But lately I have abandoned the classics, and have given up
my soul to poetry."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; `Friendship and Love' is my toast, whenever I am called upon at
the club. What does Campbell say?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"I'll tell you, Tom:--

"`Without the smile from heav'nly beauty won,
Oh, what were man? A world without a sun.'"

"Well, I daresay it's all true," replied I; "for if a woman does not
smile upon a man he's not very likely to marry her, and therefore has no
chance of having a _son_."

"Tom, you have no soul for poetry."

"Perhaps not; I have been too busy to read any."

"But you should; youth is the age of poetry."

"Well, I thought it was the time to work; moreover, I don't understand
how youth can be age. But pray tell me, what is it you want of me, for
I want to see Mrs St. Felix before dinner-time."

"Well, then, Tom, I am in love--deeply, desperately, irrevocably, and
everlastingly in love."

"I wish you well out of it," replied I, with some bitterness. "And pray
with whom may you be so dreadfully in love--Anny Whistle?"

"Anny Whistle!--to the winds have I whistled her long ago. No, that was
a juvenile fancy. Hear me. I am in love with the charming widow."

"What, Mrs St. Felix?"

"Yes. Felix means happy in Latin, and my happiness depends upon her. I
must either succeed, or--Tom, do you see that bottle?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's laudanum; that's all."

"But, Tom, you forget; you certainly would not supplant your patron,
your master, I may say your benefactor--the doctor?"

"Why not? he has tried, and failed. He has been trying to make an
impression upon her these ten years, but it's _no go_. Ain't I a
doctor, as good as he? Ay, better, for I'm a young doctor, and he is an
old one! All the ladies are for me now. I'm a very rising young man."

"Well, don't rise much higher, or your head will reach up to the shop
ceiling. Have you anything more to say to me?"

"Why, I have hardly begun. You see, Tom, the widow looks upon me with a
favourable eye, and more than once I have thought of popping the
question over the counter; but I never could muster up courage, my love
is so intense. As the poet says--

"`Silence in love betrays more woe
Than words, 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