accident and the means used to remedy it, and
advised him to have it looked to the first thing
in the morning. In the mean time, a spectator
of trained powers of observation and great
experience had also augured mischief, and given
a warning.

Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, the eminent
scene-painter of Drury Lane, and afterwards a great
marine painter, had been introduced by Mr.
Carruthers, one of the proprietors, to the architect,
with a request that he (Mr. Stanfield) would
show him the internal arrangements of Drury
Lane, where the carpenters' shops and flies were
affixed to the roof, but were also supported by
strong underlying beams running from the posts
of the proscenium to the back walls. Mr. Stanfield's
quick eye saw the lower fly give way. He
spoke to Shaw, and asked if it could not be
propped up? Shaw said every plank had been
taken away. Mr. Stanfield then said to Mr.
Whitwell, who was at the back of the stage:
"Does not this alarm you?"

The architect replied (and this seemed his
great self-deception all through):

"I have nothing to do with that part of the
business."

Mr. Stanfield replied, in his sailor-like way,
"Oh! The deuce you haven't!"

On the Tuesday, so far from being lessened,
the weight attached to the roof was recklessly
increased. About a ton weight more of benches,
&c., was carried up from the theatre to the
carpenters' shop, by tackle fixed to the roof. There
were then eight men in the painters' and forty
men in the carpenters' shop. On this as on a
previous occasion, Mr. Whitwell flew into a
violent passion about the danger of the pendent
and vibrating weight. He told Mr. Carruthers
that he had first observed the strain on the roof
on the 15th of February, while inspecting the
ventilating apparatus.

Mr. Carruthers or Mr. Maurice answered
angrily:

"We know what we are about, Mr. Whitwell.
We don't proceed without advice. We have
written to Bristol, and have got permission to
hang as much weight to the roof as we like,
provided it be a steady weight."

When Mr. Whitwell left, Mr. Carruthers
scolded Shaw, and asked him if he (Mr. Carruthers)
was his master, or Mr. Whitwell? He
(Mr. Carruthers) was as good an architect, on
his own behalf, he said, as Mr. Whitwell was,
and he could manage the men, and he was as
good a carpenter as Shaw himself.

Shaw then told Mr. Pulsford, who was also
alarmed, that the timbers were not yet strutted,
and said that, when they were, the carpenters'
floor would not vibrate. Mr. Whitwell had
previously agreed with Pulsford about the danger
of overweighting the roof, but had said it was
a matter over which he had no control.

On this same Tuesday, the P. S., or prompt
fly, also settled about half an inch. On the
Wednesday, Shaw, the clerk of the works, told Mr.
Carruthers that two uprights must be fixed at
the end of each fly, as the flies were too heavy for
the roof. Shaw then ordered two men, named
Mills and Davidson, to go to Jones's timberyard
and cut two uprights, seven inches square
and twenty-two feet long. They were also to
cut holes in the floors, to discover at what
point the uprights could be best fixed.

On this same Wednesday morning, Mr. Carruthers
(a haberdasher in Gracechurch-street)
had been told for the first time that the flies
had sunk. A man named Blamire told him
secretly (West being jealous of the proprietor's
interference with the architect, his employer)
that the roof had warped. He then told
Shaw to get supporters for the flies. Shaw
replied, there was no danger, but it should be
done. At about a quarter past five, Carruthers,
dining at Maurice's, felt uneasy about the roof,
and, when the cloth was drawn, slipped out to
the theatre. To his surprise, all was dim and
silent, and the porter told him that Shaw had
knocked off the men and gone to Vauxhall. He
wanted the porter to find out the carpenters, and
bring them at once to put up the supports; but
the porter said it was impossible then to find
them out and collect them. Mr. Carruthers
returned home uneasy. On the Thursday morning
he went down again and expostulated with Shaw,
who said it was usual to knock off early on the
Wednesdays and Fridays in Lent; and that
there was no danger, or his wife would not be
at that very moment up-stairs, stitching canvas.
The supports were then preparing.

On the Thursday morning a rehearsal had
been called, of Guy Mannering.
Mr. Mannering, the Dominie, Meg Merrilies, the
terrible Dirk—were all on the stage or at the
wings. The stage-manager was reviewing and
scolding his troops; the gentlemen in the
orchestra were bending over their music, or
extracting extraordinary experimental notes from
their instruments. All was cheerful bustle,
hope, and excitement. There were about
twenty-four persons on the stage or behind the
scenes. Mr. Fearon, the conductor, was in the
orchestra, arranging and giving out the music;
and immediately before the orchestra, in the
first row of the pit, sat his two sisters, as
spectators.

There were two stage boxes close to the
proscenium, fitted up for the proprietors. Of
these, Mr. Maurice was to have one, and Mr.
Carruthers the other.

Mr. P. Farren, the stage-manager, was
sitting on the front of Mr. Maurice's box, and Mr.
Maurice was standing close before him. Mr.
Maurice had just put a farce, called The
Poachers, into the stage-manager's hand,
saying: " I should be glad if this could be done
on Monday, it is a piece likely to do us a deal
of good."

While they were still talking (it was then
about twenty-five minutes to twelve o'clock), a
strange noise was heard above, like a slight
crash of timber. It sounded like a beam which
some carpenters had let drop, and, as builders'
workmen were still in the theatre, no one paid
any attention to it. Another similar sound