paper, and threw it out of window! Kean, discovering his loss, was furious. His wife held her peace. It was in vain that he examined and cross-examined the servants. "Mary," he said at length, in tones of the deepest melancholy, 'your son has lost his fortune. He was worth 10,000l. Now he is a beggar!

When Macready produced As You Like It,' with great completeness, at Drury Lane in 1842, he was anxious to procure a real deer-skin for exhibition in the forest scenes, and by way of illustration of the song What shall he have that killed the deer? The Duke of Beaufort seems to have gathered that some difficulty had arisen in the matter. Macready enters in his Diary: The Duke of Beaufort called and inquired of me about the deer-skin I wanted for "As You Like It." He very courteously and kindly said he would send to Badminton, and if there was not one ready he would desire his keeper to send one express. It was extremely kind,' concludes the tragedian, evidently deeply touched by the ducal interest in a stage property.

Only one word more about stage properties.

Mr. Three-stars, the eminent tragedian about to appear for the first time upon a provincial stage, made express inquiries concerning "the acoustic properties' of the house. Thereupon the anxious property-man rushed into the presence of the manager. We have not got all the properties yet, sir; Mr. Three-stars wants the acoustic properties.' 'Get them at once, then; let Mr. Three-stars have everything he wants!' was the prompt reply of the energetic

manager.

294

An Automatic Enigma.

BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE.

I.

Ir was a time-honoured custom of the Mullenville population to assemble at the village post-office every afternoon (except Sundays) between four and five o'clock; and there, while waiting for the mail to be made up, to indulge in social conversation. This post-office was but one phase, so to say, of Mr. Samuel Cooper's large grocery-shop, on the corner of the main street. Mr. Cooper, on receiving his appointment in due course after the presidential election, had caused a large, handsome case, made of polished woods and fronted with glass, to be erected on one of his counters; behind this the mail was sorted and the letters popped deftly into their proper pigeon-holes, where the expectant owners could see them through the glass, and speculate as to whom they were from. When all were distributed the little door at the centre was opened and the letters delivered through it to the people. Persons who have always been waited on by postmen at their own houses can never know how much sociable enjoyment and pleasurable suspense their unacquaintance with this Mullenville custom has lost them. The sight of letters and newspapers popping into boxes seemed to assist ideas in popping into heads and words in popping out. At no time, certainly, were the inhabitants of Mullenville more gay, talkative, and good-humoured than at afternoon mail-time in Mr. Cooper's shop; and as for the lovers-miserable indeed would have been their predicament had the Mullenville post-office happened not to exist.

On the sixth day of August, 1873-for in matters of this importance it is desirable to be accurate about dates-the usual genial assemblage was buzzing within the post-office walls. It was nearly five o'clock; the mail was well-nigh assorted. Now the little delivery door was thrown open with a sharp click-clack, and up surged the people, breaking wavelike in front of it, and thence flowing off in a lengthened stream to the shop entrance, when those who emerged first grouped themselves upon the steps and sidewalk and watched the egress of those who came after them. Amongst the former was noticeable the figure of an elegantlyattired, aristocratic young fellow, with a countenance handsome and enterprising, and easy and confident bearing. It was young

Ned Holland, from the University, who, having been detected in some tremendous joke upon the Faculty,' had been sent up here to rusticate. He was a talented, audacious young gentleman, one of those rare characters who are popular with both men and women. There was a good deal of the romantic in his composition, combined with that impetuosity of feeling and fertility of invention which are generally pleasing to the softer sex, and to the sterner likewise-unless there should happen to be a question of jealousy involved. And just here it is proper to state that Asa Cooper, the postmaster's only son, and the heir of his large business and considerable savings, was bitterly jealous of Mr. Ned Holland. Nor was his jealousy unfounded.

Pretty, naïve, charming Nellie Swansdowne came out of the post-office door just as the clock struck five, and long-legged, red-faced, awkward Asa Cooper appeared there at her side. He was paying her compliments fragrant with the perfume of bad tobacco and pomade, and as they descended the steps he crooked his elbow at her, and affably bade her hook on to it!'

Nobody could agree, in discussing the episode afterwards, exactly how it was done, but everybody did agree that nothing could have been quicker, neater, completer. Some one had stepped suddenly forth from the crowd on the sidewalk; a stern, decided voice had said, Stand aside, sir!' a gentle, caressing murmur had added, 'Allow me, Miss Swansdowne!' and lo! there stood Asa, rebuffed, forlorn, his face purple with a medley of malignant passions, while yonder, moving away arm in arm, a picture of clinging trust on one side and loving guardianship on the other, were to be seen the well-matched figures of Ned. Holland and Nellie Swansdowne. That was the amount of it.

Everybody chuckled and felt pleased, and Asa the discomfited found no sympathy anywhere. He had never been a favourite of the younger generation of Mullenville, although, owing to his sound financial prospects, he was treated with some deference by such of the elders as had marriageable daughters on hand. On the present occasion, however, he was universally laughed at, and the gallant young gentleman from the College was the hero of the hour.

The reader's imagination will spare him the trouble of being told what events had led up to this incident-how during the month of Ned Holland's sojourn in Mullenville, his manly grace and Nellie's maidenly charm had proved mutually and irresistibly attractive; or how, the day before the exploit we have witnessed, the loving explanation had taken place, and Asa Cooper's final overthrow been agreed upon. It is needless to enter into these particulars; what follows is of greater moment.

II.

A WALK of more than half a mile lay between the lovers and the vine-clad farmhouse in which Nellie lived. It was an ideal lovers' walk, winding always, with lush meadows and a brook on the right hand, and an undulating hill on the left; the road everywhere overshadowed by tall elm and butternut trees. But had it been never so unpicturesque, the sunshine in the young people's hearts would have supplied all deficiencies. Yet, alas! for the folly of human beings, their own wanton enemies. It was on this selfsame solitary road, gilded by the setting sun and shadowed by the trees, that these two fortune-favoured, romantic young idiots must needs involve themselves in a lovers' quarrel, brought on by absolutely nothing whatever, and yet maintained with as much determination as though the life and honour of each of them had hung upon the issue. Let the shade of the discarded Asa rejoice! It happened precisely thus :

NED HOLLAND (as they turn the corner of the main street and strike into their homeward road). What was poor Asa saying to you, Nellie, when I interfered?

NELLIE SWANSDOWNE (gathering up her skirts deftly with one hand, while she holds unnecessarily fast to Ned's arm with the other). Oh, I don't know! Some of his bosh, I suppose. I'm sure I didn't listen to him!

NED (smiling self-complacently). You used to listen to him a. good deal, though, before I came on the scene?

NELLIE (turning up her distracting nose the least mite in the world). Well, for the matter of that, I've listened to plenty of bosh, both before you came-and since.

NED (hypocritically tragic). Oh, Nellie! do you really believe that all I have said to you during these few heavenly weeks has been-bosh?

NELLIE (giving his arm a tiny remorseful squeeze). Not quite so bad as that, Ned; I was only making fun.

NED (tyrannically following up his advantage, bending towards her confidentially). You do care for me-don't you,

dear?

NELLIE (looking down, and excessively lovely; then up, and blushing). Well, I should think you might know by this. Ah! Ned-oh! right in the street, and everybody looking! Aren't you ashamed?

NED (insufferably exultant at having done it). Oh, so awfully ashamed! There was nobody looking, though, you sweet little goose!

(Here follows a pretty long silence, both walking along with their eyes on the ground, not only arm in arm but hand in hand likewise, and their hearts feeling so tender as to be almost painful.)

NED (slaying the slain again). How did you ever come to like Asa Cooper, Nellie? What was the fascination?

NELLIE (reproachfully). Why, Ned! you know there wasn't any. I always detested the great red-faced creature; but you know he's rich, and papa owes Mr. Cooper a lot of money, and so -well, you know how it was.

NED (with confidence). But your papa will be glad to have us married, won't he?

NELLIE (hesitating). Well-papa will, of course; but I'm afraid old Mr. Cooper will be angry and come down on poor papa for the debt. That's all I fear.

NED (smiling reassuringly). Oh, my dear, you may rely on me to manage all that!

NELLIE (impulsively). I always do rely on you, dear

(It was more excusable this time; they were in the shadow of a great butternut tree, and the coast was clear. But she blushed as rosily as before, and gave him a little cuff on the ear.)

NED (who wants more). What is it about me that you most like, Nellie?

NELLIE (who thinks he may have had too much, and wishes to keep him within bounds). Your nose, I think. It's the part of you one sees first.

NED (whose rather large nose is his one weak point). I wouldn't make personal remarks if I were you, my dear. It isn't well-bred.

NELLIE (who, being a country girl, is particularly sensitive about good breeding). Much obliged to you for telling me, I'm sure! I'll try not to shock your taste in future.

NED (with a dignifiedly aggrieved air). It's my feelings rather than my taste

NELLIE (interrupting him with an unreal, satiric laugh). Your feelings! really! Come, Ned, you mustn't talk about your feelings to me! Whatever else I don't know, I do know you!

NED (as if hearing for the first time an interesting bit of news). Indeed? Well, I'm glad you do know something!

NELLIE (coldly, dropping his arm). I'm not proud of the knowledge. It doesn't amount to much, and it was a bore learning. NED (politely-very unhappy). I'm afraid I'm detaining you too long from the society of Mr. Asa Cooper.