Their lordships entered the Hall in procession from the Upper House. A proclamation for silence hushed the remaining buzz of talk among the excited spectators. The managers of the impeachment for the Commons then took their places with much punctilious reverence. Next, order was given for the prisoners to be produced, one after the other, and then all eyes were directed towards the door from which each entered――the centre figure of a group of officials of distinguished rank, who held him in custody. The most remarkable official walked immediately behind the captive, bearing the processional axe with the edge turned away from the prisoner. This official was not the executioner, whose presence would not have been tolerated in such an assembly, but ‘the gentleman-jailor.’ The processional axe is not the weapon which is publicly exhibited; it is in charge of the resident governor. As soon as the prisoner reached his appointed place he sank on his knees, from which position the Lord High Steward blandly begged him to arise. Having obeyed, the poor prisoner turned to the peers and saluted them with the lowest bow he could accomplish, in testimony of his respect. Not to be behindhand in courtesy, the peers arose (such of them as were covered took off their hats), and bowed in return, as if they were quite glad to see the unhappy gentleman who was standing there for life or death. Lest he should build too lofty hopes on that basis of civility, or on any other token of politeness vouchsafed to him, the Lord High Steward, almost invariably, hastened to observe to him that he had better keep in memory that all those little attentions were tributes to his _rank_, which he hoped the peers would never forget. It was further intimated that they would send him to death should he be found a traitor, with every mark of detestation that their sense of politeness to him as a peer would permit them to show. [Sidenote: _DERWENTWATER’S PLEA._] The Earl of Derwentwater was the first in rank, and therefore had the poor privilege of being the first of the seven lords who was called upon to plead. The crimes for which he was impeached by the Commons having been published, the prisoner was asked what answer he had to make thereto? Was he guilty or not guilty? The reply was a mean apology. The best thing that may be said for it is, that it was probably the work of Lord Derwentwater’s legal advisers, and that he was counselled to be almost abject, as the only means of rescuing at least his life.