The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children

Mrs. Theresa instantly rang the bell, in spite of all expostulation – ordered Christopher to send up the other chimney-sweeper – triumphed in observing that Christopher did not know Frederick when he came into the room; and offered to lay any wager that the other chimney-sweeper would mistake him for his companion. And so he did; and when Frederick spoke, the voice was so very like, that it was scarcely possible that he should have perceived the difference.

Marianne was diverted by this scene; but she started when, in the midst of it, they heard a bell ring. 'That's the lady's bell, and we must go,' said the blunt chimney-sweeper. 'Go, then, about your business,' said Mrs. Theresa, 'and here's a shilling for you, to drink, my honest fellow. I did not know you were so much bruised when I first saw you. I won't detain you. Go,' said she, pushing Frederick towards the door. Marianne sprang forward to speak to him; but Mrs. Theresa kept her off; and, though Frederick resisted, the lady shut the door upon him by superior force, and, having locked it, there was no retreat. Mrs. Tattle and Marianne waited impatiently for Frederick's return. 'I hear them,' cried Marianne, 'I hear them coming downstairs.' They listened again, and all was silent. At length they suddenly heard a great noise of many steps in the hall. 'Merciful!' exclaimed Mrs. Theresa, 'it must be your father and mother come back.' Marianne ran to unlock the room door, and Mrs. Theresa followed her into the hall. The hall was rather dark, but under the lamp a crowd of people; all the servants in the house having gathered together.

As Mrs. Theresa approached, the crowd opened in silence, and in the midst she beheld Frederick, with blood streaming from his face. His head was held by Christopher; and the chimney-sweeper was holding a basin for him. 'Merciful! what will become of me?' exclaimed Mrs. Theresa. 'Bleeding! he'll bleed to death! Can nobody think of anything that will stop blood in a minute? A key, a large key down his back – a key – has nobody a key? Mr. and Mrs. Montague will be here before he has done bleeding. A key! cobwebs! a puff ball! for mercy's sake! Can nobody think of anything that will stop blood in a minute? Gracious me! he'll bleed to death, I believe.'

'He'll bleed to death! Oh, my brother!' cried Marianne, catching hold of the words; and terrified, she ran upstairs, crying, 'Sophy, oh, Sophy! come down this minute, or he'll be dead! My brother's bleeding to death! Sophy! Sophy! come down, or he'll be dead!'

'Let go the basin, you,' said Christopher, pulling the basin out of the chimney-sweeper's hand, who had all this time stood in silence; 'you are not fit to hold the basin for a gentleman.' 'Let him hold it,' said Frederick; 'he did not mean to hurt me.' 'That's more than he deserves. I'm certain sure he might have known well enough it was Mr. Frederick all the time, and he'd no business to go to fight – such a one as he – with a gentleman.' 'I did not know he was a gentleman,' said the chimney-sweeper! 'how could I?' 'How could he, indeed?' said Frederick; 'he shall hold the basin.'

'Gracious me! I'm glad to hear him speak like himself again, at any rate,' cried Mrs. Theresa. 'And here comes Miss Sophy, too.' 'Sophy!' cried Frederick. 'Oh, Sophy, don't you come – don't look at me; you'll despise me.' 'My brother! – where? where?' said Sophy, looking, as she thought, at the two chimney-sweepers.

'It's Frederick,' said Marianne; 'that's my brother.'

'Miss Sophy, don't be alarmed,' Mrs. Theresa began; 'but gracious goodness! I wish Miss Bertha – '

At this instant a female figure in white appeared upon the stairs; she passed swiftly on, whilst every one gave way before her. 'Oh, Miss Bertha!' cried Mrs. Theresa, catching hold of her gown to stop her, as she came near Frederick. 'Oh, Miss Eden, your beautiful India muslin! take care of the chimney-sweeper, for heaven's sake.' But she pressed forward.

'It's my brother, will he die?' cried Marianne, throwing her arms round her, and looking up as if to a being of a superior order. 'Will he bleed to death?' 'No, my love!' answered a sweet voice; 'do not frighten thyself.'

'I've done bleeding,' said Frederick. 'Dear me, Miss Marianne, if you would not make such a rout,' cried Mrs. Tattle. 'Miss Bertha, it's nothing but a frolic. You see Mr. Frederick Montague only in a masquerade dress. Nothing in the world but a frolic, ma'am. You see he's stopped bleeding. I was frightened out of my wits at first. I thought it was his eye, but I see it's only his nose. All's well that ends well. Mr. Frederick, we'll keep your counsel. Pray, ma'am, let us ask no questions; it's only a boyish frolic. Come, Mr. Frederick, this way, into my room, and I'll give you a towel and some clean water, and you can get rid of this masquerade dress. Make haste, for fear your father and mother should drop in upon us.'

'Do not be afraid of thy father and mother. They are surely thy best friends,' said a voice. It was the voice of an elderly gentleman, who now stood behind Frederick. 'Oh, sir, oh, Mr. Eden,' said Frederick, turning to him. 'Don't betray me! for goodness' sake!' whispered Mrs. Tattle, 'say nothing about me.' 'I'm not thinking about you. Let me speak,' cried he, pushing away her hand, which stopped his mouth. 'I shall say nothing about you, I promise you,' said Frederick, with a look of contempt. 'No, but for your own sake, my dear sir, your papa and mamma. Bless me! is not that Mrs. Montague's carriage?'

'My brother, ma'am,' said Sophy, 'is not afraid of my father and mother's coming back. Let him speak; he was going to speak the truth.'

'To be sure, Miss Sophia, I wouldn't hinder him from speaking the truth; but it's not proper, I presume, ma'am, to speak truth at all times, and in all places, and before everybody, servants and all. I only wanted, ma'am, to hinder your brother from exposing himself. A hall, I apprehend, is not a proper place for explanation.'

'Here,' said Mr. Eden, opening the door of his room, which was on the opposite side of the hall to Mrs. Tattle's. 'Here is a place,' said he to Frederick, 'where thou mayst speak the truth at all times, and before everybody.' 'Nay, my room's at Mr. Frederick Montague's service, and my door's open too. This way, pray,' said she, pulling his arm. But Frederick broke from her, and followed Mr. Eden. 'Oh, sir, will you forgive me?' cried he. 'Forgive thee! – and what have I to forgive?' 'Forgive, brother, without asking what,' said Bertha, smiling.

'He shall know all!' cried Frederick; 'all that concerns myself, I mean. Sir, I disguised myself in this dress; I came up to your room to-night on purpose to see you, without your knowing it, that I might mimic you. The chimney-sweeper, where is he?' said Frederick, looking round; and he ran into the hall to seek for him. 'May he come in? he may – he is a brave, an honest, good, grateful boy. He never guessed who I was. After we left you we went down to the kitchen together, and there, fool as I was, for the pleasure of making Mr. Christopher and the servants laugh, began to mimic you. This boy said he would not stand by and hear you laughed at; that you had saved his life; that I ought to be ashamed of myself; that you had just given me half a crown; and so you had; but I went on, and told him I'd knock him down if he said another word. He did; I gave the first blow; we fought; I came to the ground; the servants pulled me up again. They found out, I don't know how, that I was not a chimney-sweeper. The rest you saw. And now can you forgive me, sir?' said Frederick to Mr. Eden, seizing hold of his hand.

'The other hand, friend,' said the Quaker, gently withdrawing his right hand, which everybody now observed was much swelled, and putting it into his bosom again. 'This, and welcome,' offering his other hand to Frederick, and shaking his with a smile. 'Oh, that other hand!' said Frederick, 'that was hurt, I remember. How ill I have behaved – extremely ill! But this is a lesson that I shall never forget as long as I live. I hope for the future I shall behave like a gentleman.' 'And like a man – and like a good man, I am sure thou wilt,' said the good Quaker, shaking Frederick's hand affectionately; 'or I am much mistaken, friend, in that black countenance.'

'You are not mistaken,' cried Marianne. 'Frederick will never be persuaded again by anybody to do what he does not think right; and now, brother you may wash your black countenance.'

Just when Frederick had got rid of half his black countenance, a double knock was heard at the door. It was Mr. and Mrs. Montague. 'What will you do now?' whispered Mrs. Theresa to Frederick, as his father and mother came into the room. 'A chimney-sweeper covered with blood!' exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Montague. 'Father, I am Frederick,' said he, stepping forward towards them, as they stood in astonishment. 'Frederick! my son!' 'Yes, mother, I'm not hurt half so much as I deserve; I'll tell you – ' 'Nay,' interrupted Bertha, 'let my brother tell the story this time. Thou hast told it once, and told it well; no one but my brother could tell it better.'

'A story never tells so well the second time, to be sure,' said Mrs. Theresa; 'but Mr. Eden will certainly make the best of it.'

Without taking any notice of Mrs. Tattle, or her apprehensive looks, Mr. Eden explained all he knew of the affair in a few words. 'Your son,' concluded he, 'will quickly put off his dirty dress. The dress hath not stained the mind; that is fair and honourable. When he found himself in the wrong, he said so; nor was he in haste to conceal his adventure from his father; this made me think well of both father and son. I speak plainly, friend, for that is best. But what is become of the other chimney-sweeper? He will want to go home,' said Mr. Eden, turning to Mrs. Theresa. Without making any reply, she hurried out of the room as fast as possible, and returned in a few moments, with a look of extreme consternation.

'Here is a catastrophe indeed! Now, indeed, Mr. Frederick, your papa and mamma have reason to be angry. A new suit of clothes! – the barefaced villain! gone! no sign of them in my closet, or anywhere. The door was locked; he must have gone up the chimney, out upon the leads, and so escaped; but Christopher is after him. I protest, Mrs. Montague, you take it too quietly. The wretch! – a new suit of clothes, blue coat and buff waistcoat. I never heard of such a thing! I declare, Mr. Montague, you are vastly good, not to be in a passion,' added Mrs. Theresa.

'Madam,' replied Mr. Montague, with a look of much civil contempt, 'I think the loss of a suit of clothes, and even the disgrace that my son has been brought to this evening, fortunate circumstances in his education. He will, I am persuaded, judge and act for himself more wisely in future. Not will he be tempted to offend against humanity, for the sake of being called "The best mimic in the world."'

THE BARRING OUT
OR,
PARTY SPIRIT

'The mother of mischief,' says an old proverb, 'is no bigger than a midge's wing.'

At Doctor Middleton's school there was a great tall dunce of the name of Fisher, who never could be taught how to look out a word in the dictionary. He used to torment everybody with – 'Do pray help me! I can't make out this one word.' The person who usually helped him in his distress was a very clever, good-natured boy, of the name of De Grey, who had been many years under Dr. Middleton's care, and who, by his abilities and good conduct, did him great credit. The doctor certainly was both proud and fond of him; but he was so well beloved, or so much esteemed, by his companions, that nobody had ever called him by the odious name of favourite, until the arrival of a new scholar of the name of Archer.

Till Archer came, the ideas of favourites and parties were almost unknown at Dr. Middleton's; but he brought all these ideas fresh from a great public school, at which he had been educated – at which he had acquired a sufficient quantity of Greek and Latin, and a superabundant quantity of party spirit. His aim, the moment he came to a new school, was to get to the head of it, or at least to form the strongest party. His influence, for he was a boy of considerable abilities, was quickly felt, though he had a powerful rival, as he thought proper to call him, in De Grey; and, with him, a rival was always an enemy. De Grey, so far from giving him any cause of hatred, treated him with a degree of cordiality which would probably have had an effect upon Archer's mind, if it had not been for the artifices of Fisher.

It may seem surprising that a great dunce should be able to work upon a boy like Archer, who was called a great genius; but when genius is joined to a violent temper, instead of being united to good sense, it is at the mercy even of dunces.

Fisher was mortally offended one morning by De Grey's refusing to translate his whole lesson for him. He went over to Archer, who, considering him as a partisan deserting from the enemy, received him with open arms, and translated his whole lesson, without expressing much contempt for his stupidity. From this moment Fisher forgot all De Grey's former kindness, and considered only how he could in his turn mortify the person whom he felt to be so much his superior.

De Grey and Archer were now reading for a premium, which was to be given in their class. Fisher betted on Archer's head, who had not sense enough to despise the bet of a blockhead. On the contrary, he suffered him to excite the spirit of rivalship in its utmost fury by collecting the bets of all the school. So that this premium now became a matter of the greatest consequence, and Archer, instead of taking the means to secure a judgment in his favour, was listening to the opinions of all his companions. It was a prize which was to be won by his own exertions; but he suffered himself to consider it as an affair of chance. The consequence was, that he trusted to chance – his partisans lost their wagers, and he the premium – and his temper.

'Mr. Archer,' said Dr. Middleton, after the grand affair was decided, 'you have done all that genius alone could do; but you, De Grey, have done all that genius and industry united could do.'

'Well!' cried Archer, with affected gaiety, as soon as the doctor had left the room – 'well, I'm content with my sentence. Genius alone for me – industry for those who want it,' added he, with a significant look at De Grey.

Fisher applauded this as a very spirited speech; and, by insinuations that Dr. Middleton 'always gave the premium to De Grey,' and 'that those who had lost their bets might thank themselves for it, for being such simpletons as to bet against the favourite,' he raised a murmur highly flattering to Archer amongst some of the most credulous boys; whilst others loudly proclaimed their belief in Dr. Middleton's impartiality. These warmly congratulated De Grey. At this Archer grew more and more angry, and when Fisher was proceeding to speak nonsense for him, pushed forward into the circle to De Grey, crying, 'I wish, Mr. Fisher, you would let me fight my own battles!'

'And I wish,' said young Townsend, who was fonder of diversions than of premiums, or battles, or of anything else – 'I wish that we were not to have any battles; after having worked like horses, don't set about to fight like dogs. Come,' said he, tapping De Grey's shoulder, 'let us see your new playhouse, do – it's a holiday, and let us make the most of it. Let us have the "School for Scandal," do; and I'll play Charles for you, and you, De Grey, shall be my little Premium. Come, do open this new playhouse of yours to-night.'

'Come then!' said De Grey, and he ran across the playground to a waste building at the farthest end of it, in which, at the earnest request of the whole community, and with the permission of Dr. Middleton, he had with much pain and ingenuity erected a theatre.

'The new theatre is going to be opened! Follow the manager! Follow the manager!' echoed a multitude of voices.

'Follow the manager!' echoed very disagreeably in Archer's ear; but as he could not be left alone, he was also obliged to follow the manager. The moment that the door was unlocked, the crowd rushed in; the delight and wonder expressed at the sight were great, and the applause and thanks which were bestowed upon the manager were long and loud.

Archer at least thought them long, for he was impatient till his voice could be heard. When at length the acclamations had spent themselves, he walked across the stage with a knowing air, and looking round contemptuously —

'And is this your famous playhouse?' cried he. 'I wish you had, any of you, seen the playhouse I have been used to?'

These words made a great and visible change in the feelings and opinions of the public. 'Who would be a servant of the public? or who would toil for popular applause?' A few words spoken in a decisive tone by a new voice operated as a charm, and the playhouse was in an instant metamorphosed in the eyes of the spectators. All gratitude for the past was forgotten, and the expectation of something better justified to the capricious multitude their disdain of what they had so lately pronounced to be excellent.

Every one now began to criticise. One observed 'that the green curtain was full of holes, and would not draw up.' Another attacked the scenes. 'Scenes! they were not like real scenes – Archer must know best, because he was used to these things.' So everybody crowded to hear something of the other playhouse. They gathered round Archer to hear the description of his playhouse, and at every sentence insulting comparisons were made. When he had done, his auditors looked round, sighed, and wished that Archer had been their manager. They turned from De Grey as from a person who had done them an injury. Some of his friends – for he had friends who were not swayed by the popular opinion – felt indignation at this ingratitude, and were going to express their feelings; but De Grey stopped them, and begged that he might speak for himself.

'Gentlemen,' said he, coming forward, as soon as he felt that he had sufficient command of himself. 'My friends, I see you are discontented with me and my playhouse. I have done my best to please you; but if anybody else can please you better, I shall be glad of it. I did not work so hard for the glory of being your manager. You have my free leave to tear down – ' Here his voice faltered, but he hurried on – 'You have my free leave to tear down all my work as fast as you please. Archer, shake hands first, however, to show that there's no malice in the case.'

Archer, who was touched by what his rival said, and stopping the hand of his new partisan, Fisher, cried, 'No, Fisher! no! – no pulling down. We can alter it. There is a great deal of ingenuity in it, considering.'

In vain Archer would now have recalled the public to reason, – the time for reason was past: enthusiasm had taken hold of their minds. 'Down with it! Down with it! Archer for ever!' cried Fisher, and tore down the curtain. The riot once begun, nothing could stop the little mob, till the whole theatre was demolished. The love of power prevailed in the mind of Archer; he was secretly flattered by the zeal of his party, and he mistook their love of mischief for attachment to himself. De Grey looked on superior. 'I said I could bear to see all this, and I can,' said he; 'now it is all over.' And now it was all over, there was silence. The rioters stood still to take breath, and to look at what they had done. There was a blank space before them.

In this moment of silence there was heard something like a female voice. 'Hush! What strange voice is that?' said Archer. Fisher caught fast hold of his arm. Everybody looked round to see where the voice came from. It was dusk. Two window-shutters at the farthest end of the building were seen to move slowly inwards. De Grey, and in the same instant Archer, went forward; and, as the shutters opened, there appeared through the hole the dark face and shrivelled hands of a very old gipsy. She did not speak; but she looked first at one and then at another. At length she fixed her eyes on De Grey. 'Well, my good woman,' said he, 'what do you want with me?' 'Want! – nothing – with you,' said the old woman; 'do you want nothing with me?' 'Nothing,' said De Grey. Her eye immediately turned upon Archer, – 'You want something with me,' said she, with emphasis. 'I – what do I want?' replied Archer. 'No,' said she, changing her tone, 'you want nothing – nothing will you ever want, or I am much mistaken in that face.'

In that watch-chain, she should have said, for her quick eye had espied Archer's watch-chain. He was the only person in the company who had a watch, and she therefore judged him to be the richest.

'Had you ever your fortune told, sir, in your life?' 'Not I,' said he, looking at De Grey, as if he was afraid of his ridicule, if he listened to the gipsy. 'Not you! No! for you will make your own fortune, and the fortune of all that belong to you!'

'There's good news for my friends,' cried Archer. 'And I'm one of them, remember that,' cried Fisher. 'And I,' 'And I,' joined a number of voices. 'Good luck to them!' cried the gipsy, 'good luck to them all!'

Then, as soon as they had acquired sufficient confidence in her good will, they pressed up to the window. 'There,' cried Townsend, as he chanced to stumble over the carpenter's mitre box, which stood in the way, 'there's a good omen for me. I've stumbled on the mitre box; I shall certainly be a bishop.'

Happy he who had sixpence, for he bid fair to be a judge upon the bench. And happier he who had a shilling, for he was in the high road to be one day upon the woolsack, Lord High Chancellor of England. No one had half-a-crown, or no one would surely have kept it in his pocket upon such an occasion, for he might have been an archbishop, a king, or what he pleased.

Fisher, who like all weak people was extremely credulous, had kept his post immovable in the front row all the time, his mouth open, and his stupid eyes fixed upon the gipsy, in whom he felt implicit faith.

Those who have least confidence in their own powers, and who have least expectation from the success of their own exertions, are always most disposed to trust in fortune-tellers and fortune. They hope to win, when they cannot earn; and as they can never be convinced by those who speak sense, it is no wonder they are always persuaded by those who talk nonsense.

'I have a question to put,' said Fisher, in a solemn tone. 'Put it, then,' said Archer, 'what hinders you?' 'But they will hear me,' said he, looking suspiciously at De Grey. 'I shall not hear you,' said De Grey, 'I am going.' Everybody else drew back, and left him to whisper his question in the gipsy's ear. 'What is become of my Livy?' 'Your sister Livy, do you mean?' said the gipsy. 'No, my Latin Livy.'

The gipsy paused for information. 'It had a leaf torn out in the beginning, and I hate Dr. Middleton– ' 'Written in it,' interrupted the gipsy. 'Right – the very book!' cried Fisher with joy. 'But how could you know it was Dr. Middleton's name? I thought I had scratched it, so that nobody could make it out.' 'Nobody could make it out but me,' replied the gipsy. 'But never think to deceive me,' said she, shaking her head at him in a manner that made him tremble. 'I don't deceive you indeed, I tell you the whole truth. I lost it a week ago.' 'True.' 'And when shall I find it?' 'Meet me here at this hour to-morrow evening, and I will answer you. No more! I must be gone. Not a word more to-night.'

She pulled the shutters towards her, and left the youth in darkness. All his companions were gone. He had been so deeply engaged in this conference, that he had not perceived their departure. He found all the world at supper, but no entreaties could prevail upon him to disclose his secret. Townsend rallied in vain. As for Archer, he was not disposed to destroy by ridicule the effect which he saw that the old woman's predictions in his favour had had upon the imagination of many of his little partisans. He had privately slipped two good shillings into the gipsy's hand to secure her; for he was willing to pay any price for any means of acquiring power.

The watch-chain had not deceived the gipsy, for Archer was the richest person in the community. His friends had imprudently supplied him with more money than is usually trusted to boys of his age. Dr. Middleton had refused to give him a larger monthly allowance than the rest of his companions; but he brought to school with him secretly the sum of five guineas. This appeared to his friends and to himself an inexhaustible treasure.

Riches and talents would, he flattered himself, secure to him that ascendency of which he was so ambitious. 'Am I your manager or not?' was now his question. 'I scorn to take advantage of a hasty moment; but since last night you have had time to consider. If you desire me to be your manager, you shall see what a theatre I will make for you. In this purse,' said he, showing through the network a glimpse of the shining treasure – 'in this purse is Aladdin's wonderful lamp. Am I your manager? Put it to the vote.'

It was put to the vote. About ten of the most reasonable of the assembly declared their gratitude and high approbation of their old friend, De Grey; but the numbers were in favour of the new friend. And as no metaphysical distinctions relative to the idea of a majority had ever entered their thoughts, the most numerous party considered themselves as now beyond dispute in the right. They drew off on one side in triumph, and their leader, who knew the consequence of a name in party matters, immediately distinguished his partisans by the gallant name of Archers, stigmatising the friends of De Grey by the odious epithet of Greybeards.

Amongst the Archers was a class not very remarkable for their mental qualifications; but who, by their bodily activity, and by the peculiar advantages annexed to their way of life, rendered themselves of the highest consequence, especially to the rich and enterprising.

The judicious reader will apprehend that I allude to the persons called day scholars. Amongst these, Fisher was distinguished by his knowledge of all the streets and shops in the adjacent town; and, though a dull scholar, he had such reputation as a man of business that whoever had commissions to execute at the confectioner's was sure to apply to him. Some of the youngest of his employers had, it is true, at times complained that he made mistakes of halfpence and pence in their accounts; but as these affairs could never be brought to a public trial, Fisher's character and consequence were undiminished, till the fatal day when his Aunt Barbara forbade his visits to the confectioner's; or rather, till she requested the confectioner, who had his private reasons for obeying her, not to receive her nephew's visits, as he had made himself sick at his house, and Mrs. Barbara's fears for his health were incessant.

Though his visits to the confectioner's were thus at an end, there were many other shops open to him; and with officious zeal he offered his services to the new manager, to purchase whatever might be wanting for the theatre.

Since his father's death Fisher had become a boarder at Dr. Middleton's, but his frequent visits to his Aunt Barbara afforded him opportunities of going into the town. The carpenter, De Grey's friend, was discarded by Archer, for having said 'lack-a-daisy!' when he saw that the old theatre was pulled down. A new carpenter and paper-hanger, recommended by Fisher, were appointed to attend, with their tools, for orders, at two o'clock. Archer, impatient to show his ingenuity and his generosity, gave his plan and his orders in a few minutes, in a most decided manner. 'These things,' he observed, 'should be done with some spirit.'

To which the carpenter readily assented, and added that 'gentlemen of spirit never looked to the expense, but always to the effect.' Upon this principle Mr. Chip set to work with all possible alacrity. In a few hours' time he promised to produce a grand effect. High expectations were formed. Nothing was talked of but the new playhouse; and so intent upon it was every head, that no lessons could be got. Archer was obliged, in the midst of his various occupations, to perform the part of grammar and dictionary for twenty different people.

'O ye Athenians!' he exclaimed, 'how hard do I work to obtain your praise!'

Impatient to return to the theatre, the moment the hours destined for instruction, or, as they are termed by schoolboys, school-hours, were over each prisoner started up with a shout of joy.

'Stop one moment, gentlemen, if you please,' said Dr. Middleton, in an awful voice. 'Mr. Archer, return to your place. Are you all here?' The names of all the boys were called over, and when each had answered to his name, Dr. Middleton said —

'Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your amusements; but, till you have contrary orders from me, no one, on pain of my serious displeasure, must go into that building' (pointing to the place where the theatre was erecting). 'Mr. Archer, your carpenter is at the door. You will be so good as to dismiss him. I do not think proper to give my reasons for these orders; but you who know me,' said the doctor, and his eye turned towards De Grey, 'will not suspect me of caprice. I depend, gentlemen, upon your obedience.'

To the dead silence with which these orders were received, succeeded in a few minutes a universal groan. 'So!' said Townsend, 'all our diversion is over.' 'So,' whispered Fisher in the manager's ear, 'this is some trick of the Greybeards'. Did you not observe how he looked at De Grey?'

Fired by this thought, which had never entered his mind before, Archer started from his reverie, and striking his hand upon the table, swore that he 'would not be outwitted by any Greybeard in Europe – no, nor by all of them put together. The Archers were surely a match for them. He would stand by them, if they would stand by him,' he declared, with a loud voice, 'against the whole world, and Dr. Middleton himself, with "Little Premium" at his right hand.'