Archer, who had spent the night as a man who had the cares of government upon his shoulders, rose early in the morning, whilst everybody else was fast asleep. In the night he had resolved the affair of the trap-door, and a new danger had alarmed him. It was possible that the enemy might descend upon them through the trap-door. The room had been built high to admit a free circulation of air. It was twenty feet, so that it was in vain to think of reaching to the trap-door. As soon as the daylight appeared, Archer rose softly, that he might _reconnoitre_, and devise some method of guarding against this new danger. Luckily there were round holes in the top of the window-shutters, which admitted sufficient light for him to work by. The remains of the soaked feast, wet candles, and broken glass spread over the table in the middle of the room, looked rather dismal this morning. “A pretty set of fellows I have to manage!” said Archer, contemplating the group of sleepers before him. “It is well they have somebody to think for them. Now if I wanted—which, thank goodness, I don’t—but if I did want to call a cabinet council to my assistance, whom could I pitch upon? not this stupid snorer, who is dreaming of gipsies, if he is dreaming of anything,” continued Archer, as he looked into Fisher’s open mouth. “This next chap is quick enough; but, then, he is so fond of having everything his own way. And this curl pated monkey, who is grinning in his sleep, is all tongue and no brains. Here are brains, though nobody would think it, in this lump,” said he, looking at a fat, rolled up, heavy breathing sleeper; “but what signify brains to such a lazy dog? I might kick him for my football this half hour before I should get him awake. This lank jawed harlequin beside him is a handy fellow, to be sure; but, then, if he has hands, he has no head—and he’d be afraid of his own shadow too, by this light, he is such a coward! And Townsend, why, he has puns in plenty; but, when there’s any work to be done, he’s the worst fellow to be near one in the world—he can do nothing but laugh at his own puns. This poor little fellow that we hunted into the corner has more sense than all of them put together; but then he is a Greybeard.” Thus speculated the chief of a party upon his sleeping friends. And how did it happen that he should be so ambitious to please and govern this set, when, for each individual of which it was composed, he felt such supreme contempt? He had formed them into a _party_, had given them a name, and he was at their head. If these be not good reasons, none better can be assigned for Archer’s conduct. “I wish ye could all sleep on,” said he; “but I must waken ye, though you will be only in my way. The sound of my hammering must waken them; so I may as well do the thing handsomely, and flatter some of them by pretending to ask their advice.”