The Lamplighter

Charles Dickens

"I f you talk of Murphy and Francis Moore, gentlemen,�f said the lamplighter who was in the chair, �eI 
mean to say that neither of �eem ever had any more to do with the stars than Tom Grig had.�f

�eAnd what had HE to do with �eem?�f asked the lamplighter who officiated as vice.

�eNothing at all,�f replied the other; �ejust exactly nothing at all.�f

�eDo you mean to say you don�ft believe in Murphy, then?�f demanded the lamplighter who had opened 
the discussion.

�eI mean to say I believe in Tom Grig,�f replied the chairman. �eWhether I believe in Murphy, or not, is 
a matter between me and my conscience; and whether Murphy believes in himself, or not, is a matter 
between him and his conscience. Gentlemen, I drink your healths.�f

The lamplighter who did the company this honour, was seated in the chimney-corner of a certain 
tavern, which has been, time out of mind, the Lamplighters�f House of Call. He sat in the midst of a 
circle of lamplighters, and was the cacique, or chief of the tribe.

If any of our readers have had the good fortune to behold a lamplighter�fs funeral, they will not be 
surprised to learn that lamplighters are a strange and primitive people; that they rigidly adhere to old 
ceremonies and customs which have been handed down among them from father to son since the 
first public lamp was lighted out of doors; that they intermarry, and betroth their children in infancy; 
that they enter into no plots or conspiracies (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 
burglarious lamplighter); that they are, in short, notwithstanding their apparently volatile and restless 
character, a highly moral and reflective people: having among themselves as many traditional 
observances as the Jews, and being, as a body, if not as old as the hills, at least as old as the streets. It 
is an article of their creed that the first faint glimmering of true civilisation shone in the first 
street-light maintained at the public expense. They trace their existence and high position in the 
public esteem, in a direct line to the heathen mythology; and hold that the history of Prometheus 
himself is but a pleasant fable, whereof the true hero is a lamplighter.

�eGentlemen,�f said the lamplighter in the chair, �eI drink your healths.�f

�eAnd perhaps, Sir,�f said the vice, holding up his glass, and rising a little way off his seat and sitting 
down again, in token that he recognised and returned the compliment, �eperhaps you will add to that 
condescension by telling us who Tom Grig was, and how he came to be connected in your mind with 
Francis Moore, Physician.�f

�eHear, hear, hear!�f cried the lamplighters generally.

�eTom Grig, gentlemen,�f said the chairman, �ewas one of us; and it happened to him, as it don�ft often 
happen to a public character in our line, that he had his what-you-may-call-it cast.�f

�eHis head?�f said the vice.

�eNo,�f replied the chairman, �enot his head.�f

�eHis face, perhaps?�f said the vice. �eNo, not his face.�f �eHis legs?�f �eNo, not his legs.�f Nor yet his arms, 
nor his hands, nor his feet, nor his chest, all of which were severally suggested.

�eHis nativity, perhaps?�f

�eThat�fs it,�f said the chairman, awakening from his thoughtful attitude at the suggestion. �eHis nativity. 
That�fs what Tom had cast, gentlemen.�f

�eIn plaster?�f asked the vice.

�eI don�ft rightly know how it�fs done,�f returned the chairman. �eBut I suppose it was.�f

And there he stopped as if that were all he had to say; whereupon there arose a murmur among the 
company, which at length resolved itself into a request, conveyed through the vice, that he would go 
on. This being exactly what the chairman wanted, he mused for a little time, performed that 
agreeable ceremony which is popularly termed wetting one�fs whistle, and went on thus:

�eTom Grig, gentlemen, was, as I have said, one of us; and I may go further, and say he was an 
ornament to us, and such a one as only the good old times of oil and cotton could have produced. 
Tom�fs family, gentlemen, were all lamplighters.�f

�eNot the ladies, I hope?�f asked the vice.

�eThey had talent enough for it, Sir,�f rejoined the chairman, �eand would have been, but for the 
prejudices of society. Let women have their rights, Sir, and the females of Tom�fs family would have 
been every one of �eem in office. But that emancipation hasn�ft come yet, and hadn�ft then, and 
consequently they confined themselves to the bosoms of their families, cooked the dinners, mended 
the clothes, minded the children, comforted their husbands, and attended to the house-keeping 
generally. It�fs a hard thing upon the women, gentlemen, that they are limited to such a sphere of 
action as this; very hard.

�eI happen to know all about Tom, gentlemen, from the circumstance of his uncle by his mother�fs side, 
having been my particular friend. His (that�fs Tom�fs uncle�fs) fate was a melancholy one. Gas was the 
death of him. When it was first talked of, he laughed. He wasn�ft angry; he laughed at the credulity of 
human nature. "They might as well talk," he says, "of laying on an everlasting succession of 
glow-worms;" and then he laughed again, partly at his joke, and partly at poor humanity.

�eIn course of time, however, the thing got ground, the experiment was made, and they lighted up Pall 
Mall. Tom�fs uncle went to see it. I�fve heard that he fell off his ladder fourteen times that night, from 
weakness, and that he would certainly have gone on falling till he killed himself, if his last tumble 
hadn�ft been into a wheelbarrow which was going his way, and humanely took him home. "I foresee 
in this," says Tom�fs uncle faintly, and taking to his bed as he spoke - "I foresee in this," he says, "the 
breaking up of our profession. There�fs no more going the rounds to trim by daylight, no more 
dribbling down of the oil on the hats and bonnets of ladies and gentlemen when one feels in spirits. 
Any low fellow can light a gas-lamp. And it�fs all up." In this state of mind, he petitioned the 
government for - I want a word again, gentlemen what do you call that which they give to people 
when it�fs found out, at last, that they�fve never been of any use, and have been paid too much for 
doing nothing?�f

�eCompensation?�f suggested the vice.

�eThat�fs it,�f said the chairman. �eCompensation. They didn�ft give it him, though, and then he got very 
fond of his country all at once, and went about saying that gas was a death-blow to his native land, 
and that it was a plot of the radicals to ruin the country and destroy the oil and cotton trade for ever, 
and that the whales would go and kill themselves privately, out of sheer spite and vexation at not 
being caught. At last he got right-down cracked; called his tobacco-pipe a gas-pipe; thought his tears 
were lampoil; and went on with all manner of nonsense of that sort, till one night he hung himself on 
a lamp-iron in Saint Martin�fs Lane, and there was an end of HIM.

�eTom loved him, gentlemen, but he survived it. He shed a tear over his grave, got very drunk, spoke 
a funeral oration that night in the watch-house, and was fined five shillings for it, in the morning. 
Some men are none the worse for this sort of thing. Tom was one of �eem. He went that very 
afternoon on a new beat: as clear in his head, and as free from fever as Father Mathew himself.

�eTom�fs new beat, gentlemen, was - I can�ft exactly say where, for that he�fd never tell; but I know it 
was in a quiet part of town, where there were some queer old houses. I have always had it in my 
head that it must have been somewhere near Canonbury Tower in Islington, but that�fs a matter of 
opinion. Wherever it was, he went upon it, with a bran-new ladder, a white hat, a brown holland 
jacket and trousers, a blue neck-kerchief, and a sprig of fullblown double wall-flower in his 
button-hole. Tom was always genteel in his appearance, and I have heard from the best judges, that if 
he had left his ladder at home that afternoon, you might have took him for a lord.

�eHe was always merry, was Tom, and such a singer, that if there was any encouragement for native 
talent, he�fd have been at the opera. He was on his ladder, lighting his first lamp, and singing to 
himself in a manner more easily to be conceived 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.

�eTom didn�ft know what could be passing in this old gentleman�fs mind. He thought it likely enough 
that he might be saying within himself, "Here�fs a new lamplighter - a good-looking young fellow 
shall I stand something to drink?" Thinking this possible, he keeps quite still, pretending to be very 
particular about the wick, and looks at the old gentleman sideways, seeming to take no notice of him.

�eGentlemen, he was one of the strangest and most mysterious-looking files that ever Tom clapped his 
eyes on. He was dressed all slovenly and untidy, in a great gown of a kind of bed-furniture pattern, 
with a cap of the same on his head; and a long old flapped waistcoat; with no braces, no strings, very 
few buttons - in short, with hardly any of those artificial contrivances that hold society together. Tom 
knew by these signs, and by his not being shaved, and by his not being over-clean, and by a sort of 
wisdom not quite awake, in his face, that he was a scientific old gentleman. He often told me that if 
he could have conceived the possibility of the whole Royal Society being boiled down into one man, 
he should have said the old gentleman�fs body was that Body.

�eThe old gentleman claps the telescope to his eye, looks all round, sees nobody else in sight, stares at 
Tom again, and cries out very loud:

�e"Hal-loa!"

�e"Halloa, Sir," says Tom from the ladder; "and halloa again, if you come to that."

�e"Here�fs an extraordinary fulfilment," says the old gentleman, "of a prediction of the planets."

�e"Is there?" says Tom. "I�fm very glad to hear it."

�e"Young man," says the old gentleman, "you don�ft know me."

�e"Sir," says Tom, "I have not that honour; but I shall be happy to drink your health, notwithstanding."

�e"I read," cries the old gentleman, without taking any notice of this politeness on Tom�fs part - "I read 
what�fs going to happen, in the stars."

�eTom thanked him for the information, and begged to know if anything particular was going to 
happen in the stars, in the course of a week or so; but the old gentleman, correcting him, explained 
that he read in the stars what was going to happen on dry land, and that he was acquainted with all 
the celestial bodies.

�e"I hope they�fre all well, Sir," says Tom, - "everybody."

�e"Hush!" cries the old gentleman. "I have consulted the book of Fate with rare and wonderful 
success. I am versed in the great sciences of astrology and astronomy. In my house here, I have 
every description of apparatus for observing the course and motion of the planets. Six months ago, I 
derived from this source, the knowledge that precisely as the clock struck five this afternoon a 
stranger would present himself - the destined husband of my young and lovely niece - in reality of 
illustrious and high descent, but whose birth would be enveloped in uncertainty and mystery. Don�ft 
tell me yours isn�ft," says the old gentleman, who was in such a hurry to speak that he couldn�ft get 
the words out fast enough, "for I know better."

�eGentlemen, Tom was so astonished when he heard him say this, that he could hardly keep his 
footing on the ladder, and found it necessary to hold on by the lamp-post. There WAS a mystery 
about his birth. His mother had always admitted it. Tom had never known who was his father, and 
some people had gone so far as to say that even SHE was in doubt.

�eWhile he was in this state of amazement, the old gentleman leaves the window, bursts out of the 
house-door, shakes the ladder, and Tom, like a ripe pumpkin, comes sliding down into his arms.

�e"Let me embrace you," he says, folding his arms about him, and nearly lighting up his old 
bed-furniture gown at Tom�fs link. "You�fre a man of noble aspect. Everything combines to prove the 
accuracy of my observations. You have had mysterious promptings within you," he says; "I know 
you have had whisperings of greatness, eh?" he says.

�e"I think I have," says Tom - Tom was one of those who can persuade themselves to anything they 
like - "I�fve often thought I wasn�ft the small beer I was taken for."

�e"You were right," cries the old gentleman, hugging him again. "Come in. My niece awaits us."

�e"Is the young lady tolerable good-looking, Sir?" says Tom, hanging fire rather, as he thought of her 
playing the piano, and knowing French, and being up to all manner of accomplishments.

�e"She�fs beautiful!" cries the old gentleman, who was in such a terrible bustle that he was all in a 
perspiration. "She has a graceful carriage, an exquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming 
with animation and expression; and the eye," he says, rubbing his hands, "of a startled fawn."

�eTom supposed this might mean, what was called among his circle of acquaintance, "a game eye;" 
and, with a view to this defect, inquired whether the young lady had any cash.

�e"She has five thousand pounds," cries the old gentleman. "But what of that? what of that? A word in 
your ear. I�fm in search of the philosopher�fs stone. I have very nearly found it - not quite. It turns 
everything to gold; that�fs its property."

�eTom naturally thought it must have a deal of property; and said that when the old gentleman did get 
it, he hoped he�fd be careful to keep it in the family.

�e"Certainly," he says, "of course. Five thousand pounds! What�fs five thousand pounds to us? What�fs 
five million?" he says. "What�fs five thousand million? Money will be nothing to us. We shall never 
be able to spend it fast enough."

�e"We�fll try what we can do, Sir," says Tom.

�e"We will," says the old gentleman. "Your name?"

�e"Grig," says Tom.

�eThe old gentleman embraced him again, very tight; and without speaking another word, dragged 
him into the house in such an excited manner, that it was as much as Tom could do to take his link 
and ladder with him, and put them down in the passage.

�eGentlemen, if Tom hadn�ft been always remarkable for his love of truth, I think you would still have 
believed him when he said that all this was like a dream. There is no better way for a man to find out 
whether he is really asleep or awake, than calling for something to eat. If he�fs in a dream, gentlemen, 
he�fll find something wanting in flavour, depend upon it.

�eTom explained his doubts to the old gentleman, and said that if there was any cold meat in the house, 
it would ease his mind very much to test himself at once. The old gentleman ordered up a venison 
pie, a small ham, and a bottle of very old Madeira. At the first mouthful of pie and the first glass of 
wine, Tom smacks his lips and cries out, "I�fm awake - wide awake;" and to prove that he was so, 
gentlemen, he made an end of �eem both.

�eWhen Tom had finished his meal (which he never spoke of afterwards without tears in his eyes), the 
old gentleman hugs him again, and says, "Noble stranger! let us visit my young and lovely niece." 
Tom, who was a little elevated with the wine, replies, "The noble stranger is agreeable!" At which 
words the old gentleman took him by the hand, and led him to the parlour; crying as he opened the 
door, "Here is Mr. Grig, the favourite of the planets!"

�eI will not attempt a description of female beauty, gentlemen, for every one of us has a model of his 
own that suits his own taste best. In this parlour that I�fm speaking of, there were two young ladies; 
and if every gentleman present, will imagine two models of his own in their places, and will be kind 
enough to polish �eem up to the very highest pitch of perfection, he will then have a faint conception 
of their uncommon radiance.

�eBesides these two young ladies, there was their waiting-woman, that under any other circumstances 
Tom would have looked upon as a Venus; and besides her, there was a tall, thin, dismal-faced young 
gentleman, half man and half boy, dressed in a childish suit of clothes very much too short in the 
legs and arms; and looking, according to Tom�fs comparison, like one of the wax juveniles from a 
tailor�fs door, grown up and run to seed. Now, this youngster stamped his foot upon the ground and 
looked very fierce at Tom, and Tom looked fierce at him - for to tell the truth, gentlemen, Tom more 
than half suspected that when they entered the room he was kissing one of the young ladies; and for 
anything Tom knew, you observe, it might be HIS young lady - which was not pleasant.

�e"Sir," says Tom, "before we proceed any further, will you have the goodness to inform me who this 
young Salamander" - Tom called him that for aggravation, you perceive, gentlemen - "who this 
young Salamander may be?"

�e"That, Mr. Grig," says the old gentleman, "is my little boy. He was christened Galileo Isaac Newton 
Flamstead. Don�ft mind him. He�fs a mere child."

�e"And a very fine child too," says Tom - still aggravating, you�fll 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�fs 
Hymns, which he had learnt at a Sunday School.

�eIt was very easy to see, gentlemen, by this youngster�fs frowning and by the waiting-maid�fs 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�ft believe he knew his letters in �eem, 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?"

�e"This," says the old gentleman, leading out the handsomest, if one of �eem could possibly be said to 
be handsomer than the other "this is my niece, Miss Fanny Barker."

�e"If you�fll 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�fs it to come off, my buck?"

�eThe 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 �eem thus, I ask you whether you don�ft think this is a mistake? Don�ft you think, dear 
uncle," she says, "that the stars must be in error? Is it not possible that the comet may have put �eem 
out?"

�e"The stars," says the old gentleman, "couldn�ft make a mistake if they tried. Emma," he says to the 
other young lady.

�e"Yes, papa," says she.

�e"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.

�e"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.

�eGentlemen, Tom�fs 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:

�e"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."

�e"You don�ft mean to say," says Tom, doing as he was told and giving him back the paper, "that I�fm to 
wait here long, do you? It�fs a precious dismal place."

�e"Hush!" says the old gentleman. "It�fs hallowed ground. Farewell!" �e"Stop a minute," says Tom. 
"What a hurry you�fre in! What�fs in that large bottle yonder?"

�e"It�fs a child with three heads," says the old gentleman; "and everything else in proportion."

�e"Why don�ft you throw him away?" says Tom. "What do you keep such unpleasant things here for?"

�e"Throw him away!" cries the old gentleman. "We use him constantly in astrology. He�fs a charm."

�e"I shouldn�ft have thought it," says Tom, "from his appearance. MUST you go, I say?"

�eThe old gentleman makes him no answer, but climbs up the ladder in a greater bustle than ever. Tom 
looked after his legs till there was nothing of him left, and then sat down to wait; feeling (so he used 
to say) as comfortable as if he was going to be made a freemason, and they were heating the pokers.

�eTom waited so long, gentlemen, that he began to think it must be getting on for midnight at least, 
and felt more dismal and lonely than ever he had done in all his life. He tried every means of whiling 
away the time, but it never had seemed to move so slow. First, he took a nearer view of the child 
with three heads, and thought what a comfort it must have been to his parents. Then he looked up a 
long telescope which was pointed out of the window, but saw nothing particular, in consequence of 
the stopper being on at the other end. Then he came to a skeleton in a glass case, labelled, "Skeleton 
of a Gentleman - prepared by Mr. Mooney," which made him hope that Mr. Mooney might not be in 
the habit of preparing gentlemen that way without their own consent. A hundred times, at least, he 
looked into the pot where they were boiling the philosopher�fs stone down to the proper consistency, 
and wondered whether it was nearly done. "When it is," thinks Tom, "I�fll send out for six-penn�forth 
of sprats, and turn �eem into gold fish for a first experiment." Besides which, he made up his mind, 
gentlemen, to have a country-house and a park; and to 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 �eem for his own pleasure.

�eAt length and at last, the old gentleman�fs legs appeared upon the steps leading through the roof, and 
he came slowly down: bringing along with him, the gifted Mooney. This Mooney, gentlemen, was 
even more scientific in appearance than his friend; and had, as Tom often declared upon his word 
and honour, the dirtiest face we can possibly know of, in this imperfect state of existence.

�eGentlemen, you are all aware that if a scientific man isn�ft absent in his mind, he�fs of no good at all. 
Mr. Mooney was so absent, that when the old gentleman said to him, "Shake hands with Mr. Grig," 
he put out his leg. "Here�fs a mind, Mr. Grig!" cries the old gentleman in a rapture. "Here�fs 
philosophy! Here�fs rumination! Don�ft disturb him," he says, "for this is amazing!"

�eTom had no wish to disturb him, having nothing particular to say; but he was so uncommonly 
amazing, that the old gentleman got impatient, and determined to give him an electric shock to bring 
him to - "for you must know, Mr. Grig," he says, "that we always keep a strongly charged battery, 
ready for that purpose." These means being resorted to, gentlemen, the gifted Mooney revived with a 
loud roar, and he no sooner came to himself than both he and the old gentleman looked at Tom with 
compassion, and shed tears abundantly.

�e"My dear friend," says the old gentleman to the Gifted, "prepare him."

�e"I say," cries Tom, falling back, "none of that, you know. No preparing by Mr. Mooney if you 
please."

�e"Alas!" replies the old gentleman, "you don�ft understand us. My friend, inform him of his fate. - I 
can�ft."

�eThe Gifted mustered up his voice, after many efforts, and informed Tom that his nativity had been 
carefully cast, and he would expire at exactly thirty-five minutes, twenty-seven seconds, and 
fivesixths of a second past nine o�fclock, a.m., on that day two months.

�eGentlemen, I leave you to judge what were Tom�fs feelings at this announcement, on the eve of 
matrimony and endless riches. "I think," he says in a trembling voice, "there must be a mistake in the 
working of that sum. Will you do me the favour to cast it up again?" - "There is no mistake," replies 
the old gentleman, "it is confirmed by Francis Moore, Physician. Here is the prediction for 
to-morrow two months." And he showed him the page, where sure enough were these words - "The 
decease of a great person may be looked for, about this time."

�e"Which," says the old gentleman, "is clearly you, Mr. Grig."

�e"Too clearly," cries Tom, sinking into a chair, and giving one hand to the old gentleman, and one to 
the Gifted. "The orb of day has set on Thomas Grig for ever!"

�eAt this affecting remark, the Gifted shed tears again, and the other two mingled their tears with his, 
in a kind - if I may use the expression - of Mooney and Co.�fs entire. But the old gentleman 
recovering first, observed that this was only a reason for hastening the marriage, in order that Tom�fs 
distinguished race might be transmitted to posterity; and requesting the Gifted to console Mr. Grig 
during his temporary absence, he withdrew to settle the preliminaries with his niece immediately.

�eAnd now, gentlemen, a very extraordinary and remarkable occurrence took place; for as Tom sat in 
a melancholy way in one chair, and the Gifted sat in a melancholy way in another, a couple of doors 
were thrown violently open, the two young ladies rushed in, and one knelt down in a loving attitude 
at Tom�fs feet, and the other at the Gifted�fs. So far, perhaps, as Tom was concerned - as he used to say 
- you will say there was nothing strange in this: but you will be of a different opinion when you 
understand that Tom�fs young lady was kneeling to the Gifted, and the Gifted�fs young lady was 
kneeling to Tom.

�e"Halloa! stop a minute!" cries Tom; "here�fs a mistake. I need condoling with by sympathising 
woman, under my afflicting circumstances; but we�fre out in the figure. Change partners, Mooney."

�e"Monster!" cries Tom�fs young lady, clinging to the Gifted.

�e"Miss!" says Tom. "Is THAT your manners?"

�e"I abjure thee!" cries Tom�fs young lady. "I renounce thee. I never will be thine. Thou," she says to 
the Gifted, "art the object of my first and all-engrossing passion. Wrapt in thy sublime visions, thou 
hast not perceived my love; but, driven to despair, I now shake off the woman and avow it. Oh, cruel, 
cruel man!" With which reproach she laid her head upon the Gifted�fs breast, and put her arms about 
him in the tenderest manner possible, gentlemen.

�e"And I," says the other young lady, in a sort of ecstasy, that made Tom start - "I hereby abjure my 
chosen husband too. Hear me, Goblin!" - this was to the Gifted - "Hear me! I hold thee in the deepest 
detestation. The maddening interview of this one night has filled my soul with love - but not for thee. 
It is for thee, for thee, young man," she cries to Tom. "As Monk Lewis finely observes, Thomas, 
Thomas, I am thine, Thomas, Thomas, thou art mine: thine for ever, mine for ever!" with which 
words, she became very tender likewise.

�eTom and the Gifted, gentlemen, as you may believe, looked at each other in a very awkward manner, 
and with thoughts not at all complimentary to the two young ladies. As to the Gifted, I have heard 
Tom say often, that he was certain he was in a fit, and had it inwardly.

�e"Speak to me! Oh, speak to me!" cries Tom�fs young lady to the Gifted.

�e"I don�ft want to speak to anybody," he says, finding his voice at last, and trying to push her away. "I 
think I had better go. I�fm - I�fm frightened," he says, looking about as if he had lost something.

�e"Not one look of love!" she cries. "Hear me while I declare - "

�e"I don�ft know how to look a look of love," he says, all in a maze. "Don�ft declare anything. I don�ft 
want to hear anybody."

�e"That�fs right!" cries the old gentleman (who it seems had been listening). "That�fs right! Don�ft hear 
her. Emma shall marry you to-morrow, my friend, whether she likes it or not, and SHE shall marry 
Mr. Grig."

�eGentlemen, these words were no sooner out of his mouth than Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead 
(who it seems had been listening too) darts in, and spinning round and round, like a young giant�fs 
top, cries, "Let her. Let her. I�fm fierce; I�fm furious. I give her leave. I�fll never marry anybody after 
this - never. It isn�ft safe. She is the falsest of the false," he cries, tearing his hair and gnashing his 
teeth; "and I�fll live and die a bachelor!"

�e"The little boy," observed the Gifted gravely, "albeit of tender years, has spoken wisdom. I have 
been led to the contemplation of woman-kind, and will not adventure on the troubled waters of 
matrimony."

�e"What!" says the old gentleman, "not marry my daughter! Won�ft you, Mooney? Not if I make her? 
Won�ft you? Won�ft you?"

�e"No," says Mooney, "I won�ft. And if anybody asks me any more, I�fll run away, and never come 
back again."

�e"Mr. Grig," says the old gentleman, "the stars must be obeyed. You have not changed your mind 
because of a little girlish folly eh, Mr. Grig?"

�eTom, gentlemen, had had his eyes about him, and was pretty sure that all this was a device and trick 
of the waiting-maid, to put him off his inclination. He had seen her hiding and skipping about the 
two doors, and had observed that a very little whispering from her pacified the Salamander directly. 
"So," thinks Tom, "this is a plot - but it won�ft fit."

�e"Eh, Mr. Grig?" says the old gentleman.

�e"Why, Sir," says Tom, pointing to the crucible, "if the soup�fs nearly ready - "

�e"Another hour beholds the consummation of our labours," returned the old gentleman.

�e"Very good," says Tom, with a mournful air. "It�fs only for two months, but I may as well be the 
richest man in the world even for that time. I�fm not particular, I�fll take her, Sir. I�fll take her."

�eThe old gentleman was in a rapture to find Tom still in the same mind, and drawing the young lady 
towards him by little and little, was joining their hands by main force, when all of a sudden, 
gentlemen, the crucible blows up, with a great crash; everybody screams; the room is filled with 
smoke; and Tom, not knowing what may happen next, throws himself into a Fancy attitude, and says, 
"Come on, if you�fre a man!" without addressing himself to anybody in particular.

�e"The labours of fifteen years!" says the old gentleman, clasping his hands and looking down upon 
the Gifted, who was saving the pieces, "are destroyed in an instant!" - And I am told, gentlemen, 
by-the-bye, that this same philosopher�fs stone would have been discovered a hundred times at least, 
to speak within bounds, if it wasn�ft for the one unfortunate circumstance that the apparatus always 
blows up, when it�fs on the very point of succeeding.

�eTom turns pale when he hears the old gentleman expressing himself to this unpleasant effect, and 
stammers out that if it�fs quite agreeable to all parties, he would like to know exactly what has 
happened, and what change has really taken place in the prospects of that company.

�e"We have failed for the present, Mr. Grig," says the old gentleman, wiping his forehead. "And I 
regret it the more, because I have in fact invested my niece�fs five thousand pounds in this glorious 
speculation. But don�ft be cast down," he says, anxiously - "in another fifteen years, Mr. Grig - "

"Oh!" cries Tom, letting the young lady�fs hand fall. "Were the stars very positive about this union, 
Sir?"

�e"They were," says the old gentleman.

�e"I�fm sorry to hear it," Tom makes answer, "for it�fs no go, Sir."

�e"No what!" cries the old gentleman.

�e"Go, Sir," says Tom, fiercely. "I forbid the banns." And with these words - which are the very words 
he used - he sat himself down in a chair, and, laying his head upon the table, thought with a secret 
grief of what was to come to pass on that day two months.

�eTom always said, gentlemen, that that waiting-maid was the artfullest minx he had ever seen; and he 
left it in writing in this country when he went to colonize abroad, that he was certain in his own mind 
she and the Salamander had blown up the philosopher�fs stone on purpose, and to cut him out of his 
property. I believe Tom was in the right, gentlemen; but whether 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 "the stars are no doubt quite right in every respect, but Tom is not the man." And she says, 
"Don�ft you remember, 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, I do," says the old 
gentleman. "Then," says the waitingmaid, "I say he�fs the man, and the prophecy is fulfilled." The old 
gentleman staggers at this, as if somebody had hit him a blow on the chest, and cries, "He! why he�fs 
a boy!" Upon that, gentlemen, the Salamander cries out that he�fll be twenty-one next Lady-day; and 
complains that his father has always been so busy with the sun round which the earth revolves, that 
he has never taken any notice of the son that revolves round him; and that he hasn�ft had a new suit of 
clothes since he was fourteen; and that he wasn�ft even taken out of nankeen frocks and trousers till 
he was quite unpleasant in �eem; and touches on a good many more family matters to the same 
purpose. To make short of a long story, gentlemen, they all talk together, and cry together, and 
remind the old gentleman that as to the noble family, his own grandfather would have been lord 
mayor if he hadn�ft died at a dinner the year before; and they show him by all kinds of arguments that 
if the cousins are married, the prediction comes true every way. At last, the old gentleman being 
quite convinced, gives in; and joins their hands; and leaves his daughter to marry anybody she likes; 
and they are all well pleased; and the Gifted as well as any of them.

�eIn the middle of this little family party, gentlemen, sits Tom all the while, as miserable as you like. 
But, when everything else is arranged, the old gentleman�fs daughter says, that their strange conduct 
was a little device of the waiting-maid�fs to disgust the lovers he had chosen for �eem, and will he 
forgive her? and if he will, perhaps he might even find her a husband - and when she says that, she 
looks uncommon hard at Tom. Then the waiting-maid says that, oh dear! she couldn�ft abear Mr. Grig 
should think she wanted him to marry her; and that she had even gone so far as to refuse the last 
lamplighter, who was now a literary character (having set up as a bill-sticker); and that she hoped Mr. 
Grig would not suppose she was on her last legs by any means, for the baker was very strong in his 
attentions at that moment, and as to the butcher, he was frantic. And I don�ft know how much more 
she might have said, gentlemen (for, as you know, this kind of young women are rare ones to talk), if 
the old gentleman hadn�ft cut in suddenly, and asked Tom if he�fd have her, with ten pounds to 
recompense him for his loss of time and disappointment, and as a kind of bribe to keep the story 
secret.

�e"It don�ft much matter, Sir," says Tom, "I ain�ft long for this world. Eight weeks of marriage, 
especially with this young woman, might reconcile me to my fate. I think," he says, "I could go off 
easy after that." With which he embraces her with a very dismal face, and groans in a way that might 
move a heart of stone - even of philosopher�fs stone.

�e"Egad," says the old gentleman, "that reminds me - this bustle put it out of my head - there was a 
figure wrong. He�fll live to a green old age - eighty-seven at least!"

�e"How much, Sir?" cries Tom.

�e"Eighty-seven!" says the old gentleman.

�eWithout another word, Tom flings himself on the old gentleman�fs neck; throws up his hat; cuts a 
caper; defies the waiting-maid; and refers her to the butcher.

�e"You won�ft marry her!" says the old gentleman, angrily.

�e"And live after it!" says Tom. "I�fd sooner marry a mermaid with a small-tooth comb and 
looking-glass."

�e"Then take the consequences," says the other.

�eWith those words - I beg your kind attention here, gentlemen, for it�fs worth your notice - the old 
gentleman wetted the forefinger of his right hand in some of the liquor from the crucible that was 
spilt on the floor, and drew a small triangle on Tom�fs forehead. The room swam before his eyes, and 
he found himself in the watchhouse.�f

�eFound himself WHERE?�f cried the vice, on behalf of the company generally.

�eIn the watch-house,�f said the chairman. �eIt was late at night, and he found himself in the very 
watch-house from which he had been let out that morning.�f

�eDid he go home?�f asked the vice.

�eThe watch-house people rather objected to that,�f said the chairman; �eso he stopped there that night, 
and went before the magistrate in the morning. "Why, you�fre here again, are you?" says the 
magistrate, adding insult to injury; "we�fll trouble you for five shillings more, if you can conveniently 
spare the money." Tom told him he had been enchanted, but it was of no use. He told the contractors 
the same, but they wouldn�ft believe him. It was very hard upon him, gentlemen, as he often said, for 
was it likely he�fd go and invent such a tale? They shook their heads and told him he�fd say anything 
but his prayers - as indeed he would; there�fs no doubt about that. It was the only imputation on his 
moral character that ever I heard of.�f


THE END.