the curtain, which had fallen, and were
in that strange world which has so many reduplications, fragments of
one broken mirror, whether in the proudest theatre or the lowliest
barn,--nay, whether in the palace of kings, the cabinet of statesmen,
the home of domestic life,--the world we call "Behind the Scenes."

CHAPTER III.

Striking illustrations of lawless tyranny and infant avarice
exemplified in the social conditions of Great Britain.--
Superstitions of the dark ages still in force amongst the trading
community, furnishing valuable hints to certain American
journalists, and highly suggestive of reflections humiliating to the
national vanity.

The Remorseless Baron, who was no other than the managerial proprietor
of the stage, was leaning against a side-scene with a pot of porter
in his hand. The King's Lieutenant might be seen on the background,
toasting a piece of cheese on the point of his loyal sword. The Bandit
had crept into a corner, and the little girl was clinging to him
fondly as his hand was stroking her fair hair. Vance looked round, and
approached the Bandit,--"Sir, allow me to congratulate you; your bow was
admirable. I have never seen John Kemble; before my time: but I shall
fancy I have seen him now,--seen him on the night of his retirement from
the stage. As to your grandchild, Miss Juliet Araminta, she is a perfect
chrysolite."

Before Mr. Waife could reply, the Remorseless Baron stepped up in a
spirit worthy of his odious and arbitrary character. "What do you do
here, sir? I allow no conspirators behind the scenes earwigging my
people."

"I beg pardon respectfully: I am an artist,--a pupil of the Royal
Academy; I should like to make a sketch of Miss Juliet Araminta."

"Sketch! nonsense."

"Sir," said Lionel, with the seasonable extravagance of early youth, "my
friend would, I am sure, pay for the sitting--handsomely!"

"Ha!" said the manager, softened, "you speak like a gentleman, sir: but,
sir, Miss Juliet Araminta is under my protection; in fact, she is my
property. Call and speak to me about it to-morrow, before the first
performance begins, which is twelve o'clock. Happy to see any of your
friends in the reserved seats. Busy now, and--and--in short--excuse
me--servant, sir--servant, sir."

The Baron's manner left no room for further parley. Vance bowed, smiled,
and retreated. But meanwhile his young friend had seized the opportunity
to speak both to Waife an