not only seemed a more than usually prominent figure in the group, but that the face was wonderfully like Dr. White Kennett’s. It was, in fact, Kennett’s portrait, and when this became known, all London, but especially Jacobite London, was crowding to Whitechapel to behold this novel pillorying of the modern Iscariot. If any spectator had a doubt on the matter, it was removed by the black patch on Judas’s head. Kennett, in William’s days, used to go out with his dog and his gun, and with companions in his shooting excursions. On one of these ‘outings,’ an awkward companion let part of the charge of his gun go into the head of the divine. The consequences were grave, but Kennett was saved by undergoing the operation of trepanning. Ever afterwards he wore a black patch over the place. The artist had not forgotten the fact. Delighted Jacobites gazed at the figure in jeering crowds; and when the picture had been seen and re-seen by all the Tories in town, the Bishop of London interfered, and ordered it to be put away. Kennett could afford to laugh. His sermon on the witchcraft of the rebellion carried him to the episcopal throne at Peterborough. [Sidenote: _MISCHIEVOUS SERMONS._] The pulpits were not silenced. As what was considered the supreme moment of peril became imminent, they shook again with the trumpet-like roar of the preachers. The High Church lecturers inculcated obedience to the _rightful king_, without naming him. The thorough Whig Hanoverian clergy spared no epithets that they could fling, winged with fire and tipped with poison, at the Jacobites’ sovereign, ‘a boy sworn to destroy this kingdom,’ said one. Others were both foul and ferocious in dealing with the Chevalier who desired to get possession of his inheritance. The more eagerly they pelted him with unsavoury missiles, the more lavish they were in terms which amounted to worshipping the god-like monarch whom Heaven had sent for the advantage of England and the wonder of the world. On October 16th, 1715, one of these sermons was preached in St. Katherine Cree Church, London, by the minister, the Rev. Charles Lambe. The text was taken from Proverbs, xxiv. 21, ‘My son, fear thou the Lord and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change.’ Such a text foreshadows its comment in such hands as those of Lambe. But he went out of his way to assail the Chevalier, into the circumstances of whose birth――to show he was not the born son of Mary of Modena and James II.――Lambe entered in the gossiping manner of such matronly midwives as his bishop was then in the habit of licensing. ‘That was done in a corner,’ he said, with an air of mystery, ‘which should have been done openly to the utmost extent of decency.’ Had Lambe’s congregation been disposed to sleep, he had matter prepared for the awakening of them in a passage which was certain to touch them nearly. He knew that distant danger was unheeded, but he brought this suggestive picture of London to the attention of