth and eat his bread.’ Corporal and ‘squire clapt their hands to their swords, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the Life Guardsman’s sword was ten inches deep in the ‘squire’s body; and the ‘squire himself, after a throe or two, was lying dead on the floor. The Jacobites swore that the trooper had slain him before the ‘squire could draw his own sword to defend his life. The Whigs swore all was done in fair fight, and pointed to the naked sword lying at More’s side. The Jacks accused them of having taken advantage of the confusion that prevailed, when the ‘squire fell, to draw his sword from the scabbard and lay it at his side.――The issue of all was that Hill was tried and was convicted of ‘Manslaughter.’ His sentence was ‘to be burnt in the hand;’ but this could be done, on occasions, with a cold iron; and the loyal soldier was restored, nothing the worse, to his regiment. [Sidenote: _STOPPING THE KING’S EXPRESSES._]