It was Sunday morning, but he perceived that smoke like a black cloud overhung the houses and crept far up the steeples and towers.

Presently a tumultuous rabble came howling and hooting out of the town.

At the head of them, and apparently pursued by them, was a man half clad, who turned about at every few yards, and, raising his arm, predicted woe and desolation to the people he was leaving.

He was a Quaker preacher, and his presence in Preston was the occasion of this disturbance.
"Oh, Preston," he cried, "as the waters run when the floodgates are up, so doth the visitation of God's love pass away from thee, oh, Preston!" "Get along with thee; thou righteous Crister," said one of the crowd, lifting a stick above his head.

"Get along, or ye'll have Gervas Bennett aback of ye again." "I shall never cease to cry aloud against deceit and vanities," shrieked the preacher above the tumult.