The Lamplighter | Page 7

a very fine child too," says Tom - still aggravating, you'll observe - "of his age, and
as good as fine, I have no doubt. How do you do, my man?" with which kind and
patronising expressions, Tom reached up to pat him on the head, and quoted two lines
about little boys, from Doctor Watts's Hymns, which he had learnt at a Sunday School.
'It was very easy to see, gentlemen, by this youngster's frowning and by the
waiting-maid's tossing her head and turning up her nose, and by the young ladies turning
their backs and talking together at the other end of the room, that nobody but the old
gentleman took very kindly to the noble stranger. Indeed, Tom plainly heard the
waiting-woman say of her master, that so far from being able to read the stars as he

pretended, she didn't believe he knew his letters in 'em, or at best that he had got further
than words in one syllable; but Tom, not minding this (for he was in spirits after the
Madeira), looks with an agreeable air towards the young ladies, and, kissing his hand to
both, says to the old gentleman, "Which is which?"
'"This," says the old gentleman, leading out the handsomest, if one of 'em could possibly
be said to be handsomer than the other - "this is my niece, Miss Fanny Barker."
'"If you'll permit me, Miss," says Tom, "being a noble stranger and a favourite of the
planets, I will conduct myself as such." With these words, he kisses the young lady in a
very affable way, turns to the 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 trembled so much, gentlemen, that Tom
really thought she was going to cry. But she kept her feelings down, and turning to the
old gentleman, says, "Dear uncle, though you have the absolute disposal of my hand and
fortune, and though you mean well in disposing of 'em thus, I ask you whether you don't
think this is a mistake? Don't you think, dear uncle," she says, "that the stars must be in
error? 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. Grig will unite you to the gifted Mooney.
No remonstrance - no tears. Now, Mr. Grig, let me conduct you to that hallowed ground,
that philosophical retreat, where my friend and partner, the gifted Mooney of whom I
have just now spoken, is even now pursuing those discoveries which shall enrich us with
the precious metal, and make us masters of the world. Come, Mr. Grig," he says.
'"With all my heart, Sir," replies Tom; "and luck to the gifted Mooney, say I - not so
much on his account as for our worthy selves!" With this sentiment, Tom kissed his hand
to the ladies again, and followed him out; having the gratification to perceive, as he
looked back, that they were all hanging on by the arms and legs of Galileo Isaac Newton
Flamstead, to prevent him from following the noble stranger, 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 him across a paved court-yard at the back of the house, into a very large,
dark, gloomy room: filled with all manner of bottles, globes, books, telescopes,
crocodiles, alligators, and other scientific instruments of every kind. In the centre of this
room was a stove or furnace, with what Tom called a pot, but which in my opinion was a
crucible, in full boil. In one corner was a sort of ladder leading through the roof; and up
this ladder the old gentleman pointed, as he said in a whisper:
'"The observatory. Mr. Mooney is even now watching for the precise time at which we
are to come into all the riches of the earth. It will be necessary for he and I, alone in that
silent place, to cast your nativity before the hour arrives. Put the day and minute of your

birth on this piece of 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,
"that I'm to wait here long, do you? It's a precious dismal 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 that large bottle yonder?"
'"It's a child with three heads," says the old gentleman;