The printing-press, representative of knowledge, enemy of darkness, stupidity, cruelty; organ of civilization--was ignominiously thrust to the door. This feat performed, they went to attack anti-theft. “Will you come along with us, sir, to see it is all legal?” sneered Fry. “I will come to see that insolence is not added to cruelty.” At the door of Mary Baker's cell Mr. Eden hung back as Hodges and Fry passed in. At last, after a struggle, he entered the cell. The turnkeys had gathered up the girl's work and tools, and were coming out with them, while the artisan stood desolate in the middle of the cell. “Oh, sir,” cried she to Mr. Eden, “I am glad you are here. These blackguards have broke into my cell, and they are robbing it.” “Hush, Mary; what they are doing is the law, and we were acting against the law.” “Were we, sir?” “Yes. It is a bad law, and will be changed; but till it is changed we must obey it. You are only one victim among many. Be patient, and pray for help to bear it.” “Yes, your reverence. Are they all to be robbed of their tools?” “All.” “Poor things!” said Mary Baker. “Evans, it is beyond my strength--I am but a man; I can bear even this, but I can't bear to see it done. I can't bear it! I can't bear it!” And his reverence turned his back on the moral butchers, and crept away to his own room. There he sank into a chair and laid his brow upon the table with his hands stretched out before him and his whole frame trembling most piteously. Eden and Hawes are not level antagonists--one takes things to heart, the other to temper. In this bitter hour it seemed to him impossible that he could ever counteract the pernicious Hawes. “There is but one chance left for these poor souls. I shall try it, and it will fail. Well! let it fail! Were there a thousand more chances against me than there are I must battle to the last. Let me mature my plan;” and he fell into a sad but stern reverie. He lay thus crushed, though not defeated, more than two hours in silence. Had Hawes seen him he would have exulted at his appearance. “A man from the jail to speak to you, sir.” A heavy rap at the parlor door, and Evans came in sheepishly smoothing down his hair. Mr. Eden turned his head as he lay on the sofa and motioned him to a seat. “I couldn't sleep till I had spoken to you. I obeyed your orders, sir. We have undone your work.” “How did the poor souls bear it?” “Some cried, some abused us, one or two showed they were better than we are.” “How?” “They prayed Heaven to forgive us and hoped we might never come to know what they felt. I wish I'd never seen the inside of a jail. Fry got a scratched face in one cell, sir.” “I am sorry to hear that. I shall have to scold her; who was it?” “You won't scold her; you won't have the heart.” “I will scold her whether I have the heart or not. Who was it?” “No. 57, a gal that had some caterpillars.” “Silkworms!”