“You hulking coward!” says he; “you pack of screaming blackguards! how dare you attack children, and insult women?  Fling another shot at that carriage, you sneaking pigskin cobbler, and by the Lord I’ll send my rapier through you!”

Some of the mob cried, “Huzzah, my lord!” for they knew him, and 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 remembers her train borne up by her gentlewoman.  There was an assembly and ball at the great room at the “Bell,” and other young gentlemen of the county families looked on as he did.  One of them jeered him for his black eye, which was swelled by the potato, and another called him a bastard, on which he and Harry fell to fisticuffs.  My lord’s cousin, Colonel Esmond of Walcote, was there, and separated the two lads—­a great tall gentleman, with a handsome good-natured face.  The boy did not know how nearly in after-life he should be allied to Colonel Esmond, and how much kindness he should have to owe him.

There was little love between the two families.  My lady used not to spare Colonel Esmond in talking of him, for reasons which have been hinted already; but about which, at his tender age, Henry Esmond could be expected to know nothing.