the bigwigs of the law still express it in their jargon, the turn came of a thousand private vengeances. Here, as in the Grand Hall, the women rendered themselves particularly prominent. All cherished some rancor against him, some for his malice, others for his ugliness. The latter were the most furious.

“Oh! mask of Antichrist!” said one.

“Rider on a broom handle!” cried another.

“What a fine tragic grimace,” howled a third, “and who would make him Pope of the Fools if to-day were yesterday?”

“‘Tis well,” struck in an old woman. “This is the grimace of the pillory. When shall we have that of the gibbet?”

“When will you be coiffed with your big bell a hundred feet under ground, cursed bellringer?”