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sumes his seat, shrugging his shoulders.—As Cromwell's family entered, there was a great commotion in the assemblage, and all eyes were fixed on the wide gallery.

Voices in the Crowd.
'Tis the Protectress!—She looks dull enough!—
The daughter of one Bourchier.—She dreams
A pleasant dream.—But who is the young Eve
At her right hand?—This one?—No, that.—'Tis Lady Frances.—
His daughter?—Yes.—Has old Noll five or six?—
No, four. You see them all.—The youngest miss
Is beautiful.—Ah me! how hot it is!—
How one is crushed!—The crowd increases still.—
We're packed as closely as the sons of hell
Equal in number to the grains of sand.—
The birds are fortunate that they have wings.—
Some one is trampling me!
[Suddenly a cannon booms on the square near Westminster.
Syndercomb [to the conspirators, in an undertone.
Some one is trampling me! Aha! He comes!

[A second report. Great commotion in the square. Murmurs of anticipation in the hall.

Overton [to the conspirators, in an undertone.

Ye faithful, to your stations.

[The conspirators mingle with the crowd, forming an irregular line to the throne. The reports follow at regular intervals. Fanfares of trumpets and loud acclamations. The city officials go to meet the Protector.

Voices in the Crowd. …your stations. There he is!—

'Tis he!—Oh! let me look!—Himself!—Ah!—Oh!—
The Achan of the nations!—Pharaoh Necho!—