Edward had entered into a business in which temptations of a peculiar nature gathered about him.  Like nearly every one in those days, he had no scruples against the use of wine.  He thought no danger was associated with its use; and, as an objection against that would clash with the interests of his own pecuniary affairs, he would be the last to raise it.  In dealing forth to others, how strong came the temptation to deal it to himself!  Othro drank, and pronounced a certain kind of wine a great luxury.  Edward could not (or, at least, so he thought) do otherwise; and so he drank, and pronounced the same judgment upon it.

“What say you for an evening at the theatre?” said Othro, one evening, as they were passing from their place of business, having left it in care of their servants.  “At the Gladiate the play is ‘Hamlet,’ and Mr. Figaro, from the old Drury, appears.”

Edward had been educated in strict puritanic style, and had been taught to consider the theatre as a den of iniquity.  It is not our purpose to defend or oppose this opinion.  It was his, and he freely expressed it.  In fact, his partner knew it to be such before making the request.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Treves, “you oppose the theatre on account of the intoxicating drinks sold there.  Now, I am for a social drop occasionally.  Edward, a glass of pure ‘Cogniac,’ a nice cigar, and a seat in front of a grate of blazing coal, and I’ll be joyful.”

“You may be joyful, then,” replied Mr. Dayton; “but your joy might be changed to grief, and your buoyancy of spirit be turned to sadness of heart.”

“Indeed, Edward!  Quite a lecture, I declare!  Been studying theology, eh?”

“Not so; you are mistaken, Othro,” said he.  “There,” he continued, pointing to a reeling sot that passed them, “ask that man where he first went for joy, and he may tell you of the theatre, or of social glasses of brandy, cigars, and such like.”

They had now arrived in front of the “Gladiate,” a massive stone structure, most brilliantly illuminated.  Long rows of carriages stood in front, and crowds of the gay and fashionable were flocking in.

All was activity.  Hackmen snapped their whips.  Boys, ragged and dirty, were waiting for the time when “checks” would circulate, and, in fact, were in much need of checks, but those of a different nature from those they so eagerly looked for.

Anon, the crowd gathered closer; and the prospect of a fight put the boys in hysterics of delight, and their rags into great commotion.  To their sorrow, it was but the shadow of a “row”; and they kicked and cuffed each other, in order to express their grief.

A large poster announced in flaming characters that that night was the last but two of Mr. Figaro’s appearance, and that other engagements would prevent him from prolonging his stay, however much the public might desire him to do so; whilst, if the, truth had been told, the public would have known that a printer was that moment “working off” other posters, announcing a re‰ngagement of Mr. Figaro for two weeks.