# Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 17

CHAPTER XVI.
Julia.
Of all the accomplishments by which we are charmed, true politeness is the brightest and the most admirable; seeing that while it imparts pleasure to all who come within the scope of its influence, it prompts the development of that essential goodness of heart which repudiates the idea of giving offence. It has nothing to do with formality: neither bowing nor smiling, nor the practice of any prescribed ceremonial, can prove the existence of true politeness: nor does it consist in a servile assent to every opinion that may be advanced—for that is the fruit either of folly or of subtlety springing from a mean or an immoral design: its essence is that generosity which leads us to study—not to wound, but to respect—the feelings of those around us, with a view to promote their comfort by all the means at our command; and this generosity—this germ of true politeness—conspicuously characterised Dr. Delolme. In him there was a total absence of everything bearing even the semblance of assumption. He made no display of superiority, no attempt at dictation: he would not willingly wound the feelings of any man alive: nor would he, except indeed in cases of approaching death, fail to conceal, if possible, any circumstance calculated in his judgment to create annoyance or alarm: his motive will therefore be well understood, when it is stated that, having learned that Aunt Eleanor had slept so soundly that she heard nothing of the disturbance of the preceding night, he submitted to Mrs. Delolme the propriety, under the circumstances, of keeping the whole affair a secret.
That lady, however, held that nothing ought to be concealed: that concealment was a species of deception; and that if anything occurred, and we acted or spoke as if it had not occurred, we were guilty of hypocrisy: it therefore took some considerable time, and required many powerful arguments to convince her that she was not strictly justified in unnecessarily creating alarm in the minds of her guests.
While, however, the process of conviction was going on, Tom, who could not sleep after six o'clock that morning, dressed himself, and on going into Sylvester's room, explained to him all that had occurred.
"Dow," said he, having gone completely through the scene, to the utter amazement of Sylvester, "what do you thidk of that?".
"It's very mysterious!" said Sylvester; "very mysterious!"
"Bysterious! But do you believe it?" cried Tom. "Cad ady bad codceive the possibility of a fellow beidg able to rud alodg a stode so darrow at such a height as that? Slip od your thidgs add cobe add look at it."
​Sylvester did so, while Tom was lamenting the irreparable injury sustained by the skeleton, which he affectionately termed his "idcobparable wobad."
"There you are," said Tom, as they entered the study, "that's the state of thidgs, you see! here lies by wobad! here she is, you see, sbashed all to atobs! Dever get her right agaid: I kdow we dever shall. It will take a bad a bodth to sort the bodes. Add here you are agaid!" he added, pointing to his monkey, "that's dode for! ball, you see, wedt cobpletely through hib! That was the fidest budkey id dature. Did you ever see such havoc? Isd't it edough to drive a fellow ravidg bad?"
"It is very annoying," said Sylvester, "very. But let us look at this parapet."
"Here you are thed! this is it! a dice place to dadce upod! just look at the distadce frob the groudd! He bust be a bold bad who'd thidk of cuttidg his capers here."
"I should say that no man would ever attempt it."
"Dever! Add yet the old goverdor swallowed it all. But that I didd't care so buch about: it was the idea—the bodstrous idea—of its beidg ibagided that I was the bad that galled be! I dod't care about beidg victibized buch if do real disgrace is idvolved; but this was ad attack upod wud's judgbedt, ad attack upod wud's reasod, ad attack upod wud's owd self-esteeb, which I couldd't be ratiodally expected to stadd. Why, if I were to cut about here, I should say that by deck wasd't worth bore thad five bidites purchase! As I said last dight, I dod't believe they saw ady bad at all. It's all dodsedse! Here's the goverdor," he added, as Dr. Delolme called him—
"Are you up stairs, Tom?" cried the doctor.
"Yes," replied Tom, "I'b here."
"You have," said the doctor, as he entered the study, "you have, I presume, explained all to Sylvester?"
"Yes," replied Tom, "add he thidks with be that do bad id Edglad could do it. Look here. The stode is just a foot add a half wide. Dow, do you thidk it probable—day, do you thidk it possible?"
"Doubtless," said the doctor, "the policemen somewhat exaggerated. I do think it impossible for any man to run upon this coping in the manner described; but a man might with care walk safely behind it."
"But they said distidctly, upod it—ruddidg backwards add forwards upod it."
"But I should say that all they saw in reality was some one walking here. That they saw a man outside, I have not the slightest doubt: nor can I for a moment doubt that they saw that man enter this window."
"Well," said Tom, "that, certaidly, bridgs the thidg withid the scope of reasod; add if there be ady wud id the habit of cobidg here, I'll fix hib."
"You are quite sure that you left those skeletons covered?"
"Quite! I covered theb byself! Syl saw be do it."
"They were covered," said Sylvester, "when we went to bed."
​"Then," said the doctor, "it's perfectly clear that some one must have entered."
"Let hib cobe agaid," cried Tom, "odly let hib cobe. He shall rebebber it—I'll fix hib!"
"We must have some iron bars put up," said the doctor. "We shall be safe enough from all intrusion then. And now," he added, addressing Sylvester, "as your aunt has heard nothing of this affair, and as the knowledge of it may unnecessarily alarm her, I think that in her presence we had better be silent on the subject. You understand?"
"Perfectly," said Sylvester. "I think so too."
"We must prevent its recurrence."
"Leave that to be," said Tom; "I'll settle that."
"Very well: do so," returned the doctor. "Now let us go down to breakfast."
"I say," whispered Tom, keeping Sylvester back, "do you kdow what a bad-trap is?"
"A man-trap? Oh, yes."
"That will be the thidg; I'll get wud of theb. I'll badage it. I thidk I kdow where I cad buy wud."
"But where will you place it?"
"Just udder the widdow: so that whed he jubps dowd he bay put his foot id it. That'll fix hib. He'll rebebber it, whoever he bay be. But dod't say a word to the old swells below. They wouldd't have it. They'd say, 'We'll dot pudish, but prevedt.' But I wadt to catch hib. By object is to serve hib out: first, od accoudt of the destructiod of by wobad; add secoddly, id codsequedce of his havidg beed the pribe cause of by beidg bade bost udjustly a victib. I therefore should like to catch hib very buch iddeed, add whed I do catch hib, I'll give hib codfidedtially a thrashidg, which shall redder it the happiest day of by life. Therefore, bub's the word."
Sylvester promised to be silent on the subject, and they followed the doctor into the breakfast-room, where they found Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme already seated. As he entered, Sylvester was greeted with great affection, both by Mrs. Delolme and his aunt; but Tom, having shaken hands warmly with Aunt Eleanor, sat down in silence, for, as he privately explained to Sylvester, a single glance at the other lady tended to convince him that he knew exactly what it was o'clock.
And really Mrs. Delolme did look very severe. She believed that he had told an abominable falsehood, and having resolved on introducing him in the course of the morning to the Reverend Mr. Terre, she felt it to be her duty to preface the introduction with a well sustained look of severity. But the doctor appeared to be in excellent spirits. He chatted with all of them gaily—spoke of the various exhibitions in town, of the public improvements, and so on, with an accurate knowledge of each, and in a strain which induced Aunt Eleanor to wish to see them all. Immediately after breakfast, however, Mrs. Delolme, having previously intimated to Aunt Eleanor her desire to introduce her to the Reverend Mr. Terre, secured her for the morning; and when the carriage had been ordered, she requested Tom to prepare to accompany them forthwith. ​"Where are you goidg?" inquired Tom.
"To various places," replied Mrs. Delolme.
"Oh! very well. Syl goes with us of course?"
"It has been decided that, until our return, Sylvester remains with the doctor."
"What for?"
"I say that it has been thus decided."
"Oh! well, if there be adythidg cabalistic goidg od, I dod't wadt to kdow adythidg about it. I'b ready whed you are."
Accordingly, when the carriage was announced, Tom entered with Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme, and when the coachman had been directed to drive them to the residence of Mr. Terre, Tom wanted to know particularly what they were going there for. The only answer he obtained, however, was that they were going for an excellent purpose, and as he found that this was the only answer he could obtain, he thought that he might as well be satisfied with it as not.
Having arrived at the house of the reverend lion, Aunt Eleanor and Tom were introduced to a tall, pale, light-haired, awkward individual, who, while he displayed a considerable portion of the "whites" of his eyes, proved clearly that he had cultivated that which in the Scotch Kirk is termed the "holy tone" to perfection. Tom didn't like the man: he went prejudiced against him: he felt that he had been, by him, deprived of those comforts—those innocent pleasures—of home, to which he had been from infancy accustomed, and therefore, on being introduced, he bowed as stiffly as possible.
Having received an intimation from Mrs. Delolme that she was anxious to speak to him privately for a moment, Mr. Terre, with all the grace he had in him—which really wasn't much—conducted her into an adjoining room. Here they conversed for some time, and on the return of Mrs. Delolme, she requested Tom to go in and speak to Mr. Terre.
"What about?" inquired Tom.
"He is anxious to speak to you."
"Well: cad't he say what he has to say here?"
"He wishes to speak to you privately."
"Well, but what about? I dod't wish to have ady private cobbudicatiod with hib! What does he wadt?"
"You will hear, sir, as soon as you enter that room."
"Well, I dare say I shall."
"You do not, I presume, refuse to go?"
"Oh, I'll go!" replied Tom: and he went; and when he had entered the room, Mr. Terre, with an expression of dignity, and in a most authoritative tone, said—
"Young man—"
"Youdg bad!" echoed Tom, who didn't like to be thus addressed.
"In the first place," continued Mr. Terre, "I most earnestly exhort you to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, the first ten verses of the fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles."
"What for?" inquired Tom.
​ Tom tries to vindicate his honor.
​"In order that you may understand the imminent peril to which it appears you habitually expose yourself."
"The first ted verses of chapter the fifth! Allow be to look at theb dow, that I bay see at odce what they are about."
The New Testament was handed to him promptly, and when Tom had turned to the chapter in question, and found that it related to Ananias and Sapphira, he looked at Mr. Terre, and inquired what he meant.
"You say," said he, "that I habitually expose byself to the peril here described; do you bead thed to say that I'b ad habitual liar."
"I merely mean to say that it appears—"
"What appears?"
"That you are in the habit of telling falsehoods."
"Do you wadt be to kick you," said Tom, indignantly. "What do you bead? How does it appear? Tell be that."
"It appears, sir, from what your good mother has told me."
"Frob what by bother has told you!" cried Tob. "Stop a bidite," he added, approaching the door; "I'll sood settle this affair. Bother; just step here a bobedt."
Mrs. Delolme walked solemnly in.
"Have you beed tellidg this bad," inquired Tom, "that I'b ad habitual liar?"
"I told him," replied Mrs. Delolme, "that you were in the habit of telling falsehoods."
"Bother," said Tom, "I ab, by prescriptiod, boudd to respect every word you utter; but as I ab udcodscious of ever havidg told a deliberate falsehood, I caddot respect the words you have just prodoudced. I kdow, of course, what you allude to: you allude to the proeeedidgs of last dight; but I agaid declare, upod by sacred hodour, that every word of by dedial was true."
Here Mr. Terre turned up the whites of his eyes, until the pupils were lost to view.
"As to that iddividual," continued Tom, pointing to Mr. Terre with an expression of contempt, "I respect the sacred office which he holds, but id this case, I caddot respect the holder. Arrogadce add igdoradce forb his chief characteristics: arrogadce id presubidg to address be as he did, add ignoradce id supposidg that if eved I had beed guilty of falsehood, I could, by the beads he adopted, be boved. You are a teacher, sir; but you have buch to leard; the hubad heart should be your study."
Mrs. Delolme was shocked! and on turning to Mr. Terre, as Tom quitted the room, she perceived, by the awful expression he assumed, that he had given Tom up for lost. The reverend gentleman had nevertheless words of consolation for Mrs. Delolme, and when he had delivered those words in the most impressive style of which he was capable, she rejoined Aunt Eleanor—who was, alas! laughing with Tom at the time—with the view of inducing her to subscribe to a fund for the diffusion of blankets and tracts among the poor—to which fund the reverend gentleman, in order to save all unnecessary expense, kindly acted as secretary and treasurer, and which diffusion he, with infinity ​goodness of heart, and with the same highly laudable object in view, superintended. Of course, Aunt Eleanor's subscription was obtained, and when her name had been added to the list of the faithful, she and Mrs. Delolme took leave of Mr. Terre. That Tom was overlooked by the reverend gentleman in this particular instance may be easily conceived. Mr. Terre took no notice at all of him: nor did Tom take even the slightest notice of Mr. Terre. He had no affection for him, and therefore passed him in an essentially stiff-necked style. He could have said something, but didn't: he handed the ladies into the carriage, and when he had entered himself, they drove off.
"Isn't he a nice man?" said Mrs. Delolme, addressing Aunt Eleanor, as they proceeded.
"Yes, he is, for a sball party," said Tom.
"Thomas!" cried Mrs. Delolme, with an expression of ferocity. "I did not address myself to you. If you were half so kind, half so virtuous, half so amiable, half so pure, as the interesting person whom we have just left, you would be indeed a comfort to a mother's heart; but I fear that you are a reprobate."
"Dot a bit of it," said Tom. "I'b a victib, but do reprobate. A reprobate, bother, is a bad abaddoded to wickeddess. I ab do reprobate. As to the idterestidg creature we have just left, you'll fidd hib out by add bye, I've do doubt, add the sooder you do so the better. Add dow," he added, "I thidk that I bay as well get out, I'b odly idterruptidg the codversatiod here, add I have a call to bake of sobe ibportadce."
As Mrs. Delolme had no other interesting creature to introduce him to, she offered no opposition to his leaving: the carriage was therefore stopped, and Tom alighted, more than ever intent on purchasing that machine which was at once to prove his innocence and enable him to be revenged on the author of all his present troubles.
For some time after Mrs. Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and Tom had left the house, Sylvester was amused by the anatomical curiosities and lively conversation of the doctor, but having at length been summoned in haste to attend a patient, the doctor, though with manifest reluctance, left Sylvester to amuse himself in the library alone.
This, for a time, Sylvester managed to do; but while reading an elaborate treatise on the Functions of the Brain, he fell asleep, and commenced dreaming on the subject of Aunt Eleanor's marriage—a subject which had never before entered his imagination.
A gentleman, he conceived had proposed to Aunt Eleanor—a gentleman of wealth and station—a fine portly gentleman, who wore at the time—Sylvester saw him distinctly!—a blue coat, with yellow metal buttons, a large white waistcoat, a large bunch of seals, black silk pantaloons, and Hessian boots. Well; Aunt Eleanor had not rejected this proposal; nor had she by any means accepted it; no, she had taken time to consider. She liked his manners very well; they were graceful and elegant; she had been moreover induced to admire his character; he was wealthy, philanthropic, amiable, and kind, and had gained the esteem of all who knew him. There was, however, one circumstance—only one circumstance—which induced her to pause. ​She thought him too stout—much too stout! In Sylvester's view there was nothing about him particularly bulky: he didn't object to his appearance at all: on the contrary, he conceived him to be a remarkably fine man—handsome, full of health, and extremely well-proportioned. Still Aunt Eleanor thought him too stout, and therefore took time to consider.
The scene changed; and Sylvester opened his eyes; but he was then as soundly asleep as before, and having put the treatise aside, he mended a pen, and deliberately wrote the following letter:—
"Dear Sir, "My dear aunt desires me to inform you that she has an idea of entering into the marriage state. She has not exactly made up her mind, nor will she until she has had the pleasure of seeing you. She is anxious to consult you. She imagines that the gentleman who has proposed to her is somewhat too stout; and as she has always had the very highest confidence in your judgment, she wishes to have your opinion upon the point, before any final answer is given. "Independently of which, she most earnestly hopes that, if the marriage should take place, you will do her the favour to perform the ceremony.
"I am, dear sir, "Yours faithfully and affectionately, "Sylvester Sound."
This letter he directed to the Reverend Mr. Rouse, and having sealed it, rang the bell.
"James," said he, as the servant entered, "be kind enough to take this letter to the post. Go with it immediately."
"I will, sir," said James, who had no more idea of his being asleep, than he had of opening the letter to see what it contained.
Sylvester closed his eyes again, and, as the letter was off his mind, his sleep may be said to have been more profound, and thus he continued to sleep in his chair until Tom returned with a man-trap.
"Hollo, Syl!" cried Tom, as he entered the library. "Asleep!"
"I was for a moment," said Sylvester, rubbing his eyes.
"I say; here's the bachide," said Tom, pointing to the man-trap. "That's the sort of thidg, eh? It strikes be that'll hold hib."
"He'll not run a very great distance with it, I think," returned Sylvester.
"If he does, I'll forgive hib!" cried Tom. "Look here; capital teeth!"
"Rather rusty," said Sylvester.
"So buch the better," cried Tom. "But just help us up stairs with it. They bustd't see it. We'll take it idto the study, add thed all will be safe."
Sylvester accordingly assisted him up with it, and when they had affixed the chain to a staple near the window, and locked it, they tried it again and again, with the view of making sure that a man's foot would have the desired effect. Having satisfied themselves upon this ​important point, they began to sort the bones of the female skeleton, and thus busied themselves until dinner was announced, when they rushed into their rooms with the view of preparing to meet the awful aspect of Mrs. Delolme.
The dinner, but for the doctor, would have been dull indeed. He infused a little gaiety into the proceedings, and occasionally elicited a spark of spirit from Aunt Eleanor, to whom Mrs. Delolme appeared as if all her natural feelings had been smothered.
Very soon after dinner the ladies withdrew, and then Tom, in a most comic manner, explained all that occurred at the house of Mr. Terre.
"I shouldd't have cared," he added, having described the scene, "if he hadd't beed a parsod. I should have beed bore at hobe, especially whed he addressed be—'Youdg bad!' This cobbedcebedt did certainly double be up, add if he hadd't beed a bidister I should, do doubt, have told hib exactly what I beaddt; but, as it was, by respect for his order codtrolled be, add caused be to feel that we were dot od equal terbs."
The doctor felt exceedingly annoyed at the fact of Tom having been placed in this humiliating position; but he made no important remark: he laughed, indeed, at Tom's quaint description of the scene; but while he wished that it had not occurred, he thought it wise to conceal his real feelings, lest his acknowledgment of the folly of the mother might tend to diminish the respect of the son. He therefore changed the subject as soon as possible, and when eight o'clock had arrived, Tom, accompanied by Sylvester, went to his lecture, having securely locked his study door.
Now much has been said about love at first sight. Some have held it to be impossible; while others have contended for its being anything but. It seems strange that this point should not have been, until the very period of which we write, settled!—very strange. But it was not. It was a perfectly open question until Julia Smart, the bar-maid, saw Sylvester with Tom, when it was, beyond all dispute, settled for ever!
She saw him, and loved him. Had she been the mighty mistress of a world, and that world had been studded with brilliants, she would freely have given it for him. He had said nothing—done nothing—calculated to fascinate, or having the slightest tendency to inspire feelings of affection; he had, in fact, scarcely opened his lips to her; still she loved him—fondly, fervently loved him.
She knew that his name was Sylvester. That she had ascertained from Tom; and from that happy moment, Sylvester to her was the dearest name of which she had ever heard. Sylvester was continually on her lips. She even loved to hear the name of Sylvester sounded. Sylvester! In her judgment, what name could be comparable with that? She slept, and dreamt of Sylvester. She awoke, and thought of Sylvester. Sylvester stood in imagination before her. Her blessings were lavished upon the head of Sylvester. Her prayers were for Sylvester—dear Sylvester—and she pronounced the name of Sylvester throughout the day. When, therefore, in the evening, Tom, as usual, after the lecture, had been induced to go to the house, at the bar of which she presided, she ​experienced, as Sylvester entered, mingled feelings of embarrassment and joy. At first she turned pale—deadly pale—and then, in an instant, her face and neck were crimson. She tried to speak to him, but could not: and while her bosom heaved with emotion, her lips quivered convulsively as she returned his graceful bow.
Sylvester perceived this—had he failed to perceive it his perceptive faculties would have been indeed dull—he perceived it at once, and marvelled. She had interested him the previous evening, but the interest he then felt was really intense. Their eyes met constantly: both tried to avoid this but neither could do it: one could not glance at the other without being glanced at in return. The principle of reciprocal attraction was never more clearly defined.
At length, embracing an opportunity, she approached him, and, in trembling accents, expressed an earnest hope that she should frequently have the pleasure of seeing him—hinted at the happiness of which his presence was the source, and then, taking off her most valuable ring, begged of him, with an expression of fervour, to accept and to keep it in remembrance of her.
Sylvester was manifestly reluctant to do this. He did not at all like to take the ring, and explained to her that he couldn't think of doing so for a moment.
"Pray do," she exclaimed, "for my sake; it will give me more pleasure than I can express."
"Well," said Sylvester, "if I take it, it must be on this condition, that you accept from me a present of equal value in return."
"I will do so," she earnestly replied; "I care not for the value—the intrinsic value—anything that I may keep—"
"Hollo!" cried Tom, gaily, who, turning at that moment, saw them in close conversation. "We are dot goidg to stadd that, you kdow: I call it a bodopoly!"
Julia smiled, and on the instant retreated.
"Well, I say," continued Tom, "tibe's up."
"I'm quite ready," said Sylvester.
"Well, thed we'll trot."
Tom then proceeded to bid his friends adieu, and while he was doing so, Sylvester—who felt at the time, somewhat embarrassed—bowed gracefully to Julia, who bowed with equal grace in return.
"Well, good bye," said Tom, addressing Julia; "good bye."
Julia again smiled, for she felt very happy, and Tom followed Sylvester out.
"Fide girl, isd't she?" said Tom. "Out add out. There's do bistake about her—a regular brick!"
"She appears to be very amiable," said Sylvester.
"She has a good heart, Syl—ad excelledt heart. I'll just tell you what she did a short tibe ago. Wud of our fellows had spedt all his buddy. He was a rattler to go alodg, add whedever he had buddy he bade it fly. Well, the tibe was cobe for hib to prepare id eardest to pass; but he foudd that he couldd't raise buddy edough eved to pay for his grididg—"
​"One moment," interrupted Sylvester: "what do you mean by his grinding?"
"Why, whed a bad is dot sure of passidg—do bad cad be sure—but what I bead is, whed he thidks it at all probable that he shall be plucked, he goes to a gridder, whose busidess it is to put to hib those questiods which he ibagides arc bost likely to be asked, add to crab hib with the adswers, that he bay dot, whed he goes up, be buch at a loss. Well: he couldd't raise the buddy. He had borrowed of every fellow who had buddy to ledd, while he was able to get dode frob hobe, for his bother, who was a widow, he had by his extravagadce ibpoverished already. What thed was to be dode? Udless he passed, he was raided for ever! He tried—constadtly tried every bad whob he kdew: still he could get do buddy, add absolute starvatiod stared hib id the face. Fortudately, whed he foudd hibself reduced to the last extrebity, Julia heard of the circubstadce, add sedt for hib, add delicately offered to ledd hib the buddy, provided he applied it to do other purpose. He probised her solebdly that he would dot, add she ledt hib the buddy: she ledt hib sufficieclt, dot odly to pay for his grididg, but to go up both to the College add the Hall—to pay for his lodgidgs, add to carry hib hobe.
"He has repaid her, I hope?" said Sylvester.
"Yes! he has repaid her! He would have beed a scouddrel if he hadd't. He dot odly repaid her, but—as he jubpt idto a capital practice—he offered to marry her! But do; she refused his offer codceividg that a bad, who would recklessly mid his bother, wouldd't have buch regard for the feelidgs of his wife. Oh! she's up to a thidg or two,—dowd as a habber; codverse with her, add you'll fidd she's dot a cobbod style of girl."
"She appears to have had a good education."
"A good educatiod; she's highly accomplished. I bet her at a party wud dight, add really her badders are elegadt id the extrebe. I was perfectly astodished. She plays well, dadces well, sidgs well, codverses well! If I had dot kdown her, I should have said, that's a lady, add do bistakc. She was out add out the bost graceful creature id the roob."
"I am amazed, then," Sylvester, "that she is in that position."
"By boy," said Tom, gravely, "a girl who has deither a father dor a friedd, has dot the choice of her owd positiod. She has deither a father dor a friedd—I bead a friedd havidg the power to probote her idterests baterially. What thed is she to do? If she eddeavour to get a birth as a goverdcss, the chadces are a huddred to wud agaidst her; add if eved she succeed, what is a goverdcss? A creature dobidally above, but id reality, far below a bedial servadt. Do bedial would put up with wud half the codtubely that she is cobpelled to put up with. Her life is, id fact, a two-edged sword. She has bore to bear, with less power to bear it. A word that would woudd her feelidgs, would, upod a bedial, have do effect, while a bedial would dot eddure half the idsults which are with ibpudity heaped upod her"
"I see," said Sylvester, "I see."
"Very well, thed; what's a girl like that to do? For years she has had ad aged bother to support, add she does support her like a brick. But ​could she have supported her had she beed a goverdess? Could she have supported her by plyidg her deedle frob biddight to biddight? Do!—she therefore berged all scruples, add took this berth. They pay her well, doubtless, for she has saved a little buddy. It is dot exactly the thidg, perhaps, for so delicate a bide, as I believe hers to be; but she keeps her bother, she keeps herself; she cad always keep a twedty poudd dote id her pocket; add I therefore should like to see the bad who could, udder the circubstadces, blabe her for beidg what she is. There's do dodsedce about her, you see; dor will she stadd ady dodsedce. She'll laugh add joke with the best of us; but if you wudce ibproperly step over the line, she will delicately idtibate to you that that ibproper step has beed bade. It is hedce, that she's so udiversally respected. I dever id my life bet with a fellow who didd't like her."
They now reached home, and on being admitted, they went direct into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Delolme, Aunt Eleanor, and the doctor were taking coffee. The doctor, at once inquired, what sort of lecture they had heard, and Tom, promptly explained to him, its nature and effect. It happened to be on a subject with which the doctor himself was not perfectly conversant, and therefore, the books were referred to, in order that the whole of its ramifications might appear. The examination of these books, and the arguments to which that examination led, lasted nearly two hours; during the whole of which time, Mrs. Delolme and Aunt Eleanor were discussing the respective merits of the various tract societies, to the whole of which Mrs. Delolme contended every christian lady ought to subscribe.
Immediately, however, the clock had struck twelve, the books were closed, and the conversation ended. Mrs. Delolme rang the bell, and the servants appeared; and when they had taken their places, she read the prayers of the evening, in tones, by which, in the time of Oliver Cromwell, the puritans would have been charmed.
This ceremony ended, the servants withdrew, and when Tom and Sylvester had taken their leave, they retired—nominally to rest, but actually to the study; at the door of which—as James couldn't get in—they found a cold chicken, for—as it subsequently appeared—a pigeon pie was not to be had. This, however, answered the purpose very well; and when Tom had produced two bottles of stout, they commenced in style, the work of demolition.
Being anxious to have the benefit of his opinion upon the subject, Sylvester now thought that he would at once explain to Tom what had occurred that evening between him and Julia.
"Tom," said he, "you know the world better than I do; you have had more experience; you are a more close observer—"
"Here take this leg," said Tom," there isd't buch od it, add dod't let us have ady bore fide speeches."
"But I wish to put a question—a serious question—a question which you can, but I cannot, answer."
"Ady thidg about adatoby?"
"No."
"What is it, thed?"
​"I'll explain. Suppose that one of these evenings, Julia, of whom you have been speaking to night, were to take her most valuable ring from her finger, and beg your acceptance of it; would you ac cept it?"
"Suppose," replied Tom, "that this chicked, which we have just beed pullidg literally libb frob libb, were to start up whole, add, shakidg its feathers, ask us what o'clock it was; would you tell it?"
"Nay, that's impossible!"
"I hold the wud case to be just as possible as the other. Were I to ask her to accept a ridg, there wouldd't be a great deal of doubt about the batter; but the idea of her askidg be to accept wud of her, is too rich for ady bad's stobach."
"I don't know that," returned Sylvester calmly; "I merely said, suppose—I put it so—suppose she were earnestly to beg your acceptance of a ring, would you have it?"
"Well, I dod't exactly kdow—but I thidk I should."
"You think you would! come to the point; would you or would you not, under such circumstances refuse it?"
"Do, I wouldd't," replied Tom; "I'd take it."
"Very well. Now, while you were conversing with your friends this evening, she begged of me to accept this ring, and to keep it in remembrance of her."
"Is it possible! What Julia!"
"Yes. I at first refused; but at length I consented to accept it, on condition that she would allow me to present her with something of equal value. She agreed to this, and here is the ring. Now what do you think of it?"
"Why, you abaze be! I thought there was sobethidg goidg od at the tibe!—but I couldd't have ibagided this possible. I say, by boy," he added, gravely, "be careful. This towd is studded with rub uds!"
"But she is most amiable: have you not said?—kind hearted and virtuous?"
"I do dot believe that there's a bore virtuous girl id the udiverse! Still she bay be artful. She bay have sobe latedt desigd: what I believe her to be add what she is, bay be diabetrically opposite. All I say is, by boy, be od your guard. This bay be but a draw. Dod't be fixed. Were she id a bore respectable positiod, it wouldd't batter so buch, but as it is—"
"A more respectable position!" echoed Sylvester. "Is it not respectable in the correct sense of the term? and have you not shown that none can blame her for being, under the circumstances, in that position?"
"Yes, by boy: still, the sphere frob which a bad takes a wife is looked at bore thad that id which he hibself bay have boved."
"Oh!" exclaimed Sylvester, "do not imagine I'm going to marry the girl! Don't imagine that I'm in love with her! for I am not! She's very amiable, very elegant, very fascinating, and very graceful, but as for being in love with her!—the idea never entered my imagination."
"I'b glad to hear it," said Tom. "All I said was—add all I wish to repeat is—be od your guard!"
​"Of course," said Sylvester, "you see the propriety of not mentioning this circumstance to any creature living."
"If you kdew be better, by boy," replied Tom, "you wouldd't thidk that observatiod at all decessary. But dow for the bachide," he added, going to the trap. "Let's set this gedtlebad, add thed we'll go to bed."
"You'll lock the door when we go out, of course?" suggested Sylvester.
"Do! dot a bit of it! It bay, you kdow, be wud of our fellows. If we leave the door oped, we shall catch hib either way—dod't you see?"
Sylvester acknowledged the wisdom of pursuing that course, and they set the trap, so that the slightest touch would cause the spring to operate at once; and when Tom had earnestly expressed his conviction that that machine would vindicate his honour, he set aside the things and saw Sylvester to his room, at the door of which, he bade him adieu for the night.
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