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
