CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY ;^?;i^?4.V Cornell University Library PR 5618.A1 1898 Vanity fair, a novel without a hem.With 3 1924 013 562 511 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 356251 1 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION THE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY HIS DAUGHTER, ANNE RITCHIE IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES Volume I. VANITY FAIR ■#iaii-^.?.T,.;jiif>i^ t.J7^-*^?t^,.^tZ' 'fm-^y^^-O/iii/iA^ . P'-tblishei bj Harper &Brotliers,NEW- York. VANITY FAIR B IRovcl wltbout a Ibero WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND A PORTRAIT HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1898 /!, q zfy^/ Copyright, i8g8, by Harper & Brothers. All rights reserved. * * * MY Father 7i,ever wished for any Biography of him- self to be written, and for this reason I have never attempted to write one. It is only after a quarter of a century that I have determined to pmhlish m,emories which chiefly concern his books. Certain selections from his letters are also included, which tell of the 2}laces whei^e his loarh was done, and of the times when he wrote. So much has been forgotten, so m.uch that is ephemeral has been recorded, that it is my desire to m,ark down some of the truer chords to which his life was habitually set. For this reason I have included one letter to my Mother among the rest : it will show that he knetv hoiu to value the priceless gifts of home and of happiness while they lasted, as well as to bear trouble and loneliness when they fell up)on him. A. I. R. November 28, 1897. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION DEDICATION TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION BEFORE THE CURTAIN CHiP. I. II. ni. IT. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. CHISWICK MALL ...... IN WHICH MISS SHARP AND MISS SEDLEY PREPARE TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN REBECCA IS IN PRESENCE OE THE ENEMY THE GREEN SILK PURSE .... DOBBIN OF OURS . . . . VAUXHALL ...... CRAWLEY OF QUEEN's CRAWLEY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL FAMILY PORTRAITS MISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS ARCADIAN SIMPLICITY QUITE A SENTIMENTAL CHAPTER SENTIMENTAL AND OTHERWISE MISS CRAWLEY AT HOME .... IN WHICH Rebecca's husband appears for SHORT TIME ...... THE LETTER ON THE PINCUSHION HOW CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANO WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT 1 . . . ■ ■ PAQPl XV xli xliii 7 16 23 35 45 57 64 73 80 86 100 108 119 136 144 152 160 CONTENTS OHAP. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXIII. xxxrv. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLII. XLIII. MISS CEAWtEY AT NUESE . . • ■ EST WHICH CAPTAIN DOBBIN" ACTS AS THE MES- SENGEE OF HYMEN ... A QUAEEEL ABOUT AN HEIEESS A MAEEIAGE AND PAET OF A HONEYMOON CAPTAIN DOBBIN PEOCEEDS ON HIS CANVASS IN WHICH ME. OSBOENE TAKES DOWN THE FAMILY BIBLE ...... IN WHICH ALL THE PEINCIPAL PEESONAGES THINK FIT TO LEAVE BRIGHTON . BETWEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM IN WHICH AMELIA JOINS HEE EEGIMENT . IN WHICH AMELIA INVADES THE LOW COUNTEIES BEUSSELS ...... " THE GIEL I LEFT BEHIND ME " . IN WHICH JOS SEDLEY TAKES CAEE OF HIS SISTEE . . ... IN WHICH JOS TAKES FLIGHT, ANTD THE WAE IS BEOUGHT TO A CLOSE .... IN WHICH MISS CEAWLEY's EELATIONS AEE VEEY AJSTXIOUS ABOUT HEE JAMES CEAWLEY's PIPE IS PUT OUT . WIDOW AND MOTHER ..... HOW TO LIVE WELL ON NOTHING A YEAE THE SUBJECT CONTINUED ..... A FAMILY IN A VEEY SMALL WAY . A CYNICAL CHAPTEE ..... IN WHICH BECKY IS . EECOGNISED BY THE FAMILY ... ... IN WHICH BECKY EEVISITS THE HALLS OF HEE ANCESTORS ■•.... WHICH TEEATS OF THE OSBOENE FAMILY . IN WHICH THE EEADEE HAS TO DOUBLE THE CAPE PAGE 171 181 190 199 207 213 225 243 250 256 265 277 286 297 312 322 337 347 355 369 382 391 399 410 417 CONTENTS xi CHAP. PASE XLIV. A ROUNDABOUT CHAPTER BETWEEN LONDON AND HAMPSHIRE . . . . . . 426 XLV. BETWEEN HAMPSHIRE AND LONDON . . 436 XLVI. STRUGGLES AND TRIALS . . . . 445 XLVII. GAUNT HOUSE ...... 453 XLVIU. IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO THE VERY BEST OF COMPANY . . . .461 XLIX. IN WHICH WE ENJOY THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT 472 L. CONTAINS A VULGAR INCIDENT . . . .479 LI. IN WHICH A CHARADE IS ACTED WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT PUZZLE THE READER . . . 487 Ln. IN WHICH LORD STEYNE SHOWS HIMSELF IN A MOST AMIABLE LIGHT . . . .504 Lin. A RESCUE AND A CATASTROPHE . . .513 LIV. SUNDAY AFTER THE BATTLE .... 522 LV. IN WHICH THE SAME SUBJECT IS PURSUED . 530 LVI. GEORGY IS MADE A GENTLEMAN . . . 544 LVII. EOTHEN ........ 555 LVm. OUR FRIEND THE MAJOR . . . .563 LIX. THE OLD PIANO .... .574 LX. RETURNS TO THE GENTEEL WORLD . . . 584 LXI. IN WHICH TWO LIGHTS ARE PUT OUT . . 590 T.XTT. AM RHEIN .... . ■ 603 LXIII. IN WHICH WE MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE . 613 LXIV. A VAGABOND CHAPTER 624 LXV. FULL OF BUSINESS AND PLEASURE . . . 639 LXVL AMANTIUM IR^ . . . • • .64/ LXVII. WHICH CONTAINS BIRTHS, MARRIAGES, AND DEATHS 661 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS POETEAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiece PAGE MAJOE AND MES. HOBKIEK FOE THE CONTINENT . . xix students' duel at GODESBEEG . . . XX HUM5IEL . . . Xxi DEVEIENT . . . . xxii A lady's glance at the authoe . ... xxiii THACKEEAY's home in young STEEET, KENSINGTON . XXvi DESIGNS FOE THE COVEE OF " VANITY FAIE " xxix AMELIA WAITING IN EUSSELL SQUAEE . . . XXxi STUDIES FOE THE MISS OSBOENES ..... Xxxii THE MESMEEIZEE . . . . . xl REBECCA S FAREWELL . . . . . MR. JOSEPH ENTANGLED . . . . REBECCA MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A LIVE BARONET ..... MISS Crawley's affectionate relatives MR. Osborne's welcome to Amelia THE note on the PINCUSHION MR. SEDLEY AT THE COFFEE-HOUSE . A FAMILY PARTY AT BRIGHTON MRS. o'dOWD AT THE FLOWER MARKET xii] To face page 6 60 9-! 114 148 184 230 264 xn' LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS MR. JOS SHAVES OFF HIS MUSTACHIOS MRS. RAWDON's departure FROM PARIS . GBORGY MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A WATER LOO MAM" SIR PITt's LAST STAGE .... DECKY IN LOMBARD STREET GEORGY GOES TO CHURCH GENTEELLY COLONEL CRAWLEY IS WANTED SIR PITt's STUDY-CHAIR . GEORGY A GENTLEMAN .... A FIXE SUMMER EVENING VIRTUE REWARDED, A BOOTH IN VANITY FAIR To face pagt 302 352 368 392 470 486 504 524 544 606 676 FACSIMILE OF JOS SEDLEY S LETTER AS IT APPEARS IN THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT OF "VANITY fair". .... 54 INTRODUCTION TO VANITY FAIR 1817— 1845-8 I. I CANNOT help thinking that although "Vanity Fair" was written in 1845 and the following years, it was really begun in 1817, when the little boy, so lately come from India, found him- self shut in behind those filigree iron gates at Chiswick, of which he writes when he describes Miss Pinkerton's establishment. Whether Miss Pinkerton was, or was not, own sister to the great Doctor at the head of the boardiug-school for young gentlemen on Chiswick Mall, to which " Billy boy " (as the author of " Van- ity Fair" used to be called in those early days) was sent, remains to be proved. There is certainly a very strong likeness between those two majestic beings, the awe-inspiring Doctor and the great Miss Pinkerton, whose dignity and whose Johnsonian language marked an epoch in education. I myself remember, as a child, hearing it said in the family, that when Dr. used to read the Ten Commandments of a Sunday to his boys and the rest of the people assembled, his wife and several members of the congre- gation had been heard to declare, that to hear his resounding tones reminded them of Mount Sinai itself ! Perhaps the little Indian boy did not realise this resemblance, nor enjoy his privileges so much as he might have done. He was not at all happy, he has told us, in either of his early schools, although he was kindly treated at Chiswick by the Doctor and his wife, who were indeed some distant connections of my grand- xvi VANITY FAIK mother's. In later days, driving to Richmond and elsewhere, ray father has shown us the corner of the lane by the Hammersmith Road to which he ran away soon after he first came to Chiswick ; then being frightened, perhaps, by the great Hammersmith Road, and not knowing where to go, he ran back to school again, and no one was the wiser. He was still at Dr. 's when his mother and his stepfather came home. My grandmother m a letter to India has described the meeting, and how she went to fetch her boy from school. " He had a perfect recollection of me ; he conld not speak, but kissed me, and looked at me again and again, and I could almost have said, ' Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.' He is the living image of his father, and God in heaven send that he may resemble him in all but his too short life! He is tall, stout, and sturdy. His eyes are become darker, but there is still the same dear expression. His drawing is wonderful." My father must have been a sensitive little boy of nine or ten years old in those days, quick to feel, not over strong, but well- grown, and ruddy in looks. He was always very short-sighted ; and he has told me that this in his school-days was a great trouble to him, for he could not join in the games with any comfort or pleasure, nor even see the balls which he was set to stop at cricket. Soon after his parents' return he quitted Miss Pinkerton's estab- lishment and went to Charterhouse, which hardly comes into "Vanity Fair.'' Swishtails was not Grey Friars, and I have al- ways wondered where the great fight between CufE and Dobbin took place. Russell Square and> Jos Sedley and Bogglywollah, all belong to very early impressions. My father's holidays must have often been spent in the streets round about Russell Square ; sev- eral members of his stepfather's family were then settled in that district. Dr. Carmichael-Smyth, the well-known physician, who was alive in those days, had a house in the neighbourhood. There is a lovely picture of his wife by Romney, gracious and beautiful in white and powder, a painting my father greatly admired. The lady was Miss Smyth of Athernay, and by her marriage with Dr. Carmichael she became Mrs. Carmichael-Smyth, and the mother of numerous daughters and handsome sons. She was no longer alive when my grandmother and her husband came home from India to the Paternal Roof. My step-grandfather was among the first of those many " brave young men, soldiers for the INTRODUCTION xvii most part," says the author of " Denis Duval " in one of the last chapters he ever wrote, " who told of Bhurtpore, of Bergen op Zoom, of Waterloo." One of the daughters was painted by Raeburn — a charming portrait, which hangs on our walls. It belonged to my step-grandfather, from whom it came to us. That eventful time was not history only to the people who were born, as my father was, in the first years of the century. It meant real life, near relations, hearts aching or throbbing with gratitude and exultant relief. To him it must have come in all the echoes of the voices with which he lived as a boy. He was eleven years old when he went to Charterhouse in 1822, only seven years after Waterloo was fought. In the August of that year, 1822, Major Carmichael-Smyth was appointed Governor to Addis- combe.* In one of his earliest letters to his mother from Charterhouse, the little boy asks to be told all about " Addiscombe and the gen- tleman cadets, and if papa has got a cock-hat that will fit him." From the age of eleven to thirteen he spent his holidays at the college. One cannot help also speculating whether the original King's Crawley may not have lain somewhere in that neighbour- hood. The Governor of Addiscombe did not remain there very long ; after two years he resigned his post, and removed with his family to Pendennis-land. Meanwhile my father had been coming and going from Charter- house. At Charterhouse afterwards, as a big boy, he seems to have had far more agreeable impressions of Chiswick than during his earlier experiences. It is in February 1828 that he mentions going back there on half-holidays. " Very gracious they were : I played two games of chess with Mrs. , and two rubbers of whist with the young ladies." Elsewhere in this same home letter from Charterhouse he continues: " I have only read one novel since I came back, and I dare say I shall not read another. I have not yet drawn out a plan for my stories, but certain germs thereof are budding in my mind, which I hope by assiduous application will flourish yet and bring forth fruit." . . . Then he apologises for * In Colonel Vibart's records of Addiscombe, he Bays it may be noted as a matter of interest that Thackeray was during liis boyhood an inmate of the mansion there. 2 xviii VANITY FAIE writing so much every day. " I always feel as if I were at home when I am writing," he says ; " and although it may give you very little amusement, it is certainly very amusing to me — that is to say, when once I begin." The author of "Vanity Fair" was born in 1811, and must therefore have been four years old at the time of the battle of Waterloo ; but Becky and Jos, and Amelia and Dobbin, were all grown up, and out in the world by then. In " Vanity Fair " it- self we are told how the author met them at Pumpernickel in later years, when he was a student, and when Dobbin and the Sedleys, all well advanced in life, were touring abroad for rest and relaxation. The little comfortable grand ducal town of Pum- pernickel, whither Jos and his party, and Major Dobbin, on his return from India, all travelled together, is familiar to all readers of " Vanity Fair " ; and so is the carriage, and the courier on the box, and the Erb Prinz Hotel, where the whole party dined at the table cPhdle. Major and Mrs. Hobkirk were perhaps present on this occasion. Their portraits are here given. One of the first of the letters from Germany, dated Coblentz, July 31, 1830, gives prevailing fashionsof churches, and sketches of the Castled Crag of Drachenfels, and of the people on board — one man would do for a buccaneer, says my father. The next letter contains a sketch of a students' duel at Godesberg. One letter from my father to his mother, dated September 29, 1830, might almost be a page out of " Vanity Fair " itself, so absolute- ly does it reproduce the atmosphere of Pumpernickel and the echoes of that time. " You see the direction to my letter — Weimar — which, with your good leave, will be my direction while I remain in Ger- many. On arriving here I found an old schoolfellovp,* who is staying with a German family, and who said that the place was exactly suited for me." " It seems that the old Grand Duke had a great love for Eng- * I believe tliat Mr. Lettsom (afterw.ard3 less comfortably established as a diplomat in South America) was the friend witli whom my father lived at this time. Dr. Norman Macleod was also in Weimar that winter, and they all thi-ee learnt German from Dr. Weissenborne. INTRODUCTION xix lish manners and English men ; and though the present Duke is not quite so prepossessed in our favour, yet he is happy to see all the Englishmen who come here— and there are generally three or four residing at his Court. I have accordingly had a pair of MAJOR AND MRS. HOBKTRK FOR THE CONTINENT. trousers cut into breeches, and have had the honour of making my appearance in his august presence. There is a capital library, which is open to me ; an excellent theatre, which costs a shilling per night ; and a charming petite societe, which costs nothing. "Goethe, the great lion of Weimar, I have not seen, but his VANITY FAIR INTRODUCTION xxi daughter-in-law lias promised to introduce me. So mucli for Weimar, wliicli I think you will agree with mc is as good a place as I could possibly select for ray stay in this country. . . . " 1 slept at Gotha and came on here, and here, I trust, will end my travels ; for though the society is small (he continues), it is remarkably good ; and though the Court is absurdly ceremoni- ous, I think it will rub off a little of the rust which school and college have given me." " Now I am going to ask a very absurd favour ; I want 'a cor- netcy in Sir John Kennaway's yeomanry. The men here are all in some uniform, and if hereafter I go to other Courts in Ger- many, or in any other part of Europe, something of this sort is necessary as a Court dress. It is true that here I can do without it, but in case of my going elsewhere I must have some dress or other ; and a yeomanry dress is always a handsome and respect- able one. As it is, I have to air my legs in black breeches, and to sport a black coat, black waistcoat, and cocked hat ; looking something like a cross between a footman and a Methodist parson. . . . Last night we had at the theatre a translation of " Hernani," the trag- edy by Victor Hugo which made so much noise in Paris. I would recommend you to read it if possible. We have had three operas, " Medea," and the "Barber of Seville," and "II Flauto Magico." Hummel conducts the orchestra— hummel. here is a picture which is somewhat like him for Mary. The orchestra is excellent, but the singers are not first- rate." Another letter gives an interesting account of Devrient, with a sketch : — " I went to Erfurt the other day to see the " Eobbers," a play which is a little too patriotic and free for our Court Theatre. An actor of this place accompanied me and took me behind the scenes, thereby revealing to me all the mysteries of a German theatre. He introduced me to Devrient, the Kean of Germany, who in several particulars resembles his illustrious brother of the buskin. « His great character is Franz Moor in the " Robbers," and I think I never saw anything so terrible. There is a prayer which VANITY FAIR Franz makes while his castle is being attacked, which has the most awful efiect which can well be fancied : ' I am no common murderer, mein Herr Gott.' That picture is as like the man as may be, which is sa3'ing a great deal — but I have done nothing but practise drawing his face since I saw it. "Jan. 28, 1831." ■\Ve know how much Sedley and his party enjoyed their visit to the theatre, and how greatly Amelia was admired when she appeared there, and we have also read how charming she looked at the Grand Duke's ball. My fa- ther made a sketch of himself on that occasion m the cele- brated knee-breeches and cocked hat, and sent it to Edward Fitz- gerald. " I have got a book into which I paste the play-bills,'' he con- tinues, writing to his mother. " I have fallen in love with the Princess of Weimar, who is un- luckily married to Prince Charles of Prussia. I must get over this unfortunate passion, which will otherwise bring me to an un- DEVRiENT. timely end. There are several very charming young persons of the female sex here. Miss A — and ditto Miss B — are the evening belles. As I have delayed my letter a week, I must write again next week, and I will send you a couple of transla- tions from Korner, which will, I think, amuse you ; they ought to, were they anything like the original. . . . Write to me, '■ bei Madame Mellor, at Weimar.' " I can remember my father pointing in after years to the win- dows of his old rooms, looking out into the Platz, upon which the afternoon sun was shining full. Here is one more extract from the correspondence of this time, together with the drawing which belongs to it : — INTRODUCTION xxiii " Blinded by the rays of her eyes, I am giving myself ecstat- ically up to — I can't finish the sentence. You must fancy another picture, in which the new-comer is standing between me and the sun, and giving me leisure to see and be wise. Man says that 's glancing eyes Wander too fond and free. But in gazing thus on all the world Tbey have a look for me ; As if the something, something sun Was destined but to shine on one 1 A lady's glance at the adthok. Here, dearest mother, you have the beginning of a rapturous ode on the innumerable beauties and perfections of a certain Mademoiselle de ; but a gentleman arrived who had been in the Guards, is heir to ten thousand a year, has several waistcoats of the most magnificent pattern, and makes love speeches to ad- miration : he has therefore cut me out, as he will some day be cut out in his turn. Flirting is a word much in vogue, but I think jilting is the proper term in this my unfortunate (or fortunate, as you please) desertion." "The flame has gone out," he says xxiv VANITY FAIE farther on, " and now I scarcely know what has become of the cinders !" The well-known letter to Lewes, published in his "Life of Goethe," is so interesting that I cannot help quoting the passage about his introduction to Goethe. " In 1831, though he had retired from the world, Goethe would nevertheless very kindly receive strangers. His daughter-in-law's tea-table was always spread for us. We passed hours after hours there, and night after night, with the pleasantest talk and music. We read over endless novels and poems in French, English, and German. My delight in those days was to make caricatures for children. I was touched to find that they were remembered, and some even kept until the present time ; and very proud to be told, as a lad, that the great Goethe had looked at some of them. " He remained in his private apartments, where only a very few privileged persons were admitted ; but he liked to know all that was happening, and interested himself about all strangers. When- ever a countenance struck his fancy, there was an artist settled in Weimar who made a portrait of it. Goethe had quite a gallery of heads, in black and white, taken by this painter.* His house was all over pictures, drawings, casts, statues, and medals. Of course I remember very well the perturbation of spirit with which, as a lad of nineteen, I received the long-expected intimation that the Herr Geheimrath would see me on such a morning. This audi- ence took place in a little antechamber of his private apartments, covered all round with antique casts and bas-reliefs. He was * Mendelssohn was in Weimar in the same year as my father. He too writes of Hummel and of Goethe in his letters home. " I wrote this before going to see Goethe early in the forenoon after a walk in the park, but I could not find a moment to finish my letter till now. I shall probably remain here for a couple of days, which is no sacrifice, for I never saw the old gentleman so cheerful and amiable as on this occasion, or so talkative and communicative. My special reason, however, for staying two days longer is a very agreeable one, and makes me almost vain, or I ought rather to say proud, and I do not intend to keep it secret from you. Goethe, you must know, sent me a letter yesterday addressed to an artist here, a painter, whioh I am to deliver myself, and Ottilie confided to me that it con- tains a commission to take my portrait,' as Goethe wishes to place it in a collection of likenesses he has recently commenced of his friends. This cir- cumstance gratified me exceedingly." INTKODUCTION xxv habited in a long grey or drab redingot, with a white neckcloth, and a red ribbon in his buttonhole. He kept his hands behind his back, just as in Kauch's statuette. His complexion was very bright, clear, and rosy ; his eyes extraordinarily dark, piercing, and brilliant. I felt quite afraid before them, and recollect com- paring them to the eyes of the hero of a certain romance called ' Melnoth the Wanderer,' which used to alarm us boys thirty years ago ; eyes of an individual who had made a bargain with a Certain Person, and at an extreme old age retained these eyes in all their awful splendour. I fancied Goethe must have been still more handsome as an old man than even in the days of his youth. His voice was very rich and sweet. He asked me ques- tions about myself, which I answered as best I could. I recol- lect I was at first astonished, and then somewhat relieved, when I found he spoke French with not a good accent. . . . " Vidi taniiim. — I saw him but three times — once walking in the garden of his house in the Frauenplan ; once going to step into his chariot on a sunshiny day, wearing a cap and a cloak with a red collar. He was caressing at the time a beautiful lit- tle golden-haired granddaughter, over whose sweet fair face the earth has long since closed too. . . . " With a five-and-twenty years' experience since those happy days of which I write, and an acquaintance with an immense variety of human kind, I think I have never seen a society more simple, charitable, courteous, gentleman - like, than that of the dear little Saxon city, where the good Schiller and the great Goethe lived and lie buried." II. Once, writing to my grandmother, m'y father said, " It is the fashion to say that people are unfortunate who 'have lost their money.' Dearest mother, we know better than that." For years and years he had to face the great question of daily bread : life was no playtime either to him or to many of his con- temporaries, who also worked for others as well as for themselves — Carlyle, Tennyson, Dickens, John Leech, a dozen honoured names come to one's mind. But their work to each one of them (as xxvi VANITY FAIR to all true workers) was a happiness, a progress, a fulfilment, rather than a task. They worked on for the work's sake as much as for what it brought to them, and understood what was best worth hav- ing ; learning the things that people often don't learn who have only bought their places in the world, or inherited them from others. I have written elsewhere of our early home in Young Street, and of our life there, and of the people who used to come to the old Thackeray's home at no. 13 todng street, Kensington, FROM 1846 TO 1853. house at the corner of Kensington Square, in which my father wrote " Vanity Fair," and " Pendennis," and " Esmond," and where he lived for seven years. They were fruitful years, bringing their sheaves and gathering in their full harvests. It was in Au- gust 1846 that my father, after some hesitation, settled down in Kensington. He writes to his mother, " I am beginning to count the days now till you come ; and I have got the rooms all ready in the rough, all but a couple of bedsteads and a few etceteras, which fall into their place in a day or two. ... As usual I am full of INTRODUCTION xxvii business and racket, working every day, and yet not advancing somehow; and poor too, although everybody gives me credit for making a fortune. I like Kensington Gardens very much indeed, walk in and out too sometimes, and I have health, and much more work and leisure too. . . . Aunt Halliday has sent me a farewell letter and a store of mango pickles and chutney. All the Lon- don gaieties are over. I dined three days running at my own expense, and enjoyed that relaxation amazingly. Shan't you bring a servant with the children ?" It was not till late in the autumn that we came to live with ray father at Kensington. We had been at Paris with our grand- parents, while he was at work in London. It was a dark wintry evening. The fires were lighted, the servants were engaged, Eliza — what family would be complete without its Eliza? — was in waiting to show us our rooms. He was away ; he had not expected us so early. We saw the drawing-room, the empty study ; there was the feeling of London — London smelt of tobacco, we thought; we stared out through the uncurtained windows at the dark gar- den behind ; and then climbing the stairs, we looked in at his bedroom door, and came to our own rooms above it. There were pictures ready hung on the walls of the schoolroom, and of the adjoining fire-lit nursery — the Thorwaldsen prints, Hunt's de- lio-htf ul sleepy boy yawning at us over the chimney-piece, all of which he had caused to be put up ; and the picture of himself as a child he had hung up with his own hands, Eliza told us. Once more, after his first happy married years, my father had a home and a family — if a house, two young children, three servants, and a little black cat can be called a family. My grandmother, who had brought us over to England, returned to her husband in Paris ; but her mother, an old lady wrapped in Indian shawls, presently came to live with us, and divided her time between Kensington and the Champs Elysees until 1848, when she died at Paris. We did not see very much of our great-grandmoth- er ; she rarely spoke, and was almost always in her room ; but though ray father was very busy, and often away from home, we seemed to live with him, and were indeed with him constantly — in the early mornings, and when he was drawing, and on Sundays especially, and on holidays when the work was finished. We often went for little expeditions together, which he liked. He was well xxviii VANITY FAIR and strong, and able both to work and to enjoy life to the full ; though even then he was not without anxiety for the future. Success was slow ; his great book hung fire. One has heard of the journeys which the manuscript made to various publishers' houses before it could find one ready to undertake the venture, and how long its appearance was delayed by various doubts and hesitations. The book was at last brought out in its yellow covers by Messrs. Bradbury & Evans on the 1st of January 1847. My great-grandmother did not speak much, as I have said, but I think she put on her spectacles and read "Vanity Fair" in the intervals of her books of devotion. I still remember going along Kensington Gardens with my sister and our nurse-maid carrying a parcel of yellow numbers, which she had given us to take to some friend who lived across the Park ; and as we walked along, somewhere near the gates of the gardens we met my father, who asked us what we were carrying. Then some- how he seemed vexed and troubled, told us not to go on, and to take the parcel home. Then he changed his mind, saying that if his grandmother wislied it, the books had best be conveyed ; but we guessed, as children do, that something was seriously amiss. Something 2vas seriously amiss. The sale of "Vanity Fair " was so small that it was a question at that time whether its publication should not be discontinued altogether. 1 have always been told that it was " Mrs. Perkins's Ball " which played the part of pilot or steam-tng to that great line-of-battle ship " Vanity Fair," and which brought it safely off the shoals. In later days I have heard my father speak of those times, and say that besides " Mrs. Per- kins's Ball," a review in the Edinburgh Review by Mr. A. Hay ward greatly helped the sale of " Vanity Fair." We have still one or two of the early designs for the "Vanity Fair" drawings — Jos holding Becky's skein ; old Sediey in his cofEee-house, with his head in his hands, waiting for prosperity to come back to him ; and among the rest Becky at the Fancy Fair selling to Dobbin with two or three hats fitted on to his head and shoulders. There is also a little sepia suggestion for the picture of Becky's first introduction to a baronet, and a first rough suggestion for the cover, two little pencil warriors with a flying pennant, on which are inscribed the titles of the book. But the picture for the cover which was eventually determined upon was far INTRODUCTION INITT m\ Story \^ DESIGNS FOR THE COTEK OP "VANITY FAIR. XXX VANITY FAIE more, characteristic, as may be seen from the designs here given. The pictures of Dobbin in his later life have certainly a great resemblance to one of my father's oldest friends and companions at college. This was Archdeacon Allen, a commander in an army where there are no Waterloos, no decisive victories and treaties of peace, but where for men such as he was, the arms are never laid away, and the watches are never relaxed. "Any one who knew the Archdeacon," his son-in-law writes, "and has studied ' Vanity Fair,' will recognise his portrait, mutatis mutandis, in the simple-minded, chivalrous Major Dobbin." I may as well also state here, that one morning a hansom drove up to the door, and out of it emerged a most charming, dazzling little lady dressed in black, who greeted my father with great affection and brilliancy, and who, departing presently, gave him a large bunch of fresh violets. This was the only time I ever saw the fascinating little person who was by many sup- posed to be the original of Becky ; my father only laughed when people asked him, but he never quite owned to it. He always said that he never consciously copied anybody. It was, of course, impossible that suggestions should not come to him. Concerning the originals of the characters in " Vanity Fair," here is a quotation from "Yeast,'' the accuracy of which I can vouch for from remembrance. Charles Kingsley writes : " I heard a story the other day of our most earnest and genial humourist, who is just now proving himself also our most earnest and genial novelist. ' I like your novel exceedingly,' said a lady; 'the characters are so natural, all but the baronet, and he surely is overdrawn : it is impossible to find such coarseness in his rank of life !' " The artist laughed. ' That character,' said he, ' is almost the only exact portrait in the whole book.' " — " Yeast," chap. ii. It must have been in the summer of 1847 that my father wrote to his mother saying everything had mended, and " the book does everything but pay." I can remember hearing him speak of that very time long after, and saying, " 'Vanity Fair' is un- doubtedly the best of my books. It has the best story, and for another thing," he added, " the title is such a good one, you couldn't have a better.'' INTEODUCTION xxxi Wood-blocks played a very important part in our lives in those days, and the house was full of them, and of drawings and note- books and scrap-books. Friends were constantly turned into models for wood-blocks and etchings. Once a month an engraver used to come to "bite-in" the plates in the dining-room. One young friend of ours, called Eugenie, used very often to sit to my father. She used to be Amelia and the Miss Osbornes, in turn. AMELIA WAITING IN RUSSELL SQUARE. while my sister and I figured proudly as models for the children fighting on the floor. I also remember making one of a group composed of the aforesaid Eugenie, representing Amelia after the battle of Waterloo, with a sofa cushion for an infant ; a tall chair stood in the place of Dobbin, who brings the little horse for his godson to play with. The drawing of Amelia waiting in Kussell Square to see little George go by must also have been drawn from this same friendly model. And besides all these familiar xxxii VANITY FAIR people, the sketches for "Mrs. Perkins's Ball" were being etched and made readj'. " There are no end of quarrels in this wicked ' Vanity Fair,' and my feet are perpetually in hot water," so my father wrote to his mother about this time. I have an old diary for 1847, but none of the anxieties or STUDIES FOB THE MISS OSBOENES. quarrels are written down in it — only the places to which the au- thor of " Vanity Fair" was bound, and the names of some of the people with whom he was living at the time. "Home" recurs very frequently, and various dinners at six o'clock, at half -past six, and a quarter to seven — with names still more or less well known. " January 4th, drew for Punch ; Tuesday 5th, DufE Gordon ; Wednesday 6tb, drew, wrote 'Vanity Fair'; Thursday 7th, Sir INTRODUCTION xxxiii F. Pollock. Drew in the morning, and wrote at night for Punchy Fladgate— Murphy— Mrs. Dilke, 1Q> Sloane Street— F. W. New- man, quarter -past six — Kenyon — Reeve — BuUer — Talfourd — Higgins — Macready — Procter — Molesworth — Merivale — Lord Holland — all follow in turn, still at their comfortable 6's and 7's, and early dinner Lours. "My deaeest Mother, — What has happened since I wrote a year ago? The same story of every day — work, work, gobble, gobble, scuffling througli the day with business, a sort of pleasure which be- comes a, business till bedtime, and no prospect of more than tempo- riuy quiet. I liave just got my moutli's work done, and with Tues- day tlie next month begins, and tlie next work, etcetera. "Was ever sucli martyrdom? On the best of victuals, to be sure. But I sup- pose there is no use in a man thiuldng about what he does in this world. What he is capable of doing and knowing is tlie tiling, and when we go hence into somewhere, where there will be time and quiet sufficient doubtless, who knows what a deal of good maj' be found in us yet? What a thing it will be to be made good and wise. You see I am always thinking about 'Vanity Fair.' Everything is very flat and dull. " Well, yesterday was my dear little M 's birthday, and we h.ad a day of heat and idleness at Hampton Court ; finished with a cold collation at Mrs. Barber's at Twickenham, where all the ladies assem- bled were excelleutly kind to the children. The pictures did not charm them over much ; but General M'Leod's palace of Moorsheda- bad, witli a little Nawab palanquin, elephants, bearers, two inches high, delighted them hugely, and so did the labyrinth and the chest- nut-trees in full bloom, and the gardens all over green and sunshine. We all went to bed very tired and sober at ten o'clock, Mrs. Parker coming to console G. JI. in our absence. She is weakly, and of course moving surely downwards, but in pretty good spirits, and pleased with her little household occupations, fidgeting the servants quite unrestrained, and ringing the bell with unbounded libert}'. . The night before, seeing 'King Lear' was to be performed, I took A and Mrs. Brookfield and Eugenie. We all found the play a bore. We are the most superstitious people in England. It is- almost blasphemy to say a play of Shakespeare is bad, but I can't help it if I think so, and there are other pieces of bookolatry too which make me rebel." The letter finishes with some domestic details, "and so having said nothing," he says, "I come to goodbye, and God bless my dearest JI and G. P. I am as well as any mortal man almost. I have dined at home all the week, and am now going to dress in my best for a genteel party at Mr. Charles, Buller's." 3 xxxiv VANITY FAIR In July he says of a visit to Harrow, "I am glad you have got Mrs. Huish to comfort your old heart. I saw Wentworth's tomb- stone over the boys' gallery at Harrow the other day, and took a walk with him on Tallaton Common while the parson preached the sermon. It is a long time back; a great gap of life lies between, but it has been followed all through by the love of my dearest old mother. " As soon as tlie three Punch men who are gone to Paris for their holiday return, I will try to run over to Boulogne and take a house. Towards the end of the month I get so nervous, that I don't speak to anybody scarcely, and once actually got up in the middle of the night and came down and wrote in my night chimee ; but that don't happen often, and I own that I had a nap after dinner that day. The publishers are quite contented ; and now I must get to work." In October he speaks of a visit to Brighton, where he found kind friends, fresh air, a little reno- vation of health and spirits. "The last numbers of 'Vanity Fair,' you will like best, I think ;" and again he repeats, " It does everything but sell, and appears really immensely to increase my reputation, if not my income." There is also a letter to Mr. Fitzgerald about this time, but it is not dated : — "My dear old Yedwakd, — It is not true what Gurlyle has written to you about my having become a Iveraenjous lion, etc. too grand to etc. ; but what is true is that a fellow who is writing all day for money gets sick of pens and paper when his work is over, and I go on dawdling and thinldng of writing and months pass away. All that about being a Lion is nonsense. I can't eat more dinners than I used last year, and dine at home with my dear little women three times a week : but two or three great people ask me to their houses : and ' Vanity Fair' does everything but pay. I am glad if you like it. I don't care a dem if some other people do or don't: and always try to keep that damper against flatter}'. What does it matter whether this man who is an ass likes your book or not ? "This was wrote, I don't know how long ago ; but my mind has been unequal to the gigantic effort of filling a whole half sheet, and I think another number of 'Vanity Fair' has been written since I ' penned the above lines,' as the novelists say. "I caught a glimpse of the old Frau Mutter riding alone in the Park a few weeks ago, and looking very melancholy. I've not had tbe courage to call, but I have seen both Ainsworlh and Albert Smith. INDRODUCTION xxxv As for Ainsworth, he is move liiiiry than ever. Ho begins to sprout at bis under-lip now, and curls all over. "A letter from the young Madrileno of the Calle de las Caritas ar- rived yesterday. He says not a word from Fitz. G is immensely grand and savage now he basaCromwellian letter against the Irish in this week's Examiner. Last Sunday I saw Jeames Spending walking in the Park with some children and a lady from the country. I am one of the swells there. I have got a cob, which is the admiration of all — strong, handsome, good-natured, fast, and never tired. You shall have a ride behind me if you come to London. Why don't you ? I am going to give a party on the 9th of Jlay. Jlrs. Dickens and Miss Hogarth made mo give it, and I am in a great fright. 1 have not got a shilling — isn't it wonderful ? I make a great deal of money, and it goes pouring and pouring out in a frightful volubility. . . . This letter has been delayed and delayed, until I fancied it would never go; nevertheless I am always yours, and like you almost as much as I did twenty years ago." In the summer of 1848 lie writes to Lis mother: " We three have had a long walk in the Park and by the Serpentine after dinner to-day ; a beautiful day and sight. Yesterday I had a letter from a lady, who lias just lost a little child, and who ends her letter, ' If anything can console his father, it will be this heavenly weather !' And yet the woman feels acutely the loss of the child. " Last Sunday we were at Eton and Windsor ; it was almost too much pleasure, though, for one day — the weather furiously bright, the landscape beautiful. We dined at an Eton boarding- house for boys. They had excellent fish, meat pudding, and beer, and a glass of wine. The hall in which we dined was Gothic, and hung round with banners, helmets, and quaint devices. The little fellows have the snuggest little studies, and a most gentle- man-like look. I shall go down again and get it up for a novel probably. "We were locked into St. George's Chapel at Wind- sor, which caused me to be too late for a dinner to which I was engaged. " i went to sec poor dear old Mrs. Buller at Richmond the other day. She is grown quite into the state of old womanhood. Dear old haggard eyes, how beautiful they were even in my time, and how kind and affectionate she has always been to me. . . . Buller was dying downstairs, the lamp of life just flickering out. He has been a good, honest, and kindly man, and Mrs. Buller told xxxvi VANITY FAIR me, with tears in her eyes, what a comfort her sons had been to her. Charles, with his indifferent manner, never forgets his duty. . . . When came home wanting money, Charles gave him all his savings. He never brags about his goodness, but goes laughing through the world, honest, and to be depended on. Next day at the Literary Fund I made, as I am told, an excellent funny speech. It is curious ; I was in such a panic, I did not know what I said, and don't know now. " And this I think is my chronicle of ' Vanity Fair.' I finish (D.V.) next month. How glad I shall be, for I dislike every- body in the book except Dob. and poor Amelia." My father has left his own criticisms of "Vanity Fair." "Of course," he says to his mother, " you are quite right about ' Vanity Fair' and Amelia being selfish. It is mentioned in this very number. My object is not to make a perfect character, or anything like it. Don't you see how odious all the people are in the book (with the exception of Dobbin), behind all of which there is a dark moral, I hope. " What I want is to make a set of people living without God in the world (only that is a cant phrase), greedy, pompous men, perfectly self-satisfied for the most part, and at ease about their superior virtue. Dobbin and poor Briggs are the only two people with real humility as yet. Amelia's is to come when her scoundrel of a husband is well dead with a ball in his odious bowels, when she has had sufferings, a child and a religion. But she has at present a quality above most people, whizz — LOVE — by which she shall be saved. ... I wasn't going to write in this way when I began. But these thoughts pursue me plentifully. Will they ever come to a good end 3 I should doubt God who gave them if I doubted them." By this time all fears for the book were over ; anxiety had ceased, and day by day the popularity of " Vanity Fair '' in- creased, and success was finally assured. Once more he writes on the 2nd July 1848 : " ' Vanity Fair' is this instant done, and I have vi'orked so hard, that I can hardly hold a pen and say God bless my dearest old mother. I had not time even to listen to the awful cannonading in your town. Thank God 1 you are going to leave it. ... I am very pleased to INTEODrCTION xxxvii have done, very melancholy and beat;" and then he goes on to speak of his hope that he may not feel too much elation from the praise he gets ; and so once more sends his blessing to his mother. Even now ^fter a lifetime, when three generations of readers have succeeded those who first read and praised " Vanity Fair," that moment seems almost present again as one looks at the old letter on its half sheet of paper, and realises what it must have been to the mother who read the letter, and to my father who wrote it. Xow and again, in all the troubles and changes of life, I think he must have realised, as only a few can do, the conscious- ness of repose, of well-earned rest after eSort, the immense hap- piness of good work achieved, the satisfaction of sympathy, and recognition coming after the years in which he had laboured, alone and in silence as it were, and without any great success. And though it was with the same cheerful humour that he wrote on, whether with success or without it, looking the world hon- estly and trustfully in the face, yet when people came at last with cordial words of appreciation and praise, it made him glad ; and when material difficulties were smoothed away for him and his, he enjoyed it to the fulL " Vanity Fair " was dedicated to Mr. Procter, who had been so good to n:y father when he was in great trouble. There is a passage in a letter to Mrs. Brookfield saying, " Old Dilke of the Athenceum vows that Procter and his wife between them wrote 'Jane Eyre,' and when I protest ignorance, says. Pooh! you know very well who wrote it." . . . The second edition of "Jane Eyre" came out with a dedication to my father. "I wonder whether it can be true (that the Procters wrote 'Jane Eyre')," says my father. "It is just possible, and then, what a singular circumstance the crossfire of the two dedica- tions." My brother-in-law has some of the early MS. of "Vanity Fair." It is curious to compare it with that of "Esmond," for instance, which flows on straight and with scarcely an altera- tion. The early chapters of " Vanity Fair " are, on the contrary, altered and rewritten with many erasures and with sentences turned in many different ways. xxxviii VANITY FAIR The following letter tells its own story. It was written to the Duke of Devonshire of those days. It shows that although " Vanity Fair" was not quite finished at the time, the end was well in view. "Kensington, 1st May 1848. "My Lord Duke, — Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, whom I saw last week, and whom I informed of your Grace's desire to have her por- trait, was good enough to permit me to copy a little drawing made of her 'ia happier days,' she said with a sigh, by Smee, the Royal Academician. "Mrs. Crawley now lives in a small but very pretty little house iu Belgravia ; and is conspicuous for her numerous charities — which al- wajs get into the newspapers — and her unaffected piet}'. Many of the most exalted and spotless of her own sex visit her, and .nro of opinion that she is a most injured xooraan. There is no wrt of truth in the stories regarding Mrs. Crawley and the late Lord Steyne. The licen- tious character of that nobleman alone gave rise to reports from which, alas! the most spotless life and reputation cannot ahvaj^s do- fend themselves. The ijresent Sir Rawdon Crawley (who succeeded his late uncle Sir Pitt, 1832— Sir Pitt died on the passing of the Re- form Bill) does not see his mother; and his undutifulness is a cause of the deepest grief to that admirable lady. ' If it were not for Idglier things,' she says, 'how could she have borne up against the world's calumnj', a wicked husband's cruell}' and falseness, and the thankless- ness (sharper than a serpent's tooth) of an adored child ? But she has been preserved, mercifully preserved, to bcai- all these griefs, and awaits her reward elsewhere.' The italics are Mrs. Crawley's own. "She took the stjde and title of Lady Crawley for some time after Sir Pitt's death in 1833, but it turned out that Colonel Crawley, Gov- ernor of Coventry Island, had died of fever three months before his brother, whereupon Mrs. Rawdon was obliged to lay down the title which she had prematurely assumed. "The late Jos. Sedley, Esq., of the Bengal Civil Service, left her two lakhs of rupees, on the interest of which the widow lives in the practices of piety and benevolence before mentioned. Slie has lost what little good looks she once possessed, and wears false hair and teeth (the latter give her rather a ghastly look when she smiles), and — for a pious woman — is the best crinolined lady in Knightsbridge district. " Colonel and Mrs. W. Dobbin live in Hampshire, near Sir R. Crawley ■ Lady Jane was godmother to their little girl ; and tlie ladies are exceedingly attached to each other. The Colonel's 'His- tory of the Punjaub' is looked for with much anxiety in some circles. INTRODUCTION xxxix " Captain and Lt. -Colonel G. Sedley-Osborne (be wishes, lie saj's, to be distinguished from some other branches of the Osborne family, and is descended by the mother's side from Sir Charles Sedley) is, 1 need not say, well, for I saw him in a most richly embroidered cambric pink shirt with diamond studs bowing to your Grace at the last part}' at Devonshire House. He is in Parliament ; but the property left bini by his grandfather has, I hear, been a good deal overrated. "He was very sweet upon Miss Crawley, Sir Pitt's daughter, who married her cousin the present Baronet, and a good deal cut up when he was refused. He is not, however, u, man to be permanently cast down by sentimental disappointments. His chief cause of annoyance at the present moment is that he is growing bald ; but his whiskers are still without a grey hair, and the finest in London. "1 think these are the latest particulars relating to a number of persons about whom your Grace was good enough to express some interest. I am very glad to be enabled to give this information, and am, " Your Grace's very much obliged servant, (Signed) " W. M. Thackeray. " P.S. — Lady O'Dowd is at O'Dowd's tov/n arming. She has Just sent in a letter of adhesion to the Lord-Lieutenant, which has been acknowledged by his Excellency's private secretary, Mr. Corry Cou- nellan. Miss Glorvina O'Dowd is thinking of coming up to the Castle to marry the last-named gentleman. " P.8. 2. — The India Mail just arrived announces the utter ruin of the Union Bank of Calcutta, in which all Mrs. Crawley's money was. Will Fate never cease to persecute that suffering Saint ?" A. I. E. The ^SM^ Rl^ t^ TO B. W. PEOCTEll THIS STORY IS ATTECTIONATELY DEDICATED BEFOEE THE CURTAIN AS the Manager of the Performance sits before the curtain on the r-\ boards, and looks into the Fair, a feeling of profound melan- choly comes over him in his survey of the bustling place. There is a great quantity of eating and drinking, making love and jilting, laughing and the contrary, smoking, cheating, fighting, dancing and fiddling : there are bulhes pushing abovit, bucks ogling the women, knaves picking pockets, policemen on the look-out, quacks (other quacks, plague take them !) bawling in front of their booths, and yokels looking up at the tinselled dancers and poor old rouged tumblers, while the light-fingered folk are operating upon their pockets behind. Yes, this is Vanity Fair : not a moral place certainly ; nor a merry one, though very noisy. Look at the faces of the actors and buff'oons when they come off' from their business ; and Tom Fool washing the paint off his cheeks before he sits down to dinner with his wife and the little Jack Puddings behind the canvas. The curtain -nill be up presently, and he will be turning over head and heels, and crying, "How are youT' A man with a reflective turn of mind, walking through an exhibition of this sort, will not be oppressed, I take it, by his own or other people's hilarity. An episode of humour or kindness touches and amuses him here and there ; — a pretty child looking at a gingerbread stall ; a pretty girl blushing whilst her lover talks to her and chooses her fairing ; poor Tom Fool, yonder behind the waggon, mumbling his bone with the honest family which lives by his tumbhng; but the general impression is one more melancholy than mirthful. When you come home you sit down, in a sober, contemplative, not uncharitable frame of mind, and apply yourself to your books or your business. I have DO other moral than this to tag to the present story of xliv BEFORE THE CURTAIN " Vanity Fair." Some people consider Fairs immoral altogether, and escliew such, "with their servants and families : very likely they are right. But persons who think otherwise, and are of a lazy, or a benevolent, or a sarcastic mood, may perhaps like to step in for half-an-hour, and look at the performances. There are scenes of all sorts : some dreadful combats, some grand and lofty horse-riding, some scenes of high life, and some of very middling indeed ; some love-making for the sentimental, and some light comic business ; the whole accompanied by appropriate scenery and brilliantly illuminated with the Author's own candles. What more has the Manager of the Performance to say? — To acknowledge the kindness with which it has been received in all the principal towns of England through which the Show has passed, and where it has been most favourably noticed by the respected conductors of the public Press, and by the Nobility and Gentry. He is proud to think that his Puppets have given satisfaction to the very best company in this empire. The famous little Becky Puppet has been pronounced to be uncommonly flexible iu the joints, and lively on the wire : the Amelia Doll, though it has had a smaller circle of admirers, has yet been carved and dressed with the greatest care by the artist : the Dobbin Figure, though ap- parently clumsy, yet dances in a very amusing and natural manner : the Little Boys' Dance has been liked by some; and please to remark the richly dressed figure of the Wicked Nobleman, on which no expense has been spared, and which Old Nick will fetch away at the end of this singular performance. And with this, and a profound bow to his patrons, the Manager retires, and the curtain rises. London : June 28, 1818. VANITY FAIR A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO CHAPTER I CHISWICK MALL WHILE the present centmy was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's academy for young ladies, on Chiswick_J|all, a large family coach, with two~Tat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour. A black servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's shining brass plate, and as he pulled the bell, at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick house. Nay, the acute observer might have recognised the little red nose of good-natm-ed Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising over some geraniunr^ots in the window of that lady's own drawing-room. " It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister," said Miss Jemima. " Sambo, the black servant, has just nmg the bell ; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat." " Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss Sedley's departm-e. Miss Jemima ? " asked Miss Pinkerton her- self, that majestic lady ; the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the fiiend of Doctor Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Ohapone herself " The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister," replied Miss Jemima; "we have made her a bow-pot." " Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel." "Well, a booky as big almost as a hay-stack; I have put up two bottles of the gillyflower-water for Mrs. Sedley, and the receipt for making it, in Amelia's box." "And I trust. Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's account. This is it, is it 1 Very good — ninety-three pounds, 1 A 2 VANITY FAIR four shillings. Be kind enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and to seal this billet which I have written to his lady." In Miss Jemima's eyes an autogi-aph letter of her sister, Miss Pinkerton, wa.s an object of as deep veneration as would have been a letter from a sovereign. Only when her pupils quitted the establish- ment, or when they were about to be married, and once, when poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss Pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of her pupils ; and it was Jemima's opinion that if anything could console Mrs. Birch for her daughter's loss, it would be that pious and eloquent composition in which Miss Pinkerton announced the event. In the present instance Miss Pinkerton's "billet" was to the following effect : — "The Mall, Chiswick, June 15, 18 — . " Madam, — After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honour and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a youn g lad y not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in theu- polished and refined circle. Those virtues which characterise the yoimg Eiiglish gentlewoman, those accomplishments which become her birth and station, will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose industry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her aged and her youthful companions. " In music, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of em- broidery and needlework, she will be found to have realised her friends' fondest wishes. In geography^ there is still much to be desired ; and a careful and undeviating use of the backboard, for four hours daily during the next three years, is recommended as necessary to the acquii'ement of that dignified deportment and carriage, so requisite for every young lady oi fashion. " In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley wiU be found worthy of an establishment which has been honom-ed by the pre- sence of The Great Lexicographer, and the patronage of the admirable Mrs. Ohapone. In leaving the Mall, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honour to subscribe herself, madam, your most obliged humble servant, Barbaea Pinkerton. " P.R. — Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with whom she is engaged, desire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible." This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to write her own name, and Miss Sedley's, in the fly-leaf of a Johnson's Dictionary— A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 3 the interesting work whicli she invariably presented to her scholars on their departure from the Mall. On the cover was inserted a copy of " Lines addressed to a young lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's school, at the Mall ; by the late revered Doctor Samuel Johnson." In fact, the Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune. Being commanded by her elder sister to get " the Dictionary " from the cupboard. Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air, handed her the second. "For whom is this. Miss Jemima*?" said Miss Pinkerton, with awful coldness. " For Becky Sharp," answered Jemima, trembling very much, and blushing over her withered face and neck, as she turned her back on her sister. " For Becky Sharp : she's going too." " MISS JEMIMA ! " exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals. "Are you in yom- senses'? Eeplace the Dixonary in the closet, and never venture to take such a liberty in future." " Well, sister, it's only two-and-ninepence, and poor Becky will be miserable if she don't get one." " Send Miss Sedley instantly to me," said Miss Pinkerton. Awl so venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off, ex- ceedingly flurried and nervous. Miss SecUej^s jtapa was a merchant in London, and a man of some wealth ; whereas Miss Sharp was an articled pupil, for whom Miss Pinkerton had done, as she thought, quite enough, without con- ferring upon her at parting the high honovrr of the Dixonary. Although schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted no more nor less than churchyard epitaphs ; yet, as it sometimes happens that a person departs this life, who is really desei-ving of all the praises the stone-cutter carves over his bones ; who is a good Christian, a good parent, child, wife, or husband ; who actually does leave a disconso- late family to mourn his loss ; so in academies of the male and female sex it occMS every now and then, that the pupil is fully worthy of the praises bestowed by the disinterested instructor. Now, Miss Amelia Sedley- was a young lady of this singular species; and deserved not only all that Miss Pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities which that pompous old Minerva of a woman could not see, from the differences of rank and age between her pupil and herself For she could not only sing Hke a lark, or a Mrs. Billington, and dance like Hillisberg or Parisot ; and embroider beautifully ; and spell as well as a Dixonary itself j but she had such a kindly, smiling, 4 VANITY FAIE tender, gentle, generous heart of her own, as won the love of every- body who came near her, from Minerva hereelf down to the poor girl in the scullery, and the one-eyed tart-woman's daughter, who was permitted to vend her wares once a week to the young ladies in the Mall. She had twelve intimate and bosom friends out of the twenty-four young ladies. Even envious Miss Briggs never spoke ill of her : high and mighty Miss Saltire (Lord Dexter's granddaughter) allowed that her figure was genteel ; and as for Miss Swartz, the rich woolly-haired mulatto from St. Kitt's, on the day Amelia v.-ent away she was in such a passion of tears, that they were obliged to send for Dr. Floss, and half tipsify her with sal volatile. Miss Pinkerton's attachment was, as may be supposed, from the high position and eminent virtues of that lady, calm and dignified ; but Miss Jemima had already whimpered several times at the idea of Amelia's depar- ture ; and, but for fear of her sister, would have gone off in down- right hysterics, like the heiress (v^lio paid double) of St. Kitt's. Such luxury of gi-ief, however, is only allowed to parlour-boarders. Honest Jemima had all the bills, and the washing, and the mending, and the puddings, and the plate and crockery, and the servants to superintend. But why speak about her? It is probable that we shall not hear of her again from this moment to the end of time, and that when the great filigree iron gates are once closed on her, she and her awful sister will never issue therefrom into this Httle world of history. But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there is no harm in saying, at the outset of our acquaintance, that she was a dear httle creature ; and a gxeat mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (and the latter especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion, so guileless and good- natiu-ed a person. As she is, not a. heroine, there is no need to describe her person ; indeed I am afi-aid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine ; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the fi-eshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes which sparkled with the brightest and honestest good-himiour, except indeed when they filled with tears, and that v/as a great deal too often ; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird ; or over a mouse, that the cat haply had seized upon ; or over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid ; and as for saying an unkind word to her, were any persons hard-hearted enough to do so — why, so much the worse for them. Even Miss Pinkerton, that austere and god-like woman, ceased scolding her after the first time, and though she no more comprehended sensibility than she did Algebra, gave all masters and teachers particular orders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmost gentleness, as harsh treatment was injurious to her. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 5 So that when the day of departure came, between her two customs of laughing and crying, Miss Sedley was greatly puzzled how to act. She was glad to go home, and yet most woefully sad at leaving school. For three days before, little Laura Martin, the orphan, followed her about like a little dog. She had to make and receive at least fourteen presents — to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week : " Send my letters under cover to my grand- papa, the Earl of Dexter," said Miss Saltire (who, by the way, was rather shabby) : " Never mind the postage, but write every day, you dear darling," said the impetuous and woolly-headed, but generous and aftectionate Miss Swartz ; a,nd the orphan little Laura Martin (who was just in round-hand), took her friend's hand and said, look- ing up in her face Avistfully, "Amelia, when I write to you I shall call you Mamma. "<' All which details, I have no doubt, Jones, who reads this book at his Club, will pronounce to be excessively foolish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-sentimental.',' Yes; I can see Jones at this minute (rather flushed with his joint of mutton and half-pint of wine), taking out his pencil and scoring under the words " foolish, twaddling," &c., and adding to them his own remark of " quiie tnte." Well, he is a lofty man of genius, and admires the great and heroic in life and novels ; and so had better take warning and go elsewhere. Well, then. The flov.^ers, and the presents, and the tnmks, and bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having teen an-anged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old cow's-skin trunk with Miss Sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sne«r — the horn- for parting came ; and the gTief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkerton adckessed to her pupil. Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to piliilosophise, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument ; but it was intolerably dull, pompous, and tedious ; and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her ej'es, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ebullitions of private grief A seed-cake and a twttle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents, and these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart. " You'll go in and say good-bye to Miss Pinkerton, Becky ! " said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox. " I suppose I must," said Miss Sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in 6 VANITY FAIE a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect accent, "Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux." Miss Pinkerton did not understand French ; she only directed those who did : but biting her lips and throwing up her venerable and Eoman-nosed head (on the top of which figvu-ed a large and solemn turban), she said, "Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning." As the Hammersmith Semiramis spoke, she waved one hand, both by way of adieu, and to give Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaldng one of the fingers of the hand which was left out for that purpose. Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and quite dechned to accept the proffered honour; on which Semiramis tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted. " Heaven bless you, my child," said she, embracing Amelia, and scowling the while over the girl's shoulder at Miss Sharp. " Come away, Beckj^," said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm, and the drawing- room door closed upon them for ever. Then came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell it. All the servants were there in the hall — all the dear friends — all the young ladies — the dancing-master who had just arrived ; and there was such a scuffling, and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the hysterical yoops of Miss Swartz, the parlour-boarder, from her room, as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would fain pass over. The embracing was over ; they parted — that is. Miss Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. Nobody cried for leaving_Aer. Sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young weeping- mistress.- He sprang up behind the carriage. " Stop ! " cried Miss Jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel. " It's some sandwiches, my dear," said she to Amelia. " You may be hungry, you know ; and Becky, Becky Sharp, here's a book for you that my sister — that is, I — Johnson's Dixonary, you know ; you mustn't leave us without that. Good-bye. Drive on, coach- man. God bless you ! " And the kind creatiu-e retreated into the garden, overcome with emotion. But, lo ! and just as the coach drove off', Miss Sharp jwit herpale face out of the window and actually flung the book back into the garden. This almost caused Jemima to faint with teiTor. " Well, I never," — said she — •" What an audacious " — Emotion prevented her from completing either sentence. The carriage rolled away ; the great ga.tes were closed ; the bell rang for the dancing lesson. The world is before the two young ladies ; and so, farewell to Chiswick MaU. Rebecca's farewell. CHAPTER II IN irmCH MISS SHARP AND MISS SEDLEY PREPARE TO OPEN THE CAMPAIGN WHEN Miss Sharp had performed the heroical act mentioned in the last chapter, and had seen the Dixouary, flying over the pavement of the little garden, Ml at length at the feet of the astonished Miss Jemima, the young lady's countenance, which had before wom an almost livid look of hatred, assumed a smile that perhaps was scarcely more agreeable, and she sank back in the carriage in an easy frame of mind, saying, " So much for the Dixonary ; and, thank God, I'm out of Chiswick." Miss Seclley was almost as flurried at the act of defiance as Miss Jemima had been ; for, consider, it was but one minute that she had left school, and the impressions of six years are not got over in that space of time. Nay, with some persons those awes and terrors of youth last for ever and ever. I know, for instance, an old gentleman of sixty-eight, who said to me one morning at breakfast, with a very agitated countenance, " I dreamed last night that I was flogged by Dr. Eaine." Fancy had carried him back five-and-fifty years in the com^e of that evening. Dr. Eaine and his rod were just as awful to him in his heart then, at sixty-eight, as they had been at thirteen. If the Doctor, with a large birch, had appeared Imdily to him, even at the age of threescore and eight, and had said in av/fiil voice, " Boy, take down your pant * *"? Well, well. Miss Sedley was exceedingly alanned at this act of insubordination. " How could you do so, Rebecca 1 " at last she said, after a pause. "Why, do you think Miss Pinkerton will come out and order m.e back to the black-hole 1 " said Rebecca, laughing. "Xo: but " " I hate the whole house," continued Miss Sharp in a fury. " I hope I may never set eyes on it again. I wish it were in the bottom of the Thames, I do ; and if Miss Pinkerton were there, I wouldn't pick her out, that I wouldn't. Oh, how I should like to see her floating in the water yonder, tm-ban and all, with her train streaming after her, and her nose like the beak of a wherry." «\ VANITY FAIE " Hush ! " cried Miss Sedley. " Why, will the black footman tell tales 1 " cried Miss Rebecca, laughing. " He may go back and tell Miss Piiikerton that I hate her with all my soul ; and I wish he would ; and I wish I had a means of proving it, too. For two years I have only had insults and outrage from her. I have been treated worse than any servant in the kitchen. I have never had a friend or a kind word, except ft-om you. I have been made to tend the little girls in the lower schoolroom, and to talk French to the Misses, imtil I grew sick of my mother-tongue. But that talking French to Miss Pinkerton was capital fun, wasn't \i1 She doesn't know a word of French, and was too proud to confess it. I beheve it was that which made her part with me ; and so thank Heaven for French. Vive la France ! Vive V Empereur ! Vive Bonaparte ! " " Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame ! " cried Miss Sedley ; for this was the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had as yet uttered; and in those days, in England, to say, " Long live Bonaparte ! " was as much as to say, " Long live Lucifer ! " " How can you — how dare you have such wicked, revengeful thoughts ? " " Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural," answered Miss Rebecca. " I'm no angel." And, to say the truth, she certainly was not. For it may be remarked in the course of this little conversation (which took place as the coach rolled along lazily by the river side) that th ough Miss _Rebee ca Sharp has twice had occasion to ;thank Heaven, it has been^ in the first_plaoej for ridding her of some peraqirwliomshe ha,ted, and secondly, for enabling, her to bring her enemies, .to soine_sort of perplexity or confusion, neither of wliicTi are very amiable motives for religious gratitude, or such as would be put forward by persons of a kind and placable disposition. Miss Rebecca was not, then, in the least kind or placable. All the^wodd y used her ill, said this yoiing misanthropist, aiid we may be. pretty •^ certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, deserve entirely ' nthe treatment they get. ^ The world is a looking-glass, and g ives back to every man the refleeSt OTr 'of J iiS"own face. Jfrown at lt,^nd n wui m turn look souriy upon you ; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion ; and so let all young persons take their choice. This is certain, that if the world neglected Miss Sharp, she never was known to have done a good action in behalf of anybody ; nor can it be expected that twenty-four young ladies shoukl all be as amiable as the heroine of this work. Miss SedleWwhom we have selected for the very reason that she wus~the BeitSatured of all ; otherwise wliaT on earth was to have" prevented us from putting up Miss Swartz, or Miss Crump, or Miss Hopkins, as heroine in her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO [^ place ?) — i t coiild not be ex pectedthat every one sh o uld be o f the himible_aMgen^^ Amelia _ Sedley; should take every opportunity to"miqiusli_E«beccii's liard-heartcdneBa.and ill- humour ; and, by a thousand kind words ancl offices, overcome, for oncgat" least, her host ilityJi.cLher ^kind. Miss Sharp's fatlier was an artist, and in that quality had given lessons of drawing at Miss Piiikerton's school. He was a clever man ; a pleasant companion ; a careless student ; with a great propensity for running into debt, and a partiality for the tavern. When he was drunk, he used to beat his wife and daughter ; and the next morning, with a headache, he would rail at the world for its neglect of his genius, and abuse, with a good deal of cleverness, and sometimes with perfect reason, the fools, his brother painters. As it was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself, and as he owed money for a mile round Soho, where he lived, he thought to better his circumstances by marrying a young woman of the French nation, who was by profession an opera-girl. The humble calling of her female parent Miss ShaxpTBieveinilhided to, but used to state subsequently that the Entrechats were a noble family of Gascony, and took great pride in her descent from them. And curious it is, that as she advanced in life this young lady's ancestors increased in rank and splendom-. Rebecca's mother had had some education somewhere, and her daughter spoke French with purity and a Parisian accent. It was in those days mther a rare accomplishment, and led to her engage- ment with the orthodox Miss Piiikerton. For her mother being dead, her father, finding himself not likely to recover, after his third attack of delirvwm tremens, wrote a manly and pathetic letter to Miss Pinkerton, recommending the orphan child to her protection, and so descended to the grave, after two bailiffs had quan-elled over his corpse. Eebeoca was seventeen when she came to Chiswick, and was bound over as an articled pupil ; her duties being to talk French, as we have seen ; and her privileges to live cost free, and, with a few guineas a year, to gather scraps of knowledge from the professors who attended the school. She was small and slight in person ; pale, sandydiaired, and with eves habitually east dow n : when they looked "p tlipy wpva wtv l arge, od(r''an!rir*f itTilT^^^''' ; so attrac^vS^^at tlie rieverend Mr. Cnsp, fresk from Oxford, and curate to the Vicar of ChisAvick, the Eeverend Mr. Flowerdew, fell in love with Miss Sharp ; being shot dead by a glance of her eyes which was fired all the way across Chiswick Chm-ch from the school-pew to the reading-desk. This infatuated young man used sometimes to take tea with Miss Pinker- 10 VANITY FAIE ton, to whom he had been presented by his mamma, and actually proposed something like marriage in an intercepted note, which the one-eyed apple-woman was charged to deliver. Mrs. Crisp was summoned from Buxton, and abruptly carried off her darling boy ; but the idea, even, of such an eagle in the Chiswick dovecot caused a great flutter in the breast of Miss Pinkerton, who would have sent away Miss Sharp, but that she was bound to her under a forfeit, I'liil who never could thoroughly believe the young lady's protestations that she had never exchanged a single word with Mr. Crisp, except under her own eyes on the two occasions when she had met him at tea. By the side of many tall and bouncing young ladies in the estab- lishment, Rebecca Sharp looked like a child. But she had the d ismal precocity of pove rty. Many a dun had she talked to, and turned away trom ner father's door ; many a tradesman had she coaxed and wheedled into good-humour, and into the granting of one meal more. She sate commonly with her father, who v/as very proud of her wit, and heard the talk of many of his wild companions — often but ill-suited for a girl to hear. But she never had been a girl, she said ; she had been a woman since she was eight years old. Oh, why did Miss Pinkerton let such a dangerous bird into her cage 1 The fact Ls, the old lady believed Rebecca to be the meekest creature in the world, so admirably, on the occasions when her father brought her to Chiswick, used Rebecca to perform the part of the ingenue ; and only a year before the arrangement by which Rebecca had been admitted into her house, and when Rebecca was sixteen years old. Miss Pinkerton majestically, and with a little speech, made her a present of a doll — which was, by the way, the confis- cated property of Miss Swindle, discovered sm-reptitiously nursmg it in school-houi-s. How the father and daughter laughed as they trudged home together after the evening party (it was on the occasion of the speeches, when all the professors were invited), and how Miss Pinkerton would have raged had she seen the caricature of herself which the little mimic, Rebecca, managed to make out of her doll. Becky used to go through dialogues with it ; it formed the delight of Newman Street, Gerrard Street, and the Artists' quarter : and the young i)ainters, when they came to take their gin-and-water with their lazy, dissolute, clever, jovial senior, used regularly to ask Rebecca if Miss Pinkerton was at home : she was as well known to them, poor soul ! as Blr. Lawrence or President West. Once Rebecca had the honoui- to pass a few days at Chiswick ; after which she brought back Jemima, and erected another doll as Miss Jemmy : for though that honest creature had made and given her jelly and cake enough A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO ii for three children, and a seven-shilling piece at parting, the girl's sense of ridicule -n-as far stronger than her gi-atitnde, and she sacri- ficed Miss Jemmy quite as pitilessly as her sister. The catastrophe came, and she was brought to the Mall as to her home. The rigid fonnahty of the place suffocated her : the prayers and the meals, the lessons and the walks, which were arranged with a conventual regularity, oppressed her almost beyond endur- ance ; and she looked back to the fi-eedom and the beggary of the old studio in Soho with so much regret, that everybody, herself included, fancied she was consumed with grief for her father. She had a little room in the garret, where the maids heard her walking and sobbing at night ; but it was with rage, and not with grief. She had not been much of a dissembler, until now her loneliness taught her to feign. She had never mingled in the society of women : her father, reprobate as he was, was a man of talent ; his conversation was a thousand times more agreeable to her than the talk of such of her cmi sex as she now encountered. The pompous vanity of the old schoolmistress, the foolish good-humour of her sister, the silly chat and scandal of the elder girls, and the frigid correctness of the governesses equally annoyed her ; and she had no soft maternal heart, this unlucky girl, otherwise the prattle and talk of the younger children, with whose care she was chiefly intrusted, might have soothed and interested her ; but she hved among them two years, and not one was sori-y that she went away. The gentle tender-hearted Amelia Sedley was the only person to whom she could attach herself in the least ; and who could help attaching herself to Amelia 1 The happiness — the superior advantages of the young women round about her, gave Eebecca inexpressible •p anics of en vv.. " What au's that girl gives herself, because she is anEarls granddaughter," she said of one. " How they cringe and bow to that Creole, because of her hundred thousand pounds ! I am a thousand times cleverer and more charming than that creature, for all her wealth. I am as well bred as the Earl's granddaughter, for all her fine pedigxee ; and yet every one passes me by here. And yet, when I was at my father's, did not the men give up their gayest balls and parties in order to pass the evening with me ? " She detennined at any rate to get free fi'om the prison in which she found herself, and now began to act for herself, and for the first time to make connected plans for the future. She took advantage, therefore, of the means of study the place offered her ; and as she was already a musician and a good linguist, she speedily went through the little course of study which was considered necessary for ladies in those days. Her music she prac- 12 VANITY FAIR tised incessantly, and one day, when the girls were out, and she had remained at home, she was overheard to play a piece so well, that Minerva thought wisely, she could spare herself the expense of a master for the juniors, and intimated to Miss Sharp that she was to instruct them in music for the future. The girl refused ; and for the first time, and to the astonishment of the majestic mistress of the school. " I am here to speak French with the children," Eebecca said abruptly, "not to teach them music, and save money for you. Give me money, and I will teach them." Minerva was obliged to yield, and, of course, disliked her from that day. "For five-aud-thirty years," she said, and with great justice, "I never have seen the individual who has dared in my own house to question my authority. I JiarcjiQur^hgdaviper in mj^ bosom." "A viper — a fiddlestick," said Miss Sharp to the old lady, almost fainting with astonishment. "You took me because I was useful. There is no question of gratitude between us. I hate this place, and want to leave it. I will do nothing here but what I am obliged to do." It was in vain that the old lady asked her if she was aware she was speaking to Miss Pinkerton ^ Rebecca laughed in her face, with a horrid sarcastic demoniacal laughter, that almost sent the school- mistress into fits. "Give me a sum of money," said the girl, "and get rid of me — or, if you like better, get me a good place as governess in a nobleman's family — you can do so if you please." And in their further disputes she always returned to this point, " Get me a situar tion — we hate each other, and I am ready to go." Worthy Miss Pinkerton, although she had a Roman nose and a turban, and was as tall as a grenadier, and had been up to this time an irresistible princess, had no will or strength like that of her little apprentice, and in vain did battle against her, and tried to overawe her. Attempting once to scold her in public, Rel^ecca hit upon the before-mentioned plan of answering her in French, which quite routed the old woman. In order to maintain authority in her school, it became necessary to remove this rebel, this monster, this serpent, this firebrand ; and hearing about this time that S ir Pitt Crawley's family was in want of a governess, she actually recommendea Miss Sharp for the situation, firebrand and serpent as she was. " 1 cannot, certaiiily," she said, " find fault with Miss Sharp's conduct, except to myself; and must allow that her talents and accomplishments are of a high order. As far as the head goes, at least, she does credit to the educational system pursued at my establishment." And so the schoolmistress reconciled the recommendation to her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 13 conscience, and the indentures were cancelled, and the apprentice was \ free. The battle here described in a few Unes, of course, lasted for , some months. And as Miss Sedley, being now in her seventeenth I year, was about to leave school, and had a fiiendship for Miss Sharp L ("'tis the only point in Amelia's behaviour," said Minerva, "which has not been satisfactory to her mistress "), Miss Sharp was invited \ by her frieiuilo pass a week with her at home, before she entered upon her duties as governess in a private family. Thus the world began for these tv/o young ladies. For Amelia it was quite a new, fresh, brilliant world, with all the bloom upon it. It was not quite a new one for Eebecca — (indeed, if the truth must i be told with respect to the Crisp afiair, the tart-woman hinted to I somebody, who took an aifidavit of the fact to somebody clr.e, that there was a gxeat deal more than v/as made public regarding Mr. Crisp and Miss Sharp, and that his letter was in anstver to another letter). But who can tell you the real truth of the matter ? At all events, if Eebecca was not beginning the world, she was beginning it over again. By the time the young ladies reached Kensington tmnpike, Amelia had not forgotten her companions, but had dried her tears, and had blushed very much and been delighted at a young officer oi the Life Guards, who spied her as he was riding by, and said, "A dem fine gal, egad ! " and before the carnage arrived in Eussell Square, a great deal of conversation had taken place about the Drawing-room, and whether or not young ladies wore powder as well as hoops when presented, and whether she was to have that honour : to the Lord Mayor's ball she knew she was to go. And when at length home was reached. Miss Amelia Sedley skipped out on Sambo's arm, as happy and as handsome a girl as any in the whole big city of London. Both he and coachman agxeed on this point, and so did her father and mother, and so did every one of the servants in the house, as they stood bobbing, and curtseying, and smiling, in the hall to wel- come their young mistress. You may be sure that she showed Eebecca over every room of the house, and everything in every one of her di'awers ; and her books, and her piano, and her dresses, and all her necklaces, brooches, laces, and gimcracks. She insisted upon Eebecca accepting the white cor- nelian and the tiu-quoise rings, and a sweet sprigged muslin, which was too small for her now, though it would fit her friend to a nicety ; and she determined in her heart to ask her mother's permission to present her white Cashmere shawl to her friend. Could she not spare it? and had not her brother Joseph just brought her two from India? When Eebecca saw the two magm'ficent Cashmere shawls which 14 VANITY FAIE Joseph Sedley had brought home to his sister, she said, with perfect truth, " tliat it must be delightful to have a brother," and easily got | the pity of the tender-hearted Amelia, for being alone in the world, an orphan without friends or kindred. " Not alone," said Amelia ; " you know, Eebecca, I shall alwa; be your friend, and lo ve yo u as a sister — indeed I willJ; " Ah, but to have parents, asyou have — kind, riclr; aifcctionatt; p arents, who give you everything you ask for ; and their love, wtiiclT is more precious than all ! My poor papa could give me nothing, and I had but two frocks in all the world ! And then, to have a brother, a dear brother ! Oh, how you must love him ! " Amelia laughed. " What ! don't you love him ? you, who say you love everybody ? " " Yes, of course, I do — only " "Only what 1" " Only Joseph doesn't seem to care much whether I love him or not. He gave me two fingers to shake when he arrived after ten years' absence ! He is very kind and good, but he scarcely^ ever speaks to me ; I think he loves his pipe a great deal better than his " * * * . but here Amelia jjhecked herself, for why should she^ speak ill of her brother? "He was very kind to me as a child," she added ; " I was but five years old when he went away." " Isn't he very rich ? " said Rebecca. " They say all Indian nabobs are enormously rich." " I believe he has a very large income." " And is your sister-in-law a nice pretty woman 1 " " La ! Joseph is not man-ied," said Amelia, laughuig again. Perhaps she had mentioned the fact already to Eebecca, but that yovmg lady did not appear to have remembered it ; indeed, vowed and protested that she expected to see a number of Amelia's nephews and nieces. She was quite disappointed that Mr. Sedley was not married ; she was sm-e Amelia had said he was, and she doted so on little children. " I think you must have had enough of them at Chiswick," said Amelia, rather wondering at the sudden tenderness on her friend's part ; and indeed in later days Miss Sharp would never have com- mitted herself so far as to advance opinions, the untruth of which would have been so easily detected. But we must remember that she is but nineteen as yet, unused to the art of deceiving, poor innocent creature ! and making her own experience in her own person. The meaning of the above series of queries, as translated in the heart of this ingenious yoimg woman, was simply this : — "Jf^ Mr^ Joseph Sedley is rich and unmarried, why should I not marry him 1, I have only a fortnight, to be sure, but there is~ iio'tecrm in A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 15 trying." And she determined within herself to make this laudable attempt. She redoubled her caresses to Amelia ; she kissed the white corneUan necklace as she put it on ; and vowed she would never, never part with it. When the dinner-bell rang she went downstaire with her arm round her friend's waist, as is the habit of yoimg ladies. She was so agitated at the drawing-room door, that she could hardly find coiu-age to enter. " Feel my heart, how it beats, dear ! " said she to her friend. "Xo, it doesn't," said Amelia. "Come in, don't be frightened. Papa won't do you any harm." CHAPTER III REBECCA IS IN PRESENCE OF THE ENEMY AVERY stout, puffy man, iu buckskins and Hessian boots, "^•ith sevei'aT immense neckcloths, that rose almost to his nose, with a red striped waistcoat and an apple green coat with steel buttons almost as large as crown pieces (it was the morning costume of a dandy or blood of those days), was reading the paper by the fire when the two girls entered, and bounced off his arm-chair, and blushed excessively, and hid his entire face almost in his neck- cloths at this apparition. " It's only your sister, Joseph," said Amelia, laughing and shaking the two fingers which he held out. " I've come home for good, you know ; and this is my friend. Miss Sharp, whom you have heard me mention." " No, never, upon my word," said the head luider the neckcloth, shaking very much, — " that is, yes, — what abominably cold weather. Miss ; " — and herewith he fell to poking the fire with all his might, although it was iu the middle of June. " He's very handsome," whispered Rebecca to Amelia, rather loud. " Do you think so 1 " said the latter. " I'll tell him." " Darling ! not for worlds," said Miss Sharp, starting back as timid as a fawn. She had previously made a respectfid virgin-like curtsey to the gentleman, and her modest eyes gazed so perseveringly on the carpet that it was a wonder how she should have found an opportunity to see him. " Thank you for the beautiful shawls, brother," said Amelia to the fire poker. "Are they not beautiful, Rebecca?" " heavenly ! " said Miss Sharp, and her eyes went from the carpet straight to the chandelier. Joseph still continued a huge clattering at the poker and tonga, puffing and blowing the whUe, and turning as red as his yellow face would allow him. " I can't make you such handsome presents, Joseph," continued his sister, "but while I was at school, I have embroidered for you a very beautiful pair of braces." " Good Gad ! Amelia," cried the brother, in serious alarm, " what do you mean 1 " and plunging with all his might at the bell-rope, that A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 17 article of furniture came away in his hand, and increased the honest fellow's confusion. " For Heaven's sake see if my buggy's at the door. I can't wait. I must go. D — that groom of mine. I must go." At this minute the father of the family walked in, rattling his seals like a true British merchant. " What's the matter, Emmy ? " says he. " Joseph wants me to see if his — his bucjgy is at the door. What is a buggy, papa 1 " " It is a one-hoi-se palanquin," said the old gentleman, who was a wag in his way. Joseph at this biu-st out into a wild iit of laughter ; in which, encountering the eye of Miss Sharp, he stopped all of a sudden, as if he had been shot. " This young lady is your friend 1 Miss Sharp, I am very happy to see you. Have you and Emmy been quarrelling already with Joseph, that he wants to be off 1 " " I promised Bonamy of our service, sir,'' said Joseph, " to dine with him." "0 fie ! didn't you tell your mother you would dine here 1 " " But in this dress it's impossible." " Look at him, isn't he handsome enough to dine anywhere, Miss Sharp 1" On which, of course. Miss Sharp looked at her ftiend, and they both set off in a fit of laughter, highly agreeable to the old gentleman. "Did you ever see a pair of buckskins like those at Miss Pinkerton's 1 " continued he, following up his advantage. " Gracious heavens ! Father," cried Joseph. " There now, I have hurt his feelings. Mrs. Sedley, my dear, I have hurt yoiu- son's feelings. I have alluded to his buckskins. Ask Miss Sharp if I haven't 1 Come, Joseph, be friends with Miss Sharp, and let us all go to dinner." " There's a pUlau, Joseph, just as you like it, and papa has brought home the best turbot in BiUingsgate." " Come, come, sir, walk downstairs with Miss Sharp, and I will follow with these two young women," said the father, and he took an arm of wife and daughter and walked merrily ofi". If Miss Rebecca Sharp had determined in her heart upon making the conquest of this big beau, I don't think, ladies, we have any right to blame her; for though the task of husband-hunting is geiierally, and with becoming modesty, entrusted by young persons to their mammas, recollect that Miss Sharp had no kind parent to arrange these delicate mattei-s for her, and that if she did not get i8 VANITY FAIR a husband for herself, there was no one else in the wide world who would take the trouble oif her hands. What causes young people to " come OM*," but the noble ambition of matrimony ? What sends them trooping to watering-places 1 What keeps them dancing tiU five o'clock in the morning through a whole mortal season 1 What causes them to labour at pianoforte sonatas, and to learn four songs from a fashionable master at a guinea a lesson, and to play the harp if they have handsome arms and neat elbows, and to wear Lincoln Green toxophilite hats and feathers, but that they may bring down some " desirable " young man with those killing bows and arrows of theirs 1 What causes respectable parents to take up their carpets, set their houses topsy-turvy, and spend a fifth of their year's income in ball suppers and iced champagne'? Is it sheer love of their species, and an unadulterated wish to see young people happy and dancing 1 Psha ! they want to marry their daughters ; and, as honest Mrs. Sedley has, in the deptlis of her kind heart, already arranged a score of little schemes for the settle- ment of her Amelia, so also had our beloved but unprotected Rebecca determined to do her very best to secure the husband, who was even more necessary for her than for her friend. She had a vivid imagination; she had, besides, read the Arabian Nights and Guthrie's Geography ; and it is a fact, that while she was dress- ing for dinner, and after she had asked Amelia whether her brother was very rich, she had built for herself a most magnificent castle in the air, of which she was mistress, with a husband somewhere in the baokgi'ound (she had not seen him as yet, and his figure would not therefore be very distinct) ; she had arrayed herself in an infinity of shawls, turbans, and diamond necklaces, and had mounted upon an elephant to the sound of the march in Bluebeard, in order to pay a visit of ceremony to the Grand Mogid. Chainning Alnaschar visions ! it is the happy privilege of youth to constract you, and many a fanciful young creature besides Rebecca Sharp has indulged in these delightful day-dreams ere now ! Joseph Sedley was twelve years older than his sister Amelia. He was in the East India Company's Civil Service, and his name appeared, at the period of which we wiite, in the Bengal division of the East India Register, as collector of Boggley WoUah, an honoiu-able and lucrative post, as everybody knows : in order to know to what higher post Joseph rose in the service, the reader is referred to the same periodical. Boggley Wollah is situated in a fine, lonely, marshy, jungly dis- trict, famous for snipe-shooting, and where not unfrequently you may flush a tiger. Ramgimge, where there is a magistrate, is only forty miles off, and there is a cavalry station about thirty miles A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEED 19 farther ; so Joseph wrote home to his parents, when he took posses- sion of his coUectorship. He had hved for about eight years of his life, quite alone, at this charming place, scarcely seeing a Christian face except twice a year, when the detachment arrived to carry off the revenues which he had collected, to Calcutta. Luckily, at this time he caught a liver complaint, for the cure of which he retiuned to Europe, and which was the soiu'ce of gxeat comfort and amusement to him in his native country. He did not live with his family while in London, but had lodgings of his own, like a gay young bachelor. Before he went to India he was too young to partake of the delightful pleasures of a man about town, and plunged into them on his return with considerable assiduity. He drove his horses in the Park; he dined at the fashionable taverns (for the Oriental Club was not as yet invented) ; he frequented the theatres, as the mode was in those days, or made his appearance at the opera, laboriously attired in tights and a cocked hat. On returning to India, and ever after, he used to talk of the pleasure of this period of his existence with great enthusiasm, and give you to underetand that he and Brummel were the leading bucks of the day. But he was as lonely here as in his jungle at Boggley Wollah. He scarcely knew a single soul in the metro- polis : and were it not for his doctor, and the society of his blue- piU, and his hver complaint, he must have died of loneliness. He was laz3Jj_ESfixish^, and a bmi-vivant ; the appearance of a lady frightened him beyond measure ; hence it was but seldom that he joined the paternal circle in Eussell Square, where there was plenty of gaiety, and where the jokes of his good-natured old father frightened his amour-prcypre. His bulk caused Joseph much anxious thought and alarm ; now and then he would make a desperate attempt to get rid of his superabimdant fat ; but his indolence and love of good living speedily got the better of these endeavours at reform, and he foimd himself again at his three meals a day. He neverjvvas^well dressed ; but he took the hugest pains to adorn his big person, and passed ~many hoiu-s daily in that occupation. His valet made a fortune out of his wardrobe : his toilet-table was covered with as many pomatums and essences as ever were employed by an^ old beauty : he had tried, in order to give himself a waist, every girth, stay, and waistband then invented. Like most fat men, he ivould have his clothes made too tight, and took care they should be of the most brilliant coloiu-s and youthful cut. When dressed at length, in the afternoon, he would issue forth to take a drive with nobody in the Park ; and then would come back in order to dress again and go and dine with nobody at the Piazza Coffee-House. He was as vain as a giid ; and perhaps his extreme shyness was one of the 20 VANITY FAIE results of his extreme_v;ajiity. If Miss^ _ ff^i nii fliTlJ nt lirr fii-"^ ""* ^-tTfnriifc s he is a yoims person of jjoordinarv£je*'e*Bcsgr 'i'llF Erst move showed considerable skill. When she called Sedley a very handsome man, she knew that Amelia would tell her mother, who would pro1)ably tell Joseph, or who, at any rate, would be pleased by the compliment paid to her son. All mothers are. If you had told Sycorax that her son Caliban was as handsome as Apollo, she would have been pleased, witch as she was. Perhaps, too, Joseph Sedley would overhear the compliment — Eebecca spoke loud enough — and he did hear, and (thinking in his heart that he was a very fine man) the praise thrilled through every fibre of his big body, and made it tingle with pleasure. Then, however, came a recoil. " Is the girl making fun of me ? " he thought, and straight- way he bounced towards the bell, and was for retreating, as we have seen, when his father's jokes and his mother's entreaties caused him to pause and stay where he was. He conducted the young lady down to dinner in a dubious and agitated frame of mind. " Does she really think I am handsome?" thought he, "or is she only making game of me t " We have talked of Joseph Sedley being as vain as a girl. Heaven help us ! the girls have only to turn the tables, and say of one of their own sex, " She is as vain as a man," and they will have perfect reason. The benrded cj-j^aUUZ'^ f"'*? 'VW a^eager for praise, quite as finikin ov er ^'^"■■- i-.^JI^rrnr.^ di""-'^" tio prp"'^ ^ftT im i" |je.H,Uiui ad vantages, gmtd^ jj ■ ciunuuiuuS ^ their powersof SscinaTtT m, Jii au^ HUlfULLLL 111 Li ly vimlQT jtiownsTfflSJTffiSfTIie^TOlBr^BBBiDh very red and blushing, Rebecca very modest, and holding her green eyes downwards. She was dressed in white, with bare shoulders as white as snow — the picture of youth, unprotected innocence, and humble virgin sim- plicity. " I must be very quiet," thought Eebecca, " and very much interested about India.'' Now we have heard how Mrs. Sedley had prepared a fine curry for her son, just as he liked it, and in the course of dinner a portion of this dish was offered to Eebecca. "What is it V said she, turn- ing an appealing look to Mr. Joseph. " Capital," said he. His mouth was full of it ; his face quite red with the delightful exercise of gobbling. " Mother, it's as good as my own curries in India." " Oh, I must try some, if it is an Indian dish," said Miss Eebecca. " I am sure everything must be good that comes from there." " Give Miss Sharp some curry, my dear," said Mr. Sedley, laughing. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO zi Rebecca had never tasted the dish before. "Do you find it as good as everything else from India?" said Mr. Sedley. " Oh, excellent ! " said Eebecca, who vcas suffering tortures with the cayenne pepper. " Try a chili with it, Miss Sharp," said Joseph, really interested. " A chUi," said Rebecca, gasping. " Oh yes ! " She thought a chili was something cool, as its name imported, and was served with some. " How fresh and green they look," she said, and put one into her mouth. It was hotter than the curry ; flesh and b-lood could bear it no longer. She laid down her fork. " Water, for Heaven's sake, water ! " she cried. Mr. Sedley bm-st out laughing (he was a coarse man, from the Stock Exchange, where they love all sorts of practi- cal jokes). " They are real Indian, I assiue you," said he. " Sambo, give Miss Sharp some water." The paternal laugh was echoed by Joseph, who thought the joke capital. The ladies only smiled a little. They thought poor Rebecca suffered too much. She would have liked to choke old Sedley, but she swallowed her mortification as well as she had the abominable cm-ry before it, and as soon as she could speak, said, with a comical, good-humoured air — " I ought to have remembered the pepper which the Princess of Persia puts in the cream-tarts in the Arabian Xiijhts. Do you put cayenne into your cream-tarts in India, sir 1 " Old Sedley began to laugh, and thought Rebecca was a good- humoui'ed girl. Joseph simply said, " Cream-tarts, Miss 1 Our cream is very bad in Bengal. We generally use goats' milk ;- and, 'gad, do you know, I've got to prefer it ! " " You won't like everything from India now. Miss Sharp," said the old gentleman ; but when the ladies had retired after dinner, the wily old fellow said to his son, " Have^care, Joe j that^irl is setting her cap at you." ~" Po(5KT"n6nsense ! " said Joe, highly flattered. " I recollect, sir, there was a girl at Dumdum, a daughter of Cutler of the Artillery, and afterwards married to Lance, the surgeon, who made a dead set at me in the year '4 — at me and Mulligatawney, whom I mentioned to you before dinner — a devilish good fellow Mulli- gatawney — he's a magistrate at Budgebudge, and sure to be in coimcil in five years. Well, sir, the Artillery gave a ball, and Quintin, of the King's 14th, said to me, 'Sedley,' said he, 'I bet you thirteen to ten that Sophy Cutler hooks either you or Mulli- gatawney before the rains.' 'Done,' says I; and egad, sir^this claret's very good. Adamson's or CarboneU's ? " . . . A shght snore was the only reply : the honest stock-broker was 22 VANITY FAIE asleep, and so the rest of Joseph's story was lost for that day. But he was always exceedingly communicative in a man's party, and has told this delightful tale many scores of times to his apothecary, Dr. GoUop, when lie came to inquire about the liver and the blue-pill. Being an invalid, Joseph Sedley contented himself with a bottle of claret besides his Madeira at dinner, and he managed a couple of plates full of strawberries and cream, and twenty-four little rout cakes, that were lying neglected in a plate near him, and certainly (for novelists have the privilege of knowing everything), he thought a great deal about the girl upstairs. " A nice, gay, merry young creature," thought he to himself. " How she looked at me when I picked up her handkerchief at dinner ! She dropped it twice. Who's that singing in the drawing-room ? 'Gad ! shall I go up and see ? " But his modesty came rushing upon him with uncontrollable force. His father was asleep : his hat was in the hall : there was a hackney- coach stand hard by in Southampton Row. " I'll go and see the Forty Thieves," said he, " and Miss Decamp's Dance ; " and he slipped away gently on the pointed toes of his boots, and disappeared, without waking his worthy parent. " There goes Joseph," said Amelia, who was looking from the open windows of the drawing-room, while Rebecca was singing at the piano. "Miss Sharp has frightened him away,'' said Mrs. Sedley. " Poor Joe, why icill he be so shy ] " CHAPTER IV THE GREEN SILK PURSE POOK Joe's panic lasted for two or three days ; during -which he did not visit the house, nor during that period did Miss Eebecca ever mention his name. She was all respectful gratitude to Mrs. Sedley ; delighted beyond measm-e at the Bazaars ; and in a whirl of wonder at the theatre, whither the good-natm-ed lady took her. One day Amelia had a headache, and could not go upon some party of pleasure to which the two young people were invited : nothing could induce her friend to go without her. " What ! you who have shown the poor orphan what happiness and love are for the first time in her life — quit you ? never ! " and the green eyes looked up to heaven and filled with tears ; and Mrs. Sedley could not but own that her daughter's friend had a charming kind heart of her own. As for Mr. Sedley's jokes, Rebecca laughed at them with a cor- diality and perseverance which not a little pleased and softened that good-natured gentleman. Nor was it with the chiefs of the family alone that Miss Sharp found favour. She interested Mre. Blenkinsop by exincing the deepest sympathy in the raspberry-jam preserving, which operation was then going on in the Housekeeper's room ; she persisted in calling Sambo " Sir," and " Mr. Sambo," to the delight of that attendant ; and she apologised to the lady's maid for giving her trouble in venturing to ring the bell, with such sweetness and humility, that the Servants' Hall was almost as charmed with her as the Drawing-room. Once, in looking over some drawings which Amelia had sent from school, Eebecca suddenly came upon one which caused her to burst into tears and leave the room. It was on the day when Joe Sedley made his second appearance. Ajnelia hastened after her fiiend to know the cause of this dis- play of feeling, and the good-natured girl came back without her companion, rather affected too. " You know,' her father was our drawing-master, Blamma, at Chiswick, and used to do all the best parts of our drawings." " My love ! I'm sure I always heard Miss Pinkerton say that he did not touch them — he only ntou7ited them." 24 VANITY FAIR "It was called mounting, Mamma. Rebecca remembers the drawing, and her father working at it, and the thought of it came upon her rather suddenly — and so, j'ou know, she " " Thi ^. pnnr child is all heart ." said Mrs. Sedley. " I wish she could stay witli us another week," said Amelia. " She's devilish Hke Miss Cutler that I used to meet at Dumdum, only fairer. She's married now to Lance, the Ai'tillery Surgeon. Do you know, Ma'am, that once Quintin, of the 14th, bet me " "0 Joseph, we know that story," said Amelia, laughing. " Never mind about telling that ; but persuade Mamma to write to Sir Something Crawley for leave of absence for poor dear Rebecca : — here she comes, her eyes red with weeping." " I'm better, now," said the girl, with the sweetest smile possible, taking good-natured Mrs. Sedley's extended hand and kissing it respectfully. " How kind you all are to me ! All," she added, with a laugh, " except you, Mr. Joseph." " Me ! " said Joseph, meditating an instant departure. " Gracious Heavens ! Good Gad ! Miss Sharp ! " " Yes ; how could you be so ei'uel- as- to make me eat that horrid pepper-dish at dinner, the first day I ever saw you 1 You are not so good to me as dear Amelia." " He doesn't know you so well," cried Amelia. " ■! i^lefv a,] i ybodv no t to be good to you, my dea r," said her mother. " The curry'wSl!!CIHTat7"tBrteeiirtr^as7*saKl Joe, quite gravely. " Perhaps there was not enough citron juice in it ; — no, there was not." "And the chilis r' " By Jove, how they made you cry out ! " said Joe, caught by the ridicule of the circumstance, and exploding in a fit of laughter which ended quite suddenly, as usual. " I shall take care how I let yoio choose for me another time," said Rebecca, as they went down again to dinner. " I didn't think men were fond of putting poor harmless girls to pain." " By Gad, Miss Rebecca, I wouldn't hurt you for the world." " No," said she, " I know you wouldn't ; " and then she gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her little hand, and drew it back quite fi-ightened, and looked first for one instant in his face, and then down at the carpet-rods ; and I am not prepared to say that Joe's heart did not thump at this little iuvolvmtary, timid, gentle motion of regard on the part of the simple girl. It was an advance, and as such, perhaps, some ladies of indis- putable correctness and gentility will condemn the action as im- modest ; but, you see, poor dear Rebecca had all this work to do for herself If_a_pexsDn -is too poor to keep a servant, thoiigh_giei-- so elegant, he must sweep his own rooms : if a dear girl has no dear A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 25 Mamma to settle matters witli the young man, slie must do it for herself. And oh, what a mercy it is that these women do not exer- cise their powers oftener ! "We can't resist them, if they do. Let them show ever so little inclination, and men go down on their knees at once : old or ugly, it is all the same. And this I set down as a positive truth. A woman with fair "ff-rtunitir- th^] •untlnut an a bsolute hump, mayHIHI'I'V U' HUM HU kLyi \iV\i Only let us be th ank- ful tiiatTTi?aSings are ji'ke the beasts of tEeTefff^HffKlPIfrTt now t hen- own power. 'Ihey U'/JUIU m'til'TOHtTusTntireiY 11 tnev dici. ■■ Egad ! " thougnt josepn, eniermg the dining-room, " I exactly begin to feel as I did at Dumdum with Miss Cutler." Many sweet little appeals, half tender, half jocular, did Miss Sharp make to him about the dishes at dinner ; for by this time she was on a footing of coiLsiderable familiarity with the family, and as for the girls, they loved each other like sisters. Young unmarried girls ahvays do, if they are in a house together for ten days. As if bent upon advancing Rebecca's plans in every way — what must Amelia do, but remind her brother of a promise made last Easter holidays — " When I was a girl at school," said she, laughing — a pronise that he, Joseph, would take her to Vauxhall. " Now," she said, " that Rebecca is with us, will be the very time." " Oh, delightful ! " said Rebecca, going to clap her hands ; but she recollected herself, and paused, like a modest creature, as she was. " To-night is not the night," said Joe. "Well, to-morrow." " To-morrow yoiu- Papa and I dine out," said Mrs. Sedley. " You don't suppose that I'm going, Mre. Sed. 1 " said her husband, "and that a woman of your years and size is to catch cold, in such an abominable damp place 1 " "The childi-en must have some one with them," cried Mrs. Sedley. " Let Joe go," said his father, laughing. " He's bir/ enough." At which speech even Mr. Sambo at the sideboard burst out laugh- ing, and poor fat Joe felt inclined to become a parricide almost, ""Undo his stays!" continued the pitiless old gentleman. " Fling some water in his face. Miss Sharp, or carry him upstairs : the dear creature's fainting. Poor victim ! carry him up ; he's as hght as a feather." " If I stand this, sir, I'm d ! " roared Joseph. " Order Mr. Jos's elephant. Sambo ! " cried the father. " Send to Exeter 'Change, Sambo ; " but seeing Jos rea.ly almost to cry with vexation, the old joker stopped his laughter, and said, holding out his hand to his son, " It's all fair on the Stock Exchange, Jos,- and. Sambo, never mind the elephant, but give me and Mr. Jos a 26 VANITY FAIR glass of champagne. Boney himself hasn't got such in his cellar, my boy ! " A goblet of champagne restored Joseph's equanimity, and before the bottle was emptied, of which as an invalid he took two-thirds, he had agreed to take the young ladies to Vauxhall. " The girls must have a gentleman apiece," said the old gentle- man. " Jos will be sure to leave Emmy in the crowd, he will be so taken up with Miss Sharp here. Send to 96, and ask George Osborne if he'll come." At this, I don't know in the least for what reason, Mrs. Sedley looked at her husband and laughed. Mr. Sedley's eyes twinkled in a manner indescribably roguish, and he looked at Amelia ; and Amelia, hanging down her head, blushed as only yoimg Jadies of seventeen know how to blush, and as Miss Eebecca Sharp never blushed in her life — at least not since she was eight years old, and when she was caught stealing jam out of a cupboard by her god- mother. "Amelia had better write a note," said her father; "and let George Osborne see what a beautiful hand-writing we have brought back from Miss Pinkerton's. Do you remember when you wrote to him to come on Twelfth-night, Emmy, and spelt twelfth without the iV " That was years ago," said Amelia. "It seems like yesterday, don't it, Johni" said Mrs. Sedley to her husband ; and that night in a conversation which took place in a front room in the second-floor, in a sort of tent, hung roxmd with chintz of a rich and fantastic India pattern, and double with calico of a tender rose-colom- ; in the interior of which species of marquee was a feather-bed, on which were two pillows, on which were two roimd red faces, one in a laced nightcap, and one in a simple cotton one, ending in a tassel : — in a curtain lecture, I say, Mrs. Sedley took her husband to task for his cruel conduct to poor Joe. " It was quite wicked of you, Mr. Sedley," said she, " to torment" the poor boy so." " My clear," said the cotton-tassel in defence of his conduct, " Jos is a great deal vainer than you ever were in your life, and that's say- ing a good deal. Though, some thirty years ago, in the year seventeen hundred and eighty — what was it ? — perhaps you had a right to be vain. — I don't say no. But I've no patience with Jos and his dandi- fied modesty. It is out-Josephing Joseph, my dear, and all the while the boy is only thinking of himself, and what a fine fellow he is. I doubt. Ma'am, we shall have some trouble with him yet. Here is Emmy's little fiiend making love to him as hard as she can ; that's quite clear ; and if she does not catch him some other will. That man is, destined to be a prey to woman, as I am to go on 'Change-, every day. It's a mercy he did not bri us over a black daughter- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 27 in-law, my dear. But, mark my words, the first woman wlio fishes for him, hooks him." " She shall go ofi' to-morrow, the httle artfol creatme,'' said ]\Irs. Sedley, with great energy. " Why not she as well as another, Mrs. Sedley 1 The girl's a white race at any rate. / don't care who mames him. Let Joe please himself." And presently the voices of the two speakers were hushed, or were replaced by the gentle but um-omantic music of the nose ; and save when the church bells tolled the hour and the watchman called it, all was silent at the house of John Sedley, Esquire, of Russell Square, and the Stock Exchange. When morning came, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley no longer thought of executing her threats with regard to Miss Sharp ; for though nothing is more keen, nor more common, nor more justifiable, than maternal jealousy, yet she could not bring herself to suppose that the little, humble, grateful, gentle governess would dare to look up to such "a magiaificent personage as the Collector of Boggley WoUah. The petition, too, for an extension of the young lady's leave of absence had already been despatched, and it would be difficult to find a pretext for abruptly dismissing her. And as if all things conspired in favour of the gentle Rebecca, the very elements (although she was not inclined at first to acknow- ledge theu' action in her behalf) interposed to aid her. For on the evening appointed for the Vauxhall party, George Osborne having come to dinner, and the elders of the house having departed, accord- ing to invitation, to dine with Alderman Balls, at Highbmy Barn, there came on such a thunder-storm as only happens on Vauxhall nights, and as obliged the young people, perforce, to remain at home. Mr. Osborne did not seem in the least disappointed at this occur- rence. He and Joseph Sedley drank a fitting quantity of port-wine, tete-a-tete^ in the dining-room, — during the drinking of which Sedley told a nmnber of his best Indian stories ; for he was extremely talka- tive in man's society ; — and afterwards Miss Amelia Sedley did the honom^ of the drawing-room ; and these four young persons passed such a comfortable evening together, that they declared they were rather glad of the thunder-stonii than otherwise, which had caused them to put off their visit to Vauxhall. OsbaEae_,was__Sedleyis_^gQdsaiij and had been one of the family any time these three-and-twenty years. At six weeks old, he had received fi-om John Sedley a present of a silver cup ; at six months old, a coral with gold whistle and bells ; from his youth, upwards, he was " tipped " regularly by the old gentleman at Christmas : and on going back to school, he remembered perfectly well being thrashed 28 VANITY FAIR by Joseph Sedley, when the latter was a big, swaggering hobbadyhoy, and George an impudent urchin of ten years old. In a word, George was as familiar with the family as such daily acts of kindness and intercourse could make him. "Do you remember, Sedley, what a fury you were in, when I out off the tassels of your Hessian boots, and how Miss — hem ! — how Amelia rescued me from a beating, by falling down on her knees and crying out to her brother Jos, not to beat little George ? " Jos remembered this remarkable circumstance perfectly well, but vowed that he had totally forgotten it. " Well, do you remember coming down in a gig to Dr. Swishtail's to see me, before you went to India, and giving me half a guinea and a pat on the head 1 I always had an idea that you were at least seven feet high, and was quite astonished at your retium from India to find you no taller than myself" " How good of Mr. Sedley to go to your school and give you the money ! " exclaimed Eebecca, in accents of extreme delight. " Yes, and after I had cut the tassels of his boots too. Boys never forget those tips at school, nor the givers." " I delight in Hessian boots," said Eebecca. Jos Sedley, who admired his own legs prodigiously, and always wore this ornamental chaussure, was extremely pleased at this remark, though he drew his legs under his chair as it was made. " Miss Sharp ! " said George Osborne, " you who are so clever an artist, you must make a grand historical pictm-e of the scene of the boots. Sedley shall be represented in buckskins, and holding one of the injured boots in one hand ; by the other he shall have hold of my shirt-frill. Amelia shall be kneeling near him, with her little hands up ; and the pictiu-e shall have a grand allegorical title, as the frontispieces have in the Medulla and the spelling-book." " I shan't have time to do it here," said Eebecca. " I'll do it when — when I'm gone." And she dropped her voice, and looked so sad and piteous, that everybody felt how crael her lot was, and how sorry they would be to part with her. " Oh that you could stay longer, dear Eebecca," said Amelia. " Why 1 " answered the other, still more sadly. " That I may be only the more unhap — unwilling to lose you 1 " And she tm'ned away her head. Amelia began to giivr 'b^iy to that natural in firmity of tears which, A^^^iave said, was' one o?** Hig. - de ^ct s ot tms sflly -KLLle Lhlng. George UsDorne looked at tlie two youfl* tvuiiiBii witK ir Luuiiied ciuiosity ; and Joseph Sedley heaved something very like a sigh out of his big chest, as he cast his eyes down towards his favourite Hessian boots. " Let us have some music. Miss Sedley — Amelia," said George, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 29 who felt at that moment an extraordinary, ahnost irresistible impulse to seize the above-mentioned young woman in his arms, and to kiss her in the face of the company ; and she looked at him for a moment, and if I should say that they fell in love with each other at that single instant of time, I should perhaps be telling an untruth, for the fact is, that these two young people had been bred up by their parents for this very purpose, and their banns had, as it were, been read in their respective families any time these ten years. They went off to the piano, which was situated, as pianos usually are, in the back drawing-room ; and as it was rather dark. Miss 'AmeUa, in the most unaffected way in the world, put her hand into Mr. Osborne's, who, of course, could see the way among the chairs and ottomans a great deal better than she could. But this arrangement left Mr. Joseph Sedley tete-a-tete with Eebecca, at the drawing-room table, where the latter was occupied in knitting a gi-een silk purse. " There is no need to ask family secrets," said Miss Sharp. " Those two have told theirs." " As soon as he gets his company," said Joseph, " I believe the affair is settled. George Osborne is a capital fellow." " And yoiu- sister the dearest creature in the world," said' Eebecca. " Happy the man who wins her ! " With this. Miss Sharp gave a great sigh. When two vmmarried persons get together, and talk upon such delicate subjects as the present, a great deal of confidence and intimacy is presently established between them. There is no need of giving a special report of the conversation which now took place between Mr. Sedley and the young lady ; for the conversation, as may be judged fi'om the foregoing specimen, was not especially witty or eloquent ; it seldom is in private societies, or anywhere except in very high-flown and ingenious novels. As there was music in the next room, the talk was carried on, of course, in a low and becoming tone, though, for the matter of that, the couple in the next apart- ment would not have been distm-bed had the talking been ever so loud, so occupied were they with theu- own pm-suits. Almost for the fu'st time in his life, Mr. Sedley fjund himself talking, without the least timidity or hesitation, to a person of the other sex. Miss Eebecca asked him a great number of (juestions about India, which gave him an opportunity of narrating many interesting anecdotes about that country and himself. He described the balls at Government House, and the manner in which they kept themselves cool in the hot weather, with punkahs, tatties, and other contrivances; and he was very witty regarding the number of Scotchmen whom Lord Minto, the Governor-General, patronised ; and then he described a tiger-hunt ; and the manner in which the 30 VANITY FAIR mahout of his elephant had been pulled off his seat by one of the infuriated animals. How delighted Miss Rebecca was at the Govern- ment balls, and how she laughed at the stories of the Scotch aides- de-camp, and called Mr. Sedley a sad wicked satirical creature ; and how frightened she was at the story of the elephant ! " For your mother's sake, dear Mr. Sedley," she said, "for the sake of all your friends, promise never to go on one of those horrid expeditions." " Pooh, pooh. Miss Sharp," said he, pulling up his shirt-collais ; "the danger makes the sport only the pleasanter." He had never been but once at a tiger-hunt, when the accident in question occurred, and when he was half killed— not by the tiger, but by the fright. And as he talked on, he grew quite bold, and actually had the auda- city to ask Miss Rebecca for whom she was knitting the green silk purse 1 He was quite surprised and delighted at his own graceful familiar manner. " For any one who wants a purse," replied Miss Rebecca, looking at him in the most gentle winning way. Sedley was going to make one of the most eloquent speeches possible, and had begun — " Miss Sharp, how " when some song which was performed in the other room came to an end, and caused him to hear his own voice so dis- tinctly that he stopped, blushed, and blew his nose in great agitation. "Did you ever hear anything like your brother's eloquence 1" whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia. " Why, yoiu- friend has worked miracles." " The more the better," said Miss Amelia ; who, like almosftiU women who are worth a pin, was a match-maker in her heart, and woidd have been delighted that Joseph should carry back a wife to India. She had, too, in the com-se of this few days' constant inter- coiu-se, warmed into a most tender friendship for Rebecca, and dis- covered a million of virtues and amiable qualities in her which she had not perceived when they were at Ohiswick together. For the aff ection of youn .gjadies is of as rapid growth as Jack's bean-stalk, and reaches up to the sky in a night. It is no blame to them that after marriage this Sehnsucht nach der Liebe subsides. It is what sentimentalists, who deal in very big words, call a yearning after the Ideal, and simply means that women are commonly not satisfied until they have husbands and children on whom they may centre affections, which are spent elsewhere, as it were, in small change. Having expended her little store of songs, or having stayed long enough in the back drawing-room, it now appeared proper to Miss Amelia to ask her friend to sing. " You would not have listened to me," she said to Mr. Osborne (though she knew she was teUing a fib), " had you heard Rebecca first." "I give Miss Sharp warning, though," said Osborne, "that. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 31 right or wrong, I consider Miss Amelia Sedley the fii'st singer in the world." " You shall hear,'' said Amelia ; n,ii|1 Jnappli plpd ley was act ually polite enough to carry the candles to the p iano. Osborne hinted that he should hke quite as well to sit in the dark ; but Miss Sedlej', laughing, decluied to bear him company any farther, and the two accordingly followed Mr. Joseph. Rebecca sang far better than her fiiend (though of course Osborne was free to keep his opinion), and exerted herself to the utmost, and, indeed, to the wonder of Amelia, who had never known her perform so well. She sang a French song, which Joseph did not miderstand in the least, and which George con- fessed he did not understand, and then a number of those simple ballads which were the fashion forty years ago, and in which British tars, our King, poor Susan, blue-eyed Mary, and the like, were the principal themes. They are not, it is said, very brilliant, in a musi- cal point of view, but contain numberless good-natured, simple appeals to the affections, which people understood better than the milk-and- water lagrime, sospiri, andfelicita of the eternal Donizettian music with which we are favoured nowadays. Conversation of a sentimental sort, befitting the subject, was carrieil on between the songs, to which Sambo, after he had brought the tea, the delighted cook, and e^-en Mrs. Blenkinsop, the house- keeper, condescended to listen on the landing-place. Among these ditties was one, the last of the concert, and to the following effect : — Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor, Ah ! loud and piercing was the storm, The cottage roof was shelter'd sure, The cottage hearth was bright and warm — An orphan boy the lattice pass'd, And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow, Felt doubly keen the midnight blast, And doubly cold the fallen snow. They mark'd him as he onward prest, With fainting heart and weary limb : Kind voices bade him turn and rest, And gentle faces welcomed him. The dawn is up — the guest is gone, The cottage hearth is blazing still ; He.TTen pity all poor wanderers lone ! Hark to the wind upon the hill ! It was the sentiment of the before-mentioned words, "When I'ai gone," over again. As she came to the last words, Miss Sharp's "deep-toned voice faltered." Everybody felt the allusion to her 32 VANITY FAIR departure, and to her hapless orphan state. Joseph Sedley, who was fond of music, and soft-hearted, was in a state of ravishment during the performance of the song, and profoundly touched at its conclu- sion. If he had hadthe j;£iuiage.;-ifJj£Oxge.-aBdJ\Iiss_SedleyJiad remained, accordiiig to the former's proposal,,in,±lieJ'arther room, Joseph Sedley's bachelorhood would have been at an end, and this work would never have been written. But af the close of the ditty, Rebecca quitted the piano, and giving her hand to Amelia, walked away into the front drawing-room twilight ; and, at this moment, Mr. Sambo made his appearance with a tray, containing sandwiches, jellies, and some glittering glasses and decanters, on which Joseph Sedley's attention was immediately fixed. When the parents of the house of Sedley returned from their dinner-party, they found the young people so busy in talking, that they had not heard the arrival of the carriage, and Mr. Joseph was in the act of saying, " My dear Miss Sharp, one little teaspoonfiU of jelly to recruit you after your immense — your — your delightful exertions." "Bravo, Jos!" said Mr. Sedley; on hearing the bantering of which well-known voice, Jos instantly relapsed into an alarmed silence, and quickly took his departiu-e. He did not lie awake all night thinking whether or not he was in love with Miss Sharp ; the passion of love never interfered with the appetite or the slumber of Mr. Joseph Sedley ; but he thought to himself how delightful it would be to hear such songs as those after Outcherry — what a dis- tinguee girl she was — how she could speak French better than the Governor-General's lady herself — and what a sensation she would make at the Calcutta balls. " It's evident the poor devil's in love with me," thought he. " She is just as rich as most of the girls who come out to India. I might go farther, and fare worse, egad ! " And in these meditations he fell asleep. How Miss Sharp lay awake, thinking, will he come or not to- morrow 1 need not be told here. To-morrow came, and, as sure as fate, Mr. Joseph Sedley made his appearance before luncheon. He had never been known before to confer such an honour on Russell Square. George Osborne was somehow there already (sadly " putting out " Amelia, who was writing to her twelve dearest friends at Chiswick Mall), and Rebecca was employed upon her yesterday's work. As Joe's buggy drove up, and while, after his usual tlumdering knock and pompous bustle at the door, the ex-Collector of Boggley WoUah laboured upstairs to the drawing- room, knowing glances were telegraphed betAveen Osborne and Miss Sedley, and the pair, smiling archly, looked at Rebecca, who actually blushed as she bent her fair ringlets over her knitting. How her heart beat as Joseph appeared, — Joseph, puffing from MR. JOSEPH ENTANGLED. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 33 the staircase in shilling crealcing boots, — Joseph, in a new waist- coat, red witli heat and nervousness, and blushing behind his wadded neckcloth. It was a nervous moment for all ; and as for Amelia, I think she was more ftightened than even the people most concerned. Sambo, who flimg open the door and announced Mr. Joseph, followed grinning, in the Collector's rear, and bearing two handsome nosegays of flowers, which the monster had actually had the gallantry to prtrchase in Covent Garden Mai'ket that morning — they were not as big as the hay-stacks which ladies carry about with them nowa- daj's, in cones of filigree paper ; but the young women were delighted with the gift, as Joseph presented one to each, with an exceedingly solemn bow. " Bravo, Jos ! " cried Osborne. "Thank you, dear Joseph," said Amelia, quite ready to kiss her brother, if he were so minded. (And I think for a kiss from such a dear creatiu-e as Ameha, I would purchase all Mr. Lee's conservatories out of hand.) " heavenly, heavenly flowers ! " exclaimed Miss Sharp, and smelt them dehcately, and held them to her bosom, and cast up her eyes to the ceiling, in an ecstasy of admiration. Perhaps she just looked first into the bouquet, to see whether there was a hillet- doicx hidden among the flowers ; but there was no letter. "Do they talk the language of flowers at Boggley WoUah, Sedley 1 " asked Osborne, laughing. " Pooh, nonsense ! " replied the sentimental youth. " Bought 'em at Nathan's; very glad you like 'em; and eh, Amelia, my dear, I bought a pine-apple at the same time, which I gave to Sambo. Lett's have it for tiflin ; very cool and nice this hot weather." Eebecca said she had never tasted a pine, and longed beyond everything to taste one. So the conversation went on. I don't know on what pretext Osborne left the room, or why, presently, Ameha went away, perhaps to superintend the slicing of the pine-apple ; but Jos was left alone with Rebecca, who had resumed her work, and the .green silk and the shining needles were qmvering rapidly imder her white slender flngers. " What a beautifiil, byoo-ootifid song that was you sang last night, dear Miss Sharp," said the Collector. "It made me cry almost ; 'pon my honour it did." " Because you have a kind heart, Mr. Joseph ; all the Sedleys have, I think." " It kept me awake last night, and I was trying to hmn it this morning, in bed; I was, upon my honour. GoUop, my doctor, 34 VANITY FAIE came in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalid, you know, and see GoUop every day), and, 'gad ! there I was, singing away like — a robin." " you droll creature ! Do let me hear you sing it." " Me 1 No, you, Miss Sharp ; my dear Miss Sharp, do sing it." " Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Eebecca, with a sigh. " My spirits are not equal to it ; besides, I must finish the purse. Will you help me, Mr. Sedley 1 " And before he had time to ask how, Mr. Joseph Sedley, of the East India Company's service, was actually seated tete-a-tete with a young lady, looking at her with a most killing expression; his arms stretched out before her in au imploring attitude, an d his hands bou nd in a web of g]f fi f([ j| silk.. which she was unwinding. In this romantic position Osborne and Amelia found the interest- ing pair, when they entered to announce that tiiiin was ready. The skein of silk was just wound round the card ; but Mr. Jos had never spoken. " I am sure he will to-night, dear," Amelia said, as she pressed Eebecca's hand ; and Sedley, too, had communed with his soul, and said to himself, " 'Grad, I'll pop the question at Vauxliall." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO CHAPTER V DOBBIN OF OURS CUFF'S fight with DoLMb, and the unexpected issue of that contest, will long be remembered by every man who was educated at Dr. Swishtail's famous school. The latter youth (who used to be called Heigh ho Dobbin, Gee-ho Dobbin, and by many other names indicative of puerile contempt) was the qiiiete^jt, the clumsiest, and, as it seemed, the dullest of all Dr. Swishtail's young gentlemen. His parent was a grocer in the City : and it was bruited abroad that he was admitted into Dr^Swishtail's academy upon what are called " mutual principles " — that is to say, the expenses of his board and schooling were defrayed by his father in goods, not money ; and he stood there — almost at the bottom of the school — in his scraggy cordiu-oys and jacket, through the seams of which his great big bones were bursting — as the representative of so many pounds of tea, candles, sugar, mottled-soap, plums (of which a very mild pro- portion was supplied for the puddings of the establishment), and other commodities. A dreadful day it was for young Dobbin when one of the youngsters of the school, having run into the to-mi upon a poaching excm-sion for hardbake and polonies, espied the cart of Dobbin & Rudge, Grocers and Oilmen, Thames Street, London, at the Doctor's door, discharging a cargo of the wares in which the firm dealt. Young Dobbin had no peace after that. The jokes were frightfvd, and merciless against him. " Hullo, Dobbin," one wag would say, " here's good news in the paper. Sugar is ris', my boy." Another would set a sum — " If a pound of mutton-candles cost sevenpence- halfpenny, how much must Dobbin cost 1 " and a roar would follow from all the circle of young knaves, usher and all, who ricrhtlv con- si dered that th e se lling of goods by retail is a shameiul and infam ous T ira,ctice. meri'tmg tlie'contempt an ^' fffl"-- "^ ali vp-^I apnrJeTnen. " '^ Voiu- father's only a merchant, Osborne," Dobbin said in private to the little boy who had brought down the storm upon him. At which the latter replied haughtily, " My father's a gentleman, and keeps his carriage ; " and Mr. Wi lliam Dobbin retreated to a remote outhouse in the playground, where he passed a half-holiday in the 36 VANITY FAIR bitterest sadness and woe. Who amongst us is there that does not recollect similar hours of bittei;, bitter childish giief? Who feels injustice ; who shrinks before a slight ; who has a sense of ■WTong so acute, and so glowing a gratitude for kindness, as a generous boy ? and how many of those gentle souls do you degrade, estrange, torture, for the sake of a little loose arithmetic, and miserable dog-latin 1 Now, William Dobbin, from an incapacity to acquire the nidiments of the above language, a.s they are propounded in that wonderful book the Eton Latin Grammar, was compelled to remain among the very last of Doctor Swishtail's scholars, and was " taken down " continu- ally by little fellows with pink faces and pinafores when he marched up with the lower form, a giant amongst them, with his downcast, stupefied look, his dog's-eared primer, and his tight corduroys. High and low, all made fun of him. They sewed up those corduroys, tight as tliey were. They cut his bed-strings. They upset bvickets and benches, so that he might break his shins over them, which he never failed to do. They sent him parcels, which, when opened, were found to contain the paternal soap and candles. There was no little feUow but had his jeer and joke at Dobbin ; and he bore everytliiug quite patiently, and was entirely dumb and miserable. Cuffi_ on_J;he contrary,- was the. great chief and dandy of the Swishtail Seminary. He smuggled wine in. He fought the town- boys. Ponies used to come for him to ride home on Saturdays. He had his top-boots in his room, in which he used to hunt in the holidays. He had a gold repeater : and took snuff like the Doctor. He had been to the Opera, and knew the merits of the principal actors, pre- ferring Mr. Kean to Mr. Kemble. He coidd knock you off forty Latin verses in an hour. He could make French poetry. What else didn't he know, or couldn't he do 1 They said even the Doctor him- self was afraid of him. Cuff, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled over his subjects, and bidlied them, with splendid superiority. This one blacked his shoes : that toasted his bread, others would fag out, and give him balls at cricket during whole summer afternoons. " Figs " was the fellow whom he despised most, and with whom, though always abusing him, and sneering at liim, he scarcely ever condescended to hold personal communication. One day in private, the two young gentlemen had had a differ- ence. Figs, alone in the school-room, was blundering over a home letter; when Cuff, entering, bade him go upon some message, of which tarts were probably the subject. " I can't," says Dobbin ; " I want to finish my letter." _ " You can't ? " says Mr. Cuff, laying hold of that docimient (in which many words were scratched out, many were mis-spelt, on which A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 37 had been spent I don't know how much thought, and labour, and tears ; for the poor fellow was writing to his mother, who was fond of him, although she was a grocer's wife, and lived in a back parlour in Thames Street). " You can't ? " says Mr. Cuflf : " I shoidd like to know why, pray 1 Can't you write to old Mother Figs to-morrow 1 " "Don't call names," Dobbin said, getting off the bench very nervous. " Well, sir, will you go 1 " crowed the cock of the school. " Put down the letter," Dobbin replied : " no gentleman readth letterth." " Well, now will you go 1 " says the other. "No, I won't. Don't strike, or I'll th?nash you," roars out Dobbin, springing to a leaden inkstand, and looking so wicked, that Mr. Cuff paused, turned down his coat sleeves again, put his hands into his pockets, and walked away with a sneer. But he never meddled personally with the grocer's boy after that; though we must do him the justice to say he always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with contempt behind his back. Some time after this interview, it happened that Mr. Cuff, on a sunshiny afternoon, was in the neighbourhood of poor William Dobbin, who was lying under a tree in the playground, spelling over a favomite copy of the Arabian Nights, which he had — apart from the rest of the school, who were pursuing their various sports — quite lonely, and almost happy. If people would but leave children to themselves ; if teachers would cease to bully them ; if parents would not insist upon directing their thoughts, and dominating their feelings — those feelings and thoughts which are a mystery to all (for how much do you and I know of each other, of our children, of our fathers, of our neighbour, and how far more beautifiil and sacred are the thoughts of the poor lad or girl whom you govern likely to be, than those of the dull and world-corrupted person who rules him ?) — if, I say, parents and masters would leave their children alone a little more, — small harm would accrue, although a less quantity of as in prcesenti might be acquired. Well, William Dobbin had for once forgotten the world, and was away with Sindbad the Sailor in the Valley of Diamonds, orwith Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Peribanou in that delightful cavern where the Prince fomid her, and whither we should all like to make a tour ; when shrill cries, as of a little fellow weeping, woke up his pleasant reverie ; and looking up, he saw Cuff before him, belabouring a little boy. It was the lad who had peached upon him about the grocer's cart ; but he bore little malice, not at least towards the young and small. " How dare you, sir, break the bottle 1 " says Cuff to the little m-chin, swinging a yellow cricket-stump over him. 38 VANITY FAIR The boy had been instructed to get over the playground wall (at a selected spot where the broken glass had been removed from the top, and niches made convenient in the brick) ; to run a quarter of a mile ; to purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit ; to brave all the Doctor's outlying spies, and to clamber back into the playground again ; during the performance of which feat his foot had slipt, and the bottle was broken, and the shrub had been spilt, and his panta- loons haid been damaged, and he appeared before his employer a perfectly guilty and trembling, though harmless, wretch. " How dare you, sir, break it 1 " says Cuff; " you blundering little thief You drank the shrub, and now you pretend to have broken the bottle. Hold out your hand, sir." Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on the child's hand. A moan followed. Dobbin looked up. The Fairy Peribanou had fled into the inmost cavern with Prince Ahmed ; the Eoc had whisked away Sindbad the Sailor out of the Valley of Diamonds out of sight, far into the clouds : and there was everyday life before honest William ; and a big boy beating a little one without cause. " Hold out your other hand, sir," roars Cuff to his little school- fellow, whose face was distorted with pain. Dobbin quivered, and gathei'ed himself up in his narrow old clothes. " Take that, you little devil ! " cried Mr. Cuff, and dovra came the wicket again on the chUd's hand. — Don't be horrified, ladies, every boy at a public school has done it. Yoiir children will so do and be done by, in all probability. Down came the wicket again ; and Dobbin started up. I can't tell what his motive was. Torture in a public school is as much licensed as the knout in Russia. It would be imgentle- manlike (in a manner) to resist it. Perhaps Dobbin's foolish soul revolted against that exercise of tyranny ; or perhaps he had a hankering feeling of revenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against that splendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp, circumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the place. Whatever may have been his incen- tive, however, up he sprang, and screamed out, "Hold off. Cuff; don't bully that child any more ; or I'll " " Or you'll what 1 " Cuff asked in amazement at this inteiTup- tion. " Hold out your hand, you little, beast." " I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your Kfe," Dobbin said, in reply to the first part of CufPs sentence ; and little Osborne, gasping and in tears, looked up with wonder and incredulity at seeing this amazing champion put up suddenly to defend him : while Cuffs astonishment was scarcely less. Fancy our late monarch George III. when he heard of the revolt of the North American A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 39 colonies: fancy brazen Goliath when little David stepped forwavd and claimed a meeting ; and you have the feelings of Mr. Eeginald Cuff when this rencontre was proposed to him. "After school," says he, of course ; after a pause and a look, as much as to say, " Make your will, and communicate your last wishes to your friends between this time and that." " As you please," Dobbin said. " You must be my bottle- holder, Osborne." " Well, if you like," little Osborne replied ; for you see his papa kept a caniage, and he was rather ashamed of his champion. Yes, when the hour of battle came he was almost ashamed i say, " Go it, Figs ; " and not a single other boy in the place uttered that cry for the first two or three roimds of this famous combat ; at the commencement of which the scientific Cuff, with a contemptuous smile on his face, and as light and as gay as if he was at a ball, planted his blows upon his adversary, and floored that unlucky champion three times running. At each fall there was a cheer ; and everybody was anxious to have the honour of offering the conqueror a knee. "What a licking I shall get when it's over," young Osborne thought, picking up his man. "You'd best give in," he said to Dobbin; "it's only a thrashing. Figs, and you know I'm used to it. But Figs, all whose limbs were in a quiver, and whose nostrils were breathing rage, put his little bottle-holder aside, and went in for u foiu-th time. As he did not in the least know how to parry the blows that were aimed at himsehF, and Cuff had begun the attack on the three preceding occasions, without ever allowing his enemy to strike. Figs now determined that he would commence the engagement by a charge on his own part ; and accordingly, being a left-handed man, brought that arm into action, and hit out a couple of times with all his might — once at Mr. Cuff's left eye, and once on his beautifid Eoman nose. Cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the assembly. " AVell hit, by Jove," says little Osborne, with the air of a connois- seur, clapping his man on the back. " Give it him with the left, Figs my boy." Figs's left made terrific play during all the rest of the combat. Cuff went down every time. At the sixth round, there were almost as many fellows shouting out, " Go it. Figs," as there were youths exclaiming, " Go it. Cuff." At the twelfth round the latter cham- pion was all abroad, as the saying is, and had lost all presence of mind and power of attack or defence. Figs, on the contrary, was 40 VANITY FAIE as calm as a Quaker. His face being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and a great cut on his under-hp bleeding profusely, gave this young fellow a fierce and ghastly air, which perhaps struck teiTor into many spectators. Nevertheless, his intrepid adversary prepared to close for the thirteenth time. If I had the pen of a Napier, or a BeU's Life, I should like to de- scribe this combat properly. It was the last charge of the Guard — ■ (that is, it would have been, only Waterloo had not yet taken place) — it was Ney's column breasting the hill of La Haye Sainte, bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned with twenty eagles — it was the shout of the beef-eating British, as leaping down the hill they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle — in other words. Cuff coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and groggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's nose, and sent him down for the last time. '' I think that will do for him," Figs said, as his opponent dropped as neatly on the green as I have seen Jack Spot's ball plump into the pocket at billiards ; and the fact is, when time was called, Mr. Eeginald Cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again. And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs as would have made you think he had been their darling champion through the whole battle ; and as absolutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study, curious to know the cause of the uproar. He threatened to flog Figs violently, of course ; but Cuff", who had come to himself by this time, and was washing his wounds, stood up and said, " It's my fault, sir — not Figs's — not Dobbin's. I was bullying a little boy ; and he served me right." By which magnanimous speech he not only saved his conqueror a whipping, but got back all his ascendency over the boys which his defeat had nearly cost him. Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the transaction. "Sugarcane House, Richmond, March i8— ." " Dear Mama, — I hope you are quite well. I should be much obliged to you to send me a cake and five shillings. There has been a fight here between Cuff & Dobbin. Cuff, you know, was the Cock of the School. They fought thirteen rounds, and Dobbin Licked. So Cuff is now Only Second Cock. The fight was about me. Cufi was licking me for breaking a bottle of milk, and Figs wouldn't stand it. AVe call him Figs because his father is a Grocer — Figs & Eudge, Thames St., City — I think as he fought for me you ought to buy your Tea & Sugar at his father's. CuflF goes home every Saturday, but can't this, because he has 2 Black Eyes. He has a white Pony A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 41 to come and fetch him, and a groom in livery on a bay mare. I wish my Papa would let me have a Pony, and I am yom- dutiful ^'^^' Geoege Sedley Osboexe. " P.5.— Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her out a Coach m cardboard. Please not a seed-cake, but a plum-cake." In consequence of Dobbin's victory, his character rose prodigi- ously in the estimation of all his schoolfellows, and the name of Figs, which hatl been a byword of reproach, became as respectable and popular a nickname as any other in use in the school. " After all, it's nQtJii§_fault JhatJiis father's a gTocer," George Osborne said, who, though a little chap, had a very high popularity among the Swishtail youth ; and his opinion was received with gxeat applause. It was voted low to sneer at Dobbin about this accident of birth. " Old Figs " grew to be a name of kindness and endearment ; and the sneak of an usher jeered at him no longer. And Dobbui's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. He matle wonderful advances in scholastic learning. The superb Cuff himself, at whose condescension Dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped him on with his Latin verses ; " couched " him in play-hours : carried him triumphantly out of the httle-boy class into the middle-sized form ; and even there got a fair place for him. It was discovered, that although dull at classical learning, at mathema- tics he was uncommonly quick. To the contentment of all he passed third in algebra, and got a French prize-book at the public Mid- summer examination. You should have seen his mother's face when T^emaque (that delicious romance) was presented to him by the Doctor in the face of the whole school and the parents and company, with an inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin. All the boys clapped hands in token of applause and sjTiipathy. His blushes, his stumbles, his awkwardness, and the number of feet which he crushed as he went back to his place, who shall describe or calculate 1 Old Dobbin, his father, who now respected him for the first time, gave him two guineas publicly ; most of which he spent in a general tuck-out for the school : and he came back in a tail-coat after the holidays. Dobbin was much too modest a young fellow to suppose that this happy change in all his circumstances arose from his own generous and manly disposition : he chose, from some perverseness, to attri- bute his good fortune to the sole agency and benevolence of little George Osborne, to whom henceforth he vowed such a love and affec- tion as is only felt by children — such an affection, as we read in the charming fairy-book, uncouth Orson had for splendid young Valentine his conqueror. He flung himself down at little Osborne's feet and 42 VANITY FAIR loved liim. Even before they were acquainted, he had admired Osborne in secret. Now he was his valet, his dog, his man Friday. He believed Osborne to be the possessor of every perfection, to be the handsomest, the bravest, the most active, the cleverest, the most generous of created boys. He shared his money with him : bought him uncountable presents of knives, pencil-cases, gold seals, toffee. Little Warblers, and romantic books, with large coloured pictm-es of knights and robbers, in many of which latter you might read inscrip- tions to George Sedley Osborne, Esquire, from his attached friend William Dobbin — the which tokens of homage George received very graciously, as became his superior merit. So that Lieutenant Osborne, when coming to Eussell Square on the day of the Vauxhall party, said to the ladies, " Mrs. Sedley, Ma'am, I hope you have room ; I've asked Dobbin of ours to come and dine here, and go with us to Vauxhall. He's almost as modest as Jos." " Modesty ! pooh,'' said the stout gentleman, casting a vainqueur look at Miss Sharp. " He is — but you are incomparably more graceful, Sedley," Osborne added, laughing. " I met him at the Bedford, when I went to look for you ; and I told him that Miss Amelia was come home, and that we were all bent on going out for a night's pleasuring ; and that Mrs. Sedley had forgiven liis breaking the punch-bowl at the child's party. Don't you remember the catastrophe. Ma'am, seven years ago % " " Over Mrs. Flamingo's crimson silk gown," said good-natured Mrs. Sedley. " What a gawky it was ! And his sisters are not much more gracefid. Lady Dobbin was at Highbury last night with three of them. Such figures ! my dears." "The Alderman's very rich, isn't he?" Osborne said archly. "Don't you tliink one of the daughters would be a good spec for me. Ma'am 1 " " You fooUsh creature ! Who would take ycni, I should like to know, with yom- yeUow face ? " " Mine a yellow face 1 Stop till you see Dobbin. Why, he had the yellow fever three times ; twice at Nassau and once at St. Kitts." "Well, well; yours is quite yellow enough for us. Isn't it, Emmy?" Mrs. Sedley said: at which speech IVliss Amelia only made a smile and a blush ; and looking at Mr. George Osborne's pale interesting countenance, and those beautifrd black, cm-ling, shining whiskers, which the yoimg gentleman himself regarded with no ordinary complacency, she thought in her little heart, that in his Majesty's army, or in the wide world, there never was such a face A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 43 or such a hero. " I don't care about Captaiu Dobbin's complexion," she said, " or about his awkwardness. / shall always like him, I know ; " her little reason being, that he was the friend and champion of George. " There's not a finer fellow in the service," Osborne said, " nor a better officer, though he is not an Adonis, certainly." And he looked towards the glass himself with much naivete ; and in so doing, caught Miss Sharp's eye fixed keenly upon him, at which he blushed a little, and Rebecca thought in her heart, " Ah, inon beau Monsieur ! I think I have your gauge," — the little artful minx ! That evening, when Amelia came tripping into the drawing-room in a white muslin frock, prepared for conquest at Vauxhall, singing like a lark, and as fresh aa a rose — a very tall ungainly gentleman, with large hands and feet and large ears, set off by a closely cropped head of black hair, and in the hideous military frogged coat and cocked-hat of those times, advanced to meet her, and made her one of the clumsiest bows that was ever performed by a mortal. This was no other than Captain William Dobbin of his Majesty's Regiment of Foot, returned from yellow fever, in the West Indies, to which the fortune of the service had ordered his regiment, while so many of his gallant comrades were reaping glory in the Peninsula. He had arrived with a knock so very timid and quiet, that it was inaudible to the ladies upstairs : otherwise, you may be sure Miss Amelia would never have been so bold as to come singing into the room. As it was, the sweet fresh little voice went right into the Captain's heart, and nestled there. When she held out her hand for him to shake, before he enveloped it in his own, he paused, and thought — " Well, is it possible — are you the httle maid I remember in the pink fi-ock, such a short time ago — the night I upset the punch-bowl, just after I was gazetted 1 Are you the little girl that George Osborne said should marry him? What a bl ooming young creature you seem, and what a pjize.the rogue has got ! " AH this he thouglit^Tefore he took Amelia's hand into his own, and as he let his cocked-hat fall. His history since he left school, until the very moment when we have the pleasure of meeting him again, although not fully narrated, has yet, I think, been indicated sufficiently for an ingenious reader by the above conversation. Dobbin, the despised gi-ocer, was Alderman Dobbin— Alderman Dobbin was Colonel of the City Light Horse, then burning with military ardour to resist the French Invasion. Colonel Dobbin's corps, in which old Mr. Osborne himself was but an indifferent corporal, had been reviewed by the Sovereign and the Duke of York; and the colonel and alderman had been 44 VANITY FAIK knighted. His son had entered the army : and young Osborne followed presently in the same regiment. They had served in the West Indies, and in Canada. Their regiment had just come home, and the attachment of Dobbin to George Osborne was as warm and generous now as it had been when the two were schoolboys. So these worthy people sat down to dinner presently. They talked about war and glory, and Boney and Lord Wellington, and the last Gazette. In those famous days every gazette had a victory in it, and the two gallant young men longed to see their own names in the glorious list, and cursed their unlucky fate to belong to a regiment which had been away from the chances of honour. Miss Sharp kindled with this exciting talk, but Miss Sedley trembled and grew quite faint as she heard it. Mr. Jos told several of his tiger- hunting stories, finished the one about Miss Cutler and Lance the siu'geon ; helped Eebecca to everything on the table, and himself gobbled and drank a great deal. He sprang to open the door for the ladies, when they retired, with the most kilhng grace — and coming back to the table, filled himself bumper after bumper of claret, which he swallowed with nervous rapidity. " He's priming himself," Osborne whispered to Dobbin, and at length the hour and the carriage arrived for VauxhaU. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 45 CHAPTER VI VAVXHALL I KNOW that the tune I am piping is a very mild one (although therejire some temfic chapters coming presently), and must beg the good-natm-ed reader to remember, that we are only discours- ing at present about a stockbroker's family in Eussell Square, who are taking walks, or luncheon, or dinner, or talking and making love as people do in common life, and without a single passionate and wonderful incident to mark the progi-ess of their loves. The argument stands thus — Osborne, in love with Amelia, has asked an old friend to dinner and to Vauxhall — Jos Sedley is in love with Eebecca. Will he marry her 1 That is the great subject now in hand. We might have treated this subject in the genteel, or in the romantic, or in the facetious manner. Suppose we had laid the scene in Grosvenor Square, with the very same adventures — would not some people have listened 1 Suppose we had shown how Lord Joseph Sedley fell in love, and the Marquis of Osborne became attached to Lady Amelia, with the full consent of the Duke, her noble father : or instead of the supremely genteel, suppose we had resorted to the entirely low, and described what was going on in Mr. Sedley's kitchen ; — how black Sambo was in love with the cook (as indeed he was), and how he fought a battle with the coachman in her behalf; how the knife-boy was caught stealing a cold shoulder of mutton, and Miss Sedley's new fenime de chamhre refused to go to bed without a wax candle ; such incidents might be made to pro- voke much delightful laughter, and be supposed to represent scenes of " life." Or if, on the contrary, we had taken a fancy for the terrible, and made the lover of the new femme de chamhre a pro- fessional burglar, who bursts into the house with his band, slaughters black Sambo at the feet of his master, and carries off Amelia in her night-dress, not to be let loose again till the third volume, we should easily have constructed a tale of thrilling interest, through the fiery chapters of which the reader should hurry, panting. But my readers must-hflpeJoE !iQ_such romance, j5niy-a homely story, and must be con- tent with a chapter about Vauxhall, which is so short that it scarce deserves to be called a chapter at all. And yet it is a chapter, and 46 VANITY FAIE t a very important one too. Arejiot there little chapters in- every- body's hfe, that seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest lof the history ? Let us then step into the coach with the Russell Square party, and be off to the Gardens. There is barely room between Jos and Miss Sharp, who are on the front seat. Mr. Osborne sitting bodkin opposite, between Captain Dobbin and Ameha. Every soul in the coach agreed, that on that night Jos would propose to make Eebecca Sharp Mrs. Sedley. The parents at home had acquiesced in the arrangement, though, between ourselves, old Mr. Ssdley had a feeling very muoli akin to contempt for his son. He saidJii a-JEas- vain, selfish, lazy, and effeminate. He could not imIiii III III I I III III I I 1 1 lllllli, 1 1 iiiri]|i 1 heartily at his pompous braggadocio stories. " I shall leave the fellow half my property," he said ; " and he will have, besides, plenty of his own ; but as I am perfectly sm-e that if you, and I, and his sister were to die to-morrow, he would say ' Good Gad ! ' and eat his dinner just as well as usual, I am not going to make myself anxious about Mm. Let him marry whom he likes. It's no affair of mine." Amelia, on the other hand, as became a young woman of her prudence and temperament, was quite enthusiastic for the match. Once or twice Jos had been on the point of saying something very important to her, to which she was most willing to lend an ear, but the fat fellow could not be brought to unbosom himself of his great secret, and very much to his sister's disappointment he only rid himself of a large sigh and turned away. This mystery served to keep Amelia's gentle bosom in a per- petual flutter of excitement. If she did not speak with Eebecca on the tender subject, she compensated herself with long and intimate conversations with Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, who di-opped some hints to the lady's-maid, who may have cursorily mentioned the matter to the cook, who carried the news, I have no doubt, to all the tradesmen, so that Mr. Jos's marriage was now talked of by a very considerable number of persons in the Russell Square world. It was, of course, Mrs. Sedley's opinion that her son would demean himself by a marriage with an artist's daughter. " But, lor'. Ma'am," ejaculated Mrs. Blenkinsop, "we was only grocers when we married Mr. S., who was a stockbroker's clerk, and we hadn't five hundred pounds among us, and we're rich enough now." And Amelia was entirely of this opinion, to which, gradually, the good-natm-ed Mrs. Sedley was brought. Mr. Sedley was neutral.. "Let Jos marry whom he likes," he said ; " it's no affair of mine. This girl has no fortune ; no more A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 47 had Mrs. Sedley. She seems good-humom-ed and clever, and will keep him in order, perhaps. Better she, my dear, than a hlaok Mrs. Sedley, and a dozen of mahogany grandchildren.'" So that everything seemed to smile upon Eebecca's fortunes. She took Jos's arm, as a matter of course, on going to dinner ; she had sate by him on the box of his open carriage (a most tremendous " buck " he was, as he sat there, serene, in state, diiving his gTeys), and though nobody said a word on the subject of the marriage, everybody seemed to understand it. All she wanted was the proposal, and ah ! how Rebecca now felt the want of a mother ! — a dear, tender mother, who would have managed the business in ten minu.tes, and, in the course of a little delicate confidential con- versation, would have extracted the interesting avowal from the bashful lips of the young man ! Such was the state of afl'airs as the carriage crossed Westminster Bridge. The party was landed at the Eoyal Gardens in due time. As the majestic Jos stepped out of the creaking vehicle the crowd gave a cheer for the fat gentleman, who blushed and looked very big and mighty, as he walked away with Eebecca under his arm. George, of course, took charge of Ameha. She looked as happy as a rose-tree in sunsliine. "I say, Dobbin," says George, "just look to the shawls and things, there's a good fellow." And so while he paired off with Miss Sedley, and Jos squeezed throiigh the gate into the gardens with Eebecca at his side, honest Dobbin contented himself by giving an arm to the shawls, and by paying at the door for the whole party. He walked very modestly behind them. He was not willing to spoil sport. About Eebecca and Jos he did not care a fig. But he thought Amelia worthy even of the brilliant George Osborne, ancTas^liis saw that good-looking couple threading the walks to the gilTs dehght and wonder, he watched her artless happiness with a sort" of fatherly pleasure. Perhaps he felt that he would have Hked to have something on his OAvn arm besides a shawl (the people laughed at seeing the gawky young officer carrying this female burthen) ; but William Dobbin was very little addicted to selfish calculation at all ; and so long as his friend was enjoying himself, how should he be discontented ? And the truth is, that of all the delights of the Gardens; of the hundred thousand extra lamps, which were always lighted ; the fiddlers in cocked hats, who played ravishing melodies under the gilded cockle-shell in the midst of the Gardens" the singers, both of comic and sentimental ballads, who charmed 'the ears there; the country dances, formed by bcmicing cockneys and cockneyesses, and executed amidst jumping, thumping 48' VANITY FAIE and laughter ; the signal which announced that Madame Saqui was about to mount skyward on a slack-rope ascending to the stars; the hermit that always sat in the illuminated hermitage ; the dark walks, so favourable to the interviews of young lovers ; the pote of stout handed about by the people in the shabby old liveries ; and the twinkling boxes, in which the happy feasters made-believe to eat slices of almost invisible ham ; of all these things, and of the gentle Simpson, that kind smiling idiot, who, I dare say, presided even then over the place — Captain William Dobbin did not take the slightest notice. He earned about Amelia's white cashmere shawl, and having attended under the gilt cockle-shell, while Mrs. Salmon performed the Battle of Borodino (a savage cantata against the Corsican up- start, who had lately met with his Eussian reverses) — Mr. Dobbin tried to hum it as he walked away, and found he was humming — the tune which Amelia Sedley sang on the stairs, as she came down to dinner. He biu-st out laughing at himself; for the truth is, he could sing no better than an owl. It is to be understood, as a matter of course, that our young people, being in parties of two and two, made the most solemn promises to keep together during the evening, and separated in ten minutes afterwards. Parti&s at Vauxhall always did separate, but 'twas only to meet again at supper-time, when they could talk of their mutual adventures in the interval. What were the adventures of Mr. Osborne and Miss Amelia,? That is a secret. But be sure of this — they were perfectly happy, and correct in their behaviour ; and as they had been in the habit of being together any time these fifteen years, their tete-a-teti- offered no particular novelty. But when Miss Eebecca Sharjj and her stout companion lost themselves in a solitary walk, in which there were not above five score more of couples similarly straying, they both felt that the situation was extremely tender and critical, and now or never was the moment. Miss Sharp thought, to provoke that declaration which was trembling on the timid lips of Mr. Sedley. They had previ- ously been to the panorama of Moscow, where a rude fellow, treading on Miss Sharp's foot, caused her to fall back with a little shriek into the arms of Mr. Sedley, and this little incident increased the tenderness and confidence of that gentleman to such a de.ia'ee, that he told her several of his favourite Indian stories over again for, at least, the sixth time. " How I shoidd like to see India ! " said Eebecca. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEED 49 "Should youT' said Joseph, with a most killing tendenisss ; and was no doubt abovit to follow up this artful inten'ogatory by a question still more tender (for he puffed and panted a great deal, and Eebecca's hand, which was placed near his heart, could count the feverish pulsations of that organ), when, oh, provoking ! the bell rang for the fii'eworks, and, a great scuffling and running taking place, these interesting lovers were obhged to follow in the stream of people. Captain Dobbin had some thoughts of joining the party at ' supper : as, in truth, he found the Vauxhall amusements not par- ticrdarly lively — but he paraded twice before the box where the now united couples were met, and nobody took any notice of him. Covers were laid for four. The mated pairs were prattling away quite happily, and Dobbin knew he was as clean forgotten as if he had never existed in this v/orld. " I should only be de trop," said the Captain, looking at them rather wistfully. " I'd best go and talk to the hermit," — and so he stroUed off out of the hum of men, and noise, and clatter of the banquet, into the dark walk, at the end of which lived that well- known pasteboard Solitary. It wasn't very good fun for Dobbin — and, indeed, to be alone at Vauxhall, I have found, from my own experience, to be one of the most dismal sports ever entered into by a bachelor. The two couples were perfectly happy then in their box : where the most delightful and intimate conversation took place. Jos was in his glory, ordering about the waiters with great majesty. He made the salad ; and uncorked the champagne ; and carved the chickens ; and ate and drank the greater part of the refreshments on the tables. Finally, he insisted upon having a bowl of rack punch ; everi,'body had rack punch at Vauxhall. " Waiter, rack punch." That bo wl of rack punch was the cause of all this liistorv. And why'nfTrTrtJBwTorTickpuncT^^swell as any other cause 1 Was not a bowl of prussic acid the cause of Fair Eosamond's retiring from the world 1 Was not a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of Alexander the Great, or, at least, does not Dr. Lemprifere say so 1 — so did this bowl of rack punch influence the fates of all the prin- cipal characters in this " Novel without a Hero," which we are now relating. It influenced their life, although most of them did not taste a drop of it. The young ladies did not drink it ; Osborne did not like it ; and the consequence was that Jg s, that M ^firaamand, drank up the whole contents of the bowl; and the consequence of his drinking up the whole contents of the bowl was, a liveliness which at first was astonishing, and then became almost painfid ; for he talked and so VANITY FAIR laughed so loud as to bring scores of listeners round the box, much to the confusion of the innocent party within it ; and, volimteering to sing a song (which he did in that maudlin high key peculiar to gentlemen in an inebriated state), he almost drew away the audience who were gathered round the musicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and received from his hearers a great deal of applause. " Brayvo, Fat un ! " said one ; " Angcore, Daniel Lambert ! " said another ; " What a figure for the tight-rope ! " exclaimed another wag, to the inexpressible alarm of the ladies, and the great anger of Mr. Osborne. " For Heaven's sake, Jos, let us get up and go," cried that gentleman, and the young women rose. " Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling," shouted Jos, now as bold as a lion, and clasping Miss Eebecca round the waist. Eebecca started, but she could not get away her hand. The laughter outside redoubled. Jos continued to drink, to make love, and to sing ; and, winking and waving his glass gracefully to his audience, challenged all or any to come in and take a share of his punch. Mr. Osborne was just on the point of knocking down a gentleman in top-boots, who proposed to take advantage of this invitation, and a commotion seemed to be inevitable, when by the greatest good luck a gentleman of the name of Dobbin, who had been walking about the Gardens, stepped up to the box. " Be off, you fools ! " said this gentleman — shouldering off a great number of the crowd, who vanished presently before his cocked hat and fierce appearance — and he entered the box in a most agitated state. " Good Heavens ! Dobbin, where have you been % " Osborne said, seizing the white cashmere shawl from his friend's arm, and huddling up Amelia in it. — " Make yourself useful, and take charge of Jos here, whilst I take the ladies to the carriage." Jos was for rising to interfere — but a single push from Osborne's finger sent him puffing back into his seat again, and the lieutenant was enabled to remove the ladies in safety. Jos kissed his hand -to them as they retreated, and hiccupped out " Bless you ! Bless you ! " Then, seizing Captain Dobbin's hand, and weeping in the most pitiful way, he confided to that gentleman the secret of his loves. He adored that girl who had just gone out ; he had broken her heart, he knew he had, by his conduct ; he would marry her next morning at St. George's, Hanover Square ; he'd knock up the Archbishop of Canter- bury at Lambeth : he would, by Jove ! ?_nd have him in readiness ; and, acting on this hint, Captain Dobbin shrewdly induced him to leave the Gardens and hasten to Lambeth Palace, and, when once out of the gates, easily conveyed Mr. Jos Sedley into a hackney-coach, which deposited him safely at his lodgings. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 51 George Osborne conducted the girls home iu safety : and when the door was closed upon them, and as he walked across Eusscll Square, laughed so as to astonish the watchman. Amelia looked very ruefully at her fi-iend, as they went upstairs, and kissed her, and went to bed without any more talking. " Fe must prnposp. to-mm-i-nw," thauglit Eehecca... "Se-ealkd me his soul's darling, four, times-;-.lLe, squeezed_my- hand, in Amelia's presence. He must propose to-morrow." And so thought Amelia, too. And I dare say she thought of the dress she was to wear as bridesmaid, and of the presents which she should make to her nice little sister-in-law, and of a subsequent ceremony in which she herself might play a principal part, &c., and &c., and &c., and &e. (j)h. io-nn rant jyoun,g creatures ! How little do you k now the effect of rack punch ! Wfaai is ih^ I'ack m Uie pUllulLJ iltr^lllilit. to th^'Fac K m'lllB liU l id Uf j. nininiu n ? -^»4t8Bst33IS I can vouch as a m^n ; there is no lieaciacne m tiie world like that caused by Yaux- hall punch. Through the lapse of twenty years, I can remember the consequence of two glasses ! — two wine-glasses ! — but two, upon the honour of a gentleman ; and Joseph Sedley, who had a liver complaint, had swallowed at least a quart of the abcnninable mixture. That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to dawn vipon her fortime, found Sedley groaning in agonies which the pen refuses to describe. Soda-water was not invented yet. Small beer — will it be believed ! — was the only drink with which unhappy gentlemen soothed the fever of their previous night's potation. With this mild beverage before him, George Osborne found the ex-collector of Boggley WoUah groaning on the sofa at his lodgings. Dobbin was already in the room, good-naturedly tending his patient of the night before. The two officers, looking at the prostrate Bacchanalian, and askance at each other, exchanged the most fiightful sympathetic grins. Even Sedley's valet, the most solemn and correct of gentlemen, with the muteness and gravity of an undertaker, could hardly keep his countenance in order, as he looked at his unfortunate master. " Mr. Sedley was imcommon wild last night, sir," he whispered in confidence to Osborne, as the latter mounted the stair. "He wanted to fight the 'ackney-coachraan, sir. The Capting was obliged to bring him upstairs in his harms like a babby." A momentary smile flickered over Mr. Brash's features as he spoke; instantly, however, they relapsed into their usual unfathomable calm, as he flung open the drawing-room door and announced "Mr. Hosbin."^ " How are you, Sedley 1 " that yoimg wag began, after surveying his victim. " No bones broke ? There's a hackney-coachman down- 52 VANITY FAIE staii-s with a black eye, and a tied-up head, vowing he'll have the law of you." " What do yon mean, — law 1 " Sedley faintly asked. " For thrashing him last night — didn't he, Dobbin 1 You hit out, sir, like Molyneux. The watchman says he never saw a feUow go down so straight. Ask Dobbin." "You did have a round with the coachman," Captain Dobbin said, " and showed plenty of fight too." " And that fellow -with the white coat at Vauxhall ! How Jos drove at him ! How the women screamed ! By Jove, sir, it did my heart good to see you. I thought you civihans had no pluck ; but I'll never get in your way when you are in your cups, Jos." " I believe I'm very terrible, when I'm roused," ejaculated Jos from the sofa, and made a grimace so dreary and ludicrous, that the Captain's politeness could restrain him no longer, and he and Osborne fired off a ringing volley of laughter. Osborne pursued his advantage pitilessly. He thought Jos a milksop. He had been revolving in his mind the marriage-question pending between Jos and Kebecca, and was not over well pleased that a member of a family into which he, George Osborne, of the — th, was going to marry, should make a mesalliance with a little nobody — a little upstart governess. " You hit, you poor old fellow ! " said Osborne. " You terrible ! Why, man, you coiddn't stand — you made everybody laugh in the Gardens, though you were crying yourself. You were maudlin, Jos. Don't you remember singing a song 1 " "A whatr' Jos asked. " A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Eebecca, what's her name, Amelia's little friend — your dearest diddle-diddle-darUng ? " And this ruthless young fellow, seiEing hold of Dobbin's hand, acted over the scene, to the horror of the original performer, and in spite of Dobbin's good-natured entreaties to him to have mercy. " Why should I spare him 1 " Osborne said to his fiiend's remon- strances, when they quitted the invalid, leaving him under the hands of Doctor Gollop. " What the deuce right has he to give himself his patronising airs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall 1 Who's this little school-girl that is ogling and making love to him 1 Hang it, the family's low enough already, without her. A governess is all very well, but I'd rather have a lady for my sister-in-law. I'm a liberal man ; but I've proper pride, and know my own station : let her know hers. And I'll take down that gi-eat hectoring Nabob, and prevent him from~Being made a greater fool than he is. That's wh^irt^rMm-to-luok out, lest she brought an action .against him." 'TTTuppose you know best," Dobbui said, though ratEer A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 53 dubiously. " You always were a Tory, and your family's one of the oldest in England. But " " Come and see the girls, and make love to Miss Sharp your- self," the Heutenant here interrupted his friend ; but Captain Dobbin declined to join Osborne in his daily visit to the young ladies in Kussell Square. As George walked down Southampton Row, from Holbom, he laughed as he saw, at the Sedley Mansion, in two different stories, two heads on the look-out. The fact is, Miss Amelia, in the drawing-room balcony, was look- ing very eagerly towards the opposite side of the Square, where Mr. Osborne dwelt, on the watch for the lieutenant himself; and Miss Sharp, from her little bedi'oom on the second-floor, Avas in observa- tion mitil Mr. Joseph's great form should heave in sight. "Sister Anne is on the watch-tower," said he to Amelia, "but there's nobody coming ; " and laughing and enjoying the joke hugely, he described in the most ludicrous terms, to Miss Sedley, the dismal condition of her brother. " I think it's very cruel of you to laugh, George," she said, look- ing particularly unhappy ; but George only laughed the more at her piteous and discomfited mien, persisted in thinking the joke a most diverting one, and when Miss Sharp came downstairs, bantered her with a great deal of liveliness upon the effect of her charms on the fat civilian. " Miss Sharp ! if you coidd but see him this morning," he said — " moaning in his flowered dressing-gown — writhing on his sofa ; if you could but have seen him lolling out his tongue to GoUop the apothecary." " See whom ■? " said Miss Sharp. "Whom? Owhomi Captain Dobbin, of course, to whom we were all so attentive, by the way, last night." "We were very unkind to him," Emmy said, blushing very much. " I — I quite forgot him." " Of course you did," cried Osborne, still on the laugh. " One can't be always thinking about Dobbin, you know, Amelia. Can one, Miss Sharp ? " "Except when he overset the glass of wine at dinner," Miss Sharp said, -ndth a haughty air and a toss of the head, " I never gave the existence of Captain Dobbin one single moment's consideration." "Very good. Miss Sharp, I'll tell him," Osborne said; and as he spoke Miss Sharp began to have a feehng of distrust and hatred towards this yormg officer, which he was quite unconscious of having inspired. " Hs is to make fun of me, is he?" thought Rebecca. " Has he been laughing about me to Joseph 1 Has he frightened 54 VANITY FAIR him? Perhaps he won't come." — A iilm passed over her eyes, and her heart beat quite quick. " You're always joking," said she, smiling as innocently as she could. "Joke away, Mr. George; there's nobody to defend vie." And George Osborne, as she walked away — and Amelia looked reprovingly at him — felt some little manly compunction for having inflicted any unnecessary unkindness iipon this helpless creature. " My dearest Amelia," said he, " you are too good — too kind. You don't know the world. I do. And your little friend Miss Sharp must learn her station." " Don't you think Jos will " " Upon my word, my dear, I don't know. He may, or may not. I'm not his master. I only know he is a very foolish, vain fellow, and put my dear little girl into a very painfid and awkward position last night. My dearest diddle-diddle-darUng ! " He was off laughing again ; and he did it so droUy that Emmy laughed too. All that day Jos never came. But Amelia had no fear about this ; for the little schemer had actually sent away the page, Mr. Sambo's aide-de-camp, to Mr. Joseph's lodgings, to ask for some book he had promised, and how he was ; and the reply through Jos's man, Mr. Brush, was, that his master was ill in bed, and had just had the doctor with him. He must come to-morrow, she thought, but she never had the courage to speak a word on the subject to Rebecca ; nor did that young woman herself allude to it in any way during the whole evening after the night at VauxhaU. The next day, however, as the two young ladies sate on the sofa, pretendiag to work, or to write letters, or to read novels, Sambo came into the room with his usual engaging grin, with a packet under his arm, and a note on a tray. " Note from Mr. Jos, Miss," says Sambo. How Amelia trembled as she opened it ! So it ran : — " Deae Amelia, — I send you the Orphan of the F&rest. I was too ill ts come yesterday. I leave town to-day for Cheltenham. Pray excuse me, if you can, to the amiable Miss Sharp, for my con- duct at VauxhaU, and entreat her to pardon and forget every word I may have uttered when excited by that fatal supper. As soon as I have recovered, for my health is very much shaken, I shall go to Scotland for some months, and am, truly yours, "Jos. Sedley." It was the death-warra nt. All was over. Amelia did not dare to look at Rebeccars— pair face and burning eyes, but she dropped V n: t H ^1 ^'1 ^ ^ ^* f *^ S^ ^ ^ >> r^ V i *»- ^ ^ » A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 55 the letter into her friend's lap ; and got up, and went upstairs to her room, and cried her little heart out. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, there sought her presently with consolation, on whose shoulder Ameha wept confidentially, and re- lieved herself a good deal. " Don't take on. Miss. I didn't like to tell you. B ut none of us in th e ho use have liked her exce pt at f ast. _ I sor her witii my ov^'h feyyy ryilUUig youi' iVi;1'S ItLiyi'H. i'lnueV says she's always about yom- trinket-box and drawers, and every- body's drawers, and she's sure she's put your white ribbing into her box." " I gave it her, I gave it her,'' Amelia said. But this did not alter Mrs. Blenldnsop's opinion of Miss Sharp. "I don't trust them governesses, Pinner," she remarked to the maid. " They give themselves the hairs and hupstarts of ladies, and their wages is no better than you nor me." It now became clear to every soul in the house, except poor Amelia, that Rebecca should take her departure, and high and low (always with the one exception) agreed that that event should take place as speedily as possible. Our good child ransacked all her drawers, cupboards, reticules, and gimcraok boxes — passed in review all her gowns, fichus, tags, bobbins, laces, silk stockings, and fallals — selecting this thing and that and the other, to make a little heap for Rebecca. And going to her papa, that generous British mer- chant, who had promised to give her as many guineas as she was years old — she begged the old gentleman to give the money to dear Rebecca, who must want it, while she lacked for nothing. She even made George Osborne contribute, and nothing loth (for he was as free-handed a young fellow as any in the army), he went to Bond Street, and bought the best hat and spencer that money could buy. " That's George's present to you, Rebecca dear," said Amelia, cjuite proud of the bandbox conveying these gifts. " What a taste he has ! There's nobody like him." " Nobody," Rebecca answered. " How thankful I am to him ! " She was thinking in her heart, '' It was George Osborne who pre- vented my marriage." — And she loved George Osborne aocorchngly. She made her preparations for departure with great equanimity ; and accepted all the kind little Amelia's presents, after just the proper degree of hesitation and reluctance. She vowed eternal grati- tude to Mrs. Sedley, of course j but did not intrude herself upon that good lady too much, who was embarrassed, and evidently wishing to avoid her. She kissed Mr. Sedley's hand, when he presented her with the pmse ; and asked permission to consider him for the futiu-e as her kind, kind fiiend and protector. Her behaviour was so S6 VANITY FAIE affecting that he was going to write her a cheque for tv,'enty pounds more ; but he restrained his feelings : the carnage was in waiting to take him to dinner, so he tripped away with a " God bless you, my dear ; always come here when you come to town, you know. — Drive to the Mansion House, James." Finally came the parting with Miss Amelia, over which picture I intend to throw a veil. But after a scene in yhiVh nne^^ person was in earnest and the other .a pe rfect performer; — after the tenderest cartyHes, Lke lUUm pathetic teaTS, the smellmg-bottle, and some of the very best feelings of the heart, had been called into requisition — Eebecca and Amelia parted, the former vowing to love her iriend for ever and ever and ever. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEED 57 CHAPTER VII CRAWLEY OF QUEEN'S CRAIFLEY AMONG the most respected of the names beginning in C, /A which tlie Court-Guide contained, in the year 18 — , was -' *■ that of Crawley, Sir Pitt, Baronet, Great Gamit Street, and Queen's Crawley, Hants. This honourable name had figured constantly also in the Parliamentary list for many years, in con- iimction with that of a number of other worthy gentlemen who sat in turns for tlie borough. It is related, with regard to the borough of Queen's Crawley, that Queen Elizabeth in one of her progTesses, stopping at Crawley to breakfast, was so delighted with some remarkably fine Hampshire beer which was then presented to her by the Crawley of the day (a handsome gentleman with a trim beard and a good leg), that she forthwith erected Crawley into a borough to send two members to Parliament ; and the place, from the day of that illustrious visit, took the name of Queen's Crawley, which it holds up to the present moment. And though, by the lapse of time, and those mutations which age produces in empires, cities, and boroughs. Queen's Crawley was no longer so populous a place as it had Ijeen in Queen Bess's time — nay, was come down to that condition of borough which used to be denominated rotten — yet, as Sir Pitt Crawley would say •nith perfect justice in his elegant way, " Eotten ! be hanged — it produces me a good fifteen hundred a year." Sir Pitt Crawley (named after the great Commoner) was the son of Walpole Crawley, fii'st Baronet, of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office in the reign of George II., when he was impeached for pecula- tion, as were a great number of other honest gentlemen of tliose days; and "Walpole Crawley was, as need scarcely be said, son of John Churchill Crawley, named after the celebrated military commander of the reign of Queen Anne. The family tree (which hangs up at Queen's Crawley) furthermore mentions Charles Stuart, afterwards called Barebones Crawley, son of the Crawley of James the First's time; and finally, Queen Ehzabeth's Crawley, who is represented as the foreground of the picture in his forked beard and armom-. Out of his waistcoat, as usual, grows a tree, on the main 58 VANITY FAIE branches of which the ahove illustrious names are inscribed. Close by the name of Sir Pitt Crawley, Baronet (the subject of the present memoir), are written that of his brother, the Reverend Bute Crawley (the great Commoner was in disgrace when the reverend gentleman was bom), rector of Orawley-cum-Snailby, and of various other male and female members of the Crawley family. Sir Pitt was first married to Grizzel, sixth daughter of Mungo Binkie, Lord Binkie, and cousin, in consequence, of Mr. Dundas. She brought him two sons : Pitt, named not so much after his father as after the heaven-bom minister; and Rawdon, from the Prince of Wales's friend, whom his Majesty George IV. forgot so completely. Many years after her ladyship's demise. Sir Pitt led to the altar Rosa, daughter of Mr. G. Dawson, of Mudbury, by whom he had two daughters, for whose benefit Miss Rebecca Sharp was now engaged as governess. It will be seen that the young lady was come into a family of very genteel connections, and was about to move in a much more distinguished circle than that humble one which she had just quitted in Russell Square. She had received her orders to join her pupils, in a note which was written upon an old envelope, and which contained the following words : — " Sir Pitt Crawley begs Miss Sharp and baggidge may be hear on Tuesday, as I leaf for Queen's Crawley to-morrow morning eiiy. "Great Gaunt Street." Rebecca had never seen a baronet, as far as she knew, and as soon as she had taken leave of Amelia, and counted the guineas which good-natm-ed Mr. Sedley had put into a purse for her, and as soon as she had done wiping her eyes with her handkerchief (which opera- tion she concluded the very moment the carriage had turned the comer of the street), she began to depict in her own mind what a baronet must be. "I wonder, does he wear a star?" thought she, " or is it only lords that wear stars 1 But he wiU be very handsomely dressed in a coiut suit, with ruffles, and his hair a little powdered, like Mr. Wroughton at Covent Garden. I suppose he will be awfully proud, and that I shall be treated most contemptuously. Still I must bear my hard lot as well as I can — at least, I shall be amongst gentlefolks, and not with vulgar city people : " and she fell to think- ing of her Russell Square friends with that very same philosophical bitterness with which, in a certain apologue, the fox is represented as speaking of the grapes. Having passed through Gamat Square into Great Gaunt Street, the carriage at length stopped at a tail gloomy house between two A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 59 other tall gloomy houses, each with a hatchment over the middle drawing-room window ; as is the custom of houses in Great Gaunt Street, in which gloomy locality death seems to reign perpetual. The shutters of the first-floor windows of Sir Pitt's mansion were closed — those of the dining-room were partially open, and the bhuds neatly covered up in old newspapers. John, the groom, who had driven the carriage alone, did not care to descend to ring the bell ; and so prayed a passing milk-boy to perform that oiSce for him. When the beil was rung, a head a])peared between the interstices of the dining-room shutters, and the door was opened by a man in drab breeches and gaiters, with a dirty old coat, a foul old neckcloth lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a leering red face, a pair of twinkling grey eyes, and a mouth perpetually on the grin. "This Sir PittCrawIey's r' says John, from the box. " Ees," says the man at the door, with a nod. " Hand down these 'ere tnmks then," said John. " Hand 'n down yourself," said the porter. " Don't you see I can't leave my hosses ? Come, bear a hand, my fine feUer, and Miss will give you some beer," said John, with a horse-laugh, for he was no longer respectful to Miss Sharp, as her connection with the family was broken off, and as she had given nothing to the servants on coming away. The bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his breeches pockets, advanced on this summons, and throwing Miss Sharp's trunk over his shoulder, carried it into the house. " Take this basket and shawl, if you please, and open the door," said Miss Sharp, and descended from the carriage in much indigna- tion. " I shall TiTite to Mr. Sedley and inform him of yom- conduct," said she to the groom. "Don't," rephed that fimctionary. "I hope you've forgot nothiuk? Miss 'MeUa's gownds — have you got them — as the lady's-maid was' to have 'ad ? I hope they'll fit you. Shut the door, Jim, you'll get no good out of 'e?-," continued John, pointing with his thumb towards Miss Sharp : " « harl lf)j- J ^^n y""^ » •i^»ri.i^4- " ^^^^ ^q saying, Mr. Sedley's gTOom drove away. The truth is, he was attached to the lady's-maid in question, and indignant that she should have been robbed of her perquisites. On entering the dining-room, by the orders of the individual in gaiters, Eebecca found that ajjartment not more cheerful than such rooms usually are, when genteel families are out of town. The faithfiil chambers seem, as it were, to mourn the absence of their masters. The turkey carpet has rolled itself up, and retired sulkUy under the sideboard : the pictures have hidden their faces behind old 6o VANITY FAIR sheets of brown paper ; the ceihng lamp is muffled up in a dismal sack of brown hoUand : the window-curtains have disappeared under aU sorts of shabby envelopes : the marble bust of Sir Walpole Crawley is looking fi-om its black corner at the bare boards and the oiled iire- irons, and the empty card-racks over the mantelpiece : the cellaret has lurked away behind the carpet : the chairs are turned up heads and tails along the walls : and in the dark corner opposite the statue is an old-fashioned crabbed knife-box, locked and sitting on a diunb waiter. Two kitchen chairs, and a round table, and an attenuated old poker and tongs were, however, gathered round the fire-place, as was a saucepan over a feeble sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread, and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black porter in a pint-pot. "Had your dinner, I suppose? It is not too warm for you? Like a drop of beer ? " " Where is Sir Pitt Crawley?" said Miss Sharp majestically. " He, he ! I'm. Sir Pitt Crawley. Eeklect you owe me a pint for bringing dowrfyStlrtuggage. He, he ! Ask Tinker if I aynt. Mrs. Tinker, Miss Sharp ; Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman. Ho, ho ! " The lady addressed as Mrs. Tinker, at tliis moment made her appearance with a pipe and a paper of tobacco, for which she had been despatched a minute before Miss Sharp's arrival ; and she handed the articles over to Sir Pitt, who had taken his seat by the fire. " AVhere's the farden ? " said he. " I gave you three-halfpence. Where's the change, old Tinker ? " "There!" replied Mrs. Tinker, flinging down the coin; "it's only baronets as cares about farthings." " A farthing a day is seven shillings a year,'' answered the M.P. ; " seven shillings a year is the interest of seven guineas. Take care of your farthings, old Tinker, and your guineas will come quite nat'ral." "You may be siu-e it's Sir Pitt Crawley, young woman," said Mrs. Tinker surlily; "because he looks to his farthings. You'll know him better afore long." " And like me none the worse. Miss Sharp," said the old gentle- man, with an air almost of pohteness. " I must be just before I'm generous." " He never gave away a farthing in his hfe," growled Tinker. " Never, and never will : it's against my principle. Go and get another chair fi-om the kitchen. Tinker, if you want to sit down ; and then we'll have a bit of supper." Presently the Baronet plunged a fork into the saucepan on the fire, and withdrew from the pot a piece of tripe and an onion, which he divided into pretty equal portions, and of which he partook with REBECCA MAKES ACQUAINTANCE WITH A LITE BARONET. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 61 Mrs. Tinker. " You see, Miss Sharp, when I'm not here Tinker's on board wages : when I'm in town she dines with the femily. Haw ! haw !^ I'm glad Miss Sharp's not himgiy, ain't you, Tink?" And they fell-to upon then- frugal supper. After supper Sir Pitt Crawley began to smoke his pipe ; and when it became quite dark, he lighted the rushlight in the tin candle- stick, and producing from an interminable pocket a huge mass of papers, began reading them, and putting them in order. " I'm here on law business, my dear, and that's how it happens that I shall have the pleasm-e of such a pretty traveUing companion to-morrow." " He's always at law business," said Mrs. Tinker, taking up the pot of porter. "Drink and cfrink about," said the Baronet. "Yes, my dear. Tinker is quite right : I've lost and won more lawsuits than any man in England. Look here at Crawley, Bart. v. Snaffle. I'll throw him over, or my name's not Pitt Crawley. Podder and another versus Crawley, Bart. Overseers of Snaily parish against Crawley, Bart. They can't prove it's common : I'll defy 'em ; the land's mine. It no more belongs to the parish than it does to you or Tinker here. I'll beat 'em, if it cost me a thousand guineas. Look over the papers ; you may if you like, my dear. Do you write a good hand? I'll make you usefril when we're at Queen's Crawley, depend on it. Miss Sharp. Now the dowager's dead I want some one." " She was as bad as he," said Tinker. " She took the law of every one of her tradesmen ; and turned away forty-eight footmen in four year." " She was close — very close," said the Baronet, simply ; " but she was a valyble woman to me, and saved me a steward." — And in this confidential strain, and much to the amusement of the new-comer, the conversation continued for a considerable time. Whatever Sir Pi tt CT ni Trl ri T'i r i l 'alities might be, good or b ir ] , hn r1ir1 11 -t innlT ii thf least disg uise o f them. ±ie taljsea 01 mmseit mcessantly, sometimes in"ttlt! (JoarsesL iilid Vulgarest Hampshire accent ; sometimes adopting the tone of a man of the world. And so, with injunctions to Miss Sharp to be ready at five iii the morning, he bade her good night. " You'U. sleep with Tinker to-night," he said ; " it's a big bed, and there's room for two. Lady Crawley died in it. Good-night." Sir Pitt went ofi' after this benediction, and the solemn Tinker, rushhght in hand, led the way up the great bleak stone stairs, past the great dreary drawing-room doors, with the handles muffled up in paper, into the great front bedroom, where Lady Crawley had slept her last. The bed and chamber were so frmereal and gloomy, you might have fancied, not only that Lady Crawley died in the room. 62 VANITY FAIE but that her ghost inhabited it. Eebecca sprang about the apart- ment, however, with the greatest liveliness, and had peeped into the huge Avardrobes, and the closets, and the cupboards, and tried the drawers which were locked, and examined the dreary pictiu'es and toilette appointments, while the old charwoman was saying her prayers. " I shouldn't like to sleep in this yeer bed without a good conscience. Miss," said the old woman. " There's room for us and a half-dozen of ghosts in it," says Eebecca. " Tell me all about Lady Crawley and Sir Pitt Crawley, and everybody, my dear Mrs. Tinker." But old Tinker was not to be pumped by this little cross-ques- tioner ; and signifying to her that bed was a place for sleeping, not conversation, set up in her comer of the bed such a snore as only the nose of innocence can produce. Eebecca lay awake for a long, long time, thinking of the mon'ow, and of the new world into which she was going, and of her chances of success there. The rush- light flickered in the basin. The mantelpiece cast up a great black shadow, over half of a mouldy old sampler, which her defunct ladyship had worked, no doubt, and over two little family pictiu-es of young lads, one in a college gown, and the other in a red jacket like a soldier. When she went to sleep, Eebecca chose that one to dream about. At foirr o'clock, on such a roseate summer's morning as even made Great Gaunt Street look cheerful, the faithful Tinker, having wakened her bedfellow, and bid her prepare for departure, unban-ed and unbolted the great hall door (the clanging and clapping whereof startled the sleeping echoes in the street), and taking her way into Oxford Street, summoned a coach from a stand there. It is needless to particularise the number of the vehicle, or to state that the driver was stationed thus early in the neighbourhood of Swallow Street, in hopes that some young buck, reeling homeward from the tavern, might need the aid of his vehicle and pay him with the generosity of intoxication. It is hkewise needless to say, that the driver, if he had any such hopes as those above stated, was grossly disappointed ; and that the worthy Baronet whom he drove to the City did not give him one single penny more than his fare. It was in vain that Jehu appealed and stormed ; that he flimg down Miss Sharp's bandboxes in the gutter at the 'Necks, and swore he would take the law of his fare. "You'd better not," said one of the ostlers; "it's Sir Pitt Crawley." "So it is, Joe," cried the Baronet, approvingly; "and I'd like to see the man can do me." "So should oi," said Joe, grinning sulkily, and mountmg the Baronet's baggage on the roof of the coach. " Keep the box for me. Leader," exclaims the Member of Parliar A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 63 ment to the coachman; who rephed, "Yes, Sir Pitt," with a touch of his hat, and rage in his soiil (for he had promised the box to a young gentleman from Cambridge, who would have given a crown to a certainty), and Miss Sharp was accommodated with a back seat inside the carriage, which might be said to be carrying her into the wide world. How the yoimg man from Cambridge sulkily put his iive great- coats in front ; but was reconciled when little Miss Sharp was made to quit the carriage, and mount up beside him — when he covered her up in one of his Benjamins, and became perfectly good-humoiu-ea]siiiiiaiy_couldjhayej^ a man rich, Si r:.Ktt-6ra:wley mtght-hajee.^eco me vCTy^ff ealthy — if'Tie'iind'l5een an attorney in a countrjr^own, with no "capital but his brains, it is very possible that he would have turned them to good account, and might have achieved for himself a very considerable influence and competency. But he A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 77 was unluckily endowed with a good name and a large though encum- bered estate, both of which went rather to injure than to advance him. He had a taste for law, which cost him many thousands yearly ; and being a great deal too clever to be robbed, as he said, by any single agent, allowed his affairs to be mismanaged by a dozen, whom he all equally mistrusted. He was such a sharp landlord, that he could hardly find any but bankrupt tenants ; and such a close farmer, as to grudge almost the seed to the gi-ound, whereupon revengeful Nature gTudged him the crops which she granted to more Uberal husbandmen. He specidated in every possible way; he worked mines ; bought canal-shares ; horsed coaches ; took government con- tracts, and was the busiest man and magistrate of his county. As he would not pay honest agents at his granite quarry, he had the satisfaction of finding that four overseers ran away, and took fortunes with them to America. For want of projjer precautions, his coal- mines fiUed with water : the government flung his contract of damaged beef upon his hands : and for his coach-horses, every mail proprietor in the kingdom knew that he lost more horses than any man in the country, from under-feeding and buying cheap. In disposition he was"" sociable, and far fi-om being proud ; nay, he rather jireferred the society of a farmer or a horse-dealer to that of a gentleman, like my lord, his son : he was fond of drink, of swearing, of joking with the farmers' daughter's : he was never known to give away a shilling or to do a good action, but was of a pleasant, sly, laughing mood, and would cut his joke and drink his glass with a tenant and sell him up the next day ; or have his laugh with the poacher he v.-as transporting ^with equal good humour. His politeness for the fair sex has alrea,dy been hinted at by Miss Rebecca Sharp — in a word, the whole baronet- age, peerage, commonage of England, did not contain a more cunning, mean, selfish, foolish, disreputable old man. That blood-red hand of Sir Pitt Crawley's would be in anybody's pocket except his own ; and it is with grief and pain, that, as admirers of the British aris- tocracy, we find oxrrseh'es obliged to admit the existence of so many iU qualities in a person whose name is in Debrett. One great cause why Mr. Crawley had such a hold over the afiections of his father, resulted from money arrangements. ThC) Bar onet ow ed, his soii_ai_s um of m oneyj mt of t h«~juiiiUire'pf^his moffier, v^MrirE'tlia not find it coavenient to pay ; indeed he had an al most invincible repugnance to paying anybody, and could only be brought by force to discharge his debts. Miss Sharp calculated (for she became, as we shall hear speedily, inducted into most of the secrets of the family) that the mere payment of his creditors cost the honourable Baronet several hundreds yearly ; but this was a delight he could not forego ; he had a savage pleasure in making the poor 78 VANITY FAIE wretches wait, and in shifting from court to court and from term to term the period of satisfaction. What's the good of being in ParKa- ment, he said, if you must pay your debts 1 Hence, indeed, his p ositioj L as a senator was not a httle useful to him. ii .t y Fair — Vanity Fair ! Here was a man, who could not spell, and dlcTftOt care to read — who had the habits and the cunning / of a boor : whose aim in life was pettifogging : who never had a / taste, or emotion, or enjoyment, but what was sordid and foul ; and / yet he had rank, and honoul-s, and power, som ehow : and was a I dignitary of the land, and j, ,£illar of the state. He was high I sheriff, and rode in a golden coach. Great ministers and statesmen I courted him ; and in VaiiitYjFair he_h ad,_a higher place than the / most brilliant genius or spotlesaSH^ Sir Pitt had an unmarried half-sister who inherited her mother's large fortune, and though the Baronet proposed to borrow this money of her on mortgage. Miss Crawley decKned the offer, and preferred the security of the Funds. She had signified, however, her intention of leaving her inheritance between Sir Pitt's second son and the family at the Eectory, and had once or twice paid the debts of Eawdon Crawley in his career at college and in the army. Miss Crawle v was, in con spqnPT' ce. an object of gi-eat resp ect when she Caiae to Ijueen's U rawley, for she ha-d a balance at t^er lESi Aer's wlu(ilt W ' ULlld liiM iri' mnr i ' I i"t l^rl vnr'l fmywiiT" What a dignity it gives an old lady, that balance at the banker's ! How tenderly we look at her faults if she is a relative (and may every reader have a score of such), what a kind good- natured old creature we find her ! How the junior partner of Hobbs and Dobbs leads her smiling to the carriage with the lozenge , upon it, and the fat wheezy coachman ! How, when she comes to -^ pay us a visit, we generally find an opportunity to let our friends know her station in the world ! We say (and with perfect truth) I wish I had Miss MacWhirter's signatiure to a cheque for five thousand pounds. She wouldn't miss it, says your wife. She is J my aimt, say you, in an easy careless way, when your friend asks if Miss MacWhirter is any relative. Your wife is perpetually sending ;her little testimonies of affection, youj little girls work endless iworsted baskets, cushions, and footstools for her. What a good 'iSxe there is in her room when she comes to pay you a visit, •although your wife laces her stays without one ! The house during her stay assumes a festive, neat, warm, jovial, snug appearance not visible at other seasons. You yourself, dear sir, forget to go to "sleep after dinner, and find yourself aU of a sudden (though you invariably lose) very fond of a rubber. What good dinners you A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 79 have — game every day, Malmsey-Madeira, and no end of fish from London. Even the servants in the kitchen share in the general prosperity ; and, somehow, during the stay of Miss MacWhirter's fat coachman, the beer is grown much stronger, and the consumption of tea and sugtir in the nursery (where her maid takes her meals) is not regarded in the least. Is it so, or is it not so 1 I appeal toi the middle classes. Ah, gracious powers ! I msh you would send me an old amit — a maiden aunt — an aunt with a lozenge on her carriage, and a fi'ont of light coffee-coloured hair — how my children should work workbags for her, and my Jiilia and I would make her comfortable ! Sweet — sweet vision ! FooXish — foolish dream ! CHAPTER X MISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS A ND now, being received as a member of the amiable family l\ whose portraits we have sketched in the foregoing pages, it -' *■ became naturally Eebecca's duty to make herself, as she said, agreeable to her benefactors, and to gain then- confidence to the utmost of her power. Who can but admire this quality of gratitude in an unprotected orphan ; and, if there entered some degree of selfish- ness into her calculations, who can say but that her prudence was perfectly justifiable 1 " I am alone in the world," said the friendless girl. " I have nothing to look for but what my own labour can bring me ; and while that little pink-faced chit Amelia, with not half my sense, has ten thousand pounds and an establishment secm-e, poor Rebecca (and m y figure is far better than hers) has only herself and her own wits to trust to. W ell, let us see if my wits cannot provide me with an honourable maintenance, and if some day or the other I cannot show Miss Amelia my real superiority over her. Not that I dislike poor Amelia : who can dishke such a harmless, good-natured creatuT-et-only it will be a fine day when I carTtakeliny place above her in the world, as why, indeed, should I not ? " Thus it was that our little romantic friend formed visions of the future for herself, — nor must we be scandalised that, in aU her castles in the air, a husband was the principal inhabitant. Of what else have young ladies to think, but husbands 1 Of what else do their dear mammas think? "I must be my o\\ti mamma," said Eebecca ; not without a tingling consciousness of defeat, as she thought over her little mis- adventure with Jos Sedley. So she wisely determined to render her position with the Queen's Crawley family comfortable and secure, and to this end resolved to make friends of every one around her who coidd at aU interfere with her comfort. As my Lady Crawley was not one of these personages, and a woman, moreover, so indolent and void of character as not to be of the least consequence in her own house, Rebecca soon found that it was not at all necessary to cultivate her good will — indeed, impos- sible to gain it. She used to talk to her pupils about their " poor A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 8i mamma ; " and, tliougli she treated that lady with every demonstra- tion of cool respect, it was to the rest of the family that she wisely directed the chief part of her attentions. "With the yoimg people, whose applause she thoroughly gained, her method was pretty simple. She did not pester their young brains with too much learning, but, on the contrary, let them have their own way in regard to eductiting themselves ; for what instruc- tion is more effectual than self-instruction 1 The eldest was rather fond of books, and as there vras in the old library at Queen's Crawley a considerable provision of works of light Hterature of the last cen- tury, both in the French and English languages (they had been purchased by the Secretary of the Tape and Sealing- Wax Office at the period of his disgrace), and as nobody ever troubled the book- shelves but herself, Eebecca was enabled agreeably, and, as it were, in playing, to impart a gxeat deal of instruction to Miss Rose Crawley. She and Miss Rose thus read together many delightfid French and English works, among which may be mentioned those of the learned Dr. Smollett, of the ingenious Mr. Henry Fielding, of the gracefiil and fantastic Monsieur CrdbiUon the younger, whom our immortal poet Gray so much admu-ed, and of the universal Monsieur de Voltaire. Once, when Mr. Crawley asked what the yoimg people were reading, the governess replied "Smollett." "Oh, Smollett," said Mr. Crawley, quite satisfied. " His history is more didl, but by no means so dangerous as that of Mr. Hume. It is history you are reading 1 " " Yes," said Miss Rose ; without, however, adding that it was the history of Mr. Humphrey Clinker. On another occasion he was rather scandalised at finding his sister with a book of French plays ; but as the governess remarked that it was for the piupose of acquiring the French idiom in conversation, he was fain to be content. Mr. Crav.dey, as a diplomatist, was exceedingly proud of his own skill in speaking the French language (for he was of the world still), and not a little pleased with the compliments which the governess continually paid him upon his proficiency. Miss Violet's tastes were, on the contrary, more rude and boisterous than those of her sister. She knew the sequestered spots where the hens laid their eggs. She could climb a tree to rob the nests of the feathered songsters of their speckled spoils. And her pleasure was to ride the young colts, and to scour the plains like Camilla. She was the favourite of her father and of the stable- men. She was the darling, and withal the terror of the cook ; for she discovered the haunts of the jam-pots, and would attack them when they were within her reach. She and her sister were en- gaged in constant battles. Any of which peccadilloes, if Miss Sharp 82 VANITY FAIE discovered, she did not tell them to Lady Crawley, who would have told them to the father, or worse, to Mr. Crawley ; but promised not to tell if Miss Violet would be a good girl and love her governess. With Mr. Crawley Miss Sharp was respectful and obedient. She used to consult him on passages of French which she could not understand, though her mother was a Frenchwoman, and which he would constrae to her satisfaction : and, besides giving her his aid in profane literature, he was kind enough to select for her books of a more serious tendency, and address to her much of his conversation. She admired, beyond measure, his speech at the Quashimaboo-Aid Society ; took an interest in his pamphlet on Malt : was often affected, even to tears, by his discourses of an evening, and would say — " Oh, thank you, sir," with a sigh, and a look up to heaven, that made him occasionally condescend to shake hands with her. " Blood is everything, after all," would that aristocratic religionist say. " How Miss Sharp is awakened by my words, when not one of the people here is touched ! I am too fine for them — too delicate. I must familiarise my style — but she understands it. Her mother was a Montmorency." Indeed it was from this famous family, as it appears, that Miss Sharp, by the mother's side, was descended. Of course she did not say that her mother had been on the stage ; it would have shocked Mr. Crawley's religious scruples. How many noble em ir/rees had this horrid revolution phmged in poverty ! She had several stories abou.t her ancestors ere she had been many months in the house ; some of which Mr. Crawley happened to find in D'Hozier's dictionary, which was in the library, and which strengthened his belief in their truth, and in the high-breeding of Eebecca. Are we to suppose from this curiosity and prying into Scti?3liaries, could our heroine suppose, that Mr. Crawley was interested in her ? — no, only in a friendly way. Have we not stated that he was attached to Lady Jane Sheepshanks 1 He took Eebecca to task once or twice about the propriety of playing at backgammon with Sir Pitt, saying that it was a godless amusement, and that she would be much better engaged in reading " Thrump's Legacy," or " The Blind Washerwoman of Moorfields," or any work of a more serious nature ; but Miss Sharp said her dear mother used often to play the same game with the old Count de Trictrac and the venerable Abb6 du Comet, and so found an excuse for this and other worldly amusements. But it was not only by playing at backgammon with the Baronet that the little governess rendered herself agxeeable to her employer. She fovmd many different ways of being useful to him. She read over, with indefatigable patience, all those law papers, with which, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEED 83 before she came to Queen's Crawley, he had promised to entertain her. She vohmteered to copy many of his letters, and adroitly altered the spelling of them so as to suit the usages of the present day. She became interested in everything appertaining to the estate, to the farm, the park, the garden, and the stables ; and so delightful a companion was she, that the Baronet would seldom take his after- breakfast walk without her (and the children of com-se), when she would give her advice as to the trees which were to be lopped in the shrubberies, the garden-beds to be dug, the crops which were to be cut, the horees which were to go to cart or plough. Before she had been a year at Queen's Crawley she had quite won the Baronet's confidence ; and the conversation at the dinner-table, which before used to be held between him and Mr. Horrocks the butler, was now almost exclusively between Sir Pitt and Miss Sharp. She was almost mistress of the house when Mr. Crawley was absent, but conducted herself in her new and exalted situation with such circum- spection and modesty as not to offend the authorities of the kitchen and stable, among whom her behaviom' was always exceedingly modest and affable. She was quite a cliflOTent„jffir£an,,.£uQia.-the haughty, shy, dissatisfied little'^ffwEoimi we Jiave known .previously, and this cTiaiige'or temper proved^g^Si Erudence,_a..sin£fiie-deaii:fi-of amendmenETlffatanyrategreatjnra^iicovirage onjierjjart, Whether it wasTEe'IuilF wETcli dictated this new system of complaisance and humiUty adopted by our Rebecca, is to be proved by her after- history. A systeni__of_hypacrisy, -which lasts through whole years, tSiie^fieldom ^Ssfactorily practised by a person of one-and-twenty ; gjpwever, our readers will recollect, that, though young in years, '^ui* herttne was old in life and experience, and we have written ■W)'-iio Arpose if they have not discovered that she was a very ciCTer ■^man. Tftfe^plder and younger son of the house of Crawley were, Hke the gentleinfn and lacly in the weather-box, never at home together — they 'l^ed each other cordially: indeed, Eawdon Crawley, the drago«^,'had a great contempt for the establishment altogether, and seldom ^me thither except when his aunt paid her annual visit. . '» Tl^jjreat good c[uality of this old lady has been mentioned. She .^ssesse^ seventy thousand pounds, and had almost adopted Eawdon. SW^f^ked her elder nephew exceedingly, and despised him as a niilfcfe^ In return he did not hesitate to state that her soul was JrreijrieA)ly lost, and was of opinion that his brother's chance in Mie nfe^world was not a whit better. "She is a godless woman "ofl^ world," would Mr. Crawley say; "she lives with atheists and ^Spfelimen. My mind shudders when I think of her awful, awful si*lwtion, and that, near as she is to the gi-ave, she should be so given „ VANITY FAIR °4 n fn„ " In fact, the old up to vanity, licentiousness pro&«,a^^^^^^ and lady declined -^f sf ^VrCrawley abne,\e was obliged to pretermit when she came to Queens Crawley aio , his usual devotional exercises ^^^^^^^y pomes down, "Shut up yoiu: sarmons, Pf t'^^^"^ ^hat she won't stand the said his father; "she has written to say preachifying." „ , ■, ^ " sir ! consider the servants ^^^ j^.^ ^^^ thought " The servants he hanged ! said bu ri ^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^f h^s even worse would happen were they deprive instruction. ,„ ., ,,„ f„fv,er to his remonstrance. "Why, hang it, Pi** L /-^S toe thousand a year go out "You wouldn't be such a flat as to lei wue '^^'^f^SM' money compared to our souls, sirl" continued Mr. '^^^ou mean that the old My won't lea- the ^-^ *° ^^ ' "' and who knows but it was Mr. Crawley «/™- ^^.^te. She had Old Miss Crawley wa^ certainly o^e f the reproD ^ a snug little house in Park Lane, ^f ' ^^^J^^ ^ent to Harrowgat^ deal too much during the season ^ 1;^~' ,ff ^^^t hospitable and or Cheltenham for the summer. She was the mostng ^^^^ ^^.^_ jovial of old vestals, and had been a beauty m h^Mm%g.^^^ ^ (An old women were beauties once, we very well know.) SEV ^^^ ^^ lei esprit, and a dreadful Eadical for those days. She had b%lt^. France (where St. Just, they say, inspired her with an unfgrti^.^ passion), and loved, ever after, French novels, French cookery, ani^' French wines. She read Voltaire, and had Rousseau by . heajt * . talked very lightly about divorce, and most energetically of tlie rights of women. She had pictures of Mr. Fox in every room in the house : when that statesman was in opposition, I am not sure that she had not flung a main with him ; and when he came into office, "^e took great credit for bringing over to him Sir Pitt and his colleague for Queen's Crawley, although Sir Pitt would have come over'; himself, without any trouble on the honest lady's part. It is needl^ to ..say that Sir Pitt was brought to change his views after the deat^ of the great Whig statesman. * - This worthy old lady took a fancy to Rawdon Crawley yh^ a' ^ boy, sent him to Cambridge (in opposition to his brother at Oxford), and, when the young man was requested by the authorities of .the first-named University to quit after a residence of two years, she bought him his commission in the Life Guards Green. A perfect and celebrated " blood," or dandy about town, wa^his young ofiicer. Boxing, rat-hunting, the fives court, and four-inland A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 85 driving were then the fashion of our British aristocracy ; and he was an adept in all these noble sciences. And though he belonged to the household troops, who, as it was their duty to rally round the Prince Eegent, had not shown their valour in foreign service yet, Eawdon Crawley had already (apropos of play, of which he was immoderately fond) fought three bloody duels, in which he gave ample proofs of his contempt for death. " And for what follows after death," would Mr. Crawley observe, throwing his gooseberry-coloured eyes up to the ceiling. He was ahya.ys thinVing of his brother's so n1, nr nf the srnd,s n f those wh o differ ed with him in opinion : it is a sort of comfb rtjiSel^-Mianv of the s eriou s give themselves. Siiiy, romantic miss Crawley, far from being horrified at the courage of her favourite, always used to pay his debts after his duels ; and would not listen to a word that was whispered against his morahty. " He will sow his wild-oats," she would say, " and is worth far more than that puling hypocrite of a brother of his." 88 VANITY FAIR — Mr. Pitt at meeting (with all the names of the people who attended) — my lady as usual — the young ladies with the governess." Then the report would come — the new governess be a rare manager — Sir Pitt be very sweet on her — Mr. Crawley too — He be reading tracts to her — " What an abandoned wretch ! " said Httle, eager, active, black-faced Mrs. Bute Crawley. Finally, the reports were that the governess had " come round " everybody, wrote Sir Pitt's letters, did his business, managed his accounts — had the upper hand of the whole house, my lady, Mr. Crawley, the girls and all — at which Mrs. Crawley declare d-she-was a.Ti -fl.rtfi^l j iussy, andjigiL-awaa ^readiul c lesiffnaJn view. Thus the doings attTie Hall were the great food for con7^?Sation at the Rectory, and Mrs. Bute's bright eyes spied out everything that took place in the enemy's camp — everything and a great deal besides. " MRS. BUTE CRAWLEY TO MISS PINKEETON, THE MALL, CHISWICK. " Rectory, Queen's Ckawlet, Decemher — . "My dear Madam, — Although it is so tnany jeaxs since I profited by your delightfid and invaluable instructions, yet I have ever retained the fondest and Tnost reverential regard for Miss Pinkerton, and dear Chiswick. I hope your health is good. The world and the cause of education cannot afford to lose Miss Pinker- ton for many many years. When my friend. Lady Fuddleston, mentioned that her dear girls required an instructress (I am too poor to engage a governess for mine, but was I not educated at Chiswick 1) — ' Who,' I exclaimed, ' can we consult but the excellent, the incom- parable Miss Pinkerton?' In a word, have you, dear madam, any ladies on your list, whose services might be made available to my kind friend and neighbour % I assure you she will take no governess hut of your choosing. " My dear husband is pleased to say that he likes everything which comes from Miss Finkerton^i school. How I wish I could present him and my beloved girls to the friend of my youth, and the admired of the great lexicographer of our country ! If you ever travel into Hampshire, Mr. Crawley begs me to say, he hopes you will adorn our rural rectory with yoiu- presence. 'Tis the humble but happy home of your affectionate Martha Crawley. "P.S. — Mr. Crawley's brother, the Baronet, with whom we are not, alas ! upon those terms of tmity in which it becomes brethren to dwell, has a governess for his little girls, who, I am told, had the good fortune to be educated at Chiswick. I hear various reports of A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 89 her ; and as I have the tenderest interest in my dearest little nieces, whom I wish, in spite of family differences, to see among my own children — and as I long to be attentive to any pu2nl of yours, — do, my dear Miss Pinkerton, tell me the history of this young lady, whom, for your sake, I am most anxious to befriend. — M. C." "miss PINKEETON to MES. BUTE CRAWLEY. "Johnson House, Chiswick, Dec. 18 — . " Dear Madam, — I have the honour to acknowledge your polite communication, to which I promptly reply. 'Tis most gratifying to one in my most arduous position to iind that my maternal cares have elicited a responsive affection ; and to recognise in the amiable Mrs. Bute Crawley my excellent pupil of former years, the sprighthj and accomplished Miss Martha MacTavish. I am happy to have imder my charge now the daughters of many of those who were your con- temporaries at my establishment — what pleasure it woukl give nie if yom- o^Ti beloved yoimg ladies had need of my instructive super- intendence I " Presenting my respectful compliments to Lady Fuddleston, I have the honoiu' (epistolarily) to introduce to her ladyship my two friends, Miss Tuftin and Miss Hawky. " Either of these young ladies is perfectly qualified to instruct in Greek, Latin, and the rudiments of Hebrew ; in mathematics and history ; in Spanish, French, Italian, and geography ; in music, vocal and instnunental ; in dancing, without the aid of a master ; and in the elements of natural sciences. In the use of the globes both are proficients. In addition to these. Miss Tuffin, who is daughter of the late Eeverend Thomas Tuifin (Fellow of Corpus College, Cambridge), can instruct in the Syriac language, and the elements of Constitu- tional law. But as she is only eighteen years of age, and of cxee ed- ino-1v nlea.sincr nersnniji i]pppar.-i,ur-p perhaps this young lady may be objectionable in Su- Huddleston Fuddleston's family. " Miss Letitia Hawky, on the other hand, is not personally well- favoured. She is twenty-nine : he r fticp. is much pititRri, ■'irifVi the small-pox. isne lias a liait m her gait, red hair, and a trifling obli- cjirrty "CTvision. Both ladies are endowed with every moral and, religious virtue. Their terms, of com'se, are such - aa their -agconr- plisTluieuL.s illerit. With my most grateful respects to the Eeverend Bute Crawley, I have the honour to be, dear Madam, your most faithful and obedient servant, Barbara Pinkerton. " P.S. — The Miss Sharp, whom you mention as governess to Sir Pitt Crawley, Bart., M.P., was a pupil of mine, and I have nothing 90 VANITY FAIE to say in her disfavour. Thougli her appearance is disagreeable, we cannot control the operations of nature : and though her parents were disreputable (her father being a painter, several times bankrupt, and her mother, as I have since learned, with horror, a dancer at the Opera) ; yet her talents are considerable, and I cannot regret that I received her out of charity. My dread is, lest the principles of the mother — who was represented to me as a French Countess, forced to emigrate in the late revolutionary horrors ; but who, as I have since found, was a person of the very loivest order and morals — should at any time prove to be hereditary in the unhappy young woman whom I took as an outcast. But her principles have hitherto been correct (I beheve), and I am sure nothing will occur to injure them in the elegant and refined circle of the eminent Sir Pitt Crawley." "miss EEBECCA sharp to miss AMELIA SEDLEY. " I have not written to my beloved Amelia for these many weeks past, for what news was there to tell of the sayings and doings at Humdrum Hall, as I have christened it ; and what do you care whether the turnip crop is good or bad ; whether the fat pig weighed thirteen stone or fourteen ; and whether the beasts thrive well upon mangel- wurzel 1 Every day since I last wrote has been like its neighbour. Before breakfast, a walk with Sir Pitt and his spud ; after breakfast, studies (such as they are) in the schoolroom; after schoolroom, reading and writing about lawyers, leases, coal-mines, canals, with Sir Pitt (whose secretary I am become) ; after dinner, Mr. Crawley's discourses or the Baronet's backgammon; during both of which amuse- ments my lady looks on with equal placidity. She has become rather more interesting by being ailing of late, which has brought a new visitor to the Hall, in the person of a young doctor. Well, my dear, young women need never despair. The young doctor gave a certain friend of yoiu-s to understand that, if she chose to be Mrs. Glauber, she was welcome to ornament the surgery ! I told his im- pudence that the gilt pestle and mortar was quite ornament enough ; as if I was bom, indeed, to be a country sm-geon's wife ! Mr. Glauber went home seriously indisposed at his rebuff, took a cooHng draught, and is now qiute ciu^ed. Sir Pitt applauded my resolution highly ; he woidd be sorry to lose his httle secretary, I think ; and I believe the old wretch likes me as much as it is in his nature to like any one. Marry, indeed ! and with a country apothecary, after No, no, one cannot so soon forget old associations, about which I wiU talk no more. Let us return to Humdrum Hall. " For some time past it is Humdrum Hall no longer. My dear. Miss Crawley has arrived with her fat horses, fat servants, fat spaniel A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 91 — the great rich Miss Crawley, with seventy thousand pounds in the five per cents., whom, or I had better say lohich, her two brothers adore. She looks very apoplectic, the dear soul; no wonder her brothers are anxious about her. You should see them struggling to settle her cushions, or to hand her coffee ! ' When I comeTnto°the country,' she says (for she has a great deal of humour), ' I leave my toady, Miss Briggs, at home. My brothers are my toadies here, my dear, and a pretty pair they are ! ' " When she comes into the country our hall is thro^\-n open, and for a month, at least, you would fancy old Sir Walpole was come to life again. We have dinner-parties, and drive out in the coach-and- four — the footmen put on their newest canary-coloured liveries : we drink claret and champagne as if we were accustomed to it every day. We have wax candles in the schoolroom, and fires to warm ourselves with. Lady Crawley is made to put on the brightest pea-green in her warcbobe, and my pupils leave off their thick shoes and tight old tartan pelisses, and wear silk stockings and muslin frocks, as fashion- able baronets' daughters should. Rose came in yesterday in a sad plight — the Wiltshire sow (an enormous pet of hers) ran her down, and destroyed a most lovely flowered lilac silk dress by dancing over it — had this happened a week ago. Sir Pitt would have sworn fright- fidly, have boxed the poor wretch's ears, and put her upon bread and water for a month. All he said was, ' I'll serve you out. Miss, when your aunt's gone,' and laughed off the accident as quite trivial. Let us hope his wrath will have passed away before Miss Crawley's departure. I hope so, for Miss Eose's sake, I am sure. What a charming reconciler and peace-maker money is ! " Another admirable effect of Miss Crawley and her seventy th ousand pounds is to be seen in the conduct of the two brothers Crawley. I mean the Baronet and the Rector, not ^ gentleman's family — good old English stock. I suppose you know Sir Pitt's father refused a peerage. And you see how I am treated. I am pretty comfortable. Indeed it is rather a good place. But how very good of you to inquire ! " .Osborne was quite savage. The little governess patronised him and persiffled him until this young British Lion felt quite uneasy ; nor could he muster sufficient presence of mind to find a pretext for backing out of this most delectable conversation. "I thought you hked the City families pretty well," he said haughtily. " Last year you mean, when I was fresh from that horrid vulgar school 1 Of course I did. Doesn't every girl like to come home for the holidays ? And how was I to know any better ? But oh, Mr. Osborne, what a difference eighteen months' experience makes ! — eighteen months spent, pardon me for saying so, with gentlemen. As for dear AmeUa, she, I grant you, is a pearl, and would be charm- ing anywhere. There now, I see you are beginning to be in a good himiour ; but oh these queer odd City people ! And Mr. Jos— how is that wonderfd Mr. Joseph ? " " It seems to me you didn't dishke that wonderful Mr. Joseph last year," Osborne said kindly. 132 VANITY FAIR " How severe of you ! Well, entre nous, I didn't break my heart about him ; yet if he had asked me to do what you mean by your looks (and very expressive and kind they are, too), I wouldn't have said no." Mr. Osborne gave a look as much as to cay, " Indeed, how very obliging ! " " What an honom- to have had you for a brother-in-law, you are thinking? To be sister-in-law to George Osborne, Esquire, son of John Osborne, Esquire, son of — what was your grandpapa, Mr Osborne 1 Well, don't be angry. You can't help your pedigree, and I quite agree with you that I would have married Mr. Joe Sedley ; for could a poor penniless girl do better ? Now you know the whole secret. I'm frank and open; considering aU things, it was very kind of you^o-allude to the circumstance — very kind and polite. Ameha dear, Mr. Osborne and I were talking about your poor brother Joseph. How is he 1 " Thus was George utterly routed. Not that Rebecca was in the right ; but she had managed most successfully to put him in the wrong. And he now shamefully fled, feeling, if he stayed another minute, that he would have been made to look foolish in the presence of Amelia. Though Rebecca had had the better of him, George was above the meanness of tale-bearing or revenge upon a lady, — only he could not help cleverly confiding to Captain Crawley, next day, some notions of his regarding Miss Rebecca — that she was a sharp one, a dangerous one, a desperate flirt, &c. ; in all of which opinions Crawley agreed laughingly, and with every one of which Miss Rebecca was made acquainted before twenty-four hours were over. They added to her original regard for Mr. Osborne. Her woman's instinct had told her, that it was George who had interrupted the suc- cess of her first love-passage, and she esteemed him accordingly. " I only just warn you," he said to Rawdon Crawley, with a knowing look — he had bought the horse, and lost some score of guineas after dinner, " I just warn you — I know women, and covmsel you to be on the look-out." " Thank you, my boy," said Crawley, with a look of peculiar gratitude. "You're wide awake, I see." And George went ofi^, thinking Crawley was quite right. He told Amelia of what he had done, and how he had counselled Rawdon Crawley — a devilish good, straightforward fellow — to be on his guard against that little sly, scheming Rebecca. " Against whom 1 " Amelia cried. " Your friend the governess. — Don't look so astonish^T^^ "0 George, what have you done?" Amelia said^ For her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 133 woman's eyes, which Love had made sharp-sighted, had in one instant discovered a secret which was invisible to Miss Crawley, to poor vii-gin Briggs, and above all, to the stupid peepers of that young whiskered prig, Lieutenant Osborne. For as Eebecea was shawling her in an upper apartment, where these two friends had an opportunity for a little of that secret talk- ing and conspiring which forms the delight of female life, Amelia, coming up to Eebecea, and taking her two little hands in hers, said, " Eebecea, I see it all." Eebecea kissed her. And regarding this delightful secret, not one syllable more was said by either of the young women. But it was destined to come out before long. Some short period after the above events, and Miss Eebecea Sharp still remaining at her patroness's house in Park Lane, one more hatchment might have been seen in Great Gaunt Street, figuring amongst the many which usually ornament that dismal quarter. It was over Sir Pitt Crawley's house ; but it did not in- dicate the worthy baronet's demise. It was a feminine hatchment, and indeed a few years back had served as a fimeral compliment to Sir Pitt's old mother, the late dowager Lady Crawley. Its period of service over, the hatchment had come down from the front of the house, and hved in retirement somewhere in the back premises of Sir Pitt's mansion. It reappeared now for poor Eose Dawson. Sir Pitt was a widower again. The arms quartered on the shield along with his own were not, to be sure, poor Eose's. She had no arms. But the cherubs painted on the scutcheon answered as well for her as for Sir Pitt's mother, and Resurgam was -m-itten under the coat, flanked by the Crawley Dove and Serpent. Arms and Hatchments, Eesm-gam. — Here is an opportunity for moralising ! Mr. Crawley had tended that otherwise friendless bedside. She went out of the world strengthened by such words and comfort as he could give her. For many years his was the only kindness she ever knew ; the only friendship that solaced in any way that feeble, lonely soul. Her heart was dead long before her body. She had sold it to become Sir Pitt Crawley's vnfa. Mothers and daughters are making the same bargain every day in Vanity Fair. When the demise took place, her husband was in London attending to some of his innumerable schemes, and busy with his endless lawyers. He had foimd time, nevertheless, to call often in Park Lane,' and to despatch many notes to Eebecea, entreating her, enjoining her, commanding her to retirm to her young pupils in the country, who were now utterly without companionship during their mother's ilhiess. But Miss Crawley would not hear of her 134 VANITY FAIK departure ; for though there was no lady of fashion in London who would desert her friends more complacently as soon as she was tired of their society, and though few tired of them sooner, yet as long as her encjoument lasted her attachment was prodigious, and she clung still with the greatest energy to Eebecca. The news of Lady Crawley's death provoked no more grief or comment than might have been expected in Miss Crawley's family circle. " I suppose I must put off my party for the 3rd," Miss Crawley said ; and added, after a pause, " I hope my brother will have the decency not to marry again." "What a confounded rage Pitt will be in if he does," Eawdon remarked, witli his usual regard for his elder brother. Eebecca said nothing. She seemed by far the gravest and most impressed of the family. She left the room before Eawdon went away that day ; but they met by chance below, as he was going away after taking leave, and had a parley together. On the morrow, as Eebecca was gazing from the window, she startled Miss Crawley, who was placidly occupied with a French novel, by crying out in an alarmed tone, " Here's Sir Pitt, ma'am ! " and the Baronet's knock followed this annovmcement. " My dear, I can't see him. I won't see him. Tell Bowls not at home, or go downstairs and say I'm too ill to receive any one. My nerves really won't bear my brother at this moment ; " cried out Miss Crawley, and resumed the novel. " She's too ill to see you, sir," Eebecca said, tripping down to Sir Pitt, who was preparing to ascend. " So much the better," Sir Pitt answered. " I want to see you, Miss Becky. Come along a me into the parlour," and they entered that apartment together. " I wawnt you back at Queen's Crawley, Miss,'' the Baronet said, fixing his eyes upon her, and taking off his black gloves and his hat with its great crape hat-band. His eyes had such a strange look, and fixed upon her so steadfastly, that Eebecca Sharp began almost to tremble. " I hope to come soon," she said in a low voice, " as soon as Miss Crawley is better — and return to — to the dear children." " You've said so these three months, Becky," replied Sir Pitt, " and stiU you go hanging on to my sister, who'll fling you off like an old shoe, when she's wore you out. I tell you I want you. I'm going back to the vuneral. Will you come back ? Yes or no 1 " " I daren't — I don't think — it would be right — to be alone — with you, sir," Becky said, seemingly in great agitation. " I say agin, I want you," Sir Pitt said, thumping the table. "I can't git on without you. I didn't see what it was till you went away. The house aU goes wrong. It's not the same place. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 135 All my accounts has got muddled agin. You must come back. Do come back. Dear Becky, do come." " Come — as what, sir 1 " Kebecca gasped out. " Come as Lady Crawley, if you like," the Baronet said, grasp- ing his crape hat. " There ! will that zatusfy you 1 Come back and be my ^\iie. Your vit vor't. Birth be hanged. You're as good a lady as ever I see. You've got more brains in your little vinger than any baronet's wife in the county. Will you come ? Yes or no ?" " Sir Pitt ! " Kebecca said, very much moved. " Say yes, Becky," Sir Pitt continued. " I'm an old man, but a good'n. I'm good for twenty years. I'll make you happy, zee if I don't. You shall do what you like ; spend what you like ; and 'av it all yoiu: omi way. I'll make you a zettlement. I'll do everything reg'lar. Look year ! " and the old man fell down on his knees and leered at her like a satyr. Rebecca started back, a pictm-e of consternation. In the course of this history we have never seen her lose her presence of mind ; but she did now, and wept some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from her eyes. " Sir Pitt ! " she said. " su- — I — I'm married already" CHAPTER XV IN WHICH REBECCA'S HUSBAND APPEARS FOR A SHORT TIME EVEEY reader of a sentimental turn (and we desire no other) must have been pleased with the tableau with which the last act of our little drama concluded ; for what can be prettier than an image of Love on his knees before Beauty ? But when Love heard that awful confession from Beauty that she was married already, he bounced up from his attitude of humility on the carpet, uttering exclamations which caused poor little Beauty to be more frightened than she was when she made her avowal. " Married ; you're joking," the Baronet cried, after the iirst explosion of rage and wonder. " You're making vun of me, Becky, Who'd ever go to marry you without a shilling to your vortune % " " Married ! married ! " Kebeeca said, in an agony of tears — her voice choking with emotion, her handkerchief up to her ready eyes, fainting against the mantelpiece — a figure of woe lit to melt the most obdurate heart. " Sir Pitt, dear Sir Pitt, do not think me ungrateful for all your goodness to me. It is only your gene- rosity that has extorted my secret." " Generosity be hanged ! " Sir Pitt roared out. " Who is it tu, then, you're married ? Where was it ? " " Let me come back with you to the country, sir ! Let me watch over you as faithfully as ever ! Don't, don't separate me from dear Queen's Crawley ! ' " The feller has left you, has he 1 " the Baronet said, beginning, as he fancied, to comprehend. " Well, Becky — come back if you like. You can't eat your cake and have it. Any ways, I made you a vair oflfer. Coom back as governess — you shall have it all your own way." She held out one hand. She cried fit to break her heart ; her ringlets fell over her face, and over the marble mantel- piece where she laid it. " So the rascal ran off, eh 1 " Sir Pitt said, with a hideous attempt at consolation. " Never mind, Becky, I'll take care of 'ee." " sir ! it would be the pride of my life to go back to Queen's Crawley, and take care of the children, and of you as formerly, when A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 137 you said you were pleased with the services of your Uttle Eebecca. When I think of what you have just offered me, my heart fills with gratitude — indeed it does. I can't be your wife, sir; let me — let me be your daughter ! " Saying which, Eebecca went down on her knees in a most tragical way, and, taking Sir Pitt's horny black hand between her own two (which were very pretty and white, and as soft as satin), looked up in his face with an expression of exquisite pathos and confidence, when — when the door opened, and Miss Crawley sailed in. Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs, who happened by chance to be at the parlour door soon after the Baronet and Eebecca entered the apartment, had also seen accidentally, through the keyhole, the old gentleman prostrate before the governess, and had heard the generous proposal which he made her. It was scarcely out of his mouth when Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs had streamed up the stairs, had rushed into the drawing-room where Miss Crawley was reading the French novel, and had given that old lady the astounding intelligence that Sir Pitt was on his knees, proposing to Miss Sharp. And if you calculate the time for the above dialogue to take place — the time for Briggs and Firkin to fly to the drawing-room — the time for Miss Crawley to be astonished, and to drop her volume of Pigault le Brun — and the time for her to come downstairs — you will see how exactly accm-ate this history is, and how Miss Crawley m-ust have appeared at the very instant when Eebecca had assumed the attitude of humility. " It is the lady on the ground, and not the gentleman," Miss /Crawley said, with a look and voice of great scorn. " They told me that you were on your knees. Sir Pitt : do kneel once more, and let me see this pretty couple ! " " I have thanked Sir Pitt Crawley, ma'am," Eebecca said, rising, " and have told him that — that I never can become Lady Crawley." " Eefused him ! " Miss Crawley said, more bewildered than ever. Briggs and Firkin at the door opened the eyes of astonishment and the lips of wonder. " Yes — refused," Eebecca continued, with a sad, tearful voice. " And am I to credit my ears that you absolutely proposed to her. Sir Pitt ? " the old lady asked. "^Ees," said, the Baronet, "I did." "And she refused you as she says?" " Ees," Sir Pitt said, his featm-es on a broad grin. "It does not seem to break your heart, at any rate," Miss Orawley remarked. 138 VANITY FAIR "Nawt a bit," answered Sir Pitt, with a coolness and good- humour which set Miss Crawley almost mad with bewilderment. That an old gentleman of station should fall on his knees to a penniless governess, and bm-st out laughing because she refused to marry him, — that a penniless governess should refuse a baronet with four thousand a year, — these were mysteries which Miss Crawley could never comprehend. It surpassed any complications of intrigue in her favomite Pigaidt le Brun. " I'm glad you think it good sport, brother," she continued, groping wUdly through this amazement. " Vamous," said Sir Pitt. " Who'd ha' thought it ! what a sly little devil ! what a little fox it waws ! " he muttered to himself, chuckling Arith pleasure. "Who'd have thought whaf?" cries Miss Crawley, stamping with her foot. " Pray, Miss Sharp, are you waiting for the Prince Eegent's divorce, that you don't think our family good enough for you ? " " My attitude," Rebecca said, " when you came in, ma'am, did not look as if I despised such an honour as this good — this noble man has deigned to offer me. Do you think I have no heart? Have you aU loved me, and been so kind to the poor orphan — deserted — girl, and am / to feel nothing ? my friends ! my benefactors ! may not my love, my life, my duty, try to repay the confidence you have shown me 1 Do you grudge me even gratitude, Miss Crawley 1 It is too much — my heart is too full ; " and she sank down in a chair so pathetically, that most of the audience present were perfectly melted with her sadness. " Whether you marry me or not, you're a good little girl, Becky, and I'm your vriend, mind," said Sir Pitt, and putting on his crape- bound hat, he walked away — greatly to Rebecca's relief ; for it was evident_that her secret was unrevealed to Miss Crawley,.and,she had the advantage of a brief reprieve. Putting her handkerchief to her eyes, and nodding away honest Briggs, who would have followed her upstairs, she went up to her apartment ; while Briggs and Miss Crawley, in a high state of excitement, remained to discuss the strange event, and Firkin, not less moved, dived down into the kitchen regions, and talked of it with all the male and female company there. And so impressed was Mrs. Firkin -with the news, that she thought proper to write off by that very night's post, " with her humble duty to Mrs. Bute Crawley and the family at the Rectory, and Sir Pitt has been and proposed for to marry Miss Sharp, wherein she has refused him, to the wonder of all." The two ladies in the dining-room (where worthy Miss Briggs A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 139 was delighted to be admitted once more to a confidential conversa- tion with her patroness) wondered to their hearts' content at Sir Pitt's offer, and Eebecca's refusal ; Briggs very acutely suggesting that there must have been some obstacle in the shape of a previous attachment, otherwise no young woman in her senses would ever have refused so advantageous a proposal. "You woidd have accepted it yourself, woiddn't you, Briggs?" Miss Crawley said kindly. " Would it not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley's sister 1 " Briggs replied, vntli meek evasion. " Well, Becky would have made a good Lady Crawley, after all," Miss Crawley remarked (who was mollified by the girl's refusal, and very hberal and generous now there was no call for her sacrifices). " She has brains in plenty (much more wit in her little finger than you have, my poor dear Briggs, in all your head). Her manners are excellent, now I have formed her. She is a Montmorency, Briggs, and blood is something, though I despise it for my part ; and she would have held her own amongst those poinpous stupid " Hampshire people much better than that unfortunate ironmonger's daughter." Briggs coincided as usual, and the " previous attachment " was then discussed in conjectures. " You poor friendless creatures are always having some foolish tendre," Miss Crawley said. "You yourself, you know, were in love with a writing-master (don't cry, Briggs — you're always crying, and it won't bring him to life again), and I suppose this unfortunate Becky has been silly and sentimental too — some apothecary, or house-steward, or painter, or young curate, or something of that sort." " Poor thing, poor thing ! " says Briggs (who was thinking of twenty-four years back, and that hectic young writing-master whose lock of yellow hair, and whose letters, beautiful in their illegibility, she cherished in her old desk upstairs). " Poor thing, poor thing ! " says Briggs. Once more she was a fresh-cheeked lass of eighteen ; she was at evening church, and the hectic writing-master and she were quavering out of the same psalm-book. "After such conduct on Rebecca's part," Miss Crawley said enthusiastically, " our family should do something. Find out who is the objet, Briggs. I'U set him up in a shop ; or order my portrait of him, you know^ ; or speak to my cousin, the Bishop— and I'll doter Becky, and we'll have a wedding, Briggs, and you shall make the breakfast, and be a bridesmaid." Briggs declared that it would be dehghtful, and vowed that her dear mIss Crawley was always kind and generous, and went up to Eebecca's bedroom to console her and prattle about the offer, and the I40 VANITY FAIR refusal, ana tne cause thereof; and to hint at the generous intentions of Miss Crawley, and to find out who was the gentleman that had the mastery of Miss Sharp's heart. Rebecca was very kind, very affectionate and affected — responded to Briggs's offer of tenderness with grateful fervour — owned there was a secret attachment — a dehcious mystery — what a pity Miss Briggs had not remained half a minute longer at the keyhole ! Rebecca might, perhaps, have told more : but five minutes after Miss Briggs's arrival in Rebecca's apartment. Miss Crawley actually made her appearance there — an unheard-of honour ; her impatience had over- come her ; she could not wait for the tardy operations of her ambassa^ dress : so she came in person, and ordered Briggs out of the room. And expressing her approval of Rebecca's conduct, she asked par- ticulars of the interview, and the previous transactions which had brought about the astonishing offer of Sir Pitt. Rebecca said she had long had some notion of the partiality with which Sir Pitt honom-ed her (for he was in the habit of making his feelings known in a very frank and unreserved manner), but, not to mention private reasons with which she would not for the present trouble Miss Crawley, Sir Pitt's age, station, and habits were such as to render a marriage quite impossible ; and could a woman with any feeling of self-respect and any decency listen to proposals at such a moment, when the funeral of the lover's deceased wife had not actually taken place'? " Nonsense, my dear, you would never have refused him had there not been some one else in the case," Miss Crawley said, coming to her point at once. " Tell me the private reasons ; what are the private reasons ? There is some one ; who is it that has touched your heart 1 " Rebecca cast down her eyes, and owned there was. " You have guessed right, dear lady," she said, with a sweet simple faltering voice. " You wonder at one so poor and friendless having an attachment, don't you'? I have never heard that poverty was any safeguard against it. I wish it were." " My poor dear child," cried Miss Crawley, who was always quite ready to be sentimental, " is our passion unrequited, then 1 Are we pining in secret 1 Tell me all, and let me console you." "I wish you could, dear madam," Rebecca said in the same tearful tone. " Indeed, indeed, I need it." And she laid her head upon Miss Crawley's shoulder and wept there so naturally that the old lady, surprised into sympathy, embraced her with an almost maternal kindness, uttered many soothing protests of regard and affection for her, vowed that she loved her as a daughter, and would do everything in her power to serve her. " And now who is it,' my A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 141 dear 1 Is it that pretty Miss Sedley's brother ? You said something about an affair with him. I'll ask him here, my dear. And you shall have him : indeed you shall." " Don't ask me now," Rebecca said. "You shall know all soon. Indeed you shall. Dear kind Miss Crawley — dear friend, may I say so?" " That you may, my child," the old lady replied, kissing her. " I can't tell you now," sobbed out Rebecca ; " I am very miser- able. But oh ! love me always — promise you wiU love me always." And in the midst of mutual tears — for the emotions of the younger woman had awakened the sympathies of the elder — this promise was solemnly given by Miss Crawley, who left her little prot^gde, blessing and admiring her as a dear, artless, tender-hearted, affectionate, in- comprehensible creature. And now she was left alone to think over the sudden and wonderful events of the day, and of what had been and what might have been. What think you were the private feeling's of Miss, no (begging her pardon) of Mrs. Rebecca ? If, a few pages back, the present writer claimed the privilege of peeping into Miss Amelia Sedley's bedroom, and understanding with the omniscience of the novelist all the gentle pains and passions which were tossing upon that innocent pillow, why should he not declare himself to be Rebecca's confidant too, master of her secrets, and seal-keeper of that young woman's conscience ? Well, then, in the first place, Rebecca gave way to some very sincere and touching regrets that a piece of marvellous good fortune shoidd have been so near her, and she actually obhged to decline it. In this natural emotion every properly regulated mind will certainly share. What good mother is there that would not commiserate a penniless spinster, who might have been my lady, and have shared four thousand a year ? What well-bred yoimg person is there in all Vanity Fair, who will not feel for a liard-working, ingenious, meri- torious gu-1, who gets such an honourable, advantageous, provoking offer, just at the very moment when it is out of her power to accept it ? I am sure our friend Becky's disappointment deserves and will command every sympathy. I remember one night being in the Fair myself, at an evening party. I observed old Miss Toady, there also present, single out for her special attentions and flattery little Mrs. Briefless, the barrister's wife, who is of a good family certainly, but, as we all know, is as poor as poor can be. What, I asked in my own mind, can cause this obsequiousness on the part of Miss Toady ; has Briefless got a county covui;, or has his wife had a fortune left her? Miss Toady explained presently, 142 VANITY FAIR with that simplicity which distinguishes all her conduct. "You know," she said, " Mre. Briefless is granddaughter of Sir John Eedhand, who is so ill at Chelteiiliam that he can't last six months. Mrs. Briefiess's papa succeeds ; so you see she will be a baronet's daughter." And Miss Iflady asked Briefless and his wife to dinner the very next week. If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daughter can prociu'e a lady such homage in the world, surely, surely we may respect the agonies of a young woman who has lost the opportunity of becoming a baronet's wife. Who would have dreamed of Lady Crawley djdng so soon ? She was one of those sickly women that might have lasted these ten years — Eebecca thought to herself, in all the woes of repentance — and I might have been my lady ! I might have led that old man whither I would. I might have thanked Mrs. Bute for her patronage, and Mr. Pitt for his insuiferable condescension. I would have had the town-house newly furnished and decorated. I would have had the handsomest carriage in London, and a box at the opera ; and I would have been presented next season. All this might have been; and now — now all was doubt and mystery. But Eebecca was a young lady of too much resolution and energy of character to permit herself much useless and unseemly sorrow for the irrevocable past ; so, having devoted only the proper portion of regret to it, she wisely tmiied her whole attention towards the future, which was now vastly more important to her. And she surveyed her position, and its hopes, doubts, and chances. In the first place, she was married ; — that was a great fact. Sir Pitt knew it. She was not so much surprised into the avowal, as induced to make it by a sudden calculation. It must have come some day : and why not now as at a later period ? He who would have married her himself must at least be silent with regard to her marriage. How Miss Crawley would bear the news — was the great question. Misgivings Eebecca had ; but she remembered all Miss Crawley had said ; the old lady's avowed contempt for birth ; her daring liberal opinions ; her general romantic propensities ; her almost doting attachment to her nephew, and her repeatedly expressed fond- ness for Eebecca herself She is so fond of him, Eebecca thought, that she will forgive him anything : she is so used to me that I don't think she could be comfortable without me : when the iclair- cissement comes there wiU be a scene, and hysterics, and a great quarrel, and then a great reconoihation. At all events, what use was there in delaying 1 the die was thrown, and now or to-morrow the issue must be the same. And so, resolved that Miss Crawley should have the news, the young person debated in her mind as to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 143 the best means of conveying it to her ; and whether she should face the storm that must come, or fly and avoid it until its first fury v.'as blown over. In this state of meditation she wrote the following letter : — " Dearest Fkiend, — The great crisis which we have debated about so often is come. Half of my secret is known, and I have thought and thought, imtil I am quite sure that now is the time to reveal the ivhole of the mystery. Sir Pitt came to me this morning, and made — what do you think ? — a declaration in form. Think of that ! Poor little me. I might have been Lady Crawley. How pleased Mrs. Bute would have been ; and ma tante if I had taken precedence of her ! I might have been somebody's mamma, instead of — oh, I tremble, I tremble, when I think how soon we must tell all ! — " Sir Pitt knows I am married, and not knowing to whom, is not very much displeased as yet. Ma tante is actually angry that I should have refused him. But she is all kindness and graciousness. She condescends to say I would have made him a good wife ; and vows that she will be a mother to your little Eebecca. She will be shaken when she fii-st hears the news. But need we fear anything beyond a momentary anger 1 I think not : / am sure not. She dotes upon you so (you_jiaiightyy^-g.ood-foirnothing_man), that she would^^paTilQn_jpu.aw.?//^iwt/ .■ and, indeed, I believe, the next place in her heart is mine : and that she would be miserable without me. Dearest ! something tells me w eshalLconquer. You shall leave that odious regiment : quit gaming, racing, and be a good hoy ; and we shall all live in Park Lane, and ma tante shall leave us all her money. " I shall try and walk to-morrow at 3 in the usual place. If Miss B. accompanies me, you must come to dinner, and bring an answer, and put it in the third volmne of Porteus's sermons. But, at all events, come to your own R. "To Miss Eliza Styles, At Mr. Barnet's, Saddler, Knightsbridge." And I trust there is no reader of this little story who has not discernment enough to perceive that the Miss Eliza Styles (an old schoolfellow, Eebecca said, with whom she had resumed an active correspondence of late, and who used to fetch these letters from the saddler's) wore brass spm-s, and large curling nuistachios, and was indeed no other than Captain Eawdon Crawley,. CHAPTER XVI THE LETTER ON THE PINCUSHION HOW they were man-ied is not of the slightest consequence to anybody. What is to hinder a Captain who is a major, and a young lady who is of age, from purchasing a licence, and uniting themselves at any church in this town ? Who needs to be told, that if a woman has a will, she will assuredly find a way 1 — My belief is, that one day, when Miss Sharp had gone to pass the fore- noon with her dear friend Miss Ameha Sedley in Russell Square, a lady very Uke her might have been seen entering a church in the City, in company with a gentleman with dyed mustachios, who, after a quarter of an hour's interval, escorted her back to the hackney-coach in waiting, and that this was a quiet bridal party. And who on earth, after the daily experience we have, can question the probability of a gentleman marrying anybody ? How many of the wise and learned have married their cooks ? Did not Lord Eldon himself, the most prudent of men, make a runaway match ? Were not Achilles and Ajax both in love with their servant maids ? And are we to expect a heavy dragoon with strong desires and small brains, who had never controlled a passion in his life, to become prudent all of a sudden, and to refuse to pay any price for an indulgence to which he had a mind 1 If people only made prudent marriages, what a stop to population there would be ! It seems to me, for my part, that Mi^^awdon's marriage was one of the honestest.actions which we shall_ha,ve to record in any portion of. that_gentlemau's_biogi"aphy, which has to do with the present history. No one will say it is unmanly to be captivated by a woman, or, being captivated, to marry her ; and the admiration, the delight, the p ssion, the wonder, the imbounded confidence, the frantic adora- tion with which, by degrees, this big warrior got to regard the little Rebecca, were feehngs which the Wlies at least will pronounce were not altogether discreditable to him. AVhen she sang, every note thrilled in his dull soul, and tingled through his huge frame. When she spoke, he brought all the force of his brains to listen and wonder. If she was jocular, he iLsed to revolve her jokes in his mind, and ex- plode over them half-an-hour afterwards in the street, to the surprise A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 145 of the groom in the tilbury by his side, or the comrade riding with him in Rotten Row. Her words were oracles to him, her smallest actions marked by an infalhble gxace and wisdom. " How she sings, — how she paints ! " thought he. " How she rode that kicking mare at Queen's Crawley ! " And he would say to her in confidential moments, " By Jove, Beck, you're fit to be Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by Jove." Is his case a rare one? and don't we see every day in the world many an honest Hercules at the apron-strings of Omphale, and great-whiskered Samsons prostrate in DeKlah'slap? When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis was near, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act under her orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at the command of his colonel. There was no need for him to put his letter into the third volume of Porteus. Rebecca easily found a means to get rid of Briggs, her companion, and met her faithfid friend in " the usual place " on the next day. She had thovight over matters at night, and communicated to Rawdon the result of her determina- tions. He agreed, of course, to everytliing ; was ciuite sure that it was all right : that what she proposed was best ; that Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or " come romid," as he said, after a time. Had Rebecca's resolutions been entirely different, he would have followed them as implicitly. " You have head enough for both of us, Beck," said he. " You're sure to get us out of the scrape. I never saw your equal, and I've met with some clippers in my time too." And with this simple confession of faith, the love-stricken dragoon left her to execute his part of the project which she had formed for the pair. It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings at Brompton, or in the neighbourhood of the barracks, for Captain and Mrs. Crawley. For Rebecca had detennined, and very prudently, we think, to fly. Rawdon was only too happy at her resolve ; he had been entreating her to take this measure any time for weeks past. He pranced oft' to engage the lodgings with all the impetuosity of love. He agreed to pay two guineas a week so readily, that the landlady regretted she had asked him so httle. He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery- house fuU of flowers : and a heap of good things. As for shawls, kid gloves, silk stockings, gold French watches, bracelets, and perfumery, he sent them in with the profusion of blind love and unbounded credit. And having relieved his mind by this outpouring of generosity, he went and dined nervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of his life should come. The occurrences of the previous day ; the admirable conduct of Rebecca in refusing an offer so advantageous to her, the secret un- 146 VANITY FAIK happiness preying upon her, the sweetness and silence with which she bore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much more tender than usual. An event of this nature, a mamage, or a refusal, or a pro- posal, thrills through a whole household of women, and sets all their hysterical sympathies at work. As an observer of human nature, I regularly frequent St. George's, Hanover Square, during the genteel mai-riage season ; and though I have never seen the bridegroom's male friends give way to tears, or the beadles and oiBciating clergy any way affected, yet it is not at all uncommon to see women who are not in the least concerned in the operations going on — old ladies who are long past marrying, stout middle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughters, let alone pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, who are on their promotion, and may naturally take an interest in the ceremony, — I say it is quite common to see the women present piping, sobbing, sniffling ; hiding their little faces in their little useless pocket- handkerchiefs ; and heaving, old and young, with emotion. AVhen my friend, the fashionable John Pimlico, married the lovely Lady Belgravia Green Parker, the excitement was so general, that even the little snuify old pew-opener who let me into the seat was in tears. And wherefore 1 I inquired of my own soul : she was not going to be married. Miss Crawley and Briggs in a word, after the affair of Sir Pitt, indulged in the utmost luxury of sentiment, and Rebecca became an object of the most tender interest to them. In her absence Miss Crawley solaced herself with the most sentimental of the novels in her library. Little Sharp, with her secret griefs, was the heroine of the day. That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked more pleasantly than she had ever been heard to do in Park Lane. She twined her- self round the heart of Miss Crawley. She spoke lightly and laugh- ingly of Sir Pitt's proposal, ridiculed it as the foolish fancy of an old man; and her eyes fflled with tears, and Briggs's heart with unutterable pangs of defeat, as she said she desired no other lot than to remain for ever with her dear benefactress. " My dear little creature," the old lady said, " I don't intend to let you stir for years, that you may depend upon it. As for going back to that odious brother of mine after what has passed, it is out of the question. Here you stay with me and Briggs. Briggs wants to go to see her relations very often. Briggs, you may go when you like. But as for you, my clear, you must stay and take care of the old woman." If Rawdon Crawley had been then and there present, instead of being at the club nervously drinking claret, the pair might have gone down on their knees before the old spinster, avowed all, and been forgiven in a twinkling. But that good chance was denied tojhe young couple, doubtless in oi3erthat"tliis"~sForynnght "be written, in A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 147 which numbers of their wonderful adventures are narrated^:-adxen- tu?^~w|Lich co urdrneYerig ive occurred txVjrtijem_ if they had been housed _and shelte red imde^ theliomfortable uninteresting forgiveness ofTSIIss Crawley. Under Mrs.' Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane establishment, was a yomig woman from Hampshire, whose business it was, among other duties, to knock at Miss Sharp's door with that jug of hot water, which Firkin would rather have perished than have pre- sented to the intruder. This girl, bred on the family estate, had a brother in Captain Crawley's troop, and if the truth were known, I dare say it would come out that she was aware of certain arrange- ments, which have a great deal to do with this history. At any rate, she pui'chased a yellow shawl, a pair of green boots, and a light blue hat with a red feather, with three guineas which Rebecca gave her, and as little Sharp was by no means too liberal with her money, no doubt it was for services rendered that Betty Martin was so bribed. On the second day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer to Miss Sharp, the sim rose as usual, and at the usual hour Betty Martin, the upstairs maid, knocked at the door of the governess's bedchamber. No answer was returned, and she knocked again. Silence was still uninterrupted ; and Betty, with the hot water, opened the dooi and entered the chamber. The httle white chmity bed was as smooth and trim as on the day previous, when Betty's own hands had helped to make it. Two little trunks were corded in one end of the room ; and on the table before the window — on the pincushion — the great fat pincushion lined with pink inside, and twiUed hke a lady's nightcap— lay a letter. It had been reposing there jjrobably all night. Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe, as if she were afraid to awake it — looked at it, and round the room, with an air of great wonder and satisfaction ; took up the letter, and grinned intensely as she tiuned it round and over, and finally carried it into Miss Briggs's room below. How could Betty tell that the letter was for Miss Briggs, I should like to know 1 All the schooling Betty had was at Mrs Bute Crawley's Sunday-school, and she could no more read writing than Hebrew. "La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "0 Miss, something must have happened— there's nobody in Miss Sharp's room; the bed ain't been slep in, and she've run away, and left this letter for you, Miss." " What ! " cries Briggs, dropping her comb, the thin wisp of 148 VANITY FAIR faded hair falling over her shoulders ; " an elopement ! Miss Sharp a fugitive ! What, what is this ? " and she eagerly broke the neat seal, and, as they say, " devoured the contents " of the letter ad- dressed to her. " Dear Miss Briggs," the refugee wrote, " the kindest heart in the world, as yours is, will pity and sympathise with me and excuse me. With tears, and prayers, and blessings, I leave the home where the poor orphan has ever met with kindness and affection. Claims even superior to those of my benefactress caU me hence. I go to my duty — to my husband. Yes, I am married. My husband com mands me to seek the humble home which we call ours. Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news as your delicate sympathy will know how to do it — to my dear, my beloved friend and benefactress. Tell her, ere I went, I shed tears on her dear piUow — that pillow that I have so often soothed in sickness — that I long again to watch — oh, with what joy shall I return to dear Park Lane ! How I tremble for the answer which is to seal my fate ! AVhen Sir Pitt deigned to offer me his hand, an honour of which my beloved Miss Crawley said I was deserving (my blessings go with her for judging the poor orphan worthy to be her sister !), I told Sir Pitt that I was already a wife. Even he forgave me. But my corn-age failed me, when I should have told him all — that I could not be his wife, for I VMS his daughter ! I am wedded to the best and most generous of men — Miss Crawley's Eawdon is my Eawdon. At his command I open my lips, and follow him to our humble home, as I would through the world. Oh, my excellent and kind friend, intercede with my Rawdon's beloved aunt for him and the poor girl to whom all his noble race have shown such unparalleled affection. Ask Miss Crawley to receive her children. I can say no more, but blessings, blessings on all in the dear house I leave, prays your affectionate and grateful "Midnight. Rebecca Ceawley." Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting and interesting document, which reinstated her in her position as first confidante of Miss Crawley, Mrs. Firkin entered the room. " Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley just arrived by the mail from Hampshire, and wants some tea ; -will you come down and make breakfast. Miss % " And to the siu-prise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gown around her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelled behind her, the little curl- papers still sticking in bunches roimd her forehead, Briggs sailed down to Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand containing the wonderful news. THE NOTE ON THK PINCUSHION. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 149 " Oh, Mi-s. Firkin," gasped Betty, " sech a business ! Miss Sharp have a gone and run away with the Capting, and they're off to Gretney Green ! " We would devote a chapter to describe the emotions of Mrs. Firkin, did not the passions of her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse. When Mre. Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight travelling, and warming herself at the newly crackling parlour fire, heard from Miss Briggs the intelligence of the clandestine marriage, she declared it was quite providential that she should have arrived at such a time to assist poor dear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock — that Rebecca was an artful little hussy of whom she had always had her suspicions ; and that as for Rawdon Crawley, she never could account for his aunt's infatuation regarding him, and had long considered him a profligate, lost, and abandoned being. And this awful conduct, Mrs. Bute said, "will have at least this good effect, it will open poor dear Miss Crawley's eyes to the real character of this wicked man. Then Mrs. Bute had a comfortable hot toast and tea ; and as there was a vacant room in the house now, there was no need for her to remain at the Gloster Coffee House where the Portsmouth mail had set her down, and whence she ordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-camp the footman to bring away her trunks. Miss Crawley, be it known, did not leave her room until near noon — taking chocolate in bed in the morning, while Becky Sharp read the Morning Post to her, or othei-wise amusing herself or dawdling. The conspirators below agreed that they would spare the dear lad^s feelings until she appeared in her drawing-room : mean- while it was announced to her, that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come up from Hampshire by the mail, was staying at the Gloster, sent her love to Miss Crawley, and asked for breakfast with Miss Briggs. The arrival of ilrs. Bute, which would not have caused any extreme delight at another period, was hailed with pleasure now ; Miss Crawley being pleased at the notion of a gossip with her sister-in-law regarding the late Lady Crawley, the funeral arrangements pending, and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposals to Rebecca. It was not until the old lady was fairly ensconced in her usual arm-chair in the drawing-room, and the preliminary embraces and inquiries had taken place between the ladies, that the conspirators thought it advisable to submit her to the operation. Who has not admired the artifices and delicate approaches with which women " prepare " their fiiends for bad news 1 Miss Crawley's two friends made such an apparatus of mystery before they broke the intelligence to her, that they worked her up to the necessary degree of doubt and alarm. 150 VANITY FAIR " And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear, dear Miss Crawley, prepare yourself for it," Mrs. Bute said, "because — because she couldn't help herself" " Of course there was a reason," Miss Crawley answered. " She liked somebody else. I told Briggs so yesterday." " Likes somebody else ! " Briggs gasped. " my dear friend, she is married already." "Married already," Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both sate with clasped hands looking from each other at their victim. "Send her to me, the instant she comes in. The little sly wretch : how dared she not tell me 1 " cried out Miss Crawley. " She won't come in soon. Prepare yourself, dear friend — she's gone out for a long time — she's — she's gone altogether." " Gracious goodness, and who's to make my chocolate 1 Send for her and have her back ; I desire that she come back," the old lady said. " She decamped last night, ma'am," cried Mrs. Bute. " She left a letter for me," Briggs exclaimed. " She's married to " " Prepare her, for Heaven's sake. Don't torture her, my dear Miss Briggs." " She's married to whom 1 " cries the spinster in a nervous fury " To— to a relation of " " She refused Sir Pitt," cried the victim. " Speak at once. Don't drive me mad." " ma'am — prepare her. Miss Briggs — she's married to Eawdon Crawley." "Eawdon married — Eebecca — governess — nobod — Get out of my house, you fool, you idiot — you stupid old Briggs — how dare you ? You're in the plot — you made him marry, thinking that I'd leave my money from him — you did, Martha," the poor old lady screamed in hysteric sentences. " I, ma'am, ask a member of this family to marry a drawing- master's daughter 1 " " Her mother was a Montmorency," cried out the old lady, pulling at the bell with all her might. " Her mother was an opera girl, and she has been on the stage or worse herself," said Mrs. Bute. Miss Crawley gave a final scream, and fell back in a faint. They were forced to take her back to the room which she had just quitted. One fit of hysterics succeeded another. The doctor was sent for — the apothecary arrived. Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by her bedside. "Her relations ought to be round about her," that amiable woman said. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 151 She had scarcely heen carried up to her room, when a new person arrived to whom it was also necessary to break the news. This was Sir Pitt. "Where's Becky 1" he said, coming in. "Where's her traps? She's coming with me to Queen's Crawley." " Have you not heard the astonishing intelligence regarding her surreptitious union 1 " Briggs asked. " What's that to me V' Sir Pitt asked. " I know she's married. That makes no odds. Tell her to come down at once, and not keep me." " Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs asked, " that she has left our roof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley, who is nearly killed by the intelligence of Captain Eawdon's union with her 1 " When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was married to his son, he broke out into a fury of language, which it would do no good to repeat in this place, as indeed it sent poor Briggs shuddering out of the room ; and with her we will shut the door upon the figure of the frenzied old man, wild with hatred and insane with baffled desire. One day after he went to Queen's Crawley, he burst like a madman into the room she had used when there — dashed open her boxes with his foot, and flung about her papers, clothes, and other relics. Miss HoiTocks, the butler's daughter, took some of them. The children dressed themselves and acted plays in the others. It', / was but a few days after the poor mother had gone to her lonely \j burying-place ; and was laid, unwept and disregarded, in a vault full of strangers. " Suppose the old lady doesn't come-to," Rawdon said to his little wife, as they sate together in the snug little Brompton lodgings. She had been trying the new piano all the morning. The new gloves fitted her to a nicety ; the new shawls became her wonder- fidly ; the new rings glittered on her little hands, and the new watch ticked at her waist ; " suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky 1 " " I'll make your fortune," she said ; and Delilah patted Samson's cheek. " You can do anything," he said, kissing the Kttle hand. " By Jove you can ; and we'll drive down to the Star and Garter, and dine, by Jove." CHAPTER XVII HOW CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANO IF there is any exliibition in all Vanity Fair which Satire and Sentiment can visit arm in arm together ; where you light on the strangest contrasts laughable and tearful : where you may be gentle and pathetic, or savage and cynical with perfect pro- priety : it is at one of those pubKc assemblies, a crowd of which are advertised every day in the last page of the Times newspaper, and over which the late Mr. George Robins used to preside with so much dignity. There are very few London people, as I fancy, who have not attended at these meetings, and all with a taste for moralising must have thought, ^ith a sensation and interest not a little startling and queer, of the day when their tiu-n shall come too, and Mr. Hammerdown -n-ill sell by the orders of Diogenes's assignees, or wiU be instructed by the executors to offer to public competition, the library, fiu-niture, plate, wardrobe, and choice cellar of wines of Epicurus deceased. Even with the most selfish disposition, the Vanity-fairian, as he witnesses this sordid part of the obsequies of a departed friend, can't but feel some sympathies and regret. My Lord Dives's remains are in the family vaidt : the statuaries are cutting an inscription veraciously commemorating his virtues, and the soitows of his heir, who is disposing of his goods. What guest at Dives's table can pass the familiar house without a sigh 1 — the familiar house of which the lights used to shine so cheerftiUy at seven o'clock, of which the hall-doors opened so readily, of which the obsequious servants, as you passed up the comfortable staii', sounded your name from land- ing to landing, imtil it reached the apartment where jolly old Dives welcomed his friends ! What a number of them he had ; and what a noble way of entertaining them. How witty people used to be here who were morose when they got out of the door ; and how courteous and friendly men who slandered and hated each other everywhere else ! He was pompous, but with such a cook what would one not swaUow 1 he was rather dull, perhaps, but would not such wine make any conversation pleasant 1 We must get some of his Burgundy at any price, the mourners cry at his club. " I got A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 153 this box at old Dives's sale," Pincher says, handing it round, " one of Louis XV. 's mistresses — pretty thing, is it not^ — sweet miniature," and they talk of the way in which young Dives is dissipating his fortune. How changed the house is, though ! The front is patched over with bills, setting forth the particulars of the furniture in staring capitals. They have hung a shred of carpet out of an upstairs window — a half-dozen of porters are lounging on the dirty steps — the hall swarms -ndth dingy guests of oriental countenance, who thrust printed cards into your hand, and offer to bid. Old women and amateurs have invaded the upper apartments, pinching the bed ciu-tains, poking into the feathers, shampooing the mattresses, and clapping the wardrobe drawers to and fro. Enterprising young housekeepers are measuring the looking-glasses and hangings to see if they will suit the new menage — (Snob will brag for years that he has piu-chased this or that at Dives's sale), and Mr. HammerdoTi-u is sitting on the great mahogany dining-tables, in the dining-room below, waving^the ivory hammer, and employing aU the artifices of eloquence, enthusiasm, entreaty, reason, despair; shouting to his people ; satuising Mr. Davids for his sluggishness ; inspiiitmg Mr. Moss into action ; imploring, commanding, bellowing, until down comes the hammer Kke fate, and we pass to the next lot. Dives, who would ever have thought, as we sat round the broad table sparkling "with plate and spotless linen, to have seen such a dish at the head of it as that roaring auctioneer ? It was rather late in the sale. The excellent drawing-room furniture by the best makers ; the rare and famous wines selected, regardless of cost, and with the well-known taste of the purchaser ; the rich and complete set of family plate had been sold on the previous days. Certain of the best wines (which all had a great character among amateurs in the neighbourhood) had been piu-chased for his master, who knew them very weU, by the butler of our friend John Osborne, Esquire, of Russell Square. A small portion of the most useful articles of the plate had been bought by some young stockbrokers from the City. And now the public being invited to the purchase of minor objects, it happened that the orator on the table was expatiating on the merits of a picture, which he sought to recom- mend to his audience : it was by no means so select or numerous a company as had attended the previous days of the auction. " No. 369," roared Mr. Hammerdown. " Portrait of a gentleman on an elephant. Who'll bid for the gentleman on the elephant? Lift up the picture, Blowman, and let the company examine this lot." A long, pale, military-looking gentleman, seated demurely at the mahogany table, could not help grinning as this valuable lot was 154 VANITY FAIR shown by Mr. Blowman. "Turn the elephant to the Captain, Blowman. What shall we say, sir, for the elephant 1" but the Captain, blushing in a very hurried and discomfited manner, turned away his head. "Shall we say twenty guineas for this work of art? — fifteen, five, name your own price. The gentleman without the elephant is worth five pound." " I wonder it ain't come down with him,'' said a professional wag, " he's anyhow a precious big one ; " at which (for the elephant- rider was represented as of a very stout figure) there was a general giggle in the room. "Don't be trying to deprecate the value of the lot, Mr. Moss," Mr. Hammerdown said ; " let the company examine it as a work of art — the attitude of the gallant animal quite according to natur' ; the gentleman in a nankeen-jacket, his gim in his hand, is going to the chase ; in the distance a banyhann-tree and a pagody, most likely resemblances of some interesting spot in our famous Eastern possessions. How much for this lot 1 Come, gentlemen, don't keep me here all day." Some one bid five shillings, at which the military gentleman looked towards the quarter from wliich this splendid offer had come, and there saw another officer with a young lady on his arm, who both appeared to be highly amused with the scene, and to 's^hom, finally, this lot was knocked down for half-a-guinea. He at the table looked more surprised and discomposed than ever when he spied this pair, and his head sank into his military collar, and he turned his back upon them, so as to avoid them altogether. Of all the other articles which Mr. Hammerdown had the honour to offer for public competition that day it is not our purpose to make mention, save of one only, a little square piano, which came down from the upper regions of the house (the state grand piano having been disposed of previously) ; this the young lady tried with a rapid and skilful hand (making the oflncer blush and start again), and for it, when its turn came, her agent began to bid. But there was an opposition here. The Hebrew aide-de-camp in the service of the officer at the table bid against the Hebrew gentleman employed by the elephant purchasers, and a brisk battle ensued over this little piano, the combatants being greatly encouraged by Mr. Hammerdown. At last, when the competition had been prolonged for some time, the elephant captain and lady desisted from the race ; and the hammer coming down, the auctioneer said : " Mr. Lewis, twenty-five," and Sir. Lewis's chief thus became the proprietor of the little square piano. Having effected the purchase, he sate up as if he was greatly reheved, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 155 and the unsuccessful competitors catching a ghmpse of him at this moment, the Lady said to her friend — " Why, Eawdon, it's Captain Dobbin." I suppose Becky was discontented with tlie new piano her husband had hired for lier, or perhaps the proprietors of that instrument had fetched it away, declining further credit, or perhaps she had a par- ticular attachment for the one which she had just tried to purchase, recollecting it in old days, when she used to play upon it, in the little sitting-room of our dear Amelia Sedley, Jhe sale was at the jld hnnRe..iu_"R.nRRp.11 Sq]]a.r.e^ where we passed so me e voDlng s-togetheiuit-tlicJDeginning-of i his s to ry- GoQiLold John Sedlex_was,.a-xuined. man. His name had been proclaimed as a de- faulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy and commercial extermination had followed. Mr. Osborne's butler came to buy some of the famous port wine to transfer to the cellars over the way. As for one dozen well-manufactiu-ed silver spoons and forks at per oz., ■ and one dozen dessert ditto ditto, there were three young stockbrokers (Messrs. Dale, Spiggot, and Dale, of Threadneedle Street, indeed), who, having had dealings with the old man, and kindnesses from him in days when he was kind to everybody with whom he dealt, sent this little spar out of the wreck with their love to good Mrs. Sedley ; and with respect to the piano, as it had been Amelia's, and as she might mis s it and want one now, and as Captain William Dobbin could no more play upon it than he coidd dance on the tight-rope, it is probable that he did not purchase the instrument for his own use. In a word, it arrived that evening at a wonderful small cottage in a street leading from the Fulham Koad — one of those streets which have the finest romantic names — (this was called St. Adelaide Villas, Anna-Maria Eoad, West), where the houses look like baby-houses ; where the people, looking out cf the first-floor windows, must infal- libly, as you think, sit with their feet in the parloius ; where the shrubs in the little gardens in front bloom with a perennial display of little children's pinafores, little red socks, caps, &c. (polyandria polygynia) ; whence you hear the soimd of jingling spinets and women singing ; where little porter pots hang on the railings sunning them- selves ; whither of evenings you see City clerks padding wearUy : here it was that Mr. Clapp, the clerk of Mr. Sedley, had his domicile, and in this asylum the good old gentleman hid his head with his wife and daughter when the crash came. Jos Sedley had acted as a man of his disposition would, v/hen the announcement of the family misfortune reached him. He did not come to London, but he wrote to his mother to draw upon his agents for whatever money was wanted, so that his kind broken-spirited old parents had no present poverty to fear. This done, Jos went on at 156 VANITY FAIK the boarding-house at Cheltenham pretty much as before. He drove his curricle ; he drank his claret ; he played his rubber ; he told his Indian stories, and the Irish widow consoled and flattered him as usual. His present of money, needful as it was, made little impression on his parents ; and I have heard Amelia say, that the first day on which she saw her father lift up his head after the failure, was on the receipt of the packet of forks and spoons with the young stockbrokers' love, over which he burst out crying like a child, being greatly more affected than even his wife, to whom the present was addressed. Edward Dale, the junior of the house, who purchased the spoons for the firm, was, in fact, very sweet upon Amelia, and offfered for her in spite of all. He married Miss Louisa Cutts (daughter of Higham & Cutts, the eminent corn-factors) with a handsome fortune in 1820; and is now living in splendour, and with a numerous family, at his elegant villa, Muswell HiU. But we must not let the recollections of this good fellow cause us to diverge from the principal history. I hope the reader has much too good an opinion of Captain and Mrs. Crawley to suppose that they ever would have dreamed of paying a visit to so remote a district as Bloomsbury, if they thought the family whom they proposed to honour with a visit were not merely out of fashion, but out of money, and could be serviceable to them in no possible manner. Eebecca was entirely surprised at the sight of the comfortable old house where she had met with no small kindness, ransacked by brokers and bargainers, and its quiet family treasures given up to public desecration and plunder. A month after her flight, she had bethought her of Amelia, and Eawdon, with a horse-laugh, had expressed a perfect willingness to see young George Osborne again. " He's a very agreeable acquaintance. Beck," the wag added. " I'd like to sell him another horse. Beck. I'd like to play a few more games at bilhards with him. He'd be what I call useful just now, Mrs. C. — ha, ha ! " by which sort of speech it is not to be supposed that Rawdon Crawley had a deliberate desire to cheat Mr. Osborne at play, but only wished to take that fair advantage of him which almost every sporting gentleman in Vanity Fair considers to be his due from his neighbour. The old aunt was long in " coming-to." A month had elapsed. Rawdon was denied the door by Mr. Bowls ; his servants could not get a lodgment in the house at Park Lane ; his letters were sent ba<;k unopened. Miss Crawley never stirred out — she was unwell — and Mrs. Bute remained still and never left her. Crawley and his wife both of them augm-ed evil from the continued presence of Mrs. Bute. " G-ad, I begin to perceive now why she was always bringing us together at Queen's Crawley," Rawdon said. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 157 " What an artful little woman ! " ejaculated Eebecca. " Well, / don't regret it, if you don't," the Captain cried, still in an amorous rapture with his wife, who rewarded him with a liiss by way of reply, and was indeed not a little gratified by the generous confidence of her husband. " If he had but a little more brains," she thought to herself, "-I-^ might make something of him ; " but she never let him perceive the/ opinion she had of him ; listened with indefatigable complacency to his stories of the stable and the mess ; laughed at all his jokes ; felt the greatest interest in Jack Spatterdash, whose cab-horse had come down, and Bob Martingale, who had been taken up in a gambling- house, and Tom Cinqbars, who was going to ride the steeplechase. When he came home she was alert and happy : when he went out she pressed him to go : when he stayed at home, she played and sang for him, made him good drinks, superintended his dinner, warmed his slippers, and steeped his soul in comfort. TJie best of women (I have heard_^niy_g]5ndmothet-.say-X~ara hypocrites. We Hbn't know how much they hide from us : how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential : how often those frank smiles which they wear so easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm — I don't mean in yom- mere coquettes, but your domestic models, and paragons of female virtue. Who has not seen a woman hide the didness of a stupid husband, or coax the ftiry of a savage -one 1 We accept this amiable slavishness, and praise a woman for it ; we call this pretty treachery truth. A good housewife is of necessity a hum- bug ; and Cornelia's husband was hoodwinked, as Potiphar was — only in a different way. By these attentions, that veteran rake, Rawdon Crawley, found himself converted into a very happy and submissive married man. His former haunts knew him not. They asked about him once or twice at his clubs, but did not miss him much ; in those booths of Vanity Fair peaple seldom do miss each other. His secluded wife ever smiling and cheerful, his little comfortable lodgings, snug meals, and homely evenings, had all the charms of novelty and secrecy. The marriage was not yet declared to the world, or published in the Morning Post. All his creditors would have come rushing on him in a body, had they known that he was united to a woman without fortune. " My rela- tions won't cry fie upon me," Becky said, with rather a bitter laugh ; and she was quite contented to wait imtil the old aunt should be reconciled, before she claimed her place in society. So she lived at Brompton, and meanwhile saw no one, or only those few of her hus- band's male companions who were admitted into her httle dining-room. These were aU charmed with her. The Httle dinners, the laughing and chatting, the music afterwards, delighted all who participated in these 158 VANITY FAIK enjoyments. Major Martingale never thought about asking to see the marriage licence. Captain Cinqbare was perfectly enchanted with her skill in making punch. And young Lieutenant Spatterdash (who was fond of piquet, and whom Crawley would often invite) was evidently and quickly smitten by Mrs. Crawley ; but her own circumspection and modesty never forsook her for a moment, and Crawley's reputa- tion as a &-e-eating and jealous warrior was a further and complete defence to his little wife. There are gentlemen of veiy good blood and fashion in this city, who never have entered a lady's drawing-room; so that though Eawdon Crawley's marriage might be talked about in his county, where, of com-se, Mrs. Bute had spread the news, in London it was doubted, or not heeded, or not talked about at all. He lived com- fortably on credit. He had a large capital of debts, which, laid out judiciously, will carry a man along for many years, and on which certain men about town contrive to live a hundred times better than even men -nith ready money can do. Indeed, who is there that walks London streets, but can point out a half-dozen of men riding by him splendidly, while he is on foot, courted by fashion, bowed into their carriages by tradesmen, denying themselves nothing, and living on who knows what"? We see Jack Thriftless prancing in the Park, or darting in his brougham down Pall Mall : we eat his dinners served on .his miraculous plate. " How did this begin," we say, " or where will it end 1 " " My dear fellow," I heard Jack once say, " I owe money in every capital in Emope." The end must come some day, but in the meantime Jack thrives as much as ever ; people are glad enough to shake him by the hand, ignore the little dark stories that are whispered every now and then against him, and pronounce him a good-natm-ed, jovial, reckless fellow. Truth obhges us to confess that Eebecca had married a gentle- man of this order. Everything was plentiful in his house but ready money, of which their menage pretty early felt the want ; and read- ing the Gazette one day, and coming upon the announcement of " Lieutenant G. Osborne to be Captain by purchase, vice Smith, who exchanges," Rawdon uttered that sentiment regarding Amelia's lover, which ended in the visit to Russell Square. When Rawdon and his wife wished to communicate with Captain Dobbin at the sale, and to know particulars of the catastrophe which had befallen Rebecca's old acquaintances, the Captain had vanished ; and such information as they got was from a stray porter or broker at the auction. " Look at them with their hooked beaks," Becky said, getting into the buggy, her picture under her arm, in great glee. " They're like vultiures after a battle." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 159 " Don't know. Never wiis in action, my dear. Ask Martingale ; he was in Spain, aide-de-camp to General Blazes." " He was a very kind old man, Mr. Sedley," Eebecca said ; " I'm really sorry lie's gone wrong." " stockbrokers — bankrapts — used to it, you know," Eawdon replied, cutting a fly off the horse's ear. " I wish we could have afforded some of the plate, Eawdon," the wife continued sentimentally. Five-and-twenty guineas was monstrously dear for that little piano. We chose it at Broadwood's for Amelia, when she came from school. It only cost five-and- thirty then." " What d'ye-call'em — ' Osborne,' will cry off now, I suppose, since the family is smashed. How cut up your pretty little friend will be ; hey, Becky 1 " " I dare say she'U recover it," Becky said, with a smOe — and they drove on and talked about something else. CHAPTER XVIII WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT? OUR siu-prised story now finds itself for a moment among very- famous events and personages, and hanging on to the skirts of history. When the eagles of Napoleon Bonaparte, the Oorsican upstart, were flying from Provence, where they had perched after a brief sojourn in Elba, and from steeple to steeple imtil they reached the towers of Notre Dame, I wonder whether the Imperial birds had any eye for a little comer of the parish of Bloomsbury, London, which you might have thought so quiet, that even the whirring and flapping of those mighty wings would pass unob- served there 1 " Napoleon has landed at Cannes." Such news might create a panic at Vienna, and cause Russia to drop his cards, and take Prussia into a comer, and Talleyrand and Metternich to wag their heads together, while Prince Hardenberg, and even the present Marquis of Londonderry, were puzzled ; but how was this intelligence to affect a yoimg lady in Russell Square, before whose door the watch- man sang the hours when she was asleep : who, if she strolled in the square, was guarded there by the railings and the beadle : who, if she walked ever so short a distance to buy a ribbon in Southampton Row, was followed by Black Sambo with an enormous cane : who was always cared for, dressed, put to bed, and watched over by ever so many guardian angels, with and without wages '? JBon Dieu, I say, is it not hard that the fateful rush of the great Imperial struggle can't take place without affecting a poor little harmless girl of eighteen, who is occupied in billing and cooing, or working muslin collars in Russell Square 1 You, too, kindly, homely flower ! — is the great roaring war tempest coming to sweep you down, here, although cowering under the shelter of Holbom 1 Yes ; Napoleon is flinging his last stake, and poor little Emmy Sedley's happiness forms, somehow, part of it. In the first place, her father's fortune was swept down with that fatal news. All his speculations had of late gone wrong with the luckless old gentleman. Ventures had failed; merchants had broken ; funds had risen when he calculated they would fall. What A NOVEL WITHOUT A- HEKO i6i need to particulaxise ■? If success is rare and slow, everybody knows how quick and easy ruin is. Old Sedley had kept his own sad counsel. Everything seemed to go on as usual in the quiet, opulent house ; the good-natmed mistress pm-suing, quite unsuspiciously, her bustling idleness, and daily easy avocations ; the daughter absorbed still in one selfish, tender thought, and quite regardless of all the world besides, when that final crash came, under which the worthy family fell. One night Mrs. Sedley was writing cards for a party ; the Osbomes had given one, and she must not be behiudhand ; John Sedley, who had come home very late from the City, sate silent at the chimney side, whUe his wife was prattling to him ; Emmy had gone up to her room ailing and low-spirited. " She's not happy," the mother went on. " George Osborne neglects her. I've no patience with the airs of those people. The girls have not been in the house these three weeks ; and George has been twice in town without coming. Edward Dale saw him at the Opera. Edward would marry her, I'm sure : and there's Captain Dobbin who, I th ink, wo uld — only I hate all army rs&n. Siich a dandy as George has become. With his military airs, indeed ! We must show some folks that we're as good as they. Only give Edward Dale any encom-agement, and you'll see. We must have a party, Mr. S. Why don't you speak, John 1 Shall I say • Tuesday fortnight 1 Why don't you answer 1 Good God, John, what has happened 1 " John Sedley sprang up out of his chair to meet his wife, who ran to him. He seized her in his arms, and said with a hasty voice, " We're ruined, Mary. We've got the world to begin over again, dear. It's best that you should know all, and at once." As he spoke, he trembled in every limb, and almost fell. He thought the news would have overpowered his wife — his wife, to whom he had never said a hard word. But it was he that was the most moved, sudden as the shock was to her. When he sank back into his seat, it was the wife that took the ofiice of consoler. She took his trembling hand, and kissed it, and put it round her neck : she called him her John — ■ her dear John — her old man — her kind old man ; she poured out a himdred words of incoherent love and tenderness ; her faithful voice and simple caresses wrought this sad heart up to an inexpressible delight and anguish, and cheered and solaced his overburdened soul. Only once in the course of the long night as they sate together, and poor Sedley opened his pent-up soul, and told the story of his losses and embarrassments — the treason of some of his oldest friends, the manly kindness of some, from whom he never could have ex- pected it — in a general confession — only once did the faithful wife give way to emotion. 1 I- i62 VANITY FAIK " My God, my God, it will break Emmy's heart," she said. The father had forgotten the poor girl. She was lying, awake and unhappy, overhead. In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone. To how many people can any one tell all ? Who wiU be open where there is no sympathy, or has eaU to speak to those who never can understand ? Our gentle Amelia was thus sohtary. She had no confidante, so to speak, ever since she had anything to confide. She could not teU the old mother her doubts and cares ; the would-be sisters seemed every day more strange to her. And she had misgivings and fears which she dared not acknowledge to herself, though she was always secretly brooding over them. Her heart tried to persist in asserting that Greorge Osborne was worthy and faithful to her, though she knew otherwise. How many a thing had she said, and got no echo from him. How many suspicions of selfishness and indifference had she to encounter and obstinately overcome. To whom could the peta^-Jittkjnaityr teU these daily struggles and tortiu-es? Her hero himself only half understood her. She did not dare to own that the man she loved was her inferior ; or to feel that she had given her heart away too soon. Given once, the piu'e bashftil maiden was too modest, too tender, too trustftd, too weak, too much woman to recall it. We are Turks with the affections of our women ; and have made them subscribe to our doctrine too. We let their bodies go abroad liberally enough, with smiles and ringlets and pink bonnets to disguise them instead of veils and yakmaks. But their souls must be seen by only one man, and they obey not unwillingly, and consent to remain at home as our slaves — ministering to us and doing drudgery for us. So imprisoned and tortured was this gentle little heart, when in the month of March, Anno Domini 1815, Napoleon landed at Cannes, and Louis XVIII. fled, and all Europe was in alarm, and the funds fell, and old John Sedley was ruined. We are not going to foUow the worthy old stockbroker through those last pangs and agonies of ruin through which he passed before his commercial demise befell. They declared him at the Stock Exchange ; he was absent from his house of business : his bills were protested : his act of bankruptcy formal. The house and furniture of Eussell Square were seized and sold up, and he and his family were thrust away, as we have seen, to hide their heads where they might. John Sedley had not the heart to review the domestic establish- ment who have appeared now and anon in our pages, and of whom he was now forced by poverty to take leave. The wages of those worthy people were discharged with that punctuality which men A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 163 frequently sliow who only owe in great sums — they were sorry to leave good places — but they did not break their hearts at parting from their adored master and mistress. Amelia's maid was profuse in condolences, but went off quite resigned to better herself in a genteeler quarter of the town. Black Sambo, with the infatuation of his profession, determined on setting up a public-house. Honest old Mrs. Blenkinsop indeed, who had seen the birth of Jos and Amelia, and the wooing of John Sedley and his wife, was for staying by them without wages, having amassed a considerable sum in their service ; and she accompanied the fallen people into their new and humble place of refuge, where she tended them and grumbled against them for a while. Of all Sedley's opponents in his debates with his creditors which now ensued, and harassed the feelings of the humihated old gentleman so severely, that in six weeks he oldened more than he had done for fifteen years before — the most determined and obstinate seemed to be Jo hn Osborn e, his old friend and neighbour — John Osborne, whom he liad set upTh life — who was under a hundred obligations to him — and whose son was to marry Sedley's daughter. Any one of these circum- stances would account for the bitterness of Osborne's opposition. When one man has been mider very remarkable obligations to another, with whom he subsequently quarrels, a common sense of decency, as it were, makes of the former a much severer enemy than a mere stranger would be. To accoimt for yom- own hard-heartedness and ingratitude in such a case, you are bound to prove the other party's crime. It is not that you are selfish, brutal, and angry at the failure of a speculation — no, no — it is that yom' partner has led you into it by the basest treachery and with the most sinister motives. From a mere sense of consistency, a persecutor is bound to show that the fallen man is a villain — otherwise he, the persecutor, is a wretch himself And as a general rule, which may make all creditore who are inclined to be severe pretty comfortable in their minds, no men embarrassed are altogether honest, very likely. They conceal some- thing ; they exaggerate chances of good luck ; hide away the real state of affairs ; say that things are flourishing when they are hopa- less ; keep a smiling face (a dreary smile it is) upon the verge of bankruptcy — are ready to lay hold of any pretext for delay or of any money, so as to stave off the inevitable ruin a few days longer. "Down with such dishonesty,'' says the creditor in triumph, and reviles his sinking enemy. " You fool, why do you catch at a straw? " calm good sense says to the man that is drowning. " You villain, why do you shrink from plunging into the irretrievable Gazette?" says prosperity to the poor devil battling in that black gulf. Who i64 VANITY FAIE has not remarked the readmess with which the closest of friends and honestest of men suspect and accuse each other of cheating when they fall out on money matters 1 Everybody does it. Everybodyjsjight, I sijpposej and the world is a rogue. Then Osborne had the intolerable sense oi'" former benefits to goad and irritate him : these are always a cause of hostility aggravated. Finally, he had to break off the match between Sedley's daughter and his son ; and as it had gone very far indeed, and as the poor girl's happiness and perhaps character were compromised, it was necessary to show the strongest reasons for the rupture, and for John Osborne to prove John Sedley to be a very bad character indeed. At the meetings of creditors, then, he comported himself with a savageness and scorn towards Sedley, which almost succeeded in breaking the heart of that ruined bankrupt man. On George's inter- course with Amelia he put an instant veto — menacing the youth with maledictions if he broke his commands, and vihpending the poor innocent girl as the basest and most artfiil of vixens. One of the great conditions of anger and hatred is, that you must tell and believe lies against the hated object, in order, as we said, to be consistent. When the great crash came — the announcement of ruin, and the departure from Eussell Square, and the declaration that all was over between her and George — all over between her and love, her and happiness, her and faith in the world — a brutal letter from John Osborne told her in a few curt lines that her father's conduct had been of such a nature that all engagements between the families v/ere at an end — when the final award came, it did not shock her so much as her parents, as her mother rather expected (for John Sedley him- self was entirely prostrate in the ruins of his own affairs and shattered honour). Amelia took the news very palely and calmly. It was only the confirmation of the dark presages which had long gone before. It was the mere reading of the sentence — of the crime she had long ago been guilty — the crime of loving wi-ongly, too violently, against reason. She told no more of her thoughts now than she had before. She seemed scarcely more unhappy now when convinced all hope was over, than before when she felt but dared not confess that it was gone. So she changed from the lai-ge house to the small one without any mark or difference ; remained in her little room for the most part ; pined silently ; and died away day by day. I do not mean to say that all females are so. My dear Miss Bullock, I do not think your heart would break in this way. You are a strong-minded young woman with proper principles. I do not venture to say that mine would ; it has suffered, and, it must be confessed, survived. But there are some souls thus gently constituted, thus frail, and delicate, and tender. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 165 Whenever old John Sedley thought of the affair between George and Amelia, or alluded to it, it was with bitterness almost as great as Mr. Osborne himself had shown. He cursed Osborne and his famUy as heartless, wicked, and ungi'ateful, No power on earth, he swore, would induce him to marry his daughter to the son of such a villain, and he ordered Emmy to banish George from her mind, and to return all the presents and letters which she had ever had from him. She promised acquiescence, and tried to obey. She put up the two or three trinkets : and, as for the letters, she drew them out of the place where she kept them ; and read them over — as if she did not know them by heart already : but she could not part with them. That effort was too much for her ; she placed them back in her bosom again — as you have seen a woman nirrse a child that is dead. Young Amelia felt that she would die or lose her senses outright, if torn away from this last consolation. How she used to blush and lighten up when those letters came ! How she used to trip away with a beating heart, so that she might read unseen ! If they were cold, yet how perversely this fond little soul interpreted them into warmth. If they were short or selfish, what excuses she found for the writer ! It was over these few worthless papers that she brooded and brooded. She lived in her past life — every letter seemed to recall some circumstance of it. How well she remembered them all ! His looks and tones, his dress, what he said and how — these relics and re- membrances of dead affection were all that were left her in the world. And the business of her life, was — to watch the corpse of Love. TolTeath she looked with inexpressible longing. Then, she thought, I shall always be able to follow him. I am not praising her conduct or setting her up as a model for Miss Bullock to imitate. Miss B. knows how to regidate her feelings better than this poor little creature. Miss B. would never have committed herself as that imprudent Amelia had done; pledged her love irretrievably; con- fessed her heart away, and got back nothing — only a brittle promise which was snapped and worthless in a moment. A long engagement is a partnership which one party is free to keep or to break, but which involves all the capital of the other. Be cautious then, young ladies ; be wary how you engage. Be shy of loving frankly ; never tell all you feel, or (a better way still) feel very little. See the consequences of being prematurely honest and confiding, and mistrust yourselves and everybody. Get your- selves manied as they do in France, where the lawyers are the bridesmaids and confidantes. At any rate, never have any feelings which may make you uncomfortable, or make any promises which you cannot at any required moment command and withdraw. That i66 VANITY FAIR is the -way to get on, and be respected, and have a virtuous character in Vanity Fair. If Amelia could have heard the comments regarding her which were made in the circle from which her father's ruin had just driven her, she would have seen what her own crimes were, and how entirely her character was jeopardised. Such criminal imprudence Mrs. Smith never knew of; such horrid familiarities Mrs. Brown had always condemned, and the end might be a warning to her daughters. "Captain Osborne, of course, could not marry a bankrupt's daughter," the Misses Dobbin said. " It was quite enough to have been swindled by the father. As for that little Amelia, her folly had really passed all " " All what ? " Captain Dobbin roared out. " Haven't they been engaged ever since they were children ? Wasn't it as good as a mar- riage ? Dare any soul on earth breathe a word against the sweetest, the purest, the tenderest, the most angehcal of young women 1 " " La, WilUam, don't be so highty-tighty with us. We're not men. We can't fight you," Miss Jane said. " We've said nothing against Miss Sedley : but that her conduct throughout was Tnost imprudent, not to call it by any worse name ; and that her parents are people who certainly merit their misfortunes." " Hadn't you better, now that Miss Sedley is free, propose for her yom-self, WiUiam 1 " Miss Ann asked sarcastically. " It would be a most eligible family connection. He ! he ! " " I marry her ! " Dobbin said, blushing very much, and talking quick. " If you are so ready, young ladies, to chop and change, do you suppose that she is 1 Laugh and sneer at that angel. She can't hear it ; and she's miserable and unfortunate, and deserves to be laughed at. Go on joking, Ann. You're the wit of the family, and the others like to hear it." " I must tell you again we're not in a barrack, William," Miss Ann remarked. " In a barrack, by Jove — I -wash anybody in a barrack would say what you do," cried out this uproused British lion. " I should like to hear a man breathe a word against her, by Jupiter. But men don't talk in this way, Ann : it's only women, who get together and hiss, and shriek, and cackle. There, get away— don't begin to cry. I only said you were a coiiple of geese," Will Dobbin said, perceiving Miss Ann's pink eyes were beginning to moisten as usual. " Well, you're not geese, you're swans — any tiring you like, only do, do leave Miss Sedley alone," Anything Uke William's infatuation about that silly little flirt- ing, ogling thing was never known, the mamma and sisters agreed together in thinking : and they trembled lest, her engagement being A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 167 off with Osborne, she should take up immediately her other admirer and Captain. In -which forebodings these worthy young women no doubt judged according to the best of their experience ; or rather (for as yet they had had no opportunities of marrying or of jilting) according to their own notions of right and wrong. " It is a mercy, mamma, that the regiment is ordered abroad,'' the girls said. " This danger, at any rate, is spared our brother." Such, indeed, was the fact ; and so it is that the French Ernperor comes in-.t£L£erform a part in this domestic comedy of Vanity Fair which we are now playing, and which wovdd never have been enacted without the intervention of this august mute personage. It was he that ruined the Boui'bons and Mr. John Sedley. It was he whose arrival in his capital called up all France in arms to defend him there ; and aU Europe to oust him. While the French nation and army were swearing fidelity romid the eagles in the Champ de Mars, four mighty Eiu'opean hosts were getting in motion for the great chasse a I'aigle ; and one of these was a British army, of which two heroes of ours, Captain Dobbin and Captain Osborne, formed a portion. The news of Napoleon's escape and landing was received by the gallant — th with a fiery deUght and enthusiasm, which everybody can imderstand who knows that famous corps. From the colonel to the smallest drummer in the regiment, all were filled with hope and ambition and patriotic fury ; and thanked the French Emperor as for a personal kindness in coming to disturb the peace of Europe. Now was the time the — th had so long panted for, to show their comrades in arms that they coidd fight as well as the Peninsular veterans, and that all the pluck and valour of the — th had not been killed by the West Indies and the yellow fever. Stubble and Spooney looked to get their companies without purchase. Before the end of the campaign (which she resolved to share), Mrs. Major O'Dowd hoped to write herself Mrs. Colonel O'Dowd, C.B. Our two friends (Dobbin and Osborne) were quite as much excited as , the rest: and each in his way — Mr. Dobbin very quietly, Mr. Osborne very loudly and energetically — was bent upon doing his ( duty, and gaining his share of honour and distinction. The agitation thrilhng through the country and army in con- sequence of this news was so gi-eat, that private matters were Httle heeded : and hence probably George Osborne, just gazetted to his company, busy with preparations for the march, which must come inevitably, and panting for further promotion— was not so much affected by other incidents which would have interested him at a more quiet period. He was not, it must be confessed, very much ca.st down by good old Mr. Sedley's catastrophe. He tried his new i68 VANITY FAIR uniform, which became him very handsomely, on the day when the first meeting of the creditors of the unfortunate gentleman took place. His father told him of the wicked, rascally, shameful con- duct of the bankrupt, reminded him of what he had said about Amelia, and that their connection was broken off for ever; and gave him that evening a good sum of money to pay for the new clothes and epaulets in which he looked so well. Money was always useful to this free-handed young fellow, and he took it without many words. The bills were up in the Sedley house, where he had passed so many, many happy hours. He could see them as he walked from home that night (to the Old Slaughters', where he put up when in town) shining white in the moon. That comfortable home was shut then, upon Amelia and her parents : where had they taken refuge 1 The thought of their ruin affected him not a little. He was very melancholy that night in the coffee-room at the Slaughters' ; and drank a good deal, as his comrades remarked there. Dobbin came in presently, cautioned him about the drink, which he only took, he said, because he was deuced low ; but when his friend began to put to him clumsy inquiries, and asked him for news in a significant manner, Osborne declined entering into conversation with him ; avowing, however, that he was devilish disturbed and unhappy. Three days afterwards, Dobbin found Osborne in his room at the barracks : — his head on the table, a number of papers about, the young Captain evidently in a state of great despondency. " She — she's sent me back some things I gave her — some damned trinkets. Look here ! " There was a little packet directed in the well-known hand to Captain George Osborne, and some things lying about — a ring, a silver knife he had bought, as a boy, for her at a fair ; a gold chain, and a locket with hair in it. " It's all over," said he, with a groan of sickening remorse. "Look, Will, you may read it if you like." There was a little letter of a few lines, to which he pointed, which said : — " My papa has ordered me to return to you these presents, which you made in happier days to me ; and I am to write to you for the last time. I think, I know you feel as much as I do the blow wliich has come upon us. It is I that absolve you from an engagement which is impossible in our present misery. I am sure you had no share in it, or in the cruel suspicions of Mr. Osborne, which are the hardest of all our griefs to bear. Farewell. Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear this and other calamities, and to bless you always. j^ " I shall often play upon the piano— your piano. It was like you to send it." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 169 Dobbin was very soft-liearted. The sight of women and children in pain always used to melt him. The idea of Amelia broken-hearted and lonely, tore that good-natured soul with anguish. And he broke out into an emotion, which anybody who likes may consider unmanly. He swore that Amelia was an angel, to which Osborne said ay with aU his heart. He, too, had been reviewing the history of their lives — and had seen her from her childhood to her present age, so sweet, so innocent, so charmingly simple, and artlessly fond and tender. What a pang it was to lose all that : to have had it and not prized it ! A thousand homely scenes and recollections crowded on him — in which he always saw her good and beautiful. And for him- self, he blushed with remorse aud shame, as the remembrance of his own selfishness and indifference contrasted vrith that perfect purity. For a while, glory, war, everything was forgotten, and the pair of friends talked about her only. " Where are they 1 " Osborne asked, after a long talk, and a long pause, — and, in truth, with no little shame at thinking that he had taken no steps to follow her. " Where are they 1 There's no address to the note." Dobbin knew. He had not merely sent the piano; but had written a note to Mrs. Sedley, and asked permission to come and see her, — and he had seen her, and AmeKa too, yesterday, before he came do^vn to Chatham ; and, what is more, he had brought that farewell letter and packet which had so moved them. The good-natured fellow had found Mrs. Sedley only too willing to receive him, and greatly agitated by the arrival of the piano, which, as she conjectured, must have come from George, and was a signal of amity on his part. Captain Dobbin did not correct this error of the worthy lady, but listened to all her story of complaints and misfortunes mth great sympathy — condoled with her losses aud privations, and agreed in reprehending the ci-uel conduct of Mr. Osborne towards his fii-st benefactor. When she had eased her over- flowing bosom somewhat, and poured forth many of her sorrows, he had the courage to ask actually to see Amelia, who was above in her room as usual, and whom her mother led trembling downstairs. ^ Her appearance was so ghastly, and her look of despair so pathetic, that honest William Dobbin was frightened as he beheld it; and read the most fatal forebodings in that pale fixed face. After sitting in his company a miirate or two, she put the packet into his hand, and said, " Take this to Captain Osborne, if you please, and— and I hope he's quite well— and it was vei-y kind of you to come and see us— and we like our new house very much. And I— I think I'll go upstairs, mamma, for I'm not very strong." And with this, and a curtsey and a smile, the poor child went her 170 VANITY FAIK way. The mother, as she led her up, cast back looks of anguish towards Dobbin. The good fellow wanted no such appeal. He loved her himself too fondly for that. Inexpressible grief, and pity, and terror pursued him, and he came away as if he was a criminal after seeing her. When Osborne heard that his friend had found her, he made hot and anxious inquiries regarding the poor child. How was she? How did she look? What did she say? His comrade took his hand, and looked him in the face. " George, she's dying," William Dobbin said, — and could speak lio more. There was a buxom Irish servant-girl, who performed aU the duties of the little house where the Sedley family had found refuge ; and this girl had in vain, on many previous days, striven to give Amelia aid or consolation. Emmy was much too sad to answer, or even to be aware of the attempts the other was making in her favour. Four hours after the talk between Dobbin and Osborne, this servant-maid came into Amelia's room, where she sate as usual, brooding silently over her letters — her little treasures. The girl, smiling, and looking arch and happy, made many trials to attract poor Emmy's attention, who, however, took no heed of her. " Miss Emmy," said the girl. " I'm coming," Emmy said, not looking round. " There's a message," the maid went on. " There's something — somebody — sure, here's a new letter for you — don't be reading them old ones any more." And she gave her a letter, which Emmy took, and read. "I must see you," the letter said. "Dearest Emmy — dearest love — dearest wife, come to me." .George and her mother were outside, waiting until she had read tlie letter. CHAPTER XIX MISS CRAWLEY AT NURSE WE have seen how Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-maid, as soon as any event of importance to the Crawley family came to her knowledge, felt bound to communicate it to Mi's. Bute Crawley, at the Rectory ; and have before mentioned how particu- larly kind and attentive that good-natured lady was to Miss Crawley's confidential servant. She had been a gracious friend to Miss Briggs, the companion, also ; and had secured the latter's good-will by a number of those attentions and promises, which cost so little in the making, and are yet so valuable and agreeable to the recipient. Indeed every good economist and manager of a household must know how cheap and yet how amiable these professions are, and what a flavour they give to the most homely dish in life. Who was the blundering idiot who said that " fine words butter no parsnips " 1 Half the parsnips of society are served and rendered palatable with no other sauce. As the immortal Alexis Soyer can make more delicious soup for a halfpenny than an ignorant cook can concoct with pounds of vegetables and meat, so a skilful artist will make a few simple and pleasing phrases go farther than ever so much substantial benefit-stock in the hands of a mere bungler. Nay, we know that substantial benefits often sicken some stomachs ; whereas, most will digest any amount of fine words, and be always eager for more of the same food. Mrs. Bute had told Briggs and Firkin so often of the depth of her affection for them ; and what she would do, if she had Miss Crawley's fortune, for friends so excellent and attached, that the ladies in question had the deepest regard for her ; and felt as much gratitude and confidence as if Mrs. Bute had loaded them with the most expensive favours. Kawdon Crawley, on the other hand, like a selfish heavy dragoon as he was, never took the least trouble to conciliate his aunt's aides- de-camp, showed his contempt for the pair with entire frankness — made Firkin pull off his boots on one occasion — sent her out in the rain on ignominious messages — and if he gave her a guinea, flung it to her as if it were a box on the ear. As his aunt, too, made a butt of Briggs, the Captain followed the example, and levelled his 172 VANITY FAIE jokes at her— ^jokes about as .delicate as a kick from his charger. Whereas, Mrs. Bute consulted her in matters of taste or difficulty, admired her poetry, and hy a thoiisand acts of kindness and polite- ness, showed her appreciation of Bfiggs ; and if she made Firkin a twopenny-halfpenny present, accompanied it with so many compli- ments, that the twopence-halfpenny was transmuted into gold in the heart of the gratcM waiting-maid, who, besides, was looking forward quite contentedly to some prodigious benefit which must happen to her on the day when Mrs. Bute came into her fortune. The different conduct of these two people is pointed out respect- fully to the attention of persons commencing the world. Praise ererybody, I say to such : never be squeamish, but speak_outyour compliment both point-blank in a n^^iVg fepe^ anr\ behind~hB ~back, when you know there is a reasonable chance jrf^his hearin g it again. NeverJ«Be-ar-ehaii£e_of sayinglirEnd word. As Collingwood never ssCvTa, vacant place in Tns~estate but he took an acorn out of his pocket and popped it in ; so deal with your compliments through life. An acorn costs nothing ; but it may sprout into a prodigious bit of timber. In a word, during Eawdon Crawley's prosperity, he was only obeyed with sulky acquiescence ; when liis disgi'ace came, there was nobody to help or pity him. Whereas, when Mrs. Bute took the command at Miss Crawley's house, the garrison there were charmed to act under such a leader, expecting all sorts of promotion from her promises, her generosity, and her kind words. That he would consider himself beaten, after one defeat, and make no attempt to regain the position he had lost, Mrs. Bute Crawley never allowed herself to suppose. She knew Rebecca to be too clever, and spirited, and desperate a woman to submit Avithoiit a struggle ; and felt that she must prepare for that combat, and be incessantly watchful against assault, or mine, or surprise. win the first place, though she held the town, was she sure of the prmcipal inhabitant 1 Would Miss Crawley herself hold out ; and had she not a secret longing to welcome back the ousted adversary? The old lady liked Rawdon, and Rebecca, who amused her. Mrs. Bute could not disguise from herself the fact that none of her party could so contribute to the pleasures of the town-bred lady. " My girls' singing, after that little odious governess's, I know is unbear- able," the candid Rector's wife owned to herself " She always used to go to sleep when Martha and Louisa played their duets. Jim's stiff college manners, and poor dear Bute's talk about his dogs and horses, always annoyed her. If I took her to the Rectory, she would grow angry with us all, and fly, I know she would ; and might fall into that horrid Rawdon's clutches again, and be the victim of that A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 173 little viper of a Sharp. Meanwhile, it is clear to me that she is exceedingly unwell, and cannot move for some weeks, at any rate ; during which we must think of some plan to protect her from the arts of those imprincipled people." In the very best of moments, if anybody told Miss Crawley that she was, or looked ill, the trembling old lady sent off for her doctor ; and I dare say she loas very unwell after the sudden family event, which might serve to shake stronger nerves than hers. At least, Mi-s. Bute thought it was her duty to inform the physician, and the apothecary, and the dame de compagiiie, and the domestics, that Miss Crawley was in a most critical state, and that they were to act accord- ingly. She had the street laid knee-deep with straw ; and the knocker put by ^^dth Mr. Bowls's plate. She insisted that the doctor should call tmce a day ; and deluged her patient with draughts every two hoiu-s. When anybody entered the room, she uttered a shshshsh so sibilant and ominous, that it frightened the poor old lady in her bed, from which she could not look mthout seeing Mrs. Bute's beady eyes eagerly fixed on her, as the latter sate steadfast in the arm-chair by the bedside. They seemed to lighten in the dark (for she kept the curtains closed) as she moved about the room on velvet paws like a cat. There Miss Crawley lay for days — ever so many days — Mre. Bute reading books of devotion to her : for nights, long nights, during which she had to hear the watchman sing, the night-light sputter ; visited at midnight, the last thing, by the stealthy apothecary ; and then left to look at Mrs. Bute's twinkling eyes, or the flicks of yellow that the rushlight threw on the dreary darkened ceiling. Hygeia herself would have fallen sick under such a regimen ; and how much more this poor old nervous victim 1 It has been said that when she was in health and good spirits, this venerable inhabitant of Vanity Fair had as free notions about religion and morals as Monsieur de Voltaire himself could desire, but when illness overtook her, it was aggravated by the most dreadful teiTors of death, and an utter cowardice took possession of the prostrate old sinner. Sick-bed homilies and pious reflections are, to be sure, out of place in mere story-books, and we are not going (after the fashion of some novelists of the present day) to cajole the public into a sermon, when it is only a comedy that the reader pays his money to witness. But, wi tliout preac huigjj^ e truth mav surelv be borne in mind.-that the bustle , and triumph, and laughter, and gaiety w hich, Vauityjair exhibits iiTpublic, do not always pursue the periorm^i^to^^jrivate life, and that the "most Jreal-y 'dBpi-essTtm--of-^ptfte[a^Jjsmal.repent- ancgg"BDm'etimes"overcome himT' "Eecollection of the best-ordained ban quot e wi H-3eafedy- diet ;j 'iJl(;l r epicures. Eeminiscences of the most becoming dresses and brilliant ball-triumphs will go very little way 174 VANITY FAIE to console faded beauties. Perhaps statesmen, at a particular period of existence, are not much gratified at thinking over the most trium- phant divisions ; and the success or the pleasure of yesterday becomes of very small account when a certain (albeit uncertain) morrow is in view, about which all of us must some day or other be speculating. brother wearers of motley ! Arc fhprp ""t m""?g"<'° w^^^ •?"" g^nwf ai^ V nf m-iriTiin g tuirl tiiTinl^Hnnr^ j^ ^ ^fl t.tlfi pncrli licr nf rap ami hplla ^ This, dear friends and companions, is my amiable object — to walk with you through the Fair, to examine the shops and the shows there ; and that we should all come home after the fla,rft , and thp. noise, find tVip gaiety, and be perfe ctly miserab le_in_pjiEatfi. " If that poor man of mine had a head on his shoulders," Mrs. Bute Crawley thought to herself, "how useful he might be, imder present circumstances, to this unhappy old lady ! He might make her repent of her shocking free-thinking ways ; he might urge her to do her duty, and cast off that odious reprobate who has disgraced himself and his family ; and he might induce her to do justice to my dear girls and the two boys, who require and deserve, I am sure, every assistance which their relatives can give them." And, as the hatred of vice is always a progress towards virtue, Mrs. Bute Crawley endeavoured to instil into her sister-in-law a proper abhorrence for all Rawdon Crawley's manifold sins : of which his uncle's wife brought forward such a catalogue as indeed would have served to condemn a whole regiment of young officers. If a man has committed wrong in life, I don't know any moralist more anxious to point his errors out to the world than his own relations ; so Mrs. Bute showed a perfect family interest in and knowledge of Kawdon's history. She had all the particulars of that ugly quarrel with Captain Marker, in which Rawdon, wrong from the beginning, ended in shooting the Captain. She knew how the unhappy Lord Dovedale, whose mamma had taken a house at Oxford, so that he might be educated there, and who had never touched a card in his life till he came to London, was perverted by Rawdon at the Cocoa- Tree, made helplessly tipsy by this abominable seducer and perverter of youth, and fleeced of four thousand pomids. She described with the most vivid minuteness the agonies of the country families whom he had ruined — the sons whom he had plunged into dishonour and poverty— the daughters whom he had inveigled into perdition. She knew the poor tradesmen who were bankrupt by his extravagance — the mean shifts and rogueries with which he had ministered to it the astounding falsehoods by which he had imposed upon the most generous of aunts, and the ingratitude and ridicule by which he had repaid her sacrifices. She imparted these stories gradually to Miss A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 175 Crawley ; gave her tlie whole benefit of them ; felt it to be her bounden duty as a Christian woman and mother of a family to do so ; had not the smallest remorse or compmiction for the victim whom her tongue was immolating; nay, very likely thought her actwas quite meritorious, and plumed herself upon her resolute manner of performing it. Yes, if a man's character is to be abused, say what you will, there's nobody like a relation to do the business. And one is bound to own, regarding this imfortunate wretch of a Kawdon Crawley, that the mere truth was enough to condemn him, and that all inventions of scandal were qmte superfluous pains on his friends' parts. Eebecca, too, being now a relative, came in for the fullest share of Mrs. Bute's kind inquiries. This indefatigable pursuer of tnith (having given strict orders that the door was to be denied to all emis- saries or letters from Rawdon) took Miss Crawley's carriage, and drove to her old friend Miss Pinkerton, at Minerva House, Cliiswick Mall, to whom she announced the dreadful intelligence of Captain Rawdou's seduction by Miss Sharp, and from whom she got sundry strange particulars regarding the ex-govemess's birth and early history. The friend of the Lexicographer had plenty of information to give. Miss Jemima was made to fetch the drawing-master's receipts and letters. This one was from a spunging-house : that entreated an advance : another was full of gratitude for Rebecca's reception by the ladies of Chiswick : and the last document from the unlucky artist's pen was that in which, from his yay, to interffiie-^witWiis- -plans- regarding Amelia; and about which he, and Dobbin had more than one confidential consultation. His friend's opinion respecting, the line of conduct which he ought to piu'sue, we knowalreadx... .-And.as for Osborne, when he was once bent on a thiiig, a fresh obstacle or two only rendered him the more resolute. The dark object of the conspiracy into which the chiefs of the Osborne family had entered, was quite ignorant of all their plans regarding her (which, strange to say, her friend and chaperon did not dividge), and, taldng all the young ladies' flattery for genuine sentiment, and being, as we have before had occasion to show, of a very warm and impetuous natm-e, responded to their affection with quite a tropical ardour. And if the truth may be told, I dare say that she too had some selfish attraction in the Eussell Square house ; and in a word, thought George Osborne a very nice young man. His whiskers had made an impression upon her, on the very first- night she beheld them at the ball at Messrs. Hulkers ; and, as we know, she was not the first woman who had been charmed by them. George had an au- at once swaggering and melancholy, languid and fierce. He looked like a man who had passions, secrets, and private harrowing griefs and adventures. His voice was rich and deep. He would say it was a warm evening, or ask his partner to take an ice, with a tone as sad and confidential as if he were breaking her mother's death to her, or preluding a declaration of love. He tramjjled over all the young bucks of his father's circle, and was the hero among those third-rate men. Some few sneered at him and hated him. Some, like Dobbin, fanatically admired him. And his whiskers had begmi to do their work, and to curl tliemselves round the affections of Miss Swartz. Whenever there was a chance of meeting him in Russell Square, that simple and good-natm-ed young woman was quite in a flm-ry to" see her dear Misses Osl:)orne. She went to great expenses in new gowns, and bracelets, and bonnets, and in prodigious feathers. She adorned her person with her utmost skill to please the Conqueror, and exhibited all her simple accomplishments to win his favour. The girls would ask her, with the greatest gravity, for a little music, and she would sing her three songs and play her two little pieces as often as ever they asked, and with an always increasing pleasure to herself During these delectable entertainments. Miss Wirt and the chaperon sate by, and conned over the peerage, and talked about the nobility. The day after George had his hint from his father, and a short time before the hour of dinner, he was lolling upon a sofa in the 1 N 194 VANITY FAIE drawing-room in a very becoming and perfectly natural attitude of melancholy. He had been, at his father's request, to Mr. Chopper in the City (the old gentleman, though he gave gi'eat sums to his son, would never specify any iixed allowance for him, and rewarded him only as he was in the humour). He had then been to pass three hours with Amelia, his dear httle Amelia, at Fulham ; and he came home to find his sisters spread in starched muslin in the drawing-room, the dowagers cackling in the background, and honest Swartz in her favourite amber-coloured satin, with tm-quoise bracelets, countless rings, flowers, feathers, and all sorts of tags and gimcracks, about as elegantly decorated as a she chimney-sweep on May-day. The girls, after vain attempts to engage him in conversation, talked about fashions and the last drawing-room until he was per- fectly sick of their chatter. He contrasted their behaviour with little Emmy's — their shrill voices with her tender ringing tones ; their attitudes and their elbows and their starch, with her humble soft movements and modest graces. Poor Swartz was seated in a place where Emmy had been accustomed to sit. Her bejewelled hands lay sprawling in her amber satin lap. Her tags and earrings twinkled, and her big eyes rolled about. She was doing nothing with perfect contentment, and thinking herself charming. Anything so becoming as the satin the sisters had never seen. " Dammy," George said to a confidential friend, " she looked like a China doll, which has nothing to do all day but to grin and wag its head. By Jove, Will, it was all I could do to prevent myself from throwing the sofa-cushion at her." He restrained that exhibition of sentiment, however. The sisters began to play the Battle of Prague. " Stop that d ■ thing," George howled out in a fury from the sofa. " It makes me mad. You play us something, Miss Swartz, do. Sing something, anything but the Battle of Prague." " Shall I sing Blue-Eyed Mary, or the air from the Cabinet 1 " Miss Swartz asked. " That sweet thing from the Cabinet," the sisters said. " We've had that," replied the misanthrope on the sofa. " I can sing Fluvy du Tajy," Swartz said in a meek voice, " if I had the words." It was the last of the worthy young woman's collection. " Oh, Fleuve du Tage," Miss Maria cried ; " we have the song," and went off to fetch the book in which it was. Now it happened that this song, then in the height of the fashion, had been given to the young ladies by a young friend of theirs, whose name was on the title, and Miss Swartz, having con- cluded the ditty with George's applause (for he remembered that A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 195 it was a favourite of Amelia's), was hoping for an encore perhaps, and fiddling with the leaves of the music, when her eye fell upon the title, and she saw " Amelia Sedley " written in the corner. " Lor ! " cried Miss Swartz, spinning swiftly round on the music-stool, "is it my Amelia 1 Amelia that was at Miss P.'s at Hammersmith 1 I know it is. It's her, and — Tell me about her — where is she ? " " Don't mention her," Miss Maria Osborne said hastily. " Her family has disgraced itself. Her father cheated papa, and as for her, she is never to be mentioned here." This was Miss Maria's return for George's rudeness about the Battle of Prague. " Are you a friend of Ameha's 1 " George said, bouncing up. " God bless you for it. Miss Swartz. Don't believe what the girls say. She's not to blame at any rate. She's the best " " You know you're not to speak about her, George,'' cried Jane. " Papa forbids it." "Who's to prevent me?" George cried out. "I tvill speak of her. I say she's the best, the kindest, the gentlest, the sweetest girl in England ; and that, bankrupt or no, my sisters are not fit to hold candles to her. If you like her, go and see her, Miss Swartz ; she wants friends now ; and I say, God bless everybody who be- friends her. Anybody who speaks kindly of her is my friend ; anybody who speaks against her is my enemy. Thank you, Miss Swartz ; " and he went up and wrung her hand. " George ! George ! " one of the sisters cried imploringly. " I say," George said fiercely, " I thank everybody who loves Amelia Sed " He stopped. Old Osborne was in the room with a face livid with rage, and eyes like hot coals. Though George had stopped in his sentence, yet, his blood being up, he was not to be cowed by all the generations of Osborne ; rallying instantly, he rephed to the bullying look of his father, with another so indicative of resolution and defiance, that the elder man quailed ui his turn, and looked away. He felt that the tussle was coming. " Mrs. Haggistoun, let me take you down to dinner," he said. "Give yoiu: arm to Miss Swartz, George," and they marched. " Miss Swartz, I love Amelia, and we've been engaged almost all our lives," Osborne said to his partnej ; and during all the dinner, George rattled on with a volubility which surprised himself, and made his father doubly nervous for the fight which was to take place as soon as the ladies were gone. The difference between the pair was, that while the father was violent and a bully, the son had thrice the nerve and courage of the parent, and could not merely make an attack, but resist it ; and 196 VANITY FAIE finding that the moment was now come when the contest between him and his father was to be decided, he took his dinner with perfect coolness and appetite before the engagement began. Old Osborne, on the contrary, was nervous, and drank much. He floundered in his conversation with the ladies, his neighbours : George's coolness only rendering him more angry. It made him half mad to see the calm way in which George, flapping his napkin, and with a swagger- ing bow, opened the door for the ladies to leave the room ; and filling himself a glass of wine, smacked it, and looked his father fiiU in the face, as if to say, " Gentlemen of the Guard, fire first." The olil man also took a supply of ammunition, but his decanter clinked against the glass as he tried to fill it. After giving a great heave, and with a purple choking face, he then began. " How dare you, sir, mention that perscm's name before Miss Swartz to-day, in my drawing-room 1 I ask you, sir, how dare you do if? " "Stop, sir," says George, "don't say dare, sir. Dare isn't a word to be used to a Captain in the British Army." " I shall say what I like to my son, sir. I can cut him off with a shilling if I like. I can make him a beggar if I like. I tvill say what I like," the elder said. " I'm a gentleman though I am your son, sir," George answered haughtily. " Any communications which you have to make to me, or any orders which you may please to give, I beg may be couched in that kind of language which I am accustomed to hear." Whenever the lad assumed his haughty manner, it always created either great awe or great irritation in the parent. Old Osborne stood in secret terror of his son as a better gentleman than himself; and perhaps my readers may have remarked in their experience of this Vanity Fair of ours, that there is no character which a low-minded man so much mistrusts as that of a gentleman. "My father didn't give me the education you have had, nor the advantages you have had, nor the money you have had. If I had kept the company some folks have had through my means, perhaps my son wouldn't have any reason to brag, su-, of his superiority and West End airs (these words were uttered in the elder Osborne's most sarcastic tones). But it wasn't considered the part of a gentleman, in my time, for a man to insult his father. If Fd done any such thing, mine would have kicked me down- stairs, sir." " I never insulted you, sir. I said I begged you to remember your son was a gentleman as well as yourself I know very weU that you give me plenty of money," said George (fingering a bundle of notes which he had got in the morning fi-om Mr. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 197 Chopper). " You tell it me often enough, sir. There's no fear of my forgetting it." "I -^rish you'd remember other things as well, sir," the sire answered. "I wish you'd remember that in this house — so long as you choose to honour it with your company, Captain — I'm the master, and that name, and that that — that you — that 1 say " " That what, sii- 1 " George asked, with scarcely a sneer, filling another glass of claret. " ! " biust out his father with a screaming oath — "that the name of those Sedleys never be mentioned here, sir — not one of the whole damned lot of 'em, sir." " It wasn't I, sir, that introduced Miss Sedley's name. It was my sisters who spoke ill of her to Miss Swartz ; and by Jove I'll defend her wherever I go. Nobody shall speak lightly of that name in my presence. Oar family has done her quite enough injury already, I think, and may leave oft' reviling her now she's dovra. I'll shoot any man but you who says a word against her." " Go on, sir, go on," the old gentleman said, his eyes starting out of his head. "Go on about what, sir? about the way in which we've treated that angel of a girl 1 Who told me to love her ? It was yoiu doing. I might have chosen elsewhere, and looked higher, perhaps, tlian your society : but I obeyed you. And now that her heart's mine you give me orders to fling it away, and punish her, kill her perhaps — for the faults of other people. It's a shame, by heavens," said George, working himself up into passion and enthusiasm as he proceeded, " to play at fast and loose with a young girl's aff'ections — and with such an angel as that — one so superior to the people amongst whom she lived, that she might have excited envy, only she was so good and gentle, that it's a wonder anybody dared to hate her. If I desert her, sir, do you suppose she forgets me ? " "I ain't going to_ have any .of this dam sentimental nonsense and humbug here, sir," the father cried out. "There, shall be no beggar-marriages, m^ my family. If you choose to fling away eight thblisaiid a year, which you may have for^ the .asking, you may d6"It~: "but by Jove you take yoiu- pack aiid walk .QuLof this house, sir. Will you do as I tell yoli, once for all,, sir, or will you not?" """ Marry that midatto woman 1 " George said, puUing up his shirt- collars. " I don't like the colour, sir. Ask the black that sweeps opposite Fleet Market, sir. I'm not going to man-y a Hottentot Venus." Mr. Osborne pulled frantically at the cord by which he was 198 VANITY FAIE accustomed to summon the butler when he wanted wine — and, almost black in the face, ordered that functionary to call a coach for Captain Osborne. " I've done it," said George, coming into the Slaughters' an hour afterwards, looking very pale. " What, my boy 1 " says Dobbin. George told what had passed between his father and himself. " I'll marry her to-morrow," he said with an oath. " I love her more every day, Dobbin." CHAPTER XXII A MARRIAGE AND PART OF A HONEYMOON ENEMIES the most obstinate and courageous can't hold out against starvation ; so the elder Osborne felt himself pretty easy about his advereary in the encounter we have just described ; and as soon as George's supplies fell short, confidently expected his unconditional submission. It ^yas unlucky, to be sure, that the lad should have secured a stock of provisions on the very day when the first encounter took place ; but this relief was only tem- porary, old Osborne thought, and would but delay George's surrender. No communication passed between father and son for some days. The former was sulky at this silence, but not disquieted ; for, as he said, he knew where he could put the screw upon George, and only waited the result of that operation. He told the sisters the upshot of the dispute between thejn, but ordered them to take no notice of the matter, and welcome George on his return as if nothing had happened. His cover was laid as usual every day, and perhaps the old gentleman rather anxiously expected him ; but he never came. Some one inquired at the Slaughters' regarding him, where it was said that he and his fiiend Captain Dobbin had left town. One gusty, raw day at the end of April — the rain whipping the pavement of that ancient street where the old Slaughters' CofFee- House was once situated — George Osborne came into the coffee-room, looking very haggard and pale ; although dressed rather smartly in a blue coat and brass buttons, and a neat buff waistcoat of the fashion of those days. Here was his friend Captain Dobbin, in blue and brass too, having abandoned the military frock and French-grey trousers, which were the usual coverings of his lanky person. Dobbin had been in the coffee-room for an hour or more. He had tried all the papers, but could not read them. He had looked at the clock many scores of times ; and at the street, where the rain was pattering down, and the people as they clinked by in pattens, left long reflections on the shining stone : he tattooed at the table : he bit his nails most completely, and nearly to the quick (he was accustomed to ornament his great big hands in this way) : he balanced the teaspoon dexterously on the milk jug : upset it, &c. &c. ; and 200 VANITY FAIE in fact showed those signs of disquietude, and practised those despe- rate attempts at amusement, which men are accustomed to employ wlien very anxious, and expectant, and perturbed in mind. Some of his comrades, gentlemen who used the room, joked him about the splendour of his costume and his agitation of manner. One asked him if he was going to be married 1 Dobbin laughed, and said he would send his acquaintance (Major Wagstaff of the Engineers) a piece of cake when that event took place. At length Captain Osborne made his appearance, very smartly dressed, but very pale and agitated as we have said. He wiped his pale face with a large yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchief that was prodigiously scented. He shook hands with Dobbin, looked at the clock, and told John, the waiter, to bring him some cura9oa. Of this cordial he swallowed off a couple of glasses with nervous eagerness. His friend asked with some interest about his health. " Couldn't get a wink of sleep till daylight. Dob," said he. " Infernal headache and fever. Got up at nine, and went down to the Hummums for a bath. I say, Dob, I feel just as I did on the morning I went out with Eocket at Quebec." " So do I," William responded. " I was a deuced deal more nervous than you were that morning. You made a famous breakfast, I remember. Eat something now." " You're a good old fellow. Will. I'll drink your health, old boy, and farewell to " "No, no; two glasses are enough," Dobbin interrupted him. " Here, take away the liqueurs, John. Have some cayenne-pepper with your fowl. Make haste though, for it is time we were there." It was about half-an-hour from twelve when this brief meeting and colloquy took place between the two cajitains. A coach, into which Captain Osborne's servant put his master's desk and dressing- case, had been in waiting for some time ; and uito this the two gentlemen hurried under an umbrella, and the valet mounted on the box, cursing the rain and the dampness of the coachman who was steaming beside him. "We shall find abetter trap than this at the church-door," says he ; " that's a comfort." And the carriage cbove on, taking the road down Piccadilly, where Apsley House and St. George's Hospital wore red jackets still ; where there were oil-lamps ; where Achilles was not yet bom ; nor the Pimlico arch raised ; nor the hideous equestrian monster wiiich pervades it and the neighbour- hood ; — and so they drove down by Brompton to a certain chapel near the Fulham Road there. A chariot was in waiting with four horses ; likewise a coach of the kind called glass coaches. Only a very few idlers were collected on account of the dismal rain. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 201 " Hang it ! " said George, " I said only a pair." " My master would have four," said Mr. Joseph Sedlcy's servant, who was in waiting ; and he and Mr. Osborne's man agreed as they followed George and WiUiam into the church, that it was a " reg'lar shabby turn hout ; and with sca,rce so much as a breakfast or a wedding faviour." " Here you are,'' said our old friend, Jos Sedley, coming forward. " You're five minutes late, George, my boy. What a day, eh 1 Demmy, it's hke the commencement of the rainy season in Bengal. But you'll find my carriage is water-tight. Come along, my mother and Emmy are in the vestry." Jos Sedley was splendid. He was fatter than ever. His shirt- coUaxs were higher ; his face was redder ; his shirt-frill flaunted gorgeously out of his variegated waistcoat. Varnished boots were not invented as yet ; but the Hessians on his beautiful legs shone so, that they must have been the identical pair in which the gentleman in the old picture used to shave himself; and on his fight green coat there bloomed a fine wedding favour, like a great white spreading magnoha. In a word, George had thrown the great cast. He was going to be mari'ied. Hence his pallor and neiwousness — his sleepless night and agitation in the morning. I have heard people who have gone tlirough the same thing own to the same emotion. After three or four ceremonies, you get accustomed to it, no doubt ; but the first dip, everybody allows, is awful. The bride was dressed in a brown silk pelisse (as Captain Dobbin has since informed me), and wore a straw bonnet with a pink ribbon ; over the bonnet she had a veil of white Chantilly lace, a gift; from Mr. Joseph Sedley, her brother. Captain Dobbin himself had asked leave to present her -nlth a gold chain and watch, which she sported on this occasion; and her mother gave her her diamond brooch — almost the only trinket which was left to the old lady. As the service went on, Mrs. Sedley sat and whimpered a gi-eat deal in a pew, consoled by the Irish maid-servant and Mrs. Clapp fi-om the lodgings. Old Sedley would not be present. Jos acted for his father, giving away the bride, whDst Captain Dobbin stepped up as groomsman to his fr-iend George. There was nobody in the church besides the officiating persons ami the small marriage party and thefr attendants. The Uvo valets sat aloof superciliously. The rain came rattling down on the windows. In the intervals of the seiwice you heard it, and the sobbing of old Mrs. Sedley in the pew. The parson's tones echoed sadly tlirough the empty walls. Osborne's " I will " was sounded in very deep bass. Emmy's response came fluttering up to her lips 202 VANITY FAIE from her heart, but was scarcely heard by anybody except Captain Dobbin. When the service was completed, Jos Sedley came forward and kissed his sister, the bride, for the first time for many months- George's look of gloom had gone, and he seemed quite proud and radiant. "It's your turn, William," says he, putting his hand fondly upon Dobbin's shoulder ; and Dobbin went up and touched Amelia on the cheek. Then they went into the vestry and signed the register. " God bless you, old Dobbin," George said, grasping him by the hand, with something very like moisture glistening in his eyes. William rephed only by nodtling his head. His heart was too full to say much. " Write directly, and come down as soon as you can, you know," Osborne said. After Mrs. Sedley had taken an hysterical adieu of her.daughter, the pair went off to the carriage. "Get out of the way, you little devils," George cried to a small crowd of damp urchins that were hanging about the chapel door. The rain di-ove into the bride and bridegroom's faces as they passed to the chariot. The postillions' favours draggled on their dripping jackets. The few children made a dismal cheer, as the carriage, splashing mud, drove away. William Dobbin stood in the church-porch, looking at it, a queer figure. The small crew of spectators jeered him. He was not thinking about them or their lavighter. " Come home and have some tiifin, Dobbin," a voice cried behind him ; as a pudgy hand was laid on his shoulder, and the honest fellow's reverie was interrupted. But the Captain had no heart to go a-feasting with Jos Sedley. He put the weeping old lady and her attendants into the carriage along with Jos, and left them without any farther words passing. This carriage, too, drove away, and the urchins gave another sarca-stical cheer. " Here, you httle beggars," Dobbin said, giving some sixpences amongst them, and then went off by himself through the rain. It was all over. They were married, and happy, he prayed God. Never since he was a boy had he felt so miserable and so lonely. He longed with a heart-sick yearning for the first few days to be over, that he might see her again. Some ten days after the above ceremony, three young men of our acquaintance were enjoying that beautiful prospect of bow- windows on the one side and blue sea on the other, which Brighton affords to the traveller. Sometimes it is towards the ocean — smil- ing with countless dimples, speckled with white sails, with a hundred bathing-machines kissing the skirt of his blue garment — A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 203 that the Londoner looks enraptured : sometmies, on the contrary, a lover of human nature rather than of prospects of any kind, it is towards the bow-windows that he turns, and that swarm of human life which they exhibit. From one issue the notes of a piano, which a young lady in ringlets practises six hours daily, to the clehght of the fellow-lodgers : at another, lovely Polly, the mu-semaid, may be seen dandling Master Omnium in her arms : whilst Jacob, his papa, is beheld eating prawns, and devouring the Times for break- fast, at the window below. Yonder are the Misses Leery, who are looking ovrt for the young oificers of the Heavies, who are pretty sure to be pacing the chfif; or again it is a City man, with a nautical turn, and a telescope, the size of a six-pounder, who has his instrument pointed seawards, so as to command every pleasure-boat, hening-boat, or bathing-machine that comes to, or quits, the shore, &c. &c. But have we any leisure for a description of Brighton 1 — for Brighton^_a_cleau Kaples with genteel lazzaroni — for Brighton, that alwayTlooEsTirisTET^iy and gaudy, hke a harlequin's jacket — for Brighton, which used to be seven hours distant from London at the time of oiu- story ; which is now only a hundred minutes off ; and which may ajiproach who knows how much nearer, unless Join- ville comes and untimely bombards it. "What a monstrous fine girl that is in the lodgings over the milhner's," one of these three promenaders remarked to the other ; " Gad, Crawley, did you see what a wink she gave me as I passed 1 " "Don't break her heart, Jos, you rascal," said another. "Don't trifle with her affections, you Don Juan ! " " Get away," said Jos Sedley, quite pleased, and leering up at the maid-servant in question with a most killing ogle. Jos was even more splendid at Brighton than he had been at his sister's marriage. He had brilliant under-waistcoats, any one of which would have set up a moderate buck. He sported a military frock- coat, ornamented with frogs, knobs, black buttons, and meandering embroidery. He had affected a military appearance and habits of late ; and he walked with his two friends, who were of that pro- fession, clinking his boot-spurs, swaggering prodigiously, and shooting death-glances at all the servant-girls who were worthy to be slain. " What shall we do, boys, till the ladies retiu-n 1 " the buck asked. The ladies were out to Eottingdean in his carriage on a drive. " Let's have a game at billiards," one of his friends said — the tall one, with lacquered mustachios. " No, dammy ; no. Captain," Jos replied, rather alarmed. " No billiards to-day, Crawley, my boy; yesterday was enough." "You play very well," said Crawley, laughing. "Don't he, Osborne ? How well he made that five stroke, eh ? " 204 VANITY FAIR " Famous," Osborne said. " Jos is a devil of a fellow at billiards, and at everything else, too. I wish there were any tiger-hunting about here ! we might go and kill a few before dinner. (There goes a fine girl ! what an ankle, eh, Jos ?) TeU us that story about the tiger-hunt, and the way you did for him in the jungle — it's a wonder- ful story that, Crawley." Here George Osborne gave a yawn. " It's rather slow work," said he, " down here ; " what shcdl we do 1 " " Shall we go and look at some horses that Snaffler's just brought from Lewes fair 1 " Crawley said. " Suppose we go and have some jellies at Button's,'' said the rogue Jos, willing to kill two birds with one stone. " Devihsh fine gal at Button's." " Suppose we go and see the Lightning come in, it's just about time 1 " George said. This advice prevailing over the stables and the jelly, they turned towards the coach-oifice to witness the Lightning's arrival. As they passed, they met the carriage — Jos Sedley's open carriage, with its magnificent armorial bearings — that splendid con- veyance in which he used to drive about at Cheltenham, majestic and solitary, with his arms folded, and his hat cocked ; or, more happy, with ladies by his side. Two were in the carriage now : one a little person, with light hair, and dressed in the height of the fashion ; the other in a brown silk pelisse, and a straw bonnet with pink ribbons, with a rosy, round, happy face, that did you good to behold. She checked the carriage as it neared the three gentlemen, after which exercise of authority she looked rather nervous, and then began to blush most absurdly. "We have had a delightful drive, George," she said, "and — and "we're so glad to come back ; and, Joseph, don't let him be late." " Don't be leading om- husbands into mischief, Mr. Sedley, you wicked, wicked man, you," Rebecca said, shaking at Jos a pretty little finger covered with the neatest French kid glove. " No billiards, no smoking, no naughtiness ! " " My dear Mrs. Crawley— ah now ! upon my honour ! " was all Jos could ejaculate by way of reply ; but he managed to fall into a tolerable attitude, with his head lying on his shoulder, grinning upwaids at his victim, with one hand at his back, which he supported on his cane, and the other hand (the one with the diamond ring) ftimbling in his shirt-frill and among his under-waistcoats. As the car- riage drove off he kissed the diamond hand to the fair ladies within. He wished all Cheltenham, all Chowringhee, all Calcutta, could see him in that position, waving his hand to such a beauty, and in com- pany with such a famous buck as Rawdon Crawley of the Guards. Our young bride and bridegroom had chosen Brighton as the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 205 place where they would pass the first few days after tlieir marriage ; and having engaged apartments at the Ship Inn, enjoyed themselves there in great comfort and quietude, imtil Jos presently joined them. Nor was he the only companion they found there. As they were coming into the hotel from a seaside walk one afternoon, on whom should they light but Eebecca and herhusb and ! The recognition was immediate. Rebecca flew into the arms of her dearest friend. Crawley and Osborne shook hands together cordially enough : and Becky, in the coui-se of a very few hours, found means to make the latter forget that little unpleasant passage of words which had happened between them. "Do you remember the last time we met at Miss Crawley's, when I was so rude to you, dear Captain Osborne 1 I thought you seemed careless about dear Amelia. It was that made me angry : and so pert : and so unkind : and so rmgrateful. Do forgive me ! " Rebecca said, and she held out lier hand with so frank and winning a grace, that Osborne could not but take it. By humbly and frankly acknowledging yourself to be in the wrong, there is no knowing, my son, what good you may do. I knew once a gentleman and very worthy practitioner in Vanity Fair, who used to do little wrongs to his neighbours on purpose, and in order to apologise for them in an open and manly way after- wards — and what ensued? My friend Crocky Doyle was liked everjrwhere, and deemed to be rather impetuous — but the honestest fellow. Becky's humility passed for sincerity with George Osborne. These two young couples had plenty of tales to relate to each other. The marriages of either were discussed ; and their prospects in life canvassed with the greatest frankness and interest on both sides. George's marriage was to be made known to his father by his friend Captain Dobbin ; and young Osborne trembled rather for the result of that communication. Miss Crawley, on whom all Eawdon's hopes depended, stiU held out. Unable to make an entry into her house in Park Lane, her affectionate nephew and niece had followed her to Brighton, where they had emissaries continually planted at her door. " I wish you could see some of Eawdon's friends who are always about 0U7' door," Rebecca said, laughing. "Did you ever see a dun, my dear ; or a baihff and his man 1 Two of the abominable wretches watched all last week at the greengrocer's opposite, and we could not get away until Sunday. If aunty does not relent, what shall we do ? " Rawdon, with roars of laughter, related a dozen amusing anecdotes of his duns, and Rebecca's adroit treatment of them. He vowed with a great oath, that there was no woman in Europe who could talk a creditor over as she could. Almost immediately after 2o6 VANITY FAIE their marriage, her practice had begun, and her husband found the immense value of such a wife. They had credit in plenty, but they had bills also in abundance, and laboured under a scarcity of ready money. Did these debt-difficulties affect Eawdon's good spirits ? No. Everybody in Vanity Fair must have remarked how well those live who are comfortably and thoroughly in debt : how they deny themselves nothing ; how jolly and easy they are in their minds. Kawdon and his wife had the very best apartments at the inn at Brighton ; the landlord, as he brought in the first dish, bowed before them as to his greatest customers : and Eawdon abused the dinners and wine with an audacity which no grandee in the land could surpass. Long custom, a manly appearance, faultless boots and clothes, and a happy fierceness of manner, will often help a man as much as a great balance at the banker'sT]' The two wedding parties met constantly in each other's' apart- ments. After two or three nights the gentlemen of an evening had a little piquet, as their wives sate and chatted apart. This pastime, and the arrival of Jos Sedley, who made his appearance in his grand open carriage, and who played a few games at billiards with Captain Crawley, replenished Kawdon's purse somewhat, and gave him the benefit of that ready money for which the greatest spirits are some- times at a standstill. So the three gentlemen walked down to see the Lightning coach come in. Punctual to the minute, the coach crowded inside and out, the guard blowing his accustomed tune on the horn — the Lightning came tearing do-^vn the street, and puUed up at the coach-office. "Hullo! there's old Dobbin," George cried, c^uite delighted to see his old friend perched on the roof; and whose promised visit to Brighton had been delayed until now. " How are you, old fellow'? Glad you're come down. Emmy '11 be dehghted to see you," Osborne said, shaking his comrade warmly by the hand as soon as his descent from the vehicle was efiected — and then he abided, in a lower and agitated voice, " What's the news 1 Have you been in Eussell Square 1 What does the governor say 1 Tell me everything." Dobbin looked very pale and gxave. I've seen yom- father," said he. " How's Amelia — Mrs. George 1 I'll tell you all the news pre- sently : but I've brought the great news of all : and that is " " Out with it, old fellow," George said. " We're ordered to Belgium. All the army goes — Guards and all. Heavytop's got the gout, and is mad at not being able to move. O'Dowd goes in command, and we embark from Chatham next week." This news of war could not but come with a shock upon our lovers, and caused all these gentlemen to look very serious. CHAPTER XXIII CAPTAIN DOBBIN PROCEEDS ON HIS CANVASS WHAT is the secret mesmerism which friendship possesses, and under the operation of which a person ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid becomes wise, active, and re- solute, in another's behalf? As Alexis, after a few passes from Dr. EUiotson, despises pain, reads with the back of his head, sees miles off, looks into next week, and performs other wonders, of which, in his own private normal condition, he is quite incapable ; so you see, in the affairs of the world and under the magnetism of friendship, the modest man become bold, the shy confident, the lazy active, or the impetuous prudent and peaceful. What is it, on the other hand, that makes the lawyer eschew his own cause, and call in his learned brother as an adviser ? And what causes the doctor, when ailing, to send for his rival, and not sit down and examine his own tongue in the chimney-glass, or write his own prescription at his study-table 1 I throw out these queries for intelligent readers to ansv/er, who know, at once, how credi\ls2us_we-are, and how sceptical, how soft and how obstinate, how firm for others and how diifident about ourselves : meanwhile it is certain that our friend William Dobbin, who was personally of so complying a disposition that if his parents had pressed him much, it is probable he would have stepped down into the kitchen and man-ied the cook, and who, to further his own interests, would have found the most insuperable difficulty in walking across the street, found himself as busy and eager in the conduct of George Osborne's affairs, as "the most selfish tactician could be in the pursuit of his own. Whilst our fi-iend George and his young wife were enjoying the first blushing days of the honeymoon at Brighton, honest William was left as George's plenipotentiary in Ltjudon, to transact all the business part of the marriage. His duty it was to call upi lu old Sedley and his wife, and to keep the former in good-humour : to draw Jos and his brother-in-law nearer together, so that Jos's position and dignity, as Collector of Boggley WoUah, might compensate for his father's loss of station, and tend to reconcile old Osborne to the alhauce : and finally, to communicate it to the latter in such a way as should least irritate the old gentleman. 2o8 VANITY FAIR Now, before he faced the head of the Osborne house with the news which it was his duty to tell, Dobbin bethouglit him that it would be politic to make friends of me rest of the family, and, if possible, have the ladies on his side. They can't be angry in their hearts, thought he. No woman ever was really angry at a romantic maniage. A little crying out, and they must come round to their brother ; when the three of us will lay siege to old Mr. Osborne. So this Machia- vellian captain of infantry cast about him for some happy means or stratagem by which he could gently and gradually bring the Misses Osborne to a knowledge of their brother's secret. By a little inquiry regarding his mother's engagements, he was pretty soon able to find out by whom of her ladyship's friends parties were given at that sea.sou ; where he would be likely to meet Osborne's sisters ; and, though he had that abhorrence of routs and evening parties, which many sensible men, alas ! entertain, he soon found one where the Misses Osborne were to be present. Making his appearance at the ball, where he danced a couple of sets with both of them, and was prodigiously pohte, he actually had the courage to ask Miss Osborne for a few minutes' conversation at an early hour the next day, when he had, he said, to communicate to her news of the very greatest interest. What was it that made her start back, and gaze upon him for a moment, and then on the ground at her feet, and make as if she would faint on his arm, had he not by opportunely treading on her toes, brought the young lady back to self-control ? Why was she so violently agitated at Dobbin's request 1 This can never be known. But when he came the next day, Maria was not in the drawing- room with her sister, and Miss Wirt went off for the purpose of fetching the latter, and the Captain and Miss Osborne were left together. They were both so silent that the tick-tock of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiece became quite rudely audible. " What a nice party it was last night," Miss Osborne at length began encouragingly ; " and— how you're improved in your dancing. Captain Dobbin. Surely somebody has taught you," she added, with amiable archness. " You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major O'Dowd of ours ; and a jig— did you ever see a jig ? But I think anybody covdd dance with you, Miss Osborne, who dance so well." "Is the Major's lady young and beautiful. Captain?" the fair questioner continued. " Ah, what a tenible thing it must be to be a soldier's wife ! I wonder they have any spirits to dance, and in these dreadful times of war, too ! Captain Dobbin, I tremble sometimes when I think of our dearest George, and the dangers of A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 209 the poor soldier. Are there many mamed officers of the — th, Captain Dobbin r' " Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too openly," Miss Wirt thought ; but this observation is merely parenthetic, and was not heard through the crevice of the door at which the governess uttered it. " One of our young men is just married," Dobbin said, now coming to the point. " It was a very old attachment, and the young couple are as poor as church mice." " Oh, how delightfol ! Oh, how romantic ! " Miss Osborne cried, as the Captain said " old attachment " and " poor." Her sympathy encouraged him. " The finest young fellow in the regiment," he continued. " Not a brai'er or handsomer officer in the army ; and such a charming wife ! How you would like her ! how you loill like her when you know her. Miss Osborne." The young lady thought the actual moment had arrived, and that Dobbin's nervousness which now came on and was visible in many twitohings of his face, in his manner of beating the ground vsith his great feet, in the rapid buttoning and unbuttoning of his frockcoat, &c. — Miss Osborne, I say, thought that when he had given himself a little air, he woidd unbosom himself entirely, and prepared eagerly to listen. And the clock, in the altar on which Iphigenia was situated, beginning, after a preparatory convulsion, to toU twelve, the mere tolling seemed as if it would last until one — so prolonged was the knell to the anxious spinster. " But it's not about marriage that I came to speak — that is that marriage — that is — no, I mean — my dear Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George," Dobbin said. " About George 1 " she said in a tone so discomfited that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of the door, and even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbin felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not altogether unconscious of the state of affairs : George having often bantered him graceftdly and said, " Hang it, WiU, why don't you take old Jane 1 She'll have you if you ask her. I'll bet you five to two she will." " Yes, about George, then," he continued. " There has been a difference between him and Mr. Osborne. And I regard him so much — for you know we have been like brothei-s— that I hope and pray the quarrel may be settled. We must go abroad, Miss Osborne. AVe may be ordered ofl' at a day's warning. Who knows what may happen in the campaign 1 Don't be agitated, dear Miss Osborne ; and those two at least should part friends." "There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except a little 210 VANITY FAIE usual scene with papa," the lady said. "We are expecting George back daily. What papa wanted was only for his good. He has but to come back, and I'm sure all will be well ; and dear Rhoda, who went away from here in sad sad anger, I know will forgive him. Woman forgives but too readily, Captain." " Such an angel as you I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin said, with atrocious astuteness. " And no man can pardon himself for giving a woman pain. What would you feel, if a man were faithless to you? " "I should perish — I should throw myself out of window — I should take poison — I should pine and die. I know I should," Miss cried, who had nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the heart without any idea of suicide. "And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true and as kind-hearted as yourself. I'm not speaking about the West Indian heiress, Miss Osborne, but about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who was bred fi-om her childhood to think of nobody but him. I've seen her in her poverty uncomplaining, broken-hearted, without a fault. It is of Miss Sedley I speak. Dear Miss Osborne, can your generous heart quarrel with your brother for being faithful to her ? Could his ov.-n conscience ever forgive him if he deserted her 1 Be her friend — she always loved you — and — and I am come here charged by George to tell you that he holds his engagement to her as the most sacred duty he has ; and to entreat you, at least, to be on his side.'' When any strong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbin, and after the first word or two of hesitation, he could speak with perfect fluency, and it was evident that his eloquence on this occasion made some impression upon the lady whom he addressed. "Well," said she, "this is — most surprising — most painful — most extraordinary — what will papa say ? — that George should fling away such a superb establishment as was offered to him, — but at any rate he has found a very brave champion in you. Captain Dobbin. It is of no use, however," she continued, after a pause ; " I feel for poor Miss Sedley, most certainly — most sincerely, you know. We never thought the match a good one, though we were always very kind to her here — very. But papa wOl never consent, I am sm'e. And a well-brought-up yomig woman, you know — with a well-regulated mind, must — George must give her up, dear Captain Dobbin, indeed he must." " Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just when mis- fortune befell her % " Dobbin said, holding out his hand. " Dear Miss Osborne, is this the counsel I hear from you 1 My dear young lady ! you must befi-iend her. He can't give her up. He must not give her up. Would a man think you, give you, up if you were poor % " A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 211 This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane Osborne not a little. " I don't know whether we poor girls ought to believe what you men say, Captain," she said. " There is that in woman's tenderness which induces her to believe too easily. I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel deceivers," — and Dobbin certainly thought he felt a pressure of the hand which Miss Osborne had extended to him. He dropped it in some alarm. " Deceivers ! " said he. " No, dear Miss Osborne, all men are not ; your brother is not ; George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since tliey were children ; no wealth would make him marry any but her. Ought he to forsake her? Would you counsel him to do so 1 " What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and with her owli peculiar views 1 She could not answer it, so she parried it by saying, " Well, if you are not a deceiver, at least you are very romantic ; " and Captain William let this obsen'ation pass without challenge. At length when, by the help of farther pohte speeches, he deemed that Miss Osborne was sufBciently prepared to receive the whole news, he poured it into her ear. " George could not give up Amelia — George was married to her " — and then he related the circum- stances of the marriage as we know them already : how the poor girl would have died had not her lover kept his faith : how old Sedley had refused all consent to the match, and a licence had been got : and Jos Sedley had come from Cheltenham to give away the bride : how they had gone to Brighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon : and how George counted on his dear kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as women — so true and tender as they were — assuredly would do. And so, asking permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly conjecturing that the news he had brought would be told in the next five minutes to the other ladies, Captain Dobbin made his bow and took liis leave. He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and the whole wonderfril secret was imparted to them by that lady. To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very much displeased. There is something alDOut a run- away match with which few ladies can be seriously angry, and AmeKa rather rose in their estimation, from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting to the tmion. As they debated the story, and prattled about it, and wondered what papa would do and say, came a loud knock, as of an avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made these conspirators start. It must be papa, they thought. But it was not he. It was only Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from the City according to appointment, to conduct the ladies to a flower-show. This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept long in 212 VANITY FAIE ignorance of the secret. But his face, when he heard it, showed an amazement which was very different to that look of sentimental wonder which the countenances of tlie sisters wore. Mr. Bullock was a man of the world, and a junior partner of a wealthy firm. He knew what money was, and the value of it : and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that by this piece of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to get with her. " Gad ! Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried off. You may be a fifty thousand pounder yet." The sisters had never thought of the money question up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gaiety about it dm-ing their forenoon's excursion ; and they had risen not a little in their own esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over, they drove back to dinner. And do not let my respected reader exclaim against this selfishness as unnatural. It was but this present morning, as he rode on the omnibus from Eichmond ; while it changed horses, this present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three Httle children playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy. To these three presently came another little one. "Polly," says she, " your sister's got a penny." At which the children got up from the puddle instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the omnibus drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine pro- cession at her tail, marching with great dignity towards the stall of a neighbouring lollipop-woman. CHAPTER XXIV 7.V fVHICH MR. OSBORNE TAKES DOWN THE FAMILY BIBLE SO having prepared the sisters, Dobbin hastened away to the City to perform the rest and more difficult part of the task which he had imdertaken. The idea of facing old Osborne rendered him not a httle nervous, and more than once he thought of leaving the young ladies to communicate the secret, which, as he was aware, they could not long retain. But he had promised to report to George upon the manner in which the elder Osborne bore the intelligence ; so going into the City to the paternal counting-house in Thames Street, he despatched thence a note to Mr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversation relative to the affairs of his son George. Dobbin's messenger returned from Mr. Osborne's house of business, with the compliments of the latter, who would be very happy to see the Captain immediately, and away accordingly Dobbin went to confront him. The Captain, with a half-guilty secret to confess, and with tlie prospect of a paiufid and stormy interview before him, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a most dismal countenance and abashed uait, and, passing through the outer room where Mr. Chopper presided, was greeted by that functionary from his desk vidth a waggish air which farther discomfited him. Mr. Chopper ■^vinked and nodded and pointed his pen towards his patron's door, and said, " You'll find the governor all right," with the most provoking good-humour. Osborne rose too, and shook him heartily by the hand, and said, " How do, my dear boy 1 " with a cordiality that made poor George's ambassador feel doubly guilty. His hand lay as if dead in the old gentleman's grasp. He felt that he, Dobbin, was more or less the cause of all that had happened. It was he had brought back George to Amelia : it was he had applauded, encouraged, transacted almost the marriage which he was come to reveal to George's father : and the latter was receiving him with smiles of welcome ; patting him on the shoulder, and calling him " Dobbin, my dear boy." The envoy had indeed good reason to hang his head. Osborne fully believed that Dobbin had come to announce his son's surrender. Mr. Chopper and his principal were talking over 214 VANITY FAIE the matter between George and his father, at the very moment when Dobbin's messenger arrived. Both agreed that George was sending in his submission. Both had been expecting it for some days— and "Lord! Chopper, what a marriage we'll have!" Mr. Osborne said to his clerk, snapping his big fingers, and jingling all the guineas and shillings in his great pockets as he eyed his sub- ordinate with a look of triumph. With similar operations conducted in both pockets, and a know- ing jolly air, Osborne from his chair regarded Dobbin seated blank and silent opposite to him. " What a bumpkin he is for a Captain in the army," old Osborne thought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him better manners." At last Dobbin summoned coiuage to begin. " Sir," said he, "I've brought you some very grave news. I have been at the Horse Guards this morning, and there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered abroad, and on its way to Belgium before the week is over. And you know, sir, that we shan't be home again before a tussle which may be fatal to many of us." Osborne looked grave. " My s , the regiment will do its duty, sir, I dare say," he said. " The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went on. " The Bussians and Austrians will be a long time before they can bring their troops down. We shall have the first of the fight, sir ; and depend on it Boney will take care that it shall be a hard one." "What are you driving at, Dobbin T' his interlocutor said, uneasy and with a scowl. " I suppose no Briton's afraid of any d Frenchman, hay 1 " " I only mean, that before we go, and considering the gi-eat and certain risk that hangs over every one of us — if there are any differ- ences between you and George — it would be as well, sir, that — that you should shake hands : woiddn't it ? Should anything happen to him, I think you would never forgive yourself if you hadn't parted in charity." As he said this, poor William Dobbin blushed crimson, and felt and owned that he himself was a traitor. But for him, perhaps, this severance need never have taken place. Why had not George's marriage been delayed^ What call was there to press it on so eagerly 1 He felt that George would have parted from Amelia at any rate without a mortal pang. Amelia, too, might have re- covered the shock of losing him. It was his counsel had brought about this marriage, and all that was to ensue fr'om it. And why was it ? Because he loved her so much that he could not bear to see her mihappy : or because his own sufferings of suspense were so unendurable that he was glad to crush them at once — as we hasten A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 215 a funeral after a death, or, when a separation from those we love is imminent, cannot rest mitil the parting be over. " You are a good fellow, William," said Mr. Osborne in a softened voice ; " and me and George shouldn't part in anger, that is true. Look here. I've done for him as much as any father ever did. He's had three times as much money from me, as I warrant yoiu- father ever gave you. But I don't brag about that. How I've toiled for him, and worked and employed my talents and energy, / won't say. Ask Chopper. Ask himself. Ask the City of London. Well, I propose to him such a marriage as any noble- man in the land might be proud of — the only thing in life I ever asked him — and he refuses me. Am / wrong 1 Is the quarrel of mij making 1 What do I seek but his good, for which I've been toiling like a convict ever since he was born 1 Nobody can say there's anything selfish in me. Let him come back. I say, here's my hand. I say, forget and forgive. As for marrying now, it's out of the question. Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the marriage afterwards, when he comes back a Colonel ; for he shall be a Colonel, by G he shall, if money can do it. I'm glad you've brought him round. I know it's you, Dobbin. You've took him out of many a scrape before. Let him come. / shan't be hard. Come along, and dine in Russell Square to-day ; both of you. The old shop, the old hour. You'll iuid a neck of venison, and no questions asked." Tliis praise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart very keenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in this tone, he felt more and more guilty. " Sir," said he, " I fear you deceive yomself. I am sure you do. George is much too high-minded a man ever to marry for money. A threat on your part that you would disinlierit him in case of disobedience would only be followed by resistance on his." " Why, hang it, man, you don't call offering him eight or ten thousand a year threatening him?" Mr. Osborne said, with still provoking good-humour. " 'Gad, if Miss S. will have me, I'm her man. / ain't particular about a shade or so of tawny." And the old gentleman gave his knowing grin and coarse laugh. "You forget, sir, previous engagements into which Captain Osborne had entered," the ambassador said gravely. "What engagements'? What the devil do you mean? You don't mean," Mr. Osborne continued, gathering wi-ath and astonish- ment as the thought now first came upon him; "you don't mean that he's such a d fool as to be still hankering after that swind- ling old bankrupt's daughter? You've not come here for to make me suppose that he wants to marry he?- ? Marry her, that is a good one. My son and heir marry a beggar's girl out of a gutter. D 2i6 VANITY FAIE him, if he does, let him buy a broom and sweep a crossing. She was always dangling and ogling after him, I recollect now ; and IVe no doubt she was put on by her old sharper of a father." " Mr. Sedley was yoiu- very good friend, sir," Dobbin interposed, almost pleased at finding himself growing angiy. " Time was you called him better names than rogue and swindler. The match was of your making. George had no right to play fast and loose " Fast and loose ! " howled out old Osborne. " Fast and loose ! Why, hang me, those are the very words my gentleman used himself when he gave himself airs, last Thursday was a fortnight, and talked about the British army to his father who made him. What, it's you who have been a setting of him up — is it 1 and my service to you, Captain. It's you who want to introduce beggars into my family. Thank you for nothing. Captain. Marry her indeed — he, he ! why should he? I warrant you she'd go to him fast enough without." " Sir," said Dobbin, starting up in undisguised anger ; " no man shall abuse that lady in my hearing, and you least of all." " Oh, you're a going to call me out, are you ? Stop, let me ring the bell for pistols for two. Mr. George sent you here to insult his father, did he ? Osborne said, puUing at the bell-cord. "Mr. Osborne," said Dobbin, with a fkltering voice, "it's you who are insulting the best creature in the world- You had best spare her, sir, for she's your son's wife." And with this, feeling that he could say no more, Dobbin went away, Osborne sinking back in his chair, and looking wildly after him. A clerk came in, obedient to the bell ; and the Captain was scarcely out of the court where Mr. Osborne's offices were, when Mr. Chopper the chief clerk came rushing hatless after him. " For God's sake, what is it 1 " Mr. Chopper said, catching the Captain by the skirt. " The governor's in a fit. What has Mr. George been doing ? " " He married Miss Sedley five days ago," Dobbin replied. " I was his groomsman, Mr. Chopper, and you must stand his friend." The old clerk shook his head. " If that's your news. Captain, it's bad. The governor wiU never forgive him.'' Dobbin begged Chopper to report progress to him at the hotel where he was stopping, and walked off moodily westwards, greatly perturbed as to the past and the future. When the Eussell Square family came to dinner that evening, they found the father of the house seated in his usual place, but with that air of gloom on his face, which, whenever it appeared there, kept the whole circle silent. The ladies, and Mr. Bidlock who dined with them, felt that the news had been commmiicated to Mr. Osborne. His dark looks aff'ected Mr. Bullock so far as to render him still and quiet : A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 217 but he was unusually bland and attentive to Miss Maria, by whom he sat, and to her sister presiding at the head of the table. jMiss Wirt, by consequence, was alone on her side of the board, a gap being left between her and JMiss Jane Osborne. Now this was George's place when he dined at home ; and his cover, as we said, was laid for him in expectation of that truant's return. Nothing occurred dimng dinner-time except smiling Mr. Frederick's flagging confidential whispers, and the clinking of plate and china, to interrupt the silence of the repast. The servants went about stealthily doing their duty. Mutes at funerals could not look more glum than the domestics of Mr. Osborne. The neck of venison of which he had invited Dobbin to partake, was carved by hi]n in perfect silence ; but his o'mi share went away almost untasted, though he drank much, and the butler assiduously filled his glass. At last, just at the end of the dinner, his eyes, which had been staring at everybody in turn, fixed themselves for a while upon the plate laid for George. He pointed to it presently with his left hand. His daughters looked at him and did not comprehend, or choose to comprehend, the signal ; nor did the servants at first understand it. " Tahe that plate away," at last he said, getting up with an oath — and with this pushing his chair back, he walked into his own room. Behind Mr. Osborne's dining-room was the usual apartment which went ui his house by the name of the study ; and was sacred to the master of the house. Hither Mr. Osborne would retire of a Sunday forenoon when not minded to go to church ; and here pass the morning in his crimson leather chair, reading the paper. A couple of glazed book-cases were here, containing standard works in stout gilt bind- ings. The " Annual Register," the " Gentleman's Magazine," " Blair's Sei-mons," and " Hume and Smollett." From year's end to year's end he never took one of these volumes from the shelf; but there was no member of the family that would dare for his life to touch one of the books, except upon those rare Sunday evenings when there was no dinner-party, and when the gxeat scarlet Bible and Prayer-book were taken out fi-om the comer where they stood beside his copy of the Peerage, and the servants being nmg up to the dining parlour, Osborne read the evening service to his family in a loud gi-ating pompous voice. No member of the household, child, or domestic, ever entered that room without a certain terror. Here he checked the housekeeper's accounts, and overhauled the butler's cellar-book. Hence he could command, across the clean gravel court-yard, the back entrance of the stables -svith which one of his bells commimicated, and into this yard the coachman issued from his premises as into a dock, and Osborne swore at him from the study window. Four times a year Miss Wirt entered this apartment to get her salary ; and his daughters 2i8 VANITY FAIE to receive their quarterly allowance. George as a boy had been horse- whipped in this room many times ; his mother sitting side on the stair listening to the cuts of the whip. The boy was scarcely ever known to cry under the punishment ; the poor woman used to fondle and Iciss him secretly, and give him money to soothe him when he came out. There was a picture of the family over the mantelpiece, removed thither from the front room after Mrs. Osborne's death — George was on a pony, the elder sister holding him up a bunch of flowers ; the younger led by her mother's hand ; all with red cheeks and large red mouths, simpering on each other in the approved family-portrait manner. The mother lay underground now, long since forgotten — the sisters and brother had a hundred different interests of their own, and, familiar still, were utterly estranged from each other. Some few score of years afterwards, when all the parties represented are gxown old, what bitter satire there is in those flaunting childish family- portraits, with their farce of sentiment and smilmg lies, and innocence so self-conscious and self-satisfied. Osborne's own state portrait, with tliat of his great silver inkstand and arm-chair, had taken the place of honom- in the dining-room, vacated by the family-piece. ^ To this study old Osborne retired then, greatly to the relief of the small party whom he left. When the servants had withdrawn, they began to talk for a while volubly but very low ; then they went upstairs quietly, Mr. Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his creaking shoes. He had no heart to sit alone drinking wine, and so close to the terrible old gentleman in the study hard at hand. An hour at least after dark, the butler, not having received any summons, ventm-ed to tap at his door and take him in wax candles and tea. The master of the house sate in his chair, pretending to read the paper, and when the servant, placing the lights and refresh- ment on the table by him, retired, Jlr. Osborne got up and locked the door after him. This time there was no mistaking the matter ; all the household knew that some great catastrophe was going to happen which was likely direly to affect Master George. In the large shining mahogany escritoire Mr. Osborne had a drawer especially devoted to his son's affairs and papers. Here he kept all the documents relating to him ever since he had been a boy : Iiere were his prize copy-books and drawing-books, all bearing George's hand, and that of the master : here were his first letters in large round-hand sending his love to papa and mamma, and conveying his petitions for a cake. His dear godpapa Sedley was more than once mentioned in them. Curses quivered on old Osborne's livid lips, and horrid hatred and disappointment writhed in his heart, as looking through some of these papers he came on that name. They were all marked and docketed, and tied with red tape. It was — A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 219 " From Georgy, requesting 5s., April 23, 18 — ; answered, April 25," — or " Georgy about a pony, October 13," — and so forth. In another packet were "Dr. S.'s accounts" — "G.'s tailor's bills and outfits, di-afts on me by G. Osborne, jun.," &c., — his letters from the West Indies — his agent's letters, and the newspapers containing his com- missions : here was a whip he had when a boy, and in a paper a locket containing his hair, which his mother used to wear. Turning one over after another, and musing over these memorials, the unhappy man passed many hours. His dearest vanities, ambi- tious hopes, had aU been here. What pride he had in his boy ! He was the handsomest child ever seen. Everybody said he was like a nobleman's son. A royal princess had remarked him, and kissed him, and asked his name in Kew Gardens. What City man could show such another 1 Could a prince have been better cared for 1 Anything that money could buy had been his son's. He used to go down on speech-days with four horses and new liveries, and scatter new shillings among the boys at the school where George was : when he went with George to the depot of his regiment, before the boy embarked for Canada, he gave the officers such a dinner as the Duke of York might have sat down to. Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one ? There they were — paid without a word. Many a general in the army couldn't ride the horses he had ! He had the child before his eyes, on a hundred different days when he remem- bered George — after dinner, when he used to come in as bold as a lord and drink off his glass by his father's side, at the head of the table — on the pony at Brighton, when he cleared the hedge and kept up with the himtsman — on the day when he was presented to the Prince Eegent at the levee, when all Saint James's couldn't produce a finer young fellow. And this, this was the end of all ! — to maiTy a bankrupt and fly in the face of duty and fortune ! What humiliation and fury : what pangs of sickening rage, balked ambition and love; what wounds of outraged vanity, tenderness even, had this old worldling now to suffer under ! Having examined these papers, and pondered over this one and the other, in that bitterest of all helpless woe, with which miserable men think of happy past times — George's father took the Avliole of the documents out of the drawer in which he had kept them so long, and locked them into a writing-box, which he tied, and sealeil with his seal. Then he opened the book-case, and took down the gxeat red Bible we have spoken of— a pompous book, seldom looked at, and shining all over with gold. There was a frontispiece to the volume, representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac. Here, according to custom, Osborne had recorded on the fly-leaf, and in his large clerk-like hand, the dates of his maniage and his wife's death, and the births and 220 VANITY FAIK Christian names of his children. Jane came first, then George Sedley Osborne, then Maria Frances, and the days of the christemng of each. Taking a pen, he carefully obhterated George's names from the page ; and when the leaf was quite dry, restored the volume to the place from which he had moved it. Then he took a document out of another drawer, where his own private papers were kept; and having read it, crumpled it up and lighted it at one of the candles, and saw it bum entirely away in the grate. It was his will ; which being biuTied, he sate down and wrote off a letter, and rang for his servant, whom he charged to deliver it in the morning. It was morning already : as he went up to bed, the whole house was alight with the sunshine ; and the birds were singing among the fresh green leaves in Russell Square. Anxious to keep all Mr. Osborne's family and dependants in good-humour, and to make as many friends as possible for George in his hour of adversity, William Dobbin, who knew the effect which good dinners and good wines have upon the soul of man, wrote off immediately on his return to his inn the most hospitable of invita- tions to Thomas Chopper, Esquire, begging that gentleman to dine with him at the Slaughters' next day. The note reached Mr. Chopper before he left the City, and the instant reply was, that " Mr. Chopper presents his respectful compliments, and wOl have the honour and pleasure of waiting on Captain D." The invitation and the rough draft of the answer were shown to Mrs. Chopper and her daughters on his return to Somers Town that evening, and they talked about military gents and West End men with great exultation as the family sate and partook of tea. When the girls had gone to rest, Mr. and Mrs. C. discoursed upon the strange events which were occurring in the governor's family. Never had the clerk seen his principal so moved. When he went in to Mr. Osborne, after Captain Dobbin's departure, Mr. Chopper found his chief black in the face, and all but in a fit : some dreadful quarrel, he was certain, had occurred between Mr. 0. and the young Captain. Chopper had been instructed to make out an account of all sums paiil to Captain Osborne within the last three years. " And a precious lot of money he has had too," the chief clerk said, and respected his old and young master the more, for the liberal way in which the guineas had been flung about. The dispute was something about Miss Sedley. Mrs. Chopper vowed and declared she pitied that poor young lady to lose such a handsome young fellow as the Capting. As the daughter of an unlucky speculator, who had paid a very shabby dividend, Mr. Chopper had no gi'eat regard for Miss Sedley. He respected the house of Osborne before all others in the City of London : and his hope and wish was that Captain George should A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 221 marry a nobleman's daughter. The clerk slept a great deal somider than his principal that night ; and, cuddling his children after break- fast (of which he partook with a very hearty appetite, thougii his modest cup of life was only sweetened with brown sugar), he set off in his best Sunday suit and frilled shirt for business, promising his admiring wife not to punish Captain D.'s port too severely that evening. Mr. Osborne's countenance, Avhen he arrived in the City at his usual time, struck those dependants who were accustomed, for good reasons, to watch its expression, as peculiarly ghastly and worn. At twelve o'clock Mr. Higgs (of the firm of Higgs & Blatherwick solicitors, Bedford Row) called by appointment, and was ushered into the governor's private room, and closeted there for more than an hour. At about one Mr. Chopper received a note brought by Captain Dobbin's man, and containing an enclosure for Mr. Osborne, which the clerk went in and delivered. A short time afterwards Mr. Chopper and Mr. Birch, the next clerk, were summoned, and requested to witness a paper. " I've been making a new wiU," Mr. Osborne said, to which these gentlemen appended their names accordingly. No conversation passed. Mr. Higgs looked exceed- ingly grave as he came into the outer rooms, and very hard in Mr. Chopper's face ; but there were not any explanatiijus. It was remarked that Mr. Osborne was particularly c^uiet and gentle all day, to the surprise of those who had augured ill from his darkling demeanour. He called no man names that day, and was not heard to swear once. He left business early ; and before going away, siunmoned his chief clerk once more, and having given him general instructions, asked him, after some seeming hesitation and reluctance to speak, if he knew whether Captain Dobbin was in to'mi 1 Chopper said he believed he was. Indeed both of them knew the fact perfectly. Osborne took a letter directed to that officer, and giving it to the clerk, requested the latter to deliver it into Dobbin's own hands iromediately. "And now, Chopper,'' says he, taking his hat, and with a strange look, " my mind will be easy." Exactly as the clock struck two (there was no doubt an appointment between the pair), Mr. Freclerick Bullock called, and he and Mr. Osborne walked away together. The Colonel of the — th regiment, in which Messieurs Dobbin and Osborne had companies, was an old General who had made his first campaign under Wolfe at Quebec, and was long since quite too old and feeble for command ; but he took some interest in the regiment of which he was the nominal head, and made certain of 222 VANITY FAIK his young officers welcome at his table, a kmd of hospitahty which I believe is not now common amongst his brethren. Captain Dobbin was an especial favourite of this old General. Dobbin was versed in the hteratm-e of his profession, and could talk about the gi-eat Frederick, and the Empress Queen, and their wars, almost as well as the General himself, who was indifferent to the triumphs of the present day, and whose heart was with the tacticians of fifty years back. This officer sent a summons to Dobbin to come and break- fast with him, on the morning when Mr. Osborne altered his will and Mr. Chopper put on his best shirt-frill, and then informed his young favourite, a couple of days in advance, of that which they were all expecting — a marching order to go to Belgium. The order for the regiment to hold itself in readiness would leave the Horse Guards in a day or two ; and as transports were in plenty, they would get their route before the week was over. Eecruits had come in dm'ing the stay of the regiment at Chatham ; and the old General hoped that the regiment which had helped to beat Montcalm in Canada, and to rout Mr. Washington on Long Island, would prove itself worthy of its historical reputation on the oft-trodden battle- grounds of the Low Countries. " And so, my good friend, if you have any affaire la," said the old General, taking a pinch of snuft" with his trembling white old hand, and then pointing to the spot of his rohe de chambre under which his heart was still feebly beat- ing, " if you have any Phillis to console, or to bid farewell to papa and mamma, or any will to make, I recommend you to set about your business without delay." With which the General gave his young friend a finger to shake, and a good-natured nod of his powdered and pig-tailed head ; and the door being closed upon Dobbin, sate down to pen a poulet (he was exceedingly vain of his French) to Mademoiselle Am^naide of His Majesty's Theatre. This news made Dobbin grave, and he thought of om- friends at Brighton, and then he was ashamed of himself that Amelia was always the first thing in his thoughts (always before anybody — before father and mother, sisters and duty — always at waking and sleeping indeed, and all day long) ; and returning to his hotel, he sent off a brief note to Mr. Osborne acquainting him with the in- formation which he had received, and which might tend farther, he hoped, to bring about a reconciliation with George. This note, despatched by the same messenger who had carried the invitation to Chopper on the previous day, alarmed the worthy clerk not a little. It was enclosed to him, and as he opened the letter he trembled lest the dinner should be put off on which he was calculating. His mind was hiexpressibly relieved when he found that the envelope was only a reminder for himself. ("I shall A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 223 expect you at half-past five," Captain Dobbiu wrote.) He was very much interested about his employer's family ; but, que voulez-vous ? a grand dinner was of more concern to him than the affairs of any other mortal. Dobbin was quite justified in repeating the General's information to any officers of the regiment whom he should see in the course of his peregrinations; accordingly he imparted it to Ensign Stubble, whom he met at the agent's, and who — such was his military ardom- — went off instantly to pm-chase a new sword at the accoutrement- maker's. Here this young fellow, who, though only seventeen years of age, and about sixty-five inches high, with a constitution naturally rickety and much impaired by premature brandy-and-water, had an vmdoubted courage and a lion's heart, poised, tried, bent, and balanced a weapon such as he thought would do execution amongst Frenchmen. Shouting " Ha, ha ! " and stamping his little feet v.-ith tremendous energy, he deUvered the point twice or thrice at Captain Dobbiu, who parried the thrust laughingly with his bamboo walking-stick. Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and slenderness, was of the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney, on the contrary, Mas a tall youth, and belonged to (Captain Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and he tried on a new bear-skin cap, under which he looked savage beyond his years. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughters', and having ordered a famous dinner, sate down and wrote off letters to the kind anxious parents at home — letters full of love and hearti- ness, and pluck and bad spelling. Ah ! there were many anxious hearts beating through England at that time ; and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in many homesteads. Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at one of the coffee-room tables at the Slaughters', and the tears trickling down his nose on to the paper (for the youngster was thinldng of his mamma, and that he might never see her again), Dobbin, who was going to write off a letter to George Osborne, relented, and locked up his desk. " Why shovdd I ? " said he. " Let her have this night happy. I'll go and see my parents early in the morning, and go down to Brighton myself to-morrow." So he went up and laid his big hand on young Stubble's shoulder, and backed up that young champion, and told him if he would leave off brandy-and-water he would be a good soldier, as he always was a gentlemanly good-hearted fellow. Yoimg Stubble's eyes brightened up at this, for Dobbin was greatly respected in the regiment, as the best officer and the cleverest man in it. "Thank you, Dobbin," he said, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, " I was just — ^just telhng her I would. And, Sir, she's so dam kind to me." The water pumps were at v/ork again, and 224 VANITY FAIR I am not sure that the soft-hearted Captain's eyes did not also twinkle. The two ensigns, the Captain, and J\Ir. Chopper, dined together in the same box. Chopper brought the letter from Mr. Osborne, in which the latter briefly presented his compliments to Captain Dobbin, and requested him to forward the enclosed to Captain George Osborne. Chopper knew nothing further ; he described Mr. Osborne's appear- ance, it is true, and his interview with his lawyer, wondered how the governor had sworn at nobody, and — especially as the wine circled round — abomided in speculations and conjectm-es. But these grew more vague with every glass, and at length became perfectly unin- telligible. At a late hour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a hackney-coach, in a hiccupping state, and swearing that he would be the kick — the kick — Captain's friend for ever and ever. When Captain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne we have said that he asked leave to come and pay her another visit, and the spinster expected him for some hours the next day, when, perhaps, had he come, and had he asked her that question which she was prepared to answer, she would have declared herself as her brother's friend, and a reconciliation might have been effected between George and his angry father. But though she waited at home the Captain never came. He had his own affairs to pursue ; his own parents to visit and console ; and at an early hour of the day to take his place on the Lightning coach and go down to his friends at Brighton. In the course of the day Miss Osborne heard her father give orders that that meddling scoundrel. Captain Dobbin, should never be admitted within his doors again, and any hopes in which she may have indulged privately were thus abruptly brought to an end. Mr. Frederick Bullock came, and was particularly affectionate to Maria, and atten- tive to the broken-spirited old gentleman. For though he said his mind would be easy, the means which he had taken to secure quiet did not seem to have succeeded as yet, and the events of the past two days had visibly shattered him. CHAPTER XXV IN WHICH ALL THE PRINCIPAL PERSONAGES THINK FIT fO LEAVE BRIGHTON CONDUCTED to tlie ladies, at the Ship Imi, Dobbin assumed a jovial and rattling manner, which proved that this j'oung officer was becoming a more consummate hypocrite every day of his life. He was trjang to hide his own private feelings, first upon seeing Mrs. George Osborne in her new condition, and secondly to mask the apprehensions he entertained as to the effect which the dismal news brought down by him would certainly have upon her. " It is my opinion, George," he said, " that the French Emperor will be upon us, horse and foot, before three weeks are over, and will give the Duke such a dance as shall make the Peninsula appear mere child's play. But you need not say that to Mrs. Osborne, you know. There mayn't be any fighting on our side after all, and our business in Belgium may turn out to be a mere military occupation. Many persons think so ; and Brussels is fiill of fine people and ladies of fashion." So it was agi-eed to represent the duty of the British army in Belgium in this harmless light to Amelia. This plot being arranged, the hypocritical Dobbin saluted Mrs. George Osborne quite gaily, tried to pay her one or two compli- ments relative to her new position as a bride (which compliments, it must be confessed, were exceedingly clumsy and hung fire woe- fully), and then fell to talking about Brighton, and the sea-air, and the gaieties of the place, and the beauties of the road and the merits of the Lightning coach and horses, — all in a manner quite incomprehensible to Amelia, and very amusing to Piebecca, who was watching the Captain, as indeed she watched every one near whom she came. Little Amelia, it must be owned, had rather a mean opinion of her husband's friend, Captain Dobbin. He lisped — he was very plain and homely -looking : and exceedingly awkward and ungainly. She liked him for his attachment to her husband (to be sure there was very little merit in that), and she thought George was most generous and kind ia extending his friendship to his brother officer. George 1 P 226 VANITY FAIR had mimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer manners many times to her, tliough, to do him justice, he always spoke most highly of his friend's good quahties. In her little day of triumph, and not knowing him intimately as yet, she made light of honest William — and he knew her opinions of him quite well, and acquiesced in them very humbly. A time came when she knew him better, and changed her notions regarding him ; but that was distant as yet. As for Kebecca, Captain Dobbin had not been two hom's in the ladies' company before she understood his secret perfectly. She did not hke him, and feared him privately ; nor was he very much pre- possessed in her favour. He was so honest, that her arts and cajoleries did not affect him, and he shrank from her with instinctive repulsion. And, as she was by no means so far superior to her sex as to be above jealousy, she disliked him the more for his adoration of Amelia. Nevertheless, she was very respectful and cordial in her manner towards him. A friend to the Osbornes ! a friend to her dearest benefactors ! She vowed she should always love him sincerely : she remembered him quite well on the Vauxhall night, as she told Amelia archly, and she made a little fun of him when the two ladies went to dress for dinner. Rawdon Crawley paid scarcely any attention to Dobbin, looking upon him as a good-natured nin- compoop and underbred City man. Jos patronised him with much dignity. When George and Dobbin were alone in the latter's room, to which George had followed him, Dobbin took from his desk the letter which he had been charged by Mr. Osborne to deliver to his son. " It's not in my father's handwriting," said George, looking rather alarmed ; nor was it : the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyer, and to the following effect : — "" ^ " Bedpokd Row, May 7, 1815. " SiE, — I am commissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform you, that he abides by the determination which he before expressed to you, and that in consequence of the marriage which you have been pleased to contract, he ceases to consider you henceforth as a member of his family. This determination is final and irrevocable. " Although the moneys expended upon you in your minority, and the bills which you have dra^m upon him so unsparingly of late years, far exceed in amount the sum to which you are entitled in your own right (being the third part of tlie fortune of yom- mother, the late Mrs. Osborne, and which reverted to you at her decease, and to Miss Jane Osborne and Miss Maria Frances Osborne) ; yet I am instructed by Mr. Osborne to say, that he waives all claim upon yom- estate, and that the sum of £2000, 4 per cent, annuities, at the value of the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 227 day (being your one-third share of the sum of £6000), shall be paid over to yourself or your agents upon your receipt for the same, by your obedient Servt., S. Higgs. " P.S. — Mr. Osborne desires me to say, once for all, that he declines to receive any messages, letters, or communications from you on this or any other subject." " A pretty way you have managed the affair," said George, looking savagely at William Dobbin. " Look there, Dobbin," and he flung over to the latter his parent's letter. " A beggar, by Jove, and all in consequence of my d — d sentimentality. AVhy couldn't we have waited ? A ball might have done for me in the course of the war, and may still, and how will Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar's widow % It was all your doing. You were never easy until you had got me married and ruined. What the deuce am I to do with two thousand pounds % Such a sum won't last two years. I've lost a hundred and forty to Crawley at cards and billiards since I've been down here. A pretty manager of a man's matters you are, forsooth." " There's no denying that the position is a hard one," Dobbin replied, after reading over the letter with a blank countenance ; " and as you say, it is partly of my making. There are some men who wouldn't mind changing with you," he added, with a bitter smUe. " How many captains in the regiment have two thousand pounds to the fore, think you 1 You must live on your pay till your father relents, and if you die, you leave your wife a hundred a year." " Do you suppose a man of my habits can live on his pay and a hundred a year 1 " George cried out in great anger. " You must be a fool to talk so, Dobbin. How the deuce am I to keep up my position in the world upon such a pitifid pittance t I can't change my habits. I must have my comforts. / wasn't brought up on porridge, like MacWhirter, or on potatoes, like old O'Dowd. Do you expect my wife to take in soldiers' washing, or ride after the reghjient in a baggage-waggon 1 " " Well, well," said Dobbin, still good-naturedly, " we'll get her a better conveyance. But try and remember that you are only a dethroned prince now J" George, my boy ; and be quiet whilst the tempest lasts. It won't be for long. Let your name be mentioned in the Gazette, and I'll engage the old father relents towards you." " Mentioned in the Gazette ! " George answered. " And in what part of it 1 Among the kUled and wounded returns, and at the top of the list, very likely." " Psha ! It will be time enough to cry out when we are hurt," 228 VANITY FAIR Dobbin said. " And if anything happens, you know, George, I have got a Httle, and I am not a marrying man, and I shall not forget my godson in my will," he added, with a smile. Whereupon the dispute ended — as many scores of such conversations between Osborne and his friend had concluded previously — by the former declaring there was no possibility of being angry with Dobbin long, and forgiving him very generously after abusing him without cause. " I say, Becky," cried Rawdon Crawley out of his dressing-room, to his lady, who was attiring herself for dinner in her own chamber. " What ? " said Becky's shrill voice. She was looking over her shoulder in the glass. She had put on the neatest and fi-eshest white frock imaginable, and with bare shoulders and a little neck- lace, and a light blue sash, she looked the image of youthful innocence and girlish happiness. "I say, what'll Mrs. 0. do, when 0. goes out v.dth the regi- ment 1 " Crawley said, coming into the room, performing a duet on his head with two huge hair-brushes, and looking out from under his hair with admiration on his pretty little wife. " I suppose she'll cry her eyes out," Becky answered. She has been whimpering half-a-dozen times, at the very notion of it, already to me." " You don't care, I suppose 'i " Rawdon said, half angry at his wife's want of feeling. "You wi-etch ! don't you know that I intend to go with you," Becky replied. " Besides, you're different. You go as General Tufto's aide-de-camp. We don't belong to the line," Mrs. Crawley said, throwing up her head with an air that so enchanted her husband that he stooped down and kissed it. " Rawdon dear — don't you think — you'd better get that — money from Cupid, before he goes 1 " Becky continued, fixing on a killing bow. She called George Osborne, Cupid. She had flattered him about his good looks a score of times already. She watched over him kindly at &artd of a night when he would drop into Rawdon's quarters for a half-horn- before bed-time. She had often called him a horrid dissipated wretch, and threatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways and naughty extravagant habits. She brought his cigar and lighted it for him ; she knew the effect of that manoeuvre, having practised it in former days upon Rawdon Crawley. He thought her gay, brisk, arch, distingu6,'- delightful. In their little drives and dinners, Becky, of course, quite outshone poor Emmy, wlio remained very mute and timid while Mrs. Crawley and her husband rattled away together, and Captain Crawley (and Jos after he joined the young married people) gobbled in silence. Emmy's mind somehow misgave her about her friend. Rebecca's A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 229 wit, spirits, and accomplishments troubled her with a rueful disquiet. They were only a week married, and here was George already suffer- ing ennui, and eager for others' society ! She trembled for the future. How shall I be a companion for him, she thought, — so clever and so brilliant, and I such a humble foolish creature ? How noble it was of him to marry me — to give up everything and stoop down to me ! I ought to have refused him, only I had not the heart. I ought to have stopped at home and taken care of poor papa. And her neglect of her parents (and indeed there was some foundation for this charge which the poor child's uneasy conscience brought against her) was now remembered for the first time, and caused her to blush with humiliation. Oh ! thought she, I have been very wicked and selfish — selfish in forgetting them in their sorrows — selfish in forcing George to man-y me. I know I'm not worthy of him — I know he would have been happy without me — and yet — I tried, I tried to give him up. It is hard when, before seven days of marriage are over, such thoughts and confessions as these force themselves on a little bride's mind. But so it was, and the night before Dobbin came to join these young people — on a fine brilliant moonlight night of May — so warm and balmy that the windows were flung open to the balcony, from which George and Mrs. Crawley were gazing upon the calm ocean spread shining before them, while Eawdon and Jos were engaged at backgammon within — Amelia couched in a great chair quite neglected, and watching both these parties, felt a despair and remorse such as were bitter companions for that tender lonely soul. Scarce a week was past, and it was come to this ! The future, had she regarded it, ofi'ered a dismal prospect ; but Emmy was too shy, so to speak, to look to that, and embark alone on that wide sea, and unfit to navigate it without a guide and protector. I know Miss Smith has a mean opinion of her. But how many, my dear Madam, are endowed with your prodigious strength of mind ? " Gad, vv'hat a fine night, and how bright the moon is ! " George said, with a puff of his cigar, which went soaring up skywards. " How delicious they smell in the open air ! I adore them. Who'd think the moon was two hundred and thirty-six thousand eight hundred and forty-seven miles off'? " Becky added, gazing at that orb with a smile. " Isn't it cle\'er of me to remember that 1 Pooh ! we learned it all at Miss Pinkerton's ! How calm the sea is, and how clear everything. I declare I can almost see the coast of France ! " and her bright green eyes streamed out, and shot into the night as if they could see through it. " Do you know what I intend to do one morning 1 " she said ; "I find I can swim beautifully, and some day, when my Aunt 230 VANITY FAIK Crawley's companion — old Briggs, you know — you remember her — that hook-nosed woman, with the long wisps of hair — when Briggs goes out to bathe, I intend to dive under her awning, and insist on a reconciliation in the water. Isn't that a stratagem 1 " George biu-st out laughing at the idea of this aquatic meeting. "AVhat's the row there, you two?" Rawdon shouted out, rattling the box. Amelia was making a fool of herself in an absurd hysterical manner, and retired to her own room to whimper in private. Our history is destined in this chapter to go backwards and forwards in a very irresolute manner seemingly, and having con- ducted our story to to-morrow presently, we shall immediately again have occasion to step back to yesterday, so that the whole of the tale may get a hearing. As you behold at lier Majesty's drawing- room, the ambassadors' and high dignitaries' carriages whisk off from a private door, while Captain Jones's ladies are waiting for their fly : as you see in the Secretary of the Treasury's antechamber, a half-dozen of petitioners waiting patiently for their audience, and called out one by one, when suddenly an Irish member or some eminent personage enters the apartment, and instantly walks in to Mr. Under-Secretary over the heads of all the people present : so, in the conduct of a tale, the romancer is obliged to exercise this most partial sort of justice. Although all the little incidents must be heard, yet they must be put off when the great events make their appearance ; and surely such a circumstance as that which brought Dobbin to Brighton, viz., the ordering out of the Guards and the line to Belgium, and the mustering of the allied armies in that country under the command of his Grace the Duke of Wellington — such a dignified circumstance as that, I say, was entitled to the pas over all minor occurrences whereof this history is composed mainly, and hence a little trifling disarrangement and disorder was excusable and becoming. We have only now advanced in time so far beyond Chapter XXII. as to have got our various characters up into their dressing-rooms before the dinner, which took place as usual on the day of Dobbin's arrival. George was too humane or too much occupied with the tie of his neckcloth to convey at once all the news to Ameha which his comrade had brought with him from London. He came into her room, however, holding the attorney's letter in his hand, and with so solemn and important an air that his wife, always ingeniously on the watch for calamity, thought the worst was about to befall, and running up to her husband, besought her dearest George to tell her everything— he was ordered abroad ; there would be a battle next week— she knew there would. Dearest George parried the question about foreign service, and A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 231 ■with a melaucholy shake of the head said, " No, Emmy ; it isn't that : it's not myself I care about : it's you. I have liad bad news from my father. He refuses any communication with me ; he has flimg us off ; and leaves us to poverty. / can rough it well enough ; but you, my dear, how will you bear it 1 read here." And he handed her over the letter. Amelia, with a look of tender alarm in her eyes, listened to her noble hero as he uttered the above generous sentiments, and sitting down on the bed, read the letter which George gave her with such a pompous martyr-like air. Her face cleared up as she read the document, however. The idea of sharing poverty and privation in company with the beloved object is, as we have before said, far from being disagreeable to a warm-hearted woman. The notion was actually pleasant to Uttle AmeUa. Then, as usual, she was ashamed of herself for feeling happy at such an indecorous moment, and checked her pleasure, saying demurely, " Oh, George, how yom- poor heart must bleed at the idea of being separated from your papa ! " " It does," said George, with an agonised countenance. " But he can't be angry with you long," she continued. " No- body coidd, I'm sm-e. He must forgive you, my dearest, kindest husband. Oh, I shall never forgive myself if he does not." "What vexes me, my poor Emmy, is not iiiij misfortune, but yoirrs," George said. " I don't care for a little poverty ; and I think, without vanity, I've talents enough to make my oviii way." " That you have," interposed his wife, who thought that war should cease, and her husband should be made a general instantly. "Yes, I shall make my way as well as another," Osborne went on; "but you, my dear girl, how can I bear your being deprived of the comforts and station in society which my wife had a right to expect 1 My dearest gu-1 in barracks ; the wife of a soldier in a marching regiment ; subject to all sorts of annoyance and privation ! It makes me miserable." Emmy, quite at ease, as this was her husband's only cause of disquiet, took his hand, and with a radiant face and smile began to warble that stanza from the favourite song of " Wapping Old Stairs," in which the heroine, after rebuking her Tom for inattention, promises " his trousers to mend, and his grog too to make," if he will be con- stant and kind, and not forsake her. " Besides," she said, after a pause, diuing which she looked as pretty and happy as any young woman need, " isn't two thousand pounds an immense deal of money, George 1 " George laughed at her naivete ; and finally they went down to dinner, Ameha clinging to George's arm, still warbling the tune of 232 VANITY FAIE " Wapping Old Stairs,'' and more pleased and light of mind than she had been for some days past. Thus the repast, which at length came off, instead of being dismal, was an exceedingly brisk and merry one. The excitement of the campaign comiteracted in George's mind the depression occa- sioned by the disinheriting letter. Dobbin still kept up his character of rattle. He amused the company with accoimts of the army in Belgium, where nothing but fetes and gaiety and fashion were going on. Then, having a particular end in view, this dexterous captain proceeded to describe Mrs. Major O'Dowd packing her own and her Major's wardrobe, and how his best epaulets had been stowed into a tea canister, whilst her own famous yellow turban, with the bird of paradise wrapped in brown paper, was locked up in the Major's tin cocked-hat case, and wondered what effect it would have at the French king's court at Ghent, or the great military balls at Brussels. " Ghent ! Brussels ! " cried out Amelia with a sudden shock and start. "Is the regiment ordered away, George, — is it ordered away 1 " A look of terror came over the sweet smihng face, and she clung to George as by an instinct. "Don't be afraid, dear," he said good-naturedly; "it is but a twelve hours' passage. It won't hurt you. You shall go, too, Emmy." "/ intend to go," said Becky. "I'm on the staff. General Tufto is a great flirt of mine. Isn't he, Eawdon 1 " Eawdon laughed out with his usual roar. William Dobbin flushed up quite red. " She can't go," he said ; " think of the — of the danger," he was going to add ; but had not all his conversation during dinner-time tended to prove there was nonel He became very confused and silent. " I must and will go," Amelia cried with the greatest spirit ; and George, applauding her resolution, patted her under the chin, and asked all the persons present if they ever saw such a termagant of a wife, and agreed that the lady should bear him company. " We'll have Mrs. O'Dowd to chaperon you," he said. What cared she so long as her husband was near her 1 Thus somehow the bitterness of a parting was juggled away. Though war and danger were in store, war and danger might not befall for months to come. There was a respite at any rate, which made the timid httle Amelia almost as happy as a full reprieve would have done, and which even Dobbin owned in his heart was very welcome. For, to be permitted to see her was now the greatest privilege and hope of his life, and he thought with himself secretly how he would watch and protect her. I wouldn't have let her go if I had been married to her, he thought. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 233 But George was the master, and liis friend did not tliinlc fit to remonstrate. Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Eebecca at length carried Ameha o£f from the dinner-table, where so much business of importance had been discussed, and left the gentlemen in a highly exhilarated state, drinking and talking very gaily. In the course of the evening Eawdon got a little family-note from his wife, which, although he crumpled it up and burnt it instantly in the candle, we had the good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder. " Great news," she wrote. " Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the money from Cupid to-night, as he'll be off to-morrow most likely. Mind this. — R." So when the little company was about adjourning to coffee in the women's apartment, Rawdon touched Osborne on the elbow, and said gracefully, " I say, Osborne, my boy, if quite con- venient, I'll trouble you for that 'ere small trifle." It was not quite convenient, but nevertheless George gave him a considerable present instalment in bank-notes from his pocket-book, and a bill on his agents at a week's date for the remaining sum. This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and Dobbin held a council of war over their cigars, and agreed that a general move should be made for London in Jos's open carriage the next day. Jos, I think, woidd have preferred staying until Rawdon Crawley quitted Brighton, but Dobbin and George overruled him, and he agreed to carry the party to town, and ordered four horses, as became his dignity. With these they set off in state, after breakfast, the next day. ' Amelia had risen very early in the morning, and packed her little trunks with the greatest alacrity, while Osborne lay in bed deploring that she had not a maid to help her. She was only too glad, however, to perform this of&ce for herself. A dim uneasy sentiment about Rebecca filled her mind already ; and although they kissed each other most tenderly at parting, yet we know what jealousy is ; and Mrs. Ameha possessed that among other virtues of her sex. -.. _ Besides these characters who are coming and going away, we must remember that there were some other old friends of ours at Brighton ; Miss Crawley, namely, and the suite in attendance upon her. Now, although Rebecca and her husband were but at a few stones' throw of the lodgings which the invahd Miss Crawley occupied, the old lady's door remained as pitilessly closed to them as it had been heretofore in London. As long as she remained by the side of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Bute Crawley took care that her beloved Matilda should not be a.gitated by a meeting with her nephew. When the spinster took her drive, the faithftil Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carnage. When Miss Crawley took the air in a chair, 234 VANITY FAIE Mrs. Bute marched on one side of the vehicle, while honest Briggs occupied the other wing. And if they met Kawdon and his wife by- chance — although the former constantly and obsequiously took oflF his hat, the Miss-Crawley party passed him by with such a frigid and killing indifference, that Rawdon began to despair. "We might as well be in London as here," Captain Eawdon often said, with a downcast air. " A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a spunging-house in Chancery Lane," his wife answered, who was of a more cheerful teinperament. " Think of those two aides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the sheriff's-ofBcer, who watched our lodgings for a week. Our friends here are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are better companions than Mr. Moses's men, Eawdon, my love." " I wonder the writs haven't followed me down here," Eawdon continued, still desponding. " When they do, v/e'U find means to give them the slip," said dauntless Httle Becky, and further pointed out to her husband the great comfort and advantage of meeting Jos and Osborne, whose acquaintance had brought to Eawdon Crawley a most timely little supply of ready money. " It will hardly be enough to pay the inn bill," grumbled the Guardsman. " Why need we pay it? " said the lady, who had an answer for everything. Through Eawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling acquaintance with the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley^s servants' hall, and was instructed to treat the coachman to drink whenever they met, old Miss Crawley's movements were pretty well known by our yoimg couple ; and Eebecca luckily bethought herself of being unwell, and of calling in the same apothecary who was in attendance vipon the spinster, so that their information was on the whole tolerably com- plete. Nor was Miss Briggs, although forced to adopt a hostile attitude, secretly inimical to Eawdon and his wife. She was naturally of a kindly and forgiving disposition. Now that the cause of jealousy was removed, her dislike for Eebecca disappeared also, and she remembered the latter's invariable good words and good humour. And, indeed, she and Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley's household, groaned under the tyramiy of the triumphant Mrs. Bute. As often will be the case, that good but imperious woman pushed her advantages too far, and her successes quite unmercifully. She had in the course of a few weeks brought the invalid to such a state of helpless docility, that the poor soul yielded herself entirely to her sister's orders, and did not even dare to complain of her slavery to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 235 Briggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the glasses of wine which Miss Crawley was daily allowed to take, with irresistible accuracy, greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and the butler, who found them- selves deprived of control over even the sherry-bottle. She appor- tioned the sweetbreads, jellies, chickens ; their quantity and order. Night and noon and morning she brought the abominable drinks ordained by the doctor, and made her patient swallow them with so affecting an obedience, that Firkin said, " My poor Missus du take lier physic like a lamb." She prescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in the chair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in her convalescence in such a way as only belongs to your proper-managing, motherly moral woman. If ever the patient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a little bit more dinner or a little drop less medicine, the nurse threatened her with instantaneous death, when Miss Crawley instantly gave in. " She's no spirit left in her," Firkin remarked to Briggs ; " she ain't 'ave called me a fool these three weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made up her mind to dismiss the aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls the large confidential man, and Briggs herself, and to send for her daughters from the Kectory, previous to removing the dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawley, when an odious accident happened which called her away from duties so pleasing. The Eeverend Bute Crawley, her husband, riding home one night, fell with his horse and broke his collar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptoms set in, and Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex for Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restored, she promised to return to her dearest friend, and departed, leaving the strongest injunctions with the household regarding their behaviour to their mistress ; and as soon as she got into the Southampton coach, there was such a jubilee and sense of relief in all Miss Crawley's house, as the company of persons assembled there had not experienced for many a week before. That very day Miss Crawley left off her afternoon dose of medicine : that afternoon Bowls opened an independent bottle of sherry for himself and Mrs. Firkin : that night Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet instead of one of Porteus's sermons. It was as in the old musery-story, when the stick forgot to beat the dog, and the whole course of events underwent a peaceful and happy revolution. At a very early hour in the morning, twice or thrice a week. Miss Briggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machine, and disport in the water in a flannel gown and an oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have seen, was aware of this circumstance, and though she did not attempt to storm Briggs as she had threatened, and actually dive into that lady's presence and surprise her under the sacredness of the awning, Mrs, Rawdon determined to attack Briggs as she came away from 236 VANITY FAIK her bath, refreshed and invigorated by her dip, and likely to be in good humour. So getting up very early the next morning, Becky brought the telescope in theu- sitting-room, which faced the sea, to bear upon the bathing-machines on the beach ; saw Briggs arrive, enter her box, and put out to sea ; and was on the shore just as the nymph of whom she came in quest stepped out of the little caravan on to the shingles. It was a pretty picture : the beach ; the bathing-women's faces ; the long line of rocks and building were blushing and bright in the sunshine. Eebecca wore a kind, tender smile on her face, and was holding out her pretty white hand as Briggs emerged from the box. What could Briggs do but accept the salutation ? " Miss Sh — , Mrs. Crawley," she said. Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart, and with a sudden impulse, flinging her arms round Briggs, kissed her affec- tionately. " Dear, dear friend ! " she said, with a touch of such natural feeling, that Miss Briggs of course at once began to melt, and even the bathing-woman was mollified. Eebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long, intimate, and delightful conversation. Everything that had passed since the morning of Becky's sudden departure from Miss Crawley's house in Park Lane up to the present day, and Mrs. Bute's happy retreat, was discussed and described by Briggs. All Miss Crawley's symptoms, and the particulars of her illness and medical treatment, were nar- rated by the confidante with that fulness and accuracy which women delight in. About their complaints and their doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to each other 1 Briggs did not on this occasion ; nor did Eebecca weary of listening. She was thankful, tndy thankful, that the dear kind Briggs, that the faithful, the invaluable Firkin, had been permitted to remain with their benefactress through her illness. Heaven bless her ! though she, Eebecca, had seemed to act unduti- fully towards Miss Crawley ; yet was not her fault a natural and excusable one 1 Could she help giving her hand to the man who had won her heart ? Briggs, the sentimental, could only turn up her eyes to heaven at this appeal, and heave a sympathetic sigh, and think that she, too, had given away her affections long years ago, and own that Eebecca was no very great criminal. " Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friendless orphan ? No, though she has cast me off'," the latter said, " I shall never cease to love her, and I would devote my life to her service. As my own benefactress, as my beloved Eawdon's adored relative, I love and admire Miss Crawley, dear Miss Briggs, beyond any woman in the world, and next to her I love all those who are faithful to her. / would never have treated Miss Crawley's faithful friends as that A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 237 odious designing Mrs. Bute has done. Eawdon, who was all heart," Rebecca continued, " although his outward manners might seem rough and careless, had said a hundred times, with tears in his eyes, that he blessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty two such admirable nurses as her attached Firkin and her admirable Miss Briggs." Should the machinations of the horrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much feared they would, in banishing everybody that Miss Crawley loved from her side, and leaving that poor lady a victim of those harpies at the Eectory, Rebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) to remember that her own home, humble as it was, was always open to receive Briggs. " Dear friend," she exclaimed, in a transport of enthusiasm, " some hearts can never forget benefits ; all women are not Bute Crawleys ! Though why should I complain of her," Rebecca added ; " though I have been her tool and the victim to her arts, do I not owe my dearest Eawdon to her 1 " And Rebecca unfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct at Queen's Crawley, which, though unintelligible to her then, was clearly enough explained by the events now, — now that the attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute had encouraged by a thousand artifices, — now that two innocent people had fallen into the snares which she had laid for them, and loved and married and been ruined through her schemes. It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems as clearly as possible. Mrs. Bute had made the match between Rawdon and Rebecca. Yet, though the latter was a perfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggs could not disguise from her friend her fear that Miss Crawley's affections were hopelessly estranged from Rebecca, and that the old lady would never forgive her nephew for making so impru- dent a marriage. On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, and still kept up a good heart. If Miss Crawley did not forgive them at present, she might at least relent on a future day. Even now, there was only that puling, sickly Pitt Crawley between Eawdon and a baronetcy ; and shoirld anything happen to the former, all woidd be well. At all eveuts, to have Mrs. Bute's designs exposed, and herself well abused, was a satisfaction, and might be advantageous to Eawdon's interest; and Eebecca., after an hour's chat with her recovered friend, left her with the most tender demonstrations of regard, and quite assured that the conversation they had had together would be reported to Miss Crawley before many hours were over. This interview ended, it became full time for Eebecca to return to her inn, where all the party of the previous day were assembled at a farewell breakfast. Eebecca took such a tender leave of Ameha as became two women who loved each other as sisters ; and having used her handkerchief plentifully, and hung on her friend's neck as 238 VANITY FAIR if they were parting for ever, and waved the handkerchief (which was quite dry, by the way) out of the window, as the carriage drove off, she came back to the breakfast-table and ate some prawns, with a good deal of appetite, considering her emotion ; and while she was munching these delicacies, explained to Ravdon what had occurred in her morning walk between herself and Briggs. Her hopes were very high : she made her husband share them. She generally suc- ceeded in making her husband share all her opinions, whether melancholy or cheerful. " You will now, if you please, my dear, sit down at the writing- table and pen me a pretty little letter to Miss Crawley, in which you'll say that you are a good boy, and that sort of thing." So Rawdon sate down, and wrote off, " Brighton, Thursday," and " My dear Aunt," with great rapidity : but there the gallant officer's ima- gination failefl him. He mumbled the end of his pen, and looked up in his wife's face. She could not help laughing at his rueful countenance, and marching up and down the room with her hands behind her, the httle woman began to dictate a letter, which he took down. " Before quitting the country and commencing a campaign, which very possibly may be fatal " " What 1 " said Rawdon, rather surprised, but took the humour of the phrase, and presently wrote it down with a grin. " Which very possibly may be fatal, I have come hither " " Why not say come here, Becky ? come here's grammar,'' the dragoon interposed. " I have come hither," Rebecca insisted, with a stamp of her foot, " to say farewell to my dearest and earliest friend. I beseech you before I go, not perhaps to return, once more to let me press the hand from which I have received nothing but kindnesses all my life." " Kindnesses aU my life," echoed Rawdon, scratching down the words, and quite amazed at his own facility of composition. ^ " I ask nothing from you but that we should part not in anger. I have the pride of my family on some points, though not on all. I married a painter's daughter, and am not ashamed of the union." " No, run me through the body if I am ! " Rawdon ejaculated. "You old booby," Rebecca said, pinching his ear and looking over to see that he made no mistakes in spelhng — " beseech is not spelt with an a, and eariiest is." So he altered these words, bowing to the superior knowledge of his little Missis. " I thought that you were aware of the progress of my attach- ment," Rebecca continued : " I knew that Mrs. Bute Crawley con- firmed and encouraged it. But I make no reproaches. I married a poor woman, and am content to abide by what I have done. A NCrVEL WITHOUT A HERO 239 Leave your property, dear Aunt, as you will. / shall never com- plain of the way in which you dispose of it. I would have you believe that I love you for yourself, and not for money's sake. I want to be reconciled to you ere I leave England. Let me, let me see you before I go. A few weeks or months hence it may be too late, and I cannot bear the notion of quitting the comitry without a kind word of farewell from you." " She won't recognise my style in tluit" said Becky. " I made the sentences short and brisk on purpose." And this authentic missive was despatched under cover to Miss Briggs. Old Miss Crawley laughed when Briggs, with gi-eat mystery, handed her over this candid and simple statement. " We may read it now Mrs. Bute is away," she said. "Bead it to me, Briggs." When Briggs had read the epistle out, her patroness laughed more. " Don't you see, you goose," she said to Briggs, who professed to be much touched by the honest affection which peiwaded the com- position, " don't you see that Eawdon never wrote a word of it ? He never wrote to me without asking for money in his life, and all his lettere are full of bad spelling, and dashes, and bad grammar. It is that little serpent of a governess who rules him." They are all alike. Miss Crawley thought in her heart. They all want me dead, and are hankering for my money. " I don't mind seeing Eawdon," she added, after a pause, and in a tone of perfect indifference. " I had just as soon shake hands with him as not. Provided there is no scene, why shouldn't we meet ? I don't mind. But human patience has its limits ; and mind, my dear, I respectfully decline to receive Mrs. Eawdon — I can't support tliat qaiie, " — and Miss Briggs was fain to be content with this half-message of conciliation ; and thought that the best method of bringing the old lady and her nephew together, was to warn Eawdon to be in waiting on the Chff, when Miss Crawley went out for her air in her chair. There they met. I don't know whether Miss Crawley had any private feeling of regard or emotion upon seeing her old favourite ; but she held out a couple of fingers to him with as smiling and good- humoured an air, as if they had met only the day before. And as for Eawdon, he turned as red as scarlet, and wrung off Briggs's hand, so great was his rapture and his confusion at the meeting. Perhaps it was interest that moved him : or perhaps affection : perhaps he was touched by the change which the illness of the last weeks had ■wrought in his aunt. " The old girl has always acted like a trump to me," he said to his wife, as he narrated the interview, " and I felt, you know, rather queer, and that sort of thing. I walked by the side of the what- 240 VANITY FAIR dy'e-call-'eni, you know, and to her own door, where Bowls came to help her in. And I wanted to go in very much, only ■" " You didn't go in, Eawdon ! " screamed his wife. " No, my dear ■ I'm hanged if I wasn't afraid when it came to the point." " You fool ! you ought to have gone in, and never come out again," Rebecca said. "Don't call me names," said the big Guardsman sulkily. " Perhaps I ivas a fool, Becky, but you shouldn't say so ; " and he gave his wife a look, such as his countenance could wear when angered, and such as was not pleasant to face. " Well, dearest, to-morrow you must be on the look-out, and go and see her, mind, whether she asks you or no," Rebecca said, trying to soothe her angxy yoke-mate. On which he replied, that he would do exactly as he liked, and would just thank her to keep a civil tongue in her head — and the wounded husband went away, and passed the forenoon at the biUiard-room, sulky, silent, and suspicious. But before the night was over he was compelled to give in, and own, as usual, to his wife's superior prudence and foresight, by the most melancholy confirmation of the presentiments which she had regarding the consequences of the mistake which he had made. Miss Crawley must have had some emotion upon seeing him and shaking hands with him after so long a rupture. She mused upon the meeting a considerable time. " Rawdon is getting very fat and old, Briggs," she said to her companion. " His nose has become red, and he is exceedingly coarse in appearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelessly vulgarised him. Mrs. Bute always said they drank together ; and I have no doubt they do. Yes : he smelt of gin abominably. I remarked it. Didn't you 1 " In vain Briggs interposed that Mrs. Bute spoke ill of every- body : and, as far as a person in her humble position could judge, was an "An artful designing woman ^ Yes, so she is, and she does speak ill of every one, — but I am certain that woman has made Rawdon drink. AH those low people do " " He was very much affected at seeing you, ma'am,'' the com- panion said ; " and I am siu-e, when you remember that he is gomg to the field of danger " "How much money has he promised you, Briggs?" the old spinster cried out, working herself into a nervous rage — " there now, of course you begin to cry. I hate scenes. Why am I always to be worried ? Go and cry up in your own room, and send Firkin to me — no, stop, sit down and blow your nose, and leave off crying. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 241 and write a letter to Captain Crawley." Poor Briggs went and placed herself obediently at the writing-book. Its leaves were blotted all over with relics of the firm, strong, rapid handwriting of the spinster's late amanuensis, Mrs. Bute Crawley. " Begin ' My dear sir,' or ' Dear sir,' that will be better, and say you are desired by Miss Crawley — no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer, to state, that my health is such that all strong emotions would be dangerous in my present delicate condition — and that I must decHne any famUy discussions or interviews whatever. And thank him for coming to Brighton, and so forth, and beg Mm not to stay any longer on my accovmt. And, Miss Briggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage, and that if he will take the trouble to call upon my lawyer's in Gray's Inn Square, he will find there a commimication for him. Yes, that will do ; and that will make him leave Brighton." The benevolent Briggs penned this sentence with the utmost satisfaction. " To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute was gone," the old lady prattled on ; "it was too indecent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mr.s. Crawley, and say she needn't come back. No — she needn't — and she shan't — and I won't be a slave in my own house — and I won't be starved and choked with poison. They all want to kdl me — aU — all" — and with this the lonely old woman burst into a' scream of hysterical tears. The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy was fast ap- proaching ; the tawdry lamps were going out one by one ; and the dark curtain was almost ready to descend. That final paragraph which referred Eawdon to Miss Crawley's solicitor in London, and which Briggs had written so good-naturedly, consoled the dragoon and his ■R'ife somewhat, after their first blank disappointment, on reading the spinster's refusal of a reconciliation. And it effected the piu-pose for which the old lady had caused it to be written, by making Eawdon very eager to get to London. Out of Jos's losings and George Osborne's bank-notes, he paid his bill at the inn, the landlord whereof does not probably know to this day how doubtfully his account once stood. For, as a general sends his baggage to the rear before an action, Eebecca had wisely packed up all their chief valuables and sent them off under care of George's servant, who went in charge of the trunks on the coach back to London. Eawdon and his wife returned by the same conveyance next day. " I shoidd have hked to see the old girl before we went," Eawdon said. " She looks so cut up and altered that I'm sure she can't last long. I wonder what sort of a cheque I shall have at Waxy's. Two hundred — it can't be less than two hundred, — hey, Becky?" 242 VANITY FAIR In consequence of the repeated visits of the aides-de-camp of the Sheriff of Middlesex, Eawdon and his wife did not go back to their lodgings at Brompton, but put up at an inn. Early the next morn- ing, Eebecca had an opportunity of seeing them as she skirted that suburb on her road to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulham, whither she went to look for her dear Amelia and her Brighton friends. They were all off to Chatham, thence to Harwich, to take shipping for Belgium with the regiment — kind old Mrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearful, solitary. Returning from this visit, Rebecca found her husband, who had been off to Gray's Inn, and learnt his fate. He came back furious. " By Jove, Becky," says he, "she's only given me twenty pound !" Though it told against themselves, the joke was too good, and Becky burst out laughing at Rawdon's discomfiture. CHAPTER XXVI BETIVEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM ON quitting Brighton, our friend George, as became a person of rank and fashion travelling in a barouche with four horses, drove in state to a fine hotel in Cavendish Square, where a suite of splendid rooms, and a table magnificently furnished with plate and siuToimded by a half-dozen of black and silent waiters, was ready to receive the yoimg gentleman and his bride. George did the honoiu-s of the place with a princely air to Jos and Dobbin ; and Ameha, for the fii-st time, and with exceeding shyness and timidity, presided at what George called her own table. George pooh-poohed the wine and bullied the waiters royally, and Jos gobbled the turtle with immense satisfaction. Dobbin helped him to it ; for the lady of the house, before whom the tureen was placed, was so ignorant of the contents, that she was going to help Mr. Sedley without bestowing upon him either cahpash or calipee. The splendour of the entertainment, and the apartments in which it was given, alarmed Mr. Dobbin, who remonstrated after dinner, when Jos was asleep in the great chair. But in vain he cried out against the enormity of tiutle and champagne that was fit for an archbishop. " I've always been accustomed to travel like a gentle- man," George said, "and, damme, my wife shall travel like a lady. As long as there's a shot in the locker, she shall want for nothing," said the generous fellow, quite pleased with himself for his magnifi- cence of spirit. Nor did Dobbin try and convince him that Amelia's happiness was not centred in turtle-soup. A while after dinner, Amelia timidly expressed a wish to go and see her mamma, at FuUiam : which permission George granted her with some grumbling. And she tripped away to her enormous bed- room, in the centre of which stood the enormous funereal bed, "that the Emperor Halixander's sister slep in when the allied sufferings was here," and put on her Uttle bonnet and shawl with the utmost eager- ness and pleasure. George was still drinking claret when she returned to the dining-room, and made no signs of moving. " Ar'n't you coming with me, dearest 1 " she asked him. No ; the " dearest " had " busi- ness " that night. His man should get her a coach and go with her. 244 VANITY FAIE And the coach being at the door of the hotel, Amelia made George a Kttle disappointed curtsey after looking vainly into his face once or twice, and went sadly down the great staircase, Captain Dobbin after, who handed her into the vehicle, and saw it drive away to its desti- nation. The very valet was ashamed of mentioning the address to the hackney-coachman before the hotel waiters, and promised to instruct him when they got further on. Dobbin walked home to his old quarters at the Slaughters', think- ing very likely that it would be delightful to be in that hackney-coach, along with Mrs. Osborne. George was evidently of quite a different taste ; for when he had taken wine enough, he went off to half-price at the play, to see Mr. Kean perform in Shylock. Captain Osborne was a great lover of the drama, and had himself performed high- comedy characters with great distinction in several garrison theatrical entertainments. Jos slept on until long after dark, when he woke up with a start at the motions of his servant, who was removing and emptying the decanters on the table; and the hackney-coach stand was again put into requisition for a carriage to convey this stout hero to his lodgings and bed. Mrs. Sedley, you may be sure, clasped her daughter to her heart with all maternal eagerness and affection, running out of the door as the carriage drew up before the little garden-gate, to welcome the weeping, trembling young bride. Old Mr. Clapp, who was in his shirt-sleeves, trimming the garden-plot, shrank back alarmed. The ^ Irish servant-lass rushed up from the kitchen and smiled a " God bless you." Amelia could hardly walk along the flags and up the steps into the parlour. How the floodgates were opened, and mother and daughter wept, when they were together embracing each other in this sanctuary, may readily be imagined by every reader who possesses the least senti- mental turn. When don't ladies weep 1 At what occasion of joy, sorrow, or other business of Hfe 1 and, after such an event as a marriage, mother and daughter were surely at liberty to give way to a sensibility which is as tender as it is refreshing. About a question of marriage I have seen women who hate each other kiss and cry together quite fondly. How much more do they feel when they love ! Good mothers are married over again at their daughters' weddings : and as for subsequent events, who does not know how ultra-maternal grand- mothers are 1 — in fact a woman, untU she is a grandmother, does not often really know what to be a mother is. Let us respect Amelia and her mamma whispering and whimpering and laughing and crying in the parlour and the twilight. Old Mr. Sedley did. He had not divined who was in the carriage when it drove up. He ha*l not A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 245 flown out to meet his daughter, though he kissed her very warmly when she entered the room (where he was occupied, as usual, with his papers and tapes and statements of accounts), and after sitting vnth the mother and daughter for a short time, he very wisely left the little apartment in their possession. George's valet was looking on in a very supercihous manner at Mr. Clapp in his shirt-sleeves, watering his rose-bushes. He took off his hat, however, with much condescension to Mr. Sedley, who asked news about his son-iu-law, and about Jos's carriage, and whether his horses had been down to Brighton, and about that infernal traitor Bonaparty, and the war ; imtil the Irish maid-servant came with a plate and a bottle of ^l'ine, from which the old gentleman insisted upon helping the valet. He gave him a half-guinea, too, which the servant pocketed with a mixture of wonder and contempt. " To the health of your master and mistress, Trotter," Mr. Sedley said, "and here's something to drink your health when you get home. Trotter." There were but nine days past since Amelia had left that little cottage and home — and yet how far oft" the time seemed since she had bidden it farewell. What a gulf lay between her and that past life ! She could look back to it from her present standing-place, and con- template, ahnost as another being, the young mimarried girl absorbed in her love, having no eyes but for one special object, receiving parental affection if not ungratefully, at least indifferently, and as if it were her due — her whole heart and thoughts bent on the accom- plishment of one desire. The review of those days, so lately gone yet so far away, touched her with shame ; and the aspect of the kind parents filled her with tender remorse. Was the prize gained — the heaven of hfe — and the winner still doubtful and unsatisfied ? As \ hiS hero and heroine pass the matrimonial barrier, the novelist generally drops the curtain, as if the drama were over then : the doubts and struggles of hfe ended : as if, once landed in the marriage country, all were green and pleasant there : and wife and husband had nothing to do but to link each other's arms together, and wander gently downwards towards old age in happy and perfect fruition. But our little Amelia was just on the bank of her new country, and was already looking anxiously back towards the sad friendly figures waving farewell to her across the stream, from the other distant shore. In honour of the j'oimg bride's arrival, her mother thought it necessary to prepare I don't know what festive entertainment, and after the first ebulhtion of talk, took leave of Mrs. George Osborne for a while, and dived down to the lower regions of the house to a sort of kitchen-parlour (occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Clapp, and in the evening, when her dishes were washed and her curl-papers removed, by Miss Flannigan, the Irish servant), there to take measures for the 246 VANITY FAIR preparing of a magnificent ornamented tea. All people have their ways of expressing kindness, and it seemed to Mrs. Sedley that a mnifin and a quantity of orange marmalade spread out in a little cut- glass saucer would be peculiarly agreeable refreshments to Ameha in her most interesting situation. While these delicacies were being transacted below, Amelia, leaving the drawing-room, walked upstairs and found herself, she scarce knew how, in the little room which she had occupied before her marriage, and in that very chair in which she had passed so many bitter hours. She sank back in its arms as if it were an old friend ; and fell to thinking over the past week, and the life beyond it. Already to be looking sadly and vaguely back : always to be pining for something which, when obtained, brought doubt and sadness rather than plea- sure; here was the lot of our poor little creature, and harmless lost wanderer in the great struggling crowds of Vanity Fair. Here she sate, and recalled to herself fondly that image of George to which she had knelt before marriage. Did she own to herself how different the real man was from that superb young hero whom she had worshipped ? It requires many, many years — and a man must be very bad indeed — before a woman's pride and vanity will let ber own to such a confession. Then Eebecca's twinkling green eyes and baleful smile lighted upon her, and filled her with dismay. And so she sate for a while indulging in her usual mood of selfish brooding, in that very listless melancholy attitude in which the honest maid- servant had found her, on the day when she brought up the letter in which George renewed his offer of marriage. She looked at the little white bed, which had been hers a few days before, and thought she would like to sleep in it that night, and wake, as formerly, Avith her mother smiling over her in the morning. Then she thought with terror of the great funereal damask pavilion in the vast and dingy state bed-room, which was awaiting her at the grand hotel in Cavendish Square. Dear little white bed ! how many a long night had she wept on its pillow ! How had she despaired and hoped to die there ; and now were not aU her wishes accom- plished, and the lover of whom she had despaired her own for ever ? Kind mother ! how patiently and tenderly had she watched round that bed ! She went and knelt down by the bedside ; and there this wounded and timorous, but gentle and loving soul, sought for conso- lation, where as yet, it must be owned, our little girl had but seldom looked for it. Love had been her faith hitherto ; and the sad, bleed- ing disappointed heart began to feel the want of another consoler. Have we a right to repeat or to overhear her prayers 1 These, brother, are secrets, and out of the domain of Vanity Fair, in which our story lies. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 247 But this may be said, that when the tea was finally announced, our young lady came downstairs a great deal more cheerful ; that she did not despond, or deplore her fate, or think about George's coldness, or Rebecca's eyes, as she had been wont to do of late. She went downstairs, and kissed her father and mother, and talked to the old gentleman, and made him more merry than he had been for many a day. She sate down at the piano which Dobbin had bought for her, and sang over all her father's favourite old songs. She pro- nounced the tea to be excellent, and praised the exquisite taste in which the marmalade was arranged in the saucers. And in deter- mining to make everybody else happy, she found herself so ; and was sound asleep in the crmali fmipiyjl^ pavilion, and only woke up ■with a smile when George arrived fi-om the theatre. For the next day, George had more important "business" to transact than that which took him to see Mr. Kean in Shylock. Immediately on his arrival in London he had written off to his father's solicitors, signifying his royal pleasure that an interview should take place between them on the mon-ow. His hotel bill, losses at billiards and cards to Captain Crawley had almost drained the young man's purse, which wanted replenishing before he set out on his travels, and he had no resource but to infringe upon the two thousand pounds which the attorneys were commissioned to pay over to him. He had a perfect belief in his own mind that his father would relent before very long. How could any parent be obdurate for a length of time against such a paragon as he was 1 If his mere past and personal merits did not succeed in mollifying his father, George determined that he would distinguish himself so prodigiously in the ensuing campaign that the old gentleman must give in to him. And if not ? Bah ! the world was before him. His luck might change at cards, and there was a deal of spending in two thousand pounds. So he sent off Amelia once more in a carriage to her mamma, with strict orders and carte blanche to the two ladies to purchase everything requisite for a lady of Mrs. George Osborne's fashion, who was going on a foreign tour. They had but one day to complete the outfit, and it may be imagined that their business therefore occupied them pretty fidly. In a carriage once more, bustling about from milUner to linen-draper, escorted back to the carriage by obsequious shopmen or pohte o^vners, Mrs. Sedley was herself again almost, and sincerely happy for the first time since their misfortunes. Nor was Mrs. Amelia at all above the pleasiu-e of shopping, and bargaining, and seeing and buying pretty things. (Would any man, the most philosophic, give twopence for a woman who was 1) She gave her- self a httle treat, obedient to her husband's orders, and purchased a 248 VANITY FAIR quantity of lady's gear, showing a great deal of taste and elegant discernment, as all the shop-folks said. And about the war that was ensuing, Mrs. Osborne was not much alarmed ; :^aEarty was to be crushed almost without a struggle. Margate packets were sailing every day, filled with men of fashion and ladies of note, on their way to Brussels and Ghent. People were going not so much to a war as to a fashionable tour. The newspapers laughed the wretched upstart and swindler to scorn. Such a Corsican wretch as that withstand the armies of Europe and the genius of the immortal Wellington ! A melia h eld him in utter contempt ; for it needs not to be said that this soft and gentle crea- ture took her opinions from those people who smTouuded her, such fidelity being much too humble-minded to think for itself Well, in a word, she and her mother performed a great day's shopping, and she acquitted herself with considerable liveliness and credit on this her first appearance in the genteel world of London. George meanwhile, with his hat on one side, his elbows squared, and his swaggering martial air, made for Bedford Row, and stalked into the attorney's offices as if he was lord of every pale-faced clerk who was scribbUng there. He ordered somebody to inform Mr. Higgs that Captain Osborne was waiting, in a fierce and patronising way, as if the peldn of an attorney, who had thrice his brains, fifty times his money, and a thousand times his experience, was a WTetched underling who should instantly leave all his business in life to attend on the Captain's pleasure. He did not see the sneer of contempt which passed all round the room, from the first clerk to the articled gents, from the articled gents to the ragged writers and white-faced mnners, in clothes too tight for them, as he sate there tapping his boot with his cane, and thinking what a parcel of miserable poor devils these were. The miserable poor devils knew all about his affairs. They talked about them over their pints of beer at their public-house clubs to other clerks of a night. Ye gods, what do not attorneys and attorneys' clerks know in London ! Nothing is hidden from their inquisition, and their familiars mutely rule our city. Perhaps George expected, when he entered Mr. Higgs's apart- ment, to find that gentleman commissioned to give him some message of compromise or conciliation from his father ; perhaps his haughty and cold demeanour was adopted as a sign of his spirit and resolu- tion : but if so, his fierceness was met by a chiUing coolness and in- difference on the attorney's part, that rendered swaggering absurd. He pretended to be writing at a paper, when the Captain entered. " Pray, sit down, sir," said he, " and I will attend to your little affair in a moment. Mr. Poe, get the release papers, if you please ; " and then he fell to writing again. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 249 Poe having produced those papers, his chief calculated the amount of two thousand pounds stock at the rate of the day ; and asked Captain Osborne whether he would take the sum in a cheque upon the bankers, or whether he should direct the latter to purchase stock to that amount. " One of the late Mrs. Osborne's trustees is out of town," he said indifferently, " but my client wishes to meet your wishes, and have done with the business as quick as possible." " Give me a cheque, sir," said the Captain very surlily. " Damn the shillings and halfpence, sir," he added, as the lawyer was making out the amount of the draft ; and, flattering himself that by this stroke of magnanimity he had put the old quiz to the blush, he stalked out of the office with the paper in his pocket. " That chap will be in gaol in two years," Mr. Higgs said to Mr. Poe. " Won't 0. come round, sir, don't you think 1 " " Won't the monument come round," Mr. Higgs replied. " He's going it pretty fast," said the clerk. " He's only married a week, and I saw him and some other military chaps handing Mrs. Highflyer to her carriage after the play." And then another case was called, and Sir. George Osborne thenceforth dismissed from these worthy gentlemen's memory. The draft was upon our friends Hulker & Bullock, of Lombard Street, to whose house, still thinking he was doing business, George bent his way, and from whom he received his money. Frederick Bullock, Esq., whose yellow face was over a ledger, at which sate a demure clerk, happened to be in the banking-room when George entered. His yellow face turned to a more deadly colour when he saw the Captain, and he slunk back guiltily into the inmost parlour. George was too busy gloating over the money (for he had never had such a sum before), to mark the countenance or flight of the cada- verous suitor of his sister. Fred Bullock told old Osborne of his son's appearance and conduct. " He came in as bold as brass," said Frederick. " He has drawn out every shilling. How long will a few hmidred pounds last such a chap as that ? " Osborne swore with a great oath that he little cared when or how soon he spent it. Fred dined every day in Eussell Square now. But altogether, George was highly pleased with his day's business. All his own baggage and outfit was put into a state ol speedy preparation, and he paid Amelia's purchases with cheques on his agents, and ■with the splendoiu' of a lord. CHAPTER XXVII m WHICH AMELIA JOINS HER REGIMENT WHEN Jos's fine carriage drove up to the inn door at Chatham, the first face which Ameha recognised was the friendly- countenance of Captain Dobbin, who had been pacing the street for an hour past in expectation of his friends' arrival. The Captain, with shells on his frock-coat, and a crimson sash and sabre, presented a military appearance, which made Jos quite proud to be able to claim such an acquaintance, and the stout civilian hailed him with a cordiahty very different from the reception which Jos vouch- safed to his friend in Brighton and Bond Street. Along with the Captain was Ensign Stubble ; who, as the barouche neared the inn, burst out with an exclamation of " By Jove ! what a pretty girl ! " highly applauding Osborne's choice. Indeed, Amelia dressed in her wedding-pelisse and pink ribbons, with a flush in her face, occasioned by rapid travel through the open air, looked so fresh and pretty, as fully to justify the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for making it. As he stepped forward to help the lady out of the carriage. Stubble saw what a pretty little hand she gave him, and what a sweet pretty little foot came tripping down the step. He blushed profusely, and made the very best bow of which he was capable ; to which Amelia, seeing the number of the — th regiment embroidered on the Ensign's cap, replied with a blushing smUe, and a curtsey on her part ; which finished the young Ensign on the spot. Dobbin took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and encouraged him to talk about Amelia in their private walks, and at each other's quarters. It became the fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows of the — th to adore and admire Mrs. Osborne. Her simple artless behavioiu", and modest kindness of demeanour, won all their unsophisticated hearts ; all which simplicity and sweetness are quite impossible to describe in print. But who has not beheld these among women, and recognised the presence of all sorts of qualities in them, even though they say no more to you than that they are engaged to dance the next quadrille, or that it is very hot weather 1 George, always the champion of his regiment, rose immensely in the opinion of the youth of the corps, by his gallantry in marrying this A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 251 portionless young creature, and by his choice of such a pretty kind partner. In the sitting-room which was awaiting the travellers, Amelia, to her sm-prise, found a letter addressed to Mrs. Captain Osborne. It was a triangular billet, on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive branch, and a profusion of hght-blue sealing-wax, and it was written in a very large, though imdecided female hand. " It's Peggy O'Dowd's fist," said George, laughing. " I know it by the kisses on the seal." And in fact, it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that very evening to a small friendly party. " You must go," George said. "You will make acquaintance with the regiment there. O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and Peggy goes in com- mand of O'Dowd." But they had not been for many minutes in the enjoyment of Mrs. O'Dowd's letter, when the door was flung open, and a stout joUy lady, in a riding habit, followed by a couple of ofiicers of Ours, entered the room. " Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me, Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm deloighted to see ye ; and to pre- sent to you me husband, Meejor O'Dowd ; " and with this, the jolly lady in the riding-habit grasped Amelia's hand very warmly, and the latter knew at once that the lady was before her whom her husband had so often laughed at. "You've often heard of me from that husband of yours," said the lady, with great vivacity. " You've often heard of her," echoed her husband, the Major. Amelia answered, smiling, " that she had." " And small good he's told you of me," Mrs. O'Dowd repHed ; adding that " George was a wicked divvle." " That I'll go bail for," said the Major, trying to look knomng, at which George laughed ; and Mrs. O'Dowd, with a tap of her whip, told the Major to be quiet ; and then requested to be presented in form to Mrs. Captain Osborne. " This, my dear," said George with great gravity, " is my very good, kind, and excellent friend, Auralia Margaretta, otherwise called Peggy." " Faith, you're right," interposed the Major. " Otherwise called Peggy, lady of Major Michael O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, Coimty Kildare." "And Muryan Squeer, Doblin," said the lady with calm superiority. " And Muryan Square, sure enough," the Major whispered. " 'Twas there ye coorted me, Meejor dear," the lady said ; and 252 VANITY FAIR the Major assented to this as to every other proposition which was, made generally in company. Major O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign in every quarter of the world, and had paid for every step in his profession by some more than equivalent act of daring and gallantry, was the most modest, silent, sheep-faced and meek of little men, and as obedient to his wife as if he had been her tay-boy. At the mess-table he sate silently, and drank a great deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home. When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody on every conceivable point ; and he passed through life in perfect ease and good-humour. The hottest suns of India never heated his temper ; and the Wal- cheren ague never shook it. He walked up to a battery with just as much indifference as to a dinner-table ; and dined on horse-flesh and turtle with equal relish and appetite ; and had an old mother, Mrs. O'Dowd of O'Dowdstown indeed, whom he had never disobeyed but when he ran away and enlisted, and when he persisted in marry- ing that odious Peggy Malony. Peggy was one of five sisters, and eleven children of the noble house of Glenmalony ; but her husband, though her own cousin, was of the mother's side, and so had not the inestimable advantage of being allied to the Malonys, whom she believed to be the most famous family in the world. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two at Bath and Cheltenham, and not finding a partner for life. Miss Malony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was about thirty-three years of age ; and the honest fellow obeying, earned her off to the West Indies, to preside over the ladies of the — th regiment, into which he had just exchanged. Before Mrs. O'Dowd was half-an-hour in Amelia's (or indeed in anybody else's) company, this amiable lady told all her birth and pedigree to her new friend. " My dear," said she good-naturedly, "it was my intention that Garge should be a brother of my own, and my sister Glorvina would have suited him entirely. But as bygones are bygones, and he was engaged to yourself, why, I'm determined to take you as a sister instead, and to look upon you as such, and to love you as one of the family. Faith, you've got such a nice good-natured face and way widg you, that I'm sure we'll agree ; and that you'll be an addition to our family anyway." " 'Deed and she will," said O'Dowd, with an approving air, and Amelia felt herself not a little amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced to so large a party of relations. " We're all good fellows here," the Major's lady continued. 'There's not a regiment in the service where you'U find a more united society nor a more agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrel- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 253 ling, bickering, slandthering, nor small talk amongst us. We all love each other." " Especially Mrs. Mageuis," said George, laughing. " Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up, though her treat- ment of me would bring me gray hairs with soitow to the grave." "And you with such a beautiful front of black, Peggy, my dear," the Major cried. "Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my dear ; and as for my Mick, I often tell him he should never open his mouth but to give the word of command, or to put meat and drink into it. I'll tell you about the regiment, and warn you when we're alone. Introduce me to your brother now ; sure he's a mighty fine man, and reminds me of me cousin, Dan Malony (Malony of Ballymalony, my dear, you know, who mar'ied Ophalia Scully, of Oystherstown, own cousin to Lord Poldoody). Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm deloighted to be made known te ye. I suppose you'll dine at the mess to-day. (Mind that divvle of a docther, Mick, and whatever ye du, keep yourself sober for me party this evening.)" "It's the 150th gives us a farewell dinner, my love," interposed the Major, "but we'll easy get a card for Mr. Sedley." " Eun, Simple (Ensign Simple, of Ours, my dear Amelia. I forgot to introjuice him to ye). Run in a hurry, with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought his brothemlaw down, and will bring him to the 150th mess at five o'clock sharp — when you and I, my dear, will take a snack here, if you hke." Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young Ensign was trotting downstairs on his commission. " Obedience is the soid. of the army. AVe will go to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd wUl stay and enlighten you, Emmy," Captain Osborne said ; and the two gentlemen, ' taking each a wing of the Major, walked out with that oflicer, grinning at each other over his head. And, now having her new friend to herself, the impetuous Mrs. O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such a quantity of information as no poor little woman's memory could ever tax itself to bear. She told Amelia a thousand particulars relative to the very numerous family of which the amazed young lady found herself a member. " Mrs. Heavytop, the Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver and a broken heart comboined, for the horrud old Colonel, with a head as bald as a cannon-ball, was making sheep's eyes at a half- caste girl there. Mra. Magenis, thoiLgh without education, was a good woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kii-k must turn up her lobster 254 VANITY FAIE eyes forsooth at the idea of an honest round game (wherein me fawther, as pious a man as ever went to church, me uncle Dane Malony, and om- cousin the Bishop, took a hand at loo, or whist, every night of their lives). Nayther of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time," Mrs. O'Dowd added. " Fanny Magenis stops with her mother, who sells small coal and potatoes, most likely in Islington- town, hard by London, though she's always bragging of her father's ships, and pointing them out to us as they go up the river : and Mrs. Kirk and her children will stop here in Bethesda Place, to be nigh to her favourite preacher. Dr. Eamshorn. Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting situation — faith, and she always is, then — and has given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign Posky's wife, who joined two months before you, my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of times, till you can hear 'm all over the bar'ck (they say they're come to broken pleets, and Tom never accounted for his black oi), and she'll go back to her mother, who keeps a ladies' siminary at Kichmond, — bad luck to her for running away from it ! Where did ye get your finishing, my dear? I had moin, and no expince spared, at Madame Flanahan's, at Ilyssus Grove, Booters- town, near Dublin, wid a Marchioness to teach us the true Parisian pronunciation, and a retired Mejor-General of the French service to put us through the exercise." Of this incongruous family our astonished Amelia found herself all of a sudden a member : with Mrs. O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to her other female relations at tea-time, on whom, as she was quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome, she made rather an agreeable impression until the arrival of the gentlemen from the mess of the 150th, who all admired her so, that her sisters began, of course, to find fault with her. " I hope Osborne has sown his wild-oats," said Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny. , " If a reformed rake makes a good husband, sure it's she will have the fine chance with Garge," Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to Posky, who had lost her position as bride in the regiment, and was quite angry with the usurper. And as for Mrs. Kirk ; that disciple of Dr. Eamshorn put one or two leading professional questions to Amelia, to see whether she was awakened, whether she was a pro- fessing Christian and so forth, and finding from the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's repUes that she was yet in utter darkness, put into her hands three little penny books with pictures, viz., the " Howling Wilderness," the " Washerwoman of Finchley Common," and the " British Soldier's best Bayonet," which, bent upon awakening her before she slept, Mrs. Kirk begged Ameha to read that night ere she went to bed. But all the men, like good fellows as they were, rallied round A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 255 their comrade's pretty wife, and paid her their court with soldierly gallantry. She had a little triumph, which flushed her spirits and made her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popularity, and pleased with the manner (which was very gay and graceful, though naive and a little timid) with which she received the gentlemen's attentions, and answered their compliments. And he in his uniform — how much handsomer he was than any man in the room ! She felt that he was affectionately watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kindness. " I will make all his friends welcome," she resolved in her heart. " I will love all as I love him. I will always try and be gay and good-humoured and make his home happy." The regiment indeed adopted her with acclamation. The Captains approved, the Lieutenants applauded, the Ensigms admired. Old Cutler, the Doctor, made one or two jokes, which, being professional, need not be repeated ; and Cackle, the Assistant M.D. of Edinljvirgh, condescended to examine her upon leeterature, and tried her with his three best French quotations. Young Stubble went about from man to man whispering, "Jove, isn't she a pretty gait" and never took his eyes off her except when the negus came in. As for Captain Dobbin, he never so much as spoke to her during the whole evening. But he and Captain Porter of the 150th took home Jos to the hotel, who was in a very maudlin state, and had told his tiger-himt story with great effect, both at the mess-table and at the soiree, to Mrs. O'Dowd in her turban and bird of paradise. Having put the Collector into the hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking his cigar before the inn door. George had meanwhile very carefully shawled his wife, and brought her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a general handshaking from the young oflicers, who accompanied her to the fly, and cheered that vehicle as it drove off. So Ameha gave Dobbin her little hand as she got out of the caniage, and rebuked him smilingly for not having taken any notice of her all night. The Captain continued that deleterious amusement of smoking, long after the inn and the street were gone to bed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the bedroom close at hand. It was almost morning when he re- turned to his own quarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships in the river, where the transports were already taking in their cargoes preparatory to dropping down the Thames. CHAPTER XXVIII IN WHICH AMELIA INVADES THE LOW COUNTRIES THE regiment with its officers was to be transported in ships provided by His Majesty's government for the occasion : and in two days after the festive assembly at Mrs. O'Dowd's apart- ments, in the midst of cheering from all the East India ships in the river, and the mihtary on shore, the band playing " God save the King," the officers waving their hats, and the crews hurrahing gallantly, the transports went down the river and proceeded under convoy to Ostend. Meanwhile the gallant Jos had agreed to escort his sister and the Major's wife, the bulk of whose goods and chattels, including the famous bird of paradise and tiurban, were with the regimental baggage : so that our two heroines drove pretty much un- encumbered to Ramsgate, where there were plenty of packets plying, in one of which they had a speedy passage to Ostend. That period of Jos's life which now ensued was so full of incident, that it served him for conversation for many years after, and even the tiger-hunt story was put aside for more stirring narratives which he had to tell about the great campaign of Waterloo. As soon as he had agreed to escort his sister abroad, it was remarked that he ceased shaving his upper lip. At Chatham he followed the parades and drills with great assiduity. He listened with the utmost atten- tion to the conversation of his brother officers (as he called them in after days sometimes), and learned as many military names as he could. In these studies the excellent Mrs. O'Dowd was of great assist- ance to him ; and on the day finally when they embarked on board the Lovely Eose, which was to carry them to their destination, he made his appearance in a braided frock-coat and duck trousers, with a foraging cap ornamented with a smart gold band. Having his carriage with him, and informing everybody on board confidentially that he was going to join the Duke of Wellington's army, folks mistook him for a great personage, a commissary-general, or a government cornier at the very least. He suffered hugely on the voyage, during which the ladies were hkewise prostrate ; but Amelia was brought to life again as the packet made Ostend, by the sight of the transports conveying her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 257 regiment, which entered tl]e harbour almost at the same time with the Lovely Eose. Jos went in a collapsed state to an inn, while Captain Dobbin escorted the ladies, and then busied himself in free- ing Jos's carriage and luggage from the ship and the custom-house, for Mr. Jos was at present without a servant, Osborne's man and his own pampered menial having conspired together at Chatham, and refused point-blank to cross the water. This revolt, which came very suddenly, and on the last day, so alarmed Mr. Sedley, junior, that he was on the point of giving up the expedition, but Captain Dobbin (who made himself immensely officious in the business, Jos said) rated him and laughed at him soundly : the nmstacliios were grown in advance, and Jos finally was persuaded to embark. In place of the . well-bred and well-fed London domestics, who could only speak English, Dobbin procured for Jos's party a swarthy little Belgian servant who coidd speak no language at all ; but who, by his bustling behaviour, and by invariably addressing Sir. Sedley as " My lord," speedily acquired that gentleman's favour. Times are altered at Ostend now ; of the Britons who go thither, very few look like lords, or act like those members of oiu: heredi- tary aristocracy. They seem for the most part shabby in attire, dingy of Hnen, lovers of billiards and brandy, and cigars and greasy ordinaries. But it may be said as a rule, that every Englishman in the Duke of Wellington's army paid his way. The remembrance of such a fact surely becomes a nation of shopkeepers. It was a blessing for a commerce-loving country to be overrim by such an army of customers : and to have such creditable warriors to feed. Aud the country which they came to protect is not military. For a long period of history they have let other people fight there. When the present writer went to survey with eagle glance the field of Waterloo, we asked the conductor of the diligence, a portly warlike-looking veteran, whether he had been at the battle. " Pas si lite " — such an answer and sentiment as no Frenchman would own to — was his reply. But, on the other hand, the posiilhon who drove us was a Viscount, a son of some bankrupt Imperial General, who accepted a pennyworth of beer on the road. The moral is surely a good one. This flat, flourishing, easy country never could have looked more rich and prosperous than in that opening summer of 18.15, when its green fields and quiet cities were enlivened by multiphed red-coats : when its wide chausse'es swarmed with brilhant English equipages : when its great canal-boats, gliding by rich pastmes and pleasant quaint old villages, by old chateaux lying amongst old trees, were all crowded with well-to-do English travellers : when the soldier who drank at the village inn, not only drank, but paid his score ; and 1 » 258 VANITY FAIK Donald, the Highlander,* biheted in the Flemish farmhouse, rocked the baby's cradle, while Jean and Jeannette were out getting in the hay. As our painters are bent on military subjects just now, I throw out this as a good subject for the pencil, to illustrate the principle of an honest Eughsh war. All looked as brilliant and harmless as a Hyde Park review. Meanwhile Napoleon, screened behind his ciutain of frontier-fortresses, was preparing for the out- break which was to drive all these orderly people into fury and blood ; and lay so many of them low. Everybody had such a perfect feehng of confidence in the leader (for the resolute faith which the Duke of Wellington had inspired in the whole English nation was as intense, as that more frantic enthu- siasm with which at one time the French regarded Napoleon), the country seemed in so perfect a state of orderly defence, and the help at hand in case of need so near and overwhelming, that alarm was miknown, and our travellers, among whom two were naturally of a very timid sort, were, like all the other multiplied English tourists, entirely at ease. The famous regiment, with so many of whose officers we have made acquaintance, was drafted in canal-boats to Bruges and Ghent, thence to march to Brussels. Jos accompanied the ladies in tlie public boats ; the which all old travellers in Flanders must remember for the luxury and accommodation they afforded. So prodigiously good was the eating and drinking on board these sluggish but most comfortable vessels, that there are legends extant tf an English traveller, who, coming to Belgium for a week, and travelling in one of these boats, was so delighted with the fare there that he went backwards and forwards from Ghent to Bruges perpetu- ally until the railroads were invented, when he drowned himself on the last trip of the passage-boat. Jos's death was not to be of this soi-t, but his comfort was exceeding, and Mrs. O'Dowd insisted that he only wanted her sister Glorvina to make his happiness complete. He sate on the roof of the cabin all day drinking Flemish beer, shouting for Isidor, his servant, and talking gallantly to the ladies. His courage was prodigious. " Boney attack us ! " he cried. " My dear creature, my poor Emmy, don't be frightened. There's no danger. The allies will be in Paris in two months, I tell you ; when I'll take you to dine in the Palais Eoyal, by Jove ! There are three hundred thousand Eooshians, I teU you, now entering France by Maycnce and the Ehine — three hundred thousand under Wittgenstein and Barclay de Tolly, my poor love. You don't know military affairs, my dear. I do, and I tell you there's no infantry in France can stand against Kooshian infantry, and no general of Boney's that's fit to hold * This incident is mentioned in Mr. Gleig's "Story of the Battle of Waterloo. '' A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 259 a candle to Wittgenstein. Then there are the Austrians, they are five hundred thousand if a man, and they are within ten marches of the frontier by this time, under Schwartzenberg and Prince Charles. Then there are the Prooshians under the gallant Prince Marshal. Show me a cavalry chief like him now that Murat is gone. Hey, Mrs. O'Dowd ? Do you think our little girl here need be afraid 1 Is there any cause for fear, Isidor? Hey, sirl Get some more beer." Mrs. O'Dowd said that her " Glorvina was not afraid of any man alive, let alone a Frenchman," and tossed off a glass of beer with a wink which expressed her liking for the beverage. Having frequently been in presence of the enemy, or, in other words, faced the ladies at Cheltenham and Bath, oiu' friend, the Col- lector, had lost a great deal of his pristine timidity, and was now, especially when fortified with liquor, as talkative as might be. He was rather a favourite with the regiment, treating the young officers with sumptuosity, and amusing them by his military airs. And as there is one well-known regiment of the army which travels with a goat heading the column, whilst another is led by a deer, George said ■\rith respect to his brother-in-law, that his regiment marched with an elephant. Since Amelia's introduction to the regiment, George Ijegan to be rather ashamed of some of the company to which he had been forceff to- present her ; and determined, as he told Dobbin (with what satisfac- tion to the latter it need not be said), to exchange into some better regi- ment soon, and to get his wife away from those damned vulgar women. But this vulgarity of being ashamed of one's society is much more common among men than women (except very great ladies of fashion, who, to be sirre, indulge in it) ; and Mrs. Amelia, a natural and un- afifected person, had none of that artificial shamefacedness which her husband mistook for delicacy on his own part. Thus Mrs. O'Dowd had a cock's plume in her hat, and a very large " repay ther " on her stomach, which she used to ring on all occasions, narrating how it had been presented to her by her fawther, as she stipt into the car'ge after her mar'ge ; and these ornaments, with other outward peculiar- ities of the Major's wife, gave excruciating agonies to Captain Osborne, when his wife and the Major's came in contact ; whereas Amelia was only amused by the honest lady's eccentricities, and not in the least ashamed of her company. As they made that well-known journey, which almost every Englishman of middle rank has travelled since, there might have been more instructive, but few more entertaining, companions than Mrs. Major O'Dowd. " Talk about kenal boats, my dear ! Ye shoidd see the kenal boats between Dublin and BaUinasloe. It's there the rapid travelling is ; and the beautiful cattle. Sure me 26o VANITY FAIR fawther got a goold medal (and his Excellency himself eat a slice of it, and said never was finer mate in his loif) for a four-year-old heifer, the like of which ye never saw in this country any day." And Jos owned with a sigh, "that for good streaky beef, really mingled with fat and lean, there was no country like England." " Except Ireland, where all your best mate comes from," said the Major's lady ; proceeding, as is not unusual with patriots of her nation, to make comparisons greatly in favoiu- of her own coimtry. The idea of comparing the market at Bruges with those of Dublin, although she had suggested it herself, caused immense scorn and derision on her part. " I'll thank ye tell me what they mean by that old gazabo on the top of the market-place," said she, in a burst of ridicule fit to have brought the old tower down. The place was full of English soldiery as they passed. English bugles woke them in the morning ; at nightfall they went to bed to the note of the British fife and drum : all the country and Europe was in arms, and the greatest event of history pending : and honest Peggy O'Dowd, whom it concerned as well as another, went on prattling about Ballinafad, and the horses in the stables at Glenmalony, and the clar't drunk there ; and Jos Sedley interposed about cm-ry and rice at Dumdum ; and Amelia thought about her husband, and how best she should show her love for him ; as if these were the great topics of the world. Those who like to lay down the History-book, and to speculate upon what might have happened in the world, but for the fatal occiurence of what actually did take place (a most puzzling, amusing, ingenious, and profitable kind of meditation), have no doubt often thought to themselves what a specially bad time Napoleon took to come back from Elba, and to let loose his eagle from Gulf San Juan to Notre Dame. The historians on om- side tell us that the armies of the allied powers were all providentially on a war-footing, and ready to bear down at a moment's notice upon the Elban Emperor. The august jobbers assembled at Vienna, and carving out the king- doms of Europe according to their wisdom, had such causes of quarrel among themselves as might have set the armies which had overcome Napoleon to fight against each other, but for the return of the object of imanimous hatred and fear. This monarch had an army in ftdl force because he had jobbed to himself Poland, and was determined to keep it : another had robbed half Saxony, and was bent upon maintaining his acquisition : Italy was the object of a third's solici- tude. Each was protesting against the rapacity of the other ; and could the Corsican but have waited in prison until all these parties were by the ears, he might have returned and reigned unmolested. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 261 But what would have become of our story and all our friends, then 1 If all the cbops in it were dried up, what would become of the sea 1 In the meanwhile the business of life and living, and the pursuits of pleasure, especially, went on as if no end were to be expected to them, and no enemy in front. When our travellers anived at Brussels, in which their regiment was quartered, a gi-eat piece of good fortime, as all said, they found themselves in one of the gayest and most brilliant little capitals in Europe, and where all the Vanity Fair booths were laid out wMi the most tempting liveliness and splendour. Gambling was here in profusion, and dancing in plenty : feasting was there to fill with delight that great goiu'mand of a Jos : there was a theatre where a miraculous Catalani was delighting all hearers : beautiful rides, all enlivened with martial splendom- ; a rare old city, with strange costumes and wonderful architecture, to delight the eyes of little Amelia, who had never before seen a foreign country, and fill her with charming siuprises : so that now and for a few weeks' space in a fine handsome lodging, whereof the expenses were bonie by Jos and Osborne, who was flush of money and fuU of kind attentions to his wife — for about a fortnight, I say, during which her honeymoon ended, Mrs. Amelia was as pleased and happy as any little bride out of England. Every day during this happy time there was novelty and amuse- ment for all parties. There was a chiu-ch to see, or a picture-gallery — there was a ride, or an opera. The bands of the regiments were making music at all hours. The greatest folks of England walked in the Park — there was a perpetual military festival. George, taking out his wife to a new jaunt or junket every night, was quite pleased with himself as usual, and swore he was becoming quite a domestic character. And a jaunt or a junket with him ! Was it not enough to set this little heart beating with joy 1 Her letters home to her mother were filled with delight and gratitude at this season. Her husband bade her buy laces, millinery, jewels, and gimcracks of all sorts. Oh, he was the kindest, best, and most generous of men ! The sight of the very great company of lords and ladies and fashionable persons who thronged the town, and appeared in every public place, filled George's truly British soul with intense delight. They flung ofl' that happy frigidity and insolence of demeanour which occasionally characterises the great at home, and appearing in numberless public places, condescended to mingle with the rest of the company whom they met there. One night at a party given by the general of the division to which George's regiment belonged, he had the honour of dancing with Lady Blanche Thistlewood, Lord Bareacres' daughter ; he bustled for ices and refreshments for the two noble ladies ; he pushed and squeezed for Lady Bareacres' 262 VANITY FAIK carriage ; he bragged about the Countess when he got home, in a way which his own father could not have surpassed. He called upon the ladies the next day ; he rode by their side in the Park ; he asked their party to a great dinner at a restaurateiu-'s, and was quite wild with exultation when they agreed to come. Old Bareacres, who had not much pride and a large appetite, would go for a dinner anywhere. " I hope there will be no women besides our own party," Lady Bareacres said, after reflecting upon the invitation which had been made, and accepted with too much precipitancy. " Gracious Heaven, Mamma — you don't suppose the man would bring his wife," shrieked Lady Blanche, who had been languishing in George's arms in the newly-imported waltz for hours the night before. " The men are bearable, but their women " "Wife, just married, dev'lish pretty woman, I hear,'' the old Earl said. " Well, my dear Blanche," said the mother, " I suppose, as papa wants to go, we must go ; but we needn't know them in England, you know." And so, determined to cut their new acquaintance in Bond Street, these great folks went to eat his dinner at Brussels, and condescending to make him pay for their pleasure, showed their dignity by making his wife uncomfortable, and carefully excluding her from the conversation. This is a species of dignity in which the high-bred British female reigns supreme. To watch the behaviour of a fine lady to other and humbler women, is a very good sport for a philosophical frequenter of Vanity Fair. This festival, on which honest George spent a great deal of , money, was the very dismallest of all the entertainments which Amelia had in her honeymoon. She wrote the most piteous accounts of the feast home to her mamma : how the Countess of Bareacres would not answer when spoken to ; how Lady Blanche stared at her with her eye-glass ; and what a rage Captain Dobbin was in at their beliaviour ; and how my lord, as they came away from the feast, asked to see the bill, and pronounced it a d • bad dinner, and d dear. But though Amelia told all these stories, and wrote home regarding her guests' rudeness, and her own discomfiture, old Mrs. Sedley was mightily pleased nevertheless, and talked about Emmy's friend, the Countess of Bareacres, with such assiduity that the news how his son was entertaining Peers and Peeresses actually came to Osborne's ears in the City. Those who know the present Lieutenant-General Sir George Tufto, K.C.B., and have seen him, as they may on most days in the season, padded and in stays, strutting down PaU Mall with a rickety swagger on his high-heeled lacquered boots, leering under the bonnets A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 263 of passers-by, or riding a sliowy chestnut, and ogling broughams in the Parks — those who know the present Sir George Tufto would hardly recognise the daring Peninsular and "Waterloo officer. He has thick curling bro^vn hair and black eyebrows now, and his whiskers are of the deepest pm-ple. He was light-haired and bald in 1815, and stouter in the person and in the limbs, which especially have shrunk very much of late. When he was about seventy years of age (he is now nearly eighty), his hair, which was very scarce and quite white, suddenly grew thick, and brown, and curly, and his whiskers and eyebrows took their present colour. Ill-natured people say that his chest is all wool, and that his hair, because it never grows, is a wig. Tom Tufto, with whose father he Cjuarrelled ever so many yeara ago, declares that Mademoiselle de Jaisey, of the French theatre, pulled his grandpapa's hair off in the green-room : but Tom is notoriously spiteful and jealous ; and the General's wig has nothing to do with our story. One day, as some of our friends of the — th were sauntering in the flower-market of Brussels, having been to see the Hotel de Mile, which Mrs. Major O'Dowd declared was not near so large or hand- some as her fawther's mansion of Glenmalony, an officer of rank, with an orderly behind him, rode up to the market, and descending li-om his horse, came amongst the flowers, and selected the very finest bouquet which money could buy. The beautiful bundle being tied up in a paper, the officer remounted, giving the nosegay into the charge of his military groom, who carried it with a gxin, follo\ving his chief, who rode away in gi-eat state and self-satisfaction. " You should see the flowers at Glenmalony," Mrs. O'Dowd was remarking. " Me fawther has three Scotch garners with nine helpers. We have an acre of hothouses, and pines as connnou as pays in the sayson. Our gi-eeps weighs six pounds every bunch of 'em, and upon me honour and conscience I think our magnolias is as big as tay-kettles." Dobbin, who never used to " dj-aw out " Mrs. O'Dowd as that wicked Osborne delighted in doing (much to Amelia's terror, who implored him to spare her), fell back in the crowd, crowing and sputtering until he reached a safe distance, when he exploded amongst the astonished market-people with shrieks of yelling laughter. "Hwhat's that gawky guggling about?" said Mrs. O'Dowd. "Is it his nose bleedn ? He always used to say 'twas his nose bleedn, till he must have pomped all the blood out of um. An't the magnolias at Glenmalony as big as tay-kettles, O'Dowd 1 " '"Deed then they are, and bigger, Peggy," the Major said. AVhen the conversation was inten-upted in the manner stated by the arrival of the officer who purchased the bouquet. 264 VANITY FAIR " Dev'lish fine horse, — who is it 1 " George asked. " You should see me brother MoUoy Malony's horse, Molasses, that won the cop at the Curragh," the Major's wife was exclaiming, and was continuing the family history, when her husband inteniipted her by saying — " It's General Tufto, who commands the ■ cavalry division ; " adding quietly, "he and I were both shot in the same leg at Talavera." "Where you got your step," said George with a laugh. " General Tufto ! Then, my dear, the Crawleys are come." Amelia's heart fell — she knew not why. The sun did not seem to shine so bright. The tall old roofs and gables looked less pictur- esque all of a sudden, though it was a briUiant sunset, and one of the brightest and most beautiful days at the end of May. MRS. o'doivd at the flower market. CHAPTER XXIX BRUSSELS MR. JOS had hired a pair of horses for his open carriage, with which cattle, and the smart London veliicle, lie made a very tolerable figure in the drives about Brussels. George pur- chased a horse for his private riding, and he and Captain Dobbin would often accompany the carriage in which Jos and his sister took daily excursions of pleasure. They went out that day in the Park for their accustomed diversion, and there, sure enough, George's re- mark with regard to the arrival of Eawdon Crawley and his wife proved to be correct. In the midst of a little troop of horsemen, consisting of some of the very greatest persons in Brussels, Eebecca was seen in the prettiest and tightest of riding habits, mounted on a beautifid little Arab, which she rode to perfection (having acquired the art at Queen's Crawley, where the Baronet, Mr. Pitt, and Eawdon himself had given her many lessons), and by the side of the gallant General Tufto. " Sure it's the Juke himself," cried Mrs. Major O'Dowd to Jos, who began to blush violently ; " and that's Lord Uxbridge on the bay. How elegant he looks ! Me brother, MoUoy Malony, is as like him as two pays." Eebecca did not make for the carriage ; but as soon as she per- ceived her old acquaintance Amelia seated in it, acknowledged her presence by a gracious nod and smile, and by kissing and shaking her fingers playfully in the direction of the vehicle. Then she re- sumed her conversation with General Tufto, who asked " who the fat ofiicer was in the gold-la«ed cap 1 " on which Becky replied, " that he was an oificer in the East Indian service." But Eawdon Crawley rode out of the ranks of his company, and came up and shook hands heartily with Amelia, and said to Jos, " Well, old boy, how are youl" and stared in Mrs. O'Dowd's face and at the black cock's feathers until she began to think she had made a conquest of him. George, who had been delayed behind, rode up almost immedi- ately with Dobbin, and they touched their caps to the august person- ages, among whom Osborne at once perceived Mrs. Crawley. He was delighted to see Pawdon leaning over his carriage familiarly and 266 VANITY FAIE talking to Amelia, and met the aide-de-camp's cordial greeting with more than corresponding warmth. The nods between Eawdon and Dobbin were of the very faintest specimens of politeness. Crawley told George where tlaey were stopping with General Tufto at the Hotel du Pare, and George made his friend promise to come speedily to Osborne's own residence. " Sorry I hadn't seen you three days ago," George said. " Had a dinner at the Restaura- teur's — rather a nice thing. Lord Bareacres, and the Countess, and Lady Blanche, were good enough to dine with us — wish we'd had you." Having thus let his friend know his claims to be a man of fashion, Osborne parted frona Rawdon, who followed the august squadron down an alley into which they cantered, while George and Dobbin resumed their places, one on each side of Amelia's carriage. " How well the Juke looked," Mrs. O'Dowd remarked. " The Welles! eys and Malonys are related ; but, of course, poor / would never dream of introjuicing myself unless his Grace thought proper to remember our family-tie." " He's a great soldier," Jos said, much more at ease now the great man was gone. " Was there ever a battle won like Salamanca 'I Hey, Dobbin 1 But where was it he learnt his art t In India, my boy ! The jungle's the school for a general, mark me that. I knew him myself, too, Mrs. O'Dowd : we both of us danced the same evening with Miss Cutler, daughter of Cutler of the Artillery, and a devilish fine girl, at Dumdum." The apparition of the great personages held them all in talk during the drive ; and at dinner ; and until the hour came when they were all to go to the Opera. It was almost like Old England. The house was filled with familiar British faces, and- those toilettes for which the British female has long been celebrated. Mrs. O'Dowd's was not the least splendid amongst these, and she had a ciurl on her forehead, and a set of Irish diamonds and Cairngorms, which outshone all the decorations in the house, in her notion. Her presence used to excruciate Osborne ; but go she would upon all parties of pleasure on which she heard her young friends were bent. It never entered into her thought but that they must be charmed with her company. " She's been useful to you, my dear," George said to his wife, whom he could leave alone with less scrapie when she had this society. " But what a comfort it is that Rebecca's come : you will have her for a friend, and we may get rid now of this damn'd Irish- woman." To this Ameha did not answer, yes or no : and how do we know what her thoughts were 1 The coup-d'oeil of the Brussels opera-hoixse did not strike Mrs. O'Dowd as being so fine as the theatre in Fishamble Street, Dublin, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 267 nor was French music at all equal, in her opinion, to the melodies of her native country. She favoiu-ed her friends with these and other opinions in a very loud tone of voice, and tossed about a gi-eat clattering fan she sported, with the most splendid complacency. " Who is that wonderful woman with AmeUa, Eawdon, love 1 " said a lady in an opposite box (who, almost always civil to her husband in private, wa,s more fond than ever of him in company). " Don't you see that creatiue with a yellow thing in her turban, and a red satin gown, and a great watch 1 " " Xear the pretty little woman in white 1 " asked a middle-aged gentleman seated by the querist's side, with orders in his button, and several under-waistcoats, and a great, choky, white stock. " That pretty woman in white is Amelia, General : you are re- marking all the pretty women, you naughty man." " Only one, begad, in the world ! " said the General, delighted, and the lady gave him a tap with a large bouquet which she had. " Bedad it's him," said Mrs. O'Dowd ; " and that's the very bokay he bought in the Marshy aux Fliu-es ! " and when Rebecca, ha'S'ing caught her friend's eye, performed the little hand-kissing operation once more, Mrs. Major O'D., taking the compliment to herself, returned the salute with a gracious smile, which sent that imfortunate Dobbin shrieking out of the box again. At the end of the act, George was out of the box in a moment, and he was even going to pay his respects to Rebecca in her loge. He met Crawley in the lobby, however, where they exchanged a few sentences upon the occurrences of the last fortnight. "You found my cheque all right at the agent's*?" George said, with a knowing air. " All right, my boy," Rawdon answered. " Happy to give you your revenge. Governor come round 1 " " Not yet," said George, " but he will ; and you know I've some private fortune through my mother. Has Aunty relented ? " " Sent me twenty pound, damned old screw. When shall we have a meet 1 The General dines out on Tuesday. Can't you come Tuesday 1 I say, make Sedley cut off his moustache. What the devil does a civilian mean ^ith a moustache and those infernal frogs to his coat ! By-bye. Try and come on Tuesday ; " and Rawdon was going off with two bnlliant young gentlemen of fashion, who were, like himself, on the staff of a general officer. George was only half pleased to be asked to dinner on that particular day when the General was not to dine. " I will go in and pay my respects to your ^vife," said he ; at which Rawdon said, " H'm, as you please," looking very glum, and at which the two young officers exchanged knowing glances. George parted from them 268 VANITY FAIR and strutted down the lobby to the General's box, the number of which he had carefully counted. " Entrez," said a clear httle voice, and oui- friend found himself in Eebecca's presence ; who jumped up, clapped her hands together, and held out both of them to George, so charmed was she to see him. The General, with the orders in his button, stared at the new-comer with a sulky scowl, as much as to say, who the devil are you 1 " My dear Captain George ! " cried little Rebecca in an ecstasy. "How good of you to come. The General and I were moping together tete-a-tete. General, this is my Captain George of whom you heard me talk.'' " Indeed," said the General, with a very small bow ; " of what regiment is Captain George % " George mentioned the — th : how he wished he could have said it was a crack cavalry corps. " Come home lately from the West Indies, I believe. Not seen much service in the late war. Quartered here. Captain George 1 " — the General went on with killing haughtiness. " Not Captain George, you stupid man ; Captain Osborne," Rebecca said. The General all the while was looking savagely from one to the other. " Captain Osborne, indeed ! Any relation to the L — Osbomes 1 " " We bear the same arms," George said, as indeed was the fact ; Mr. Osborne having consulted with a herald in Long Acre, and picked the L — arms out of the peerage, when he set up his carriage fifteen years before. The General made no reply to this announce- ment ; but took up his opera-glass — the double-barrelled lorgnon was not invented in those days — and pretended to examine the house ; but Rebecca saw that his disengaged eye was working round in her direction, and shooting out bloodshot glances at her and George. She redoubled in cordiality. " How is dearest Amelia ? But I needn't ask : how pretty she looks ! Arid who is that nice good- natured looking creatiu'e with her — a flame of yours ^ Oh, you wicked men ! And there is Mr. Sedley eating ice, I declare : how he seems to enjoy it ! General, why have we not had any ices t " " Shall I go and fetch you some 1 " said the General, bm-sting with wrath. " Let me go, I entreat you," George said. " No, I will go to Amelia's box. Dear, sweet girl ! Give me your arm, Captain George ; " and so saying, and with a nod to the General, she tripped into the lobby. She gave George the queerest, knowingest look, when they were together, a look which might have been interpreted, " Don't you see the state of affairs, and what a A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 269 fool I'm making of him?" But he did not perceive it. He was thinking of his own plans, and lost in pompous admiration of his own irresistible powers of pleasing. The curses to which the General gave a low utterance, as soon as Eebecca and her conqueror had quitted him, were so deep, that I am sure no compositor would ventm'C to print them were they written down. They came from the General's heart ; and a wonderful thing it is to think that the human heart is capable of generating such produce, and can throw out, as occasion demands, such a supply of lust and ftu-y, rage and hatred. Amelia's gentle eyes, too, had been fixed anxiously on the pair, whose conduct had so chafed the jealous General ; but when Eebecca entered her box, she flew to her friend with an affectionate rapture which showed itself, in spite of the publicity of the place ; for she embraced her dearest friend in the presence of the whole house, at least in full view of the General's glass, now brought to bear upon the Osborne party. Mrs. Eawdon saluted Jos, too, with the kindliest greeting : she admired Mrs. O'Dowd's large Cairngorm brooch and superb Irish diamonds, and wouldn't believe that they were not from Golconda direct. She bustled, she chattered, she turned and twisted, and smiled upon one, and smirked on another, all in fuU view of the jealous opera-glass opposite. And when the time for the ballet came (in which there was no dancer that went through her grimaces or performed her comedy of action better), she skipped back to her own box, leaning on Captain Dobbin's arm this time. No, she would not have George's : he must stay and talk to his dearest, best, little Amelia. " What a humbug that woman is ! " honest old Dobbin mumbled to George, when he came back from Eebecca's box, whither he had conducted her in perfect silence, and with a countenance as glum as an undertaker's. " She writhes and twists about like a snake. All the time she was here, didn't you see, George, how she was acting at the General over the way 1 " " Humbug — acting ! Hang it, she's the nicest little woman in England," George replied, showing his white teeth, and giving his ambrosial whiskers a twirl. " You ain't a man of the world, Dobbin. Dammy, look at her now, she's talked over Tufto in no time. Look how he's laughing ! Gad, what a shoulder she has ! Emmy, why didn't you have a bouquet ? Everybody has a bouquet." "Faith, then, why didn't you boy one?" Mrs. O'Dowd said; and both Amelia and William Dobbin thanked her for this timely observation. But beyond this neither of the ladies ralhed. Ameha was overpowered by the flash and the dazzle and the fashionable talk of her worldly rival. Even the O'Dowd was silent and subdued 270 VANITY FAIE after Becky's brilliant apparition, and scarcely said a word more about Glenmalony all the evening. "When do you intend to give up play, George, as you have promised me, any time these himdred years 1 " Dobbin said to his friend a few days after the night at the Opera. " When do you intend to give up sermonising T' was the other's reply. "What the deuce, man, are you alarmed about? We play low ; I won last night. You don't suppose Crawley cheats 1 With fair play it comes to pretty much the same thing at the year's end." " But I don't think he could pay if he lost," Dobbin said ; and his advice met with the success which advice usually commands. Osborne and Crawley were repeatedly together now. General Tufto dined abroad almost constantly. George was always welcome in the apartments (very close indeed to those of the General) which the Aide-de-camp and his wife occupied in the hotel. Amelia's manners were such when she and George visited Crawley and his wife at these quarters, that they had very nearly come to their first quarrel ; that is, George scolded his wife violently for her evident unwillingness to go_, and the high and mighty manner ih which she comported herself towards Mrs. Crawley, her old friend; and Amelia did not say one single word in reply ; but with her husband's eye upon her, and Eebecca scanning her as she felt, was, if possible, more bashful and awkward on the second visit which she paid to Mrs. Kawdon, than on her first call. Eebecca was doubly affectionate, of coiurse, and would not take notice, in the least, of her friend's coolness. " I think Emmy has become prouder since her father's name was in the ■ , since Mr. Sedley's misfortunes," Eebecca said, softening the phrase charitably for George's ear. " Upon my word, I thought when we were at Brighton she was doing me the honom- to be jealous of me ; and now I suppose she is scandalised because Eawdon, and I, and the General live together. Why, my dear creature, how could we, with our means, live at all, but for a friend to share expenses 1 And do you suppose that Eawdon is not big enough to take care of my honour? But I'm very much obliged to Emmy, very," Mrs. Eawdon said. " Pooh, jealousy ! " answered George ; " all women are jealous." " And all men too. Weren't you jealous of General Tufto, and the General of you, on the night of the Opera? Why, he was ready to eat me for going with you to visit that foohsh httle wife of yom-s ; as if I care a pin for either of you," Crawley's wife said, with a pert toss of her head. " Will you dine here ? The dragon dines with the Commander-in-Chief. Great news is stuTing. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 271 Tliey say the French have crossed the frontier. We shall have a quiet dinner." George accepted the invitation, although his wife was a little ailing. They were now not quite six weeks married. Another woman was laughing or sneering at her expense, and he not angry. He was not even angry with himself, this good-natiu-ed fellow. It is a shame, he owned to himself ; but hang it, if a pretty woman 7vill throw hei-self in your way, why, what can a fellow do, you know ? 1 nm rather free about women, he had often said, smiling and nodding knowingly to Stulible and Spooney, and other comrades of the mess-table ; and tliey rather respected him than otherwise for this prowess. Next to conquering in war, conquering in love hai been a soiu'ce of pride, time out of mind, amongst men in Vanity Fair, or how should schoolboys brag of their amours, or Don Juan be popular ? So Mr. Osborne, having a firm conviction in his own mind that he was a woman-killer and destined to conquer, did not run counter to his fate, but yielded himself up to it quite complacently. And as Emmy did not say much or plague him with her jealousy, but merely became imhappy and pined over it miserably in secret, he chose to fancy that she was not suspicious of what all his acquaint- ance were perfectly aware — namely, that he was carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley. He rode with her whenever she was free. He pretended regimental business to Amelia (by which falsehood she was not in the least deceived), and consigning his wife to solitude or her brother's society, passed his evenings in the Crawleys' company ; losing money to the husband and flattering himself that the wife was dying of love for him. It is very likely that this worthy couple never absolutely conspired and agreed together in so many words : the one to cajole the young gentleman, whilst the other won his money at cards : but tliey understood each other perfectly well, and Eawdon let Osborne come and go with entire good-humour. George was so occupied with his new acquaintances that he and William Dobbin were by no means so much together as formerly. George avoided him in public and in the regiment, and, as we see, did not hke those sermons which his senior was disposed to inflict upon him. If some parts of his conduct made Captain Dobbin exceedingly grave and cool ; of what use was it to tell George that, though his whiskers were large, and his own opinion of his knowing- ness gi-eat, he was as green as a schoolboy 1 that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he had done of many before, and as soon as he had used him would fling him ofi' with scorn 1 He would not listen : and so, as Dobbin, upon those days when he visited the Osborne 272 VANITY FAIR house, seldom had the advantage of meeting his old friend, much painful and unavaihng talk between them was spared. Our friend George was in the fuU career of the pleasures of Vanity Fair. There never was, since the days of Darius, sucli a brilliant train of camp-followers as hung round the Duke of Wellington's army in the Low Countries, in 1815 ; and led it dancmg and feasting, as it were, up to the very brink of battle. A certain ball which a noble Duchess gave at Brussels on the 15th of June iJTthe above-named year is historical. All Brussels had been in a^tate of excitement about it, and I have heard from ladies who were in that town at the period, that the talk and interest of persons of their own sex regard- ing the ball was much greater even than in respect of the enemy in their fi-ont. The struggles, intrigues, and prayers to get tickets were such as only English ladies will employ, in order to gain admission to the society of the great of their own nation. Jos and Mrs. O'Dowd, who were panting to be asked, strove in vain to procure tickets ; but others of our friends were more lucky. For instance, through the interest of my Lord Bareacres, and as a set-off for the dinner at the restaurateur's, George got a card for Captain and Mrs. Osborne ; which circumstance greatly elated him. Dobbin, who was a friend of the General commanding the division in which their regiment was, came laughing one day to Mrs. Osborne, and dis- played a similar invitation, which made Jos envious, and George wonder how the deuce he should be getting into society. Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon, iinally, were of course invited ; as became the friends of a General commanding a cavalry brigade. On the appointed night, George, having commanded new dresses and ornaments of all sorts for Amelia, drove to the famous ball, where his wife did not know a single soul. After looking about for Lady Bareacres, who cut him, thinking the card was quite enough — and after placing Amelia on a bench, he left her to her own cogitations there, thinking, on his own part, that he had behaved very handsomely in getting her new clothes, and bringing her to the ball, where she was free to amuse herself as she liked. Her thoughts were not of the pleasantest, and nobody except honest Dobbin came to disturb them. Whilst her appearance was an utter failure (as her husband felt with a sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's debut was, on the con- trary, very brilliant. She arrived very late. Her face was radiant ; her dress perfection. In the midst of the great persons assembled, and the eye-glasses directed to her, Rebecca seemed to be as cool and collected as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton's little girls to church. Numbers of the men she knew already, and the dandies thronged round her. As for the ladies, it was whispered among them A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 273 that Rawdon had run away with her from out of a convent, and that she was a relation of the Montmorency family. She spoke French so perfectly that there might be some truth in this report, and it was agreed that her manners were fine, and her air distingue. Fifty woidd-be partners thronged round her at once, and pressed to have the honom- to dance with her. But she said she was engaged, and only going to dance very little ; and made her way at once to the place where Emmy sate quite unnoticed, and dismally unhappy. And so, to finish the poor child at once, Mrs. Rawdon ran and greeted affectionately her atearest Amelia, and began forthwith to patronise her. She found fault with her friend's dress, and her hairdresser, and wondered how she could be so chaussee, and vowed that she must send her corsetiere the next morning. She vowed that it was a delightful ball : that there was everybody that every one knew, and only a very few nobodies in the whole room. It is a fact, that in a fortnight, and after three dinners in general society, this young woman had got up the genteel jargon so well, that a native could not speak it better ; and it was only from her French being so good, that you could know she was not a bom woman of fashion. George, who had left Emmy on her bench on entering the ball- room, very soon found his way back when Rebecca was by her dear friend's side. Becky was just lecturing Mrs. Osborne upon the follies which her husband was committing. " For God's sake, stop him from gambhng, my dear," she said, " or he will ruin himself. He and Rawdon are playing at cards every night, and you know he is very poor, and Rawdon will win every shilling from him if he does not take care. Why don't you prevent him, you little careless creature ? Why don't you come to us of an evening, instead of moping at home with that Captain Dobbin 1 I daresay he is trcs aimable ; but how could one love a man with feet of such size 1 Your husband's feet are darhngs — Here he comes. Where have you been, wretch ? Here is Emmy crying her eyes out for you.** Are you coming to fetch me for the quadriUe 1 " And she left her bouquet and shawl by Amelia's side, and tripped off with George to dance. Women only know how to wound so. There is a poison on the tips of their little shafts, which stings a thousand times more than a man's blunter weapon. Oiu" poor Emmy, who had never hated, never sneered all her life, was powerless in the hands of her remorseless little enemy. George danced with Rebecca twice or thrice — how many times Ameha scarcely knew. She sate quite unnoticed in her comer, except when Rawdon came up with some words of clumsy conversation : and later in the evening, when Captain Dobbin made so bold as to bring her refreshments and sit beside her. He did not like to ask her why she was so sad ; but as a pretext for the tears which were filling in 274 VANITY FAIR her eyes, she told him that Mrs. Crawley had alarmed her by telling her that George would go on playing. " It is cirrious, when a man is bent upon play, by what clumsy rogues he will allow himself to be cheated," Dobbin said ; and Emmy said, " Indeed." She was thinking of something else. It was not the loss of the money that grieved her. At last George came back for Rebecca's shawl and flowers. She was going away. She did not even condescend to come back and say good-bye to Amelia. The poor girl let her husband come and go without saying a word, and her head fell on her breast. Dobbin had been called away, and was whispering deep in conversation with the General of the division, his friend, and had not seen this last parting. George went away then with the bouquet ; but when he gave it to the owner, there lay a note, coiled like a snake among the flowers. Rebecca's eye caught it at once. She had been used to deal with notes in early life. She put out her hand and took the nosegay. He saw by her eyes as they met, that she was aware what she should find there. Her husband hurried her away, still too intent upon his own thoughts, seemingly, to take note of any marks of recognition which might pass between his friend and his wife. These were, how- ever, but trifling. Rebecca gave George her hand with one of her usual quick knowing glances, and made a ciu-tsey and walked away. George bowed over the hand, said nothing in reply to a remark of Crawley's, did not hear it even, his brain was so throbbing with triumph and excitement, and allowed them to go away without a word. His wife saw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene. It was quite natural that George should come at Rebecca's request to get her her scarf and flowers : it was no more than he had done twenty times before in the course of the last few days ; but now it was too much for her. " William," she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was near her, " you've always been very kind to me — I'm — I'm not well. Take me home." She did not know she called him by his Christian name, as George was accustomed to do. He went away with her quickly. Her lodgings were hard by; and they threaded through the crowd without, where everything seemed to be more astir than even in the ball-room within. George had been angry twice or thrice at finding his wife up on his return from the parties which he frequented : so she went straight to bed now ; but although she did not sleep, and although the din and clatter, and the galloping of horsemen were incessant, she never heard any of these noises, having quite other distm-bances to keep her awake. Osborne meanwhile, wild with elation, went off to a play-table, and began to bet frantically. He won repeatedly. " Everything A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 275 succeeds with me to-night," he said. But his luck at ulay even did not ciu-e him of his restlessness, and he started up after a while, pocketing his winnings, and went to a buffet, where he drank off many bumpers of wine. Here, as he was rattling away to the people around, laughing loudly and wild with spirits, Dobbin found him. He had been to the card-tables to look there for his friend. Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comrade was flushed and jovial. " Hullo, Dob ! Come and drink, old Dob ! The Duke's wine is famous. Give me some more, you sir ; " and he held out a trembling glass tor the liquor. " Come out, George," said Dobbin, still gravely ; " don't drink." " Drink ! there's nothing like it. Drink yourself, and light up your lantern jaws, old boy. Here's to you." Dobbin went up and whispered something to him, at which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, tossed off his glass, clapped it on the table, and walked away speedily on his friend's arm. " The enemy has passed the Sambre," William said, " and our left is already engaged. Come away. We are to march in three hours." Away went George, his nerves quivering with excitement at the news so long looked for, so sudden when it came. What were love and intrigue now 1 He thought about a thousand things but these in his rapid walk to his quarters — his past life and future chances — the fate which might be before him — the wife, the child perhaps, from whom unseen he might be about to part. Oh, how he wished that night's work imdone ! and that with a clear conscience at least he might say farewell to the tender and guileless being by whose love he had set such little store ! He thought over his brief married life. In those few weeks he had frightfully dissipated his little capital. How wild and reckless he had been ! Should any mischance befall him : what was then left for her 1 How unworthy he was of her ! Why had he married her ? He was not iit for marriage. Why had he disobeyed his father, who had been always so generous to him t Hope, remorse, ambition tenderness, and selfish regret filled his heart. He sate down and wrote to his father, remembering what he had said once before, when he was engaged to fight a duel. Dawn faintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewell letter. He sealed it, and kissed the superscription. He thought how he had deserted that generous father, and of the thousand kindnesses which the stem old man had done him. He had looked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered ; she lay quiet, and her eyes seemed closed, and he was glad that she was 276 VANITY FAIE asleep. On arriving at his quarters from the ball, he had found his regimental servant already making preparations for his depar- ture : the man had understood his signal to be still, and these arrangements were very quickly and silently made. Should he go in and wake Amelia, he thought, or leave a note for her brother to break the news of departure to her? He went in to look at her once again. She had been awake when he first entered her room, but had kept her eyes closed, so that even her wakefulness should not seem to reproach him. But when he had returned, so soon after herself, too, this timid little heart had felt more at ease, and turning to- wards him as he stept softly out of the room, she had fallen into a light sleep. George came in and looked at her again, entering still more softly. By the pale night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face — the pmple eyelids were fringed and closed, and one round arm, smooth and white, lay outside of the coverlet. Good God ! how pure she was ; how gentle, how tender, and how friendless ! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black with crime ! Heart-stained and shame-stricken, he stood at the bed's foot, and looked at the sleeping girl. How dared he — who was he, to pray for one so spotless ! God bless her ! God bless her ! He came to the bed- side, and looked at the hand, the little soft hand, lying asleep ; and he bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle pale face. Two fair arms closed tenderly round his neck as he stooped down. " I am awake, George," the poor child said, with a sob fit to break the little heart that nestled so closely by his own. She was awake, poor soul, and to what ? At that moment a bugle from the Place of Arms began soimding clearly, and was taken up through the town ; and amidst the drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole city awoke. CHAPTER XXX "THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME" WE do not claim to rank among the military novelists. Our place is with the non-combatants. When the decks are cleared for action vre go below and wait meekly. We should only be in the way of the manoevivres that the gallant fellows are performing overhead. We shall go no farther with the — th than to the city gate : and leaving Major O'Dowd to his duty, come back to the Major's wife, and the ladies, and the baggage. Now, the Major and his lady, who had not been invited to the ball at which in our last chapter other of our friends figured, had much more time to take their wholesome natiu-al rest in bed than was accorded to people who wished to enjoy pleasirre as well as to do duty. " It's my belief, Peggy, my dear," said he, as he placidly pulled his nightcap over his ears, " that there will be such a ball danced in a day or two as some of 'em has never heard the chune of;" and he was much more happy to retire to rest after partaking of a quiet tumbler, than to figure at any other sort of amusement. Peggy, for her part, would have liked to have shown her turban and bird of paradise at the ball, but for the information which her husband had given her, and which made her very grave. " I'd like ye wake me about half-an-hour before the assembly beats," the Major said to his lady. " Call me at half-past one, Peggy dear, and see me things is ready. Maybe I'll not come back to brealdast, Mrs. O'D." With which words, which signified his opinion that the regiment would march the next morning, the Major ceased talking, and fell asleep. Mrs. O'Dowd, the good housewife, arrayed in cml-papers and a camisole, felt that her duty was to act, and not to sleep, at this juncture. " Time enough for that," she said, " when Mick's gone ; " and so she packed his travelhng valise ready for the march, brushed his cloak, his cap, and other warlike habiliments, set them out in order for him ; and stowed away in the cloak pockets a light package of portable refreshments, and a wicker-covered flask or pocket-pistol, containing near a pint of a remarkably sound Cognac brandy, of which she and the Major approved very much ; and as soon as the 278 VANITY FAIE hands of the " repayther " pointed to half-past one, and its interior arrangements (it had a tone quite equal to a cathaydral, its fair owner considered) knelled forth that fatal hour, Mrs. O'Dowd woke up her Major, and had as comfortable a cup of coffee prepared for him as any made that morning in Brussels. And who is there will deny that this worthy lady's preparations betokened affection as much as the fits of tears and hysterics by which more sensitive females exhibited their love, and that their partaking of this coffee, which they drank together while the bugles were sounding the turn- out and the drums beating in the various quarters of the town, was not more useful and to the purpose than the outpouring of any mere sentiment could be 1 The consequence was, that the Major appeared on parade quite trim, fresh, and alert, his well-shaved rosy counte- nance, as he sate on horseback, giving cheerfulness and confidence to the whole corps. All the officers saluted her when the regiment marched by the balcony on which this brave woman stood, and waved them a cheer as they passed ; and I daresay it was not from want of courage, but from a sense of female delicacy and propriety, that she refrained from leading the gallant — th personally into action. On Sundays, and at periods of a solemn nature, Mrs. O'Dowd used to read with great gravity out of a large volume of her uncle the Dean's sermons. It had been of great comfort to her on board the transport as they were coming home, and were very nearly wrecked, on their return from the West Indies. After the regiment's departure she betook herself to this volume for meditation ; perhaps she did not understand much of what she was reading, and her thoughts were elsewhere : but the sleep project, with poor Mick's nightcap there on the pillow, was quite a vain one. So it is in the world. Jack or Donald marches away to glory with his knapsack on his shoidder, stepping out briskly to the tune of " The Girl I left behind me." It is she who remains and suffers, — and has the leisure to think, and brood, and remember. Knowing how useless regrets are, and how the indulgence of sentiment only serves to make people more miserable, Mrs. Rebecca wisely determined to give way to no vain feelings of sorrow, and bore the parting from her husband with quite a Spartan equanimity. Indeed Captain Rawdon himself was much more affected at the leave-taking than the resolute little woman to whom he bade fare- well. She had mastered this rude coarse nature ; and he loved and worshipped her with all his faculties of regard and admiration. In all his life he had never been so happy, as, during the past few months, his wife had made him. All former delights of turf, mess, hunting-field, and gambling-table ; all previous loves and courtships A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 279 of milliners, opera-dancers, and the like easy triumphs of the clumsy military Adonis, were quite insipid when compared with the lawful matrimonial pleasures which of late he had enjoyed. She had knoT\-n perpetually how to divert him ; and he had found his house and her society a thousand times more pleasant than any place or company which he had ever frequented from his childhood until now. And he cursed his past follies and extravagances, and be- moaned his vast outlying debts above all, which must remain for ever as obstacles to prevent his wife's advancement in the world. He had often groaned over these in midnight conversations with Eebecca, although as a bachelor they had never given him any disquiet. He himself was struck with this phenomenon. " Hang it," he would say (or perhaps use a still stronger expression out of his simple vocabulary), "before I was married I didn't care what bills I put my name to, and so long as Moses would wait or Levy woidd renew for three months, I kept on never minding. But since I'm married, except renewing, of course, I give you my honour I've not touched a bit of stamped paper." Eebecca always knew how to conjure away these moods of melancholy. "Why, my stupid love," she would say, "we have not done with your aunt yet. If she fails us, isn't there what you call the Gazette ? or, stop, when youi- uncle Bute's life drops, I have another scheme. The living has always belonged to the younger brother, and why shouldn't you sell out and go into the Church ? " The idea of this conversion set Rawdon into roars of laughter : you might have heard the explosion through the hotel at midnight, and the haw-haws of the great dragoon's voice. General Tufto heard him from his quarters on the first floor above them ; and Eebecca acted the scene with great spirit, and preached Eawdon's first sermon, to the immense delight of the General at breakfast. But these were mere bygone days and talk. When the final news arrived that the campaign was opened, and the troops were to march, Eawdon's gravity became such that Becky rallied him about it in a manner which rather hurt the feelings of the Guardsman. " You don't suppose I'm afraid, Becky, I should think," he said, with a tremor in his voice. " But I'm a pretty good mark for a shot, and you see if it brings me down, why I leave one and perhaps two behind me whom I should wish to provide for, as I brought 'em into the scrape. It is no laughing matter that, Mrs. C, anywaj's." Eebecca by a hundred caresses and kind words tried to soothe the feelings of the woiuided lover. It was only when her vivacity and sense of humour got the better of this sprightly creature (as they would do under most circumstances of life indeed) that she would break out with her satire, but she could soon put on a demure 28o VANITY FAIE face. "Dearest love," she said, "do you suppose I feel nothing?" and hastily dashing something from her eyes, she looked up in her husband's face with a smile. " Look here," said he. " If I drop, let us see what there is for you. I have had a pretty good run of luck here, and here's two hundred and thirty pounds. I have got ten Napoleons in my pocket. That is as much as I shall want ; for the General pays everything like a prince ; and if I'm hit, why you know I cost nothing. Don't cry, little woman ; I may live to vex you yet. Well, I shan't take either of my horses, but shall ride the General's gi'ey charger : it's cheaper, and I told him mine was lame. If I'm done, those two ought to fetch you something. Grigg offered ninety for the mare yesterday, before this confounded news came, and like a fool I wouldn't let her go under the two O's. Bullfinch will fetch his price any day, only you'd better sell him in this country, because the dealers have so many biUs of mine, and so I'd rather he shouldn't go back to England. Your little mare the General gave you will fetch something, and there's no d — d livery stable bills here as there are in London," Eawdon added, with a laugh. " There's that dressing-case cost me two hundred — that is, I owe two for it ; and the gold tops and bottles must be worth thirty or forty. Please to put that up the spout, ma'am, with my pins, and rings, and watch and chain, and things. They cost a precious lot of money. Miss Crawley, I know, paid a hundred down for the chain and ticker. Gold tops and bottles, indeed ! dammy, I'm sorry I didn't take more now. Edwards pressed on me a silver-gilt boot-jack, and I might have had a dressing-case fitted up with a silver warming-pan, and a service of plate. But we must make the best of what we've got, Becky, you know." And so, making his last dispositions, Captain Crawley, who had seldom thought about anything but himself, until the last few months of his life, when Love had obtained the mastery over the dragoon, went through the various items of his little catalogue of effects, striving to see how they might be turned into money for his wife's benefit, in case any accident should befall him. He pleased himself by noting down with a pencil, in his big schoolboy handwriting, the various items of his portable property which might be sold for his widow's advantage— as, for example, " My double-barril by Manton, say 40 guineas ; my driving cloak, lined with sable fur, =£50 ; my dueUing pistols in rosewood case (same which I shot Captain Marker), £20 ; my regulation saddle-holsters and housings ; my Laurie ditto," and so forth, over all of which articles he made Rebecca the mistress. Faithful to his plan of economy, the Captain dressed himself in his oldest and shabbiest imiform and epaulets, leaving the newest A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 281 behind under his wife's (or it might be his widow's) guardianship. And tills famous dandy of Windsor and Hyde Parle went off on his campaign with a kit as modest as that of a sergeant, and with some- thing hke a prayer on his lips for the woman he was leaving. He took her up from the ground, and held her in his arms for a minute, tight pressed against his strong-beating heart. His face was purple and his eyes dim, as he put her down and left her. He rode by his General's side, and smoked his cigar in silence as they hastened after the troops of the General's brigade, which preceded them ; and it was not until they were some miles on their way that he left off twirling his mustachio and broke silence. And Rebecca, as we have said, wisely determined not to give way to unavailing sentimentality on her husband's departure. She waved him an adieu fi'om the window, and stood there for a moment looking out after he was gone. The cathedi-al towers and the full gables 0' the quaint old houses were just beginning to blush in the sunrise. There had been no rest for her that night. She was still in her pretty ball-dress, her fair hair hanging somewhat out of curl on her neck, and the circles round her eyes dark with watching. " What a fright I seem," she said, examining herself in the glass, " and how pale this pink makes one look ! " So she divested herself of this pink raiment ; in doing which a note fell out from her corsage, which she picked up with a smile, and locked into her dressing-box. And then she put her bouquet of the ball into a glass of water, and went to bed, and slept very comfortably. The town was quite C[uiet when she woke up at ten o'clock, and partook of coffee, very requisite and comforting after the exhaustion and grief of the morning's occiurences. This meal over, she resumed honest Rawdon's calculations of the night previous, and sru-veyed her position. Should the worst befall, all things considered, she was pretty well-to-do. There were her own trinkets and trousseau, in addition to those which her husband had left behind. Rawdon's generosity, when they were first manied, has already been described and lauded. Besides these, and the little mare, the General, her slave and worshipper, had made her many very handsome presents, in the shape of cashmere shawls bought at the auction of a bankrupt French general's lady, and numerous tributes from the jewellers' shops, all of which betokened her ad- mirer's taste and wealth. As for " tickers," as poor Rawdon called watches, her apartments were alive with their clicking. For, hap- pening to mention one night that hers, which Rawdon had given to her, was of English workmanship, and went ill, on the very next moniing there came to her a Httle bijou marked Leroy, with a chain and cover charmingly set with turquoises, and another signed Breguet, 282 VANITY FAIR which was covered with pearls, and yet scarcely bigger than a half- crown. General Tufto had bought one, and Captain Osborne had gallantly presented the other. Mrs. Osborne had no watch, though, to do George justice, she might have had one for the asking, and the Honourable Mrs. Tufto in England had an old instrument of her mother's that might have served for the plate warming-pan which Eawdon talked about. If Messrs. Howell & James were to pub- lish a list of the purchasers of all the trinkets which they sell, how surprised would some families be : and if all these ornaments went to gentlemen's lawful wives and daughters, what a profusion of jewellery there would be exhibited in the genteelest homes of Vanity Fair ! Every calculation made of these valuables Mrs. Eebecca found, not without a pungent feeling of triumph and self-satisfaction, that should cu'cumstances occur, she might reckon on six or seven hun- dred pounds at the very least, to begin the world with ; and she passed the morning disposing, ordering, looking out, and locking up her properties in the most agreeable manner. Among the notes in Rawdon's pocket-book, was a draft for twenty pounds on Osborne's banker. This made her think about Mrs. Osborne. " I will go and get the draft cashed," she said, "and pay a visit afterwards to poor little Emmy." If this is a novel without a hero, at least let us lay claim to a heroine. No man in the British army which has marched away, not the great Duke himself, could be more cool or collected in the presence of doubts and difficulties, than the indomi- table little aide-de-camp's wife. And there was another of our acquaintances who was also to be left behind, a non-combatant, and whose emotions and behaviour we have therefore a right to know. This was our friend the ex- Collector of Boggley WoUah, whose rest was broken, like other people's, by the sounding of the bugles in the early morning. Being a great sleeper, and fond of his bed, it is possible he would have snoozed on until his usual hour of rising in the forenoon, in spite of all the drums, bugles, and bagpipes in the British army, but for an interruption, which did not come from George Osborne, who shared Jos's quarters with him, and was as usual occupied too much with his own affairs or with grief at parting with his wife, to think of taking leave of his slumbering brother-in-law — it was not George, we say, who interposed between Jos Sedley and sleep, but Captain Dobbin, who came and roused him up, insisting on shaking hands with him before his departure. " Very kind of you," said Jos, yawning, and wishing the Captain at the deuce. " I — I didn't Hke to go off without saying good-bye, you know," A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 283 Dobbin said in a very incolierent manner ; " because you know some of us mayn't come back again, and I like to see you all well, and— and that sort of thing, you know." "What do you meanV Jos asked, rubbing his eyes. The Captain did not in the least hear him or look at the stout gentleman in the nightcap, about whom he professed to have such a tender interest. The h^'pocrite was looking and listening with all his might in the direction of George's apartments, striding about the room, upsetting the chairs, beating the tattoo, biting his nails, and show- ing other signs of great inward emotion. Jos had always had rather a mean opinion of the Captain, and now began to think his courage was somewhat equivocal. " What is it I can do for you, Dobbin ? " he said, in a sarcastic tone. " I tell you what you can do," the Captain replied, coming up to the bed ; "we march in a quarter of an hour, Sedley, and neither George nor I may ever come back. Mind you, you are not to stir from this town until you ascertain how things go. You are to stay here and watch over yoiu- sister, and comfort her, and see that no harm comes to her. If anything happens to George, remember she has no one but you in the world to look to. If it goes wrong with the army, you'll see her safe back to England ; and you wll promise me on yoxu- word that you will never desert her. I know you won't : as far as money goes, you were always free enough with that. Do you want any ? I mean, have you enough gold to take you back to England in case of a misfortune ? " " Sir," said Jos majestically, " when I want money, I know where to ask for it. And as for my sister, you needn't tell me how I ought to behave to her." " You speak like a man of spirit, Jos," the other answered good- natiu-edly, "and I am glad that George can leave her in such good hands. So I may give him your word of honour, may I, that in case of extremity you wiU stand by her % " " Of course, of course," answered Mr. Jos, whose generosity in money matters Dobbin estimated quite correctly. "And you'll see her safe out of Brussels in the event of a defeat?" "A defeat ! D it, sir, it's impossible. Don't try and frighten me," the hero cried from his bed ; and Dobbin's mind m-^s thus per- fectly set at ease now that Jos had spoken out so resolutely respect- ing his conduct to his sister. " At least," thought the Captain, " there will be a retreat secured for her in case the worst should ensue." If Captain Dobbin expected to get any personal comfort and satisfaction from having one more view of Amelia before the regiment 284 VANITY FAIE marched away, his selfishness -was punished just as such odious egotism deserved to bs. The door of Jos's bedroom opened into the sitting-room which was common to the family party, and opposite this door was that of Amelia's chamber. The bugles had wakened everybody : there was no use in concealment now. George's servant was packing in this room : Osborne coming in and out of the con- tiguous bedroom, flinging to the man such articles as he thought fit to carry on the campaign. And presently Dobbin had the oppor- tunity which his heart coveted, and he got sight of Amelia's face once more. But what a face it was ! So white, so wild and despair- stricken, that the remembrance of it haunted him afterwards like a crime, and the sight smote him with inexpressible pangs of longing and pity. She was wrapped in a white morning dress, her hair falling on her shoulders, and her large eyes fixed and without light. By way of helping on the preparations for the departure, and showing that she too could be useful at a moment so critical, this poor soul had taken up a sash of George's from the drawers whereon it lay, and followed him to and fro with the sash in her hand, looking on mutely as his packing proceeded. She came out and stood, leaning at the wall, holding this sash against her bosom, from which the heavy net of crimson dropped like a large stain of blood. Our gentle-hearted Captain felt a guilty shock as he looked at her. " Good God," thought he, " and is it grief like this I dared to pry into 1 " And there was no help : no means to soothe and comfort this helpless, speechless misery. He stood for a moment and looked at her, powerless and torn with pity, as a parent regards an infant in pain. At last, George took Emmy's hand, and led her back into the bedroom, from whence he came out alone. The parting had taken place in that moment, and he was gone. " Thank Heaven that is over," George thought, bounding down the stair, his sword under his arm, as he ran swiftly to the alarm ground, where the regiment was mustered, and whither trooped men and officers hurrying from their billets ; his pulse was throbbing and his cheeks flushed : the great game of war was going to be played, and he one of the players. What a fierce excitement of doubt, hope, and pleasure ! What tremendous hazards of loss or gain ! What were all the games of chance he had ever played compared to this one ? Into all contests requiring athletic skill and courage, the young man, from his boyhood upwards, had flung himself with all his might. The champion of his school and his regiment, the bravos of his companions had followed him everywhere ; from the boys' cricket- match to the garrison-races, he had won a hundred of triumphs ; and wherever he went, women and men had admired and envied A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 285 him. What quahties are there for which a man gets so speedy a return of applause, as those of bodily superiority, activity, and valour? Time out of mind strength and courage have been the theme of bards and romances ; and from the story of Troy down to to-day, poetry has always chosen a soldier for a hero. I wonder is it because men are cowards in heart that they admire bravery so much, and place military valour so far beyond every other quality for reward and worship 1 So, at the sound of that stirring call to battle, George jumped away from the gentle arms in which he had been dallying ; not with- out a feeling of shame (although his wife's hold on him had been but feeble), that he should have been detained there so long. The same feeling of eagerness and excitement was amongst all those friends of his of whom we have had occasional glimpses, from the stout senior Major, who led the regiment into action, to little Stubble, the Ensign, who was to bear its coloiu-s on that day. The sun was just rising as the march began — it was a gallant sight — the band led the column, playing the regimental march — then came the Major in command, riding upon Pyramus, his stout charger — then marched the grenadiers, their Captain at their head ; in the centre were the colours, borne by the senior and junior Ensigns — then George came marching at the head of his company. He looked up, and smiled at Amelia, and passed on ; and even the soimd of the music died away. CHAPTER XXXI LV IFHICH JOS SEDLEY TAKES CARE OF HIS SISTER THUS all the superior officers being summoned on duty else- where, Jos Sedley was left in command of the little colony at Brussels, with Amelia invalided, Isidor, his Belgian servant, and the bonne, who was maid-of-all-work for the establishment, as a garrison under him. Though he was disturbed in spirit, and his rest destroyed by Dobbin's interruption and the occurrences of the morning, Jos nevertheless remained for many hours in bed, wakeful and rolling about there until his usual hour of rising had arrived. The Sim was high in the heavens, and our gallant friends of the — th miles on their march, before the civilian appeared in his flowered dressing-gown at breakfast. About George's absence, his brother-in-law was very easy in mind. Perhaps Jos was rather pleased in his heart that Osborne was gone, for dvuing George's presence the other had played but a very secondary part in the household, and Osborne did not scruple to show his contempt for the stout civiUan. But Emmy had always been good and attentive to him. It was she who ministered to his comforts, who superintended the dishes that he liked, who walked or rode with him (as she had many, too many, opportunities of doing, for where was George ?) and who interposed her sweet face between his anger and her husband's scorn. Many timid remonstrances had she uttered to George in behalf of her brother, but the former in his trenchant way cut these entreaties short. " I'm an honest man," he said, " and if I have a feeling I show it, as an honest man will. How the deuce, my dear, would you have me behave respectfidly to such a fool as your brother 1 " So Jos was pleased with George's absence. His plain hat, and gloves on a side- board, and the idea that the owner was away, caused Jos I don't know what secret thriU of pleasure. " He won't be troubling me this morning," Jos thought, "with his dandified au's and his impudence." " Put the Captain's hat into the anteroom," he said to Isidor, the servant. " Perhaps he won't want it again," replied the lackey, looking A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 287 knowingly at his master. He hated George too, whose insolence towards him was qiute of the EngUsh sort. " And ask if Madame is coming to breakfast," Mr. Sedley said with great majesty, ashamed to enter with a servant upon the subject of his dislike for George. The truth is, he had abused his brother to the valet a score of times before. Alas ! Madame could not come to breakfast, and cut the tartines that Mr. Jos liked. Madame was a great deal too ill, and had been in a frightful state ever since her husband's departme, so her honne said. Jos showed his sympathy by pouring her out a large cup of tea. It was his way of exliibiting kindness : and he improved on this; he not only sent her breakfast, but he bethought him what delicacies she would most like for dinner. Isidor, the valet, had looked on very sulkily, while Osborne's servant was disposing of his master's baggage previous to the Captain's departure : for in the first place he hated Mr. Osborne, whose conduct to him, and to all inferiors, was generally overbearing (nor does the continental domestic like to be treated with insolence as our own better-tempered servants do) : and secondly, he was angry that so many valuables should be removed from under his hands, to fall into other people's possession when the English discomfiture should arrive. Of this defeat he and a vast number of other persons in Brussels and Belgium did not make the slightest doubt. The almost imiversal behef was, that the Emperor would divide the Prussian and English armies, annihilate one after the other, and march into Brussels before three days were over : when all the movables of his present masters, who would be killed, or fugitives, or prisoners, would lawfidly become the property of Monsieur Isidor. As he helped Jos through his todsome and complicated daily toilette, this faitliftil servant would calculate what he shoidd do with the very articles with which he was decorating his master's person. He would make a present of the silver essence-bottles and toilet knicknacks to a young lady of whom he was fond ; and keep the English cutlery and the large ruby pin for himself It would look very smart upon one of the fine frilled shirts, which, with the gold-laced cap and the frogged frock-coat, that might easily be cut down to suit his shape, and the Captain's gold-headed cane, and the great double ring with the rabies, which he would have made into a pair of beautiftd earrings, he calculated would make a perfect Adonis of himself, and render Mademoiselle Reine an easy prey. " How those sleeve-buttons will suit me ! " thought he, as he fixed a pair on the fat pudgy wrists of Mr. Sedley. " I long for sleeve-buttons ; and the Captain's boots with brass spurs, in the next room, corbleu ! what an effect they wiU make in the AlMe Verte ! " So while 288 VANITY FAIR Monsieur Isidor with bodily fingers was holding on to his master's nose, and shaving the lower part of Jos's face, his imagination was rambling along the Green Avenue, di-essed out in a frogged coat and lace, and in company with Mademoiselle Eeine ; he was loitering in spirit on the banks, and examining the barges sailing slowly under the cool shadows of the trees by the canal, or refreshing himself with a mug of Faro at the bench of a beerhouse on the road to Laeken. But Mr. Joseph Sedley, luckily for his own peace, no more knew what was passing in his domestic's mind than the respected reader, and I suspect what John or Mary, whose wages we pay, think of ourselves. What our servants think of us ! — Did we know what our intimates and dear relations thought of us, we should live in a world that we should be glad to quit, and in a frame of mind and a constant terror, that would be perfectly unbearable. So Jos's man was marking his victim down, as you see one of Mr, Paynter's assistants in Leadenhall Street oraament an imconscious turtle with a placard on which is written, " Soup to-morrow." Amelia's attendant was much less selfishly disposed. Few dependants could come near that kind and gentle creature without paying their usual tribute of loyalty and affection to her sweet and affectionate nature. And it is a fact that Pauline, the cook, con- soled her mistress more than anybody whom she saw on this wretched morning ; for when she found how Amelia remained for hours, silent, motionless, and haggard, by the windows in which she had placed herself to watch the last bayonets of the column as it marched away, the honest girl took the lady's hand, and said, Tenez, Madame, est- ce qu'il n'est pas aussi a, Varin^e, mon hoTiime a mol 1 with which she bm-st into tears, and Amelia falling into her arms, did likewise, and so each pitied and soothed the other. Several times during the forenoon ]Mr. Jos's Isidor went from his lodgings into the torni, and to the gates of the hotels and lodging- houses round about the Pare, where the English were congregated, and there mingled with other valets, couriers, and lackeys, gathered such news as was abroad, and brought back bulletins for his master's information. Almost all these gentlemen were in heart partisans of the Emperor, and had their opinions about the speedy end of the campaign. The Emperor's proclamation from Avesnes had been distributed everywhere plentifully in Brussels. " Soldiers ! " it said, "this is the anniversary of Marengo and Friedland, by which the destinies of Europe were twice decided. Then, as after Austerhtz, as after \Yagram, we were too generous. We believed in the oaths and promises of princes whom we suffered to remain upon their thrones. Let us march once more to meet them. We and they. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 289 are we not still the same men t Soldiers ! these same Prussians who are so arrogant to-day, were three to one against you at Jena, and six to one at Montmirail. Those among you who were prisoners in England can tell their comrades what frightful torments they suffered on board the English hulks. Madmen ! a moment of prosperity has blinded them, and if they enter into France it will be to find a grave there ! " But the partisans of the French prophesied a more speedy extermination of the Emperor's enemies than this; and it was agreed on all hands that Prussians and British would never retiun except as prisoners in the rear of the conquering army. These opinions in the course of the day were brought to operate upon Mr. Sedley. He was told that the Duke of Welhngton had gone to try and rally his army, the advance of which had been utterly crashed the night before. " Crushed, psha ! " said Jos, whose heart was ])retty stout at breakfast-time. " The Duke has gone to beat the Emperor as he has beaten all his generals before." " His papers are burned, his effects are removed, and his quarters are being got ready for the Duke of Dalmatia," Jos's informant replied. "I had it from his own maitre d' hotel. Milor Due de Eiehemont's people are packing up everything. His Grace has fled already, and the Duchess is only waiting to see the plate packed to join the Kuig of France at Ostend." " The King of France is at Ghent, fellow," replied Jos, afiecting incredulity. " He fled last night to Bruges, and embarks to-day ft'om Ostend. The Due de Berri is taken prisoner. Those who wish to be safe had better go soon, for the dykes will be opened to-morrow, and who can fly when the whole country is under water 1 " " Nonsense, sir, we are three to one, sir, aguinst any force Boney can bring into the field," Mr. Sedley objected ; " the Austrians and the Eussians are on their march. He must, he shall be crushed," Jos said, slapping his hand on the table. " The Prussians were three to one at Jena, and he took their army and kingdom in a week. They were six to one at Montmirail, and he scattered them like sheep. The Austrian army is coming, but with the Empress and the King of Eome at its head ; and the Russians, bah ! the Eussians will withdraw. No quarter is to be given to the EngUsh, on account of their cruelty to our braves on board the infamous pontoons. Look here, here it is in black and white. Here's the proclamation of his Majesty the Emperor and King," said the now declared partisan of Napoleon, and taking the document from his pocket, Isidor sternly thrust it into his master's 1 T 290 VANITY FAIE face, and already looked upon the frogged coat and valuables as his own spoil. Jos was, if not seriously alarmed as yet, at least considerably disturbed in mind. " Give me my coat and cap, sir," said he, "and follow me. I will go myself and learn the truth of these reports." Isidor was furious as Jos put on the braided frock. " Milor had better not wear that military coat," said he ; " the Frenchmen have sworn not to give quarter to a single British soldier." " Silence, sirrah ! " said Jos, with a resolute countenance still, and thrust his arm into the sleeve with indomitable resolution, in the performance of which heroic act he was found by Mrs. Eawdon Crawley, who at this juncture came up to visit Amelia, and entered without ringing at the antechamber door. Kebecca was dressed very neatly and smartly as usual : her quiet sleep after Eawdon's departiu-e had refreshed her, and her pink smiling cheeks were quite pleasant to look at, in a town and on a day when everybody else's countenance wore the appearance of the deepest anxiety and gloom. She laughed at the attitude in which Jos was discovered, and the struggles and convulsions with which the stout gentleman thrust himself into the braided coat. " Are you preparing to join the army, Mr. Joseph 1 " she said. " Is there to be nobody left in Brussels to protect us poor women 1 " Jos succeeded in plunging into the coat, and came forward blushing and stuttering out excuses to his fair visitor. " How was she after the events of the morning — after the fatigues of the ball the night before?" Monsieur Isidor disappeared into his master's adjacent bedroom, bearing off the flowered dressing-gown. " How good of you to ask ! " said she, pressing one of his hands in both her own. " How cool and collected you look when every- body else is frightened ! How is our dear little Emmy 1 It must have been an awful, awful parting." " Tremendous," Jos said. " You men can bear anything," rephed the lady. " Parting or danger are nothing to you. Own now that you were going to join the army and leave us to our fate. I know you were — something tells me you were. I was so frightened, when the thought came into my head (for I do sometimes think of you when I am alone, Mr. Joseph), that I ran off immediately to beg and entreat you not to fly from us." Tliis speech might be interpreted, " My dear sir, should an acci- dent befall the army, and a retreat be necessary, you have a very comfortable carriage, in which I propose to take a seat." I don't know whether Jos imderstood the words in this sense. But he was profoundly mortified by the lady's inattention to him durinc their A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 291 stay at Brussels. He liad never been presented to any of Rawdon Crawley's great acquaintances : he had scarcely been invited to Eebecca's parties; for he was too timid to play much, and his presence bored George and Rawdon equally, who neither of them, perhaps, liked to have a witness of the amusements in which the pair chose to indulge. " Ah ! " thought Jos, " now she wants me she comes to me. When there is nobody else in the way she can think about old Joseph Sedley ! " But besides these doubts he felt flattered at the idea Rebecca expressed of his courage. He blushed a good deal, and put on an air of importance. " I should like to see the action," he said. " Every man of any spirit would, you know. I've seen a little service in India, but nothing on this grand scale." " You men would sacrifice anything for a pleasure," Rebecca answered. " Captain Crawley left me this morning as gay as if he were going to a hunting party. What does he care 1 What do any of you care for the agonies and tortm-es of a poor forsaken woman 1 (I wonder whether he could really have been going to the troops, this great lazy goiumand 1) Oh ! dear Mr. Sedley, I have come to you for comfort — for consolation. I have been on my knees all the morning. I tremble at the frightful danger into which our husbands, our friends, our brave troops and allies, are rushing. And I come here for shelter, and find another of my friends — the last remaining to me — bent upon plunging into the ch'eadfLd scene ! " " ily dear madam," Jos replied, now beginning to be quite soothed, " don't be alarmed. I only said I should like to go — what Briton would not 1 But my duty keeps me here : I can't leave that poor creature in the next room." And he pointed with his finger to the door of the chamber in which Amelia was. " Good noble brother ! " Rebecca said, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, and smelling the eau-de-cologne with which it was scented. " I have done you injustice : you have got a heart. I thought you had not." " Oh, upon my honour ! " Jos said, making a motion as if he would lay his hand upon the spot in question. "You do me injustice, indeed you do — my dear Mrs. Crawley." " I do, now your heart is true to your sister. But I remember two years ago — when it was false to me ! " Rebecca said, fixing Iier eyes upon him for an instant, and then turning away into the window. Jos blushed violently. That organ which he was accused by Rebecca of not possessing began to thump tumultuously. He re- called the days when he had fled from her, and the passion which had once inflamed him — the days when he had driven her in his 292 VANITY FAIE curricle : when she had knit the green purse for him ; when he had sate enraptured gazing at her white ai-ms and bright eyes. " I know you think me ungi-ateful," Kebecca continued, coming out of the window, and once more looking at him and addressing him in a low tremulous voice. " Youi- coldness, your averted looks, yoiu- manner when we have met of late — when I came in just now, all proved it to me. But were there no reasons why I should avoid you'? Let your own heart answer that question. Do you think my husband was too much incUned to welcome you? The only unkind words I have ever had from him (I will do Captain Crawley that justice) have been about you — and most cruel, cruel words they were." " Good gracious ! what have I done?" asked Jos in a flurry of pleasure and perplexity ; " what have I done — to — to ? " " Is jealousy nothing ? " said Eebecca. " He makes me miser- able about you. And whatever it might have been once — my heart is all his. I am innocent now. Am I not, Mr. Sedley ? " All Jos's blood tingled with delight, as he surveyed this victim to his attractions. A few adroit words, one or two knowing tender glances of the eyes, and his heart was inflamed again and his doubts and suspicions forgotten. From Solomon downwards, have not wiser men than he been cajoled and befooled by women ? " If the worst comes to the worst," Becky thought, " my retreat is secure ; and I have aright-hand seat in the barouche." There is no knowing into what declarations of love and ardour the tumultuous passions of Mr. Joseph might have led him, if Isidor the valet had not made his reappearance at this minute, and begun to busy himself about the domestic affairs. Jos, who was just going to gasp out an avowal, choked almost with the emotion that he was obliged to restrain. Eebecca too bethought her that it was time she should go in and comfort her dearest Amelia. " Au revoir," she said, kissing her hand to Mr. Joseph, and tapped gently at the door of his sister's apartment. As she entered and closed the door on herself, he sank down in a chair, and gazed and sighed and puffed portentously. " That coat is very tight for Milor," Isidor said, still having his eye on the frogs ; but his master heard him not : his thoughts were elsewhere : now glowing, ma]Sro more firing was heard at Brussels — the pursuit rolled miles away. Darkness came down on the field and city : and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart. CHAPTER XXXIII IN WHICH MISS CRAIFLEY'S RELATIONS ARE VERY ANXIOUS ABOUT HER THE kind reader must please to remember — while the army is marching from Flanders, and, after its heroic actions there, is advancing to take the fortifications on the frontiers of France, previous to an occupation of that country, — that there are a number of persons living peaceably in England who have to do with the history at present in hand, and must come in for their share of the chronicle. During the time of these battles and dangers, old Miss Crawley was living at Brighton, very moderately moved by the great events that were going on. The great events rendered the newspapers rather interesting, to be sirre, and Briggs read out the Gazette, in which Rawdon Crawley's gallantry was mentioned with honour, and his pro- motion was presently recorded. " What a pity that young man has taken such an irretrievable step in the world ! " his aunt said ; " with his rank and distinction he might have married a brewer's daughter with a quarter of a million — like Miss Grains ; or have looked to ally himself with the best families in England. He would have had my money some day or other ; or his children would — for I'm not in a huiTy to go. Miss Briggs, although you may be in a hurry to be rid of me ; and instead of that, he is a doomed pauper, with a dancing-girl for a wife." " Will my dear Miss Crawley not cast an eye of compassion upon the heroic soldier, whose name is inscribed in the annals of his country's glory ? " said Miss Briggs, who was greatly excited by the Waterloo proceedings, and loved speaking romantically when there was an occasion. " Has not the Captain — or the Colonel as I may now style him — done deeds which make the name of Crawley illustrious 1 " " Briggs, you are a fool," said.Miss Crawley : " Colonel Crawley has dragged the name of Crawley through the mud. Miss Briggs. Marry a drawing-master's daughter, indeed ! — marry a dame de covi- pagnie — for she was no better, Briggs ; no, she was just what you are — only younger, and a great deal prettier and cleverer. Were you an accomplice of that abandoned wretch, I wonder, of whose vile arts he became a victim, and of whom you used to be such an admirer ? A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 313 Yes, I dare say you were an accomplice. But you will find yourseK disappointed in my will, I can tell you : and you will have the good- ness to write to Mr. Waxy, and say that I desire to see him imme- diately." Miss Crawley was now in the habit of -m-iting to Mr. Waxy her soUcitor almost -every-dai^^l^ie week^ for her _aiT ments respecting her property were aU revoked, aritrtTei'ljerplexity was great as to the future disposition of her money. The spinster had, however, rallied considerably ; as was proved by the increased vigour and frequency of her sarcasms upon Miss Briggs, all which attacks the poor companion bore mtli meekness, with cowardice, with a resignation that was half generous and half hypo- critical — mth the slavish submission, in a word, that women of her disposition and station are compelled to show. Who has not seen how women bidly women 1 What tortures have men to endure, com- parable to those daily repeated shafts of scorn and cruelty with which poor women are riddled by the tyrants of their sex 1 Poor victims ! But we are starting from our proposition, which is, that Miss Crawley was always particularly annoying and savage when she was rallying from illness — as they say wounds tingle most when they are about to heal. While thus approaching, as all hoped, to convalescence. Miss Briggs was the only victim admitted into the presence of the invalid ; yet Miss Crawley's relatives afar off did not forget their beloved kins- woman, and by a number of tokens, presents, and kind affectionate messages, strove to keep themselves alive in her recollection. In the first place, let us mention her nephew, Rawdon Crawley. A few weeks after the famous fight of Waterloo, and after the Gazette had made known to her the promotion and gallantry of that distinguished officer, the Dieppe packet brought over to Miss Crawley at Brighton, a box containing presents, and a dutiful letter, from the Colonel her nephew. In the box were a pair of French epaulets, a Cross of the Legion of Honom-, and the hilt of a sword — relics from the field of battle : and the letter described with a good deal of humour how the latter belonged to a commanding-officer of the Guard, who having sworn that "the Guard died, but never sur- rendered," was taken prisoner the next minute by a private soldier, who broke the Frenchman's sword with the butt of his musket, when Rawdon made himself master of the shattered weapon. As for the cross and epaulets, they came from a Colonel of French cavalry, who had fallen imder the aide-de-camp's arm in the battle : and Rawdon Crawley did not know what better to do with the spoils than to send them to his kindest and most affectionate old friend. Should he continue to write to her from Paris, whither the army was marching"? He might be able to give her interesting news 314 VANITY FAIR from that capital, and of some of Miss Crawley's old friends of the emigration, to whom she had shown so much kindness during their distress. The spinster caused Briggs to write back to the Colonel a gracious md complimentary \ett^T^T6GimrJi7zis hifii to continue his correspond- ence. His Hftt letlier was so excessively lively and amusing that she should look ^vith pleasure for its successors. — "Of coiu-se, I know," she explained to Miss Briggs, " that Rawdon could not write such a good letter any more than you could, my poor Briggs, and ^hat it is that clever httle wretch of a Rebecca, who dictates every ' word to him ; but that is no reason why my nephew should not amuse me ; and so I wish to let him understand that I am in high good-humour." I wonder whether she knew that it was not only Becky who wrote the letters, but that Mrs. Rawdon actually took and sent home the trophies — which she bought for a few francs, from one of the innumerable pedlars who immediately began to deal in relics of the war. The novelist, who knows everything, knows this also. Be this, however, as it may. Miss Crawley's gracious reply greatly encouraged oiu' young friends, Rawdon and his lady, who hoped for the best fi-om their aunt's evidently pacified humour : and they took care to entertain her with many delightful letters from Paris, whither, as Rawdon said, they had the good luck to go in the track of the conquering army. To the Rector's lady, who went off to tend her husband's broken collar-bone at the Rectory at Queen's Crawley, the spinster's com- munications were by no means so gracious. Mrs. Bute, that brisk, managing, lively, imperious woman, had committed the most fatal of all errors with regard to her sister-in-law. She had not merely oppressed her and her household — she had bored Miss Crawley; and if poor Miss Briggs had been a woman of any spirit, she might have been made happy by the commission which her principal gave her to write a letter to Mrs. Bute Crawley, saying that Miss Crawley's health was greatly improved since Mrs. Bute had left her, and begging the latter on no account to put herself to trouble, or quit her family for Miss Crawley's sake. This triumph over a lady who had been very haughty and cruel in her behaviour to Miss Briggs, would have rejoiced most women ; but the truth is, Briggs was a woman of no spirit at all, and the moment her enemy was discom- fited, she began to feel compassion in her favour. "How silly I was," Mrs. Bute thought, and with reason, "ever to hint that I was coming, as I did, in that foolish letter when we sent INIiss Crawley the guinea-fowls. I ought to have gone without a word to the poor dear doting old creature, and taken her out of the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKu 315 hands of that ninny Briggs, and that harpy oi Sifemme de chambre. Oh ! Bute, Bute, why did you break your collar-bone 1 " Why, indeed 1 We have seen how Mrs. Bute, having the game in her hands, had really played her cards too well. She had ruled over Miss Crawley's household utterly and completely, to be utterly and completely routed when a favourable opportunity for rebellion came. She and her household, however, considered that she had been the victim of horrible selfishness and treason, and that her sacrifices in Miss Crawley's behalf had met with the most savage ingratitude. Eawdon's promotion, and the honourable mention made of his name in the Gazette, filled this good Christian lady also with alarm. Would his aunt relent towards him now that he was a Lieutenant-Colonel and a C.B. ? and would that, odious Rebecca once more get into favour 1 The Rector's wife wrote a sermon for her husband about the vanity of military glory and the prosperity of the wicked, which the worthy parson read in his best voice and without understanding one syllable of it. He had Pitt Crawley for one of his auditors — Pitt, who had come with his two half-sisters to chiu'ch, which the old Baronet could now by no means be brought to frequent. Since the departiu-e of Becky Sharp, that old wretch had given himself up entirely to his bad courses, to the great scandal of the county and the mute horror of his son. The ribbons in Miss Horrocks's cap became more splendid than ever. The pohte families fled the hall and its owner in terror. Sir Pitt went about tippling at his tenants' houses ; and drank rum-and-water with the farmers at Mudbury and the neighbouring places on market-days. He drove the family coach-and-four to Southampton with Miss Horrocks inside : and the county people expected, every week, as his son did in speechless agony, that his marriage with her would be announced in the provincial paper. It was indeed a rude burthen for Mr. Crawley to bear. His eloquence was palsied at the missionary meetings, and other religious assembhes in the neigh- bourhood, where he had been in the habit of presiding, and of speaking for hours ; for he felt, when he rose, that the audience said, " That is the son of the old reprobate Sir Pitt, who is very likely drinking at the public-house at this very moment." And once when he was speaking of the benighted condition of the king of Timbuctoo, and the number of his wives who were likewise in darkness, some gipsy miscreant from the crowd asked, " How many is there at Queen's Crawley, Young Squaretoes 1 " to the surprise of the platform, and the ruin of Mr. Pitt's speech. And the two daughters of the house of Queen's Crawley would have been allowed to run utterly wild (for Sir Pitt swore that no governess should 3i6 VANITY FAIE ever enter into his doors again), had not Mr. Crawley, by threaten- ing the old gentleman, forced the latter to send them to school. Meanwhile, as we have said, whatever individual differences there might be between them all. Miss Crawley's dear nephews and nieces were imanimous in loving her and sending her tokens of affection. Thus Mrs. Bute sent guinea-fowls, and some remarkably fine cauliflowers, and a pretty purse or pin-cushion worked by her darling girls, who begged to keep a little place in the recollection of their dear aunt, while Mr. Pitt sent peaches and grapes and venison from the Hall. The Southampton coach used to carry these tokens of afi'ection to Miss Crawley at Brighton : it used sometimes to convey Mr. Pitt thither too : for his differences with Sir Pitt caused Mr. Crawley to absent himself a good deal fi-om home now : and besides, he had an attraction at Brighton in the person of Lady Jane Sheepshanks, whose engagement to Mr. Crawley has been formerly mentioned in this history. Her Ladyship and her sisters lived at Brighton with their mamma, the Countess Southdown, that strong-minded woman so favourably known in the serious world. A few words ought to be said regarding her Ladyship and her noble family, who are bound by ties of present and future relation ship to the house of Crawley. Eespecting the chief of the South down family, Clement William, fourth Earl of Southdown, little need be told, except that his Lordship came into Parliament (as Lord Wolsey) under the auspices of Mr. Wilberforce, and for a time was a credit to his poKtical sponsor, and decidedly a serious young man. But words cannot describe the feeUngs of his admirable mother, when she learned, very shortly after her noble husband's demise, that her son was a member of several worldly clubs, had lost largely at play at Wattier's and the Cocoa- Tree ; that he had raised money on post-oljits, and encumbered the family estate ; that he drove four-in-hand, and patronised the ring ; and that he actually had an opera-box, where he entertained the most dangerous bachelor company. His name was only mentioned with groans in the dowager's circle. The Lady Emily was her brother's senior by many years ; and took considerable rank in the serious world as author of some of the delightful tracts before mentioned, and of many hynins and spiritual pieces. A mature spinster, and having but faint ideas of marriage, her love for the blacks occupied almost all her feelings. It is to her, I believe, we owe that beautiful poem — " Lead us to some sunny isle, Yonder in the western deep ; Wliere the skies for ever smile, And the blacks for ever weep," &c. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 317 She had correspondences with clerical gentlemen in most of our East and West India possessions ; and was secretly attached to the Reverend Silas Hornblower, who was tattooed in the South Sea Islands. As for the Lady Jane, on whom, as it has been said, Mr. Pitt Crawley's affection had been placed, she was gentle, blushing, silent, and timid. In spite of his falling away, she wept for her brother, and was quite ashamed of loving him still. Even yet she used to send him httle hurried smuggled notes, and pop them into the post in private. The one dreadful secret which weighed upon her life was, that she and the old housekeeper had been to pay Southdown a furtive visit at his chambers in the Albany ; and found him — the naughty dear abandoned wretch !— smoking a cigar with a bottle of cimi(joa before him. She admired her sister, she adored her mother, she thought Mr. Crawley the most delightful and accom- plished of men, after Southdown, that fallen angel : and her mamma and sister, who were ladies of the most superior sort, managed everything for her, and regarded her with that amiable pity, of which your really superior woman always has such a share to give away. Her mamma ordered her dresses, her books, her bonnets, and her ideas for her. She was made to take pony-riding, or piano- exercise, or any other sort of bodily medicament, according as my Lady Southdown saw meet : and her Ladyship would have kept her daughter in pinafores up to her present age of six-and-twenty, but that they were thrown off when Lady Jane was presented to Queen Charlotte. When these ladies first came to their house at Brighton, it was to them alone that Mr. Crawley paid his personal visits, contenting himself by leaving a card at his aunt's house, and making a modest inquiry of Mr. Bowls or his assistant footman, with respect to the health of the invalid. When he met Miss Briggs coming home from the library with a cargo of novels under her arm, Mr. Crawley blushed in a manner quite unusual to him, as he stepped forward and shook Miss Crawley's companion by the hand. He introduced Miss Briggs to the lady with whom he happened to be walking, the Lady Jane Sheepshanks, saying, " Lady Jane, permit me to introduce to you my aunt's kindest friend and most affectionate companion, Miss Briggs, whom you know imder another title, as authoress of the delightful 'Lyrics of the Heart,' of which you are so fond." Lady Jane blushed too as she held out a kind little hand to Miss Briggs, and said something very civil and incoherent about mamma, and proposing to call on Miss Crawley, and being glad to be made known to the friends and relatives of Mr. Crawley ; and with soft dovelike eyes saluted Miss Briggs as they separated. 3i8 VANITY FAIE while Pitt Crawley treated her to a profound courtly bow, such as he had used to H.H. the Duchess of Pumpernickel, when he was attach^ at that court. The artful diplomatist and disciple of the Machiavellian Binkie ! It was he who had given Lady Jane that copy of poor Briggs's early poems, which he remembered to have seen at Queen's Crawley, with a dedication from the poetess to his father's late wife ; and he brought the volume with him to Brighton, reading it in the Southampton coach, and marking it with his own pencil, before he presented it to the gentle Lady Jane. It was he, too, who laid before Lady Southdown the great advan tages which might occur from an intimacy between her family and Miss Crawley — advantages both worldly and spiritual, he said : for Miss Crawley was now quite alone ; the monstrous dissipation and alliance of his brother Rawdon had estranged her affections from that reprobate young man ; the greedy tyranny and avarice of Mrs. Bute Crawley had caused the old lady to revolt against the exorbitant pre- tensions of that part of the family ; and though he himself had held off all his life from cultivating Miss Crawley's friendship, with per- haps an improper pride, he thought now that every becoming means should be taken, both to save her soul from perdition, and to secure her fortune to himself as the head of the house of Crawley. The strong-minded Lady Southdown quite agreed in both proposals of her son-in-law, and was for converting Miss Crawley off-hand. At her own home, both at Southdown and at Trottermore Castle, this taU and awful missionary of the truth rode about the country in her barouche with outriders, launched packets of tracts among the cot- tagers and tenants, and would order Gaffer Jones to be converted, as she would order Goody Hicks to take a James's powder, without appeal, resistance, or benefit of clergy. My Lord Southdown, her late husband, an epileptic and simple-minded nobleman, was in the habit of approving of everything which his Matilda did and thought. So that whatever changes her own behef might undergo (and it accommodated itself to a prodigious variety of opinion, taken from all sorts of doctors among the Dissenters), she had not the least scruple in ordering all her tenants and inferiors to follow and believe after her. Thus whether she received the Reverend Saunders McNitre, the Scotch divine ; or the Reverend Luke Waters, the mild Wesleyan ; or the Reverend -Giles Jowls, the illuminated Cobbler, _wlm dubbed himself Reverend as Napoleon crowned himself Emperor — theliouse- hold, children, tenantry of my Lady Southdown were expected to go down on their knees with her Ladyship, and say Amen to the prayers of either Doctor. Dining these exercises old Southdown, on account of his invahd condition, was allowed to sit in his own room, and have A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 319 negus, and the paper read to him. Lady Jane was the old Earl's favourite daughter, and tended him and loved him sincerely : as for Lady Emily, the authoress of the " Washerwoman of Finchley Common," her denunciations of future punishment (at this period, for her opinions modified afterwards) were so awful that they used to frighten the timid old gentleman her father, and the physicians declared his fits always occurred after one of her Ladyship's sermons. " I will certainly call," said Lady Southdown then, in reply to the exhortation of her dawghter's jire'tendu, Mr. Pitt Crawley — " Who is Miss Crawley's medical man 1 " Mr. Crawley mentioned the name of Mr. Creamer. " A most dangerous and ignorant practitioner, my dear Pitt. I have providentially been the means of removing him from several houses : though in one or two instances I did not anive in time. I could not save poor dear General Glanders, who was dying under the hands of that ignorant man — dying. He rallied a little under the Podgers' pills which I administered to him ; but alas ! it was too late. His death was delightful, however ; and liis change was only for the better ; Creamer, my dear Pitt, must leave yom- aunt." Pitt expressed his perfect acquiescence. He, too, had been carried along by the energy of his noble kinswoman, and future mother-in-law. He had been made to accept Saunders McNitre, Luke Waters, GUes Jowls, Podgers' Pills, Eodgers' Pills, Pokey's Elixir, every one of her Ladyship's remedies spiritual or temporal. He never left her house without carrying respectfully away with him piles of her quack theology and medicine. Oh, my dear brethren and fellow-sojoumers in Vanity Fair, which among you does not know and suffer under such benevolent despots ? It is in vain you say to them, " Dear Madam, I took Podgers' specific at your orders last year, and believe in it. Why, why am I to recant and accept the Eodgers' articles now 1 " There is no help for it ; the faithful proselytiser, if she cannot convince by argument, bursts into tears, and the recusant finds himself, at the end of the contest, taking down the bolus, and saying, "Well, well, Eodgers' be it." " And as for her spiritual state," continued the lady, " that of course must be looked to immediately ; with Creamer about her, she may go off any day : and in what a condition, my dear Pitt, in what a dreadful condition ! I will send the Eeverend Mr. Irons to her instantly. Jane, write a line to the Eeverend Bartholomew Irons, in the third person, and say that I desire the pleasure of his company this evening at tea at half-past six. He is an awakening man; he ought to see Miss Crawley before she rests this night. And Emily, my love, get ready a packet of books for Miss Crawley. 320 VANITY FAIE v4 Put up ' A Voice from the Flames,' ' A Trumpet-warning to Jericho,' ' and the ' Fleshpots Broken ; or, the Converted Cannibal.' " " And the ' Washerwoman of Finchley Common,' mamma,'' said Lady Emily. " It is as well to begin soothingly at first." "Stop, my dear ladies," said Pitt, the diplomatist. "With every deference to the opinion of my beloved and respected Lady Southdown, I think it would be quite unadvisable to commence so early upon serious topics with Miss Crawley. Remember her deUcate condition, and how little, how very httle accustomed she has hitherto been to considerations connected with her immortal welfare." " Can we then begin too early, Pitt % " said Lady Emily, rising with six little books already in her hand. "If you begin abruptly, you will frighten her altogether. I know my aunt's worldly natiu-e so well as to be sure that any abrupt attempt at conversion will be the very worst means that can be employed for the welfare of that unfortunate lady. You wiU only frighten and annoy her. She will very likely fling the books away, and refuse all acquaintance with the givers." " You are as worldly as Miss Crawley, Pitt," said Lady Emily, tossing out of the room, her books in her hand. " And I need not tell you, my dear Lady Southdown," Pitt continued, in a low voice, and without heeding the interruption, " how fatal a little want of gentleness and caution may be to any hopes which we may entertain with regard to the worldly posses- sions of my aunt. Remember she has seventy thousand pounds ; think of her age, and her highly nervous ' and delicate condition ; I know that she has destroyed the will which was made in my brother's (Colonel Crawley's) favour : it is by soothing that wounded spirit that we must lead it into the right path, and not by frighten- ing it ; and so I think you will agree with me that — that " "Of course, of course," Lady Southdown remarked. "Jane, my love, you need not send that note to Mr. Irons. If her health is such that discussions fatigue her, we will wait her amendment. I will call upon Miss Crawley to-moiTow." " And if I might suggest, my sweet lady," Pitt said in a bland tone, " it would be as well not to take our precious Emily, who is too enthusiastic ; but rather that you should be accompanied by our sweet and dear Lady Jane." " Most certainly, Emily would ruin everything," Lady South- down said : and this time agreed to forego her usual practice, which was^ as we have said, before she bore down personally upon any individual whom she proposed to subjugate, to fire in a quantity of tracts upon the menaced party (as a charge of the French was A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 321 always preceded by a furious cauuonade). Lady Southdown, we say, for the sake of the invahd's health, or for the sake of her soid's rdtimate welfare, or for the sake of her money, agreed to temporise. The next day, the great Southdo-mi female family carriage, with the Earl's coronet and the lozenge (upon which the three lambs trottaut argent upon the field vert of the Southdowns, were quar- tered with sable on a bend or, three snuff-mulls gules, the C( ignisance of the house of Binkie), drove up in state to Miss Crawley's door, and the tall serious footman handed in to Mr. Bowls her Ladyship's cards for Miss Crawley, and one likewise for Miss Briggs. By way of compromise. Lady Emily sent in a packet in the evening for the latter lady, containing copies of the " Washerwoman," and other mild and favourite tracts for Miss B.'s own perusal; and a few for the servants' hall, viz. : " Crumbs from the Pantry," " The Frying Pan and the Fire," and "The Livery of Sin," of a much stronger kind. CHAPTER XXXIV JAMES CRAWLEY'S PIPE IS PUT OUT THE amiable behaviour of Mr. Crawley, and Lady Jane's kind reception of her, highly flattered Miss Briggs, who was enabled to speak a good word for the latter, after the cards of the Southdown family had been presented to Miss Crawley. A Countess's card left personally too for her, Briggs, was not a little pleasing to the poor friendless companion. "What could Lady Southdown mean by leaving a card upon you, I wonder. Miss Briggs ? " said the republican Miss Crawley ; upon which the com- panion meekly said " that she hoped there could be no harm in a lady of rank taking notice of a poor gentlewoman," and she put away this card in her workbox amongst her most cherished personal treasures. Furthermore, Miss Briggs explained how she had met Mr. Crawley walking with his cousin and long-afiianced bride the day before : and she told how kind and gentle-looking the lady was, and what a plain, not to say common, dress she had, all the articles of which, from the bonnet down to the boots, she described and estimated with female accuracy. Miss Crawley allowed Briggs to prattle on without interrupting her too much. As she got well, she was pining for society. Mr. Creamer, her medical man, would not hear of her returning to her old haunts and dissipation in London. The old spinster was too glad to find any companionship at Brighton, and not only were the cards acknowledged the very next day, but Pitt Crawley was graciously invited to come and see his aunt. He came, bringing with him Lady Southdown and her daughter. The dowager did not say a word about the state of Miss Crawley's soul ; but talked with much discretion about the weather : about the war and the downfall of the monster Bonaparte : and above all, about doctors, quacks, and the particular merits of Dr. Podgers, whom she then patronised. During their interview Pitt Crawley made a great stroke, and one which showed that, had his diplomatic career not been blighted by early neglect, he might have risen to a high rank in his profes- sion. When the Countess Dowager of. Southdown fell foul of the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 323 Corsican upstart, as the fashion was in those days, and showed that he was a monster stained with every conceivable crime, a coward and a tyrant not fit to live, one whose fall was predicted, &c., Pitt Crawley suddenly took up the cudgels in favour of the man of Destiny. He described the First Consul as he saw him at Paris at the Peace of Amiens ; when he, Pitt Crawley, had the gratification of making the acquaintance of the great and good Mr. Fox, a states- man whom, however much he might differ with him, it was im- possible not to admire fervently — a statesman who had always had the highest opinion of the Emperor Napoleon. And he spoke in terms of the strongest indignation of the faithless conduct of the allies towards this dethroned monarch, who, after giving himself generously up to their mercy, was consigned to an ignoble and cruel banishment, while a bigoted Popish rabble was tyrannising over France in his stead. This orthodox horror of Romish superstition saved Pitt Crawley in Lady Southdown's opinion, whilst his admiration for Fox and Napoleon raised him immeasiu-ably in Miss Crawley's eyes. Her friendship with that defunct British statesman was mentioned when we first introduced her in this history. A true Whig, Miss CraAvle; had been in opposition all through the war, and though, to be sure, the downfiill of the Emperor did not very much agitate the old lady, or his 01-treatment tend to shorten her life or natural rest, yet Pitt spoke to her heart when he lauded both her idols ; and by that single speech made immense progress in her favour. " And what do you think, my dear ? " Miss Crawley said to the young lady, for whom she had taken a liking at first sight, as she always did for pretty and modest young people ; though it must be owned her affections cooled as rapidly as they rose. Lady Jane blushed very much, and said " that she did not imderstand politics, which she left to wiser heads than hers ; but though mamma was, no doubt, coiTcct, Mr. Crawley had spoken beautifully." And when the ladies were retiring at the conclusion of their visit, Miss Crawley hoped " Lady Southdo^Ti would be so kind as to send her Lady Jane sometimes, if she could be spared to come down and console a poor sick lonely old woman." This promise was graciously accorded, and they separated upon great terms of amity. "Don't let Lady Southdown come again, Pitt," said the old lady. " She is stupid and pompous, like all your mother's family, whom I never could endiu-e. But bring that nice good-natured little Jane as often as ever you please." Pitt promised that he would do so. He did not tell the Countess of Southdown what opinion his aunt had formed of her Ladyship, who, on the contrary, thought 324 VANITY FAIR that she had made a most delightful and majestic impression on Miss Crawley. And so, nothing loth to comfort a sick lady, and perhaps not sorry in her heart to be freed now and again from the dreary spout- ing of the Reverend Bartholomew Irons, r.nd the serious toadies who gathered round the footstool of the pompous Coimtess, her mamma. Lady Jane became a pretty constant visitor to Miss Crawley, accompanied her in her drives, and solaced many of her evenings. She was so naturally good and soft, that even Firkin was not jealous of her; and the gentle Briggs thought her friend was less cruel to her, when kind Lady Jane was by. Towards her Ladyship Miss Crawley's manners were cliarming. The old spinster told her a thousand anecdotes about her youth, talking to her in a very different strain from that in which she had been accustomed to converse with the godless little Rebecca; for there was that in Lady Jane's innocence which rendered light talking impertinence before her, and Miss Crawley was too much of a gentlewoman to offend such purity. The yoimg lady herself had never received kindness except from this old spinster, and her brother and father : and she repaid Miss Crawley's engmiment by artless sweetness and friendship. In the autumn evenings (when Rebecca was flaunting at Paris, the gayest among the gay conquerors there, and our Amelia, our dear wounded Amelia, ah ! where was she T) Lady Jane would be sitting in Miss Crawley's drawing-room singing sweetly to her, in the twi- light, her little simple songs and hymns, whUe the sun was setting and the sea was roaring on the beach. The old spinster used to wake up when these ditties ceased, and ask for more. As for Briggs, and the quantity of tears of happiness which she now shed as she pretended to knit, and looked out at the splendid ocean darkling before the windows, and the lamps of heaven beginning more brightly to shine — who, I say, can measure the happiness and sensibility of Briggs 1 Pitt meanwhile in the dining-room, with a pamphlet on the Com Laws or a Missionary Register by his side, took that kind of recrea- tion which suits romantic and unromantic men after dinner. He sipped Madeira : built castles in the air : thought himself a fine fellow : felt himself much more in love with Jane than he had been any time these seven years, during which their liaison had lasted without the slightest impatience on Pitt's part — and slept a good deal. When the time for coffee came, Mr. Bowls used to enter in a noisy manner, and summon Squire Pitt, who would be found in the dark very busy with his pamphlet. " I wish, my love, I could get somebody to play piquet with me,'' A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 325 Miss Crawley said one night when this functionary made his appear- ance with the candles and the cofiee. " Poor Briggs can no more play than an owl, she is so stupid " (the spinster always took an opportunity of abusing Briggs before the servants) ; " and I think I should sleep better if I had my game." At this Lady Jane blushed to the tips of her httle ears, and down to the ends of her pretty fingere ; and when Mr. Bowls had quitted the room and the door was quite shut, she said : " Miss Crawley, I can play a little. I used to — to play a little with poor dear papa." " Come and kiss me. Come and kiss me this instant, you dear good httle soul," cried Miss Crawley in an ecstasy : and in this picturesque and friendly occupation Mr. Pitt fovmd the old lady and the young one, when he came upstairs with his pamphlet in his hand. How she did blush all the evening, that poor Lady Jane ! It must not be imagined that Mr. Pitt Crawley's artifices escaped the attention of his dear relations at the Rectory at Queen's Crawley. Hampshire and Sussex lie very close together, and Mrs. Bute had friends in the latter county who took care to inform her of all, and a great deal more than all, that passed at Miss Crawley's house at Brighton. Pitt was there more and more. He did not come for months together to the Hall, where his abominable old father aban- doned himself completely to rum-and-water, and the odious society of the Horrocks family. Pitt's success rendered the Eector's family furious, and Mrs. Bute regretted more (though she confessed less) than ever her monstrous fault in so insulting Miss Briggs, and in being so haughty and parsimonious to Bowls and Firkin, that she had not a single person left in Miss Crawley's household to give her information of what took place there. " It was all Bute's collar- bone," she persisted in saying ; " if that had not broke, I never would have left her. I am a martyr to duty and to j^oiu- odious unclerical habit of hunting, Bute." " Hunting ; nonsense ! It was you that frightened her, Barbara," the divine interposed. " You're a clever woman, but you've got a devil of a temper; and you're a screw with your money, Barbara." " You'd have been screwed in gaol, Bute, if I had not kept jour money." "I know I would, my dear," said the Eector good-naturedly. " You are a clever woman, but you manage too well, you know : " and the pious man consoled himself with a big glass of port. " What the deuce can she find in that spooney of a Pitt Crawley 1" he continued. " The feUow has not pluck enough to say Bo to a goose. I remember when Eawdon, who is a man, and be hanged 326 VANITY FAIE to him, used to flog him round the stables as if he was a whipping-top : and Pitt would go howhng home to his ma — ha, ha! Why, either of my boys would whop him with one hand. Jim says he's remembered at Oxford as ' Miss Crawley ' still — the spooney." " I say, Barbara," his reverence continued, after a pause. "Whatr' said Barbara, who was biting her nails, and drum- ming the table. " I say, why not send Jim over to Brighton to see if he can do anythmg with the old lady. He's very near getting his degree, you know. He's only been plucked twice — so was I — but he's had the advantages of Oxford and a university education. He knows some of the best chaps there. He pulls stroke in the Boniface boat. He's a handsome feller. D it, ma'am, let's put him on the old woman, hey; and tell him to thrash Pitt if he says anythink. Ha, ha, ha ! " " Jim might go down and see her, certainly," the housewife said ; adding with a sigh, "If we could but get one of the girls into the house ; but she could never endure them, because they are not pretty ! " Those unfortunate and well-educated women made themselves heard from the neighbouring drawing-room, where they were thrumming away, with hard fingers, an elaborate music-piece on the pianoforte, as their mother spoke ; and indeed, they were at music, or at backboard, or at geography, or at history, the whole day long. But what avail all these accomplishments, in Vanity Fair, to girls who are short, poor, plain, and have a bad complexion'? Mrs. Bute could think of nobody but the Curate to take one of them off her hands ; and Jim coming in from the stable at this minute, through the parlour window, with a short pipe stuck in his oil-skin cap, he and his father fell to talking about odds on the St. Leger, and the colloquy between the Eector and his wife ended. Mrs. Bute did not augur much good to the cause from the send- ing of her son James as an ambassador, and saw him depart in rather a despairing mood. Nor did the young fellow himself, when told what his mission was to be, expect much pleasure or benefit from it ; but he was consoled by the thought that possibly the old lady would give him some handsome remembrance of her, which would pay a few of his most pressing bills at the commencement of the ensuing Oxford term, and so took his place by the coach from Southampton, and was safely landed at Brighton on the same evening, with his portmanteau, his favourite bulldog Towzei-, and an immense basket of farm and garden produce, fi-om the dear Eectory folks to the dear Miss Crawley. Considering it was too late to disturb the invalid lady on the first night of his arrival, he A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 327 put up at an inn, and did not wait upon Miss Crawley until a late hour in the noon of next day. James Crawley, when his aunt had last beheld him, was a gawky lad, at that uncomfortable age when the voice varies between an unearthly treble and a preternatural bass ; when the face not un- commonly blooms out with appearances for which Rowland's Kalydor is said to act as a ciu-e ; when boys are seen to shave fiu-tively with their sistere' scissors, and the sight of other young women produces intolerable sensations of terror in them ; when the great hands and ankles protrude a long way from garments which have grown too tight for them ; when their presence after dinner is at once frightful to the ladies, who are whispering in the twilight in the drawing- room, and inexpressibly odious to the gentlemen over the mahogany, who are restrained from freedom of intercourse and delightful inter- change of wit by the presence of that gawky innocence ; when, at the conclusion of the second glass, papa says, " Jack, my boy, go out and see if the evening holds up," and the youth, willing to be free, yet hurt at not being yet a man, quits the incomplete bancjuet. James, then a hobbadehoy, was now become a young man, having had the benefits of a imiversity education, and accpiired the inesti- mable pohsh which is gained by livmg in a fast set at a small college, and contracting debts, and being rusticated, and being plucked. He was a handsome lad, however, when he came to present himself to his aunt at Brighton, and good looks were always a title to the fickle old lady's favour. Nor did his blushes and awkward- ness take away from it : she was pleased with these healthy tokens of the young gentleman's ingenuousness. He said " he had come down for a couple of days to see a man of his college, and — and to pay my respects to you. Ma'am, and ]ny father's and mother's, who hope you are well." Pitt was in the room with Miss Crawley when the lad was announced, and looked very blank when his name was mentioned. The old lady had plenty of humovu-, and enjoyed her correct nephew's perplexity. She asked after all the people at the Rectory with great interest ; and said she was thinking of paying them a visit. She praised the lad to his face, and said he was well-grown and very much improved, and that it was a pity his sisters had not some of his good looks ; and finding, on inquiry, that he had taken up his quarters at an hotel, would not hear of his stopping there, but bade Mr. Bowls send for Mr. James Crawley's things instantly ; " and hark ye. Bowls," she added, with great graciousness, " you will have the goodness to pay Mr. James's bill." She flung Pitt a look of arch triumph, which caused that diplo- 328 VANITY FAIE matist almost to choke with envy. Much as he had ingratiated himself with his amit, she had never yet invited him to stay under her roof, and here was a young whipper-snapper, who at iirst sight was made welcome there. " I beg your pardon, sir," says Bowls, advancing \^'ith a pro- found bow; "what 'otel, sir, shall Thomas fetch the luggage from?" " Oh, dam," said young James, starting up, as if in some alarm, " I'll go." "What ! " said Miss Crawley. " The Tom Cribb's Arms," said James, blushing deeply. Miss Crawley burst out laughing at this title. Mr. Bowls gave one abrupt guffaw, as a confidential servant of the family, but choked the rest of the volley ; the diplomatist only smiled. "I — I didn't know any better," said James, looking down. " I've never been here before ; it was the coachman told me." The young story-teller ! The fact is, that on the Southampton coach, the day previous, James Crawley had met the Tutbury Pet, who was coming to Brighton to make a match with the Eottingdean Fibber; and enchanted by the Pet's conversation, had passed the evening in company with that scientific man and his friends, at the inn in question. " I — I'd best go and settle the score," James continued. " Couldn't think of asking you. Ma'am," he added generously. This delicacy made his aunt laugh the more. " Go and settle the bill, Bowls," she said, with a wave of her hand, " and bring it to me." Poor lady, she did not know what she had done ! " There — there's a little dawg," said James, looking frightfully guilty. " I'd best go for him. He bites footmen's calves." All the party cried out with laughing at this description ; even Briggs and Lady Jane, who was sitting mute during the interview between Miss Crawley and her nephew : and Bowls, without a word quitted the room. Still, by way of punishing her elder nephew, Miss Crawley persisted in being gracious to the young Oxonian. There were no limits to her kindness or her compliments when they once began. She told Pitt he might come to dinner, and insisted that James should accompany her in her drive, and paraded him solemnly up and down the cliff, on the back seat of the barouche. During all this excursion, she condescended to say civil tilings to him : she quoted Italian and French poetry to the poor bewildered lad, and persisted that he was a fine scholar, and was perfectly sure he would gain a gold medal, and be a Senior Wrangler. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 329 " Haw, haT,T," laughed James, encouraged by these compliments ; " Senior Wrangler, indeed ; that's at the other shop." " What is the other shop, my dear child ? " said the lady. " Senior Wranglers at Cambridge, not Oxford," said the scholar, with a knowing air ; and would probably have been more confiden- tial, but that suddenly there appeared on the cliff in a tax-cart, drawn by a bang-up pony, dressed in white flannel coats, with mother-of-pearl buttons, his friends the Tutbury Pet and the Rotting- dean Fibber, with three other gentlemen of their acquaintance, wlio all saluted poor James there in the carriage as he sate. This incident damped the ingenuous youth's spirits, and no word of yea or nay could he be induced to utter during the rest of the drive. On his return he found his room prepared, and his portmanteau ready, and might have remarked that Mr. Bowls's countenance, when the latter conducted him to his apartments, wore a look of gravity, wonder, and compassion. But the thought of Mr. Bowls did not enter his head. He was deploring the dreadful predicament in which he found himself, in a house full of old women, jaljbering French and Italian, and talking poetry to him. " Regularly up a tree, by jingo ! " exclaimed the modest boy, who could not face the gentlest of her sex — not even Briggs — when she began to talk to him ; whereas, put him at Iffley Lock, and he could out-slang the boldest bargeman. At dinner, James appeared choking in a white neckcloth, and had the honoiu- of handing my Lafly Jane downstairs, while Briggs and Mr. Crawley followed afterwards, conducting the old lady, with her apparatus of bundles, and shawls, and cushions. Half of Briggs's time at dinner was spent in superintending the invalid's comfort, and in cutting up chicken for her fat spaniel. James did not talk much, but he made a point of asking all the latlies to drink wine, and accepted Mr. Crawley's challenge, and consumed the greater part of a bottle of champagne which Mr. Bowls was ordered to produce in his honour. The ladies having withdrawn, and the two cousins being left together, Pitt, the ex-diplomatist, became very commimicative and friendly. He asked after James's career at college — what his prospects in life were — hoped heartily he would get on ; and, in a word, was frank and amiable. James's tongue unloosed with the port, and he told his cousin his life, his prospects, his debts, his troubles at the little-go, and his rows with the proctors, filling rapidly from the bottles before him, and flying from port to madeira M-ith joyous activity. "The chief pleasure which my aunt has," said Mr. Crawley, filling his glass, " is that people should do as they like in her house. This is Liberty Hall, James, and you can't do Miss Crawley a 330 VANITY FAIE greater kindness than to do as you please, and ask for what you will. I know you have all sneered at me in the country for being a Tory. Miss Crawley is liberal enough to suit any fancy. She is a Eepublican in principle, and despises everything like rank pr title." " Why are you going to marry an Earl's daughter 1 " said James. " My dear friend, remember it is not poor Ludy Jane's fault that she is well born," Pitt replied, ^vith a courtly air. "She cannot help being a lady. Besides, I am a Tory, you know." " Oh, as for that," said Jim, " there's nothing like old blood ; no, dammy, nothing like it. I'm none of your Radicals. I know what it is to be a gentleman, dammy. See the chaps in a boat-race ; look at the fellei-s in a fight ; ay, look at a dawg killing rats, — which is it wins? the good-biooded ones. Get some more port, Bowls, old boy, whilst I buzz this bottle here. What was I a saying 1 " " I think you were speaking of dogs killing rats," Pitt remarked mildly, handing his cousin the decanter to " buzz." " Killing rats was 1 1 Well, Pitt, are you a sporting man ? Do you want to see a dawg as can kill a rat 1 If you do, come down with me to Tom Corduroy's, in Castle Street Mews, and I'll show you such a bull-terrier as Pooh ! gammon," cried James, burst- ing out laughing at his own absurdity, — "you don't care about a dawg or rat ; it's all nonsense. I'm blest if I think you know the difference between a dog and a duck." " No ; by the way," Pitt continued with increased blandness, " it was about blood you were talking, and the personal advantages which people derive from patrician birth. Here's the fresh bottle." " Blood's the word," said James, gulping the ruby fluid down. " Nothing like blood, sir, in bosses, dawgs, and men. Why, only last term, just before I was rusticated, that is, I mean just before I had the measles, ha, ha, — there was me and Ringwood of Christ- church, Bob Ringwood, Lord Oinqbars' son, having our beer at the Bell at Blenheim, when the Banbury bargeman offered to fight either of us for a bowl of punch. I couldn't. My arm was in a sling ; couldn't even take the drag down, — a brute of a mare of mine had fell with me only two days before, out with the Abingdon, and I thought my arm was broke. Well, sir, I couldn't finish him, but Bob had his coat ofi^ at once — he stood up to the Banbmy man for three minutes, and polished him off in four rounds easy. Grad, how he did drop, sir, and what was it? Blood, sir, all blood." " You don't drink, James," the ex-attach^ continued. " In my time at Oxford, the men passed round the bottle a little quicker than you young fellows seem to do." " Come, come," said James, putting his hand to his nose and winking at his cousin with a pair of vinous eyes, " no jokes, old boy ; A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 331 no trying it on me. You want to trot me out, but it's no go. In vino Veritas, old boy. Mars, Bacchus, Apollo virorum, hay? I ■wish my aunt would send down some of this to the governor ; it's a precious good tap." " You had better ask her," Machiavel continued, " or make the best of your time now. What says the bard 1 ' Nvmc vino pellite curas, Cras ingeus iterabimus sequor,' " and the Bacchanalian, quot- ing the above with a House of Commons air, tossed off nearly a thimblefid of wine with an immense flourish of his glass. At the Rectory, when the bottle of port wine was opened after dinner, the young ladies had each a glass from a bottle of currant wine. Mrs. Bute took one glass of port, honest James had a couple commonly, but as his father grew very sulky if he made fiuther in- roads on the bottle, the good lad generally refrained from trying for more, and subsided either into the currant wine, or to some private gin-and-water in the stables, which he enjoyed in the company of the coachman and his pipe. At Oxford, the quantity of wine was unlimited, but the quality was inferior : but when quantity and quality united as at his aunt's house, James showed that he could appreciate them indeed ; and hardly needed any of his cousin's en- couragement in draining off the second bottle supplied by Mr. Bowls. When the time for coffee came, however, and for a return to the ladies, of whom he stood in awe, the young gentleman's agi-eeable frankness left him, and he relapsed into his usual surly timidity ; contenting himself by saying yes and no, by scowling at Lady Jane, and by upsetting one cup of coffee during the evening. If he did not speak he yawned in a pitiable manner, and his presence threw a damp upon the modest proceedings of the evening, for Miss Crawley and Lady Jane at their piquet, and Miss Briggs at her work, felt that his eyes were wildly fixed on them, and were uneasy under that maudlin look. " He seems a very silent, awkward, bashful lad," said Miss Crawley to Mr. Pitt. " He is more communicative in men's society than with ladies," Machiavel drily replied : perhaps rather' disappointed that the port wine had not made Jim speak more. He had spent the early part of the next morning in writing home to his mother a most flourishing account of his reception by Miss Crawley. But, ah ! he little knew what evils the day was bringing for him, and how short his reign of favour was destined to be. A circumstance which Jim had forgotten — a trivial but fatal circum- stance — had taken place at the Cribb's Arms on the night before he had come to his aunt's house. It was no other than this — Jim, who was always of a generous disposition, and when in his cups 332 VANITY FAIR especially hospitable, had in the course of the night treated the Tut- bury champion and the Rottingdean man, and their friends, twice or thrice to the refreshment of gin-and-water — so that no less than eighteen glasses of that fluid at eightpence per glass were charged in Mr. James Crawley's bill. It was not the amount of eightpences, but the quantity of gin, which told fatally against poor James's character, when his aunt's butler, Mr. Bowls, went down at his mistress's re- quest to pay the young gentleman's bill. The landlord, fearing lest the account should be refused altogether, swore solemnly that the young gent had consiuned personally every farthing's worth of the liquor : and Bowls paid the bill finally, and showed it on his return home to Mrs. Firkin, who was shocked at the frightful prodigality of gin ; and took the bill to Miss Briggs as accountant-general ; who thought it her duty to mention the circumstance to her principal. Miss Crawley. Had he drunk a dozen bottles of claret, the old spinster could have pardoned him. Mr. Fox and Mr. Sheridan drank claret. Gentlemen drank claret. But eighteen glasses of gin consumed among boxers in an ignoble pot-house — it was an odious crime and not to be pardoned readily. Everything went against the lad : he came home perfumed from the stables, whither he had been to pay his dog Towzer a visit — and whence he was going to take his friend out for an afring, when he met Miss Crawley and her wheezy Blenheim spaniel, which Towzer would have eaten up had not the Blenheim fled squealing to the protection of Miss Briggs, while the atrocious master of the bulldog stood laughing at the horrible persecution. This day too the unlucky boy's modesty had likewise forsaken him. He was lively and facetious at dinner. During the repast he levelled one or two jokes against Pitt Crawley : he drank as much wine as upon the previous day ; and going quite unsuspici- ously to the drawing-room, began to entertain the ladies there with some choice Oxford stories. He described the different pugilistic qualities of Molyneux and Dutch Sam, off'ered playfrdly to give Lady Jane the odds upon the Tutbury Pet against the Rottingdean man, or take them, as her Ladyship chose : and crowned the pleasantry by proposing to back himself against his cousin Pitt Crawley, either with or without the gloves. " And that's a fair offer, my buck," he said, with a loud laugh, slapping Pitt on the shoulder, " and my father told me to make it too, and he'U go halves in the bet, ha, ha!" So saying, the engaging youth nodded knowingly at poor Miss Briggs, and pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Pitt Crawley in a jocular and exulting manner. Pitt WcT,? not pleased altogether perhaps, but still not unhappy in the main. Poor Jim had his laugh out : and staggered across the room with his aunt's candle, when the old lady moved to retire, and A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 333 offered to salute her with the blandest tipsy smile : and he took his own leave and went upstairs to his bedroom perfectly satisfied with him- self, and with a pleased notion that his aunt's money would be left to him in preference to his father and all the rest of the family. Once up in the bedroom, one would have thought he could not make matters worse ; and yet this unlucky boy did. The moon was shining very pleasantly out on the sea, and Jim, attracted to the window by the romantic appearance of the ocean and the heavens, thought he woidd further enjoy them while smoking. Nobody would smell the tobacco, he thought, if he cunningly opened the window and kept his head and pipe in the fresh air. This he did : but being in an excited state, poor Jim had forgotten that his door was open all this time, so that tlie breeze blowing inwards and a fine thorough draught being established, the clouds of tobacco were carried downstairs, and arrived with quite undiminished fragrance to Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs. The pipe of tobacco finished the business : and the Bute-Crawleys never knew how many thousand pounds it cost them. Firkin rushed downstairs to Bowls, who was reading out the " Fire and the Frying Pan " to his aide-de-camp in a loud and ghostly voice. The dreadful secret v.'as told to him by Firkin with so frightened a look, that for the first moment Mr. Bowls and his young man thought that robbers were in the house ; the legs of whom had probably been discovered by the woman under Miss Crawley's bed. When made aware of the fact, however — to rush upstairs at tliree steps at a time — to enter the unconscious James's apartment, calling out, " Mr. James," in a voice stifled with alarm, and to cry, " For Gawd's sake, sir, stop that 'ere pipe," was the work of a minute with Mr. Bowls. " Oh, Mr. James, what ^ave you done ! " he said in a voice of the deepest pathos, as he threw the implement out of the window. " What 'ave you done, sir ! Missis can't abide 'em." " Missis needn't smoke," said James with a frantic misplaced laugh, and thought the whole matter an excellent joke. But his feel- ings were very different in the morning, when Mr. Bowls's young man, who operated upon Mr. James's boots, and brought him his hot water to shave that beard which he was so anxiously expecting, handed a note in to Mr. James, in bed, in the handwriting of Miss Briggs. " Dear Sir," it said, " Miss Crawley has passed an exceedingly disturbed night, owing to the shocking manner in which the house has been polluted by tobacco ; Miss Crawley bids me say she regrets that she is too luiwell to see you before you go — and above all that she ever induced you to remove from the alehouse, where she is sure you will be much more comfortable during the rest of your stay at Brighton." 334 VANITY FAIE And herewith honest James's career as a candidate for his aunt's favour ended. He had in fact, and without knowing it, done what he menaced to do. He had fought his cousin Pitt with the gloves. Where meanwhile was he who had been once first favourite for this race for money 1 Becky and Eawdon, as we have seen, were come together after Waterloo, and were passing the winter of 1815 at Paris in great splendour and gaiety. Eebecca was a good economist, and the price poor Jos Sedley had paid for her two horses was in itself sufScient to keep their httle establishment afloat for a year, at tlie least; there was no occasion to turn into money "my pistols, the same which I shot Captain Marker," or the gold dressing- case, or the cloak lined with sable. Becky had it made into a pelisse for herself, in which she rode in the Bois de Boulogne to the admira- tion of all : and you should have seen the scene between her and her delighted husband, whom she rejoined after the army had entered Cambray, and when she unsewed herself, and let out of her dress all those watches, nicknacks, bank-notes, cheques, and valuables, which she had secreted in the wadding, previous to her meditated flight from Bmssels ! Tufto was charmed, and Eawdon roared with delightful laughter, and swore that she was better than any play he ever saw, by Jove. And the way in which she jockeyed Jos, and which she described with infinite fim, carried up his delight to a pitch of quite insane enthusiasm. He believed in his wife as much as the French soldiers in Napoleon. Her success in Paris was remarkable. All the French ladies voted her charming. She spoke their language admirably. She adopted at once their grace, their liveliness, their manner. Her husband was stupid certainly — all English are stupid — and, besides, a dull husband at Paris is always a point in a lady's favour. He was the heir of the rich and spirituelle Miss Crawley, whose house had been open to so many of the French noblesse diuing the emigra- tion. They received the Colonel's wife in their own hotels — " Why," wrote a great lady to Miss Crawley, who had bought her lace and trinkets at the Duchess's own price, and given her many a dinner during the pinching times after the Eevolution — " Why does not our dear Miss come to her nephew and niece, and her attached Mends in Paris'? All the world raffoles of the charming Mistress and her espiegle beauty. Yes, we see in her the grace, the charm, the wit of our dear friend Miss Crawley ! The King took notice of her yesterday at the Tuileries, and we are all jealous of the attention which Monsieur pays her. If you could have seen the spite of a certain stupid Miladi Bareacres (whose eagle-beak and toque and feathers may be seen peering over the heads of all assemblies), when A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 335 Madame, the Duchess of Angouleme, the august daughter and companion of kings, desired especially to be presented to Mrs. Crawley, as yoiu: dear daughter and jwotAjee, and thanked her in the name of France, for all your benevolence towards our unfortunates during their exile ! She is of all the societies, of all the balls — of the balls — yes — of the dances, no ; and yet how interesting and pretty this fair creatiure looks siurounded by the homage of the men, and so soon to be a mother ! To hear her speak of you, her pro- tectress, her mother, would bring teare to the eyes of ogres. How she loves you ! how we all love om- admirable, our respectable Miss Crawley ! " It is to be feared that this letter of the Parisian gi-eat lady did not by any means advance Mrs. Becky's interest with her admirable, her respectable, relative. On the contrary, the fury of the old spinster was beyond bounds, when she found what was Ecljecca's situation, and how audaciously she had made use of Miss Crawley's name, to get an entree into Parisian society. Too much shaken in mind and body to compose a letter in the French language in reply to that of her correspondent, she dictated to Briggs a fmious answer in her own native tongue, repudiating Mrs. Rawdon Crawley alto- gether, and warning the public to beware of her as a most artful and dangerous person. But as Madame the Duchess of X had only been twenty years in England, she did not understand a single word of the language, and contented herself by informing Mrs. Rawdon Crawley at their next meeting, that she had received a charming letter from that chere Mees, and that it was full of benevolent things for Mrs. Crawley, who began seriously to have hopes that the spinster would relent. Meanwhile, she was the gayest and most admired of English- women : and had a little European congress on her reception-night. Prussians and Cossacks, Spanish and English — all the world was at Paris during this famous winter : to have seen the stars and cordons in Rebecca's humble saloon would have made all Baker Street pale with envy. Famous warriors rode by her carriage in the Bois, or crowded her modest little box at the Opera. Rawdon was in the highest spirits. There were no duns in Paris as yet : there were parties every day at V&y's or Beauvilliers' ; play was plentiful and his luck good. Tufto perhaps was sulky. Mrs. Tufto had come over to Paris at her own invitation, and besides this con- tretempi, there were a score of generals now round Becky's chair, and she might take her choice of a dozen bouquets when she went to the play. Lady Bareacres and the chiefs of the English society, stupid and irreproachable females, writhed with anguish at the suc- cess of the httle upstart Becky, whose poisoned jokes cjuivered and 336 VANITY FAIE rankled in their chaste breasts. But she had all the men on her , side. She fought the women with indomitable courage, and they could not talk scandal in any tongue but their own. So in fetes, pleasures, and prosperity, the winter of 1815-16 passed away with Mrs. Eawdon Crawley, who accommodated her- self to polite life as if her ancestors had been people of fashion for centuries past — and who from her wit, talent, and energy, indeed merited a place of honour in Vanity Fair. In the early spring of 1816, Galirpmni's Journal contained the following announcement in an interesting comer of the paper : " On the 26th of March — the Lady of Lieutenant-Colonel Crawley, of the Life Guards Green — of a son and heir." This event was copied into the London papers, out of which Miss Briggs read the statement to Miss Crawley, at breakfast, at Brighton. The intelhgence, expected as it might have been, caused a crisis in the affairs of the Crawley family. The spinster's rage rose to its height, and sending instantly for Pitt, her nephew, and for the Lady Southdown, from Brunswick Square, she requested an immediate celebration of the marriage which had been so long pend- ing between the two famihes. And she announced that it was her intention to allow the young couple a thousand a year during her lifetime, at the expiration of which the bulk of her property would be settled upon her nephew and her dear niece. Lady Jane Crawley. Waxy came down to ratify the deeds — Lord Southdown gave away his sister — she was married by a Bishop, and not by the Eev. Bar- tholomew Irons — to the disappointment of the irregular prelate. When they were married, Pitt would have liked to take a hymeneal tour with his bride, as became people of their condition. But the affection of the old lady towards Lady Jane had grown so strong, that she fairly owned she could not part with her favourite. Pitt and his wife came therefore and lived v.'ith Miss Crawley : and (greatly to the annoyance of poor Pitt, who conceived himself a most injured character — being subject to the humours of his aunt on one side, and of his mother-in-law on the other) Lady South- do-ivn, from her neighbouring house, reigned over the whole family — Pitt, Lady Jane, Miss Crawley, Briggs, Bowls, Firkin, and all. She pitilessly dosed them with her tracts and her medicine, she dismissed Creamer, she installed Rogers, and soon stripped Miss Crawley of even the semblance of authority. The poor soul grew so timid that she actually left off bullying Briggs any more, and clmig to her niece, more fond and teiTified every day. Peace to thee, kind and seliish, vain and generous old heathen ! — We shall see thee no more. Let us hope that Lady Jane supported her kindly, and led her with gentle hand out of the busy struggle of Vanity Fair. CHAPTER XXXV in DO IV AND MOTHER THE news of the great fights of Quatre Bras and Waterloo reached England at the same time. The Gazette fu-st pub- lished the result of the two battles ; at which glorious intel- ligence all England thrilled with triumph and fear. Particulars then followed ; and after the announcement of the victories came the list of the wounded and the slain. AVho can tell the dread with which that catalogue was opened and read ! Fancy, at every village and homestead almost through the three kingdoms, the great news coming of the battles in Flanders, and the feelings of exultation and gratitude, bereavement and sickening dismay, when the lists of the regimental losses were gone through, and it became knomi whether the dear friend and relative had escaped or fallen. Anybody who will take the trouble of looking back to a file of the newspapers of the time must, even now, feel at second hand this breathless pause of expectation. The lists of casualties are carried on from day to day : you stop in the midst as in a story which is to be continued in our next. Think what the feelings must have been as those papers followed each other fresh from the press ; and if such an interest could be felt in our country, and about a battle where but twenty thousand of our people were engaged, think of the condition of Europe for twenty years before, where people were fighting, not by thousands, but by millions ; each one of whom, as he struck his enemy, wounded horribly some other innocent heart far away. The news which that famous Gazette brought to the Osbomes gave a"dreadful sh^k to the.iamily and its chief The girls mdidged unrestraiiied in their grief The gloom-stricken old father was still more borne down by his fate and sorrow. He strove to think that a judgment was on the boy for his disobedience. He dared not own that the severity of the sentence frightened him, and that its fulfil- ment had come too soon upon his curses. Sometimes a shuddering ten-or struck him, as if he had been the author of the doom which he had called down on his son. There was a chance before of recon- ciliation. The boy's wife might have died ; or he might have come back and said, Father, I have sinned. But there was no hope now. 338 VANITY FAIR He stood on the other side of the gulf impassable, haunting his parent with sad eyes. He remembered them once before so in a fever, when every one thought the lad was dying, and he lay on his bed speech- less, and gazing with a dreadful gloom. Good God ! how the father chmg to the doctor then ; and with what a sickening anxiety he followed him : what a weight of grief was off his mind when, after the crisis of the fever, the lad recovered, and looked at his father once more with eyes that recognised him. But now there was no help or cure, or chance of reconcilement : above all, there were no humble words to soothe vanity outraged and furious, or bring to its natural ilow the poisoned, angry blood. And it is hard to say which pang it was that tore the proud father's heart most keenly — that his son should have gone out of the reach of his forgiveness, or that the ^apology which his own pride expected should have escaped him. Whatever his sensations might have been, however, the stern old man would have no confidant. He never mentioned his son's name to his daughters ; but ordered the elder to place all the females of the establishment in mourning ; and desired that the male servants should be similarly attired in deep black. All parties and enter- tainments, of course, were to be put off. No communications were made to his future son-in-law, whose marriage-day had been fixed : but there was enough in Mr. Osborne's appearance to prevent Mr. Bullock from making any inquiries, or in any way pressing forward that ceremony. He and the ladies whispered about it under their voices in the drawing-room sometimes, whither the father never came. He remained constantly in his own study ; the whole front part of the house being closed until some time after the completion of the general mourning. About three weeks after the 18th of June, Mr. Osborne's ac- quaintance. Sir William Dobbin, called at Mr. Osborne's house in Eussell Square, with a very pale and agitated face, and insisted upon seeing that gentleman. Ushered into his room, and after a few words, which neither the speaker nor the host understood, the former produced from an enclosure a letter sealed with a large red seal. "My son. Major Dobbin," the Alderman said, with some hesitation, " despatched me a letter by an officer of the — th, who arrived in to-ivn to-day. My son's letter contains one for you, Osborne." The Alderman placed the letter on the table, and Osborne stared at him for a moment or two in si^-^nce. His looks frightened the ambassador, who, after looking guiltily for a little time at the grief-stricken man, hurried away without another word. The letter was in George's well-known bold handwriting. It was that one which he had written before daybreak on the 16th of June, and just before he took leave of Amelia. The great red seal was A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 339 emblazoned with the sham coat of arms which Osborne had assumed from the Peerage, with " Pax in bello " for a motto ; that of the ducal house with which the vain old man tried to fancy himself connected. The hand that signed it would never hold pen or sword more. The very seal that sealed it had been robbed from George's dead body as it lay on the field of battle. The father knew nothing of this, but sate and looked at the letter in terrified vacancy. He almost fell when he went to open it. Have you ever had a difference with a dear friend ? How his letters, written in the period of love and confidence, sicken and rebuke you ! What a dreary mourning it is to dwell upon those vehement protests of dead affection ! What lying epitaphs they make over the corpse of Love ! What dark, cruel comments upon Life and Vanities ! Most of vis have got or written drawers full of them. They are closet-skeletons which we keep and shun. Osborne trembled long before the letter from his dead son. The poor boy's letter did not say much. He had been too proud to acknowledge the tenderness which his heart felt. He only said, that on the eve of a great battle, he wished to bid his father fare- well, and solemnly to implore his good offices for the wife — it might be for the clidd — whom he left behind him. He owned with con- trition that his irregularities and his extravagance had already wasted a large part of his mother's little fortune. He thanked his father for his former generous conduct ; and he promised him, that if he fell on the field or survived it, he would act in a manner worthy of the name of George Osborne. His English habit, pride, awkwardness perhaps, had prevented him from saying more. His father could not see the kiss George had placed on the superscription of his letter. Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterest, deadliest pang of balked affection and revenge. His son was still beloved and unforgiven. About two months afterwards, however, as the young ladies of the family went to church with their father, they remarked how he took a different seat from that which he usually occupied when he chose to attend divine worship ; and that from his cushion opposite, he looked up at the wall over their heads. This caused the young women likewise to gaze in the direction towards which their father's gloomy eyes pointed : and they saw an elaborate monument upon the wall, where Britannia was represented weeping over an urn, and a broken sword and a couchant lion indicated that the piece of sculpture had been erected in honour of a deceased wai-rior. The sculptors of those days had stocks of such funereal emblems in hand; as you may see still on the walls of St. Paul's, which are covered with hundreds of these braggart heathen allegories. There 340 VANITY FAIR was a constant demand for them during the first fifteen years of the present century. Under the memorial in question were emblazoned the well-kuown and pompous Osborne arms ; and the inscription said, that the monument was " Sacred to the memory of George Osborne, Junior, Esq., late a Captain in his Majesty's — th regiment of foot, who fell on the ISth of June 1815, aged 28 years, while fighting for his king and country in the glorious victory of Waterloo. Dulce et decorum est pro liatriA mori." The sight of that stone agitated the nerves of the sisters so much, that Miss Maria was compelled to leave the church. The congregation made way respectfully for those sobbing girls clothed in deep black, and pitied the stern old father seated opposite the memorial of the dead soldier. " Will he forgive Mrs. George?" the girls said to themselves as soon as their ebullition of grief was over. Much conversation passed too among the acquaintances of the Osborne family, who knew of the rupture between the son and father caused by the former's marriage, as to the chance of a recon- ciliation with the young widow. There were bets among the gentle- men both about Russell Square and in the City. If the sisters had any anxiety regarding the possible recognition of Amelia as a daughter of the family, it was increased presently, and towards the end of the autumn, by their father's announcement that he was going abroad. He did not say whither, but they knew at once that his steps would be turned towards Belgium, and were aware that George's widow was still in Brussels. They had pretty accurate news indeed of poor Amelia from Lady Dobbin and her daughters. Our honest Captain had been promoted in consequence of the death of the second Major of the regiment on the field ; and the brave O'Dowd, who had distinguished himself greatly here as upon all occasions where he had a chance to show his coolness and valour, was a Colonel and Companion of the Bath. Very many of the brave — th, who had suffered severely upon both days of action, were still at Brussels in the autumn, recovering of their wounds. The city was a vast military hospital for months after the great battles ; and a? men and officers began to rally from their hiu-ts, the gardens and places of pubUc resort swarmed with maimed warriors, old and young, who, just rescued out of death, fell to gambhng, and gaiety, and love-making, as people of Vanity Fair will do. Mr. Osborne found out some of the — th easily. He knew their uniform quite well, and had been used to follow all the promotions and exchanges in the regiment, and loved to talk about it and its officers as if he had been one of the number. On the day after his arrival at Brussels, and as he issued from his hotel, which A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 341 faced the park, he saw a soldier in the well-known facings, reposing on a stone bench in the garden, and went and sate down trembling by the wounded convalescent man. " Were you in Captain Osborne's company 1 " he said, and added, after a pause, " he was my son, sir." The man was not of the Captain's company, but he hfted up his unwounded arm and touched his cap sadly and respectfully to the haggard broken-spii-ited gentleman who questioned him. "The whole army didn't contain a finer or a better officer," the soldier said. " The Sergeant of the Captain's company (Captain Raymond had it now) was in town, though, and was just well of a shot in tlie shoulder. His honour might see him if he liked, who could tell him anything he wanted to know about — about the — th's actions. But his honour had seen Major Dobbin, no doubt, the brave Captain's great friend ; and Mrs. Osborne, who was here too, and had been very bad, he heard everybody say. They say she was out of her mind like for six weeks or more. But your honour knows all about that — and asking your pardon " — the man added. Osborne put a guinea into the soldier's hand, and told him he should have another if he would bring the Sergeant to the Hotel du Pare : a promise which very soon brought the desired officer to Mr. Osborne's presence. And the first soldier went away ; and after telling a comrade or two how Captain Osborne's father was arrived, and what a free-handed generous gentleman he was, they went and made good cheer with drink and feasting, as long as the guineas lasted which had come from the proud purse of the mourning old father. In the Sergeant's company, who was also just convalescent, Osborne made the journey of Waterloo and Quatre Bras, a journey which thousands of his countrymen were then taking. He took the Sergeant with him in his carriage, and went through both fields under his guidance. He saw the point of the road where the regiment marched into action on the 16th, and the slope down which they drove the French cavalry who were pressing on the retreating Belgians. There was the spot where the noble Captain cut down the French officer who was grappling with the young Ensign for the colours, the Colour-Sergeants having been shot down. Along this road they retreated on the next day, and here was the bank at which the regiment bivouacked under the rain of the night of the 17th. Further on- was the position which they took and held during the day, forming time after time to receive the charge of the enemy's horsemen and lying down under the shelter of the bank from the fiuious French cannonade. And it was at this declivity when at evening the whole Enghsh line received the order to advance, as 342 VANITY FAIR the enemy fell back after his last charge, that the Captain, hurraying and rushing down the hill waving his sword, received a shot and fell dead. " It was Major Dobbin who took back the Captain's body to Brussels," the Sergeant said, in a low voice, " and had him buried, as your honour knows." The peasants and relic-hunters about the place were screaming round the pair, as 'the soldier told his story, offering for sale all sorts of mementoes of the fight, crosses, and epaulets, and shattered cuirasses, and eagles. Osborne gave a sumptuous reward to the Sergeant when he parted with him, after having visited the scenes of his son's last exploits. His burial-place he had already seen. Indeed, he had driven thither immediately after his arrival at Brussels. George's body lay in the pretty burial-ground of Laeken, near the city ; in which place, having once visited it on a party of pleasure, he had lightly expressed a wish to have his grave made. And there the young officer was laid by his friend, in the unconsecrated corner of the garden, separated by a little hedge from the temples and towers and plantations of flowers and shrubs, under which the Roman Catholic dead repose. It seemed a humiliation to old Osborne to think that his son, an English gentleman, a captain in the famous British army, should not be found worthy to lie in gromid where mere foreigners were buried. Which of us is there can tell how much vanity lurks in our warmest regard for others, and how selfish our love is ?N01d Osborne did not speculate much on the mingled nature of his feelings, and how his instinct and selfishness were combating together. He firmly believed that everything he did was right, that he ought on all occasions to have his own way — and like the sting of a wasp or serpent his hatred rushed out armed and poisonous against anything like opposition. He was proud of his hatred as of everything else. Always to be right, always to trample forward, and never to doubt, are not these the great qualities with which dullness takes the lead in the world 1 As after the drive to Waterloo, Mr. Osborne's carriage was Hear- ing the gates of the city at sunset, they met another open barouche, in which were a couple of ladies and a gentleman, and by the side of which an officer was riding. Osborne gave a start back, and the Sergeant, seated with him, cast a look of surprise at his neighbour, as he touched his cap to the officer, who mechanically returned his salute. It was Amelia, with the lame young Ensign by her side, and opposite to her her faithful friend Mrs. O'Dowd. It was Ameha, but how changed fi-om the fresh and comely girl Osborne knew. Her face was white and thin. Her pretty brown hair was parted under a widow's cap — the poor child. Her eyes were fixed, and looking nowhere. They stared blank in the face of Osborne, as the carriages A NOVEL "WITHOUT A HERO 343 crossed each other, but she did not know him ; nor did he recognise her until, looking up, he saw Dobbin riding by her : and then he knew who it was. He hated her. He did not know how much until he saw her there. When her carriage had passed on, he turned and stared at the Sergeant, with a curse and defiance in his eye cast at his companion, who could not help looking at him — as much as to say " How dare you look at me 1 Damn you ! I do hate her. It is she who has tumbled my hopes and all my pride down." " TeU the scoundrel to drive on quick," he shouted with an oath, to the lackey on the box. A minute afterwards, a horse came clattering over the pavement behind Osborne's carriage, and Dobbin rode up. His thoughts had been elsewhere as the carriages passed each other, and it was not until he had ridden some paces forward, that he remembered it was Osborne who had just passed him. Then he turned to examine if the sight of her father in-law had made any im- pression on Amelia, but the poor girl did not know who had passed. Then William, who daily used to accompany her in his drives, taking out his watch, made some excuse about an engagement which he suddenly recollected, and so rode off. She did not remark that either : but sate looking before her, over the homely landscape to- wards the woods in the distance, by which George marched away. " Mr. Osborne, Mr. Osbonae ! " cried Dobbin, as he rode up and held out his hand. Osborne made no motion to take it, but shouted out once more and with another curse to his servant to drive on. Dobbin laid his hand on the carriage side. " I will see you, sir," he said. " I have a message for you." " From that woman ? " said Osborne fiercely " Xo," replied the other, " from your son ; " at which Osborn_e fell back into the comer of his carriage, and Dobbin, allowing it to pass on, rode close behind it, and so through the town until they reached Mr. Osborne's hotel, and -without a word. There he followed Osborne up to his apartments. George had often been in the rooms ; they were the lodgings which the Crawleys had occupied during their stay in Brussels. " Pray, have you any commands for me, Captain Dobbin, or, I beg your pardon, I should say JIajor Dobbin, since better men than ~ you are dead, and you step into their shoes ? " said Mr. Osborne, in / that sarcastic tone which he sometimes was pleased to assume. / " Better men are dead," Dobbin replied. " I want to speak to you about one." " Make it short, sir,'' said the other with an oath, scowling at his visitor. " I am here as his closest friend," the Major resiuned, "and the executor of his will. He made it before he went into action. Are 344 VANITY FAIE you aware how small his means are, and of the straitened circum- stances of his widow 1 " "I don't know his widow, sir," Osborne said. "Let her go back to her father." But the gentleman whom he addressed was determined to remain in good temper, and went on without heeding the interruption. "Do you know, sir, Mrs. Osborne's condition'? Her life and her reason almost have been shaken by the blow which has fallen on her. It is very doubtful whether she will rally. There is a chance left for her, however, and it is about this I came to speak to you. She will be a mother soon. Will you visit the parent's offence upon the child's head f or will you forgive the child for poor George's sake 1 " Osborne broke out into a rhapsody of self-praise and impreca- tions : — by the first, excusing himself to his own conscience for his conduct ; by the second, exaggerating the undutifulness of George. No father in all England could have behaved more generously to a son, who had rebelled against him wickedly. He had died Tvithout even so much as confessing he was wrong. Let him take the conse- quences of his undutifulness and folly. As for himself, Mr. Osborne, he was a man of his word. He had sworn never to speak to that woman, or to recognise her as his son's wife. " And that's what you may tell her," he concluded with an oath ; " and that's what I will stick to to the last day of my life." There was no hope from that quarter then. The widow must live on her slender pittance, or on such aid as Jos could give her. " I might tell her, and she would not heed it," thought Dobbin sadly : for the poor girl's thoughts were not here at all since her catastrophe, and, stupefied under the pressure of her sorrow, good and evU were alike indifferent to her. So, indeed, were even friendship and kindness. She received them both uncomplainingly, and having accepted them, relapsed into her grief. Suppose some twelve months after the above conversation took place to have passed in the hfe of our poor Amelia. She has spent the first portion of that time in a sorrow so profound and pitiable, that we who have been watching and describing some of the emo- tions of that weak and tender heart, must draw back in the presence of the cruel grief imder which it is bleeding. Tread silently round the hapless couch of the poor prostrate soul. Shut gently the door of the dark chamber wherein she suffers, as those kind people did who nursed her through the first months of her pain, and never left her until heaven had sent her consolation. A day came — of almost A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 345 terrified delight and wonder — when the poor widowed girl pressed a child upon her breast — a child, with the eyes of George who was gone — a little boy, as beautiful as a cherub. What a miracle it was to hear its first cry ! How she laughed and wept over it — how love and hope, and prayer woke again in her bosom as the baby nestled there. She was safe. The doctors who attended her, and had feared for her life or for her brain, had waited anxiously for this crisis before they could pronounce that either was secure. It was worth the long months of doubt and dread which the persons who had constantly been with her had passed, to see her eyes once more beaming tenderly upon them. Our friend Dobbin was one of them. It was he who brought her back to England and to her mother's house ; when Mrs. O'Dowd, receiving a peremptory summons from her Colonel, had been forced to quit her patient. To see Dobbin holding the infant, and to hear Amelia's laugh of triumph as she watched him, would have done any man good who had a sense of humour. William was the god- father of the child, and exerted his ingenuity in the purchase of cups, spoons, pap-boats, and corals for this little Christian. How his mother nursed him, and dressed him, and lived upon him ; how she drove away all nurses, and would scarce allow any hand but her own to touch him ; how she considered that the greatest favoui' she could confer upon his godfather, Major Dobbin, was to allow the Major occasionally to dandle him, need not be told here. This child was her being. Her existence was a maternal caress. She enveloped the feeble and unconscious crea- ture with love and worship. It was her life which the baby drank in from her bosom. Of nights, and when alone, she had stealthy and intense raptures of motherly love, such as God's marvellous care has awarded to the female instinct — joys how far higher and lower than reason — blind beautifd devotions which only women's hearts know. It was William Dobbin's task to muse upon these movements of Amelia's, and to watch her heart ; and if his love made him divine almost all the feelings which agitated it, alas ! he could see with a fatal perspicuity that there was no place there for him. And so, gently, he bore his fate, knowing it, and content to bear it. I suppose Amelia's father and mother saw through the intentions of the Major, and were not ill-disposed to encourage him ; for Dobbin visited their house daily, and stayed for hours with them, or with Amelia, or vidth the honest landlord, Mr. Clapp, and his family. He brought, on one pretext or another, presents to everybody, and almost every day ; and went with the landlord's little girl, who was rather a favourite with Amelia, by the name of Major Sugarplums. 346 VANITY FAIE It was this little child who commonly acted as mistress of the cere- monies to introduce him to Mrs. Osborne. She laughed one day when Major Sugarplums' cab drove up to Fulham, and he descended from it, bringing out a wooden horse, a drum, a trumpet, and other warlike toys, for little Georgy, who was scarcely six months old, and for whom the articles in question were entirely premature. The child was asleep. " Hush ! " said Amelia, annoyed, per- haps, at the creaking of the Major's boots ; and she held out her hand ; smiling because William could not take it until he had rid himself of his cargo of toys. " Go downstairs, little Mary," said he presently to the child, " I want to speak to Mrs. Osborne." She looked up rather astonished, and laid down the infant on its bed. " I am come to say good-bye, Amelia," said he, taking her slender little white hand gently. " Good-bye 1 and where are you going 1 " she said, with a smile. " Send the letters to the agents," he said ; " they will forward them ; for you will write to me, won't you 1 I shall be away a long time." " I'll write to you about Georgy," she said. " Dear William, how good you have been to him and to me. Look at him. Isn't he like an angel ? " The httle pink hands of the child closed mechanically round the honest soldier's finger, and Amelia looked up in his face with bright maternal pleasure. The cruellest looks could not have wounded him more than that glance of hopeless kindness. He bent over the child and mother. He could not speak for a moment. And it was only with all his strength that he could force himself to say a God bless you. " God bless you," said Amelia, and held up her face and kissed him. " Hush ! Don't wake Georgy ! " she added, as William Dobbin went to the door with heavy steps. She did not hear the noise of his cab-wheels as he drove away : she was looking at the child, who was laughing in his sleep. CHAPTER XXXVI HO/F TO LIFE (FELL ON NOTHING A YEAR 1 SUPPOSE there is no man in this Vanity Fair of ours so little^ observant as not to think sometimes about the Avorldly affairs of his acquaintances, or so extremely charitable as not to wonder how his neighbour Jones, or his neighbour Smith, can make both ends meet at the end of the year. With the utmost regard for the family, for instance (for I dine with them twice or thrice in the season), I cannot but own that the appearance of the Jenkinses in the Park, in the large barouche with the grenadier-footmen, will surprise and mystify me to my dying day : for though I know the equipage is only jobbed, and all the Jenkins people are on board wages, yet those three men and the carriage must represent an expense of six hundred a year at the very least — and then there are the splendid dinners, the two boys at Eton, the prize governess and masters for the girls, the trip abroad, or to Eastbourne or Worthing, in the autumn, the annual ball with a supper from Gunter's (who, by the way, supplies most of the first-rnte dinners which J. gives, as I know very well, having been invited to one of them to fill a vacant place, when I saw at once that these repasts are very superior to the covvmon run of entertainments for which the humbler sort of J.'s acquaintances get cards) — who, I say, with the most good-natmed feelings in the world, can help wondering how the Jenkinses make out matters % What is Jenkins 1 AVe all know — Commissioner of the Tape and Sealing Wax Office, with £1200 a year for a salary. Had his wife a private fortune 1 Pooh ! — Miss Flint — one of eleven children of a small squire in Buckinghamshire. All she ever gets from her family is a turkey at Christmas, in exchange for which she has -to board two or three of her sisters in the off season ; and lodge and feed her brothers when they come to town. How does Jenkins balance his income^ I say, as every friend of his must say, How is it that he has not been outlawed long since ; and that he ever came back (as he did to the surprise of everybody) last year from Boulogne 1 " I " is here introduced to personify the world in general — the Mrs. Grundy of each respected reader's private circle — every one of 348 VANITY FAIK whom can point to some families of Ms acquaintance who live nobody knows how. Many a glass of wine have we all of us drunk, I have very little doubt, hob-and-nobbing with the hospitable giver, and wondering how the deuce he paid for it. Some three or four years after his stay in Paris, when Eawdon Crawley and his wife were established in a very small comfortable house in Curzon Street, May Fair, there was scarcely one of the numerous friends whom they entertained at dinner that did not ask the above question regarding them. The novelist, it has been said before, knows everything, and as I am in a situation to be able to tell the pubhc how Crawley and his wife lived without any incojne, may I entreat the public newspapers which are in the habit of extracting portions of the various periodical works now published, not to reprint the following exact narrative and calculations — of which I ought, as the discoverer (and at some expense, too), to have the benefit 1 My son, I would say, were I blessed with a child — you may by deep inquiry and constant intercourse with him, learn how a man lives comfortably on nothing a year. But it is best not to be intimate with gentlemen of this profession, and to take the calculations at second hand, as you do logarithms, for to work them yourself, depend iipon it, will cost you something considerable. On nothing per annum then, and during a course of some two or three years, of which we can afford to give but a very brief history, Crawley and his wife lived very happUy and comfortably at Paris. It was in this period that he quitted the Guards, and sold out of the army. When we find him again, his mustachios and the title of Colonel on his card are the only relics of his military profession. It has been mentioned that Rebecca, soon after her anival in Paris, took a very smart and leading position in the society of that capital, and was welcomed at some of the most distinguished houses of the restored French nobility. The English men of fashion in Paris courted her, too, to the disgust of the ladies their wives, who could not bear the parvenue. For some months the salons of the Faubourg St. Germain, in which her place was secured, and the splendours of the new Court, where she was received with much distinction delighted, and perhaps a little intoxicated Mrs. Crawley, who may have been disposed during this period of elation to slight the people — honest young military men mostly — who formed her husband's chief society. But the Colonel yawned sadly among the duchesses and great ladies of the Court. The old women who played icarti made such a noise about a five-franc piece, that it was not worth Colonel Crawley's while to sit down at a card-table. The wit of their conversation he could not appreciate, being ignorant of their language. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 349 And what good could his wife get, he urged, by making curtsies every night to a whole cu-cle of Princesses ? He left Rebecca pre- sently to frequent these parties alone; resuming his own simple pursuits and amusements amongst the amiable friends of his own choice. The truth is, when we say of a gentleman that he lives elegantly on notliing a year, we use the word " nothing " to signify something unkno-WTi ; meaning, simply, that we don't know how the gentleman in question defrays the expenses of his establishment. Now, our friend the Colonel had a great aptitude for all games of chance : and exercising himself, as he continually did, with the cards, the dice- box, or the cue, it is natural to suppose that he attained a much greater skUl in the use of these articles than men can possess who only occasionally handle them. To use a cue at billiards well is like using a pencil, or a German flute, or a small-sword — you cannot master any one of these implements at first, and it is only by repeated study and perseverance, joined to a natural taste, that a man can excel in the handling of either. Now Crawley, from being only a brilliant amatem-, had gi-own to be a consummate master of billiards. Like a great general, his genius used to rise with the danger, and when the luck had been imfavoirrable to him for a whole game, and the bets were consequently against him, he would, with consummate skiU and boldness, make some profhgious hits which would restore the battle, and come in a victor at the end, to the astonishment of everybody — of everybody, that is, who was a stranger to his play. Those who were accustomed to see it were cautious how they staked their money against a man of such sudden resources, and brilliant and overpowering skill. At games of cards he was equally skilful ; for though he would constantly lose money at the commencement of an evening, playing so carelessly and making such blunders, that new comers were often inclined to tliiuk meanly of his talent ; yet when roused to action, and awakened to caution by repeated small losses, it was remarked that Crawley's play became quite different, and that he was pretty sure of beating his enemy thoroughly before the might was over. Indeed, very few men could say that they ever had the better of him. His successes were so repeated that no wonder the envious and the vanquished spoke sometimes with bitterness regarding them. And as the French say of the Duke of Wellington, who never suf- fered a defeat, that only an astonishing series of lucky accidents enabled him to be an invariable winner ; yet even they allow that he cheated at Waterloo, and was enabled to win the last great trick : — so it was hinted at headquarters in England, that some foul play 350 VANITY FAIR must have taken place in order to account for the continuous suc- cesses of Colonel Crawley. Though Prascati's and the Salon were open at that time in Paris, the mania for play was so widely spread, that the public gambling- rooms did not suffice for the general ardour, and gambling went on in private houses as much as if there had been no public means for gratifying the passion. At Crawley's charming little reunions of an evening this fatal amusement commonly was practised — much to good-natured little Mrs. Crawley's annoyance. She spoke about her husband's passion for dice with the deepest grief; she bewailed it to everybody who came to her house. She besought the young fellows never, never to touch a box; and when young Green, of the Rifles, lost a very considerable sum of money, Rebecca passed a whole night in tears, as the servant told the unfortunate gentleman, and actually went on her knees to her husband to beseech him to remit the debt, and bum the acknowledgment. How covild he? He had lost just as much himself to Blackstone of the Hussars, and Count Punter of the Hanoverian Cavalry. Green might have any decent time ; but pay 1 — of course he must pay ; to talk of burning I U's was child's-play. Other officers, chiefly young — for the young fellows gathered round Mrs. Crawley — came from her parties with long faces, having dropped more or less money at her fatal card-tables. Her house began to have an unfortunate reputation. The old hands warned the less experienced of their danger. Colonel O'Dowd, of the — th re,giment, one of those occupying in Paris, warned Lieutenant Spooney of that corps. A loud and violent fracas took place between the infantry-colonel and his lady, who were dining at the Caf^ de Paris, and Colonel and Mrs. Crawley, who were also taking their meal there. The ladies engaged on both sides. Mrs. O'Dowd snapped her fingers in Mrs. Crawley's face, and called her husband "no betther than a black-leg." Colonel Crawley challenged Colonel O'Dowd, O.B. The Commander-in-Chief hearing of the dispute sent for Colonel Crawley, who was getting ready the same pistols "which he shot Captain Marker," and had such a conversation with him that no duel took place. If Rebecca had not gone on her knees to General Tufto, Crawley would have been sent back to England ; and he did not play, except with civilians, for some weeks after. But, in spite of Rawdon's undoubted skill and constant successes, it became evident to Rebecca, considering these things, that their position was but a precarious one, and that, even although they paid scarcely anybody, their little capital would end one day by dwindling into zero. " Gambling," she would say, " dear, is good to help your income, but not as an income itself Some day people may be tired A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 351 of play, and then where are we t. " Eawdon acquiesced in the justice of her opinion ; and in truth he had remarked that after a few nights of his little suppers, &c., gentlemen we7'e tired of play with him, and, in spite of Rebecca's charms, did not present themselves very eagerly. Easy and pleasant as their life at Paris was, it was after all only an idle dalliance and amiable trifling ; and Eebecea saw that she must push Eawdon's fortune in their own country. She must get him a place or appointment at home or in the colonies ; and she determined to make a move upon England as soon as the way could be cleared for her. As a first step she had made Crawley sell out of the Guards, and go on half-pay. His function as aide-de-camp to General Tufto had ceased previously. Eebecea laughed in all companies at that officer, at his toupee (which he mounted on coming to Paris), at his waistband, at his false teeth, at his pretensions to be a lady-killer above all, and his absurd vanity in fancying every woman whom he came near was in love with him. It was Mrs. Brent, the beetle-browed wife of Mr. Commissary Brent, to whom the General transferred his attentions now — his bouquets, his dinners, at the restaurateiu-s', his opera-boxes, and his nicknacks. Poor Mrs. Tufto was no more happy than before, and had still to pass long evenings alone with her daughters, knowing tliat her General was gone off scented and curled to stand behind Mrs. Brent's chair at the play. Becky had a dozen admirers in his place to be sure ; and could cut her rival to pieces with her wit. But, as we have said, she was growing tired of this idle social life : opera-boxes and restaurateur-dinners palled upon her : nosegays could not be laid by as a provision for future years : and she could not live upon nick- nacks, laced handkerchiefs, and kid gloves. She felt the frivolity of pleasure, and longed for more substantial benefits. At this juncture news arrived which was spread among the many creditors of the Colonel at Paris, and which caused them gxeat satis- faction. Miss Crawley, the rich aunt from whom he expected his immense inheritance, was dying; the Colonel must haste to her bedside. Mre. Crawley and her child would remain behind until he came to reclaim them. He departed for Calais, and having reached that place in safety, it might have been supposed that he went to Dover ; but instead he took the diligence to Dunkirk, and thence travelled to Brussels, for which place he had a former pre- dilection. The fact is, he owed more money at London than at Paris ; and he preferred the quiet httle Belgian city to either of the more noisy capitals. Her aunt was dead. Mrs. Crawley ordered the most intense mourning for herself and little Eawdon. The Colonel was busy 352 VANITY FAIE arranging the affairs of the inheritance. They could take the premier now, instead of the Uttle entresol of the hotel which they occupied. Mrs. Crawley and the landlord had a consultation about the new hangings, an amicable wrangle about the carpets, and a final adjust- ment of everything except the bill. She went off in one of his carriages ; her French honne with her ; the child by her side ; the admirable landlord and landlady smiling farewell to her from the gate. General Tufto was farious when he heard she was gone, and Mrs. Brent furious with him for being furious ; Lieutenant Spooney was cut to the heart ; and the landlord got ready his best apart- ments previous to the return of the fascinating little woman and her husband. He serrM the trunks which she left in his charge with the greatest care. They had been especially recommended to him by Madame Crawley. They were not, however, found to be parti- cularly valuable when opened some time after. But before she went to join her husband in the Belgic capital, Mrs. Crawley made an expedition into England, leaving behind her her little son upon the Continent, under the care of her French maid. The parting between Eebecca and the little Eawdon did not cause either party much pain. She had not, to say truth, seen much of the young gentleman since his birth. After the amiable fashion of French mothers, she had placed him out at nurse in a village in the neighbourhood of Paris, where little Eawdon passed the first months of his life, not unhappily, with a numerous family of foster- brothers in wooden shoes. His father would ride over many a time to see him here, and the elder Eawdon's paternal heart glowed to see him rosy and dirty, shouting lustily, and happy in the making of mud-pies under the superintendence of the gardener's wife, his nurse. Eebecca did not care much to go and see the son and heir. Once he spoiled a new dove-coloured pelisse of hers. He preferred his nurse's caresses to his mamma's, and when finally he quitted that jolly nurse and almost parent, he cried loudly for hours. He was only consoled by his mother's promise that he should return to his nurse the next day; indeed the nurse herself, who probably would have been pained at the parting too, was told that the child would immediately be restored to her, and for some time awaited quite anxiously his retiurn. In fact, our friends may be said to have been among the first of that brood of hardy English adventurers who have subsequently invaded the Continent, and swindled in all the capitals of Europe. The respect in those happy days of 1817-18 was very gi-eat for the wealth and honour of Britons. They had not then learned, as I am L^Tfc^W 'i^ilffl !?.l MRS. EAIYDON'S DEPARTDRE from PARIS. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 353 told, to liaggle for bargains with the pertinacity which now distin- guishes them. The great cities of Europe had not been as yet open to the enterprise of our rascals. And whereas there is now hardly a town of France or Italy in which you shall not see some noble countryman of our own, with that happy swagger and insolence of demeanour which we carry everywhere, swindling inn-landlords, passing fictitious cheques upon credulous bankers, robbing coach - makers of their carriages, goldsmiths of their trinkets, easy travellers ' of their money at cards, — even public Kbraries of their books : — thirty years ago you needed but to be a Milor Anglais, travelling in a private carriage, and credit was at your hand wherever you chose to seek it, and gentlemen, instead of cheating, were cheated. It was not for some weeks after the Crawleys' departure that the landlord of the hotel which they occupied during their residence at Paris, found out the losses which he had sustained ; not until Madame Marobou, the milliner, made repeated visits with her little bill for articles supplied to Madame Crawley ; not until Monsieur Didelot from Boule d'Or in the Palais Royal had asked half-a-dozen times whether cette charmante Miladi who had bought watches and bracelets of him was de retour. It is a fact that even the poor gardener's wife, who had nursed Madame's child, was never paid after the first six months for that supply of the milk of human kindness with which she had furnished the lusty and healthy little Eawdon. No, not even the niu'se was paid — the Crawleys were in too great a hurry to remember their trifling debt to her. As for the landlord of the hotel, his curses against the English nation were violent for the rest of his natural life. He asked all travellers whether they knew a certain Colonel Lor Crawley — avec sa femme — une petite dame, trfes spirituelle. " Ah^ Monsieur ! " he would add — " Us m'ont ajfreusement voW It was melancholy to hear his accents as he spoke of that catastrophe. Kebecca's object in her journey to London was to effect a kind of compromise with her husband's numerous creditors, and by offer- ing them a dividend of ninepence or a shilling in the pound, to secure a return for him into his own country. It does not become us to trace the steps which she took in the conduct of this most difficult negotiation ; but, having sliovra them to their satisfaction, that the sum which she was empowered to offer was all her husband's available capital, and having convinced them that Colonel Crawley would prefer a perpetual retirement on the Continent to a residence in this coimtry with his debts unsettled ; having proved to them that there was no possibihty of money accruing to him from other quarters, and no earthly chance of their getting a larger dividend than that which she was empowered to offer, she brought 1 z 354 VANITY FAIE the Colonel's creditors unanimously to accept her proposals, and purchased with fifteen hundred pounds of ready money, more than ten times that amount of debts. Mrs. Crawley employed no lawyer in the transaction. The matter was so simple, to have or to leave, as she justly observed, that she made the lawyers of the creditors themselves do the business. And Mr. Lewis representing Mr. Davids, of Eed Lion Square, and Mr. Moss acting for Mr. Manasseh, of Cureitor Street (chief creditors of the Colonel's), complimented his lady upon the brilliant way in which she did business, and declared that there was no professional man who could beat her. Rebecca received their congratulations with perfect modesty ; ordered a bottle of sherry and a bread cake to the little dingy lodgings where she dwelt, while conducting the business, to treat the enemy's lawyers : shook hands with them at parting, in excellent . good-humour, and returned straightway to the Continent, to rejoin her husband and son, and acquaint the former with the glad news of his entire liberation. As for the latter, he had been considerably neglected during his mother's absence by Mademoiselle Genevieve, her French maid ; for that young woman, contracting an attachment for a soldier in the garrison of Calais, forgot her charge in the society of this militaire, and little Eawdon very narrowly escaped drowning on Calais sands at this period, where the absent Genevifeve had left and lost him. And so. Colonel and Mrs. Crawley came to London : and it is at their house in Curzon Street, May Fair, that they really showed the skill which must be possessed by those who would live on the resources above named. CHAPTER XXXVII THE SUBJECT CONTINUED IN the first place, and as a matter of the greatest necessity, we are bound to describe how a house may be got for nothing a year. These mansions are to be had eitlier uuftu-nished, where, if you have credit with Messrs. Gillows or Bantings, you can get them splendidly montees and decorated entirely according to your own fancy ; or they are to be let fiu-nished ; a less troublesome and com- plicated arrangement to most parties. It was so that Crawley and his wife preferred to hire their house. Before Mr. Bowls came to preside over Miss Crawley's house and cellar in Park Lane, that lady had had for a butler a Mr. Eaggles, who was bom on the family estate of Queen's Crawley, and indeed was a younger son of a gardener there. By good conduct, a handsome person and calves, and a gi'ave demeanour, Eaggles rose from the knife-board to the foot-board of the carriage ; from the foot-board to the butler's pantry. When he had been a certain number of years at the head of Miss Crawley's establish- ment, where he had had good wages, fat perquisites, and plenty of opportunities of saving, he announced that he was about to con- tract a matrimonial alliance with a late cook of Miss Crawley's, who had subsisted in an honourable manner by the exercise of a mangle, and the keeping of a small greengrocer's shop in the neigh- bourhood. The truth is, that the ceremony had been clandestinely performed some years back ; although the news of Mr. Haggles' ,* marriage was first brought to Miss Crawley by a little boy and girl ! of seven and eight years of age, whose continual presence in the j kitchen had attracted the attention of Miss Briggs. ' Mr. Eaggles then retired and personally undertook the superin- tendence of the small shop and the greens. He added milk and cream, eggs and country-fed pork to his stores, contenting himself, whilst other retired butlers were vending spirits in public-houses, by dealing in the simplest country produce. And having a good con- nection amongst the butlers in the neighboiu-hood, and a snug back parlour where he and Mrs. Eaggles received them, his milk, cream, and eggs got to be adopted by many of the fraternity, and his profits 3S6 VANITY FAIK increased every year. Year after year he qviietly and modestly amassed money, and when at length that snug and complete bache- lor's residence at No. 201 Curzon Street, May Fair, lately the resi- dence of the Honourable Frederick Deuceace, gone abroad, with its rich and appropriate furniture by the first maimers, was brought to the hammer, who should go in and purchase the lease and furniture of the house but Charles Eaggles 1 A part of the money he bor- rowed, it is trae, and at rather a high interest, from a brother butler, but the chief part he paid down, and it was with no small pride that Mrs. Eaggles found herself sleeping in a bed of carved mahogany, with silk curtains, with a prodigious cheval glass opposite to her, and a wardrobe which would contain her, and Eaggles, and all the family. Of course they did not intend to occupy permanently an apart- ment so splendid. It was in order to let the house again that Eaggles purchased it. As soon as a tenant was found, he subsided into the greengrocer's shop once more ; but a happy thing it was for him to ^ralk out of that tenement and into Curzon Street, and here survey his house — his O'mi house — with geraniums in the window and a carved bronze knocker. The footman occasionally lounging at the area railing, treated him ^^^th respect ; the cook took her green stuff at his house, and called him Mr. Landlord ; and there was not one thing the tenants did, or one dish which they had for dinner, that Eaggles might not know of, if he liked. He was a good man ; good and happy. The house brought him in so handsome a yearly income, that he was determined to send his children to good schools, and accordingly, regardless of expense, Charles was sent to boarding at Dr. Swishtail's, Sugar-cane Lodge, and little Matilda to Miss Peckover's, Laurentinum House, Clapham. Haggles loved and adored the Crawley family as the author of all his prosperity in life. He had a silhouette of his mistress in his back shop, and a dramng of the Porter's Lodge at Queen's Crawley, done by that spinster herself in India ink — and the only addition he made to the decorations of the Curzon Street house was a print of Queen's Crawley in Hampshire, the seat of Sir Walpole Crawley, Baronet, who was represented in a gilded car drawn by sis white horses, and passing by a lake covered with swans, and barges con- taining ladies in hoops, and musicians with flags and periwigs. Indeed Eaggles thought there was no such palace in all the world, and no such august family. As luck would have it, Eaggles' house in Curzon Street was to let when Eawdon and his wife returned to London. The Colonel knew it and its owner quite well ; the latter's connection with the Crawley family had been kept up constantly, for P^aggles helped Mr. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 357 Bowls whenever Miss Crawley received friends. And the old man not only let his house to the Colonel, but officiated as his butler whenever he had company ; Mrs. Eaggles operating in the kitchen below, and sending up dinners of which old Miss Crawley hereelf might have approved. This was the way, then, Crawley got his house for nothing ; for though Haggles had to pay taxes and rates, and the interest of the mortgage to the brother butler ; and the insurance of his hfe ; and the charges for his children at school ; and the value of the meat and drink which his own family — and for a time that of Colonel Crawley too — consumed ; and tho ugh the poor wre tch was utter ly ruined ,by the transactiqn,_liis_childign being flung jm_the_ streets, and himsfil£__driyeii_Jnto . the Fleet Prison: yeiTsomebody must pay even for gentlemen who live for nothing a year — and so it was this unlucky Eaggles was made the repre- sentative of Colonel Crawley's defective capital. I wonder how many families are driven to roguery and to ruin by great practitioners in Crawley's way'? — how many great noble- men rob theh' petty tradesmen, condescend to swindle their poor retainers out of wretched little sums, and cheat for a few shillings 1 When we read that a noble nobleman has left for the Continent, or that another noble nobleman has an execution in his house — and that one or other owes six or seven millions, the defeat seems glorious even, and we respect the victim in the vastness of his ruin. But who pities a poor barber who can't get his money for powdering the footmen's heads ; or a poor carpenter who has ruined himself by fixing up ornaments and pavilions for my lady's dejeuner ; or the poor devil of a tailor whom the steward patronises, and who has pledged all he is worth, and more, to get the liveries ready, which my lord has done him the honour to bespeak 1 — When the great house tiunbles down, these miserable wretches fall under it un- noticed : as they say in the old legends, before a man goes to the devil himself, he sends plenty of other souls thither. Rawdon and his wife generously gave their patronage to all such of Miss Crawley's tradesmen and purveyors as chose to serve them. Some were willing enough, especially the poor ones. It was wonder- ful to see the pertinacity with which the washerwoman from Tooting brought the cart every Saturday, and her bills week after week. Mr. Raggles himself had to supply the greengroceries. The bill for servants' porter at the Fortune of War public-house is a curiosity in the chronicles of beer. Eveiy servant also was owed the greater part of his wages, and thus kept up perforce an interest in the house. Nobody in fact was paid. Not the blacksmith who opened the lock ; nor the glazier who mended the pane ; nor the jobber who let the carriage ; nor the groom who drove it ; nor the butcher 358 VANITY FAIR who provided the leg of mutton; nor the coals which roasted it; nor the cook who basted it ; nor the servants who ate it : and this I am given to understand is not unfrequently the way in which people live elegantly on nothing a year. In a little town such things cannot be done without remark. We know there the quantity of milk our neighbour takes, and espy the joint or the fowls which are going in for his dinner. So, pro- bably, 300 and 202 in Curzon Street might know what was going on in the house between them, the servants communicating through the area-railings ; but Crawley and his wife and his friends did not know 200 and 202. When you came to 201 there was a hearty welcome, a kind smile, a good dinner, and a jolly shake of the hand from the host and hostess there, just for all the world as if they had been undisputed masters of three or four thousand a year — and so they were, not in money, but in produce and labour — if they did not pay for the mutton, they hatl it : if they did not give bullion in exchange for their wine, how should we know? Never was better claret at any man's table than at honest Rawdon's ; dinners more gay and neatly served. His drawing-rooms were the prettiest little modest salons conceivable : they were decorated with the greatest taste, and a thousand nicknacks from Paris, by Rebecca : and when she sate at her piano trilling songs with a lightsome heart, the stranger voted himself in a little paradise of domestic comfort, and agreed that, if the husband was rather stupid, the wife was charming, and the dinners the pleasantest in the world. Rebecca's wit, cleverness, and flippancy made her speedily the vogue in London among a certain class. You saw demure chariots at her door, out of which stepped very great people. You beheld her carriage in the Park, surrounded by dandies of note. The httle box in the third tier of the Opera was crowded with heads constantly changing ; but it must be confessed that the ladies held aloof from her, and that their doors were shut to our little adventm-er. With regard to the world of female fashion and its customs, the present writer of course can only speak at second hand. A man can no more penetrate or miderstand those mysteries than he can know what the ladies talk about when they go upstairs after dinner. It is only by inquiry and perseverance that one sometimes gets hints of those secrets ; and by a similar diligence every person who treacls the Pall Mall pavement and frequents the clubs of this metropolis, knows, either through his own experience or through some acquaintance with whom he plays at billiards or shares the joint, something about the genteel world of London, and how, as there are men (such as Rawdon Crawley, whose position we mentioned before), who cut a good figure to the eyes of the ignorant A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 359 world and to the apprentices in the Park, who behold them consort- ing ■nith the most notorious dandies there, so there are ladies, who may be called men's women, being welcomed entirely by all the gentlemen, and cut or slighted by all their wives. Mrs. Firebrace is of this sort ; the lady with the beautiful fair ringlets whom you see every day in Hyde Park, surrounded by the greatest and most famous dandies of this empire. Mrs. Rockwood is another, whose parties are announced laboriously in the fashionable newspapers, and with whom you see that all sorts of ambassadors and great noblemen dine ; and many more might be mentioned had they to do with the history at present in hand. But while simple folks who are out of the world, or country peoiale with a taste for the genteel, behold these ladies in their seeming glory in public places, or envy them from afar off, persons who are better instructed could inform them that these envied ladies have no more chance of establish- ing themselves in " Society," than the benighted squire's wife in Somersetshire, who reads of their doings in the Morning Post. Men hving about London are aware of these awful truths. You hear how pitilessly many ladies of seeming rank and wealth are excluded from this " Society." The frantic efforts which they make to enter this circle, the meannesses to which they submit, the insults which they undergo, are mattera of wonder to those who take human or womankind for a study ; and the pursuit of fasliion under diffi- culties would be a fine theme for any very great person who had the wit, the leisiure, and the knowledge of the English language necessary for the compiling of such a history. Xow the few female acquaintances whom Mrs. Crawley had known abroad, not only declined to visit her when she came to this side of the Channel, but cut her severely when they met in public places. It was curious to see how the great ladies forgot her, and no doubt not altogether a pleasant study to Rebecca. When Lady Bareacres met her in the waiting-room at the Opera, she gathered her daughters about her as if they woidd be contaminated by a touch of Becky, and retreating a step or two, placed herself in front of them, and stared at her Httle enemy. To stare Becky out of coun- tenance required a severer glance than even the frigid old Bareacres could shoot out of her dismal eyes. "\Mien Lady de la Mole, who had ridden a score of times by Becky's side at Brussels, met Mrs. Crawley's open carriage in Hyde Park, her Ladyship was quite bhnd, and could not in the least recognise her former friend. Even Mrs. Blenkinsop, the banker's wife, cut her at church. • Becky went regu- larly to church now; it was edifying to see her enter there with Rawdon by her side, carrying a couple of large gilt prayer-books, and afterwards going through the ceremony with the gravest resignation. ( 36o VANITY FAIE Kawdon at first felt very acutely the slights which were passed upon his wife, and was inclined to be gloomy and savage. He talked of calling out the husbands or brothers of every one of the insolent women who did not pay a jjroper respect to his wife ; and it was only by the strongest commands and entreaties on her part, that he was brought into keeping a decent behaviour. " You can't shoot me into society," she said good-naturedly. " Kemember, my dear, that I was but a governess, and you, you poor silly old man, have the worst reputation for debt, and dice, and all sorts of wickedness. We shall get quite as many friends as we want by-and-by, and in the meanwhile you must be a good boy, and obey your schoolmistress ,in everything she tells you to do. When we heard that your aimt had left almost everything to Pitt and his wife, do you remember what a rage you were in 1 You would have told all Paris, if I had not made you keep your temper, and where would you have been now? — in prison at Ste. Pi^lagie for debt, and not established in London in a handsome house, with every comfort about you — you were in such a fiu-y you were ready to murder your brother, you wicked Cain you, and what good would have come of remaining angry 1 All the rage in the world won't get us your aunt's money ; and it is much better that we should be friends with yoiu- brother's family than enemies, as those foolish Butes are. When your father dies, Queen's Crawley will be a pleasant house for you and me to pass the winter in. If we are ruined, you can carve and take charge of the stable, and I can be a governess to Lady Jane's children. Euined ! flddlededee ! I will get you a good place before that ; or Pitt and his little boy will die, and we will be Sir Eawdon and my lady. While there is life there is hope, my dear, and I intend to make a man of you yet. Who sold your horses for you? Who paid yoiu- debts for you?" Eawdon was obliged to confess that he owed all these benefits to his wife, and to trust himself to her guidance for the ftiture. Indeed, when Miss Crawley quitted the world, and that money for which all her relatives had been fighting so eagerly wa-s finally left to Pitt, Bute Crawley, who found that only five thousand pounds had been left to him instead of the twenty upon which he calculated, was in such a fliry at his disappointment, that he vented it in savage abuse upon his nephew ; and the quarrel always rankling between them ended in an utter breach of intercourse. Eawdon Crawley's conduct, on the other hand, who got but a hundred pounds, was such as to astonish his brother and delight his sister-in-law, who was disposed to look kindly upon all the members of her husband's family. He wrote to his brother a very frank, manly, good-humoured letter fi.-om Paris. He was aware, he said, that by his own marriage A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 361 he had forfeited his aunt's favour ; and though he did not disguise his disappointment that she should have been so entirely relentless towards him, he was glad that the money was still kept in their branch of the family, and heartily congratulated his brother on his good fortune. He sent his affectionate remembrances to his sister, and hoped to have her good-will for Mrs. Eawdon ; and the letter concluded with a postscript to Pitt in the latter lady's own hand- writing. She, too, begged to join in her husband's congratulations. She should ever remember Mr. Crawley's kindness to her in early days when she was a friendless orphan, the instructress of his little sisters, La whose welfare she still took the tenderest interest. She wished him every happiness in his married life, and, asking his per- mission to offer her remembrances to Lady Jane (of whose goodness all the world informed her), she hoped that one day she might be allowed to present her little boy to his uncle and aunt, and begged to bespeak for him their good-will and protection. Pitt Crawley received this communication very gi-aoiously — more graciously than Miss Crawley had received some of Rebecca's previous compositions in Rawdon's handwriting ; and as for Lady Jane, she was so charmed with the letter, that she expected her husband would instantly divide his aunt's legacy into two equal portions, and send off one-half to his brother at Paris. To her Latlyship's surprise, however, Pitt declined to acconuno- date his brother with a cheque for thirty thousand pounds. But he made Rawdon a handsome offer of his hand whenever the latter should come to England and choose to take it ; and, thanking Mrs. Crawley for her good opinion of himself and Lady Jane, he graciously pronounced his willingness to take any opportunity to serve her little boy. Thus an almost reconciliation was brought about between the brothers. When Rebecca came to town Pitt and his wife were not in London. Many a time she drove by the old door in Park Lane to see whether they had taken possession of Miss Crawley's house there. But the new family did not make its appearance ; it was only through Raggles that she heard of their movements — how Miss Crawley's domestics had been dismissed with decent gratuities, and how Mr. Pitt had only once made his appearance in London, when he stopped for a few days at the house, did business with his lawyers there, and sold off all Miss Crawley's French novels to a bookseller out of Bond Street. Becky had reasons of her own which caused her to long for the arrival of her new relation. " When Lady Jane comes," thought she, " she shall be my sponsor in London society : / and as for the women ! bah ! the women will ask me when they find ^i the men want to see me." 362 VANITY FAIR An article as necessary to a lady in this position as her brougham or lier bouquet, is her companion. I have always admired the way in wliich the tender creatures, who cannot exist without sympathy, hire an exceedingly plain friend of their own sex from whom they are almost inseparable. The sight of that inevitable woman in her faded gown seated behind her dear friend in the opera-box, or occupy- ing the back seat of the barouche, is always a wholesome and moral one to me, as jolly a reminder as that of the Death's-head which figiu-ed in the repasts of Egyjitian hons vivanta, a strange sardonic memorial of Vanity Fair. What ? — even battered, brazen, beautiful, conscienceless, heartless Mrs. Firebrace, whose father died of her shame ; even lovely, daring M rs. Mant rap, who will ride at any fence which any man in Englanrl will take, and who drives her greys in the Park, while her mother keeps a huckster's stall in Bath still ; — even those who are so bold, one might fancy they could face any- thing, dare not face the world without a female Mend, They must have somebody to cling to, the affectionate creatures ! And you will hardly see them in any public place without a shabby com- panion in a dyed silk, sitting somewhere in the shade close behind them. " Eawdon," said Becky, very late one night, as a party of gentle- men were seated round her crackling drawing-room fire (for the men came to her house to finish the night ; and she had ice and cofiee for them, the best in London) : " I must have a sheep-dog." " A what 1 " said Rawdon, looking up from an ecarte table. " A sheep-dog ! " said young Lord Southdown. " My dear Mrs. Crawley, what a fancy ! Why not have a Danish dog ? I know of one as big as a camel-leopard, by Jove. It would almost pull your brougham. Or a Persian greyhound, eh ? (I propose, if you please) ; or a little pug that would go into one of Lord_Steyne's snuff-boxes ? There's a man at Bayswater got one with such a nose that you might, — I mark the king and play, — that you might hang your hat on it." " I mark the trick," Rawdon gravely said. He attended to his game commonly, and didn't much meddle with the conversation, except when it was about horses and betting. "What can you want with a shepherd's Aogi" the lively little Southdown continued. " I mean a moral shepherd's dog," said Becky, laughing, and looking up at Lord Steyne. " What the devil's that ? " said his Lordship. " A dog to keep the wolves off me," Rebecca continued. " A companion." "Dear little innocent lamb, you want one," said the Marquis; A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 363 and his jaw thrust out, he began to grin hideously, his httle eyes leering towards Rebecca. The great Lord of Steyne was standing by the fire sipping coffee. The fire crackled and blazed pleasantly. There was a score of candles sparkling round the mantelpiece, in all sorts of quaint sconces, of gilt and bronze and porcelain. They lighted up Rebecca's figure to admiration, as she sate on a sofa covered with a pattern of gaudy flowers. She was in a pink dress, that looked as fresh as a rose ; her dazzlhig white arms and shoulders were half covered with a thin hazy scarf through which they sparkled ; her hair hung in curls round her neck ; one of her little feet peeped out from the fresh crisp folds of the silk : the prettiest little foot in the prettiest little sandal in the finest silk stocking in the world. The candles lighted up Lord Steyne's shining bald head, which was fringed with red hair. He had thick bushy eyebrows, \vith little twinkling bloodshot eyes, surrounded by a thousand wrinkles. His jaw was underhung, and when he laughed, two white buck-teeth protruded themselves and glistened savagely in the midst of the grin. He had been dining with royal personages, and wore his garter and ribbon. A short man was his Lordship, l)road-chested, and bow- legged, but proud of the fineness of his foot and ankle, and always caressing his garter-knee. "And so the Shepherd is not enough," said he, "to defend his lambkin 1 " " The Shepherd is too fond of playing at cards and going to his clubs," answered Becky, laughing. " 'Gad, what a delDauched Corydon 1 " said my Lord — " what a mouth for a pipe ! " " I take your three to two," here said Rawdon at the card- table. "Hark at Melibceus," snarled the noble Marquis; "he's pasto- rally occupied too : he's shearing a Southdown. What an innocent mutton, hey 1 Damme, what a snowy fleece ! " Rebecca's eyes shot out gleams of scornful humoiu:. " My Lord," she said, " you are a knight of the Order." He had the collar round his neck, indeed — a gift of the restored Princes of Spain. Lord Steyne in early hfe had been notorious for his daring and his success at play. He had sat up two days and two nights with Mr. Fox at hazard. He had won money of the most august per- sonages of the realm : he had won his marquisate, it was said, at the gaming table ; but he did not like an allusion to those bygone fredaines. Rebecca saw the scowl gathering over his heavy brow. She rose up fi-om her sofa, and went and took his coffee cup 364 VANITY FAIE out of his hand with a little curtsey. " Yes," she said, " I must get a watchdog. But he won't bark at you:' And, going into the other drawing-room, she sate down to the piano, and began to sing little French songs in such a charming, thrilling voice, that the mollified nobleman speedily followed her into that cliamber, and might bs seen nodding his head and bowing time over her. Eawdon and his friend meanwhile played icarti until they had enough. The Colonel won ; but, -say that he won ever so much and often, nights like these, which occurred many times in the week — his wife having all the talk and all the admiration, and he sitting silent without the circle, not comprehending a word of the jokes, the allusions, the mystical language within — must have been rather wearisome to the ex-dragoon. "How is Mrs. Crawley's husband T' Lord Steyne used to say to him by way of a good-day when they met : and indeed that was now his avocation in life. He was Colonel Crawley^ no_ more. He was Mrs. Crawley's- iusband. About the little Kawdon, if nothing has been said all this while, it is because he is hidden upstairs in a garret somewhere, or has crawled below into the kitchen for companionship. His mother scarcely ever took notice of him. He passed the days with his French honne as long as that domestic remained in Mr. Crawley's family, and when the Frenchwoman went away, the little fellow, howling in the loneliness of the night, had compassion taken on him by a housemaid, who took him out of his solitary nursery into her bed in the gan-et hard by, and comforted him. Eebecca, my Lord Steyne, and one or two more were in the drawing-room taking tea after the Opera, when this shouting was heard overhead. " It's my cherub crying for his nurse," she said. She did not offer to move to go and see the child. " Don't agitate your feelings by going to look for him," said Lord Steyne sardoni- cally. " Bah ! " rephed the other, with a sort of blush, " he'll cry himself to sleep ; " and they fell to talking about the Opera. Eawdon had stolen off though, to look after his son and heir ; and came back to the company when he foimd that honest Dolly was consoling the child. The Colonel's dressing-room was in those upper regions. He used to see the boy there in private. They had interviews together every morning when he shaved ; Eawdon minor sitting on a box by his father's side, and watching the opera- tion with never-ceasing pleasure. He and the sire were great friends. The father would bring him sweetmeats from the dessert, and hide them in a certain old epaulet box, where the child went to seek them, and laughed with joy on discovering the treasure; A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 365 laughed, but not too loud : for mamma was below asleep and must not be disturbed. She did not go to rest till very late, and seldom rose till after noon. Eawdon bought the boy plenty of picture-books, and crammed his niusery with toys. Its walls were covered with pictures pasted up by the father's own hand, and piu-chased by him for ready money. When he was off duty with Mrs. Eawdon in the Park, he would sit up here, passing hours ^lith the boy ; who rode on his chest, who pulled Ms great mustachios as if they were diiving-reins,^ and spent days with him in indefatigable gambols. The room was a low room, and once, when the child was not five years old, his father, who was tossing him 'nildly up in his arms, hit the poor little chap's skull so violently against the ceiling that he almost dropped the child, so terrified was he at the disaster. Rawdon minor had made up his face for a tremendous howl — the severity of the blow indeed authorised that indulgence ; but just as he was going to begin, the father interposed. " For God's sake, Rawdy, don't wake mamma," he cried. And the child, looking in a very hard and piteous way at his father, bit his hps, clenched his hands, and didn't cry a bit. Eawdon told that story at the clubs, at the mess, to everybody in town. " By Gad, sir," he explained to the public in general, " what a good plucked one that boy of mine is — what a trump he is ! I half sent his head through the ceiling, by Gad, and he wouldn't cry for fear of J distiu-bing his mother." Sometimes — once or twice in a week — that lady visited the upper regions in which the child lived. She came like a vivified figure out of the Magasin des Modes — blandly smiling in the most beautiful new clothes and little gloves and boots. AVonderful scarfs, laces, and jewels glittered about her. She had always a new bonnet on : and flowers bloomed perpetually in it ; or else magnificent curling ostrich feathers, soft and snowy as camellias. She nodded twice or tlirice patronisingly to the httle boy, who looked up fi-om his dinner or from the pictures of soldiers he was painting. When she left the room, an odour of rose, or some other magical fragrance, lingered about the nursery. She was an unearthly being in his eyes, superior to his father — to all the world : to be worshipped and admired at a distance. To drive with that lady in the carriage was an awful rite : he sate up in the ba«k seat, and did not dare to speak : he gazed with all his eyes at the beautifully dressed princess opposite to him. Gentlemen on splendid prancing horses came up, and smiled and talked with her. How her eyes beamed upon all of them 1 her hand used to quiver and wave gracefully as they passed. When he went out with her he had his new red dress on. His old 366 VANITY FAIR brown holland was good enough when he stayed at home. Some- times, when she was away, and Dolly his maid was making his bed, he came into his mother's room. It was as the abode of a fairy to hhn — a mystic chamber of splendour and delights. There in the wardrobe hung those wonderful robes — pin!: and blue, and many- tinted. There was the jewel-case, silver-clasped : and the wondrous bronze hand on the dressing-table, glistening all over with a hundred rings. There was the cheval-glass, that miracle of art, in which he could just see his own wondering head, and the reflection of Dolly (queerly distorted, and as if up in the ceiling), plumping and patting the pillows of the bed. Oh, thou poor lonely little benighted boy ! /^Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children ; and here was one who was worshipping a stone ! Now Rawdon Crawley, rascal as the Colonel was, had certain manly tendencies of affection in his heart, and could love a child and a woman stiU. For Eawdon minor he had a great secret tenderness then, which did not escape Rebecca, though she did not talk about it to her husband. It did not annoy her : she was too good-natured. It only increased her scorn for him. He felt somehow ashamed of this paternal softness, and hid it from his wife — only indulging in it when alone with the boy. He used to take him out of mornings, when they would go to the stables together and to the Park. Little Lord Southdown, the best-natured of men, who would make you a present of the hat from his head, and whose main occupation in hfe was to buy nicknacks that he might give them away afterwards, bought the little chap a pony not much bigger than a large rat, the donor said, and on this little black Shetland pigmy young Eawdon's great father was pleased to mount the boy, and to walk by his side in the Park. It pleased him to see his old quarters, and his old fellow-guardsmen at Knights- bridge : he had begun to think of his bachelorhood with something like regret. The old troopers were glad to recognise their ancient officer, and dandle the little Colonel. Colonel Crawley found dining at mess and with his brother-officers very pleasant. " Hang it, I ain't clever enough for her — I know it. She won't miss me," he 'used to say : and he was right, his wife did not miss him. Rebecca was fond of her husband. She was always perfectly good-humoured and kind to him. She did not even show her scorn much for him ; perhaps she liked him the better for being a fool. He was her upper servant and mattre d'hdtel. He went on her errands ; obeyed her orders without question ; drove in the carriage in the ring with her without repining ; took her to the opera-box ; solaced himself at his club during the performance, and came punc- tually back to fetch her when due. He would have liked her to be A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 367 a little fonder of the Loy : bvit even to that he reconciled himself " Hang it, you know, she's so clever," he said, "and I'm not literary and that, you know." For, as we have said before, it requires no gi-eat wisdom to be able to win at cards and bilHards, and Eawdou made no pretensions to any other sort of skill When the companion came, his domestic duties became very light. His wife encouraged him to dine abroad : she would let him off duty at the Opera. " Don't stay and stupefy yourself at home to-night, my dear," she would say. " Some men are coming who will only bore you. I would not ask them, but you know it's for yoiu- good, and now I have a sheep-dog, I need not be afraid to be alone." " A sheep-dog — a companion ! Becky Sharp with a companion ! Isn't it good fun 1 " thought Mrs. Crawley to herself The notion tickled hugely her sense of humoiu-. One Sunday morning, as Rawdon Crawley, his little son, and the pony were taking their accustomed walk in the Park, they passed by an old acquaintance of the Colonel's, Corporal Clink, of the regiment, who was in conversation with a friend, an old gentleman, who held a boy in his arms about the age of little Eawdon. This other youngster had seized hold of the Waterloo medal which the Corporal wore, and was examining it with delight. " Good morning, your honour," said Clink, in reply to the " How do, Clink 1 " of the Colonel. " This 'ere young gentleman is about the young Colonel's age, sir,'' continued the Corporal. " His father was a Waterloo man, too," said the old gentleman, who ca,rried the boy. " Wasn't he, Georgy ? " " Yes," said Georgy. He and the little chap on the pony were looking at each other with all their might — solemnly scanning each other as children do. " In a line regiment,'' Clink said, with a patronising air. " He was a Captain in the — th regiment," said the old gentle- man rather pompously. " Captain George Osborne, sir — perhaps you knew him. He died the death of a hero, sir, fighting against the Corsican tyrant." Colonel Crawley blushed quite red. " I knew him very well, sir,'' he said, " and his wife, his dear little wife, sir — how is she 1 " " She is my daughter, sir," said the old gentleman, putting down the boy, and taking out a card with great solemnity, which he handed to the Colonel. On it was written — "Mr. Sedley, Sole Agent for the Black Diamond and Anti- Cinder Coal Association, Bunker's Wharf, Thames Street, and Anna- Maria Cottages, Fulham Road West." 368 VANITY FAIE Little Georgy went up and looked at the Shetland pony. " Should you like to have a ride 1 " said Eawdon minor from the saddle. "Yes," said Georgy. The Colonel, who had been looking at him with some interest, took up the child and put him on the pony behind Rawdon minor. '■ Take hold of him, Georgy," he said — " take my little boy round the waist — his name is Rawdon." And both the children began to laugh. "You won't see a prettier pair, I think, this summer's day, sir,'' said the good-natured Corporal ; and the Colonel, the Corporal, and old Mr. Sedley with his umbrella, walked by the side of the children. GEOKGY MAKES ACQUAINTANCE "WITH A -n-ATERLOO MAN. 370 VANITY FAIE his Belgian servant, who sold a grey horse, very like the one which Jos rode, at Valenciennes sometime during the autumn of 1815. Jos's London agents had orders to pay one hundred and twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. It was the chief support of the old couple ; fo r Mr. Sedley's speculations in life subsequent to his bankrup tcy d id not by ^v ni£!a jis-J»teeye-^iw- toolf . pn nk l p.mti e- mail' s' fortune. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant, a coiiiinission lottery agent, &c. &o. He sent round prospectuses to his friends whenever he took a new trade, and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talked pompously about making his fortune still. But Fortune never came back to the feeble and stricken old man. One by one his friends dropped off, and were weary of buying dear coals and bad wine from him ; and there was only his wife in all the world who fancied, when he tottered off to the City of a morning, that he was still doing any business there. At evening he crawled slowly back ; , and he used to go of nights to a little club ilt a tavern, where he disposed of the finances of the nation. It was wonderful to hear him talk about millions, and agios, and discounts, and what Rothschil4 was doing, and Baring Brothers. He talked of such vast sums that the gentlemen of the club (the apothecary, the undertaker, the great carpenter and builder, the parish clerk, who was allowed to come stealthily, and Mr. Clapp, our old acquaint- ance) respected the old gentleman. " I was better off once, sir," he did not fail to tell everybody who "used the room." "My son, sir, is at this minute chief magistrate of Ramgunge in the Presidency of Bengal, and touching his four thousand rupees per mensem. My daughter might be a Colonel's lady if she liked. I might draw upon my son, the first magistrate, sir, for two thousand pounds to-morrow, and Alexander would cash my bill down, sir, down on the counter, sir. But the Sedleys were always a proud family." You and I, my dear reader, may drop into this condition one day : for have not many of our friends attained it 1 Our luck may fail :" our powers forsake us : our place on the boards be taken by better and younger mimes — the chance of life roll away and leave us shattered and stranded. Then men will walk across the road when they meet you — or, worse still, hold you out a couple of fingers and patronise you in a pitying way — then you will know, as soon as your back is turned, that your friend begdns with a " Poor devil, what impru- dences he has committed, what chances that chap has thrown away ! " Well, well — a carriage and three thousand a year is not the summit of the reward nor the end of God's judgment of men. If quacks prosper as often as they go to the wall — if zanies succeed and knaves arrive at fortune, and, vice versd, sharing ill-luck and prosperity for all the world like the ablest and most honest amongst us- -I say, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 371 brother, the gifts and pleasures of Vanity Fair cannot be held of any great account, and that it is probable . . . but we are wander- ing out of the domain of the story. Had Mre. Sedley been a woman of energy, she woidd have exerted it after her husband's ruin, and, occupying a large house, would have taken in boarders. The broken Sedley would have acted well as the boarding-house landlady's husband ; the Mimoz of private life ; the titular lord and master : the_ carver, house-steward, and humble husband of the occupier of the dingy throne. I have seen men of good brains and breeding, and of good hopes and vigour once, who feasted squires and kept hunters in their youth, meekly cutting up legs of mutton for rancorous old harridans, and pretending to preside over their di'eary tables — but Mrs. Sedley, we say, had not spirit enough to bustle about for " a few select inmates to join a cheerful musical family," such as one reads of in the Times. She was content to lie on the shore where Fortune had stranded her — and you could see that the career of this old couple was over. I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they were a little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity. Mrs. Sedley was always a gi'eat person for her landlady, Mrs. Clapp, when she descended and passed many hours with her in the basement or ornamented kitchen. The Irish maid Betty Flanagan's bonnets and ribbons, her sauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of kitchen candles, her consmnption of tea and sugar, and so forth, occupied and amused the old lady almost as much as the doings of her former household, when she had Sambo and the coachman, and a groom, and a footboy, and a housekeeper witli a regiment of female domestics — her former household, about which the good lady talked a hundred times a day. And besides Betty Flanagan, Mrs. Sedley had all the maids-of-all-work in the street to superintend. She knew how each tenant of the cottages paid or owed his little rent. She stepped aside when Mrs. Eougemont the actress passed with her dubious family. She flung up her head when Mrs. Pestler, the apothecary's lad}', drove by in her husband's professional one-horse chaise. She had colloquies with the greengrocer about the pennorth of turnips which Mr. Sedley loved : she kept an eye upon the milkman, and tlie baker's boy ; and made visitations to the butcher, who sold hundreds of oxen very likely with less ado than was made about Mrs. Sedley's loin of mutton : and she comited the potatoes under the joint on Sundays, on which days, drest in her best, she went to church twice, and read. Blair's Sermons in the evening. On that day, for " business " prevented him on week days from taking such a pleasure, it was old Sedley's delight to take out his little grandson Georgv to the neighbouring Parks or Kensington 372 VANITY FAIR Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the red- coats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others with Waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom the old gi'andfather pompously presented the child as the son of Captain Osborne of the — th, who died gloriously on the glorious eighteenth. He has been known to treat some of these non-commissioned gentlemen to a glass of porter, and, indeed, in their first Sunday walks was disposed to spoil little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy with apples and parliament, to the detriment of his health — until Amelia declared that George should never go out with his grandpapa, unless the latter promised solemnly, and on his honour, not to give the child any cakes, lolli- pops, or stall produce whatever. Between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sort ot coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy — ^for one evening in George's very early days, Amelia, who had been seated at work in their little parlour scarcely remarking that the old lady had quitted - the room, ran upstairs instinctively to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment — and there found Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiously administering Daffy's Elixir to the infant. Amelia, the gentlest and sweetest of everyday mortals, when she found this meddling with her maternal authority, thrilled and trembled all over with anger. Her cheeks, ordinarily pale, now flushed up, until they were as red as they used to be when she was a child of twelve years old. She seized the baby out of her mother's arms, and then grasped at the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, furious, and holding the guilty teaspoon. Amelia flung the bottle crashing into the fireplace. " I will not have baby poisoned, mamma," cried Emmy, rocking the infant about violently with both her arms round him, and turning with flashing eyes at her mother. " Poisoned, Amelia ! " said the old lady ; " this language to me ? " " He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends for him. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison." " Very good : you think I'm a murderess then," replied Mrs. Sedley. "This is the language you use to your mother. I have met with misfortmies : I have sunk low in life : I have kept my carriage, and now walk on foot : but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the news." " Mamma," said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears — "you shouldn't be hard upon me. I — I didn't mean — I mean, I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to this dear child : only " " Oh no, my love, — only that I was a murderess ; in which A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 373 case, I had better go to the Old Bailey. Though I didn't poison you, when you were a child ; but gave you the best of education, and the most expensive masters money could procure. Yes ; I've nursed five children, and buried three : and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and teething, and measles, and hooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at MineiTa House — which I never had when I was a girl — when I was too glad to honour my father and mother, that I might live long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mope all day in my room and act the fine lady — says I'm a murderess. Ah, Mrs. Osborne ! may you never nourish a viper in your bosom, that's my prayer." "Mamma, mamma!" cried the bewildered girl: and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts. " A murderess, indeed ! Go down on your knees and pray to God to cleanse yom- wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do ; " and Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room, hissing out the word poison once more, and so ending her charitable benediction. Till the termination of her natural life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The quarrel gave the elder lady numberless advantages which she did not fail to turn to account with female ingenuity and perseverance. For instance, she scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be oifended. She asked her daughter to see and satisfy herself that there was no poison prepared in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. She never ventured to ask whether the baby was well or not. She would not touch the child although he was her grandson, and own precious darhng, for she was not used to children, and might kill it. And whenever Mr. Pestler came upon his healing inquisition, she received the Doctor with such a sarcastic and scornful demeanour, as made the surgeon declare that not Lady Thistlewood herself, whom he had the honour of attending professionally, could give herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whom he never took a fee. And very likely Emmy was jealous too, upon her own part, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her, or become candidates for the first place in their affections 1 It is certain that when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, and that she would no more allow Mrs. Olapp or the domestic to dress or tend him, than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature which, hung up over her little bed : — the same little bed from which the 374 VANITY FAIR poor girl had gone to his ; and to which she retired now for many- long, silent, tearful, but happy years. In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here it was that she tended lier boy, and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, and as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little tones, looks, and movements, the child was so like his father, that the widow's heart thrilled as she held him to it ; and he woidd often ask the cause of her tears. It was because of his likeness to his father, she did not scrapie to tell him. She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child ; much more than she ever had done to George himself, or to any confidante of her youth. To her parents she never talked about this matter ; shrinking from baring her heart to them. Little George very likely could understand no better than they ; but into his ears she poured her sentimental secrets unreservedly, and into his only. The very joy of this woman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least, that its expression was tears. Her sensibilities were so weak and tremulous, that perhaps they ought not to be talked about in a book. I was told by Dr. Pestler (now a most flourishing lady's physician, with a sumptuous dark green carriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a house in Manchester Square), that her grief at weaning the child was a sight that would have unmanned a Herod. He was very soft-hearted many years ago, and his wife was mortally jealous of Mrs. Amelia, then and long afterwards. Perhaps the Doctor's lady had good reason for her jealousy : most women shared it, of those who formed the small circle of Amelia's acquaintance, and were quite angry at the enthusiasm with which the other sex regarded her. For almost aU men who came near her loved her ; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise over much, nor extraordinarily handsome. But wherever she went she touched and charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as .she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm : — a kind of sweet sub- mission and softness, which seemed to appeal to each man she met for his sympathy and protection. We have seen how in the regiment, though she spoke but to few of George's comrades there, all the swords of the young fellows at the mess-table would have leapt from their scabbards to fight round her ; and so it was in the little narrow lodging-house'and circle at Fulham, she interested and pleased every- body. If she had been Mrs. Mango herself, of the great house of Mango, Plantain, & Co., Onitched Friars, and the magnificent A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 375 proprietress of the Pineries, Fulham, who gave summer dejeuners frequented by Dukes and Earls, and drove about the parish with magnificent yellow liveries and bay horses, such as the royal stables at Kensington themselves could not turn out — I say, had she been Mrs. Mango herself, or her son's wife, Lady Mary Mango (daughter of the Earl of Castlemouldy, who condescended to marry the head of the firm), the tradesmen of the neighbourhood could not pay her more honour than they invariably showed to the gentle young widow, when she passed by their doors, or made her humble purchases at their shops. Thus it was not only Mr. Pestler, the medical man, but Mr. Linton the young assistant, who doctored the servant-maids and small tradesmen, and might be seen any day reading the Times in the siu-gery, who openly declared himself the slave of Mrs. Osborne. He was a iiresentable young gentleman, more welcome at Mrs. Sedley's lodgings than his principal ; and if anything went wrong with Georgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day to see the little chap, and without so much as the thought of a fee. He would abstract lozenges, tamarinds, and other produce from the surgery- drawers for little Georgy's benefit, and compounded draughts and mixtures for him of miraculous sweetness, so that it was quite a pleasure to the child to be aihng. He and Pestler, his chief, sate up two whole nights by the boy in that momentous and awful week when Georgy had the measles ; and when you would have thought, from the mother's terror, that there had never been measles in the world before. AVould they have done as much for other people 1 Did they sit up for the folks at the Pineries, when Ralph Planta- genet, and Gwendoline, and Guinever Mango had the same juvenile complaint '? Did they sit up for little Mary Clapp, the landlord's daughter, who actually caught the disease oft' little Georgy 1 Truth compels one to say, no. They slept quite undisturbed, at least as far as she was concerned — pronounced hers to be a slight case, which would almost cure itself, sent her in a draught or two, and threw in bark when the child rallied, with perfect indifierence, and just for form's sake. Again, there was the little French chevalier opposite, who gave lessons in his native tongue at various schools in the neighbourhood, and who might be heard in his apartment of nights playing tremu- lous old gavottes and minuets, on a wheezy old fiddle. Whenever this powdered and courteous old man, who never missed a Sunday at the convent chapel at Hammersmith, and who was in all re- spects, thoughts, conduct, and bearing, utterly unlike the bearded savages of his nation, who curse perfidious Albion, and scowl at you from over their cigars, in the Quadrant arcades at the present day — 376 VANITY FAIR whenever the old Chevalier de Talonrouge spoke of Mistress Osborne, he would first finish his pinch of snutf, flick away the remaining particles of dust with a graceful wave of his hand, gather up his fingers again into a bimch, and, bringing them up to his mouth, blow them open with a kiss, exclaiming, Ah ! la divine creature ! He vowed and protested that when Amelia walked in the Brompton lanes flowers grew in profusion under her feet. He called little Georgy Cupid, and asked him news of Venus, his mamma ; and told the astonished Betty Flanagan that she was one of the Graces, and the favourite attendant of the Reine des Amours. Instances might be multiplied of this easily gained and uncon- scious popularity. Did not Mr. Binny, the mild and genteel curate of the district chapel, which the family attended, call assiduously upon the widow, dandle the little boy on his knee, and offer to teach him Latin, to the anger of the elderly virgin, his sister, who kept house for him ? " There is nothing in her, Beilby," the latter lady would say. "AVhenshe comes to tea here she does not speak a word during the whole evening. She is but a poor lackadaisical creature, and it is my belief has no heart at all. It is only her pretty face which all you gentlemen admire so. Miss Grits, who has five thousand pounds, and expectations besides, has twice as much character, and is a thousand times more agreeable to my taste ; and if she were good-looking I know that you would think her perfection." Very likely Miss Binny was right to a great extent. It is the pretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts of men, those wicked rogues. A woman may possess the wisdom and chastity of Jlinerva, and v,'e give no heed to her, if she has a plain face. What folly will not a pair of bright eyes mefke pardonable? What dulness may not red lips and sweet accents, render pleasant ? And so, with their usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because a woman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. Oh ladies, ladies ! there are some of you who are neither handsome nor wise. These are but trivial incidents to recount in the life of our heroiiie. Her tale does not deal in wonders, as the gentle reader has already no doubt perceived; and if a journal had been kept of her proceedings during the seven years after the birth of her son, there would have been found few incidents more remarkable in it than that of the measles, recorded in the foregoing page. Yes, one day, and greatly to her wonder, the Reverend Mr. Binny, just mentioned, asked her to change her name of Osborne for his own ; when, with deep blushes, and tears in her eyes and voice, she thanked him for his regard for her, expressed gratitude for his attentions to her and to her poor little boy, but said that she A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 377 never, never could think of any but — but the husband whoni^she had lost. On the twenty-fifth of April, and the eighteenth of June, the days of marriage and widowhood, she kept her room entirely, con- secrating them (and we do not know how many hours of solitary night-thought, her little boy sleeping in his crib by her bedside) to the memory of that departed friend. During the day she was more active. She had to teach George to read and to write, and a little to draw. She read books, in order that she might tell him stories from them. As his eyes opened, and his mind expanded, under the influence of the outward nature round about him, she taught the child, to the best of her humble power, to acknowledge the Maker of all ; and every night and every morning he and she — (in that awful and touching communion which I think must bring a thrill to the heart of every man who witnesses or who remembers it) — the mother and the little boy — prayed to Our Father together, the mother pleading with all her gentle heart, the child lisping after her as she spoke. And each time they prayed to God to bless dear papa, as if he were alive and in the room with them. To wash and dress this young gentleman — to take him for a run of the mornings, before breakfast, and the retreat of grandpapa for " business " — to make for him the most wonderful and ingenious dresses, for which end the thrifty widow cut up and altered every available little bit of finery which she possessed out of her wardrobe during her marriage — for Mrs. Osborne herself (greatly to her mother's vexation, who preferred fine clothes, especially since her misfortunes) always wore a black gown, and a straw bonnet with a black ribbon — occupied her many hours of the day. Others she had to spare, at the service of her mother and her old father. She had taken the pains to leani, and used to play cribbage with this gentle- man on the nights when he did not go to his club. She sang for him when he was so minded, and it was a good sign, for he iiivari ably fell into a comfortable sleep dm-ing the music. She wrote out his numerous memorials, letters, prospectuses, and projects. It was in her handwriting that most of the old gentleman's former acciuaint- ances were informed that he had become an agent for the Black Diamond and Anti-Cinder Coal Company, and could supply his friends and the public with tlie best coals at — s. per chaldron. All he did was to sign the circulars with his flourish and signature, and direct them in a shaky, clerk-like hand. One of these papers was sent to Major Dobbin, — Eegt., care of Messrs. Cox and Greenwood; but the Major being in Madras at the time, had no particular call for coals. He knew, though, the hand which had written the prospectus. Good God ! what would he not have given 378 VANITY FAIE to hold it in his own ! A second prospectus came out, informing the Major that J. Sedley & Company, having established agencies at Oporto, Bordeaux, and St. Mary's, were enabled to offer to their friends and the public generally, the finest and most celebrated growths of ports, sherries, and claret wines at reasonable prices, and under extraordinary advantages. Acting upon this hint, Dobbin furiously canvassed the governor, the commander-in-chief, the judges, the regiments, and everybody whom he knew in the Presidency, and sent home to Sedley & Co. orders for wine which perfectly astonished Mr. Sedley and Mr. Clapp, who was the Co. in the business. But no more orders came after that first burst of good fortune, on which poor old Sedley was about to build a house in the City, a regiment of clerks, a dock to himself, and correspondents all over the world. The old gentleman's former taste in wine had gone : the ciu-ses of the mess-room assailed Major Dobbin for the vile drinks he had been the means of introducing there ; and he bought back a gi-eat quantity of the wine, and sold it at public outcry, at an enormous loss to himself. As for Jos, who was by this time promoted to a seat at the Eevenue Board at Calcutta, he was wild with rage when the post brought him out a bundle of these Baccha- nalian prospectuses, with a private note from his father, telling Jos that his senior counted upon him in this enterprise, and had con- signed a quantity of select wines to him, as per invoice, drawing bills upon him for the amount of the same. Jos, who would no more have it supposed that his father, Jos Sedley's father, of the Board of Revenue, was a wine merchant asking for orders, than that he was Jack Ketch, refused the bills with scorn, wrote back con- tumehously to the old gentleman, bidding him to mind his own aftairs; and the protested paper coming back, Sedley & Co. had to take it up, with the profits which they had made out of the Madras venture, and with a little portion of Emmy's savings. Besides her pension of fifty pounds a year, there had been five hundred pounds, as her husband's executors stated, left in the agents' hands at the time of Osborne's demise, which sum, as George's guardian, Dobbin proposed to put out at 8 per cent, in an Indian house of agency. Mr. Sedley, who thought the Major had some roguish intentions of his own about the money, was strongly against this plan ; and he went to the agents to protest personally against the employment of the money in question, when he learned, to his surprise, that there had been no such sum in their hands, that all the late Captain's assets did not amount to a hundred pounds, and that the five hundred pounds in question must be a separate sum, of which Major Dobbin knew the particulars. More than ever con- vinced that there was some roguery, old Sedley piu'sued the Major. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 379 As his daughter's nearest friend, he demanded with a high hand, a statement of the late Captain's accounts. Dobbin's stammering, blushing, and awkwardness added to the other's convictions that he had a rogue to deal with ; and in a majestic tone he told that officer a piece of his mind, as he called it, simply stating his belief that tlie Major was vmlawfully detaining his late son-in-law's money. Dobbin at this lost all patience, and if his accuser had not been so old and so broken, a quarrel might have ensued between them at the Slaughters' Coffee-house, in a box of which place of entertain- ment the gentlemen had their colloquy. " Come upstairs, sir," lisped out the Major. " I insist on yom- coming up the stairs, and I wUl show which is the injured party, poor George or I ; " and, dragging the old gentleman up to his bedroom, he produced from his desk Osborne's accounts, and a bundle of I U's which the latter had given, who, to do him justice, was always ready to give an I U. " He paid his bills in England," Dobbin added, " but he had not a hundred pounds in the ^Yorld when he feU. I and one or two of his brother-officers made up the little sum, which was all that we could spare, and you dare tell us that we are trying to cheat the widow and the orphan." Sedley was very contrite and humbled, though the fact is, that William Dobbin had told a great falsehood to the old gentleman ; having himself given every shilling of the money, having buried his f[-iend, and paid all the fees and charges incident upon the calamity and removal of poor Amelia. About these expenses old Osborne had never given himself any ti'ouble to think, nor any other relative of Amelia, nor Amelia her- selfi indeed. She trusted to Major Dobbin as an accountant, took his somewhat confused calculations for granted : and never once suspected how much she was in his debt. Twice or thrice in the year, according to her promise, she wrote him letters to Madras, letters all about little Georgy. How he treasured these papers ! Whenever Amelia wrote he answered, and not until then. But he sent over endless remembrances of himself to his godson and to her. He ordered and sent a box of scarfs, and a grand ivory set of chessmen from China. The pawns were little green and white men, with real swords and shields ; the knights were on horseback, the castles were on the backs of elephants. " Mrs. Mango's own set at the Pineries was not so fine," Mr. Pestler remarked. These chessmen were the delight of Georgy's life, who printed his first letter in acknowledgment of this gift of his godpapa. He sent over preserves and pickles, which latter the young gentle- man tried surreptitiously in the sideboard, and half-killed himself with eating. He thought it was a judgment upon him for stealing, they were so hot. Emmy wrote a comical Httle account of this 38o VANITY FAIR mishap to the Major : it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallying, and that she could be merry sometimes now. He sent over a pair of shawls, a white one for her, and a black one with palm-leaves for her mother, and a pair of red scarfs, as winter wi-appers, for old Mr. Sedley and George. The shawls were worth fifty guineas apiece at the very least, as Mrs. Sedley knew. She wore hers in state at church at Brompton, and was congratulated by her female friends upon the splendid acquisition. Emmy's, too, became prettily her modest black gown. " What a ipity it is she won't think of him ! " Mrs. Sedley remarked to Mrs. Olapp, and to all her friends of Brompton. "Jos never sent us such presents, I am sure, and grudges us everything. It is evident that the Major is over head and ears in love with her : and yet, whenever I so much as hint it, she turns red and begins to cry, and goes and sits upstairs with her miniature. I'm sick of that miniature. I wish we had never seen those odious purse-proud Osbomes." Amidst such humble scenes and associates George's early youth was passed, and the boy grew up delicate, sensitive, imperious, woman-bred — domineering the gentle mother whom he loved with passionate affection. He ruled all the rest of the little world round about him. As he grew, the elders were amazed at his haughty manner and his constant likeness to his father. He asked questions about everything, as inquiring youth •niU do. The profimdity of his remarks and inten-ogatories astonished his old grandfather, who perfectly bored the club at the tavern with stories about the little lad's learning and genius. He suffered his grandmother with a good-humoured indifference. The small circle round about him believed that the equal of the boy did not exist upon the earth. Georgy inherited his father's pride, and perhaps thought they were not "wrong. When he grew to be about six years old, Dobbin began to write to him very much. The Major wanted to hear that Georgy was going to a school, and hoped he would acquit himself with credit there : or would he have a good tutor at home 1 it was time that he should begin to learn ; and his godfather and guardian hinted that he hoped to be allowed to defray the charges of the boy's educa- tion, which would fall heavily upon his mother's straitened income. The Major, in a word, was always thinking about Amelia and her little boy, and by orders to his agents kept the latter provided with picture-books, paint-boxes, desks, and all conceivable implements of amusement and instruction. Three days before George's sixth birth- day a gentleman in a gig, accompanied by a servant, drove up to Mr. Sedley's house, and asked to see Master George Osborne : it was Mr. Woolsey, mOitary tailor, of Conduit Street, who came at A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 381 the Major's order to measure the young gentleman for a suit of clothes. He had had the honour of making for the Cajitain, the young gentleman's father. Sometimes, too, and by the Major's desire no doubt, his sisters, the Misses Dobbin, would call in the family carriage to take Amelia and the little boy a drive if they were so inclined. The patronage and kindness of these ladies was very uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore it meekly enough, for her natiu'e was to yield ; and, besides, the carriage and its splendoiu's gave little Georgy immense pleasure. The ladies begged occasionally that the child might pass a day with them, and he was always glad to go to that fine garden-house at Denmark Hill, where they lived, and where there were such fine grapes in the hot-houses and peaches on the walls. One day they kindly came over to Amelia with news which they were sure would delight her — something very interesting about their dear William. " What was it : was he coming home 1 " she asked with pleasure beaming in her ej'es. " Oh no — not the least — but they had very good reason to be- lieve that dear William was about to be married — and to a relation of a very dear friend of Amelia's — to Miss Glorvina O'Dowd, Sir Michael O'Dowd's sister, who had gone out to join Lady O'Dowd at Madras — a very beautifid and accomplished girl, everybody said." Amelia said " Oh ! " Amelia was very very happy indeed. But she supposed Glorvina could not be like her old acquaintance, who was most kind — but — but she was very happy indeed. And by some impulse of which I cannot explain the meaning, she took George in her arms and kissed him with an extraordinary tender- ness. Her eyes were quite moist when she put the child down ; and she scarcely spoke a word during the whole of the drive — though she was so very happy indeed. CHAPTER XXXIX A CYNICAL CHAPTER OUR duty now takes us back for a brief space to some old Hampsliire acquaintances of 'ours, whose hopes respecting the disposal of their rich kinswoman's property were so wofully disappointed. After counting upon thirty thousand pounds from his sister, it was a heavy blow to Bute Crawley to receive but five ; out of which sum, when he had paid his own debts and those of Jim, his son at college, a very small fragment remained to portion off his four plain daughters. Mrs. Bute never knew, or at least never acknowledged, how far her own tyrannous behaviour had tended to ruin her husband. All that woman could do, she vowed and protested she had done. Was it her fault if she did not possess those sycophantic arts which her hypocritical nephew, Pitt Crawley, practised "i She wished him all the happiness which he merited out of his ill-gotten gains. "At least the money will remain in the family," she said charitably. " Pitt will never spend it, my dear, that is quite certain ; for a gi-eater miser does not exist in England, and he is as odious, though in a different way, as his spendthrift brother, the abandoned Rawdon." So Mrs. Bute, after the first shock of rage and disappointment, began to accommodate herself as best she could to her altered fortunes, and to save and retrench with all her might. She instructed her daughters how to bear poverty cheerfully, and invented a thousand notable methods to conceal or evade it. She took them about to balls and public places in the neighbourhood, with praise- worthy energy ; nay, she entertained her friends in a hospitable comfortable manner at the Rectory, and much more frequently than before dear Miss Crawley's legacy had fallen in. From her outward bearing nobody would have supposed that the family had been dis- appointed in their expectations : or have guessed from her frequent appearance in public how she pinched and starved at home. Her girls had more milliners' fm-niture than they had ever enjoyed before. They appeared perseveringly at the Winchester and Southampton assemblies ; they penetrated to Cowes for the race-balls and regatta- gaieties there; and their carriage, with the horses taken from the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 383 plough, was at work perpetually, until it began almost to be believed that the four sisters had had fortunes left them by their aunt, whose name the family never mentioned in public but with the most tender gratitude and regard. I know no sort of lying which is more frequent in Vanity Fair than this^and it may be remarked how people who practise it take credit to themselves for their hypocrisy, and fancy that they are exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy, because they are able to deceive the world with regard to the extent , of their means. Jlrs. Bute certainly thought herself one of the most virtuous women in England, and the sight of her happy family was an edifying one to strangere. They were so cheerful, so loving, so well educated, so simple ! Martha painted flowers exquisitely, and furnislied half the charity-bazaars in the county. Emma was a regular County Bulbul, and her verses in the Hanvpshire Teleriraph were the glory of its Poet's Corner. Fanny and Matilda sang duets together, mamma playing the piano, and the other two sisters sitting with their arms round each other's waists, and listen- ing affectionately. Nobody saw the poor girls drumming at the duets in private. No one saw mamma drilling them rigidly hour after hour. In a word, Mrs. Bute put a good face against fortune, and kept up appearances in the most virtuous manner. Everything that a good and respectable mother could do Mrs. Bute did. She got over yachting men from Southampton, parsons from the Cathedral Close at Winchester, and oflicers from the barracks there. She tried to inveigle the young barristers at assizes, and encouraged Jim to bring home friends with whom he went out hunting with the H. H. What will not a mother do for the benefit of her beloved ones % Between such a woman and her brother-in-law, the odious Baronet at the Hall, it is manifest that there could be very little in common. The rupture between Bute and his brother Sir Pitt was complete ; indeed, between Sir Pitt and the whole county, to which the old man was a scandal. His dislike for respectable society increased with age, and the lodge-gates had not opened to a gentleman's carriage-wheels since Pitt and Lady Jane came to pay their visit of duty after their marriage. That was an a^vful and unfortmiate visit, never to be thought of by the family without hon-or. Pitt begged his wife, with a ghastly countenance, never to speak of it ; and it was only through Mrs. Bute herself, who still knew everything which took place at the Hall, that the circumstances of Sir Pitt's reception of his son and daughter-in-law were ever known at all. As they drove up the avenue of the park in their neat and well- 384 VANITY FAIR appointed carriage, Pitt remarked with dismay and wrath great gaps among the trees — his trees — which the old Baronet was felUng entirely without licence. The park wore an aspect of xitter dreari- ness and ruin. The drives were ill kept, and the neat carriage splashed and floundered in muddy pools along the road. The great sweep in front of the terrace and entrance stair was black and covered with mosses ; the once trim flower-beds rank and weedy. Shutters were up along almost the whole line of the house ; the great hall door was unbarred after much ringing of the bell ; an individual in ribbons was seen flitting up the black oak stair, as Horrocks at length admitted the heir of Queen's Crawley and his bride into the halls of their fathers. He led the way into Sir Pitt's " Library," as it was called, the fumes of tobacco grovring stronger as Pitt and Lady Jane approached that apartment. " Sir Pitt ain't very well," Horrocks remarked apologetically, and hinted that his master was afflicted with lumbago. The library looked out on the front walk and park. Sir Pitt had opened one of the windows, and was bawling out thence to the postillion and Pitt's servant, who seemed to be about to take the baggage down. "Don't move none of them trunks," he cried, pointing with a pipe which he held in his hand. '' It's only a morning visit. Tucker, you fool. Lor, what cracks that off hoss has in his heels ! Ain't there no one at the King's Head to rub 'em a little 1 How do, Pitt 1 How do, my dear ? Come to see the old man, hay 1 'Gad — you've a pretty face, too. You ain't like that old horse-godmother, your mother. Come and give old Pitt a kiss, like a good little gal." The embrace disconcerted the daughter-in-law somewhat, as the caresses of the old gentleman, imshorn and perfumed with tobacco, might well do. But she remembered that her brother Southdown had mustachios, and smoked cigars, and submitted to the Baronet with a tolerable grace. " Pitt has got vat,'' said the Baronet, after this mark of affection. "Does he read ee very long zermons, my dear^ Hundredth Psalm, Evening Hymn, hay, Pitt 1 Go and get a glass of malmsey and a cake for my Lady Jane, Horrocks, you great big booby, and don't stand stearing there like a fat pig. I won't ask you to stop, my dear; you.'Il find it too stoopid, and so should I too along a Pitt. I'm an old man now, and like my own ways, and my pipe and backgammon of a night." " I can play at backgammon, sir,'' said Lady Jane, laughing. " I used to play with papa and Miss Crawley, didn't I, Mr. Crawley 1 " " Lady Jane can play, sir, at the game to which you state that you are so partial," Pitt said haughtily. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 385 " But slie wawii't stop for all that. Naw, naw, goo back to Mudbury aiid give Mrs. Eiiicer a benefit : or drive down to tlie Rectory, and ask Biity for a dinner. He'll be charmed to see you, you know ; he's so much obliged to you for gettin' the old woman's money. Ha, ha ! Some of it will do to patch up the Hall when I'm gone." '• I perceive, sir," said Pitt, Avith a heightened voice, " that your people will cut down the timber." " Yees, yees, very fine weather, and seasonable for the time of year," Sir Pitt answered, who had suddenly grown deaf " But I'm gittin' old, Pitt, now. Law bless you, you ain't fai- fi-om fifty your- self But he wears well, my pretty Lady Jane, don't he 1 It's all godliness, sobriety, and a moral life. Look at me, I'm not very fur from fowr-score — he, he ; " and he laughed, and took snuff, and leered at her and pinched her hand. Pitt once more brought the conversation back to the timber : but the Baronet was deaf again in an instant. " I'm gittin' very old, and have been cruel bad this year with the lumbago. I shan't be here now for long ; but I'm glad ee've come, daughter-in-laAv. I like your face. Lady Jane : it's got none of the damned high-boned Binkie look in it ; and I'll give ee some- thing pretty, my dear, to go to Court in." And he shuffled across the room to a cupboard, from which he took a little old case con- taining jewels of some value. " Take that," said he, " my dear ; it belonged to my mother, and afterwards to the first Lady Binkie. Pretty pearls — never gave 'em the ironmonger's daughter. No, no. Take 'em and put 'em up quick," said he, thrusting the case into his daughter's hand, and clapping the door of the cabinet to, as Horrocks entered with a salver and refresliments. "What have you a been and given Pitt's wifel" said the indi- vidual in ribbons, when Pitt and Lady Jane had taken leave of the old gentleman. It was Miss Horrocks, the butler's daughter — the cause of the scandal throughout the coimty — the lady who reigned now almost supreme at Queen's Crawley. The rise and progress of those Ribbons had been marked with dismay by the county and family. The Ribbons opened an account at the Mudbury Branch Savings Bank ; the Ribbons drove to church, monopolising the pony-chaise, which was for the use of the servants at the HaU. The domestics were dismissed at her pleasm-e. The Scotch gardener, who still lingered on the premises, taking a pride in his walls and hot-houses, and indeed making a pretty good liveli- hood by the garden, which he farmed, and of which he sold the produce at Southampton, found the Ribbons eating peaches on a sunshiny morning at the south wall, and had his ears boxed when 1 2 B 386 VANITY FAIE he remonstrated about this attack on his property. He and his Scotch wife and his Scotch children, the only respectable inhabitants of Queen's Crawley, were forced to migrate, with their goods and their chattels, and left the stately comfortable gardens to go to waste, and the flower-beds to run to seed. Poor Lady Crawley's rose-garden became the dreariest wilderness. Only two or three domestics shuddered in the bleak old servants' hall. The stables and offices were vacant, and shut up, and half ruined. Sir Pitt lived in private, and boozed nightly with Horrocks, his butler or house-steward (as he now began to be called), and the abandoned Ribbons. The times were very much changed since the period when she drove to Mudbury in the spring-cart, and called the small trades- men " Sir." It may have been shame, or it may have been dislike of his neighbours, but the old Cynic of Queen's Crawley hardly issued /from his park-gates at all now. He quarrelled with his agents, and ' screwed his tenants by letter. His days were passed in conducting his own correspondence ; the lawyers and farm-bailiflfs who had to do business with him, could not reach him but through the Ribbons, who received them at the door of the housekeeper's room, which commanded the back entrance by which they were admitted ; and so the Baronet's daily perplexities increased, and his embarrassments multiplied round him. The horror of Pitt Crawley may be imagined, as these reports of his father's dotage reached the most exemplaiy and correct of gentlemen. He trembled daily lest he should hear that the Ribbons was proclaimed his second legal mother-in-law. After that first and last visit, his father's name was never mentioned in Pitt's polite and genteel establishment. It was the skeleton in his house, and all the family walked by it in terror and silence. The Countess Southdown kept on dropping per coach at the lodge-gate the most exciting tracts, tracts which ought to frighten the hair off your hearl. Mrs. Bute at the Parsonage nightly looked out to see if the sky was red over the elms behind which the Hall stood, and the mansion was on fire. Sir G-. Wapshot and Sir H. Fuddlestone, old friends of the house, wouldn't sit on the bench with Sir Pitt at Quarter Sessions, and cut him dead in the High Street of Southampton, where the reprobate stood offering his dirty old hands to them. Nothing had any effect upon him ; he put his hands into his pockets, and burst out laughing, as he scrambled into his carriage and four ; he used to burst out laughing at Lady Southdown's tracts ; and he laughed at his sons, and at the world, and at the Ribbons when she was angry, which was not seldom. Miss Horrocks was installed as housekeeper at Queen's Crawley, and ruled all the domestics there with great majesty and rigour. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 387 All the servants were instructed to address lier as " Mum," or ' " Madam " — and there was one little maid, on her promotion, who pei-sisted in calling her " My Lady," ■ndthout any rebuke on the part of the housekeeper. " There has been better ladies, and there has been worser, Hester," was Miss Horrocks' reply to this compli- ment of her inferior : so she ruled, having supreme power over all except her father, whom, however, she treated 'ndth considerable haughtiness, Avarning him not to be too familiar in his behavioiu' to one " as was to be a Baronet's lady." Indeed, she rehearsed that exalted part in life with great satisfaction to herself, and to the amusement of old Sir Pitt, who chuckled at her airs and gi'aces, and would laugh by the hour together at her assumptions of dignity and imitations of genteel life. He swore it was as good as a play to see her in the character of a fine dame, and he made her put on one of the first Lady Crawley's Court dresses, swearing (entirely to Miss Horrocks' own concurrence) that the dress became her prodigiously, and tlireatening to drive her off that very instant to Court in a coach-and-fom-. She had the ransacking of the wardrobes of the two defimct ladies, and cut and hacked their posthumous finery so as to suit her own tastes and figure. And she would have liked to take possession of their jewels and trinkets too ; but the old Baronet had locked them away in his private cabinet, nor could she coax or wheedle him out of the keys. And it is a fact, that some time after she left Queen's Crawley a copy-book belonging to this lady was discovered, which showed that she had taken great pains in private to learn the art of writing in general, and especially of \mting her own name as Lady Crawley, Lady Betsy Horrocks, Lady Elizabeth Crawley, &c. Though the good people of the Parsonage never went to the Hall, and shunned the horrid old dotard its owner, yet they kept a strict knowledge of all that happened there, and were looking out every day for the catastrophe for which Miss Horrocks was also eager. But Fate intervened enviously, and prevented her from receiving the reward due to such immaculate love and virtue. One day the Baronet surprised " her Ladyship," as he jocularly called her, seated at that old and tuneless piano in the drawing- room, which had scarcely been touched since Becky Sharp played quadi'illes upon it — seated at the piano with the utmost gravity, and squalling to the best of her power in imitation of the music which she had sometimes heard. The little kitchen-maid on her promotion was standing at her mistress's side, quite delighted during the operation, and wagging her head up and down, and crying, " Lor, Mum, 'tis bittiful," — ^just like a genteel sycophant in a real drawing-room. 388 VANITY FAIR This incident made the old Baronet roar with laughter, as usual. He narrated the circumstance a dozen times to Horrocks in the course of the evening, anarle. I peopled the chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead. As we sate soberly drinking claret there with men of to-day, the spirits of the departed came in and took their places roimd the darksome board. The pilot who weathered the storm tossed off gi-eat bumpers of spiritual port : the shade of Dundas did not leave the ghost of a heeltap. — Addington sate bowing and smirking in a ghastly manner, and would not be behindhand when 488 VANITY FAIR the noiseless bottle went round ; Scott, from under bushy eyebrows, winked at the apparition of a beeswing ; Wilberforce's eyes went vip to the ceiling, so that he did not seem to know how his glass went up full to his mouth and came down empty; — up to the ceiling which was above us only yesterday, and which the great of the past days have all looked at. They let the house as a furnished lodging now. Yes, Lady Hester once lived in Baker Street, and lies asleep in the . wilderness. Eothen saw her there — not in Baker Street : but in the other solitude. ,Y It is all vanity to be sure : but who will not own to liking a little of it? I should like to know what well-constituted mind, merely because it is transitory, dislikes roast beef? That is a vanity ; but may every man who reads this, have a wholesome portion of it through life, I beg : ay, though my readers were five hundred thousand. Sit down, gentlemen, and fall to, with a good hearty appetite ; the fat, the lean, the gravy, the horseradish as you like it — don't spare it. Another glass of wine, Jones, my boy — a little bit of the Sunday side. Yes, let us eat our fill of the vain thing, and be thankful therefor. And let us make the best of Becky's aristocratic pleasures likewise — for these too, like all other mortal delights, were but transitory. The upshot of her visit to Lord Steyne was, that His Highness the Prince of Peterwaradin took occasion to renew his acquaintance with Colonel Crawley, when they met on the next day at the Club, and to compliment Mrs. Crawley in the Pdng of Hyde Park with a profound salute of the hat. She and her husband were invited immediately to one of the Prince's small parties at Levant House, then occupied by His Highness during the temporary absence from England of its noble proprietor. She sang after diimer to a very little comiti. The Marquis of Steyne was present, paternally super- intending the progress of his pupil. At Levant House Becky met one of the finest gentlemen and greatest ministers that Eiu-ope has produced — the Due de la Jabo- tifere, then Ambassador from the Most Christian King, and subse- quently Minister to that monarch. I declare I swell with pride as these august names are transcribed by my pen ; and I think in what brilliant company my dear Becky is moving. She became a con- stant guest at the French Embassy, where no party was considered to be complete without the presence of the charming Madame Eav- donn Cravley. Messieurs de Truffigny (of the P^rigord family) and Champignac, both attachfe of the Embassy, were straightway smitten by the charms of the fair Colonel's wife : and both declared, according to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 489 the wont of their nation (for who ever yet met a Frenchman, come out of England, that has not left half-a-dozen families miserable, and brought away as many hearts in his pocket-book?), both, I say, declared that they were cm mieux with the charming Madame Ravdonn. But I doubt the correctness of the assertion. Champignac was very fond of dearth, and made many jiariies with the Colonel of evenings, while Becky was singing to Lord Steyne in the other room ; and as for Trufiigny, it is a well-known fact that he dared not go to the Travellers', where he owed money to the waiters, and if he had not had the Embassy as a dining-place, the worthy young gentleman must have starved. I doubt, I say, that Becky would have selected either of these young men as a person on whom she would bestow her special regard. They ran of her messages, pur- chased her gloves and flowers, went in debt for opera-boxes for her, and made themselves amiable in a thousand ways. And they talked English with adorable simplicity, and to the constant amusement of Becky and my Lord Steyne, she would mimic one or other to his face, and comphmeut him on his advance in the English language with a gravity which never failed to tickle the Marquis, her sardonic old patron. Truffigny gave Briggs a shawl by way of winning over Becky's confidante, and asked her to take charge of a letter which the simple spinster handed over in public to the person to whom it was addi-essed ; and the composition of which amused evcvybody who read it greatly. Lord Steyne read it : everybody but nonest Eawdon; to whom it was not necessary to tell everything that passed in the httle house in May Fair. Here, before long, Becky received not only " the best " foreigners (as the phrase is in our noble and admirable society slang), but some of the best English people too. I don't mean the most vir- tuous, or indeed the least virtuous, or the cleverest, or the stupidest, or the richest, or the best bom, but " the best," — in a word, people about whom there is no question — such as the great Lady Fitz- AViUis, that Patron Saint of Almack's, the gTeat Lady Slowbore, the gTcat Lady Grizzel Macbeth (she was Lady G. Glowry, daughter of Lord Grey of Glowry), and the like. When the Countess of Fitz- Willis (her Ladyship is of the Kingstreet family, see Debrett and Burke) takes up a person, he or she is safe. There is no ciuestion about them any more. Not that my Lady Fitz-Willis is any better than anybody else, being, on the contrary, a faded person, fifty-seven years of age, and neither handsome, nor wealthy, nor entertaining ; but it is agi'eed on all sides that she is of the " best people." Those who go to her are of the best : and from an old grudge probably to Lady Steyne (for whose coronet her Ladyship, 490 VANITY FAIE then the youthful Georgina Frederica, daughter of the Prince of Wales's favourite, the Earl of Portansherry, had once tried), this great and famous leader of the fashion chose to acknowledge Mrs. Eawdon Crawley : made her a most marked curtsey at the assembly over which she presided : and not only encouraged her son, Sir Kitts (his Lordship got his place through Lord Steyne's interest), to frequent Mrs. Crawley's house, hut asked her to her own mansion, and spoke to her twice in the most public and condescending manner during dinner. The important fact was known all over London that night. People who had been crying fie about Mrs. Crawley were silent. Wenham, the wit and lawyer. Lord Steyne's right-hand man, went about everywhere praising her : some who had hesitated, came for- ward at once and welcomed her : little Tom Toady, who had warned Southdown about visiting such an abandoned woman, now besought to be introduced to her. In a word, she was admitted to be among the " best " people. Ah, my beloved readers and brethren, do not envy poor Becky prematurely — glory like this is said to be fugitive. It is currently reported that even in the very inmost circles, they are no happier than the poor wanderers outside the zone ; and Beeky, who penetrated into the very centre of fashion, and saw the great George IV. face to face, has owned since that there too was Vanity. We must be brief in descanting upon this part of her career. As I cannot describe the mysteries of freemasonry, altliough I have a shrewd idea that it is a humbug : so an uninitiated man cannot take upon himself to portray the great world accurately, and had best keep his opinions to himself whatever they are. Becky has often spoken in subsequent years of this season of her life, when she moved among the very greatest circles of the London fashion. Her success excited, elated, and then bored her. At first no occupation was more pleasant than to invent and procure (the latter a work of no small trouble and ingenuity, by the way, in a person of Mrs. Eawdon Crawley's very narrow means) — to procure, we say, the prettiest new dresses and ornaments ; to drive to fine dinner parties, where she was welcomed by .great people ; and from the fine dinner parties to fine assemblies, whither the same people came -^vith whom she had been dining, whom she had met the night before, and would see on the morrow — the young men faultlessly appointed, handsomely cravatted, with the neatest glossy boots and white gloves — the elders portly, brass-buttoned, noble-looking, polite, and prosy — the young ladies blonde, timid, and in pink — the mothers grand, beautiful, sumptuous, solemn, and in diamonds. They talked in English, not in bad French, as they do in the novels. They talked about each other's houses, and characters, and families : just as the Joneses do about the Smiths. Becky's former acquaintances hated A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 491 and envied her : the poor woman herself was yawning in spirit. " I wish I were out of it," she said to herself. " I would rather be a parson's wife, and teach a Sunday School than this ; or a sergeant's lady, and ride in the regimental waggon ; or, how much gayer it would be to wear spangles and trousers, and dance before a booth at a fair." " You wovdd do it very well," said Lord Steyne, laughing. She used to tell the great man her ennuis and perplexities in her artless way — they amused him. " Eawdon would make a very good Ecuyer — Master of the Ceremonies — what do you call him — the man in the large boots and the uniform, who goes round the ring cracking the whip's He is large, heavy, and of a military figure. I recollect," Becky continued pensively, "my father took me to see a show at Brookgreen Fair when I was a child ; and when we came home I made myself a pau' of stilts and danced in the studio to the wonder of all the pupils." " I should have liked to see it," said Lord Steyne. "I should like to do it now," Becky continued. "How Lady Bhnkey would open her eyes, and Lady Grizzel Macbeth would stare ! Hush ! silence ! there is Pasta beginning to sing." Becky always made a point of being conspicuously polite to the profes- sional ladies and gentlemen who attended at these aristocratic parties — of following them into the corners where they sate in silence, and shaking hands with them, and smiling in the view of all persons. She was an artist herself, as she said very truly : there was a frankness and humility in the manner in which she acknow- ledged her origin, which provoked, or disarmed, or amused lookers- on, as the case might be. " How cool that woman is ! " said one ; "what airs of independence she assumes, where she ought to sit still and be thankful if anybody speaks to her ! " What an honest and good-natiu-ed soul she is ! " said another. " What an artful little minx ! " said a third. They were all right very likely ; but Becky went her own way, and so fascinated the professional person- ages, that they would leave off their sore throats in order to sing at her parties, and give her lessons for nothing. Yes, she gave parties in the Httle house in Curzon Street. Many scores of carriages, with blazing lamps, blocked up the street, to the disgust of No. 100, who could not rest for the thunder of the knocking, and of 102, who could not sleep for envy. The gigantic footmen who accompanied the vehicles were too big to be contained in Becky's little hall, and were billeted off in the neighboimng public-houses, whence, when they were wanted, call-boys summoned them from their beer. Scores of the great dandies of London squeezed and trod on each other on the httle stairs, laughing to find 492 VANITY FAIE themselves there ; and many spotless and severe ladies of ton were seated in the little drawing-room, listening to the professional singers, who were singing according to their wont, and as if they wished to blow the windows down. And the day after, there appeared among the fashionable reunions in the Morning Post a paragraph to the following effect : — "Yesterday, Colonel and Mrs. Crawley entertained a select party at dinner at their house in May Fair. Their Excellencies the Prince and Princess of Peterwaradin, H.E. Papoosh Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador (attended by Kibob Bey, dragoman of the mission), the Marquis of Steyne, Earl of Southdown, Sir Pitt and Lady Jane Crawley, Mr. Wagg, &c. After dinner Mrs. Crawley had an assembly which was attended by the Duchess (Dowager) of Stilton, Due de la Gruyfere, Marchioness of Cheshire, Marchese Alessandro Strachino, Comte de Brie, Baron Schapzuger, Chevalier Tosti, Countess of Slingstone, and Lady F. Macadam, Major-General and Lady G. Macbeth, and (2) Miss Macbeths ; Viscount Padding- ton, Sir Horace Fogey, Hon. Sands Bedwin, Bobbachy Bahawder," and an &c., which the reader may fill at his pleasure through a dozen close lines of small type. And in her commerce with the great our dear friend showed the same frankness which distinguished her transactions with the lowly in station. On one occasion, when out at a very fine house, Eebecca was (perhaps rather ostentatiously) holding a conversation in the French language with a celebrated tenor singer of that nation, while the Lady Grizzel Macbeth looked over her shoulder scowling at the pair. " How very well you speak French," Lady Grizzel said, who herself spoke the tongue in an Edinburgh accent most remarkable to hear. " I ought to know it," Becky modestly said, casting down her eyes. " I taught it in a school, and my mother was a Frenchwoman." Lady Grizzel was won by her humility, and was mollified towards the little woman. She deplored the fatal levelling tendencies of the age, which admitted persons of all classes into the society of their superiors ; but her Ladyship owned, that this one at least was well behaved and never forgot her place in life. She was a very good woman : good to the poor : stupid, blameless, unsuspicious. — It is not her Ladyship's fault that she fancies herself better than you and me. The skirts of her ancestors' garments have been kissed for centimes : it is a thousand years, they say, since the tartans of the head of the family were embraced by the defunct Duncan's lords and councillors, when the great ancestor of the House became King of Scotland. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 493 Lady Steyne, after the music sceue, succumbed before Becky, and perhaps was not disinchned to her. The younger ladies of the House of Gaunt were also compelled into submission. Once or twice they set people at her, but they failed. The brilUant Lady Stun- nington tried a passage of arms with her, but was routed with great slaughter by the intrepid little Becky. When attacked sometimes, Becky had a knack of adopting a demure ingenue air, under which she was most dangerous. She said the wickedest things with the most simple unaffected air when in this mood, and would take care artlessly to apologise for her blunders, so that all the world should know that she had made them. Mr. Wagg, the celebrated wit, and a led captain and trencher- man of my Lord Steyne, was caused by the ladies to charge her ; and the worthy fellow, leering at his patronesses, and giving them a wink, as much as to say, " Now look out for sport," — one evening began an assault upon Becky, who was vmsuspiciously eating her dinner. The little woman, attacked on a sudden, but never without arms, lighted up in an instant, parried and riposted with a home- thrust, which made Wagg's face tingle with shame ; then she retirmed to her soup with the most perfect calm and a quiet smile on her face. Wagg's great patron, who gave him dinners and lent him a little money sometimes, and whose election, newspaper, and other jobs Wagg did, gave the luckless fellow such a savage glance with the eyes as almost made him sink under the table and burst into tears. He looked piteously at my Lord, who never spoke to him during dinner, and at the ladies, who disowned him. At last Becky herself took compassion upon him, and tried to engage him in talk. He was not asked to dinner again for six weeks; and Fiche, my Lord's confidential man, to whom Wagg naturally paid a good deal of court, was instructed to tell him that if he ever dared to say a rude thing to Mrs. Crawley again, or make her the butt of his stupid jokes, Milor would ■ put every one of his notes of hand into his lawyer's hands, and sell him up without mercy. Wagg wept before Fiche, and implored his dear friend to intercede for him. He wrote a poem in favour of Mrs. E. C, which appeared in the very next number of the Harum-scarum llagazine, which he' conducted. He implored her good-will at parties where he met her. He cringed and coaxed Eawdon at the club. He was allowed to come back to Gaunt House after a while. Becky was always good to him, always amused, never angry. His Lordship's vizier and chief confidential servant (with a seat in Parliament and at the dinner table), Mr. Wenham, was much more prudent in his behaviour and opinions than Mr. Wagg. However much he might be disposed to hate all parvenus (Mr.. 494 VANITY FAIE Wenham himself was a stanch old True Blue Tory, and his father a small coal-merchant in the north of England), this aide-de-camp of the Marquis never showed any sort of hostility to the new favourite ; but pursued her with stealthy kindnesses, and a sly and deferential politeness, which somehow made Becky more uneasy than other peoijle's overt hostilities. How the Orawleys got the money which was spent upon the entertainments with which they treated the polite world, was a mystery which gave rise to some conversation at the time, and prob- ably added zest to thase little festivities. Some persons averred that Sir Pitt Crawley gave his brother a handsome allowance : if he did, Becky's power over the Baronet must have been extraordinary indeed, and his character greatly changed in his advanced age. Other parties hinted that it was Becky's habit to levy contributions on all her husband's friends : going to this one in tears with an account that there was an execution in the house ; falling on her knees to that one, and declaring that the whole family must go to gaol or commit suicide unless such and such a bill could be paid. Lord Southdown, it was said, had been induced to give many hundreds through these pathetic representations. Young Feltham, of the — th Dragoons (and son of the firm of Tiler and Feltham, hatters and army accoutrement makers), and whom the Orawleys introduced into fashionable life, was also cited as one of Becky's victims in the pecuniary way. People declared that she got money from various simply disposed persons, under pretence of getting them confidential appointments under Government. Who knows what stories were or were not told of our dear and innocent friend? Certain it is, that if she had had all the money which she was said to have begged or borrowed or stolen, she might have capitahsed and been honest for life, whereas, — but this is advanchig matters. The truth is, that by economy and good management — by a sparing use of ready money and liy paying scarcely anybody, — people can manage, for a time at least, to make a gi-eat show with very little means : and it is our behef that Becky's much-talked-of parties, which were not, after all was said, very numerous, cost this lady very little more than the wax candles which lighted the walls. Stillbrook and Queen's Crawley supplied her with game and fruit in abundance. Lord Steyne's cellars were at her disposal, and that excellent nobleman's famous cooks presided over her little kitchen, or sent by my lord's order the rarest delicacies from their own. I protest it is quite shameful in the world to abuse a simple creature, as people of her time abuse Becky, and I warn the public against believing one-tenth of the stories against her. If every person is to be banished from society who runs into debt and cannot pay — if we A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 495 are to be peering into everybody's private life, speculating upon their income, and cutting them if we don't approve of their expenditure — why, what a howling wilderness and intolerable dwelling Vanity Fair would be ! Every man's hand would be against his neighbour in this case, my dear sir, and the benefits of civilisation would be done away with. We should be quarrelling, abusing, avoiding one another. Om' houses would become caverns : and we should go in rags beca,use we cared for nobody. Eents would go down. Parties wouldn't be given any more. All the tradesmen of the town would be bankrupt. Wine, wax-hghts, comestibles, rouge, crinoline petti- coats, diamonds, wigs, Louis-Quatorze gimcracks, and old china, park hacks, and splendid high-stepping carriage horses — all the delights of life, I say, — would go to the deuce, if people did but act upon their silly principles, and avoid those whom they dislike and abuse. Whereas, by a little charity and mutual forbearance, things are made to go on pleasantly enough : we may abuse a man as much as we like, and call him the greatest rascal unhanged — but do we wish to hang him therefore ? No. We shake hands when we meet. If his cook is good we forgive him, and go and dine with him ; and we expect he will do the same by us. Thus trade flourishes — civilisation advances : peace is kept ; new dresses are wanted for new assemblies every week ; and the last year's vintage of Lafitte wiU remunerate the honest proprietor who reared it. At the time whereof we are "ni'iting, though the Great George was on the throne and ladies wore gigots and large combs like tortoiseshell shovels in their hair, instead of the simple sleeves and lovely wreaths which are actually in fashion, the manners of the very pohte world were not, I take it, essentially different fi'om those of the present day : and their amusements pretty similar. To us, from the outside, gazing over the pohceman's shoulders at the bewildering beauties as they pass into court or ball, they may seem beings of unearthly splendoiu-, and in the enjoyment of an excjuisite happiness by us miattainable. It is to console some of these dis- satisfied beings, that we are narrating our dear Becky's struggles, and triumphs, and disappointments, of all of which, indeed, as is the case with all persons of merit, she had her share. At this time the amiable amusement of acting charades had come among us from France : and was considerably in vogue in this country, enabling the many ladies amongst us who had beauty to display their charms, and the fewer number who had cleverness, to exliibit their -svit. My Lord Steyne was incited by Becky, who perhaps believed herself endowed with both the above qualiiications, to give an entertainment at Gaunt House, which should include some of these little dramas — and we must take leave to introduce 496 VANITY FAIE tlie reader to this brilliant reunion, sxxA., with a melancholy welcome too, for it wiU be among the very last of the fashionable entertain- ments to which it wiU be our fortune to conduct him. A portion of that splendid room, the picture-gallery of Gfaunt House, was arranged as the charade theatre. It had been so used when George III. was king ; and a picture of the. Marquis of Gaimt is still extant, with his hair in powder and a pink ribbon, in a Roman shape, as it was called, enacting the part of Cato in Mr. Addison's tragedy of that name, performed before their, Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales, the Bishop of Osnaburgh, and Prince William Henry, then children like the actor. One or two of the old properties were drawn out of the garrets, where they had lain ever since, and furnished up anew for the present festivities. Young Bedwin Sands, then an elegant dandy and Eastern traveller, was manager of the revels. An Eastern traveller was somebody in those days, and the adventurous Bedwin, who had pubhshed his quarto, and passed some months under the tents in the desert, was a personage of no small importance. — In his volume there were several pictures of Sands in various oriental costimies ; ^nd he travelled about with a black attendant of most unprepossess- ing appearance, just like another Brian de Bois Guilbert. BedwiUj^ . his costumes, and black man, were hailed at Gaunt House as very valuable acquisitions. He led off the first charade. A Turkish officer with an immense plume of feathers (the Janizaries were supposed to be stiU in exist- ence, and the tarboosh had not as yet displaced the ancient and majestic head-dress of the true behevers), was seen couched on a divan, and making believe to puff at a narghile, in which, however, for the sake of the ladies, only a fragrant pastille was allowed to smoke. The Turkish dignitary yawns and expresses signs of weari- ness and idleness. He claps his hands and Mesrour^ the^ Nubian appears, "ndth bare arms, bangles, yataghans, and every Eastern ornament — gaunt, tall, and hideous. He makes a salaam before my lord the Aga. A thrill of terror and delight runs through the assembly. The ladies whisper to one another. The black slave was given to Bedwin Sands by an Egyptian Pasha in exchange for three dozen of Maras- chino. He has sevm up ever so many odalisques in sacks and tilted them into the Nile. "Bid the slave-merchant enter," says the Turkishjyoluptuary with a wave of his hand. Mesrour conducts the slave-merchant into my lord's presence: he brings a veiled female with him. He removes the veil. A thrill of applause bursts through the house. It is Mrs. Wi nkworth (she was a Miss Absolom) with the beautiful A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 497 eyes and hair. She is in a gorgeous oriental costume ; the black braided locks are twined with innumerable jewels ; her dress is covered over with gold piastres. The odious Mahometan expresses himself charmed by her beauty. She falls down on her knees, and entreats him to restore her to the mountains where she was born, and where her Circassian lover is still deploring the absence of his Zuleikah. No entreaties will move the obdurate Hassan. He laughs at the notion of the Circassian bridegroom. Zuleikah covers her tace with her hands, and drops down in an attitude of the most beautifi.1l despair. There seems to be no hope for her, when — when the Kislar Aga appears. Tlie Kislar Aga brings a letter from the Sultan. Hassan receives and places on his head the dread firman. A ghastly terror seizes him, while on the negro's face (it is Mesrour again in another costume) appears a ghastly joj'. " Mercy ! mercy ! " cries the Pasha : while the Kislar Aga, grinning horribly, pulls out — a boiv-strinr/. The curtain draws just as he is going to use that awful weapon. Hassan from within bawls out, " First two syllables " — and Mrs. Eawdon Crawley, who is going to act in the charade, comes forward and compliments Mrs. Winkworth on the admirable taste and beauty of her costume. The second part of the charade takes place. It is still an Eastern scene. Hassan, in another dress, is in an attitude by Zuleikah, who is perfectly reconciled to him. The Kislar Aga has become a peaceful black slave. It is sunrise on the desert, and the Turks turn their heads eastwards and bow to the sand. As there are no dromedaries at hand, the band facetiously plays " The Camels are coming." An enormous Egyptian head figures in the scene. It is a musical one, — and, to the siuprise of the oriental travellers, sings a comic song, composed by Mr. Wagg. The Eastern voyagers go off dancing, like Papageno and the Moorish King, in the " Magic Flute." "Last two syllables" roars the head. The last act opens. It is a Grecian tent this time. A tall and stalwaHTnan reposes on a couch there. Above him hang his helmet and shield. There is no need for them now. Ilium is down. Iphigenia is slain. Cassandra is a prisoner in his outer halls. The king of men (it is Colonel Crawley, who, indeed, has no notion about the sack of Ilium or the conquest of Cassandra), the anax androu is asleep in his chamber at Argos. A lamp casts the broad shadow of the sleeping warrior flickering on the wall — the sword and shield of Troy glitter in its light. The band plays the awful music of "Don Juan," before the statue enters. ^gisthus steals in pale and on tiptoe. What is that ghastly face looking out balefully after him from behind the arras? He 498 VANITY FAIR raises his dagger to strike tlie sleeper, who turns in his bed, and opens his broad chest as if for the blow. He cannot strike the ' noble slumbering chieftain. Clytemnestra glides swiftly into the room like an apparition — her arms are bare and white — her tawny hair floats down her shoulders — her face is deadly pale — and her eyes are lighted up with a smile so ghastly, that people quake as they look at her. A tremor ran through the room. "Good, God 1" somebody said, "it's Mrs. Rawdon Crawley." Scornfully she snatches the dagger out of ^gisthus's hand, and advances to the bed. You see it shining over her head in the glimmer of the lamp, and — and the lamp goes out, with a groan, and all is dark. The darkness and the scene frightened people. Rebecca per- formed her part so well, and with such ghastly truth, that the spectators were all dumb, until, with a burst, all the lamps of the hall blazed out again, when everybody began to shout applause. " Brava ! brava ! " old^ Stexng^. strident voice was heard roaring over all the rest. " By , she'd do it too," he said between his teeth. The performers were called by the whole house, which sounded with cries of " Manager ! Clytemnestra 1 " AGAMEMNON could not be got to show in his classical tunic, but stood in the background with .^gisthus and others of the perfonners of the little play. Mr. Bedwin Sands led on Zuleikah and Clytemnestra. A great personage insisted on being presented to the charming Clytemnestra. " Heigh ha 1 Run him through the body. Marry somebody else, hayl" was the apposite remark made by His Royal Highness. "Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was quite killing in the part," said ■'-'°l4__§.^2S-e- Becky laughed ; gay, and saucy looking, and swept the prettiest little curtsey ever seen. Servants brought in salvers covered with numerous cool dainties, and the perfonners disappeared to get ready for the second charade- tableau. The three syllables of this charade were to be depicted in pantomime, and the performance took place in the following wise : First syllable. Colonel Fawdon_Crawley^C^, with a slouched hat and a staff, a greatcoat, and a lantern borrowed from the stables, passed across the stage bawhng out, as if warning the inhabitants of the hour. In the lower window are seen two bagmen playing apparently at the game of cribbage, over which they yawn much. To them enters one looking like Boots (the Honourable G. Ringwood), which character the young gentleman performed to perfection, and A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 499 divests them of their lower coverings ; and presently Chambermaid (the Right Honourable Lord Southdown) with two candlesticks, and a warming-pan. She ascends to the upper apartment, and warms the bed. She uses the warming-pan as a weapon wherewith she wards off the attention of the bagmen. She exits. They put on their nightcaps, and puU down the blinds. Boots comes out and closes the shutters of the ground-floor chamber. You hear him bolting and chaining the door within. All the lights go out. The music plays Dorniez, dormez, chers Amours. A voice from behind the curtain says, " First syllable." Second syllable. The lamps are lighted up all of a sudden. The music plays the old air from John of Paris, Ah quel jilahir d'etre en voyage. It is the same scene. Between the fii-st and second floors of the house represented, you behold a sign on which the_Si£in£ arms are painted. All the bells are ringing all over the house. In the lower apartment you see a man with a long slip of paper presenting it to another, who shakes his fists, threatens and vows that it is monstrous. " Ostler, bring round my gig," cries another at the door. He chucks Chambermaid (the Right Honour- able Lord Southdown) under the chin ; she seems to deplore his absence, as Calypso did that of that other eminent traveller Ulysses. Boots (the Honoui'able G. Ringwood) passes with a wooden box, containing silver flagons, and cries " Pots " with such exquisite humour and naturalness, that the whole house rings with applause, and a bouquet is thrown to him. Crack, crack, crack, go the whips. Landlord, chambermaid, waiter rush to the door ; but just as some distinguished guest is arriving, the curtains close, and the invisible theatrical manager cries out " Second -SjdlaMg." " I think it must be ' Hotel,' " says Captain Grigg of the Life Guards ; there is a general laugh at the Captain's cleverness. He is not very far from the mark. While the third syllable is in preparation, the band begins a nautical medley — "All in the Downs," "Cease, Rude Boreas," " Rule Britannia," " In the Bay of Biscay ! " — some maritime event is about to take place. A bell is heard ringing as the curtain draws aside. " Now, gents, for the shore ! " a voice exclaims. People take leave of each other. They point anxiously as if towards the clouds, which are represented by a dark curtain, and they nod their heads in fear. Lady Squeams (the Right Honourable Lord Southdown), her lap-dog, her bags, reticules, and husband, sit down, and chng hold of some ropes. It is evidently a ship. The Captain (Colonel Crawley, C.E.), with a cocked hat and a telescope,"" comes in, holding his hat on his head, and looks out ; his coat-tails fly about as if in the wind. When he leaves go of his hat / 500 VANITY FAIE to use his telescope, his hat flies off, with immense applause. It is blowing fresh. The music rises and whistles louder and louder ; the mariners go across the stage stq,ggering, as if the ship was in severe motion. The Steward (the Honourable G. Eingwood) passes reeling by, holding six basins. He puts one rapidly by Lord Squeams — Lady Squeams, giving a pinch to her dog, which begins to howl piteously, puts her pocket-handkerchief to her face, and rushes away as for the cabin. The music rises up to the wildest pitch of stormy excitement, and the third syllable is concluded. There was a little ballet, " Le Kossignol," in which Montessu and Noblet used to be famous in those days, and which Mr. Wagg transferred to the English stage as an opera, putting his verse, of which he was a skilful writer, to the pretty airs of the ballet. It was dressed in old French costume, and little Lord Southdown now appeared admirably attired in the disguise of an old woman hobbling alDout the stage with a faultless crooked stick. Trills of melody were heard behind the scenes, and gurgling from a sweet pasteboard cottage covered with roses and trellis work. " Philomfele, Philomfele," cries the old woman, and Philomfele comes out. More applause — it is Mrs. Rawdon_ i2rawley in powder and patches, the most ravissante littleiyiarquise in the world. She comes in laughing, humming, and frisks about the stage with all the innocence of theatrical youth — she makes a curtsey. Mamma says, " Why, child, you are always laughing and singing," and away she goes, vnth — THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming, Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring ; You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming, It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen : And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each performs his part, Mamma, the birds have found their voices. The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing and blush. Mamma, and that's the reason why. f During the intervals of the stanzas of this ditty, the good-( natured personage addressed as mamma by the singer, and whose; large whiskers appeared imder her cap, seemed very anxious to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 501 exhibit her maternal affection by embracing the innocent creature who performed the daughter's part. Every caress was received with loud acclamations of laughter by the sympathising audience. At its conclusion (while the music was performing a symphony as if ever so many birds were warbling) the whole house was unanimous for an encore: and applause and bouquets without end were showered upon the nightingale of the evening. Lord Steyne's voice of applause wasToudeS^oTaU. Becky, the nightingale, took the flowers which he threw to her, and pressed them to her heart with the air of a consummate comedian. Lord Steync was frantic with delight. His guests' enthusiasm harmonised with his own. Where was the beautiful black-eyed Houri whose appearance in the first charade had caused such delight 1 She was twice as handsome as Becky, but the brilliancy of the latter had quite eclipsed her. All voices were for her. Stephens, Caradori, Eonzi de Begnis, people compared her to one or the other, and agreed with good reason, very likely, that had she been an actress none on the stage could have sm-passed her. She had reached her culmination : her voice rose triUing and bright over the storm of applause : and soared as high and joyfid as her triumph. There was a ball after the dramatic entertainments, and everybody pressed round Becky as the great point of attraction of the evening. The Eoyal Personage declared with an oath that she was perfection, and engaged her ; again and again in conversation. Little Becky's soul swelled with 1 pride and delight at these honours ; she saw fortune, fame, fashion \ before her. Lord Steyne was hex^Jave ; followed her everywhere,-^ and scarcely spoke to any one in the room beside ; and paid her the most marked compliments and attention. She still appeared in her Marquise costume, and danced a minuet with Monsieur de Truffigny, Monsieur Le Due de la Jabotik'e's attach^ ; and the Duke, who had all the traditions of the ancient Court, pronounced that Madame Crawley was worthy to have been a pupil of Vestris, or to have figured at Versailles. Only a feeling of dignity, the gout, and the strongest sense of duty and personal sacrifice, prevented his Excel- lency from dancing with her himself; and he declared in public, that a lady who could talk and dance like Mrs. Eawdon, was fit to be ambassadress at any court in Em-ope. He was only consoled when he heard that she was half a Frenchwoman by birth. " None but a compatriot," his Excellency declared, " coidd have performed that majestic dance in such a way." Then she figured in a waltz with Monsieur de Klingenspohr, the Prince of Peterwaradin's cousin and attach^. The delighted Prince, having less retenue than his French diplomatic colleague, insisted on taking a turn with the charming creature, and twirled S02 VANITY FAIK round the ballroom with her, scattering the diamonds out of his boot-tassels and hussar-jacket until his Highness was fairly out of breath. Papoosh Pasha himself woidd have liked to dance with her if that amusement had been the custom of his country. The company made a circle round her, and applauded as wildly as if she had been a Noblet or a Taglioni. Everybody was in ecstasy ; and Becky too, you may be sure. She passed by Lady Stunnington with a look of scorn. She patronised Lady Gaunt and her aston- ished and mortified sister-in-law — she ^erased all rival charmers. As for poor Mrs. Winkworth, and her long hair and great eyes, which had made such an effect at the commencement of the evening ; where was she now ? Nowhere in the race. She might tear her long hair and cry her great eyes out ; but there was not a person to heed or to deplore the discomfiture. The gi'eatest triumph of all was at supper-time. She was placed at the grand exclusive table with His Eoyal Highness the exalted personage before mentioned, and the rest of the great guests. She was served on gold plate. She might have had pearls melted into her champagne if she liked — another Cleopatra ; and the potentate of Peterwaradin would have given half the brilliants off his jacket for a kind glance from those dazzling eyes. Jabotifere wrote home about her to his government. The ladies at the other tables, who supped off mere silver, and marked Lord Steyne's con- stant attention to her, vowed it was a monstrous infatuation, a gross insult to ladies of rank. If sarcasm could have killed, Lady Stunnington would have slain her on the spot. Eawdon Crawley was scared at these triumphs. They seemed to separate his wife farther than ever from him somehow. He thought with a feeling very like pain how immeasurably she was his superior. When the hour of departure came, a crowd of young men fol- lowed her to her carriage, for which the people without bawled, the cry being caught up by the link-men who were stationed outside the tall gates of Gaunt House, congratulating each person who issued from the gate and hoping his Lordship ha^l enjoyed this noble party. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's carriage, coming up to the gate after due shouting, rattled into the illuminated courtyard, and drove up to the covered way. Rawdon put his wife into the carriage, which drove off. Mr. Wenham had proposed to him to walk home, and offered the Colonel the refreshment of a cigar. They lighted their cigars by the lamp of one of the many link- boys outside, and Rawdon walked on with his friend Wenham. Two persons separated from the crowd and followed the two gentle- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 503 men ; and when they had walked doflii Gaunt Square a few score of paces, one of the men came up, and touching Eawdon on the shoulder, said, " Beg your pardon, Colonel, I vish to speak to you most particular." This gentleman's acquaintance gave a loud whistle as the latter spoke, at which signal a cah came clattering up from those stationed at the Gate of Gaunt House — and the aide-de-camp ran round and placed himself in front of Colonel Crawley. That gallant officer at once knew what had befallen him. He was in the hands of the bailiffs. He started back, falling against the man who had first touched him. " We're three on us — it's no use bolting,'' the man behind said. "It's you, Moss, is if?" said the Colonel, who appeared to know his interlocutor. " How much is it 1 " " Only a small thing," whispered Mr. Moss, of Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and assistant officer to the Sheriff of Middlesex — " One hundred and thirty-six, six and eightpence, at the suit of Mr. Nathan." " Lend me a hundred, Wenham, for God's sake," poor Rawdon said — " I've got seventy at home." " I've not got ten pounds in the world," said poor Mr. Wenham — " Good night, my dear fellow." " Good night," said Eawdon ruefully. And Wenham walked away — and Eawdon Crawley finished his cigar as the cab drove imder Temple Bar. CHAPTER LII IN WHICH LORD STEYNE SHOIVS HIMSELF IN A MOST AMIABLE LIGHT WHEN Lord Steyne was benevolently disposed, he did nothing by halves, and his kindness towards the Crawley family did the greatest honour to his benevolent dis- crimination. His Lordship extended his good-will to little Eawdon : he pointed out to the boy's parents the necessity of sending him to a public school ; that he was of an age now when emidation, the first principles of the Latin language, pugilistic exercises, and the society of his fellow-boys would be of the greatest benefit to_ the boy. His father objected that he was not rich enough to send the child to a good public school ; his mother, that Briggs was a capital mistress for him, and had brought him on (as indeed was the fact) famously in English, the Latin rudiments, and in general learning : but all these objections disappeared before the generous perseverance of the Marquis of Steyne. His Lordship was one of the governors of that famous old collegiate institution called the Whitefriars. It had been a Cistercian Convent in old days, when the Smithfield, which is contiguous to it, was a tournament ground. Obstinate heretics used to be brought thither convenient for burning hard by. Henry VIII., the Defender of the Faith, seized upon the monastery and its possessions, and hanged and tortiu'ed some of the monks who could not accommodate themselves to the pace of his reform. Finally, a great merchant bought the house and land adjoining, in which, and with the help of other wealthy endowments of land and money, he established a famous foundation hospital for old men and children. An extern school grew round the old almost monastic foundation, which subsists still with its middle-age costume and usages ; and all Cistercians pray that it may long flourish. Of this famous house, some of the greatest noblemen, prelates, and dignitaries in England are governors : and as the boys are very comfortably lodged, fed, and educated, and subsecpently inducted to good scholarships at the University and livings in the Church, many little gentlemen are devoted to the ecclesiastical profession from their tenderest years, and there is considerable emulation to % ih m\ :, 's, COLONEL CRAWLEY IS WANTED. A NOVEL AVITHOUT A HEEO 505 procure nominations for the foundation. It was originally intended for the sons of poor and deserving clerics and laics ; but many of the noble governors of the Institution, with an enlarged and rather capricious benevolence, selected all sorts of objects for their bounty. To get an education for nothing, and a futm-e livelihood and profession assured, was so excellent a scheme that some of the richest people did not disdain it ; and not only great men's relations, but great men them- selves, sent theii' sons to profit by the chance — Eight Eev. Prelates sent their own kinsmen or the sons of their clergy, while, on the other hand, some great noblemen did not disdain to patronise the children of their confidential servants, — so that a lad entering this establish- ment had every variety of youthful society wherewith to mingle. Eawdon Crawley, though the only book which he studied was the Eacing Calendar, and though his chief recollections of polite learning were connected ■svith the floggings which he received at Eton in his early youth, had that decent and honest reverence for classical learning which all English gentlemen feel, and was glad to think that his son was to have a provision for life, perhaps, and a certain opportunity of becoming a scholar. And although his boy was his chief solace and companion, and endeared to him by a thousand small ties, about which he did not care to speak to his wife, who had all along shown the utmost indiiference to their son, yet Eawdon agrreed at once to jiart with him, and to give up his own greatest comfort and benefit for the sake of the welfare of the little lad. He did not know how fond he was of the child until it became necessary to let him go away. When he was gone, he felt more sad and downcast than he cared to own — far sadder than the boy himself, who was happy enough to enter a new career, and find companions of his o-rni age. Becky bm-st out laughing once or twice, when the Colonel, in his clumsy, incoherent way, tried to express his sentimental soitows at the boy's departme. The poor fellow felt that his dearest pleasure and closest friend was taken from him. He looked often and wistfully at the Uttle vacant bed in his cbessing- room, where the chUd used to sleep. He missed him sadly of mornings, and tried in vain to walk in the Park without him. He did not know how sohtary he was imtU little Eawdon was gone. He liked the people who were fond of him ; and would go and sit for long hours with his good-natured sister Lady Jane, and talk to her about the virtues, and good looks, and hundred good quahties of the child. Young Eawdon's aunt, we have said, was very fond of him,_ as was her httle girl, who wept copiously when the time for her cousin's departure came. The elder Eawdon was thankful for the fondness of mother and daughter. The very best and honestest feelings of 5o6 VANITY FAIE the man came out in these artless outpourings of paternal feeling in which he indulged in their presence, and encouraged by their sympathy. He secured not only Lady Jane's kindness, but her sincere regard, by the feelings which he manifested, and which he could not show to his own wife. The two kinswomen met as seldom as possible. Becky laughed bitterly at Jane's feelings and softness ; the other's kindly and gentle nature could not but revolt at her sister's callous behavioiu'. It estranged Kawdon from his wife more than he knew or acknowledged to himself She did not care for the estrangement. Indeed, she did not miss him or anybody. She looked upon him as her errand-man and humble slave. He might be ever so depressed or sulky, and she did not mark his demeanour, or only treated it with a sneer. She was busy thinking about her position, or her pleasures, or her advancement in society; she ought to have held a great place in it, that is certain. It was honest Briggs who made up the little kit for the boy which he was to take to school. Molly, the housemaid, blubbered in the passage when he went away — Molly kind and faithful in spite of a long arrear of unpaid wages. Mrs. Becky could not let her husband have the carriage to take the boy to school. Take the horses into the City ! — such a thing Avas never heard of Let a cab be brought. She did not offer to kiss him when he went : nor did the child propose to embrace her : but gave a kiss to old Briggs (whom, in general, he was very shy of caressing), and consoled her by pointing out that he was to come home on Saturdays, when she would have the benefit of seeing him. As the cab rolled towards the City, Becky's carriage rattled off to the Park. She was chatter- ing and laughing with a score of young dandies by the Serpentine, as the father and son entered at the old gates of the school — where Eawdon left the child, and came away with a sadder, purer feeling in his heart than perhaps that poor battered fellow had ever known since he himself came out of the nursery. He walked all the way home very dismally, and dined alone with Briggs. He was very kind to her, and grateful for her love and watchfulness over the boy. His conscience smote him that he had borrowed Briggs's money, and aided in deceiving her. They talked about little Rawdon a long time, for Becky only came home to dress and go out to dinner — and then he went off uneasily to drink tea with Lady Jane, and tell her of what had happened, and how little Rawdon went off like a trump, and how he was to wear a gown and little knee-breeches, and how young Blackball, Jack Blackball's son, of the old regiment, had taken him in charge and promised to be kind to him. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 507 In the course of a week young Blackball had constituted little Eawdon his fag, shoeblack, and breakfast toaster ; initiated him into the mysteries of the Latin Grammar, and thrashed him three or four times ; but not severely. The little chap's good-natured honest face won his way for him. He only got that degi-ee of beating which was, no doubt, good for him; and as for blacking shoes, toasting bread, and fagging in general, were these offices not deemed to be necessary parts of every young English gentleman's education 1 Oiu- business does not lie with the second generation and Master Eawdon's life at school, otherwise the present tale might be carried to any indefinite length. The Colonel went to see his son a short time afterwards, and found the lad sufficiently well and happy, gi-inning and laughing in his little black gown and little breeches. His father sagaciously tipped Blackball, his master, a sovereign, and seciu-ed that young gentleman's good-will towards his fag. As a protdg^ of the great Lord Steyne, the nephew of a County member, and son of a Colonel and C.B., whose name appeared in some of the most fashionable parties in the 2lorning Post, perhaps the school authorities were disposed not to look unkindly on the child. He had plenty of pocket-money, which he spent in treating his comrades royally to raspberry tarts, and he was often allowed to come home on Satiudays to his father, who always made a jubilee of that day. When free, Eawdon would take him to the play, or send him thither with the footman ; and on Sundays he went to church with Briggs and Lady Jane and his cousins. Rawdon marvelled over ln« stories about school, and fights, and fagging. Before long, he knew the names of all the masters and the principal boys as well as little Rawdon himself He invited little Eawdon's crony from school, and made both the children sick with pastry, and oysters, and porter after the play. He tried to look knowing over the Latin Grammar when little Rawdon showed him what part of that work he was "in." "Stick to it, my boy," he said to him with much gravity, " there's nothing like a good classical education ! nothing ! " VM'V^a. r,ont.pi-npt, fny hPT bnsbnTid grpw gi-pntpr pvory rLiy " Do wSat you like, — dine where you please, — go and have ginger- beer and sawdust at Astley's, or psalm-singing with Lady Jane, — only don't expect me to busy myself with the boy. I have your interests to attend to, as you can't attend to them yourself I shoidd like to know where you would have been now, and in what sort of a position in society, if I had not looked after you ? " Indeed, nobody wanted poor old Rawdon at the parties whither Becky used to go. She was often asked without him now. She talked about great people as if she had the fee-simple of May Fair ; and when the Court went into mourning, she always wore black. 5o8 VANITY FAIR i« Little Rawdoii being disposed of, Lord Stejaiej.who took such a parental interest in the affairs of this amiable poor family, thought that theu- expenses might be veiy advantageously curtailed by the departure of Miss Briggs ; and that Becky was quite clever enough to take the management of her own house. It has been narrated in a former chapter, how the benevolent nobleman had given his prot^de money to pay off her little debt to Miss Briggs, who how- ever still remained behind with her friends ; whence my lord came to the painful conclusion that Mrs. Crawley had made some other use of the money confided to her than that for which her generous patron had given the loan. However, Lord Steyne was not so rude as to impart his suspicions upon this head to Mrs. Becky, whose feelings might be hurt by any controversy on the money-question, and who might have a thousand painful reasons for disposing other- wise of his Lordship's generous loan. But he determined to satisfy himself of the real state of the ease : and instituted the necessary inquiries in a most cautious and delicate manner. In the first place he took an early opportunity of pumping Miss Briggs. That was not a difficult operation. A very little encour- agement would set that worthy woman to talk volubly, and pour out all within her. And one day when Mrs. Rawdon had gone out to drive (as Mr. Fiche, his Lordship's confidential servant, easily learned at the livery stables where the Crawleys kept their carriage and horses, or rather, where the livery-man kept a carriage and horses for Mr. and Mrs. Crawley) — my lord cbopped in upon the Curzon Street house — asked Briggs for a cup of coffee — told her that he had good accounts of the little boy at school — and in five minutes found out from her that Mrs. Rawdon had given her nothing except a black silk gown, for which Miss Briggs was immensely grateful. He laughed within himself at this artless story. For the truth is, our dear friend Rebecca had given him a most circumstantial nar- ration of Briggs's delight at receiving her money — eleven hundred and twenty-five pounds — and in what seciuities she had invested it ; and what a pang Becky herself felt in being obliged to pay away such a delightful sum of money. " Who knows," the dear woman may have thought within herself, " perhaps he may give me a little more 1" My lord, however, made no such proposal to the little schemer — very likely thinking that he had been sufficiently generous abeady. He had the curiosity, then, to ask Miss Briggs about the state of her private affairs — and she told his Lordship candidly what her position was — how Miss Crawley had left her a legacy — how her relatives had had part of it — how Colonel Crawley had put out another portion, for which she had the best security and interest — and how Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon had kindly busied themselves with A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 509 Sir Pitt, who was to dispose of the remainder most advantageously for her, when he had time. My lord asked how much the Colonel had already invested for her, and Miss Briggs at once and truly told him that the sum was six hundred and odd pounds. But as soon as she had told her story, the voluble Briggs repented of her frankness, and besought my lord not to tell Mr. Crawley of the confessions which she had made. " The Colonel was so kind — Mr. Crawley might be offended and pay back the money, for which she could get no such good interest anywhere else." Lord Steyne, laughing, promised he never would divulge their conversation, and when he and Miss Briggs parted he laughed still more. " What an accomplished little devil it is ! " thought he. " What a splendid actress and manager ! She had almost got a second supply out of me the other day, with her coaxing ways. She beats all the women I have ever seen in the course of all my well-spent life. They are babies compared to her. I am a greenhorn myself, and a fool in her hands — an old fool. She is unsurpassable in lies." His Lordship's admiration for Becky rose immeasurably at this proof of her cleverness. Getting the money was nothing — but getting double the sum she wanted, and paying nobody — it was a magnifi- cent stroke. And Crawley, my lord thought — Crawley is not such a fool as he looks and seems. He has managed the matter cleverly enough on his side. Nobody would ever have supposed from his face and demeanour that he knew anything about this money busi- ness ; and yet he put her up to it, and has spent the money, no doubt. In this opinion my lord, we know, was mistaken ; but it influenced a good deal his behaviour towards Colonel C'rawlej', whom he began to treat with even less than that semblance of respect which he had formerly shown towards that gentleman. It never entered into the head of Mrs. Crawley's patron that the little lady might be making a purse for herself; and, perhaps, if the truth must be told, he judged of Colonel Crawley by his experience of other husbands, whom he had known in the course of the long and weU-spent life which had made him acquainted with a great deal of the weakness of mankind. My lord had bought so many men during his life, that he was surely to be pardoned for supposing that he had found the price of this one. He taxed Becky upon the point on the very first occasion when he met her alone, and he complimented her, good-humouredly, on her cleverness in getting more than the money which she required. Becky was only a httle taken aback. It was not the habit of this dear creature to tell falsehoods, except when necessity compelled, but in these great emergencies it was her practice to lie very freely ; and in an instant she was ready with another neat plausible circum- 510 VANITY FAIE stantial story which she administered to her patron. The previous statement which she had made to him was a falsehood — a wicked falsehood : she owned it ; but who had made her tell it 1 " All, my Lord," she said, "you don't know all I have to suifer and bear in silence : you see me gay and happy before you — you little know what I have to endure when there is no protector near me. It was my husband, by threats and the most savage treatment, forced me to ask for that sum about which I deceived you. It was he, who, foreseeing that questions might be asked regarding the disposal of the money, forced me to account for it as I did. He took the money. He told me he had paid Miss Briggs ; I did not want, I did not dare to doubt him. Pardon the wrong which a desperate man is forced to commit, and pity a miserable, miserable woman." She burst into tears as she spoke. Persecuted virtue never looked more bewitchingly wretched. They had a long conversation, driving round and round the Eegent's Park in Mrs. Crawley's carriage together, a conversation of which it is not necessary to repeat the details : but the upshot of it was, that, when Becky came home, she flew to her dear Briggs with a smiling face, and announced that she had some very good news for her. Lord Steyne had acted in the noblest and most generous manner. He was always thinking how and when he could do good. Now that little Kawdon was gone to school, a dear companion and friend wa? no longer necessary to her. She was grieved beyond measure to part with Briggs ; but her means required that she should practise every retrenchment, and her sorrow was mitigated by the idea that her dear Briggs would be far better provided for by her generous patron than in her humble home. Mrs. Pilkington, the housekeeper at Gauntly Hall, was growing exceedingly old, feeble, and rheumatic : she was not equal to the work of superin- tending that vast mansion, and must be on the look-out for a successor. It was a splendid position. The family did not go to Gauntly once in two years. At other times the housekeeper was the mistress of the magnificent mansion — had four covers daily for her table ; was visited by the clergy and the most respectable people of the county — was the lady of Gauntly, in fact ; and the two last housekeepers before Mrs. Pilkington had married rectors of Gauntly: but Mrs. P. could not, being the aunt of the present Eector. The place was not to be hers yet ; but she might go down on a visit to Mrs. Pilkington, and see whether she would like to succeed her. What words can paint the ecstatic gratitude of Briggs ! All she stipidated for was that little Eawdon should be allowed to come down and see her at the Hall. Becky promised this— anything. She ran up to her husband when he came home, and told him the joyful news.. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 511 Ra-wdon was glad, deuced glad ; the weight was oif his conscience about poor Briggs's money. She was provided for, at any rate, but — but his mind was disquiet. He did not seem to be all right some- how. He told little Southdown what Lord Steyne had done, and the young man eyed Crawley with an all- which surprised the latter. He told Lady Jane of this second proof of Steyne's bounty, and she, too, looked odd and alarmed ; so did Sir Pitt. " She is too clever and — and gay to be allowed to go from party to party with- out a companion," both said. " You must go with her, Rawdon, wherever she goes, and you must have somebody with her — one of the girls from Queen's Crawley, perhaps, though they were rather giddy guardians for her." Somebody Becky should have. But in the meantime it was clear that honest Briggs must not lose her chance of settlement for life ; and so she and her bags were packed, and she set off on her journey. And so two of Rawdon's out-sentinels were in the hands of the enemy. Sir Pitt went and expostulated with his sister-in-law upon the subject of the dismissal of Briggs, and other matters of delicate family interest. In vain she pointed out to him how necessary was the protection of Lord Steyne for her pojr husband; how cruel it would be on their part to deprive Briggs of the position offered to her. Cajolements, coaxings, smiles, tears could not satisfy Sir Pitt, and he had something very like a quarrel with his once admired Becky. He spoke of the honour of the family : the unsullied repu- tation of the Crawleys ; expressed himself in indignant tones about her receiving those young Frenchmen — those wild yoimg men of fashion, my Lord Steyne himself, whose carriage was always at her door, who passed horn's daily in her company, and whose constant presence made the world talk about her. As the head of the house he implored her to be more prudent. Society was already speaking lightly of her. Lord Steyne, though a nobleman of the greatest station and talents was a man whose attentions would compromise any woman ; he besought, he implored, he commanded his sister-in- law to be watchful in her intercourse with that nobleman. Becky promised anything and everything Pitt wanted ; but Lord Steyne came to her house as often as ever, and Sir Pitt's anger in creased. I wonder was Lady Jane angry or pleased that her husband at last found fault with his favourite Rebecca t. Lord Steyne's visits continuing, his own ceased ; and his wife was for refusing all further intercourse with that nobleman, and declining the invitation to the Charade-night which the Marchioness sent to her; but Sir Pitt thought it was necessary to accept it, as His Royal Highness would be there. 512 VANITY FAIR Although he went to the party in question, Sir Pitt quitted it very early, and his wife, too, was very glad to come away. Becky hardly so much as spoke to him or noticed her sister-in-law. Pitt Crawley declared her behaviour was monstrously indecorous, repro- bated in strong terms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressing, as highly unbecoming a British female ; and after the charades were over, took his brother Rawdon severely to task for appearing him- self, and allowing his wife to join in such improper exhibitions. Rawdon said she should not join in any more such amusements : but indeed, and perhaps from hints from his elder brother and sister, he had already become a very watchful and exemplary domestic character. He left off his clubs and billiards. He never left home. He took Becky out to drive : he went laboriously with her to all her parties. Whenever my Lord Steyne called, he was sure to find the Colonel. And when Becky proposed to go out with- out her husband, or received invitations for herself, he peremptorily ordered her to refuse them ; and there was that in the gentleman's manner which enforced obedience. Little Becky, to do her justice, was charmed with Rawdon's gallantry. If he was surly, she never was. Whether friends were present or absent, she had always a kind smile for him, and was' attentive to his pleasure and comfort. It was the early days of their marriage over again : the same good- humour, 2}revenances, merriment, and artless confidence and regard. " How much pleasanter it is," she would say, " to have you by my side in the carriage than that foolish old Briggs ! Let us always go on so, dear Rawdon. How nice it would be, and how happy we should always be, if we had but the money ! He fell asleep after dinner in his chair ; he did not see the face opposite to him, haggard, weary, and terrible ; it lighted up with fresh candid smiles when he woke. It kissed him gaily. He wondered that he had ever had suspicions. No, he never had suspicions ; all those dumb doubts and surly misgivings which had been gathering on his mind, were mere idle jealousies. She was fond of him ; she always had been. As for her shining in society, it was no fault of hers ; she was formed to shine there. Was there any woman who could talk, or sing, or do anything like her 1 If she would but Hke the boy ! Rawdon thought. But the mother and son never could be brought together. And it was while Rawdon's mind was agitated with these doubts and perplexities that the incident occm-red which was mentioned in the last chapter; and the unfortunate Colonel found himself a prisoner away from home. CHAPTER LIII A RESCUE AND A CATASTROPHE FEIEISTD RAWDON drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor Street, and was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality. Morning was breaking over the cheerful housetops of Chancery Lane as the rattling cab woke up the echoes there. A little pink-eyed Jew-boy, with a head as ruddy as the rising morn, let the party into the house, and Eawdon was welcomed to the ground-floor apartments by Mr. Moss, his travelling companion and host, who cheerfully asked him if he would like a glass of some- thing warm after his drive. The Colonel was not so depressed as some mortals would be, who, quitting a palace and a placens iixar, find themselves barred into a spimging-house ; for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger at Mr. Moss's establishment once or twice before. We have not thought it necessary in the previous course of this narrative to mention these trivial httle domestic incidents : but the reader may be assm-ed that they can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man who lives on nothing a year. Upon his first visit to Mr. Moss, the Colonel, then a bachelor, had been liberated by the generosity of his Aunt ; on the second mishap, little Becky, with the greatest spuit and kindness, had borrowed a sum of money from Lord Southdown, and had coaxed her husband's creditor (who was her shawl, velvet-gown, lace pocket- handkerchief, trinket, and gimcrack purveyor, indeed) to take a portion of the sum claimed, and Eawdon's promissory note for the remainder : so on both these occasions the capture and release had been conducted with the utmost gaDantry on all sides, and Moss and the Colonel were therefore on the very best of terms. " You'll find your old bed, Colonel, and everything comfortable,'' that gentleman said, " as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure it's kep aired, and by the best of company, too. It was slep in the night afore last by the Honourable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth Dragoons, whose Mar took him out, after a fortnight, jest to punish him, slie said. But, Law bless you, I promise you, he punished my champagne, and had a party 'ere every night — leglar 1 2 K 514 VANITY FAIR tip-top swells, down from the clubs and the West End— Oapting Ragg, the Honourable Deuceaee, who lives in the Temple, and some fellers as knows a good glass of wine, I warrant you. I've got a Doctor of Diwinity upstairs, five gents in the Coffee-room, and Mrs. Moss has a tably-dy-hoty at half-pa.9t five, and a Httle cards or music afterwards, when we shall be most happy to see you." "I'll ring when I want anything," said Rawdou, and went quietly to his bedroom. He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be disturbed by any little shocks of fate. A weaker man would have sent off a letter to his wife on the instant of his capture. "But what is the use of disturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon. " She won't know whether I am in my room or not. It will be time enough to write to her when she has had her sleep out, and I have had mine. It's only a hundrcd-and-seventy, and the deuce is in it if we can't raise that." And so, thinking about little Rawdon (whom he would not have know that he was in such a queer place), the Colonel turned into the bed lately occupied by Captain Famish, and fell asleep. It was ten o'clock when he woke up, and the ruddy-headed youth brought him, with conscious pride, a fine silver dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operation of shaving. Indeed Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, was splendid throughout. There were dirty trays, and wine-coolers eii permanence on the sideboard, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingy yellow satin hangings to the barred windows which looked into Cursitor Street — vast and dirty gilt picture-frames surroimding pieces sporting and sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters ; and fetched the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in the course of which they were sold and bought over and over again. The Colonel's breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeous plated ware. Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl-papers, appeared with the teapot, and, smiling, asked the Colonel how he had slep ? and she brought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great people who had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night before. It contained a brilliant account of the festivities, and of the beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable personifications. After a lively chat with this lady (who sat on the edge of the breakfast table in an easy attitude displaying the drapery of her stocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was down at heel), Colonel Crawley called for pens and ink, and paper ; and being asked how many sheets, chose one which was brought to him between Miss Moss's own finger and thumb. Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in ; many a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hurried lines of entreaty, and paced up and down that A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 515 awful room until his messenger brought back the reply. Poor men always use messengers instead of the post. Who has not had their letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcement that a person is waiting in the hall 1 Now on the score of his application, Eawdon had not many misgivings. '^' Dear Becky (Rawdon wrote), — / hope you slept well. Don't be frightened if I don't bring you in your coffy. Last night as I was coming home smoaking, I met with an accadent. I was nabbed by Moss of Cursitor Street — from whose gilt and splendul imrler I write this— the same that had me this time two years. Miss Moss brought in my tea— she is grown very /a^, and, as usual, had her stockens down at heal. "It's Nathan's business — a huncbed- and -fifty — with costs, himdred-and-seventy. Please send me my desk and some cloths — I'm in pumps and a white tye (something like Miss M.'s stockings) — I've seventy in it. And as soon as you get this, Drive to Nathan's — offer him seventy-five down, and ask him to renew — say I'll take wine — we may as well have some dinner sherry ; but not piicturs, they're too dear. " If he won't stand it. Take my ticker and such of your things as you can spare, and send them to Balls — we must, of coarse, have the sum to-night. It won't do to let it stand over, as to-morrow's Sunday ; the beds here are not very clean, and there may be other things out against me — I'm glad it an't Rawdon's Saturday for coming home. God bless you. — Yours in haste, " R. C. " P.S. — Make haste and come." This letter, sealed with a wafer, was despatched by one of the messengers who are always hanging about Mr. JMoss's establishment ; and Rawdon, having seen him depart, went out in the courtyard, and smoked his cigar with a tolerably easy mind — in spite of the bars overhead ; for Mr. Moss's coiutyard is railed in like a cage, lest the gentlemen who are boarding with him should take a fancy to escape from his hospitahty. Three hours, he calculated, would be the utmost time required, before Becky should arrive and open his prison doors : and he passed these pretty cheerfully in smoking, in reading the paper, and in the coffee-room with an acquaintance, Captain Walker, who happened to be there, and with whom he cut for sixpences for some hours, with pretty equal luck on either side. But the day passed away and no messenger returned, — no 5i6 VANITY FAIE Becky. Mrs. Moss's tably-dy-hoty was served at the appointed hour of half-past five, when such of the gentlemen lodging in the house ai3 could afford to pay for tlie banquet, came and partook of it in the splendid front parlour before described, and with which Mr. Crawley's temporary lodging communicated, when Miss M. (Mi.ss Hem, as her papa called her), appeared without the cmi- papers of the morning, and Mrs. Hem did the honours of a prime boiled leg of mutton and tmiiips, of which the Colonel ate with a very faint appetite. Asked whether he would "stand" a bottle of champagne for the company, he consented, and the ladies drank to his 'ealth, and Mr. Moss, in the most polite manner, "looked towards him." In the midst of this repast, however, the door-bell was heard — young Moss of the ruddy hair rose up with the keys and answered the summons, and coming back, told the Colonel that the messenger had retmned with a bag, a desk, and a letter, which he gave him. " No ceramony. Colonel, I beg," said Mrs. Moss with a wave of her hand, and he opened the letter rather tremulously. — It was a beautiful letter, highly scented, on a pink paper, and with a light green seal. " MoN PAUVEE CHEE PETIT (Mrs. Crawley wrote), — I could not sleep one wink for thinking of what had become of mij odious old monstre : and only got to rest in the morning after senduig for Mr. Blench (for I was in a fever), who gave me a composing draught and left orders with Finette that I should be disturbed on no account. So that my poor old man's messenger, who had bien mauvaise mine Finette says, and sentoit le genievre, remained in the hall for some hours waiting my bell. You may fancy my state when I read your poor dear old ill-spelt letter. "Ill as I was, I instantly called for the carriage, and as soon as I was dressed (though I couldn't drink a drop of chocolate — I assure you I couldn't without my monstre to bring it to me), I drove ventre a terre to Nathan's. I saw him — I wept — I cried — I fell at his odious knees. Nothing would mollify the horrid man. He would have all the money, he said, or keep my poor monstre in prison. I drove home with the intention of paying that triste visite chez mon oncle (when every trinket I have should be at your disposal though they would not fetch a hundred pounds, for some, you know, are with ce cher oncle already), and found Milor there with the Bulgarian old sheep-faced monster, who had come to compliment me upon last night's perfonnances. Paddington came in, too, drawling and lisping and twiddling his hair ; so did Champignac, and his chef^everybody with foison of compliments A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 517 and pretty speeches — plaguing poor me, who longed to be rid of them, and was thinking ervry moment of the time of mon pauvre 2'>risohnier. " When they were gone, I went down on my knees to Milor ; told him we were going to pawn everything, and begged and prayed him to give me two hundred pounds. He pish'd and psha'd in a fiu-y — told me not to be such a fool as to pawn — and said he would see whether he could lend me the money. At last he went away, promising that he would send it me in the morning : when I will bring it to my poor old monster with a kiss from his affectionate " Becky. " I am writing in bed. Oh, I have such a headache and such a heartache ! " When Eawdon read over this letter, he turned so red and looked so savage, that the company at the table d'hote easily per- ceived that bad news had reached him. All his suspicions, which he had been trying to banish, returned upon him. She could not even go out and sell her trinkets to free him. She could laugh and talk about ci^mpliments paid to her, whilst lie was in prison. Who had put him there 1 Wenham had walked with him. Was there ... He coidd hardly bear to think of what he suspected. Leaving the room hiuriedly, he ran into his own — opened his desk, wrote two hiUTied lines, which he directed to Sir Pitt or Lady Crawley, and bade the messenger carry them at once to Gaunt Street, bidtling him to take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he was back in an hour. Lr the note he besought his dear brother and sister, for the sake of God ; for the sake of his dear child and his honoiu- ; to come to him and relieve him from his difficulty. He was in prison : he wanted a huntbed pounds to set him free — he entreated them to come to him. He went back to the dining - room after despatching his messenger, and called for more wine. He laughed and talked with a strange boisterousness, as the people thought. Sometimes he laughed madly at his own fears, and went on drinking for an hour ; listening all the whOe for the carriage which was to bring his fate back. At the expiration of that time, wheels were heard whirling up to the gate — the young Janitor went out with his gate-keys. It was a lady whom he let in at the bailiffs door. " Colonel Crawley," she said, trembhng very much. He, with a knowing look, locked the outer door upon her — then unlocked and 5i8 VANITY FAIR opened the inner one, and calling out, "Colonel, you're wanted," led her into the back parlour, which he occupied. Rawdon came in from the dining-parlour where all those people were carousing, into his back room ; a flare of coarse light following him into the apartment where the lady stood, still very nervous. "It is I, Rawdon," she said, in a timid voice, which she strove to render cheerful. "It is Jane." Rawdon was quite overcome by that kind voice and presence. He ran up to her — caught her in his arms — gasped out some inarticulate words of thanks, and fairly sobbed on her shoulder. She did not know the cause of his emotion. The bills of Mr. Moss were quickly settled, perhaps to the dis- appointment of that gentleman, who had counted on having the Colonel as his guest over Sunday at least ; and Jane, with beaming smiles and happiness in her eyes, carried away Rawdon from the bailiffs house, and they went homewards in the cab in which she had hastened to his release. " Pitt was gone to a parliamentary dinner," she said, " when Rawdon's note came, and so, dear Rawdon, I — I came myself " ; and she put her kind hand in his. Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley that Pitt was away at that dinner. Rawdon thanked his sister a hundred times, and with an ardour of gratitude which touched and almost alarmed that soft-hearted woman. " Oh," said he, in his rude, artless way, " you — you don't know how I'm changed since I've known you, and — and little Rawdy. I — I'd like to change somehow. You see I want — I want — to be — " He did not finish the sentence, but she could interpret it. And that night after he left her, and as she sate by her own little boy's bed, she prayed humbly for that poor wayworn sinner. Rawdon left her and walked home rapidly. It was nine o'clock at night. He ran across the streets, and the great squares of Vanity Fair, and at length came up breathless opposite his own house. He started back and fell against the railings, trembling as he looked up. The drawing-room windows were blazing with light. She had said that she was in bed and ill. He stood there for some tiaie, the light from the rooms on his pale face. He took out his door-key and let himself into the house. He could hear laughter in the upper rooms. He was in the ball-dress in which he had been captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs ; leaning against the banisters at the stair-head.~ Nobody was stirring in the house besides— all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heard laughter within — laughter and singing. Becky was smging a snatch of the song of the night before ; a hoarse voice shouted " Brava ! Brava ! "—it was Lord Steyne's. Rawdon opened the door and went in. A little table with a A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 519 dinner was laid out — and wine and plate. Steyne was hanging over the sofa on which Becky sate. The wretched woman was in a brilliant full toilette, her arms and all her fbigers sparkling with bracelets and rings ; and the brilliants on her breast which Steyne had given her. He had her hand in his, and was bowing o-ser it to kiss it, when Becky started up with a faint scream as she caught sight of Eawdon's white face. At the next uistant she tried a smile, a horrid smUe, as if to welcome her husband : and Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in his looks. He, too, att«mpted a laugh — and came forward holding out his hand. '-What, come back ! How d'ye do, Crawley?" he said, the nerves of his mouth twitching as he tried to grin at the iutnider. There was that in Rawdon's face which caused Becky to fling herself before him. "I am innocent, Eawdon," she said; "before God, I am innocent." She clung hold of his coat, of his hands ; her own were all covereil with serpents, and rings, and baubles. " I am innocent. — Say I am innocent," she said to Lord Steyne. He thought a trap had been laid for him, and was as furious with the wife as with the husband. " You innocent ! Damn you," he screamed out. " You innocent ! Why, every trinket you have on your body is paid for by me. I have given you thousands of pounds which this fellow has spent, and for which he has sold you. Innocent, by ! You're as innocent as your mother, the ballet- girl, and your husband the bully. Don't think to frighten me as you have done others. Make way, sir, and let me pass ; " and Lord Stej-ne seized up his hat, and, with flame in his eyes, and looking his enemy fiercely in the face, marched upon him, never for a moment doubting that the other would give way. But Piawdou Crawley springing out, seized him by the neckcloth, imtil Steyne, almost strangled, -writhed, and bent imder his arm. " You lie, you dog ! " said Eawdon. " You lie, you coward and villain ! " And he struck the Peer twice over the face with his open hand, and flung him bleeding to the ground. It was all done before Eebecca could interpose. She stood there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong, brave, and \dctorious. " Come here," he said. — She came up at once. "Take off those things." — She began, trembling, pvdling the jewels from her arms, and the rings from her shaking fingers, and held them all in a heap, quivering and looking up at him. "Throw them down," he said, and she dropped them. He tore the diamond ornament out of her breast, and flung it at Lord Steyne. It cut him on his bald forehead. Steyne wore the scar to his dying day. " Come upstairs," Eawdon said to his wife. 520 VAKITY FAIR "Don't kill me, Rawdon," she said. He laughed savagely. — " I want to see if that man lies about the money as he has about me. Has he given you any 1 " " No," said Rebecca, " that is " " Give me your keys," Rawdon answered, and they went out together. Rebecca gave him all the keys but one : and she was in hopes that he would not have remarked the absence of that. It belonged to the little desk which Amelia had given her in early days, and which she kept in a secret place. But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobes, throwing the multifarious trumpery of their contents here and there, and at last he found the desk. The woman was forced to open it. It contained papers, love-letters many years old — all sorts of small trinkets and woman's memoranda. And it con- tained a pocket-book with bank-notes. Some of these were dated ten years back, too, and one was quite a fresh one —a note for a thousand pounds which Lord Steyne had given her. "Did he give you this?" Rawdon said. " Yes," Rebecca answered. " I'll send it to him to-day," Rawdon said (for day had dawned again, and many hours had passed in this search), " and I will pay Briggs, who was kind to the boy, and some of the debts. You will let me know where I shall send the rest to you. You might have spared me a hundred pounds, Becky, out of all this — I have always shared with you." " I am innocent," said Becky. And he left her without another word. What were her thoughts when he left her ? She remained for hours after he was gone, the sunshine pouring into the room, and Rebecca sitting alone on the bed's edge. The drawers were all opened and their contents scattered about, — dresses and feathers, scarfs and trinkets, a heap of tumbled vanities lying in a wreck. Her hair was falling over her shoulders ; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched the brilliants out of it. She heard him go downstairs a few minutes after he left her, and the door slamming and closing on him. She knew he would never come back. He was gone for ever. Would he kill himself! — she thought — not until after he had met Lord Steyne. She thought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it. Ah, how dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely, and profitless ! Should she take laudanum, and end it, too — have done with all hopes, schemes, debts, and triumphs 1 The French maid found her in this position — sitting in the midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes. The woman A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 521 was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay. "Mon Dieii, Madame, what has happened 1 " she asked. What had happened 1 Was she guilty or not 1 She said not ; but who conld tell what was truth which ciime from those lips ; or if that corrupt heart was in this case pure 1 All her lies and her schemes, all her selfishness and her wiles, all her wit and genius had come to this bankruptcy. The woman closed the curtains, and with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded her mistress to lie down on the bed. Then she "went below and gathered up the trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca dropped them there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away. CHAPTER LIV SUNDAY AFTER THE BATTLE THE mansion of Sir Pitt Crawley, in Great Gaunt Street, was just beginning to dress itself for the day, as Eawdon, in his evening costume, which he had now worn two days, passed by the scared female who was scouring the steps, and entered into liis brother's study. Lady Jane, in her morning-gown, was up and above stairs in the nursery superintending the toilettes of her chil- dren, and listening to the morning prayers which the little creatures performed at her knee. Every morning she and they performed this duty privately, and before the public ceremonial at which Sir Pitt presided, and at which all the people of the household were expected to assemble. Eawdon sate down in the study before the Baronet's table, set out with the orderly blue books and the letters, the neatly docketed biUs and symmetrical pamphlets ; the locked account-books, desks, and despatch boxes, the Bible, the Quarterh/ Review, and the Court (hiide, which all stood as if on parade awaiting the inspection of their chief. A book of family sermons, one of which Sir Pitt was in the habit of administering to his family on Sunday mornings, lay ready on the study table, and awaiting his judicious selection. And by the sermon-book was the Observer newspaper, damp and neatly folded, and for Sir Pitt's own private use. His gentleman alone took the opportunity of perusing the newspaper, before he laid it by his master's desk. Before he had brought it into the study that morn- ing, he had read in the journal a flaming account of "Festivities at Gaunt House," with the names of all the distinguished personages invited by the Marquis of Steyne to meet His Pioyal Highness. Having made comments upon this entertainment to the housekeeper and her niece as they were taking early tea and hot buttered toast in the former lady's apartment, and wondered how the Eawding Crawleys could git on, the valet had damped and folded the paper once more, so that it looked quite fresh and innocent against the arrival of the master of the house. Poor Eawdon took up the paper and began to try and read it until his brother should amve. But the print fell blank upon his A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 523 eyes ; and he did not know in the least what he was reading. Tlie Government news and appointments (which Sir Pitt as a pubHc man was bound to peruse, otherwise he would by no means permit the introduction of Sunday papers into his household), the theatrical criticisms, the fight for a hundred pounds a side between the Barking Butcher and the Tutbury Pet, the Gaunt House chronicle itself, whicli contained a most complimentary though guarded account of the famous charades of which Mrs. Becky had been the heroine — all these passed as in a haze before Piawdon, as he sate waiting the arriA'rtl of the chief of the family. Punctually, as the shrill-toned bell of the black marble study clock began to chime nine. Sir Pitt made his appearance, fresh, neat, smugly shaved, with a waxy clean face, and stiff shirt collar, his scanty hair combed and oiled, trimming his nails as he descended the stairs majestically, in a starched cravat and a grey flannel dressing- gown, — a real old English gentleman, in a word, — a model of neatness and every propriety. He started when he saw poor Rawdon in his study in tumbled clothes, with bloodshot eyes, and his hair over his face. He thought his brother was not sober, and had been out all night on some orgy. " Good gracious, Rawdon," he said, with a blank face, " what brings you here at this time of the morning ? Why ain't you at home 1 " " Home," said Rawdon, with a wild laugh. " Don't be frightened, Pitt. I'm not drunk. Shut the door ; I want to speak to you." Pitt closed the door and came up to the table, where he sate down in the other arm-chair, — that one placed for the reception of the steward, agent, or confidential visitor who came to transact bu!5iness with the Baronet, — and trimmed his nails more vehemently than ever. " Pitt, it's all over with me," the Colonel said, after a pause. " I'm done." "I always said it would come to this," the Baronet cried peevishly, and beating a tune with his clean-trimmed nails. " I warned you a thousand times. I can't help you any more. Every shilling of my money is tied up. Even the lumdred pounds that Jane took you last night were promised to my lawyer to-morrow morning ; and the want of it will put me to great inconvenience. I don't mean to say that I won't assist you ultimately. But as for paying your creditors in full, I might as well hope to pay the National Debt. It is madness, sheer madness, to think of such a thing. You must come to a compromise. It's a painful tiling for the family ; but everybody does it. There was George Kitely, Lord Ragland's son, went through the Court last week, and was what they call whitewashed, I believe. Lord Ragland would not pay a shilling for him, and " 524 VANITY FAIE " It's not money I want," Eawdon broke in. " I'm not come to you about myself. Never mind wliat happens to me " " Wliat is the matter, then 1 " said Pitt, somewhat relieved. " It's the boy," said Eawdon in a husky voice. " I want you to promise me that you will take charge of him when I'm gone. That dear good wife of yours has always been good to him ; and he's fonder of her than he is .of his . . . — Damn it. Look here, Pitt — you know that I was to have had Miss Crawley's money. I wasn't brought up like a younger brother : but was always encouraged to be extra- vagant and kep idle. But for this I might have been quite a different man. I didn't do my duty with the regiment so bad. You know how I was thrown over about the money, and who got it." " After the sacrifices I have made, and the manner in which I have stood by you, I think this sort of reproach is useless," Sir Pitt said. " Your marriage was your own doing, not mine." "That's over now," said Eawdon. — "That's over now." And the words were wrenched from him with a groan, which made his brother start. " Good God ! is she dead 1 " Sir Pitt said, with a voice of genuine alarm and commiseration. " I wish /was," Eawdon replied. " If it wasn't for little Eawdon I'd have cut my throat this morning — and that damned villain's too." Sir Pitt instantly guessed the truth, and surmised that Lord Steyne was the person whose life Eawdon wished to take. The Colonel told his senior briefly, and in broken accents, the circum- stances of the case. " It was a regular plan between that scoundrel and her," he said. " The bailiffs were put upon me : I was taken as I was going out of his house : when I wrote to her for money, she said she was ill in bed, and put me off to another day. And when I got home I found her in diamonds and sitting with that villain alone." He then went on to describe hurriedly the personal conflict with Lord Steyne. To an affau- of that nature, of course, he said, there was but one issue : and after his conference with his brother, he was going away to make the necessary arrangements for the meeting which must ensue. " And as it may end fatally with me," Eawdon said with a broken voice, " and as the boy has no mother, I must leave him to you and Jane, Pitt— only it will be a comfort to me if you will promise me to be his friend." The elder brother was much affected, and shook Eawdon's hand with a cordiality seldom exhibited by him. Eawdon passed his hand over his shaggy eyebrows. "Thank you, brother," said he. "I know I can trust your word." " I will, upon my honour," the Baronet said. And thus, and ahnost mutely, this bargain was struck between them. SIR PITT S STUDY-CHAIR, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 525 Then Eawdon took out of his pocket the Httle pocket-book which he had discovered in Becky's desk : and from which he drew a bundle of the notes which it contained. " Here's six hundred," he said — " you didn't know I was so ricli. I want you to give the money to Briggs, who lent it to us — and who was kind to the boy — and I've alw^ays felt ashamed of having taken the poor old woman's money. And here's some more — I've only kept back a few pomids — which Becky may as well have, to get on with." As he spoke he took hold of the other notes to give to his brother : but his hands shook, and he was so agitated that the pocket-book fell from him, and out of it the thousand-pound note which had been the last of the unlucky Becky's winnings. Pitt stooped and picked them up, amazed at so much wealth. " Not that," Eawdon said — " I hope to put a bullet into the man whom that belongs to." He had thought to himself, it -would be a fine revenge to wrap a ball in the note, and kill Steyne with it. After this colloquy the brothers once more shook hands and parted. Lady Jane had heard of the Colonel's arrival and was wait- ing for her husband in the adjoining dining-room, with female instinct, auguring evil. The door of the cUning-room happened to be left open, and the lady of com'se was issuing from it as the two brothers passed out of the study. She held out her hand to Eawdon, and said she was glad he was come to breakfast ; though she could per- ceive, by liis haggard vmshorn face, and the dark looks of her husband, that there was very little question of breakfast between them. Eawdon muttered some excuses about an engagement, squeezing hard the timid little hand which his sister-in-law reached out to him. Her imploring eyes coidd read nothing but calamity in his face ; but he went away without another word. Nor did Sir Pitt vouchsafe her any explanation. The children came up to salute him, and he kissed them in his visual frigid manner. The mother took both of them close to herself, and held a hand of each of them as they knelt down to prayers, which Sir Pitt read to them, and to the servants in their Sunday suits or liveries, ranged upon chairs on the other side of the hissing tea-urn. Breakfast was so late that day, in conse- quence of the delays which had occurred, that the church-bells began to ring whilst they were sitting over their meal : and Lady Jane was too ill, she said, to go to church, though her thoughts had been entirely astray during the period of family devotion. Eawdon Crawley meanwhile humed on from Great Gaunt Street, and knocking at the great bronze Medusa's head which stands on the portal of Gaunt House, brought out the purple Silenus in a red and silver waistcoat, who acts as porter of that palace. The man was scared also by the Colonel's dishevelled appearance, and barred the 526 VANITY FAIR way as ii afraid that the other was going to force it. But Colonel Crawley only took out a card and enjoined him particularly to send it in to Lord Steyne, and to mark the atldress written on it, and say that Colonel Crawley would be all day after one o'clock at the Regent Club in St. James's Street — not at home. The fat red-faced man looked after him with astonishment as he strode away ; so did the people in their Sunday clothes who were out so early ; the charity boys with shining faces, the greengrocer lolling at his door, and the publican shutting his shutters in the sunshine, against service com- menced. The people joked at the cab-stand about his appearance, as he took a caniage there, and told the driver to drive him to Knightsbridge BaiTacks. All the bells were jangling and tolling as he reached that place. He might have seen his old acquaintance Amelia on her way from Brompton to Russell Square had he been looking out. Troops of schools were on their march to church, the shiny pavement and out- sides of coaches in the subiu-bs were thronged with people out upon their Sunday pleasure ; but the Colonel was much too busy to take any heed of these phenomena, and arriving at Knightsbridge, speedily made his way up to the room of his old friend and comrade Captain Macmurdo, who Crawley found, to his satisfaction, was in barracks. Captain Macmurdo, a veteran officer and Waterloo man, greatly liked by his regiment, in which want of money alone prevented him from attaining the highest ranks, was enjoying the forenoon calmly in bed. He had been at a fast sujiper-party, given the night before by Captain the Honourable George Cinqbars, at his house in Brompton Square, to several young men of the regiment, and a number of ladies of the corps de ballet, and old Mac, who was at home with people of all ages and ranks, and consorted with generals, dog-fanciers, opera- dancers, bruisers, and every kind of person, in a word, was resting himself after the night's labom-s, and, not being on duty, was in bed. His room was hung roimd with boxing, sporting, and dancing pictures, presented to him by comrades as they retired from the regiment, and married and settled into quiet life. And as he was now nearly fifty years of age, twenty-four of which he had passed in the corps, he had a singular museum. He was one of the best shots in England, and, for a heavy man, one of the best riders ; indeed, he and Crawley had been rivals when the latter was in the army. To be brief, Mr. Macmurdo was lying in bed, reading in Bell's Life an account of that very fight between the Tutbury Pet and the Barking Butcher, which has been before mentioned — a venerable bristly warrior, with a little close-shaved grey head, with a silk nightcap, a red face and nose, and a great dyed moustache. When Rawdon told the Captain he wanted a friend, the latter A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 527 knew perfectly well on what duty of friendship he was called to act, and indeed had conducted scores of affairs for his acquaintances with the greatest prudence and skill. His Eoyal Highness the late lamented Commander-in-Chief had had the greatest regard for Macmurdo on this account ; and he was the common refuge of gentlemen in trouble. " What's the row about, Crawley, my boy 1 " said the old warrior. " No more gambling business, hay, like that when we shot Captain Marker 1 " " It's about — about my wife," Crawley answered, casting down his eyes and turning very red. The other gave a whistle. " I always said she'd throw you over," he began : — indeed there were bets in the regiment and at the clubs regarding the probable fate of Colonel Crawley, so lightly was his wife's character esteemed by his comrades and the world ; but seeing the savage look with which Eawdon answered the ex- pression of this opinion, Macmvu'do did not think fit to enlarge upon it further. " Is there no way out of it, old boy? " the Captain continued in a grave tone. "Is it only suspicion, you know, or — or what is it? Any letters ? Can't you keep it quiet ? Best not make any noise about a thing of that sort if you can help it." " Think of his only finding her out now," the Captain thought to himself, and remem- bered a hundred particular conversations at the mess-table, in which Mrs. Crawley's reputation had been torn to shreds. " There's no way but one out of it," Eawdon replied — " and there's only a way out of it for one of us, Mac — do you understand ? I was put out of the way : arrested : I found 'em alone together. I told him he was a liar and a coward, and knocked him down and thrashed him." " Serve him right," Macmurdo said. " Who is it? " Eawdon answered it was Lord Steyne. "The deuce! a Marquis! they said he — that is, they said you " " What the devil do you mean ? " roared out Eawdon ; "do you mean that you ever heard a fellow doubt about my wife, and didn't tell me, Mac ? " " The world's very censorious, old boy," the other replied. " What the deuce was the good of my telling you what any tom- fools talked about ? " " It was damned imfiiendly, Mac," said Eawdon, quite over- come ; and, covering his face with his hands, he gave way to an emotion, the sight of which caused the tough old campaigner opposite him to wince with sympathy. 528 VANITY FAIE " Hold up, old boy,'' he said ; " great man or not, we'll put a bullet in him, damn him. As for women, they're all so." " You don't know how fond I was of that one," Rawdon said, half inarticulately. " Damme, I followed her like a footman. I gave up everything I had to her. I'm a beggar because I would marry her. By .Jove, sir, I've pawned my own watch in order to get her anything she fancied ; and she — she's been making a purse for herself all the time, and grudged me a hundred pound to get me out of quod." He then fiercely and incoherently, and with an agitation under which his counsellor had never before seen him labour, told Macmurdo the circumstances of the story. His adviser caught at some stray hints in it. " She may be innocent, after all," he said. " She says so. Steyne has been a hundred times alone with her in the house before." " It may be so," Rawdon answered sadly ; " but this don't look very innocent : " and he showed the Captain the thousand-poimd note which he had fomid in Becky's pocket-book. " This is what he gave her, Mac : and she kep it imknown to me : and with this money in the house she refused to stand by me when I was locked up." The Captain could not but own that the secreting of the money had a very ugly look. Whilst they were engaged in their conference, Rawdon despatched Captain Macmurdo's servant to Curzon Street, with an order to the domestic there to give up a bag of clothes of which the Colonel had great need. And diuing the man's absence, and with great labour and a Johnson's Dictionary, which stood them in much stead, Rawdon and his second composed a letter, which the latter was to send tu Lord Steyne. Captain Macmurdo had the honour of waiting upon the Marquis of Steyne, on the part of Colonel Rawdon Crawley, and begged to intimate that he was empowered by the Colonel to make any arrangements for the meeting which, he had no doubt, it was his Lordship's intention to demand, and which the circumstances of the morning had rendered inevitable. Captain Macmurdo begged Lord Steyne, in the most polite manner, to appoint a friend, with whom he (Captain M'M.) might communicate, and desired that the meeting might take place with as little delay as possible. In a postscript the Captain stated that he had in his possession a bank-note for a large amount, which Colonel Crawley had reason to suppose was the property of the Marquis of Steyne. And he was anxious, on the Colonel's behalf, to give up the note to its owner. By the time this note was composed, the Captain's servant returned from his mission to Colonel Crawley's house in Curzon Street, but without the carpet-bag and portmanteau, for which he had been sent : and with a very puzzled and odd face. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 529 ""They won't give 'cm up," said the man; "there's a regular shinty in the house ; and everything at sixes and sevens. The land- lord's come in and took possession. The servants was a drinkin' up in the di-awing-room. They said — they said you had gone off with the plate, Colonel " — the man added after a pause : — " One of the servants is off aLready. And Simpson, the man as was very noisy and dnmk indeed, says nothing shall go out of the house until his wages is paid up." The account of this little revolution in May Fair astonished and gave a little gaiety to an otherwise very triste conversation. The two officers laughed at Eawdon's discomfiture. " I'm glad the little 'un isn't at home," Rawdou said, biting his nails. "You remember him, Mac, don't you, in the Riding School? How he sat the kicker to be sure ! didn't he ? " " That he did, old boy," said the good-natured Captain. Little Rawdon was then sitting, one of fifty gown boys, in the Chapel of Whitefi'iars School : thinking, not about the sermon, but about going home next Saturday, when his father would certainly tip him, and perhaps would take him to the play. "He's a regular trump, that boy," the father went on, still musing about his son. " I say, Mac, if anything goes wrong — if I drop — I should like you to — to go and see him, you know : and say that I was very fond of him, and that. And — dash it — old chap, give him these gold sleeve-buttons : it's all I've got." He covered his face with his black hands : over which the tears rolled and made furrows of white. Mr. Macmurdo had also occasion to take oft' his sUk nightcap and rub it across his eyes. " Go down and order some breakfast," he said to his man in a loud cheerful voice, — " What'll you have, Crawley ? Some devilled kidneys and a herring — let's say — And, Clay, lay out some dressing thuigs for the Colonel : we were always pretty much of a size, Rawdon, my boy, and neither of us ride so light as we did when we first entered the corps." With which, and leaving the Colonel to dress himself, Macmurdo turned round towards the wall, and resumed the perusal of Bell's Life, until such time as his friend's toilette was complete, and he was at liberty to commence his own. This, as he was about to meet a lord. Captain Macmm-do performed with particular care. He waxed his mustachios into a state of brilliant poKsh, and put on a tight cravat and a trim buff waistcoat : so that all the young officers in the mess-room, whither Crawley had preceded his fiiend, complimented Mac on his appearance at breakfast, and asked if he was going to be married that Sunday 2 CHAPTER LV IN WHICH THE SAME SUBJECT IS PURSUED BECKY did not rally from the state of stupor and confusion in which the events of the previous night had plunged her intrepid spirit, until the bells of the Curzon Street Chapels were ringing for afternoon service, and rising from her bed she began to ply her own bell, in order to summon the French maid who had left her some hours before. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; and though, on the last occasion, she rang with such vehemence as to pull down the bell-rope, Mademoiselle Fifine did not make her appearance, — no, not though her mistress, in a great pet, and with the bell-rope in her hand, came out to the landing-place with her hair over her shoulders, and screamed out repeatedly for her attendant. The truth is, she had quitted the premises for many hours, and upon that permission which is called French leave among us. After picking up the trinkets in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle had ascended to her own apartments, packed and corded her own boxes there, tripped out and called a cab for herself, brought doA^Ti her trunks with her own hand, and without ever so much as asking the aid of any of the other servants, who woidd probably have refused it, as they hated her cordially, and without wishing any one of them good-bye, had made her exit from Curzon Street. The game, in her opinion, was over in that little domestic estab- lishment. Fifine went off in a cab, as we have known more exalted persons of her nation to do under similar circumstances ; but, more provident or lucky than these, she secured not only her own property, but some of her mistress's (if indeed that lady could be said to have any property at all) — and not only carried off the trinkets before alluded to, and some favourite dresses on which she had long kept her eye, but four richly gilt Loms Quatorze candlesticks, six gilt Albums, Keepsakes, and Books of Beauty, a gold enamelled snuff- box which had once belonged to Madame du Barri, and the sweetest little inkstand and mother-of-pearl blotting-book, which Becky used when she composed her charming little pink notes, had vanished from the premises in Curzon Street together with Mademoiselle A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 531 Fifine, and all the silver laid on the table for the little festin which Rawdon interrupted. The plated ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrons, probably for which reason, no doubt, she also left the fire-irons, the chimney-glasses, and the rosewood cottage piano. A lady very like her s ubsequently, kept a millijier's sjiijp in the Rue_d]i,&fild£r-at£aris^^^^E£Ee,_ she„iiv.ed with gi:eat-«redit and en- joyed th e patronage of my Lox d Steyne. This person always spoke of^^ngland as of the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young pupils that she had been affreusement voU by natives of that island. It was no doubt compassion for her misfor- tunes which induced the Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe. May she flourish as she deserves, — she appears no more in our quarter of Vanity Fair. Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the impudence of those servants who would not answer her summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her morning robe round her, and descended majestically to the drawing-room, whence the noise proceeded. The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz sofa by the side of Mrs. Eaggles, to whom she was admini- stering maraschino. The page with the sugar-loaf buttons, wlio carried about Becky's pink notes, and jumped about her little carriage with such alacrity, was now engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish ; the footman was talking to Eaggles, who had a face full of perplexity and woe — and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had been screaming a half-dozen of times a few feet ofi', not one of her attendants had obeyed her call. " Have a Httle drop, do'ee now, Mrs. Eaggles," the cook was saying as Becky entered, the white cashmere dressing-gown flouncing around her. " Simpson ! Trotter ! " the mistress of the house cried in great wrath. " How dare you stay here when you heard me call? How dare you sit down in my presence? Where's my maid?" The page withdrew his fingers from his mouth with a momentary terror : but the cook took off a glass of maraschino, of which Mrs. Eaggles had had enough, staring at Becky over the little gilt glass as she drained its contents. The liquor appeared to give the odious rebel courage. " Your sofy, indeed ! " Mrs. Cook said. " I'm a settin' on Mrs. Raggles's sofy. Don't you stir, Mrs. Eaggles, Mum. I'm a settin' on°Mr. and Mrs. Eaggles's sofy, which they boiight with honest money, and very dear it cost 'em, too. And I'm tliinkin' if I set here until I'm paid my wages, I shall set a precious long time, Mrs. Haggles; and set I will, too— ha ! ha!" and with this she filled herself another glass of the liquor, and drank it with a more hideous satirical air. 532 VANITY FAIE " Trotter ! Simpson ! turn that drunken wretch out," screamed Mrs. Crawley. "I shawu't," said Trotter the footman; "turn out yourself. Pay our selleries, and turn me out too. We'll go fast enough." "Are you all here to insult me?" cried Becky in a fury; " when Colonel Crawley comes home I'll " At this the servants burst into a hoarse haw-haw, in which, however, Eaggles, who still kept a most melancholy countenance, did not join. "He ain't a coming back," Mr. Trotter resumed. " He sent for his things, and I wouldn't let 'em go, although Mr. Eaggles would : and I don't b'Keve he's no more a Colonel than I am. He's hoff : and I suppose you're a goin' after him. You're no better than swindlers, both on you. Don't be a bullyin' me. I won't stand it. Pay us our selleries, I say. Pay us our selleries." It was evident, from Mr. Trotter's flushed countenance and defec- tive intonation, that he, too, had had recourse to vinous stimulus. " Mr. Eaggles," said Becky, in a passion of vexation, " you will not surely let me be insulted by that drunken man 1 " " Hold your noise. Trotter ; do now," said Simpson the page. He was affected by his mistress's deplorable situation, and succeeded in preventing an outrageous denial of the epithet " drunkeil " on the footman's part. " Mam," said Eaggles, " I never thought to live to see this year day. I've known the Crawley family ever since I was born. I lived butler with Miss Crawley for thirty years ; and I little thought one of that family was a goin' to ruing me — yes, ruing me " — said the poor fellow with tears in his eyes. " Har you a goin' to pay me? You've lived in this 'ouse four year. You've 'ad my substance : my plate and linning. You ho me a milk and butter bill of two 'imdred pound, you must 'ave noo-laid heggs for your homlets,_ and cream for your spanil dog." " She didn't care what her own flesh and blood had," interposed the cook. " Many's the time, he'd have starved but for me." " He's a charaty boy now, Cooky," said Mr. Trotter, with a drunken " ha ! ha ! " — and honest Eaggles continued, in a lamen- table tone, an enumeration of his griefs. All he said was true. Becky and her husband had ruined him. He had bills coming due next week and no means to meet them. He would be sold up and turned out of his shop and his house, because he had trusted to the Crawley family. His tears and lamentations made Becky more peevish than ever. "You all seem to be against me," she said bitterly. "What do you want ? I can't pay you on Sunday. Come back to-morrow, and I'll pay you everything. I thought Colonel Crawley had settled A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 533 with you. He will to-morrow. I declare to you upon my honour that he left home this morning with fifteen hundred pounds in his pocket-book. He has left me nothing. Apply to him. Give me a bonnet and shawl and let me go out and find him. There was a difference between us this morning. You all seem to know it. I promise you upon my word that you shall all be paid. He has got a good appointment. Let me go out and find him." This audacious statement caused Haggles and the other personages present to look at one another with a wild surprise, and with it Rebecca left them. She went upstairs and dressed herself this time without the aid of her French maid. She went into Rawdon's room, and there saw that a trunk and bag were packed ready for removal, with a pencil direction that they should be given when called for ; then she went into the Frenchwoman's garret ; everything was clean, and all the drawers emptied there. She bethought herself of the trinkets which had been left on the ground, and felt certain that the woman had fled. " Good heavens ! was ever such ill-luck as mine 1 " she said ; " to be so near, and to lose all. Is it all too late V No ; there was one chance more. She dressed herself, and went awaj' unmolested this time, but alone. It was four o'clock. She went swiftly down the streets (she had no money to pay for a carriage), and never stopped until she came to Sir Pitt Crawley's door, in Great Gaunt Street. Where was Lady Jane Crawley ? She was at church. Becky was not sorry. Sir Pitt was in his study, and had given orders not to be disturbed — she must see him — she slipped by the sentinel in livery at once, and was in Sir Pitt's room before the astonished Baronet had even laid down the paper. He turned red and started back from her with a look of great alarm and horror. " Do not look so," she said. " I am not guilty, Pitt, dear Pitt ; you were my friend once. Before God, I am not guilty. I seem so. Everything is against me. And ! at such a moment ! just when all my hopes were about to be realised : just when happiness was in store for lis." " Is this true, what I see in the paper, then ? " Si]- Pitt said — a paragraph in which had gi^eatly surprised him. " It is true. Lord Steyne told me on Friday night, the night of that fixtal ball. He ha3 been promised an appointment any time these six months. Mr. MartjT, the Colonial Secretary, told him yesterday that it was made out. That unlucky arrest ensued ; that horrible meeting. I was only guilty of too much devotedness to Rawdon's service. I have received Lord Steyne alone a hundred times before. I confess I had money of which Rawdon knew nothing. Don't you know how careless he is of it, and could I dare to confide 534 VANITY FAIK it to him 1 " And so she went on with a perfectly connected story, which she poured into the ears of her perplexed kinsman. It was to the following effect. Becky owned, and with perfect frankness, but deep contrition, that having remarked Lord Steyne's partiality for her (at the mention of which Pitt blushed), and being secure of her own virtue, she had determined to turn the great peer's attachment to the advantage of herself and her family. " I looked for a peerage for you, Pitt," she said (the brother-in-law again turned red). " We have talked about it. Your genius and Lord Steyne's interest made it more than probable, had not this dreadful calamity come to put an end to all our hopes. But, first, I own that it was my object to rescue my dear husband, — him whom I love in spite of all his ill-usage and suspicions of me, — to remove him from the poverty and ruin which was impending over us. I saw Lord Steyne's partiality for me," she said, casting down her eyes. " I own that I did everything in my power to make myself pleasing to him, and as far as an honest woman may, to secure his — his esteem. It was only on Friday morning that the news arrived of the death of the Governor of Coventry Island, and my Lord instantly secured the appointment for my dear husband. It was intended as a surprise for him, — he was to see it in the papers to-day. Even after that horrid arrest took place (the expenses of which Lord Steyne generously said he would settle, so that I was in a manner prevented from coming to my husband's assistance), my Lord was laughing with me, and saying that my dearest Eawdon would be consoled when he read of his appointment in the paper, in that shocking spim — bailiffs house. And then — then he came home. His suspicions were excited, — the dreadful scene took place between my Lord and my cruel, cruel Rawdon — and, my God, what will happen next ? Pitt, dear Pitt ! pity me, and reconcile us ! " And as she .spoke she flung herself do-mi oB her knees, and bursting into tears, seized hold of Pitt's hand, which she kissed passionately. It was in this very attitude that Lady .Jane, who, returning from church, ran to her husband's room directly she heard Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was closeted there, found the Baronet and his sister-in-law. "I am sm-prised that woman has the audacity to enter this house," Lady Jane said, trembling in every limb, and timiing quite pale. (Her Ladyship had sent out her maid directly after breakfast, who had communicated with Raggles and Rawdon Crawley's house- hold, who had told her all, and a great deal more than they knew, of that story, and many others besides.) " How dare Mrs. Crawley to enter the house of — of an honest family 1 " Sir Pitt started back, amazed at his wife's display of vigour. Becky still kept her kneeling postm-e, and clung to Sir Pitt's hand. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 535 " Tell lier that she does not know all. Tell her that I am inno- cent, dear Pitt," she whimpered out. " Upon my word, my love, I think you do Mrs. Crawley in- justice," Sir Pitt said ; at which speech Rebecca was vastly relieved. " Indeed I believe her to be " "To be what?" cried out Lady Jane, her clear voice thriUing, and her heart beating violently as she spoke. "To be a wicked woman — a heartless mother, a false wife 1 She never loved her dear little boy, who used to fly here and tell me of her cruelty to him. She never came into a family but she strove to bring misery with her, and to weaken the most sacred affections with her wicked flattery and falsehoods. She has deceived her husband, as she has deceived everybody ; her soul is black with vanity, worldliness, and all sorts of crime. I tremble when I touch her. I keep my children out of her sight. I " "Lady Jane!" cried Sir Pitt, starting up, "this is really language " " I have been a true and faitliful wife to you. Sir Pitt," Lady Jane continued intrepidly ; "I have kept my marriage vow as I made it to God, and have been obeilient and gentle as a wife should. But righteous obedience has its limits, and I declare that I will not bear that — that woman again under my roof : if she enters it, I and my children will leave it. She is not worthy to sit down with Christian people. You — you must choose, sir, between her and me ; " and with this .my Lady swept out of the room, fluttering with her own audacity, and leaving Rebecca and Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it. As for Becky, she was not hurt ; nay, she was pleased. " It was the diamond-clasp you gave me," she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her hand ; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper storey) the Baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation. Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much diffi- culty to partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves. Then they had a conversation befitting the day and their time of life : about the next pigeon-match at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and Osbaldiston : about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr ; and about the fight between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a cross. Young Tandyman, 536 VANITY FAIK a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring to get up a pair of mustachios; had seen the fight, and spoke in the most scientific manner about the battle, and the condition of the men. It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag, and passed the whole of the previous night with him. Had there not been foul play he mvist have won it. All the old files of the Ring were iu it : and Tandyman wouldn't pay ; no, dammy, he wouldn't pay. — It was but a year since the young Cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb's parlour, had a still lingering liking for tofly, and used to be birched at Eton. So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps, until Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversa- tion. He did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to theu' boyhood ; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the fiUl as choice as any the youngest rake present had to tell ; — nor did his own grey hairs nor their smooth faces detain him. Old Mac was famous for his good stories. He was not exactly a lady's man ; that is, men asked him to dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers. There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his ; but he was quite contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good-nature, simplicity, and modesty of demeanour. By the time Mac had finished a copious breakfast, most of the others had concluded their meal. Young Lord Varinas was smolung an immense meerschaum pipe, while Captain Hugues was employed with a cigar : that violent little devil Tandyman, with his little bull- terrier between his legs, was tossing for shillings with all his might (that fellow was always at some game or other) against Captain Deuceaee ; and Mac and Rawdon walked off to the Club, neither, of course, having given any hint of the business which was occupy- ing their minds. Both, on the other hand, had joined pretty gaily in the conversation ; for why should they inteiTupt it 1 Feasting, drinking, ribaldry, laughter, go on alongside of all sorts of other occupations in Vanity Fair, — the crowds were pouring out of church as Rawdon and his friend passed down St. James's Street and entered into their Club. The old bucks and habitufe, who ordinarily stand gaping and grinning out of the great front window of the Club, had not arrived at their posts as yet, — the newspaper-room was almost empty. One man was present whom Rawdon did not know ; another to whom he owed a little score for whist, and whom, in consequence, he did not care to meet ; a third was reading the Royalist (a periodical famous for its scandal and its attachment to Church and King) Sunday paper at the table, and, looking up at Crawley with some interest, said, " Crawley, I congratulate you." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 537 "What do yon mean?" said the Colonel. " It's in tlie Observer and the Royalist too," said Mr. Smith. "AVhat?" Rawdon cried, turning very red. He thought that the affair with Lord Steyne was already in the public prints. Smith looked up wonderiaig and smiling at the agitation which the Colonel exhibited as he took up the paper, and, trembling, began to read. Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown (the gentleman with whom Eawdou had the outstanding whist account) had been talking about the Colonel just before he came in. " It is come just in the nick of time," said Smith. " I suppose Crawley had not a shilling in the world." " It's a wind that blows everybody good," Mr. Brown said. " He can't go away without paying me a pony he owes me." "What's the salary?" asked Smith. "Two or three thousand," answered the other. "But the climate's so infernal, they don't enjoy it long. Liverseege died after eighteen months of it : and the man before went off in six weeks, I hear." " Some people say his brother is a very clever man. I always found him a d bore," Smith ejaculated. " He must have good interest, though. He must have got the Colonel the place." " He ! " said Brown, with a sneer — " Pooh ! — It was Lord Steyne got it." " How do you mean ? " " A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband," answered the other enigmatically, and went to read his papers. Eawdon, for his part, read in the Royalist the following astonish- ing paragraph : — " GOVEENOESHIP OF COVENTRY IsLAND. H.M.S. Tdlowjach, Commander Jaunders, has brought letters and papers from Coventry Island. H.E. Sir Thomas Liverseege had fallen a victim to the prevailing fever at Swampton. His loss is deeply felt in the flourish- ing colony. We hear that the Governorship has been offered to Colonel Eawdon Crawley, C.B., a distinguished Waterloo ofScer. We need not only men of acknowledged bravery, but men of admini- strative talents to superintend the affairs of our colonies ; and we have no doubt that the gentleman selected by the Colonial Office to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at Coventry Island is admirably calculated for the post which he is about to occupy." " Coventry Island ! where was it ? who had appointed him to the government? You must take me out as your secretary, old boy," Captain Macmurdo said, laughing ; and as Crawley and his friend 538 VANITY FAIR sat wondering and perplexed over the announcement, the Club waiter brought in to the Colonel a card, on which the name of Mr. Wenham was engraved, who begged to see Colonel Crawley. The Colonel and his aide-de-camp went out to meet the gentle- man, rightly conjecturing that he was an emissary of Lord Steyne. " How d'ye do, Crawley 1 I am glad to see you," said Mr. Wenham, with a bland smile, and grasping Crawley's hand with great cordiality. " You come, I suppose, from ' " Exactly," said Mr. Wenham. " Then this is my friend Captain Maomm-do, of the Life Guards Green." " Delighted to know Captain Maomurdo, I'm sure," Mr. Wenham said, and tendered another smile and shake of the hand to the second, as he had done to the principal. Mac put out one finger, armed with a buckskin glove, and made a very frigid bow to Mr. Wenham over his tight cravat. He was, perhaps, discontented at being put in communication with a,pdkin, and thought that Lord Steyne should have sent him a Colonel at the very least. " As Macmurdo acts for me, and knows what I mean," Crawley said, " I had better retire and leave you together." " Of course," said Macmurdo. " By no means, my dear Colonel," Mr. Wenham said ; " the interview which I had the honour of requesting was with you person- ally, though the company of Captain Macmurdo cannot fail to be also most pleasing. In fact. Captain, I hope that our conversation will lead to none but the most agreeable results, very different from those which my friend Colonel Crawley appears to anticipate." " Humph ! " said Captain Macmurdo. — Be hanged to these civihans, he thought to himself, they are always for arranging and speechifying. Mr. Wenham took a chair which was not offered to him — took a paper from his pocket, and resumed — " You have seen this gratifying announcement in the papers this morning. Colonel 1 Government has secured a most valuable servant, and you, if you accept office, as I presume you will, an excellent appointment. Three thousand a year, delightful chmate, excellent government-house, all your own way in the Colony, and a certain promotion. I congratulate you with all my heart. I presume you know, gentlemen, to whom my friend is indebted for this piece of patronage 1 " " Hanged if I know," the Captain said : his principal turned very red. " To one of the most generous and kindest men in the world, as he is one of the greatest — to my excellent friend, the Marquis of Steyne." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 539 " I'll see liim d before I take his place," growled out Eawdoii. "You are irritated against my noble friend," BIr. Wenham calmly resumed : " and now, in the name of common sense and justice, tell me why 1 " " Why ?" cried Rawdon in surprise. "Why? Dammy ! " said the Captain, ringing his stick on the ground. " Dammy, indeed," said Mr. Wenham, with the most agreeable smile j " still, look at the matter as a man of the world — as an honest man, and see if you have not been in the wrong. You come home from a journey, and find — what ? — my Lord Steyne supping at your house in Curzon Street with Mrs. Crawley. Is the circum- stance strange or novel 1 Has he not been a hundred times before in the same position 1 Upon my honour and word as a gentleman " (Mr. Wenham here put his hand on his waistcoat with a parliamen- tary air), " I declare I think that your suspicions are monstrous and utterly unfounded, and that they injure an honourable gentleman who has proved his good-will towards you by a thousand benefac- tions — and a most spotless and innocent lady." " You don't mean to say that — that Crawley's mistaken ? " said Mr. Macmiudo. " I believe that Mrs. Crawley is as innocent as my wife, Mrs. Wenham," Mr. Wenham said with great energy. " I believe that, misled by an infernal jealousy, my friend here strikes a blow against not only an infirm and old man of high station, his constant friend and benefactor, but against his wife, his own dearest honour, his son's future reputation, and his own prospects in life. "I will tell you what happened," Mr. Wenham continued with great solemnity ; "I was sent for this morning by my Lord Steyne, and found him in a pitiable state, as, I need hardly inform Colonel Crawley, any man of age and infirmity would be after a personal conflict with a man of your strength. I say to your face : it was a cruel advantage you took of that strength. Colonel Crawley. It was not only the body of my noble and excellent friend which was wounded, — his heart, sir, was bleeding. A man whom he had loaded with benefits and regarded with afl'ection, had subjected him to the foulest indignity. What was this very appointment, which appears in the journals of to-day, but a proof of his kindness to j'ou ? When I saw his Lordship this morning I found him in a state piti- able indeed to see : and as anxious as you are to revenge the outrage committed upon him, by blood. You know he has given his proofs, I presume. Colonel Crawley 1 " "He has plenty of pluck," said the Colonel. "Nobody ever said he hadn't." 540 VANITY FAIR " His first order to me was to write a letter of challenge, and to carry it to Colonel Crawley. One or other of us," he said, "must not survive the outrage of last night." Crawley nodded. " You're coming to the point, Wenham," he said. " I tried my utmost to calm Lord Steyne. Grood God ! sir," I said, " how I regret that Mrs. Wenham and myself had not accepted Mrs. Crawley's invitation to sup with her ! " '■ She asked you to sup with her 1 " Captain Macmurdo said. "After the Opera. Here's the note of invitation — stop — no, this is another paper — I thought I had it, but it's of no consequence, and I pledge you my word to the fact. If we had come — and it was only one of Mrs. Wenham's headaches which prevented us — she suffers under them a good deal, especially in the spring — if we had come, and you had returned home, there would have been no quarrel, no insult, no suspicion — and so it is positively because my poor wife has a headache that you are to bring death down upon two men of honoiu-, and plunge two of the most excellent and ancient families in the kingdom into disgrace and sorrow." Mr. Macmurdo looked at his principal with the air of a man profoundly puzzled : and Eawdon felt with a kind of rage that his prey was escaping him. He did not believe a word of the story, and yet, how discredit or disprove it 1 Mr. Wenham continued with the same fluent oratory, which in his place in Parliament he had so often practised — " I sate for an hour or more by Lord Steyne's bedside, beseeching, imploring Lord Steyne to forego his intention of demanding a meeting. I pointed out to him that the circumstances were after all suspicious — they were suspicious. I acknowledge it, — any man in your position might have been taken in — I said that a man furious with jealousy is to all intents and purposes a madman, and should be as such re- garded — that a duel between you must lead to the disgrace of all parties concerned — that a man of his Lordship's exalted station had no right in these days, when the most atrocious revolutionary principles, and the most dangerous levelling doctrines are preached among the vulgar, to create a public scandal; and that, however innocent, the common people woidd insist that he was guilty. In fine, I implored him not to send the challenge." " I don't beheve one word of the whole story," said Eawdon, grinding his teeth. " I believe it a d lie, and that you're in it, Mr. Wenham. If the challenge don't come from him, by Jove it shall come from me." ilr. Wenham turned deadly pale at this savage interruption of the Colonel, and looked towards the door. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 541 But he found a champion in Captain Macmurdo. That gentleman rose up with an oath, and rebuked Eawdon for his language. " You put the affair into my hands, and you shall act as I think fit, by Jove, and not as you do. You have no right to insult Mr. Wenham with this sort of language ; and dammy, Mr. Wenham, you deserve an apology. And as for a challenge to Lord Steyne, you may get some- body else to caiTy it, I won't. If my lord, after being thrashed, chooses to sit still, dammy let him. And as for the affair with — with Mrs. Crawley, my belief is, there's nothing proved at all : that your wife's innocent, as innocent as Mr. Wenham says she is : and at any rate, that you would be a d fool not to take the place and hold yoiu- tongue." " Captaiai Macmurdo, you speak like a man of sense," Mr. Wenham cried out, immensely relieved — " I forget any words that Colonel Crawley has used in the initation of the moment." " I thought you would," Rawdon said, with a sneer. " Shut your mouth, you old stoopid," the Captain said good- natiu-edly. " Mr. Wenham ain't a fighting man ; and quite right, too." " This matter, in my belief," the Steyne emissary cried, " ought to be buried in the moist profoimd oblivion. A word concerning it should never pass these doors. I speak in the interest of my friend, as well as of Colonel Crawley, who persists in considering me his enemy." "I suppose Lord Steyne won't talk about it very much," said Captain Macmurdo ; " and I don't see why our side should. The affair ain't a very pretty one, any way you take it ; and the less said about it the better. It's you are thrashed, and not us : and if you are satisfied, why, I think, we should be." Mr. Wenham took his hat, upon this, and Captain Macmurdo following him to the door, shut it upon himself and Lord Stej-ne's agent, leaving Eawdon chafing within. When the two were on the other side, Macmurdo looked hard at the other ambassador, and with an expression of anything but respect on his round jolly face. " You don't stick at a trifle, Mr. Wenham," he said. " You flatter me. Captain Macmurdo," answered the other, with a smile. " Upon my honour and conscience now, Mrs. Crawley did ask us to sup after the Opera." " Of coiurse ; and Mrs. Wenham had one of her headaches. I say, I've got a thousand-pound note here, which I will give you if you will give me a receipt, please ; and I will put the note up in an envelope for Lord Steyne. My man shan't fight him. But we had rather not take his money." " It was all a mistake,— all a mistake, my dear sir," the other said, with the utmost innocence of manner ; and was bowed down the Club steps by Captain Macmurdo, just as Sir Pitt Crawley ascended 542 VANITY FAIR them. There was a slight acquaintance between these two gentlemen ; and the Captain, going back with the Baronet to the room where the latter's brother was, told Sir Pitt, in confidence, that he had made the affair all right between Lord Steyne and the Colonel. Sir Pitt was well pleased, of course, at this intelligence ; and con- gratulated his brother warmly upon the peaceful issue of the affair, making appropriate moral remarks upon the evils of duelling, and the unsatisfactory nature of that sort of settlement of disputes. And after this preface, he tried with all his eloquence to effect a reconcihation between Rawdon and his wife. He recapitulated the statements which Becky had made, pointed out the probabilities of their truth, and asserted his own belief in her innocence. But Rawdon would not hear of it. " She has kep money con- cealed from me these ten years," he said. " She swore, last night only, she had none from Steyne. She knew it was all up, directly I found it. If she's not guilty, Pitt, she's as bad as guilty ; and I'll never see her again, — never." His head sank down on his chest as he spoke the words ; and he looked quite broken and sad. " Poor old boy ! " Macmurdo said, shaking his head. Rawdon Crawley resisted for some time the idea of taking the place which had been procured for him by so odious a patron : and was also for removing the boy from the school where Lord Steyne's interest had placed him. He was induced, however, to acquiesce in these benefits by the entreaties of his brother and Macmurdo : but mainly by the latter pointing out to him what a fury Steyne would be in, to think that his enemy's fortune was made through his means. When the Marquis of Steyne came abroad after his accident, the Colonial Secretary bowed up to him and congratulated himself and the Service upon having made so excellent an appointment. These congratulations were received wdth a degree of gratitude which may be imagined on the part of Lord Steyne. The secret of the rencontre between him and Colonel Crawley was buried in the profoundest oblivion, as Wenham said ; that is, by the seconds and the principals. But before that evening was over it was talked of at fifty dinner-tables in Vanity Fair. Little Cackleby himself went to seven evening parties, and told the story with comments and emendations at each place. How Mrs. Washing- ton White revelled in it ! The Bishopess of Ealing was shocked beyond expression : the Bishop went and wrote his name down in the visiting-book at Gaunt House that very day. Little Southdown was sorry : so you may be sure was his sister Lady Jane, very sorry. Lady Southdown wrote it off to her other daughter at the Cape of Grood Hope. It was tovni-talk for at least three days, and was only A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 543 kept out of the ne^rspapers by the exertions of Mr. Wagg, aotmg upon a hint from Mr. Wenham. The bailifts and brokers seized upon poor Haggles in Curzon Street, and the late fair tenant of that poor little mansion -was in the meanwhile — where ? Who cared 1 AVho asked after a day or two ? Was she guilty or not ? We all know how charitable the world is, and how the verdict of Vanity Fair goes when there is a doubt. Some people said she had gone to Naples in pursuit of Lord Steyne ; whilst others averred that his Lordship quitted that city, and fled to Palermo on hearing of Becky's arrival ; some said she was living in Bierstadt, and had become a da?ne d'ho-nneitr to the Queen of Bulgaria ; some that she was at Boulogne ; and others, at a boarding-house at Cheltenham. Rawdon made her a tolerable annuity ; and we may be sure that she was a woman who could make a little money go a great way, as the saying is. He would have paid his debts on leaving England, could he have got any Insurance Office to take his Hfe ; but the climate of Coventry Island was so bad that he could borrow no money on the strength of his salary. He remitted, however, to his brother punctually, and wi'ote to his little boy regularly every mail. He kept Macmurdo in cigars ; and sent over quantities of shells, cayenne pepper, hot pickles, guava jelly, and colonial produce to Lady Jane. He sent his brother home the Swamp Town. Gazette, in which the new Governor was praised with immense enthusiasm ; whereas the Swamp Toivn Sentinel, whose wife was not asked to Government House, declared that his Excellency was a tyrant, com- pared to whom Nero was an enlightened philanthropist. Little Rawdon used to like to get the papers and read about his Excellency. His mother never made any movement to see the child. He went home to his aunt for Sundays and holidays ; he soon knew every bird's nest about Queen's Crawley, and rode out with Sir Huddlestone's hounds, which he admired so on his first well-remem- bered visit to Hampshire. CHAPTER LVI GEORGY IS MADE A GENTLEMAN GEORGY OSBORNE was now fairly established in his grand- father's mansion in Russell Square : occupant of his father's room in the house, and heir-apparent of all the splendours there. The good looks, gallant bearing, and gentlemanlike appear- ance of the boy won the grandsire's heart for him. Mr. Osborne was as proud of him as ever he had been of the elder George. The child had many more luxm-ies and indulgences than had been awarded to his father. Osborne's commerce had prospered greatly of late years. His wealth and importance in the City had very much increased. He had been glad enough in former days to put the elder George to a good private school ; and a commission in the army for his son ha^l been a soiirce of no small pride to him ; for little George and his future prospects the old man looked much higher. He would make a gentleman of the little chap, was Mr. Osborne's constant saying regarding little Georgy. He saw him in his mind's eye, a collegian, a parUament-man, — a Baronet, perhaps. The old man thought he would die contented if he could see his grandson in a fair way to such honours. He would have none but a tip-top college man to educate him, — none of your quacks and pretenders — no, no. A few years before, he used to be savage, and inveigh against all parsons, scholars, and the like, — declaring that they were a pack of humbugs, and quacks, that weren't fit to get their living but by grinding Latin and Greek, and a set of super- cilious dogs, that pretended to look down upon British merchants and gentlemen, who could buy up half a hundred of 'em. He would mourn now, in a very solemn manner, that his own education had been neglected, and repeatedly point out, in pompous orations to Georgy, the necessity and excellence of classical acquirements. When they met at dinner the grandsire used to ask the lad what he had been reading during the day, and was greatly interested at the report the boy gave of his own studies ; pretending to under- stand Httle George when he spoke regarding them. He made a hundred blunders, and showed his ignorance many a time. It did not increase the respect which the child had for his senior. A quick GEOEGY A GENTLEMAN. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 545 brain and a better education elsewhere showed the boy very soon that his grandsire was a dullard ; and he began accordingly to com- mand him and to look doM'n upon him ; for his previous education, humble and contracted as it had been, had made a much better gentleman of Georgy than any plans of his gi-andfather could make him. He had been brought up by a kind, weak, and tender woman, who had no pride about anything but about him, and whose heart was so pm-e, and whose bearing was so meek and humble, that she . could not but needs be a true lady. She busied herself in gentle offices and quiet duties ; if she never said brilliant things, she never spoke or thought unkind ones ; guileless and artless, loving and piu-e, indeed how could oiu- poor little Amelia be other than a real gentlewoman ! Young Georgy lorded over this soft and yielding nature : and the contrast of its simplicity and delicacy with the coarse pomposity of the dull old man with whom he next came in contact, made him lord over the latter too. If he had been a Prince Eoyal he could not have been better brought up to think well of himself Whilst his mother was yearning after him at home, and I do believe every hour of the day, and dming most hours of the sad lonely nights, thinking of him, this young gentleman had a number of pleasm-es and consolations administered to him, which made him for his part bear the separation from Ameha very easily. Little boys who cry when they are going to school — cry because they are going to a very uncomfortable place. It is only a very few wlio weep from sheer affection. When you tlunk that the eyes of your childhood diied at the sight of a piece of gingerbread, and that a plum-cake was a compensation for the agony of parting with your mamma and sisters ; oh my friend and brother, yoii need not be too confident of your own fine feelings. Well, then, Master George Osborne had every comfort and luxmy that a wealthy and lavish old grandfather thought fit to provide. The coachman was instructed to purchase for him the handsomest pony which could be bought for money ; and on this George was taught to ride, first at a riding-school, whence, after having performed satisfactorily without stirrups, and over the leap- ing-bar, he was conducted through the New Eoad to Eegent's Park, and then to Hyde Park, where he rode in state with Martin the coachman behind him. Old Osborne, who took matters more easily in the City now, where he left his afiaii-s to his junior partners, woidd often ride out with Miss 0. in the same fashionable direction. As httle Georgy came cantering up with his dandified air, and his heels down, his grandfather would nudge the lad's aunt, and say, "Look, Miss 0." And he would laugh, and his face would grow X 2 M 546 VANITY FAIR red with pleasm-e, as he nodded out of the window to the boy, as the groom saluted the carriage, and the footman saluted Master George. Here too his aunt, Mrs. Frederick Bullock (whose chariot might daily be seen in the Ring, with bullocks 07- emblazoned on the panels and harness, and three pasty-faced little Bullocks, covered with cockades and feathers, staring from the windows), — Mrs. Frederick Bullock, I say, flung glances of the bitterest hatred at the little upstart as he rode by with his hand on his side and his hat on one car, as proud as a lord. Though he was scarcely eleven years of age. Master George wore straps, and the most beautiful little boots like a man. He had gilt spurs, and a gold-headed whip, and a fine pin in his hand- kerchief; and the neatest little kid gloves which Lamb's Conduit Street could furnish. His mother had given him a couple of neck- cloths, and carefully hemmed and made some little shirts for him ; but when hej Samuel came to see the widow, they were replaced by much finer hnen. He had little jewelled buttons in the lawn shirt- fronts. Her humble presents had been put aside — I believe Miss Osborne had given them to the coachman's boy. Amelia tried to think she was pleased at the change. Indeed, she was happy and charmed to see the boy looking so beautiful. She had had a little black profile of him done for a shilling ; and this was hung up by the side of another portrait over her bed. One day the boy came on his accustomed visit, galloping down the little street at Brompton, and bringing, as usual, all the inhabitants to the windows to admire his splendour, and with great eagerness, and a look of triumph in his face, he pulled a case out of his great- coat — (it was a natty white greatcoat, with a cape and a velvet collar) — pulled out a red morocco case, which he gave her. "I bought it with my own money, Mamma," he said. "I thought you'd like it." Ameha opened the case, and giving a little cry of delighted affection, seized the boy and embraced him a hmiLbed times. It was a miniature of himself, very prettily done (though not half handsome enough, we may be sure, the widow thouglit). His gi-andfather had wished to liave a picture of him by an artist whose works, exliibited in a shop-window in Southampton Row, had caught the old gentleman's eyes ; and George, who had plenty of money, bethought him of asking the painter how much a copy of the little portrait would cost, saying that he would pay for it out of his own money, and that he wanted to give it to his mother. The pleased painter executed it for a small price ; and old Osborne him- self, when he heard of the incident, growled out his satisfaction, and gave the boy twice as many sovereigns as he paid for the miniature. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 547 But what was the grandfather's pleasure compared to Amelia's ecstasy 1 That proof of the boy's affection charmed her so, that she thought no child in the world was like hers for goodness. For long weeks after, the thought of his love made her happy. She slept better with the picture under her pillow ; and how many many times did she kiss it, and weep and pray over it ! A small kindness from those she lo-ced made that timid heart grateful. Since her parting with George she had had no such joy and consolation. At his new home Master George nded like a lord : at dinner he invited the ladies to drink wine with the utmost coolness, and took off his champagne in a way which charmed his old grandfather. " Look at him," the old man would say, nudging his neighbour, with a delighted purple face, " did you ever see such a chap 1 Lord, lord ! he'll be ordering a dressing-case next, and razors to shave with ; I'm blessed if he won't." The antics of the lad did not, however, delight Mr. Osborne's friends so much as they pleased the old gentleman. It gave Mr. Justice Coffin no pleasure to hear Georgy cut into the conversation and spoil his stories. Colonel Fogey was not interested in seeing the little boy half tipsy. Mr. Serjeant Toffy's lady felt no particular gratitude, when, with a twist of his elbow, he tilted a glass of port wine over her yellow satin, and laughed at the disaster • nor was she better pleased, although old Osborne was highly delighted, when Georgy " whopped " her third boy (a young gentleman a year older than Georgy, and by chance home for the holidays from Dr. Tickleus's at Ealing School) in Eussell Square. George's grandfather gave the boy a couple of sovereigns for that feat, and promised to reward him further for every boy above his own size and age whom he whopped in a similar manner. It is difficult to say what good the old man saw in these combats ; he had a vague notion that quarrelling made boys hardy, and that tyranny •\^•as a useful accomplishment for them to learn. English youth have been so educated time out of mind, and we have hundreds of thousands of apologists and admirers of injiistice, misery, and bratality, as perpetrated among children. Flushed with praise and victory over Master Toffy, George wished naturally to pursue his conquests: further, and one day as he was strutting about in prodigiously dandified new clothes, near St. Pancras, and a young baker's boy made sarcastic comments upon his appearance, the youthful patri- cian pulled off his dandy jacket with great spirit, and giving it in charge to the friend who accompanied him (Master Todd, of Great Coram Street, Eussell Square, son of the junior partner of the house of Osborne & Co.) — George tried to whop the little baker. But the chances of war were imfavourable this time, and the Httle 548 VANITY FAIE baker whopped Georgy : who came home with a rueful black eye and all his fine shirt frill dabbled with the claret drawn from his own little nose. He told his grandfather that he had been in combat with a giant ; and frightened his poor mother at Brompton with long, and by no means authentic, accounts of the battle. This young Todd, of Coram Street, Eussell Square, was Master George's great friend and admirer. They both had a taste for painting theatrical characters ; for hardbake and raspberry tarts ; for sliding and skating in tlie Kegent's Park and the Serpentine, when the weather permitted ; for going to the play, whither they were often conducted by Mr. Osborne's orders, by Eowson, Master George's appointed body -servant j with whom they sate in great comfort in the pit. In the company of this gentleman they visited all the principal theatres of the metropolis — knew the names of all the actors from Drury Lane to Sadler's Wells ; and performed, indeed, many of the plays to the Todd family and their youthful friends, with West's famous characters, on their pasteboard theatre. Eowson, the foot- man, who was of a generous disposition, would not imfrequently, when in cash, treat his young master to oysters after the play, and to a glass of rum-shrub for a nightcap. We may be pretty certain that Mr. Eawson profited in his turn, by his young master's liberality and gratitude for the pleasures to which the footman inducted him. A famous tailor from the West End of the town, — Mr. Osborne would have none of your City or Holborn bunglers, he said, for the boy (though a City tailor was good enough for Aim), — was summoned to ornament little George's person, and was told to spare no expense in so doing. So, Mr. Woolsey, of Conduit Street, gave a loose to his imagination, and sent the child home fancy trousers, fancy waistcoats, and fancy jackets enough to furnish a school of little dandies. Georgy had little white waistcoats for evening parties and little cut velvet waistcoats for dinners, and a dear little darling shawl dressing-gown, for all the world like a little man. He dressed for dinner every day, "like a regular West End Swell," as his grandfather remarked; one of the domestics was aff'ected to his special service, attended him at his toilette, answered his bell, and brought him his letters always on a silver tray. Georgy, after breakfast, would sit in the arm-chair in the dining- room, and read the Morninr/ Post, just like a grown-up man. " How he du dam and swear ! " the servants would cry, delighted at his precocity. Those who remembered the Captain his father, declared Master George was his Pa every inch of him. He made the house lively by his activity, his imperiousness, his scolding, and his good-nature A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 549 George's education was confided to a neighbouring scholar and private pedagogue who "prepared young noblemen and gentlemen for the Universities, the senate, and the learned professions : whose system did not embrace the degrading corporal severities still practised at the ancient places of education, and in whose family the pupils would find the elegances of refined society and the confidence and aflsction of a home." It was in this way that the Reverend Lawi-ence Veal of Hart Street, Bloomsbury, and Domestic Chaplain to the Earl of Bareacres, strove with Mrs. Veal his wife to entice pupils. By thus advertising and pushing sedulously, the Domestic Chaplain and his Lady generally succeeded in having one or two scholai-s by them : who paid a high figure, and were thought to be in luicommonly comfortable quarters. There was a large West Indian, whom nobody came to see, with a mahogany complexion, a wooUy head, and an exceedingly dandified appearance ; there was another hulking boy of three-and-twenty whose education had been neglected, and whom Mr. and Mrs. Veal were to introduce into the polite world ; there were two sons of Colonel Bangles of the East India Company's Service : these four sate down to dinner at ]Mrs. Veal's genteel board, when Georgy was introduced to her establishment. Georgy was, Like some dozen other pupils, only a day boy ; he arrived in the morning under the guardianship of his friend Mr. Rowson, and if it was fine, would ride away in the afternoon on his pony, followed by the groom. The wealth of his grandfather was reported in the school to be prodigious. The Rev. Mr. Veal used to compliment Georgy upon it personally. Teaming him that he was destined tor a high station ; that it became him to prepare, by sedulity and docility in youth, for the lofty duties to which he would be called in matiue age ; that obedience in the child was the best preparation for command in tlie man ; and that he therefore begged George would not bring toffy into the school, and ruin the health of the Masters Bangles, who had everything they wanted at the elegant and abundant table of Mrs. Veal. With respect to learning, " the Curriculum," as Mr. Veal loved to call it, was of prodigious extent : and the young gentlemen in Hart Street might learn a something of every known science. The Rev. Mr. Veal had an orrery, an electrifying machine, a turning lathe, a theatre (in the washhouse), a chemical apparatus, and what he called a select library of all the works of the best authors of ancient and modem times and languages. He took the boys to the British Bluseum, and descanted upon the antiquities and the specimens of natural history there, so that audiences would gather round him as he spoke, and all Bloomsbury highly admired him as a prodigiously well-informed man. And whenever he spoke (which 550 VANITY FAIK he did almost always), he took care to produce the very finest and longest words of which the vocabulary gave him the use ; rightly judging, that it was as cheap to employ a handsome, large, and sonorous epithet, as to use a little stingy one. Thus he would say to George in school, "I observed on my return home from taking the indulgence of an evening's scientific conversation with my excellent friend Doctor Bulders — a true archseologian, gentlemen, a true archaeologian — that the windows of your venerated grandfather's almost princely mansion in Eussell Square were illuminated as if for the purposes of festivity. Am I right in my conjecture, that Mr. Osborne entertained a society of chosen spirits round his sumptuous board last night 1 " Little Georgy, who had considerable humour, and used to mimic Mr. Veal to his face with great spirit and dexterity, would reply, that Mr. V. was quite correct in his surmise. " Then those friends who had the honour of partaking of Mr. Osborne's hospitality, gentlemen, had no reason, I will lay any wager, to complain of their repast. I myself have been more than once so favoured. (By the way. Master Osborne, you came a little late this morning, and have been a defaulter in this respect more than once.) I myself, I say, gentlemen, humble as I am, have been found not unworthy to share Mr. Osborne's elegant hospitality. And though I have feasted with the great and noble of the world — for I presume that I may call my excellent friend and patron, the Eight Honourable George Earl of Bareacres, one of the number — yet I assure you that the board of the British merchant was to the full as richly served, and his reception as gratifying and noble. Mr. Bluck, sir, we will resume, if you please, that passage of Eutropius, which was interrupted by the late ai-rival of Master Osborne." To this great man George's education was for some time en- trusted. Amelia was bewildered by his phrases, but thought him a prodigy of learning. That poor widow made friends of Mrs. Veal, for reasons of her own. She liked to be in the house, and see Georgy coming to school there. She liked to be asked to Mrs. Veal's conversazioni, which took place once a month (as you were informed on pink cards, with AGHNH engraved on them), and where the professor welcomed his pupils and their friends to weak tea and scientific conversation. Poor little Amelia never missed one of these entertainments, and thought them delicious so long as she might have Georgy sitting by her. And she would walk from Brompton in any weather, and embrace Mrs. Veal with tearful gratitude for the delightful evening she had passed, when, the company having retired and Georgy gone off with Mr. Eowson, his A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 551 attendant, poor Mrs. Osborne put on her cloaks and her shawls preparatory to walking home. As for the learning which Georgy imbibed under this valuable master of a hundi-ed sciences, to judge from the weekly reports which the lad took home to his grandfather, his progress was re- markable. The names of a score or more of desirable branches of knowledge were printed in a table, and the pupil's progress in each was marked by the professor. In Greek Georgj' was pro- nounced arisios, in Latin ojitimus, in French ti-es bien, and so forth J and everybody had prizes for everything at the end of the year. Even Mr. Swartz, the woolly-headed young gentleman, and half-brother to the Honourable Mrs. Mac Midi, and Mr. Bluck, the neglected young pupil of three-and-twenty from the agricultural districts, and that idle young scapegrace of a Master Todd before mentioned, received little eigh teen-penny books, with "Athene" engraved on them, and a pompous Latin inscription from the pro- fessor to his yormg friends. The family of tliis Master Todd were hangers-on of the house of Osborne. The old gentleman had advanced Todd from being a clerk to be a jmiior partner in his establishment. Mr. Osborne was the godfather of young Master Todd (who in subsequent life wrote Mr. Osborne Todd on his cards, and became a man of decided fashion), while Miss Osborne had accompanied Miss Maria Todd to the font, and gave her prot(5gfe a prayer-book, a collection of tracts, a volume of very Low Church poetry, or some such memento of her goodness, every year. Mrs. 0. drove the Todds out in her carriage now and then : when they were ill, her footman, in large plush smalls and waistcoat, brought jellies and dehcacies from Russell Square to Coram Street. Coram Street trembled and looked up to Russell Square indeed ; and Mrs. Todd, who had a pretty hand at cutting out paper trimmings for haunches of mutton, and coidd make flowers, ducks, &c., out of turnips and carrots in a very creditable manner, woidd go to " the Square," as it was called, and assist in the preparations incident to a great cUnner, without even so much as thinking of sitting down to the banquet. If any guest failed at the eleventh hoiu, Todd was asked to dine. Mrs. Todd and Maria came across in the evening, slipped in with a mufHed knock, and were in the drawing-room by the time Miss Osborne and the ladies imder her convoy reached that apartment ; and ready to fire off duets and sing until the gentlemen came up. Poor Maiia Todd ; poor young lady ! How she had to work and thrum at these duets and sonatas in the Street, before they appeared in public in the Square ! Thus it seemed to be decreed by fete, that Georgy was to 552 VANITY FAIR domineer over everybody with whom he came in contact, and that friends, relatives, and domestics were all to bow the knee before the little fellow. It must be owned that he accommodated himself very willingly to this arrangement. Most people do so. And Georgy liked to play the part of master, and perhaps had a natural aptitude for it. In Eussell Square everybody was afraid of Mr. Osborne, and Mr. Osborne was afraid of Georgy. The boy's dashing manners, and offhand rattle about books and learning, his likeness to his father (dead imreconciled in Brussels yonder), awed the old gentle- man, and gave the young boy the mastery. The old man would start at some hereditary feature or tone imconsciously used by the little lad, and fancy that George's father was again before him. He tried by indulgence to the grandson to make up for harshness to the elder George. People were surprised at his gentleness to the boy. He growled and swore at Miss Osborne as usual : and would smile when George came down late for breakfast. Miss Osborne, George's aunt, wa.s a faded old spinster, broken down by more than forty years of dulness and coarse visage. It was easy for a lad of spirit to master her. And whenever George wanted anything from her, from the jam-pots in her cupboards, to the cracked and dry old colours in her paint-box (the old paint-box which she had had when she was a pupil of Mr. Smee, and was still almost young and blooming), Georgy took possession of the object of his desire, which obtained, he took no further notice of his aunt. For his friends and cronies, he had a pompous old schoolmaster, who flattered him, and a toady, his senior, whom he could thrash. It was dear Mrs. Todd's delight to leave him with her youngest daughter, Eosa Jemima, a darling child of eight years old. The httle pair looked so well together, she would say (but not to the folks in "the Square," we may be sure), — "Who knows what might happen ? Don't they make a pretty little couple 1 " the fond mother thought. The broken-spirited, old maternal grandfather was Hkewise subject to the little tyrant. He could not help respecting a lad who had such fine clothes, and rode with a groom behind him. Georgy, on his side, was in the constant habit of hearing coarse abuse and vulgar satire levelled at John Sedley, by his pitiless old enemy, Mr. Osborne. Osborne used to call the other the old pauper, the old coal-man, the old bankrupt, and by many other such names of brutal contumely. How was little G«orge to respect a man so prostrate ? A few months after he was with his paternal grandfather, Mrs. Sedley died. There had been little love between A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 553 her and the child. He did not care to show much grief. He came down to visit his mother in a fine new suit of mourning, and was very angry that he could not go to a play upon which he had set his heart. The illness of that old lady had been the occupation and perhaps the safeguai-d of Amelia. What do men know about women's martyrdoms 1 We should go mad had we to endure -the hundredth part of those daily pains which are meekly borne by many women. Ceaseless slavery meeting with no reward ; constant gentleness and kindness met by cruelty as constant ; love, labour, patience, watchfulness, without even so much as the acknowledgment of a good word ; all this, how many of them have to bear in quiet, and appear abroad with cheerfid faces as if they felt nothing, Tender slaves that they are, they must needs be hypocrites and weak. From her chair Amelia's mother had taken to her bed, which she had never left : and from which Mrs. Osborne herself was never absent except when she ran to see George. The old lady grudged her eyen those rare visits ; she, who had been a kind, smiling, good- natured mother once, in the days of her prosperity, but whom poverty and infirmities had broken down. Her illness or estrange- ment did not affect Amelia. They rather enabled her to support the other calamity under which she was suffering, and from the thoughts of which she was kept by the ceaseless calls of the invalid. Amelia bore her harshness quite gently ; smoothed the uneasy pillow ; was always ready with a soft answer to the watchful queridous voice ; soothed the sufferer with words of hope, such as her pious simple heart could best feel and utter, and closed the eyes that had once looked so tenderly upon her. Then all her time and tenderness were devoted to the consola- tion and comfort of the bereaved old father, who was stunned by the blow which liad befallen him, and stood utterly alone in the world. His wife, his honour, his fortune, everything he loved best had fallen away from him. There was only Amelia to stand by and support with her gentle arms the tottering, heart-broken old man. We are not going to write the history : it would be too dreary and stupid. I can see Vanity Fair yawning over it d'avance. One day as the young gentlemen were assembled in the study at the Piev. Mr. Veal's, and the domestic chaplain to the Eight Honourable the Earl of Bareacres was spouting away as usual — a smart carriage drove up to the door decorated with the statue of Athene, and two gentlemen stepped out. The young Masters Bangles rushed to the window, with a vague notion that their 554 VANITY FAIR father might have arrived from Bombay. The great hulking scholar of three-and-tweiity, who vas crying secretly over a passage of Eutropius, flattened his neglected nose against the panes, and looked at the drag, as the laquais de place sprang from the box and let out the persons in the carriage. " It's a fat one and a thin one," Mr. Bluck said, as a thundering knock came to the door. Everybody was interested, from the domestic chaplain himself, who hoped he saw the fathers of some future pupils, down to Master Georgy, glad of any pretext for laying his book down. The boy in the shabby livery, with the faded copper buttons, who always thrust himself iiito the tight coat to open the door, came into the study and said, "Two gentlemen want to see Master Osborne." The professor had had a trifling altercation in the morning with that young gentleman, owing to a difierence about the introduction of crackers in school-time ; but his face resumed its habitual expression of bland courtesy, as he said, " Master Osborne, I give you full permission to go and see your carriage friends, — to whom I beg you to convey the respectful compliments of piyself and Mrs. Veal." Georgy went into the reception-room, and saw two strangers, whom he looked at with his head up, in liis usual haughty manner. One was fat, with mustachios, and the other was lean and long, in a blue frock-coat, with a brown face, and a grizzled head. " My God, how like he is ! " said the long gentleman, with a start. " Can you guess who we are, George 1 " The boy's face flushed up, as it did usually when he was moved, and liis eyes brightened. " I don't know the other," he said, " but I should think you must be Major Dobbin." Indeed it was our old friend. His voice trembled with pleasure as he greeted the boy, and taking both the other's hands in his own, drew the lad to him. " Your mother has talked to you about me — has she 1 " he said. "That she has," Georgy answered, "hundreds and hundreds of times.' CHAPTER LVII EOTHEN IT was one of the many causes for personal pride with which old Osborne chose to recreate himself, that Sedley, his ancient rival, enemy, and benefactor, was in his last days so utterly defeated and humiliated, as to be forced to accept pecuniary obligations at the hands of the man who had most injured and insulted him. Tlie successful man of the world cursed the old pauper, and rcUeved liim from time to time. As he furnished George with money for his mother, he gave the boy to understand by hints, delivered in his brutal, coarse way, that George's maternal gi-andfather was but a ■^Tetched old bankrupt and dependant, and that John Sedley might thank the man to whom he already owed ever so much money, for the aid which his generosity now chose to administer. George carried the pompous supplies to his mother and the shattered old widower whom it was now the main business of her life to tend and comfort. The little fellow patronised the feeble and disappointed old man. It may have shown a want of " proper pride " in Amelia that she chose to accept these money benefits at the hands of her father's enemy. But proper pride and this poor lady had never had much acquaintance together. A disposition naturally simple and demand- ing protection ; a long course of poverty and humility, of daily privations and hard words, of kind oifices and no returns, had been her lot ever since womanhood almost, or since her luckless marriage with George Osborne. You who see your betters bearing up under tills shame every day, meekly suifering under the slights of fortune, gentle and unpitied, poor, and rather despised for their poverty, do you ever step down from your prosperity, and wash the feet of these poor wearied beggars 1 The very thought of them is odious and low. " There must be classes — there must be rich and poor," Dives says, smacking his claret — (it is well if he even sends the broken meat out to Lazarus sitting under the window). Very true ; but think how mysterious and often unaccountable it is — that lottery of life which gives to this man the purple and fine linen, and sends to the other rags for garments and dogs for comforters. 556 VANITY FAIK So I must own, that without much repining, on the contrary with something akin to gi-atituJe, AmeKa took the crambs that her father-in-law let drop now and then, and with them fed her own parent. Directly she understood it to be her duty, it was this young woman's nature (ladies, she is but thirty still, and we choose to call her a young woman even at that age) — it was, I say, her nature to sacrifice herself and to fling all that she had at the feet of the beloved object. During what long thankless nights had she worked out her fingers for little Georgy whilst at home with her ; what buffets, scorns, privations, poverties had she endured for father and mother ! And in tlie midst of all these solitary resignations and unseen sacrifices, she did not respect herself any more than the world respected her ; but I believe thought in her heart that she was a poor-spirited, despicable little creature, whose luck in life was only too good for her merits. you poor women ! you poor secret martyrs and victims, whose life is a torture, who are stretched on racks in your bedrooms, and who lay your heads down on the block daily at the drawing-room table ; every man who watches your pains, or peers into those dark places where the torture is administered to you, must pity you — and — and thank God that he has a beard. I recollect seeing, years ago, at the prisons for idiots and madmen at Bicetre, near Paris, a poor wretch bent down under the bondage of his imprisonment and his personal infirmity, to whom one of our party gave a halfpennyworth of snuff in a cornet or " screw " of paper. The kindness was too much for the poor, epi- leptic creature. He cried in an anguish of delight and gratitude : if anybody gave you and me a thousand a year, or saved our lives, we could not be so affected. And so, if you properly tyrannise over a woman, you will find a halfp'orth of kindness act upon her, and bring tears into her eyes, as though you were an angel benefiting her. Some such boons as these were the best which Fortune allotted to poor little Amelia. Her life, begim not unprosperously, had come down to this — to a mean prison and a long, ignoble bondage. Little George visited her captivity sometimes, and consoled it with feeble gleams of encouragement. Eussell Square was the boundary of her prison : she might walk thither occasionally, but was always back to sleep in her cell at night ; to perform cheerless duties ; to watch by thankless sick-beds ; to suffer the harassment and tyranny of querulous disappointed old age. How many thousands of people are there, women for the most part, who are doomed to endure this long slavery ? — who are hospital nurses without wages, — sisters of Charity, if you like, without the romance and the sentiment of sacrifice, — who strive, fast, watch, and suffer, unpitied; and fade away ignobly and unknown. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 557 The hidden and awfid Wisdom which apportions the destinies of mankind is pleased so to humiliate and cast down the tender, good, and wise ; and to set up tlie selfish, the foohsh, or the wicked. Oh, he humble, my brother, in your prosperity ! Be gentle with those who are less lucky, if not more deserving. Think, what right have you to be scornful, whose virtue is a deficiency of temptation, whose success may be a chance, whose rank may be an ancestor's accident, whose prosperity is very hkcly a satire. They buried Anieha's mother in the churchyard at Brompton, upon just such a rainy, dark day, as Amelia recollected when first she had been there to marry George. Her little boy sate by her side in pompous new sables. She remembered the old pew-woman and clerk. Her thoughts were away in other times as the parson read. But that she held George's hand in her own, perhaps she would have liked to change places with . . . Then, as usual, she felt ashamed of her selfish thoughts, and prayed inwardly to be strengthened to do her duty. So she determined with all her might and strength to try and make her old father happy. She slaved, toiled, patched, and mended, sang and played backgammon, read out the newspaper, cooked dishes, for old Sedley, walked him out sedulously into Ken- sington Gardens or the Brompton Lanes, listened to his stories with untiring smiles and aflfectionate hypocrisy, or sate musing by his side and communing with her own thoughts and reminiscences, as the old man, feeble and Cjuerulous, sunned himself on the garden benches and prattled about his wrongs or his sorrows. AVhat sad, unsatisfactory thoughts those of the widow were ! The children running up and down the slopes and broad paths in the gardens, reminded her of George who was taken firom her : the first George was taken from her : her selfish, guilty love, in both instances, had been rebuked and bitterly chastised. She strove to think it was right that she should be so punished. She was such a miserable wicked sinner. She was quite alone in the world. I know that the account of this kind of solitary imprisonment is insufferably tedious, unless there is some cheerful or humorous incident to enliven it, — a tender gaoler, for instance, or a waggish commandant of the fortress, or a mouse to come out and play about Latude's beard and whiskers, or a subterranean passage under the castle, dug by Trenck with his nails and a toothpick : the historian' has no such enlivening incident to relate in the narrative of Ameha's captivity. Fancy her, if you please, during this period, very sad, but always ready to smile when spoken to ; in a very mean, poor, not to say vidgar position of life ; singing songs, making puddings, 558 VANITY FAIE playing cards, mending stockings, for her old father's benefit. So, never mind, whether she be a heroine or no ; or you and I, however old, scolding and bankrupt ; — may we have in our last days a kind soft shoulder on which to lean, and a gentle hand to soothe our gouty old pillows. Old Sedley grew very fond of his daughter after his wife's death ; and Ameha had her consolation in doing her duty by the old man. But we are not going to leave these two people long in such a low and ungentcel station of Hfe. Better days, as far as worldly ■prosperity went, were in store for both. Perhaps the ingenious reader has guessed who was the stout gentleman who called upon Georgy at his school in company with our old friend Major Dobbin. It was another old acquaintance returned to England, and at a time when his presence was likely to be of great comfort to his relatives there. Major Dobbin having easily succeeded in getting leave from his good-natured commandant to proceed to Madras, and thence probably to Europe, on urgent private affairs, never ceased travelling night and day until he reached his journey's end, and had directed his march with such celerity, that he arrived at Madras in a high fever. His servants who accompanied him brought him to the house of the friend with whom he had resolved to stay until his departure for Europe in a state of delirium : and it was thought for many, many days that he would never travel farther than the burying-ground of the chiuch of St. George's, where the troops should fire a salvo over his grave, and where many a gallant officer lies far away from his home. Here, as the poor fellow lay tossing in his fever, the people who watched him might have heard him raving about Amelia. The idea that he should never see her again depressed him in his lucid hours. He thought his last day was come ; and he made his solemn preparations for departure : setting his affairs in this world in order, and leaving the little property of which he was possessed to those whom he most desired to benefit. The friend in whose house he was located witnessed his testament. He desired to be buried with a little brown hair-chain which he wore round his neck, and which, if the truth must be known, he had got from Amelia's maid at Brussels, when the young widow's hair was cut off, during the fever which prostrated her after the death of George Osborne on the plateau at Mount St. John. He recovered, rallied, relapsed again, having undergone such a process of blood-letting and calomel as showed the strength of his original constitution. He was almost a skeleton when they put A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 559 him on board the Banichurider East Indiaman, Captain Bragg, from Calcutta, touching at Madras ; and so weak and prostrate, that his fi-iend who had tended him through his illness, prophesied that the honest Major would never survive the voyage, and that he would pass some morning, shrouded in flag and hammock, over the ship's side, and carrying down to the sea with him the relic that he wore at his heart. But whether it was the sea air, or the hope which sprung up in him afi-esh, from the day that the ship spread her canvas and stood out of the roads towards hoine, our friend began to amend, and he was quite well (though as gaunt as a greyhound) before they reached the Cape. "Kirk will be disappointed of his majority this time," he said, with a smile : " he will expect to find himself gazetted by the time the regiment reaches home." For it must be premised that while the Major was lying ill at Madras, having made such prodigious haste to go thither, the gallant — th, which had passed many years abroad, which after its return from the West Indies had been balked of its stay at home by the Waterloo campaign, and had been ordered from Flanders to India, had received orders home ; and the Major might have accompanied his comrades, had he chosen to wait for their arrival at Madras. Perhaps he was not inclined to put himself in his exhausted state agaiu mrder the guardianship of Glorvina. " I think Miss O'Dowd would have done for me," he said laughingly, to a fellow- passenger, "if we had had her on board, and when she had sunk me, she would have fallen upon you, depend upon it, and carried you in as a prize to Southampton, Jos, my boy." For indeed it was no other than our stout friend who was also a passenger on board the Ramchunder. He had passed ten years in Bengal. — Constant dinners, tiffins, pale ale and claret, the pro- digious labour of cutchen-y, and the refreshment of brandy-pawnee which he was forced to take there, had their effect upon Waterloo Sedley. A voyage to Europe was pronounced necessary for him — and having served his frdl time in India, and had fine appointments which had enabled him to lay by a considerable sum of money, he was free to come home' and stay with a good pension, or to return and resume that rank in the service to which his seniority and his vast talents entitled him. He was rather thinner than when we last saw him, but had gained in majesty and solemnity of demeanour. He had resumed the mustachios to which his services at Waterloo entitled him, and swaggered about on deck in a magnificent velvet cap with a gold band, and a profuse ornamentation of pins and jewellery about his person. He took breakfast in his cabin, and dressed as solemnly to appear on the quarter-deck, as if he were going to turn out for 56o VANITY FAIE Boud Street, or the Course at Calcutta. He brought a native servant with him, who was his valet and pipe-bearer; and who wore the Sedley crest in silver on his turban. That oriental menial had a wTetched life under the tyranny of Jos Sedley. Jos was as vain of his person as a woman, and took as long a time at his toilette as any fading beauty. The youngsters among the passengers, Young Chaffers of the 150th, and poor little Eicketts, coming home after his third fever, used to draw out Sedley at the cuddy-table, and make him tell prodigious stories about himself and his exploits against tigers and Napoleon. He was great when he visited the Emperor's tomb at Longwood, when to these gentlemen and the young officers of the ship, Major Dobbin not being by, he described the whole battle of Waterloo, and all but annoimced that Napoleon never would have gone to Saint Helena at all but for him, Jos Sedley. After leaving St. Helena he became very generous, disposing of a great quantity of ship stores, claret, preserved meats, and great casks packed with soda-water, brought out for his private delecta- tion. There were no ladies on board : the Major gave the 2^0-^ of precedency to the civilian, so that he was the first dignitary at table ; and treated by Captain Bragg, and the officers of the Ram- chunder, with the respect which his rank warranted. He disap- peared rather in a panic during a two days' gale, in which he had the portholes of his cabin battened down ; and remained in his cot readiug the " Washerwoman of Finchley Common," left on board the Ramchunder by the Eight Honourable the Lady Emily Honi- blower, wife of the Eev. Silas Homblower, when on their passage out to the Cape, where the Eeverend gentleman was a missionary : but, for common reading, he had brought a stock of novels and Inlays which he lent to the rest of the ship, and rendered himself agreeable to all by his kindness and condescension. Many and many a night as the ship was cutting through the roaring dark sea, the moon and stars shining overhead, and the bell singing out the watch, Mr. Sedley and the Major would sit on the quarter-deck of the vessel talkmg about home, as the Major smoked his cheroot, and the civilian puffed at the hookah which his servant prepared for him. In these conversations it was wonderful with what perseverance and ingenuity Major Dobbin would manage to bring the talk round to the subject of Ameha and her little boy. Jos, a little testy about his father's misfortunes and unceremonious applications to him, was soothed down by the Major, who pointed out the elder's ill fortunes and old age. He would not perhaps hke to live with the old coujjle : whose ways and hours might not agree with those A NOVEL WITHOUT A HBEO 561 of a younger man, accustomed to different society (Jos bowed at this compliment) : but, the Major pointed out, how advantageous it would be for Jos Sedley to have a house of his own in London, and not a mere bachelor's estabhshment as before : how his sister Amelia would be the very pereon to preside over it ; how elegant, how gentle she was, and of what refined good manners. He re- counted stories of the success which Mrs. George Osborne had had in former days at Brussels, and in London, where she was much admired by people of very great fashion : and he then hinted how becoming it would be for Jos to send Georgy to a good school and make a man of him ; for his mother and her parents would be sure to spoil him. In a word, this artful Major made the civilian promise to take charge of Amelia and her unprotected child. He did not know as yet what events had happened in the httle Sedley family : and how deatli had removed the mother, and riches had carried off George from Amelia. But the fact is, that every day and always, this love-smitten and middle-aged gentleman was think- ing about Mrs. Osborne, and his whole heart was bent upon doing her good. He coaxed, wheedled, cajoled, and complimented Jos Sedleyl with a perseverance and cordiality of which he was not aware | himself, very likely ; but some men who have unmarried sisters or ' daughters even, may remember how uncommonly agreeable gentlemen are to the male- relations when they are courting the females ; and perhaps thia-rogtnro firiyobFin was urged by a similar hy pocrisy. The tnifh'isTwEenMajor Dobbin came on board the Ramchunder, very sick, and for the three days she lay in the Madras Eoads, he did not begin to rally, nor did even the appearance and recognition of his old acquaintance, Mr. Sedley, on board much cheer him, imtil after a conversation which they had one day, as the Major was laid languidly on the deck. He said then he thought he was doomed ; he had left a little something to his godson in his will ; and he trusted Mrs. Osborne would remember him kindly, and be happy in the marriage she was about to make. " Married ? not the least," Jos answered : "he had heard from her : she made no mention of the marriage, and by the way, it was curious, she wrote to say that Major Dobbin was going to be married, and hoped that he would be happy." What were the dates of Sedley 's letters from Europe ? The civilian fetched them. They were two months later than the Major's ; and the ship's surgeon congratulated himself upon the treatment adopted by him towards his new patient, who had been consigned to shipboard by the Madras practitioner with very small hopes' indeed ; for, from that day, the very day that he changed the draught. Major Dobbin began to mend. And thus it was that deserving officer, Captain Kirk, was disappointed of his majority. 562 VANITY FAIR After they passed St. Helena, Major Dobbin's gaiety and strength was such as to astonish all his feUow-passengers. He larked with the midshipmen, played single-stick with the mates, ran up the shrouds like a boy, sang a comic song one night to the amusement of the whole party assembled over their grog after supper, and rendered himself so gay, lively, and amiable, that even Captain Bragg, who thought there was nothing in his passenger, and con- sidered he was a poor-spirited feller at first, was constrained to own that the Major was a reserved but well-informed and meritorious officer. ' He ain't got distangy mamiers, dammy," Bragg observed to his first mate ; " he wouldn't do at Government House, Roper, where his Lordship and Lady William was as kind to me, and shook hands with me before the whole company, and asking me at dinner to take beer with him, before the Commander-in-Chief him- self; he ain't got manners, but there's something about him " And tlius Captain Bragg showed that he possessed discrimination as a man, as well as ability as a commander. But a calm taking place when the Ramchunder was within ten days' sail of England, Dobbin became so impatient and ill-humoured as to siu-prise those comrades who had before admired his vivacity and good temper. He did not recover until the breeze sprang up again, and was in a highly excited state when the pilot came on board. Good God, how his heart beat as the two friendly spires of Southampton came in sight ! CHAPTER LVIII OUR FRIEND THE MAJOR OUR Major had rendered himself so popular on board the Eamchunder, that when he and Mr. Sedley descended into the welcome shore-boat which was to take them from the ship, the whole crew, men and ofEcers, the great Captain Bragg himself leading off, gave three cheers for Major Dobbin, who blushed very much, and ducked his head in token of thanks. Jos, who very likely thought the cheers were for himself, took off his gold-laced cap and waved it majestically to his friends, and they were pulled to shore and landed with great dignity at the pier, whence they proceeded to the Royal George Hotel. Although the sight of that magnificent round of beef, and the silver tankard suggestive of real British home-brewed ale and porter, which perennially greet the eyes of the traveller returning fi-om foreign parts, who enters the coffee-room of the George, are so invigorating and debghtfid, that a man entering such a comfortable snug homely English inn, might well like to stop some days there, yet Dobbin began to talk about a post-chaise instantly, and was no sooner at Southampton than he wished to be on the road to London. Jos, however, would not hear of moving that evening. Why was he to pass a night in a post-chaise instead of a great large undulating downy feather bed, which was there ready to replace the horrid little narrow crib in which the portly Bengal gentleman had been confined during the voyage ? He could not think of moving till his baggage was cleared, or of travelling until he could do so with his chillum. So the Major was forced to wait over that night, and despatched a letter to his family announcing his arrival ; entreating from Jos a promise to write to his own friends. Jos promised, but didn't keep his promise. The Captain, the surgeon, and one or two passengers came and dined with our two gentlemen at the inn ; Jos exerting himself in a sumptuous way in ordering the dinner : and promising to go to town the next day with the Major. The landlord said it did his eyes good to see Mr. Sedley take off his first pint of porter. If I had time and dared to enter into digressions, I would write a chapter about that first pint of porter drunk upon 564 VANITY FAIE English ground. Ah, how good it is ! It is worth while to leave home for a year, just to enjoy that one draught. Major Dobbin made his appearance the next morning very neatly shaved and dressed, according to his wont. Indeed, it was so early in the morning, that nobody was up in the house except that wonderful Boots of an inn who never seems to want sleep : and the Major could hear the snores of the various inmates of the house roaring through the corridors as he creaked about in those dim passages. Then the sleepless Boots went shirking romid from door to door, gathering up at each the Bluchers, Wellingtons, Oxonians, which stood outside. Then Jos's native servant arose and began to get ready his master's ponderous dressing apparatus, and prepare his hookah : then the maidservants got up, and meeting the dark man in the passages, shrieked, and mistook him for the devil. He and Dobbin stumbled over their pails in the passages as they were scouring the decks of the Koyal George. When the first unshorn waiter appeared and unbarred the door of the inn, the Major thought that the time for departiu:e was arrived, and ordered a post-chaise to be fetched instantly, that they might set off. He then directed his steps to Mr. Sedley's room, and opened the curtains of the great large family bed wherein Mr. Jos was snoring. " Come, up ! Sedley," the Major said, " it's time to be off; the chaise will be at the door in half-an-hour." Jos growled from under the counterpane to know what the time was ; but when he at last extorted from the blushing Major (who never told fibs, however they might be to his advantage) what was the real hour of the morning, he broke out into a volley of bad language, which we will not repeat here, but by which he gave Dobbin to understand that he would jeopardise his soul if he got up at that moment, that the Major might go and be hanged, that he would not travel with Dobbin, and that it was most unkind and ungentlemanlike to disturb a man out of his sleep in that way ; on which the discomfited Major was obhged to retreat, leaving Jos to resume his interrupted slumbers. The chaise came up presently, and the Major would wait no longer. If he had been an English nobleman travelling on a pleasure tour, or a newspaper courier bearing despatches (government messages are generally carried much more quietly), he could not have travelled more quickly. The post-boys wondered at the fees he flung amongst them. How happy and green the coimtry looked as the chaise whirled rapidly from milestone to milestone, through neat country towns where landlords came out to welcome him with smiles and bows ; by pretty roadside inns, where the signs himg on the elms, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 565 and horses and waggoners were drinking under the chequered shadow of the trees ; by old halls and parks ; rustic hamlets clustered round ancient grey churches — and through the charming friendly English landscape ! Is there any in the world like it 1 To a traveller returning home it looks so kind — it seems to shake hands vrith. you as you pass through it. Well, Major Dobbin passed through all this from Southampton to London, and without noting much beyond the milestones along the road. You see he was so eager to see his parents at Gamberwell. He grudged the time lost between Piccadilly and his old haunt at the Slaughters', whither he drove faithfully. Long years had passed since he saw it last, since he and George, as young men, had enjoyed many a feast, and held many a revel there. He had now passed into the stage of old-fellow-hood. His hair was grizzled, and many a passion and feeling of his youth had grown grey in that interval. There, however, stood the old waiter at the door, in the same greasy black suit, with the same double chin and flaccid face, with the same huge bunch of seals at his fob, rattling his money in his pockets as before, and receiving the Major as if he had gone away only a week ago. " Put the Major's things in twenty-three, that's his room," John said, exhibiting not the least surprise. " Roast fowl for your dinner, I suppose. You ain't got married ? They said you was married — the Scotch surgeon of yoius was here. Ko, it was Captain Humby of the thirty-third, as was quartered with the — th in Injee. Like any warm water'? What do you come in a chay for — ain't the coach good enough 1 " And with this, the faithfid waiter, who knew and remembered every officer who used the house, and with whom ten years were but as yesterday, led the way up to Dobbin's olil room, where stood the gxeat moreen bed, and the shabby carpet, a thought more dingy, and all the old black furniture covered with faded chintz, just as the Major re- collected them in his youth. He remembered George pacing up and down the room, and biting his nails, and swearing that the Governor must come round, and that if he didn't, he didn't care a straw, on the day before he was married. He coidd fancy him walking in, banging the door of Dobbin's room^ and his own hard by — " You ain't got young," John said, calmly surveying his friend of fonner days. Dobbin laughed. " Ten years and a fever don't make a man young, John," he said. " It is you that are always young :— No, you are always old." " What became of Captain Osborne's widow 1 " John said. "Fine young fellow that. Lord, how he used to spend his 566 VANITY FAIR money ! He never came back after that day he was married from here. He owes me three pound at this minute. Look here, I have it in my book. ' April 10, 1815, Captain Osborne : £3.' I wonder whether his father would pay me," and so saying, John of the Slaughters' pulled out the very morocco pocket-book in which he had noted his loan to the Captain, upon a greasy faded page still extant, with many other scrawled memoranda regarding the bygone frequenters of the house. Having inducted his customer into the room, John retired with perfect calmness ; and Major Dobbin, not without a blush and a grin at his own absurdity, chose out of his kit the very smartest and most becoming civil costume he possessed, and laughed at his own tanned face and grey hair, as he surveyed them in the dreary little toilet-glass on the dressing-table. " I'm glad old John didn't forget me,'' he thought. " She'll know me, too, I hope." And he sallied out of the inn, bending his steps once more in the direction of Brompton. Every minute incident of his last meeting witli Ameha was present to the constant man's mind as he walked towards her house. The arch and the Achilles statue were up since he had last been in Piccadilly ; a Irandred changes had occurred which his eye and mind vaguely noted. He began to tremble as he walked up the lane from Brompton, that well-remembered lane leading to the street where she lived. Was she going to be married or not ? If he were to meet her with the little boy — Good God, what should he do 1 He saw a woman coming to him with a child of five years old — was that she 1 He began to shake at the mere possibility. When he came up to the row of houses, at last, where she lived, and to the gate, he caught hold of it and paused. He might have heard the thumping of his own heart. " May God Almighty bless her, what- ever has happened," he thought to himself. " Psha ! she may be gone from here," he said, and went in through the gate. The window of the parlour which she used to occupy was open, and there were no inmates in the room. The Major thought he recognised the piano, though, with the picture over it, as it used to be in former days, and his perturbations were renewed. Mr. Olapp's brass plate was still on the door, at the knocker of which Dobbin performed a summons. A buxom-looking lass of sixteen, -nith bright eyes and purple cheeks, came to answer the knock, and looked hard at the Major as he leant back against the little porch. He was as pale as a ghost, and could hardly falter out the words — "Does Mrs. Osborne live here?" She looked him hard in the face for a moment — and then turn- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 567 ing white too— said, "Lord bless me— it's Major Dobbin!" She held out both her hands shaking — " Don't you remember me 1 " she said. " I used to call you Major Sugarplums." Ou which, and I believe it was for the lirst time that he ever so conducted himself in his life, the Major took the girl in his arms and kissed her. She began to laugh and cry hysterically, and calling out " Ma, pa ! " with all her voice, brought up those worthy people, who had already been surveying the Major from the casement of the ornamental kitchen, and were astonished to find their daughter in the little passage in the embrace of a great tall man in a blue frock-coat and white duck trousers. " I'm an old friend," he said — not without blushing though. "Don't you remember me, Mrs. Clapp, and those good cakes you used to make for tea 1 — Don't you recollect me, Clapp t I'm George's godfather, and just come back from India." A great shaking of hands ensued — Mrs. Clapp was greatly affected and delighted j she called upon Heaven to interpose a vast many times in that passage. The landlord and landlady of the house led the worthy Major iuto the Sedleys' room (whereof he remembered every single article of furniture, from the old brass-ornamented piano, once a natty little instrument, Stothard maker, to the screens and the alabaster miuia- tiure tombstone, in the midst of which ticked Mr. Sedley's gold watch), and there, as he sat down in the lodger's vacant arm-chair, the father, the mother, and the daughter, with a thousand ejacula- tory breaks in the narrative, informed Major Dobbin of what we know already, but of particulars in Amelia's history of which he was not aware — namely, of Mrs. Sedley's death, of George's recon- cilement with his grandfather Osborne, of the way in which the widow took on at leaving him, and of other particulars of her life. Twice or thrice he was going to ask about the marriage question, but his heart failed him. He did not care to lay it bare to these people. Finally, he was informed that Mrs. 0. was gone to walk with her pa in Kensington Gardens, whither she always went with the old gentleman (who was very weak and peevish now, and led her a sad life, though she behaved to him like an angel, to be sure), of a fine afternoon, after dinner. "I'm very much pressed for time," the Major said, "and have business to-night of importance. I should like to see Mrs. Osborne though. Suppose Miss Polly would come with me and show me the way." Miss Polly was charmed and astonished at this proposal. She knew the way. She would show Major Dobbin. She had often been with Mr. Sedley when Mrs. 0. was gone— was gone EusseU Square way : and knew the bench where he hked to sit. She 568 VANITY FAIR bounced away to her apartment, and appeared presently in her best bonnet and her mamma's yellow shawl and large pebble brooch, of which she assumed the loan in order to make herself a worthy companion for the Major. That officer, then, in his blue frock-coat and buckskin gloves, gave the young lady his arm, and they walked away very gaily. He was glad to have a friend at hand for the scene which he dreaded somehow. He asked a thousand more questions from his companion about Amelia : his kind heart grieved to think that she should have had to part with her son. How did she bear it? Did she' see him often 1 Was Mr. Sedley pretty comfortable now in a worldly )5oint of view ? Polly answered all these questions of Major Sugarplums to the very best of her power. And in the midst of their walk an incident occurred which, though very simple in its uatiu-e, was productive of the greatest delight to Major Dobbin. A pale young man with feeble whiskers and a stiff white neckcloth camo walking down the lane, en sand- wich : — having a lady, that is, on each arm. One was a tall and commanding middle-aged female, mth features and a complexion similar to those of the clergyman of the Church of England by whose side she marched, and the other a stunted httle woman with a dark face, ornamented by a fine new bonnet and white ribbons, and in a smart pelisse, with a rich gold watch in the midst of her person. The gentleman, pinioned as he was by these two ladies, carried further a parasol, shawl, and basket, so that his arms were entirely engaged, and of course he was unable to touch his hat in acknowledgment of the curtsey with which Miss Mary Clapp greeted him. He merely bowed his head in reply to her salutation, which the two ladies returned with a patronising air, and at the same time looking severely at the individual in the blue coat and bamboo cane who accompanied Miss Polly. " Who's that ? " asked the Major, amused by the group, and after he had made way for the three to pass up the lane, Mary looked at him rather roguishly. " That is our curate, the Reverend Mr. Binny (a twitch from Major Dobbin), and his sister Miss B. Lord bless us, how she did use to worret us at Sunday-school ; and the other lady, the little one with a cast in her eye, and the handsome watch, is Mrs. Binny — Miss Grits that was ; her pa was a grocer, and kept the Little Original Gold Tea Pot in Kensington Gravel Pits. They were married last month, and are just come back from Margate. She's five thousand pound to her fortune ; but her and Miss B., who made the match, have quarrelled already." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 569 If the Major liad t-witched before, lie started now, and slapped the bamboo on the gi-oimd with an emphasis which made Miss Clapp cry " Law," and laugh too. He stood for a moment silent with open month looking after the retreating young couple, while Miss Mary told their history ; but he did not hear beyond the announce- ment of the reverend gentleman's marriage ; his head was swimming with felicity. After this rencontre he began to walk double quick towards the place of his destination ; and yet they were too soon (for he was in a great tremor at the idea of a meeting for which he had been longing any time these ten years) — through the Brompton lanes, and entering at the httle old portal in Kensington Garden wall. " There they are," said Miss Polly, and she felt him again start back on her arm. She was a confidante at once of the whole business. She knew the story as well as if she had read it in one of her favourite novel-books — "Fatherless Fanny," or the " Scottish Chiefs." " Suppose you were to run on and tell her," the Major said. Polly ran forward, her yellow shawl streaming in the breeze. Old Sedley was seated on a bench, his handkerchief placed over his knees, prattUng away according to his wont, with some old story about old times, to which Amelia had listened, and awarded a patient smile many a time before. She could of late think of her own affairs, and smile or make other marks of recognition of her father's stories, scarcely hearing a word of the old man's tales. As Mary came bouncing along, and Amelia caught sight of her, she started up from her bench. Her first thought was, that something had happened to Georgy ; but the sight of the messenger's eager and happy face dissipated that fear in the timorous mother's bosom. " News ! News ! " cried the emissary of Major Dobbin. " He's come ! He's come ! " "Who is come?" said Emmy, still thinking other son. "Look there," answered Miss Clapp, turning round and point- ing ; in which direction Amelia looking, saw Dobbin's lean figure and long shadow stalking across the grass. Amelia started in her tirm, blushed up, and, of course, began to cry. At all this simple little creature's fetes, the grandes eaux were accustomed to play. He looked at her — oh, how fondly ! — as she came running towards him, her hands before her, ready to give them to him. She wasn't changed. She was a little pale : a little stouter in figure. Her eyes were the same, the kind trustful eyes. There were scarce three lines of silver in her soft brown hair. She gave him both her hands as she looked up flushing and smiling through her tears 570 VANITY FAIR into his honest homely face. He took the two little hands between his two, and held them there. He was speechless for a moment. Why did he not take her in his arms, and swear that he would never leave her 1 She must have yielded : she could not but have obeyed him. " I — I've another arrival to announce," he said, after a pause. " Mrs. Dobbin 1 " Amelia said, making a movement back — Why didn't he speak 1 " No," he said, letting her hands go : "Who has told you those lies ? — I mean, your brother Jos came in the same ship with me, and is come home to make you all happy." " Papa, papa ! " Emmy cried out, " here are news ! My brother is in En-rland. He is come to take care of you. — Here is Major Dobbin.'' Mr. Sedley started up, shaking a great deal, and gathering up his thoughts. Then he stepped forward and made an old-fashioned bow to the Major, whom he called Mr. Dobbin, and hoped his worthy father, Sir Wilham, was quite well. He proposed to call upon Sir William, who had done him the honour of a visit a short time ago. Sir William had not called upon the old gentleman for eight years — it was that visit he was thinking of returning. " He is very much shaken," Emmy whispered, as Dobbin went up and cordially shook hands with the old man. Although he had such particular business in London that even- ing, the Major consented to forego it upon Mr. Sedley's invitation to him to come home and partake of tea. Amelia put her arm under that of her young friend with the yellow shawl, and headed the party on their return homewards, so that Mr. Sedley fell to Dobbin's share. The old man walked very slowly, and told a number of ancient histories about himself and his poor Bessj', his former prosperity, and his bankruptcy. His thoughts, as is usual with failing old men, were quite in former times. The present, with the exception of the one catastrophe which he felt, he knew little about. The Major was glad to let him talk on. His eyes were fixed upon the figure in front of him — the dear httle figure always present to his imagination and in his prayers, and visiting his dreams wakeful or slumbering. Amelia was very happy, smiling, and active all that evening ; performing her duties as hostess of the httle entertainment with the utmost grace and propriety, as Dobbin thought. His eyes followed her about as they sate in the twilight. How many a time had he longed for that moment, and thought of her far away under hot winds and in weary marches, gentle and happy, kindly ministering A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 571 to^ the wants of old age, and decorating poverty with sweet sub- mission—as he saw her now ! I do not say that his taste was the highest, or that it is the duty of gxeat intellects to be content with a bread-and-butter paradise, such as sufficed our simple old friend ; but his desires were of this sort, whether for good or bad ; and, with Amelia to help him, he was as ready to drink as many cups of tea as Doctor Johnson. Amelia seeing this propensity, laughingly encouraged it; and looked exceedingly roguish as she administered to him cup after cup. It is true she did not know that the Major had had no dinner, and that the cloth was laid for him at the Slaughters', and a plate laid thereon to luark that the table was retained, in that very box in which the Major and George had sate many a time carousing, when she was a child just come home from Miss Pinkerton's school. The fii-st thing Mrs. Osborne showed the Major was Georgy's miniature, for which she ran upstairs on her arrival at home. It was not half handsome enough of course for the boy, but wasn't it noble of him to think of bringing it to his mother 1 Whilst her papa was awake she did not talk much about Georgy. To hear about Mr. Osborne and Eussell Square was not agreeable to the old man, who very likely was unconscious that he had been living for some months past mainly on the bounty of his richer rival ; and lost his temper if allusion was made to the other. Dobbin told him aU, and a little more perhaps than all, that had happened on board the Ramchunder ; and exaggerated Jos's benevolent dispositions towards his father, and resolution to make him comfortable in his old days. The truth is, that during the voyage the Major had impressed this duty most strongly upon his fellow-passenger, and extorted promises from him that he would take charge of his sister and her child. He soothed Jos's irritation with regard to the bills which the old gentleman had drawn upon him, gave a laughing account of his own sufferings on the same score, and of the famous consignment of wine with which the old man had favoured him : and brought Mr. Jos, who was by no means an ill- natured person when well pleased and moderately flattered, to a very good state of feeling regarding his relatives in Europe. And in fine I am ashamed to say that the Major stretched the truth so far as to tell old Mr. Sedley that it was mainly a desire to see his parent which brought Jos once more to Europe. At his accustomed hour Mr. Sedley began to doze in his chair, and then it was Amelia's opportunity to commence her conversation, which she did with great eagerness ; — it related exclusively to Georgy. She did not talk at all about her own sufferings at breaking from him, for indeed, this worthy woman though she was half killed by 572 VANITY FAIK the separation from the child, yet thought it was very wicked in her to repine at losing him ; but everything concerning him, his virtues, talents, and prospects, she poured out. She described his angelic beauty ; narrated a hundred instances of his generosity and greatness of mind whilst living with her : how a Eoyal Duchess had stopped aud admired him in Kensington Gardens ; how splendidly he was oared for now, and how he had a groom and a pony ; what quickness and cleverness he had, and what a prodigiously well-read and delightful person the Eeverend Lawrence Veal was, George's master. " He knows everything," Amelia said. " He has the most delightful parties. You who are so learned yourself, and have read so much, and are so clever and accomplished — don't shake your head and say no^He always used to say you were — you will be charmed with Mr. Veal's parties. The last Tuesday in every month. He says there is no place in the bar or the senate that Georgy may not aspire to. Look here," and she went to the piano- drawer and drew out a theme of Georgy's composition. This gi-eat effort of genius, which is still in the possession of George's mother, is as follows : — " On Selfishness. — Of all the vices which degrade the human character. Selfishness is the most odious and contemptible. An undue love of Self leads to the most monstrous crimes ; aud occasions the greatest misfortunes both in States and Families. As a selfish man will impoverish his family and often bring them to ruin : so a selfish king brings ruin on his people and often plunges them into war. " Example ; The selfishness of Achilles, as remarked by the poet Homer, occasioned a thousand woes to the Greeks — fivpC 'A^^aiots aXyk edrjKe — (Hom. II. A. 2). The selfishness of the late Napoleon Bonaparte occasioned innumerable wars in Europe, and caused him to perish, himself, in a miserable island- -that of Saint Helena in the Atlantic Ocean. " We see by these examples that we are not to consult our own interest and ambition, but that we are to consider the interests of others as well as our own. "George S. Osborne. "Athene House, 2ith April 1827." "Think of him writing such a hand, and quoting Greek too, at his age," the delighted mother said. " William," she added, holding out her hand to the Major — "what a treasure Heaven has given me in that boy ! He is the comfort of my life — and he is the image of — of him that's gone ! " A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 573 "Ought I to be angry with her for being faithful to himr' William thought. "Ought I to be jealous of my friend in the grave, or hurt that such a heart as Ameha's can love only once and for everl George, George, how little you knew the prize you had, though." This sentiment passed rapidly through William's mind, as he was holding Amelia's hand, whilst the handkerchief was veiling her eyes. " Dear friend," she said, pressing the hand which held hers, " how good, how kind you always have been to me ! See ! Papa is stirring. You will go and see Georgy to-morrow, won't you ? " " Not to-morrow," said poor old Dobbin. " I have business.'' He did not like to own that he had not as yet been to his parents' and his dear sister Anne — a remissness for which I am sure every well-regulated person will blame the Major. And presently he took his leave, leaving his address behind him for Jos, against the latter's arrival. And so the first day was over, and he had seen her. When he got back to the Slaughters', the roast fowl was of course cold, in which condition he ate it for supper. And knowing what early hours his family kept, and that it would be needless to disturb their slumbers at so late an hour, it is on record that Major Dobbin treated himself to half-price at the Haymarket Theatre that evening, where let us hope he enjoyed himself. CHAPTER LIX THE OLD PIANO THE Major's visit left old John Sedley in a great state of agitation and excitement. His daughter could not induce him to settle down to his customary occupations or amuse- ments that night. He passed the evening fumbling amongst his boxes and desks, untying his papers with trembling hands, and sorting and arranging them against Jos's arrival. He had them in the greatest order — his tapes and his files, his receipts, and his letters with lawyers and correspondents ; the documents relative to the Wine Project (which failed from a most unaccountable accident, after commencing with the most splendid prospects), the Coal Project (which only a want of capital prevented from becoming the most successful scheme ever put before the public), the Patent Sawmills and Sawdust Consolidation Project, &c. &c. — All night, until a very late hour, he passed in the preparation of these docu- ments, trembling about from one room to another, with a quivering candle and shaky hands. — " Here's the wine papers, here's the saw- dust, here's the coals ; here's my letters to Calcutta and Madras, and replies from Major Dobbin, C.B., and Mr. Joseph Sedley to the same. He shall find no irregularity about me, Emmy," the old gentleman said. Emmy smiled. " I don't think Jos will care about seeing those papers, papa," she said. " You don't know anything about business, my dear," answered the sire, shaking his head with an important air. And it must be confessed, that on this point Emmy was very ignorant, and that is a pity, some people are so knowing. All these twopenny documents arranged on a side table, old Sedley covered them carefully over with a clean bandanna handkerchief (one out of Major Dobbin's lot), and enjoined the maid and landlady of the house, in the most solemn way, not to disturb those papers, which were arranged for the arrival of Mr. Joseph Sedley the next morning, " Mr. Joseph Sedley of the Honourable East India Company's Bengal Civil Service." Amelia found him up very early the next morning, more eager, more hectic, and more shaky than ever. "I didn't sleep much. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 575 Emmy, my dear," he said. " I was thinking of my poor Bessy. I wish she was ahve, to ride in Jos's carriage once again. She kept her own, and became it very well." And his eyes filled with tears, which trickled dovm his furrowed old face. Amelia wiped them away, and smilingly kissed him, and tied the old man's neckcloth in a smart bow, and put his brooch into his best shirt frill, in which, in his Sunday suit of mourning, he sat from six o'clock in the morning awaiting the arrival of his son. There are some splendid tailors' shops in the High Street of Southampton, in the fine plate-glass windows of which hang gorgeous waistcoats of all sorts, of silk and velvet, and gold and crimson, and pictm-es of the last new fashions, in which those wonderful gentlemen with quizzing glasses, and holding on to httle boys with the exceed- ing large eyes and cm-ly hair, ogle ladies in riding habits prancing by the statue of Achilles at Apsley House. Jos, although provided with some of the most splendid vests that Calcutta could furnish, thought he could not go to town until he was supphed with one or two of these garments, and selected a crimson satin, embroidered with gold butterflies, and a black and red velvet tartan with white stripes and a rolling collar, with which, and a rich blue satin stock and a gold pin, consisting of a five-barred gate with a horseman in pink enamel jumping over it, he thought he might make his entry into London with some dignity. For Jos's former shyness and blundering blushing timidity had given way to a more candid and courageous self-assertion of his worth. " I don't care about owning it," Waterloo Sedley would say to his friends, " I am a dressy man : " and though rather uneasy if the ladies looked at him at the Govern- ment House balls, and though he blushed and turned away alarmed under their glances, it was chiefly from a dread lest they should make love to him that he avoided them, being averse to marriage altogether. But there was no such swell in Calcutta as Waterloo Sedley, I have heard say : and he had the handsomest turn-out, gave the best bachelor dinners, and had the finest plate in the whole place. To make these waistcoats for a man of his size and dignity took at least a day, part of which he employed in hiring a servant to wait upon him and his native ; and in instructing the agent who cleared his baggage, his boxes, his books, which he never read ; his chests of mangoes, chutney, and currie-powders ; his shawls for presents to people whom he didn't know as yet ; and the rest of his Persicos ap2)aratus. At length he drove leisurely to London on the third day, and in the new waistcoat : the native with chattering teeth, shuddering in a shawl on the box by the side of the new European servant ; 576 VANITY FAIK Jos puffing his pipe at intervals within, and looking so majestic, that the little boys cried Hooray, and many people thought he must be a Governor-General. He, I promise, did not decline the obse- quious invitation of the landlords to alight and refresh himself in the neat country towns. Having partaken of a copious breakfast, with fish, and rice, and hard eggs, at Southampton, he had so far rallied at Winchester as to think a glass of sherry necessary. At Alton he stepped out of the carriage at his servant's request, and imbibed some of the ale for which the place is famous. At Farn- ham he stopped to view the Bishop's Castle, and to partake of a light dinner of stewed eels, veal cutlets, and French beans, with a bottle of claret. He was cold over Bagshot Heath, where the native chattered more and more, and Jos Sahib took some brandy- and-water ; in fact, when he drove into town he was as full of wine, beer, meat, pickles, cherry-brandy, and tobacco, as the steward's cabin of a steam-packet. It was evening when his carriage thundered up to the little door in Brompton, whither the affectionate fellow drove first, and before hieing to the apartments secured for him by Mr. Dobbin at the Slaughters'. All the faces in the street were in the windows ; the little maid- servant flew to the wicket-gate, the Mesdames Clapp looked out from the casement of the ornamented kitchen ; Emmy, in a great flutter, was in the passage among the hats and coats, and old Sedley in the parlour inside, shaking all over. Jos descended from the post-chaise and down the creaking swaying steps in awful state, supported by the new valet from Southampton and the shuddering native, whose brown face was now livid with cold, and of the colour of a turkey's gizzard. He created an immense sensation in the passage presently, where Mrs. and Miss Clapp, coming perhaps to listen at the parlour door, found Loll Jewab shaking upon the hall- bench under the coats, moaning in. a strange piteous way, and showing his yellow eyeballs and white teeth. For, you see, we have adroitly shut the door upon the meeting between Jos and the old father and the poor little gentle sister inside. The old man was very much affected : so, of course, was his daughter : nor was Jos without feeling. In that long absence of ten years, the most selfish will think about home and early ties. Distance sanctifies both. Long brooding over those lost pleasures exaggerates their charm and sweetness. Jos was unaff'ectedly glad to see and shake the hand of his father, between whom and himself there had been a coolness — glad to see his little sister, whom he remembered so pretty and smiling, and pained at the alteration which time, grief, and misfortune had made in the shattered old man. Emmy had come out to the door in her black clothes and A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 577 whispered to him of her mother's death, and not to speali of it to their father. There was no need of this caiition, for the elder Sedley himself began immediately to speak of the event, and prattled about it, and wept over it plenteously. It shocked the Indian not a little, and made him think of himself less than the poor fellow was accus- tomed to do. The residt of the interview must have been very satisfactory, for when Jos had reascended his post-chaise, and had' driven away to his hotel, Emmy embraced her father tenderly, appealing to him with an air of triumph, and asking the old man whether she did not always say that her brother had a good heart 1 Indeed, Joseph Sedley, affected by the humble position in which he found his relations, and in the expansiveness and overflowing of heart occasioned by the first meeting, declared that they should never suffer want or discomfort any more, that he was at home for some time at any rate, during which his house and every- thing he had should be theirs ; and that Ameha would look very pretty at the head of his table — until she woidd accept one of her ovm. She shook her head sadly, and had, as usual, recourse to the watei-works. She knew what he meant. She and her young confidante. Miss Mary, had talked over the matter most fully, the very night of the Major's visit : beyond which time the impetuous Polly coidd not refrain from talking of the discovery which she had made, and describing the start and tremor of joy by which Major Dobbm betrayed himself when Mr. Binny passed with his bride, and the Major learned that he had no longer a rival to fear. " Didn't you see how he shook all over when you asked if he was married, and he said, ' Who told you those lies *? ' ma'am," ■ Polly said, " he never kept his eyes oif you : and I'm sure he's grown grey a-thinking of you." But Ameha, looking up at her bed, over which hung the portraits of her husband and son, told her young prot^gfe, never, never, to speak on that subject again ; that Major Dobbin had been her husband's dearest friend, and her own and George's most kind and affectionate guardian ; that she loved him as a brother — but that a woman who had been married to such an angel as that, and she pointed to the wall, could never think pf any other union. Poor PoUy sighed : she thought what she should do if young Mr. Tomkins, at the surgery, who ahvays looked at her so at church, and who, by those mere aggressive glances had put her timorous little heart into such a flutter that she was ready to surrender at once, — what she should do if he were to die 1 She knew he was con- 1 20 578 VANITY FAIE sumptive, his cheeks were so red, and he was so uncommon thin in the waist. Not that Emmy, being made aware of the honest Major's passion, rebuffed him in any way, or felt displeased with him. Such an attachment from so true and loyal a gentleman could make no woman angry. Desdemona was not angry with Cassio, though there is very little doubt she saw the Lieutenant's partiahty for her (and I for my part believe that many more things took place in that sad affair than the worthy Moorish officer ever knew of) ; why, Miranda was "even very kind to Caliban, and we may be pretty sure for the same reason. Not that she would encourage him in the least — the poor uncouth monster — of course not. No more would Emmy by any means encourage her admirer, the Major. She would give him that friendly regard, which so much excellence and fidelity merited ; she would treat him with perfect cordiality and frankness until he made his proposals ; and then it would be time enough for her to speak, and to put an end to hopes which never could be realised. She slept, therefore, very soundly that evening, after the con- versation with Miss Polly, and was more than ordinarily happy, in spite of Jos's delaying. " I am glad he is not going to marry that Miss O'Dowd," she thought. " Colonel O'Dowd never could have a sister fit for such an accomphshed man as Major William." Who was there amongst her little circle, who would make him a good wife'? Not Miss Binny, she was too old and ill-tempered; Miss Osborne 1 — too old too. Little Polly was too young. Mrs. Osborne could not find anybody to suit the Major before she went to sleep. However, when the postman made his appearance, the httle party were put out of suspense by the receipt of a letter from Jos to his sister, who announced that he felt a little fatigued after his voyage, and should not be able to move on that day, but that he would leave Southampton early the next morning, and be with his father and mother at evening. Amelia, as she read out the letter to her father, paused over the latter word ; her brother, it was clear, did not know what had happened in the family. Nor could he : for the fact is that, though the Major rightly suspected that his travelling companion never would be got into motion in so short a space as twenty-four hours, and would find some excuse for delaying, yet Dobbin had not written to Jos to inform him of the calamity which had befallen the Sedley family : being occupied in talking with Amelia until long after post-hour. The same morning brought Major Dobbin a letter to the Slaughters' Coffee House from his friend at Southampton ; begging dear Dob to excuse Jos for being in a rage when awakened the day A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 579 before (he liad a confounded headache, and was just in his first sleep), and entreating Dob to enguge comfortable rooms at the Slaughters' for Mr. Sedley and his servants. The Major had become necessary to Jos during the voyage. He was attached to him, and hung upon him. The other passengers were away to London. Young Ricketts and little Chaffers went away on the coach that day — Ricketts on the box, and taking the reins fi-om Botley ; the Doctor was off to his family at Portsea ; Bragg gone to town to his co-partners ; and the first mate busy in the unload- ing of the Ramchimder. Mr. Jos was very lonely at Southampton, and got the landlord of the George to take a glass of wine with him that day ; at the very hour at which Major Dobbin was seated at the table of his father. Sir William, where his sister found out (for it was impossible for the Major to tell fibs) that he had been to see Mrs. George Osborne. Jos was so comfortably situated in St. Martin's Lane, he could enjoy his hookah there with such perfect ease, and could swagger down to the theatres, when minded, so agreeably, that, perhaps, he would have remained altogether at the Slaughters' had not his friend, the Major, been at his elbow. That gentleman would not let the Bengalee rest until he had executed his promise of having a home for Amelia and his father. Jos was a soft fellow in anybody's hands ; Dobbin most active in anybody's concerns but his own ; the civilian was, therefore, an easy victim to the guileless arts of this good-natured diplomatist, and was ready to do, to purchase, hire, or relinquish whatever his friend thought fit. Loll Jewab, of whom the boys about St. Martin's Lane used to make cruel fun whenever he showed his diisky countenance in the street, was sent liack to Calcutta in the Ladi/ Kiddebiinj East Indiaman, in which Sir William Dobbin had a share ; having pre^'iously taught Jos's European the art of preparing curries, pillaus, and pipes. It was a matter of great delight and occupation to -Jos to superintend the building of a smart chariot, which he and the Major ordered in the neighbouring Long Acre : and a pair of handsome horses were jobbed, with which Jos drove about in state in the Park, or to call upon his Indian friends. Amelia was not seldom by his side on these excursions, when also JIajor Dobbin would be seen in the back seat of the carriage. At other times old Sedley and his daughter took advantage of it : and Miss Clapp, who frequently accompanied her friend, had great pleasure in being recognised as she sate in the carriage, dressed in the famous yellow shawl, by the young gentleman at the surgery, whose face might commonly be seen over the window-blinds as she passed. S8o VANITY FAIR Shortly after Jos's first appearance at Brompton, a dismal scene, indeed, took place at that humble cottage, at which the Sedleys had passed the last ten years of their life. Jos's carriage (the temporary one, not the chariot imder construction) arrived one day and carried off old Sedley and his daughter — to return no more. The tears that were shed by the landlady and the landlady's daughter at that event were as genuine tears of sorrow as any that have been outpoured in the course of this history. In their long acquaintanceship and intimacy they could not recall a harsh word that had been uttered by Amelia. She had been all sweetness and kuidness, always thankful, always gentle, even when Mrs. Clapp lost her own temper, and pressed for the rent. When the kind creature was going away for good and all, the landlady reproached herself bitterly for ever having used a rough expression to her — how she wept, as they stuck up with wafers on the window, a paper notifying that the little rooms so long occupied were to let I They never would have such lodgers again, that was quite clear. After-life proved the truth of this melancholy prophecy : and Mrs. Clapp revenged herself for the deterioration of mankind by levying tlie most savage contributions upon the tea-caddies and legs of mutton of her locataires. Most of them scolded and grumbled ; some of them did not pay ; none of them stayed. The landlady might weU regret those old, old friends who had left her. As for Miss Mary, her sorrow at Amelia's dcpartra'e was such as I shall not attempt to depict. From childhood upwards she had been with her daily, and had attached herself so passionately to that dear good lady, that when the gi-and barouche came to carry her oft' into splendour, she fainted in the arms of her fiiend, who was indeed scarcely less affected than the good-natured girl. Amelia loved her like a daughter. During eleven years the girl had been her constant friend and associate. The separation was a very painful one indeed to her. But it was of course an-anged that Mary was to come and stay often at the grand new house whither Mrs. Osborne was going ; and where Mary was sure she would never be so happy as she had been in their humble cot, as Miss Clapp called it, in the language of the novels which she loved. Let us hope she was wrong in her judgment. Poor Emmy's days of happiness had been very few in that humble cot. A gloomy Fate had oppressed her there. She never liked to come back to the house after she had left it, or to face the landlady who had tyrannised over her when ill-humoured and unpaid, or when pleased had treated her with a coarse familiarity scarcely less odious. Her servility and fulsome compliments when Emmy was in prosperity were not more to that lady's liking. She cast about notes of ad- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 581 miration all over the new house, extolling every article of foniiture or ornament J she fingered Mrs. Osborne's cbesses, and calculated their price. Nothing could be too good for that sweet lady, she vowed and protested. But in the vulgar sycophant who now paid court to her, Emmy always remembered the coarse tyrant who had made her miserable many a time, to whom she had been forced to put up petitions for time, when the rent was overdue ; who cried out at her extravagance if she bought delicacies for her ailing mother or father ; who had seen her humble and trampled upon her. Nobody ever heard of these griefs, which had been part of our poor little woman's lot in hfe. She kept them secret from her fatlier, whose improvidence was the cause of much of her misery. She had to bear all the blame of his misdoings, and indeed was so utterly gentle and humble as to be made by nature for a victim. I hope she is not to suffer much more of that hard usage. And, as in all griefs there is said to be some consolation, I may mention that poor Mary, when left at her friend's dejiarture in a hysterical condition, was placed under the medical treatment of the young feUow from the siurgery, imder whose care she rahied after a short period. Emmy, when she went away from Bronipton, endowed Mary with every article of fimiiture that the house contained : only taking away her pictures (the two pictures over the bed) and her piano — that little old piano which had now jaassed into a plaintive jingling old age, but which she loved for reasons of her own. She was a child when first she played on it : and her parents gave it her. It had been given to her again since, as the reader may re- member, when her father's house was gone to ruin, and the instru- ment was recovered out of the wreck. Major Dobbin was exceedingly pleased wjien, as he was super- intending the arrangements of Jos's new house, which the Major insisted should be very handsome and comfortable, the cart arrived from Brompton, bringing the trunks and bandboxes of the emigrants from that village, and with them the old piano. Amelia would have it up in her sitting-room, a neat little apartment on the second floor, adjoining her father's chamber : and where the old gentleman sate commonly of evenings. When the men appeared then bearing this old music-box, and Amelia gave orders that it should be placed in the chamber afore- said, Dobbin was quite elated. " I'm glad you've kept it," he said in a very sentimental manner. " I was afraid you didn't care about it." " I value it more than anything I have in the world," said Amelia. "i>o you, Amelia'?" cried the Major. The fact was, as he had 582 VANITY FAIR bought it himself, though he never said anything about it, it never entered into his head to suppose tliat Emmy should think anybody else was the purchaser, and as a matter of course he fancied that she knew the gift came from him. " Do you, Amelia 1 " he said ; and the question, the great question of all, was trembling on his lips, when Emmy replied — " Can I do otherwise ? — did not he give it me 1 " " I did not know," said poor old Dob, and his countenance fell. Emmy did not note the circumstance at the time, nor take immediate heed of the very di.smal expression which honest Dobbin's countenance assumed : but she thought of it afterwards. T^jid then it struck her, with inexpressible pain and mortification too, that it was William who was the giver of the piano; and not George, as she had fancied. It was not George's gift ; the only one which she had received from her lover, as she thought — the thing she had cherished beyond all others — her dearest relic and prize. She had spoken to it about George ; played his favourite airs upon it ; sate for long evening hoiu-s, touching, to the best of her simple art, melancholy harmonies on the keys, and weeping over them in silence. It was not George's relic. It was valueless now. The next time that old Sedley asked her to play, she said it was shockingly out of tune, that she had a headache, that she couldn't play. Then, according to her custom, she rebuked herself for her pettishness and ingratitude, and determined to make a reparation to honest William for the slight she had not expressed to him, but had felt for his piano. A few days afterwards, as they were seated in the drawing-room, where Jos had fallen asleep with great comfort after dinner, Amelia said with rather a faltering voice to Major Dobbin — " I have to beg your pardon for something." " About what "i " said he. " About — about that little square piano. I never thanked you for it when you gave it me ; many, many years ago, before I was married. I thought somebody else had given it. Thank you, William." She held out her hand; but the poor little woman's heart was bleeding; and as for her eyes, of course they were at their work. But WilHam could hold no more. " Amelia, Amelia," he said, "I did buy it for you. I loved you then as I do now. I must tell you. I think I loved you from the first minute that I saw you, when George brought me to your house, to show me the Amelia whom he was engaged to. You were but a girl, in white, with large ringlets ; you came down singing — do you remember 1 — and we went to Vauxhall. Since then I have thought of but one A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 583 woman in the world, and that was you. I think there is no hour in the day has passed for twelve years that I haven't thought of you. I ciime to tell you this before I went to India, but you did not care, and I hadn't the heart to speak. You did not care whether I stayed or went." " I was very ungratefid," Amelia said. "No; only indifferent," Dobbin continued desperately. "I have nothing to make a woman to be otherwise. I know what you are feehng now. You are hurt in yom? heart at the discovery about the piano ; and that it came from me and not from George. I forgot, or I should never have spoken of it so. It is for me to ask your pardon for being a fool for a moment, and thinking that years of constancy and devotion might have pleaded with j'ou." "It is you who are cruel now," Amelia said with some spirit. " George is my husband, here and in heaven. How could I love any other but him 1 I am his now as when you first saw me, dear William. It was he who told me how good and generous you were, and who taught me to love you as a brother. Have you not been everytliing to me and my boy ? Our dearest, truest, kindest friend and protector? Had you come a few months sooner perhaps you might have spared me that — that di'eadful parting. Oh, it nearly killed me, Wilham — but you didn't come, though I wished and prayed for you to come, and they took him too away from me. Isn't he a noble boy, "William 1 Be his friend still and mine " — and here her voice broke, and she hid her face on his shoulder. The Major folded his arms roimd her, holding her to him as if she was a child, and kissed her head. " I will not change, dear Amelia," he said. " I ask for no more than your love. I think I would not have it otherwise. Only let me stay near you, and see you often." " Yes, often," Amelia said. And so Wilham was at liberty to look and long : as the poor boy at school who has no money may sigh after the contents of the tart- woman's tray. CHAPTER LX RETURNS TO THE GENTEEL WORLD GOOD fortune now begins to smile upon Amelia. We are glad to get her out of that low sphere in which she has been creeping hitherto, and introduce her into a polite circle ; not so grand and refined as that in which our other female friend, Mrs. Becky, has appeared, but still having no small pretensions to gentility and fashion. Jos's friends were all from the three presi- dencies, and his new house was in the comfortable Anglo-Indian district of whicli Moira Place is the centre. Minto Square, Great Olive Street, Warren Street, Hastings Street, Ochterlony Place, Plassy Square, Assaye Terrace (" Gardens " was a felicitous word not applied to stucco houses with asphalte terraces in front, so early as 1827) — who does not know these respectable abodes of the retired Indian aristocracy, and the quarter which Mr. Wenham calls the Black Hole, in a word? Jos's position in life was not grand enough to entitle him to a house in Moira- Place, where none can live but retired Members of Council, and partners of Indian firms (who break after having settled a hundred thousand pounds on their wives, and retire into comparative penury to a coimtry place and four thousand a year) : he engaged a comfortable house of a second or third rate order in Gillespie Street, purchasing the carpets, costly mirrors, and handsome and appropriate-planned furniture by Seddons, firom the assignees of Mr. Scape, lately ad- mitted partner into the great Calcutta House of Fogle, Fake, and Cracksman, in which poor Scape had embarked seventy thousand pounds, the earnings of a long and honourable life, taking Fake's place, who retired to a princely Park in Sussex (the Fogies have been long out of the firm, and Sir Horace Fogle is about to be raised to the peerage as Baron Bandanna) — admitted, I say, partner into the great agency house of Fogle and Fake two years before it failed for a million, and plunged half the Indian public into misery and ruin. Scape, ruined, honest, and broken-hearted at sixty-five years of age, went out to Calcutta to wind up the affairs of the house. Walter Scape was withdrawn from Eton, and put into a merchant's A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 585 house. Florence Scape, Fanny Scape, and their mother faded away to Boulogne, and will be heard of no more. To be brief, Jos stepped in and bought their carpets and sideboards, and admired himself in the mirrors which had reflected their kind handsome faces. The Scape tradesmen, all honourably paid, left their cards, and were eager to supply the new household. The large men in white waistcoats, who waited at Scape's dinners, greengrocers, bank- porters, and mUkmen in their private capacity, left their addresses, and ingratiated tliemselves with the butler. Mr. Chummy, the chimney-purifier, who had swep the last three families, tried to coax the butler and the boy under him, wliose duty it was to go out covered with buttons, and with stripes down his trousers, for the protection of Mrs. Amelia whenever she chose to walk abroad. It was a modest establishment. The butler was Jos's valet also, and never was more drunk than a butler in a small family should be who has a proper re,i;ard for his master's wine. Emmy was supplied with a maid, gi-own on Sir William Dobbin's suburban estate ; a good girl, whose kindness and humility disarmed Mrs. Osborne, who was at first terrified at the idea of having a seiTaut to wait upon herself, who did not in the least know how to use one, and who always spoke to domestics with the most reverential polite- ness. But this maid was very useful in the family, in dexterously tending old Mr. Sedley, who kept almost entirely to his own quarter of the house, and never mixed in any of the gay doings which took place there. Numbers of people came to see Mrs. Osborne. Lady Dobbin and daughters were delighted at her change of fortvme, and waited upon her. Miss Osborne from Eussell Square came in her grand chariot with the flaming hammercloth emblazoned with the Leeds anns. Jos was reported to be immensely rich. Old Osborne had no objection that Georgy should inherit his uncle's property as well as his own. " Damn it, we will make a man of the feller," he said ; " and I'll see him in Parliament before I die. You may go and see his mother. Miss 0., though I'll never set eyes on her : " and Miss Osborne came. Emmy, you may be sure, was very glad to see her, and so be brought nearer to George. That young fellow was allowed to come much more frequently than before to visit his mother. He dined onc« or twice a week in Gillespie Street, and bullied the servants and his relations there, just as he did in Eussell Square. He was always respectful to Major Dobbin, however, and more modest in his demeanour when that gentleman was present. He vms a clever lad, and afi-aid of the Major. George could not help admirinf his friend's simplicity, his good-humour, his various leam- 586 VANITY FAIR ing quietly imparted, his general love of truth and justice. He had met no such man as yet in the course of his experience, and he had an instinctive hking for a gentleman. He hung fondly by his godfather's side ; and it was his delight to walk in the Parks and hear Dobbin talk. William told George about his father, about India and Waterloo, about everything but himself When George was more than usually pert and conceited, the Major made jokes at him, which Mrs. Osborne thought very cruel. One day, taking him to the play, and the boy declining to go into the pit becaiLse it was vulgar, the Major took him to the boxes, left him there, and went down himself to the pit. He had not been seated there very long, before he felt an arm thrust under his, and a dandy Uttle hand in a kid glove squeezing his arm. George had seen the absurdity of his ways, and come down from the upper region. A tender laugh of benevolence lighted up old Dobbin's face and eyes as he looked at the repentant little prodigal. He loved the boy, as he did every- thing that belonged to Ameha. How charmed she was when she heard of this instance of George's goodness ! Her eyes looked more kindly on Dobbin than they ever had done. She blushed, he thought, after looking at him so. Georgy never tired of his praises of the Major to his mother. " I like him, mamma, because he knows such lots of things ; and he ain't like old Veal, who is always bragging and iising such long words, don't you know 1 The chaps call him ' Longtail ' at school. I gave him the name ; ain't it capital 1 But Dob reads Latin like English, and French and that ; and when we go out together he tells me stories about my papa, and never abovit himself ; though I heard Colonel Buckler, at grandpapa's, say that he was one of the bravest officers in the army, and had distinguished liimself ever so much. Grandpapa was quite surprised, and said, ' That feller ! why, I didn't think he could say Bo to a goose ' — but / know he could, couldn't he, mamma 1 " Emmy laughed : she thought it was very likely the Major could do thus much. If there was a sincere liking between George and the Major, it must be confessed that between the boy and his uncle no great love existed. George had got a way of blowing out his cheeks, and putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and saying, " God bless my soul, you don't say so 1 " so exactly after the fashion of old Jos, that it was impossible to refrain from laughter. The servants would explode at dinner if the lad, asking for something which wasn't at table, put on that countenance and used that favourite phrase. Even Dobbin would shoot out a sudden peal at the boy's mimicry. If George did not mimic his imcle to his face, it was only A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 587 by Dobbin's rebukes and Amelia's terrified entreaties that the little scapegi-ace was induced to desist. And the worthy civilian being haimted by a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass, and was inclined to turn him into ridicule, used to be extremely timorous, and, of com-se, doubly pompous and digniiied in the presence of Master Georgy. When it was announced that the young gentle- man was expected in Gillespie Street to dine with his mother, Mr. Jos commonly found that he had an engagement at the Club. Perhaps nobody was much gi-ieved at his absence. On those days Mr. Sedley would commonly be induced to come out from his place of refuge in the upper storeys ; and there would be a small family party, whereof Major Dobbin pretty generally formed one. He was the ami de la maisoii , old Sedley's friend, Emmy's friend, Georgy's fi-iend, Jos's counsel and adviser. " He might almost as well be at Madi-as for anything we see of him," Miss Ann Dobbin remarked, at Camberwell. All ! Miss Ann, did it not strike you that it was not you whom the Major wanted to marry 1 Joseph Sedley then led a life of dignified otiosity such as became a person of his eminence. His very first point, of course, was to become a member of the Oriental Club ; where lie spent his morn- ings in the company of his brother Indians, where he dined, or whence he brought home men to dine. Amelia had to receive and entertain these gentlemen and their ladies. From these she heard how soon Smith would be in Council ; how many lacs Jones had brought home with him, how Thomson's House in London had refused the bills drawn by Thomson, Kibobjee and Co., the Bombay House, and how it was thought the Calcutta House must go too ; how very imprudent, to say the least of it, Mrs. Bro-mi's conduct (wife of Brown of the Ahmednuggur Irregulars) had been with young Swankey of the Body Guard, sitting up with him on deck until all hours, and losing themselves as they were riding out at the Cape ; how Mrs. Hardyman had had out her thirteen sisters, daughters of a country curate, the Rev. Felix Rabbits, and married eleven of them, seven high up in the service ; how Hornby was wild because his wife would stay in Europe, and Trotter was appointed Collector at Ummerapoora. This and similar talk took place, at the grand dinners all round. They had the same conversation ; the same silver dishes ; the same saddles of mutton, boiled tui-keys, and entries. Politics set in a short time after dessert, when the ladies retired upstairs and talked about their complaints and their children. Mutato nomine, it is all the same. Don't the barristers' wives talk about Circuit? — don't the soldiers' ladies gossip about the Regiment? — don't the clergymen's ladies discourse about Sunday 588 VANITY FAIR Schools, and who takes whose duty ?— don't the very greatest ladies of all talk about that small clique of persons to whom they belong, and why should oiu- Indian friends not have their own conversation 1 — only I admit it is slow for the laymen whose fate it sometimes is to sit by and listen. Before long Emmy had a visiting-book, and was driving about regularly in a carriage, calhng upon Lady Bludyer (wife of Major- General Sir Eoger Bludyer, K.C.B., Bengal Army); Lady Huff, wife of Sir G. Huff, Bombay ditto ; Mra. Pice, the Lady of Pice the Director, &c. We are not long in using ourselves to changes in life. That carriage came round to Gillespie Street every day : that buttony boy sprang up and down from the box with Emmy's and Jos's visiting-cards; at stated hours Emmy and the carriage went for Jos to the Club, and took him an airing ; or, putting old Sedley into the vehicle, she drove the old man round the Regent's Park. The lady's-maid and the chariot, the visiting-book and the buttony page, became soon as familiar to Amelia as the humble routine of Brompton. She accommodated herself to one as to the other. If Pate had ordained that she should be a duchess, she would even have done that duty too. She was voted, in Jos's female society, rather a pleasing young person — not much in her, but pleasing, and that sort of thing. The men, as usual, liked her artless kindness and simple refined demeanom-. The gallant young Indian dandies at home on fiu-lough — immense dandies these — chained and moustached — driving in tearing cabs, the pillars of tlie theatres, living at West End hotels, — nevertheless admired Mrs. Osborne, liked to bow to her carriage in the Park, and to be admitted to have the honour of paying her a morning visit. Swankey of the Body Guard himself, that dangerous youth, and the greatest buck of all the Indian army now on leave, was one day discovered by Major Dobbin Ifte-a-tete with Amelia, and describing the sport of pig-sticking to her with great humour and eloquence ; and he spoke afterwards of a d — d King's officer that's always hanging about the house — a long, thin, queer- looking, oldish fellow — a dry fellow though, that took the shine out of a man in the talking line. Had the Major possessed a little more personal vanity he woidd have been jealous of so dangerous a young buck as that fascinating Bengal Captain. But Dobbin was of too simple and generous a nature to have any doubts about Amelia. He was glad that the young men should pay her respect ; and that others should admire her. Ever since her womanhood almost, had she not been persecuted and undervalued 1 It pleased him to see how kindness brought out her good quahties, and how her spirits gently rose with her prosperity. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 589 Any person who appreciated her paid a compliment to the Major's good judgment — that is, if a man may be said to have good judgment who is under the iniiuence of Love's dehision. After Jos went to Court, which we may be sure he did as a loyal subject of his Sovereign (showing himself in his full Court suit at the Club, whither Dobbin came to fetch him in a very shabby old uniform), he who had always been a stanch Loyalist and admirer of George IV., became such a tremendous Tory and pillar of the State, that he was for having Amelia to go to a Drawing-room, too. He somehow had worked himself up to believe that he was impli- cated in the maintenance of the public welfare, and that the Sovereign would not be happy unless Jos Sedley and his family appeared to rally roimd him at St. James's. Emmy laughed. " Shall I wear the family diamonds, Jos ? " she said. " I wish you would let me buy you some," thought the Major. " I should like to see any that were too good for you." CHAPTER LXI IN WHICH Tiro LIGHTS ARE PUT OUT THERE came a day when the round of decorous pleasures and solemn gaieties in which Mr. Jos Sedley's family indidged, was inteiTupted by an event which happens in most houses. As you ascend the staircase of your house from the drawing towards the bedroom floors, you may have remarked a little arch in the wall right before you, which at once gives light to the stair which leads from the second storey to the third (where the nursery and servants' chambers commonly are) and serves for another purpose of utility, of which the undertaker's men can give you a notion. They rest the coffins upon that arch, or pass them through it so as not to disturb in any unseemly manner the cold tenant slumbering within the black ark. That second-floor arch in a London house, looking up and down the well of the staircase, and commanding the main thoroughfare by which the inhabitants are passing ; by which cook liuks down before daylight to scour her pots and pans in the kitchen ; by which young master stealthily ascends, liaving left his boots in the hall, and let himself in after dawn from a jolly night at the Club ; down which miss comes rustling in fresh ribbons and spreading muslins, brilliant and beautiful, and prepareil for conquest and the ball ; or Master Tommy slides, preferring the banisters for a modfTof con- veyance, and disdaining danger and the stair; down which the mother is fondly carried smiling in her strong husband's arms, as he steps steadily step by step, and followed by the monthly nm-se, on the day when the medical man has pronounced that the charming patient may go downstairs ; up which John lurks to bed, yawning, with a sputtering tallow candle, and to gather up before sunrise the boots which are awaiting him in the passages ; — that stair, up or down which babies are carried, old people are helped, guests are marshalled to the ball, the parson walks to the christening, the doctor to the sick-room, and the undertaker's men to the upper floor — what a memento of Life, Death, and Vanity it is — that arch and stair — if you choose to consider it, and sit on the landing, looking up and down the well ! The doctor will come up to us too for the A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 591 last time there, my friend in motley. The nurse will look in at the curtains, and you take no notice — and then she will fling open the windows for a little, and let in the air. Then they will pull down all the front blinds of the house and live in the back rooms — then they will send for the lawyer and other men in black, &c. — Your comedy and mine will have been played then, and we shall be removed, oh how far ! from the trumpets, and the shouting, and the postiu-e-making. If we are gentlefolks they will put hatchments over our late domicile, with gilt cherubim, and mottoes stating that there is " Quiet in Heaven." Your son will new furnish the house, or perhaps let it and go into a nioi'e modern quarter ; your name will be among the " Members Deceased " in the lists of your clubs next year. However much you may be mourned, your widow will like to have her weeds neatly made — the cook will send or come up to ask about dinner — the siurvivor will soon bear to look at your picture over the mantelpiece, which will presently be deposed from the place of honour, to make way for the portrait of the son who reigns. Which of the dead are most tenderly and passionately deplored 1 Those who love the survivors the least, I believe. The death of a child occasions a passion of grief and frantic tears, such as yom- end, brother reader, will never inspii-e. The death of an infant which scarce knew you, which a week's absence from you would have caused to forget you, will strike you down more than the loss of your closest fiiend, or yom- first-born son — a man grown like yourself, with childi'en of his own. We may be harsh and stern with Judah and Simeon — om- love and pity gush out for Benjamin, the little one. And if you are old, as some reader of this may be or shall be — old and rich, or old and poor — you may one day be thinking for yom'self— " These people are very good round about me ; but they won't grieve too much when I am gone. I am very rich, and they want my in- heritance — or very poor, and they are tired of supporting me." The period of mourning for Mrs. Sedley's death was only just con- cluded, and Jos scarcely had had time to cast off his black and appear in the splendid waistcoats which he loved, when it became evident to those about Mr. Sedley, that another event was at hand, and that the old man was about to go seek for his wife in the dark land whither she had preceded him. " The state of my father's health," Jos Sedley solemnly remarked at the Club, " prevents me from giving any large parties this season : but if you will come in quietly at half- past six. Chutney, my boy, and take a homely dinner with one or two of the old set — I shall be always glad to see you." So Jos and his acquaintances dined and drank their claret among themselves in silence ; whilst the sands of life were running out in the old man's 592 VANITY FAIR glass upstairs. The velvet-footed butler brought them their wine ; and they composed themselves to a rubber after dinner ; at which Major Dobljin would sometimes come and take a hand : and Mi-s. Osborne would occasionally descend, when her patient above was settled for the night, and had commenced one of those lightly troubled slumbers which visit the pillow of old age. The old man clung to his daughter during this sickness. He would take his broths and medicines from scarcely any other hand. To tend him became almost the sole business of her life. Her bed was placed close by the door which opened into his chamber, and she was alive at the slightest noise or disturbance from the couch of the querulous invalid; though, to do him justice, he lay awake many an hour, silent and without stirring, unwilling to awaken his kind and vigilant nurse. He loved his daughter with more fondness now, perhaps, than ever he had done since the days of her childhood. In the dis- charge of .gentle offices and kind filial duties, this simple creature, shone most especially. " She walks into the room as silently as a sunbeam," Mr. Dobbin thought, as he saw her passing in and out from her father's room ; a cheerful sweetness lighting up her face as she moved too and fro, graceful and noiseless. When women are brooding over their children, or busied in a sick-room, who has not seen in their faces those sweet angelic beams of love and pity 1 A secret feud of some years' standing was thus healed : and with a tacit reconciliation. In these last hours, and touched by her love and goodness, the old man forgot all his grief against her, and wrongs which he and his wife had many a long night debated : how she had given up everything for her boy : how she was careless of her parents in their old age and misfortune, and only thought of the child : how absurdly and foolishly, impiously indeed, she took on, when George was removed from her. Old Sedley forgot these charges as he was making up his last account, and did justice to the gentle and uncom- plaining little martyr. One night when she stole into his room, she found him awake, when the broken old man made his confession. " Emmy, I've been thinking we were very unkind and unjust to you," he said, and put out his cold and feeble hand to her. She knelt down and prayed by his bedside, as he did too, having still hold of her hand. When our turn comes, friend, may we have such company in our prayers ! Perhaps as he was lying awake then, his life may have passed before him — his early hopeful struggles, his manly successes and prosperity, his downfall in his declining years, and his present help- less condition — no chance of revenge against Fortune, which had had the better of him — neither name nor money to bequeath — a spent- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 593 out, bootless life of defeat and disappointment, and the end here ! Which, I wonder, brother reader, iis the better lot, to die prosperous and famous, or poor and disappointed 1 To have, and to be forced to yield ; or to sink out of life, having played and lost the game 1 That must be a strange feeling, when a day of our life comes and we say, " To-morrow, success or failure won't matter much : and the sun will rise, and all the myriads of mankind go to their work or / their pleasiu-e as usual, but I shall be out of the tm-moil." "^ So there came one morning and sunrise, when all the world got up and set about its various works and pleasures, with the exception of old John Sedley, who was not to fight with fortune, or to hope or scheme any more : but to go and take up a quiet and utterly unknown residence in a chiuchyard at Brompton by the side of his old wife. Major Dobbia, Jos, and Georgy followed his remains to the grave, in a black cloth coach. Jos came on purpose from the Star and Garter at Pdchmond, whither he retreated after the deplorable event. He did not care to remain in the house, with the — under the circumstances, you understand. But Emmy stayed and did her duty as usual. She was bowed down by no especial giief, and rather solemn than sorrowful. She prayed that her own end might be as calm and painless, and thought with trust and reverence of the words which she had heard from her father during his illness, indica- tive of his faith, his resignation, and his future hope. Yes, I think that will be the better ending of the two, after all. Suppose you are particularly rich and well to do, and say on that last day, " I am very rich ; I am tolerably well known ; I have lived all my life in the best society, and, thank Heaven, come of a most respectable family. I have served my King and country with honour. I was in Parliament for several years, where, I may say, my speeches were listened to, and pretty well received. I don't owe any man a shilling : on the contrary, I lent my. old college friend, Jack Lazarus, fifty pounds, for which my executors will not press him. I leave my daughters with ten thousand pounds apiece — very good portions for girls : I bequeath my plate and furniture, my house in Baker Street, with a handsome jointure, to my widow for her life ; and my landed property, besides money in the funds, and my cellar of well-selected wine in Baker Street, to my son. I leave twenty pound a year to my valet ; and I defy any man after I have gone to find anything against my character." Or suppose, on the other hand, yoiu: swan sings quite a difi'erent sort of dirge, and you say, "I am a poor blighted, disappointed old fellow, and have made an utter failure through life. I was not endowed either with brains or with good fortune : and confess that I have committed 594 VANITY FAIE a hundred mistakes and blunders. I own to having forgotten my duty many a time. I can't pay what I owe. On my last bed I lie utterly helpless and humble : and I pray forgiveness for my weakness, and throw myself, with a contrite heart, at the feet of the Divine Mercy." Which of these two speeches, think you, would be the best oration for your own funeral? Old Sedley made the last ; and in that humble frame of mind, and holding by the hand of his daughter, life and disappomtment and vanity sank away from under him. " You see," said old Osborne to George, " what conies of merit and industry, and judicious speculations, and that. Look at me and my banker's account. Look at your poor grandfather Sedley, and his faiku'e. And yet he was a better man than I was, this day twenty years — a better man, I should say, by ten thousand pound." Beyond these people and Mr. Clapp's famUy, who came over from Brompton to pay a visit of condolence, not a single soul alive ever cared a penny piece about old John Sedley, or remembered the existence of such a person. When old Osborne first heard from his friend Colonel Buckler (as little Georgy has already informed us) how distinguished an officer Major Dobbin was, he exhibited a great deal of scornful in- credulity, and expressed his surprise how ever such a feller as that should possess either brains or reputation. But he heard of the Major's fame from various members of his society. Sir William Dobbin had a great opinion of his son, and narrated many stories illustrative of the Major's learning, valour, and estimation in the world's opinion. Finally, his name appeared in the lists of one or two great parties of the nobility : and this circumstance had a pro- digious effect upon the old aristocrat of Eussell Square. The Major's position, as guardian to Georgy, whose possession had been ceded to his grandfather, rendered some meetings between the two gentlemen mevitable ; and it was in one of these that old Osborne, a keen man of business, looking into the Major's accounts ■yith his ward and the boy's mother, got a hint which staggered him very much, and at once pained and pleased him, that it was out of William Dobbin's own pocket that a part of the fund had been supphed upon which the poor widow and the child had subsisted. When pressed upon the point, Dobbin, who could not tell lies, blushed and stammered a good deal, and finally confessed. " The marriage," he said (at which his interlocutor's face grew dark), " was very much my doing. I thought my poor friend had gone so far, that retreat fron his engagement would have been dishonour to him, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 595 and death to Mrs. Osborne ; and I could do no less, -when she was left \vithout resources, than give what money I could spare to maintain her." " Major D.," Mr. Osborne said, looking hard at him, and turning very red too — "you did me a great injury; but give me leave to tell you, sir, you are an honest feller. There's my hand, sir, though I little thought that my flesh and blood was living on you — " and the pair shook hands, with great confusion on Major Dobbin's part, thus found out in his act of charitable hypocrisy. He strove to soften the old man, and reconcile him towards his son's memory. " He was such a noble fellow," he said, " that all of us loved him, and would have done anything for him. I, as a yoimg man in those days, was flattered iDeyond measure by his preference for me ; and was more pleased to be seen in his company than in that of the Commander-in-Chief I never saw his equal for pluck and daring, and all the qualities of a soldier ; " and Dobbin told the old father as many stories as he could remember regarding the gallantry and achievements of his son. " And Georgy is so like him," the Major added. "He's so like him that he makes me tremble sometimes," the grandfather said. On one or two evenings the Major came to dine with Mr. Osborne (it was during the time of the sickness of Mr. Sedley), and as the two sate together in the evening after dinner all their talk was about the departed hero. The father boasted about him according to his wont, glorifying himself in recounting his son's feats and gallantry, but his mood was at any rate better and more charitable than that in which he had been disposed mitd now to regard the poor fellow ; and the Christian heart of the kind Major was pleased at these symptoms of retmiiing peace and good-will. On the second evening old Osborne called Dobbin, William, just as he used to do at the time when Dobbin and George were boys together : and the honest gentleman was pleased by that mark of reconciliation. On the next day at breakfast when Miss Osborne, with the asperity of her age and character, ventured to make some remark reflecting slightingly upon the Major's appearance or behaviour — -, the master of the house interrupted her. "You'd have been glad enough to git him for yourself, Miss 0. But them grapes are sour Ha ! ha ! Major William is a fine feller." " That he is. Grandpapa," said Georgy approvingly : and going up close to the old gentleman he took a hold of his large grey whiskers, and laughed in his face good-humouredly and kissed him. And he told the story at night to his mother : who fully agreed with the boy. 596 VANITY FAIR "Indeed he is," she said. "Your dear father always said so. He is one of the best and most upright of men." Dobbin happened to drop in very soon after this conversation, which made Amelia blush perhaps : and the young scapegrace increased the confusion by telhng Dobbin the other part of the story. " I say, Dob," he said, " there's such an uncommon nice girl wants to marry you. She's plenty of tin : she wears a front : and she scolds the servants from morning till night,." " Who is it 1 " asked Dobbin. " It's Aunt 0.," the boy answered. " Grandpapa said so. And I say. Dob, how prime it would be to have you for my uncle ! " Old Sedley's quavering voice from the next room at this moment weakly called for Amelia and the laughing ended. That old Osborne's mind was changing, was pretty clear. He asked George about his uncle sometimes, and laughed at the boy's imitation of the way in which Jos said, " God-bless-my-soul," and gobbled his soup. Then he said, " It's not respectfiil, sir, of you younkers to be imitating of yom- relations. Miss 0., when you go out a-driving to-day, leave my card upon Mr. Sedley, do you hear ? There's no quarrel betwigst me and him anyhow." The card was returned, and Jos and the Major were asked to dinner, — to a dinner the most splendid and stupid that perhaps ever Mr. Osborne gave ; every inch of the family plate was exhibited, and the best company was asked. Mr. Sedley took down Miss 0. to dinner, and she was very gracious to him ; whereas she hardly spoke to the Major, who sat apart from her, and by the side of Mr. Osborne, very timid. Jos said, with great solemnity, it was the best turtle soup he had ever tasted in his life ; and asked Mr. Osborne where he got his madeira ? "It is some of Sedley's wine," whispered the butler to his master. " I've had it a long time, and paid a good figure for it, too," Mr. Osborne said aloud, to his guest ; and then whispered to his right-hand neighbour how he had got it "at the old chap's sale." More than once he asked the Major about — about Mrs. George Osborne — a theme on which the Major could be very eloquent when he chose. He told Mr. Osborne of her sufferings — of her passionate attachment to her husband, whose memory she worshipped still — of the tender and dutiful manner in which she had supported her parents, and given up her boy, when it seemed to her her duty to do so. " You don't know what she endured, sir," said honest Dobbin with a tremor in his voice; "and I hope and trust you will be reconciled to her. If she took yoiu: son away from you, she gave hers to you ; and however much you loved your George, depend on it, she loved hers ten times more." A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 597 " By God, you are a good feller, sir," was all Mr. Osborne said. It had never struck liim that the widow would feel any pain at parting from the boy, or that his having a fine fortune could grieve her. A reconciliation was announced as speedy and inevitable ; and Amelia's heart already began to beat at the notion of the awful meeting with George's father. It was never, however, destined to take place. Old Sedley's lingering illness and death supervened, after which a meeting was for some time impossible. That catastrophe and other events may have worked upon Mr. Osborne. He was much shaken of late, and aged, and his mind was working inwardly. He had sent for his lawyers, and probably changed something in his will. The medical man who looked in, pronounced him shaky, agitated, and talked of a little blood-letting and the sea-side ; but he took neither of these remedies. One day when he should have come down to breakfast, his servant missing him, went into his dressing-room, and found him lying at the foot of the dressing-table in a fit. Miss Osborne was apprised ; the doctors were sent for, Georgy stopped away from school ; the bleeders and cuppers came. Osborne partially regained cognizance ; but never could speak again, though he tried dreadfully once or twice, and in foiu' days he died. The doctors went down, and the undertaker's men went up the stairs ; and all the shutters were shut towards the garden in Russell Square. Bullock rushed from the City in a hurry. " How much money had he left to that boy ? — not half, surely 1 Sm-ely share and share alike between the three 1 " It was an agitating moment. What was it that poor old man tried once or twice in vain to say 1 I hope it was that he wanted to see Amelia, and be reconciled before he left the world to the dear and faithfid ^-ife of his son : it was most likely that ; for his will showed that the hatred which he had so long cherished had gone out of his heart. They found in the pocket of his dressing-gown the letter with the great red seal, which George had written him from Waterloo. He had looked at the other papers too, relative to his son, for the key of the box in which he kept them was also in his pocket, and it was foimd the seals and envelopes had been broken — very likely on the night before the seizure — when the butler had taken him tea into his study, and found him reading in the great red family Bible. When the will was opened, it was found that half the property was left to George, and the remainder between the two sisters. Mr. Bullock to continue, for their joint benefit, the affairs of the commercial house; or to go out, as he thought fit. An annuity of 598 VANITY FAIR five hundred pounds, chargeable on George's property, was left to his mother, " the widow of my beloved son, George Osborne," who was to resume the guardianship of the boy. " Major William Dobbin, my beloved son's friend," was appointed executor; "and as out of his kindness and bounty, and with his own private funds, he maintained my grandson and my son's widow, when they were otherwise without means of support " (the testator went on to say), "I hereby thank him heartily for his love and regard for them : and beseech him to accept such a sum as may be sufficient to purchase his commission as a Lieutenant-Colonel, or to be disposed of in any way he may think fit." When Amelia heard that her father-in-law was reconciled to her, her heart melted, and she was grateful for the fortune left to her. But when she heard how Georgy was restored to her, and knew how and by whom, and how it was William's bounty that supported her in poverty, how it was William who gave her her husband and her son — Oh, then she sank on her knees, and prayed for blessings on that constant and kind heart : she bowed down and humbled herself, and kissed the feet, as it were, of that beautiful and generous affection. And gratitude was all that she had to pay back for such admirable devotion and benefits — only gratitude ! If she thought of any other return, the image of George stood up out of the grave, and said, "You are mine, and mine only, now and for ever." William knew her feelings : had he not passed his whole life in divining them ? When the nature of Mr. Osborne's will became known to the world, it was edifying to remark how Mrs. George Osborne rose in the estimation of the people forming her circle of acquaintance. The servants of Jos's estabhshment, who used to question her humble orders, and say they would " ask Master," whether or not they could obey, never thought now of that sort of appeal. The cook forgot to sneer at her shabby old gowns (which, indeed, were quite eclipsed by that lady's finery when she was dressed to go to church of a Sunday evening), the others no longer grumbled at the sound of her bell, or delayed to answer that siunmons. The coach- man, who grumbled that his 'osses should be brought out, and his carriage made into an hospital for that old feller and Mrs. 0., drove her with the utmost alacrity now, and trembling lest he should be superseded by Mr. Osborne's coachman, asked "what them there Russell Square coachmen knew about town, and whether they was fit to sit on a box before a lady ? " Jos's friends, male and female, suddenly became interested about Emmy, and cards of condolence multipHed on her hall table. Jos himself, who had looked on her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 599 as a good-natured harmless pauper, to ^yhom it was his duty to give victuals and shelter, paid her and the rich little boy, his nephew, the gi-eatest respect — was anxious that she should have change and amusement after her troubles and trials, "poor dear girl" — and began to appear at the breakfast-table, and most particularly to ask how she would like to dispose of the day. In her capacity of guardian to Georgy, she, with the consent of the Major, her fellow-trustee, begged Miss Osborne to live in the Eussell Square house as long as ever she chose to dwell there ; but that lady, \\-ith thanks, declared that she never could think of remaining alone in that melancholy mansion, and departed in deep moiuning to Cheltenham, with a couple of her old domestics. The rest were liberally paid and dismissed ; the faithful old butler, whom BIi-s. Osborne proposed to retain, resigning and preferring to invest his savings in a public-house, where, let us hope, he was not unpros- perous. Miss Osborne not choosing to live in Russell Square, Mrs. Osborne also, after consultation, declined to occupy the gloomy old mansion there. The house was dismantled ; the rich furniture and effects, the awful chandeKers and dreary blank mirrors packed away and hidden, the rich rosewood drawing-room suite was muflied in straw, the carpets were rolled up and corded, the small select library of well-bound books was stowed into two wine-chests, and the whole paraphernalia rolled away in several enonnous vans to the Pantechnicon, where they were to lie until Georgy's majority. And the ,great heavy dark plate-chests went off to Messrs. Stumpy and Rowdy, to lie in the cellars of those eminent bankers until the same period should arrive. One day Emmy, with George in her hand and clad in deep sables, went to visit the deserted mansion which she had not entered since she was a girl. The place in front was httered with straw where the vans had been laden and rolled ofl'. They went into the great blank rooms, the walls of which bore the marks where the pictm-es and mirrors had hung. Then they went up the great blank stone staircases into the upper rooms, into that where grandpapa died, as George said in a whisper, and then higher still into George's own room. The boy was srill clinging by her side, but she thought of another besides' him. She knew that it had been his father's room as well as his own. She went up to one of the open windows (one of those at which she used to gaze with a sick heart when the child was first taken from her), and thence as she looked out she could see, over the trees of Russell Square, the old house in which she herself was bom, and where she had passed so many happy days of sacred youth. They all came back to her, the pleasant hohdays, tlie kind faces, the care- 6oo VANITY FAIR less, joyful past times : and the long pains and trials that had since cast her down. She thought of these and of the man who had been her constant protector, her good genius, her sole benefactor, her tender and generous friend. " Look here, mother," said Georgy, " here's a G. 0. scratched on the glass with a diamond ; I never saw it before ; / never did it." " It was your father's room long before you were born, George,'' she said, and she blushed as she kissed the boy. She was very silent as they drove back to Richmond, where they had taken a temporary house : where the smiling lawyers used to come bustling over to see her (and we may be sure noted the visit in the bill) ami where of course there was a room for Major Dobbin too, who rode over frequently, having much business to transact on behalf of his little ward. Georgy at this time was removed from Mr. Veal's on an unlimited holiday, and that gentleman was engaged to prepare an inscription for a fine marble slab, to be placed up in the Foundling under the monument of Captain George Osborne. The female Bullock, aunt of Georgy, although despoiled by that little monster of one half of the sum which she expected from her father, nevertheless showed her charitableness of spirit by being reconciled to the mother and the boy. Roehampton is not far ft'om Richmond, and one day the chariot, with the golden bullocks em- blazoned on the panels, and the flaccid children within, drove to Amelia's house at Richmond ; and the BvxUock family made an irruption into the garden, where Amelia was reading a book, Jos was in an arbour placidly dipping strawberries into wine, and the Major in one of his Indian jackets was giving a back to Georgy, who chose to jump over him. He went over his head, and bounded into the little advance of Bullocks, with immense black bows in their hats, and huge black sashes, accompanying their mourning mamma. " He is just of the age for Rosa," the fond parent thought, and glanced towards that dear child, an imwholesome little Miss of seven years of age. " Rosa, go and kiss your dear cousin," Mrs. Frederick said. " Don't you know me, George ? — I am your aimt." " / know you well enough," George said ; " but I don't like kissing, please ; " and he retreated from the obedient caresses of his cousin. " Take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," Mrs. Frederick said ; and those ladies accordingly met, after an absence of more than fifteen years. During Emmy's cares and poverty the other had never once thought about coming to see her : but now that she was A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 6oi decently prosperous in the world, her sister-in-law came to her as a matter of course. So did nimibei-s more. Our old friend, Miss Swartz, and her husband came thundering over fi-om Hampton Court, with flaming yellow liveries, and was as impetuously fond of Amelia as ever. IMiss Swartz would have liked her always if she could have seen her. One must do her that justice. But, que voulez-vous ? — in this vast town one has not the time to go and seek one's friends ; if they drop out of the rank they disappear, and we march on with- out them. "Who is ever missed in '\''anity Fair 1 But so, in a word, and before the period of gxief for Mr. Osborne's death had subsided, Emmy found herelf in the centre of a very genteel circle indeed ; the members of which could not conceive that anybody belonging to it was not very lucky. There was scarce one of the ladies that hadn't a relation a peer, though the husband might be a drysalter in the City. Some of the ladies were very blue and well informed ; reading Mrs. Somerville, and frequenting the Eoyal Institution ; others were severe and Evangelical, and held by Exeter Hall. Emmy, it must be owned, found herself entirely at a loss in the midst of their davers, and suffered wofuUy on the one or two occasions on which she was comjielled to accept Mrs. Frederick Bullock's hospitalities. That lady persisted in patron- ising her, and determined most gi-aciously to form her. She found Amelia's milliners for her, and regulated her household and her manners. She drove over constantly from Ecchampton, and enter- tained her friend with faint, fashionable fiddle-faddle and feeble Com-t slipslop. Jos hked to hear it, but the Major used to go off growling at the appearance of this woman, with her twopenny gentility. He went to sleep under Frederick Bullock's bald head, after dinner, at one of the banker's best parties (Fred was still anxious that the Ijalance of the Osborne property should be trans- ferred from Stumpy and Eowdy's to them), and whilst Amelia, who did not know Latin, or who wrote the last crack article in the JSdinhirgk, and did not in the least deplore, or otherwise, Mr. Peel's late ex- traordinai-y tergiversation on the fatal Catholic Belief Bill, sate dumb amongst the ladies in the grand drawing-room, looking out upon velvet lawns, trim gravel walks, and glistening hot-houses. " She seems good-natured but insipid," said Mrs. Eowdy ; " that Major seems to be particularly epris." " She wants ton sadly," said Mrs. HoUyock. " My dear creature, you never will be able to form her." " She is dreadfully ignorant or indifferent," said Mrs. Glowry, with a voice as if from the grave, and a sad shake of the head and turban. " I asked her if she thought that it was in 1836, according 6o2 VANITY FAIE to Mr. Jowls, or in 1839, according to Mr. Wapshot, that the Pope was to fall : and she said — ' Poor Pope ! I hope not — What has he done 1 ' " " She is my brother's widow, my dear friends," Mrs. Frederick replied, " and as such I think we're all bound to give her every attention and instruction on entering into the world. You may fancy there can be no mercenary motives in those whose dis- appoinUnents are well known." " That poor dear Mrs. Bullock," said Kowdy to Hollyock, as they drove away together — " she is always scheming and managing. She wants Mrs. Osborne's account to be taken from our house to hers — and the way in which she coaxes that boy, and makes him sit by that blear-eyed little Rosa, is perfectly ridiculous." " I wish Glowry was choked with her Man of Sin and her Battle of Armageddon," cried the other ; and the carriage rolled away over Putney Bridge. But this sort of society was too cruelly genteel for Emmy : and all jumped for joy when a foreign tour was proposed. CHAPTER LXII AM RHEIN THE above every-day events had occurred, and a few weeks had passed, when on one fine moniing, Pariiament being over, the summer advanced, and all the good company in London about to quit that city for their annual tour in search of pleasure or health, the Batavier steamboat left the Tower stairs laden with a goodly company of English fugitives. The quarter-deck awnings were up, and the benches and gangways crowded with scores of rosy children, bustling nursemaids, ladies in the prettiest pink bonnets and summer dresses, gentlemen in travelling caps and linen jackets, whose mustachios had just begun to sprout for the ensuing toirr ; and stout trim old veterans with starched neckcloths and neat-brushed hats, such as have invaded Europe any time since the conclusion of the war, and carry the national Goddem into every city of the Continent. The congTegation of hat-boxes, and Bramah desks, and dressing-cases was prodigious. There were jaunty young Cambridge men travelling with their tutor, and going fur a reading excursion to Xonnenwerth or Konigswinter : there were Irish gentlemen, with the most dash- ing whiskers and jewellery, talking about horses incessantly, and prodigiously polite to the young ladies on board, whom, on the contrary, the Cambridge lads and their pale-faced tutor avoided with maiden coyness : there were old Pall Mall loungers bound for Ems and Wiesbaden, and a course of waters to clear off' the dinners of the season, and a little roulette and trente-et-quarante to keep the excitement going : there was old Methuselah, who had married his young wife, with Captain Papillon of the Guards holding her parasol and guide-books : there was young May who was carrying off his bride on a pleasure tour (Mrs. Winter that was, and who had been at school with May's grandmother) ; there was Sir John and my Lady with a dozen children, and corresponding nursemaids ; and the great grandee Bareacres family that sate by themselves near the wheel, stared at everybody, and spoke to no one. Their carriages, emblazoned with coronets, and heaped with shining imperials, were on the foredeck ; locked in with a dozen more such vehicles : it was difficult to pass in and out amongst them : and the 6o4 VANITY FAIE poor inmates of the fore-cabin had scarcely any space for locomotion. These consisted of a few magnificently-attired gentlemen from Houndsditch, who brought their own provisions, and could have bought half the gay people in the grand saloon ; a few honest fellows with mustachios and portfolios, who set to sketching before they had been half-an-hour on board ; one or two French fenimes de chanibre, who began to be dreadfully ill by the time the boat had passed Greenwich ; a groom or two who lounged in the neighbourhood of the horse-boxes under their charge, or leaned over the side by the paddle-wheels, and talked about who was good for the Leger, and what they stood to win or lose for the Goodwood cup. All the couriers, when they had done plunging about the ship, and had settled their various masters in the cabins or on the deck, congregated together and began to chatter and smoke ; the Hebrew gentlemen joining them and looking at the carriages. There was Sir John's great carriage that would hold thirteen people ; my Lord Methuselah's carriage, my Lord Bareacres' chariot, britzka, and fourgon, that anybody might pay for who liked. It was a wonder how my Lord got the ready money to pay for the expenses of the journey. The Hebrew gentlemen knew how lie got it. They knew what money his Lordship had in his pocket at that instant, and what interest he paid for it, and who gave it him. Finally there was a very neat, handsome travelling carriage, about whidr the gentlemen speculated. " A qui cette voiture la ? " said one gentleman-courier with a large morocco money-bag and ear-rings, to another with ear-rings and a large morocco money-bag. " C'est a Kirsch je bense — -je I'ai vu toute a I'heure — qui hrenoit des sanrjviches dans la voiture," said the courier in a fine ~ German French. Kirsch emerging presently from the neighbourhood of the hold, where he had been bellowing instructions intermingled with polyglot oaths to the ship's men engaged in secreting the passengers' luggage, came to give an account of himself to his brother interpreters. He informed them that the carriage belonged to a Nabob from Calcutta and Jamaica, enormously rich, and with whom he was engaged to travel; and at this moment a young gentleman who had been warned off the bridge between the paddle-boxes, and who had dropped thence on to the roof of Lord Methuselah's carriage, from which he made his way over other carriages and imperials until he had clambered on to his own, descended thence and through the window into the body of the carriage, to the applause of the couriers looking on. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 605 " lions allons avoir une belle travcrse'e, Monsieur George," said tlie courier vrith a grin, as lie lifted his gold-laced cap. " D — your French," said the young gentleman, " where's the biscuits, ay 1 " Whereupon, Kirsch answered him in the English language, or in such an imitation of it as he could command, — for though he was familiar with all languages, Mr. Kirsch was not accpainted with a single one, and spoke all with indifferent volu- bility and incorrectness. The imperiotis young gentleman who gobliled the bisciuts (and indeed it was time to refresh himself, for he had breakfasted at Richmond full three hoius before), was our young friend George Osborne. Uncle Jos and his mamma were on the quarter-deck with a gentleman of whom they used to see a good deal, and the four were about to make a summer torn-. Jos was seated at that moment on deck under the awning, and pretty nearly opposite to the Earl of Bareacres and his family, whose proceedings absorbed the Bengalee almost entirely. Both the noble couple looked rather yomiger than in the eventfid year '15, ■when Jos remembered to have seen them at Brussels (indeed he always gave out in India that he was intimately acquainted with them). Lady Bareacres' hair, which was then dark, was now a beautiful golden auburn, whereas Lord Bareacres' whiskers, formerly red, were at present of a rich black, with purple and gi-een reflecti( ms in the light. But changed as they were, the movements of the noble pair occupied Jos's mind entirely. The presence of a lord fascinated him, and he could look at nothing else. " Those people seem to interest you a good deal," said Dobbin, laughing and watching him. Amelia too laughed. She was in a straw bonnet with black ribbons, and otherwise dressed in mourning : but the little bustle and holiday of the journey pleased and excited her, and she looked particularly happy. " What a heavenly day ! " Emmy said, and added, with gi-eat originality, " I hope we shall have a calm passage." Jos waved his hand, scornfully glancing at the same time under his eyelids at the great folks opposite. "If you had made the voyages we have," he said, "you wouldn't much care about the weather." But nevertheless, traveller as he was, he passed the night direfully sick in his carriage, where his courier tended him with brandy-and-water and every luxury. In due time this happy party landed at the quays of Eotterdam,^ whence they were transported by another steamer to the city of Cologne. Here the carriage and the family took to the shore, and Jos was not a little gi-atified to see his arrival announced in the Cologne newspapers as " Hcrr Graf Lord von Sedley nebst Beglei- 6o5 VANITY FAIE tung aus London." He had his court dress with him: he had insisted that Dobbin should bring his regimental paraphemaUa : he annoimced that it was his intention to be presented at some foreign courts, and pay his respects to the Sovereigns of the countries which he honoured with a visit. Wherever the party stopped, and an opportunity was offered, Mr. Jos left his own card and the Major's upon " Our Minister." It was with great difficulty that he could be restrained from putting on his cocked hat and tights to wait upon the Enghsh consul at the Free City of Judenstadt, when that hospitable functionary asked our travellers to dinner. He kept a journal of his voyage, and noted elaborately the defects or excellences of the various inns at which he put up, and of the wines and dishes of which he partook. As for Emmy, she was very happy and pleased. Dobbin used to carry about for her her stool and sketch-book, and admired the drawings of the good-natured Kttle artist, as they never had been admired before. She sate upon steamers' decks and drew crags and castles, or she mounted upon donkeys and ascended to ancient robber- towers, attended by her two aides-de-camp, Georgy and Dobbin. She laughed, and the Major did too, at his droll figure on donkey- back, with his long legs touching the ground. He was the interpreter for the party, having a good military knowledge of the German language ; and he and the delighted George fought the campaigns of the Eliine and the Palatinate. In the course of a few weeks, and by assiduously conversing with Herr Kirsch on the box of the carriage, Georgy made prodigious advance in the knowledge of High Dutch, and could talk to hotel waiters and postillions in a way that charmed his mother, and amused his guardian. Mr. Jos did not much engage in the afternoon excursions of his fellow-travellers. He slept a good deal after dinner, or basked in the arboius of the pleasant inn-gardens. Pleasant Ehine gardens ! Fair scenes of peace and sunshine — noble purple mountains, whose crests are reflected in the magnificent stream — who has ever seen you, that has not a grateful memory of those scenes of friendly re- pose and beauty ? To lay down the pen, and even to think of that beautiful Ehineland, makes one happy. At this time of summer evening, the cows are trooping down from the hills, lowing and with their bells tinkhng, to the old town, with its old moats, and gates, and spires, and chestnut-trees, with long blue shadows stretching over the grass ; the sky and the river below flame in crimson and gold ; and the moon is already out, looking pale towards the sunset. The sun sinks behind the great castle-crested mountains, the night falls suddenly, the river grows darker and darker, lights quiver in yj' A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 607 it from the windows in the old ramparts, and twinkle peacefully in the villages imder the hills on the opposite shore. So Jos used to go to sleep a good deal with his bandanna over his face and be very comfortable, and read all the English news, and every word of Galignani's admirable newspaper (may the blessings of all Enghshmen who have ever been abroad rest on the founders and proprietors of that piratical print !), and whether he woke or slept his friends did not very much miss him. Yes, they were very happy. They went to the Opera often of evenings — to those snug, unassuming, dear old operas in the German towns, where the noblesse sits and cries, and knits stockings on the one side, over against the bom-geoisie on the other ; and His Transparency the Duke and his Transparent family, all very fat and good-natured, come and occupy the great box in the middle ; and the pit is full of the most elegant shm-waisted officers with straw-coloured mustachios, and twopence a day on full pay. Here it was that Emmy found her delight, and was introduced for the &'st time to the wonders of Mozart and Cimarosa. The Major's musical taste has been before alluded to, and his performances on the flute commended. But perhaps the chief pleasure he had in these operas was in watching Emmy's rap- tirre while listening to them. A new world of love and beauty broke upon her when she was introduced to those divine compositions : this lady had the keenest and finest sensibihty, and how could she be indifferent when she heard Mozart? The tender parts of "Don Juan " awakened in her raptures so exquisite that she would ask her- self, when she went to say her prayers of a night, whether it was not wicked to feel so much delight as that with which " Vedrai Carino " and " Batti Batti " filled her gentle little bosom 1 But the Major, whom she consulted upon this head, as her theological adviser (and who himself had a pious and reverent soul), said that, for his part, every beauty of art or nature made him thankfiil as well as happy ; and that tlie pleasure to be had in hstening to fine music, as in looking at the stars in the sky, or at a beautiful landscape or pictiu-e, was a benefit for which we might thank Heaven as sincerely as for any other M-orldly blessing. And in reply to some faint objections of Mrs. Amelia's (taken from certain theological works like the "Washer- woman of Finchley Common " and others of that school, with which Mrs. Osborne had been furnished during her life at Brompton) he told her an Eastern fable of the Owl who thought that the sunshine was unbearable for the eyes, and that the Nightingale was a most overrated bird. " It is one's natin-e to sing and the other's to hoot," he said, laughing, " and with such a sweet voice as you have yourself, you must belong to the Bulbul faction." I like to dwell upon this period of her life, and to think that 6o8 VANITY FAIR she was clieerM and happy. You see she has not had too much of that sort of existence as yet, and has not fallen in the way of means to educate her tastes or her intelligence. She has been domineered over hitherto by vulgar intellects. It is the lot of many a woman. And as every one of the dear sex is the rival of the rest of her kind, timidity passes for folly in their charitable judgments ; and gentle- ness for dulness ; and silence — which is but timid denial of the unwelcome assertion of ruling folks, and tacit protestantism — above all, finds no mercy at the hands of the female Inquisition. Thus, my dear and civilised reader, if you and I were to find ourselves this evening in a society of greengrocers, let us say, it is probable , that om- conversation would not be brUliant ; if, on the other hand, 1 a greengrocer should find himself at your refined and polite tea-table, \ where everybody was saying witty things, and everybody of fashion \and repute tearing her friends to pieces in the most delightful Imanner, it is possible that the stranger would not be very talkative, and by no means interesting or interested. And it must be remembered, that this poor lady had never met a gentleman in her life until this present moment. Perhaps these are rarer personages than some of us think for. Which of us can point out many such in his circle — men whose aims are generous, whose truth is constant, and not only constant in its kind but elevated in its degree ; whose want of meanness makes them simple : who can look the world honestly in the face with an equal manly sympathy for the great and the small ? We all know a hundred whose coats are very well made, and a score who have excellent manners, and one or two happy beiugs who are what they call in the inner circles, and have shot into the very centre and bull's-eye of the fashion : but of gentlemen how many 1 Let us take a little scrap of paper and each make out his list. My friend the Major I write, without any doubt, in mine. He had very long legs, a yellow face, and a slight lisp, which at first was rather ridiculous. But his thoughts were just, his brains were fairly good, his life was honest and pure, and his heart warm and humble. He certainly had vpry ^"''g" licTn-la Qmi foof which the two George Osbornes used to caricature and laugh at ; and their jeers and laughter perhaps led poor little Emmy astray as to his worth. But have we not all been misled about our heroes, and changed our opinions a hundred times ? Emmy, in this happy time, found that hers underwent a very gi-eat change in respect of the merits of the Major. Perhaps it was the happiest time of both their lives indeed, if they did but know it — and who does 1 Which of us can point out and say that was the culmination — that was the summit of human A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 609 joy 1 But at all events, this couple were very decently contented, and enjoyed as pleasant a summer tour as any pair that left England that year. Georgy was always present at the play, but it was the Major who put Emmy's shawl on after the entertainment ; and in the walks and excursions the young lad would be on ahead, and up a tower-stair or a tree, whilst the soberer couple were below, the Major smoking his cigar with great placidity and constancy, whilst Emmy sketched the sight or the ruin. It was on this very tour that I, the present -m-iter of a history of which every word is true, had the pleasm-e to see them first, and to make their acquaintance. It was at the little comfortable Ducal town of Pumpernickel (that very place where Sir Pitt Crawley had been so distinguished as an attache ; but that was in early early days, and before the news of the battle of Austerlitz sent all the English diplomatists in Germany to the right about) that I first saw Colonel Dobbin and his party. They had arrived with the carriage and courier at the Erbprinz Hotel, the best of the town, and the whole party dined at the table d'hote. Everybody remarked the majesty of Jos, and the knowing way in which he sipped, or rather sucked, the Johannis- berger, which he ordered for dinner. The little boy, too, we observed, had a famous appetite, and consumed schinken, and braten, and kartoffehi, and cranberry jam, and salad, and pudding, and roast fowls, and sweetmeats, with a gallantry that did honom- to his nation. After about fifteen dishes, he concluded the repast Avitli dessert, some of wdiich he even earned out of doors ; for some young gentlemen at table, amused with his coolness and gallant free and easy manner, induced him to pocket a handful of macaroons, which he discussed on his way to the theatre, whither everybody went in the cheery social little German place. The lady in black, the boy's mamma, laughed and blushed, and looked exceedingly pleased and shy as the dinner went on, and at the various feats and instances of esjneglerie on the part of her son. The Colonel — for so he became very soon afterwards — I remember joked the boy, with a gi-eat deal of grave fim pointing out dishes which he hadn't tried, and entreat- ing him not to baulk his appetite, but to have a second supply of this or that. It was what they call a gast^olle night at the Royal Grand Ducal Pumpernickelish Hof, — or Court theatre; and Madame Schroeder Devrient, then in the bloom of her beauty and genius, performed the part of the heroine in the wonderful opera of "Fideho." From our places in the stalls we could see our four friends of the table d'hote, in the loge which Schwendler of the Erbprinz kept for his best guests : and I could not help remarking 1 2 Q 6io VANITY FAIE the effect which the magnificent actress and music produced upon Mrs. Osborne, for so we heard the stout gentleman in the mustachios call her. During the astonishing Chorus of the Prisoners, over which the delightful voice of the actress rose and soared in the most ravishing harmony, the English lady's face wore such an ex- pression of wonder and delight that it struck even httle Fipps, the blasd attach^, who drawled out, as he fixed his glass upon her, " Gayd, it reaUy does one good to see a woman caypable of that stayt of excaytement." And in the Prison Scene where Fidelio, rushing to her husband, cries, " Nichts, nichts, mein Florestan," she fairly lost herself and covered her face with her handkerchief Every woman in the house was snivelling at the time : but I suppose it was because it was predestined that I was to write this particular lady's memoirs that I remarked her. The next day they gave another piece of Beethoven, "Die Schlacht bei Vittoria." Malbrook is introduced at the beginning of the performance, as indicative of the brisk advance of the French army. Then come drums, trumpets, thunders of artillery, and groans of the dying, and at last, in a grand triumphal sweU, " God save the King " is performed. There may have been a score of Englishmen in the house, but at the burst of that beloved and well-known music, every one of them, we young fellows in the stalls, Sir John and Lady Bull- minster (who had taken a house at Pumpernickel for the education of their nine children), the fat gentleman with the mustachios, the long Major in white duck trousers, and the lady with the little boy upon whom he was so sweet : even Kirsch, the cornier in the gallery, stood bolt upright in their places, and proclaimed them- selves to be members of the dear old British nation. As for Tape- worm, the Chargd d' Affaires, he rose up in his box and bowed and simpered, as if he would represent the whole empire. Tapeworm was nephew and heir of old Marshal Tiptoff, who has been introduced in this story as General Tiptoff, just before Waterloo, who was Colonel of the th regiment in which Major Dobbin served, and who died in this year full of honours, and of an aspic of plovers' eggs ; when the regiment was graciously given by his Majesty to Colonel Sir Michael O'Dowd, K.C.B., who had commanded it in many glorious fields. Tapeworm must have met with Colonel Dobbin at the house of the Colonel's Colonel, the Marshal, for he recognised him on this night at the theatre; and with the utmost condescension, his Majesty's minister came over from his own box, and publicly shook hands with his new-found friend. "Look at that infernal slyboots of a Tapeworm," Fipps A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 6ii whispered, examining liis chief from the stalls. " Wherever there's a pretty woman he always tmsts himself in." And I wonder what were diplomatists made for but for that ? " Have I the honour of addressing myself to Mrs. Dobbin ? " asked the Secretary, with a most insinuating grin. Georgy burst out laughing, and said, " By Jove, that is a good 'un " — Emmy and the Major blushed : we saw them from the stalls. "This lady is Mrs. George Osborne," said the Major, "and this is her brother, Mr. Sedley, a distinguished officer of the Bengal Civil Service : permit me to introduce him to your Lordship." My lord nearly sent Jos off his legs with the most fascinating smUe. "Are you going to stop in Pumpernickel 1 " he said. "It is a duU place : but we want some nice people, and we would try and make it so agreeable to you. Mr. — Ahum — Mrs. — Oho. I shall do myself the honour of calling upon you to-morrow at your inn." — And he went away with a Parthian grin and glance which he thought must finish Mrs. Osborne completely. The performance over, the young fellows lounged about the lobbies, and we saw the society take its departure. The Duchess Dowager went off in her jingling old coach, attended by two faithful and withered old maids of honour, and a little snuffy spindle-shanked gentleman in waiting, in a brown jasey and a green coat covered with orders — of which the star and the grand yellow cordon of the Order of St. Michael of Pumpernickel were most conspicuous. The drums rolled, the guards saluted, and the old carriage drove away. Then came his Transparency the Duke and Transparent family, with his great officers of state and household. He bowed serenely to everybody. And amid the saluting of the guards, and the flaring of the torches of the ranning footmen, clad in scarlet, the Trans- parent carriages drove away to the old Ducal Schloss, ■n'ith its towers and pinnacles standing on the Schlossberg. Everybody in Pumpernickel knew everybody. No sooner was a foreigner seen there, than the Minister of Foreign Affairs, or some other great or small officer of state, went round to the Erbprinz, and found out the name of the new arrival. We watched them, too, out of the theatre. Tapeworm had just walked off, enveloped in his cloak, with which his gigantic chasseur was always in attendance, and looking as much as possible hke Don Juan. The Prime Minister's lady had just squeezed herself into her sedan, and her daughter, the charming Ida, had put on her calash and clogs : when the EngUsh party came out, the boy yawn- ing drearily, the Major taking great pains in keeping the shawl over Mrs. Osborne's head, and Mr. Sedley looking grand, with a crush operarhat on one side of his head, and his hand in the stomach 6i2 VANITY FAIE of a voluminous white waistcoat. We took off our hats to our acquaintances of the table d'hote, and the lady, in return, pre- sented us with a little smile and a curtsey, for which everybody might be thankful. The carriage from the inn, under the superintendence of the bustling Mr. Kirsoh, was in waiting to convey the party ; but the fat man said he would walk, and smoke his cigar on his way home- wards ; so the other three, with nods and smiles to us, went without Mr. Sedley ; Kirsch, with the cigar-case, following in his master's wake. We aU walked together, and talked to the stout gentleman about the af/r^mens of the place. It was very agreeable for the English. There were shooting-parties and battues ; there was a plenty of balls and entertainments at the hospitable Court ; the society was generally good; the theatre excellent, and the living cheap. " And ova Minister seems a most dehghtful and affable person," oiu* new friend said. "With such a representative, and — and a good medical man, I can fancy the place to be most eligible. Good- night, gentlemen." And Jos creaked up the stairs to bedward, followed by Kirsoh with a flambeau. We rather hoped that nice- looking woman would be induced to stay some time in the town. CHAPTER LXIII IN IFHICH WE MEET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE SUCH polite behaviour as tliat of Lord Tapeworm did not fail to have the most favourable effect upon Mr. Sedley's mind, and the very next morning, at breakfast, he pronounced his opinion that Pumpernickel was the pleasantest little place of any which he had visited on their tour. Jos's motives ami artifices were not very difficult of comprehension ; and Dobbin laughed in his sleeve, like a hypocrite as he was, when he found by the knowing air of the Civilian and the oft-hand manner in which the latter talked about Tapeworm Castle, and the other members of the family, that Jos had been up already in the morning, considting his travelling Peerage. Yes, he had seen the Eight Honourable the Earl of Bagwig, his Lordship's father ; he was sure he had, he had met him at — at the Levee — didn't Dob remember 1 and when the Diplomatist called on the party, faithful to his promise, Jos received him with such a salute and honours as were seldom accorded to the little Envoy. He winked at Kirsch on his Excellency's anival, and that emissary, instructed beforehand, went out and superintended an entertainment of cold meats, jellies, and other delicacies, brought in upon trays, and of which Mr. Jos absolutely insisted that his noble guest should partake. Tapeworm, so long as he could have an opportunity of admiring the bright eyes of Mrs. Osborne (whose freshness of complexion bore daylight remarkably well) was not ill pleased to accept any invita- tion to stay in- Mr. Sedley's lodgings ; he put one or two dexterous ciuestions to him about India and the dancing-girls there; asked Amelia about that beautiful boy avIio had been with her, and com- plimented the astonished little woman upon the prodigious sensation which she had made in the house; and tried to fascinate Dobbin by talking of the late war, and the exploits of the Pumpernickel contingent under the command of the Hereditary Prince, now Duke of Pumpernickel. Lord Tapeworm inherited no little portion of the family gallantry, and it was his happy belief, that almost every woman upon whom he himself cast friendly eyes, was in love with him. He left Emmy 6i4 VANITY FAIE under the persuasion that she was slain by his wit and attractions, and went home to his lodgings to write a pretty little note to her. She was not fascinated ; only puzzled by his grinning, his simpering, his scented cambric handkerchief, and his high-heeled lacquered boots. She did not understand one half the compliments which he paid ; she had never, in her small experience of mankind, met a professional ladies' man as yet, and looked upon my lord as something curious rather than pleasant ; and if she did not admire, certainly wondered at him. Jos, on the contrary, was delighted. " How very affable his Lordship is ! " he said. " How very kind of his Lordship to say he would send his medical man ! Kirscli, you will carry oiu- cards to the Count de Schliisselback directly : the Major and I will have the greatest pleasure in paying our respects at Court as soon as possible. Put out my uniform, Kii'sch, — both our uniforms. It is a mark of politeness which every English gentleman ought to show to the countries which he visits, to pay his respects to the sovereigns of those countries as to the representatives of his own." When Tapeworm's doctor came. Doctor von Glauber, Body Physician to H.S.H. the Duke, he speedily convinced Jos that the Pumpernickel mineral springs and the Doctor's particular treat- ment would infallibly restore the Bengalee to youth and slimness. " Dere came here last year," he said, " Sheneral Bulkeley, an English Sheneral, tvice so pic as you, sir. I sent him back qvite tin after tree months, and he danced wid Baroness Glauber at the end of two." Jos's mind was made up ; the springs, the Doctor, the Court, and the Charg^ d' Affaires convinced him, and he proposed to spend the autumn in these delightful quarters. — And punctual to his word, on the next day the Charg^ d'Affaires presented Jos and the Major to Victor Aurelius XVII., being conducted to their audience with that sovereign by the Count de Schliisselback, Marshal of the Court. They were straightway invited to dinner at Court, and their intention of staying in the town being announced, the politest ladies of the whole town instantly called upon Mrs. Osborne ; and as not one of these, however poor they might be, was under the rank of a Baroness, Jos's delight was beyond expression. He wrote off to Chutney at the Club to say that the Service was highly appreciated in Germany, that he was going to show his friend, the Count de Schliisselback, how to stick a pig in the Indian fashion, and that his august friends, the Duke and Duchess, were everything that was kind and civil. Emmy, too, was presented to the august family, and as moum- mg is not admitted in Com-t on certain days, she appeared in a pink crape dress, with a diamond ornament in the corsage, presented to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 615 her by her brother, and she looked so pretty m this costume that the Duke and Coui-t (putting out of the question the Major, who had scarcely ever seen her before in an evening dress, and vowed that she did not look five-and-twenty) all admired her excessively. In this dress she walked a Polonaise with Major Dobbin at a Court-ball, in which easy dance Mr. Jos had the honour of leading out the Countess of Schliisselback, an old lady with a hump-back, but with sixteen good quarters of nobihty, and related to half the royal houses of Germany. Pumpernickel stands in the midst of a happy valley, through which sparkles — to mingle with the Ehine somewhere, but I have not the map at hand to say exactly at what point — the fertihsing stream of the Pmnp. In some places the river is big enough to support a ferry-boat, in others to tm-n a mill; in Pumpernickel itself, the last Transparency but three, the great and renowned Victor Aurelius XIV., built a magnificent bridge, on which his own statue rises, surrounded by water-nymphs and emblems of victory, peace, and plenty ; he has his foot on the neck of a prostrate Turk — history says he engaged and ran a Janissary through the body at the relief of Vienna by Sobieski, — but, quite undisturbed by the agonies of that prostrate Mahometan, who writhes at his feet in the most ghastly manner, the Prince smiles blandly, and points with his truncheon in the direction of the Aurelius Platz, where he began to erect a new palace that would have been the wonder of his age, had the great-souled Prince but had fimds to complete it. But the completion of Monplaisir (Monblaisir the honest German folk call it) was stopped for lack of ready money, and it and its park and garden are now in rather a faded condition, and not more than ten times big enough to accommodate the Court of the reigning Sovereign. The gardens were arranged to emulate those of Versailles, and amidst the terraces and groves there are some huge allegorical water- works stin, which spout and froth stupendously upon fSte-days, and frighten one with their enormous aquatic insurrections. There is the Trophonius' cave in which, by some artifice, the leaden Tritons are made not only to spout water, but to play the most dreadful groans out of their lead conches — there is the Nymph-bath and the Niagara cataract, which the people of the neighbourhood admire beyond expression, when they come to the yearly fair at the opening of the Chamber, or to the fetes with which the happy little nation still celebrates the birthdays and marriage-days of its princely governors. Then from all the towns of the Duchy, which stretches for nearly ten miles, — from Bolkum, which lies on its western frontier bidding defiance to Prussia, from Grog^vitz, where the Prince has a 6i6 VANITY FAIE hunting-lodge, and where his dominions are separated by the Pump river from those of the neiglibouring Prince of Potzenthal : from all the little villages which, besides these three great cities, dot over the happy Principality — from the farms and the mills along the Pnmp, come troops of people in red petticoats and velvet head- dresses, or with three-cornered hats and pipes in their mouths, who flock to the Residenz and share in the pleasures of the fair and the festivities there. Then the theatre is open for nothing, then the waters of Monblaisir begin to play (it is lucky that there is company to behold them, for one would be afraid to see them alone) — then there come mountebanks and riding troops (the way in which his Transparenciy was fascinated by one of the horse-riders is well known, and it is beheved that La Petite Vivandih-e, as she was called, was a spy in the French interest), and the delighted people are permitted to march through room after room of the Grand Ducal palace, and admire the slippery floor, the rich hangings, and the spittoons at the doors of all the innumerable chambers. There is one Pavilion at Monblaisir which Victor Aurehus XV. had arranged — a great Prince but too fond of pleasure — and which I am told is a perfect wonder of licentious elegance. It is painted with the story of Bacchus and Ariadne, and the table works in and out of the room by means of a windlass, so that the company was served without any intervention of domestics. But the place was shut up by Barbara, Aurelius XV.'s widow, a severe and devout Princess of the House of Bolkum and Regent of the Duchy during her son's glorious minority, and after the death of her husband, cut ofi' in the pride of his pleasm-es. The theatre of Pumpernickel is known and famous in that quarter of Germany. It languished a little when the present Duke in his youth insisted upon having his own operas played there, and it is said one day, in a fiuy, from his place in the orchestra, when he attended a rehearsal, broke a bassoon on the head of the Chapel Master, who was conducting, and led too slow; and during which time the Duchess Sophia wrote domestic comedies which must have been very dreary to witness. But the Prince executes his music in private now, and the Duchess only gives away her plays to the foreigners of distinction who visit her kind little Court. It is conducted with no small comfort and splendour. When there are balls, though there may be four hundred people at supper, there is a servant in scarlet and lace to attend upon every four, and every one is served on silver. There are festivals and entertain- ments going continually on; and the Duke has his chamberlains and equerries, and the Duchess her mistress of the wardrobe and ladies of honour, just like any other and more potent potentates. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 617 The Constitution is or was a moderate despotism, tempered by a Chamber that might or might not be elected. I never certainly could hear of its sitting in my time at Pumpernickel. The Prime Minister had lodgings in a second floor ; and the Foreign Secretary occupied the comfortable lodgings over Zwieback's Conditorey. The army consisted of a magnificent band that also did duty on the stage, where it was quite pleasant to see the worthy fellows marching in Tm'kish dresses with rouge on and wooden scimitars, or as Roman warriors with opliicleides and trombones, — to see them again, I say, at night, after one had listened to them all the morning in the Aurelius Platz, where they performed opposite the Caf^ where we breakfiisted. Besides the band, there was a rich and numerous staff of officers, and, I believe, a few men. Besides the regular sentries, three or four men, habited as hussars, used to do duty at the Palace, but I never saw them on horseback, and au fait, what was the use of cavalry in a time of profound peace? — and whither the deuce should the hussars ride 1 Everybody — everybody that was noble of course, for as for the Bourgeois we could not quite be exiiected to take notice of them — visited his neighbour. H.E. Madame cle Biurst received once a week, H.E. Madame de Sclmui-rbart had her night — the theatre was open twic« a week, the Court gxaciously received once, so that a man's life might in fact be a perfect romid of pleasure in the unpretending Pumpernickel way. That there were feuds in the place, no one can deny. Politics ran very high at Pumpeniickel, and parties were very bitter. There was the Stnunpff fection and the Lederlung party, the one supported by our Envoy and the other by the French Charge d' Affaires, M. de Macabau. Indeed it sufiiced for our Minister to stand up for Madame Strumpfi; who was clearly the greater singer of the two, and had three more notes in her voice than Madame Lederlung her rival — it sufficed, I say, for our Minister to ad- vance any opmion to liave it instantly contradicted by the French diplomatist. Everybody in the to^vn was ranged in one or other of these factions. The Lederlung was a prettyish little creature certainly, and her voice (what there was of it) was very sweet, and there is no doubt that the Strumpff was not in her first youth and beauty, and certainly too stout ; when she came on in the last scene of the " Sonnambula " for instance in her night-chemise with a lamp in her hand, and had to go out of the window, and pass over the plank of the mill, it was all she could do to squeeze out of the window, and the plank used to bend and creak again under her weight— but how she poured out the finale of the opera 1 and with what a bui'st of 6i8 VANITY FAIE feeling she rushed into Elvino's arms — almost fit to smother him ! Whereas the little Lederlimg — but a trace to this gossip — the fact is, that these two women were the two flags of the French and the Enghsh party at Pimipemickel, and the society was divided in its allegiance to those two great nations. We had on our side the Home Minister, the Master of the Horse, the Duke's Private Secretary, and the Prince's Tutor : whereas of the French party were the Foreign Minister, the Commander-in-chief's Lady, who had served under Napoleon, and the Hof-Marschall and his wife, who was glad enough to get the fashions from Paris, and always had them and her caps by M. de Maoabau's courier. The Secretary of his Chancery was little Grigna«, a young fellow, as malicious as Satan, and who made caricatm-es of Tapeworm in all the albums of the place. Their head-quarters and Uihle d'hote were established at the Pariser Hof, the other inn of the town ; and though, of course, these gentlemen were obhged to be civil in public, yet they cut at each other with epigrams that were as sharp as razors, as I have seen a couple of wrestlers in Devonshire, lashing at each other's shins, and never showing their agony upon a muscle of their faces. Neither Tapeworm nor Macabau ever sent home a despatch to his government, without a most savage series of attacks upon his rival. For instance, on our side we would write, " The interests of Great Britain in tliis place, and throughout the whole of Germany, are perilled by the continuance in office of the present French envoy ; this man is of a character so infamous that he will stick at no falsehood, or hesitate at no crime, to attain his ends. He poisons the mind of the Court against the English minister, represents the conduct of Great Britain in the most odious and atrocious light, and is unhappily backed by a minister whose ignorance and necessities are as notorious as his influence is fatal." On their side they would say, "M. de Tapeworm continues his system of stupid insular arrogance anil vulgar falsehood against the greatest nation in the world. Yesterday he was heard to speak lightly of Her Royal Highness Madame the Duchess of Berri : on a former occasion he insulted the heroic Duke of Angouleme, and dared to insinuate that H.R.H. the Duke of Orleans was conspiring against the august throne of the lilies. His gold is prodigated in every du-ection which his stupid menaces fail to frighten. By one and the other, he has won over creatiu-es of the Coiu-t here, — and, in fine, Pumpernickel will not be quiet, Germany tranquil, France respected, or Europe content, until this poisonous viper he crushed under heel : " and so on. When one side or the other had written any particularly spicy despatch, news of it was sure to slip out. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 619 Before the winter was far advanced it is actually on record that Emmy took a night and received company with great propriety and modesty. She had a French master who complimented her upon the purity of her accent and her facility of learning; the fact is she had learned long ago, and grounded herself subsequently in the grammar so as to be able to teach it to George; and Madame Strumpff came to give her lessons in singing, which she performed so well and with such a true voice that the Major's -srindows, who had lodgings opposite imder the Prime Minister, were always open to hear the lesson. Some of the German ladies, who are very senti- mental and simple in their tastes, fell in love with her and began to call her dxi at once. These are trivial details, but they relate to happy times. The Major made himself George's tutor, and read Cfesar and mathematics with him, and they had a German master and rode out of evenings by the side of Emmy's carriage — she was always too timid, and made a dreadful outcry at the slightest dis- turbance on horseback. So she drove about with one of her dear German friends, and Jos asleep on the back-seat of the barouche. He was becoming veiy sweet upon the Grafinn Fanny de Butter- brod, a very gentle tender-hearted and unassuming young creature, a Canoness and Countess in her own right, but with scarcely ten pounds per year to her fortime, and Fanny for her part declared that to be Amelia's siater_B;as_the greatest delight that__Heaven /Tinlrl Vipaj^f^y mi hgr^ aud Jos inigirt~teve jjut ii-Cotaitess's shield anflioro net by th e side of his"own arms on his carriage and forks ; when]^?when eveliis^pmtrred, and'tlibse grand fetes given upon the marriage of the Hereditary Prince of Pumpernickel with the lovely Princess Amelia of Hmnbourg-Schlippenschloppen took place. At this festival the magnificence displayed was such as had not been kno-mi in the little German place since the days of the prodigal Victor XIV. All the neighbouring Princes, Princesses, and Grandees were invited to the feast. Beds rose to half-a-crown per night in Pumpernickel, and the army was exhausted in providing guards of honour for the Highnesses, Serenities, and Excellencies, who arrived from all quarters. The Princess was married by proxy, at her father's residence, by the Count de Schliisselback. Snuff-boxes were given away in profusion (as we learned from the Court jeweller, who sold and afterwards bought them again), and bushels of the Order of Saint Michael of Pumpernickel were sent to the nobles of the Court, while hampei-s of the cordons and decorations of the Wheel of Saint Catherine of Schhppenschloppen were brought to ours. The French envoy got both. " He is covered with ribbons like a prize cart-horse," Tapeworm said, who was not allowed by the rules of his service to take any decorations : " Let him have 620 VANITY FAIR the cordons ; but with whom is the victory 1 " Tlie fact is, it was a triumph of British diplomacy : the French party having proposed and tried their utmost to carry a marriage with a Princess of the House of Potztausend Donnerwetter, whom, as a matter of course, we opposed. Everybody was asked to the fetes of the marriage. Garlands and triumphal arches were hung across the road to welcome the young bride. The great Saint Michael's Fountain ran with un- commonly sour wine, while that in the Artillery Place frothed with beer. The great waters played ; and poles were put up in the park and gardens for the happy peasantry, which they might climb at their leisure, carrying off watches, silver forks, prize sausages hung with pink ribbon, &c., at the top. Georgy got one, wrenching it off, having swarmed up the pole to the delight of the spectators, and shding down with the rapidity of a fall of water. But it was for the glory's sake merely. The boy gave the sausage to a peasant, who had very nearly seized it, and stood at the foot of the mast, blubbering, because he was unsuccessful. At the French Chancellerie they had six more lampions in their illuminations than ours had ; but our transparency, which repre- sented the young Couple advancing, and Discord flying away, with the most ludicrous likeness to the French ambassador, beat the French picture hollow; and I have no doubt got Tapeworm the advancement and the Cross of the Bath, which he subsequently attained. Crowds of foreigners arrived for the fetes : and of Enghsh of course. Besides the Court balls, public balls were given at the Town Hall and the Redoute, and in the former place there was a room for trente-et-quarante and roulette established, for tlie week of the festivities only, and by one of the great German companies from Ems or Aixda-Chapelle. The officers or inhabitants of the town were not allowed to play at these games, but strangers, peasants, ladies were admitted, and any one who chose to lose or win money. That little scapegrace Georgy Osborne amongst others, whose pockets were always full of dollars, and whose relations were away at the grand festival of the Court, came to the Stadthaus ball in company of his imcle's courier, Mr. Kirsch, and having only peeped into a play-room at Baden Baden when he hung on Dobbin's ann, and where, of course, he was not permitted to gamble, came eagerly to this part of the entertainment, and hankered round the tables where the croupiers and the punters were at work. Women were playing ; they were masked, some of them ; this licence was allowed m these wild times of carnival. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 621 A woman witli light hair, in a low dress, by no means so fresh as it had been, and with a black mask on, through the eyelets of which her eyes twinkled strangely, was seated at one of the roulette- tables with a card and a pin, and a couple of florins before her. As the croupier called out the coloiu- and number, she jmcked on the card with great care and regularity, and only ventured her money on the colours after the red or black had come up a certain number of times. It was strange to look at her. But in spite of her care and assiduity she guessed wrong, and the last two florins followed each other under the croupier's rake, as he cried out with his inexorable voice the winning colour and number. She gave a sigh, a shrug with her shoulders, which were already too much out of her gown, and dashing the pin through the card on to the table, sat thrumming it for a while. Then she looked round her, and saw Georgy's honest face staring at the scene. The little scamp ! what business had he to be there 1 When she saw the boy, at whose face she looked hard through her shining eyes and mask, she said, " Monsieur n'est jias joiieur 2 " " JTon, J/adame," said the boy : but she must have known, fi'om his accent, of what country he was, for she answered him with a slight foreign tone. " You have nevare played — will you do me a littF favor 1 " " What is it 1 " said Georgy, blushing again. Mr. Kirsch was at work for his part at the rouge et noir, and did not see his young master. " Play this for me, if you please ; put it on any number, any number." And she took from her bosom a piu'se, and out of it a gold piece, the only coin there, and she put it into George's hand. The boy laughed, and did as he was bid. The number came up sirre enough. There is a power that arranges that, they say, for beginners. " Thank you," said she, pulling the money towards her ; " thank you. What is your name 1 " " My name's Osbome," said Georgy, and was fingering in his own pockets for dollars, and just about to make a trial, when the Major, in his uniform, and Jos, en Marquis, from the Court ball, made their appearance. Other people finding the entertainment stupid, and preferring the fim at the Stadthaus, had quitted the Palace ball earher ; but it is probable the Major and Jos had gone home and found the boy's absence, for the former instantly went up to him, and taking him by the shoulder, pulled him briskly back from the place of temptation. Then, looking round the room, he saw Kirsch employed as we have said, and going up to him, asked- how he dared to bring Mr. George to such a place. 622 VANITY FAIR " Laissez-moi tranquUle," said Mr. KirBch, very much excited by play and wine. " II faut s'amuser, parhUu. Je ne suispas au service de Monsieur.^' Seeing his condition, the Major did not choose to argue with the man ; but contented himself with drawing away George, and asking Jos if he would come away. He was standing close by the lady in the mask, who was playing with pretty good luck now ; and looking on much interested at the game. " Hadn't you better come, Jos," the Major said, " with George and me ? " " I'll stop and go home with that rascal Kirsch," Jos said ; and for the same reason of modesty, which he thought ought to be preserved before the boy, Dobbin did not care to remonstrate with Jos, but left him and walked home with Georgy. " Did you play 1, " asked the Major, when they were out, and on their way home. The boy said " No." "Give me your word of honour as a gentleman, that you never will." " Why 1 " said the boy. " It seems very good fun." And, in a very eloquent and impressive manner, the Major showed him why he shouldn't, and would have enforced his precepts by the example of Georgy's own father, had he liked to say anything that should reflect on the other's memory. When he had housed him he went to bed, and saw his light, in the little room outside of Amelia's, presently disappear. Amelia's followed half an hour afterwards. I don't know what made the Major note it so accurately. Jos, however, remained behind over the play-table ; he was no gambler, but not averse to the little excitement of the sport now and then ; and he had some Napoleons chinking in the embroidered pockets of his court waistcoat. He put down one over the fair shoulder of the little gambler before him, and they won. She made a little movement to make room for him by her side, and just took the skirt of her gown from a vacant chair there. " Come and give me good luck," she said, still in a foreign accent, quite different from that frank and perfectly English "Thank you," with which she had saluted Georgy's coup in her favour. The portly gentleman, looking round to see that nobody of rank observed him, sat down ; he muttered — " Ah, really, well now, God bless my soul. I'm very fortunate ; I'm sure to give you good fortune," and other words of compliment and confusion. " Do you play much 1 " the foreign mask said. " I put a Nap or two down," said Jos, with a superb air, fling- ing down a gold piece. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEKO 623 " Yes ; ay, nap after dinner," said the mask archly. But Jos looking frightened, she continued, in her pretty French accent, " You do not play to win. No more do I. I play to forget, but I cannot. I cannot forget old times, Monsieur. Your little nephew is the image of his father; and you — you are not changed — but yes, you are. Everybody changes, everybody forgets ; nobody has any heart." " Good God, who is iti" asked Jos in a flutter. " Can't you guess, Joseph Sedley ^ " said the little woman, in a sad voice, and undoing her mask, she looked at him. " You have forgotten me." " Good heavens ! Mrs. Crawley ! " gasped out Jos. " Rebecca," said the other, putting her hand on his ; but she followed the game still, all the time she was looking at him. "I am stopping at the Elephant," she continued. "Ask for Madame de Raudon. I saw my dear Amelia to-day ; how pretty she looked, and how happy ! So do you ! Everybody but me, who am wretched, Joseph Sedley." And she put her money over from the red to the black, as if by a chance movement of her hand, and while she was wiping her eyes with a pocket-handkerchief fringed with torn lace. The red came up again, and she lost the whole of that stake. "Come away," she said. "Come with me a little— we are old friends, are we not, dear Mr. Sedley 1 " And Mr. Kirsch, having lost all his money by this time, followed his master out into the moonlight, where the illuminations were winking out, and the transparency over our mission was scarcely visible. CHAPTER LXIV A VAGABOND CHAPTER WE must pass over a part of Mrs. Rebecca Crawley's bio- graphy with that Hghtness and delicacy which the world demands — the moral world, that has, perhaps, no parti- cular objection to vice, but an insuperable repugnance to hearing vice called by its proper name. There are things we do and know perfectly well in Vanity Fair, though we never speak of them : as the Ahrimanians worship the devil, but don't mention him : and a polite public will no more bear to read an authentic dasoription of vice than a truly-refined English or American female will permit the word " breeches " to be pronounced in her chaste hearing. And yet, Madam, both are walking the world before our faces every day, without much shocking us. If you were to blush every time they went by, what a complexion you would have ! It is only when their naughty names are called out that your modesty has any occasion to show alarm or sense of outrage, and it has been the wish of the present writer, all through this story, deferentially to submit to the fashion at present prevailing, and only to hint at the existence of wickedness in a light, easy, and (Agreeable manner, sa_ that nobody's fine feelings may be offended, a. defy any one to say that our Becky, who has certainly some vices, has not been pre- sented to the public in a perfectly genteel and inoffensive manner. | In describing this siren, singdng and smiling, coaxing and cajoling, the author, with modest pride, asks his readers all round, has he/ once forgotten the laws of politeness, and showed the mons ter'^ hideous tail above water 1 No ! Those who like may peep dowS under waves that are pretty transparent, and see it writhing and\ twirling, diabolically hideous and slimy, flapping amongst bones, I or curling round corpses ; but above the water-line, I ask, has not everything been proper, agreeable, and decorous, and has any the most squeamish immoralist in Vanity Fair a right to cry fie'? When, however, the siren disappears and dives below, down among" the dead men, the water of course grows turbid over her, and it is labour lost to look into it ever so curiously. They look pretty enough when they sit upon a rock, twanging their harps and comb- A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 625 ing their hair, and sing, and beckon to you to come and hold the looking-glass ; but when they sink into their native elenaent, depend on it those mermaids are about no good, and we had best not examine the fiendish marine cannibals, revelhng and feasting on their wretched pickled victims. And so, when Becky is out of the way, be sure that she is not particidarly well employed, and that the less that is said about her doings is in fact the better. If we were to give a full account of her proceedings during a couple of years that followed after the Curzon Street catastrophe, there might be some reason for people to say this book was im- proper. The actions of very vain, heartless, pleasure-seeking people are very often improper (as are many of yours, my friend with the grave face and spotless reputation ; — but that is merely by the way) ; and what are those of a woman without faith — or love — 01 . character ? And I am inclined to thinK"Siat there was a period in Mrs. Becky's life, when she was seized, not by remorse, but by a kind of despair, and absolutely neglected her person, and _did not even care for her re putation. ___-- This ahatteinent and degradation did not take place all at once :l it was brought about by degrees, after her calamity, and after many\ struggles to keep up — as a man who goes overboard hangs on to a ' spar whilst any hope is left, and then flings it away and goes down, when he finds that struggling is in vain. She lingered about London whilst her husband was making pre- parations for his departure to his seat of government : and it is believed made more than one attempt to see her brother-in-law, Sir Pitt Crawley, and to work upon his feelings, which she had almost enlisted in her favour. As Sir Pitt and Mr. Wenham were walking down to the House of Commons, the latter spied Mrs. Eawdon in a black veil, and lurking near the palace of the legislature. She sneaked away when her eyes met those of Wenham, and indeed never succeeded in her designs upon the Baronet. Probably Lady Jane interposed. I have heard that she quite astonished her husband by the spirit which she exhibited in this quarrel, and her determination to disown Mrs. Becky. Of her own movement, she invited Eawdon to come and stop in Gaunt Street until his departure for Coventry Island, knowing that with him for a guard Mrs. Becky would not try to force her door : and she looked curiously at the superscriptions of all the letters which arrived for Sir Pitt, lest he and his sister ia-law-should be corresponding. Not but that Rebecca could have written had she a mind : but she did not try to see or to write to Pitt at his own house, and after one or two attempts consented to his demand that the correspondence regarding her conjugal aifferences should be carried on by lawyers only. 626 VANITY FAIR The fact was, that Pitt's miud had been poisoned against her. A short time after Lord Steyne's accident, Wenham had been with the Baronet ; and given him such a biogi-aphy of Mrs. Becky as had astonished the member for Queen's Crawley. He knew everything regarding her : who her father was ; in what year her mother danced at the Opera ; what liad been her previous history, and what her conduct during her manied life : — as I have no doubt that the greater part of the story was false and dictated by interested male- volence, it shall not be repeated here. But Becky was left with a sad sad reputation in the esteem of a country gentleman and relative who had been once rather partial to her. The revenues of the Governor of Coventry Island are not large. A part of them were set aside by his Excellency for the payment of certain outstanding debts and liabilities, the chai-ges incident on his high situation required considerable expense ; finally, it was found that he could not spare to his wife more than three hundred pounds a year, which he proposed to pay to her on an undertaking that she would never trouble him. Otherwise : scandal, separation, Doctors' Commons would ensue. But it was Mr. Wenham's business. Lord Steyne's business, Rawdon's, everybody's — to get her out of the country, and hush up a most disagreealile affair. She was probably so much occupied in arranging these affairs of business with her husband's lawyers, that she forgot to take any step whatever about her son, the little Eawdon, and did not even once propose to go and see him. That young gentleman was con- signed to the entire guardianship of his aunt and uncle, the former of whom had always possessed a great share of the child's affection. His mamma wrote him a neat letter from Boulogne when she quitted England, in which she requested him to mind his book, and said she was going to take a Continental tour, during which she would have the pleasure of writing to him again. But she never did for a year afterwards, and not, indeed, until Sir Pitt's only boy, always sickly, died of hooping-cough and measles ; — then Rawdon's mamma wrote the most affectionate composition to her darling son, who was made heir of Queen's Crawley by this accident, and drawn more closely than ever to the kind lady, whose tender heart had already adopted him. Rawdon Crawley, then grown a tall, fine lad, blushed when he got the letter. " Oh, Aunt Jane, you are my mother ! " he said ; "and not — and not that one." But he wrote back a kind and respectful letter to Mrs. Rebecca, then living at a boarding-house at Florence — But we are advancing matters Our darling Becky's first flight was not very far. She perched upon the French coast at Boulogne, that refuge of so much exiled English innocence; and there lived in rather a genteel, widowed A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 627 manner, witli a femme de chamhre and a couple of rooms, at an hotel. She dined at the table cPhote, where people thought her very pleasant, and where she entertained her neighbours by stories of her brother, Sir Pitt, and her great London acquaintance ; talking that easy, fashionable slipslop, which has so much effect upon certain folks of small breeding. She passed with many of them for a person of importance ; she gave little tea-parties in her private room, and shared in the innocent amusements of the place, — in sea-bathing, and in jaunts in open carriages, in strolls on the sands, and in visits to the play. Mrs. Burjoice, the printer's lady, who was boarding with her family at the hotel for the summer, and to whom her Burjoice came of a Saturday and Sunday, voted her charming, until that little rogue of a Burjoice began to pay her too much attention. But there was nothing in the story, only that Becky was always affable, easy, and good-natured — and with men especially. Numbers of people were going abroad as usual at the end of the season, and Becky had plenty of opportunities of finding out by the behaviour of her acquaintances of the great London world the opinion of "society" as regarded her conduct. One day it was Lady Paxtlet and her daughters whom Becky confronted as she was walking modestly on Boulogne pier, the cliffs of Albion shining in the distance across the deep blue sea. Lady Partlet marshalled all her daughters round her with a sweep of her parasol, and retreated from the pier darting savage glances at poor little Becky who stood alone there. On another day the packet came in. It had been blowing fresh, and it always suited Becky's humour to see the droll woebegone faces of the people as they emerged from the boat. Lady Slingstone happened to be on board this day. Her Ladyship had been exceed- ingly ill in her carriage, and was greatly exhausted and scarcely fit to walk up the plank from the ship to the pier. But all her energies rallied the instant she saw Becky smiling roguishly under a pink bonnet : and giving her a glance of scorn, such as would have shrivelled up most women, she walked into the Custom House quite unsupported. Becky only laughed : but I don't think she liked it. She felt she was alone, quite alone : and the far-off shining cliffs of England were impassable to her. The behaviour of the men had undergone too I don't know what change. Grinstone showed his teeth and laughed in her face with a familiarity that was not pleasant. Little Bob SuckUng, who was cap in hand to her three months before, and would walk a mile in the rain to see for her carriage in the line at Gaunt House, was talking to Fitzoof of the Guards (Lord Heehaw's son) one day upon the jetty, as Becky took her walk there. Little Bobby nodded to 628 VANITY FAIR her over his shoulder, -without moving his hat, and continued his conversation with the heir of Heehaw. Tom Raikes tried to walk into her sitting-room at tlie inn with a cigar in his mouth ; but she closed the door upon him and would have locked it only that his fingers were inside. She began to feel that she was very lonely indeed. " If he'd been here," she said, " those cowards would never have dared to insult me." She thought about " him " with great sadness, and perhaps longing — about his honest, stupid, constant kindness and fidehty ; his never-ceasing obedience ; his good-humour, his bravery and courage. Very likely she cried, for she was particu- larly lively, and had put on a little extra rouge when she came down to dinner. She rouged regularly now : and — and her maid got Cognac for her besides that which was charged in the hotel bill. Perhaps the insults of the men were not, however, so intolerable to her as the sympathy of certain women. Mrs. Crackenbury and Mrs. Washington White passed through Boulogne on their way to Switzerland. (The party were protected by Colonel Horner, young Beaumoris, and of course old Crackenbury, and Mrs. Wliite's little girl. They did not avoid her. They giggled, cackled, tattled, con- doled, consoled, and patronised her until they drove her almost wild with rage. To be patronised by them ! she thought, as they went away simpering after kissing her. And she heard Beaumoris's laugh ringing on the stair, and knew quite well how to interpret his hilarity. It was after this visit that Becky, who had paid her weekly bills, Becky who had made herself agreeable to everybody in the house, who smiled at the landlady, called the waiters " Monsieur," and paid the chambermaids in politeness and apologies, what far more than compensated for a little niggardhness in point of money (of which Becky never was free), that Becky, we say, received a notice to quit from the landlord, who had been told by some one that she was quite an unfit person to have at his hotel, where English ladies would not sit down with her. And she was forced to fly into lodgiugs, of which the dulness and solitude were most wearisome to her. Still she held up, in spite of these rebuffs, and tried to make a character for herself, and conquer scandal. She went to church very regularly, and sang louder than anybody there. She took up the cause of the widows of the shipwrecked fishermen, and gave work and drawings for the Quashyboo Mission ; she subscribed to the Assembly and wouldn't waltz. In a word, she did everything that was respectable, and that is wliy we dwell upon this part of her career with more fondness than upon subsequent parts of her history, which are not so pleasant. She saw people avoiding her, and still laboriously smiled upon them ; you never could suppose from her A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 629 countenance what pangs of humiliation she might be enduring inwardly. Her histor y was after all a mystery. Parties were divided about her. Some people, who took the trouble to busy themselvesTiTthe matter, said that she was the criminal ; whilst others vowed that she was as innocent as a lamb, and that her odious husband was in fault. She won over a good many by bm'sting into tears about her boy, and exhibiting the most frantic grief when his name was mentioned, or she saw anybody like him. She gained good Mrs. Alderney's heart in that way, who was rather the Queen of British Boulogne, and gave the most dinners and balls of all the residents there, by weeping when Master Aldemey came from Dr. Swishtail's academy to pass his holidays with his mother. " He and her Eawdon were of the same age, and so like," Becky saiil, in a voice choking with agony ; whereas there was five years' difference between the boys' ages, and no more likeness between them than between my respected reader and his humble servant. Wenham, when he was going abroad, on his way to Blssingen to join Lord Steyne, enlightened Mrs. Alderney on this point, and told her how he was much more able to describe little Eawdon than his mamma, who notoriously hated him, and never saw him ; how he was thirteen years old, while httle Aldemey was but nine ; fair, while the other darhng was dark, — in a word, caused the lady in question to repent of her good-humour. Wlienever Becky made a httle circle for herself witli iiicredioie / toils and labour, somebody came and swept it down rudely, and she / had all her work to begin over again. It was very hard : very | hard ; lonely and disheartening. -' There was Mrs. Newliright, who took her up for some time, attracted by the sweetness of her singing at church, and by her proper views upon serious subjects, concerning which in former days, at Queen's Crawley, Mrs. Becky had had a good deal of instruction. AVell, she not only took tracts, but she read them. She worked flannel petticoats for the Quashyboos — cotton nightcaps for the Cocoanut Indians — painted hand-screens for the conversion of the Pope and the Jews — sate under Mr. Rowls on Wednesdays, Mr. Huggleton on Thiursdays, attended two Sunday services at church, besfdes Mr. Bawler, the Darbyite, in the evening, and all in vain. Mrs. Nev/bright had occasion to correspond with the Countess of Southdown about the Warmingpan Fund for the Feejee Islanders (for the management of which admirable charity both these ladies formed part of a female committee), and having mentioned her "sweet friend," Mrs. Eawdon Crawley, the Dowager Countess wrote back such a letter regarding Becky, with such particulars, hints, facts, falsehoods, and general comminations, that intimacy 630 VANITY FAIR between Mrs. Newbright and Mrs. Crawley ceased forthwith : and all the serious world of Tours, where this misfortune took place, immediately parted company with the reprobate. Those who know the Enghsh Colonies abroad know that we carry with us our pride, pills, prejudices, Harvey-sauces, cayenne-peppers, and other Lares, making a little Britain wherever we settle down. From one colony to another Becky fled imeasily. From Boulogne to Dieppe, from Dieppe to Caen, from Caen to Tours— trying with all her might to be respectable, and alas ! always found out some day or other, and pecked out of the cage by the real daws. Mrs. Hook Eagles took her up at one of these places : — a woman without a blemish in her character, and a house in Portman Square. She was staying at the hotel at Dieppe, whither Becky fled, and they made each other's acquaintance first at sea, where they were swimming together, and subsequently at the tahle d'hdte of the hotel. Mrs. Eagles had heard, — who indeed had not 1 — some of the scandal of the Steyne affair ; but after a conversation with Becky, she pro- nounced that Mrs. Crawley was an angel, her husband a ruffian, Lord Steyne an unprincipled wretch, as everybody knew, and the whole case against Mrs. Crawley an infamous and wicked conspiracy of that rascal Wenham. " If you were a man of any spirit, Mr. Eagles, you would box the wretch's ears the next time you see him at the Club," she said to her husband. But Eagles was only a quiet old gentleman, husband to Mrs. Eagles, with a taste for geology, and not tall enough to reach anybody's ears. Mrs. Eagles then patronised Mrs. Rawdon, took her to live with her at her own house at Paris, quarrelled with the ambassador's wife because she would not receive her prot^g^e, and did all that lay in woman's power to keep Becky straight in the paths of virtue and good repute. ' Becky was very respectable and orderly at first, but the life of humdrum virtue grew utterly tedious_iQ_her— before long. It was the same routine every day,^ie"same dulness and comfort, the same drive over the same stupid Bois de Boulogne, the same com- pany of an evening, the same Blair's Sermon of a Sunday night — the same opera always being acted over and over again : Becky was dying of weariness, when, luckily for her, yoimg Mr. Eagles came from Cambridge, and his mother, seeing the impression which her little friend made upon him, straightway gave Becky warning. Then she tried keeping house with a female friend ; then the double mdnage began to quarrel and get into debt. Then she determined upon a boarding-house existence, and lived for some time at that famous mansion kept by Madame de Saint Amour, in the Rue Royale, at Paris, where she began exercising her graces A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 631 and fascinations upon the shabby dandies and fly-blown beauties who frequented her landlady's salons. Becky loved society, and, indeed, could no more exist without it than an opium-eater without his dram, and she was happy enough at the period of her boarding- house life. " The women here are as amusing as those in May Fair," she told an old London friend who met her — " only, their dresses are not quite so fresh. The men wear cleaned gloves, and are sad rogues, certainly, but they are not worse than Jack This, and Tom That. The mistress of the house is a little vulgar, but I don't think she is so vidgar as Lady " and here she named the name of a great leader of fasliion that I would die rather than reveal. In fact, when you saw Madame de Saint Amour's rooms lighted up of a night, men with x>li^es and cordons at the ecartd tables, and the women at a little distance, you might fancy yourself for a while in good society, and that Madame was a real Countess. Many people did so fancy : and Becky was for a while one of the most dashing ladies of the Countess's salons. But it is probable that her old creditors of 1815 found her out and caused her to leave Paris, for the poor little woman was forced to fly from the city rather suddenly ; and went thence to Brussels. How well she remembered the place ! She grinned as she looked up at the httle entresol which she had occupied, and thought of the Bareacres family, bawhng for horses and flight, as their carriage stood in the x>oi'te-cochere of the hotel. She went to Waterloo and to Laeken, where George Osbome's monument much struck her. She made a little sketch of it. " That poor Cupid ! " she said ; " how dreadfully he was in love with me, and what a fool he was ! I wonder whether little Emmy is alive. It was a good little creatiu-e : and that fat brother of hers. I have his funny fat pictiu-e still among my papers. Thev wef»JamLsimple .Pfiflple." At Brussels Becky arrived, recommended by Madame de Samt Amour to her friend, Madame la Comtesse de Borodino, widow of Napoleon's General, the famous Count de Borodino, who was left with no resource by the deceased hero but that of a table dihote and an emrte table. Second-rate dandies and rouis, widow-ladies who always have a lawsuit, and very simple EngHsh folk, who fancy they see " Continental society " at these houses, put down their money, or ate thefr meals, at Madame de Borodino's tables. The gallant yoimg fellows treated the company round to champagne at the table dihote, rode out with the women, or hired horses on country excursions, clubbed money to take boxes at the play or the Opera, betted over the fair shoulders of the ladies at the ecart^ tables, and wrote home to their parents, in Devonshire, about their fehcitous introduction to foreign society. 632 VANITY FAIE Here, as at Paris, Becky was a boarding-house queen : and ruled in select pensions. She never refused the champagne, or the bouquets, or the drives into the country, or the private boxes ; but what she preferred was the ^cart^ at night, — and she played audaciously. First she played only for a little, then for five-franc pieces, then for napoleons, then for notes : then she would not be able to pay her month's pension : then she borrowed from the young gentlemen : then she got into cash again, and bulbed Madame de Borodino, whom she had coaxed and wheedled before : then she was playing for ten sous at a time, and in a dire state of poverty : then her quarter's allowance would come in, and she would pay off Madame de Borodino's score : and would once more take the cards against Monsieur de Eossignol, or the ChevaKer de Eaff. When Becky left Brussels, the sad truth is, that she owed three months' pension to Madame de Borodino, of which fact, and of the gambling, and of the drinking, and of the going down on her knees to the Reverend Mr. Muff, Ministre AngUcan, and borrowing money of him, and of her coaxing and flirting with Milor Noodle, son of Sir Noodle, pupil of the Rev. Mr. Muff, whom she used to take into her private room, and of whom she won large sums at iiM~;7;^l7P. yiuir lujJ I ' Mj iiiiI (m nnf Mrririppt There is no town of any mark in Em-ope but it has its little colony of English raffs — men whose names Mr. Hemp the ofiicer reads out periodically at the Sheriffs' Court — young gentlemen of very good family often, only that the latter disowns them ; frequenters of billiard-rooms and estaminets, patrons of foreign races and gaming- tables. They people the debtors' prisons — they drink and swagger — they fight and brawl — they run away without paying — they have duels with French and German officers — they cheat Mr. Spooney at icarU — they get the money, and drive off to Baden in magnificent britzkas — they try their infallible martingale, and lurk about the tables with empty pockets — shabby bullies, penniless bucks — until they can swindle a Jew banker with a sham bill of exchange, or find another Mr. Spooney to rob. The alternations of splendour and misery which these people midergo are very queer to view. Their life must be one of great excitement. Becky — must it be A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 633 owned •!— took to this life, and took to it not unkindly. She went about from town to town among these Bohemians. The lucky Mrs. Rawdon was known at every play-table in Germany. She and Madame de Cruchecass^e kept house at Florence together. It is said she was ordered out of Munich ; and my friend Mr. Frederick Pigeon avers that it was at her house at Lausanne that he was hocussed at supper and lost eight hundred pounds to Major Loder and the Honourable Mr. Deuceace. We are bound, you see, to give some account of Becky's biogi-aphy ; but of this part, the less, per- haps, that is said the better. They say, that when Mrs. Crawley was particularly down on her luck, she gave concerts and lessons in music here and there. There was a Madame de Eaudon, who certainly had a matiwfe mmicale at Wildbad, accompanied by Herr Spoff, premier pianist to the Hospodar of Wallachia, and my little friend Mr. Eaves, who knew everybody, and had travelled everywhere, always used to declare that he was at Strasburg in the year 1830, when a certain Madame Eebecque made her appearance in the opera of the " Dame Blanche," giving occasion to a furious row in the theatre there. She was hissed off the stage by the audience, partly from her own incompetency, but chiefly from the ill-advised sympathy of some persons in the iMrquet (where the oflBcers of the garrison had their admissions) ; and Eaves was certain that the unfortunate cUbutante in question was no other than Mrs. Eawdon Crawley. She was, in fact, no better than a vagabond upon this earth. When she got her money, she gambled ; when she had gambled it she was put to shifts to live ; who knows how or by what means she succeeded % It is said that she was once seen at St. Petersburg, but was summarily dismissed from that capital by the police, so that there cannot be any possibility of truth in the report that she was a Russian spy at Toplitz and Vienna afterwards. I have even been informed, that at Paris she discovered a relation of her own, no less a person than her maternal grandmother, who was not by any means a Montmorenci, but a hideous old box-opener at a theatre on the Boulevards. The meeting between them, of which other persons, as it is hinted elsewhere, seem to have been acquainted, must have been a very affecting interview. The present historian can give no certain details regarding the event. It happened at Eome once, that Mrs. de Eawdon's half-year's salary had just been paid into the principal banker's there, and, as everybody who had a balance of above five hundred scudi was invited to the balls which this prince of merchants gave during the winter, Becky had the honour of a card, and appeared at one of the Prince and Princess Polonia's splendid evening entertainments. The 634 VANITY FAIR Princess was of the family of Pompili, lineally descended from the second king of Rome, and Egeria of the house of Olympus, while the Prince's grandfather, Alessandi-o Polonia, sold wash-balls, essences, tobacco, and pocket-liandkerchiefs, ran errands for gentlemen, and lent money in a small way. All the great company in Rome thronged to his saloons — Princes, Dukes, Ambassadors, artists, fiddlers, monsignori, young bears with their leaders — every rank and condition of man. His halls blazed with light and magnificence ; were resplendent with gilt frames (containing pictures), and dubious antiques; and the enormous gilt crown and arms of the princely owner, a gold mushroom on a crimson field (the colour of the pocket- handkerchiefs which he sold) and the silver fountain of the Pompili family shone all over the roof, doors, and panels of the house, and over the grand velvet baldaquins prepared to receive Popes and Emperors. So Becky, who had arrived in the diligence from Florence, and was lodged at an inn in a very modest way, got a card for Prince Polonia's entertainment, and her maid dressed her with unusual care, and she went to this fine ball leaning on the arm of Major Loder, with whom she happened to be travelling at the time — (the same man who shot Prince Ravoli at Naples the next year, and was caned by Sir John Buckskin for carrying four kings in his hat besides those which he used in playing at e'carte) — and this pair went into the rooms together, and Becky saw a number of old faces which she remembered in happier days, when she was not innoce nt, b ut not found out. Major Loder knew a great number of foreigners, keen-lookmg whiskered men with dirty striped ribbons in their button-holes, and a very small display of linen ; but his own countrymen, it might be remarked, eschewed the Major. Becky, too, knew some ladies here and there — French widows, dubious Italian countesses, whose husbands had treated them ill — faugh — what shall we say, we who have moved among some of the finest company of Vanity Fair, of this refuse and sediment of rascals'? If we play, let it be with clean cards, and not with this dirty pack. But every man who has formed one of the innumerable army of travellers has seen these marauding irregulars hanging on, like Nym and Pistol, to the main force; wearing the king's colours, and boasting of his commission, but pillaging for themselves, and occasionally gibbeted by the roadside. Well, she was hanging on the arm of Major Loder, and they went through the rooms together, and drank a great quantity of champagne at the buffet, where the people, and especially the Major's irregular corps, struggled furiously for refreshments, of which when the pair had had enough, they pushed on until they A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 635 reached the Duchess's own pink velvet saloon, at the end of the suite of apartments (where the statue of the Venus is, and the great Venice looking-glasses, framed in silver), and where the princely family were entertaining their most distinguished guests at a round table at supper. It was just such a little select banqiiet as that of which Becky recollected that she had partaken at Lord Steyne's — and there he sat at Polonia's table, and she saw him. The scar cut by the diamond on his white, bald, shining forehead made a burning red mark ; his red whiskers were dyed of a purple hue, which made his pale face look still paler. He wore his collar and orders, his blue ribbon and garter. He was a greater prince than any there, though there was a reigning duke and a royal high- ness, with their princesses, and near his Lordship was seated the beautiful Countess of Belladonna, n^e de Glandier, whose husband (the Count Paolo della Belladonna), so well known for his brilliant entomological collections, had been long absent on a mission to the Emperor of Morocco. When Becky beheld that famihar and illustrious face, how vulgar all of a sudden did Major Loder appear to her, and how that odious Captain Rook did smell of tobacco ! In one instant she reassumed her fine-ladyship, and tried to look and feel as if she were in May Fair once more. " That woman looks stupid and ill- humoiu-ed," she thought; "I am sure she can't amuse him. No, he must be bored by her — he never was by me." A hundred such touching hopes, fears, and memories palpitated in her Uttle heart, as she looked with her brightest eyes (the rouge which she wore up to her eyehds made them twinkle) towards the great nobleman. Of a Star and Garter night Lord Steyne used also to put on his grandest manner, and to look and speak like a great prince, as he was. Becky admired him smiling sumptuously, easy, lofty, and stately. Ah, hon Dieu, what a pleasant companion he was, what a briUiant wit, what a rich fund of talk, what a grand manner ! — and she had exchanged this for Major Loder, reeking of cigars and brandy-and-water, and Captain Rook with his horse-jockey jokes and prize-ring slang, and their like. " I wonder whether he will know me," she thought. Lord Steyne was talking and laughing with a great and illustrious lady at his side, when he looked up and saw Becky. She was all over in a flutter as their eyes met, and siic put on the very best smile she could muster, and dropped him a little timid, imploring curtsey. He stared aghast at her for a minute, as Macbeth might on beholding Banquo's sudden appearance at his ball-supper ; and remained looking at her with open mouth, when that horrid Major Loder puUed her away. 636 VANITY FAIE " Come away into the supper-room, Mrs. R," was that gentle- man's remark : " seeing these nobs grubbing away has made me peckish too. Let's go and try the old governor's champagne." Becky thoiight the Major had had a great deal too much already. The day after she went to walk on the Pincian Hill — the Hyde Park of the Roman idlers — possibly in hopes to have another sight of Lord Steyne. But she met another acquaintance there : it was Mr. Piche, his Lordship's confidential man, who came up nodding to her rather familiarly, and putting a finger to his hat. " I knew that Madame was here," he said ; " I followed her from her hotel. I have some advice to give Madame." " From the Marquis of Steyne ? " Becky asked, resuming as much of her dignity as she could muster, and not a little agitated by hope and expectation. " No," said the valet ; " it is from me. Eome is very unwhole- some." " Not at this season. Monsieur Fiche — not till after Easter." " I tell Madame it is unwholesome now. There is always malaria for some people. That cursed marsh wind kills many at all seasons. Look here, Madame Crawley, you were always bon enfant, and I have an interest in you, parole d'honneur. Be warned. Go away from Eome, I tell you — or you wiU be ill and die." Becky laughed, though in rage and fury. " What ! assassinate poor little meT' she said. " How romantic ! Does my lord carry bravos for couriers, and stilettos in the fourgons 1 Bah ! I will stay, if but to plague him. I have those who will defend me whUst I am here." It was Monsieiu- Fiche's turn to laugh now. " Defend you ! " he said, " and who 1 The Major, the Captain, any one of those gambhug men whom Madame sees, would take her life for a hundred louis. We know things about Major Loder (he is no more a Major than I am my Lord the Marquis) which would send him to the galleys, or worse. We know everything, and have friends everywhere. We know whom you saw at Paris, and what relations you found there. Yes, Madame may stare, but we do. How was it that no minister on the Continent would receive Madame ? She has offended some- body : who never forgives — whose rage redoubled when he saw you. He was like a madman last night when he came home. Madame de Belladonna made him a scene about you, and fired off in one of her furies.'' _ " Oh, it was Madame de Belladonna, was it ? " Becky said, relieved a little, for the information she had just got had scared her. " No — she does not matter — she is always jealous. I tell you A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 637 it was Monseig-neur. You did wrong to sliow yourself to him. And if you stay liere you will repent it. Mark my words. Go. Here IS my lord's carriage "—and seizing Becky's arm, he rushed down an alley of the garden as Lord Steyne's barouche, blazing with heraldic devices, came whirling along the avenue, borne by the almost price- less horses, and bearing Madame de Belladonna lolling on the cushions, dark, sulky, and blooming, a King Charles in her lap, a white parasol swaying over her head, and old Steyne stretched at her side with a liiad face and ghastly eyes. Hate, or anger, or desire, caused them to brighten now and then still ; but ordinarily they gave no light, and seemed tired of looking out on a world of wliich almost all the pleasure and all the best beauty had palled upon the worn-out wicked old man. "Monseigneur has never recovered the shock of that night, never," Monsieur Fiche whispered to Mrs. Crawley as the carriage flashed by, and she peeped out at it from behind the shrubs that hid her. " That was a consolation at any rate," Becky thought. Whether my lord really had mraderous intentions towards Mrs. Becky as Monsieur Fiche said — (since Monseigneur's death he has returned to his native country, where he lives much respected, and has purchased from his Prince the title of Baron Fieci), — and the factotum objected to have to do with assassination ; or whether he simply i had a commission to frighten Mrs. Crawley out of a city where his Lordship proposed to pass the winter, and the sight of her would be eminently disagreeable to the great nobleman, is a point which has never been ascertained : but the threat had its effect upon the little woman, and she sought no more to intrude herself upon the presence of her old patron. Everybody knows the melancholy end of that nobleman, which befell at Naples two months after the French Eevolution of 1 830 : when the Most Honourable George Gustavus, Marquis of Steyne, Earl of Gaunt and of Gaunt Castle, in the Peerage of Ireland, Viscount Hellborough, Baron Pitchley and Grillsby, a Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, of the Golden Fleece of Spain, of the Eussian Order of Saint Nicholas of the First Class, of the Turkish Order of the Crescent, First Lord of the Powder Closet and Groom of the Back Stairs, Colonel of the Gaunt or Eegent's Own Eegiment of Militia, a Trustee of the British Museum, an Elder Brother of the Trinity House, a Governor of the White Friars, and D.C.L., — died after a series of fits, brought on, as the papers said, by the shock occasioned to his Lordship's sensibihties by the downfall of the ancient French Monarchy. An eloquent catalogue appeared in a weekly print, describing his 638 VANITY FAIR virtues, his magnificence, his talents, and his good actions. His sensibility, his attachment to the Ulustrious House of Bourbon, with which he claimed an alliance, were such that he could not survive the misfortunes of his august kinsmen. His body was buried at Naples, and his heart — that heart which always beat with every generous and noble emotion — was brought back to Castle Gaunt in a silver urn. " In him," Mr. Wagg said, " the poor and the Fine Arts have lost a beneficent patron, society one of its most briUiant ornaments, and England one of her loftiest patriots and statesmen," &c. &c. His will was a good deal disputed, and an attempt was made to force from Madame de Belladonna the celebrated jewel called the " Jew's-eye " diamond, which his Lordship always wore on his fore- finger, and which it was said that she removed from it after his lamented demise. But his confidential friend and attendant, Mon- sieur Fiche, proved that the ring had been presented to the said Madame de Belladonna two days before the Marquis's death ; as were the bank-notes, jewels, Neapolitan and French bonds, &c., found in his Lordship's secretaire, and claimed by his heirs from that injured woman. CHAPTER LXV FULL OF BUSINESS AND PLEASURE THE day after the meeting at the play-table, Jos had himself arrayed with imusual care and splendour, and, without think- ing it necessary to say a word to any member of his famUy regarding the occurrences of the previous night, or asking for their company in his walk, he sallied forth at an early hour, and was presently seen making inquiries at the door of the Elephant Hotel. In consequence of the fetes the house was full of company, the tables in the street were already surrounded by persons smoking and drinking the national small-beer, the public rooms were in a cloud of smoke, and Mr. Jos having, in his pompous way, and with his clumsy German, made inquiries for the person of wliom he was in search, was directed to the very top of the house, above the first- floor rooms where some travelling pedlars had lived, and were exhibiting • their jewellery and brocades ; above the second-floor apartments occupied by the etat major of the gambling firm ; above the third-floor rooms tenanted by the band of renovraed Bohemian vaulters and tumblers ; and so on to the Httle cabins of the roof, where, among students, bagmen, small tradesmen, and comitry-folk, come in for the festival, Becky had found a little nest — as dirty a little refuge as ever beauty lay hid in. Becky liked the life. She was at home with everybody in the place, pedlars, punters, tumblers, students and all. She was of a wild, roving nature, inherited from father and mother, who were both Bohemians, by taste and circumstance ; if a lord was not by, she would talk to his courier with the greatest pleasure ; the din, the stir, the drink, the smoke, the tattle of the Hebrew pedlars, the solemn, braggart ways of the poor tumblers, the sournois talk of the gambling-table officials, the songs and swagger of the students, and the general buzz and hum of the place had pleased and tickled the little woman, even when her luck was down, and she had not wherewithal to pay her bill. How pleasant was all the bustle to her now that her purse was full of the money which Httle Georgy had won for her the night before ! As Jos came creaking and puffing up the final stairs, and was 640 VANITY FAIR speechless when he got to the landing, and began to wipe his face and then to look for No. 92, the room where he was directed to seek for the person he wanted, the door of the opposite chamber, No. 90, was open, and a student, in jack-boots and a dirty schlafrock, was lying on the bed smoking a long pipe ; whilst another student in long yellow hair and a braided coat, exceeding smart and dirty too, was actually on his knees at No. 92, bawling through the keyhole supplications to the person within. " Go away," said a well-known voice, which made Jos thrill, "I expect somebody; I expect my grandpapa. He mustn't see you there." " Angel Englanderinn ! " bellowed the kneeling student with the whity- brown ringlets and the large finger-ring, " do take compassion upon us. Make an apjiointment. Dine with me and Fritz at the inn in the park. We will have roast pheasants and porter, plum-pudding and French wine. We shall die if you don't." " That we will," said the young nobleman on the bed ; and this colloquy Jos overheard, though he did not comprehend it, for the reason that he had never studied the language in which it was carried on. " Newmero Tcattervang dooze, si vous plait," Jos said in his grandest manner, when he was able to speak. " Quater fang tooce ! " said the student, starting up, and he bounced into his own room, where he locked the door, and where Jos heard him laughing with his comrade on the bed. The gentleman from Bengal was standing disconcerted by this incident, when the door of the 92 opened of itself, and Becky's little head peeped out full of archness and mischief She lighted on Jos. "It's you," she said, coming out. "How I have been waiting for you ! Stop ! not yet — in one minute you shall come in." In that instant she put a rouge-pot, a brandy-bottle, and a plate of broken meat into the bed, gave one smooth to her hair, and finally let in her visitor. She had, by way of morning robe, a pink domino, a trifle faded and soOed, and marked here and there with pomatum; but her arms shone out from the loose sleeves of the dress very white and fair, and it was tied round her little waist, so as not ill to set off the trim little figure of the wearer. She led Jos by the hand into her garret. " Come in," she said. " Come, and talk to me. Sit yonder on the chair;" and she gave the civilian's hand a little squeeze, and laughingly placed him upon it. As for herself, she placed herself on the bed— not on the bottle and plate, you may be sure— on which Jos might have reposed, had he chosen that seat ; and so there she sate and talked with her old admirer. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 641 " How little years have changed you ! " she said, with a look of tender interest. "I shoidd have known you anywhere. What a comfort it is amongst strangers to see once more the frank honest face of an old friend ! " The frank honest face, to tell the truth, at this moment bore any expression but one of openness and honesty : it was, on the contrary, much pertui'bed and puzzled in look. Jos was surveying the c[ueer little apartment in which he found his old flame. One of her gowns hung over the bed, another depending from a hook of the door : her bonnet obscured half the looking-glass, on which, too, lay the prettiest little pair of bronze boots ; a French novel was on the table by the bedside, with a candle, not of wax. Becky thought of popping that into the bed too, but she only put in the little paper nightcap with which she had put the candle out on going to sleep. " I should have known you anywhere," she continued ; " a woman never forgets some things. And you were the first man I ever — I ever saw." " Was I, really 1 " said Jos. " God bless my soul, you — you don't say so." " When I came with your sister from Chiswick, I was scarcely more than a child," Becky said. " How is that dear love 1 Oh, her husband was a sad wicked man, and of com-se it was of me that the poor dear was jealous. As if I cared about him, heigho ! when there was somebody — but no — don't let us talk of old times;" and she passed her handkerchief with the tattered lace across her eyelids. " Is not this a strange place," she continued, "for a woman, who has lived in a very different world too, to be found in"? I have had so many griefs and wrongs, Joseph Sedley, I have been made to suffer so cruelly, that I am almost made mad sometimes. I can't stay still in any place, but wander about always restless and unhappy. All my friends have been false to me — all. There is no such thing as an honest man in the world. I was the truest wife that ever lived, though I married my husband out of pique, because somebody else — but never mind that. I was true, and he trampled upon me, and deserted me. I was the fondest mother. I had but one child, one darling, one hope, one joy, which I held to my heart with a mother's affection, which was my life, my prayer, my — my blessing ; and they— they tore it from me— tore it from me ; " and she put her hand to her heart with a passionate gesture of despair, burying her face for a moment on the bed. The brandy-bottle inside clinked up against the plate which held the cold sausage. Both were moved, no doubt, by the exhibi- tion of so much grief. Max and Fritz were at the door hstening 1 2 s 642 VANITY FAIE with wonder to Mrs. Becky's sobs and cries. Jos, too, was a good deal frightened and affected at seeing his old flame in this condition. And she began, forthwith, to tell her story — a tale so neat, simple, and artless, that it was quite evident from hearing her, that if ever there was a white-robed angel escaped from heaven to be subject to the infernal machinations and villainy of fiends here below, that spot- less being — that miserable unsuUied martyr, was present on the bed before Jos — o n the bed. -w-ttjpcr nn the brnndY-bottle. They had a very long, amicable, and confidential talk there ; in the course of which, Jos Sedley was somehow made aware (but in a manner that did not in the least scare or offend him) that Becky's heart had first learned to beat at his enchanting presence : that George Osborne had certainly paid an u.n justifiable court to her, which might account for Amelia's jealousy, and their little ruptm-e ; but that Becky never gave the least encouragement to the unfor- tunate ofiicer, and that she had never ceased to think about Jos from the very first day she had seen him, though, of course, her duties as a married woman were paramount — duties which she had always preserved, and would, to her dying day, or until the pro- verbially bad climate in which Colonel Crawley was living should release her from a yoke which his cruelty had rendered odious to her. Jos went away, convinced that she was the most virtuous, as she was one of the most fascinating of women, and revolving in his mind all sorts of benevolent schemes for her welfare. Her persecu- tions ought to be ended : she ought to return to the society of which she was an ornament. He would see what ought to be done. She must quit that place, and take a quiet lodging. Amelia must come and see her, and befriend her. He would go and settle about it, and consult with the Major. She wept tears of heartfelt gratitude as she parted from him, and pressed his hand as the gallant stout gentleman stooped down to kiss hers. So Becky bowed Jos out of her little garret with as much grace as if it was a palace of which she did the honours ; and that heavy gentleman having disappeared down the stairs. Max and Fritz came out of their hole, pipe in mouth, and she amused herself by mimick- ing Jos to them as she munched her bread and cold sausage and took draughts of her favourite brandy-and-water. Jos walked over to Dobbin's lodgings with great solemnity, and there imparted to him the afiecting history with which he had just been made acquainted, without, however, mentioning the play-busi- ness of the night before. And the two gentlemen were laying their heads together, and consulting as to the best means of being useful to Mrs. Becky, while she was finishing her interrupted dijeuner a la fourcheUe. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 643 How was it that she had come to that little town 1 How was it that she had no friends and was wandering about alone 1 Little boys at school are taught in their earliest Latin book, that the path of Avernus is very easy of descent. Let us skip over the interval in the history of her downward progress. She was not worse now than she had been in the days of her prosperity — only a little down on her luck. As for Mrs. Amelia, she was a woman of such a soft and foolish disposition, that when she heard of anybody unhappy, her heart straightway melted towards the sufferer; and as she had never thought or done anything mortally gmlty'~taersdf7^e had not that abhorrence for wickedness which "cITslmguishes moralists much more knowing. If she Bpoi fed everybody who cam e neariieFri'ith Icind- ness arrdTJOTnpliments, — if she begged pardon of all her servants for troubling them to answer the bell, — if she apologised to a shop-boy who showed her a piece of silk, or made a curtsey to a street-sweeper with a complimentary remark upon the elegant state of his crossing — and she was almost capable of every one of these follies — the notion that an old acquaintance was miserable was sure to soften her heart ; nor would she hear of anybody's being deservedly un- happy. A world under such legislation as hers would not be a very orderly place of abode ; but there are not many women, at least not of the rulers, who are of her sort. This lady, I beheve, would have aboUshed all gaols, punishments, handcuffs, whippings, poverty, sickness, himger, in the world; and was such a mean-spirited creatiu-e, that — we are obliged to confess it — she could even forget a mortal injury. "When the Major heard from Jos of the sentimental adventure which had just befallen the latter, he was not, it must be owned, nearly as much interested as the gentleman from Bengal. On the contrary, his excitement was quite the reverse from a pleasm-able one; he made use of a- brief but improper expression regarding a poor woman in distress, saying, in fact,—" the little minx, has she come to light again 1 " He never had had the slightest liking for her ; but had heartily mistrusted her from the very first moment when her green eyes had looked at, and turned away from, his own. " That little devil brings mischief wherever she goes," the Major said disrespectfully. " Who knows what sort of a life she has been leading ? and what business has she here abroad and alone 1 Don't tell nie about persecutors and enemies; an honest woman always has friends, and never is separated from her family. Why has she left her husband ? He may have been disreputable and wicked, as you say. He always was. I remember the confounded blackleg, and the way in which he used to cheat and hoodwink poor George. 644 VANITY FAIR Wasn't there a scandal about their separation'! I think I heard something," cried out Major Dobbin, who did not care much about gossip ; and whom Jos tried in vain to convince that Mrs. Becky was in all respects a most injured and virtuous female. " Well, well ; let's ask Mrs. George," said that arch-diplomatist of a Major. " Only let us go and consult her. I suppose you will allow tliat she is a good judge at any rate, and knows Avhat is right in such matters." " Hm ! Emmy is very well," said Jos, who did not happen to be in love with his sister. " Very well % by Gad, sir, she's the finest lady I ever met in my life," bounced out the Major. " I say at once, let us go and ask her if this woman ought to be visited or not — I will be content with her verdict." Now this odious, artful rogue of a Major was thinking in his own mind that he was sure of his case. Emmy, he remembered, was at one time cruelly and deservedly jealous of Rebecca, never mentioned her name but with a shrinking and teiTor — a jealous woman never forgives, thought Dobbin : and so the pair went across the street to Mrs. George's house, where she was con- tentedly warbling at a music-lesson with Madame Strumpff. When that lady took her leave, Jos opened the business with his usual pomp of words. " Amelia, my dear," said he, " I have just had the most extraordinary — yes — God bless my soul ! the most extraordinary adventure — an old friend — yes, a most interest- ing old friend of yours, and I may say in old times, has just arrived here, and I should like you to see her." "Her!" said Amelia. "WIio is it? Major Dobbin, if you please not to break my scissors." The Major was twirling them round by the little chain from which they sometimes hung to their lady's waist, and was thereby endangering his own eye. " It is a woman whom I dislike very much," said the Major doggedly ; " and whom you have no cause to love." "It is Rebecca; I'm sure it is Rebecca," Amelia said, blushing, and being very much agitated. " You are right ; you always are," Dobbin answered. Brussels, Waterloo, old, old times, griefs, pangs, remembrances, rushed back into Amelia's gentle heart, and caused a cruel agitation there. "Don't let me see her," Emmy continued. "I couldn't see her." " I told you so," Dobbin said to Jos. " She is very unhappy, and— and that sort of thing," Jos urged. " She is very poor and unprotected : and has been ill — exceedingly ill — and that scoundrel of a husband has deserted her." " Ah ! " said Amelia. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 645 " She hasn't a friend in the world," Jos went on, not imdex- terously ; " and she said she thought she might trust in you. She's so miserable, Emmy. She has been almost mad with grief. Her story quite affected me :— 'pon my word and honour, it did — never was^ such a cruel persecution borne so angehcally, I may say. Her family has been most cruel to her." " Poor creature ! " Amelia said. " And if she can get no friend, she says she thinks she'll die," Jos proceeded, in a low tremulous voice. — " God bless my soul ! do you know that she tried to kill herself 1 She carries laudanum with her — I saw the bottle in her room — such a miserable little room — at a third-rate house, the Elephant, up in the roof at the top of all. I went there." This did not seem to affect Emmy. She even smDed a little. Perhaps she figured Jos to herself i>anting up the stair. " She's beside herself with grief," he resumed. " The agonies that woman has endured are quite frightfi.d to hear of. She had a little boy, of the same age as Georgy." " Yes, yes, I think I remember," Emmy remarked. " Well 1 " " The most beautiful child ever seen," Jos said, who was very fat, and easily moved, and had been touched by the story Becky told ; " a perfect angel, who adored his mother. The rufiiaus tore him shrieking out of her arms, and have never allowed him to see her." "Dear Joseph," Emmy cried out, starting up at once, "let us go and see her this minute." And she ran into her adjoining bed- chamber, tied on her bonnet in a flutter, came out with her shawl on her arm, and ordered Dobbin to follow. He went and put her shawl — it was a white Cashmere, consigned to her by the Major himself from India — over her shoulders. He saw there was nothing for it but to obey ; and she put her hand into his aim, and they went away. " It is No. 92, up four pair of stairs," Jos said, perhaps not very willing to ascend the steps again ; but he placed himself in the window of his drawing-room, which commands the place on which the Elephant stands, and saw the pair marching through the market. It was as well that Becky saw them too from her garret ; for she and the two students were chattering and laughing there ; they had been joking about the appearance of Becky's gi-andpapa — whose arrival and departure they had witnessed — but she had tifiie to dismiss them, and have her Jittle room clear before the landlord of the Elephant, who knew that Mrs. Osborne was a great favourite at the Serene Court, and respected her accordingly, led the way up the 646 VANITY FAIE stairs to the roof-storey, encouraging Miladi and the Herr Major as they achieved the ascent. " Gracious lady, gracious lady ! " said the landlord, knocking at Becky's door ; he had called her Madame the day before, and was by no means courteous to her. " Who is it 1 " Becky said, putting out her head, and she gave a little scream. There stood Emmy in a tremble, and Dobbin, the tall Major, with his cane. He stood still watching, and very much interested at the scene ; but Emmy sprang forward with open arms towards Eebecca, and forgave her at that moment, and embraced her and kissed her with all her heart. Ah, poor wretch, when was your lip pressed before by such pure kisses 1 CHAPTER LXVI AMANTIUM IR,E FRANKNESS and kindness like Amelia's were likely to touch even such a hardened little reprobate as Becky. She retm-ned Emmy's caresses and kind speeches with something very like gratitude, and an emotion which, if it was not lasting, for a moment was almost genuine. That was a lucky stroke of hers about the child "torn from her arms shrieking." It was by that harrowing misfortune that Becky had won her friend back, and it was one of the very first points, we may be certain, upon which om- poor simple little Emmy began to talk to her new-found acquaintance. " And so they took your darling child ft'om you ? " our simpleton cried out. " Oh, Rebecca, my poor dear suffering friend, I know what it is to lose a boy, and to feel for those who have lost one. But please Heaven yours will be restored to you, as a merciful merciful Providence has brought me back mine." " The chUd, my child 1 Oh yes, my agonies were frightful," Becky owned, not perhaps without a twinge of conscience. It jarred upon her, to be obliged to commence instantly to tell lies in reply to so much confidence and simplicity. But that is the misfortune of beginning with this kind of forgery. When one fib becomes due as it were, you must forge another to take up the old acceptance ; and '^ t he stock of your lies in circidation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of~detection increases evgf3n tey; — -_ "My agonies," Becky continued, "were terrible (I Eope she won't sit down on the bottle) when they took him away from me ; I thought I should die ; but I fortunately had a brain fever, during which my doctor gave nie up, and — and I recovered, and — and here I am, poor and friendless." " How old is he 1 " Emmy asked. " Eleven," said Becky. " Eleven ! " cried the other. " Why, he was born the same year with Georgy, who is- " "I know, I know," Becky cried out, who had in fact quite forgotten aU about httle Rawdon's age. " Grief has made me forget so many things, dearest Amelia. I am very much changed ; 648 VANITY FAIE half wild sometimes. He was eleven when they took him away from me. Bless his sweet face ; I have never seen it again." "Was he fair or dark?" went on that absurd little Emmy. " Show me his hair." Becky almost laughed at her simplicity. " Not to-day, love, — some other time, when my trunks arrive from Leipsic, whence I came to this place,— and a little drawing of him, which I made in happy days. " Poor Becky, poor Becky ! " said Emmy. " How thankful, how thankful I ought to be" (though I doubt whether that practice of piety inculcated upon us by our womankind in early youth, namely, to be thankful because we are better off than some- body else, be a very rational religious exercise) ; and then she began to think as usual, how her son was the handsomest, the best, and the cleverest boy in the whole world. "You will see my Georgy," was the best thing Emmy could think of to console Becky. If anything could make her comfortable, that would. And so the two women continued talking for an hour or more, during which Becky had the opportunity of giving her new friend a full and complete version of her private history. She showed how her marriage with Rawdon Crawley bad always been viewed by the family with feelings of the utmost liostility ; how her sister-in-law (an artful woman) had poisoned her husband's mind against her ; how he had formed odious connections, which bad estranged his affections from her : how she had borne everything — poverty, neglect, coldness from the being whom she most loved — and all for the sake of her child ; how, finally, and by the most flagrant outrage, she had been driven into demanding a separation from her husband, when the wi-etch did not scruple to ask that she shoidd sacrifice her own fair fame so that he might procure advancement through the means of a very great and powerful but unprincipled man — the Jlarquis of Steyne, indeed. The atrocious monster. This part of her eventful history Becky gave with the utmost feminine delicacy, and the most indignant virtue. Forced to fly her husband's roof by this insult, the coward had pvu-sued his revenge by taking her child from her. And thus Becky said she was a wanderer, poor, unprotected, friendless, and wretched. Emmy received this story, wliich was told at some length, as those persons who are acquainted with her character may imagine that she would. She quivered with indignation at the account of the conduct of the miserable Rawdon and the unprincipled Steyne. Her eyes made notes of admiration for every one of the sentences in which Becky described the persecutions of her aristocratic relatives, A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 649 and the falling away of her husband. (Becky did not abuse him. She spoke rather in sorrow tliau in anger. She had loved him only too fondly : and was he not the father of her boy 1) And as for the separation-scene from the child, while Becky was reciting it, Emmy retired altogether behind her pocket-handkerchief, so that the consummate little tragedian must have been charmed to see the effect which her performance produced on her audience. Whilst the ladies were carrying on their conversation, Amelia's constant escort, the Major (who, of course, did not wish to interrupt their conference, and found himself rather tired of creaking about the narrow stair passage of which the roof brushed the nap fi'om his hat) descended to the ground-iioor of the house and into the great room common to all the frequenters of the Elephant, out of which the stair led. This apartment is always in a fume of smoke, and liberaEy sprinkled with beer. On a dirty table stand scores of corresponding brass-candlesticks witli tallow candles for the lodgers, whose keys hang up in rows over the candles. Emmy had passed blushing through the room anon, where all sorts of people were collected : Tyrolese glove-sellers and Danubian linen-merchants, with their packs ; students recruiting themselves with butterbrods and meats ; idlers, playing cards or dominoes on the sloppy, beery tables ; tumblers refreshing during the cessation of their performances — in a word, all the fumum and strepltus of a German inn in fair-time. The waiter brought the Major a mug of beer, as a matter of course ; and he took out a cigar, and amused himself with that pernicious vegetable and a newspaper imtil his charge should come down to claim him. Max and Fritz came presently downstairs, thefr caps on one side, their spiu-s jinghng, their pipes splendid with coats-of-arms and fidl-blown tassels, and they hrmg up the key of No. 90 on the board, and called for the ration of butterbrod and beer. Tlie pair sate down by the Major, and fell into a conversation of which he could not help hearing somewhat. It was mainly -about " Fuchs " and " Philister," and duels and driiddng-bouts at the neighbouring University of Schoppenhausen, from which renowned seat of learning they had just come in the EUwagen, with Becky, as it appeared, by their side, and in order to be present at the bridal fetes at Pumper- " The httle Engianderimi seems to be en hays de gomioisimce" said Max, who knew the French language, to Fritz, his comrade. " After the fat grandfather went away, there came a pretty little compatriot. I heard them chattering and whimpering together in the little woman's chamber." " We must take the tickets for her concert," Fritz said. " Hast thou any money, Max 1 " 650 VANITY FAIR " Bah," said the other, " the concert is a concert in nubib^s. Hans said that she advertised one at Leipsic : and the Burschen took many tickets. But she went off without singing. She said in the coach yesterday that her pianist had fallen ill at Dresden. She cannot sing, it is my belief : her voice is as cracked as thine, thou beer-soaking Renowner ! " " It is cracked; / hear her trying out of her window a schrecklich / Enghsh ballad, called ' De Eose upon de Balgony.' " V' " Saufeu and singen go not together," observed Fritz with the red nose, who evidently preferred the former amusement. " No, thou shalt take none of her tickets. She won money at the trente and quarante last night. I saw her : she made a little English boy play for her. We will spend thy money there or at the theatre, or we will treat her to French wine or cognac in the Aurelius Garden, but the tickets we will not buy. What sayest thou 1 Yet another mug of beer 1 " and one and another successively having buried their blond whiskers in the mawkish draught, curled them and swaggered off into the fair. The Major, who had seen the key of No. 90 put up on its hook, and had heard the conversation of the two young University bloods, was not at a loss to understand that their talk related to Becky. " The little devil is at her old tricks," he thought, and he smiled as he recalled old days, when he had witnessed the desperate flirtation with Jos, and the ludicrous end of that adventure. He and George had often laughed over it subsequently, and until a few weeks after George's marriage, when he also was caught in the little Circe's toils, and had an understanding with her which his comrade certainly suspected, but preferred to ignore. William was too much hurt or ashamed to ask to fathom that dis,gracefnl mystery, although once, and evidently with remorse on his mind, George had alluded to it. It was on the morning of Waterloo, as the young men stood together in front of their iine, surveying the black masses of Frenchmen who crowned the opposite heights, and as the rain was coming down, " I have been mixing in a foohsh intrigue with a woman," George said. " I am glad we were marched away. If I drop, I hope Emmy will never know of that business. I wish to God it had never been begun ! " And William was pleased to think, and had more than once soothed poor G«orge's widow with the narrative, that Osborne, after quitting his wife, and after the action of Quatre Bras, on the first day, spoke gravely and affectionately to his com- rade of his father and his wife. On these facts, too, William had insisted very strongly in his conversations with the elder Osborne : and had thus been the means of reconciling the old gentleman to his son's memory, just at the close of the elder man's life. A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 651 „,.,"^°'^^ ®° *^^^® "^^^'^ is still going oil ""^th lier intrigues," thought Wilham. "I wish she were a hundred miles from here. She brmgs mischief wherever she goes." And he was pursuing these forebodmgs and this uncomfortable train of thought, with his head between his hands, and the Piimpernichel Gazette of last week unread under his nose, when somebody tapped his shoulder with a parasol, and he looked up and saw Mrs. Amelia. This woman had a way of tyrannising over Major Dobbin (for the weakest of all people will domineer over somebody), and she ordered him about, and patted him, and made him fetch and cany just as if he was a great Newfoundland dog. He liked, so to speak, to jump into the water if she said " High, Dobbin ! " and to trot behind her with her reticule in his mouth. This history has been written to very little purpose if the reader has not perceived that the Major was a spooney. " Why did you not wait for me, sir, to escort me downstairs 1 " she said, giving a httle toss of her head, and a most sarcastic curtsey. "I couldn't stand up in the passage," he answered, with a comical deprecatory look ; and, delighted to give her his arm, and to take her out of the horrid smoky place, he would have walked off without even so much as remembering the waiter, had not the young fellow nm after him and stopped him on the threshold of the Elephant, to make him pay for the beer which he had not con- smned. Emmy laughed : she called him a naughty man, who wanted to run away in debt : and, iu fact, made some jokes suitable to the occasion and the small-beer. She was in high spirits 'and good humour, and tripped across the market-place very briskly. She wanted to see Jos that instant. The Major laughed at the impetuous affection Mrs. Amelia exhibited ; for, in truth, it was not very often that she wanted her brother " that instant." They found the Civilian in his saloon on the first-floor ; he had been pacing the room, and biting his nails, and looking over the market-place towards the Elephant a hundred times at least during the past hour, whilst Emmy was closeted with lier friend in the garret, and the Major was beating the tattoo on the sloppy tables of the public room below, and he was, on his side too, very anxious to see Mrs. Osborne. " Well ? " said he. " The poor dear creature, how she has suffered ! " Emmy said. "God bless my soul, yes," Jos said, wagging his head, so that his cheeks quivered like jellies. " She may have Payne's room ; who can go upstairs," Emmy continued. Payne was a staid English maid and personal attendant 652 VANITY FAIE upon Mrs. Osborne, to whom the cornier, as in duty boimd, paid court, and whom Georgy used to " lark " dreadfully with accoimts of German robbers and ghosts. She passed her time chiefly in griunbling, in ordering about her mistress, and in stating her inten- tion to return the next morning to her native vUlage of Clapham. " She may have Payne's room," Emmy said. "Why, you don't mean to say you are going to have that woman into the house 1 " bounced out the Major, jumping up. " Of course we are," said Ameha in the most innocent way in the world. "Don't be angry, and break the fumitiu'e, Major Dobbin. Of course we are going to have her here." " Of course, my dear," Jos said. " The poor creature, after all her sufferings," Emmy continued : " her horrid banker broken and run away : her husband — wicked wretch — having deserted her and taken her child away from her " (here she doubled her two little fists and held them in a most menacing attitude before her, so that the Major was charmed to see such a dauntless virago), " the poor dear thing ! quite alone and absolutely forced to give lessons in singing to get her bread — and not have her here ! " " Take lessons, my dear Mrs. George," cried the Major, " but don't have her in the house. I implore you don't." " Pooh ! " said Jos. " You who are always good and kind : always used to be at any rate : I'm astonished at you, Major William," Amelia cried. "Why, what is the moment to help her but when she is so miser- able 1 Now is the time to be of service to her. The oldest friend I ever had, and not " " She was not always your fi-iend, Amelia," the Major said, for he was quite angry. This allusion was too much for Emmy, who, looking the Major almost fiercely in the face, said, "For shame. Major Dobbin ! " and after having fired this shot, she walked out of the room with a most majestic air, and shut her own door briskly on herself and her outraged dignity. "To allude to tliat ! " she said, when the door was closed. " Oh, it was cruel of him to remind me of it," and she looked up at George's picture, which hung there as usual, with the portrait of the boy imdemeath. " It was cruel of him. If I had forgiven it, ought he to have spoken 1 No. And it is from his ov/n lips that I know how wicked and groundless my jealousy was ; and that you were pure— oh yes, you were piu-e, my saint in heaven ! " She paced the room trembling and indignant. She went and leaned on the chest of drawers over which the pictm-e hung, and gazed and gazed at it. Its eyes seemed to look down on her' with A NOVEL WITHOUT A HEEO 653 a reproach that deepened as she looked. The early dear dear memories of that brief prime of love rushed back upon her. The woimd which years had scarcely cicatrised bled afresh, and oh, how bitterly 1 bhe could not bear the reproaches of the husband there belore her. It couldn't be. Never, never. Poor Dobbin ; poor old William ! That unlucky word had un- done the work of many a year— the long laborious edifice of a life of love and constancy— raised too upon what secret and hidden foundations, wherein lay buried passions, uncounted struggles, un- known sacrifices— a little word was spoken, and down fell the fair palace of hope— one word, and away flew the bird which he had been trying all his life to lure ! William, though he saw by Ameha's looks that a great crisis had come, nevertheless continued to implore Sedley in the most energetic terms to beware of Eebecca ; and he eagerly, almost fran- tically, adjured Jos not to receive her. He besought Mr. Sedley to inciuii-e at least regarding her : told him how he had heard that she was in the company of gamblers and people of ill repute ; pointed out what evil she had done in former days : how she and Crawley had misled poor George into ruin : how she was now parted fi-om her husband, by her o-n-n confession, and, perhaps, for good reason. What a dangerous companion she would be for his sister, who knew nothing of the affairs of the world ! William im- plored Jos, with all the eloquence which he could bring to bear, and a great deal more energy than this quiet gentleman was ordinarily in the habit of showing, to keep Eebecca out of his household. Had he been less violent, or more dexterous, he might have succeeded in his supfjlications to Jos ; but the Civilian was not a little jealous of the airs of superiority which the Major constantly exhibited towards him, as he fancied (indeed, he had imparted his opinions to Mr. Kirsch, the courier, whose bills Major Dobbin checked on this journey, and who sided with his master), and he began a blustering speech about his competency to defend his own honour, his desii'e not to have his affairs meddled with, his inten- tion, in fine, to rebel against the Major, when the colloquy — rather a long and stormy one — was put an end to in the simplest way possible, namely, by the amval of Mrs. Becky, with a porter from the Elephant Hotel, in charge of her very meagre baggage. She greeted her host with affectionate respect, and made a shrinking, but amicable, salutation to Major Dobbin, who, as her instinct assured her at once, was her enemy, and had been speaking against her ; and the bustle and clatter consequent upon her arrival brought Amelia out of her room. Emmy went up and embraced 654 VANITY FAIE her guest witli the greatest warmth, and took no notice of the r,'Major, except to fling him an angry look — the most unjust and ' scornful glance that had perhaps ever appeared in that poor little . woman's face since she was born. But she had private reasons of 1 her own, and was bent upon being angry with him. And Dobbin, indignant at the injustice, not at the defeat, went off', making her a bow quite as haughty as the killing curtsey with which the little woman chose to bid him farewell. He being gone, Emmy was particularly lively and affectionate to Kebecca, and bustled about the apartments and installed her guest in her room with an eagerness and activity seldom exhibited by our placid little friend. But when an act of injustice is to be done, especially by weak people, it is best that it should be done quickly ; and Emmy thought she was displaying a great deal of firm- ness and proper feeling and veneration for the late Captain Osborne . in her present behaviour. Georgy came in from the fetes for dinner-time, and found four covers laid as usual ; but one of the places was occupied by a lady, instead of by Major Dobbin. "Hullo! where's Dob?" the young gentleman asked, with his usual simplicity of language. "Major Dobbin is dining out, I suppose," his mother said; and, drawing the boy to her, kissed him a great deal, and put his hair oS his forehead, and introduced him to Mrs. Crawley. " This is my boy, Eebecca," Mrs. Osborne said — as much as to say — can the world produce anything like that? Becky looked at him with rapture, and pressed his hand fondly. " Dear boy ! " she said — " he is just like my " Emotion choked her further utterance ; but Amelia understood, as well as if she had spoken, that Becky was thinking of her own blessed child. However, the company of her friend consoled Mrs. Crawley, and she ate a very good dinner. Dming the repast, she had occasion to speak several times, when Georgy eyed her and listened to her. At the dessert Emmy was gone out to superintend further domestic arrangements : Jos was in his great chair dozing over Gulignani : Georgy and the new arrival sat close to each other : he had continued to look at her knowingly more than once, and at last, he laid down the nut-crackers. " I say," said Georgy. " What do you say 1 " Becky said, laughing. " You're the lady I saw in the mask at the Eouge et Noir." " Hush ! you httle sly creature," Becky said, taking up his hand and kissing it. " Yom- uncle was there too, and mamma mustn't know." " Oh no— not by no means," answered the little fellow. "You see we are quite good friends already," Becky said to A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO 655 Emmy, who now re-entered; and it must be owned that Mrs. Osborne had introduced a most jucUcious and amiable companion into her house. William, in a state of great indignation, though still unaware of all the treason that was in store for him, walked about the town wildly until he fell upon the Secretary of Legation, Tapeworm, who invited him to dinner. As they were discussing that meal, he took occasion to ask the Secretary whether he knew anything about