dow, in the meantime, had been left to the care of theapothecary's
boy, whose tender mercies were now, for the first time in his life,
demanded towards a fainting lady; for the poor raw country lad, having
to do with a sturdy peasantry in every-day matters, had never before
seen the capers cut by a lady who thinks it proper, and delicate, and
becoming, to display her sensibility in a swoon; and truly her sobs,
and small screeches, and little stampings and kickings, amazed young
gallipot. Smelling salts were applied;--they were rather weak, so the
widow inhaled the pleasing odour with a sigh, but did not recover. Sal
volatile was next put into requisition;--this was something stronger,
and made her wriggle on her chair, and throw her head about with sundry
"Ohs!" and "Ahs!" The boy, beginning to be alarmed at the extent of the
widow's syncope, bethought himself of assafoetida; and, taking down a
goodly bottle of that sweet-smelling stimulant, gave the widow the
benefit of the whole jar under her nose. Scarcely had the stopper been
withdrawn, when she gave a louder screech than she had yet executed,
and exclaiming "Faugh!" with an expression of the most concentrated
disgust, opened her eyes fiercely upon the offender, and shut up her
nose between her forefinger and thumb against the offence, and snuffled
forth at the astonished boy, "Get out o' that, you dirty cur! Can't you
let a lady faint in peace and quietness? Gracious Heavens! would you
smother me, you nasty brute? Oh, Tom, where are you?" and she took to
sobbing forth "Tom! Tom!" and put her handkerchief to her eyes, to hide
the tears that were _not_ there, while from behind the corner of the
cambric she kept a sharp eye on the street, and observed what was going
on. She went on acting her part very becomingly, until the moment Tom
Durfy walked off with Murphy; but then she could feign no longer, and
jumping up from her seat, with an exclamation of "The brute!" she ran
to the door, and looked down the street after them. "The savage!"
sobbed the widow; "the hardhearted monster! to abandon me here to
die--oh! to use me so--to leave me like a--like a"--(the widow was fond
of similes)--"like an old shoe--like a dirty glove--like a--like I
don't know what!" (the usual fate of similes). "Mister Durfy, I'll
punish you for this--I will!" said the widow, with an energetic
emphasis on the last word; and she marched out of the shop, boiling
over with indignation, through which