Neither the elegant conclusion of the duel nor my unobtrusive charity remained a secret. I was now looked upon as a being of a higher order, and I know many a young lady who shed tears over my generous sentiments. The students of medicine sent a deputation presenting me with a superb rapier, because, as they thought, I had fought on behalf of the faultless odour of their anatomy-room. _Wilhelm Hauff._ _EDITORIAL CO-OPERATION._ “AS our paper must needs be very universal,” I said, “and as there should be something in the title to express this tendency, how would it do to call it ‘Literary Provender’?” “That would not be bad; there might be a vignette representing the public as a bevy of fowls clustering about the Muse, who is cutting up food for them; but it will not do. Some might take offence at Provender; it might seem as if only the leavings from the great dinner-table of literature were to be served to the public. It won’t do!” “Well, then,--‘Evening-Bells.’” “‘Evening-Bells?’ Ah, indeed. That is an idea! There is something so soft and soothing about the word. I’ll make a note of the suggestion. But we should have to have a critical supplement. I have been thinking we might call it ‘The Distiller.’” “It is very expressive,” I replied; “it is quite customary in these times to subject books to a chemical process of review or criticism; the distillation is carried on until the spirit sought for has evaporated, or until the learned chemist can announce to the world what all the different elements were that combined in the decoction he analysed. But with such a name the paper might appear to smell of the gin-shop. How would it strike you to call it ‘The Critical Chimney-Sweep’?” The publisher gazed at me in silence for a moment, and then embraced me with emotion. “An idea,” he cried; “a remarkable idea! What a volume of meaning there is in the word! German literature is the chimney, our reviewers are the sweepers: they scrape down the literary soot, to preserve the house from fire. It must be an extremely radical paper; it must be striking, that is the first thing. ‘The Critical Chimney-Sweep!’ And we will bring the art critiques under the promising title, ‘The Artistic Night-Watch.’” Hastily putting down the names, he continued: “Sir, my guardian-angel has brought you to my door; when I sit by my table writing my mind seems blocked up, but I have often noticed that when I once begin to speak, my thoughts flow like a stream. So when you were speaking of Walter Scott and his influence a glorious idea arose within me. I will make a German Walter Scott.” “How so? Are you too going to write a novel?” “I? Dear me, no; I have something better to do; and _one_? no, twenty! If I only had my thoughts all ordered. I am going to procure a great Unknown, and this mysterious personage is to consist of a party of novel-writers; do you understand?” “It is not quite clear to me, I confess. How will you----?”