The meeting, they soon found, was principally held for the object of informing the people of the arrangements which had been made for the great meeting to take place in a few days. All in the hall were evidently in their way leaders, and the speakers urged them to bring up their forces to the appointed place, to keep them well in hand, and to be prepared in case of resistance, for barricade fighting. Each was requested to notice particularly the addresses of the gunsmiths' shops, and even of second-hand dealers where a few firearms might be exhibited in the windows, and to tell off men upon whom they could rely to seize the arms. General instructions, too, were given as to forming barricades; and the noble example of the French was cited to them again and again. “This is rather a serious business, Frank.” “It's all talk, my dear fellow; an English mob has no idea of street fighting; a few hundred policemen would drive ten thousand of them.” The speaker now finished amid a low murmur of applause. The man who followed him was of a less practical turn, and simply strove to excite his hearers by a speech calling upon them to strike for liberty, and to cut off the chains in which they were bound by a pampered aristocracy. “Look out, Perkins, I'm going to begin,” Frank said; and then, at the top of his voice, he shouted out, “That's a lie!” An immense confusion at once took place in the hall. There were shouts of “A spy!”—“Turn him out!”—“Hang him!”—“Lock the doors!” But those nearest who turned to carry these threats into execution, hesitated a moment at the sight of the three powerful men who guarded the door, which Prescott, as previously agreed, had opened, to prevent the man in the passage locking it on the other side. The hesitation was momentary, and then a tremendous rush was made by the exasperated crowd. Those in front, however, as speedily recoiled, or were beaten back by the tremendous blows of Frank Maynard and the two prizefighters. The assault of the Slogger, however, was not in the first place directed against those who attacked him, but against a man who was standing in front of him, and who had evinced no intention of taking part in the fray. He was a tall man, dressed as a bricklayer, with large whiskers and black hair. Soon after he had entered, the Slogger had noticed with surprise that these whiskers were false, for the upper part of one of them, owing probably to the heat of the room, had become detached from his face. The Slogger would not have thought much of this, as he supposed at first it was some one who had disguised himself, and come merely from curiosity, as he had himself, but something in the man's figure, and in his peculiar way of holding his head, reminded him of a man against whom he had a particular grudge, for having, only the week before, been the means of transporting the Slogger's brother. He determined immediately the fray began to find out if his suspicions were correct.