The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Mobs were gathered together on the slightest possible pretext; and these tumultuous assemblages, while committing the most outrageous excesses, loudly proclaimed their hatred to the house of Hanover, and their determination to cut off the Protestant succession. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber.
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