wantonly stretched forth now that all was safe, as it had been basely
paralysed in time of danger.

Two cripples--both mere boys--one with a leg of wood, one who dragged
his twisted limbs along by the help of a crutch, were hanged in this
same Bloomsbury Square. As the cart was about to glide from under them,
it was observed that they stood with their faces from, not to, the house
they had assisted to despoil; and their misery was protracted that this
omission might be remedied. Another boy was hanged in Bow Street; other
young lads in various quarters of the town. Four wretched women, too,
were put to death. In a word, those who suffered as rioters were, for
the most part, the weakest, meanest, and most miserable among them. It
was a most exquisite satire upon the false religious cry which had led
to so much misery, that some of these people owned themselves to be
Catholics, and begged to be attended by their own priests.

One young man was hanged in Bishopsgate Street, whose aged grey-headed
father waited for him at the gallows, kissed him at its foot when he
arrived, and sat there, on the ground, till they took him down. They
would have given him the body of his child; but he had no hearse, no
coffin, nothing to remove it in, being too poor--and walked meekly away
beside the cart that took it back to prison, trying, as he went, to
touch its lifeless hand.

But the crowd had forgotten these matters, or cared little about them
if they lived in their memory: and while one great multitude fought
and hustled to get near the gibbet before Newgate, for a parting look,
another followed in the train of poor lost Barnaby, to swell the throng
that waited for him on the spot.

Chapter 78

On this same day, and about this very hour, Mr Willet the elder sat
smoking his pipe in a chamber at the Black Lion. Although it was hot
summer weather, Mr Willet sat close to the fire. He was in a state of
profound cogitation, with his own thoughts, and it was his custom
at such times to stew himself slowly, under the impression that that
process of cookery was favourable to the melting out of his ideas,
which, when he began to simmer, sometimes oozed forth so copiously as to
astonish even himself.

Mr Willet had been several thousand times comforted by his friends and
acquaintance, with the assurance that for the loss he had sustained in
the damage done to the Maypole, he could 'come upon the county.' But as
this phrase happened