tehall on a certain day, he set up his stage where she could not fail
to perceive him. He had something important to say to her. As she drew
near, he cried out to the mob that he would give them a song on the
Duchess of Richmond and the Duke of Buckingham: nothing could be more
acceptable. 'The mob,' it is related, 'stopped the coach and the duchess
... Nay, so outrageous were the mob, that they forced the duchess, who
was then the handsomest woman in England, to sit in the boot of the
coach, and to hear him sing all his impertinent songs. Having left off
singing, he told them it was no more than reason that he should present
the duchess with some of the songs. So he alighted from his stage,
covered all over with papers and ridiculous little pictures. Having come
to the coach, he took off a black piece of taffeta, which he always wore
over one of his eyes, when his sister discovered immediately who he was,
yet had so much presence of mind as not to give the least sign of
mistrust; nay, she gave him some very opprobrious language, but was very
eager at snatching the papers he threw into her coach. Among them was a
packet of letters, which she had no sooner got but she went forward, the
duke, at the head of the mob, attending and hallooing her a good way out
of the town.'

[Illustration: VILLIERS IN DISGUISE--THE MEETING WITH HIS SISTER.]

A still more daring adventure was contemplated also by this young,
irresistible duke. Bridget Cromwell, the eldest daughter of Oliver, was,
at that time, a bride of twenty-six years of age; having married, in
1647, the saintly Henry Ireton, Lord Deputy of Ireland. Bridget was the
pattern heroine of the '_unco guid_,' the quintessence of all propriety;
the impersonation of sanctity; an ultra republican, who scarcely
accorded to her father the modest title of Protector. She was esteemed
by her party a 'personage of sublime growth:' 'humbled, not exalted,'
according to Mrs. Hutchinson, by her elevation: 'nevertheless,' says
that excellent lady, 'as my Lady Ireton was walking in the St. James's
Park, the Lady Lambert, as proud as her husband, came by where she was,
and as the present princess always hath precedency of the relict of the
dead, so she put by my Lady Ireton, who, notwithstanding her piety and
humility, was a little grieved at the affront.'

After this anecdote one cannot give much credence to this lady's
humility: Bridget was, however, a woman of powerful intellect, weakened