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 sidescene 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."