both greatly attached to musical mathematics and philosophy, and neither of them either plays or sings, as they have told me. It would be an admirable match.”

Mr. Tolman thought over this matter a good deal, and at last determined to mention it to Glascow. When he did so, the young man coloured, and expressed the opinion that it would be of no use to think of such a thing. But it was evident from his manner and subsequent discourse that he had thought of it.

Mr. Tolman gradually became quite anxious on the subject, especially as the night druggist did not seem inclined to take any steps in the matter. The weather was now beginning to be warmer; and Mr. Tolman reflected that the little house and the little shop were probably much more cosy and comfortable in winter than in summer. There were higher buildings all about the house, and even now he began to feel that the circulation of air would be quite as agreeable as the circulation of books. He thought a good deal about his airy rooms in the neighbouring city. “Mr. Glascow,” said he, one afternoon, “I have made up my mind to shortly sell out this business.”

“What!” exclaimed the other. “Do you mean you will give it up and go away—leave the place altogether?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Tolman, “I shall give up the place entirely, and leave the city.” The night druggist was shocked. He had spent many happy hours in that shop, and his hours there were now becoming pleasanter than ever. If Mr. Tolman went away, all this must end. Nothing of the kind could be expected of any new proprietor.

“And considering this,” continued Mr. Tolman, “I think it would be well for you to bring your love matters to a conclusion while I am here to help you.”

“My love matters!” exclaimed Mr. Glascow, with a flush.

“Yes, certainly,” said Mr. Tolman. “I have eyes, and I know all about it. Now let me tell you what I think. When a thing is to be done, it ought to be done the first time there is a good chance. That’s the way I do business. Now you might as well come around here to-morrow afternoon, prepared to propose to Miss Edwards. She is due to-morrow, for she has been two days away. If she don’t come, we’ll postpone the matter until the next day. But you should be ready to-morrow. I don’t believe you can see her much when you don’t meet her here; for that family is expected back very soon, and from what I infer from her account of her employers, you won’t care to visit her at their house.”

The night druggist wanted to think about it.

“There is nothing to think,” said Mr. Tolman. “We know all about the lady.” (He spoke truly, for he had informed himself about both parties to the affair.) “Take my advice, and be here to-morrow afternoon—and come rather early.”

The next morning Mr. Tolman went up to his parlour on the second floor, and brought down two blue stuffed chairs, the best he had, and put them in the little room back of the shop. He also brought down one or two knick-knacks and put them on the mantelpiece, and he dusted and brightened up the room as well as he could. He even covered the table with a red cloth from the parlour.

When the young lady arrived, he invited her to walk into the back room to look over some new books he had just got in. If she had known he proposed to give up the business, she would have thought it rather strange that he should be buying new books. But she knew nothing of his intentions. When she was seated at the table whereon the new books were spread, Mr. Tolman stepped outside of the shop door to watch for Glascow’s approach. He soon appeared.

“Walk right in,” said Mr. Tolman. “She’s in the back room looking over books. I’ll wait here, and keep out customers as far as possible. It’s pleasant, and I want a little fresh air. I’ll give you twenty minutes.”