I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. She cried out with the pain of it. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. That's why I'm so anxious to get her to a haven. I’m a soldier, you see.
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