howe'er so witty; The
beggar that is dumb, you know, Deserves our double pity.'

"Now, Tom, I wish to tax your friendship. I wish you to speak for me."

"What, speak to Mrs. St. Felix?"

"Yes, be my embassador. I have attempted to write some verses; but
somehow or another I never could find rhymes. The poetic feeling is in
me, nevertheless. Tell me, Tom, will you do what I ask?"

"But what makes you think that the widow is favorably inclined?"

"What? why, her behavior, to be sure. I never pass her but she laughs or
smiles. And then the doctor is evidently jealous; accuses me of making
wrong mixtures; of paying too much attention to dress; of reading too
much; always finding fault. However, the time may come--I repeat my
request; Tom, will you oblige me? You ought to have a fellow-feeling."

This last remark annoyed me. I felt convinced that Mrs. St. Felix was
really laughing at him, so I replied, "I shall not refuse you, but
recollect that he who has been so unsuccessful himself is not likely to
succeed for others. You shall have your answer very soon."

"Thanks, Tom, thanks. My toast, as I said before, when called upon, is
'Friendship and Love.'"

I quitted the shop, and went into that of Mrs. St. Felix, who, I
thought, looked handsomer than ever.

"Come at last, Tom!" said the widow, extending her hand. "I thought you
would have called yesterday. Your sister was here."

"I have been less pleasantly engaged. You know that Spicer is dead."

"One of the pensioners--I never saw him that I know of, but I heard old
Ben mention his death this morning, and that you were with him. Was he a
friend of yours?"

"No, indeed, I thought you knew something of him, or I should not have
mentioned his name." I then changed the conversation, telling her what
had passed at Deal, and listening to her remarks upon old Nanny, my
mother, and our mutual acquaintances.

"And the doctor--how is he?"

"As busy as ever. I'm sorry, however, that he complains very much of Tom
Cobb, and says that he must dismiss him. He has made some very serious
mistakes in mixing the medicines, and nearly killed five or six people."

"Had he killed them outright, their deaths must have been laid at your
door," replied I, very seriously.

"Good Heavens! what do you mean, Tom?"

"I mean this, that your bright eyes have fascinated him; and that, to
use his own expression, he is deeply, desperately, irrevocably, and
everlastingly in love with _you_