Ir is due to our friend, Mr. Paul Chequerbent, to say that when he sat down to the banquet which he gave to himself and Miss Livingstone, in honour of his triumphant acquittal at the bar of justice, he fully intended to depart into the country on the following day. But a dinner, even such a one as can be procured in London, too frequently changes a man's course, and converts intentions, which might become the basis of very meritorious actions, into a portion of the pavement whereof the Spanish proverb tells us, and which, if such proverb represent fairly what is going on elsewhere, must be in as constant a state of disarrangement as the pavement in our own metropolis. Mr. Chequerbent, yielding to the spirit of the convivial board, at which all man's best feelings possess him, expressed his conviction that the kind attention Miss Livingstone had shown him, at a period when such service was most valuable, deserved some other recognition than a mere dinner, and that a very poor one, and he justly remarked that so few people behaved properly in this world that virtue ought not to go unrewarded. He therefore demanded what Angela would like as a memorial of the day which, if justice were done, would go down to posterity with that of the acquittal of the Seven Bishops. "Seven bishops! whatever were they tried for?" asked Angela, whose reading on such matters was restricted to the memoirs of the Scotch gentleman with roses tull his shoon, Jack the painter, Suil Dhuv the coiner, and such other historical personages, whose cases have been reheard at the foot-lights, and reproduced in penny feuilletons, with a coloured frontispiece. "They were obstinate parties," said Paul, "who always voted against King Charles having any money for his ships, so one day he came down to the House of Commons and seized them, saying, 'Take away those baubles.' The ladies in the ventilator called out that the king ought to have had too much sense to be there, on VOL. XXXIV. B which Oliver Cromwell held the Speaker down in his chair, and told the soldiers to fire at the ladies." 66 "Good business," said Angela, whose theatrical eye saw a tableau at once; of course the manly soldiers refuse to fire upon helpless women, but let fly at the bishops, who fall on the ground in white dresses left, ladies shrieking in gallery opposite prompt, red coats of soldiers right upper entrance, king with crown and robes in centre. Suddenly the parliament bursts into flames, and curtain down on red fire. I wonder if old Muzzy, who does our first pieces, ever read of it. Write down for me where the story is to be found." This little parliamentary episode being arranged, Paul reiterated his demand to know what Angela would like. "O, never mind anything now, Paul, dear," said Miss Livingstone," the weather will be finer soon, and then you must get me up, regardless of expense, to go to Hampton Court and no end of places, but my bonnet looks very well at present, and so does the blue plaid, especially since I have altered the sleeves, and quite fit to go out in." "Then I'll tell you what," said Paul, "one day more will not make much difference in my going away, and we'll have an out to-morrow." "But you are sure you wont get into any trouble by it," said Angela, "because that's all nonsense, you know, for the sake of a holiday. I am sure I often look at the bright sky of an evening, about six, and think how nice it would be to go and walk quietly in the fresh air, instead of turning out of the sunlight into a den where one must spend seven or eight hours in the heat, and dust, and smell, and gaslight, exerting and exciting myself till I am ready to drop; but I never was forfeited, for all that." "I should be forfeited about twenty times a week," said Mr. Chequerbent," and I only wonder why you professionals are so loyal, knowing how particularly quickly managers pitch you to the deuce, if they can get hold of anything likely to be more profitable." Some do, some don't," said the little actress: "at the Frippery, where I sprained my ankle, they were very kind, and sent me wine and jelly, and a railway ticket, when I got better, for me to go to my aunt's at Sevenoaks." "They could afford to do that," said the sceptical Paul, "never paying any salaries to anybody who is well." "Ah, some people are paid there," said Angela, "though, of course, for appearance sake, they are bound to declare they never get a shilling. Fancy Placket, for instance, as selfish an old card as lives, stopping there all this time without his money. It's only the poor things who can't help themselves that are not paid." "I can tell you something about that," said Paul, "but now look here-where shall we go to-morrow?” "All places suit this child," said Angela, smiling, "provided she is taken the greatest care of, and everything of the best is provided for her." |