with heraldic and other designs in silver, that 'Mr Speaker
Seymour' used on this occasion.

The march was continued in the most miserable discomfort. Six hundred
horses had died either at sea or from the effects of the storm, and the
men, still suffering from a 'dissiness in the Heads after they had been
so long toss'd at Sea,' had extra burdens to carry. The weather was wet
and stormy, the roads were 'extreme rough and stony,' and when they
encamped and lay down for the night, 'their Heads, Backs and Arms sank
deep into the Clay.' Further, their rations were so spare that when
they came on an inclosure with turnips they felt they had found a feast.
'Some roasted them and others eat them raw, and made a brave Banquet.'
However, matters improved the next day as they drew nearer to Newton
Abbot. People came in crowds to see them. 'Now they began to give us
applause and pray for our Success.' Hitherto they had but wavered as
they said, 'the Irish would come and cut them in pieces if it should be
known.' On approaching Newton, 'a certain Divine went before the Army,
and finding 'twas their Market day, he went unto the Cross, or Town
hall,' and read the Declaration of the Prince of Orange. 'To which the
people with one Heart and Voice answered Amen: Amen, and forthwith
shouted for Joy, and made the Town ring with their echoing Huzzas.'

Such was the auspicious reception of the 'Deliverer of the Nation from
Popery, Slavery, Brass Money and Wooden Shoes.'

A very different note, jarring against this triumphal strain, is struck
by a Jacobite ballad on the same event, too long to quote entirely here.
It bears the conciliatory title of

THE BELGICK BOAR.

God prosper long our noble King,
Our hopes and wishes all:
A fatal landing late there did
In Devonshire befall.

To drive our Monarch from his throne
Prince Naso took his way.
The babe may rue that's newly-born
The landing at Torbay.

The stubborn Tarquin, void of grace,
A vow to Hell does make,
To force his father abdicate
And then his crown to take.

* * * * *

Then declarations flew about,
As thick as any hail,
Who, tho' no word was e'er made good,
Did mightily prevail.

We must be Papists or be slaves,
Was then the gen'ral cry,
But we'll do anything to save
Our darling liberty.

We'll all join with a foreign prin