admitting the usher as in times past.  But on arriving there, never was there witnessed such a scene of confusion.  The churchyard was crowded with ragamuffins of every kind, from all the neighbouring parishes; scarcely was there a sot or deboshed fellow within the district who had not either come himself or found a substitute; gipsies, beggarwomen, and thimbleriggers were thick as blackberries; while Jack himself—­who, upon hearing of what was going forward, had come down by the night coach with all expedition—­was standing on a tombstone near the doorway, and holding forth to the whole bevy of rascals whom he had assembled about him.  It was evident from his tones and gestures that Jack had been exciting the mob in every possible way; but as the justices and the constables drew near, he changed the form of his countenance, pulled a psalm-book out of his pocket, and, with much sanctity and appearance of calmness, gave out the tune; in which the miscellaneous assemblage around him joined, with similar unction and devotion.  When the procession reached the door, they found the whole inside of the schoolhouse already packed with urchins and blackguards of all kinds, who, having previously gained admission by the window, had forcibly barricaded the door against the constables, being assisted in the defence thereof by the mob without, who formed a double line, and kept hustling the poor usher and the constables from side to side, helping themselves to a purse or two in passing, and calling out at the same time, “take care of pickpockets”—­occasionally amusing themselves also by playfully smashing the beaver of some of the justices of the peace over their face, to the tune of “all round my hat,” sung in chorus, on the Mainzerian system, amidst peals of laughter.

Meantime Jack was skipping up and down upon the tombstone, calling out to his myrmidons—­“Good friends!  Sweet friends!  Let me not stir your spirits up to mutiny.  Though that cairn of granite stones lies very handy and inviting, I pray you refrain from it.  Touch it not.  I humbly entreat my friend with the dirty shirt not to break the sconce of the respectable gentleman whom I have in my eye, with that shillelah of his—­though I must admit that he is labouring under strong and just provocation.”  “For mercy’s sake, my dear sir!” he would exclaim to a third—­“don’t push my respected friend the justice into yonder puddle—­the one which lies so convenient on your right hand there; though, to be sure, the ground is slippery, and the thing might happen, in a manner without any one’s being able to prevent it.”  And so on he went, taking care to say nothing for which the justices could afterwards venture to commit him to Bridewell; but, in truth, stirring up the rabble to the utmost, by nods, looks, winks, and covert speeches, intended to convey exactly the opposite meaning from what the words bore.