The Sun.
London, England, 1862-10-13 00:00:00

HYDE PARK YESTERDAY.

A variety of influences combined yesterday to the
preservation of public peace in the metropolis, and
it is somewhat difficult to determine which was the
most effectual. There was first Sir Richard Mayne's
proclamation (which we published on Saturday)
announcing that the powers of the police would be
directed henceforth to conserving the metropolitan
parks to their legitimate use—the quiet and
peaceable recreation of the public—and that the
enthusiasts who had been allowed for some time to
make them the battle-ground of their extreme doc-

trines, must henceforth find some more congenia

and restricted arena for harangues which often
seem to aim rather at personal conflict
than conscientious conviction. Then there was
the knowledge very generally circulated that the
text of this proclamation would be enforced by the
presence of a powerful force of police—sufficient to
quell any disturbance which the efforts of those
who might be disposed to renew the riotous pro-
ceedings of the two preceding Sundays might occa-
sion. There was, thirdly, the exclusion by order of
all soldiers not actually on duty from the scene of
last week's riots, and the presence of a detachment
of household troops at the Magazine Guard, upon
which, in case of need, the police could fall back.
But more than all, there was the rain, against
whose powers Garibaldian and Papal enthusiasm
were alike impotent, All these influences, however,
failed to prevent a very considerable gathering in
Hyde-park yesterday, but it was composed for the
most part of more peaceable elements than those
which formed the constituents of the infuriated
rabble of the two previous Sundays. There was, as
a matter of course, a pretty liberal sprinkling of
pickpockets and habitual law-breakers, ready to
take advantage of any chance which would afford
them an opportunity of exercising their predatory
vocation. There was likewise a fair representation
of London roughs, eostermongers, and blackguards
of every grade, but the majority of the crowd was
composed of respectably-dressed and well. conducted
persons apparently attracted to the spot by curio-
sity, and assured by the precautionary measures
taken by the authorities. There was no promi-
nent display either of the civil or military power,
while there was a sufficient indication of the
presence of both to satisfy everybody that
any attempt to break the peace would be
vigorously and successfully met. At each en-
trance of the park was stationed, in addition to
some half a dozen of the A division, a picket
of the Guards, in fatigue dress, great-coated, and
with their side-arms; their orders being to exclude
all soldiers not actually on duty. In all parts of the
park itself constables of the same division of police
—(the grenadiers of the force)—were spread, patrol-
ing in couples ; commissioners, superintendents,
and inspectors, being upon the spot to conduct
more active operations, should circumstances arise
to render them necessary; the great body of the
police, however, were entirely out of sight, being
stationed at various places in and around the
park, within hailing distance and instantly avail-
able should their services be required.
On entering the park, about two o'clock, the con-
tinuous stream of people wending its way to the
open space between the Bayswater-road and the
Serpentine—generally known as the review-ground
—pointed out the locality of the previous encounter,
and the spot to which public curiosity was still di-
rected. The famous Redan, however, the posses-
sion of which had been so fiercely contested a week
before, had vanished—the heap of manure, of which
it was composed, having—as it might have been be-
fore—been scattered over the grass. At and around
this champs de battaille were congregated by three
o'clock some 6,000 or 7,000 persons, including seve-
ral respectably-dressed women, and, as is always
the case in a Lonfion mob, a very large proportion
of ragged boys, from ten years old upwards. These
6,000 or 7,000 people—the largest number that was
assembled at any time during the whole afternoon
—grouped themselves about in little knots under
the several clumps of trees, apparently listlessly
waiting for what was to come. Here and there an
itinerant orator would open with "My friend," or
"Fellow-countrymen," or "My Christian brethren,"
but a gentle hint from the police, who mingled
themselves in moderate proportions amongst these
little groups, that indulgence in the cacoethes loqu-
ends upon forbidden ground would probably lead to
an acquaintance with the silent system as enforced
in the House of Correction, invariably extinguished
the oratorical fire. Of those who took part in the
conflict of the two previous Sundays there were few
present. In some places the strongly and peculiarly
marked Connaught features showed that Ireland
and the Pope were not altogether unrepresented,
while earnest, cadaverous-looking faces, surrounded
generally with long, flowing hair—many of them
familiar at a certain class of lecture halls where red
republicanism and ultra-freethought are popular—
proved that the opposite faction was not without
its champions.

Shortly after 3 o'clock there was a tremendous
shout and a rush from all quarters towards the
Magazine-barracks, and many supposed that the
fight had actually commenced. Upon inquiry, how-
ever, it turned out the alarm had been occasioned
simply by the parading of the relief guard,
which had been magnified by the mischievous
imagination of some of the bystanders into an
advance of the military upon the populace.
Presently there was another shout and a rush,
the crowd now making for the rising ground at the
back of the barracks towards the wall of Kensing-
ton-gardens, and running pell-mell towards some
object which in the distance was wholly undiscerni-
ble. But a very little investigation sufficed to clear up
this mystery. It was neither papist, Garibaldian,
nor Guardsman that the mob was chasing, but
simply an unfortunate dog, who having got into
the crowd was hunted out, and for want of better
amusement, followed with yells and hootings until
he was enabled to distance kis pursuers. This sort
of dog hunt was repeated from time to time, as often
as any unlucky animal of the canine species came
within sight, and would have gone on probably till
dark had the game been sufficiently numerous. But
about half-past three the rain, which bad been
falling partially all the afternoon, set in in earnest.
The A heavy, drifting, penetrating, and continuous
shower swept across the park, against which all the
precautions
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half-
leafless trees, and the colonnade of the barracks,
tem-
porary protection of either wisely started for home.
For a time the occupants of the colonnade were