he starlit
hours passed away serenely in that fond company.

So we came along the road; the Bishop's coach heading ours; and, with
some delays in procuring horses, we got to Hammersmith about four
o'clock on Sunday morning, the first of August, and half an hour after,
it being then bright day, we rode by my Lady Warwick's house, and so
down the street of Kensington.

Early as the hour was, there was a bustle in the street and many people
moving to and fro. Round the gate leading to the Palace, where the
guard is, there was especially a great crowd. And the coach ahead of us
stopped, and the Bishop's man got down to know what the concourse meant?

There presently came from out of the gate--Horse Guards with their
trumpets, and a company of heralds with their tabards. The trumpets
blew, and the herald-at-arms came forward and proclaimed GEORGE, by the
Grace of God, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of
the Faith. And the people shouted God save the King!

Among the crowd shouting and waving their hats, I caught sight of one
sad face, which I had known all my life, and seen under many disguises.
It was no other than poor Mr. Holt's, who had slipped over to England
to witness the triumph of the good cause; and now beheld its enemies
victorious, amidst the acclamations of the English people. The poor
fellow had forgot to huzzah or to take his hat off, until his neighbors
in the crowd remarked his want of loyalty, and cursed him for a Jesuit
in disguise, when he ruefully uncovered and began to cheer. Sure he
was the most unlucky of men: he never played a game but he lost it; or
engaged in a conspiracy but 'twas certain to end in defeat. I saw him in
Flanders after this, whence he went to Rome to the head-quarters of his
Order; and actually reappeared among us in America, very old, and
busy, and hopeful. I am not sure that he did not assume the hatchet and
moccasins there; and, attired in a blanket and war-paint, skulk about
a missionary amongst the Indians. He lies buried in our neighboring
province of Maryland now, with a cross over him, and a mound of earth
above him; under which that unquiet spirit is for ever at peace.

With the sound of King George's trumpets, all the vain hopes of the weak
and foolish young Pretender were blown away; and with that music, too, I
may say, the drama of my own life was ended. That happiness, which hath
subsequently crowned it, cannot be written in words; 'tis of its