CHAPTER II.
OPEN-AIR ELOQUENCE.
ONE very cold and windy evening, when there was every reason that folks should hasten on their way along the streets, a man who was walking in Tarrinzeau Field close under the walls of the tavern, stopped suddenly. It was during the last months of the winter of 1704 and 1705. This man, who wore the garb of a sailor, was of good mien and fine figure,—things imperative to courtiers, and not forbidden to common folk.
Why did he stop? To listen. To what? To a voice apparently speaking in the court on the other side of the wall,—a voice a little weakened by age, but so powerful, notwithstanding, that it reached the passer-by in the street. At the same time might be heard in the enclosure, from which the voice came, the hubbub of a crowd. This voice said:—
"Men and women of London, here I am! I sincerely congratulate you on being English. You are a great nation; I say more,—you are a great people. Your fisticuffs are even better than your sword-thrusts. You have an appetite. You are a nation that devours other nations,—a magnificent function! As politicians and philosophers, in the management of colonies, populations, and industry, and in the desire to do others any harm which may turn to your own good, you stand pre-eminent. The hour will come when two boards will be put up on earth; on one will be inscribed 'Men,' on
