‘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; “and everything else in proportion.” ‘“Why don’t you throw him away?” says Tom. “What do you keep such unpleasant things here for?”