sober clothes, and carried no swords. Mr. Swain alone had a wig. I had
been away but seven months, and yet here was a perceptible change. In
these dignified and determined gentlemen England had more to fear than in
all the mobs at Mr. Wilkes's back. How I wished that Charles Fox might
have been with me.

The sun beat down upon the street. The shopkeepers were gathered at
their doors, but their chattering was hushed as the dreaded committee
passed. More than one, apparently, had tasted of its discipline.
Colonel Lloyd whispered to me to keep my countenance, that they were
not after very large game that morning,--only Chipchase, the butcher.
And presently we came upon the rascal putting up his shutters in much
precipitation, although it was noon. He had shed his blood-stained smock
and breeches, and donned his Sunday best,--a white, thick-set coat,
country cloth jacket, blue broadcloth breeches, and white shirt. A
grizzled cut wig sat somewhat awry under his bearskin hat. When he
perceived Mr. Carroll at his shoulder, he dropped his shutter against the
wall, and began bowing frantically.

"You keep good hours, Master Chipchase," remarked Colonel Lloyd.

"And lose good customers," Mr. Swain added laconically.

The butcher wriggled.

"Your honours must know there be little selling when the gentry be out of
town. And I was to take a holiday to-day, to see my daughter married."

"You will have a feast, my good man?" Captain Daniel asked.