A2r

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 a dictionary.
He used to torment every
body 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. De Grey had
been many years under Dr. Middleton’s
care, and by his abilities and good conduct
did him great credit. The Doctor
certainly was both proud and fond of A2 A2v 4
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 that 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 A3r 5
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 A3 A3v 6
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, A4r 7
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
gayety, 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 A4 A4v 8
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 any thing
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
play-house, 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 play-house of yours tonight.”

“Come then!” said De Grey, and he
ran across the play-ground to a waste A5r 9
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 pains 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 was great, and
the applauses 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 exclamations A5v 10
had spent themselves, he walked
across the stage with a knowing air, and
looking round contemptuously―

“And is this your famous play-
house?” cried he. “I wish you had
any of you seen the play-house 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 play-house
was in an instant metamorphosed in the
eyes of the spectators. All gratitude
for the past 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 A6r 11
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 every body
crowded to hear something of the other
play-house. They gathered round
Archer to hear the description of his
play-house, 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 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―

A6v 12

“My friends, I see you are discontented
with me and my play-house. I
have done my best to please you; but
if any body 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 faultered, 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 shew 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 A7r 13
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―Every body 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 A7v 14
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 upon De Grey―

“Well, my good woman, what do you
want with me?”

“Want!—nothing—with you,” 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 A8r 15
watch-chain. He was the only
person in 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 A8v 16
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 a 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
immoveable 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 3 B1r 17
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.” Every body 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.”

Vol. VI. B B1v 18

The gipsy paused for further 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― 4 B2r 19
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
flipped two 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 B2 B2v 20
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 ascendancy,
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, shewing
through the net-work a glimpse of
the shining treasure―“in this purse is
Aladdin’s wonderful lamp—Am I your
Manager?—Put it to the vote.”

B3r 21

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 their peculiar advantages
annexed to their way of life, rendered
themselves of the highest consequence,B3 B3v 22
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
were 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 forbad his visits to the
confectioner―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 B4r 23
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 shew his ingenuity B4 B4v 24
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 play-
house; 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.

“Oh, ye Athenians!” he exclaimed,
“how hard do I work to obtain your
praise!”

B5r 25

Impatient to return to the theatre,
the moment the hours destined for instruction,
or, as they are termed by
school-boys, 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 B5v 26
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 an 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 idea, 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.”

B6r 27

Every body admired Archer’s spirit,
but were a little appalled at the sound
of standing against Dr. Middleton.

“Why not?” resumed the indignant
Manager, “Neither Dr. Middleton nor
any doctor upon earth, shall treat me
with injustice. This, you see, is a stroke
at me and my party, and I won’t bear
it.”

“O, you are mistaken!” said De
Grey, who was the only one, who dared
to oppose reason to the angry orator―
“It cannot be a stroke aimed at you
and your party, for he does not know
that you have a party.”

“I’ll make him know it, and I’ll
make you know it too,” said Archer;
“before I came here, you reigned alone,
now your reign is over, Mr. De Grey.
Remember my majority this morning,
and your theatre last night.”

“He has remembered it,” said Fisher;
“you see, the moment he was not to B6v 28
be our Manager, we were to have no
theatre—no play-house—no plays. We
must all fit down with our hands before
us―all for ‘good reasons’ of Dr.
Middleton’s, which he does not vouchsafe
to tell us.”

“I won’t be governed by any man’s
reasons, that he won’t tell me,” cried
Archer; “he cannot have good reasons,
or why not tell them.”

“Nonsense! we shall not suspect him
of caprice!”

“Why not?”

“Because we, who know him,” said
De Grey, “have never known him
capricious.”

“Perhaps not, I know nothing about
him,” said Archer.

“No,” said De Grey; “for that
very reason I speak, who do know him.
―Don’t be in a passion, Archer.”

“I will be in a passion—I won’t submit
to tyranny—I won’t be made a B7r 29
fool of by a few soft words.—You don’t
know me, De Grey—I’ll go through
with what I’ve begun—I am Manager,
and I will be Manager, and you shall
see my theatre finished in spite of you,
and my party triumphant.”

“Party,” repeated De Grey―“I
cannot imagine what is in the word
‘party,’ that seems to drive you mad.
We never heard of parties till you came
amongst us.”

“No; before I came, I say, nobody
dared oppose you, but I dare; and I
tell you to your face—take care of me
—a warm friend and a bitter enemy, is
my motto.”

“I am not your enemy!―I believe
you are out of your senses, Archer!”
said he laughing.

“Out of my senses!—No—you are
my enemy!—Are not you my rival?—
Did not you win the premium?—Did
not you want to be Manager?—Answer B7v 30
me, are not you, in one word, a Greybeard?”

“You called me a Greybeard, but
my name is De Grey,” said he, still
laughing.

“Laugh on!” cried the other furiously.
“Come, Archers, follow me!
―we shall laugh by and by, I promise
you.”

At the door Archer was stopped by
Mr. Chip―“O, Mr. Chip, I am ordered
to discharge you.”

“Yes, sir; and here is a little bill―”

“Bill, Mr. Chip!―why, you have
not been at work for two hours!”

“Not much over, sir; but if you’ll
please to look into it, you’ll see it’s
for a few things you ordered. The
stuff is all laid out and delivered. The
paper, and the festoon-bordering for
the drawing-room scene is cut out,
and left yander, within.”

“Yander, within!―I wish you had B8r 31
not been in such a confounded hurry
―six-and-twenty shillings!” cried he,
“but I can’t stay to talk about it
now.―I’ll tell you, Mr. Chip,” said
Archer, lowering his voice, “what you
must do for me, my good fellow.”―
Then drawing Mr. Chip aside, he begged
him to pull down some of the
wood-work which had been put up,
and to cut it into a certain number
of wooden bars, of which he gave him
the dimensions, with orders to place
them all, when ready, under a haystack,
which he pointed out. Mr.
Chip scrupled and hesitated, and began
to talk of the doctor. Archer
immediately began to talk of the bill,
and throwing down a guinea and a
half, the conscientious carpenter pocketed
the money directly, and made his
bow.

“Well, Master Archer,” said he,
“there’s no refusing you nothing.― B8v 32
You have such a way of talking one
out of it―you manage me just like a
child.”

“Aye, aye!” said Archer, knowing
that he had been cheated, and yet proud
of managing a carpenter―“Aye, aye,
I know the way to manage every body
—let the things be ready in an hour’s
time—and hark’e! leave your tools by
mistake behind you, and a thousand of
twenty-penny nails—Ask no questions,
and keep your own counsel, like a wise
man—off with you, and take care of
the doctor.”

“Archers! Archers!―To the Archer’s
tree follow your leader,” cried he,
sounding his well known whistle as a
signal.―His followers gathered round
him, and he, raising himself upon the
mount at the foot of the tree, counted
his numbers, and then, in a voice lower
than usual, addressed them thus:

“My friends, is there a Greybeard 3 C1r 33
amongst us? If there is, let him walk
off now―he has my free leave.”

No one stirred―“Then we are all
Archers, and we will stand by one
another―join hands, my friends.”

They all joined hands.

“Promise me not to betray me, and I
will go on―I ask no security but your
honour.”

They all gave their honour to be secret
and faithful, as he called it, and
he went on―

“Did you ever hear of such a thing
as a Barring out, my friends?”

They had heard of such a thing; but
they had only heard of it.

Archer gave the history of a Barring-
out, in which he had been concerned
at his school; in which the boys stood
out two days against the master, and
gained their point at last, which was
a week’s more holidays at Easter.

“But if we should not succeed,” Vol. VI. C C1v 34
said they, “Dr. Middleton is so steady,
he never goes back from what he has
said.”

“Did you ever try to push him back?
—Let us be steady, and he’ll tremble—
tyrants always tremble when―”

“O!” interrupted a number of
voices, “but he is not a tyrant, is
he?”

“All school-masters are tyrants, are
not they?” replied Archer, “and is
not he a school-master?”

To this logic there was no answer;
but, still reluctant, they asked “What
they should get by a Barring out?”

“Get!—Every thing!—What we
want!—which is every thing to lads of
spirit—victory and liberty!—Bar him
out, till he repeals his tyrannical law—
till he lets us into our own theatre again,
or till he tells us his ‘good reasons’
against it.”

“But perhaps he has reasons for not
telling us.”

C2r 35

“Impossible!” cried Archer, “that’s
the way we are always to be governed
by a man in a wig, who says he has
good reasons, and can’t tell them—Are
you fools?—Go—go back to De Grey
—I see you are all Greybeards—Go—
who goes first?”

Nobody would go first.

“I will have nothing to do with ye,
if ye are resolved to be slaves!”

“We won’t be slaves!” they all exclaimed
at once.

“Then,” said Archer, “stand out
in the right and be free.”

“The right.”―It would have taken
up too much time to examine what
“the right” was. Archer was always
sure, that “the right” was what his
party chose to do―that is, what he
chose to do himself; and such is the influence
of numbers upon each other in
conquering the feelings of shame, and
in confusing the powers of reasoning, C2 C2v 36
that in a few minutes “the right” was
forgotten, and each said to himself,

“To be sure, Archer is a very clever
boy, and he can’t be mistaken;”—or,
“To be sure Townsend thinks so, and
he would not do any thing to get us into
a scrape:”—or, “To be sure every
body will agree to this but myself, and
I can’t stand out alone, to be pointed
at as a Greybeard and a slave. Every
body thinks it is right, and every body
can’t be wrong.”

By some of these arguments, which
passed rapidly through the mind, without
his being conscious of them, each
boy decided, and deceived himself―
what none would have done alone, none
scrupled to do as a party.

It was determined then, that there
should be a Barring out. The arrangement
of the affair was left to their new
Manager, to whom they all pledged implicit
obedience.

C3r 37

Obedience, it seems, is necessary,
even from rebels to their ringleaders
―not reasonable, but implicit obedience.

Scarcely had the assembly adjourned
to the Ball-alley, when Fisher, with an
important length of face, came up to
the Manager, and desired to speak one
word to him―

“My advice to you, Archer, is, to
do nothing in this till we have consulted
you know who about whether it’s
right or wrong.”

“You know who!—Who do you
mean?—Make haste, and don’t make
so many faces, for I’m in a hurry—Who
is You know who?”

“The old woman,” said Fisher,
gravely; “the gipsy.”

“You may consult the old woman,”
said Archer, bursting out a laughing,
“about what’s right and wrong, if you C3 C3v 38
please; but no old woman shall decide
for me.”

“No; but you don’t take me,” said
Fisher, “You don’t take me. By
right and wrong, I mean lucky and unlucky.”

“Whatever I do will be lucky,”
replied Archer. “My gipsy told you
that already.”

“I know, I know,” said Fisher,
“and what she said about your friends
being lucky―that went a great way
with many,” added he, with a sagacious
nod of his head, “I can tell you that
—more than you think—Do you know,”
said he, laying hold of Archer’s button,
“I’m in the secret. There are nine of
us have crooked our little fingers upon
it, not to stir a step till we get her advice;
and she has appointed me to meet
her about particular business of my own 4 C4r 39
at eight. So I’m to consult her, and to
bring her answer.”

Archer knew too well how to govern
fools, to attempt to reason with them;
and, instead of laughing any longer at
Fisher’s ridiculous superstition, he was
determined to take advantage of it.
He affected to be persuaded of the wisdom
of the measure―looked at his
watch, urged him to be exact to a moment,
conjured him to remember exactly the
words of the oracle, and, above all
things, to demand the lucky hour
and minute when the Barring out
should begin.

With these instructions, Archer put
his watch into the solemn dupe’s hand,
and left him to count the seconds, till
the moment of his appointment, whilst
he ran off himself to prepare the oracle.
At a little gate, which looked into a
lane, through which he guessed that
the gipsy must pass, he stationed C4 C4v 40
himself, saw her, gave her half a crown
and her instructions, made his escape,
and got back unsuspected to Fisher,
whom he found in the attitude in
which he had left him, watching the
motion of the minute-hand.

Proud of his secret commission, Fisher
slouched his hat, he knew not why,
over his face, and proceeded towards
the appointed spot. To keep, as he
had been charged to do by Archer,
within the letter of the law, he stood
behind the forbidden building, and
waited some minutes. Through a gap
in the hedge the old woman at length
made her appearance, muffled up, and
looking cautiously about her.

“There’s nobody near us!” said
Fisher, and he began to be a little
afraid―“What answer,” said he, recollecting
himself, “about my Livy?”

“Lost!—Lost!—Lost!” said the
gipsy, lifting up her hands, “never C5r 41
never, never to be found!—But no
matter for that now—that is not your
errand to-night—no tricks with me
—speak to me of what is next your
heart.”

Fisher, astonished, put his hand upon
his heart, told her all that she knew
before, and received the answers, which
Archer had dictated―“That the Archers
should be lucky as long as they
stuck to their Manager and to one
another; that the Barring out should
end in woe, if not begun precisely as
the clock should strike nine on Wednesday
night; but if begun in that lucky
moment, and all obedient to their
lucky leader, all should end well.”

A thought, a provident thought, now
struck Fisher; for even he had some
foresight, where his favourite passion
was concerned―“Pray, in our Barring
out, shall we be starved?”

“No,” said the gipsy, “not if C5v 42
if you trust me for food, and if you
give me money enough―silver won’t do
for so many, gold is what must cross my
hand.”

“I have no gold,” said Fisher, “and
I don’t know what you mean by so
many,—I’m only talking of number one,
you know—I must take care of that
first.”

So, as Fisher thought, that it was
possible, that Archer, clever as he was,
might be disappointed in his supplies,
he determined to take secret measures
for himself. His aunt Barbara’s interdiction
had shut him out of the confectioner’s
shop, but he flattered himself
that he could out-wit his aunt; he
therefore begged the gipsy to procure
him twelve buns by Thursday morning,
and bring them secretly to one of the windows of the school-room.

As Fisher did not produce any money
when he made this proposal, it was C6r 43
at first absolutely rejected; but a bribe
at length conquered all difficulties; and
the bribe which Fisher found himself
obliged to give—for he had no pocket
money left of his own, he being as
much restricted in that article as Archer
was indulged—the bribe that he found
himself obliged to give, to quiet the
Gipsy, was half a crown, which Archer
had entrusted to him to buy candles for
the theatre.―“O,” thought he to
himself, “Archer’s so careless about
money, he will never think of asking
me for the half crown again; and now
he’ll want no candles for the theatre—
or at any rate it will be some time first,
and may be aunt Barbara may be got
to give me that much at Christmas—
then, if the worst comes to the worst,
I can pay Archer.―My mouth waters
for the buns, and have ’em I must
now.”

So, for the hope of twelve buns, he C6v 44
sacrificed the money, which had been
entrusted to him.―The meanest motives,
in mean minds, often prompt to the
commission of those great faults, to
which, one should think, nothing but
some violent passion could have tempted.

The ambassador having thus, in his
opinion, concluded his own and the
public business, returned well satisfied
with the result, after receiving the
Gipsy’s reiterated promise, to tap three
times at the window on Thursday morning.

The day appointed for the Barring-
out at length arrived, and Archer, assembling
the confederates, informed
them, that all was prepared for carrying
their design into execution; that he now
depended for success upon their punctuality
and courage. He had, within the
last two hours, got all the bars ready to
fasten the doors and window shutters of C7r 45
the school-room; he had, with the assistance
of two of the day scholars, who
were of the party, sent into the town
for provision, at his own expence,
which would make a handsome supper
for that night; he had also negotiated
with some cousins of his, who lived in
the town, for a constant supply in future.

“Bless me,” exclaimed Archer, suddenly
stopping in this narration of his services,
“there’s one thing, after all,
I’ve forgot, we shall be undone without
it―Fisher, pray did you ever buy the
candles for the play-house?”

“No, to be sure,” replied Fisher,
extremely frightened, “you know you
don’t want candles for the play-house
now.”

“Not for the play-house, but for
the Barring-out―we shall be in the
dark, man—you must run this minute,
run.”

C7v 46

“For candles?” said Fisher confused,
“how many?―what sort?”

“Stupidity!” exclaimed Archer,
“you are a pretty fellow at a dead lift!
—Lend me a pencil and a bit of paper,
do; I’ll write down what I want myself?
—Well, what are you fumbling for?”

“For money!” said Fisher colouring.

“Money, man!” Didn’t I give you
half a crown the other day?”

“Yes,” replied Fisher, stammering;
“but I wasn’t sure, that that might be
enough.”

“Enough! yes, to be sure it will
―I don’t know what you are at.”

“Nothing, nothing,” said Fisher,
“here, write upon this then,” putting
a piece of paper into Archer’s
hand, upon which Archer wrote his
orders.―“Away, away!” cried he.

And away went Fisher.―He returned;
but not until a considerable time
afterwards.

C8r 47

They were at supper when he returned.
―“Fisher always comes in a supper-time,”
observed one of the Greybeards,
carelessly.

“Well, and would you have him
come in after supper-time,” said Townsend,
who always supplied his party with
ready wit.

“I’ve got the candles,” whispered
Fisher, as he passed by Archer to his
place.―

“And the tinder-box?” said Archer.

“Yes; I got back from my aunt
Barbara under pretence, that I must
study for repetition-day an hour later to-
night—So I got leave.—Was not that
clever?”

A dunce always thinks it clever to
cheat even by sober lies.

How Mr. Fisher procured the candles
and the tinder-box without money,
and without credit, for he had no credit,
we shall discover in future.

C8v 48

Archer and his associates had agreed
to stay the last in the school-room, and
as soon as the Greybeards were gone
out to bed, he, as the signal, was to shut
and lock one door, Townsend the other;
a third conspirator was to strike a light,
in case they should not be able to secure
a candle; a fourth was to take charge
of the candle as soon as lighted; and
all the rest were to run to their bars,
which were secreted in the room; then
to fix them to the common fastening
bars of the window, in the manner in
which they had been previously instructed
by the Manager. Thus each had
his part assigned, and each was warned,
that the success of the whole depended
upon their order and punctuality.

Order and punctuality it appears are
necessary even in a Barring-out, and
even rebellion must have its laws.

The long expected moment at length
arrived. De Grey and his friends, unconscious5 D1r 49
of what was going forward,
walked out of the school-room as usual
at bed time. The clock began to strike
nine. There was one Greybeard left in
the room, who was packing up some of
his books, which had been left about
by accident. It is impossible to describe
the impatience with which he was
watched, especially by Fisher, and the
nine who depended upon the Gipsy
oracle.

When he had got all his books together
under his arm, he let one of
them fall; and whilst he stooped to pick
it up Archer gave the signal. The
doors were shut, locked, and double-
locked in an instant. A light was struck,
and each ran to his post. The bars
were all in the same moment put up to
the windows, and Archer, when he had
tried them all, and seen that they were
secure, gave a loud “Huzza!”―in
which he was joined by all the party Vol. VI. D D1v 50
most manfully―by all but the poor
Greybeard, who, the picture of astonishment,
stood stock still in the midst of
them with his books under his arm; at
which spectacle Townsend, who enjoyed
the frolic of the fray more than any
thing else, burst into an immoderate
fit of laughter.―

“So, my little Greybeard,” said he,
holding a candle full in his eyes,
“what think you of all this?―How
came you amongst the wicked ones?”

“I don’t know indeed,” said the
little boy very gravely, “you shut me
up amongst you―won’t you let me
out?”

“Let you out! No, no, my little
Greybeard,” said Archer, catching hold
of him, and dragging him to the window
bars―“Look ye here—Touch
these—Put your hand to them—pull,
push, kick—Put a little spirit into it,
man—Kick like an Archer, if ye can— 4 D2r 51
away with ye. It’s a pity that the King
of the Greybeards is not here to admire
me—I should like to shew him our fortifications.
But come my merry-men
all, now to the feast. Out with the
table into the middle of the room—
Good cheer, my jolly Archers! I’m
your Manager?”

Townsend, delighted with the bustle,
rubbed his hands, and capered about
the room, whilst the preparations for
the feast were hurried forward.

“Four candles!―Four candles on
the table. Let’s have things in style
when we are about it Mr. Manager,”
cried Townsend. “Places!―Places!
There’s nothing like a fair scramble, my
boys—Let every one take care of himself
—Halloo! Greybeard, I’ve knocked
Greybeard down here in the scuffle―
Get up again, my lad, and see a little
of life.”

D2 D2v 52

“No, no,” cried Fisher, “he shan’t
sup with us.”

“No, no,” cried the Manager, “he
shan’t live with us; a Greybeard is not
fit company for Archers.”

“No, no,” cried Townsend, “evil
communication corrupts good manners.”

So with one unanimous hiss, they
hunted the poor little gentle boy into a
corner; and having pent him up with
benches, Fisher opened his books for
him, which he thought the greatest
mortification, and set up a candle beside
him―“There, now he looks like
a Greybeard as he is!” cried they.

“Tell me what’s the Latin for cold
roast beef:” said Fisher, exulting, and
they returned to their feast.

Long and loud they revelled. They
had a few bottles of cyder. “Give
me the corkscrew, the cyder shan’t be D3r 53
kept till it’s sour,” cried Townsend, in
answer to the Manager, who, when he
beheld the provision vanishing with
surprising rapidity, began to fear for the
morrow.

“Hang to-morrow!” cried Townsend,
“let Greybeards, think of to-
morrow; Mr. Manager, here’s your
good health.”

The Archers all stood up as their cups
were filled to drink, the health of their
chief with a universal cheer.

But at the moment that the cups
were at their lips, and as Archer bowed
to thank the company, a sudden shower
from above astonished the whole assembly.
They looked up and beheld the
rose of a watering engine, the long
neck of which appeared through a trap-
door in the ceiling.

“Your good health, Mr. Manager!”
said a voice, which was known to be the
gardener’s, and in the midst of their D3 D3v 54
surprise and dismay the candles were
suddenly extinguished―the trap door
shut down, and they were left in utter
darkness,

“The Devil!” said Archer—

“Don’t swear, Mr. Manager,” said
the same voice from the ceiling, “I
hear every word you say.”

“Mercy upon us!” exclaimed Fisher.
“The clock,” added he, whispering,
“must have been wrong, for it
had not done striking when we began.
―Only you remember, Archer; it had
just done before you had done locking
your door.”

“Hold your tongue, blockhead!”
said Archer.―“Well, boys! were ye
never in the dark before? You are
not afraid of a shower of rain, I hope―
Is any body drowned?”

“No,” said they with a faint laugh,
“but what shall we do here in the dark
all night long, and all day to-morrow?
―we can’t unbar the shutters.”

D4r 55

“It’s a wonder nobody ever thought
of that trap door,” said Townsend.

The trap-door had indeed escaped
the Manager’s observation, as the house
was new to him, and, the ceiling being
newly white-washed, the opening was
scarcely perceptible. Vexed to be out-
generalled, and still more vexed to have
it remarked, Archer poured forth a volley
of incoherent exclamations, and reproaches
against those, who were thus
so soon discouraged by a trifle; and
groping for the tinder-box, he asked if
any thing could be easier than to strike
a light again.

The light appeared. But at the moment
that it made the tinder-box visible,
another shower from above aimed, and
aimed exactly at the tinder-box, drenched
it with water, and rendered it totally
unfit for further service.

Archer in a fury dashed it to the
ground. And now for the first time D4 D4v 56
he felt what it was, to be the unsuccessful
head of a party. He heard in his
turn the murmurs of the discontented,
changeable populace; and recollecting
all his bars, and bolts, and ingenious
contrivances, he was more provoked at
their blaming him for this one only
oversight, than he was grieved at the
disaster itself.

“O, my hair is all wet!” cried one,
dolefully.

“Wring it then,” said Archer.

“My hand’s cut with your broken
glass,” cried another.

“Glass!” cried a third, “mercy! is
there broken glass? and it’s all about,
I suppose, amongst the supper―and
I had but one bit of bread all the
time.”

“Bread!” cried Archer―“Eat, if
you want it―Here’s a piece here, and
no glass near it.”

“It’s all wet—And I don’t like dry
bread by itself—That’s no feast.”

D5r 57

“Heigh-day!—What, nothing but
moaning and grumbling!—If these are
the joys of a Barring-out,” cried
Townsend, “I’d rather be snug in my
bed. I expected that we should have
sat up till twelve o’clock, talking and
laughing and singing.”

“So you may still, what hinders
you?” said Archer―“Sing, and we’ll
join you, and I should be glad those
fellows overhead heard us singing. Begin,
Townsend― ‘Come now all ye social Powers, Spread your influence o’er us―’
or else― ‘Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! Britons never will be slaves.’”

Nothing can be more melancholy
than forced merriment. In vain they
roared in chorus. In vain they tried to
appear gay―It would not do. The
voices died away, and dropped off one
by one. they had each provided himself
with a great coat to sleep upon, but D5v 58
now in the dark there was a peevish
scrambling contest for the coats, and
half the company, in very bad humour,
stretched themselves upon the benches
for the night.

There is great pleasure in bearing any
thing that has the appearance of hardship,
as long as there is any glory to be
acquired by it; but when people feel
themselves foiled, there is no further
pleasure in endurance: and if in their
misfortune there is any mixture of
the ridiculous, the motives for heroism
are immediately destroyed. Dr. Middleton
had probably considered this,
in the choice he made of his first
attack.

Archer, who had spent the night
as a man, that had the cares of government
upon his shoulders, rose early in
the morning, whilst every body else
was fast asleep. In the night he had
revolved the affair of the trap-door,
and a new danger had alarmed him. It D6r 59
was possible, that the enemy might descend
upon them through the trap-door.
The room had been built high, to admit
a free circulation of air. It was twenty
feet high; so that it was in vain to
think of reaching to the trap-door. As
soon as day-light appeared, Archer
rose softly, that he might reconnoitre,
and devise some method of guarding
against this new danger. Luckily there
were round holes in the top of the window
shutters, which admitted sufficient
light for him to work by. The remains
of the soaked feast, wet candles, and
broken glass, spread over the table in the
middle of the room, looked rather dismal
this morning.

“A pretty set of fellows I have to
manage!” said Archer, contemplating
the groupe of sleepers before him.―
“It is well they have somebody to
think for them. Now if I wanted—
which, thank goodness, I don’t— but D6v 60
if I did want to call a cabinet-council
to my assistance, whom could I pitch
upon?―Not this stupid snorer, who is
dreaming of gipsies, if he is dreaming
of any thing,” continued Archer, as
he looked into Fisher’s open mouth.

“This next chap is quick enough;
but then he is so fond of having every
thing his own way. And this curl-pated monkey, who
is grinning in his sleep, is all tongue,
and no brains.

Here are brains, though nobody
would think it, in this lump, said he,
looking at a fat, rolled up, heavy-breathing
sleeper; but what signify brains
to such a lazy dog; I might kick him
for my foot-ball this half hour, before I
should get him awake.

This lank-jawed Harlequin beside
him is a handy fellow, to be sure; but
then if he has hands, he has no head
―and then he’d be afraid of his own shadow D7r 61
too, by this light, he is such a coward!
And Townsend, why he has puns
in plenty; but when there’s any work
to be done, he’s the worst fellow to be
near one in the world―he can do nothing
but laugh at his own puns. This poor little fellow, that we
hunted into the corner, has more sense
than all of them put together; but
then his is a Greybeard. ”

Thus speculated the chief of a party
upon his sleeping friends.―And how
did it happen, that he should be so
ambitious to please and govern this
set, when, for each individual of which
it was composed, he felt such supreme
contempt. He had formed them into
a party, had given them a name, and he
was at their head. If these be not good
reasons, none better can be assigned for
Archer’s conduct.

“I wish ye could all sleep on,” said D7v 62
he, “but I must waken ye, though ye
will be only in my way. The sound of
my hammering must waken them; so
I may as well do the thing handsomely,
and flatter some of them by pretending
to ask their advice.”

Accordingly, he pulled two or three
to waken them. “Come, Townsend,
waken, my boy! Here’s some diversion
for you―up! up!”

“Diversion!” cried Townsend, “I’m
your man! I’m up―up to any thing.”

So, under the name of diversion, Archer
set Townsend to work at four
o’clock in the morning. They had
nails, a few tools, and several spars still
left from the wreck of the play-house.
These, by Archer’s directions, they
sharpened at one end, and nailed them
to the ends of several forms. All hands
were now called to clear away the supper
things, and to erect these forms perpendicularly
under the trap-door; and, D8r 63
with the assistance of a few braces, a
chevaux-de-frise was formed. upon which
nobody could venture to descend. At
the farthest end of the room, they likewise
formed a penthouse of the tables,
under which they proposed to breakfast,
secure from the pelting storm, if it should
again assail them through the trap door.
They crowded under the penthouse as
soon as it was ready, and their admiration
of its ingenuity paid the workmen
for the job.

“Lord! I shall like to see the gardener’s
phiz through the trap-door, when
he beholds the spikes under him!”
cried Townsend. “Now for breakfast!”

“Aye, now for breakfast,” said Archer,
looking at his watch; “past eight
o’clock, and my town boys not come!
I don’t understand this!”

Archer had expected a constant supply
of provision from two boys who D8v 64
lived in the town, who were cousins of
his, and who had promised to come
every day, and put food in at a certain
hole in the wall, in which a ventilator
usually turned. This ventilator Archer
had taken down, and had contrived it
so, that it could be easily removed and
replaced at pleasure; but, upon examination,
it was now perceived, that the hole
had been newly stopped up by an iron
back, which it was impossible to penetrate
or remove.

“It never came into my head, that
any body would ever have thought of
the ventilator but myself!” exclaimed
Archer, in great perplexity. He listened,
and waited for his cousins, but no
cousins came; and, at a late hour, the
company were obliged to breakfast upon
the scattered fragments of the last night’s
feast. That feast had been spread
with such imprudent profusion, that
little now remained, to satisfy the hungry3 E1r 65
guests. Archer, who well knew
the effect, which the apprehension of
a scarcity would have upon his associates,
did every thing that could be
done by a bold countenance and reiterated
assertions, to persuade them that
his cousins would certainly come at
last, and that the supplies were only delayed.
The delay, however, was alarming.

Fisher, alone, heard the Manager’s
calculations, and saw the public fears
unmoved. Secretly rejoicing in his
own wisdom, he walked from window
to window, slyly listening for the gipsy’s
signal. “There it is!” cried he,
with more joy sparkling in his eyes than
had ever enlightened them before;
“Come this way, Archer; but don’t
tell any body. Hark! do ye hear those
three taps at the window?―This is the
old woman with twelve buns for
me! I’ll give you one whole one for Vol. VI. E E1v 66
yourself, if you will unbar the window
for me.”

“Unbar the window!” interrupted
Archer; “no, that I won’t, for you or
the gipsy either; but I have head
enough to get your buns without that.
But stay, there is something of more
consequence than your twelve buns―
I must think for ye all, I see, regularly.”

So he summoned a council, and proposed
that every one should subscribe,
and trust the subscription to the gipsy,
to purchase a fresh supply of provision.
Archer laid down a guinea of
his own money for his subscription; at
which sight all the company clapped
their hands, and his popularity rose to a
high pitch with their renewed hopes of
plenty. Now, having made a list of
their wants, they folded the money in
the paper, put it into a bag, which Archer
tied to a long string, and, having
broken the pane of glass behind the E2r 67
round hole in the window shutter, he
let down the bag to the gipsy. She
promised to be punctual; and having
filled the bag with Fisher’s twelve buns,
they were drawn up in triumph, and
every body anticipated the pleasure, with
which they should see the same bag
drawn up at dinner time. The buns
were a little squeezed in being drawn
through the hole in the window shutter;
but Archer immediately sawed out
a piece of the shutter, and broke the
corresponding panes in each of the other
windows, to prevent suspicion, and to
make it appear, that they had all been
broken to admit the air.

What a pity that so much ingenuity
should have been employed to no purpose.
It may have surprized the intelligent
reader, that the gipsy was so
punctual to her promise to Fisher; but
we must recollect, that her apparent integrity
was only cunning; she was punctual,E2 E2v 68
that she might be employed again
―that she might be entrusted with the
contribution, which, she foresaw, must
be raised amongst the famishing garrison.
No sooner had she received the
money, than her end was gained.

Dinner-time came―It struck three,
four, five, six. They listened with
hungry ears, but no signal was heard.
The morning had been very long, and
Archer had in vain tried to dissuade
them from devouring the remainder of
the provision before they were sure of
a fresh supply. And now, those who
had been the most confident, were the
most impatient of their disappointment.

Archer, in the division of the food,
had attempted, by the most scrupulous
exactness, to content the public; and
he was both astonished and provoked,
to perceive that his impartiality was impeached.
So differently do people judge E3r 69
in different situations.―He was the first
person, to accuse his master of injustice,
and the least capable of bearing such an
imputation upon himself from others.
He now experienced some of the joys
of power, and the delight of managing
unreasonable numbers.

“Have not I done every thing I could
to please ye? Have not I spent my
money to buy ye food? Have not I
divided that last morsel with ye?—I
have not tasted one mouthful to-day!—
Did not I set to work for ye at sunrise?
Did not I lie awake all night for
ye? Have not I had all the labour, all
the anxiety? Look round and see my
contrivances, my work, my generosity!
And, after all, you think me a tyrant,
because I want you to have common
sense. Is not this bun which I hold in
my hand my own? Did not I earn it by
my own ingenuity from the selfish
dunce (pointing to Fisher) who could E3 E3v 70
never have gotten one of his twelve buns,
if I had not shewn him how: eleven of
them he has eaten since morning for his
own share, without offering any mortal
a morsel; but I scorn to eat even what
is justly my own, when I see so many
hungry creatures longing for it. I was
not going to touch this last morsel myself;
I only begged you to keep it till
supper time, when, perhaps, you’ll want
it more, and Townsend, who can’t bear
the slightest thing that crosses his own
whims, and who thinks there’s nothing
in this world to be minded but his own
diversion, calls me a tyrant. You all
of you promised to obey me―the first
thing I ask you to do for your
own good, and when, if you had common
sense, you must know I can want
nothing but your good, you rebel against
me.―Traitors!―Fools!―Ungrateful
fools!”

Archer walked up and down, unable E4r 71
to command his emotion, whilst, for the
moment, the discontented multitude
was silenced.

“Here,” said he, striking his hand
upon the little boy’s shoulder, “Here’s
the only one amongst ye, who has not
uttered one word of reproach or complaint,
and he has had but one bit of
bread―a bit that I gave him myself
this day.―Here!” said he, snatching the
bun, which nobody had dared to touch—
“Take it—it’s mine—I give it to you,
though you are a Greybeard—you deserve
it—eat it, and be an Archer.
You shall be my captain—will you?”
said he, lifting him up in his arms above
the rest.

“I like you now,” said the little boy
courageously; “but I love De Grey better;
he has always been my friend, and
he advised me never to call myself any
of those names, Archer or Greybeard,
so I won’t; though I am shut in here. E4 E4v 72
I have nothing to do with it. I love
Dr. Middleton; he was never unjust
to me; and, I dare say that he has very
good reasons, as De Grey said, for forbidding
us to go into that house―besides,
it’s his own.”

Instead of admiring the good sense
and steadiness of this lad, Archer suffered
Townsend to snatch the untasted bun
out of his hands. He flung it at the
hole in the window, but it fell back.
The Archers scrambled for it, and Fisher
ate it.

Archer saw this, and was sensible that
he had not done handsomely in suffering
it. A few moments ago he had admired
his own generosity, and though he
had felt the injustice of others, he had
not accused himself of any. He turned
away from the little boy, and, sitting
down at one end of the table, hid his
face in his hands. He continued immoveable
in this posture for some time.

5 E5r 73

“Lord!” said Townsend, “it was an
excellent joke!”

“Pooh!” said Fisher, “what a fool,
to think so much about a bun!”

“Never mind, Mr. Archer, if you are
thinking about me,” said the little boy,
trying gently to pull his hands from his
face.

“Archer stooped down, and lifted
him up upon the table; at which sight
the enraged partisans set up a general
hiss―“He has forsaken us! He deserts
his party! He wants to be a
Greybeard! After he has got us all
into this scrape, he will leave us!”

“I am not going to leave you,” cried
Archer―“No one shall ever accuse me
of deserting my party. I’ll stick by the
Archers, right or wrong, I tell you, to
the last moment;—but this little fellow
—take it as you please, mutiny if
you will, and throw me out of the window;
call me traitor, coward, Greybeard E5v 74
—this little fellow is worth you all
put together, and I’ll stand by him against
whoever dares to lay a finger upon
him: and the next morsel of food that
I see shall be his; touch him who
dares.”

The commanding air with which Archer
spoke and looked, and the belief
that the little boy deserved his protection,
silenced the crowd; but the
storm was only hushed.

No sound of merriment was now to
be heard―no battledore and shuttlecock,
no ball, no marbles. Some sat in a corner,
whispering their wishes, that Archer
would unbar the doors, and give up.
Others, stretching their arms and gaping,
as they sauntered up and down the
room, wished for air, or food, or water.
Fisher and his nine, who had such
firm dependence upon the gipsy, now
gave themselves up to utter despair. It
was eight o’clock, growing darker and E6r 75
darker every minute, and no candles,
no light could they have. The prospect
of another long dark night made
them still more discontented. Townsend
at the head of the yawners, and
Fisher at the head of the hungry
malcontents, gathered round Archer,
and the few yet unconquered spirits,
demanding “how long he meant to keep
them in this dark dungeon? and whether
he expected, that they should starve
themselves to death for his sake?”

The idea of giving up was more intolerable
to Archer than all the rest;
he saw, that the majority, his own convincing
argument, was against him. He
was therefore obliged to condescend to
the arts of persuasion. He flattered
some with hopes of food from the
town boys. Some he reminded of their
promises. Others he praised for former
prowess; and others he shamed by the
repetition of their high vaunts in the
beginning of the business.

E6v 76

It was at length resolved, that at all
events they would hold out. With this
determination they stretched themselves
again to sleep, for the second
night, in weak and weary obstinacy.

Archer slept longer and more soundly
than usual the next morning, and, when
he awoke―he found his hands tied behind
him. Three or four boys had just
gotten hold of his feet, which they pressed
down, whilst the trembling hands of
Fisher was fastening the cord round
them. With all the force which rage
could inspire, Archer struggled and roared
to “his Archers?”—his friends
—his party!—for help against the traitors.

But all kept aloof. Townsend, in
particular, stood laughing, and looking
on. “I beg your pardon, Archer, but
really you look so droll!—All alive and
kicking!—Don’t be angry—I’m so weak
I cannot help laughing to-day.”

E7r 77

The packthread cracked―“His
hands are free!―He’s loose!” cried the
least of the boys, and ran away, whilst
Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of
Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly
demanded―“What he meant by this?”

“Ask my party,” said Fisher, terrified;
“they set me on; ask my party.”

“Your party!” cried Archer, with
a look of ineffable contempt: “You
reptile! your party! Can such a thing
as you have a party?”

“To be sure,” said Fisher, settling his
collar, which Archer, in his surprise, had
let go―“To be sure—Why not?—
Any man who chooses it may have a party
as well as yourself, I suppose―I have
my nine Fishermen”―

At these words, spoken with much
sullen importance, Archer, in spite of
his vexation, could not help laughing—
“Fishermen!” cried he, “Fishermen!”
—“And why not Fishermen as well as Archers? E7v 78”
cried they―“one party is just
as good as another; it is only a question
which can get the upper hand; and we
had your hands tied just now.”

“That’s right, Townsend,” said Archer,
“laugh on, my boy! Friend or
foe it’s all the same to you. I know how
to value your friendship now. You are a
mighty good fellow when the sun shines;
but, let a storm come, and how you slink
away!”

At this instant Archer felt the difference
between a good companion, and a
good friend; a difference which some
people do not discover till too late in
life.

“Have I no friend?―no real friend
amongst ye all? And could ye stand by
and see my hands tied behind me, like
a thief’s. What signifies such a party?
―All mute!”

“We want something to eat,” answered
the Fishermen. “What signifies E8r 79
such a party, indeed?―and such a Manager,
who can do nothing for one?”

“And have I done nothing?”

“Don’t let’s hear any more prosing,”
said Fisher; “we are too many for you.
I’ve advised my party, if they’ve a mind
not to be starved, to give you up for the
ringleader, as you were; and Dr. Middleton
will let us all off, I dare say.”

So, depending upon the sullen silence
of the assembly, he again approached Archer
with a cord. A cry of “No! no!
no! Don’t tie him”―was feebly raised.

Archer stood still; but the moment
Fisher touched him, he knocked him
down to the ground; and, turning to
the rest with eyes sparkling with indignation,
“Archers!” cried he.

A voice at this instant was heard at
the door—It was De Grey’s voice—
“I have a large basket of provision
for your breakfast.”

A general shout of joy was sent forth E8v 80
by the voracious public—“Breakfast!
—provision!—A large basket—De Grey
for ever!—Huzza!”

De Grey promised, upon his honour,
that if they would unbar the door, nobody
should come in with him, and no
advantage should be taken of them.
This promise was enough, even for Archer.

“I will let him in,” said he, “myself,
for I’m sure he will never break his
word.”

He pulled away the bar—the door
opened—and having bargained for the
liberty of Melsom (the little boy who
had been shut in by mistake), De Grey
pushed in his basket of provision, and
locked and barred the door instantly.

Joy and gratitude sparkled in every
face, when he unpacked his basket, and
spread the table with a plentiful breakfast.
A hundred questions were asked
him at once―“Eat first,” said he, F1r 81
“and we will talk afterwards.” This
business was quickly dispatched by people
who had not tasted food for several
hours. Their curiosity increased as
their hunger diminished. “Who sent
us breakfast? Does Dr. Middleton
know?”―were questions reiterated from
every mouth.

“He does know,” answered De Grey,
“and the first thing I have to tell you is,
that I am your fellow prisoner. I am
to stay here, till you give up. This was
the only condition on which Dr. Middleton
would allow me to bring you
food, and he will allow no more.”

Every one looked at the empty basket.
But Archer, in whom half-vanquished
party spirit revived with the strength
he had gotten from his breakfast, broke
into exclamations in praise of De Grey’s
magnanimity, as he now imagined,
that De Grey was become one of themselves.

Vol. VI. F F1v 82

“And you will join us, will you?―
that’s a noble fellow!”

“No,” answered De Grey, calmly,
“but I hope to persuade, or rather to
convince you, that you ought to join
me.”

“You would have found it no hard
task, to have persuaded or convinced us,
whichever you pleased,” said Townsend,
“if you had appealed to Archers
fasting, but Archers feasting are quite
other animals. Even Cæsar himself,
after breakfast, is quite another thing!”
added he, pointing to Archer.

“You may speak for yourself, Mr.
Townsend,” replied the insulted hero,
“but not for me, or for Archers in general,
if you please. We unbarred the
door upon the faith of De Grey’s
promise―that was not giving up. And
it would have been just as difficult,
I promise you, to persuade or convince
me either, that I should give up 4 F2r 83
against my honour before breakfast, as
after.”

This spirited speech was applauded by
many, who had now forgotten the feelings
of famine. Not so Fisher, whose memory
was upon this occasion very
distinct.

“What nonsense”―and the orator
paused for a synonymous expression, but
none was at hand. “What nonsense
and—nonsense is here!—Why, don’t
you remember, that dinner-time, supper-time,
and breakfast-time will come
again? So what signifies mouthing about
persuading and convincing. We
will not go through again what we did
yesterday. Honour me no honour, I
don’t understand it.―I’d rather be flogged
at once, as I’ve been many’s the
good time for a less thing. I say, we’d
better all be flogged at once, which must
be the end of it, sooner or later, than
wait here to be without dinner, breakfast,F2 F2v 84
and supper, all only because Mr.
Archer won’t give up because of his
honour, and nonsense!”

Many prudent faces amongst the
Fishermen seemed to deliberate at the
close of this oration, in which the arguments
were brought so “home to
each man’s business and bosom.”

“But,” said De Grey, “when we
yield, I hope it will not be merely to
get our dinner, gentlemen. When we
yield, Archer―”

“Don’t address yourself to me,” interrupted
Archer, struggling with his
pride; “you have no farther occasion
to try to win me―I have no power, no
party, you see! and now I find that I
have no friends, I don’t care what becomes
of myself. I suppose I’m to be
given up as ringleader. Here’s this
Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen,
were going to tie me hand and foot, if
I had not knocked him down, just as F3r 85
you came to the door, De Grey; and
now, perhaps, you will join Fisher’s
party against me.”

De Grey was going to assure him,
that he had no intention of joining any
party, when a sudden change appeared
in Archer’s countenance.

“Silence!” cried Archer, in an imperious
tone; and there was silence.
Some one was heard to whistle the beginning
of a tune, that was perfectly
new to every body present, except to
Archer, who immediately whistled the
conclusion.

“There!” cried he, looking at De
Grey with triumph, “that’s a method
of holding secret correspondence, whilst
a prisoner, which I learned from Richard
Cœur de Lion. I know how to
make use of every thing. Hollo, friend!
are you there at last?” cried he, going
to the ventilator.

“Yes, but we are barred out here.”

F3 F3v 86

“Round to the window, then, and
fill your bag; we’ll let it down, my lad,
in a trice, bar me out who can.”

Archer let down the bag with all the
expedition of joy, and it was filled with
all the expedition of fear.―“Pull away
―make haste, for Heaven’s sake!”
said the voice from without, “The gardener
will come from dinner else, and we shall
be caught. He mounted guard all
yesterday at the ventilator; and, though
I watched, and watched, till it was darker
than pitch, I could not get near you.
I don’t know what has taken him out of
the way, now―make haste, pull away!”

The heavy bag was soon pulled up―
“Have you any more?” said Archer.

“Yes, plenty―let down quick: I’ve
got the taylor’s bag full, which is three
times as large as your’s, and I’ve changed
clothes with the taylor’s boy, so nobody
took notice of me as I came down the
street.”

F4r 87

“There’s my own cousin!” exclaimed
Archer―“there’s a noble fellow!―
there’s my own cousin, I acknowledge.
Fill the bag, then.”

Several times the bag descended and
ascended; and at every unlading of the
crane, fresh acclamations were heard.
“I have no more!” at length the boy
with the taylor’s bag cried.

“Off with you, then; we’ve enough,
and thank you.”

A delightful review was now made of
their treasure; busy hands arranged and
sorted the heterogeneous mass. Archer,
in the height of his glory, looked on,
the acknowledged master of the whole.
Townsend, who, in prosperity as in adversity,
saw and enjoyed the comic foibles
of his friends, pushed De Grey, who
was looking on with a more good-natured
and more thoughtful air: “Friend,”
said he, “you look like a great philosopher,
and Archer like a great hero.”

F4 F4v 88

“And you, Townsend,” said Archer,
“may look like a wit, if you will; but
you will never be a hero.”

“No, no,” replied Townsend, “wits
are never heros, because they are wits―
you are out of your wits, and therefore
may set up for a hero.”

“Laugh and welcome―I’m not a
tyrant. I don’t want to restrain any
body’s wit; but I cannot say I admire
puns.”

“Nor I neither,” said the time-serving
Fisher, sidling up to the Manager, and
picking the ice off a piece of plum-cake;
“nor I neither; I hate puns. I can
never understand Townsend’s puns; besides,
any body can make puns; and
one does’ntdoesn’t want wit either at all times;
for instance, when one is going to settle
about dinner, or business of consequence.
Bless us all, Archer!” continued he,
with sudden familiarity, “What a sight
of good things are here! I’m sure we 3 F5r 89
are much obliged to you and your cousin
―I never thought he’d have come.
Why, now we can hold out as long as
you please. Let us see,” said he, dividing
the provision upon the table, “we
can hold out to-day, and all to-morrow,
and part of the next day, may be. Why,
now, we may defy the doctor and the
Greybeards―and the doctor will surely
give up to us, for, you see, he knows
nothing of all this, and he’ll think we
are starving all this while; and he’d be
afraid, you see, to let us starve quite,
in reality, for three whole days, because
of what would be said in the town. My
aunt Barbara, for one, would be at him,
long before that time was out; and, besides,
you know, in that there case, he’d
be hanged for murder, which is quite
another thing, in law, from a Barring
out, you know.”

Archer had not given to this harangue
all the attention which it deserved; for F5v 90
his eye was fixed upon De Grey. “What
is De Grey thinking of?” he asked impatiently.

“I am thinking,” said De Grey,
“that Dr. Middleton must believe, that
I have betrayed his confidence in me.
The gardener was ordered away from his
watch-post for one half hour when I was
admitted. This half-hour the gardener
has made nearly an hour. I never
would have come amongst you, if I had
foreseen all this. Dr. Middleton trusted
me, and now he will repent of his confidence
in me.”

“De Grey,” cried Archer, with energy,
“he shall not repent of his confidence
in you; nor shall you repent of
coming amongst us; you shall find, that
we have some honour as well as yourself;
and I will take care of your honour,
as if it were my own!”

“Hey-day!” interrupted Townsend,
“are heroes allowed to change sides, F6r 91
pray? And does the chief of the Archers
stand talking sentiment to the chief of the
Greybeards? In the middle of his own
party too!”

“Party!” repeated Archer, disdainfully,
“I have done with parties! I
see what parties are made of. I have
felt the want of a friend, and I am determined
to make one, if I can.”

“That you may do,” said De Grey,
stretching out his hand.

“Unbar the doors! unbar the windows!
—Away with all these things!—
I give up for De Grey’s sake; he shall
not lose his credit on my account.”

“No,” said De Grey, “you shall not
give up for my sake.”

“Well then, I’ll give up to do what
is honourable,” said Archer.

“Why not to do what is reasonable?”
said De Grey.

“Reasonable!” O, the first thing
that a man of spirit should think of is,
what is honourable.”

F6v 92

“But how will he find out what is
honourable, unless he can reason?”

“O,” said Archer, “his own feelings
always tell him what is honourable.”

“Have not your feelings changed
within these few hours.”

“Yes, with circumstances; but right
or wrong, as long as I think it honourable
to do so and so, I’m satisfied.”

“But you cannot think any thing
honourable or the contrary, without
reasoning; and as to what you call
feeling, It’s only a quick sort of reasoning.”

“The quicker the better,” said Archer.

“Perhaps not,” said De Grey, “we
are apt to reason best, when we are not
in quite so great a hurry.”

“But,” said Archer, “we have not
always time enough to reason at first.”

“You must, however, acknowledge,”
replied De Grey, smiling, “that no man F7r 93
but a fool thinks it honourable to be in
the wrong at last. Is it not, therefore,
best to begin by reasoning to find out
the right at first?”

“To be sure.”

“And did you reason with yourself
at first? And did you find out that it
was right, to bar Dr. Middleton out of
his own school-room, because he desired
you not to go into one of his own
houses?”

“No; but I should never have
thought of heading a Barring out, if he
had not shewn partiality; and if you
had flown into a passion with me openly,
at once, for pulling down your scenery,
which would have gone slily and forbid
us the house, out of revenge, there
would have been none of this work.”

“Why,” said De Grey, “should you
suspect me of such a mean action, when
you have never seen or known me do F7v 94
any thing mean, and when in this instance
you have no proofs.”

“Will you give me your word and
honour now, De Grey, before every body
here, that you did not do what I
suspected?”

“I do assure you, upon my honour,
I never, directly or indirectly, spoke to
Dr. Middleton about the play-house.”

“Then,” said Archer, “I’m as glad
as if I had found a thousand pounds!―
Now you are my friend, indeed.”

“And Dr. Middleton―why should
you suspect him without reason, any
more than me?”

“As to that,” said Archer, “he is
your friend, and you are right to defend
him; and I won’t say another word
against him―will that satisfy you?”

“Not quite.”

“Not quite!―Then, indeed, you
are unreasonable!”

“No; for I don’t wish you to yield F8r 95
out of friendship to me, any more than
to honour. If you yield to reason, you
will be governed by reason another
time.”

“Well; but then don’t triumph over
me, because you have the best side of
the argument.”

“Not I!―how can I?” said De
Grey; “for now you are on the best side
as well as myself, are not you? So we
may triumph together.”

“You are a good friend!” said Archer,
and with great eagerness he pulled
down the fortifications, whilst every
hand assisted. The room was restored
to order in a few minutes; the shutters
were thrown open, the cheerful light let
in. The windows were thrown up, and
the first feeling of the fresh air was delightful.
The green play-ground appeared
before them, and the hopes of exercise
and liberty brightened the countenances
of these voluntary prisoners.

F8v 96

But, alas! they were not yet at liberty!
the idea of Dr. Middleton, and
the dread of his vengeance, smote their
hearts! When the rebels had sent an
ambassador with their surrender, they
stood in pale and silent suspense, waiting
for their doom.―“Ah!” said
Fisher, looking up at the broken panes
in the windows, “the doctor will think
the most of that―he’ll never forgive us
for that.”

“Hush! here he comes!”―His
steady step was heard approaching nearer
and nearer! Archer threw open the
door, and Dr. Middleton entered.―
Fisher instantly fell on his knees.

“It is no delight to me to see people
on their knees; stand up, Mr. Fisher.
I hope you all are conscious, that you
have done wrong?”

“Sir,” said Archer, “they are conscious,
that they have done wrong, and
so am I. I am the ringleader―punish G1r 97
me as you think proper―I submit. Your
punishments―your vengeance ought to
fall on me alone.”

“Sir,” said Dr. Middleton, calmly,
“I perceive, that whatever else you may
have learned in the course of your education,
you have not been taught the
meaning of the word punishment. Punishment
and vengeance do not, with
us, mean the same thing. Punishment
is pain given, with the reasonable hope of
preventing those, on whom it is inflicted,
from doing, in future, what will hurt
themselves or others. Vengeance never
looks to the future; but is the expression
of anger for an injury that is past.
I feel no anger―you have done me no
injury.”

Here many of the little boys looked
timidly up at the windows.

“Yes; I see that you have broken
my windows; that is a small evil.”

“O, sir! how good!―how merciful!Vol. VI. G G1v 98”
exclaimed those who had been
most panic-struck―“he forgives us!”

“Stay,” resumed Dr. Middleton, “I
cannot forgive you―I shall never revenge,
but it is my duty to punish.―
You have rebelled against the just authority,
which is necessary to conduct
yourselves.―Without obedience to your
master, as children, you cannot be educated.
Without obedience to the laws,”
added he, turning to Archer, “as men,
you cannot be suffered in society.―You,
sir, think yourself a man, I observe; and
you think it the part of a man, not to
submit to the will of another. I have
no pleasure in making others, whether
men or children, submit to my will; but
my reason and experience are superior
to yours―your parents at least think so,
or they would not have entrusted me
with the care of your education. As G2r 99
long as they do entrust you to my care,
and as long as I have any hopes of making
you wiser and better by punishment,
I shall steadily inflict it, whenever
I judge it to be necessary, and I
judge it to be necessary now. This is a
long sermon, Mr. Archer, not preached
to shew my own eloquence, but to convince
your understanding. Now, as to
your punishment!”

“Name it, sir,” said Archer; “whatever
it is, I will cheerfully submit to
it.”

“Name it yourself,” said Dr. Middleton,
“and shew me, that you now
understand the nature of punishment.”

Archer, proud to be treated like a
reasonable creature, and sorry that he
had behaved like a foolish school-boy,
was silent for some time, but a length
replied, “That he would rather not
name his own punishment.” He repeated,
however, that he “trusted he G2 G2v 100
should bear it well, whatever it might
be.”

“I shall then,” said Dr. Middleton,
“deprive you, for two months,
of pocket money, as you have had
too much, and have made a bad use
of it.”

“Sir,” said Archer, “I brought
five guineas with me to school―this
guinea is all that I have left.”

Dr. Middleton received the guinea
which Archer offered him, with a look
of approbation; and told him that it
should be applied to the repairs of the
school-room. The rest of the boys
waited in silence for the doctor’s sentence
against them; but not with those
looks of abject fear, with which boys
usually expect the sentence of a school-
master.

“You shall return from the play-
ground, all of you,” said Dr. Middleton,
“one quarter of an hour sooner [Gap in transcription—library stampomitted] G3r 101
for two months to come, than the
rest of your companions. A bell shall
ring at the appointed time. I give
you an opportunity of recovering my
confidence by your punctuality.”

“O, sir, we will come the instant,
the very instant the bell rings―you shall
have confidence in us,” cried they
eagerly.

“I deserve your confidence, I hope,”
said Dr. Middleton, “for it is my first
wish, to make you all happy.―You do
not know the pain, that it has cost me,
to deprive you of food for so many
hours.”

Here the boys, with one accord, ran
to the place where they had deposited
their last supplies.―Archer delivered
them up to the doctor, proud to shew,
that they were not reduced to obedience
merely by necessity.

“The reason,” resumed Dr. Middleton,
having now returned to the G3 G3v 102
usual benignity of his manner,―“The
reason why I desired, that none of you
should go to that building, (pointing
out of the window) was this: I had
been informed, that a gang of gipsies
had slept there the night before I spoke
to you, one of whom was dangerously
ill of a putrid fever. I did not choose
to mention my reason to you at that
time, for fear of alarming you or your
friends. I have had the place cleaned,
and you may return to it when
you please. The gipsies were yesterday
removed from the town.”

“De Grey, you were in the right,”
whispered Archer, “and it was I, that
was unjust.”

“The old woman,” continued the
doctor, “whom you employed to buy
food, has escaped the fever, but she
has not escaped a gaol, whither she was
sent yesterday, for having defrauded you
of your money.”

G4r 103

“Mr. Fisher,” said Doctor Middleton,
“as to you, I shall not punish
you!―I have no hope of making you
either wiser or better.―Do you know
this paper?”

The paper appeared to be a bill for
candles and a tinder-box.

“I desired him to buy those things,
sir,” said Archer, colouring.

“And did you desire him not to pay
for them?”

“No,” said Archer, “he had half a
crown on purpose to pay for them.”

“I know he had; but he chose to
apply it to his own private use, and
gave it to the gipsy, to buy twelve
buns for his own eating. To obtain
credit for the tinder-box and candle,
he made use of this name,” said he,
turning to the other side of the bill, and
pointing to De Grey’s name, which was
written at the end of a copy of one of
De Grey’s exercises.

G4 G4v 104

“I assure you, sir,” cried Archer―

“You need not assure me, sir,” said
Dr. Middleton, “I cannot suspect a
boy of your temper of having any
part in so base an action.―When the
people in the shop refused to let Mr.
Fisher have the things without paying
for them, he made use of De Grey’s
name, who was known there. Suspecting
some mischief, however, from
the purchase of the tinder-box, the
shopkeeper informed me of the circumstance.
Nothing in this whole business
gave me half so much pain, as
I felt for a moment, when I suspected,
that De Grey was concerned in it.”

A loud cry, in which Archer’s voice
was heard most distinctly, declared
De Grey’s innocence. Dr. Middleton
looked round at their eager, honest
faces, with benevolent approbation.

“Archer,” said he, taking him by
the hand, “I am heartily glad to see, 3 G5r 105
that you have gotten the better of your
party-spirit―I wish you may keep such
a friend, as you have now beside you.―
One such friend is worth two such
parties.

As for you, Mr. Fisher—depart—
you must never return hither again.”

In vain he solicited Archer and
De Grey to intercede for him. Every
body turned away with contempt, and
he sneaked out, whimpering in a doleful
voice―“What shall I say to my
aunt Barbara?”

G5v [Gap in transcription—library stampomitted]