On the evening of the 15th of March, the day before the Parliament dissolved itself, some bold fellows had come with a ladder to the Exchange in the City of London, where stood the pedestal from which a statue of Charles I.had been thrown down, and had deliberately painted out with a brush the Republican inscription on the pedestal, "_Exit tyrannus, Regum ultimus_," a large crowd gathering round them and shouting "God bless Charles the Second" round an extemporized bonfire.

That had been a signal; but for still another fortnight, though all knew what all were thinking, there had been a hesitation to speak out.

It was in the end of March or the first days of April 1660, when the elections had begun, that the hesitation suddenly ceased everywhere, and the torrent was at its full.

They were drinking Charles's health openly in taverns; they were singing songs about him everywhere; they were tearing down the Arms of the Commonwealth in public buildings, and putting up the King's instead.[1] [Footnote 1: Phillips, 695; Letters of M.de Bordeaux, Guizot, II.
381-395; Whitlocke, IV.

405; Pepys's Diary, from beginning to April 11, 1660.] Popular feeling having declared itself so unmistakeably for Charles, it was but ordinary selfish prudence in all public men who had anything to lose, or anything to fear, to be among the foremost to bid him welcome.