the jug, and looked
very hard into the mulled wine, to see how much remained.

John Willet and John Grueby appeared together. The one bearing the great
candlesticks, and the other the portmanteau, showed the deluded lord
into his chamber; and left the secretary alone, to yawn and shake
himself, and finally to fall asleep before the fire.

'Now, Mr Gashford sir,' said John Grueby in his ear, after what appeared
to him a moment of unconsciousness; 'my lord's abed.'

'Oh. Very good, John,' was his mild reply. 'Thank you, John. Nobody need
sit up. I know my room.'

'I hope you're not a-going to trouble your head to-night, or my lord's
head neither, with anything more about Bloody Mary,' said John. 'I wish
the blessed old creetur had never been born.'

'I said you might go to bed, John,' returned the secretary. 'You didn't
hear me, I think.'

'Between Bloody Marys, and blue cockades, and glorious Queen Besses,
and no Poperys, and Protestant associations, and making of speeches,'
pursued John Grueby, looking, as usual, a long way off, and taking no
notice of this hint, 'my lord's half off his head. When we go out o'
doors, such a set of ragamuffins comes a-shouting after us, "Gordon
forever!" that I'm ashamed of myself and don't know where to look. When
we're indoors, they come a-roaring and screaming about the house like so
many devils; and my lord instead of ordering them to be drove away, goes
out into the balcony and demeans himself by making speeches to 'em, and
calls 'em "Men of England," and "Fellow-countrymen," as if he was fond
of 'em and thanked 'em for coming. I can't make it out, but they're all
mixed up somehow or another with that unfort'nate Bloody Mary, and call
her name out till they're hoarse. They're all Protestants too--every man
and boy among 'em: and Protestants are very fond of spoons, I find, and
silver-plate in general, whenever area-gates is left open accidentally.
I wish that was the worst of it, and that no more harm might be to come;
but if you don't stop these ugly customers in time, Mr Gashford (and I
know you; you're the man that blows the fire), you'll find 'em grow a
little bit too strong for you. One of these evenings, when the weather
gets warmer and Protestants are thirsty, they'll be pulling London
down,--and I never heard that Bloody Mary went as far as THAT.'

Gashford had vanished long ago, and these remarks had been bestowed on
empty air. Not at all discomposed by the discover