"My children," concluded this venerable person, "do nothing rashly.
Cry not aloud, but pray for the welfare of New England and expect
patiently what the Lord will do in this matter."

The event was soon to be decided. All this time the roll of the drum
had been approaching through Cornhill, louder and deeper, till with
reverberations from house to house and the regular tramp of martial
footsteps it burst into the street. A double rank of soldiers made
their appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the passage, with
shouldered matchlocks and matches burning, so as to present a row of
fires in the dusk. Their steady march was like the progress of a
machine that would roll irresistibly over everything in its way. Next,
moving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the pavement, rode
a party of mounted gentlemen, the central figure being Sir Edmund
Andros, elderly, but erect and soldier-like. Those around him were his
favorite councillors and the bitterest foes of New England. At his
right hand rode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, that "blasted
wretch," as Cotton Mather calls him, who achieved the downfall of our
ancient government and was followed with a sensible curse-through life
and to his grave. On the other side was Bullivant, scattering jests
and mockery as he rode along. Dudley came behind with a downcast look,
dreading, as well he might, to meet the indignant gaze of the people,
who beheld him, their only countryman by birth, among the oppressors
of his native land. The captain of a frigate in the harbor and two or
three civil officers under the Crown were also there. But the figure
which most attracted the public eye and stirred up the deepest feeling
was the Episcopal clergyman of King's Chapel riding haughtily among
the magistrates in his priestly vestments, the fitting representative
of prelacy and persecution, the union of Church and State, and all