After the _Levée_ was over, a vast number of the lower orders assembled in the park, awaiting the arrival of some of the Anti-Reform peers. About five o'clock, the Marquis of Londonderry, accompanied by a friend, made his appearance on horseback, and was proceeding to the House of Lords. Before the Marquis was aware, he found himself in the midst of between 4000 and 5000 persons. At first, he was not recognised, and he was proceeding with apparent security, when, on a sudden, a voice exclaimed, 'There goes the Marquis of Londonderry.' In an instant he was assailed with pebbles. Several of the missiles struck his lordship, which so enraged him, that he pulled up his horse, and solemnly declared that he would shoot at the first individual who again dared to molest him. His lordship accompanied his declaration by pulling out a brace of pistols. This, for a time, so intimidated the mob, that they gave way in a slight degree; and, after the Marquis had conversed for a few seconds with a gentleman on horseback near him, he rode off towards the Horse Guards. Thither the mob followed; and, believing that his lordship only endeavoured to intimidate them, they commenced another attack. The showers of stones were now thicker than ever, and one stone, hurled with considerable force, struck the noble Marquis immediately over his right temple, cut through his hat, and inflicted a serious wound on his head, which rendered his lordship nearly insensible. The military here interposed, and the Marquis was placed in a hackney coach, and conveyed home." The Rev. G. R. Gleig, in his "Life of Arthur, Duke of Wellington" (edit. 1864, p. 360), gives the following account of the window-breaking at Apsley House:-- "The Duke was not in his place in the House of Lords on that memorable day when the King went down to dissolve Parliament.[10] He had been in attendance, for some time previously, at the sick bed of the Duchess, and she expired just as the Park guns began to fire. He was, therefore, ignorant of the state into which London had fallen, till a surging crowd swept up from Westminster to Piccadilly, shouting and yelling, and offering violence to all whom they suspected of being Anti-Reformers. By-and-by, volleys of stones came crashing through the windows at Apsley house, breaking them to pieces and doing injury to more than one valuable picture in the gallery. The Duke bore the outrage as well as he could, but determined never to run a similar risk again. He guarded his windows, as soon as quiet was restored, with iron shutters, and left them there to the day of his death, a standing memento of a nation's ingratitude."