the saddler's man was a known bruiser, near twice as big as my lord
Viscount.

"Make way there," says he (he spoke in a high shrill voice, but with
a great air of authority). "Make way, and let her ladyship's carriage
pass." The men that were between the coach and the gate of the "Bell"
actually did make way, and the horses went in, my lord walking after
them with his hat on his head.

As he was going in at the gate, through which the coach had just rolled,
another cry begins, of "No Popery--no Papists!" My lord turns round and
faces them once more.

"God save the King!" says he at the highest pitch of his voice. "Who
dares abuse the King's religion? You, you d--d psalm-singing cobbler,
as sure as I'm a magistrate of this county I'll commit you!" The fellow
shrank back, and my lord retreated with all the honors of the day.
But when the little flurry caused by the scene was over, and the flush
passed off his face, he relapsed into his usual languor, trifled with
his little dog, and yawned when my lady spoke to him.

This mob was one of many thousands that were going about the country at
that time, huzzahing for the acquittal of the seven bishops who had been
tried just then, and about whom little Harry Esmond at that time knew
scarce anything. It was Assizes at Hexton, and there was a great meeting
of the gentry at the "Bell;" and my lord's people had their new liveries
on, and Harry a little suit of blue and silver, which he wore upon
occasions of state; and the gentlefolks came round and talked to my
lord: and a judge in a red gown, who seemed a very great personage,
especially complimented him and my lady, who was mighty grand. Harry