In consequence of these disasters, there arose such great dissentions and heart-burnings in the British Cabinet, that at length it produced a duel between two of its most conspicuous members, Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Canning, in which Mr. Canning was badly wounded. In better times, the dispute possibly would perhaps have been settled much more conformably with the principles of justice, by both of them being impeached for their mal-administration, and their wanton and lavish waste of the best blood and treasure of their country.
In September the new theatre at Covent-Garden was opened; and, in consequence of the managers having increased the prices, a riot commenced, which continued night after night for nearly three months. It was universally known by the name of "the O. P. row;" that was, a contention for _old prices_, by the audience, and a determined struggle on the part of the managers, to enforce and continue the new and increased prices. I may be asked by some, "what has this to do with your Memoirs, or with the political history of the times"? I answer, it has nothing to do with my Memoirs, as I was not in London during the whole of the row; but I shall by and by show, that it had a great deal more to do with political matters, or rather with a _political party,_ than was at the time imagined, or than is even now suspected. I believe that, in the first instance, the spontaneous expression of public opinion was the cause of the row which took place; but I _know_ that it was afterwards taken under the special protection of that August body, the WESTMINSTER RUMP, by whom the regular, well-organised plan for the interruption of the performance, was framed and constantly kept up. It will be remembered that my worthy friend, Henry Clifford, took an active and conspicuous part in these proceedings. Mr. Clifford was a warm partizan of Sir Francis Burdett, and, although he possessed too noble a soul to belong regularly to such an illiberal faction as that of the Rump, yet, as they had not then discovered the _cloven-foot_ so unblushingly as they have since done, he was one of the number who frequently joined in their deliberations. This may, in some measure, account for their endeavoring to keep up the semblance of impartiality and fair-play, while he had any thing to do with them. Those who can recollect the circumstances, will also recollect, that Mr. Cowlam took a very prominent part in the row; and poor Sam Miller, the shoemaker, in Skinner-street, was another staunch attend ant at all the O. P. deliberations. Cowlam was the man who seconded the nomination of Sir Francis Burdett, when the baronet was first proposed for Westminster; at the time that Currier Adams, of Drury-lane, slunk from the office of seconder, after having previously pledged himself to undertake it. Like Falstaff, however, in this point, though not in wit, Adams has, ever since poor Cowlam's death, had the meanness to claim the honour which belongs to another. Cowlam also rode the white horse, as the 11 emblem of purity," at the epoch of the first chairing; which unlucky animal _Mister Cleary_ has since mounted! These, together with others of the Rump, held their meetings regularly every day, as well as every night after the performance was over. At length, when their resources were nearly exhausted (which, by the bye, I understood were furnished by a certain Baronet), and they were upon the point of retiring from the contest, poor Miller hit upon the expedient of the O.P. dinner, which was held at the Crown and Anchor; at which dinner Mr. John Kemble attended, and an arrangement and compromise was made between him and Henry Clifford; the one on the part of the theatre, and the other on the part of the public. Thus ended this mighty struggle, which, at times, bore a very alarming appearance, and was the subject of universal interest throughout the country. I have no doubt but that, under the rose, the managers of the theatre encouraged the proceeding, as it filled their coffers, there being a bumper, that is to say, a full house, almost every night. The cockneys enjoyed the fun, and every stranger who came to London must go to Covent-Garden, one night at least, to "see the row," and to carry an account of it into the country.