d through the people, as a boy will, diving
between legs to get a better view, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder,
bringing me up suddenly. And I recognized Mr. Matthias Tilghman, and
with him was Mr. Samuel Chase.

"Does your grandfather know you are here, lad?" said Mr. Tilghman.

I paused a moment for breath before I answered: "He attended the rally
at the dock himself, sir, and I believe enjoyed it."

Both gentlemen smiled, and Mr. Chase remarked that if all the other party
were like Mr. Carvel, troubles would soon cease. "I mean not Grafton,"
says he, with a wink at Mr. Tilghman.

"I'll warrant, Richard, your uncle would be but ill pleased to see you in
such company."

"Nay, sir," I replied, for I never feared to speak up, "there are you
wrong. I think it would please my uncle mightily."

"The lad hath indifferent penetration," said Mr, Tilghman, laughing, and
adding more soberly: "If you never do worse than this, Richard, Maryland
may some day be proud of you."

Mr. Hammond having finished his speech, a paper was placed in the hand of
the effigy, and the crowd bore it shouting and singing to the hill, where
Mr. John Shaw, the city carpenter, had made a gibbet. There nine and
thirty lashes were bestowed on the unfortunate image, the people crying
out that this was the Mosaic Law. And I cried as loud as any, though I
knew not the meaning of the words. They hung Mr. Hood to the gibbet and
set fire to a tar barrel under him, and so left him.

The town wore a holiday look that day, and I was loth to go back to
the Governor's house. Good patriots' shops were closed, their owners
parading as on Sunday in their best, pausing in knots at every corner
to discuss the affair with which the town simmered. I encountered old
Farris, the clockmaker, in his brown coat besprinkled behind with powder
from his queue. "How now, Master Richard?" says he, merrily. "This is
no place for young gentlemen of your persuasion."

Next I came upon young Dr. Courtenay, the wit of the Tuesday Club, of
whom I shall have more to say hereafter. He was taking the air with Mr.
James Fotheringay, Will's eldest brother, but lately back from Oxford and
the Temple.

The doctor wore five-pound ruffles and a ten-pound wig, was dressed in
cherry silk, and carried a long, clouded cane. His hat had the latest
cock, for he was our macaroni of Annapolis.

"Egad, Richard," he cries, "you are the only other loyalist I have seen
abroad to-day."

I r