delicately concealed.
Mr. Williams, considered the hardest head and most practical man in the
town, originated and maintained that hypothesis. Probably the stranger
was an author himself, a great and affluent author. Had not great and
affluent authors--men who are the boast of our time and land--acted,
yea, on a common stage, and acted inimitably too, on behalf of some
lettered brother or literary object? Therefore in these guileless
minds, with all the pecuniary advantages of extreme penury and
forlorn position, the Comedian obtained the respect due to prosperous
circumstances and high renown. But there was one universal wish
expressed by all who had been present, as they took their way homeward;
and that wish was to renew the pleasure they had experienced, even if
they paid the same price for it. Could not the long-closed theatre be
re-opened, and the great man be induced by philanthropic motives, and
an assured sum raised by voluntary subscriptions, to gratify the whole
town, as he had gratified its selected intellect? Mr. Williams, in a
state of charitable thaw, now softest of the soft, like most hard men
when once softened, suggested this idea to the Mayor. The Mayor said
evasively that he would think of it, and that he intended to pay his
respects to Mr. Chapman before he returned home, that very night: it was
proper. Mr. Williams and many others wished to accompany his worship.
But the kind magistrate suggested that Mr. Chapman would be greatly
fatigued: that the presence of many might seem more an intrusion than a
compliment; that he, the Mayor, had better go alone, and at a somewhat
later hour, when Mr. Chapman, though not retired to bed, might have
had time for rest and refreshment. This delicate consideration had its
weight; and the streets were thin when the Mayor's gig stopped, on its
way villa-wards, at the Saracen's Head.

CHAPTER XIV.

It is the interval between our first repinings and our final
resignation, in which, both with individuals and communities, is to
be found all that makes a history worth telling. Ere yet we yearn
for what is out of our reach, we are still in the cradle. When
wearied out with our yearnings, desire again falls asleep; we are on
the deathbed.

Sophy (leaning on her grandfather's arm as they ascend the stair of the
Saracen's Head).--"But I am so tired, Grandy: I'd rather go to bed at
once, please!"

GENTLEMAN WAIFE.--"Surely you could take something