“Well! look here! let’s go and look on, and I’ll tell you a dodge; put one of the tin washing-basins against the iron door of the lavatory, and then if any one comes he’ll make clang enough to wake dead; and while he’s amusing himself with this, there’ll be lots of time to ‘extinguish the superfluous abundance of the nocturnal illuminators.’ Eh?” “Capital!” said Eric, “come along.” They went down and arranged the signal very artistically, leaving the iron door ajar a little, and then neatly poising the large tin basin on its edge, so as to lean against it. Having extremely enjoyed this part of the proceeding, they went to look at the theatricals again, the boys being highly delighted at Upton’s appearance among them. They at once made Eric take a part in some very distant reminiscences of Macbeth, and corked his cheeks with whiskers and mustachios to make him resemble Banquo, his costume being completed by a girdle round his nightshirt, consisting of a very fine crimson silk handkerchief, richly broidered with gold, which had been brought to him from India, and which at first, in the innocence of his heart, he used to wear on Sundays, until he acquired the sobriquet of “the Dragon.” Duncan made a superb Macbeth. They were doing the dagger-scene, which was put on the stage in a most novel manner. A sheet had been pinned from the top of the room, on one side of which stood a boy with a broken dinner knife, the handle end of which he was pushing through a hole in the middle of the sheet at the shadow of Duncan on the other side. Duncan himself, in an attitude of intensely affected melodrama, was spouting-- “Is this a dagger which I see before me? The handle towards me now? come, let me clutch thee;” And he snatched convulsively at the handle of the protruded knife; but as soon as he nearly touched it, this end was immediately withdrawn, and the blade end substituted, which made the comic Macbeth instantly draw back again, and recommence his apostrophe. This scene had tickled the audience immensely, and Duncan, amid shouts of laughter, was just drawing the somewhat unwarrantable conclusion that it was “A dagger of the mind, a false creation,” when a sudden grating, followed by a reverbrated clang, produced a dead silence. “Cavè,” shouted Eric, and took a flying leap into his bed. Instantly there was a bolt in different directions; the sheet was torn down, the candles dashed out, the beds shoved aside, and the dormitories at once plunged in profound silence, only broken by the heavy breathing of sleepers, when in strode--not Mr. Rose or any of the under masters--but--Dr. Rowlands himself!