always find an ample assortment on these elegant premises. The stock is rather low, just now, I think we've only two or three; but you 're supplied already, ain't you, Jue? Well, I never expected it of you. You were a good sort of chap at one time; but I suppose you can't climb trees any more now. There, I'll let you go into the house; all the servants are waiting for you. If you see my grandmother, tell her she must sit next me at dinner; if a parson sits next me, I'll kill him.” Just as Miss Juliott passed into the Hall, a tall, fairhaired, gentle-faced woman, dressed wholly in white, and stepping very softly and silently, came down the staircase, so that, in the twilight, she almost appeared to be some angel descending from heaven. She came forward to her visitor with a smile on the pale and wistful face, and took her hand and kissed her on the forehead; after which, and a few words of inquiry, Miss Penaluna was handed over to the charge of a maid. The tall, fair woman passed noiselessly on, and went into a chamber at the further end of the hall, and shut the door; and, presently, the low, soft tones of a harmonium were heard, appearing to come from some considerable distance, and yet filling the house with a melancholy and slumberous music. Surely it could not be this gentle music which brought to Master Harry's face a most un-Christian scowl? What harm could there be in a solitary widow wrapping herself up in her imaginative sorrow, and saturating the whole of her feeble, impressionable, and withal kindly nature with a half-religious, half-poetic sentiment? What although those days which she devoted to services in memory of her relatives who were dead - and, most of all, in memory of her husband, whom she had really loved resembled, in some respects, the periods in which an opium-eater resolves to give himself up to the strange and beautiful sensations beyond which he can imagine no form of happiness? Mrs. Trelyon was nothing of a zealot or devotee. She held no particular doctrines; she did not even countenance High Church usages, except in so far as music and paint Master Harry burst into a roar of laughter when he received that letter; but, all the same, he could not get his cousin to write him a line for months thereafter. Now, however, she had come to visit some friends at Wadebridge; and she agreed to drive over and join Mrs. Trelyon's little dinner-party, to which Mr. Roscorla had also been invited. Accordingly, in the afternoon, when Harry Trelyon was seated on the stone steps outside the Hall door, engaged in making artificial flies, Miss Penaluna drove up in a tiny chariot drawn by a beautiful little pair of ponies; and when the boy had jumped down and gone to the ponies' heads, and when she had descended from the carriage, Master Harry thought it was time for him to lay aside his silk, rosin, feathers, and what not, and going and dim religious lights aided her endeavors to proforward to meet her. She drew back, offended; and then she looked at him, and shrugged her shoulders, and gave him her cheek to kiss. He was only a boy, after all. "Well, Harry, I am not going to quarrel with you," she said, with a good-natured smile; "although I suppose I shall have plenty of cause before I go. Are you as rude as ever? Do you talk as much slang as ever?" "Who "I like to hear you talk of slang!" he said. calls her ponies Brandy and Soda? Were n't you wild, Jue, when Captain Tulliver came up and said, 'Miss Penaluna, how are your dear Almonds and Raisins?'" "If I had given him a cut with my whip, I should have made him dance," said Miss Juliott, frankly; "then he would have forgotten to turn out his toes. Harry, go and see if that boy has taken in my things." "I won't. There's plenty of time; and I want to talk to you. I say, Jue, what made you go and get engaged down in Penzance? Why did n't you cast your eye in this direction?" "Well, of all the impertinent things that I ever heard!" said Miss Juliott, very much inclined to box his ears. "Do you think I ever thought of marrying you?" "Yes, I do," he said coolly; "and you would throw over that parson in a minute, if I asked you. - you know you would, Jue. But I'm not good enough for you." "Indeed, you are not," she said, with a toss of the head. "I would take you for a gamekeeper, but not for a husband." "Much need you'll have of a gamekeeper when you become Mrs. Tressider!" said he, with a rude laugh. "But I didn't mean myself, Jue. I meant that if you were going to marry a parson, you might have come here and had a choice. We can show you all sorts at this house fat and lean, steeples and beer-barrels, bandylegged and knock-kneed, whichever] you like; you 'll duce a species of exalted intoxication. She did not believe herself to be a wicked sinner, and she could not understand the earnest convictions and pronounced theology of the Dissenters around her. But she drank of religious sentiment as other persons drink in beautiful music; and all the aids she could bring to bear in producing this feeling of blind ecstasy she had collected together in the private chapel attached to Trelyon Hall. At this very moment she was seated there alone. The last rays of the sun shone through narrow windows of painted glass, and carried beautiful colors with them into the dusk of the curiously-furnished little building. She herself sat before a large harmonium, and there was a stain of rose-color and of violet on the white silk costume that she wore. It was one of her notions that, though black might well represent the grief immediately following the funeral of one's friends, pure white was the more appropriate mourning when one had become accustomed to their loss, and had turned one's eyes to the shining realms which they inhabit. Mrs. Trelyon never went out of mourning for her husband, who had been dead over a dozen years; but the mourning was of pure white, so that she wandered through the large and empty rooms of Trelyon Hall, or about the grounds outside, like a ghost; and, like a ghost, she was ordinarily silent, and shy, and light-footed. She was not much of a companion for the rude, impetuous, self-willed boy whose education she had handed over to grooms and gamekeepers, and to his own very pronounced instincts. The frown that came over the lad's handsome face as he sat on the door-step, resuming his task of making troutflies, was caused by the appearance of a clergyman, who came walking forward from one of the hidden paths in the | garden. There was nothing really distressing or repulsive about the look of this gentleman; although, on the other hand, there was nothing very attractive. He was of middle age and middle height; he wore a rough brown beard and moustache; his face was gray and full of lines; his forehead was rather narrow; and his eyes were shrewd and watchful. But for that occasional glance of the eyes, you would have taken him for a very ordinary, respectable, commonplace person, not deserving of notice, except for the length of his coat. When Master Harry saw him approach, however, a diabolical notion leapt into the young gentleman's head. He had been practising the throwing of flies against the wind; and on the lawn were. the several pieces of paper, at different distances, at which he had aimed, while the slender trout-rod, with a bit of line and a fly at the end of it still dangling, was close by his hand. Instantaneously he put the rod against the wall so that the hook was floating in front of the door just about the height of a man's head. Would the Rev. Mr. Barnes look at the door-steps, rather than in front of him, in passing into the house, and so find an artificial fly fastened in his nose? Mr. Barnes was no such fool. "It is a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Trelyon," he said, in grave and measured accents, as he came up. Harry Trelyon nodded, as he smoothed out a bit of redsilk thread. Then Mr. Barnes went forward, carefully put aside the dangling fly, and went into the house. "The fish won't rise to-night," said Master Harry to himself, with a grin on his face. "But parsons don't take the fly readily; you've got to catch them with bait; and the bait they like best is a widow's mite. And now, I suppose, I must go and dress for dinner; and don't I wish I was going down to Mrs. Rosewarne's parlor instead!" But another had secured a better right to go into Mrs. Rosewarne's parlor. THIS other gentleman was also dressing for Mrs. Trelyon's dinner-party, and he was in a pleased frame of mind. Never before, indeed, had Mr. Roscorla been so distinctly and consciously happy. That forenoon, when his anxiety had become almost distressing, partly because he honestly liked Wenna Rosewarne and wanted to marry her, and partly because he feared the mortification of a refusal, -her letter had come; and, as he read the trembling, ingenuous, and not-very-well-composed lines and sentences, a great feeling of satisfaction stole over him, and he thanked her a thousand times, in his heart, for having given him this relief. And he was the more pleased that it was so easy to deal with a written consent. He was under no embarrassment as to how he should express his gratitude, or as to whether he ought to kiss her. He could manage correspondence better than a personal interview. He sat down and wrote her a very kind and even affectionate letter, telling her that he would not intrude himself too soon upon her, especially as he had to go up to Trelyon Hall that evening; and saying, too, that, in any case, he could never expect to tell her how thankful he was to her. That she would find out from his conduct to her during their married life. But, to his great surprise, Mr. Roscorla found that the writing and sending off of that letter did not allay the extraordinary nervous excitement that had laid hold of him. He could not rest. He called in his housekeeper, and rather astonished that elderly person by saying he was much pleased with her services, and thereupon he presented her with a sovereign to buy a gown. Then he went into the garden, and meant to occupy himself with his flowers; but he found himself staring at them without seeing them. Then he went back to his parlor and took a glass of sherry to steady his nerves - but in vain. Then he thought he would go down to the inn, and ask to see Wenna; but again he changed his mind, for how was he to meet the rest of the family without being prepared for the interview? Probably he never knew how he passed these two or three hours but at length the time came for him to dress for dinner. And, as he did so, the problem that occupied his mind was to discover the probable reasons that had induced Wenna Rosewarne to promise to be his wife. Had her parents advised her to marry a man who could at least render her future safe? Or had she taken pity on his loneliness, and been moved by some hope of reforming his ways and habits of thinking? Or had she been won over by his pictures of her increased influence among the people around her? He could not tell. Perhaps, he said to himself, she said yes because she had not the courage to say no. Perhaps she had been convinced by his arguments that the wild passion of love, for which youth is supposed to long, is a dangerous thing; and was there not constantly before her eyes an example of the jealousy, and quarrelling, and misery that may follow that fatal delirium? Or, it might be and here Mr. Roscorla more nearly approached the truth that this shy, sensitive, self-distrustful girl had been so surprised to find herself of any importance to any one, and so grateful to him for his praise of her, and for this highest mark of appreciation that a man can bestow, that her sudden gratitude softened her heart, and disposed her to yield to his prayer. And who could tell but that this present feeling might lead to a still warmer feeling, under the generous influence of a constant kindness and appreciation? It was with something of wonder and almost of dismay, and with a wholly new sense of his own unworthiness, that Mr. Roscorla found himself regarding the possibility of his winning a young girl's first love. Never before in his life- not even in his younger days, when he had got a stray hint that he would probably meet a duchess and her three daughters at a particular partyhad he dressed with so much care. He was, on the whole, well pleased with himself. He had to admit that his gray hair was changing to white; but many people considered white hair, with a hale complexion, rather an ornament than otherwise. For the rest, he resolved that he would never dress again to go to any party to which Miss Wenna Rosewarne was not also invited. He would not decorate himself for mere strangers and acquaintances. He put on a light top-coat and went out into the quiet summer evening. There was a scent of roses in the air, and the great Atlantic was beautiful and still; it was a time for lovers to be walking through twilight woods, or in honeysuckle lanes, rather than for a number of people, indifferent to each other, to sit down to the vulgar pleasures of the table. He wished that Wenna Rosewarne had been of that party. There were two or three children at his gate, brightcheeked, clean, and well-clad, as all the Eglosilyan children are, and when they saw him come out, they ran away. He was ashamed of this; for, if Wenna had seen it, she would have been grieved. He called on them to come back; they stood in the road, not sure of him. At length a little woman of six came timidly along to him, and looked at him with her big, wondering blue eyes. He patted her head, and asked her name, and then he put his hand in his pocket. The others, finding that their ambassador had not been beheaded on the spot, came up also, and formed a little circle, a cautious yard or two off. "Look here," he said to the eldest; "here is a shilling, and you go and buy sweetmeats, and divide them equally among you. Or, wait a bit - come along with me, the whole of you, and we 'll see whether Mrs. Deane has got any cake for you." He drove the flock of them into that lady's kitchen, much to her consternation, and there he left them. But he had not got half-way through the little garden again, when he turned back, and went to the door, and called in to the children, "Mind, you can swing on the gate whenever you like, so long as you take care and don't hurt yourselves." And so he hurried away again; and he hoped that some day, when he and Wenna Rosewarne were passing, she would see the children swinging on his gate, and she would be pleased that they did not run away. Your Polly has never been false, she declares he tried to hum the air, as he had often heard Wenna hum it, as he walked rapidly down the hill, and along a bit of the valley, and then up one of the great gorges lying behind Eglosilyan. He had avoided the road that went by the inn; he did not wish to see any of the Rose warnes just then. Moreover, his rapid walking was not to save time, for he had plenty of that; but to give himself the proud assurance that he was still in excellent wind. Miss Wenna must not imagine that she was marrying an old man. Give him but as good a horse as Harry Trelyon's famous Dick, and he would ride that dare-devil young gentleman for a wager to Launceston and back. Why, he had only arrived at that period when a sound constitution reaches its maturity. Old, or even elderly? He switched at weeds with his cane, and was conscious that he was in the prime of life. An At the same time, he did not like the notion of younger men than himself lounging about Mrs. Rosewarne's parlor; and he thought he might just as well give Harry Trelyon a hint that Wenna Rosewarne was engaged. excellent opportunity was offered him at this moment; for as went up through the grounds to the front of the Hall, he found Master Harry industriously throwing a fly at certain bits of paper on the lawn. He had resumed this occupation, after having gone inside and dressed, as a handy method of passing the time until his cousin Juliott should appear. "How do you do, Trelyon?" said Mr. Roscorla, in a friendly way; and Harry nodded. "I wish I could throw a fly like you. By the bye, I have a little bit of news for for yourself alone, mind." you 66 - I "All right; fire away," said Master Harry, still making the fine line of the trout-rod whistle through the air. Well, it is rather a delicate matter, you know. don't want it talked about; but the fact is, I am going to marry Miss Rosewarne." There was no more aiming at those bits of paper. The tall and handsome lad turned and stared at his companion as if the latter had been a maniac; and then he said, "Miss Rosewarne! Wenna Rosewarne !" "Yes," said Mr. Roscorla, distinctly conscious that Harry Trelyon was regarding his white hair and general appearance. The younger man said nothing more, but began to whistle in an absent way; and then, just as if Mr. Roscorla had no existence whatever, he proceeded to reel in the line of his rod, he fastened the fly to one of the rings, and then walked off. "You'll find my mother inside," he said; and so Mr. Roscorla went into the Hall, and was soon in Mrs. Trelyon's drawing-room, among her six or eight guests. Harry Trelyon did not appear until dinner was announced; and then he was just in time to take his grandmother in. He took care, also, to have his cousin Juliott on his other side; and, to both of these ladies, it was soon apparent that something had occurred to put Master Harry into one of his most insolent and rebellious moods. Harry?" said his mother, from the other end of the table, as an intimation that he should say grace. 66 There was no response, despite Miss Juliott's appealing look; and so Mrs. Trelyon had to turn for assistance to one of the clergymen near her, who went through the scribed form. pre Miss Juliott, being engaged to a clergyman, very naturally resented this language; and the two cousins had rather a stormy fight, at the end of which Master Harry turned to his grandmother and declared that she was the only woman of common sense he had ever known. "Well, it runs in the blood, Harry," said the old lady, "that dislike to clergymen; and I never could find out any reason for it, except when your grandfather hunted poor Mr. Pascoe that night. Dear, dear! what a jealous man your grandfather was, to be sure; and the way he used to pet me when I told him I never saw the man I'd look at after seeing him. Dear, dear! and the day he sold those two manors to the Company, you know, he came back at night and said I was as good a wife as any in England he did, indeed and the bracelet he gave to me then, that shall go to your wife on your weddingday, Harry, I promise you, and you won't find its match about this part of the country, I can tell you. But don't you go and sell the lordship of Trelyon. Many a time your grandfather was asked to sell it, and he did well by selling the other two; but Trelyon he would never sell, nor your father, and I hope you won't either, Harry. Let them work the quarries for you that is fair enough — and give you your royalty; but don't part with Trelyon, Harry, for you might as well be parting with your own Well, I can't, grandmother, you know; but I am fearfully in want of a big lump of money, all the same." Money? what do you want with a lot of money ? You're not going to take to gambling or horse-racing, are you?" "I can't tell you what I want it for-not at present, any way," said the lad, looking rather gloomy; and, with that, the subject dropped, and a brief silence ensued at that end of the table. Mr. Tressider, however, the mild and amiable young curate to whom Miss Juliott was engaged, having been rather left out in the cold, struck in at this moment, blushing slightly. "I heard you say something about the lordships of manors," he observed, addressing himself rather to Trelyon's grandmother. "Did it ever occur to you what a powerful thing a word from William the Conqueror must have been, when it could give to a particular person and his descendants absolute possession of a piece of the globe? Mrs. Trelyon stared at the young man. Had a relative of hers gone and engaged herself to a dangerous Revolutionary, who, in the guise of a priest, dared to trifle with the tenure of land? Mr. Tressider was as innocent of any such intention as the babe unborn; but he was confused by her look of astonishment; he blushed more violently than before, and only escaped from his embarrassment by the good services of Miss Penaluna, who turned the whole matter into ridicule, and asked what William the Conqueror was about when he let a piece of the world come into the hands of Harry Trelyon. "And how deep down have you a hold on it, Harry?" she said. "How far does your right over the minerals of the earth extend? From the surface right down to the centre?" Mr. Tressider was smiling vaguely when Master Harry's eye fell upon him. What harm had the young clergyman, or any other clergyman present, done him, that he should have felt a sudden dislike to that ingenuous smile? "Oh, no," said Trelyon, with a careless impertinence, and loud enough for two or three to hear. "William the Conqueror did n't allow the rights of the lord of the manor to extend right down to the middle of the earth. There were a good many clergymen about him; and they reserved that district for their own purposes." "Harry," said his cousin to him, in a low voice; "is it your wish to insult me? If so, I will leave the room." "Insult you," he said with a laugh. "Why, Jue, you must be out of you senses. What concern have you in that warmish region?" "I don't appreciate jokes on such subjects. My father is a clergyman, my husband will be a clergyman' "The greater fool you," he observed, frankly, but so that no one could hear. "Harry," she said; "what do you mean by your dislike to clergymen?" "Is that a conundrum?" said the unregenerate youth. For a moment, Miss Penaluna seemed really vexed and angry; but she happened to look at Master Harry, and, somehow, her displeasure subsided into a look of good natured resignation. There was the least little shrug of the shoulders; and then she turned to her neighbor on the right, and began to talk about ponies. It was certainly not a pleasant dinner-party for those who sat near this young gentleman, who was more outrageously rude and capricious than ever, except when addressing his grandmother, to whom he was always courteous, and even roughly affectionate. That old lady eyed him narrowly, and could not quite make out what was the matter. Had he been privately engaged in some betting transaction that he should want this money? When the ladies left the room, Trelyon asked Mr. Roscorla to take his place for a few minutes, and send round the wines; and then he went out and called his mother aside into the study. "Mother," he said, "Mr. Roscorla is going to marry Wenna Rosewarne." The tall, fair, pale lady did not seem much startled by the news. She had very little acquaintance with the affairs of the village; but she knew at least that the Rosewarnes kept the inn, and she had, every Sunday morning, seen Mrs. Rosewarne and her two daughters come into church. "That is the elder one, is it not, who sings in the choir?" "It's the elder one," said Master Harry, who knew less about the choir. "It is a strange choice for Mr. Roscorla to make," she observed. "I have always considered him very fastidious, and rather proud of his family. But some men take strange fancies in choosing a wife." 66 Yes, and some women take precious strange fancies in choosing a husband,” said the young man, rather warmly. Why, she's worth twenty dozen of him. I don't know what the dickens made her listen to the old fool—it is a monstrous shame, that's what I call it. I suppose he's frightened the girl into it, or bought over her father, or made himself a hypocrite, and got some parson to intercede, and scheme, and tell lies for him." "Harry," said his mother; "I don't understand why you should interest yourself in the matter." "Oh, don't you? Well, it's only this: that I consider that girl to be the best sort of woman I've met yetthat's all; and, I'll tell you what I mean to do, mother; I mean to give her five thousands pounds, so that she shan't come to that fellow in a dependent way, and let him give himself airs over her because he's been born a gentleman." 66 "Five thousand pounds!" Mrs. Trelyon repeated, wondering whether her son had drank too much wine at dinner. Well, but look here, mother," he said, quite prepared for her astonishment. "You know I've spent very little -I've never spent anything like what I'm entitled to; and next year I shall be of age and all I want now is for you to help me to get a release, you know; and I am sure I shall be able to persuade old Colonel Ransome to it, for he'll see it is not any bit of extravagance on my part - speculation, or anything of that sort, you know" 66 "My dear child," said Mrs. Trelyon, startled, for once, into earnestness, "you will make people believe you are mad. To give five thousand pounds to the daughter of an innkeeper, a perfect stranger, as a marriage dowry — why, Harry, what do you think people would say of such a thing? What would they say of her?" He looked puzzled for a moment, as though he did not understand her. It was but for a moment. "If you mean what one of those parsons would say of her," he said, impetuously, while a sudden flash of anger sprang to his face, "I don't care; but my answer to it would be to kick him round the grounds and out at the gate. Do you think I'd care a brass farthing for anything these cringing sneaks might say of her, or of me, or of anybody? And would they dare to say it if you asked her here, and made a friend of her?' "Make a friend of her!" repeated Mrs. Trelyon, almost mechanically. She did not know what length this terrible son of hers might not go. "If she is going to marry a friend of yours, why not?" "Harry, you are most unreasonable; if you will think it over for a moment, you will see how this is impossible. If Mr. Roscorla marries this girl, that is his own affair; he will have society enough at home, without wishing to go out and dine. He is doing it with his eyes open, you may be sure he has far more knowledge of such affairs than you can have. How could I single out this girl from her family to make her a friend? I should have to ask her parents and her sister to come here also, unless you wish her to come on sufferance, and throw a reflection on them." She spoke quite calmly, but he would not listen to her. He chafed and fidgeted, and said, as soon as she had finished, "You could do it very well, if you liked. When a woman is willing she can always smooth matters down, and you might have that girl as a companion for you, and a much better companion than a lot of long-coated sneaks of parsons." Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly, and said, with clear emphasis: "I presume that I am best fitted to say what society I shall keep; and I shall have no acquaintance thrust upon me whom I would rather not recognize." "Oh, very well," said the lad, with the proud lips giving evidence of some sudden decision. "And you won't help me to get that five thousand pounds?" 66 I will not. I will not countenance any such folly." “Then I shall have to raise the money myself." He rang a bell, and a servant appeared. "Tell Jakes to saddle Dick and bring him round directly." His mother let him have his own way, without word or question; for she was deeply offended, and her feeble and sensitive nature had risen in protest against his tyranny. He went off to put on a pair of riding-boots and a topcoat; and by and by he came down into the hall again, and went to the door. The night was dark, but clear; there was a blaze of stars overhead; all the world seemed to be quivering with those white throbs of fire. The horse and groom stood at the door, their dusky figures being scarcely blacker than the trees and bushes around. Harry Trelyon buttoned up the collar of his light top-coat, took his switch in his hand, and sprung into the saddle. the same moment the white figure of a lady suddenly appeared at the door, came down a step or two, and said, 'Harry, where are you going?" At "To Plymouth first," the young man answered, as he rode off; "to London afterwards, and then to the devil! (To be continued.) THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL PRY." BY PERCY FITZGERALD. THE veteran John Poole, who died quite lately, was the last of the genuine hearty-laughter-moving broad oldfashioned humorists. The early portion of "Pickwick may be said to have been the latest effective specimen of this school, which is founded on droll situations, not on mere speeches, verbal mistakes, or misapprehensions. The description of a traveller in some ridiculous position, a Cockney sportsman, the tumbling into a pond, or, indeed, anything that would excite the boisterous enjoyment of a crowd in the streets-such elements, handled with various degrees of coarseness or of refinement, were the then stock-in-trade of the popular humorist. The od, colored caricatures the series representing the career of Dr. Syntax, exhibiting human figures in sundry ridiculous positions. are almost independent of the explanations placed underneath. They tell their own story. The same broad principle of treatment appears in all the old farces, a fair specimen of which was the rustic damsel making the obtrusive attorney suitor conceal himself in the flour-bar. rel, to be presently discovered whitened all over. On the stage this homely surprise is unceasingly effective; and variations of the same humble machinery are sure to tell with the multitude, affording a useful hint for the writer who would be popular. He must use broad strokes and avoid the risk of novelty. All the magazine stories and most of the comic novels had to deal with the relation of adventures of this boisterous kind. The humor of Albert Smith and of Mr. Lever's most successful series of novels chiefly turns upon awkward blunders of this kind. Poole was one of the most diligent adaptors of his day - a title, however, he was inclined to repudiate as earnestly as though he had been one of our living spoliators of the French. To the actor and theatrical amateur the long list of his excellent acting plays are familiar; such as Turning the Tables," "A Nabob for an Hour," "Twould Puzzle a Conjurer," and the ingenious and amusing "Hole in the Wall," which excites more interest and mirth, in proportion to its length, than any light piece of the kind. "Paul Pry" is destined to give to the name of Poole the true theatrical immortality. The figure has lived like some historic personage: it is familiar to those who have never been inside a theatre; and it will always hold possession of the stage because it is drawn from the great collection of human characters, and, excepting a few local peculiarities, belongs to no country and is intelligible in all. The play itself is constructed on the true principle, the character producing the situations, not the situations the character as is too often the case with modern English pieces. Every comic performer of any claims, as he advances to eminence, is called upon to give his reading of Paul Pry; and since Liston, who originally "created" the part fifty years ago, a vast number of facetious players have failed or succeeded in the attempt. The best of Liston's successors have, perhaps, been Mr. Wright and Mr. Toole in our own day, for the part hardly suited Mr. Brough. Mr. Toole, whose weakness has always been the display of unlicensed drolleries, is here at his best, and the result, in proportion as it is "legitimate," is a diverting and genuine performance. Paul Pry was first produced at the Haymarket in September, 1825, with a good cast that included Liston, Farren, Madame Vestris, Pope, and Mrs. Waylett. It was acted some forty times- - then a great run. The following season it was again taken up at Drury Lane, and acted every night in the season. Madame Vestris's Phoebe, the spirited and ingenious waiting-maid, was long spoken of with rapture by old playgoers, and her success was a good deal owing to the perfect naturalness of the part and its being utterly opposed to the conventional style in which such characters are put upon the stage. But the picture of Liston and his peculiar costume became as familiar to the public mind as that of Mr. Pickwick, and even now in the china shops are to be met with little pottery statuettes of the droll comedian in his boots and white hat, his baggy umbrella under his arm. Not less familiar, too, is the engraving after the capital picture by Clint. Those who contribute such enduring characters to the stage or to the novel, and who thus create for future generations, are gifted with a special talent. The more refined critics of the day when it first appeared judged it temperately and fairly. "It is a pleasant piece," wrote Hazlitt, in a London magazine, "but there is rather too much of it. Without any sacrifice of humor it might have been compressed within the limits of a farce. The plot is compounded of several ancient and approved plots, and most of the characters are close copies of hackneyed originals." But with the irrepressible Liston he was enchanted. "There is really nothing in the part beyond the mere outline of an officious inquisitive gentleman, which is droll, as it reminds every one of acquaintances, but Liston fills it with a thousand nameless absurdities." The hint thus thrown out on the first representation has been unconsciously adopted, for the play has since been compressed, though with some loss of effect. But the piece itself is not to be dismissed so lightly, for the situations, though contrived to bring out the absurdity of the hero's prying propensities, are not forced, and are exactly of the kind suited to do this in the most effective manner. There is no more diverting situation than the passage in which the indefatigable Pry unintentionally raises an alarm of robbers and is himself pursued by the servants and dogs. Nothing can be happier than the idea of such a retribution, as the natural result of his own espionage. All the other situations come about in the same unconstrained fashion. The instinct of a true dramatist is also shown in the concurrent mystery in which Phoebe and her mistress are concerned, and in the hot, impetuous character, Colonel Hardy, thrown into antagonism with the persons engaged in the plot as well as the inquisitive detective. The mutual opposition and confusion of these various influences make up a most amusing mélange. The true key to the character of Paul Pry is of course earnest. ness a genuine anxiety to know what his neighbors are about; and Mr. Toole, it must be said, in this part seems to forget Mr. Toole and his individual humors and to think only of the character. It has often been repeated that Paul Pry was drawn from a familiar figure of the time- the eccentric Tom Hill, who was editor of the Dramatic Mirror. Poole took occasion expressly to contradict this in a little biographical sketch of himself addressed to one of the magazines. "The idea," he says, "was really suggested by an old invalid lady who lived in a very narrow street, and who amused herself by speculating on the neighbors and identifying them, as it were, by the sound of the knocks they gave. Betty,' she would say, 'why don't you tell me what that, knock is at No. 54 ?' Lor, ma'am, it's only the baker with the pies.' Pies, Betty! what can they want with pies at No. 54? They had pies yesterday.' This is, indeed, the germ of Paul Pry;" and he adds "it was not drawn from an individual, but from a class. I could mention five or six persons who were contributors to the original play which showed that he worked on true principles as applied to humor, namely, abstraction and selection. But it is on the well-known satire of "Little Pedling. ton"— a name that now belongs to the stock of quoted illustrations of the English language that Poole's reputation as a humorist will rest. As a narrative it is fragmentary, and in some portions, notably that description of the theatre, the air of vraisemblance is sacrificed, and the subject is too ponderous for the minute and delicate framework of the satire. But, taken as a whole, the professional comic writers of our day might do well to study this buoyant and genuine piece of humor, which is treated upon true principles. The subject was an inviting one for the satirist, and has often been in favor with cynics fond of sneering at the innocence of rural districts and of expatiating on the vanity and selfishness which so often underlie the pastoral varnish. It would be easy to deal with such a subject in a serious and severe spirit; but it can be seen that there is a quaintness in this antagonism, and that a supposed rustic innocence, proving to be only a development of town manners, has in itself something humorous. In this fashion it has accordingly been dealt with by writers of different countries, and the surprise arising from the discovery of provincial greed, meanness, and envy forms "the note" of the admirable piece of "Nos Bons Villageois." To work out such a theme with success it must be dealt with in perfect sincerity, a principle totally opposite to that of our funny writers, who cannot extract fun from a subject without a farcical confession of insincerity, revealing that they are not in earnest. Nothing can exceed the gravity, the purpose of Little Pedlington," and the ingenious yet natural variety with which the theme is treated, so as to bring out without strain or absurdity the real humor of the situation. It is this natural air that is the secret of true burlesque — a secret drawn from spontaneous burlesque in ordinary life. The Guide Book was always a favorite piece with Mr. Dickens, satirizing as it does, in a pleasant little epitome, the complacent satisfaction which our modest country towns exhibit in reference to their objects of attraction. In every guide book appears this unconscious struggle be |