One day there was a sale in London of the stock of a pianoforte manufacturer advertised in the daily papers. It announced an auction at some future day, unless the whole stock were previously disposed of by private contract, together with the lease and good-will of the manufacturer's premises. Mr. Keeling received a telegram from Messrs. Cross, which ran thus: "See the _Times_. Advertisement, sale of Mr.----. Stock, good-will, &c." Mr. Keeling, after receiving this telegram, was very anxious to see the _Times_, which arrived in due course about mid-day. He sent to the railway station two or three times, and ultimately went up himself, to get an early copy of the paper. On his way there he met an acquaintance or two (one was my assistant, although he little dreamt it), whom he told there was a splendid opportunity, he thought, for buying a large stock, and perhaps getting a first-class Town business, to which his country trade of the "Temple of the Muses" might be added with advantage. He thought he might also be able to get a stock of pianos, of rather lower quality than he now had, which the people of B---- might appreciate at the price he could offer them. After he had procured the _Times_, and taken care to explain to a few people the precise cause of his journey to London, he only awaited the arrival of the next up-train, and away he went to Town by it. He expected to be down the next day, but found this impossible, as he explained in a telegram to his assistant or shopman, but said that he would positively return on the day following. On the second night after Mr. Keeling's departure for London, about a quarter to twelve o'clock, there was a cry of fire in the town of B----. The little hovel had caught light in the rear, and it happened that this wretched place actually joined the "Temple of the Muses." A wooden outhouse behind the smaller structure also joined the back premises of the Temple, in which were stored packing-cases, straw, &c. The flames soon demolished the straw-roofed lollipop-shop, and left nothing but a heap of ashes as a memorial of its devastation. The old man and his wife readily escaped, however, as the fire began at the back of the house, and they were not sound sleepers. Few old people, if we may believe the physiologists, do sleep soundly; so that to suspect the lollipop shopkeeper and his wife of incendiarism, on the ground of their escape, would be as absurd as it would be unjust. The old man was, moreover, not insured. What motive could he have to set his establishment on fire? The "Temple of the Muses" fared not much better than the hovel. The walls and some of the cross-beams were left standing; but it was tolerably well gutted, and all the stock and furniture in it were consumed.