Smith. You have not? On your honor as a gentleman?

Dunn. On my honor as a gentleman.

Smith. That's curious. Have you not got a mare to dispose of?

Dunn. No; more than that I never possessed one or a horse either.

Smith. Then why did you not say so before? You answered my questions about the mare Fanny and——

Dunn. Because I thought you were speaking of my daughter. You see I am expecting a Mr. Smith here this morning—the writer of the letter I have shown you—who is anxious to pay his addresses to my daughter Fanny. As he is a perfect stranger to me, and as you answered to the name of Smith, I naturally thought you were the gentleman I expected, hence the confusion.

Smith. There is something very peculiar about this affair that I——(a knock is heard at the door, r. Dunn. puts Smith's letter on the table—goes to the door and opens it. Short pause)

Dunn. What name did you say? Oh, Smith. Ah, yes, it's all right, Jane, show him in. (turns to James Smith) I must ask you to excuse me now, Mr. Smith. The other Mr. Smith has arrived. I hope you will hear something about the mare before the day is over.

Smith. I hope so, Mr. Dunnbrowne. (takes his hat and cane)

Enter, Joseph Smith, r.

James S. (aside) So this is the lover. Ah, poor fellow, (aloud) Good morning, Mr. Dunnbrowne, good morning.

Dunn. Good morning, Mr. Smith. (Exit, James S., r.) And good morning to you, Mr. Smith, (shakes hands with Joseph S., who is very pale and looks very mournful)

Joseph S. Good morning, Mr. Dunnbrowne.

Dunn. Take a seat, Mr. Smith.

Smith. Thank you, sir. (sits, r., stands his umbrella between his knees—puts his hat on the top of it and looks vacantly before him. Dunn. sits l. of table)

Dunn. (surveying him—aside) His appearance is not very pre-possessing; but I must not judge him by his looks. (aloud) This is a beautiful morning, is it not, Mr. Smith?

Smith. (solemnly) It is.

Dunn. (aside) He is not at all conversational. (aloud) We—we—er—we have had, I may say, several beautiful mornings lately, have we not, Mr. Smith?

Smith. (mournfully) We have.

Dunn. (aside) Umph! He must be very bashful and nervous. I'll get a bottle of wine; perhaps it will help to bring him to the point. (rises—aloud) I am going to my wine bin, Mr. Smith; you will excuse me a moment, will you not?

Smith. Oh, certainly. (Exit, Dunn., l.; suddenly—Smith looks quite cheerful) Wine bin, eh! He does not appear to be greatly distressed through his daughter's death. It may be that he has a large family and does not feel her loss so keenly. Let me see now, does he say in his letter when she died? (takes a black bordered envelope from his pocket and takes the letter from it—reads) "2, Belverley Terrace, Hedgetown, March 31st. Mr. Smith. Dear sir, I am grieved to inform you that my eldest daughter died suddenly this afternoon. Will you kindly call here in the morning to make the necessary preparations for her interment, and oblige, yours truly, Peter Dunnbrowne." (replaces the letter in the envelope and puts it in his pocket) So she died yesterday. (cheerfully) Ah, well, somebody must die or what would become of us poor undertakers? If everybody took a notion to live on from this time forward, the whole body of funeral furnishers would die of starvation. I hear Mr. Dunnbrowne coming, so I must assume my customary mournful expression. I always find that it pleases my customers. (looks mournful)

Enter, Dunn. l., with bottle of wine and glasses—places them on the table and begins to draw the cork)

Dunn. You will doubtless think it peculiar of me waiting upon myself, Mr. Smith, when there are servants in the house, but the fact is I never allow them to go to my wine bin, for I have discovered that they sometimes imbibe a little on their own account, in consequence of which I never allow the key to leave my possession. (filling the glasses) Now, my dear sir, make yourself at home. (putting a glass before Smith) Taste that and tell me what you think of it.

Smith. (aside) It is not often I am treated in this manner. (aloud) Thank you, Mr. Dunnbrowne. (leans his umbrella against the chair, and puts his hat and gloves under the seat—drinks) This is splendid, sir. It is really delicious.

Dunn. Ah, I thought you would say so. (holds his glass up to the light—drinks) Is it not exhilarating?

Smith. It is. (aside) He thinks more of his wine than of his poor daughter.

Dunn. (aside) The wine has not loosened his tongue very much yet. He must have another glass. (aloud) Have another glass, Mr. Smith, it will do you a power of good. (re-fills Smith's glass)

Smith. Thank you, sir. (aside) This is what I call good business; but I must say that, in all my experience as an undertaker and funeral furnisher, I never met a man who bore a daughter's death with greater fortitude than this man does, never. (drinks)

Dunn. (aside) Well he is a bashful fellow. Why does he not speak out like a man? I would commence the subject myself, but he might run away with the idea that I was anxious to get rid of my daughter, and I should not like him to think that on any account. How quiet he sits! I don't see any thing else for it but applying the lotion to his refractory tongue until the desired effect is produced. (aloud) Come, Mr. Smith, empty your glass and let me re-fill it for you.

Smith. With pleasure, Mr. Dunnbrowne. (empties his glass. Dunn. refills it—aside) I am enjoying myself and no mistake. (aloud) Thank you, Mr. Dunnbrowne, thank you. I'm sure you are very kind.

Dunn. Not at all, Mr. Smith. When business such as we have on hand is to be transacted, we must make ourselves as sociable as possible.

Smith. (aside) Now that he has mentioned business I had better take the hint and commence. (turns towards Dunn., aloud) The business that has brought us together is not of a very cheerful character, I am sorry to say.

Dunn. Do you think not, sir? For my part I do not see why it should not be.

Smith. Well, er—it was of your feelings I was thinking, Mr. Dunnbrowne, for I know that this event must be a sad and sudden blow to you.

Dunn. Not at all, my dear sir, not at all. (aside) His letter a sad blow to me? Pooh! I look upon it as a very pleasing blow. (drinks and crosses his knee)

Smith. (aside) He speaks of a death as though it were an everyday occurrence in his house.

Dunn. Such things will occur sooner or later in any family, sir. We must expect them.

Smith. Ah, that is true. We never know whose turn is next, but it is a great affliction when parent and daughter are parted in this way, Mr. Dunnbrowne.

Dunn. (cheerfully) Oh dear no. I could not expect her to stay with me always. Besides, we shall not be parted for ever; I can just drop in and