in
the street outside listened, thinking that it might be a part of some
religious service which Madam was celebrating; but then she called
for "Britons, strike home!" which the simple young gentleman just from
Europe began to perform, when a great yell arose in the street, and
a large stone, flung from some rebellious hand, plumped into the
punch-bowl before me, and scattered it and its contents about our
dining-room.

My mother went to the window nothing daunted. I can see her rigid little
figure now, as she stands with a tossed-up head, outstretched frilled
arms, and the twinkling stars for a background, and sings in chorus,
"Britons, strike home! strike home!" The crowd in front of the palings
shout and roar, "Silence! for shame! go back!" but she will not go back,
not she. "Fling more stones, if you dare!" says the brave little lady;
and more might have come, but some gentlemen issuing out of the Raley
Tavern interpose with the crowd. "You mustn't insult a lady," says a
voice I think I know. "Huzza, Colonel! Hurrah, Captain! God bless
your honour!" say the people in the street. And thus the enemies are
pacified.

My mother, protesting that the whole disturbance was over, would have
had Mr. Hardy sing another song, but he gave a sickly grin, and said,
"he really did not like to sing to such accompaniments," and the
concert for that evening was ended; though I am bound to say that some
scoundrels returned at night, frightened my poor wife almost out of
wits, and broke every single window in the front of our tenement.
"Britons, strike home!" was a little too much; Madam should have
contented herself with "God save the King." Militia was drilled,
bullets were cast, supplies of ammunition got ready, cunning plans for
disappointing the royal ordinances devised and carried out; but, to be
sure, "God save the King" was the cry everywhere, and in reply to my
objections to the gentlemen-patriots, "Why, you are scheming for a
separation; you are bringing down upon you the inevitable wrath of the
greatest power in the world!"--the answer to me always was, "We mean no
separation at all; we yield to no men in loyalty; we glory in the name
of Britons," and so forth, and so forth. The powder-barrels were heaped
in the cellar, the train was laid, but Mr. Fawkes was persistent in his
dutiful petitions to King and Parliament and meant no harm, not he!
'Tis true when I spoke of the power of our country, I imagined she
would exert i