the microscope swarms with life. Perhaps he
resolves to kill himself and end all by one
quick movement of the knife, one leap from a
window on the paving-stones, or a savage rush
with teeth and hands at the keeper. One morning
the madman will awake as from an opium
dream. A great calm has fallen upon his
mind; the waves are still; the sky is blue
and serene; the vision is coming down—a
broad beam of sunshine slants from the
grated window to his bed. He leaps up and
looks. Yes, yes! There, in the sun, stands
the angel of Revelations, with the book in his
hand, and the voice comes proclaiming John
Thom a prophet of the Lord, sent through the
world to lower the price of bread, and to work
wonders, by fire and sword, until the unbelieving
turn to him and acknowledge him as the chosen
of Heaven. Nothing can shake this man now.
He is the chosen prophet, and when the angels
touch the doors they will open.

Four years he waits, and one morning
the doors open according to the prophecy.
Madness is cunning. Thom is silent about
his mission of fire and sword; he is sane
on some topics. He sees the angels leading
him from the accursed place, but he does
not speak of them, lest the madmen should
thrust him back again.

His madness is no longer secret and mistrustful;
it has risen to delirium, and his brain is on
fire at the rapid approach of his avatar. Voices
assure him from the great sunset clouds, red
with the coming vengeance; voices rise from the
hop-fields, from the flowers; the very birds
proclaim him prophet and chosen; the brooks
ripple out their welcome; the great angel in the
sun waves a sword, every sunbeam leads him
to victory and glory; yes, the moment will soon
come when the sword of Gideon is to be drawn,
the earthen jar crushed, and the light of warning
and retribution flashed into the eyes of the
guilty and the unbelieving.

The dangerous madman now takes up his
abode at the house of a Mr. Francis, at Fairbrook,
near Boughton. The saints can march
thence quick upon Canterbury, and give the
polluted cathedral to the flames, if such be the
decree of the armed angel in the sun. In the mean
time, Courtenay's wild ravings, strange threats,
and insane vigils, are objected to, naturally
enough, by the Francis family, and Sir William,
enraged, goes to lodge with a man named Wills,
in an adjoining cottags: where he can preach,
and rave, and prophesy as he likes, if he only
pays his rent regularly. Even money at last
cannot, however, make his mad ways bearable.
The noisy crowds of discontented country people
that he collects and harangues day and night
about the new poor-law become intolerable to
tired men wanting rest after a hard day's work.
He then betakes himself, with the air of an
indignant martyr, to Bossenden Farm, which is
occupied by a man named Culver.

The hour for the avatar at last comes. The
wind, ruffling through a hop-field, would be
signal enough for a man in that state of raving
religious insanity. James Gorham, a constable
at Boughton-under-Blean and Herne Hill, at one
o'clock on Sunday morning, May 27th, 1838,
going into the street, saw Courtenay coming
from Bossenden leading a grey horse which had
a fleece thrown over the saddle. Courtenay wore
a dark velvet shooting-coat, and had his hair,
whieh was of extraordinary length, parted in the
middle. About seven o'clock the same evening
he was again seen coming down the Ville of
Dunkirk; two men, named Tyler and Wills, were
with him as professed followers and converts.
Half an hour after, about one hundred persons
had assembled at the cottage of a labourer
named Kennett. The wild-eyed mysterious
man with the long hair told the people that they
might all go to work on the Monday, but that
on Tuesday they must do nothing. He proposed
a toast with some reference to the sufferings of
the poor and the means of redressing them, and
wanted a labourer's wife present to drink it also.

On the 29th, this mad fanatic entered
Boughton-street, followed by four labouring men,
George Branchett, William Burton, Thomas
Browne, and Thomas Barton. As they passed
the house of a man named William Brauchett,
Courtenay stops and says to the man who is
looking out:

"Will you have a slice, of bread?"

Branchett replies, "I want one."

Courtenay then says, " Come on, and I'll give
you one." The man followed. The standard
of the new religion is at last raised, the promise
to the converts is an immediate meal of victuals,
and future reforms as yet somewhat vague.

At Mr. Palmer's, a baker's, at Boughton, this
Kentish Mahomet stops and buys four
half-gallon loaves and some cheese; and at Smith's,
another baker's, he buys two more loaves. The
party then go up Staple-street towards Fairbrook.
They stop at Mr. Wills's, being now fifteen or
twenty strong, and Courtenay sends a man
named Tyler for some beer. The food is
then divided. After a rest of about an hour,
the men are marshalled outside. The leader
produces a white ilap with a blue border,
stamped with a symbolical rampant lion; Wills
is appointed standard-bearer; while another
follower, named Price, carries a pole with half a
loaf stuck on it. The prophet has been sent to
proclaim cheap bread, the general reformation
of things, and death to all who oppose him. The.
grey horse with the mystical saddle-cloth is led
by Thomas Browne. The conversation on the
march is ignorant, wild, and fanatical. The men
are suffering. They want help, they think this
man means right, ami will lead them to good.
Courtenay advises them to leave off swearing,
and tells them he wants nothing but what is
right. " He talks religion," these rough ignorant
ploughmen whisper, " as well as the parson at
Boughton, or at Faversham either." He produces
a Bible, and says:

"Here! This will bring us all home. I hope
it will. I intend to follow it."

He speaks fluently, but not in a loud voice.
Three times that day he makes them sing the
hymn—
Tlie Shepherd watches the sheep by night and day.