lamplighter—a good-looking young fellow—shall I stand something todrink?” Thinking this possible, he keeps quite still, pretending to bevery particular about the wick, and looks at the old gentleman sideways,seeming to take no notice of him.
‘Gentlemen, he was one of the strangest and most mysterious-looking filesthat ever Tom clapped his eyes on. He was dressed all slovenly anduntidy, in a great gown of a kind of bed-furniture pattern, with a cap ofthe same on his head; and a long old flapped waistcoat; with no braces,no strings, very few buttons—in short, with hardly any of thoseartificial contrivances that hold society together. Tom knew by thesesigns, and by his not being shaved, and by his not being over-clean, andby a sort of wisdom not quite awake, in his face, that he was ascientific old gentleman. He often told me that if he could haveconceived the possibility of the whole Royal Society being boiled downinto one man, he should have said the old gentleman’s body was that Body.
‘The old gentleman claps the telescope to his eye, looks all round, seesnobody else in sight, stares at Tom again, and cries out very loud:
‘“Hal-loa!”
‘“Halloa, Sir,” says Tom from the ladder; “and halloa again, if you cometo that.”
‘“Here’s an extraordinary fulfilment,” says the old gentleman, “of aprediction of the planets.”
‘“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 that honour; but I shall be happy to drinkyour health, notwithstanding.”
‘“I read,” cries the old gentleman, without taking any notice of thispoliteness on Tom’s part—“I read what’s going to happen, in the stars.”
‘Tom thanked him for the information, and begged to know if anythingparticular was going to happen in the stars, in the course of a week orso; but the old gentleman, correcting him, explained that he read in thestars what was going to happen on dry land, and that he was acquaintedwith all the celestial bodies.
‘“I hope they’re all well, Sir,” says Tom,—“everybody.”
‘“Hush!” cries the old gentleman. “I have consulted the book of Fatewith rare and wonderful success. I am versed in the great sciences ofastrology and astronomy. In my house here, I have every description ofapparatus for observing the course and motion of the planets. Six monthsago, I derived from this source, the knowledge that precisely as theclock struck five this afternoon a stranger would present himself—thedestined husband of my young and lovely niece—in reality of illustriousand high descent, but whose birth would be enveloped in uncertainty andmystery. Don’t tell me yours isn’t,” says the old gentleman, who was insuch a hurry to speak that he couldn’t get the words out fast enough,“for I know better.”
‘Gentlemen, Tom was so astonished when he heard him say this, that hecould hardly keep his footing on the ladder, and found it necessary tohold on by the lamp-post. There _was_ a mystery about his birth. Hismother 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.
‘While he was in this state of amazement, the old gentleman leaves thewindow, bursts out of the house-door, shakes the ladder, and Tom, like aripe pumpkin, comes sliding down into his arms.
‘“Let me embrace you,” he says, folding his arms about him, and nearlylighting up his old bed-furniture gown at Tom’s link. “You’re a man ofnoble aspect. Everything combines to prove the accuracy of myobservations. You have had mysterious promptings within you,” he says;“I know you have had whisperings of greatness, eh?” he says.
‘“I think I have,” says Tom—Tom was one of those who can persuadethemselves to anything they like—“I’ve often thought I wasn’t the smallbeer I was taken for.”
‘“You were right,” cries the old gentleman, hugging him again. “Come in.My niece awaits us.”
‘“Is the young lady tolerable good-looking, Sir?” says Tom, hanging firerather, as he thought of her playing the piano, and knowing French, andbeing up to all manner of accomplishments.
‘“She’s beautiful!” cries the old gentleman, who was in such a terriblebustle that he was all in a perspiration. “She has a graceful carriage,an exquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming with animationand expression; and the eye,” he says, rubbing his hands, “of a startledfawn.”
‘Tom supposed this might mean, what was called among his circle ofacquaintance, “a game eye;” and, with a view to this defect, inquiredwhether the young lady had any cash.
‘“She has five thousand pounds,” cries the old gentleman. “But what ofthat? what of that? A word in your ear. I’m in search of thephilosopher’s stone. I have very nearly found it—not quite. It turnseverything to gold; that’s its property.”
‘Tom naturally thought it must have a deal of property; and said thatwhen the old gentleman did get it, he hoped he’d be careful to keep it inthe family.
‘“Certainly,” he says, “of course. Five thousand pounds! What’s fivethousand pounds to us? What’s five million?” he says. “What’s fivethousand million? Money will be nothing to us. We shall never be ableto spend it fast enough.”
‘“We’ll try what we can do, Sir,” says Tom.
‘“We will,” says the old gentleman. “Your name?”
‘“Grig,” says Tom.
‘The old gentleman embraced him again, very tight; and without speakinganother word, dragged him into the house in such an excited manner, thatit was as much as Tom could do to take his link and ladder with him, andput them down in the passage.
‘Gentlemen, if Tom hadn’t been always remarkable for his love of truth, Ithink you would still have believed him when he said that all this waslike a dream. There is no better way for a man to find out whether he isreally asleep or awake, than calling for something to eat. If he’s in adream, gentlemen, he’ll find something wanting in flavour, depend uponit.
‘Tom explained his doubts to the old gentleman, and said that if therewas any cold meat in the house, it would ease his mind very much to testhimself at once. The old gentleman ordered up a venison pie, a smallham, and a bottle of very old Madeira. At the first mouthful of pie andthe first glass of wine, Tom smacks his lips and cries out, “I’mawake—wide awake;” and to prove that he was so, gentlemen, he made an endof ’em both.
‘When Tom had finished his meal (which he never spoke of afterwardswithout 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 alittle elevated with the wine, replies, “The noble stranger isagreeable!” At which words the old gentleman took him by the hand, andled him to the parlour; crying as he opened the door, “Here is Mr. Grig,the favourite of the planets!”
‘I will not attempt a description of female beauty, gentlemen, for everyone of us has a model of his own that suits his own taste best. In thisparlour that I’m speaking of, there were two young ladies; and if everygentleman present, will imagine two models of his own in their places,and will be kind enough to polish ’em up to the very highest pitch ofperfection, he will then have a faint conception of their uncommonradiance.
‘Besides these two young ladies, there was their waiting-woman, thatunder any other circumstances Tom would have looked upon as a Venus; andbesides her, there was a tall, thin, dismal-faced young gentleman, halfman and half boy, dressed in a childish suit of clothes very much tooshort in the legs and arms; and looking, according to Tom’s comparison,like one of the wax juveniles from a tailor’s door, grown up and run toseed. Now, this youngster stamped his foot upon the ground and lookedvery 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 roomhe was kissing one of the young ladies; and for anything Tom knew, youobserve, it might be _his_ young lady—which was not pleasant.
‘“Sir,” says Tom, “before we proceed any furt
her, will you have thegoodness to inform me who this young Salamander”—Tom called him that foraggravation, you perceive, gentlemen—“who this young Salamander may be?”
‘“That, Mr. Grig,” says the old gentleman, “is my little boy. He waschristened Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead. Don’t mind him. He’s a merechild.”
‘“And a very fine child too,” says Tom—still aggravating, you’llobserve—“of his age, and as good as fine, I have no doubt. How do youdo, my man?” with which kind and patronising expressions, Tom reached upto pat him on the head, and quoted two lines about little boys, fromDoctor Watts’s Hymns, which he had learnt at a Sunday School.
‘It was very easy to see, gentlemen, by this youngster’s frowning and bythe waiting-maid’s tossing her head and turning up her nose, and by theyoung ladies turning their backs and talking together at the other end ofthe room, that nobody but the old gentleman took very kindly to the noblestranger. 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’tbelieve he knew his