that there is a ceremony which, in polite language, is termed asking the dearly-beloved object of your affections "the momentous question," and in vulgar parlance is called "popping the question." I may honestly say that I neither popped nor momented. Looking back on a long vista of years, I cannot for the life of me remember any period when I was engaged; I only remember being free, and being—well—married. Marriages, they say, are made in Heaven. I don't want to be irreverent, but sometimes I can't help wishing that Heaven had left me, as the charity cards say, "totally unprovided for." But my provision approaches.

(Enter Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Mrs. W. (sits L.). So, Mr. Watmuff, I find you alone. I am fortunate. Sit down, sit down, sir. I repeat, I am fortunate.

Mr. W. (sits, R.). My dear, I am very glad to hear it. Fortune, they say, favors the—

Mrs. W. A truce, sir, to ribaldry. The time has come when a definite understanding should exist between us.

Mr. W. My dear, so far as I am concerned, a very definite understanding has existed for a very long time.

Mrs. W. Peace, vain scoffer! and hear me. Our daughter, Mr. Watmuff, is of an age to wed.

Mr. W. My love, I am given to understand that she also is of that opinion.

Mrs. W. And of this crisis in the life of our only child you make an opportunity to fly in my face.

Mr. W. Do I, my dear? I was not aware of it.

Mrs. W. Do you not directly encourage the advances of a suitor who is to me in every way distasteful?

Mr. W. But, my love, on what grounds? On what grounds?

Mrs. W. Grounds, Mr. Watmuff—grounds! You speak of your daughter as though she were so much coffee. Is it not enough that I object to the addresses of this young upstart?

Mr. W. My dear, it is quite enough. I may say that it is more than enough. But what was I to do? I always liked Walter. You know that I dote on Emily. They come to me, tell me that they love each other, and ask for my blessing. I happen to have a blessing by me, and I give it them.

Mrs. W. And without a thought of me—me, the partner of your joys and sorrows—me, the ruling spirit of your existence. You have no right to dispose of a blessing of your own, Mr. Watmuff—you have not got one. Such a blessing is a curse.

Mr. W. Well, my love, whatever it is, they've got it, and they seem to like it, so far, well enough. But—

Mrs. W. A truce—a truce, I say.

Mr. W. A truce, by all means; but as for Walter Litherland—

Mrs. W. Walter Litherland never marries daughter of mine, Mr. Watmuff. It is enough. I have said it. I married to gratify my parents. Emily will marry to gratify me.

Mr. W. My love, may I, with all deference, venture to remind you that your respected and beloved parents were, when I first had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, what may be called "no more."

Mrs. W. Silence, mocker of the dead. They had gone to their reward. But I lived to obey their wishes.

Mr. W. Oh, and was I one of them?

Mrs. W. In the abstract, yes. What did I find you?

Mr. W. My dear, don't allude to that. You did not find me much; but I am not an avaricious man, and as I said at the time, what I looked for in a wife was not so much money as—

Mrs. W. Sordid one! Ever thinking of your worldly goods. When I ask, what did I find you? I allude to your moral condition. You were a smoker of tobacco. Do you deny it?

Mr. W. (regretfully). I used to enjoy a cigar.

Mrs. W. You were a bibber of wine. Was it not so?

Mr. W. (regretfully). A glass of port now and then was very pleasant to me.

Mrs. W. It was such as you that my parents hated. It was such as you they loved to reform. It is the custom of some to erect to the memory of their parents costly monuments of marble, and gaudy windows of perishable glass. I erected you. Say, have I altered you? Do you smoke now?

Mr. W. (very mournfully). I do not.

Mrs. W. Where is your cellar of port?

Mr. W. In my cellar. It has remained there, my love, since, twenty years ago, you appropriated the key; and (with a groan) it must be in very fine condition.

Mrs. W. Ay! you can still think of the condition of your port; lucky for you that I have thought of your condition. You are a mausoleum, Mr. Watmuff, of which my parents may feel justly proud. Their tomb will not be neglected during the lifetime of their daughter. My decision with regard to Walter Litherland is one more immortelle woven, by loving hands to their memory. You are a mausoleum, Mr. Watmuff. (Exit Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

Mr. W. A mausoleum, am I? I wish they'd put a railing round me then, and keep me isolated. I'm always being railed at. Why, if I'm regarded from that point of view, can't I be railed in? I haven't the privileges of a family vault. I'm only a common grave, walked over and trampled on by everybody. It's too bad. It would be rough enough on a grave, but on flesh and blood it's outrageous. And when I think of that cellar of port, d—d if I don't wish I was buried—with it. How crusty it must be now! As crusty, I expect, as I ought to be if I only dared to show my teeth.

(Enter Ferdinand Swift, door R.)

Mr. W. Ferdinand, can I believe my eyes? My dear nephew, I thought you were in America.

Fer. America twelve days ago—England to-day—this my first call; glad to see you, uncle.

Mr. W. And I'm glad to see you, my boy. (They shake hands heartily.) But why have you returned so soon, Ferdinand? I thought you would remain in America until you had made your mark.

Fer. My dear uncle, I have made it. If marks were now, as they were once, the current coin of the realm, you'd find I'd made a considerable number.

Mr. W. My dear boy, I'm very glad to hear it. I always said you would do well. Tell me all about it.

(Enter Walter Litherland, door R.)

Walter. Mr. Watmuff, might I crave one moment?—(seeing Swift)—Oh! I beg your pardon, sir; I see you are engaged.

Mr. W. Not at all, not at all. Ferdinand, you must let me introduce to you my friend, Walter Litherland. Walter, this is my nephew, Ferdinand Swift, just returned from America, having made his fortune.

Walter. I am very glad to hear it. I must congratulate you, sir.

Fer. Not at all. Very glad, indeed, to know you. Friend of the family, must, of course, be a friend of mine.

Mr. W. Quite right, quite right. I must tell you, Ferdinand, that Walter is attached to Emily.

Fer. Very