But they keenly felt that, in the short campaign which had decided the fate of their country, theirs had been an inglorious part.

Forty fine regiments, a regular army such as had never before marched to battle under the royal standard of England, had retreated precipitately before an invader, and had then, without a struggle, submitted to him.

That great force had been absolutely of no account in the late change, had done nothing towards keeping William out, and had done nothing towards bringing him in.

The clowns, who, armed with pitchforks and mounted on carthorses, had straggled in the train of Lovelace or Delamere, had borne a greater part in the Revolution than those splendid household troops, whose plumed hats, embroidered coats, and curvetting chargers the Londoners had so often seen with admiration in Hyde Park.

The mortification of the army was increased by the taunts of the foreigners, taunts which neither orders nor punishments could entirely restrain.