The Lamplighter, by Charles Dickens

Published：2026-08-05 01:37:55 Source: musical shakers for 7 year olds under 10 dollars Author: Construction Vehicles

Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman & Hall edition (TheWorks of Charles Dickens,best kids soccer goals for 10 year olds under 50 dollars volume 28) by David Price, [email protected]

The Lamplighter

By CHARLES DICKENS

LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1905

‘If you talk of Murphy andFrancis Moore, gentlemen,’ said the lamplighter who was inthe chair, ‘I mean to say that neither of ’em everhad any more to do with the stars than Tom Grig had.’

‘And what had heto do with ’em?’asked the lamplighter who officiated as vice.

‘Nothing at all,’ replied the other; ‘justexactly nothing at all.’

‘Do you mean to say you don’t believe in Murphy,then?’ demanded the lamplighter who had opened thediscussion.

‘I mean to say I believe in Tom Grig,’ replied thechairman.  ‘Whether I believe in Murphy, or not, is amatter between me and my conscience; and whether Murphy believesin himself, or not, is a matter between him and hisconscience.  Gentlemen, I drink your healths.’

The lamplighter who did the company this honour, was seated inthe chimney-corner of a certain tavern, which has been, time outof mind, the Lamplighters’ House of Call.  He sat inthe midst of a circle of lamplighters, and was the cacique, orchief of the tribe.

If any of our readers have had the good fortune to behold alamplighter’s funeral, they will not be surprised to learnthat lamplighters are a strange and primitive people; that theyrigidly adhere to old ceremonies and customs which have beenhanded down among them from father to son since the first publiclamp was lighted out of doors; that they intermarry, and betroththeir children in infancy; that they enter into no plots orconspiracies (for who ever heard of a traitorous lamplighter?);that they commit no crimes against the laws of their country(there being no instance of a murderous or burglariouslamplighter); that they are, in short, notwithstanding theirapparently volatile and restless character, a highly moral andreflective people: having among themselves as many traditionalobservances as the Jews, and being, as a body, if not as old asthe hills, at least as old as the streets.  It is an articleof their creed that the first faint glimmering of truecivilisation shone in the first street-light maintained at thepublic expense.  They trace their existence and highposition in the public esteem, in a direct line to the heathenmythology; and hold that the history of Prometheus himself is buta pleasant fable, whereof the true hero is a lamplighter.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the lamplighter in the chair,‘I drink your healths.’

‘And perhaps, Sir,’ said the vice, holding up hisglass, and rising a little way off his seat and sitting downagain, in token that he recognised and returned the compliment,‘perhaps you will add to that condescension by telling uswho Tom Grig was, and how he came to be connected in your mindwith Francis Moore, Physician.’

‘Hear, hear, hear!’ cried the lamplightersgenerally.

‘Tom Grig, gentlemen,’ said the chairman,‘was one of us; and it happened to him, as it don’toften happen to a public character in our line, that he had hiswhat-you-may-call-it cast.’

‘His head?’ said the vice.

‘No,’ replied the chairman, ‘not hishead.’

‘His face, perhaps?’ said the vice. ‘No, not his face.’  ‘Hislegs?’  ‘No, not his legs.’  Nor yethis arms, nor his hands, nor his feet, nor his chest, all ofwhich were severally suggested.

‘His nativity, perhaps?’

‘That’s it,’ said the chairman, awakeningfrom his thoughtful attitude at the suggestion.  ‘Hisnativity.  That’s what Tom had cast,gentlemen.’

‘In plaster?’ asked the vice.

‘I don’t rightly know how it’s done,’returned the chairman.  ‘But I suppose itwas.’

And there he stopped as if that were all he had to say;whereupon there arose a murmur among the company, which at lengthresolved itself into a request, conveyed through the vice, thathe would go on.  This being exactly what the chairmanwanted, he mused for a little time, performed that agreeableceremony which is popularly termed wetting one’s whistle,and went on thus:

‘Tom Grig, gentlemen, was, as I have said, one of us;and I may go further, and say he was an ornament to us, and sucha one as only the good old times of oil and cotton could haveproduced.  Tom’s family, gentlemen, were alllamplighters.’

‘Not the ladies, I hope?’ asked the vice.

‘They had talent enough for it, Sir,’ rejoined thechairman, ‘and would have been, but for the prejudices ofsociety.  Let women have their rights, Sir, and the femalesof Tom’s family would have been every one of ’em inoffice.  But that emancipation hasn’t come yet, andhadn’t then, and consequently they confined themselves tothe bosoms of their families, cooked the dinners, mended theclothes, minded the children, comforted their husbands, andattended to the house-keeping generally.  It’s a hardthing upon the women, gentlemen, that they are limited to such asphere of action as this; very hard.

‘I happen to know all about Tom, gentlemen, from thecircumstance of his uncle by his mother’s side, having beenmy particular friend.  His (that’s Tom’suncle’s) fate was a melancholy one.  Gas was the deathof him.  When it was first talked of, he laughed.  Hewasn’t angry; he laughed at the credulity of humannature.  “They might as well talk,” he says,“of laying on an everlasting succession ofglow-worms;” and then he laughed again, partly at his joke,and partly at poor humanity.

‘In course of time, however, the thing got ground, theexperiment was made, and they lighted up Pall Mall. Tom’s uncle went to see it.  I’ve heard that hefell off his ladder fourteen times that night, from weakness, andthat he would certainly have gone on falling till he killedhimself, if his last tumble hadn’t been into a wheelbarrowwhich was going his way, and humanely took him home. “I foresee in this,” says Tom’s uncle faintly,and taking to his bed as he spoke—“I foresee inthis,” he says, “the breaking up of ourprofession.  There’s no more going the rounds to trimby daylight, no more dribbling down of the oil on the hats andbonnets of ladies and gentlemen when one feels in spirits. Any low fellow can light a gas-lamp.  And it’s allup.”  In this state of mind, he petitioned thegovernment for—I want a word again, gentlemen—what doyou call that which they give to people when it’s foundout, at last, that they’ve never been of any use, and havebeen paid too much for doing nothing?’

‘Compensation?’ suggested the vice.

‘That’s it,’ said the chairman. ‘Compensation.  They didn’t give it him, though,and then he got very fond of his country all at once, and wentabout saying that gas was a death-blow to his native land, andthat it was a plot of the radicals to ruin the country anddestroy the oil and cotton trade for ever, and that the whaleswould go and kill themselves privately, out of sheer spite andvexation at not being caught.  At last he got right-downcracked; called his tobacco-pipe a gas-pipe; thought his tearswere lamp-oil; and went on with all manner of nonsense of thatsort, till one night he hung himself on a lamp-iron in SaintMartin’s Lane, and there was an end of him.

‘Tom loved him, gentlemen, but he survived it.  Heshed a tear over his grave, got very drunk, spoke a funeraloration that night in the watch-house, and was fined fiveshillings for it, in the morning.  Some men are none theworse for this sort of thing.  Tom was one of’em.  He went that very afternoon on a new beat: asclear in his head, and as free from fever as Father Mathewhimself.

‘Tom’s new beat, gentlemen, was—Ican’t exactly say where, for that he’d never tell;but I know it was in a quiet part of town, where there were somequeer old houses.  I have always had it in my head that itmust have been somewhere near Canonbury Tower in Islington, butthat’s a matter of opinion.  Wherever it was, he wentupon it, with a bran-new ladder, a white hat, a brown hollandjacket and trousers, a blue neck-kerchief, and a sprig offull-blown double wall-flower in his button-hole.  Tom wasalways genteel in his appearance, and I have heard from the bestjudges, that if he had left his ladder at home that afternoon,you might have took him for a lord.

‘He was always merry, was Tom, and such a singer, thatif there was any encouragement for native talent, he’d havebeen at the opera.  He was on his ladder, lighting his firstlamp, and singing to himself in a manner more easily to beconceived than described, when he hears the clock strike five,and suddenly sees an old gentleman with a telescope in his hand,throw up a window and look at him very hard.

‘Tom didn’t know what could be passing in this oldgentleman’s mind.  He thought it likely enough that hemight be saying within himself, “Here’s a newlamplighter—a good-looking young fellow—shall I standsomething to drink?”  Thinking this possible, he keepsquite still, pretending to be very particular about the wick, andlooks at the old gentleman sideways, seeming to take no notice ofhim.

‘Gentlemen, he was one of the strangest and mostmysterious-looking files that ever Tom clapped his eyes on. He was dressed all slovenly and untidy, in a great gown of a kindof bed-furniture pattern, with a cap of the same on his head; anda long old flapped waistcoat; with no braces, no strings, veryfew buttons—in short, with hardly any of those artificialcontrivances that hold society together.  Tom knew by thesesigns, and by his not being shaved, and by his not beingover-clean, and by a sort of wisdom not quite awake, in his face,that he was a scientific old gentleman.  He often told methat if he could have conceived the possibility of the wholeRoyal Society being boiled down into one man, he should have saidthe old gentleman’s body was that Body.

‘The old gentleman claps the telescope to his eye, looksall round, sees nobody else in sight, stares at Tom again, andcries out very loud:

‘“Hal-loa!”

‘“Halloa, Sir,” says Tom from the ladder;“and halloa again, if you come to that.”

‘“Here’s an extraordinary fulfilment,”says the old gentleman, “of a prediction of theplanets.”

‘“Is there?” says Tom. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

‘“Young man,” says the old gentleman,“you don’t know me.”

‘“Sir,” says Tom, “I have not thathonour; but I shall be happy to drink your health,notwithstanding.”

‘“I read,” cries the old gentleman, withouttaking any notice of this politeness on Tom’spart—“I read what’s going to happen, in thestars.”

‘Tom thanked him for the information, and begged to knowif anything particular was going to happen in the stars, in thecourse of a week or so; but the old gentleman, correcting him,explained that he read in the stars what was going to happen ondry land, and that he was acquainted with all the celestialbodies.

‘“I hope they’re all well, Sir,” saysTom,—“everybody.”

‘“Hush!” cries the old gentleman. “I have consulted the book of Fate with rare and wonderfulsuccess.  I am versed in the great sciences of astrology andastronomy.  In my house here, I have every description ofapparatus for observing the course and motion of theplanets.  Six months ago, I derived from this source, theknowledge that precisely as the clock struck five this afternoona stranger would present himself—the destined husband of myyoung and lovely niece—in reality of illustrious and highdescent, but whose birth would be enveloped in uncertainty andmystery.  Don’t tell me yours isn’t,” saysthe old gentleman, who was in such a hurry to speak that hecouldn’t get the words out fast enough, “for I knowbetter.”

‘Gentlemen, Tom was so astonished when he heard him saythis, that he could hardly keep his footing on the ladder, andfound it necessary to hold on by the lamp-post.  Therewasa mystery about his birth.  His mother had alwaysadmitted it.  Tom had never known who was his father, andsome people had gone so far as to say that even shewas indoubt.

‘While he was in this state of amazement, the oldgentleman leaves the window, bursts out of the house-door, shakesthe ladder, and Tom, like a ripe pumpkin, comes sliding down intohis arms.

‘“Let me embrace you,” he says, folding hisarms about him, and nearly lighting up his old bed-furniture gownat Tom’s link.  “You’re a man of nobleaspect.  Everything combines to prove the accuracy of myobservations.  You have had mysterious promptings withinyou,” he says; “I know you have had whisperings ofgreatness, eh?” he says.

‘“I think I have,” says Tom—Tom wasone of those who can persuade themselves to anything theylike—“I’ve often thought I wasn’t thesmall beer I was taken for.”

‘“You were right,” cries the old gentleman,hugging him again.  “Come in.  My niece awaitsus.”

‘“Is the young lady tolerable good-looking,Sir?” says Tom, hanging fire rather, as he thought of herplaying the piano, and knowing French, and being up to all mannerof accomplishments.

‘“She’s beautiful!” cries the oldgentleman, who was in such a terrible bustle that he was all in aperspiration.  “She has a graceful carriage, anexquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming withanimation and expression; and the eye,” he says, rubbinghis hands, “of a startled fawn.”

‘Tom supposed this might mean, what was called among hiscircle of acquaintance, “a game eye;” and, with aview to this defect, inquired whether the young lady had anycash.

‘“She has five thousand pounds,” cries theold gentleman.  “But what of that? what of that? A word in your ear.  I’m in search of thephilosopher’s stone.  I have very nearly foundit—not quite.  It turns everything to gold;that’s its property.”

‘Tom naturally thought it must have a deal of property;and said that when the old gentleman did get it, he hopedhe’d be careful to keep it in the family.

‘“Certainly,” he says, “ofcourse.  Five thousand pounds!  What’s fivethousand pounds to us?  What’s five million?” hesays.  “What’s five thousand million? Money will be nothing to us.  We shall never be able tospend it fast enough.”

‘“We’ll try what we can do, Sir,” saysTom.

‘“We will,” says the old gentleman. “Your name?”

‘“Grig,” says Tom.

‘The old gentleman embraced him again, very tight; andwithout speaking another word, dragged him into the house in suchan excited manner, that it was as much as Tom could do to takehis link and ladder with him, and put them down in thepassage.

‘Gentlemen, if Tom hadn’t been always remarkablefor his love of truth, I think you would still have believed himwhen he said that all this was like a dream.  There is nobetter way for a man to find out whether he is really asleep orawake, than calling for something to eat.  If he’s ina dream, gentlemen, he’ll find something wanting inflavour, depend upon it.

‘Tom explained his doubts to the old gentleman, and saidthat if there was any cold meat in the house, it would ease hismind very much to test himself at once.  The old gentlemanordered up a venison pie, a small ham, and a bottle of very oldMadeira.  At the first mouthful of pie and the first glassof wine, Tom smacks his lips and cries out, “I’mawake—wide awake;” and to prove that he was so,gentlemen, he made an end of ’em both.

‘When Tom had finished his meal (which he never spoke ofafterwards without tears in his eyes), the old gentleman hugs himagain, and says, “Noble stranger! let us visit my young andlovely niece.”  Tom, who was a little elevated withthe wine, replies, “The noble stranger isagreeable!”  At which words the old gentleman took himby the hand, and led him to the parlour; crying as he opened thedoor, “Here is Mr. Grig, the favourite of theplanets!”

‘I will not attempt a description of female beauty,gentlemen, for every one of us has a model of his own that suitshis own taste best.  In this parlour that I’m speakingof, there were two young ladies; and if every gentleman present,will imagine two models of his own in their places, and will bekind enough to polish ’em up to the very highest pitch ofperfection, he will then have a faint conception of theiruncommon radiance.

‘Besides these two young ladies, there was theirwaiting-woman, that under any other circumstances Tom would havelooked upon as a Venus; and besides her, there was a tall, thin,dismal-faced young gentleman, half man and half boy, dressed in achildish suit of clothes very much too short in the legs andarms; and looking, according to Tom’s comparison, like oneof the wax juveniles from a tailor’s door, grown up and runto seed.  Now, this youngster stamped his foot upon theground and looked very fierce at Tom, and Tom looked fierce athim—for to tell the truth, gentlemen, Tom more than halfsuspected that when they entered the room he was kissing one ofthe young ladies; and for anything Tom knew, you observe, itmight be hisyoung lady—which was not pleasant.

‘“Sir,” says Tom, “before we proceedany further, will you have the goodness to inform me who thisyoung Salamander”—Tom called him that foraggravation, you perceive, gentlemen—“who this youngSalamander may be?”

‘“That, Mr. Grig,” says the old gentleman,“is my little boy.  He was christened Galileo IsaacNewton Flamstead.  Don’t mind him.  He’s amere child.”

‘“And a very fine child too,” saysTom—still aggravating, you’ll observe—“ofhis age, and as good as fine, I have no doubt.  How do youdo, my man?” with which kind and patronising expressions,Tom reached up to pat him on the head, and quoted two lines aboutlittle boys, from Doctor Watts’s Hymns, which he had learntat a Sunday School.

‘It was very easy to see, gentlemen, by thisyoungster’s frowning and by the waiting-maid’stossing her head and turning up her nose, and by the young ladiesturning their backs and talking together at the other end of theroom, that nobody but the old gentleman took very kindly to thenoble stranger.  Indeed, Tom plainly heard the waiting-womansay of her master, that so far from being able to read the starsas he pretended, she didn’t believe he knew his letters in’em, or at best that he had got further than words in onesyllable; but Tom, not minding this (for he was in spirits afterthe Madeira), looks with an agreeable air towards the youngladies, and, kissing his hand to both, says to the old gentleman,“Which is which?”

‘“This,” says the old gentleman, leading outthe handsomest, if one of ’em could possibly be said to behandsomer than the other—“this is my niece, MissFanny Barker.”

‘“If you’ll permit me, Miss,” saysTom, “being a noble stranger and a favourite of theplanets, I will conduct myself as such.”  With thesewords, he kisses the young lady in a very affable way, turns tothe old gentleman, slaps him on the back, and says,“When’s it to come off, my buck?”

‘The young lady coloured so deep, and her lip trembledso much, gentlemen, that Tom really thought she was going tocry.  But she kept her feelings down, and turning to the oldgentleman, says, “Dear uncle, though you have the absolutedisposal of my hand and fortune, and though you mean well indisposing of ’em thus, I ask you whether you don’tthink this is a mistake?  Don’t you think, dearuncle,” she says, “that the stars must be inerror?  Is it not possible that the comet may have put’em out?”

‘“The stars,” says the old gentleman,“couldn’t make a mistake if they tried. Emma,” he says to the other young lady.

‘“Yes, papa,” says she.

‘“The same day that makes your cousin Mrs. Grigwill unite you to the gifted Mooney.  Noremonstrance—no tears.  Now, Mr. Grig, let me conductyou to that hallowed ground, that philosophical retreat, where myfriend and partner, the gifted Mooney of whom I have just nowspoken, is even now pursuing those discoveries which shall enrichus with the precious metal, and make us masters of theworld.  Come, Mr. Grig,” he says.

‘“With all my heart, Sir,” replies Tom;“and luck to the gifted Mooney, say I—not so much onhis account as for our worthy selves!”  With thissentiment, Tom kissed his hand to the ladies again, and followedhim out; having the gratification to perceive, as he looked back,that they were all hanging on by the arms and legs of GalileoIsaac Newton Flamstead, to prevent him from following the noblestranger, and tearing him to pieces.

‘Gentlemen, Tom’s father-in-law that was to be,took him by the hand, and having lighted a little lamp, led himacross a paved court-yard at the back of the house, into a verylarge, dark, gloomy room: filled with all manner of bottles,globes, books, telescopes, crocodiles, alligators, and otherscientific instruments of every kind.  In the centre of thisroom was a stove or furnace, with what Tom called a pot, butwhich in my opinion was a crucible, in full boil.  In onecorner was a sort of ladder leading through the roof; and up thisladder the old gentleman pointed, as he said in a whisper:

‘“The observatory.  Mr. Mooney is even nowwatching for the precise time at which we are to come into allthe riches of the earth.  It will be necessary for he and I,alone in that silent place, to cast your nativity before the hourarrives.  Put the day and minute of your birth on this pieceof paper, and leave the rest to me.”

‘“You don’t mean to say,” says Tom,doing as he was told and giving him back the paper, “thatI’m to wait here long, do you?  It’s a preciousdismal place.”

‘“Hush!” says the old gentleman. “It’s hallowed ground.  Farewell!”

‘“Stop a minute,” says Tom. “What a hurry you’re in!  What’s in thatlarge bottle yonder?”

‘“It’s a child with three heads,” saysthe old gentleman; “and everything else inproportion.”

‘“Why don’t you throw him away?” saysTom.  “What do you keep such unpleasant things herefor?”

‘“Throw him away!” cries the oldgentleman.  “We use him constantly in astrology. He’s a charm.”

‘“I shouldn’t have thought it,” saysTom, “from his appearance.  Mustyou go, Isay?”

‘The old gentleman makes him no answer, but climbs upthe ladder in a greater bustle than ever.  Tom looked afterhis legs till there was nothing of him left, and then sat down towait; feeling (so he used to say) as comfortable as if he wasgoing to be made a freemason, and they were heating thepokers.

‘Tom waited so long, gentlemen, that he began to thinkit must be getting on for midnight at least, and felt more dismaland lonely than ever he had done in all his life.  He triedevery means of whiling away the time, but it never had seemed tomove so slow.  First, he took a nearer view of the childwith three heads, and thought what a comfort it must have been tohis parents.  Then he looked up a long telescope which waspointed out of the window, but saw nothing particular, inconsequence of the stopper being on at the other end.  Thenhe came to a skeleton in a glass case, labelled, “Skeletonof a Gentleman—prepared by Mr. Mooney,”—whichmade him hope that Mr. Mooney might not be in the habit ofpreparing gentlemen that way without their own consent.  Ahundred times, at least, he looked into the pot where they wereboiling the philosopher’s stone down to the properconsistency, and wondered whether it was nearly done. “When it is,” thinks Tom, “I’ll send outfor six-penn’orth of sprats, and turn ’em into goldfish for a first experiment.”  Besides which, he madeup his mind, gentlemen, to have a country-house and a park; andto plant a bit of it with a double row of gas-lamps a mile long,and go out every night with a French-polished mahogany ladder,and two servants in livery behind him, to light ’em for hisown pleasure.

‘At length and at last, the old gentleman’s legsappeared upon the steps leading through the roof, and he cameslowly down: bringing along with him, the gifted Mooney. This Mooney, gentlemen, was even more scientific in appearancethan his friend; and had, as Tom often declared upon his word andhonour, the dirtiest face we can possibly know of, in thisimperfect state of existence.

‘Gentlemen, you are all aware that if a scientific manisn’t absent in his mind, he’s of no good atall.  Mr. Mooney was so absent, that when the old gentlemansaid to him, “Shake hands with Mr. Grig,” he put outhis leg.  “Here’s a mind, Mr. Grig!” criesthe old gentleman in a rapture.  “Here’sphilosophy!  Here’s rumination!  Don’tdisturb him,” he says, “for this isamazing!”

‘Tom had no wish to disturb him, having nothingparticular to say; but he was so uncommonly amazing, that the oldgentleman got impatient, and determined to give him an electricshock to bring him to—“for you must know, Mr.Grig,” he says, “that we always keep a stronglycharged battery, ready for that purpose.”  These meansbeing resorted to, gentlemen, the gifted Mooney revived with aloud roar, and he no sooner came to himself than both he and theold gentleman looked at Tom with compassion, and shed tearsabundantly.

‘“My dear friend,” says the old gentleman tothe Gifted, “prepare him.”

‘“I say,” cries Tom, falling back,“none of that, you know.  No preparing by Mr. Mooneyif you please.”

‘“Alas!” replies the old gentleman,“you don’t understand us.  My friend, inform himof his fate.—I can’t.”

‘The Gifted mustered up his voice, after many efforts,and informed Tom that his nativity had been carefully cast, andhe would expire at exactly thirty-five minutes, twenty-sevenseconds, and five-sixths of a second past nine o’clock,a.m., on that day two months.

‘Gentlemen, I leave you to judge what were Tom’sfeelings at this announcement, on the eve of matrimony andendless riches.  “I think,” he says in atrembling voice, “there must be a mistake in the working ofthat sum.  Will you do me the favour to cast it upagain?”—“There is no mistake,” repliesthe old gentleman, “it is confirmed by Francis Moore,Physician.  Here is the prediction for to-morrow twomonths.”  And he showed him the page, where sureenough were these words—“The decease of a greatperson may be looked for, about this time.”

‘“Which,” says the old gentleman, “isclearly you, Mr. Grig.”

‘“Too clearly,” cries Tom, sinking into achair, and giving one hand to the old gentleman, and one to theGifted.  “The orb of day has set on Thomas Grig forever!”

‘At this affecting remark, the Gifted shed tears again,and the other two mingled their tears with his, in akind—if I may use the expression—of Mooney andCo.’s entire.  But the old gentleman recovering first,observed that this was only a reason for hastening the marriage,in order that Tom’s distinguished race might be transmittedto posterity; and requesting the Gifted to console Mr. Grigduring his temporary absence, he withdrew to settle thepreliminaries with his niece immediately.

‘And now, gentlemen, a very extraordinary and remarkableoccurrence took place; for as Tom sat in a melancholy way in onechair, and the Gifted sat in a melancholy way in another, acouple of doors were thrown violently open, the two young ladiesrushed in, and one knelt down in a loving attitude at Tom’sfeet, and the other at the Gifted’s.  So far, perhaps,as Tom was concerned—as he used to say—you will saythere was nothing strange in this: but you will be of a differentopinion when you understand that Tom’s young lady waskneeling to the Gifted, and the Gifted’s young lady waskneeling to Tom.

‘“Halloa! stop a minute!” cries Tom;“here’s a mistake.  I need condoling with bysympathising woman, under my afflicting circumstances; butwe’re out in the figure.  Change partners,Mooney.”

‘“Monster!” cries Tom’s young lady,clinging to the Gifted.

‘“Miss!” says Tom.  “Isthatyour manners?”

‘“I abjure thee!” cries Tom’s younglady.  “I renounce thee.  I never will bethine.  Thou,” she says to the Gifted, “art theobject of my first and all-engrossing passion.  Wrapt in thysublime visions, thou hast not perceived my love; but, driven todespair, I now shake off the woman and avow it.  Oh, cruel,cruel man!”  With which reproach she laid her headupon the Gifted’s breast, and put her arms about him in thetenderest manner possible, gentlemen.

‘“And I,” says the other young lady, in asort of ecstasy, that made Tom start—“I hereby abjuremy chosen husband too.  Hear me, Goblin!”—thiswas to the Gifted—“Hear me!  I hold thee in thedeepest detestation.  The maddening interview of this onenight has filled my soul with love—but not for thee. It is for thee, for thee, young man,” she cries toTom.  “As Monk Lewis finely observes, Thomas, Thomas,I am thine, Thomas, Thomas, thou art mine: thine for ever, minefor ever!” with which words, she became very tenderlikewise.

‘Tom and the Gifted, gentlemen, as you may believe,looked at each other in a very awkward manner, and with thoughtsnot at all complimentary to the two young ladies.  As to theGifted, I have heard Tom say often, that he was certain he was ina fit, and had it inwardly.

‘“Speak to me!  Oh, speak to me!” criesTom’s young lady to the Gifted.

‘“I don’t want to speak to anybody,”he says, finding his voice at last, and trying to push heraway.  “I think I had better go. I’m—I’m frightened,” he says, lookingabout as if he had lost something.

‘“Not one look of love!” she cries. “Hear me while I declare—”

‘“I don’t know how to look a look oflove,” he says, all in a maze.  “Don’tdeclare anything.  I don’t want to hearanybody.”

‘“That’s right!” cries the oldgentleman (who it seems had been listening). “That’s right!  Don’t hear her.  Emmashall marry you to-morrow, my friend, whether she likes it ornot, and sheshall marry Mr. Grig.”

‘Gentlemen, these words were no sooner out of his mouththan Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead (who it seems had beenlistening too) darts in, and spinning round and round, like ayoung giant’s top, cries, “Let her.  Lether.  I’m fierce; I’m furious.  I give herleave.  I’ll never marry anybody afterthis—never.  It isn’t safe.  She is thefalsest of the false,” he cries, tearing his hair andgnashing his teeth; “and I’ll live and die abachelor!”

‘“The little boy,” observed the Giftedgravely, “albeit of tender years, has spoken wisdom. I have been led to the contemplation of woman-kind, and will notadventure on the troubled waters of matrimony.”

‘“What!” says the old gentleman, “notmarry my daughter!  Won’t you, Mooney?  Not if Imake her?  Won’t you?  Won’tyou?”

‘“No,” says Mooney, “Iwon’t.  And if anybody asks me any more, I’llrun away, and never come back again.”

‘“Mr. Grig,” says the old gentleman,“the stars must be obeyed.  You have not changed yourmind because of a little girlish folly—eh, Mr.Grig?”

‘Tom, gentlemen, had had his eyes about him, and waspretty sure that all this was a device and trick of thewaiting-maid, to put him off his inclination.  He had seenher hiding and skipping about the two doors, and had observedthat a very little whispering from her pacified the Salamanderdirectly.  “So,” thinks Tom, “this is aplot—but it won’t fit.”

‘“Eh, Mr. Grig?” says the old gentleman.

‘“Why, Sir,” says Tom, pointing to thecrucible, “if the soup’s nearlyready—”

‘“Another hour beholds the consummation of ourlabours,” returned the old gentleman.

‘“Very good,” says Tom, with a mournfulair.  “It’s only for two months, but I may aswell be the richest man in the world even for that time. I’m not particular, I’ll take her, Sir. I’ll take her.”

‘The old gentleman was in a rapture to find Tom still inthe same mind, and drawing the young lady towards him by littleand little, was joining their hands by main force, when all of asudden, gentlemen, the crucible blows up, with a great crash;everybody screams; the room is filled with smoke; and Tom, notknowing what may happen next, throws himself into a Fancyattitude, and says, “Come on, if you’re a man!”without addressing himself to anybody in particular.

‘“The labours of fifteen years!” says theold gentleman, clasping his hands and looking down upon theGifted, who was saving the pieces, “are destroyed in aninstant!”—And I am told, gentlemen, by-the-bye, thatthis same philosopher’s stone would have been discovered ahundred times at least, to speak within bounds, if itwasn’t for the one unfortunate circumstance that theapparatus always blows up, when it’s on the very point ofsucceeding.

‘Tom turns pale when he hears the old gentlemanexpressing himself to this unpleasant effect, and stammers outthat if it’s quite agreeable to all parties, he would liketo know exactly what has happened, and what change has reallytaken place in the prospects of that company.

‘“We have failed for the present, Mr. Grig,”says the old gentleman, wiping his forehead.  “And Iregret it the more, because I have in fact invested myniece’s five thousand pounds in this gloriousspeculation.  But don’t be cast down,” he says,anxiously—“in another fifteen years, Mr.Grig—”

“Oh!” cries Tom, letting the young lady’shand fall.  “Were the stars very positive about thisunion, Sir?”

‘“They were,” says the old gentleman.

‘“I’m sorry to hear it,” Tom makesanswer, “for it’s no go, Sir.”

‘“No what!” cries the old gentleman.

‘“Go, Sir,” says Tom, fiercely. “I forbid the banns.”  And with thesewords—which are the very words he used—he sat himselfdown in a chair, and, laying his head upon the table, thoughtwith a secret grief of what was to come to pass on that day twomonths.

‘Tom always said, gentlemen, that that waiting-maid wasthe artfullest minx he had ever seen; and he left it in writingin this country when he went to colonize abroad, that he wascertain in his own mind she and the Salamander had blown up thephilosopher’s stone on purpose, and to cut him out of hisproperty.  I believe Tom was in the right, gentlemen; butwhether or no, she comes forward at this point, and says,“May I speak, Sir?” and the old gentleman answering,“Yes, you may,” she goes on to say that “thestars are no doubt quite right in every respect, but Tom is notthe man.”  And she says, “Don’t youremember, Sir, that when the clock struck five this afternoon,you gave Master Galileo a rap on the head with your telescope,and told him to get out of the way?”  “Yes, Ido,” says the old gentleman.  “Then,” saysthe waiting-maid, “I say he’s the man, and theprophecy is fulfilled.”  The old gentleman staggers atthis, as if somebody had hit him a blow on the chest, and cries,“He! why he’s a boy!”  Upon that,gentlemen, the Salamander cries out that he’ll betwenty-one next Lady-day; and complains that his father hasalways been so busy with the sun round which the earth revolves,that he has never taken any notice of the son that revolves roundhim; and that he hasn’t had a new suit of clothes since hewas fourteen; and that he wasn’t even taken out of nankeenfrocks and trousers till he was quite unpleasant in ’em;and touches on a good many more family matters to the samepurpose.  To make short of a long story, gentlemen, they alltalk together, and cry together, and remind the old gentlemanthat as to the noble family, his own grandfather would have beenlord mayor if he hadn’t died at a dinner the year before;and they show him by all kinds of arguments that if the cousinsare married, the prediction comes true every way.  At last,the old gentleman being quite convinced, gives in; and joinstheir hands; and leaves his daughter to marry anybody she likes;and they are all well pleased; and the Gifted as well as any ofthem.

‘In the middle of this little family party, gentlemen,sits Tom all the while, as miserable as you like.  But, wheneverything else is arranged, the old gentleman’s daughtersays, that their strange conduct was a little device of thewaiting-maid’s to disgust the lovers he had chosen for’em, and will he forgive her? and if he will, perhaps hemight even find her a husband—and when she says that, shelooks uncommon hard at Tom.  Then the waiting-maid saysthat, oh dear! she couldn’t abear Mr. Grig should think shewanted him to marry her; and that she had even gone so far as torefuse the last lamplighter, who was now a literary character(having set up as a bill-sticker); and that she hoped Mr. Grigwould not suppose she was on her last legs by any means, for thebaker was very strong in his attentions at that moment, and as tothe butcher, he was frantic.  And I don’t know howmuch more she might have said, gentlemen (for, as you know, thiskind of young women are rare ones to talk), if the old gentlemanhadn’t cut in suddenly, and asked Tom if he’d haveher, with ten pounds to recompense him for his loss of time anddisappointment, and as a kind of bribe to keep the storysecret.

‘“It don’t much matter, Sir,” saysTom, “I ain’t long for this world.  Eight weeksof marriage, especially with this young woman, might reconcile meto my fate.  I think,” he says, “I could go offeasy after that.”  With which he embraces her with avery dismal face, and groans in a way that might move a heart ofstone—even of philosopher’s stone.

‘“Egad,” says the old gentleman, “thatreminds me—this bustle put it out of my head—therewas a figure wrong.  He’ll live to a green oldage—eighty-seven at least!”

‘“How much, Sir?” cries Tom.

‘“Eighty-seven!” says the old gentleman.

‘Without another word, Tom flings himself on the oldgentleman’s neck; throws up his hat; cuts a caper; defiesthe waiting-maid; and refers her to the butcher.

‘“You won’t marry her!” says the oldgentleman, angrily.

‘“And live after it!” says Tom. “I’d sooner marry a mermaid with a small-tooth comband looking-glass.”

‘“Then take the consequences,” says theother.

‘With those words—I beg your kind attention here,gentlemen, for it’s worth your notice—the oldgentleman wetted the forefinger of his right hand in some of theliquor from the crucible that was spilt on the floor, and drew asmall triangle on Tom’s forehead.  The room swambefore his eyes, and he found himself in thewatch-house.’

‘Found himself where?’ cried the vice, onbehalf of the company generally.

‘In the watch-house,’ said the chairman. ‘It was late at night, and he found himself in the verywatch-house from which he had been let out thatmorning.’

‘Did he go home?’ asked the vice.

‘The watch-house people rather objected to that,’said the chairman; ‘so he stopped there that night, andwent before the magistrate in the morning.  “Why,you’re here again, are you?” says the magistrate,adding insult to injury; “we’ll trouble you for fiveshillings more, if you can conveniently spare themoney.”  Tom told him he had been enchanted, but itwas of no use.  He told the contractors the same, but theywouldn’t believe him.  It was very hard upon him,gentlemen, as he often said, for was it likely he’d go andinvent such a tale?  They shook their heads and told himhe’d say anything but his prayers—as indeed he would;there’s no doubt about that.  It was the onlyimputation on his moral character that ever Iheardof.’

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