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The whole community rang with the praises of the manner in which the great Dramatic Entertainment had been carried out. Indeed I never can forget the pride with which we listened to the verdict of the head-gardener, who was a man of culture (in every sense I emphasize the word), when he assured us that the latter part of the play was the finest thing he had ever seen in all his life. The tailor (a convict) who made the gentlemen’s costumes, also participated in the success, and I remember the delight with which my mother heard, on the day following the representation, how little Cavendish had thanked the costumier most graciously for making the royal robes so well. Let me pause to say they were indeed gorgeous, being constructed out of some old scarlet moreen curtains, bound with yellow cotton ferret, the kingly cap surmounted by a splendid brass ornament, which had fallen off one of the old chairs. “I wish I was really a king,” said the little four-year-old monarch to the convict, “and then I would set you free at once.”